This weekend I am appropriating my middle-school daughter's week-long spring break and investing it in a visit to family in Southwest Missouri, a region so politically and culturally redneck it makes Mississippi look like gay Paree. Rush Limbaugh would be out of place there -- he's too domesticated for its local talk radio (one host, for instance, back in 1999, spent I don't recall how many hours of airtime warning of Bill Clinton's coming declaration of martial law, upon executing his calamitous hoax of Y2K); and the District's congressman sounds like something that crawled out of a James Dickey novel.
We will also be a bit behind the technological times, in that there's no computer connection at the rustic abode in which we're staying. You can imagine my 12-year-old daughter's inexpressible delight at this unplugged, tuned-out, non-YouTubed, Dark Ages prospect.
At any rate I shall be, as they say, incommunicado for the next week. I am skeptical, however, as to whether I or anyone else will notice. The slow-moving front of the GOP's stormy weather is moving so slowly as to thoroughly depress. Nothing ever changes. Nothing. Ever. It is, and has been, pretty much the same saga for months. This morning I arose to, for example, The Hill's top story about "Romney’s recurring dilemma," in which we're informed that the "same damaging story lines keep coming back to haunt Romney - about his wealth, conservatism, Mormonism and flip-flops, among others." Zzzzz. Somewhere following that "news" I'm sure there is also a piece about Santorum's shocking lack of resources and a rivetingly controversial look at whether Gingrich should vacate himself. Zzzzz.
Hence when I return next weekend I expect the news to be as undifferentiated as Bill Murray's fourth month at Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. But whatever happens, or not, on that front, I wish you a wonderful week on yours.