THE OPPOSITE OF QUICK.

While I was working on a Nike project about quickness, I had a discussion with someone about what quickness is; that led to a conversation about what the opposite of quick was. In my mind, one thing on earth represents the opposite of quick, and that is the cow. Cows are dumb and lumbering and, well, slow. My brain turned rabid, thinking it would be a great idea to do a whole campaign around "the opposite of quick." This brilliant campaign would not feature shoes or sports at all. It would just be two cows standing in a field talking, maybe not even about sports or shoes.

Then there would be a website, NikeMooz.com, that would eventually filter you through to a page that tries to sell you shoes. In the frenzied state that it was in, my brain forced me to make some "proof of concept" videos--simple examples of what the campaign would be like, proof that it would work. Here, for your viewing, are the results of said frenzied brain's output.





For the record, I actually bought NikeMooz.com. Was it a good idea? Probably not. But now it's out there, so I guess we'll see if anyone likes it. Anyone?

THE WIRE: R.I.P. OMAR

Apparently they're really getting ready to end The Wire. And the execs at HBO must not have read my last post on how to end it. Because they killed off Omar! Nooooooooooooo!

In what has to be the most disappointing turn of events this season, Omar met his demise at the hands of an ambitious youngster (who was about to set a cat on fire! Omar should have saved that cat). Hearts and hopes of audiences across America were dampened at the realization that there would be no showdown between Marlo and Omar. Omar would not deliver the style of street justice we had all hoped for. He didn't even get Cheese, which would have been sweet. Instead, he had an unglamorous, almost embarrassing death. But I guess that's the point of it. It's all just senseless violence. Would his death have been any more noble if it had ended in a blaze of glory? With that in mind, combined with the unexpected nature of his death, I have to say I sort of like wrapping up his end of the story like that. Sure, I wanted to see him creep up on Chris, Snoop and Marlo as much as the next guy, but I like to be surprised.

Here's the only face-to-face we ever got from Omar and Marlo, a classic Omar scene:



All I have left to root for now is that Scott gets so thoroughly humiliated he decides to retire from journalism and resort to a sordid, detestable life as an advertising copywriter, where you never have to tell the truth and it's okay--or rather, it's your JOB--to make boring stories seem extraordinary.

Thumbs up to Bunk and Kima, who keep on doing good police work and won't climb on the bound-for-disaster McNulty deception train. If McNulty doesn't get strung up for this ridiculous masquerade, I'll be severely disappointed. After his spineless dealings with that guy who scammed his way to golfing at Hilton Head, I want McNulty to be explosed as a fraud almost as much as I want it for Scott. And how sweet was it when McNulty listened to the FBI profiler read him a description that was a dead ringer for McNulty's pathetic personality. I'm officially on the down with McNulty bandwagon.

I'm also getting a little tired of Carcetti's windbag act. So far, I've seen a lot of talk, a lot of reactive governing and virtually no leadership. He's getting eaten alive by the political system and Baltimore's problems and still doing a lot of talking. When he leaves for the Governor's office, the city will be just where it was before.

And how is it that there's no montage of Senator Clay Davis delivering shiiiiiiiiiiiit on YouTube? That's a video that's begging to be made. Can you imagine how specatular five years of shiiiiiiiit would be?



The preview for next episode make it look like it's going to be bananas, and I guess it better be, since we're wrapping up five years of story in the next two weeks. Until then, I leave you with the immortal words of Baltimore's favorite gay thug Robin Hood.

"Y'all ain't man enough to come down here and dance in the streets with Omar!"

BALL WIPES.

Awhile ago I was at the bar having a discussion with some friends about the difficulties involved with dating, being nervous and sweating. One of these difficulties was the unavoidable accumulation of sweat on, under and around your balls. There was a minority arguing that girls were, contrary to common sense, turned on by a musky man ball smell down there. But I wasn't buying it. Sweat from my ass makes it down into that area. It's not a nice smell, and I'd like to make it as pleaseant as possible for a girl who may find herself in the area, as I'd like to encourage repeat visits. So the idea of Ball Wipes was born.


This invention isn't really an invention at all, but merely a repurposing of the wet-wipes you get after eating hot wings. We could hang Ball Wipes dispensers in bar and restaurant bathrooms. Then when it looks like you might have a girl's head near your naked balls in the near future, you can duck into the bathroom, drop $.25 in the machine and give your boys a quick onceover. It's the polite thing to do. And for the ladies who like that musky ball smell, we'll have ball-scented Ball Wipes. No reason you can't be clean and smell dirty.

