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The Spot: Protesters guard a stand of trees, preventing a team of loggers from advancing. The police arrive and forcibly wrest the protesters from the forest. One young woman, her hands zip-tied behind her back, glares at a bald logger as she's led to a police cruiser. "Are you happy now?" she asks. Cut to a small jail. The woman is released from a cell, having been bailed out by the bald logger. She leaves the jail in a huff and gets on a motorcycle. The bald logger follows her out—and gets on the same motorcycle. As they drive along a woodland road, the woman, who has been holding on to a rear handlebar, puts her arms around the waist of the logger, who smiles almost imperceptibly. A narrator says: "The more you look at the world, the more you recognize that people value things differently. HSBC, the world's local bank."

(Click here to watch the 90-second version making the rounds on YouTube; when the ad airs on television, it's in a 30-second cut.)

This spot feels more like a movie than a television ad. It's shot in a convincing cinema verité style. It's got a narrative arc, complete with a surprising plot twist and a provocative ending. It tackles, unflinchingly, a defining political issue of our time. And, yes, that is Joanna Newsom on the soundtrack. If Portland, Ore., had an annual Very Short Film Festival, "Lumberjack" would be a shoo-in for the People's Choice award.

Forgive me for asking so crass a question about such a poignant tale—but does any of this make you want to open a money-market account at HSBC? Headquartered in London, HSBC is the largest European bank and is a major player in Asia, where it got its start. (HSBC is short for Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation.) While no bank will emerge from the global financial crisis unscathed, HSBC has weathered the storm far better than most. (Among other things, the bank is in the habit of keeping more deposits than loans on its books—fancy that.) Which raises another question: At a moment when many Americans are suffering financial shell shock, does it make sense to build your brand around an unsettling clash between policemen and protesters? Wouldn't it be better to talk about your bank's 140-year history, its 100 million customers worldwide, its $1 trillion (and change) in deposits?

Given the circumstances, HSBC could be forgiven for giving the competition a good smack upside the head. How do you like me now, Royal Bank of Scotland? Peep the balance sheet, UBS! But Tracy Britton, head of the bank's U.S. marketing division, told me the best way for HSBC to exploit its foresight is to stay the course. "Lumberjack" was conceived before the financial crisis struck, but HSBC plans to stick with the spot, and the larger branding effort of which it's a part. Last week, the bank bought out New York, filling the magazine with a dozen ads in its "Different Values" print campaign. Like "Lumberjack," the print ads stress the bank's different-strokes-for-different-folks message.

Does "Lumberjack" deliver that message? There's no denying it grabs the viewer's attention, thanks in no small part to Newsom, the indie-rock harpist whose voice reminds me of the mournful summer breeding call of the common loon. The $5 footlong jingle this is not. The visuals are similarly arresting: The forest location is lush, and the loggers and tree-huggers both look their parts. I particularly admire the tension-building shot, in the 90-second version, of a stoic protester taking off his spectacles as the police advance. Also the shot of the protester who is wearing a very realistic bear costume.

The melee that ensues is disturbing—the menacing K-9-unit German shepherd puts one in mind of Birmingham—but carefully choreographed to show both sides behaving aggressively. As for the denouement, in which we learn that the female protester and the bald logger are in a relationship, it's either irritating or touching, depending on your taste in such things. For me, it works: It's like a 21^st-century version of one of those Ernst Lubitsch meet-cute pictures, in which the man who sleeps in pajama bottoms and the woman who sleeps in pajama tops fall in love at the pajama rack.

The ad loses me, however, when it tries to connect the story to the brand. One reason the spot is so captivating is that it holds you in suspense about what it's selling. At first, you're thinking Greenpeace memberships. Then the logger and protester make nice, and you're wondering if there's some new line of recycled-paper-stock Hallmark cards. When the HSBC logo pops up, it's a surprise, and not a pleasant one. If, like me, you've been taken in by the touching story of a world where Polly the Protester and Larry the Logger can find common ground, the reveal feels slightly icky. You've just been given goosebumps by an international banking conglomerate—sucker!

And what exactly do loggers and tree-huggers have to do with banking? Tracy Britton explained to me that HSBC caters to a sophisticated clientele, many of whom have interests overseas. The aim of this ad isn't, it turns out, to sell me a Choice Checking account—HSBC has other campaigns touting such products. "Lumberjack" is supposed to reinforce the bank's global experience to customers who own real estate in Belgium, say, or a small business with clients in Cambodia. The loggers and tree-huggers are metaphors, deployed to show that HSBC understands the diversity of viewpoints in the world—which in turn allows the bank to better serve customers in New York and Phnom Penh, alike.

In the past, HSBC has made this pitch in a more straightforward fashion. In this TV spot, a narrator explains that in "some Asian cities, it's considered acceptable for a commuter to fall asleep on the shoulder of a stranger." He makes this statement over footage of an Asian man falling asleep on the shoulder of a stranger … in the New York City subway. Here the message is plain: "What works in some places doesn't work in others. Let us worry about this so you don't have to."

The fundamental problem with the new "Different Values" campaign is that values—whether or not to cut down a forest—are very different from customs—whether it's kosher to snuggle up to the guy next to you on the train. Other cultures' customs can seem strange to us provincial Americans, so smart businesspeople find partners who understand those customs. That makes sense. Values, though, are something else entirely. Do you want to work with a bank that simply recognizes that different people have different values? That some people see a lost wallet as an obligation and others as a temptation, as one of the print ads suggests? Shouldn't a bank have values of its own? Shouldn't it be the wallet-returning type?

Grade: C+. The irony is that HSBC does seem to have some unique values, values that have allowed it to steer clear of the straits so many of its competitors find themselves in at the moment. But you wouldn't know it from watching "Lumberjack." As for the unsettling mise-en-scène, it could be a smart strategy—the ad has sparked conversation. Perhaps Citibank's next ad should take place at an Iraq war protest (bring home the troops before my new six-month CD matures!). Bank of America could go historical and set a spot during the summer of '69 (free love—and free checking!). But I, for one, would prefer not to have my psyche rattled by bank advertising at the moment. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

Apologies to Adorno, but I've got a question: Is it really possible for Art Spiegelman to make comics after Mauschwitz? That question hangs over every comic strip and book that he has penned since Maus: A Survivor's Tale, his path-breaking cat-and-mouse comic about his father's life in Auschwitz. The book, published in two parts, My Father Bleeds History (1986) and And Here My Troubles Began (1991), won a special Pulitzer Prize in 1992.

Click here for a slide show on Art Spiegelman.

"Yesterday, you made note of my—the lack of my talent when it came to dancing. But nevertheless, I want you to know I danced with joy. And no question Liberia has gone through very difficult times."—Speaking with the president of Liberia, Washington, D.C., Oct. 22, 2008

Click here to see video of Bush's comments. The Bushism is at 0:23.

Got a Bushism? Send it to bushisms@slate.com. For more, see "The Complete Bushisms."

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The housing bubble has burst. The financial services industry is a ward of the state. Insurance companies and automakers are tottering on the brink of bankruptcy. Consumer credit is drying up along with consumer confidence. Banks have stopped lending money, and big corporations have started laying workers off. The stock market is at a five-year low. But amid the greatest financial panic since the Great Depression, the market for one asset stubbornly resists correction: the immaculate reputation of Robert Rubin, former Treasury secretary and pre-eminent economic wise man of the Democratic Party.

Rubin hasn't been Treasury secretary since 1999, and he certainly bears less responsibility than Alan Greenspan, Phil Gramm, Christopher Cox, and assorted other Republican pooh-bahs. American voters, who are expected to favor the Democratic presidential ticket this Tuesday, aren't wrong to assign the principal blame for this crisis to the GOP. But the financial deregulation that allowed markets to boil over began well before President George W. Bush took office. Three decisions relevant to the market meltdown—two of them unambiguously bad in retrospect, the third a likely source of future trouble—can be attributed to Rubin.

Derivatives. In 1998, Brooksley Born, chair of the Commodity Futures Trading Commission, proposed bringing derivatives under her jurisdiction. Rubin joined forces with Greenspan and Arthur Levitt Jr., then chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission, to successfully derail the proposal in Congress. Rubin shared Born's worry about the derivative market's unregulated growth, and in his 2003 memoir, In an Uncertain World (co-authored by Jacob Weisberg, editor-in-chief of the Washington Post Co. unit that includes Slate), Rubin would later write that derivatives "should be subject to comprehensive and higher margin limits." So why did he oppose Born? Rubin doesn't discuss the episode in In an Uncertain World, but according to an Oct. 15 article by Anthony Faiola, Ellen Nakashima, and Jill Drew in the Washington Post, Rubin fought Born's plan for essentially political reasons: So "strident" a power grab by the CFTC, Rubin believed, would invite legal challenge, which in turn would create havoc in the derivatives market. Unfortunately, after killing off Born's proposal, Rubin never developed a less "strident" regulatory alternative—even after the September 1998 collapse of the Long Term Capital Management hedge fund, attributed in large part to its extensive investment in derivatives, demonstrated that concerns about these unregulated financial instruments were extremely well-founded. As a consequence of Rubin's obstruction and inaction, the market for one particular derivative—credit-default swaps—grew like a noxious weed. The credit-default swaps were unregulated insurance contracts on securities derived partly from subprime mortgages. If indiscriminate subprime mortgages were the vehicle that brought about the market meltdown, credit-default swaps were the fuel.

Greenspan. As the previous example demonstrates, in economic decision-making Rubin was often joined at the hip to Alan Greenspan, the Reagan-appointed chairman of the Federal Reserve Board who served until February 2006. (A famous February 1999 Time magazine cover dubbed Rubin, Greenspan, and Rubin's deputy and successor Lawrence Summers as "The Committee To Save the World.") Greenspan, whose press was once even more ecstatically favorable than Rubin's—Bob Woodward titled his 2000 book about Greenspan Maestro—has since been identified as the principal architect of the economic meltdown. That's not only because he resisted regulation of derivatives more emphatically than Rubin ("I think of him constantly cheerleading on derivatives," Greenspan's onetime deputy, Princeton economist Alan Blinder, recently told Peter S. Goodman of the New York Times) but also because he failed to rein in the subprime lending that created the meltdown and encouraged the housing bubble by keeping interest rates low. If Greenspan is Public Enemy No. 1, then the guy who got Bill Clinton to reappoint Greenspan surely ranks as Public Enemy No. 6 or 7. That would be Rubin. In early 1996, when Greenspan's term as Fed chairman was due to expire, Clinton considered replacing Greenspan with Felix Rohatyn. Rubin talked him out of it. In Maestro, Woodward makes clear that Rubin's view was shared by many others, including the more liberal Laura Tyson, who succeeded Rubin as director of the National Economic Council, and Vice President Al Gore. But Rubin's endorsement carried the most weight. Woodward crafts a tender homoerotic scene out of Rubin's telling Greenspan he's gotten the nod from Clinton:

Rubin was … at the G-7 meeting in Paris, where he and Greenspan had a chance to speak privately. Taking advantage of a quiet moment, they walked together toward a series of large plate-glass windows at one end of the room, with a view of Paris before them. The two men had established a feeling of trust, perhaps as much as two adult males in high government posts might find possible. For Greenspan, such friendship, closeness and agreement gave him a sense that they were working for the same firm. Greenspan had once remarked privately, and only half-jokingly, that he considered Rubin the best Republican secretary of the treasury ever, though he was a Democrat.

"When you get back," Rubin said, "the president's going to want to talk to you."

Greenspan could tell by the body language that it was all favorable.

Glass-Steagall. This1933 law prevented commercial banks from doing investment banking (and vice versa). In his 2002 book, The Roaring Nineties, Nobel Prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz (an adversary of Rubin's in the Clinton White House) identifies Rubin as a prime mover in the 1999 repeal. The principal argument in favor of repealing Glass-Steagall was that financial institutions—most notably, Citigroup, where since 1999 Rubin has been a sort of rainmaker/consigliere—had already worked out ingenious ways to circumvent it. New York Times financial columnist Joe Nocera recently pointed out that repeal of Glass-Steagall enabled Citigroup, J.P. Morgan, and Bank of America to survive while stand-alone investment banks Bear Stearns, Merrill Lynch, and Lehman Bros. went belly-up. The argument against Glass-Steagall's repeal was that it would encourage banks to extend too much credit to companies whose stock their financial arms were trying to sell. It has yet to be demonstrated that this conflict of interest contributed to the current meltdown. But as the crisis accelerates the sort of mergers made possible by the 1999 repeal—according to Nocera, the big banks that just received a $125 billion investment from Treasury are already saying, entre famille, that they will spend the money not on loans but on mergers—opportunities for such abuses will multiply. Another problem with bank consolidation is that it will create more financial institutions deemed "too big to fail." As Robert Reich recently observed in his blog, if government needs to bail out giant corporations because their failures would wreck the entire economy, that's an excellent reason not to allow these corporations to become so big in the first place.

Say what you will about Greenspan, he has publicly admitted error. So has Arthur Levitt. Rubin, though, is in no rush to voice regret, and no one seems inclined to press the issue.

Rubin's genius for avoiding bad press is legendary. In a rare critical piece about Rubin in the March 2007 American Prospect, Bob Kuttner wrote that in reviewing newspaper and magazine features published about Rubin during the previous two decades, he "literally could not find a single feature piece that was, on balance, unflattering." Kuttner missed a column I wrote in 2002 complaining about the scant coverage given to a sleazy phone call Rubin made to a Treasury undersecretary about Enron just before that company went bust. (Citigroup was one of Enron's biggest creditors.) But I take his point: As far as most journalists are concerned, Rubin walks on water. The man's ability to do so even as the deregulatory culture he helped foster comes crashing down—the only significant knocks I can find are in one column by Robert Scheer, one by Robert J. Samuelson, and one by Harold Meyerson—is nothing short of extraordinary.

Rubin's Teflon is so scratch-proof that Barack Obama can enlist him to represent his campaign on CBS's Face the Nation without worrying that John McCain's ever-more-desperate campaign will make an issue of it. The program's host, Bob Schieffer, asked not a single question about Rubin's roles in blocking Born's proposal to regulate derivatives, in reappointing Greenspan, or in repealing Glass-Steagall. Fareed Zakaria did a little better on GPS (the awkwardly titled CNN show he hosts; click here for Part 1 and here for Part 2), remembering at least to ask Rubin whether he regretted his deregulatory policies during the Clinton administration. Rubin replied that regulating derivatives would have been politically impossible. Zakaria didn't follow up by noting the well-publicized collapse of Long Term Capital Management. On neither show was Rubin asked what role he may have played in Citigroup's loading up on mortgage-backed securities polluted by subprime loans. Zakaria (who is thanked in the acknowledgments to Rubin's memoir for reviewing the manuscript) set the tone at the start of his interview by quoting Clinton's description of Rubin as "the most effective Treasury secretary since Alexander Hamilton."

It's time to reconsider that judgment. Rubin has been widely touted for Treasury secretary in an Obama administration, but in the GPS interview Rubin wisely removed himself from consideration. Perhaps he knows that Senate Republicans would never question him as gently as Zakaria and Schieffer did.

In an Oct. 29 "Explainer," Christopher Beam incorrectly defined a "natural-born citizen" as a citizen born in the United States. The traditional interpretation also includes those born to U.S. citizens overseas.

In the Oct. 27 "Explainer," Nina Shen Rastogi incorrectly stated that a 2005 study of the AccuVote TSx voting machine was part of a top-to-bottom review of California's voting systems. It was conducted under the state's regular certification process; the top-to-bottom review took place in 2007.

If you believe you have found an inaccuracy in a Slate story, please send an e-mail to corrections@slate.com, and we will investigate. General comments should be posted in "The Fray," our reader discussion forum.

Get "Dear Prudence" delivered to your inbox each week; click here to sign up. Please send your questions for publication to prudence@slate.com. (Questions may be edited.)

Dear Prudence,

My sister is 20 years old, has an 18-month-old daughter, and is a great mother. She doesn't have much money, so she recently moved in with a new roommate. The roommate has a pet pit bull. I met the dog a couple of days ago, and while she is very sweet, she also seems to be pretty nervous. I know I was a new person to this dog, but overall what I saw was potentially a very dangerous situation for my niece. I told my sister that, and she told me that she trusts the dog and thinks she's well-mannered. She said that the dog and her daughter get along well, the dog doesn't mind if the child pokes her, and that the dog lets the child sleep in her dog bed sometimes! Is this one of those situations where I can't tell her what to do, so I should leave it alone? Or should I call child protective services?

—Uneasy

Dear Uneasy,

No wonder the dog is nervous. Suddenly a small human is sticking fingers in her eyes and sleeping in her bed. You're probably sweet and well-mannered yourself, but surely you would lash out at someone who invaded your home and poked your orifices all day. That a pit bull is involved adds to the potential damage if the dog strikes back, but even a placid basset hound could be provoked to take a hunk out of a toddler's face under these circumstances. When a dog uncharacteristically attacks a child, often the aggressor was the child who simply didn't understand that you can't pull on a real dog's tail the way you can your favorite stuffed animal. Your sister is a 20-year-old single mother; that alone indicates she still lacks the ability to understand how acting on her impulses can lead to life-changing events. You must intervene, but try to exhaust all your possibilities before you consider calling the authorities. Tell your sister that her daughter's safety is at issue here and that even the best-behaved dog can lash out at a toddler. Show your sister and her roommate this article about mixing kids and pets, the point of it being that both girl and dog need to be chaperoned as carefully as if this were a Victorian courtship. Your sister and her roommate must understand that unless their darlings are under direct supervision, they must be physically separated. Add, for the roommate's benefit, that if her dog bit your niece, no matter what the circumstances, it could end up being destroyed. If things don't change immediately, offer to help your sister find another living situation. Explain to your sister you won't let up, because you couldn't live with yourself if you didn't do everything to prevent a possible tragedy.

—Prudie

Dear Prudence Video: Dating Mr. Wrong

Dear Prudence,

I have been married for four years to my very loving husband. We started dating when we were 18 and 21, and made the somewhat unwise decision of marrying when we were still quite young. Unfortunately, we ran into a lot of problems early on in our marriage, and I carried on an affair with another man for 10 months. I made a terrible mistake and know that I have done irreparable damage to our relationship. Either way, I came clean about it. We went to marriage counseling, moved out of the city where the affair occurred, and made a renewed commitment to each other. I couldn't be happier. The problem, however, is that a year later my husband is still punishing me psychologically for what I did. When we get into fights, he likes to say, "Well, why don't you just go back with him then?" He knows this hurts me very much. I have been understanding and supportive in his effort to deal with his feelings on the matter, but I'm starting to think that we might not ever get over it. Is my punishment for this affair that I have to let him verbally abuse me for the rest of my life? I don't know what else I can do to help him and feel that I have done all I can. Help!

—Despondent

Dear Despondent,

You "unwisely" decided to marry, you have done "irreparable damage" to your relationship, and you're "despondent" over the prospect of being "psychologically punished" for the rest of your life, yet you say you "couldn't be happier" in your marriage. You don't sound that happy. Many people meet their spouses as teenagers and go on to have long, fulfilling marriages. Others start chafing at the realization that this first serious relationship is also supposed to be the last—you didn't just have a fling, after all, but a fairly long affair. Of course, it's possible for two people with as rocky a start as yours to conclude that they really do want to be together and make it work. But it never will if one partner is enjoying the view from the moral high ground because it allows him to better aim his verbal dirt balls at the other. You should to tell your husband that you need new rules of engagement when you two fight. You have acknowledged and apologized for your violation, so now it's time for your marriage to be about the two of you, not the affair. Tell him part of your recommitment to each other needs to be that the past be allowed to fade away. If he can't agree to that, then you two need to get back into counseling and figure out whether you really want to get old together or whether you want to get out while you're still young.

—Prudie

Dear Prudie,

I work in an office of about a dozen people. I love my job and enjoy working there. However, there is one woman I find to be somewhat rude. She constantly makes disparaging remarks about people who are overweight—she tells stories about "disgusting fat lards" she encounters outside of work and makes comments such as, "Fat people are so gross" or "Fat people should be killed," and so on. I asked her once why she dislikes fat people so much, and she responded by saying, "I don't hate fat people. I feel embarrassed for them." My wife is noticeably overweight by about 40 pounds. She is the most beautiful, smart, kind, and wonderful person in the world; she is my best friend and I can't imagine loving her any more than I do. So I feel very hurt and offended when my co-worker makes these remarks. I thought about talking to her supervisor, but, as I mentioned, this is a very small company, and I'm afraid to "shake things up." The whole situation has gotten to the point where I no longer enjoy coming to work because of it. Please help.

—Silently Offended

Dear Silently,

It wouldn't matter if your wife was the size of Keira Knightley; it's your co-worker who's a pig. No one should have to listen to such bile about any group of people. And given that two-thirds of Americans are overweight, your colleague is daily wishing for the death of the majority of your firm's customers, which can't be good for business. You need to tell this loudmouth that you no longer wish to hear any more of her opinions on people who are overweight. Explain politely but firmly that the content and tone of her remarks don't belong in the workplace, and you're asking that she immediately desist. If she won't, then go to a supervisor (preferably a plump one) and explain that you've tried to deal with this yourself, but your co-worker's barrages are affecting how the office functions. Then please write a mega-best-seller about a man who finds his plus-size wife to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

—Prudie

Dear Prudie,

My husband chose hunting over Halloween. We have two kids—ages 2 and 4. Halloween is something that is only magical for a few years, and he is going to miss it this year. This is an annual hunting trip that I always give my blessing to, but his decision just crosses the line. He cannot control the calendar, but he can choose to skip a year. I conceded—he is going, but since this is their opening weekend for hunting, I'm sure I am not the only wife having this argument. Did I do the right thing in letting him go, or should I have fought harder? In the long run, he's the one missing the memories, and the kids probably won't notice he's not there, but it breaks my heart for them. It's my "Cat's in the Cradle" moment!

—Boo Hoo

Dear Boo,

Too bad your husband can't leave the duck blind for the night. His orange vest and hat with ear flaps would be a perfect costume—especially when he starts blasting pumpkins with his shotgun. Don't turn this into a Harry Chapin song. Just because your husband chose hunting over haunting this year does not mean that during every future soccer game or piano recital he will be out tracking deer. (Although, just to make sure, you could tell him no way is he going off for spring alligator-hunting season in Texas during the kids' high-school graduations.) You're right, at ages 2 and 4, your children will little note nor long remember that they had to face this year's trick-or-treating without their father. What you don't want to do is telegraph to them that you're unhappy and Dad has done something wrong. So put on your princess costume, meet up with some other families, and have a wicked time.

—Prudie

Dear Oliver, Jacob, and Bob,

So, it begins—the first, cinematic rough draft of the Bush presidency: W. is now, as they say, at a movie theater near you. This is a rarity; as far as I can tell, there have been only two major feature films about a president (one on FDR and Cliff Robertson in PT-109) to fill the big screen during the term of the presidents who were their subjects. To this point, the first rough draft of history for this tumultuous period has, in large measure, been a pile of books. I've written three; Bob, you've written four; Jacob, you have one; and Seymour Hersh, Jane Mayer, Tom Ricks, and many others have made seminal, bound contributions. The Bush Library. It will grow. There will be many more volumes and plenty more movies.

And, Oliver—if I may call you that—you have my admiration for relying on the Bush Library rather than indulging in supposition and dark fantasy. For a first cut, W. is an ardent, earnest, improvisationally fascinating effort that gives some narrative shape to this era's Shakespearean saga. Still, as someone who has read the key books (much less written a few), I found watching W. to be a strange, disembodying experience, two hours in a Cuisinart.

Things are sometimes mixed up—people say more or less what they really said, but in a different place. Yearlong Oval Office debates get boiled into a moment of heated exchange. Imagined yet plausible events stand alongside actual, often historic occurrences. But it's Hollywood. This is part of a conventional cinematic squeeze and squish, composting life into a progression of scenes, episodes, and incidents that leads to something.

The question is where. That's where matters get thornier, where questions of causation intrude about what intent or circumstances drive action. On balance, I thought the movie was a sound representation of the visible, widely known forces at play. Based on my reporting and that of others, I felt that Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, and Donald Rumsfeld were eminently recognizable and that their positions were clearly, if briefly, articulated. The plot and dialogue revealed the basic nature of the characters—a real feat. You managed to reintroduce some of the world's most famous people to the audience.

This is one of the great values of this type of movie: Notable, often tendentious public figures can be freed from caricature. I think that happens here, especially with Bush (played by Josh Brolin), Cheney (Richard Dreyfuss), and Powell (Jeffrey Wright). These are skilled actors, and they manage to make all three quite human and multidimensional. In fact, in the case of Bush and Cheney, many viewers may find themselves trying to resist the on-screen charms of this duo. I found this to be true in real life as well: Many people who've worked for and around both men say that Bush can be warm and charming and that Cheney, while frightening, is an oddly alluring, intelligent presence.

Yet I found one key—maybe the key—relationship to be exaggerated. The evidence, as it is now assembled, doesn't show "Junior" to be engaged in such a battle with "Poppy." Hell, if Bush 41 showed as much angry fortitude as he does in James Cromwell's impersonation, he probably would have won re-election in 1992. Bush the Elder's manhood is definitely not in a blind trust. Beyond that, in terms of dramatic coherence, I found it hard to believe that the loveless father-son tension, as portrayed in the movie, would lead to 43's vengeful outrage over Saddam Hussein's attempt to kill 41. (Besides, there are plenty of foiled assassination attempts on presidents; sort of comes with the job.) While this may have been overplayed, the missing actor in the life of W. was 9/11, along with a real disquisition about how, or whether, the catastrophic event changed Junior.

All of these questions, many unanswered, flow into the movie's central drama and denouement: the cause for war. What got us into Iraq? Why are we there? Did Bush know, or at least suspect, that there may not be WMD? Did the beast of Iraq spring, fully formed, from Bush's brain, from his Oedipal architecture? Did President Bush take this nation to war under false pretenses?

I realize, of course, that this question is in a sense unanswerable. The difficulty you face, Oliver, is one we all face. Five-plus years into this war—a war, most certainly, of choice—the reasons we invaded Iraq remain largely shrouded in classified files, lost conversations, carefully guarded secrets. Like the rest of us—from the most seasoned reporters to the tourists walking alongside the ornate iron fence on Pennsylvania Avenue—you had to make use of the prevailing best guesses.

That's why this movie—vivid, raucous, reality-based, well-acted—is a first cinematic rough draft. One of the movie's most jarring scenes, a real keeper in terms of the crisp dialogue and acting and gravity, is the moment Bush is told there are no WMD. He feels as if he's been conned, misled. He rages against his senior advisers. They look away. Rumsfeld takes a "screw you" bite of pecan pie.

Someday, with the arrival of new disclosures and fresh evidence, someone will rewrite this scene. Because Bush was not so much a victim of circumstances and birth order—or of bad advice from ambitious advisers—as he seems in W. He knew more than he's letting on. He made choices of his own free will. And in the fullness of time, he'll be held responsible for his actions, as history eventually demands of all presidents.

Dear Oliver, Ron, and Bob,

Thanks to the three of you for joining in the discussion. W. arrives at what looks like the end of an era—not just of a disastrous eight-year presidency but arguably of the conservative ascendancy that began in 1980. How the Bush family, which once typified pre-Reagan Republicanism, came to play such a pivotal role in this period is a central part of the story. If we want to understand recent history, we need to understand this unreflective family in a way its members will probably never understand themselves.

Oliver, you'll be glad to hear that I disagree with Ron about your treatment of the father-son relationship. To me, the evidence does show George W. to be engaged in an epic battle with his dad. That Oedipal struggle is at the very heart of his presidency's failure. The son came to define so much of himself—his personality, his religion, his decision-making—in opposition to his father. More important, 43 developed his substantive view of the world by rejecting his father's moderate, diplomatic realism. Seeing his father as a failed president (while at the same time wanting to avenge him), W thought the path to success on issue after issue was to reject 41's choices in favor of 40's. You've lost some nuance along the way, but I think you depict the contours of this vexed relationship accurately.

