Related to Richard Nixon
No, I'm not kidding. It's a sort of family legend that we're distantly related to Richard Nixon, through my mother's father. I have postulated that this is where the crazy comes from. So, on that note, I've been reading All the President's Men, by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward. And ohmygod, I cannot put it down. I KNEW what Watergate was, but until now, I never really really new. One of the authors makes a comment to the effect of "Thank God these guys are idiots" ("these guys" being the Watergate burglars and essentially everyone involved in the Committee to Reelect the President), and I must concur. The damage that could have been done to the country by Nixon's aides could have been irreparable, if they had been more intelligent. It really never ceases to amaze me just how crazy Nixon and his guys were. No, really, Nixon was mentally ill. He's the first president to have ever sought mental health care while in the White House (I rather suspect that this fact should actually be a point in his favor, because it's hard for people to admit they have a mental illness, and it was especially hard back then. Also, if someone's crazy, they often don't *know* they're crazy).
Anyway, READ THIS BOOK. It's amazing. Though, I do confess that there's something about the writing style that I don't love, but I suspect that may be because the authors are reporters and used to short pieces.
On an unrelated note, I am still finding that cheap plasticky grass from Chris' Easter basket. So is my cat. Yesterday I suffered one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. I got home from work, and decided that we needed to cut the cat's nails. While I dug out the pet nail trimmers, Chris and I noticed that the cat would not stop licking his butt. We ignored it because, well, he's a cat. So we trimmed his nails, gave him a treat, and let him go. Then Chris, who was holding the little guy so that I didn't get my eyes scratched out, looked at his jeans, pointed to some brown stuff and said "And what's that?" I giggled and responded that I guess we knew why the cat was licking his butt. Then I look at my jeans and there was poop on them, too. Then we looked at the cat. Dangling from his butt was a massive turd. This discovery resulted in a debate over whose job it was to remove said turd. Of course, it fell to me, because it always does. Chris threw me a paper towel, and I had a delightful 10 seconds of cat torturing. Needless to say, the jeans are in the wash. I really do not think I will recover from this. I can't even pick the little bastard up because I am so upset.
Anyway, READ THIS BOOK. It's amazing. Though, I do confess that there's something about the writing style that I don't love, but I suspect that may be because the authors are reporters and used to short pieces.
On an unrelated note, I am still finding that cheap plasticky grass from Chris' Easter basket. So is my cat. Yesterday I suffered one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. I got home from work, and decided that we needed to cut the cat's nails. While I dug out the pet nail trimmers, Chris and I noticed that the cat would not stop licking his butt. We ignored it because, well, he's a cat. So we trimmed his nails, gave him a treat, and let him go. Then Chris, who was holding the little guy so that I didn't get my eyes scratched out, looked at his jeans, pointed to some brown stuff and said "And what's that?" I giggled and responded that I guess we knew why the cat was licking his butt. Then I look at my jeans and there was poop on them, too. Then we looked at the cat. Dangling from his butt was a massive turd. This discovery resulted in a debate over whose job it was to remove said turd. Of course, it fell to me, because it always does. Chris threw me a paper towel, and I had a delightful 10 seconds of cat torturing. Needless to say, the jeans are in the wash. I really do not think I will recover from this. I can't even pick the little bastard up because I am so upset.