Twenty three. When did we become grown? I never noticed the seeds of the cynic being sown. Twenty three. When did we become safe? We pray to feel pleasure and hate when we have to feel pain. We pretend when we find the end of ourselves. Afraid to be real so we say that we’re somebody else. Finally. I can see with your eyes. That everyone angry is only just aching inside. Twenty three. When the sun sets tonight. There’s always a reason we just cannot leave it behind.

I turn twenty three in minutes. I hope I can leave it behind.

Today was my first day at my new job. I only kind of want to kill myself, so it must have been a good day.

John calls Orin “the Senator,” because his name is Orin and because, well, it’s hilarious to ask a two-year-old where he stands on gay marriage. I think it’s hilarious. It really is quite hilarious.

And what with the election coming up tomorrow and all, the Senator has been pushing for some last-minute campaigning. All I can ever do, when he looks up at me with those giant eyes, is say, “Ok, Sweet pea. We’ll put your posters on the internet.”

The Senator enjoys the great outdoors with some of his grandchildren—2006.

President Bush speaks as the Senator listens.

“Buh-bye, boogers.”

Get out there and vote, people. Remember, a vote for the Senator is a vote for Utah. A vote for pencil-necks. A vote for no more boogers. A vote for America. A vote for everyone, everywhere.