As promised, I won't waste your time complaining about small inaccuracies and changes made for dramatic effect. I do want to challenge you, however, on two places where your version of events is simply at odds with what we know to be true. The first is your basic interpretation of the Iraq war. A crucial scene in the film takes place in the White House situation room. The key players are all there (including Karl Rove, who would not have been). Colin Powell makes his case against the invasion to no avail. Then, Dick Cheney, played by Richard Dreyfuss, stands in front of an electronic map and delivers a lecture.

America's natural resources are being used up, Cheney says, and most of the world's oil and gas is right here in the Middle East. To remain rich and powerful, we have to exploit Iraq's huge untapped reserves. When challenged on the issue of exit strategy, he replies (if I've got this right—I was taking notes in the dark): "There is no exit strategy. We stay." Once the United States owns Iraq, Cheney declares, we'll be in strategic position to control Iran—"the mother lode." As the map lights up with red dots indicating American bases, he goes on: "Control Iran, control Eurasia, control the world. Empire—real empire. Nobody will fuck with us again!"

Oliver, if you'd played the film as a Dr. Strangelove-style farce, you might have gotten away with this. The scene is one "mwa-ha-ha" cackle from Dreyfuss away from satire. But we're meant to take this seriously. Do you really think Cheney persuaded Bush to go to war so we could get Iraq's oil and then Iran's? And if so, why do you think that?

Another case in point: The film depicts a meeting between George W. and his dad during the 1988 presidential campaign. The son pops the famous Willie Horton ad into the VCR and tells his father that "Karl" says this could win you the election. That's strong stuff, the elder Bush responds. Just make sure no one can connect it to the campaign. George W. says not to worry, they're going to run it through an independent expenditure committee. "Good work, son," the dad says. "You're earning your spurs."

Great scene, except that no one has ever suggested that George W. had anything to do with the Willie Horton ad, no one has ever proved that George H.W. approved it, and Karl Rove had nothing to do with Bush's 1988 campaign at all. If father and son conspired in the way you depict, they would have been guilty of a federal crime, namely evading contribution limits by coordinating with an outside group. I can't prove that this didn't happen. But as far as I know, you have no basis for thinking that it did.

Oliver, I know that you don't want to be thought of as a conspiracy theorist. But these are conspiracy theories with no evidence to support them. So, why did you put them in your movie?

Oliver, Ron, and Jacob,

Ron, I'm struck that you feel we don't have a general understanding of the cause of the Iraq war. You write, "The reasons we invaded Iraq remain largely shrouded in classified files, lost conversations, carefully guarded secrets." While significant new information may one day come out, I strongly disagree. I believe there is already an expansive record in the Bush library, and the work that has been done on the Iraq war answers this question.

The foremost cause, in Bush's mind, was 9/11. It set an atmosphere of "We are in peril, we need to do something." Bush believed Iraq was a threat. The second was, I believe, his conviction that Iraq did have weapons of mass destruction. Recall that the House and Senate voted on a resolution to give the president support and authority to use the U.S. military in Iraq as he deemed "appropriate and necessary." The atmosphere at the time was very much "We are threatened, there is trouble. Saddam Hussein is a threat." Too many officials and people believed this. Third, the war plan that was presented to President Bush in a dozen or more briefings, and subsequently outlined in several books, shows that it was thought the invasion would be comparatively easy and that it got easier as the war plan was refined. Fourth, there was an undeniable momentum to war at the time. Fifth, in Oliver's movie and in many of the books, the portrait of Bush is that of "the Impatient Man." When some intelligence suggested that the chief U.N. weapons inspector, Hans Blix, was not being fully forthcoming, Bush ordered war.

The military was ready, and the invasion looked like it was going to be easy. Congress and the public supported it. And the press, very much including myself, was not inquisitive enough to dig deeper into the allegations of weapons of mass destruction.

While there certainly may be some substantial revelations yet to come, the idea that this is basically unanswerable, I think, is wrong. In Plan of Attack, I quote from a top-secret memo of Aug. 14, 2002, called "Iraq: Goals, Objectives and Strategy." One of its stated purposes was to "minimize disruption in international oil markets." Oil was put on the table as one of the reasons for war, and I think this adds to the background noise. Ron, you say of Bush, "He knew more than he's letting on." I think there's truth to that, but I also believe he let on quite a bit. To those of us who dug in the vineyards of the Bush administration, the basic causes of the war in Iraq are there.

You also write that Bush "made choices of his own free will." I think that's exactly right. He was heavily influenced by Cheney and a number of others, but the decisions were his. As he said to me, "I believe we have a duty to free people," to liberate people. Many have said this is something that was concocted after weapons of mass destruction failed to surface. But I watched him jump in his chair when he said it, and I think it is a deep and genuine conviction on his part. Certainly many would disagree with it, but I think this conviction was one of his primary drivers. I doubt very much that there was some mysterious, Oedipal force at work or that there is a secret reason that remains carefully guarded. The drivers in all of this are not really shrouded.

My caveat, obviously, is you don't know what you don't know.

Jacob, you make note of the scene in W. where Bush and his advisers debate whether to go to war. In it, the Colin Powell character makes his case against the invasion. The problem is, as best I can tell, no such meeting ever took place. The president never called the National Security Council and the top advisers together to have a real knock-down, drag-out, come-to-Jesus meeting. It gives Powell more credit than he deserves. This is the broad meeting that Bush should have had to hash it out among his advisers. Powell's plea to the president in August 2002, which he recently affirmed, was that the administration needed to look at the consequences of war, but he never argued openly to the president that he should not invade Iraq.

You also make the point that Cheney's comments in this mythical gathering of Bush's war Cabinet did not occur. The idea of "empire," which certainly may have resided in the minds of some, including Cheney, was to my knowledge never really put on the table. The idea that the real issue was Iran, again, may have been in their minds, but there is no record of this discussion at that time. Additionally, I think you have a good point about the pinning of the Willie Horton ad from the 1988 campaign on George W. Bush. I've seen no evidence that this was the case.

At the same time, there is an overall sense or feel in the movie that gets a number of things correct. Bush's notorious casualness and inattention to detail are on full display. The movie conveys his disengagement, his odd and frequent sense of being removed.

I think one of the best scenes in the movie is when Bush makes it clear to Cheney that he's the boss—that Cheney can push and argue and have his say, but Bush is the boss. That's why I say (and I think Bart Gellman agrees with this in Angler, his book on Cheney) that the vice president was incredibly important, powerful, and persuasive, but that President Bush made these decisions on his own. He did so, as Ron said, "of his own free will."

The issue for history in the coming years and decades will be further examination of how Bush exercised that free will. I don't think he felt the constraints of his father's legacy, or even Cheney's influence or Powell's distance or Rumsfeld's attitude of "I'm in charge of the military." Again, I think Ron has hit on it: It's a question of the president's free will. In the end, the movie shows that.

I think the bending and distorting of history were not necessary for this film to make its point, but it does show that the Iraq war was and is George W. Bush's.

Just so there's not a lot of hubbub over not very much, let me reiterate what I said about the father-son relationship. I thought it was somewhat overplayed and exaggerated in the movie. I didn't say that there was nothing to it. Clearly, it has been a defining relationship for 43, both as a president and a man, as I've reported—and it has been a central feature in Junior's impulse to "make things personal" as a way of organizing a complex world. I thought the relationship was more nuanced than the movie indicated, and was overstated as the driving force in Bush's architecture, especially in terms of Iraq. In the first few years of his presidency, in fact, Bush was actually feeling somewhat liberated from his long, uneven relationship with 41, making it less of a causal force in his march to war.

First, it's truly an honor for me to join this discussion with three men who have done so much in cracking the code of secrecy around the Bush administration. You have done this nation a great service, ironically following in the footsteps of Bob and his colleague, Carl Bernstein, in the tormenting of Richard Nixon. Stanley Weiser, the screenwriter for W., and I could not have produced a defensible script for this film as recently as one or two years ago without the investigative work of you three, as well as that of James Risen, David Corn, Michael Isikoff, Jane Mayer, Barton Gellman, Thomas Ricks, Frank Rich, Michael Gordon, Bernard Trainer, Larry Everest, and Sy Hersh among several others, who have partially pulled back the curtain on this administration's actions over the past seven years—and I'm certain more is yet to come.

Our purpose was a dramatization. As you know, these quotes and speeches are strung over years and numerous meetings. As dramatists we simplify and condense, yet I don't think we crossed the line of the spirit of what happened. By example, in illustrating Ron's 1 Percent Doctrine, we hope you understand why we included it in a lunch scene, wherein the theory is illustrated through a piece of lettuce in a bologna sandwich. Drama requires a concrete representation of the abstract.

As dramatists, we're shaping a pattern that we see repeating itself in this W's presidency. In my opinion, you could almost describe the dialogue of these eight years as a loop in the sense that the body language, the understanding, the dialogue remains very much the same. The stimulus changes; whether it's the economic debacle or the Iraq war, it doesn't seem to matter to Bush in the way he responds to these situations. His speeches are remarkably similar, as is his delivery of them. So basically we have to make our patterns dramatic and economic. And in the film we are only dealing with the first three years of the presidency.

And in presenting an immense public figure like W—or Nixon, for that matter—we felt that it was essential that the film empathize (though not sympathize) with the subject at the center. I have strong negative personal feelings about this man. But as a dramatist, I consider it professional to remove my feelings, to allow the audience to live through him and see him as human.

In not showing 9/11—as Ron points out—I'd say that to that end, we felt 9/11 was an event that most of the viewers would have experienced and know about intimately. In fact, it was the subject of my last film, World Trade Center, which was about the harrowing events of that day. Our film, W., opens a month or so later with a discussion of the "axis of evil" speech, underlining the broader context of the need for revenge after 9/11. Bush, in this scene, is now an authoritative figure who has found his identity as a "war president"; in many scenes that follow, we try to show how he, Rove, Cheney, Rumsfeld, and others politicized the 9/11 attack to erode many of our freedoms and to settle personal scores—which, in the end, is W's worst sin, in my book.

As for the role of his father, I think the most eloquent discussion of this lies in Jacob's book The Bush Tragedy. There are many anecdotes and quotes of this strong attachment between father and son. This is further argued in the book First Son, by Bill Minutaglio, a respected Texas journalist whose work provided for us a crucial record of his earlier years. Bob, you touched on this as well in State of Denial, quoting Scowcroft: "George W. couldn't decide whether he was going to rebel against his father or try to beat him at his own game. Now, he had tried at the game, and it was a disaster." In summation of this idea, I think Jacob truly hit on one of the most original aspects of this story—in fact, the film doesn't really resemble another political film that I know of, and the many journalists that I've talked to in the last few weeks have never really mentioned another film, which is rare.

So there is an original mixing of mythologies in this, involving (as Jacob points out) the prodigal son becoming the respectable son in Act 2. But not really. He turns out to be, in the third act of his life, an Icarus figure from Greek mythology, whose wings were melted by the sun when he tried to fly higher than his father.

The issue of the 11-minute-long scene of the meeting in the "situation room" is a very interesting one to me, and we should probably discuss this in a future post. Yes, the scene is entirely invented, as I am sure there is no way that these principals could have assembled in one room and so clearly summed up their points of view. But, I think the dialogue fairly represents the point of view of Cheney (geopolitical domination), Rumsfeld (draining the swamp, shaking up the Middle East, re-establishing the Pentagon's dominance after the Afghan war), and Powell (objections to the war). Bob, if I remember correctly, mentioned that there was some shouting behind closed doors between Powell and his group and Cheney and his group. I agree that we made Powell probably stronger than he was, but in the end, we remained accurate to his capitulation. We see him as the "good soldier," who all his life prepared for this moment of standing up for a principle, yet, in the end, he folded. The right thing Powell could have done was resign, as Cyrus Vance did, as secretary of state before the war.

Not to belabor this too much right now, but Cheney's advocacy of an energy policy that focused on the Middle East, coupled with his arguments for pre-emptive war, are well-known. In a speech in 1999 at the Institute of Petroleum, he argued that, "By 2010 we will need on the order of an additional 50 million barrels a day. So where is this oil going to come from? … While many regions of the world offer great oil opportunities, the Middle East, with two-thirds of the world's oil and the lowest cost, is still where the prize ultimately is." Certainly we can agree that questions about energy, security, and regional stability were a prominent part of the discussion leading up to the war. But we went further and imagined a complete geopolitical strategy for Eurasia, where 80 percent of the world's energy resources lie, to ensure, in Cheney's mind, the survival of the United States. This is viewed as an outgrowth of his thinking developed in the Project for the New American Century.

Finally, to Jacob's point about the 1988 presidential election and the critical role W played in his father's campaign: He was the go-to guy on the campaign for outside groups, including evangelical organizations. One such organization, the National Security Political Action Committee, produced the Willie Horton ad. It's simply inconceivable to me to think that W, who proved in his campaign to be a shrewd political operative, did not know about it before it was aired. We do connect dots here, but it's consistent with a central element of W's personality: the need to be tough as nails and resolute in all fights—even when wrong, and especially during political contests. He learned this lesson the hard way after losing an early congressional race in Texas, which we also explore in the film.

While we attempted to paint a human portrait of George W. Bush, I firmly believe that history will not spare this man. His record of playing the fiddle while Rome burned will speak for itself. But I believe our film offers, ironically to me, a strange compassion for W, who is so hard to like. By trying to achieve compassion rather than condemnation, I do hope that we can open our thinking and understanding to the great price we have paid for allowing him to be our leader for the last eight years. Compassion for the man, yes, but a greater compassion for our country. And maybe some long-forgotten humility from all of us. Whether our leaders understand it or not, there is great strength in humility.

Dear Ron, Bob, and Oliver:

Before I respond to Oliver, I'd like to take up Bob's assertion that we know why Bush went to war in Iraq. Bob, thanks more than anything to your four books, we do know an amazing amount about the circumstances. But I'm with Ron in thinking that basic mysteries about the decision remain. Among the questions I'd like to have answers to:

—On what date did Bush make the decision?

—Where was he when he made the decision?

—Who else was in the room?

—What did he think his reason was at the time?

In explaining why you think Bush went to war, you mention a number of different reasons, which aren't mutually exclusive:

1) 9/11 created an atmosphere of peril.

2) Bush believed Saddam had WMD.

3) He thought the war would be easy.

4) There was a lot of momentum toward war.

5) Bush was impatient with the U.N. inspections.

6) He thinks America has a duty to liberate oppressed peoples.

Members of Bush's war council, including Wolfowitz, Cheney, Rice, and Rumsfeld, had additional reasons that may have influenced him as well. Among them:

7) They thought Saddam was helping al-Qaida.

8) They thought Saddam had supported terrorism against the United States.

9) To stop Saddam's violations of human rights.

10) To show American power and resolve.

11) To catalyze democratic change in the Middle East.

12) To prove we could win wars with better technology and fewer troops.

13) Enough with this creep already.

Others have proposed possible personal and unconscious reasons that pushed Bush toward war:

14) To protect his father and his family.

15) To get revenge on his father's enemy.

16) To fix his father's mistake in leaving Saddam in power.

17) To fix Clinton's mistake of letting the problem fester.

18) To prove himself a strong and consequential leader.

Oliver's film suggests a few more possible reasons.

19) To secure access to Iraqi oil.

20) To set the stage for an assault on Iran.

21) To create a new American empire.

This is by no means an exhaustive list. And it's likely that Bush's decision was made for some combination of these reasons (or at least of the first 18 of them). It's also possible that the conclusion was overdetermined—that Bush just thought, "There are so many good reasons for getting rid of Saddam, I don't need to decide exactly why we're doing it."

Bush's rationales have shifted over time. Unless he keeps a secret diary, I seriously doubt he could give an accurate answer to the question himself. As Rumsfeld might put it, the issue of why Bush went to war is a known unknown.

That's a good list of reasons, and as with most human decisions, a series of events, attitudes, and personalities converged to lead Bush to his decision. I still don't think there is a basic mystery. I hate to say this, but read Pages 253 to 274 of Plan of Attack. That was my best effort from all kinds of sources, notes, documents, calendars, and interviews with the key players, including Bush. I don't think there was a single moment when he made the decision, but there was an evolution, and it's in those 21 pages. Needless to say, much went before that, but I think that period from Christmas 2002 to Jan. 13, 2003, was critical.

Whether it was the making of the decision or the crystallizing of it, most of the answers to your questions are there. Some day we may learn more, but I haven't seen anything that adds to or changes that record.

Those pages are heavily underlined in my copy of Plan of Attack. To me, they suggest some kind of crystallization or point of no return in the war planning. But I think some significant evidence points to Bush making his decision to depose Saddam much earlier, in late June or early July 2002.

On July 7, Condi Rice told Richard Haass, the director of policy planning at the State Department, that the decision had already been made. Colin Powell confirmed this to Haass. On July 23, Richard Dearlove, the head of British intelligence, returned from a trip to Washington and told Tony Blair that Bush had already decided to depose Saddam. (The minutes of that briefing have come to be known as the Downing Street Memo.) In his Aug. 26 speech to the VFW, Dick Cheney laid out his case against Iraq in a way that you describe, in Plan of Attack, as "just short of a declaration of war." (For anyone interested, the argument that the decision took place in the summer of 2002 is on pages 197 to 207 of my book.) This issue has big implications. If I'm correct, it means that the back-and-forth over U.N. authorization, the argument about inspections, the congressional debate, and the public debate about whether to go to war were all largely a charade from Bush's point of view.

So, Bob, with all due respect to your amazing reporting, you haven't yet persuaded me that we really know the when and the where of the decision, let alone the how and the why.

Oliver, Bob, and Jacob,

Let me dive in between two of our most able interlocutors—Jacob and Bob—about the remaining mysteries of the march to war. As I've said repeatedly, history's early drafts of this era are formed by many diverse contributions. We journalists are all part of a team, as I see it—competitive, surely, among ourselves, but more pointedly, we are aligned against the evolving cults of message-discipline and secrecy. In other words, we're all in this together.

Bob, clearly, has sat in what journalists generally consider "access heaven" in his unmatched colloquies with Bush. You have witnessed Bush jumping out of his chair to make a point, and many other moments from your interviews provide some signature scenes of this period. But, I wonder, Bob, if you think, looking back, that access to Bush has not been as valuable—hour for hour—as it has been with other presidents whom you've interviewed. I think it's fair to say that Bush and his team don't believe that truthful public disclosure and dialogue are among their central obligations. Other presidents have railed against the troublemakers in the press, but they felt, often reluctantly, that letting the American people know their mind—the good-enough reasons that drive action—was part of their job description. Frankly, I think the best book of your quartet is State of Denial—the one for which, I gather, you were not given access to Bush. But that's a rare occurrence. (The last president you wrote about who wouldn't grant an audience was Nixon, and, of course, you and Carl notched a few historic bell-ringers back then.)

By the way, Oliver, I thought it was a fascinating twist that you placed many of the quotes from Bob's interviews into Bush's mouth during press conferences. In past presidencies, many of the chief executive's most pertinent utterances have come during press conferences. Maybe it will be that way again in the future—a more effective, sunlit (or spot-lit) version of public dialogue, to my mind.

But in terms of the reasons for war, the decision to invade, the selling of the war—and specifically (to mangle that signature phrase) what leaders knew and when they knew it—I think that despite Bob's ardent efforts, there will be many more disclosures and clarifications in the years to come. Just in my last book, The Way of the World, I came across fresh, detailed accounts of battles from January 2002, when senior officials of the Defense Department and CIA were instructed by the White House to begin a one-year, logistical planning process for the invasion. At that point, it was not a matter of if. It was, in essence, a 12-month ticking clock for the execution of an approved policy. What's more, in the spring of 2002, the White House told senior intelligence officials that WMD would be the lead justification for the invasion. The response from intelligence officials, especially those with expertise on Iraq, was that using WMDs as justification for war was a perilous gambit—advice that the White House ignored.

Mind you, this is just one example, a glimpse of the continent that remains in shadows, despite the tireless efforts of journalists with official access (like Bob) or without it (like me and many others). At day's end, many of the self-correcting features of our system of governance—congressional oversight, a strong judiciary, a robust press—failed in this era. Even a special effort like the Silberman-Robb Commission, slated to dig into the megascandal of pre-war intelligence and the selling of a war of choice, was halted at the gates of the White House. That's like investigating a murder without ever going to the scene of the crime or questioning those with motive or intent. It is, to my mind, an American tragedy that this administration will leave the stage with a host of basic questions left unanswered—questions that you, Jacob, ever thorough, outline nicely.

But, Oliver, what left me feeling a touch of ennui at the movie's conclusion is how this played out cinematically—not in spite of your use of available sources but, maybe (ironically), because of it. Bush comes off largely as a victim of circumstances, a man overwhelmed and overmatched. How could there not be WMD? Why is this war turning into a debacle? Who's responsible?

I don't buy it. Never have. Here, on balance, you and I agree, Bob. It's a matter of Bush exercising free will. It's his war. He's responsible. What qualities in W's architecture drove events? It was his preternatural faith in the power of confidence. He felt that believing in something with absolute certainty (even if it's willed rather than earned) is the key to victory, the spine of leadership. And once victory is won, no one will ask inconvenient questions about how it was achieved. The Bush view, then, is win first and win big—and if there's a mess, we'll clean it up later. And, someday, the winners will write history. It's the gambler's philosophy, a model that rests on pure nerve, a familiar two-step in the nation's history and culture, and one you see so often of late in public and private spheres in America. Eventually, complex reality will make itself felt.

It is, of course, easy to judge, swiftly and harshly. For a writer or filmmaker, that is often the path to diminished outcomes. Listen, Oliver, I was quite moved by your entry, by how the effort to feel compassion for Bush has widened your sensibilities, spurring an appreciation—as, clearly, you hope the movie will—that "there is great strength in humility." I hear you. But I'm sure some readers, and viewers of W., are asking themselves, "Is this progress, or has angry Oliver gone soft?"

Jacob, yes, I have read and underlined many portions of your book. Here is the problem, as I see it—and this is based on extensive conversations, many at the time in 2002, with those directly involved:

It is crucial to make the distinction between 1) a decision to "depose" Saddam and 2) the decision to go to war to do it. First, the Rice-Haas conversation, as best I can tell, was really about the decision to get rid of Saddam, not necessarily to go to war. Recall that Powell, with Bush's blessing, launched a rather active diplomatic effort at the United Nations that lived for months. In fact, in news coverage, the unanimous 15-0 U.N. Security Council resolution in November was depicted as a big victory for Powell and diplomacy. In addition, the October 2002 congressional resolutions supporting a war were viewed as tools designed to give more weight to the diplomatic track.

Second, detailed reporting on the so-called Downing Street memo shows that Richard Dearlove insisted that the minutes were not accurate at the time, and within a week they were redone to reflect what he maintained he had said to Blair at the briefing. It is much less dramatic and conclusive than the Downing Street version. I have never been able to get a copy of the redone minutes, but numerous people directly involved say they show less-sweeping conclusions.

Nonetheless, it is clear that Bush did not think diplomacy would work, and there are elements of a Japanese Kabuki dance in all of this. But I don't think he had decided finally on war at that time. As he has said, in August 2002, he had not yet seen a war plan that he thought would work. Yet he was pointing toward war, and there was an inescapable momentum toward war.

The Rice-Haass conversation and the Dearlove briefing (as allegedly corrected), however, don't really support the conclusion that there was some charade or that Bush had made a final, secret decision on war. That charade came later, in January 2003, when he had decided yet publicly insisted that he had not. Historians will be able to pick through the various records someday and, I hope, answer these questions in a more definitive way.

Ron Suskind thinks the decision to go to war had already been made in January 2002. I think it happened during the summer of 2002. Bob Woodward thinks it wasn't made until January 2003. I suspect we have somewhat differing views, as well, on the balance of reasons for the war and the influence of various Bush advisers, including Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Wolfowitz. To me, our back-and-forth supports the point that there's a lot we still don't know about the most important decision of George W. Bush's presidency. But I think we agree, at least, that this issue is going to occupy memoirists, journalists, and historians for years to come.

Now back to W. Oliver, thank you for your thoughtful response and for the kind words about my book. To return the compliment, I really admire your ability to empathize with politicians you hate, something I thought you managed to do in Nixon as well as in W. Josh Brolin didn't turn his character into a cartoon; he played him with the energy, charisma, and caustic wit that draw people to George W. Bush in real life. Watching a lot of scenes in the movie, you can't help just liking that bad boy, which I imagine is an unsettling reaction for a lot of your audience. I had a similar feeling when I was writing The Bush Tragedy. The more I looked at Bush in a family context, the more human and sympathetic he became. When you understand his personal struggles and limitations, it's hard not to feel for the guy.

But I have to say that your approach to telling this story continues to rankle me. I certainly understand the need to dramatize. But even in a film or novel, there is a responsibility to truth. An essential attribute of any successful historical fiction, it seems to me, is plausibility. You have to present scenes and dialogue that might have happened, even if they didn't happen. Among recent films, I thought The Queen did this very well. Most of it was imagined, but the narrative and characters meshed with known reality. I recognize that your method is different, but it put me off every time I heard Bush say something that I knew he'd actually said in a completely different context. It wasn't filling in the blanks; it was reality purée.

You haven't said anything to justify the two crucial scenes I complained about. In my earlier post, I asked you to explain why you had Cheney making the case for war on the basis of a new American empire. Your answer is that you imagined it as "an outgrowth of his thinking." Isn't Cheney's actual thinking scary enough for you without extrapolating additional homunculi? To me, what you do here is not so different from John McCain and Sarah Palin contending that Barack Obama is a secret socialist because he wants to shift more of the tax burden to the rich. The words you put in Cheney's mouth are ones he wouldn't ever say. As support, you offer a quote from a speech he gave in 1999 to the effect that America's oil is likely to continue coming from the Middle East. But Cheney pointing that out when he ran Halliburton doesn't in any way support your movie's depiction of him as vice president arguing for American control of Iraqi and Iranian oil. Your version isn't a theory. It's a paranoid fantasy.

And with apologies for belaboring this, your Willie Horton scene just has no basis in reality. In his father's 1988 campaign, George W. was not responsible for relations with all outside groups. He handled relations with the religious right. In "connecting the dots," as you put it, you are positing a federal crime that no one else, to my knowledge, has ever accused George W. Bush of committing.

I think I've made my point here, Oliver, so I'll let you have the last word.

My thanks again to all of you for joining in the discussion this week. I've really enjoyed it.

Bob, Ron, Jacob,

Forgive my tardiness in response. I'm working long hours over here in England and France getting W. open. It's tough to keep this pace up, and it's late here. But it's great to see how you're all fighting with one another. I love it.

I'd add this to the issue of Ron's accusation that in the movie Bush is some kind of innocent "Candide." At times, certainly, Josh Brolin plays him with charm and goofy innocence—but Bush is hardly innocent. What could be clearer in this movie, coming after his supposed evangelical conversion, than the size of his ego? It seems to me in contradiction to the demands of the born-again faith, wherein you surrender your ego to Jesus Christ. "This is my war, not his! I will not renegotiate this," he yells at Condoleezza Rice in the Bush-Scowcroft-Wall Street Journal scene two-thirds of the way through the film. W also clearly tells the assemblage in the central Situation Room scene, "I'm a gut player, always have been, and I am just so bone tired of this Saddam. ... We have got to get this war going." And earlier in the same scene: "The working Joe's not thinking about oil. We're talking 9/11 terrorists and WMDs. We're talking freedom and democracy. We're talking about 'Axis of Evil.' "

In another scene, he clearly tells Dick Cheney that he is the "decider," and he tells Karl Rove that he makes up the ideas. All men serve him. And, as Jacob portrays so wonderfully in his book, he is a creature of outsized ego, resulting partly from the fact that up until the age of 40 he was a man brewing with frustration. Forty years is a long time to wait when your father is better at sports, politics, oil, money, diplomacy, and even academics than you are. I can see in Bush's press conferences, at the very least, a seething anger and impatience with any kind of criticism that seems to affect every aspect of his life. Jacob, in his book, goes into detail about the idea that as a first-born, black-sheep son who has been criticized for so much of his life, Bush reacted by hardening his willpower to the point at which any criticism would only encourage him in the opposite direction. There are many examples of this: his reactions to the vast 12 million-to-15-million-person protest throughout the planet against his policies in Iraq, his reaction to his father's and Brent Scowcroft's criticisms of the war, and his contemptuous indifference to questions about his judgment from the press, among many other instances.

