Have we finally moved beyond Hillary Clinton? She did it to herself, folks. And don’t be mad at Obama. Two years ago she had a double-digit lead against her rivals for the nomination and a gazillion dollar war chest. What happened? She blew it. Her campaign was so poorly managed that not only did she lose the nomination, she burned through all that money and had to dig into her own pocket and is now in debt. Thank God she and Mr. Bill took the high road out.

This election is a gimmie for the Democrats. If the Democrats find a way to blow it (they still might) they should be force to disband and the new political party that rises from its ashes should not have any familiar faces at the helm.

Dear London: Mrs. Wife and I will be in town from September 11-15. Does anyone know where I can get a pair of tickets to see Piaf at Donmar Warehouse? The entire run is completely sold out. If you have any ideas, please post. Feel free to suggest alternatives. We are big fans of the Gypsy Kings and have already booked tickets to Zorro with Bob and his entourage. Olé!

I have ambiguous feelings about clothiers. Fashion is a multi-billion dollar industry that pumps a steady stream of much-needed revenue into New York City coffers. But it makes its money off the vanity and insecurities of (mainly) women. It sends out a terrible message, i.e., wearing a specific label will validate you and repair your self-esteem. Runway shows look like gussied-up teen beauty pageants to me, which I also don’t understand. Modeling should be declassified as a profession and reclassified as a form of child abuse.

I’m just finishing Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. Everyone but me has known since 2000 that it’s a contemporary masterpiece. I’m always late to the party, but I usually show up sooner or later. Have a taste:

“Now get this straight, Wantanabe,” said Midori, pointing at me. “I’m warning you, I’ve got a whole month’s worth of misery crammed inside me and getting ready to blow. So watch what you say to me. Any more of that kind of stuff and I’ll flood this place with tears. Once I get started, I’m good for the whole night. Are you ready for that? I’m an absolute animal when I start crying, it doesn’t matter where I am! I’m not kidding.”

Shit, man, I’ll never be able write like that. The excerpt probably isn’t that impressive taken out of context but it knocked me on my ass when I read it on the train tonight. I went back over it three times.

I met Murakami once. He made a rare public appearance at a book signing here in New York. He had two cute Japanese assistants with him who each had two wooden chock stamps. When he signed a book, one of the assistants would stamp it. Mine is a picture of two intertwined fish. I asked him if New York frightened him. He and the cute Japanese girls laughed.

I was reading the comment section on someone else’s blog and came across something that really horrified me. The commentator took the blog owner to task for a misplaced apostrophe. Are you kidding me?! Do I need to worry about stuff like that? That’s too much pressure. I barely know where to place a comma. I have no idea what a prepositional phrase is.

Sometimes I reread my old posts or the comments I’ve left on other blogs and they are fraught with mistakes. At least on my blog I can go back and correct the gaffes (which I occasionally do). A comment left somewhere else is forever. If it’s incoherent or improperly punctuated, tough shit. It’s a good thing my laptop comes equipped with spell check or I’d really be in trouble with the grammar police.

Last week I read posts on at least three different blogs that all said, “It’s really slow and I don’t have anything to write about.” If I don’t have anything to write about, I don’t write. Please, please don’t let blogging turn into a goddamn job. I’ve already got a goddamn job and one’s enough. This is for fun, right? Or is this yet another one of my responsibilities that I’m taking too lightly?

Yesterday morning 6-Year Old Daughter said, “Dad, I had a dream that I was in the Disney store with all my friends. You bought me a Tinkerbelle doll that could talk, but only the person who owned her could hear what she was saying. We brought her home and she sprinkled some pixie dust on me and we could both fly.” Isn’t that sweet?

I had a dream yesterday morning, too. I was in the house I grew up in in Cleveland. It was overrun with spiders whose bodies were about as big as your fist. I took a can of insecticide and sprayed it into their eyes. They writhed around in pain. Some of them died and others turned into human zombies. Lots and lots of really angry zombies. They chased me up the wooden stairs to the attic. I only had one can of insecticide and there were so many of them. Mrs. Wife was in the attic and I yelled, “Please help me!” Then I woke up. That was my dream. I wish I made that up.

* * *

I was driving to the supermarket and the local college radio station played the Louis Armstrong classic What A Wonderful World as interpreted by The Ramones. Absolutely heartwarming.

* * *

Again, I am lamenting the end of summer. On Saturday, we went down to Asbury Park. We walked the boardwalk, looked at the ocean and got some ice cream. 6-Year Old Daughter and I played 18 holes of miniature golf. I beat her 42-80. I was merciless. Those summer afternoons are numbered but autumn has its charms. All-day pots of hot coffee. Roast beef and mashed potatoes with gravy. A change of wardrobe. Football. Hut-hut.

* * *

Joe Biden is a brilliant pick for VP. For all the evidence you’ll ever need, please take a minute to read David Brook’s op-ed piece that ran in the Friday New York Times. This was written on the eve of Obama’s announcement. Brooks is a conservative (although not a radical) so the fact that this level-headed argument for Biden comes from the “other camp” counts for plenty.