Call me superficial, but when the Atlantic ran a cover with Britney and my subscription was running out, I decided that they would need to beg me to resubscribe (and now that they have to a satisfying degree, I probably will). With their latest Obama cover, the New Yorker finds itself in a similar situation vis à vis resubscription.

While I find both magazines to be essential reading, they also grace my coffee table and on occasion serve as conversation pieces in that capacity. For this purpose, I require something less banal than People's magazine, a requirement the Atlantic fatally failed to meet. I don't want something that appeals to the basest level of populism. I don't want images about which any airhead has about 2500 half-witted things to say.

An amusing post at TNR from the notorious Jamie Kirchick. I suppose this is your typical TNRism, but I was sort of shocked by the way he cites WSJ editorials and Eli Lake in making his argument, especially in view of the goofy arguments made by both.

As a longtime fan of the MSNBC network and the Keith and Wesley show in particular, I am somewhat dismayed to see Keith's disappearance from these pages in the past two weeks or so. It's a rare newsman who comes down from the high perch of the anchor's chair to interact and mingle with the common viewer.

Keith Olbermann is truly a man of the people, one who gives voice to the many who've gone unheard in Bush's mass media. But to see such a man turn away from the same is a sad thing indeed.

There's a man known around here for his commitment to progressive causes. A leader pushing for change against all the corporatists, Republican and Democrat. This is a man who has made his way in life fighting for the little guy against big special interests like the telecoms. This is a man, who, as I sit speaking in soft tones into my receiver, curling its serpentine cord between my fingers, makes me confident no one's listening in.

But today, I feel as though my intestines have been sucked out. Today, as the so-called "FISA compromise" makes its way to the Senate, I hear nothing but silence. John Edwards, where are you?

I read with some interest the dozens of posts about Kos's teeth post. I was quite literally shocked when I saw them.

Kos's piece was the product of some effort and deliberation on his part. He wrote the thing, produced pictures, even fired up Photoshop, got out that ink dropper tool and carefully picked pixel after pixel, judiciously eyeballing each one to find the single most unattactive shade of dingy yellow present in the McCain website's graphic (all told, I suspect that process took nearly fifteen minutes of his careful attention). My point in saying this is: How can you be surprised or shocked? This is who Markos is.

In another profile in irrelevance, Edwards has finally meandered his way to the endorsement that was obvious six months ago. When I asked this question back in December, there was much indignation. Commenters deployed all the now-familiar arguments and apologetics for an obviously losing campaign: "Let's let the voters decide," (as though the eventual result was in doubt) "There are still millions of votes to be counted," "Isn't this all a little premature?"

As Americans, we have grown up relatively safe from the perils of foreign aggression that have weighed so heavily on the minds of those outside our borders since time immemorial. But the stinging memories so many of us harbor in the primordial recesses of our minds, often accumulated in our early childhood, tell us that in spite of the superficial safety I allude to above, we Americans are never truly safe, nor are our children, from the near threat: The enemy within.

In recent decades, there's been so much whistling past the graveyard on this count, so much obfuscation and misdirection. We hear media reports of the invasion from south of our border -- a clear attempt to divert our anxiety away from the danger in our own backyards. Nevertheless, we know this enemy is neither remote nor exotic. It isn't just something old folks in the south worry about. We see it on the streets, in our parks, even on our patios and in our window boxes.

Dear fellow liberal blogging types,

If you read Matthew Yglesias or John Cole or any of several other respectable bloggers, you've heard about the Malkin-sphere freakout over that Mexican Absolut ad. First of all, I want to encourage all of you to get out tonight, as I will, and make sure you drink Absolut.

Second, if you're staying in for whatever reason and you have a Wikipedia account (lamentably, I tried to jump in, but was stopped by a so-called "semi-protection" measure) and you'd like to contribute to the future health of that noble project, go to the Absolut page and try to provide some fairness and/or balance to the discussion in the talk page and to the article itself.

Texas: Obama 45 Clinton 54

Ohio: Obama 47 Clinton 52

Vermont: Obama 60 Clinton 40

Rhode Island: Obama 48 Clinton 51

The first American politician I admired in my life was called "the Man from Hope." He ran on a unifying platform and an inspiring life story. Here was man who came from a broken home with an abusive step-father, to an education at the world's best universities, to the Governor's mansion in Arkansas, and finally the White House. This is a story that embiggens us all as Americans, makes us proud to be part of a nation that could produce such a shining example of human dynamism.

