I believe in the power of redemption

 An intervention may be in order.

I've gotten sucked into the cesspool of election year tomfoolery and non-stop coverage of what Tengrain calls the Goat Rodeo.

Evidence that it's a become a real problem:

1. My politics/media twitter feed is enormous and growing. It's a fine blend of snark, bawdy humor and info links that could keep me reading all the ding dong day.

2. While I wouldn't have recognized a quarter of the celebrities on the red carpet at the recent Golden Globe Awards, when I click twitpic links posted by political reporters, I recognize about half the people in the photos. I repeat political reporters.

3. I've been having erotic dreams about a three-way with Dylan Ratigan and Melissa Harris Perry.

4. I followed Jonathan Capehart aka Mr. Butters' vacation to the Virgin Islands via Facebook.
4.1 I know that Jonathan Capehart is also Mr. Butters and when he gets his haircut. And when he goes to McDonald's or not after his haircuts.

5. I can tell the following people apart:
Ari Melber / Ezra Klein / Sam Stein
Chuck Todd / That guy from the bookstore
Thomas A. Roberts / Peter Alexander
Luke Russert / Jeff Spicoli
Ron Allen / Ron Christie / Ron Mott
Gov. Rick Perry / Fmr. President George W. Bush
Mike Taibbi / Matt Taibbi
Chris Mathews / Lawrence O'Donnell
Fmr. Gov. Mitt Romney / Presidential Candidate Mitt Romney
David Gregory / A jar of paste
Chris Hayes / Rachel Maddow

6. Confession: In my weaker moments, I yearn to run my fingers through Howard Fineman's gray hair while talking music with Jon Heilman and drinking shots with Willie Geist.

7. I know more about NY Times columnist Charles Blow's daughter's fencing career than I know about what's going on with my parents. Of course, my parents could fix that if they got a computer and had Twitter accounts. Slackers.

8. While MathMan likes to impress me by being able to identify a piece of classical music within a few notes, i.e. Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 4, 5th movement, I like to turn him on with my ability to identify some pundit or other by their voice. It's awesome foreplay. "Oh, baby. You be Monica and I'll be Bill. Where's your blue dress?" It's so much fun resurrecting an old role-playing theme.

9. My little "problem" is affecting the kids. Sophie and I chat about the afternoon MSNBC personalities like they're family. "Did you see that exchange between Martin Bashir and that asshole from the South Carolina Republican Party?" I'll say to which Sophie will respond, "I almost threw my Cheez-its at the TV I was so disgusted so I changed the channel to iCarly. I know how angry you get when I make a mess in the living room."

We also worry about Mika Brzezenski's unresolved father issues because we can't help ourselves. We like her.

9.1 The cats and I are involved in a co-dependent relationship which now stretches beyond food. They insist I leave the TV on so they can watch Andrea Mitchell and speculate what it must be like to sleep with Alan Greenspan. They really have a mean streak, those cats.

10. And most disturbing of all, even though I've written about the many reasons for which I could never run for office, it's becoming increasingly clear with all the Republican hypocrisy shenanigans coming to light, I could indeed run for office as long as I'm willing to run as a Republican with a one hand on the Bible and a compelling redemption narrative.

I'm thinking there's really no downside here. I win and that's cool. I can be a public servant and support the policies I think will make this nation better for all of us. I lose and I can make some money on speaking fees. I mean $365,000 isn't a lot, but I could manage on that. Hell, one speaking gig at $40,000 would be twice as much as I made in 2011.

It's time for the Pussies for Peace and Income Equality (PfPIE) to get busy raising money for that Superpac. I just need to remind them not to put the money into investments in the Cayman Islands.