AND THEN KAZURINSKY PUT ME IN A HEADLOCK: Wouldn't you hate to be the guy who got his butt kicked by Al Franken? I mean, why didn't the guy at least grab ahold of the Franken hair and give it a good tug? Al's got that low center of gravity, those thick, short legs. Maybe Franken's a tough guy after all. Who knew?

DON'T LOOK UP, I MAY BE ABOVE YOU: You might have noticed it's a bit quiet 'round here again. That's because your faithful correspondent has been on the road quite a bit -- so much that the nice woman at the United Red Carpet Club, when completing my application and looking at my profile said, "My, you've certainly been busy this year." And it's true. Last week was Los Angeles. Week before was New York. Week before that was Los Angeles. Or something like that.

This week is particularly travel-intensive. Tonight in New York. After a meeting tomorrow morning, it's off to Los Angeles for a day and a night. Then to San Francisco until Friday morning, when I finally jump back to O'Hare and home.

Anyhow, I just joined the T-Mobile Wireless plan, so I can duck into Starbucks and airline clubs now and get online. Granted, I'll be checking biz e-mails first -- if I can get our VPN to work consistently -- but hopefully I'll also be able to continue what's been a fantastic year-plus of blogging. Thanks for your continued patience and interest.

DRIVEN OR CRAZY? If you've ever worked for a nutter boss, you'll appreciate this WSJ profile of magazine star Bonnie Fuller.

POLITICAL BLAH-BLAH: I'm out in Cali for work, and I must say it beats the frozen tundra of Chicago right about now. Anyhow, I missed the Prez's State of the Union address, so I quickly read a summary or two on the news sites, then tuned into the Dem response. You know, I hate to say it. but I'd rather have a tough-guy Texan who acts a little crazy as our faceplate to the world...than this Nancy Pelosi in her red dress, stumbling through a telepromptered speech about sharing and caring. Hey, I'm all for sharing and caring, and I'm all for grandmas in red dresses. But in this crazy world, where fundamentalist terrorists slam airplanes into skyscrapers, I want a badass middle-aged guy who can bench-press his weight and run 7-minute miles in my White House.

Okay, now it's Daschle. He looks like he oughta be hosting a resurrected version of CARD SHARKS.

Either Dems can't read teleprompters, or they're having real problems in the studio. Daschle is stumbling, too.

Say what you will about Clinton, but that guy could wing it better than most people can read it.

Okay, so I miss Clinton. I don't know why, but I do.

NEW REKKIDS: My wife and son are up in Detroit at my folks' place for the long weekend, so I had a chance yesterday to go spend a couple hours at Tower Records. After quite a bit of time on listening stations, I realized there are a lot of bands I like one song by, and very few bands worth buying whole albums from. Here's what I bought:

SUPER FURRY ANIMALS, PHANTOM POWER
Really it was the production that just leaped out of the headphones and grabbed me. I don't have the foggiest idea what the songs are about, but they sure sound nice.

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT, WANT ONE
Great production again, and even despite his voice (which I don't love) I just had a sense this record was more ambitious and accomplished than most of the rest of the junk in the store. This is the one I've had on in the car for the past 24 hours. It's really amazing and deep and I trust I'll be listening to it for years. The man is a composer. I'm just sort of amazed by what I hear.

COPELAND, MEDICINE TREE
I picked it up, put it back, picked it up, put it back. And finally left with it. Pretty, post-Red House Painters style songwriting, with an extra coat of emo guitars (layered, bright, big) laid over the top. Nice harmonies. A prettier version of Hum, maybe.

G UNIT, BEG FOR MERCY
Look, I loved like three songs on the 50 Cent disc. And when you're driving 'round town in a big black car you gotta have some G-funk boomin' from time to time. Front to back, this may be a more solid record than 50's.

I also really liked songs by Mae and Hey Mercedes, but I couldn't bring myself to plop down eighteen bucks for their discs.

CAN YOU SAY PRODIGY? My son C.J. dropped by his uncle's house last night and got his first chance to play a real drum set. He immediately performed a series of intricate rolls, moving from the snare to the tom to the cymbals. I've got him practicing the solo from "Working Man."

