I don’t care about anything today.

I feel like posting something, just so people stopping by will say “Oh, I guess he’s started blogging again” and will be encouraged to stop by more frequently. Perhaps tell all their friends, get me quoted as a “source” by Wolf Blitzer in a ‘Blogwatch’ on The Situation Room, talk to Tim Russert on a Sunday morning in D.C. and retire to a villa on Maui to dispense occasional wisdom and expert commentary whenever the money’s right and the mood strikes me. For some reason, the picture in my head also includes a massive spike-topped fence and vicious, slavering guard dogs with spikey collars. But I’m definitely on Maui and we’re richer than God.

So this time expended gazing at my navel is in reality an investment in my imaginary future.

Problem is, nothing is pissing me off enough to make me jump over a rhetorical cliff and sail off on wings of righteous outrage. I’ve done Iraq and Bush to death, and frankly will probably return to them shortly (if not next), but the man and his war just make me tired tonight. 75 more people murdered and an ancient shrine destroyed in Baghdad in just one incident today and it’s already off the front page headlines. And all made possible by my tax dollars! As an outrageous waste of taxpayer dollars, the war in Iraq makes Mapplethorpe’s “Piss Christ” look like the Louisiana Purchase by comparison.

Oh but that’s right. I’m not trying to work myself into a lather.

We have hero firefighters in the news again. Unfortunately, in the post-9/11 world, damn it, you don’t usually get to be a hero unless you’ve been killed, and/or the feds have created a massive campaign of misinformation about your fate. These poor guys got killed.

Jesus, one story each on Anna Nicole’s weeping judge, the Duke rape case and Judge Judy’s thoughts on Paris Hilton (which I won’t dignify with links to them). The fucking media is sawin’ out “Sally Goodin’” for the rubes while America burns from within. To quote Roger Waters, “This is the crap our children are learning?”

Ahh, the political news... Oh, this is rich: Giuliani’s S. Carolina chairman held on cocaine charges. The ethically-challenged GOP candidate, still riding high on the wave of dead bodies from 9/11 is going to be on defensive for a few days. Exposed hypocrisy in public life always gives me a special glow. Cocaine, on the other hand, never really did much for me.

And New York mayor Michael Bloomberg has just bailed the Republican Party, setting himself up for a self-financed dark horse bid for the White House next year. I’ll vote for anybody who seems to have a head on his or her shoulders. Bring on all comers! (Apologies to Sen. Gravel.)

Here’s something. I’m listening to the new Arcade Fire album more than I am the new RUSH album. Although the new RUSH disc has a couple of crunchy instrumentals and a catchy hook now and again, it just doesn’t feel as urgent as the kids’ disc. And to compare apples and apples instead, the new RUSH disc isn’t as good as the last RUSH disc, from which several songs popped on the first listen.

I’m glad summer rerun season is here. I’m finally getting some work done.

Saw “Ocean’s 13” the other day with The Missus. Love those films. They transfer the easy cool of the stars’ personal friendships to the screen the same way the original Rat Pack’s film did. The plot is smart, the film cooks right along, and if you like the players it’s full of laughs too.

The Man Cub continues to impress. Words now, garbled sentences and a full-on glint-in-the-eye sense of humor. Up is literally down; any vertical movement is. The day care people tell me he is saying “thank you” too, but I have yet to earn his gratitude apparently. Note to self: Redouble parenting efforts.

Other than that shortcoming, my days with him in the middle of the week are the best days of the week on a regular basis. I’ve never watched a slug of an inert shrieking baby burrito metamorphosize into a functioning human being before. It’s been a fascinating experience and a pleasant one the more it goes on. The more his personality emerges, the better I like him, even though we’ve gotten to the stage where my firm “No.” is interpreted to mean “Let’s keep doing the same thing, only more vigorously and laugh while we do it!” I’m having to be a little more of a hard-ass with him, but he always comes right back to me with open arms when the squall has passed.

He’s cool that way.

The Missus just did a job interview for a lateral gig with her current employer that will (hopefully) provide her with a little more of the challenge she’s looking for if she gets it. Otherwise, it will just have pissed off her current boss, making an already less than ideal workplace situation one notch less comfortable.

I feel like I’ve blathered on pointlessly enough for tonight. It’s well past my bedtime, the RUSH album is growing on me as I write this and as god is my witness, I am ready for my close-up, Mr. Blitzer. Mister Russert, sir.

The compound in Hawaii waits.