Also, in disturbingly related news, I used to work with a guy who said that he thought his taint sweat smelled like vagina. He would also chew Nicorette while taking a dump every day. Special guy, really.

BOOK REVIEW: 1 DEAD IN ATTIC

I'm going through some sort of New Orleans/Hurricane Katrina obsession phase, where I want to learn everything I can about the city, its people and the storm. I picked up this book a few months ago, in one of my typical book buying frenzies, and it had been in my on-deck stack. I was just starting it when I learned my sister was moving to New Orleans. Serendipity is a word I hate, but it seems to fit here. After finishing this, I bumped When The Levees Broke, a Spike Lee joint, to the top of my Netflix queue. So anyways, here's the review of 1 Dead in Attic: After Katrina, by Chris Rose.

Having just finished God Save the Fan, I was leery of starting another book that was basically a collection of personal essays on one topic. I wanted to be told a story, to be rewarded for the time I was investing. But after one plane ride and sixty pages, I was hooked.

The book is a collection of Chris Rose's articles, originally written for the Times-Picayune, a New Orleans newspaper. And it wasn't at all what I expected. I thought I'd have to wade through story after story about WHY things went wrong and WHO was to blame and HOW this could have been prevented, etc. Though there are traces of these themes laced throughout his stories, he didn't use his column as a forum for complaining about logistics and tactics. Instead, he told stories. Stories about people. Little moments that let you know that New Orleans wasn't just about the number of people displaced or dead, but it was about the actual people, one at a time.

Even his story about trying to decide what to name the book is telling of life after Katrina. 1 Dead in Attic: After a phrase he saw spraypainted on a house in the city's 8th ward. Simple, true and terrifying to think about. Your mother or great aunt dying alone in her attic. And no one to come get her. You just have to scrawl your message on her collased home and hope that eventually someone will give her a dignified burial. He writes this about a title he almost used instead:

"I was preparing a follow-up to 1 Dead in Attic, another collection of stories that I was going to call Purple Upside-Down Car, a declarative observation my four-year-old son made from our car during a tour of the Lower 9th Ward that I clung to as the perfect metaphor for the whole of New Orleans, not just some wasted, toppled vehicle lying in a field of debris down on -- get this -- Flood Street.
The irony in this place could kill you."

Each and every story touches you in some way and brings you vividly into New Orleans as Rose saw it post Katrina. Stories about people, about refrigerators, about love and loss, about sports and steaks. His tales are heartwarming and heartbreaking, humorous and depressing, endearing and frightening. The writing is conversational, yet elegant. I put down the book feeling like I knew the people, the city, the sorrow and the hope of New Orelans. What more can you ask for?

SIGNS WE NEED: BRING CHANGE

This sign should be placed near the bike rack of any food delivery man. Please don't ever show up at my house and not have change for a $20. Is this your first day on the job? Seriously? Are you trying to screw yourself out of a tip? I think this subtle reminder would help.

VIVA OBAMA!

This has been floating around today, so I went to check it out. What an uplifting tribute to Obama. I think. See, I can't understand the words, which would have been solved by the subtitles--had the subtitles not also been in Spanish. Maybe it's just me, but I think if you speak Spanish, you'd understand the words. Is the deaf Spanish YouTube audience so large that this was necessary?

Or is the whole video a plant by the Republican party? Maybe the words actually say things like, "Viva Obama! He'll build a wall between Mexico and the United States. Viva Obama! He'll deport you and all of your illegal immigrant friends. Viva Obama! He'll put your children to work in factories." I don't think they're saying that, but they could be. Dirty Republican politicians.

Thanks to Paige for the factory line.

BOOK REVIEW: GOD SAVE THE FAN

A review of God Save the Fan: How Preening Sportscasters, Athletes Who Speak in the Third Person, and the Occasional Convicted Quarterback Have Taken the Fun Out of Sports (and How We Can Get It Back), by Will Leitch:

This is a perfect example of why a blog is a blog and a book is a book and a blog should not be a book. Someone decided the founder and editor of Deadspin had cultivated a large enough following to warrant the publishing of what is essentially a collection of mildly amusing, poorly crafted essays. The end product is merely good to keep in your bathroom and read while taking a dump.

Glaring examples of the thrown-togetherness of this book are the numerous "glossaries" he uses as filler. They list players, or owners, alphabetically, followed by a three or four sentence summary of his thoughts on said person. He occasionally repeats the same entry in multiple glossaries, which is absurd to me. Come on. Put your glossary at the end of the book.