_

HELLO DAVE: My old pal Dave Segebarth has launched a new blog. (Everybody's doing it.) It's called just procrastinating, and it seems to be as all-over-the-map as Blind Camel. Dave's definitely got that new-blogger enthusiasm, so he's writing every day. Go visit.

GO CHRIS! Our pal Chris over at Everyone Hates Me got into a scrap with his dad, took the high road, and landed a job, all within the span of a few days. Here's to Chris! He's en fuego in '04.

WHATSAMATTER? Wanna know how to really scare the poop out of your neighbors? Here's my trick: Every time I pass someone I smile, look them in the eye, and offer a warm greeting. "Good morning." "Hello." "Hi!" I get a look of sheer terror every time. People aren't so much interested in interaction these days.

THE FUTURE IS HERE AND IT SUCKS: Several months ago I worked on a book that used some of the futuristic scenarios from MINORITY REPORT as examples of how future business might look. Big whoop, right? Thing is, I got to thinking about the stuff we see in the movies, the depictions of the future where these crazy space-cars fly all over the place and people use laser guns and wear lycra suits. And it's all such b.s., right? I mean, it's 2004, and think of all the basic stuff that still totally sucks:

Cell phone coverage. How many dropped calls are acceptable? Let's try none. A phone that hangs up on me is not a phone, it's a nuisance. Can you imagine a car that stalled intermittently? A refrigerator that just switched off now and again? I'm all for stem cell research, but let's make sure I can call my friggin' brother without having my phone hang up on me before we try and solve the mystery of disease. Okay, on second thought, let's tackle diseases first. But then I want proper cell phone coverage.

Online music and video streaming. When watching a movie or listening to music, how much "buffering" is acceptable? See above. If I wanted the program to stop and start for no good reason, I'd simply unplug my stereo or TV from the wall every few seconds. I'd rather not do that. Instead of displaying the message "buffering," the program should just say "sucking."

Urinals. Why do guys have to pee on a flat, vertical surface that seems friggin' designed to reflect pee-spray right back at us? Why can't we pee down into an abyss of some kind, from which pee-spatter cannot possibly escape? Amount of acceptable friendly fire, so to speak? See above.

What else still totally sucks in 2004? Do tell.

ME AND MY SHADOW: Here's what I see from my desk at dawn. I think it's pretty cool.

CHECK OUT MY NEW SHIRT: As an old Smiths fan, I was pretty thrilled to pick up this new Morrissey t-shirt over the weekend:

MAN WITHOUT A PARTY: I'm reprinting a letter sent to Andrew Sullivan from one of his readers. The letter neatly summarizes my own feelings of being a man without a party:

"First, a little about me. 30, media professional, married with a young son, Brooklynite, registered Democrat, long-time TNR subscriber, pro-Iraq war, great fan or yours.

Now that we've established the basics, here's my plight. I am horrified by my own party, and have been for quite some time. Al Sharpton as our moral arbiter? Check. Continued obeisance to the failed domestic and foreign policies of a bygone age? Check. Failure to learn the lessons of history? Check. Movement away from the Party's few voices of reason (read: Lieberman)? Check.

So I guess we've settled it: can't stick with this mangy dog. Which leads me to the other guys...

Abandonment of fiscal sanity? Check. Hateful, close-minded bedfellows? Check. Unchecked rapacity? Check. And that's just Cheney. Bush, by all accounts, is the least curious-intellectually, or otherwise-President in modern history. Guess they're out, too.
So what is a reasonable, patriotic, inclusive, urban professional to do? My peers are closet socialists who want to present Bush's head to Kofi Annan as a peace offering. On the other hand, I'm not ready to make my peace with a party that still counts on the religious right to mobilize the vote. It's as if I'm caught in vortex, between the two parties, but seemingly light-years from either. My secret fear, of course, is that I and my ilk do not represent an underserved silent majority, but we, in fact, are just a tiny, sane minority standing between the radical fringes on either side. Sadly, I do not see the situation improving anytime soon. Any words of encouragement for a man without a party?" - from a beleaguered reader. You read my mind, sir. Too depressing for words.

Interesting how a gay conservative is becoming the voice of reason for married thirtysomething former Dems, eh? (I'd have linked to the letter rather than reprinting it, but the link wouldn't go directly to the letter -- only to the related grouping of postings -- and so I just figured the reprint was easier and more effective.)

