Best Frenemies Forever!

This week at the Democratic National Convention, we saw tensions between an envious, experienced old-hand and a smug up-and-comer who now rules the roost simmer at the end of a long week. That's right, the respective hosts of MSNBC's Hardball and Countdown put aside their bickering for the sake of unity last night.

The Peacock organization's spunky liberal child has kept me enthralled with its political coverage this year. Why, you ask of this centrist? It's the talent pool, really. When the CBS Evening News and ABC's World News are off the air, no one sees those networks' fine reporters. However, when you own a 24-hour cable station, anything can happen in a big spot. Hey, Tommy B.! Not doin' anything? Here, come on camera, talk about uhh, the 1968 DNC! Bri Wi, charm us with a tale of a run-in with a PUMA. The place hasn't had mandatory watching like this since Seinfeld and Friends were riding high.

Then there's Snarky and Looney. I've now completely gotten over the departure of Chris Russo from WFAN because Keith Olbermann and Chris Matthews are the new Mike and the Mad Dog of politics. Tie these two egomaniacs to a desk in Denver for twenty-six hours over four days and I hope you're not allergic to cats because the fur flies! But when the Anointed One gave his nomination speech, the Democrats weren't the only ones singing Kumbaya. These boys were complimenting each other back and forth on each other's analysis to the point where you thought this was a promo for a Brokeback Mountain Special Edition DVD. Fortunately, evidence of this has been spared from YouTube, so you'll have to take my word for it. I'm pretty sure that more often than not they detest each other, but boys and girls, this Must See TV continues at 5pm Monday in St. Paul. Granted that they both carry Senator Obama's water, however, it will be interesting to see the dynamic next week. But since Olbermann goes into spasms within twenty-five feet of a Republican, his general state of anger might be more directed at his guests than his yellow-haired (no, not blonde, yellow) co-host.

Speaking of the Red Team, America was spared the horror of a full 4% of the Senate running for the executive branch today. Senator McCain going with Sarah Palin gives us something new to look at, satirize, and spit out over the next two months. And to all those who criticize her for her lack of foreign policy ticket, look at the Democratic headliner. Subjected to a blind taste test, I don't think I have to guess whether most Americans would rather a president with no foreign policy experience, or a vice president with none.

I also like Governor Palin because she's mom-like. And moms know how to organize and run things!

My prayers and thoughts go out to the very funny Rob Bartlett this week. If you're familiar with his genius, then YOU CAN ACT LIKE A MAN and send good wishes his way at www.myspace.com/therobio.

Say Somethin' Funny, Mikey

Well, wow. My New York Metropolitans continue to dominate and "run roughshod over the National League" in exciting fashion. Two and a half games up on Philadelphia. But I'll keep my excitement to a dull roar until we actually, God forbid, clinch a postseason spot.

Speaking of my favorite sports team in the entire universe, the station on which their radio broadcasts are carried has suffered another dangerous blow. Sixteen months after Imus in the Morning was pulled from the WFAN airwaves, the also-crucial afternoon drive spot has lost its Mad Dog of Mike and the Mad Dog. Since the age of roughly twelve, the show has been my afternoon soundtrack, either while procrastinating on homework or, in recent years, driving home from school. It also seems that the Mets contract with your flagship station for New York sports is up next year. If the Mets go elsewhere, then Mark Chernoff, turn your transmitter off now.

For the record, Mike Francesa, as the remaining survivor of the team on WFAN, will now have a show known as "Francesa on the FAN." But as anyone who has heard the man speak would know, the correct enunciation of the show's title is: Francesuhh.........onnnnnnn the FAN."

As of the end of next week, I will be living in my big boy apartment in Astoria. While Manhattan was my original goal, both the low price tag of the neighborhood and its eternal charm kept me in my native borough. I don't think I'll be making a move without this guy.

I expect to be roused from a peaceful sleep early tomorrow morning by that magical text message from the Obama campaign stating who his Number Two will be. To paraphrase Dick Morris, if Senator Obama gives the nod to Tim Kaine, it will be a recent state senator picking a recent mayor of a city with a population of 200,000. I basically see tomorrow as Election Day. Ceteris paribus, if Hillary Clinton is his nominee, Obama wins. If not, hello Mr. President-elect McCain.

In watching the Olympics lately, and seeing Brian Williams proclaim during promos, "I'm in Beijing, but I'm from Jersey, and I'm 4 New York!" I've been reminded of this from 1992, with familiar figures Len Berman, a hairier Al Roker, Chuck Scarborough, and Sue "The F*** Are You Doing?!" Simmons.

Done! Done! Done!

My academic career launched on September 9, 1990, in Mrs. Blaine's pre-kindergarten class. From there, I endured eighteen years of academic rigor until I retired from academia on August 1, 2008 after Dr. Estelami's Marketing of Financial Services MBA class. With a little help from AP classes in high school and a marvelous summer study abroad program in London, I managed to finish my bachelor's in seven semesters and my master's in an additional two. Mind you, I am not gloating at all. But reflecting on the whole journey begs the question, "What the heck kind of masochist am I, anyway?"

I now have fifty-one days of freedom until I begin working full-time. What's a boy to do? Well, first of all, there has been lying on my floor since June an untouched twenty pound box of CPA review materials. I also plan on finishing John McCain's second memoir Worth the Fighting For. Watching MSNBC until I'm blue in the face and can't hear the words "hardball" or "countdown" without turning violently ill is also an aspiration. I also have this little thing called a "gym membership" which has served me well so far, but I figure I should continue the habit of working out regularly before I'm stuck in an audit room for ten hours a day with Three Musketeers bars and Starbucks fat-accinos. Six weeks from tomorrow is the half-marathon in my native borough, at which I plan on finishing in a personal best 1:55.

Then there's this little thing called an "apartment" that has been breathing down my neck. The easy way out of this dilemma would be to stay at home, rent-free, which my parents would fully endorse and would be quite acceptable as they feed me quite full and are very good people to be around. However, the commute from midtown to my house during normal hours averages an hour, and on weekends when I'm carousing the town I can expect to crawl into bed at 4am if I leave a bar at 2. Also, not to invoke the "well if everyone else jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you" maxim, but it would be slightly strange to be the only one among my colleagues who still lives in his or her childhood home.

Let summer begin.