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—I think.

No, I'm sure.

I came to this decision the night before last, after watching Obama's South Carolina victory speech on YouTube. (Thankfully it was before I read anything about Edwards dropping out—psychologically, I'm glad I made a choice among three and not between two, even though in practical terms the distinction is meaningless.)

The Shondes are a Brooklyn-based band that remind me a bit of Sleater-Kinney with their strong female vocals and pro-lady rock n’ roll attitude; but there’s a twist. The band throws in violin and ethnic melodies, for an unusual punk-melodic-traditional combo that doesn’t sound like anything else right now. More often than not, they are powerful and driving, though sometimes a bit too

...and I still haven't made up my mind. The other day I was reduced to telling someone that I had thought about voting for Edwards, but now I was leaning toward Obama. Or Clinton. Or Obama. Or Clinton. Or maybe Edwards.

I've never been undecided this close to election day before.

Then again, I've never been making a choice that felt this important before, either—nor, with the exception of my very first presidential election, in 1992 (before the Bill Clinton of the campaign became the Bill Clinton of "don't ask, don't tell" and "end[ing] welfare as we know it"), have I cast a vote without a) a sigh of resignation that I'd picked the lesser of the evils or b) a sigh of resignation that I was doomed to a protest vote yet again. (And since Kucinich just dropped out, I don't even have the protest vote option this time around.)

No, this time I've got to make an actual difficult and potentially meaningful decision. And each candidate actually has something really exciting to recommend hir: fiery populist rhetoric; seriously inspiring charisma; a raft of plans for healthcare, the environment, the war; or some combination of the above. I'm going to be (dare I say it) pretty happy to vote for whichever one ends up in the general election (though maybe that's just my seven-years-of-Bush hangover talking).

And yet, each one also disappoints in some pretty serious ways.

When a supremely evil corporation takes some steps to mitigate or change its evil ways, does that change the fact that the corporation is evil? Can corporate responsibility ever be anything but a PR-motivated sham? Can we appreciate the actual changes for workers and the environment even as we remain skeptical and critical of the company's once and future practices?

The SF band Cryptacize, composed of Nedelle Torrisi (singer/songwriter, The Curtains), Chris Cohen (The Curtains, Deerhoof) and Michael Carreira, plays wonderfully dreamy, eclectic pop. Their first album Dig That Treasure (Asthmatic Kitty) is filled with spacey melodies, minimalist guitar strums and unexpected twists and turns. The result is strangely beautiful.

Check 'em out:

This article doesn't exactly say anything we don't know—that women who get breast implants are signing up for a world of medical procedures that no one can predict—but it's nice to see a major newspaper reporting on it (though, of course, as with so many things relating to The Women, it's in the Styles section rather than where it belongs, in Health).

Wow, was this a bad week to be in the midst of production on the new issue of Bitch.

I'm happy to announce to all y'alls that I have a new project in the works. It's a cookbook, mostly vegan with some optional eggs and dairy, and I'm gonna be working with a small DIY-type publisher based in Oakland. Expect a slim volume that will teach you how to eat healthy on a budget; cook with unprocessed, fresh, local foods; improvise yummy meals; and cook regularly as part of your busy schedule.

In yesterday's New York Times, Gloria Steinem declared that "Women Are Never Front-Runners," and evoked an image of a female Obama who would never be considered a viable presidential candidate because of her gender.

I'm sorry—what?

In response to a news story about a family putting out an oven fire with the mother's "big pants"—that's Brit-speak for granny panties—comes this column from the Times Online's Caitlin Moran on the scourge of "pantorexia." To be honest, I'm not really sure what's going on in this overlong column — Moran basically starts off encouraging women to stop strangling their asses with "sexy pants" and creating the dreaded quad-buttock effect with ill-fitting unmentionables, but then she goes on to bemoan the state of big pants as well. (Apparently the deprtment stores in Old Blighty are overrun with underpants in the hue of an "uncooked pork chop.")