It is Bush's unchecked ego that drives him to willfully disregard facts and rely on so-called instincts, as well as his naive belief this was a just and winnable war simply because good is supposed to triumph over evil. Saddam and terrorists are clearly evil, and America is clearly for freedom and democracy; what could possibly go wrong?

Add to the mix the Project for the New American Century—whose statement of principle is "American leadership is both good for America and good for the world." The PNAC had a sense of supreme purpose: It had been advocating regime change in Iraq since 1998—and counted among its chief advocates Wolfowitz, Cheney, and Rumsfeld, who were strategically placed in the White House. There you have it: a combustible mix of ambition and faith. A perfect storm wherein Bush's ego blends with the collective desire for revenge after 9/11, the Darwinian global-domination instincts of Cheney, and the needs for re-election of Karl Rove.

And not to overlook this: We have not talked much about Richard Clarke, the White House counterterrorism expert, who writes of W.'s immediate impulse after 9/11:

The president dragged me into a room with a couple of other people, shut the door, and said, "I want you to find whether Iraq did this."

I said, "Mr. President. We've done this before. We have been looking at this. We looked at it with an open mind. There's no connection."

He came back at me and said, "Iraq! Saddam! Find out if there's a connection." And in a very intimidating way.

As Bob points out in Plan of Attack, by the Camp David meeting on Sunday, Sept. 16, Bush had decided, "We won't do Iraq now. ... We're putting Iraq off. But eventually we'll have to return to that question."

However, it wasn't long before Bush returned to that question: "By that November 21 [2001], when he took Rumsfeld aside, Bush had decided it was time to turn to Iraq. 'I want to know what the options are.' "

While Tommy Franks and Rumsfeld went full speed ahead on their war plans for Iraq from November 2001 on, Franks was telling his commanders: "This is fucking serious. You know, if you guys think this is not going to happen, you're wrong."

In April 2002, again according to Bob, when Bush hosted Tony Blair and his family at his ranch at Crawford, a British television reporter interviewed the president about Iraq.

"I made up my mind that Saddam needs to go," Bush said, announcing his explicit intentions almost a year before he launched his pre-emptive strike on Iraq.

In the fascinating discussion the three of you had setting different timelines for the actual origin of the war, I would only point out the one thing that stood out in my mind at the time: As an infantry veteran, I was struck by the commitment of Bush to send 100,000 soldiers to the Gulf in December 2002. This was the typical kind of "hide in plain sight" deployment often used in cases such as Central America in the 1980s and in previous Middle Eastern conflicts. Nevertheless, you don't send 100,000 soldiers, plus a fleet of naval ships, to a region with the idea of their coming back without having used the power. It would've cost a fortune, and it was a policy from which George Bush could not have retreated without great embarrassment and cost. It smelled clearly of war. So I think by December it was more or less decided.

I think there is a larger implication, however. I think we make too much of Iraq specifically. I think Bush's anger needed a larger pasture in which to graze. If it had not been Iraq, I think he would just as easily have turned us against Iran or, for that matter, Venezuela or Cuba or North Korea, another co-star in his "Axis of Evil" speech. The mindset is there from the beginning—of "us vs. them," the "evil-doers," the "terrorists" (which is really an undefinable term in the perspective of history). This is the essence of the Bush Doctrine, which allows the chief executive to tell us, Orwellian-style, who our enemy of the moment is.

The bigger issue is the mindset that exists in such thinking, that it's going to occur again in the cycle of our foreign policies. Even should Obama win, I can foresee these hostile situations arising over and over from such flammable policies as our expansion of NATO and our recent Russian/Georgian conflict. Bush and his ilk, in opposition, will continue to raise their voices in dissent at any kind of "soft power" response coming from the United States. We will be expected to answer perceived threats in a partial military manner because of the fierceness of our opposition party. Already Obama seems to be going in that direction in Afghanistan; it's beginning to look to me like another version of Iraq/Vietnam. We seem incapable as a system of reforming the military-industrial complex.

Finally, I just want to reiterate that the compassion this film displays toward the feelings of George Bush has not changed my sensibilities about the clear path of destruction and diminishment to which he has led our nation; yet I don't think Bush wakes up in the morning thinking about the bad things he does or could do. He believes he's a good guy; he's with the angels. In fact, I don't think he has had a moment of uncertainty about his virtue. He believes it to his core, and clearly a part of America, to a degree, believed in this, too.

Our next terrible president will not come wearing wolf's clothing or twisting a mustache. He—or she—will seem benign, friendly, and patriotic; someone who can convince us that the nuance of international relations is actually quite simple; someone with whom we'd want to have a beer. This is one of the main lessons I hope the film conveys: Will we recognize the next George W. Bush who enters national politics? Will we see the train wreck coming before we are in it?

Jacob, as I am finishing this post, I see your recent one questioning two big scenes in the film. I would like to respond to this in my next post.

Special W. Dialogue Bonus: After reading this discussion, Michael Isikoff, co-author of Hubris: The Inside Story of Spin, Scandal, and the Selling of the Iraq War, was moved to respond. His post is below.

Oliver, Bob, Ron, and Jacob:

After reviewing this discussion, I'd like to weigh in on the debate over the core question: When and why did President Bush decide to go to war in Iraq? It is, when you think about it, rather amazing that there isn't a consensus on this. It was, after all, the defining moment of Bush's presidency.

My old and esteemed boss Bob Woodward contends he fully answered the question in his book Plan of Attack and places the moment when Bush chose war in January 2003. My new Newsweek colleague Jacob Weisberg demurs and places it sometime in the summer of 2002. My neighbor Ron Suskind argues the decision was already made by early 2002.

At the risk of being self-referential, I'd point Slate readers to one of the scenes Stone lifted wholesale from Hubris, the book David Corn and I co-authored in 2006 about the selling of the Iraq war. It appears, slightly modified, in the movie; Stone tinkers a bit with the actual dialogue. But he's got the essence of it right. I think it tilts the scale toward Suskind.

The scene in question takes place May 1, 2002. Bush, while whacking tennis balls to his dogs on the White House lawn, is being briefed by press secretary Ari Fleischer and another communications aide, Adam Levine, for a History Channel interview he is about to give that afternoon about the life of Ronald Reagan. (That's the real setting as reported in Hubris. In the movie, Stone substitutes Karl Rove for the somewhat obscure Levine, and Fleischer walks in midway through the discussion.) Fleischer relates the pesky questions he was getting at the press briefing that day from Helen Thomas about why Bush seems so intent on starting a war and getting rid of Saddam Hussein. Bush lets a loose with a string of expletives.

"Did you tell her I don't like motherfuckers who gas their own people?"

"Did I tell you I don't like assholes who lie to the world?"

"Did you tell her I'm going to kick his sorry motherfucking ass all over the Mideast?"

Fleischer replies: "I told her half of that."

In the movie, Stone actually tones down the expletives and substitutes a different line—"Did you tell her I don't like assholes who try to kill my father?"—in the middle of this tirade. (Bush actually did make a crack about Saddam trying to kill his father, but that was at a Texas fundraiser for John Cornyn on Sept. 26, 2002.) But the rest of the movie dialogue is pretty much as Bush said it. And there wasn't much doubt about what Bush had in mind. "You know where we're going here," Levine recalled thinking at the time.

There are two obvious points to make about this. The first is that Bush's outburst was early—well before Congress authorized the war resolution in October 2002 and before the November 2002 U.N. Security Council resolution giving Saddam one last chance to come clean on his supposed weapons of mass destruction. It also came before Bush, according to Woodward, made the decision to wage war the following January. Woodward may well be right about the formal decision. But under the operating assumption that diplomacy isn't the customary way to kick a foreign leader's ass across international borders, I think the May outburst is fairly indicative that Bush had pretty much made up his mind about what he intended to do long before the final sign off.

My second point speaks to motivation, and here's where the Ronald Reagan interview that day sheds some light. While researching Hubris, Corn and I got hold of the actual written memo prepared for Bush in which the White House communications staff had written out the likely questions the president would get from the History Channel interviewer. Bush then wrote on it, scribbling his thoughts about the points he wanted to emphasize. The memo with Bush's jottings is a fascinating document. It offers a pretty good window into not just what Bush admired about Reagan but also how he saw himself in the spring of 2002. "Optimism and strength," Bush scrawled at the top of the memo. Also, "decisive" and "faith." Next to a question about Reagan's direct, blunt style, Bush wrote "moral clarity." He drew an arrow next to the word forceful. Alongside a question about the 1983 suicide-bombing attack on the U.S. Marines barracks in Lebanon (which killed 241 U.S. troops), Bush wrote, "There will be casualties."

When it came time for the actual interview, Bush hit these points and used an interesting analogy that Stone includes in W.: Recalling one of the iconic speeches of the Reagan era, one that the late president's admirers have long pointed to as a decisive moment in the fall of the Soviet Empire, Bush said that Reagan "didn't say, 'Well, Mr. Gorbachev, would you take the top three bricks off the wall?' He said, 'Tear it all down.' … And the truth of the matter is, I spoke about the Axis of Evil, and I did it for a reason. I wanted the world to know exactly where the United States stood."

We can debate endlessly what really motivated Bush in making the audacious decision to invade Iraq—the threat of WMD, the cooked-up evidence about connections between Saddam and al-Qaida, the need to be pre-emptive in the post-9/11 era, the desire to secure Mideast oil supplies. But I think the "tear it all down" line captures the essence of Bush's worldview. Why monkey around with diplomacy, U.N. inspections, and halfway measures? And the search for one key moment to pinpoint the "decision" time is probably illusory. Bush the Decider didn't actually decide in Cabinet or war-council meetings. His White House didn't thrash out option memos and debate them endlessly. He decided on what his gut told him, and his gut instincts were that he had had enough of trying to "box in" Saddam Hussein and that it was time to kick his ass and remove him through military force.

The enormous consequences of such gut decisions—the human and financial costs of the war in Iraq—may be one reason another Republican presidential candidate known for making gut decisions may be having such a difficult time in the polls right now.

In response to Jacob's last post, and the responsibility we bear to the truth, I believe we can defend the plausibility of any single scene (except, of course, the surreal dream scene with his father at the end). We are just not going to agree on the favored method for presenting historical drama. Jacob would clearly prefer a dramatization with mostly imagined dialogue, as in The Queen, while I believe putting people's own words in their own mouths, though perhaps from another context of time and place, adds to the authenticity of the piece—as long as it doesn't cross the line of plausibility (i.e., the president may well have said something similar in this context).

Regarding Willie Horton, yes, I agree the Bush/Quayle campaign wasn't literally behind the ad. But let's not forget, there were ties between the National Security Political Action Committee (which produced the ads) and the campaign: Three former employees of Roger Ailes (a media consultant for the Bush campaign) worked on the ads. In fact, the FEC investigated a connection between Ailes and NSPAC, which resulted in a deadlocked 3-3 on finding illegal coordination. So, while there was no illegal coordination, as you well know, campaigns routinely tread carefully up to that line.

Moreover, I think it's naive to believe that presidential campaigns are so pristine as not to even know about these reprehensible ads before they air. And that's exactly what's portrayed in the film. The commercial was one of the turning points of that campaign, and it was this campaign that, according to many observers, showed W to be a shrewd operative. It seems quite plausible, therefore, that W, in dramatic context, may well have shown his father the ad and explained that it was funded by NSPAC.

As to Cheney and his concept of the domination of world resources, you accuse me of "paranoid fantasy" and compare me, surprisingly, to McCain and Palin. Well, I've been there before. (Frankly, I've been compared to worse historical figures.) But I don't think many people would think that I'm far off the mark in the plausibility of the Cheney character arguing for control of Iraqi, Iranian, and Eurasian resources.

I'm bewildered, first, by your categorical disregard for his 1999 speech before the Petroleum Institute. The key quote remains: "The Middle East, with two-thirds of the world's oil and the lowest cost, is still where the prize ultimately lies." Do you really think his views changed that much in three years? I'm sure you remember that in 2001 the vice president's energy task force spent a great deal of time courting every significant oil company to weigh in on the national energy policy—even though this was denied by everyone at the time. And what was the conclusion of Cheney's task force? That "by any estimation, Middle East oil producers will remain central to world oil security."

In September 2002, the Bush administration issued a new national security strategy that codified the themes of Cheney's 1992 defense guidance: maintaining overwhelming military power to "dissuade potential adversaries" from attempting to even equal U.S. power, and enhancing "energy security" by expanding "the sources and types of global energy supplied, especially in the Western Hemisphere, Africa, Central Asia, and the Caspian region."

In October 2002, Oil and Gas International reported that U.S. planning was already under way to reorganize Iraq's oil and business relationships. In January 2003, the Wall Street Journal reported that representatives from Exxon Mobil, Chevron, ConocoPhillips, and Halliburton, among others, were meeting with Vice President Cheney's staff to plan the postwar revival of Iraq's oil industry. One-time Bush speech writer David Frum wrote in The Right Man, his 2003 biography of his boss, that the "war on terror" was designed to "bring new freedom and new stability to the most vicious and violent quadrant of the Earth—and new prosperity to us all, by securing the world's largest pool of oil."

In August 2005, Bush acknowledged this connection himself—answering "growing anti-war protests," according to AP (Aug. 31), "with a fresh reason for U.S. troops to continue fighting in Iraq: protection of the country's vast oil fields, which he said would otherwise fall under the control of terrorist extremists."

Regarding Iran, W. points to its centrality geographically. According to Gen. Wesley Clark, memos calling for the overthrow of seven countries in five years, including Iran and Iraq, were circulating in the Pentagon within two weeks of 9/11. And in State of Denial, Bob documents a secret, influential November 2001 meeting dubbed "Bletchley II," which concluded the United States couldn't defeat Islamic radicalism without first overthrowing Saddam, which, according to one participant, would lead to "Iranian overthrow." Current threats against Iran flow from this overall strategic vision.

I think in closing that we would agree that the fascinating portrait of Cheney as a Hobbesian, completely realistic, America-first survivalist, and (in contradiction to the Bush theology) a Darwinian of the first order, wherein the strong eat the weak, is quite plausible. That Dick Cheney, in his methodical, quiet, 1 percent way, must surely be thinking of the future of America in the next 50 years. In his entire government experience, he's been nothing less than loyal to his version of its perceived interests. Unfortunately, as was the case with many "armchair patriots" before him, defending those interests has led us into a "black hole." We made Cheney's plan for world domination as alluring and economically brief as possible for a dramatic audience. However, reading books such as Larry Everest's Oil, Power, and Empire, you will find a realistic, certainly plausible assessment of world energy policy, as perceived by the oil companies. There is a wonderful moment, I think, in the "Situation Room" scene, where Colin Powell looks over at Cheney after his monologue and says, somewhat with awe, "Spoken like a true oilman."

Signing off. Enjoyed very much,

Oliver

KOGELO, Kenya—Last Sunday morning, while Barack Obama stumped in Colorado, his paternal grandmother, 86-year-old "Mama Sarah" Obama, stood before a microphone and a crowd of several hundred villagers on a plot of land in Kogelo. Beside her was Kenyan Prime Minister Raila Odinga, whose helicopter had descended unexpectedly onto her tin-roofed homestead moments earlier. Streams of excited villagers ran across the surrounding corn and cassava fields and from a soccer game at Senator Barack Obama Secondary School.

Odinga addressed the crowd and the Kenyan TV cameras that followed him in Luo, the local tongue: "Today we have gathered here to say hello to Mama Sarah. The boy from here, he's gone to compete. We are praying for him so that he succeeds. Are you happy with Obama?"

"We are happy!" the crowd responded.

"Are you happy with him?"

"We are!"

Though I may have been the only person for miles around who actually has a vote in the U.S. presidential election, the occasion seemed oddly like a campaign rally. In a sense, it was. For Prime Minister Odinga, who, like the Obamas, belongs to the Luo tribe, and whose loss in a tainted presidential election last December touched off devastating ethnic violence, the appearance with Sarah Obama was not only an expression of solidarity, but also unambiguous political groundwork for what he might one day claim as a direct channel to the White House. For Obama's grandmother, the arrival of the Kenyan prime minister was another indication of how the phenomenal rise of an Obama child has changed the lives of the other Obama family half a world away.

"At the beginning, I thought it was something that would be short-lived, but it's been getting bigger every day," Obama's uncle Said had told me earlier that day on the drive from the provincial city in Kisumu for what I expected would be a quiet interview with the family matriarch. "It will continue to be a major preoccupation—or maybe my employment." Said wasn't referring only to his changed daily routine, which now involves rising at 4 a.m. to track the latest U.S. campaign news on Anderson Cooper 360—"people will ask me to comment on a development, and I don't want to be caught unawares"—before a full workday as a technician for a spirits company, followed by night school for his business management degree. Said was also referring to what it has meant, and what it may mean for at least the next four years, to be an Obama in Kenya: the frequent visits from people asking for money or help getting a U.S. visa; the requests to help sponsor scholarships for study in the United States; and the random pale faces, African dignitaries, and international journalists that have been arriving at Mama Sarah's home on a daily basis for the last year, paying respects and seeking favors and quotes.

"You can't fail to see there's a perception that we are in a better place economically," Said said. "People know that if you are in a senior position, you become rich. Leaders here steal. But our lives go on. We are a hardworking family. We should not just stand idly and think Barack is going to fix everything for us."

A 36-year-old cousin of Barack's, a hairdresser in Nairobi who has returned to Kogelo to support Mama Sarah during the final weeks of the campaign, told me that he tries to maintain a low profile. "I won't be able to walk freely," he said, asking that his name not be publicized out of concern for both unwanted attention and personal safety. His girlfriend, he added, doesn't even know about his family ties to the U.S. senator. "She might think I've been hiding money from her. She'll expect a lot." Last August, Italian Vanity Fair "discovered" Barack's half-brother George, who lives in the marginalized outskirts of Nairobi; his plight was sensationalized by international media and in turn exploited by conservatives who suggested that the candidate doesn't care for his own family. Because of the widely brachiated nature of the Kenyan Obama family tree, as for many traditional African families, notions of family are very complicated. Certainly, the Obamas that Barack seems closest with appear loved, financially secure, and not at all resentful.

A perception of family wealth was likely the motive of an attempted burglary of Mama Sarah's home in September. When I arrived at the homestead, I was met by armed Kenyan police officers posted behind a newly erected 8-foot fence. I was asked to sign a visitors log. Hundreds of names from all over the world had filled the book since the first entry on Sept. 16. The guards were securing what may be the world's most modest gated compound: With the exception of a small solar panel on the corrugated tin roof of Mama Sarah's two-room home, the most obvious signs of affluence appeared to be a pair of cows, which mooed as I walked in.

Mama Sarah's living room had obviously been configured to accommodate visiting delegations. Several wood couches and chairs were neatly arranged arm-to-arm around the perimeter of the cement floor, their cushions covered by plain white cloths with embroidered fringes. A television draped in a decorative cloth sat atop a table in one corner, and a life-size photo cutout of a smiling Barack presided over the room from another. Other Barack memorabilia and family portraiture hung from the walls: a framed black-and-white image of Barack Obama Sr., an image of Sasha and Malia Obama watering a seedling in front of a Masai tribesman while Barack snapped a picture, and an autographed poster from Barack's Illinois state Senate campaign, signed, "Mama Sarah: Habari! And Love."

"Barack is a good listener," Mama Sarah told me. "He is somebody who pays attention to the plight of people. With those kinds of attributes, I think he will be in a better position to sort out the problems that are bedeviling the world. I think he's got all it takes to be a world leader." Clearly reining in her normally spontaneous personality, Mama Sarah was proud and on-message: "We are leaving everything to God. We know it's been a long wait, and, God willing, we hope that everything is going to be OK."

The day before, in Kisumu, I was talking about Obama to a boatman on Lake Victoria when a nearby car radio blared the following judgment: "God has already chosen Obama on Nov. 4! Who are you to say no?" Nowhere in Kenya—perhaps nowhere in the world outside of blue-state America—is there more optimism about an Obama victory as in Kisumu, a predominantly Luo city on Kenya 's western border with Uganda, which still bears the scars of last winter's election violence. Indeed, the widely held fear that vote-rigging on Nov. 4 could snatch the election from Obama reflects the lingering sentiment among Luos here that Kenya's tainted presidential election—in which Odinga officially lost to Mwai Kibaki—was stolen from them. I've been asked several times, "Do you think John McCain can steal the votes?"

Obama's likeness appears on watch faces, key chains, posters, T-shirts, calendars, and women's shoes. Hawkers offer CDs of Obama-inspired reggae and Luo songs in the open-air bus depot. Mockups of $1,000 bills with Obama's portrait filling the oval are plastered on public minivans. ("I just asked the designer to pimp the van, and it came back like this," the driver told me.) A generation of newborns named "Obama" are entering the world. A schoolteacher in a local village says her students sing Obama songs: "He is a genius/ He is a hero/ He comes all the way from Africa/ To go compete in the land of the whites/ He makes us proud/ For at least he's made Africa known to the world." The campaign 8,000 miles away has been closely observed. When I arrived in town, my tuk-tuk driver offered punditry of the third debate: "For the first 20 minutes, it was competitive and McCain was good, but then Obama was much smarter."

Daniel Otieno, the local bureau chief of Kenya's the Nation newspaper, believes the fierce partisanship is a legacy of the area's early bullfighting days, when Luo clans rallied behind their favored bull. "Barack Obama is their bull," he says, adding that "a victory on Nov. 4 will be felt as a consolation for the Kenyan election." Bundled with that pride is an exaggerated expectation that Obama will support Kenya, and especially the Kisumu area, currently crippled by the country's highest incidence of HIV/AIDS. Unemployment here is rampant, and many of the young and jobless I spoke with believe an Obama presidency will directly improve their lives—a belief that I hope does not turn into resentment if and when they are disappointed.

While the TV cameras rolled in front of Mama Sarah's home, Prime Minister Odinga attempted to temper these expectations. "Kenyans know that Barack will be first and foremost the president of the United States of America, not a Kenyan president in the United States." He added, "Under an Obama presidency, trade and investment between Kenya and the United States will increase. Kenyans hope that there will be more scope for cooperation. We also think that Africa will get more attention than it has received in the past."

With that, Odinga and Mama Sarah walked toward the car that would drive the prime minister to his helicopter. He was a step ahead of her, and just as it seemed he was about to get into the car, a reporter reminded him that Mama Sarah was behind him, anticipating a goodbye. Odinga turned, offered a warm and genuine embrace, and then drove out of the compound.

The villagers dissipated, the reporters disassembled their tripods and climbed into SUVs, and Mama Sarah headed toward the house. Said called out, "Intercept her!" Then he led her by the arm to a waiting chair in the shade of an avocado tree, where a Canadian TV crew was setting up for an interview.

Sarah Palin's rally Monday in Fredericksburg, Va., began with a prayer. "Thank you for all you have given us," intoned Susan Stimpson, chairwoman of the county Republican Party. If she had really wanted to help, though, she would have prayed the polls are wrong.

A new Washington Post/ABC poll released Monday put Barack Obama up eight points in Virginia, one for every day left in the election. His advantage is even stronger in Northern Virginia, where he outpolls McCain 2-to-1. In the southwest, which a McCain adviser recently called "real Virginia," McCain is still leading. He's also up among veterans and people who go to church at least once a week. But overall, the state looks dangerously close to seceding—this time from the South.

You wouldn't know it from McCain's schedule. He and Palin have logged a total of four visits to Virginia in the last month. Three of them happened yesterday—first in the Washington exurb of Leesburg (enemy territory, according to the polls), then in the northern-ish town of Fredericksburg ("Don't call us north," pleaded a McCain supporter. "Please don't call us north"), and finally Salem, a town of 24,000 southwest of Richmond. And it wasn't McCain doing the visiting—it was Palin, solo.

It's no surprise the McCain campaign dispatched Palin, rather than McCain himself, to woo Virginia. She's been attracting bigger crowds—Fredericksburg drew an estimated 6,000 to the outdoor Hurkamp Park, and at least 10,000 people filled the Salem Civic Center, home of the Salem Avalanche. She's also better-suited to execute the strategy that's most likely to save McCain. The state's blueward swing owes much to demographic shifts, as immigrants and yuppies swell Northern Virginia's exurbs. Nor can McCain hope to match Obama's organization. The campaign's Hail Mary strategy, therefore, appears to be based on mobilizing the conservative base.

Palin has enthusiastically risen to the task. Her message on Monday was the usual folksy populism on steroids. Obama won't just raise your taxes, he's a socialist. He's not just unready to be commander in chief, he'll invite an attack. He doesn't just have bad ideas about Iraq, he never uses the word "victory." "Joe the Plumber" made an appearance in Palin's speech; Tito the Builder, the newest member of the campaign's middle-class everyman super team (which, with "Rose the Teacher," "Doug the Barber," and "Cindy the Citizen," is starting to sound a lot like a commune) was there in person. Palin's folksy one-offs have now been seared into her teleprompters: At two events, she said Obama was "just kinda flip-floppin' around there" on taxes. (If that wasn't enough, there were bails of hay lining the stage in Fredericksburg.) And she touched on the messy stuff: "It is not mean-spirited or negative campaigning to call someone out on their record, on their plans and their associations."

She's also what political nerds might call a "validator" for McCain—she lets people know it's OK to vote for him. Just as white union leaders make their members feel more comfortable with Obama, so Palin makes religious conservatives more comfortable with McCain. She also validates their doubts—which, at this stage of the campaign, are mostly about the polls. Palin dismissed the media and Democrats who say Obama has the race locked up. "I'll tell you something about polls," said state Sen. Richard Stuart as he warmed up the Fredericksburg crowd. He described how he was down in the polls a week before Election Day and still won. I heard someone else posit the theory that pollsters poll only Democrats, so of course Obama is winning. One voter, Lori Haimel of Boones Mill, assured me that polls are wrong because they rely on home landlines during the day, while professionals are at work.

There are plenty of reasons to doubt polls, and this election has enough X-factors—race and turnout among them—to justify healthy second-guessing. But there's a difference between skepticism and denial. Obama has been surging not just in Virginia but everywhere, thanks largely to the flagging economy. And it's pretty clear that the Republican leadership believes the polls: The RNC is now buying ad time in Montana and West Virginia.

Luckily for Palin, this denial is accompanied by enthusiasm—both positive and negative. The negative energy, which seems to fuse with evangelical fervor, is directed at Obama. Deborah Cleaveland, decked in fur and leopard-print gloves and flanked by her grandchildren, carried a sign to the rally in Salem with a line from Proverbs: "When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice; but when the wicked rule, the people mourn." She doesn't think Obama is the Antichrist, she told me. But there's a decent chance he's a prophet sent to announce the coming of the Antichrist. As for why God would allow Obama to get elected, "He may be drawing things to an end."

Campaign officials tend not to dwell on End Times for practical as well as symbolic reasons. "Morale is good," said Tyler Brown, a McCain spokesman in Virginia. "We're gonna keep fighting it out." I believe him. When Palin's motorcade breezed by the football stadium in Salem, the crowd screamed. One fan shook a sign: "Why vote for Sarah? Because she's one of us!" When Palin stood under the giant field lights, the crowd chanting her name, fans in the stands wearing coordinated colors to spell out "USA," I couldn't help but think we'd suddenly fast-forwarded to 2012.

Oenophiles are divided over lots of issues—the merits of red Burgundies, the virtues of new oak, the utility of Riedel glasses—but they all seem to agree that restaurant wine prices are, on the whole, abusively high. In the just-released seventh edition of Parker's Wine Buyer's Guide, critic Robert Parker blasts restaurants that charge exorbitant markups; he says this practice reinforces "the mistaken notion that wine is only for the elite and superrich" and urges consumers to shun establishments that engage in it. (Bizarrely, Page Six ran an item last month about Parker's broadside; evidently, it was a very slow gossip day.) Extortionate markups do send a regrettable message, but it is nothing that a deep recession can't cure. In the current economic climate, gouging on wine is not just unsporting but suicidal. Restaurants looking for strategies to survive the downturn ought to begin by cutting the prices on their wines.

