Big, fluffly snow outside. The cab driver I had last night quizzed me about my presidential choice and then we talked about the surprise of the of the Pakistani election results. He told me he was happy that Musharraf didn’t steal the election, but that he didn’t like Bhuttoh’s husband. He’s been driving a cab for five years, worked in hotels before that. On the other side of the car window, the suburbs of Chicago reminded me strangely of the nowhere parts of LA, brutal with strip malls. One was even named “Mall Plaza”, as if the developer just threw up their hands when it came time to come up with a euphamism. And then we hit Evanston proper and it all started looking like Berkeley.