Hell of a time for an election. In my home Dave's passing was commemorated by ordering in Swiss Chalet and drinking San Pellegrino. Even on the eve of a family member's death, the household thinks it's a little too frivolous to break out the booze and say l'chaim*.

Tonight after work I'm going to see my Gramma, Dave's sister, who just so happens to be in hospital right now. Then I'm going to vote.

The italian word for the day is basta and it means enough.

Notes:
*l'chaim: When I die I hope they're drinking like sailors, or firstyears, or both. I want there to be bras hanging from the ceiling and blunts the size of turkey basters and maybe even a few unforeseen births nine months down the road.