Last night I dreamt, among other things, that I was a sub-intern-level staffer at Slate, that I was treated badly by the other staff, that Michael Kinsley was a stumbling drunk who couldn't keep his appointments, and that my father was the Democratic candidate for U.S. President. My father, in my dream, got so nervous and tongue-tied during his debate with the Republican candidate that the cameras panned to my dad for his rebuttal ... and his chair was empty. I was mad because now the Republicans would win for sure. I think this dream reveals both my issues with my dad, who's not always supportive and there for me, and my disappointment in the Democratic Party, ditto.

I decided to browse Paul Conrad's recent work today. Some noteworthy ones, yes; symbolism overload here, some lovely leaps of cartoon logic there. But Conrad really shined back in the fall. Not much can match "Air Force One" or "What's the difference between cocaine and anthrax?". And there's always the classic, "George W. Orwell's Justice". Come on, Conrad! Get back in that crazy half-surreal mood! For the kids!