The music is "Illinois Blues," by Skip James, or, maybe it's "Illinois," Dan Fogelberg's way.  The mood is very much indigo in some quarters, but Illinoisans know to move fast, clear the streets. Coming to town is the circus, a revival tent meeting with live snakes, a carnival, and a four-way shoot-out, all rolled into one!  And, as an added attraction, an escaped zoo of mainstream media chimps will come swooping and swamping on in, as high-profile distraction, caging townsfolk in all alleyways, getting up close and personal, pointing mics in faces, mining hard for snappy sound bites and local flavor.  Beware your favorite diners, next couple of days.

Best to make like a tumbleweed, just roll on, keep out of the way -- here comes more empty thunder raining down on you, rolling across everything, smashing into your towns:  It's the Dark Horse Riders of the Grandiose Oblivion Plague Party, and the runners-up Pinheaded Primary Parade!

There is a great story about an editor at UPI long ago, back in the 1970s, who inserted advice to journalists in a foreword to that organization's style guide for writers:  A burro is an ass, a burrow is a hole in the ground:  you are expected to know the difference between the two.

What great advice for Republican candidates vying for their party's coronation!  These guys are already phenomenally low in wattage as illumination of any real issue goes, so, that simple advice should be hugely helpful to them, too!  Anyone claiming to be a journalist today should take a brush-up quiz on that one, too -- along with the mandate to keep opinion out of news, to just report the facts without endless analysis, rather than slip in personal notions, dressed up as The News.  But then again, that Fox case says mainstream media's free to lie, so, what's the big deal -- opinion is much easier to cover and generate, for sure.

We have no idea what oddsmakers in 'Vegas would say to the chances of the Holy See being seen in Gucci sunglasses, or spotted wearing Prada loafers to boot, and commissioning a new, top-secret cologne, as the papal nose knows quality, nay?  And yea, a lot has come to pass, in that pass of time.  In more than 2-thousand years of acquiring wealth and property of all kinds, it is likely his holiness can afford it, have a tiny reward on this Earth.

The Catholic Church's precise wealth is unknown -- their specialists, truly, are often quoted saying, "Only God knows" -- but it's likely on the far side of eternally vast:  One could safely bet on that, especially after the miracle of compounding kicked in, across all that immense slate of time.  The rest of us try to have our prayers answered in much smaller ways.  We have no special Prefecture for Economic Affairs to help us manage our holdings of liquid assets.  There's scarcely a need for such intricate super-infrastructure in managing our liquid wealth:  some juice, a little milk, a few pops, a couple beers.

You remember the paralyzing ray, the sound effect, the beam of light flashing across the screen toward its target and -- bingo!  Zapped! All consciousness we had was momentarily checked out, no longer in the building, not on the planet, but caught up in Star Trek, caught and stunned, captured by the light of the ray.

This is how it's been feeling in encounters with media of any kind on this world, and with almost half of its citizens.  First, the flash of light, then, the ticklish electrical sensations begin, like swarming ants on the skin, the intensity gaining strength as the beam -- its first few nanoseconds aboard -- plays havoc with the body's bio-current, then, pulses stronger, threatening to shut down the computing center, up over the eyebrows... Then it does: blackout.