The other thing that bothered me was his blatant self-aggrandizing attitude. As if his view on the sports world is so radical it's almost dangerous. He even puts "blackballed by ESPN" on the cover of the book. Congratulations, rebel. He did make some interesting points about ESPN being an evil empire; points that were almost good enough to make me question my undying loyalty to and gratitude for the Entertainment and Sports Programming Network. But alas, most of his thoughts were just well written versions of the same thoughts had by the average sports fan.

Overall, there are plenty of funny bits, but that's it. Funny bits, no bigger idea. No opening essay laying out his argument for "How Preening Sportscasters, Athletes Who Speak in the Third Person, and the Occasional Convicted Quarterback Have Taken the Fun Out of Sports". No wrap-up with his vision of "How We Can Get It Back." When I read a book, I want to be told a story. Not led down a meandering path by half-baked anecdotes that basically lead nowhere.

I will say the writing is pretty good, and his little essays would be good pieces where they're meant to be--on the internet, where I can read them instead of doing my work. I can't very well sit at my desk and read a book at work. Or maybe I could.

THE WIRE: SO GREAT, SO FAR.

In case you were wondering, I love The Wire. I started watching when the first season came out and I've been hooked ever since. It's safe to say "the shipping port" season was a bit slow, but otherwise I think it's been one of the best shows on television, hands down. Last season, in the schools, was the best of all. This is evidenced by the fact that I watched almost the entire box set in a 24-hour window. Perhaps that's sad, but I think it's glorious.

This year started off strong, but recently I have a few gripes. And hoping that someone at HBO is reading this and can somehow magically alter already-in-the-can upcoming episodes, here are 10 suggestions to help finish the season strong:

1. This McNulty storyline is KILLING ME. Normally, I find the plots and action on The Wire to be pretty realistic and believable (based my extensive experience slinging dope on the rough streets of Baltimore and my other years spent working as a Baltimore city policeman). But this whole manufacturing evidence thing, it's waaay out there. And it's annoying. Please, please, put an end to this before I tie a red ribbon around my wrist and bite my own ass.

2. More Omar! We can never get enough of Omar. I've never felt so attached or affectionate towards a murdering, homosexual gangster. You ain't man enough to come down and dance in the streets with Omar!

4. Scott needs to get his. I know it's coming, but it better be big and bad and humiliating. And while you're at it, Cheese can get his as well.

5. How can you bring the newspaper people into the plot and NOT have the police think of involving them in the investigation? You're short on manpower, you need surveillance, you need people asking questions...use those reporters, you idiots! All you have to do is give them the inside scoop and let'em loose. Shit, they'll practically do your job for you.

6. There should be at least three instances in each episode which prompt Senator Clay Davis to say, "shiiiiiiiiiiiiit."

7. Give Bunk his due. The man works hard and is good at his job.

8. The lesbian mother wannabe story line? No one cares. Drop it.

9. Let Avon Barksdale out of prison. I like Marlo, but that kid has to learn some respect. If Omar doesn't teach him, Avon will.

10. You must stop this OnDemand early release program. I've already had one key moment ruined by it (the end of Prop Joe), and I feel like I can't talk to people for fear they'll spoil the next episode.

That's all. Thank you.

NBA ALL STAR GREATNESS.

First, someone must have been reading my blog. Because in the Dunk Contest there were two dunks that I feel were taken from my list of ideas. The first is perhaps one of the greatest dunk ideas ever:



Gerald Green puts a cupcake with a lit candle on the rim, and while in mid-air dunking, he BLOWS IT OUT! Now, that's not exactly eating a donut while in the air, but it is a dunk involving a pastry, so I'm going to count it as my idea.

And second, Dwight Howard actually wears a cape! Maybe he read my suggestion to Brent Petway (who won the D-League Dunk Contest, btw).



Brilliant. This year the Dunk Contest was reborn as a premier event. I think people have been getting a little bored, wondering what new Dunks kids could come up with, but this year guys went all out. Athletic ability + creativity = fun.

The second greatest discovery of All Star weekend came during the 3-point contest, when at one point Reggie Miller referred to a spot on the court as "the titty." Seldom have you heard the word "titty" used on national television, despite it being one of the greatest words in the english language.



Kenny and Charles saw an opening and picked right up on the titty talk. We can only hope that this leads to titty being incorporated into sportscasters' normal terminology, much as the term "trickeration" stubbornly became commonplace after that awful woman announcer used it in a game a few years back.