THE DEFINITION OF A RHETORICAL QUESTION: Management meeting all day today in a nice suburban setting. How great is a job where you get to wear army cargo pants, a long-sleeve Rancid t-shirt, and a pair of new Osiris skate shoes to the management meeting? Actually, the answer is it depends. Two jobs ago I could've showed up naked for all the CEO cared, and it was a terrible job. This job, on the other hand, thus far smells and looks like a rose. Call it what you will.

RUN AND RUN: Because I'm odd and I'm drawn to discipline and personal challenges as a path to mindfulness...phew...taking a breath...because of that I'm considering a running streak. No, I'm not thinking about streaking. I'm thinking about trying to run at least a mile/day for as long as I can. I'm thinking of it. I've not yet committed. (Believe it or not, the longest active running streaks are more than thirty years!)

BOUND FOR LAGOO: Jumping on a flight to New York in a few, headed for an early AM meeting tomorrow. I'm meeting two old pals for dinner tonight. They're both NY residents, but try as I might I can't get them to pick a dinner spot. They keep saying, Where do you want to go? Okay, look, where do I wanna go? I wanna go to Bob-San, a great sushi spot. Trouble is it's here in Chicago. See I know Chicago. I'm what's a called a resident. So when you come here, no prob, I'll pick the place. But when I come to your city, howsabout steppin' up to the plate.

That said I'm hoping we do Taka, a little neighborhood sushi joint in the Village. Somehow I have a feeling we're gonna end up at Benny's Burritos, though. Whatever.

THE LONELY BLOGGER: The other day a friend and fellow blogger lamented that he couldn't figure out how to find an audience, and that he had no idea how those precious few whe were reading him were receiving him. He has an improv background, and so he's used to hearing a titter or two from a live audience, even for his worst material. I told him blogging is like singing in the shower. I was so pleased with that image I decided to share it with you, my meager readership. Please titter, at least.

MICHAEL LEWIS IS AN ACE: Just finished MONEYBALL, Michael Lewis's brilliant examination of how GM Billy Beane has made the low-budget Oakland A's into perennial winners. The answer? Hard work and statistics. That's right, Mr. Beane may not be the kind of guy you'd like to hang out with all the time (he swears a lot, throws temper tantrums, and comes across as fairly one-dimensional), but he's definitely the guy you want directing your major league ballclub. Why? Because in a results-driven business, Beane only cares about results. In other words, he thinks like an owner rather than an employee. While the rest of baseball focuses on myths and hunches, Beane and his henchmen live for the numbers -- and not just old-time, deceptive stats like RBI and batting average. These guys live for the obscure but more reliable numbers of the hardcore baseball statisticians, permutations like OBS (on-base plus slugging percentage). Among the many things Beane and team learn and espouse: walks are stupid; ditto sac-bunts; ditto steals; and so forth.

What's so great about this book? It's vintage Lewis, placing the reader inside a human drama that just happens to be about baseball. I couldn't read it fast enough, just like my experience with LIAR'S POKER and the retitled LOSERS, which respectively tell tales of NY high finance and presidential politics. Neither field makes makes for page-turning intrigue on its own, but in the capable hands of Michael Lewis they become the perfect backdrop for cautionary, ribald tales about life and human strength and frailty.

As a researcher, too, I found myself nodding along. Too many marketers rely on hunches and happenstance, when they're only a (relative) few dollars away from real knowledge. Conventional wisdom may be conventional, but it ain't always wise. Hats off to Lewis for delivering that same moral wrapped in real entertainment. Go read it.

FONT FEEDBACK: So whaddya, like the new big font or not? Easier to read? (UPDATE: I changed it back. Heck with it. If any real designers wanna improve my template, I'll...ummm...make it worth your while somehow.)

AM I OLD, UNFUNNY, OR BOTH? Young colleague comes into my office and sits down. In so doing he nearly impales his own ass on his voluminous hipster-keychain. "Careful there, Schneider," I say to him, chuckling. He gives me a blank stare.

MONEY AND MOUTH MEET: "I support the troops."

"I have nothing against the people of Iraq. I feel for them."