Restaurant wine service is an eternally fraught subject. Conflicting opinions have even been slipped into the pages of Slate. Last January, I wrote an article praising American sommeliers; five months later, an indignant Christopher Hitchens demanded to know why such creatures even exist. In denouncing sommeliers, Hitchens hit on an essential point: Restaurants want you to drink as much wine as possible. Not only that: The more you spend on a bottle, the happier they are. They will sometimes even sacrifice a bit of the profit they might earn from solids in order to get clients to pony up for liquids. In a profile last year in The New Yorker, British chef Gordon Ramsay admitted that he kept food prices at his newly opened Manhattan restaurant lower than they needed to be as a way of enticing customers to go crazy on wine.

The emphasis on wine has a simple explanation: Wine sales are the lifeblood of many restaurants. Ronn Wiegand, a Napa, Calif.-based restaurant consultant who holds the rare Master of Wine degree, says that wine accounts for 10 percent to 15 percent of total sales for casual restaurants and as much as 60 percent at fancier establishments. Restaurants generally have low profit margins and thus need to slap markups on pretty much everything they put on the table. But a $250 Bordeaux is obviously going to make a far greater contribution to the bottom line than a turnip, which is why restaurants invest so heavily in their wine programs—not just filling their cellars with excellent rieslings and syrahs but also providing competent sommeliers, good stemware, excellent storage, and other amenities. For decades now, markups of 2.5 to three times the wholesale price have been the industry norm. According to Wiegand, such multiples are an economic necessity for most restaurants; anything less and they may have trouble sustaining themselves. But not every wine on the list has to be marked up at the same rate. So long as the average cost per bottle is in the 2.5-to-three-times-wholesale range, list prices for individual wines need not follow any formula. And, in fact, most restaurants that take wine seriously use a system of progressive markups: They generally slap the biggest markups on inexpensive wines and the lowest ones on pricy bottles (the idea being that the closer an expensive wine is to its retail price, the more apt the customer will be to bite).

Indeed, as individual bottlings go, it is a pricing free-for-all, something the Wall Street Journal discovered when it set out to make sense of wine list economics. The Journal recently ran an article titled "Cracking the Code of Restaurant Wine Pricing," which found that wine prices can swing dramatically even within the same neighborhood. There was, for instance, the 1999 Dom Pérignon that was selling for $155 at the Legal Sea Foods in Washington; the same champagne was fetching $250 at the McCormick & Schmick's just up the road. Even within the same family of restaurants, prices can differ substantially from one location to the next; the article noted that the 2005 Duckhorn merlot was listed for $96 at the Ruth's Chris steakhouse in Dallas but was going for $160 at the Ruth's Chris in Pittsburgh. Why all the discrepancies? Wholesale costs vary from city to city, restaurants sometimes get great deals on particular wines, and they often set prices according to the competition they face, the quantities they expect to sell, and the image they wish to project.

However, it is also the case that many restaurants price wine simply according to what they think they can get away with. The Journal article mentioned Las Vegas several times. Restaurant wine prices in Las Vegas are notoriously high, which is not surprising: The city is a magnet for spendthrifts who understand that money brought to Vegas stays in Vegas and that getting soaked is part of the experience. Last year, Food & Wine's Lettie Teague noted that Las Vegas and Miami had some of the stiffest markups of any American cities and suggested that one reason for this is that they are principally tourist destinations, which means restaurants have little incentive to use wine prices to cultivate loyalty or encourage repeat visits; chances are, they are going to see a customer only once, and they thus want to squeeze as much out of him or her as possible. New York is also known for its lofty wine prices, but the huge markups there have primarily been a function of Wall Street's profligacy: There was almost no limit to what traders and bankers were willing to fork out for wine, and many restaurants were only too happy to test their limits. It was the same story in London, where the markups became, if anything, even more egregious—and the clients hardly blanched. In an incident in 2002 that made headlines around the world, a group of bankers spent $63,000 on wine during a dinner at Petrus, a London restaurant owned by Gordon Ramsay. (Most of them were fired.)

Now that investment banks have been sucked into a black hole of their own making, restaurants in London and New York are already beginning to suffer. Two London eateries owned by another top British chef, Tom Aikens, went bust earlier this month, and these are likely to be only the first of many casualties. Restaurants always take a pounding during economic downturns, and that is certainly true now. S & A Restaurant Corp., which owned both the Bennigan's and Steak and Ale chains, went bankrupt in July, and companies like Ruth's Chris, McCormick & Schmick's, and Morton's are all struggling.

Most public polls find Barack Obama with double-digit leads in Iowa and Pennsylvania, but members of the McCain campaign cite internal numbers showing a tight race. A campaign might have its own reasons for releasing numbers that favor its cause, but is there any other reason why internal polls might differ from the ones produced for the public?

Not really. In general, media organizations and private campaign pollsters compile their numbers in the same way. But there are a few key differences. First, a newspaper or TV station might be more likely find their respondents with random-digit dialing—calling any phone number that works and then asking whoever picks up whether he or she is registered to vote. Campaign pollsters often save time by pulling their samples from a list of all registered voters. In theory, the pollsters who use the voter files run the risk of missing voters whose information isn't up-to-date, but a study by two Yale professors (PDF) using data from the 2002 elections suggested that these samples were actually a little more accurate than those collected via random phone calls. Still, the difference between the two methods probably wouldn't affect the outcome all that much, particularly given all the challenges in figuring out who counts as a "likely" voter, anyway.

Campaign polls may differ more in their specific focus. At the state level, public polls tend to look primarily at the "top-line" numbers—which candidate is winning overall. An internal poll may ask more questions about voters' demographics, their political leanings, and how they feel about the issues or the candidates. So even if the top-line numbers suggest that a candidate is losing, a campaign pollster could find data that suggest a shift in the race is imminent. A memo released by McCain's pollster Bill McInturff this week falls into that category: McInturff never mentions national head-to-head numbers but, instead, argues that McCain is gaining support among rural voters, non-college-educated men, and "Wal-Mart women." (Internal polls sometimes go on to test a campaign message—for example, by giving a series of statements about the candidates and seeing how voters react. A pollster following ethical standards is obligated to say so if their results are skewed by those messages.)

Even if public polls and internal polls were conducted in exactly the same way, the results we hear about might still be different for a simple reason: Campaigns like to release only good news. Given that there will be a certain amount of random noise from poll to poll, the same methodology could produce several polls with different outcomes. In that case, a media organization would release all the numbers, while the campaign pollster might leak only the data that show his candidate winning. Two different analyses (PDF) using data from the early 2000s found a bias of a few percentage points among partisan polls that had been released to the public—although it's worth noting that outside pollsters can also have a so-called "house effect," favoring one party or another throughout a given year.

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

Explainer thanks Whit Ayres of Ayres, McHenry & Associates Inc., Charles Franklin of the University of Wisconsin, Adam Geller of National Research Inc., Alex Lundry of TargetPoint Consulting, Thomas Riehle of RT Strategies Inc., Michael Traugott of the University of Michigan, and Doug Usher of Widmeyer Communications.

Sen. Ted Stevens was found guilty of seven felony counts on Monday for failing to disclose gifts and services he'd received while in office. Despite the conviction, he pledged to continue his campaign for re-election. As a convicted felon, will Stevens be able to vote for himself next Tuesday?

Yes. Alaska law states that convicted felons are barred from voting if their crime is one of "moral turpitude," which in Alaska includes a wide swath of illegal activities. "Receiving a bribe" is listed among them, although the state government set up a special review of the Stevens case. In a decision released Wednesday night, the Alaska Division of Elections announced that the senator's crimes were, in fact, of moral turpitude but that a guilty verdict wasn't enough to make him a convicted felon for purposes of voting. Until February, when he's sentenced—and thus "convicted," according to a more formal definition—he'll be able to exercise his right to vote. (Stevens' crimes of moral turpitude may also be grounds for disbarment in Alaska and the District of Columbia.)

Even if he weren't allowed to vote, Stevens would still be able to continue his Senate campaign. There's no law barring felons from the Senate, and he fits the only constitutional requirements for the position: He's an Alaskan resident over the age of 30 and has been a U.S. citizen for more than nine years. State law does stipulate that a candidate for the Senate must be a registered voter—and thus not a felon who committed acts of moral turpitude—when he files for the office. But Stevens had not yet been found guilty when he filed.

Bonus Explainer: If Stevens wins re-election but is expelled by the Senate, can Gov. Sarah Palin appoint herself to his seat? No. In most states, when a Senate seat is vacated midterm, the governor of the state appoints someone to fill it. That was the case in Alaska until 2004, when public outrage over Gov. Frank Murkowski's 2002 appointment of his daughter Lisa to his vacated Senate seat prompted accusations of nepotism and led to a ballot initiative requiring that special elections be held within 90 days. (Palin may still be able to make a temporary appointment within those three months.)

In general, governors aren't allowed to pick themselves to fill a vacant Senate seat. Some, however, have tried to get around that constraint by resigning from office and then letting a newly bumped-up lieutenant governor appoint them instead. Those who do this are rarely re-elected: One exception was "Happy" Chandler of Kentucky, who had himself appointed in the 1930s.

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

Explainer thanks Jack Chenoweth of the State of Alaska Legislative Affairs Agency, Gail Fenumiai of the Alaska Division of Elections, Steven F. Huefner of Ohio State University, and Don Ritchie of the U.S. Senate Historical Office.

A federal judge in Pennsylvania this week threw out a lawsuit that challenged Barack Obama's eligibility for the presidency by claiming he's not a U.S. citizen. A California judge tossed out a similar lawsuit in September, after a member of the state's American Independent Party claimed John McCain was not a "natural-born citizen." Do presidential candidates have to prove their eligibility for office before they get on the ballot?

No. Ballot access rules vary by state, but in general, you don't have to prove eligibility unless someone challenges it. Article II of the U.S. Constitution requires that a presidential candidate be a "natural born citizen"—in other words, a citizen born in this country or, according to traditional interpretation, born to U.S. citizens overseas (as opposed to a naturalized citizen born overseas).* You also have to be at least 35 and have lived in the U.S. for at least 14 years. But none of the 50 states asks for birth certificates or long-term residency documents to prove that a candidate qualifies for a spot on the ballot. (Obama released a copy of his birth certificate, anyway.)

Instead, they take the major parties' word for it. In presidential primary elections, most states put "generally recognized candidates" on the ballot automatically. California, for example, recognizes candidates who qualify for federal matching funds, appear in public-opinion polls, "campaign actively" in California, and appear on other states' ballots. Presidential electors usually do have to affirm their eligibility—by demonstrating that they are over 18, registered voters, and state residents. The candidates themselves face no such requirements.

Third-party candidates, however, do have to show some ID. In Maryland, anyone who wants to get on the presidential primary ballot but isn't "generally recognized" (as vaguely defined by the state) has to sign a Certificate of Candidacy affirming, "I meet the qualification for the above mentioned office as set forth in applicable law." Illinois, too, requires independent candidates to affirm that they are "legally qualified … to hold such office." Violation is considered perjury. (If you really want to burnish your cred, Illinois has an optional loyalty oath.)

Eligibility requirements are different for state and local offices. Candidates for the House of Representatives must be at least 25 years old. Senators have to be 30. Residency requirements vary: In Virginia, congressmen have to live in their district; in California, they don't. Most states require candidates to affirm that they meet the requirements. Virginia, for example, asks House candidates to swear that they're 25, they live in their district, they've never been convicted of a felony, and they've been a U.S. citizen for at least seven years.

How do you challenge a candidate's eligibility for president or any other office? You have two options: report them to your secretary of state or take them to court. Some Secretary of State offices have investigation units that handle fraud, and investigations can lead to felony charges. Taking candidates to court is trickier. For one thing, you need "standing"—proof that the candidate's actions harm you. A federal judge ruled recently that ordinary citizens don't qualify for standing, and Congress would have to pass a law to change that. Political parties, on the other hand, might have a better chance in court, since they would clearly get hurt if an ineligible opponent won.

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

Explainer thanks Susan Conner of the Madera County Clerk's Office, Paul S. Ryan of the Campaign Legal Center, and Lorraine Thompson of the Virginia State Board of Elections.

Correction, Oct. 30, 2008: This article originally defined a "natural born citizen" as a citizen born in the United States. (Return to the corrected sentence.)

Law enforcement officials in Tennessee have arrested two white supremacists who planned to assassinate Barack Obama, the New York Times reported Monday. The skinheads had a scheme to attack the presidential candidate while wearing white tuxedos and top hats. They also intended to murder 88 people and behead 14 African-American children—numbers that "have special significance in the white power movement," according to the Times. What's the deal with these skinhead numbers and fashion choices? (Note: A few of the links in this article go to white-supremacist Web sites.)

88 and 14. As the Times article explained, the number 88 represents the phrase "Heil Hitler," because H is the eighth letter in the alphabet. White supremacists are also fond of the number 18 to represent the initials A.H. (Other tight-knit groups use a similar code: The Hells Angels, for example, are attached to the number 81.)

The late David Lane, a member of the Ku Klux Klan and co-founder of a white-power revolutionary group, detailed his philosophy in an article called "88 Precepts." (Precept No. 11: "Beware of verbose doctrines.") The number 14 refers to a 14-word mission statement he wrote while propagandizing from federal prison: "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children."

Magic numbers abound among white supremacists. The digits 4/20 celebrate Hitler's birthday, and the number 5 represents resistance to law enforcement in the form of this five-word response to interrogation: "I have nothing to say." The number 311 refers to the Ku Klux Klan, because K is the 11^th letter, repeated three times. So does 33/6—that's three times 11, with the number six standing for the current period of the Klan's history, which the group has divided into six eras.

Shaved heads. The white supremacist hairdo goes back to 1960s British politics. The original skinheads were not necessarily racists but rather young men whose aesthetic celebrated reggae and ska music and the masculine English worker. As the decade progressed, some skinheads fell under the influence of anti-immigration politicians who warned of an imminent race war. The group splintered into a militant wing (with no hair) and an apolitical wing (with short hair). The skinheads transitioned to a new musical genre called "Oi!" and British neo-Nazi musicians soon followed. As skinheads moved toward white supremacism, white supremacists flocked to the skinheads. Still, not all skinheads today are part of the white-power movement.

White tuxedos and top hats. This one is a little more obscure. The all-white outfits might refer to the hood and robe of the Klan. Or they might be a nod to the Anthony Burgess novel A Clockwork Orange. In that book (and the subsequent Stanley Kubrick film), a group of violent youths called droogs, clad in white jumpsuits and bowler hats, terrorizes England by night. In the 1970s, some English skinheads donned the white outfit and dubbed themselves "Clockwork Orange skins." Supporting this theory is that one of the would-be assassins in Tennessee appears to be wearing eye makeup in photos. Eye makeup is not associated with the white supremacist movement in the United States, but it was an aspect of the droog aesthetic. However, one of the youths was also involved in the Goth subculture, in which makeup is common.

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

Explainer thanks Timothy Brown of Northeastern University and Mark Pitcavage of the Anti-Defamation League.

More than 30 states allow no-excuse early voting, either by mail or in person, and this year one-third of the electorate is expected to cast a ballot before Election Day. (That's up from 22 percent four years ago.) Will all these trigger-happy ballot casters screw up exit polls on Nov. 4?

Nope. In states with lots of early voters—like Georgia, where one-fifth of registered voters have already recorded their decisions—the same outfit that conducts exit polls for the National Election Pool starts telephone surveys about a week before Election Day. Phone numbers are generated by computer with random-digit dialing, but only respondents who have already voted, or who plan to ahead of time, are questioned fully. Then analysts merge the data collected by phone with results from interviews conducted at polling stations, keeping the early/day-of ratio pegged to that of the actual vote total.

Estimates from absentee polls have been quite accurate historically. Oregon, for example, has had a vote-by-mail system in place since 1998, and pollsters haven't found big discrepancies between official results and survey answers. This year, some may worry that a Bradley effect will show up on telephone interviews but not in exit polls, since the latter are more anonymous. (For an exit poll, you just fill out a piece of paper and drop it in a box.) That would be the case only if the Bradley effect turned out to be real, something hotly contested during this campaign, and if the effect were the result of a conscious decision to dissemble rather than an unconscious one.

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

Explainer thanks Mark Blumenthal of Pollster.com, Michael Dimock of the Pew Research Center, and Joe Lenski of Edison Media Research.

Civil rights groups filed a lawsuit against the Pennsylvania Department of State last week calling for paper ballots to be provided in any precinct where half the voting machines fail on Election Day. The complaint asserts that 10 percent to 20 percent of the direct-recording electronic voting machines used in Pennsylvania are likely to fail on Nov. 4. The machines will be used in 34 percent of counties around the United States. Are they really so bad that they fail one out of five times?

No. The 10 percent to 20 percent figure cited in the Pennsylvania lawsuit is somewhat misleading. The low estimate comes from an opinion piece published by the National Academy of Engineering last year. According to the author, Michael Ian Shamos, "it has been reported anecdotally" that 10 percent of the machines fail "in some respect" on Election Day. That means the machine required some technical intervention, not that it was necessarily taken out of service. The high estimate of 20 percent comes from a 2005 study conducted by the state of California.* In that paper, the authors were testing only one of the six machines used in Pennsylvania—the Diebold (now Premier) AccuVote TSX, a machine whose software has since been updated. Furthermore, 14 of the 34 documented failures were printer jams, which won't be a problem in Pennsylvania since the state doesn't produce paper voting receipts.

The fact is that no one really knows how often electronic voting machines fail. The Election Assistance Commission—an independent governmental agency charged with establishing election standards—doesn't collect comprehensive statistics on failure rates. (Various nonprofits, such as Election Protection and VotersUnite!, do collect individual complaints.) However, according to federal standards set in 2002, machines may fail as often as once in 163 hours and still make certification. If the chance of a failure were randomly distributed throughout that 163-hour period, a given machine would have up to around an 8 percent chance of breaking down during regular use on Election Day. But these standards define "failure" quite broadly—a software glitch that causes the machine to freeze up for 10 or more seconds, for example, would count. (Individual states don't have to follow the federal guidelines, though many of them do.)

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

Explainer thanks Matt Bishop of the University of California-Davis, John Gideon of VotersUnite!, Joseph Lorenzo Hall of University of California-Berkeley and Princeton University, Lawrence Norden of the Brennan Center at New York University, Michael Shamos of Carnegie Mellon, and David Wagner of University of California-Berkeley.

Correction, Oct. 28, 2008: The original sentence stated that the 2005 AccuVote TSx study was part of a top-to-bottom review of California's voting systems. It was conducted under the state's regular certification process; the top-to-bottom review took place in 2007. (Return to the corrected sentence.)

In a grove near you, pagans are gathering to celebrate Samhain, the night when the veil between the living and the dead, between this world and others, is thin. We will wear cloaks and have ritual daggers, called athemes, at our waists. The prerequisite silver jewelry will gleam in the firelight. Natural fabrics flow as freely as the mead. There will be an unfortunate excess of tie-dyed material. In other words, we will look most like your picture of witches.

This picture leaves out an important detail, and I don't mean the whole human-sacrifice-and-stealing-Christian-babies thing. Planning a ritual, whether it's for Halloween or any other holiday, is a conflict-filled battle. It's like trying to herd jack rabbits on horseback. Those who practice witchcraft tend to be strident nonconformists, and the very nature of paganism, which has no unifying body or text, means that we have no obligation to believe the same thing or listen to anything beyond the dictates of our own consciences to unite in perfect accord. Often we flow together, achieving unity in which we are transported beyond ourselves, connected with the earth we love and the energy we feel from it.

And just as often, we don't.

A few weeks before the ritual comes the discussion. It may begin with a priestess asking what song we should sing for the Spiral Dance, the part of the ritual in which we dance clockwise ("sunwise" is our term for it) to generate energy and to unite us with the god and goddess. One person suggests "There Is No End to the Circle." Any number of coven members nod; the rest groan. Somebody says, "We did that last year." Somebody else: "Exactly. It's traditional with us." Another person asks, "So, we're faux fam-trad now?" A new coven member tries to remember what, exactly, a fam-trad coven is. Inspired by the discussion, someone spontaneously sings out, "There is no end to this song, there is no end." The high priestess glares. Eventually, the debate is resolved simply because everyone is sick of talking about it. Now the rest of the ritual has to be planned—and it's just more of the same. Scintillating debates may rage on such issues as vegan vs. nonvegan cakes and alcoholic vs. nonalcoholic ale. The more essential parts of the ritual, the invocation of the elements and the arrangement of altars, seem to work themselves out fairly easily. Like most family fights, any acrimony is focused on the details.

Once we've agreed on the parts of the ritual, we actually have to execute that plan—and the nonconformists have to remember what they agreed to do and do it, which is a challenge in and of itself. The Samhain ritual in which we performed "There Is No End to the Circle" was lovely and went relatively smoothly, though we started late, just as we always do. I've given up on that score—I'm the only witch I know who has any interest in punctuality. The song itself is broken up into three parts, sung by the maiden, mother, and crone, each corresponding to an aspect of the goddess. As the youngest woman in the coven (this was depressingly long ago), I danced the part of the maiden. Sadly, between my cerebral palsy and the pack a day I smoke, song-and-dance routines are really not my thing. Further complicating things, several people seemed to have forgotten when they were supposed to come in, which led to hissed directions from about five self-appointed stage managers. But everyone was pleased by the time we sat down for the traditional cakes and ale.

These problems aren't restricted to our Halloween celebrations. A few years ago, I led the Lughnasadh ritual. The festival, which takes place on Aug. 1, 2, or 6 (we can't even agree on a date), honors the beginning of the harvest and the sun god, which bring me to my two major complaints about Lughnasadh. I hate making corn muffins in August. It makes the house much hotter than it ever needs to be. In addition to corn muffins, the festival calls for a bonfire—in August. In Virginia. There's nothing quite like a grumpy high priestess to set the tone for a spiritual experience. As soon as we had cast the circle, it began to pour. As members of a nature-based religion, this seems like the sort of condition we should be able to cope with. And I suppose we did. My sister removed my wrap (it's a good thing it was a private ritual, because that's all I was wearing), and we held it over the as-yet-unlit bonfire until we successfully ignited it. So far, so good. But the spell, as it were, was broken. As I was invoking the relevant deities, I heard a crack and a hiss. Someone had opened a beer. I glared. She ignored me and began to chat with somebody else. I began to think longingly of religions that stress obedience, remembered that those traditions tend to have poverty and chastity associated with them, and felt a certain nostalgia for of my days as a solitary witch.

These sorts of events inspired me to leave the coven behind. I currently work with one other witch, whom I've known since we were 3 and 5. We plan our rituals with little fuss and no doctrine. Our litmus test is, Does it feel right? One decision we've made is to rebuff curious friends who ask to join our Halloween rituals. It seems like half the people I know want to be pagan on Halloween. I have no problem with a little religious tourism. I'm a bit of a spiritual slut. I have never turned down an invitation to a Seder. Bach thundering through a church transports me. But when I see visions of bacchanals dancing in my nonpagan friends' heads, I get a little testy. Certain experiences are too comforting, too sacred to be spectacles. For me, Samhain is one of them.

So it will be just the two of us this year—imperfect people doing our best to honor the pagan ideal of "perfect love and perfect trust." We will light the candles, cast a circle, honor our dead. We are aware of our connection to all other pagans, who are doing the same thing in big rituals, in solitary practices, celebrating with children who will behave like kids at any religious celebration: with wide eyes, wondering attention, giggles at the wrong moment. My working partner and I will close the ritual with words that Starhawk, one of the leaders of the neopagan community, wrote not long before we were born but that nonetheless feel traditional to us: "The Circle is open but always unbroken. May the peace of the Goddess go in your heart. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again."

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"Fam-trad" is short for family-traditional and refers to a coven that has roots in the underground practice of witchcraft, before it became legal, instead of in the neopagan movement, which I am part of and which began in the 1960s. Pagans not born into the faith sometimes look a little wistfully through the windows of fam-trad life, longing for historical connection with the folk cultures that sustain us. Occasionally, the need for validation manifests in bouts of flagrant posing: My grandmother was Aleister Crowley's acolyte. Or fam-trad witches may throw their weight around: My grandmother was introducing me to the fairy folk when you were in Sunday school. For the most part, as the pagan community becomes multigenerational, these fights become relegated to the upper regions of the blogosphere.

In an election that has been fought on an astoundingly low cultural and intellectual level, with both candidates pretending that tax cuts can go like peaches and cream with the staggering new levels of federal deficit, and paltry charges being traded in petty ways, and with Joe the Plumber becoming the emblematic stupidity of the campaign, it didn't seem possible that things could go any lower or get any dumber. But they did last Friday, when, at a speech in Pittsburgh, Gov. Sarah Palin denounced wasteful expenditure on fruit-fly research, adding for good xenophobic and anti-elitist measure that some of this research took place "in Paris, France" and winding up with a folksy "I kid you not."

It was in 1933 that Thomas Hunt Morgan won a Nobel Prize for showing that genes are passed on by way of chromosomes. The experimental creature that he employed in the making of this great discovery was the Drosophila melanogaster, or fruit fly. Scientists of various sorts continue to find it a very useful resource, since it can be easily and plentifully "cultured" in a laboratory, has a very short generation time, and displays a great variety of mutation. This makes it useful in studying disease, and since Gov. Palin was in Pittsburgh to talk about her signature "issue" of disability and special needs, she might even have had some researcher tell her that there is a Drosophila-based center for research into autism at the University of North Carolina. The fruit fly can also be a menace to American agriculture, so any financing of research into its habits and mutations is money well-spent. It's especially ridiculous and unfortunate that the governor chose to make such a fool of herself in Pittsburgh, a great city that remade itself after the decline of coal and steel into a center of high-tech medical research.

In this case, it could be argued, Palin was not just being a fool in her own right but was following a demagogic lead set by the man who appointed her as his running mate. Sen. John McCain has made repeated use of an anti-waste and anti-pork ad (several times repeated and elaborated in his increasingly witless speeches) in which the expenditure of $3 million to study the DNA of grizzly bears in Montana was derided as "unbelievable." As an excellent article in the Feb. 8, 2008, Scientific American pointed out, there is no way to enforce the Endangered Species Act without getting some sort of estimate of numbers, and the best way of tracking and tracing the elusive grizzly is by setting up barbed-wire hair-snagging stations that painlessly take samples from the bears as they lumber by and then running the DNA samples through a laboratory. The cost is almost trivial compared with the importance of understanding this species, and I dare say the project will yield results in the measurement of other animal populations as well, but all McCain could do was be flippant and say that he wondered whether it was a "paternity" or "criminal" issue that the Fish and Wildlife Service was investigating. (Perhaps those really are the only things that he associates in his mind with DNA.)

With Palin, however, the contempt for science may be something a little more sinister than the bluff, empty-headed plain-man's philistinism of McCain. We never get a chance to ask her in detail about these things, but she is known to favor the teaching of creationism in schools (smuggling this crazy idea through customs in the innocent disguise of "teaching the argument," as if there was an argument), and so it is at least probable that she believes all creatures from humans to fruit flies were created just as they are now. This would make DNA or any other kind of research pointless, whether conducted in Paris or not. Projects such as sequencing the DNA of the flu virus, the better to inoculate against it, would not need to be funded. We could all expire happily in the name of God. Gov. Palin also says that she doesn't think humans are responsible for global warming; again, one would like to ask her whether, like some of her co-religionists, she is a "premillenial dispensationalist"—in other words, someone who believes that there is no point in protecting and preserving the natural world, since the end of days will soon be upon us.