Yet at every step, he was dogged by mediocrities who resented his talents. From his political acumen to his personal charm, he was doomed to be hated by those who rely on escort services for their libidinal satisfaction. As enlightened, liberal sorts, we look upon such people with contempt, not because they are mainly in the political opposition, but because in the spirit of generosity, we eschew all such feelings of petty bitterness.

As Hillary's odds at winning the nomination become increasingly slim and the volume of despairing diaries lashing out at so-called "Obama cultists" increases, one's mind drifts to what will happen in a few short weeks when her campaign (and indeed her career) is finally a slim section of a chapter in the history books. Around the country, of course, life will simply go on just as it always does when someone loses a presidential primary. But what about here?

No one her believes that some of the more imaginative attacks on Obama from his rivals and their surrogates, ranging from the rather convoluted arguments about his opposition to Iraq to his supposed alliances with bigoted elements of the religious community, will come back in the general election, but it is fair to say some of the more inane arguments will, this time from Republicans.

It almost goes without saying, though that won't stop me, that Barack Obama is a singularly gifted politician and brilliant man with a remarkable story and American experience. But that's not why I'm voting for him.

He has extraordinary crossover appeal and his candidacy is historic both in its success to date and its breakout potential: We could be witnessing the rise of the liberal Reagan. A new FDR. Call it what you like, the prospect is irresistible. We're talking realignment here. But even this is not what will be driving me to the voting booth tomorrow.

I'm sorry, everyone, but I just saw something that made me smile. Not so much smile as chuckle. Well, maybe laugh. Out loud, even. Cackle. Uncontrollably. You see where I'm going here.

[Update] For God's sake people! Okay, if you must know, it was a comic in last week's New Yorker. I'll see if I can find you a link. Basically some guy is sitting in his visibly very cold house in a sweater and stocking cap and lecturing his shivering children for having "exchanged those sensible Christmas sweaters for the fleeting amusement of toys." Commentary on high energy prices. Very funny. I guess you'd have to see it...

You know, one of the disturbing images of the nineties, for me, was watching a news program showing the Clinton family watching, amongst other things, a Roadrunner cartoon. Now putting aside the campy retro feel of the whole affair and the hope they might instead be watching Masterpiece Theater or something, what happens in your average Roadrunner cartoon? I'll tell you what happens: A coyote, in search of a square meal in a harsh, desert environment gets blown up, thrown off cliffs, and, yes, hit by anvils and other heavy objects.

This coyote, basically an anthropomorphic dog, man's best friend, was brutalized in every way imaginable for the sick entertainment of our first family.

You know, sometimes it's hard to believe the perceived opposition actually hopes you do well, maybe even cover the spread, knock down some of your opposition. Sometimes we let the fights of the past and the defeat of the moment cloud our judgment and we lash out, in rage and impotence. I understand -- I've seen my guy lose right here in Connecticut and while I may have contributed for what some might call cynical reasons, the sting of defeat was still real.

Now that the winds are turning, looking back on all the petty fights and the bitterness of rivalry, I can't help but say that the Edwards supporters of this site were, at the end of the day, remarkably effective. Through their carefully coordinated efforts and their (somewhat waning) dominance of the Recommended Diaries list, they managed what the national Edwards campaign never could: A commanding lead in the polls.

It's official: The Democratic primary is a three way race.

Unlike some of you here, I remember the Bush years. I remember years of demagoguery, erosion of civil rights, insane foreign policy, and fundamental failures to protect US national security interests both at home and abroad. I remember two Democratic presidential candidates who couldn't beat a man of intelligence similar to a German shepherd's in an open election. I even remember one of their running mates, a southern white male, just the kind you might hope would deliver a state or two down there...

You see, this year, I would like to see a Democrat win the presidency and even see a few new Democrats in congress. In my soul, I feel this is a realignment year, where the right candidate on the Democratic side could fundamentally change US politics for the better and that this change might just last a generation. My soul tells me that candidate is one who possesses exception talent as an orator and who focuses on inclusive themes that demonstably attract new voters to the Democratic side. You see, those soulful impulses within me say we need someone who taps into what people out there in the real world are feeling, not hysterics found on weblogs.

Most of all, in my soul, I want to win. That is why John Edwards' campaign stings that selfsame soul.

We've all heard the rhetoric, the big talk, the fiery speeches -- but where are the specifics? How do we know you will prosecute fleeing rats of Bush's sinking ship to our satisfaction?

You see, it's not enough to talk about what you're going to do in terms that any reasonable person can understand. We can't trust someone who does not itemize what they are going to do in full detail in each of their speeches. We are not in the business of reading position papers put out by campaigns around here. We want to hear it on TeeVee or at least youtube, and so far, I haven't heard what I need to hear from you, John.