If this doesn't hit you in the heart, I can't be your friend

Election countdown

"Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk, and Martin walked so Obama could run. Obama is running so we all can fly, so let's fly."
-- Shawn "Jay-Z" Carter, October 30, Cleveland, Ohio.

I dreamed this, now it's real

On Thursday, I was sitting around my house doing nothing (OK, maybe I was drinking cheap vodka and watching the noon reruns of "The Andy Griffith Show") and I had the following vision:

It was weird, and then it was gone...

Now, it's Saturday afternoon, and I see this on Funny or Die:

I am now opening a psychic readings booth in my garage.

Listen to this

This is hard to listen to, but worth it: "York Voters Express Post-Election Hopes, Fears" from NPR.
It's amazing what people will say out loud. Just imagine what they say in private.

Me and Larry David

My hero, Mr. Larry David, somehow read my mind and wrote my next column for me.
It's at the Huffington Post. You should read it. And if you haven't seen the last season of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," go rent it.

Caution! Dirty, dirty words

People like him

What's more amazing than the very likely possibility of Barack Obama becoming President of the United States? Al Franken becoming a U.S. senator.
According to poll numbers posted on Real Clear Politics, Franken is leading the race to defeat Republican incumbent Norm Coleman by about 2.5 points.
Here's one of his ads:

My 24-month-old is now 2

Last weekend was one of the greatest because my precious Sofia Simone Van De Voorde finally turned 2 on Saturday.
The best thing about this birthday is that generally accepted parental accounting principles no longer require me to stand like a dummy in grocery store checkout aisle when the cashier says, “Awww, how old is she?”
By the time my brain could convert her age into months, an embarrassing amount of time would pass, and then I’d have to incorporate packs of Dentyne Ice to help me tally.
And you know what? When I’d get back to the car to check my math, I’d usually discover that whatever figure I came up was wrong anyway, and the cashier was never the wiser.
Calculating her age for strangers may be the only thing that’s easier about having a 2-year-old. Her mother and I have already seen signs of “the terrible twos” creeping into her once pleasant disposition.
Right now, everything is “mine, mine, mine.” Unfortunately, when she’s referring to the national debt, the problem of our decaying environment, and the responsibility to take care of her mom and dad when we become incontinent, she’s absolutely right.
Then there are the tantrums. You do not want to be witness to the scenes she makes when the stock market drops a couple hundred points or if I don’t put enough olives in her 3:00 p.m. martini.
People always say they grow up so fast, and that is definitely true. It’s an unstoppable fact of life, but I want to do my best to avoid contributing to any premature growing up.
I took her to McDonald’s once, but when her mother informed me that the hormone-injected chickens they use to make their McNuggets could be contributing to the early onset of puberty in American children, I stopped.
I know I can’t protect her from every bad thing in life, but what’s the harm in trying?
Take for example the following absolutely true story: We took her to her first political rally a couple weeks ago in Asheville because she’s obsessed with Barack Obama. When she sees his campaign stickers on cars or hears his voice on the radio, she yells, “Obama, yeah!” or “Obama, USA!” We thought it would be fun to take her to see him in person.
It was pretty hot that day and we had to walk a long, long way up and down mountainous North Carolina terrain to get to the stadium where 15,000 other people were already waiting to hear the senator speak. It was a crowd amazing in its diversity. There were young families and old families; black, white, latin and mixed families; teen-agers in hand-painted T-shirts, veterans in leather, and blue-haired senior citizens. It was the type of America I want for my daughter.
Along the way, there were a few people holding up John McCain/Sarah Palin signs and yelling at the throngs of Obama supporters making their way into the venue. Most of them were just fine politely exercising their civil liberties, but one of these “protesters,” an earnestly dimwitted teen-ager, spotted my sweaty little family and yelled, “Obama supports the murdering of infant children!”
I wanted to cover my sweet little toddler’s ears and shield her from the lunacy. What type of person, no matter what kind of bull honky they believe, would yell that type of thing around a child?
All my wife would allow me to do was give the kid a dirty look. And I gave him all I had in that look.
Sofia, on the other hand, showing dignity and grace beyond her 23 months and three weeks, responded by throwing her arms above her head gymnastics-style and exclaiming, “Obama, yeeeaah!”

I hate myself for blogging about her

I really hate doing this, but here's another interesting little something about Sarah Palin.
Before you brand me a misogynist who deals in passé angry blog posts about an easy target, let me try to explain myself.
We subscribe to Newsweek. It's fun when it comes, but I'm growing tired of the weekly white-background portrait cover shot. Then, when Palin W. Bush started gracing the cover, I couldn't let her just invade my home without fighting back like an angry fourth-grader. So, I defaced her face on the covers with a couple of pens.
It made me feel better, alright? And as it turns out, the Sharpie moustache was kind of prophetic.

I thought I was done, but then this week's issue comes and the cover is this giant, mega-zoom in of her face. That's scary enough, then on closer inspection I see Mrs. Republican Perfect, the woman who right-wing bloggers and Fox News commentators have been lusting after for weeks, has a bit of a moustache.

I know, I know. I would hate to see what my face looks like enlarged to that degree. My teeth have reverted to their pre-braces position and at 32 my pores are like an oily teenager's.

The only reason I mention the governor's imperfections is because I think the cover is an interesting metaphor for her rise in the national spotlight.

On the surface, she looks real cute and attractive. Her image and story effectively invigorates McCain's dying campaign with a shot of saucy new blood. She's an intriguing mystery people can't wait to get to know and it looks like she may be a formidable opponent for that old Washington elitist Joe Biden. She's the new star of the Republican party, drawing thousands just to hear her sharply deliver the words George Bush's speech writers create especially for her.

