Entry 5:

To Whom It May Concern:

Good morning, and Happy Super Tuesday. I too had my encounter with the charming Gabriel Snyder last night. By the end, he had me concerned as much about the state of our marriage as about this "Breakfast Table." "Do you guys ever e-mail each other?" he asked. "Because your exchanges seem pretty awkward." Awkward! If I can't avoid awkwardness with my own husband, what hope is there left for me? I feel like we're in some Raymond Carver story: seemingly tranquil domestic tableau, but the tension is evident by the couple's strained and overly formal dialogue.

Enough. I'm only giving him more fodder. Let's move on.

(Awkward transition.)

The papers today are bursting with Super Tuesday, chronicling all the campaigns' last-minute jitters. In the Op-Ed pages of the Washington Post, Richard Cohen and E.J. Dionne squabble over exactly what ways John McCain is great. I have many friends like them, committed Democrats and ironists all, who have earnestly pleaded with me that it's my civic duty to vote for McCain. You will always vote for a Democrat, goes the argument, but when else will you have the chance to remake a party, nay, all of American politics.

Today, though, their enthusiasm seems muted. While they won't yet admit it, his press admirers fear the worst this afternoon. I can't help but think that that picture of Cindy McCain on the cover of the Post today, bravely smiling through a shower of rose petals, has a whiff of nostalgia about it. As a glum-looking friend told me this morning: "I have a lot of emotions invested in McCain, and I'm worried about him." (But more on that later this afternoon)

For my part, I will follow David Segal's advice in today's "Style" section, and choose my candidate based on his musical taste. In that arena, it's no contest. Pat Buchanan. Favorite artist: Fats Domino. Favorite album: I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. Favorite song: "I Fall to Pieces" by Patsy Cline. Be still my heart.  

The most interesting Super Tuesday debate is the one that involves this very outlet, Slate magazine, and its right to publish the exit polls early. As loyal readers know, Voter News Service, which sells the exit polls to news organizations, has prevented Slate from publishing them early. Slate editors believe that news organizations that have the results early should stop pretending they don't know them. Others, include the Post's pollster, who wrote an angry Op-Ed yesterday, thinks Slate is an irresponsible rag hell-bent on skewing elections. In this one, I'm with Slate. 

One place not obsessed with Super Tuesday is San Jose, where primary news has been obscured by the tragic death of Leo, a 10-year-old bichon frise, the latest victim of road rage. It seems the dog's owner mistakenly bumped a man's car. When she rolled down her window to apologize, the demented driver reached in grabbed the furball perched in her lap and threw him into oncoming traffic. Times like these, I wish this city had a tabloid. Imagine the New York Post headlines: "Pooched!" Or "Screw the Pooch!"

An interesting business story in the Times today about Nine West. It seems for 12 years this ubiquitous shoe chain has been fixing prices, strong-arming department stores into selling shoes at fixed prices. The story shatters some of this city girl's sartorial notions. I and many of my friends have always thought of Nine West as the scrappy underdog, the one American company expert at making knockoffs of much more expensive brands quickly and cheaply. If you craved a shoe and found its imitation at Nine West, you felt proud. Painful to learn that all this time we've been had!

Awkwardly yours,
Hanna