You gotta get to the titty.

The titty, that's the sweet spot.

Yeah, that guy loves the titty.

Sometimes, when you're at the titty, you just get a feel.

You can't leave him alone at the titty, you know he's gonna hit that.

And so on and so forth.

MASS HOLIDAY TEXTS.

Nothing says, "I think about you when I scroll through my phone book" like a generic holiday text message. I'm almost offended by these pitiful gestures, especially when they're from someone I haven't talked to in months. Why even bother? Does it make you feel like we're still close? Because to me, it's just a reminder of how we never hang out and you never call me. And I never call you.

Sending me that text on a holiday tells me you still have my number in your phone. So you didn't lose it, you just never call. It also tells me that I'm possibly one of the top 50 most important people in your telephone, which is kind of sad. We haven't spoken in months and yet I'm still high enough on the pecking order to make your mass text message list? I probably wouldn't have noticed our slowly dying friendship had I not gotten that weak-ass generic text. Thanks.

Call me, Lisa...

SLAM DUNK CONTEST.

Today while conducting my usual important business, I came across a blog post by former Univesity of Michigan basketball player Brent Petway, aka Air Georgia. In it, Mr. Petway was asking fans to send him ideas for this year's D-League slam dunk contest. This, I thought, I can do. So I sent him a few suggestions, but really, I should have only sent him one sample. I think I could make a living as an slam dunk contest consultant. This is the type of flair I can bring to your game:

-Wearing a jersey for Dunkin Donuts (see endorsement deals), attempt to eat an entire jelly donut while in the air. When you land, have an assistant hand you a glass of milk, which you then drink.

-Bring a horse into the arena. We've seen people jump over chairs and jump over other people, but never over a horse. If you wore a cowboy hat while doing this dunk, that would be a nice touch.

-Get a witch hat and a broom. While you're dunking, hold the broom between your legs, like you're a witch. To the audience it will appear you're flying on the broom up to the basket.

-Plant a cell phone on the rim. Then when you dunk, have the television announcer call that number, hang from rim, answer the call and talk to the announcer on national television! This has phone endorsement written all over it. Cut me a check!

-Capes. Never underestimate the value of wearing a cape. When you see someone in a cape, you can only reach one of two conclusions: 1, they are crazy. Or 2, there is something super about them. That's a 50-50 shot at being super.

I need to start patenting this shit.

BREAKING NEWS

UNKNOWN CANADIAN FIDDLER ENDORSES OBAMA

Carnegie Hall, New York -- Last night at a benefit concert to raise awareness about Tibet, one of the performers, a Canadian fiddler, came out with his endorsement of Barak Obama for president. It's unknown how this will affect the fiddler vote in states across the south and central US, a hotbed of fiddling. While fiddlers in those areas love fiddling and fiddlers, they also hate Canada and Mexico; so an endorsement from north of the border might not have the same kind of impact as the Kennedy endorsement.

In related news, at least one member of the audience was disappointed when he discovered that a fiddle was really just like a violin and that it could actually be used to play slow, boring, sad songs as well as the traditional upbeat fiddle fodder.

And rainbows everywhere got a little brighter when, at one point, the fiddle and the harp were being played on the same stage at the same time. It's rumored that the fiddler's bow was actually made from unicorn tail hair.

VALENTINES DAY MASSACRE.

If I see one more Valentine's Day commercial trying to sell me diamonds, I might actually lose it. Used to be, I loved the "every kiss begins with K" jingle. Now it haunts me. You know what else begins with K? Kill, as in murder.

I never really cared for Jared ads, but I never hated them like I do now. You can rest assured, no bitch will ever have to say, "he went to Jared" about me. Because my new lifelong goal is to never, ever purchase a diamond from Jared. Jared the store now rivals Jared the Subway spokesperson for worst thing named Jared on the planet.


Are we, as a culture, really this stupid? Can we be brainwashed into buying some generic S-shaped, diamond-studded charm because a jewelry store says we should? Can our brains be bludgeoned into action by the same three commercials aired 600 times in a three week period? Will our ladies be truly disappointed if they can't tell their friends we went to Jared? I sincerely hope not.

If you really want to show your girl you love her, head out to the diamond mines yourself and dig that shit up. That, my friends, is love. Or buy her some crotchless panties. That is also love.

SUPER BOWL AD REVIEW.