Videos taken in the Assembly of God church in Wasilla, Alaska, which she used to attend, show her nodding as a preacher says that Alaska will be "one of the refuge states in the Last Days." For the uninitiated, this is a reference to a crackpot belief, widely held among those who brood on the "End Times," that some parts of the world will end at different times from others, and Alaska will be a big draw as the heavens darken on account of its wide open spaces. An article by Laurie Goodstein in the New York Times gives further gruesome details of the extreme Pentecostalism with which Palin has been associated in the past (perhaps moderating herself, at least in public, as a political career became more attractive). High points, also available on YouTube, show her being "anointed" by an African bishop who claims to cast out witches. The term used in the trade for this hysterical superstitious nonsense is "spiritual warfare," in which true Christian soldiers are trained to fight demons. Palin has spoken at "spiritual warfare" events as recently as June. And only last week the chiller from Wasilla spoke of "prayer warriors" in a radio interview with James Dobson of Focus on the Family, who said that he and his lovely wife, Shirley, had convened a prayer meeting to beseech that "God's perfect will be done on Nov. 4."

This is what the Republican Party has done to us this year: It has placed within reach of the Oval Office a woman who is a religious fanatic and a proud, boastful ignoramus. Those who despise science and learning are not anti-elitist. They are morally and intellectually slothful people who are secretly envious of the educated and the cultured. And those who prate of spiritual warfare and demons are not just "people of faith" but theocratic bullies. On Nov. 4, anyone who cares for the Constitution has a clear duty to repudiate this wickedness and stupidity.

This weekend, while reading the latest polling data on John McCain, Sarah Palin, and their appeal—or growing lack of it—among "independent women voters," it suddenly dawned on me: I am, in fact, one of these elusive independent woman voters, and I have the credentials to prove it. For the last couple of decades, I've sometimes voted Democratic, sometimes Republican. I'm even a registered independent, though I did think of switching to the Republican Party to vote for John McCain in 2000. But because the last political party I truly felt comfortable with was Margaret Thatcher's Conservative Party (I lived in England in the 1980s and '90s), I didn't actually do it.

The larger point, though, is that if I'm not voting for McCain—and, after a long struggle, I've realized that I'm not—maybe it's worth explaining why, because I suspect there are other independent voters who feel the same way. It's not his campaign, disjointed though that's been, that finally repulses me; it's his rapidly deteriorating, increasingly anti-intellectual, no longer even recognizably conservative Republican Party. His problems are not technical, to do with ads, fund raising, and tactics, as some have suggested. They are institutional, to do with his colleagues, his advisers, and his supporters.

I should say here that I know McCain slightly: He spoke at a party given for a book I wrote a few years ago, though I think that was as much because of the subject (Communist prison camps) as the author. But it's not his personality I admire most. Far more important is his knowledge of foreign affairs, an understanding that goes well beyond an ability to guess correctly the name of the Pakistani president. McCain not only knows the names; he knows the people—and by this I mean not just foreign presidents but foreign members of parliament, journalists, generals. He goes to Germany every year, visits Vietnam often, can talk intelligently about Belarus and Uzbekistan. I've heard him do it. Let's just say that's one of the things that distinguished him, for me, from our current president, who once confessed that "this foreign-policy stuff is a little frustrating."

The second thing I liked about McCain was the deliberate distance he always kept from the nuttier wing of his party and, simultaneously, the loyalty he's shown to a recognizably conservative budgetary philosophy, something that many congressional Republicans abandoned long ago. Fiscal conservatism, balanced budgets, sober spending—all these principles have been brushed away as so much nonsense for the last eight years by Republicans more interested in grandstanding about how much they hate Washington. McCain was one of the few to keep talking about these principles. He was also one of shockingly few to understand that there is nothing American, let alone conservative, about torture and that a battle for civilized values could not be won by uncivilized means.

Finally, I admired McCain's willingness to tackle politically risky issues like immigration, the debate about which has long been drenched in hypocrisy. Those who want to ban it are illogically denying both the role that immigrants, especially the millions of illegal immigrants, already play in the American economy, as well as the improbability of forced deportations; those who want to allow it without restriction don't acknowledge the security risks. McCain tried to put together a bipartisan coalition in an effort to find a rational solution. He failed—blocked by the ideologues in his party.

But if these traits appealed to me, I'm guessing they would have appealed to other independents, too. Why, then, has McCain spent the last four months running away from them? The appointment of Sarah Palin—inspired by his closest colleagues—turned out not to be a "maverick" move but, rather, a concession to those Republicans who think foreign policy can be conducted using a series of clichés and those in his party who shout down the federal government while quietly raking in federal subsidies. Though McCain has the one of the best records of bipartisanship in the Senate, he has let his campaign appeal to his party's extremes. Though he is a true foreign-policy intellectual, his supporters cultivate ignorance and fear: Watch Sean Hannity's "Obama & Friends: History of Radicalism" if you don't believe me. Worse, in a fatal effort to appeal to the least thoughtful, most partisan elements of his base, McCain has moved away from his previous positions on torture and immigration. Maybe that's all tactics, and maybe the "real" McCain will ditch the awful ideologues after Nov. 4 if, by some miracle, he happens to win. But how can I know that will happen?

Here's what I do know: I would give anything to rewrite history and make McCain president in 2000. But in 2008, I don't think I can vote for him. Barack Obama is indeed the least experienced, least tested candidate in modern presidential history. But at least if he wins, I can be sure that the mobs who cry "terrorist" at the sound of his name will be kept away—far away—from the White House.

Listen to the Gabfest for Oct. 31 by clicking the arrow on the audio player below:







You can also download the program here, or you can subscribe to the weekly Gabfest podcast feed in iTunes by clicking here.

Emily Bazelon, John Dickerson, and David Plotz talk politics. This week, it's all about the last week of the presidential campaign—with a shout-out to the Philadelphia Phillies.

Here are links to some of the articles and other items mentioned in the show:

John writes this week about a sense of hopefulness that has come over many of the people working for the McCain campaign.

Emily attempts to correct John's pronunciation of the word dour.

Emily suggests that John McCain is getting some traction with his campaign's latest effort, which is to cast Barak Obama as a socialist who wants to redistribute wealth in the country.

John talks about the size of the crowds at campaign rallies for Obama compared with those for McCain.

The gang also discusses whether attacks on Obama's character will appeal to undecided voters. John points out that undecided voters typically vote for the challenger in a presidential race, which should mean Obama, since the Republicans currently hold the White House. One factor in McCain's favor is that during the primaries, the undecided voters favored Hillary Clinton over Obama.

John says 10,000 Elvis fans can't be wrong.

John says the optimism in the McCain camp is likely misguided, because there are too many data points favoring Obama—so many red states seem to be leaning toward the Democrat or are considered likely wins for Obama. He says Obama's early strategy of challenging McCain across the country, rather than focusing on primarily Democratic states, is now paying off.

David praises Howard Dean, chairman of the Democratic Party, who designed the so-called 50-state strategy after the Democratic defeat in the 2004 presidential election.

Emily breaks the discussion of politics with her cocktail chatter, in which she brags about her hometown Philadelphia Phillies winning the World Series.

John chatters about the early vote in this election. As many as one-third of all voters will have voted by Election Day, so it is possible that the election will effectively be over by then, though no one will know for sure.

David talks about Slate's effort to have staffers publicly state who they will vote for next Tuesday. Of those who took part, the count was 55 for Obama and just one for McCain. David claims that almost all major news organizations would find similar results.

The e-mail address for the Political Gabfest is gabfest@slate.com. (E-mail may be quoted by name unless the writer stipulates otherwise.)

Posted on Oct. 31 by Dale Willman at 10:41 a.m.

Oct. 24, 2008

Listen to the Gabfest for Oct. 24 by clicking the arrow on the audio player below:

You can also download the program here, or you can subscribe to the weekly Gabfest podcast feed in iTunes by clicking here.

Emily Bazelon, David Plotz, and special guest Michael Newman talk politics. This week, the latest from the presidential campaign trail, a vice-presidential candidate's wardrobe, and a supersecret topic.

Here are links to some of the articles and other items mentioned in the show:

David discusses how the wheels seem to be coming off the McCain campaign. The Republican candidate can't seem to keep one theme going for more than a few days, and his running mate, Sarah Palin, has publicly disagreed with McCain several times over the past few weeks.

This phenomenon is the subject of a story by Robert Draper in this Sunday's New York Times Magazine.

Joe Biden apparently stuck his foot in his mouth this week.

Liza Mundy has an interesting piece in Slate about how difficult it was to write a biography of Michelle Obama because the Obama campaign controls information about the candidate and his family so tightly.

The Republican Party has spent $150,000 on clothes for Sarah Palin, according to published reports, sparking controversy. Cindy McCain reportedly wore an outfit worth approximately $300,000 at the Republican convention and faced very little criticism for it.

Emily chatters about a new law in Oklahoma that requires doctors to provide ultrasounds for any woman inquiring about an abortion.

Michael discusses the recently concluded Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco. The race has sparked controversy because of an unusual occurrence—one woman crossed the finish line first, while another had the fastest time.

David wonders why so many Republican men wear Van Dykes.

The e-mail address for the Political Gabfest is gabfest@slate.com. (E-mail may be quoted by name unless the writer stipulates otherwise.)

Posted on Oct. 17 by Dale Willman at 11:20 p.m.

Oct. 17, 2008

Listen to the Gabfest for Oct. 17 by clicking the arrow on the audio player below:







You can also download the program here, or you can subscribe to the weekly Gabfest podcast feed in iTunes by clicking here.

John Dickerson, David Plotz, Emily Bazelon, and Hanna Rosin talk politics. On the agenda this week: the last presidential debate, where it leaves the presidential race in general, and why Andrew Sullivan blogs.

Here are links to some of the articles and other items mentioned in the show:

Joe the Plumber takes over the political scene after Wednesday's debate on Long Island, N.Y. But it turns out that Joe isn't all that he seems.

John disagrees with the others when he says that Obama did the best in the debate, especially when he walked through both his tax and health care plans.

David says it was sheer genius when Obama talked about whom he associates with during the debate.

John asks the group whether the race is over, with Obama the winner. David says McCain could do something spectacular to salvage a win, but otherwise the election will go to Obama. Hanna, meanwhile, says the race will be much closer than the polls currently indicate.

The four discuss Obama's strength in the race, shown by the fact that he is pushing deep into what was once considered Republican territory.

They discuss Andrew Sullivan's recent piece in the Atlantic, where he talks about his experiences as a blogger.

Emily chatters about a group of Uighur Chinese dissidents being held at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, by American troops.

Hanna talks about the TV show Project Runway.

John brings up Malcolm Gladwell's piece in The New Yorker; David finds Gladwell's thesis to be bogus.

David does not chatter because he's working on the launch of Slate's redesigned Web site, scheduled for Monday.

Posted on Oct. 17 by Dale Willman at 4 p.m.

Oct. 10, 2008

Listen to the Gabfest for Oct. 10 by clicking the arrow on the audio player below:







You can also download the program here, or you can subscribe to the weekly Gabfest podcast feed in iTunes by clicking here.

David Plotz, Emily Bazelon, and Bill Smee talk politics. This week, the world economy is in meltdown, the presidential campaign trail is getting very nasty, and Oliver Stone prepares to tell us all about a certain lame-duck president in W.

Here are links to some of the articles and other items mentioned in the show:

The initial discussion focuses on the continuing world economic meltdown. Bill talks about a column by the New York Times' Nicholas Kristof, in which he compares the United States' actions today to those of Japan during its last economic crisis in the early 1990s.

David praises a piece on National Public Radio by Adam Davidson that explains why banks are reluctant to loan to one another right now.

Emily, meanwhile, mentions the recent move by the British government to partially nationalize banks there in response to the economic crisis, and compares that with the U.S. response.

One question during all the economic turmoil is: Where is President Bush? While the markets collapse, the president seems unusually silent.

David talks about Barack Obama's temperament as outlined in a profile of the candidate in The New Yorker in 2007. He characterizes Obama's temperament as oceanic, and he compares that with John McCain's wild behavior.

Despite Obama pulling away slightly in both national and state polling, as George Packer writes in an article about Ohio in The New Yorker, it is possible to become overconfident.

John Dickerson may have missed today's show, but he writes this week about the angry tone on display at a recent McCain rally in Wisconsin.

The trio critiques the newly released Oliver Stone movie, W.

Bill backs out of offering any cocktail chatter, saying he is boycotting the cocktail scene this weekend in sympathy with the plummeting stock market. He says he will instead stay home drinking canned beer while watching baseball playoffs rather than sipping a cocktail.

Emily chatters about an ABC News story earlier this week about how workers at the National Security Agency may have been spying on Americans.

David explains how he's been swamped with e-mails from a conservative Christian group complaining about a Slate column by Tom Perrotta, in which he talks about vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin's sex appeal to some Americans.

Posted on Oct. 10 by Dale Willman at 5:04 p.m.

The driest, dullest entry in almost any garden how-to book is the advice on soil. It's a shame: The tale of soil is full of weird characters and fascinating processes we understand barely, if at all. It's also unfortunate because soil is the single most important factor determining success in your garden. Right now, this autumn minute, is the time to improve your soil. Right now, conveniently enough, is when you have a free supply of the ideal soil conditioner—fallen leaves.

Most books include that same old dreary litany about finding out whether your soil is clay or sand, with the added burdensome assignment of getting a soil test. The soil test, something I've never done, seems darkly reminiscent of a biopsy; you can learn a fair bit without a test. Just look around the neighborhood and note what plants are doing well in local conditions.

It's worth knowing what Mother Earth has dealt you in the dirt department. But there isn't much you can do about the type of soil you have—clay or sand. You can sit around despairingly running sand through your fingers or squishing sticky clay into balls, and, of course, you can complain forever and say how much nicer it would be to have a garden in Shropshire, England; Champaign-Urbana, Ill.; or Tallahassee, Fla.

What any gardener possesses is basically flour ground from rocks with organic frosting on top. What you can change pretty easily is the health and texture of that frosting—the structure of your topsoil. Structure refers to how the soil sticks together or doesn't. How clumps of soil cohere determines the availability of pore spaces for air and water to enter, and how easily roots can penetrate.

Autumn is the best time to improve the organic layer of your soil. Lo, with almost extreme efficiency, nature has provided you with bushels of what you need—brown leaves.

A major source of misery for me when I worked in New York City parks was seeing my fellow gardeners using a leaf blower to blast dead leaves off the planted beds. The useful foliage was then bagged and trucked to a landfill. First, the poor plants were getting Hurricane Ike-style winds—but without moisture. Second, it's fine to simply leave leaves on perennials. By spring, they'll have broken down into humus. The ideal would have been to run a lawnmower over leaf piles and put the chopped-up leaf litter around the plants. Lacking a working lawnmower, what I did was collect leaves in hidden piles to break down on their own over the winter and use in the spring or the following fall.

The roots, even of big trees, take in most of their moisture and nutrients from an amazingly thin layer of soil—less than a foot down and often only the first few inches. We used to think of soil as that brown substance useful for holding plants upright, into which we could inject fertilizer. Aside from a beneficial earthworm or troublesome mole, most gardeners didn't care much about what was living underground.

In fact, the fertility of those top inches depends on an incredibly complex society of small creatures—mites, beetles, sow bugs, water bears, nematodes, millipedes, springtails, fungi, and bacteria—that we're only beginning to understand. As Leonardo da Vinci observed, "We know more about the movement of celestial bodies than about the soil underfoot." It's only in the past couple of decades that soil ecologists have systematically applied microbiological techniques to learning more.

Magnified, soil mites are lobsterlike critters (like crustaceans, mites are arthropods) with impressive armor and scary chewing parts. Their job, along with the above-named allies, is to break down organic matter (like leaves, stems, insect corpses, and dung) into a soluble form that can be taken up by plants.

How crucial are they? Let me quote from a book with an amazing title: Life: A Natural History of the First 4 Billion Years of Life on Earth by Richard Fortey. Fortey is a paleontologist, and in a scoop of soil he can find mites hardly changed since the creatures of the Devonian Age. He is also a gorgeous writer:

If the spring tails were to undergo a mysterious demise, together with the mites that live in soil and the minute fungi upon which they feed, quite soon there would be an ecological crisis of a magnitude we can scarcely imagine. Nutrients would become locked away, the soil would become progressively impoverished, larger plants would die, and soon animals would follow suit. Novels that seek to portray post-holocaust worlds always seem to assume that the soil will magically survive, and that a bean cast into seared soil will quietly proceed to a successful crop. But the soil is not a passive medium; it is alive. I doubt whether there would be many readers for a post-holocaust novel that was concerned with the hero's desperate search for mites. Bu alas for the world if the mites and their diminutive allies failed to prosper!

Since the earth emerged from the sea, there has been a mutual dependence between plants and animals; the tiny animals feed the plants. The big animals, including us, eat the plants. Plants' roots, it turns out, aren't passive participants. They exude sugars, acids, and other compounds to attract or repel bacteria and fungi and stir up microbial action.

Autumn is the best time to keep the helpful creatures warm and fed, because they're probably at their most populous. The ground will retain warmth late into autumn, and the creatures will continue to decompose the organic matter. Autumn soil prepared with a couple of inches of compost and a couple more of mulch will protect the organisms from temperature extremes and keep those organisms active long into winter.

The best down quilt to lay on your planting beds is compost. Next-best: leaf mold from last autumn's leaves and, after that, this year's shredded leaves. And if you want to just go out and buy something, get bags of shredded bark.

One caveat: Don't use oak leaves. Part of the mighty oak's mightiness is that the leaves are slow to break down—they'll make a layer like Naugahyde. Other big leaves, like maple and tulip poplar, mat together and in northern gardens can freeze into a giant pancake that keeps water and air from the soil below.

You want to build your soil rather than dose it with fertilizer. Scary though the thought is, you actually want to participate in the cycle of decay and rebirth. The nutrients you give the critters go into the roots and up to the leaves. They return to the earth this time of year, when the leaves drift back down. Since we're all quoting FDR these days: Don't leave those all-important soil creatures ill-housed, ill-clothed, or ill-fed.

"We did not write this letter to scare you," the Republican Party of Pennsylvania assures 75,000 in-state Jewish voters in an e-mail sent out Oct. 23. But "in the 5,769 years of our people, there has never been a more important time for us to take pro-active measures in order to stop a second Holocaust." Care to guess which presidential candidate the Pennsylvania GOP judges most likely to bring on Holocaust II?

"Many of our ancestors ignored the warning signs in the 1930s and 1940s and made a tragic mistake," the e-mail intones. "Let's not make a similar one this year" (Page 2). Signed by three of the state's most prominent Jewish Republicans, the e-mail goes on to suggest that Barack Obama's worldview is somehow sympathetic to that of President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of Iran, driving home the point by quoting Ahmadinejad's famous characterization of Israel as a "stinking corpse" that should be "wiped off the face of the earth." It also quotes Hamas political adviser Ahmed Yousef praising Obama: "We hope he will [win] the election."

But don't be scared!

The Pennsylvania Republicans neglect to mention in their e-mail that three days before their message went out, al-Qaida endorsed their candidate, John McCain. The Republicans also state, erroneously, that Obama "taught members of Acorn to commit voter registration fraud" (he didn't) and that Obama is "associated with" William Ayers, who "thought the terrorists didn't do enough on 9/11." Ayers, whose connection to Obama is slight, told the New York Times that he, as a former member of the violent Vietnam-era protest group the Weather Underground, "didn't do enough." That interview was published on Sept. 11, 2001, but was conducted well before that day's terrorist attack.

The McCain campaign has disavowed the letter, and two of the signatories—Sandra Schultz Newman, a former Pennsylvania Supreme Court justice, and I. Michael Coslov, a steel-industry executive—did the same after it made headlines. The third signatory is Mitchell Morgan, a Philadelphia-area fundraiser for McCain and other Republicans. Although the letter carried a "paid for by Republican Federal Committee of PA—Victory 2008" disclosure (Page 2), the state party's communications director told the AP that it did not authorize the e-mail and that it has fired the campaign strategist who created it. The strategist, Bryan Rudnick, insists that he received several levels of approval to send the e-mail but won't name names.

Thanks to JTA for posting the e-mail.

Please send ideas for Hot Document to documents@slate.com.

The evolutionary struggle between terrorists and drones has taken a new turn.

Here's a quick sketch of where the fight stands. In attacks that escalated from the 1970s through Sept. 11, 2001, terrorists exploited and demonstrated a huge advantage over life-valuing societies: They're willing to target our civilians and use their own civilians as suicidal mass killers. We're unwilling to reciprocate. In broader terms, they're more willing to kill and die than we are.

In the last few years, however, we've developed a countermeasure: drones. By sending mechanical proxies to do our spying and killing, we avoid risking our lives. Recently, Taliban and al-Qaida fighters in Pakistan have gone into Afghanistan and killed our troops. Instead of sending our troops into Pakistan, we've sent drones. Since August, the drones have fired at least 19 missiles at targets in Pakistan. Since the drones fly overhead and aren't human, we can send them many miles into Pakistan and get them out without fear. Unlike ground troops, they can take their time identifying targets, thereby minimizing civilian casualties. The New York Times reports, for example, that last Friday's drone strike on a religious school killed eight people, "all of them militant fighters, according to local residents."

In theory, fewer civilian casualties and the absence of ground troops should make drones relatively palatable to local governments. On Monday, I cited a Times story that suggested this effect was working in Pakistan. Here's the key passage:

A senior administration official said Sunday that no tacit agreement had been reached between the sides to allow increased Predator strikes in exchange for a backing off from additional American ground raids, an option the officials said remained on the table. But Pakistani officials have made clear in public statements that they regard the Predator attacks as a less objectionable violation of Pakistani sovereignty.

That posture of comparative tolerance may be ending. Yesterday, Pakistan summoned the U.S. ambassador and presented a statement conveying a "strong protest" against "the continued missile attacks by U.S. drones inside Pakistani territory." The statement added: "It was emphasized that such attacks were a violation of Pakistan's sovereignty and should be stopped immediately."

Pakistani leaders have long played a double game with their people, publicly denouncing American military activity while privately tolerating or facilitating it. So, it's not clear whether this statement is sincere or just for show. Either way, it demonstrates that drone attacks aren't immune to the political problems commonly associated with manned air or ground attacks. And the Times report suggests a more ominous possibility: "Many Pakistanis, including representatives of political parties in the government coalition, say they believe the increase in [recent] suicide attacks, including the bombing of the Marriott Hotel in Islamabad on Sept. 20, is in retaliation for the American strikes."

In other words, the terrorists may have found a trump card over the drones. The terrorists can't kill the pilots who operate the drones from the United States. But the terrorists can kill local civilians, thereby generating political pressure on the local government to pressure the United States to call off the drones. And because the drones are operated by humans who answer to other humans who are susceptible to pressure over the loss of life, the terrorists win. The drone controllers are more sensitive to death than the terrorists are.

Part of me finds this turn in the struggle infuriating and dismaying. To compensate for its aversion to bloodshed, civilization needs a military advantage over terrorism. Drones look like a good way to achieve that. The border conflict in Pakistan has become a test case for this struggle—the world's first robot proxy war. But the drones aren't really robots, and that's the problem. We're their masters, and we can be intimidated. All you have to do is take the local population hostage through suicide bombing, and the local government will turn on us.

Another part of me realizes that this susceptibility is the only thing standing between us and an apocalypse. If human control and human susceptibility are the problem, then the simplest way to re-establish the drones' supremacy is to release them from our command, turning them into real robots. No more vulnerability to blackmail. No more fretting and cringing over the shedding of blood. Then we can finally stop worrying about the terrorists ... and start worrying about the drones.

Is it dangerous to know too much about your unborn baby's genetic flaws?

This weekend, front-page stories in the Wall Street Journal and Washington Post raised that question. The articles addressed new prenatal tests that can screen fetuses for 150 to 200 genetic abnormalities. Critics worry that as the tests spread, they'll lead to more abortions.

It's pretty rich to see pro-lifers wring their hands about this information while, at the same time, they campaign for ultrasound laws. As Emily Bazelon has pointed out, you can't be for information when it discourages abortions but against information when it leads to abortions—not if your real purpose is, as pro-lifers insist, simply to inform women. And my libertarian hackles go up when paternalists fret that genetic tests might cause undue "anxiety" in "emotionally vulnerable" couples. If you're going to let people raise their own kids, you'd better trust them to think for themselves.

So, I'm not for restricting these tests. On the other hand, purveyors of the tests are way too sanguine about information being value-neutral. Pro-lifers have a legitimate worry, and the rest of us should think about it: In ways that are not entirely rational, genetic tests can shift a couple's presumption from continuing a pregnancy to aborting it.

If you're cool with being pregnant and you don't think anything's wrong with the baby, your default plan is to keep going. But now you get a test result that exposes a genetic glitch. If you have time to end this pregnancy and try again, what are you going to do?

How serious is the glitch? We don't know. As the Post and Journal explain, the new tests detect genetic "variations," "alterations," "abnormalities," "deletions," and "additions." In many cases, they can't predict whether these glitches will cause disease. They can only tell you that the glitches are "associated" with diseases that are "usually" severe. As one proponent puts it, the tests "identify smaller pieces of DNA that are either added or subtracted, and many of these can cause disease." Can cause disease. The Journal story focuses on a fetus diagnosed with autosomal recessive polycystic kidney disease. That fetus is now a 20-month-old boy. He's pretty messed up, but his doctor says he doesn't have ARPKD after all. What does he have? "Unclear."

This is the world we're entering in prenatal testing. It's a world where you'll know more and more about which diseases your baby might get. Instead of thinking the baby is normal, you'll know it's abnormal. And from talking to your doctor and looking up the associated diseases on the Internet, you'll get a very clear picture of how awful the child's life might be if it gets the disease. With that picture in the front of your mind and the "abnormality" label in the back of your mind, your conceptual frame—and your default plan—can change. Genetically, something is definitely wrong with your baby. What are the chances it won't get the disease? Can you live with yourself if you fail to prevent this, knowing what you now know?

We already have evidence that prenatal testing, even with uncertainty, can dramatically increase the abortion rate. Ninety percent of women turn to abortion when they find out the baby has a Down syndrome chromosome, even though the effects of that glitch vary considerably. And what's the biggest driver of these abortions? Cheaper, earlier tests that are now being proposed or recommended to all pregnant women.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Freedom and responsibility go hand in hand. Information about your pregnancy is good, and the decision about what to do with it is yours. But you have to choose wisely. And to do that, you have to understand how selective, unclear information can alter your frame of mind.

In less than three months, Barack Obama will be president of the United States. How will he change our border war in Pakistan? Not much. We'll keep fighting insurgents there the way we're fighting them today: with aerial killing machines.

Last year, Obama declared that under his presidency, "If we have actionable intelligence about high-value terrorist targets and President Musharraf won't act, we will." John McCain criticized Obama's policy as rash, suggesting it would undermine the Pakistani government. The United States should try covert action in Pakistan "before we declare that we're going to bomb the daylights out of them," said McCain. A month ago, in their first debate, McCain again condemned Obama's position, arguing that the next president should "work with the Pakistani government," not "attack them."

Today, the New York Times reports what's actually going on along the Pakistani border. The report, based on interviews with U.S. and Pakistani officials, exposes the Obama-McCain debate as a charade. We're already getting actionable intelligence about terrorist targets in Pakistan. We're already blasting them. And the Pakistani government is working with us to facilitate these attacks. The covert action, the cooperation, and the aerial assaults aren't competing options. They're the same thing.

Here's the crux of the Times story:

The White House has backed away from using American commandos for further ground raids into Pakistan after furious complaints from its government, relying instead on an intensifying campaign of airstrikes by the Central Intelligence Agency against militants in the Pakistani mountains. … [A]ttacks by remotely piloted Predator aircraft have increased sharply in frequency and scope in the past three months. Through Sunday, there were at least 18 Predator strikes since the beginning of August. … Once largely reserved for missions to kill senior Arab Qaeda operatives, the Predator is increasingly being used to strike Pakistani militants and even trucks carrying rockets to resupply fighters in Afghanistan. Many of the Predator strikes are taking place as deep as 25 miles into Pakistani territory. …

So forget McCain's feigned dismay that Obama would send missiles deep into Pakistan. President Bush is doing that already. Is Bush thereby jeopardizing the Pakistani government? Far from it. He's substituting missiles for ground troops to appease and protect the government. According to the Times,

A senior administration official said Sunday that no tacit agreement had been reached between the sides to allow increased Predator strikes in exchange for a backing off from additional American ground raids, an option the officials said remained on the table. But Pakistani officials have made clear in public statements that they regard the Predator attacks as a less objectionable violation of Pakistani sovereignty.