We've all heard these statements. Many of us have made them. Thing is, they're statements that, no matter which side of the ideological fence you sit on, seem compassionate, human, and yes, American. So...if these two statements reflect your feelings, why not put a little money where your mouth is:

The American Spirit

Sure, it's a far cry from camping out in the desert dodging grenades and mortar fire. But it's non-partisan. It's humane. And it's easy. Let's all do it.

(I just did.)

ALL WET: What good is water resistant? Shouldn't the label read "not really waterproof?"

I wear my black gloves out last night to play in the snow with my son. My hands get wet almost instantly. "Aren't these waterproof?" I wonder. "I seem to remember a label that said 'waterproof'."

I remove the wet gloves and look inside at the label. "Water resistant."

Ah. Water resistant. So what?

Hey, I'm water resistant. Unless I'm showering or swimming, I do my darndest to stay dry. And I have all manner of tactics to accomplish this dryness. I can run under overhangs in a storm. Grab an umbrella. Dodge raindrops. Not jump in pools or lakes. Avoid dousing myself with Evian. Refrain from sticking my finger in the drinking fountain spout so that it doesn't spray all over me.

And I do these things. I resist water.

These gloves, on the other hand, they just sort of lay there on my hands and absorb water. That doesn't strike me as very resistant. That's more like "water accepting" or "water friendly."

CALLING FOR THE FUGAZI OF ROCK CRIT: A bunch of griping about the state of rock criticism here. An idea/response: A magazine or website called NO MIDDLEMAN, wherein the editor(s) and staff refuse to deal with label execs and managers, refuse to accept ANY free product or tickets, and go straight to the artists themselves. All reviews are signed and thoughtful, and ample space is provided for contrarian viewpoints. Doesn't sound so revolutionary, does it?

CHEERS, SULLY: Two things swiped from Andrew Sullivan this morning:

A link: A moving tribute to a fallen soldier.

A thought: How is Britney Spears' 24-hour union considered "sacred" and laden with civil rights, yet the union of two men or two women living in a long-term, committed relationship is thought worthy of a constitutional ban?

As I've said before, I'm likely to cast my first Republican vote in 2004, but that doesn't mean I buy the platform. Although my conservatism has awakened, I'm more of an Independent than ever.

EVER THE FUNNY GUY: Dick Costolo has some ideas for new prime-time TV shows. His best? Alcoholics Unanimous, a gripping reality show.

ROSE STILL STINKS: I still think Pete Rose is full of shit. Instead of taking complete responsibility for his actions, he continues to speak in this weird second-person:

"You don't think you're going to get caught," he said.

"I think what happens is you're, at the time, you're betting football and then, then what's after football is basketball & and obviously the next thing that follows is baseball. It's just a pattern that you got into."

"But I can't change it, it's happened. And sitting here in my position, you're just looking for a second chance."

"We can rehash it all we want," he said. "And all you can do is tell people that, and if they're not going to believe you, they're not going to believe you."

Rose also seems to blame his tortoise-like path to the truth on baseball brass:

"The only guy I could confess to that would help me was the commissioner of baseball," he said. "And it took me all these years to get face to face."

Nice hustle, Charlie. Boo hoo.

MY SON REACHING: Here's a great shot of my son C.J., thrilled to see Dad coming up the front steps.

DON DONE? Is it just me, or are the Don Cheadle/NFL ads just horrible? It's as if Cheadle -- who I thought was a talent until his embarassing turn in OCEANS ELEVEN -- is having major trouble even reading his lines, let alone acting them.

That said, the Mark Borchardt/Mike Schank spots are tremendous.

SMALL OBSERVATION: Allen Iverson playing in the NBA is like a Mini Cooper racing NASCAR. Allen Iverson actually dominating NBA games is like that same car winning at Rockingham. Lance Armstrong may be the world's greatest athlete, but Iverson has to be the world's toughest and, perhaps, most improbable.

THE YEAR OF CHRIS: I notice I didn't really do Chris at Everyone Hates Me justice. His full "About" statement is a gem:

This is my personal weblog. I am 31, unemployed, fat, loosing my hair, living with my parents and I am poor.

Chris, Happy New Year to you. May '04 find you older, employed, fit, comfortable with your tightly-coiffed urban hipster 'do, living in a swingin' loft downtown, and flush with dollars. My wish to you. And given your talent and your honesty, I'd say it's not only possible but likely that you're gonna have a large New Year.