Every year I do a rundown of the Super Bowl ads. This year was no exception. Plus, there's a new twist, as The Hawk, aka SJB had joined the game. Check out the full report on our ad blog I Rate Ads Dot Com.

THINGS YOU LEARN FROM THE ALIEN SOUND GUY.

While on the same work trip I referred to in an earlier post, I met and was forced to spend an enormous amount of time with an interesting man. Our sound guy. The guy in charge of microphones and recording and sound levels, etc. He was good at his job, but he was also from another planet, possibly literally.

One of the most intense people I've ever met, this man was focused all day long. Not always on his job, but always on something. Sometimes you'd be in the middle of doing something and he'd look at you and ask very seriously, "What do your parents do for a living?" What? "Seriously, what do your parents do?" I'm trying to get luggage in the car--is this really the right time for this conversation? To him, it was. He was constantly gathering information about you. Perhaps for some sort of secret alien file he's keeping.

He told a story that went something like this. (begin throaty, forced, science fiction narrator voice)Yeah, this guy in my basement runs a fight club. All the walls are padded and we just go down there and fight until someone gives up. At first it was a little bit scary, but then I got addicted to it. This one guy went and joined the Marines, a little guy. Then, when he came back, no one could touch him. And he couldn't turn it off. Anyways, that's how I got into martial arts. Now I teach a free karate class for kids. He loved karate! All day long he was talking to us about karate, talking on the phone about karate or actually doing karate moves and stretches. At the airport, on set, in a restaurant. He just couldn't contain his karate.

He also loves science fiction films. That doesn't necessarily make you an alien, but it also doesn't prove you are not one.

Mostly, he seemed to not know things normal humans know. For instance, trying to pick up the waitress almost never works. And NOT every girl you see is hot. I think his only qualification was "not fat." He was flirting with our waitress at Chili's and she had an elbow nub-arm with baby toes growing out of it.

At one restaurant he threatened, or planned to, open a conversation with our waitress using the words, "We're trying to settle a bet..." It will NEVER be a good idea to use that as your opening line. Because nothing that comes after that can be good. We're trying to settle a bet, are you over 18? are those real? did you used to be a man? is that a cold sore? are you Asian? are those stretch marks? did that happen in an accident? do you like it doggy? is that your son or your husband? are you pregnant? Just stop. Don't even try it.

He also began a story with, "One night I was out with my karate friends..." If you ever hear a man begin a story like that, I suggest a tactful exit. In fact, any time you meet a man who has a group of friends he refers to as his "karate friends," go. Get.

THINK HORRIBLE THOUGHTS.

I have a friend who, once he starts thinking about something awful, can't stop thinking about that awful thing. I'm not referring to war or a flood or dog fighting or a relative passing. But more in the person injury realm. Things such as falling and breaking your neck, or sticking the sharpened end of a lead pencil down your pee-hole. Once it gets in his brain, it stays there.

I have a lesser version of this disorder, which causes me to think of what terrible injuries can occur from things. For instance, as I've stated here before (I think), when walking alone during the summer I almost always think about an air conditioner falling on my head from a window. After a snowstorm in the winter, I imagine a giant icicle falling from the top of a building and smashing my head. And every time I watch hockey, I think of this happening, but never believed it actually would:



I don't know if I can ever watch hockey again. Watching this replay gives me nightmares. Richard Zednik, the player whose neck was cut, is in stable condition. But my fragile mind is in a sad, sickened state.

THE BIG EASY.

Recently, my sister took a job in New Orleans and is in the process of moving there. At first, I was nervous for her. Dangerous, run down, post-Katrina and all that. But then, because it was next in my stack of books, I started reading "1 Dead in the Attic," a collection of articles written by New Orleans resident and journalist Chris Rose. I'm about half-way through it now and I have to say, it's touching and to a degree, it makes me wish I was from New Orleans--or moving there.

Then, you might call this fate, I was in Orlando (on Fat Tuesday of all days) for work and ended up talking to a high school athletic director from...you guessed it, New Orleans. He not only knew the hotel my sister would be working at, but was great friends with the old manager and had a box of Westin baseball jerseys sitting in his store room. He offered to run them over to my sister so the hotel could use them for a softball team or whatever. Mr. Hebert (pronounced A Bear) proceeded to talk my ear off for the next two hours, leaving me with a warm, congenial feeling about the folks from New Orleans. This is my recollection of one part of that conversation:

Mr. Hebert: Yeah, I was listening to the radio the other day and I heard someone talking about how they wanted to build something like this (motions to enormous, beautiful sports complex we're in) in New Orleans.

