The Ides of March

Ides is only a word in the plural, first of all. Go ahead, just try playing 'ide' in Scrabulous....

We get on a plane tomorrow - what could be better, a vacation with the family? I'll tell you what -- the vacation having already started, that's what could be better. There is simply no getting around the fact that at this point in my life, I hate to fly. I can no longer pretend it's exciting, or fun, to get inside an aluminum tube and hurtle down the runway at speeds four or five times what I'd be comfortable driving, and then, through some combination of physics and faith that I have no way of understanding, somehow, miraculously, lift into the air and fly -- all under the leadership of a man I have never met, who I imagine is not unlike the Bill Daly neighbor in Bob Newhart's show -- this is the man we put our faith in? This is the man we entrust our lives to? This, this clown? This sidekick?

No sir. Not a fan at all.

I had planned to write about this epidemic of quitting in the campaign - if you say something bad, even remotely bad, my campaign will force you to quit, and vice versa... Geez. Once again I cite the words of the great Deval Patrick -- they are just words...

But the Ides have conquered me. Beware 'em.