Then upon closer review, she turns out to be just a dummy with moustache.

The most disgusting commercial ever

I don't care if they're only cartoon bears, this thing grosses me out.



I do appreciate how the baby bear's butt sparkles at the end.

Post-Debate Analysis

I'm sure you've been dying to hear my thoughts on last night's second presidential debate. Me too.

But first, here's some good news for Obama supporters in the form of a CNN poll showing Obama as the clear winner. CBS's poll of uncommitted voters also gave Obama the edge.

1. Obama won, once again showing he's the cool, calm, smart and thoughtful leader we need.

2. McCain sounds like a carnival barker or old-timey snake oil saleman when he repeatedly says, "My friends."

3. I would love to see what McCain scribbled on his legal pad as soon as he walked on the stage.

4. McCain's "That one" comment wasn't a big deal, other than it shows his disdain for Obama, and that's understandable, since he's losing.

5. Obama kind of had a Palin W. Bush moment when he said McCain thinks he's "green behind the ears."

6. I'm not sure what the connection is to the debate, but I had a vision last night of a new fast food menu item called "The Potato Honker." It's a deep-fried baked potato, but if you order it "Totally Honkered" it comes stuft (Taco Bell spelling) with bacon bits, cheese, chives, sour cream, etc. Get It Honkered!

7. I thought it was telling that the Obamas stayed to talk to the folks in the venue, while the McCains jetted out of there.

Let's play 'Can You Spot the Cubs Fan?'

One of the great clichés of journalism is the Wall Street reaction shot. Usually, it's some poor, haggard vest-wearing schlub with his hands touching some part of his agonized face. Taken out of contest, it can look like the subject has a bad headache, has just been shot with tear gas, or is about to puke.

There've been a lot of these pictures lately.

But guess what I've discovered? Unfortunately, the cliché is seeping into coverage of the Chicago Cubs and their downtrodden, panic-stricken fans who also are about to puke.

Here's your challenge: Can you correctly identify in the photos below which poor souls are Wall Street traders and which are Waveland Avenue Cubs fans?
Good luck and be glad you're neither.

This is what it sounds like when Cubs cry

Tonight, the Chicago Cubs begin the journey to erase 99 years of futility with the opening game of their division series against the Los Angeles Dodgers.
This is our second straight trip to the playoffs, a feat almost unheard of in Cubs history, and our best chance to make the World Series since the 2003 Steve Bartman debacle against the Florida Marlins.
We earned the best record in the National League over the course of the regular season, giving us home field advantage in the playoffs. Unfortunately, if -- and it makes my palms sweaty and bowels loose to even consider the possibility -- we make the World Series, the American League will have the home field advantage thanks to that horrid, 15-inning epic All-Star game that the AL won 4-3.
It's difficult to effectively convey what the Cubs mean to me. My love and dedication to them runs as deep as my affection for Prince. But while my support of Prince has been repaid in my lifetime with triumphant moments in the 1980s and some thrilling spectacles recently (Super Bowl XLI), being a Cubs fan is like being forced to buy "Rave Unto the Joy Fantastic" over and over again.
I've been embarrassed at times to be a Prince fan, but he's never made me cry. In 1984, when the world was in a frenzy over "Purple Rain," the Cubs made me cry when they let a 2-0 series lead in the NL Championship slip away with three consecutive losses to a-hole Steve Garvey and the San Diego Padres.
In 1989, as Prince topped the album charts with the "Batman" soundtrack, the Cubs' bat men brought tears to my eyes again, losing the NLCS in five games to the a-hole Will Clark and the San Francisco Giants.
The next nine years saw Prince and the Cubs fall into decline. I stood by them both. Prince changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol and the Cubs were realigned in the NL Central Division. The Cubs benefited far more from the identity change and they returned to the playoffs n 1998 via the Wild Card, thanks in part to the record setting season of Sammy Sosa. The excitement was short-lived, however, as they were swept 3-0 by the Braves.
Five years later, Prince was a Jehovah's Witness and the Cubs put together their best team in ages, mounting a 3-1 series lead in the NLCS against the Marlins. The Cubs dropped Game 5, but were still only five outs away from the World Series in Game 6. That's when Bartman, also a die-hard Cubs fan, reached out for a foul ball and in the process triggered another legendary choke job. They lost in seven games and I cried.
Rebounding from a last place finish in 2006, the Cubs won the division in 2007, but made a mercifully quick exit from the playoffs, losing in three games to Arizona.
Besides solace from my friend Cory, I'm often left to suffer alone in my Prince misery. That's not the case with the Cubs. I don't think there's anyone in my family who isn't a Cubs fan, led by my beloved grandfather, who died never seeing the Cubs win a World Series. He watched every game of every season, cursing when they lost and jingling the ice in his whiskey and water a little louder when they won. Every time the Cubs come close to getting over the curse, I think Grandpa and Harry Caray must be up there pulling some strings and celebrating.
It's an emotional roller coaster I don't look forward to riding this October.
A couple day ago, though, I found some therapy in the form of a song by the great Eddie Vedder. He, like fellow 1990s superstar rocker Billy Corgan, is a big Cubs fan. I think there's an appropriate connection between grunge rock aesthetic and the Cubs. Apparently, Mr. Cub Ernie Banks understands that and asked Vedder to write a song for the team. This is what he came up with:

If you're a Cubs fan, it will give you goosebumps. Vedder sonically captures the optimism, spirituality, depression and passion of Cubs fans.
In the following clip, Corgan displays the strain and heavy-heartedness of Cubdom.



Prince remains silent on the issue.