shit damn motherfucker: debate wrap up

When I was in fifth grade, D'Angelo's debut album, "Brown Sugar," came out. I still listen to it from time to time. A lot has changed since then. I'm not friends with Luke Goldthwaite anymore. The Larry Johnson Hornets jersey I used to rock is pretty outdated. D'Angelo, apparently, became a cokehead. And I graduated from the fifth grade and--at least nominally--became an adult. But one of the songs from that album, "Shit Damn Motherfucker," remains as relevant today as it did then. The sentiment is timeless. When I was in Philadelphia Wednesday evening for the latest Democratic presidential debate, I kept on thinking about it--turning the song over in my head as Obama was asked to scientifically evaluate his level of patriotism vis a vis his pastor, as Hillary felt compelled to temporarily become an RNC spokeswoman, and the race for the nomination and the presidency descended into madness. Shit damn motherfucker. +/-

Fortunately, because this was the first presidential debate I've had a chance to attend in person, I distracted myself from the night's vapidity by acting all wide eyed about my surroundings. First, let's set the scene: as a credentialed member of the press, I was not actually allowed into the debate. No, the press is herded into an enormous "press file," where everyone gets a little seat and a little table and stares up together at a giant television set showing the debate. This is, as you might imagine, a bit surreal: I drove three hours to watch TV. Not only that, but I'm watching TV with people whom I'm used to seeing on TV. Howard Fineman, Candy Crowley and me. Watching TV together. Shit damn motherfucker. Second, the food and drink: ABC News, which organized the debate, had boxed lunches (even though it was dinner time). I took a roast beef sandwich and I poured myself about three cups of coffee. There was no liquor to be seen, so I had more coffee. Third, the celebs: Obama Girl, most importantly. I had my picture taken with her. I refuse to show it to anyone. Finally, the serious take away: a debate like this probably helps Obama. He's a protest candidate in many ways, similar to Jimmy Carter in 76. He's a vessel for people's immense frustration with our politics and our political class. So even though he didn't seem particularly prepared for the harsh line of questioning, he came out intact. On the way back to Washington, I stopped into a 711 at about 3 AM and conducted an impromptu focus group with the cashier. I asked him what he had thought of the debate. "I like Obama," he said. "He's no bullshit." In a night full of bullshit, the guy who smells the least smells the best.