Is Pakistan outraged by the missiles? Hardly. The Times reports:

As part of the intensified attacks in recent months, the C.I.A. has expanded its list of targets inside Pakistan and has gained approval from the government in Islamabad to bolster eavesdropping operations in the border region, according to United States officials. … Husain Haqqani, Pakistan's ambassador to the United States, told the Council on Foreign Relations this month that there was cooperation between the two countries in deploying "strategic equipment that is used against specific targets."

Maybe this explains how our drones have nailed a series of enemy nests over the past four weeks. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. And that's not even counting all the hits we scored in early September. (Update: While I was writing this, the drones struck again, this time nailing a Taliban commander who was paying his respects to the families of people killed in a previous drone strike.) What, exactly, is our mysterious upgraded surveillance capability? Nobody's telling, but I have my theories.

Many things will change when Obama is elected. Other things will stay the same. And then there's a third category: things that are profoundly changing, and will continue to change, regardless of who's president. One of these things is anti-terrorist warfare. The war on terror is becoming a war between madmen and machines. A few years ago, jihadis had the upper hand because they didn't mind killing or dying. Now they're being blown away by remote-control pilots who can't be killed. The machines in the sky don't bleed, and they spare us the difficulties of an official troop presence. Pakistan has become the world's first robot proxy war.

There was a Democratic president before Bush. Acting on intelligence, Bill Clinton sent missiles into Afghanistan to kill Osama Bin Laden, and he didn't ask permission first. Under similar circumstances in Pakistan, Obama would do the same thing. The difference is that Clinton had to fire his missiles from thousands of miles away. Obama can do it from overhead.

On the stump, John McCain now segues from Joe the Plumber to "Barack the Redistributor." As in "redistributor of wealth and taker of your money." These are the Republicans' bad words of the week, much as "community organizer" was during this summer's convention. The prompt is a 2001 Chicago Public Radio interview Obama gave, pushed by Fox television and the Drudge Report on Monday. (Here's the transcript.)

In that interview, Obama was talking in law professor-speak, and in a couple of places in his discursive remarks he refers to "redistributive change." When he used the term, he was speaking against the backdrop of an old debate in the legal academy, which was not about who should pay higher taxes. So, what's the real context for Obama's remarks? It is both storied and, in the end, ho-hum.

In 1964, law professor Charles Reich wrote a hugely influential article called "The New Property." Reich's idea was that some benefits, once conferred by the government, couldn't be taken away without some sort of legal process. Reich's "benefits" weren't necessarily for the poor. "When he was a law clerk to Justice Black, Charlie was struck by the injustice that a doctor, licensed to practice law in New York, could lose his right to practice—in this instance because of allegations he'd fought against Franco—without any procedural protection," says Yale law professor Judith Resnik, who taught the civil procedure class I read Reich's article for in law school. Reich's idea was that a government license could be a form of property, in the sense that, once granted, it shouldn't be taken away without a fair hearing. In 1970, the Supreme Court picked up on this idea in the context of welfare benefits. In a 6-to-3 decision, Goldberg v. Kelly, the court said that the state could not terminate those benefits without giving the recipient a hearing.

And that's pretty much where the idea of using the federal courts as a vehicle of economic justice begins and ends. There was an effort in the legal academy, in the wake of Goldberg, to establish poverty as a classification, like race, ethnicity, gender, and religion, that draws extra scrutiny from the courts when governments make categorizations based on it. But the Supreme Court didn't go for it. "Thundering greatness shall forever elude it," University of Chicago law professor Richard Epstein wrote of Goldberg 20 years after the decision, arguing that its influence proved limited. In the 2001 radio interview, Obama is talking along with another University of Chicago law professor, Dennis Hutchinson, who says, after a passing reference to Goldberg, "The idea that you can use due process for redistributive ends socially, that will be stable, was [an] astonishing assumption in [the] minds of litigators, and it didn't last very long." And Obama adds, "And it essentially has never happened."

Obama then gives an example of the redistributive road not taken: the 1973 case San Antonio School District v. Rodriguez. A group of parents asked the Supreme Court to find that Texas' method of school financing, which was based on local property taxes, violated their kids' fundamental right to education. Because their kids' schools were in a part of the state with a lower tax base, their schools got less money. In a different 5-to-4 lineup, the court turned the parents down. The Constitution didn't "explicitly or implicitly" provide for a right to education, the majority said—and Texas had not created a suspect class of poor students, which meant they had no right to due process. The state was free to fund schools unequally, as many still do. Obama says about Rodriguez that the court "basically slaps those kinds of claims down and says, you know what, we as a court have no power to examine issues of redistribution and wealth inequalities."

Maybe Obama is regretful about the way Rodriguez came out. Though he doesn't say so directly, that's a plausible reading, given his use of "slaps down" and his statement later that he's "not optimistic about bringing about major redistributive change through the courts." But as Orin Kerr points out on the Volokh Conspiracy, Obama is speaking more in descriptive terms than he is advocating a position, so it's hard to tell. If anything, he comes off, per usual, as the opposite of a fire breather—given the opportunity to sound off about the courts and economic justice, he instead seems muted.

What's more, the idea that courts do have a role to play in the funding of schools gained a lot of traction after Rodriguez—in the state courts, as opposed to the federal ones. Sometimes, that is because state constitutions provided for a right to education. In some states, like California, judges instructed the state to take steps to equalize school funding from district to district. In others, like Kansas and Kentucky, and in ongoing litigation in Connecticut, the court decisions are framed in terms of adequacy of funding—making sure each district has enough, rather than the same amount. Either way, it's redistribution of what's become a rather routine sort. This is what Obama was talking about when he said in the radio interview, "Suddenly, a whole bunch of folks start bringing these claims in state court under state constitutions that call for equal educational opportunity, and you see state courts with mixed results being more responsive to it."

What comes through far more clearly in the interview is a tactical point: Obama thinks it's a mistake to rely too much on courts to further any broad agenda. He says, "I think one of the tragedies of the civil rights movement was that the civil rights movement became so court-focused. I think there was a tendency to lose track of the political and organizing activities on the ground that are able to bring about the coalitions of power through which you bring about redistributive change, and in some ways we still suffer from that." And then he continues, "Maybe I am showing my bias here as a legislator as well as a law professor, but you know … the institution just isn't structured that way."

This is a whole separate, bitter, ongoing fight in legal circles—over when to turn to courts as a means of change and when to turn to the legislature, which is directly accountable to the voters and so perhaps the safer and more stable route. It's a truism that conservatives favor legislative change and see the courts as an undemocratic end run around it. They especially think that about any push for "redistributive change," Obama's subject here. In this interview, Obama comes down on the traditionally conservative side, albeit for presumably different reasons. He thinks the civil rights movement misjudged the courts' utility—they were good for providing for a right to vote and for black people to sit with white people at a lunch counter, to use Obama's examples, but they're not good for deciding who's entitled to what government benefits or property rights. "Obama is with Bork on this," Cass Sunstein, an Obama adviser, told me, referring, of course, to the arch-conservative, famously not-confirmed-to-the-Supreme Court Judge Robert Bork.

OK, but if Obama doesn't think the courts will wave the magic wand of redistribution, isn't he still pulling for the legislature to wave it? This is where the McCain attack, in Sunstein's words, "is so ludicrous that to deny it makes one feel like one has come to crazy land." On the one hand, of course Obama is for redistribution. So is any politician, including John McCain, who favors a progressive income tax. Governments constantly take more from one group and give more to another. That's what Medicare is about, and the whole idea of funding public schools in the first place.

The McCain attack isn't about these broad and popular programs, of course. It's about the notion that Obama's "basic goal" is "taking money away from people who work for it and giving it to people who Barack Obama believes deserve it," in the words of McCain adviser Doug Holtz-Eakin. "Europeans call it socialism." For this—the Obama version of large-scale wealth distribution—there is no evidence. There is only his support for garden-variety social-welfare programs, like unemployment insurance and the Earned Income Tax Credit, a tax refund for low-income working people. "Of course it's not a surprise to say that Obama wants the EITC or to expand the unemployment insurance program, or that he's in favor of education reform that's going to cost some money and will give a decent education to people who don't have it," Sunstein says. "But we already knew that. And it's not socialism." True. But it doesn't make for much of an attack on the stump.

It's become a truism of elections that both camps will "lawyer up" before the big day. Briefcase-to-briefcase, wingtip-to-wingtip, the legal emissaries of both Barack Obama and John McCain seem to be taking their cues from the 2000 election, which—according to some accounts—was either decided in a Florida skirmish known as the "Brooks Brothers Riot" that ended the manual recount in Miami-Dade County, or—according to more mainstream accounts—in the august halls of the U.S. Supreme Court along crassly partisan lines. Ready or not, here they come.

This time around, each camp has again amassed small battalions of lawyers—and the private jets necessary—to parachute into local disputes at contested polling places. Forget what the opinion polls say going into Nov. 4. To paraphrase Boss Tweed, when it comes right down to it, it's not the votes that count, but the vote counters. And it's the armies of lawyers who will be on guard to ensure the votes get counted.

A report issued last week by the Pew Center on the States, titled "What if We Had an Election and Everybody Came," warns of impending Election Day mayhem: "Like the infamous Nor'easter that sank the Andrea Gail, another perfect storm may be brewing, only this one has the potential to combine a record turnout with an insufficient number of poll workers and a voting system still in flux." Thanks to the 2002 Help America Vote Act (which currently appears to be doing nothing of the sort) Ohio Republicans were emboldened to bring a novel dispute over the eligibility of newly registered voters that went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court last week. That leaves 49 states, 11 days, and thousands of quick-thinking attorneys to enjoin, protest, and litigate every other possible election claim ranging from dead men casting ballots to touch-screen voting machines with minds of their own.

To that end, Obama and McCain have signed up thousands of lawyers, although neither campaign wants to discuss exact numbers or litigation strategy. Both campaigns have also deftly reached out to citizen-lawyers in this election, even seeking lawyer volunteers on their Web sites—some of whom report being called back almost before they have entered their information.

What will these attorneys be looking for on Nov. 4, and what do they plan to do if they find it? With an estimated 9 million new voters registered, lawyers on each side will be ghost-busting their election nightmare of choice: Democrats claim Republicans seek to suppress the vote—particularly student and minority votes—through polling-place intimidation, threatening robo calls, and illegal voter-roll purges. Republicans respond—indeed John McCain expressly announced at the final debate—that Democrats are "destroying the fabric of democracy" by signing up Mickey, Minnie, Donald, and Daisy, who will all then vote in coordinated efforts to steal the election. (There is virtually no empirical evidence for this type of polling-place vote fraud, but as the Supreme Court recently indicated, when it comes to quadrennial elections, paranoid public hysteria should always be met with greater or equal levels of paranoid judicial hysteria.)

Pre-emptive lawsuits have already been filed and resolved, which is, in some sense, far preferable to litigating recounts in December. Lawyers for the Democrats have evinced a readiness to litigate vote suppression early and often, just last week prevailing over Ohio Republicans' efforts to force the state to name 200,000 new voters whose registrations don't match government databases. Obama lawyers also filed suit in Michigan to stop Republicans allegedly planning to use mortgage foreclosure lists to challenge voters. That suit settled with an agreement not to do so. On the other side, lawsuits filed by the state Republican Party in Montana (challenging the registrations of mostly college students and Native Americans) and Wisconsin (also seeking to match new voters to state databases) have met with little success. And in addition to these pre-emptive legal teams, both campaigns will also have a second string of elite lawyers on standby in the event that the election goes into constitutional overtime.

But what about the thousands of lawyers who will be pressed into service on Election Day itself? Thankfully, they don't all work for the two campaigns. Jonah Goldman, director of the nonpartisan National Campaign for Fair Elections, says they will deploy 10,000 legal volunteers on Election Day; some will be tasked with manning hotlines and others will be on the ground at the polls. Elite New York law firms will oversee call centers, including one Spanish-language hot line, all intended to provide "nonpartisan straight advice," to voters encountering problems, says Goldman. Professor Richard L. Hasen, who teaches election law at Loyola Law School, confirms that most of the thousands of lawyers working on Election Day will not necessarily be racing to a courthouse to file dramatic pleadings, but hanging around the polling places, making sure new voters are not being harassed, using faulty machines, or forced to use provisional ballots (if Democrats) or that election officials are properly checking everybody's IDs (if Republican). If nothing else, all these teams of vigilant lawyers will be watching one another, which in a tense and angry election year may not be such a bad thing.

Election litigation is a boom industry, even in a crumbling economy. Hasen recently published a study indicating that the number of lawsuits filed over elections rose from an average of 94 in the four years before the 2000 election to an average of 230 in the six years after. Paradoxically, the best way to inoculate America against the growing pandemic of "vote fraud" allegations from the political right, and the anxiety over widespread voter intimidation and suppression from the left, may be by throwing more lawyers at it. That's why the single most important role for the armies of attorneys working the 2008 election may ultimately just be to be there: to avert the biggest conflicts and bear witness to the small ones. Send in enough lawyers, and you may just ensure that a watched polling place never boils.

A 2006 Harris poll found that only 18 percent of Americans trust attorneys completely. That's a sad and unfair reflection on the contempt we feel for the profession in this day and age. One can't help but wonder what it says about public confidence in our voting systems, then, that despite our almost complete lack of faith in them, we will rely almost exclusively on lawyers to protect the integrity of this election.

A version of this piece appears in Newsweek.

Since the primary season ended five months ago, Barack Obama and John McCain have made about 370 campaign stops in 32 states. Their running mates—who started campaigning only about two months ago—have added about 200 stops to that total, and their spouses have stumped slightly more than 100 times.

What does this grueling schedule accomplish? When politicians thunder into town, they hope to attract thousands of people, hundreds of voter commitments, and dozens of headlines. From there, they hope word of mouth trickles across the community, causing voters to consider their candidacy. This is basic American politics in action.

But this election, the positive effects of campaigning are tough to spot. A clean cause-and-effect relationship was always unlikely—let's give the American voter a little credit for not just supporting whoever has swooped into town most recently. But in most cases, it's tough to find any correlation between the number of campaign events and the poll returns. There are a variety of explanations—a national economic crisis, the dwindling power of local news headlines, and the increased emphasis on grass-roots organization, just to name a few. The bottom line: When it comes to the candidates' schedules, this election appears to be much more about national strategy than local appearances.

To determine this, we crunched the data from Slate's Map the Candidates tool, which has been tracking the candidates' public schedules the entire election, including the party primaries. Below, you'll find a map of the Democratic ticket's campaigning vs. the Republican ticket's campaigning since the start of the general election and the differential between the two. In the differential map, Obama's advantage is shaded blue; McCain's is shaded brown. Once you click on the box below, you can roll over the states to see how many more times one ticket has appeared in a state than the other presidential pair.

For a closer look, we've pulled out four states that suggest both the futility and the advantages of extended face time in a state. The number of stops from June 9 through Oct. 28 are listed below each state name.

Iowa

(Obama 3, Biden 1, Michelle Obama 0; McCain 6, Palin 3, Cindy McCain 0)

In the Hawkeye State, McCain and Palin have tried to make up for lost time. The GOP ticket has made five more stops in the state, primarily because Obama doesn't think he needs to contest it. He leads by 12 points in Pollster.com's average and has never trailed McCain. McCain, though, insists that his internal polls show the state is competitive, and he continues to campaign. The Republican ticket has held four events there this month. The Democrats haven't been there since early September.

During the primaries, McCain barely competed in Iowa's caucus, choosing to focus on New Hampshire instead. Partly as a result, McCain came in fourth. From July 1, 2007, through the caucuses on Jan. 3, 2008, McCain made 63 appearances in the state, compared with Obama's 186 (full tallies here). In Iowa, the candidates' attendance records during the caucus season seem to be more important than their appearances during the general election.

North Carolina

(Obama 9, Biden 7, Michelle Obama 4; McCain 3, Palin 5, Cindy McCain 2)

The McCain campaign didn't see North Carolina coming. Obama and Biden have dominated the Tar Heel state, making twice as many total stops (16) as McCain and Palin (eight). (The 2-1 ratio still holds when spouses are included: The totals become 20 to 10.) After dabbling in the state once in June and once in August, Obama and Biden held a combined four events there in September. Obama made another three appearances before Palin or McCain showed up for the first time in early October. By then, the polls had already turned, and Obama was in the lead. McCain and Palin have made eight stops there this month, which seems to have stopped Obama's surge, but they haven't picked up any ground. Obama leads McCain by two points.

Pennsylvania

(Obama 16, Biden 9, Michelle Obama 3; McCain 21, Palin 14, Cindy McCain 12)

McCain and Palin have out-campaigned their opponents in Pennsylvania by a larger margin than in any other state, notching 35 appearances to 25 between Obama and Biden. Yet the state now rests comfortably in the blue column. Since June, no less, only three polls have found McCain tied with or leading Obama—and all three were in the two weeks after the Republican National Convention. McCain campaigned heavily in Pennsylvania in that span, making five stops between Aug. 30 and Sept. 11, twice with Palin.

Not coincidentally, those were McCain's best two weeks in the national polls, too, a bump largely attributed to the initial giddiness over Palin's selection and a calmer economic landscape. McCain is almost certain to lose the state, but it is not for lack of effort.

Virginia

(Obama 16, Biden 9, Michelle Obama 2; McCain 5, Palin 6, Cindy McCain 2)

Obama made six unanswered stops in Virginia in July and August, then another eight after John McCain showed some belated interest in the formerly red state. But it wasn't until mid-September that Obama saw the first sign he was gaining any traction there. (McCain was in Virginia twice in June but didn't return until Sept. 10; his last visit was two weeks ago.) It's unclear whether Obama's campaigning, plus nine stops by Joe Biden since Sept. 4, have much to do with their eight-point lead; the break in Obama's favor since mid-September coincides almost exactly with his move ahead of McCain in national polls. That, in turn, coincides with the week the economy became unmoored.

The best theory one could give about Obama's attention to the Old Dominion is that it made Virginians more sympathetic to this general trend toward Obama. This hasn't been true everywhere. In other states where he was modestly behind in the early summer but has not since visited as frequently, like Indiana (five stops since July), the mid-September boost is much less evident.

We've set up heat maps of all the candidates' travels here. If you'd prefer to customize the timeline yourself, visit Map the Candidates. You can also use it to follow their travels for the remaining week of the campaign.

Not long after Sen. Edward M. Kennedy was diagnosed with brain cancer this summer, he summoned his very own group of national cancer experts, a "tumor board," to discuss his case and recommend treatment. The New York Times called his health care "extraordinary" for several reasons: Tumor boards are usually convened by doctors for complicated cases, not by patients, and rarely is it possible to summon "more than a dozen experts," as Kennedy did, on short notice. While it may not be surprising that someone with fame, stature, or wealth would receive more attention when ill, it seems unfair that he should get better medical care than the rest of us.

Actually, he doesn't. Although the senator has unlimited access to expert doctors, he suffers from a different disease that rarely afflicts soccer moms but can be even deadlier than cancer: very important person syndrome. VIP syndrome strikes when doctors and nurses treat VIP patients differently—and, in the end, the medical care is worse, not better. Because VIPs are special, doctors and nurses deviate from usual protocols. As a result, the patient receives something other than the standard of care.

Doctors act differently with VIPs because caring for celebrities is distracting. They know their decisions will be scrutinized not only by hospital administrators looking over their shoulders but also by the press and public. Doctors who would normally ask, "What's the best care for a 76-year-old man with a malignant glioma?" instead wonder, "What do we do now that Senator Kennedy has a malignant glioma?" The answer is sometimes different because of the tendency to overthink decisions and overemphasize treatments celebs think they need—even if those treatments are experimental and not necessarily the standard of care.

VIP syndrome affects not only treatment but also testing decisions. If Joe the Plumber requests a CT scan he doesn't need, doctors simply say, "No, Mr. Plumber." But Joe Biden can get any CT he wants. Some health care programs for corporate executives even involve routine full-body CT scans as screening tests as part of the "chairman's physical." The problem is that these expensive and detailed tests may actually increase the risk of cancer from radiation exposure and have never really been shown to improve anyone's health. And if there is an incidental finding, as there often is, more tests might be ordered, which may lead to unnecessary biopsies. And doctors perform heroic procedures on VIPs not just when there is clear benefit but when there is any question of benefit. After Harvard doctors recommended that Kennedy not have brain surgery, the doctors at Duke overrode that decision in favor of removing the tumor. Another problem: When procedures are performed, the most senior guy does it. The senior guy is not necessarily the most skilled at doing the procedure—because he has been busy being an academic chairperson and is out of practice.

So, who gets VIP syndrome? It can strike anyone who is clearly famous or important, like a Kennedy, a Baldwin brother, a big hospital donor, or the superrich. And much like other diseases, VIP syndrome can be contagious: Relatives of famous people can easily catch it. (Kennedy's family members also had their own tumor boards.) VIPs even have their own special hospital floors. While these units have better nurse-to-patient ratios, fluffier pillows, and concierge service, the nurses are not specialized. For example, a VIP with a broken hip may not get the nurse who usually takes care of orthopedic patients. And many VIP wings are located far away from the rest of the hospital. One prestigious academic hospital has a VIP section with oak-paneled rooms and high-thread-count bed sheets, but among medical students and residents, it's known as "Marberia," a conflation of its real name and Siberia, because of its remote location. As a result, VIPs may get seen last in the morning because doctors have to trek to different buildings on rounds. And if a VIP has a true emergency, like a cardiac arrest, in the comfy unit, doctors may be dangerously far away.

VIP syndrome is compounded when the patient is in critical condition. After President Ronald Reagan was shot, the doctors couldn't hear one another because so many people were shouting at the same time. Imagine trying to make a good medical decision or communicate when the E.R. is teeming with administrators, Secret Service agents, and gawking hospital staffers not involved with the case. Even when doctors have the time to think clearly, they still make mistakes when dealing with celebrities: Former President Gerald Ford was discharged from the hospital with the diagnosis of an inner-ear infection when, in fact, he had suffered a stroke.

As we have both encountered as practicing emergency physicians, some VIPs travel to the hospital toting their own doctors. While a trained advocate can be helpful, it can sometimes interfere with medical decision making and lead to diagnostic delays and mistakes. In this story from the Boston Globe, when a VIP came into the E.R. complaining of chest pain from swallowing a large pill, the "boutique bedside bodyguard" insisted on an immediate echocardiogram, a heart test rarely performed in the E.R. VIPs also have issues with privacy because everyone is interested in their health. In 2007, after super-VIP George Clooney was in a motorcycle wreck, 27 hospital employees were investigated for inappropriately peeking at his X-rays and leaking his test results to the media. VIP privacy is a common problem: UCLA Medical Center workers have snooped into the medical records of Britney Spears, Farrah Fawcett, and Maria Shriver.

Since most of us are not VIPs, why should we care? Because VIP syndrome can affect you, too, especially if you're in the same hospital—the VIP will get her MRI first, so you may have to wait a little longer. But if you don't happen to be waiting for the same MRI scanner, you can benefit from an ill VIP. When a celebrity comes down with your disease, the illness can suddenly become more important: VIPs sometimes start foundations when they get sick—like Michael J. Fox did with Parkinson's disease.

But the truth is that most VIPs, especially the very famous ones, actually want to be treated as regular patients. In addition to having to deal with clicking cameras and googly-eyed autograph-seekers, VIPs probably know that fame can also mean star-struck doctors and nurses. So, what can wary VIPs do to make sure that they don't get VIP syndrome? Alas, not much. Even when the VIP checks in under an assumed name, going incognito in a hospital can be next to impossible. Trust us. Sunglasses might help them avoid paparazzi on the street, but a thin hospital gown doesn't do the same trick. Word spreads quickly among nosy hospital staff.

Though doctors don't always do right by their prominent patients, VIPs do have ultimate access. And for anyone who has tried to navigate the U.S. health care system, access to doctors is paramount. VIPs don't wait for appointments, they don't get bounced to the E.R. for routine care, nor do they get boarded on E.R. hallway stretchers for 12 hours. But access and attention don't always translate into better outcomes, especially if the care team doesn't follow protocols. The truth is that there is probably a happy medium: If you are Joe Six-Pack, it may help to be mistaken for a VIP because you won't have to wait weeks for a doctor's appointment. But if you are a candidate for vice president, you'd be better off if hospital staff thought you were just a hockey mom.

Just as there are a lot of geniuses in bull markets, there are a lot of idiots in bear markets. And in both instances, not everyone is equally deserving of the title. Ideas that seem shareholder-friendly and prudent when stock charts are soaring seem shareholder-hostile and reckless when the charts are plunging down. One telling example of this: Companies that spent loads of money paying out dividends and buying back stock seem brilliant in good times and stupid in bad times.

In the recent bull market, there was a lot of pressure from investors and new incentives (favorable tax treatments for dividends) for companies to pay dividends to long-term shareholders, rather than hoard profits, or use them for acquisitions. And with the climate highly favorable to profits (low interest rates, rampant global growth), CEOs had plenty of cash piling up on their balance sheets. Dividends were a tax-efficient means of rewarding shareholders who stick around (not to mention executives with big stock holdings). Companies also eagerly repurchased shares during the bull market, for two reasons. First, repurchases would compensate for the dilution created when executives and employees exercised stock options. Second, by reducing the number of shares outstanding, repurchases would make profits look more impressive. Professional investors often value shares by looking at their price-to-earnings ratios—i.e., the amount of profits earned per each share outstanding. The lower the better. Reduce the number of shares, and suddenly the p/e ratio falls even if earnings are flat. (One dollar of earnings spread over 10 shares, is 10 cents per share. But $1 of earnings over nine shares is 11.1 cents per share—an 11 percent increase.)

Data provided by Howard Silverblatt at Standard & Poor's show a significant shift in both dividends and buybacks in the years of the Bush boom. Members of the S&P 500 boosted dividend payouts from $141 billion in 2000 to $225 billion in 2006, $247 billion in 2007, and $123.66 billion in the first half of 2008. That's $595 billion from the beginning of 2006 through first half of 2008.

Today, many executives likely wish they could have some of that money back. Think about the number of companies that in recent months have gone bankrupt or are begging the taxpayers for help. Many of these firms that have admitted they're running out of cash were paying out dividends until very recently. AIG, the insurance company that is now a ward of the state, has a long and distinguished dividend history. From the beginning of 2007 through mid-2008, it shelled out about $2.85 billion in dividends on common stock. General Motors, which has a similarly storied dividend history, has paid out 25-cents-per-quarter dividends (adding up to about $844 million) over the last six quarters. In May and June, GM was purportedly healthy enough that it could pay out a dividend. In August, GM was so sick it needed billions in taxpayer money to make it through the winter. Lehman Brothers paid a dividend of 17 cents a share for the quarter that ended Feb. 28; six months later it was toast. In each of these instances, given the magnitude of their problems, slashing the dividend—or eliminating it entirely—might not have made the difference between survival and failure. (AIG has already borrowed nearly $100 billion from the Federal Reserve.) On the other hand, there always comes a point where, depending on your size, the lack of a few hundred million dollars could mean the difference between surviving or dying. In each case, the managers would have been in at least a marginally better position to weather the tsunami if they had more cash.

Many CEOs likewise might regret the aggressive share-repurchase initiatives they embarked upon during the height of the bull market. S&P 500 members splurged on buybacks, boosting the total from $131 billion in 2003 to $589 billion in 2006, $515 billion in 2007, and $202 billion through the first half of 2008. The total from Jan. 1, 2006, through June 30, 2008: $1.3 trillion. Alas, these shares were disproportionately bought high.

