I now know what that anticipatory feeling sports freaks get prior to “the big game.”

8pm, Palin v Biden.

(so much for keeping commentary on this thing during the debate… I had a coworker over for beers while watching. I’m going to bang something out right now.)

I planned on having a debate party, but that sure did fail spectacularly. When pitted against a Cubs playoff game and the usual Thursday night activities (band practice? trips to California? salsa dancing?), all bets are off.

So I have to thank intrepid JS reporter Frank for pitying the fool, begrudgingly watching a lackluster debate between papa bear Biden and hockey mom Palin. Let’s get down to brass tacks.

What did the punditry think?

There were two debates going on in St. Louis Thursday night. Joe Biden was debating John McCain. And Sarah Palin was debating Sarah Palin — at least the version of her that most of America has seen on TV for the last few weeks. – Mike Madden for Salon.com

Joe Biden and Sarah Palin were talking to two different Americas Thursday night. Actually, that’s unfair to Joe Biden; he was trying to talk to everyone. I can say for certain, though, that Sarah Palin was talking to — and winking at — her own private Idaho, and for long stretches of the debate, it was an unnerving experience. – Joan Walsh for Salon.com

Palin, in her 90 minutes on the stage Thursday night, left the firm impression that she is indeed ready to lead the nation — with an unnerving mixture of platitudes and cute, folksy phrases that poured from her lips even when they bore no relation to the questions asked.

“Let’s commit ourselves just everyday American people, Joe Six-Pack, hockey moms across the nation,” she proposed when asked about the mortgage crisis. – Dana Milbank for the Washington Post

Although immediately receiving two strikes against it because of an 8:30am Saturday start time, I really had a blast at the Illinois Tree Climbing competition last weekend. First off, it sounds like a joke. I imagined some nerdy 20-somethings pulling themselves up trees with their trendy shoes and well-kept messy hair. Wrooooong, mister. These chaps (and misses) were decked out in some serious climbing gear: safety harnesses, goggles for a few, proper shoes, and even adventuring beards (ladies, not mandatory.)

From a story in today’s New York Times titled “Talks Implode During Day of Chaos; Fate of Bailout Plan Remains Unresolved“:

“If money isn’t loosened up, this sucker could go down,” President Bush declared Thursday as he watched the $700 billion bailout package fall apart before his eyes, according to one person in the room.

It was an implosion that spilled out from behind closed doors into public view in a way rarely seen in Washington.

—–

In the Roosevelt Room after the session, the Treasury secretary, Henry M. Paulson Jr., literally bent down on one knee as he pleaded with Nancy Pelosi, the House Speaker, not to “blow it up” by withdrawing her party’s support for the package over what Ms. Pelosi derided as a Republican betrayal.

“I didn’t know you were Catholic,” Ms. Pelosi said, a wry reference to Mr. Paulson’s kneeling, according to someone who observed the exchange. She went on: “It’s not me blowing this up, it’s the Republicans.”

Mr. Paulson sighed. “I know. I know.”

But that’s not all! The Washington Post had a really great piece by business columnist Steven Pearlstein titled “Bailout needs leap of faith.” READ READ READ.

You’re angry. I’m angry. House Republicans are angry. We’re all angry at having to put up huge amounts of cash to rescue a financial system because a lot of very rich people rolled the dice with other people’s money and lost.

Now let me tell you something very simple and very important: You can try to prevent a financial meltdown or you can teach Wall Street a lesson, but you can’t do both at the same time.

So which will it be?

BUSINESS, thou Plague and Pleasure of my Life,

Thou charming Mistress, thou vexatious Wife;

Thou Enemy, thou Friend, to Joy, to Grief,

Thou bring’st me all, and bring’st me no Relief,

Thou bitter, sweet, thou pleasing, teazing Thing,

Thou Bee, that with thy Honey wears a Sting;

Some Respite, prithee do, yet do not give,

I cannot with thee, nor without thee live.

BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

The Busy-Man’s Picture

VI Mon. August [1742] hath xxxi days.

Damn, damn, damn and damn. Each weekend grows worse, a never-ending 48 hours of toil. My days off are no ones and no ones days off are mine. I’m sad, beaten and barely functional after 12+ hours out in the field and then editing in the office each day. In fact, I write to you from my desk in a silent newsroom at 1am tonight. So I present to you a quick series, “Instead of… (what I really should be doing)”:

• Instead of breaking hearts and kissing girls
• Instead of making a dent in my unread book collection
• Instead of drinking wine and falling asleep at an unusually early hour
• Instead of watching a Woody Allen movie marathon
• Instead of decorating my apartment like an adult
• Instead of…

As a child of the 80s, I grew up watching a lot of television. Cable television.

You name it, I snuck in Inspector Gadget, toyed with Heathcliff, delicately handled He-Man and crapped out Care Bears. And despite sitting in front of our 20-inch Sony television each day, cranking the dial cable box, I turned out just fine. Take that, TV haters!

That was almost 20 years ago. After a decades-long drought of only broadcast television, Dish Network is being invited to the Gerik household in 2008. It is comparable to the Prodigal Son returning home.

(update: Not all is sunny in paradise, it seems. Dish Network forgot to mention a few limitations… we’ll see what the ‘rents think.)

—

You know those “guess how many jelly beans are in this jar” contests? The bank teller at National City bank let me play the game WITH REAL MONEY. Well, with my own change jar. I guessed $50 and it was really $58. That’s a 16% difference and a 84% grade in school.

Being a relatively new customer at National City, I’m always impressed with their main building in downtown Peoria. I feel like I may have chosen the place based solely on it’s stately appearance. Built in 1926, it proceeded the Great Depression by a mere 3 years. With 24 teller windows, perhaps they anticipated bank runs? Precognition!

Anyway, I’m going to have to find excuses to visit more often. Similar to a train station, but saved because of our dependence on money. (unrelated but equivalent photo here.)

Seriously, that was a close one. A close one for style. A close one for ever hoping to score another date again.

Following an eye exam today, I broke down and went shopping for new specs. Determined NOT to do this again, I brought my bags of money into the shop and forced myself to stay until they accepted them. I made a big mistake last time by not ordering the anti-reflective coating; but come on, doesn’t that shit sound like snake oil to you? (It’s not. At all.)

But just as I was about to get the hell out of the place with my dignity intact, I pulled a boner. “How about those Transition lenses?” I heard myself squeak out. Seventy bucks later (what a deal!) I was on my way back home.

Let’s review. You’ve seen the commercials; upper-middle class men and women smiling as their eyes are suddenly obscured by darkening glass. It’s mysterious, it’s sexy and I thought “it’s for me.” But then the doubts set in.  I’m 26. Not 60. And I’m also a photographer, someone who might have a problem if their lenses stayed dark when ducking out of the blazing sun and into a shadowy building. Enough! I called and pleaded to change my order.

Like Indiana Jones, I’ve scoured far and wide for the ideal couch. I mean, sofa. Whatever, it’s a couch and you know it.

I underestimated the task; while visiting almost every single local furniture store, I realized one horrible truth. Shopping for furnishings is EXACTLY the same as shopping for a vehicle. These salespeople are cut from the same cloth.

Call off the dogs; I’ve found it. Simple, comfy and relatively affordable. As an added bonus, if I ever get a dog, he can poop on it without staining the upholstery. Chocolate!

To be delivered sometime next month. Pretend like I’m sitting on the floor in the meantime.

(update: next Wednesday. BE THERE.)