Well, I haven’t meant not to be posting. Honest.

But while I’m enjoying the political blogs (see sidebar) immensely, I’m glad they can write about it; I’m just depressed. We’re so far through the looking glass here that I’m definitely in three-monkey mode. I mean, it’s nice that they captured Saddam and all, but let’s wait a little while before publishing sentiments like these:

For now, letç—´ say that while the Presidentç—´ opponents have made much sport of the idea that God called George Bush to the presidency, itç—´ becoming increasingy difficult to doubt that God wants President Bush re-elected.

(David Frum, in the National Review, via Pandagon.)

I mean, we might want a little more data first, okay?

And listening to the news every day mention Governor Schwarzenegger… I cannot begin to describe for you the way that slamming my head against my steering wheel does not relieve the pain. He signed away the vehicle licensing tax, but promised to restore the monies to cities and counties! But, in a continuation of the lesson you’d think Americans would have already learned from his Republican brethren elsewhere, the Gov said, Oops! No money. Leaving the cities and counties holding the bag for making deep, unpopular cuts. You know, like putting your fire stations on a rotating schedule because you can’t afford to keep them all open any more.

Nota bene: when dealing with Republicans, get your half of the bargain first. Otherwise, you ain’t going to see nuthin’.

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Everyone here is fine. Sophia is completely hilarious: yesterday she picks up her toy phone, talks into it a little, and then tells me, “That was Daddy. He called from his car. He says it’s a dessert night.”

And today, at Sophia’s school, Simon led Sophia and three other girls in a mad dash around the schoolroom, everyone giggling madly as they went. Sophia’s teacher said, “He’s quite the ladies’ man, isn’t he?”

Oh yes. I was aware of that when he was six months old and every female at Starbucks would flock by to see his smile.

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We’ve been watching HBO’s Angels in America. I have to admit that when I first started hearing about it I didn’t want to see it; not only is contemplation of the Reagan years depressing, but I’m also reluctant to watch dramas having to do with AIDS, because of a fear that I’m going to get preached at. Also, the prepublicity hype for this production was so intense that I thought it was definitely going to be a “good for me” movie, and therefore annoying in a “Master Thespian” sort of way.

Wow. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Angels in America” has been funny, scary, and hypnotic. Justin Kirk is fabulous as Prior Walter, who has AIDS, whose lover leaves him at the news, and who discovers he is the prophet. Mary Louise Parker, who I usually find to be full of annoying mannerisms, puts those mannerisms to work in a good way as the wife of a Republican Mormon lawyer who wants to be part of the Reagan Revolution. (The husband is too bland—I know he’s supposed to be bland, but he’s bland to the point of beige.) Emma Thompson does the world’s worst accent as Prior’s nurse, but she made up for it as the homeless woman. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around Al Pacino’s Roy Cohn, because Cohn seems to be a character for whom Pacino’s scenery chewing is too subtle. And, you know, Cohn was an asshole.

So if you don’t have HBO or you haven’t watched it, try to get a hold of a copy to watch. Or you can wait for the DVD and order it from Netflix. “Angels in America” has the kind of writing that makes me smile because it’s so good—it’s beyond, “I wish I had written that.” It’s more, “I’m glad someone did.”