We don't usually quibble with Geoffrey Chaucer, but our many shirtlifters, spotted in stained glass windows and insulating tapestries, marble and bronze, and canvas and oils, could well have been spared renascences to- day if he'd admitted a prescient seamstress to his epic parade. Such broad self-ripping of bodice is upon us now, that one scarcely has the chance to evaluate the tissues for their treatment by the trade. Eccovi il medico, we seem to have our Despina at last, and as in all her appearances, just in time. Rob Allen
The fine line between incredulous and dubious has been reduced to such a wanton scrawl in this e- lection, that we begin to ignore the distinction entirely when a new pronouncement is upon us, and enjoy a freedom of interpretation implicit in its promulgation.
Faced with bizarre information from our registrars of voters, that bal- loting is to be black-tie optional this year - yet another ploy to suppress turnout by egalitarians - it fell to our friend Gérard to find the permission always laid in plain sight in that phrase, to adopt a mode in the display of the identi- fying tourniquet, as one of mourning.
I admit, it was observing my English Cocker that gave me the discovery, that if I am watching someone else worry, I'm almost disabled from worrying at the same time. Not that I'm incap- able of sympathy, if that counts. I suppose I should be troubled by this defect, but like all the things one should do or be, I'd still rather go to the theatre.
We'd say, it's bad enough, when the candidate in the lead shows a dogtag every day, but only if we're buying dinner. Now we have a candidate closing hard, who's throwing away his dogs, as fast as the other one's scarfing down money. It would be enough, in normal times, to restore our good opinion of information. But these demonstrably are not normal times. This campaign's beginning to remind us of Kosovo in the 90s. If we wanted to know, don't you think we could?