Me: That's great.

Mr. Hebert: Naw, naw. I wanted to call him up and ask if he was out of his mind. See, in New Orleans, we can't use something like this. First, the politics are all corrupt. And second, people can't take care of anything.

Me: Really?

Mr. Hebert: Sure. See this here? (points to a straw on the ground) That's the first bit of litter I've seen today. New Orleans isn't like other places, it's not like here. People don't take care of nothing. Place like this would be covered in trash; overgrown within a few months.

Me: I'm surprised to hear you say that. I guess I always thought of the people of New Orleans as being really proud of their city, like they'd want to take care of it.

Mr. Hebert: Well, we're proud alright. But people just can't be bothered. They'd rather have a beer or have a party. That's all anyone wants to do, is have a party. Laissez-faire and all that.

Me: Huh.

Mr. Hebert is also the only person I've ever met who flew with Hooter's Airlines while it was up and running. Based on his description, I'm amazed they discontinued that brilliant operation. Anyways, meeting him and speaking with him and hearing he and his friend talk about the city put me at ease. I'm not really nervous for my sister anymore. If anything I'm excited for her and maybe a bit jealous.

Congratulations, Kelly!

PERU TRIP.

During the two weeks my brother and I were in Peru, I used my camera to take video documentation of the trip. Did this make me feel like a huge nerd most of the time? Yes. Do I like the way I look or sound on video? No. Will this be fun to watch in ten years when I'm even older and fatter? Yes. Please notice how I introduce almost any segment with "Here we are..." Very creative.

ELECTION 08: PART ONE

Since only about six people read this blog, I don't have to feel ashamed writing about my relative ignorance and disinterest regarding the election. So I can look back in ten years and see how I perhaps contributed to the rise or fall of this great nation, I thought I'd document my personal political experience. In part one, I'll detail my current political knowledge and several opinions I have regarding the political process and the election in general.

UNINFORMED: AND LAZY

For past elections, both presidential and local, I haven't been voting. At all, ever. I think the last time I voted was about nine years ago, on some sort of millage affecting my sister's high school. Aside from severe laziness, my reasoning has been that I don't really know what the issues are and that I'm not familiar with the candidates. So what good would it do to vote? I could do more harm with my uninformed vote than good, so I'm content to let people who actually read the newspaper make my decisions for me. It's been a conscious decision and one I've been comfortable with.

ELECTORAL COLLEGE: WHAT?

In presidential elections, I still don't really see the rationale behind taking a half-day, going to wait in line and casting my vote. Why? Because our system is still set up so that the popular vote doesn't matter. I think I understand the principle behind the electoral college, but I can't get behind it. If I'm correct, it's meant to give a greater voice to those who live in less-populated areas. So the concentrated populations of New York and LA don't decide who's president. So farmers have their say. So the militia in South Dakota doesn't get marginalized. But it's still weighted by population, so that reasoning doesn't even hold much water. If it were one person, one vote, and then that vote actually counted toward the election, I'd feel obligated to do my research and really pick the candidate I liked. But as is, I'm registered to vote and I don't really know why.

TWO PARTY SYSTEM: BAD AND BAD

The other reason elections seem dumb is that you basically have two options. Republican or Democrat. Don't tell that to my friend Socialist Nick, who works admirably to promote his organizations brand of socialism. But it's true. No other party has a shot. We even know that, talking about which candidate might hurt one of the big two, not which third party has a chance of actually winning. How many electoral college votes do you think go to the Green Party? The two party system means I basically have to decide between two manufactured personalities and decide which probably won't ruin our country. It makes voting pretty easy. I don't even have to know much about their stances on anything or what the issues are. Because deep down, most politicians are the same. Except for Carcetti, who is fast learning that running the city of Baltimore ain't gonna be easy.

WHAT I KNOW: VERY LITTLE

I basically know what Yahoo News headlines and The Daily Show (which I now watch on a very infrequent basis) tell me. I have a limited idea of who the candidates are at this point. From memory, this is who I think is currently in the running for President: Barak Obama. Hillary Clinton. Jon Edwards. Rudy Guliani. That guy from Law and Order. That guy who has lots of YouTube videos about him. John McCain. Mayor Bloomberg (he's probably thinking about it).I think there are probably five or six more, but since I don't think my opinion really matters at this point, I won't really start paying attention until the candidates are chosen for both parties. At this point I'm rooting for Obama, because he seems like he could genuinely make a difference. In what? Who knows. Not me.

That's all for now.