When the brilliant hedge-fund manager Edward Lampert melded Sears and Kmart to form Sears Holdings, retail veterans scoffed that he didn't know what he was doing. But until relatively recently, Lampert defied the critics. Lampert, frequently viewed as a proto-Warren Buffett, used the cash thrown off by the stores to make some acquisitions, invest in the stores, and buy back prodigious amounts of shares. As the company notes in its most recent earnings release, in the past three years Sears has bought "approximately 38.7 million of our common shares at a total cost of $4.8 billion," paying an average price of $124 per share. When Sears' stock was bumping along near $190, that seemed like a genius move. But the stock today trades at about $57, and the company has effectively lost about $2.2 billion on that investment. (Here is the five-year chart of Sears Holdings.) Put another way, the amount of cash spent buying back shares is equal to about two-thirds of Sears' current market value. And in today's environment, a few billion in cash could not only prove an excellent buffer, it would give Lampert more freedom to do what he has done in the past—purchase wounded or busted retailers and turn them around.

Both dividends and share buybacks are now in decline. Among the S&P 500, buybacks peaked when the market peaked in the third quarter of 2007, and dividends peaked in the fourth quarter of 2007. On October 3, S&P reported that some 138 publicly held companies slashed their dividends in the third quarter, saving $22.5 billion. Buybacks are drying up, too. The pace in the second quarter of 2008 ($88 billion) was the lowest since the fall of 2005, down by half from the third quarter of 2007.

Three articles from the Wall Street Journal show the strange myopia of businesses and business groups when it comes to politics. One article detailed how big retailers (Home Depot, Wal-Mart, Lowe's, Target) are warning employees about the possibility that a Democratic sweep could give unions the upper hand (translation: Vote Republican!). A second describes how the U.S. Chamber of Commerce is mounting a huge $35 million campaign—twice the amount it spent in 2006 congressional races—to support "almost exclusively Republicans in contested Senate races." And Federal Express CEO Fred Smith gave an interview to the editorial page in which he endorsed Sen. John McCain: "Because I agree with him on trade, taxes, energy and health care."

Let's take each in turn. Big retailers such as Home Depot, Wal-Mart, and Target, the Journal reports, are freaked out that Obama and a Democratic Congress would pass the Employee Free Choice Act, "which would do away with secret balloting and allow unions to form if a majority of employees sign cards favoring unionization." Now, don't get me wrong. EFCA may be a disaster for retailers. But of all the woes facing companies—the credit crunch, crappy growth, a disastrous job market, a lost decade in the stock market—unions are the least of their problems. So far this year, legions of retailers have gone bankrupt—Steve & Barry's, Linens'n'Things, the Ponderosa and Bonanza restaurant chains—victims of excessively optimistic projections, poor expansion choices, mismanagement, and horrific capital structures. Unions had nothing to do with their failure.

Retailers that survive face a bigger challenge. We've just concluded an economic expansion in which median incomes failed to rise. The people who shop at Wal-Mart, Home Depot, and Target are basically making the same amount of money they were in 1999. There are many reasons why wages failed to rise in this expansion, among them: globalization, outsourcing, and a decline in the educational attainment of workers. But unions aren't one of them. What's more, long-term stock charts put the lie to the binary concept—Republican, anti-big-labor good; Democrat, pro-big-labor bad. Check out these charts of Home Depot (up about fivefold in the Clinton years, down about 60 percent in the Bush years), or Wal-Mart (boom in the Clinton years and drift in the Bush years, or Target (ditto).

Now, with consumer confidence at a record low, credit difficult to come by, and demand shrinking, retailers are facing a bleak outlook. And they're worried about the prospect of greater unionization at some point in the future?

The U.S. Chamber of Commerce seems to be chiefly guilty of bad timing. While the chamber technically doesn't endorse political candidates, on Oct. 23, it announced a big field operation to educate voters in battleground states. The Journal has also reported that it is pouring millions of dollars into Senate races to buck up Republicans such as Mitch McConnell, Susan Collins, John Sununu, and Norm Coleman, along with token Democrat Mary Landrieu of Louisiana. More Democrats, the chamber fears, would mean "policies favoring increased unionization, higher taxes, more restrictions on trade and more regulation on the financial-services and housing sectors." Once again, the past 16 years provide a great controlled experiment: eight years of a Democratic regime that was comparatively pro-labor, higher tax, pro-regulation, and anti-free trade, followed by eight years of a Republican regime that was comparatively anti-labor, decidedly low tax and anti-regulation, and pro-free trade. Pop quiz: For the members of the Chamber of Commerce, and for corporate America at large, which eight years were better? (And as a matter of pure political strategy: Is it wise for the chamber to spend millions against a Democratic Party that is likely to control Congress and the White House?)

Federal Express CEO Fred Smith couched his binary political take more as a matter of personal preference and less as a question of what would be good for the company he runs. (He endorses McCain "because I agree with him on trade, taxes, energy, and health care," and doesn't endorse Obama because "I just disagree with him on trade and taxes and energy and health care.") Fair enough. But once again, one wonders what conclusions Smith might draw from the past 16 years of running Federal Express. From 1993-2000, the president was a guy he disagreed with on trade, taxes, energy and health care in office, and from 2001-08 the president was a guy he agreed with on trade, taxes, energy and health care. How did that work out for a Federal Express shareholder? Check out this long-term chart of Federal Express and see for yourself.

So, why do some members of the business class cling so bitterly to the notion that Democrats and unions inevitably spell doom while Republicans and the absence of unions always spell nirvana? It could be, as colleague Liza Featherstone suggests in the about-to-be-posted "Money Talks" podcast, that CEOs are really most worried about their personal income taxes, rather than the macroeconomic climate. Could be. But I suspect the real reason is theology. Just as religion frequently involves simplistic good/evil comparisons, members of the church of free enterprise frequently hew to the first (thou shalt not unionize) and second (thou shalt not bow down before Democrats) commandments.

In the past 16 years, a bunch of really big-picture economic developments have influenced the trajectory of the nation's (and the globe's) economy. These include, but are not limited, to: the Internet, free-trade agreements, the emergence of China and India, the fluctuating price of oil and commodities, and climate change. But the people we've elected to serve in Congress and in the White House haven't had much of an impact on any of those trends. In so many areas—homeownership, the stock market, investor participation rates—the past eight years have been something of a lost decade. We can't blame President Bush and former Republican Rep. Tom DeLay for all of this. But it's pretty clear that the policies promoted by a Republican president and a Republican-controlled Congress didn't do a lot to stimulate broad-based growth. At the very least, recent economic history should cause people to re-examine some of their assumptions about the relation between politics and the private sector. I'm not saying it doesn't matter who sits in the White House or who controls Congress. But it doesn't matter nearly as much as many businesspeople think it does.

What sound is most evocative of autumn? The crackling of dry leaves? The singsong chant of trick-or-treaters? The zip-zipping of corduroy jeans as you walk down the street? For anyone who remembers watching the original Charlie Brown Christmas special in 1965—or in any of the 42 years it's aired since—the single best aural reminder of the waning year has to be the bouncy piano vamp of Vince Guaraldi's "Linus and Lucy," better known as the Peanuts song. The Van Pelts' theme doesn't appear until midway through A Charlie Brown Christmas, but it was so instantly and indelibly associated with Charles Schulz's characters that it became the opening song for subsequent specials.

Those specials—at least the big three: the Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas shows that were recently released in a "deluxe holiday collection" by Warner Bros.—have a mood unlike any animated film for children made before or since. For one thing, they're really, really slow—slow not just by our ADD-addled contemporary standards but also next to the programming of their own time. Just compare the meandering pace of A Charlie Brown Christmas (in which Charlie tries, and fails, to direct a single rehearsal of a Christmas play) with the generation-spanning epic crammed into Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964). But what really sets the Peanuts specials apart is their sadness. Even digitally remastered, with the background colors restored to their original vivid crispness, the Peanuts holiday specials have a faded quality, like artifacts from a lost civilization. As Linus observes of the wan, drooping pine sprig Charlie Brown eventually rescues from a huge lot of pink aluminum Christmas trees, "This doesn't seem to fit the modern spirit."

Here I could write an epic poem detailing the multiple felicities of the Peanuts specials: the van Gogh-esque night sky that dwarfs Linus and Sally as they wait in the pumpkin patch for the Great Pumpkin, Linus' stirring reading from the Gospel of Luke at the end of A Charlie Brown Christmas, the impossibly hip "Little Birdie" song that plays in the background as Snoopy and Woodstock prep for their Thanksgiving feast. But I'll let you rediscover the specials' quiet joys for yourself, and I'll stick to describing the added value this collection provides: the fascinating but far too short making-of documentaries that are appended to each disc.

Those early specials were the output of a small creative team that was given free rein by CBS, as long as the results continued to pull in a giant Nielsen share. (The debut of A Charlie Brown Christmas was watched by literally half the viewing audience, a percentage unimaginable in our cable-fragmented era.) These were men who took their Peanuts very seriously indeed: Schulz, producer Lee Mendelson, and legendary animator Bill Melendez, who died last month at 91. It was Melendez who was responsible for figuring out how to turn Schulz's famously flat, spare drawings into moving pictures with backgrounds, as he recounts in interviews here. How were the characters' flat, boatlike feet actually supposed to walk? (Melendez had to invent a special gait, several beats faster than the normal human footstep, to make them move convincingly.) How does Charlie Brown's single strand of hair change shape when he moves from a profile to a front view?

The making-of featurettes also detail Schulz's close involvement in the writing and animation process. He insisted on the absence of a laugh track and on giving the Peanuts kids the voices of real children, many of them nonprofessionals. Since the kids, who ranged in age from 6 to 11, rapidly aged out of their parts, there was an ongoing search for new voice talent (though sometimes it could be found close to home; Christopher Shea, the original voice of Linus, was eventually replaced by his younger brother Stephen). The younger actors, still unable to memorize lines (or, in some cases, to read), had to have their lines fed to them half a line at a time by Melendez, who supervised all the recording sessions and provided the nonverbal stylings of Snoopy. This line-by-line editing process is what lent the Peanuts voices their signature choppy rhythm—if you listen carefully, you can hear the seams between words. Mendelson, a charming storyteller, remembers how a girl voicing the part of Sally once had to be rushed into the studio for an all-night recording session before she lost her front tooth, which would have given her a lisp that matched poorly with the scenes she'd already recorded.

If these making-of features disappoint, it's only because they leave you wanting something longer and more comprehensive (like this 1985 Schulz-hosted tribute to the 20^th anniversary of the Peanuts specials). An interview with Schulz's grown son Monte provides a tiny glimpse of his father as the troubled, egotistical man portrayed in this 2007 biography of the cartoonist. Monte describes how, as an airplane-mad boy, he suggested Snoopy's Red Baron persona to his father, who promptly incorporated it into his strip. But Schulz refused to acknowledge his son's contribution, in interviews or in conversation, until the final years of his life.

Vince Guaraldi, who deserves a two-hour documentary of his own, appears in only a few tantalizing images, improvising at the piano from a storyboard drawn by Schulz. It was Guaraldi's idea to use a trombone to simulate the off-screen voices of adults, and the "wah-wah" bleat of unseen teachers and parents became a defining feature of the Peanuts universe. After Guaraldi's early death in 1976, the musical standard of the Peanuts specials went way downhill, as evidenced by this Flashdance-influenced Flashbeagle number from 1985. The extras in this collection include three latter-day Peanuts specials, from 1981, 1988, and 1992—perfectly pleasant viewing but illustrative of the shows' decline from their '60s heyday.

Making-of documentaries about animated films have a unique fascination; it's a trip to witness the collaborative process by which a bunch of photographed drawings can somehow convince us that we're really watching Lucy yank away that football. Still, all the knowledge in the world about how these shows were produced can't account for the melancholy beauty of the opening of A Charlie Brown Christmas, in which poker-faced children skate on a pond to the strangely funereal carol "Christmastime Is Here." Or the bleak hilarity of Charlie Brown's Halloween-candy haul: "I got a rock." If the featurettes were the high point of this collection for me, it's only because, like everyone else who grew up with them, I can never see these wonderful specials again for the first time.

By the standards of post-Apatovian gross-out comedy, the plot of Zack and Miri Make a Porno (The Weinstein Company)—two broke platonic pals agree to collaborate on a homemade porn film and fall in love in the process—qualifies as positively sweet. This movie could have been an effervescent neo-screwball romance, Bringing Up Baby with nut-sack jokes. So there's no blaming the subject matter for the fact that Zack and Miri feels so dispiritingly graceless.

The cast isn't really at fault, either. Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks, though their chemistry is a little off here, proved they can have good on-screen sex in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and the very funny Craig Robinson (who, like Rogen, is a regular Apatow player) nearly commits Grand Theft Movie in every role he plays. Nope, I'm afraid there's no one to blame but writer-director Kevin Smith if viewers walk out of Zack and Miri never wanting to have sex again. A cult figure among the Adult Swim crowd, Smith has always been better at the foulmouthed and frankly sophomoric (Clerks, Mallrats) than the wistful and sincere (Chasing Amy, Jersey Girl). This movie ups the ante in both categories; it wants its audience to guffaw at dick jokes and swoon over the perfect kiss. That combination of raunch and heart isn't impossible to achieve—at his best, Apatow can pull it off—but it requires a nimbler pen and a sweeter soul than Kevin Smith brings to this movie.

Zack (Rogen) and Miri (Banks) play unambitious and barely solvent twentysomethings who share a squalid apartment in Pittsburgh. He works as a barista in a strip-mall coffee shop; she sells clothes at the mall. As their unpaid bills pile up and eviction notices loom, Zack hatches a plan to cash in with a homemade adult video—a plan Miri resists until their power and water are shut off on the same day.

After securing seed money from Zack's co-worker Delaney (Robinson), the roomies hire a cast of willing exhibitionists (including Kevin Smith stalwart Jason Mewes and real-life porn stars Traci Lords and Katie Morgan) and rent a studio space in which to shoot their outer-space sex opera, Star Whores. After a last-minute setback, the crew is forced to reshoot at Zack and Delaney's coffee shop after hours, where they decide to jettison the George Lucas angle and title their new masterwork Swallow My Cockuccino.

The movie's central joke—that loving, intimate sex, of the kind Zack and Miri will eventually have on camera, makes for lousy pornography—is both clever and affecting. And the scene in which the two friends finally get it on is one of the few aesthetically successful moments, as Smith uses two different soundtracks to contrast the lovers' ecstasy with their onlookers' boredom. But Zack and Miri keeps throwing away the opportunity to be more than a string of undifferentiated puerile gags. The moment these characters start discussing feelings, their dialogue turns stiff: Would anyone from Zack and Miri's uninhibited Generation Y circle be caught dead using the boomer euphemism "making love"?

Boogie Nights (one of my favorite films of the '90s) and the 2003 Spanish gem Torremolinos 73 were both delightful (if idealized) fantasies about porn-making as a source of personal and artistic liberation. But though Zack and Miri staunchly maintains that its characters find creative fulfillment in their group project, we never really see them experiencing that joy. Maybe that's because Zack and Miri and their crew are barely characters at all; they're wisecrack delivery systems. As for the porn itself, what sex we do see is simulated; the nudity is minimal (the inflated breasts of porn stars seem more like costumes than body parts), and there's a single, albeit deeply disgusting, scatological sight gag. Zack and Miri Make a Porno is neither dirty enough to satisfy Kevin Smith fans nor romantic enough to get your date into bed.

The zeitgeist can be a keen ironist. Even as the punks of the mid-1970s were fuming and scheming in their English or American ratholes, menacing the future with dreams of a stripped-down rock 'n' roll noise that would kill all the hippies forever, their omens were being unexpectedly fulfilled by two tiny Scotsmen in Sydney, Australia. By 1975, the band built by Malcolm Young and his little brother Angus was already the complete statement: sawn-off Chuck Berry riffs, blood-throb bass, pistonlike 4/4 drums, and boisterously anti-social lyrics, everything delivered with a special edge of mania. Their only technology was amplification (and just a bite of distortion on the guitars). It was all in the finest sense reactionary, which meant that nothing like it had been heard before. With hindsight, it seems inarguable: It may have been the Dead Boys who wrote the call-to-arms "Sonic Reducer," but at the dawn of punk rock, the planet's most severe and animally empowered sonic reductionists were AC/DC.

They weren't punk rockers, of course—they didn't snipe or thrash or clatter. This sound was huge-boned, blues-rooted. Scowling Malcolm (5' 3"), chop-chopping out the chords on his Gretsch with a skinny arm, was a rhythm player of pulverizing succinctness. Lead guitarist Angus (5' 2") was a duckwalker and a headbanger; between the goblin-wing stumps of his two sticking-out elbows, his head flailed slowly back and forth, mouth open, in massive gestures of affirmation and assent. His performances were paroxysms, but his solos were clean—crisp picaresque mini-narratives that screamed and chuckled and resolved. Vocalist Bon Scott was a tattooed brawler, shirtless, more of a working-class Dionysus than an anarchist, with a unique quasi-flamenco wail that he maintained (according to a source in Murray Engleheart's excellent AC/DC: Maximum Rock 'n' Roll) by gargling port before shows. There was a romance to him: Mark Kozelek, in his 2001 album of acoustic AC/DC covers What's Next to the Moon, managed to distill a doleful poetic essence from the Scott-era songs. "Love at First Feel," in particular, was transmuted in Kozelek's hands from pub-rock smut into something approaching the authentic ache of eros.

They were punk-ish, nonetheless: The incoming kids could find common cause with AC/DC. "You can stick your 9-to-5 livin'," rasped Scott in "Rock 'n' Roll Singer," "And your collar and your tie/ And stick your moral standards/ 'Cause it's all a dirty lie!" Angus—an ex-skinhead—liked to drop his trousers for the camera, spazzed out onstage in a school uniform, and waded into the audience as required: "I'll shit and piss on people if need be," he promised a journalist. Scott always seemed to have a freshly knocked-out tooth. The artwork for their debut album, High Voltage, featured a dog cocking his leg on an electrical service box. Notorious moments had occurred live on Australian TV. Aggro, furore—an "Antipodean Punk Extravaganza" as John Peel dubbed them upon their arrival in London in 1976.

Indeflectibly, they did their thing: not punk rock, not heavy metal, but the same highly synthesized atomic boogie that they would continue to play for the next 30 years. A significant hiccup occurred in 1980 when the amazing Scott rather bathetically exceeded his body's capacity for intoxication, passing out in a parked car in a London side street and never waking up again. But the band hardly faltered. Within six weeks, the Young brothers had installed flat-capped screamer Brian Johnson at the mic, and preparations were underway for perhaps the greatest comeback album of all time: Back in Black.

As a frontman, Johnson has more than held his own against the Scott legend, and as a writer, he started strong ("Knockin' me out with those American thighs," one of the great AC/DC lines, is his), but over the long haul it must be admitted that, lyrically, there has been something of a falling-off. Scott was a wag and a storyteller. Johnson is a straight-up double-entendre merchant ("Sink the Pink", "Givin' the Dog a Bone," etc.), and by 1990 he'd worn himself out, at which point AC/DC's lyrics department was more or less taken over by the Young brothers. "Her hot potatoes/ Will elevate you/ Her bad behavior/ Will leave you standing proud" ("Hard as a Rock").

Musically, however, the compound admits of no adulteration. One cannot be influenced by AC/DC—one can only rip them off. The Cult did it, as did the Darkness and most recently Jet ("Cold Hard Bitch"). AC/DC rip themselves off all the time: Like Motorhead and the Ramones, their worst productions tend to mechanically travesty their best. The hero of Black Ice (Columbia), their latest, is producer Brendan O'Brien, who seems to have approached the band almost anthropologically, honoring their manners and rituals with a scrupulous recording process. The songs are tired, but Phil Rudd's kick drum sounds, literally, like magic. And every AC/DC album has its bull's-eye moment: On Black Ice, it's "Rock 'n' Roll Train," a euphoric stomp with a startling zigzag riff that only the Youngs could have written. A kind of fertile monomania possesses them, sonically and thematically. Witness, for instance, the careerlong fidelity to the motif of balls: "She's Got Balls" (1975), "Big Balls" (1976), "Got You by the Balls" (1990), and—most triumphant—the album Ballbreaker (1995). Around 2017, expect an AC/DC greatest hits package called Balls in the Air.

Naturally, they have been accused of devil worship, though there's never been the faintest whiff of occultism about them. The devil in AC/DC songs ("Hell Ain't a Bad Place To Be") is a bloke-ish and convivial presence, a sort of cloven-hoofed drinking partner. And in the mid-'80s they had their obligatory flap with Tipper Gore and the PMRC. But that's all over and done with. These days they are held in the ageless, half-mystical global esteem accorded to certain religious personages and royal families. They move millions of units and play to hundreds of thousands. A recent profile in the New York Times could do little but numbly recite their enormous sales figures. Brian Johnson is now 61; his voice is rubble. Angus, continuing to wear the schoolboy shorts, has thrashed his little body almost to a standstill. Such things no longer matter. AC/DC's music, in all its pulse-lifting, mind-canceling, ball-breaking obviousness and enormity, persists like a cosmic punch line: What if this is the meaning of life?

Newsweek, Nov. 3

Richard Haass, president of the Council on Foreign Relations, pens a memo to the future occupant of the White House on the uncomfortable geopolitical realities he will face starting Jan. 20. "The challenges of this era have no single national origin and no national solution. Multilateralism is the only realistic way ahead. The operative term is 'integration.' We need to bring other major powers into the design and operation of the world—before the century is overwhelmed by the forces globalization has unleashed," he writes. Haass also suggests rehabilitating the office of the vice president, post-Cheney: Take away the V.P.'s policy portfolio, and return him or her to the realm of trusted counselor. … Republican donors are none too pleased that their campaign cash went to clothing the Palin family in Valentino. The decision to raid Neiman Marcus for clothes was made after the campaign realized "she didn't have the fancy pantsuits that Hillary Clinton has," one staffer said.

Weekly Standard, Nov. 3

With the cover depicting Barack Obama driving a tank about to mow down John McCain, Fred Barnes, one of the original Sarah Palin boosters, writes off all those conservatives who endorsed Obama in the last weeks. Katherine Parker, Peggy Noonan, and David Brooks dislike Palin simply because they have not met her. If they had, Barnes maintains, they would know she is "dazzlingly likeable and enormously persuasive." … William Kristol's editorial dubs those conservatives who jumped ship "pathetically opportunistic." … A dispatch from Reykjavík captures what life is like for Icelanders since their prime minister declared "national bankruptcy" on Oct. 6. Shopping malls are almost empty due to high inflation—the krona has lost 64 percent of its value against the euro this year. Even a woman selling hand-knit Icelandic sweaters is hard up—resources are plentiful, but no one on the island can afford the finished product.

The New Yorker, Nov. 3

Margaret Talbot unpacks how Bristol Palin's pregnancy, which further endeared the family to the evangelical base, illustrates that American culture is divided into two camps: social liberals who are deeply troubled by teen pregnancy and conservatives who seem to embrace it, as long as no one has an abortion. Evangelical teens are more likely to say they will wait till marriage, but surveys show they end up having sex earlier than other groups and without contraception. As for moderates, Talbot writes of a new "middle-class morality," in which teens recognize that the abstinence-until-marriage paradigm is unrealistic but are cautious about having sex. "They might have loved Ellen Page in 'Juno,' but in real life they'd see having a baby at the wrong time as a tragic derailment of their life plans," Talbot writes. … Tom Bissell profiles Cliff Bleszinski, the flamboyant 33-year-old wunderkind game designer behind Epic Games' wildly successful Gears of War. Bleszinski's attention to his image over the years—white snakeskin boots, fur coats, thoughtfully coiffed hair—makes him "exceptional in an industry that is … widely assumed to be a preserve inhabited by pale, withdrawn, molelike creatures."

New York, Nov. 3

An article finds that Barack Obama's team, wary of the challenges Obama would face as president, has been plotting its White House transition for months. Advisers are reading books about FDR and aiming to avoid the chaos that characterized Clinton's first 100 days in power. The team is "[a]ll too aware that, should he win, these cascading crises will leave Obama with no time to gain his sea legs and terrifyingly little margin for error." … An article goes behind the scenes at the Broadway staging of Billy Elliot, delving into the day-to-day lives of the three young teens who share the title role and the limelight while puberty remains at bay. "To some parents, this would no doubt be a terrible picture: overworked, overdriven kids living adult lives in an artificial world. But as the Billy parents see it, their sons are experiencing the pleasure and utility of their gifts to the fullest extent; they are never bored or idle but, rather, devoted and fulfilled."

Wired, November

A piece examines a Facebook-powered Egyptian youth movement that Hosni Mubarak's government has struggled to curb. Harnessing the power of the social networking site, two young Egyptians started a group for the "April 6" youth movement, which now contains 70,000 members. The group eventually garnered the unwanted attention of the security services and led to the arrest of one of the leaders. While online activism is sometimes called "slactivism" in the West, it matters in places where the freedom of assembly is curtailed. "Although freedom of speech and freedom of religion may be democracy's headliners, it's the less sexy-sounding freedom of assembly that, when prohibited, can effectively asphyxiate political organization." … An interactive slide show showcases how a "green revolution" could transform agriculture and food consumption. From the collection of charts, one learns that supermarket items travel an average of 1,500 miles to reach Iowa, a steer requires six tons of food and 18 months to become hamburger, and that six years of drought have cut Australia's grain exports by more than 50 percent.

Click the arrow on the audio player to hear Rita Dove read this poem. You can also download the recording or subscribe to Slate's Poetry Podcast on iTunes.

The truly great cities are never self-conscious:

They have their own music; they go about business.

London surges, Rome bubbles, Paris promenades;

Dresden stands rigid, gazes skyward, afraid.

Vienna canters in a slowly tightening spiral.

Golden facades line the avenues, ring after ring

tracing a curve as tender and maddening

as a smile on the face of a beautiful rival.

You can't escape it; everywhere's a circle.

Feel your knees bend and straighten

as you focus each step. Hum along with it;

succumb to the sway, enter the trance.

Ah, sweet scandal: No one admits it,

but we all know this dance.

Now you can listen to Slate poetry wherever you go. Below, browse Slate's weekly lineup of new and renewed work by leading poets, selected by Robert Pinsky and read to you by the author. Or subscribe to Slate's new Poetry Podcast feed on iTunes and carry the poems with you.

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Oct. 28, 2008: "Ach, Wien," by Rita Dove. Click the arrow on the audio player to hear Rita Dove read the poem, or download the recording here.

Oct. 21, 2008: "Reading Faulkner at 17, You Foresee Your Reckoning," by Catherine Pierce. Click the arrow on the audio player to hear Catherine Pierce read the poem, or download the recording here.

Oct. 14, 2008: "Spring Comes to Ohio," by Joseph Campana. Click the arrow on the audio player to hear Joseph Campana read the poem, or download the recording here.

Oct. 7, 2008: "On Love, on Grief," by Walter Savage Landor; reintroduced by Robert Pinsky. Click the arrow on the audio player to hear Robert Pinsky read the poem, or download the recording here.

If you're a political junkie like we're political junkies, you have a problem. You can track the McCain-Obama polls only at your computer. If you go to a ballgame, or a meeting, or your daughter's wedding, you enter a politics vacuum, cut off from the data you crave.

No longer. Today Slate introduces Poll Tracker '08, an application that delivers comprehensive up-to-the-minute data about the presidential election to your iPhone, iPhone 3G, or iPod touch. Using data from Pollster.com, the Poll Tracker '08 delivers the latest McCain and Obama polling numbers for every state, graphs historical polling trends, and charts voting patterns in previous elections. Poll Tracker '08 allows you to sort states by how contested they are, how fresh their poll data is, or how heavily they lean to McCain or Obama.

You can download Poll Tracker '08 on the iPhone App Store. It costs just 99 cents, a small price to pay for satisfying your craving for data anytime, anywhere. Get it on the App Store.

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Barack Obama refuses to release the names of the 2 million-plus people who have given his campaign less than $200. According to campaign officials, it would be too difficult and time-consuming to extract this information from its database.



So how come we were able to do it in a couple hours? Not literally—we don't have access to the campaign's list of donors—but we created a database of similar size and format in a Web-ready file and posted it online. (You can view a sample text version of it here. The full version is 824 MB.)

But before we get into the technical details (though, if you're with the Obama campaign and want to skip ahead, please do), it's worth dwelling on the reasons for the Obama campaign's reluctance to disclose this information. It can't be legal: No law prevents Obama from releasing these names.

Politically, there would be several advantages in releasing the names. Obama has campaigned (effectively) on a platform of making government more transparent, citing his efforts to do so in Chicago and Washington as signature achievements. He has also disclosed the bundlers who raise large amounts of money for his campaign. Finally, making the list public would rebut McCain's broad and unsubstantiated claims that the list (and the huge sums of money it represents) is shot through with fraud.

Of course, releasing the information would also be politically risky, since the inevitable errors in a database so huge (errors of the kind McCain also had, like a contribution from "Adorable Manabat") would give McCain an opportunity to scream fraud. Then again, he does that sometimes even without evidence.

And from a purely logistical standpoint, we have a hard time believing the campaign lacks the expertise to do this. We know the information is already in a very sophisticated database—it has to be, because the Obama campaign has been manipulating the information for more than a year as it continues to raise money from these small-fry donors. It also uses the information to contact and track donors to make sure they get out and vote on Election Day.

So much for the arguments. Now for the technical details. We created a randomly generated dummy database in Excel that consisted of 50,000 donors. Each entry had a field for all the data normally disclosed in a typical FEC filing for donors who give $200 or more: first name, last name, two address lines, city, state, ZIP code, employer, occupation, the amount of the donation, and the date it was given. (Excel 2003 maxes out at around 65,000 rows, and the Obama campaign is certainly using something much more sophisticated.)

To create an xml database from this data that approximates the size of Obama's donor database, we wrote a short script in Excel's built-in version of Visual Basic that looped through the database of 50,000 pretend donors 50 times, for a total of 2.5 million entries, adding each entry to an xml file. Even on a wheezing, overworked Dell Optiplex GX280 (2.8 GHz processor, 504 MB of RAM), this took exactly two hours. The resulting xml file was 824 MB—big, but not unheard of. Any competent developer could take this file and make a searchable application from it.

Web developers would be quick to point out that a huge xml file like this is too bulky for an online application to easily parse. For the Obama campaign to create a searchable database like the one the McCain campaign released, it would probably need to take a few extra steps to convert the xml document into something that can handle the size of the dataset, like MySQL. But simply for the purposes of releasing the raw data, a universal format like xml is sufficient.

Unsurprisingly, a campaign spokesman rejects the premise of our little experiment, saying the task they face is far more difficult than we think. The campaign's last FEC report, he notes, runs to 176,000 pages. But the number of pages isn't the relevant metric here; it's the size and shape of the database. And we're talking about something far less complex than an FEC report. Finally, since it's online, it requires no printer. All we're doing is rearranging 1's and 0's.

Obama aides also deflect the question about the names of the campaign's low-dollar donors by saying that the McCain has lapsed in reporting the names of more than 100,000 donors. They're right—and they illustrate the point by helpfully pointing to an online spreadsheet. Which also proves our point that it's easy to put this data together in a digestible form. So how 'bout it, guys?

KISSIMMEE, Fla.—The all-drama president came to testify on behalf of the no-drama candidate. Wednesday night at a chilly outdoor rally under a cloudless sky, Bill Clinton joined Barack Obama for the first time of the election season. You may have remembered that there was once tension, upset, and anger between the two. Obama supporters claimed Clinton had tried to use Obama's race against him. Clinton was outraged at the charge. All was forgiven in a man-hug.

When Clinton was a candidate, he loved to campaign late into the night, so it was fitting that he took the stage at 11:15 p.m. The former president went right to work, making the case for Obama and urging the audience to spread the word and work for his election. He testified to Obama's temperament, highlighting his careful response to the economic crisis. "Before he said anything, he wanted to understand," Clinton said, describing Obama's process of deliberation. "If we have learned anything over the last eight years, it's that we need a president who wants to understand. Who can understand."

No one could question Clinton's passion. At home, you wouldn't have needed to have the sound up to get his message. Clinton pointed his finger into the crowd in his signature style almost immediately and kept at it, in what soon became a 13-minute festival of gesticulations. He spread his arms, clenched his fists, and put his hand to his heart. It looked like an exercise routine or a religion. When he illustrated the decline in family income that had taken place since he left office, he swept his hand in an arc like he was trying to describe the fall of a redwood.

During the primaries, when Clinton was campaigning for his wife, he warned audiences about good storytellers. "I could stand up and give you the prettiest speeches in the wide world," he said, referring to Obama, "and I could give a pretty good one 'cause I came out of a tradition of storytellers where we listened and learned how to tell stories." But talk has to be backed up, he said, arguing that Hillary could do that better than her more eloquent opponent.

In Orlando, Clinton made the opposite argument. It was Obama's campaign (built largely on pretty speeches) that proved he was ready for office. "If you have any doubt about Senator Obama's ability to be the chief executive," Clinton said, "just look at all of you. ... He has executed this campaign. He can be the chief executor of good intentions."

As Clinton spoke, Obama sat behind him on a stool, watching placidly and smiling occasionally. When Clinton's testimony was done, Obama provided the symbol that captured the event. He shook Clinton's hand and then embraced him.

Obama then embraced Clinton's legacy. Throughout his Democratic primary fight with Hillary Clinton, Obama downplayed President Clinton's achievements. He famously said Ronald Reagan was a more transformational president and blamed "Clintonism" for selling out Democratic principles in an orgy of what Obama called "triangulation and poll-driven politics."

In Orlando, Obama was transformed. He boasted about the Clinton record—22 million new jobs and a rise in median wages—like he was a tour guide at his Little Rock library. To cap the praise shower, he heralded Clinton's political move to the middle, saying that "one of his greatest contributions was to reconfigure the Democratic Party."

As Clinton listened, he too showed no emotion until Obama botched a joke. As if to paper over the flub, Clinton erupted in laughter as if someone had suddenly put his stool on vibrate.

In the end, the event was politically transactional and a little underwhelming. I was expecting the two great political talkers to maybe engage in the equivalent of dueling guitars. But there were no transcendent moments. In fact, when Obama moved past the 25-minute mark in his speech and kept doling out new policy pronouncements on expanding broadband lines and labor provisions for trade deals, it started to feel as if his proximity to Clinton had infected him with a little of the former president's verbosity.

Finally, though, Obama came back to his core message. He called on the audience to change politics by having "the strength and grace to bridge our divisions." He wasn't referring to the ugliness that once existed between himself and Bill Clinton, but he could easily have been. If this is how Obama bridges divisions with his enemies, we might expect that if he wins and he needs John McCain, the two former rivals will be bear hugging by springtime.

With only five days left until Election Day, John McCain's campaign aides seem happier than they have been in a while. For the last few days, the campaign has been increasingly buoyed by what it says has been improvement in its internal polling of 14 battleground states. Aides see a tightening race in states that are crucial to their long-shot march to 270 votes and victory. Even McCain himself is upbeat. "He's been happy for the last few days," says one aide. "That's a change."

What are we to make of this? Where do we plot the mindset of the McCain campaign on a continuum that stretches from deceit (aides know they're losing badly and they're play-acting) to Drudge-like self-delusion (they're mindlessly clutching at, and believing in, any glimmer of positive news) to truth (there actually are real signs of hope)? The line can be hard to define, but it seems to me that the McCain campaign is somewhere between self-delusion and truth.

There are a lot of reasons for campaign aides to be engaging in self-delusion. The press is full of stories about how badly it has been run. Peddling the idea that things are working well enough to close the gap in polling helps buck up the campaign. Plus, after two years of campaigning, no one wants to be forced to go through the motions just for the sake of appearance, so if they believe they're making progress (regardless of whether they are), it's easier to get out of bed in the morning.

Still, the landscape looks pretty bleak. A flood of public polls show that McCain is down in several important, traditionally Republican states. The news organizations and analysts that have reported and sifted the numbers guess that, at the moment, Obama would garner upward of 310 electoral votes by winning not only all the states John Kerry won but also Ohio, Virginia, and several other states that went for Bush in 2004.

In McCain's most optimistic scenario, he loses a few Republican states like New Mexico, Nevada, Colorado, and Iowa. He just has to hope that he doesn't lose too many of them. (Losing a biggie like Florida or Ohio would be curtains.) He could make up for a small loss of GOP states with a victory in Pennsylvania or New Hampshire.

How do McCain aides get around this dire picture without the aid of strong drink? Let's just say that McCain's campaign now relies on hope more than Obama's does. They hope that the Obama organization isn't as impressive as signs suggest it is. They hope that the greater enthusiasm apparent among Democrats turns out to be less than advertised on Election Day. They hope that the public polls that show a big Obama lead are poorly designed, overstating participation by young voters and African-Americans. They hope undecided voters will all break to McCain in the end.

The McCain path to victory relies heavily on the campaign's pollster, Bill McInturff, who is conducting surveys in battleground states every day. For the entire campaign, McCain aides say, McInturff has often been a bit of a wet blanket. Whenever they've felt good, he's been the voice of caution, explaining that the landscape was bleaker than they thought. Recently, though, his internal campaign updates have actually been eagerly anticipated: The subject line of a recent one said "a memo you will want to read."

Could McInturff be blowing pretty rings of imaginary smoke? Perhaps. But he has a good reputation for honesty among pollsters. It's also not in his professional interest to play Pollyanna. Who wants to be known as the Baghdad Bob of pollsters, making crazy claims that turn out to be untrue? Plus, his ability to get future clients depends on his integrity.

McInturff released a memo yesterday that outlined his case for why it's still possible for McCain to pull a rabbit out of his hat. Here's what he sees: His poll of battleground states shows Obama with such a small lead, it's within the margin of error, which means it's effectively tied. In Iowa, he sees the race tightening to within a few points. In Pennsylvania, it's in single digits (though that could mean nine). (The average of other pollsters say McCain is down by a dozen in Iowa and Pennsylvania.) Moving toward McCain, say his aides, are women making less than $60,000 and white men with only some college education.

Of course, when it's in your interest for things to look positive, you tend to see them positively. When any campaign talks about "internal polls," be wary. They can be manipulated for spin reasons—allowing them to present pseudoscientific numbers to make a political point—or they can just be wrong. Their formula for turnout may be as faulty as those calculations that valued mortgage-backed securities. McCain's pollsters think they've taken the "Obama effect" into account—the number of new voters and lapsed voters who will actually participate—but what if they've wildly undercounted?

The McCain campaign also says its message about Obama's plan to "spread the wealth" is taking hold. Republicans are coming back to McCain, they say, and Obama's favorables are dropping a little. They say they are now able to drive the message about Joe the Plumber as effectively as Obama is able to push any of his messages. And they say the robo-calls, which many in the political business say are useless, are working to raise doubts about Obama.

Whether the Joe the Plumber message is punching through as much as the McCain camp says, it does have one psychological benefit: For the final stretch of the campaign, his aides know each day what they're supposed to be talking about. For a campaign that has had many messages and themes, that's encouraging in itself. "We are not just going through the motions," says an aide. "We're fighting to win." For McCain, whose heroes of film and literature are often doomed protagonists who battle on despite near-certain defeat, perhaps just being in the fight again is reason enough to be elated.

Watch McCain's closing argument on the stump in Florida.

Time is running short this year for an October Surprise, one of those late-breaking news developments that upsets the presidential race. In 2000, just days before Election Day, we learned of George Bush's 1978 DUI charge. Karl Rove has said that the disclosure depressed evangelical support for Bush. And four years ago, there was the late disclosure of a tape from Osama bin Laden, which John Kerry says cost him the race.

So far—and there are still three days left!—there has been no revelation of a similar magnitude. But that has not kept the campaigns from yelling, "Surprise!" The hope is that an effective last-minute drama will (in McCain's case) change the dynamic or (in Obama's) hasten it. Failing that, a surprise moment will motivate the party base and give a campaign a winning news cycle. The campaign is slipping into a monotonous phase and any shiny new object may garner some attention.

Which raises the question: What distinguishes a fake October Surprise from the garden-variety, depressingly familiar overhyping of some little thing that we'll all forget in 12 hours? One thing: It relies on the dwindling clock for its fake drama. It's the idea that the Obama and McCain campaigns have been hiding some incendiary secret that's just slipped out at the eleventh hour. On Monday, as John McCain campaigned across Ohio and Pennsylvania, he referred to an audio recording "revealed only yesterday" that showed Barack Obama was a closet socialist. (Revealed only yesterday!)

In Hershey, Pa., on Tuesday morning, McCain had even fresher dirt: a quote from Joe Biden saying the Obama tax cut would apply to even fewer people than his running mate had claimed. That's not what he said, but by noon the McCain campaign was hosting a conference to connect the dots for reporters about Obama's "creeping tax plan." This is politics as orchestrated by Perry Mason.

But the McCain campaign was not alone. Obama aides sent out an e-mail Tuesday morning declaring that McCain's top policy adviser had made a "stunning admission" that the health insurance most people currently get from their employers is "way better" than the health care John McCain's plan pushes people into. Burdened by the realities of hiding the secrets of McCain's plan, he could no longer stifle the truth. By the afternoon, Obama aides were holding their own conference call about this stunning admission.

You knew it wouldn't be long before Obama himself would show just how stunned he was about the admission. "This morning, we were offered a stunning bit of straight talk—an October surprise—from his top economic adviser," Obama said Tuesday in Harrisonburg, Va. The adviser "actually said that the health insurance people currently get from their employer is—and I quote—'way better' than the health care they would get if John McCain becomes president."

You can imagine the dramatic possibilities when Obama takes over our airwaves tomorrow night during his half-hour infomercial. Perhaps an aide can rush on the set to deliver news of the latest shocker.

"DEVELOPING" reads the Obama e-mail message announcing the "stunning admission" about McCain's health care plan. I hope this was a bit of wry irony from Obama campaign Press Secretary Bill Burton, parodying the stilted language of the Drudge Report. Drudge has become justly famous by giving us October surprises every month of the year—or every day, for that matter. He is the Town Crier who is always bawling. It's been a wildly successful strategy for Drudge, based on the theory that people never read more than the shocking headline and don't bother to question whether the headline is true. Lately, however, as the gruel has gotten thin, Drudge has had to hype ever-more-ridiculous nonstories and outlier polls to create drama. Soon he may start quoting polls from Mrs. Fleischman's first-grade class.

These fake October Surprises are silly because they're not that surprising. After a campaign marked by daily charges and countercharges, the public's endorphin receptors are numbed. The stunning admissions both campaigns are getting excited about are no different than the gaffes and low-level deceptions we've been dieting on for months. And the stunned October Surprise drama from both McCain and Obama is merely the refined flopping and fainting we've seen during the campaign's marathon of phony umbrage taking.

There's another factor that may erode the October Surprise franchise: Lots of people have already voted. The one area where these counterfeit acts might have a sufficient impact is with each party's base. Base voters are easily stirred by the latest indignity, and they're not often the ones who bother using Google to check the context of the latest bombshell.

I'm not trying to jinx us all by calling for an October Surprise. This election has been surprising enough. A placid lope toward Election Day would be just fine with me. The only surprise I'd like to see would be press conferences in which follow-up questions were allowed. But I'm more likely to find woodland gnomes in my garden. And that really would be a surprise, since everyone knows they don't come out after September.

We asked Slate's staff and contributors to tell us whom they're voting for on Election Day and why. These are their responses. Click here to read Editor David Plotz's explanation for why we share this information with you.

Michael Agger, Senior Editor: Obama

Grace under pressure.

Holly Allen, Web Designer: Obama



I'm excited to cast my vote on Election Day for Barack Obama. His views match up better with my own.

Anne Applebaum, "Foreigners" Columnist: Not McCain



This weekend, while reading the latest polling data on John McCain, Sarah Palin, and their appeal—or growing lack of it—among "independent women voters," it suddenly dawned on me: I am, in fact, one of these elusive independent woman voters, and I have the credentials to prove it. For the last couple of decades, I've sometimes voted Democratic, sometimes Republican. I'm even a registered independent, though I did think of switching to the Republican Party to vote for John McCain in 2000. But because the last political party I truly felt comfortable with was Margaret Thatcher's Conservative Party (I lived in England in the 1980s and '90s), I didn't actually do it.

Click here to read the rest of Applebaum's entry.

Karim Bardeesy, Editorial Assistant, The Big Money: Not Voting



I'm Canadian, so I can't vote here. But I want Barack Obama to win. His campaign has touched more people, entrusting them to carry a story to their friends and neighbors about the positive role government can play. It's an example for all who care about public life—the turnout here on Nov. 4 might even exceed the 59 percent turnout in Canada's Oct. 14 election. And the world's embrace of Obama, combined with the inclusiveness he brings to international affairs, will be transformative.

Emily Bazelon, Senior Editor: Obama



I am voting for Barack Obama because I agree with his tax policy, and I like his health and energy plans fine. I think he'll help restore our bruised image abroad. And I know he is about 1,000 times more likely than John McCain to choose Supreme Court justices who will resist rather than further the push to the right by Bush's picks, Chief Justice John Roberts and Justice Samuel Alito. So for me, it's an easy call. But even if I were less sure of Obama on those fronts, I think I would vote out the Republicans as a matter of stewardship. They led us to a war of hugely questionable value, gave us an overweening theory of presidential power, and have now left us with a scary financial crisis. John McCain isn't George Bush, but his plans and promises are too much like the standard Republican fare that has gotten us into trouble. And won't get us out of it. Enough. Please, please, it's time for new faces.

Christopher Beam, Staff Writer: Obama



Because I'd rather have a president who is intellectually curious, shrewd, even-keeled, eloquent, and analytical than one whose chief campaign selling point is being unpredictable. Because I'd like to keep the number of Alitos on the bench to one. Because I think Obama will be more cautious about withdrawal from Iraq than people think. Because world opinion does matter, and the United States needs rebranding. Because I don't care about health care choice, I just want to see an affordable doctor. Because I don't want the Clean Air Act to be a misnomer anymore. Because the thought of Sarah Palin in the Oval Office makes me want to drink.

Oh, who am I kidding, demographics are destiny. will.i.am for SecDef!

Torie Bosch, Copy Editor: Obama



I didn't vote in the Virginia primary because I couldn't choose between Obama and Hillary Clinton—neither candidate much appealed to me. But I'll be voting for Obama because I'm a Democrat. He may not have the experience I'd like to see in a presidential candidate, but I agree with his stances on issues like the war in Iraq, abortion, and health care. I also admire the idealism and hope he's inspired in the party—and I'd like to keep Tina Fey here on Earth.

Emily Calderone, Video Producer, Slate V: Obama



In my opinion, voting for Obama is a no-brainer. While I don't think he's going to magically cure all of America's ills, I do think he's a big step in the right direction. What I admire most about Obama is his lack of cynicism (a quality the McCain campaign has in spades). How delightful. How helpful. How forward thinking. He's calm, collected, and surprisingly lacking in ego. These qualities spell success in my book. What's most important to me? Women's rights. That's where Obama scores a big fat "F" for feminism.

Abby Callard, Intern: Obama



I will be voting—in the swing state of Virginia, more importantly—for Barack Obama.

1. I don't want Roe v. Wade overturned: my body, my decision.

2. Biden (Violence Against Women Act and foreign-policy experience) vs. Palin (anti-abortion and aerial hunting).

3. Gun control: I probably support more gun control than could ever be reasonably expected to stand up in court, but Obama's views are closer to my own.

4. No Child Left Behind is horribly flawed. While both candidates understand that, I can only see Obama reforming the system in a meaningful way.

5. I'm from Chicago.

When it all comes down to it, I'm just relieved to know that whatever happens Nov. 4, Bush is done.

Matt Dodson, Software Engineer: Obama



I'm going with Obama. I fall into the category of folks who believe America is in dire need of change. Some people suggest that Obama's ideas for change are far-reaching, idealistic, and naive, but to me, they're simply common-sense solutions to the problems we're facing today.

Daniel Engber, Associate Editor: Obama



I could spin some story about the relative merits of John McCain and Barack Obama, but let's be honest: I would have voted for any Democrat who competed in the primaries over any Republican who might have been nominated. Why? Because I side with the Democrats on the things that matter most right now: foreign policy, economic policy, and health care. Those issues on which I'm most likely to diverge from the party line—e.g., the environment, the death penalty—don't seem nearly as important.

Jim Festante, Web Designer: Obama



I'm so tired of the partisanship that has been a staple of the Bush presidency and the McCain-Palin ticket. To infer (and to do so in such an overt, unapologetic manner) that somehow small-town America is the "real" America, the America with good values and moral judgment, is such an insult, especially when it's convenient for them to use New York City and Sept. 11 as political props.

Sophie Gilbert, Intern: Not Voting



I'm English, so unfortunately I don't have a vote. However, if I did, like Gordon Brown, Boris Johnson, and around 80 percent of my fellow countrymen, I'd be voting for Obama. He's more thoughtful and less irascible, and his economic plan makes way more sense.

Nathan Heller, Copy Editor: Obama



Liberals of a certain ilk—the kind who know the market price of organic chard—have a reputation for condescension. Liberals of this sort, their discontents suggest, believe that people vote Republican only because they don't know better. But the Republican Party has developed the worse habit of patronizing its own supporters.

Click here to read the rest of Heller's entry.

Melinda Henneberger, Contributor: Obama



You want me to count the reasons? Nah, you don't have that kind of time.

Christopher Hitchens, "Fighting Words" Columnist: Obama



From Hitchens' recent column endorsing Obama: "The Republican Party has invited not just defeat but discredit this year, and ... both its nominees for the highest offices in the land should be decisively repudiated, along with any senators, congressmen, and governors who endorse them."

Jennifer Huang, Intern: Obama



Because I trust that he will be competent.

Fred Kaplan, "War Stories" Columnist: Obama



I'm voting for Barack Obama because he has the right intellect, temperament, shrewdness, and curiosity. When he questions specialists, he always asks the central questions. I like the fact that he's "cool"—better that than a hothead. Though this wouldn't be a good reason to support him if it were the only reason, his victory would go a long way toward repairing our image in the world (though, of course, he'll have six months to form policies that justify the redemption). Finally, a McCain-Palin defeat would help redeem our own politics by demonstrating that mendacity and cynicism don't always succeed.

Mickey Kaus, "Kausfiles" blogger: Obama

Michael Kinsley, Founding Editor: Obama, of course



1. I believe in voting the party, not the man or woman. Democrats generally reflect my views better than Republicans.

2. It's important not to ratify failure, and the current Republican administration is a failure.

3. Historically, as I demonstrated in Slate a few weeks ago, Democratic presidents have a better economic record, EVEN BY REPUBLICAN STANDARDS (lower government spending; higher GDP, ignoring distribution questions, etc.). Republican irresponsibility about tax cuts without spending cuts has bankrupted this country. Twice.

Click here to read the rest of Kinsley's entry.

Juliet Lapidos, Assistant Editor: Obama

I'm a big-government liberal who wants universal health care and a sustainable energy policy. So, naturally, I'm backing the Democratic ticket. I don't dislike John McCain, but ever since he picked Sarah Palin as his running mate, I've questioned his judgment. He's old, and she's not qualified. While I'm not smitten with Barack Obama, I'm confident he won't damage our standing in the world and think he might even improve it.

Rachael Larimore, Deputy Managing Editor and Copy Chief: McCain

This is a difficult election for me. But voting for John McCain is an easy choice. He's a man I admire, I agree with many of his policy positions, and, since I am a moderate but loyal Republican, I feel a kind of kinship with him. Barack Obama is an exciting candidate, and I wish I could share the enthusiasm so many Americans feel for him, but I feel like his worldview is Carter-esque, and I fear his economic policies will be, too.

However, I also think an Obama presidency can be a boon for Republicans, and not just because of the havoc a Democratic White House and a Democratic Congress could wreak. I don't hate President Bush like so many do, but even I can say his presidency has been a disappointment. And the Republican-led Congress was a disaster, as McCain pointed out, not in so many words, in his convention speech. I'm hopeful that an Obama victory would be a wakeup call as well as an opportunity—an opportunity for those who believe in limited government, individual freedoms, and free markets (yes, even in this crisis) to regain their influence, to take back the party from the religious right and social conservatives that have gained so much influence. So regardless of what happens on Nov. 4, I won't be too upset. But neither will I be too excited.

James Ledbetter, Editor: The Big Money: Obama

My voting rationale is not strictly economic, but this is what I do for a living, so: The general-election debate over economic policy at times has been substantive, but it has rarely been honest. There was a telling moment in the first debate, when neither candidate was willing to specify which of his economic programs would have to be jettisoned because of the current economic crisis. That, alas, is the noise-to-signal ratios that you get in presidential politics, and so you have to do your own analysis.

Click here to read the rest of Ledbetter's entry.

Jacob Leibenluft, "Green Lantern" and "Explainer" Columnist: Obama

For all the talk of a divided electorate, it's a bit shocking to be at a point where 80 percent or so of Americans think the country is on the wrong track. Barack Obama's policies, advisers, and style of leadership seem far more likely to offer a decisive shift from the last eight years. As for John McCain, if—with a recession looming, a financial crisis unfolding, and seven-plus years of stagnant income growth on the books—your first instinct is to blame earmarks, that's a problem.

Josh Levin, Associate Editor: Obama



I'm too cynical to believe that Barack Obama is a different kind of politician or that he's any kind of silver bullet for America's problems. (I do, however, like to think of America's problems as a gigantic werewolf. Scary!) But after eight years of George W. Bush, I am heartened by the fact that he seems to be a thoughtful person—someone who will rely on his brain rather than his gut, and someone who will surround himself with smart people and give weight to their opinions. John McCain, by comparison, has a tendency both to act impulsively and to surround himself with the kind of people who insist that he tap Sarah Palin as his vice-presidential nominee. That's my campaign slogan: Obama in '08—He Didn't Pick Palin.

Dahlia Lithwick, Supreme Court Correspondent: Not Voting



I will not vote. I am still Canadian. If I could, I would vote for Barack Obama because I am raggedy from the politics of division. I can't really blame John McCain for dipping into it in recent weeks, but I wish Sarah Palin would have relished it a bit less. We can't fight global terror, repair the economy, or do much of anything in America if we're too busy plotting how to firebomb the neighbors.

Chad Lorenz, Copy Editor: Obama

America cannot return to leading the global community without restoring the legitimacy it had before the war in Iraq and the shameful human rights abuses it has perpetrated since Sept. 11. In addition to successfully ending the war, the next president needs to regain the confidence of our allies, cautiously engage our enemies, and acutely detect emerging international threats. Barack Obama's foreign-policy ideals are rooted in nuanced diplomacy and open-minded reasoning, not arrogance and heavy-handed ultimatums. Coping with the world's latest economic and environmental challenges will require a multilateral approach, and Obama's background shows every sign of respecting that method. He's the candidate I trust far more than anyone to erase the mistakes of the past eight years and reconstitute America's role as a responsible, trustworthy, cooperative global citizen.

Noreen Malone, Executive Assistant: Obama



David Sedaris framed the choice with this metaphor: "Can I interest you in the chicken?" … "Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?" I definitely want the chicken.

Farhad Manjoo, "Technology" Columnist: Obama



This is the third presidential election in which I'll cast a ballot, but only the first time that I'll be voting for someone: The last two times, I was voting against Bush. I'm choosing Obama for one main reason: He's the smarter candidate. I don't just mean he's got smarter policies, though he does. I mean he seems to have the higher IQ. His books and speeches suggest deep intellectual curiosity—a calm, analytical, rational mind of the sort we haven't seen in the White House in years.

I've long admired John McCain; I rooted for him in the 2000 primaries, and I might have picked him over Al Gore in the general that year. I also admired his stance against soft-money political donations and the Bush tax cuts. If that John McCain had been on the ballot this year, I might have thought harder about this vote. But over the last four years, that McCain has transmogrified into exactly the kind of divisive agent of intolerance he once decried, and now I'm terrified at the thought of him in charge.

Chadwick Matlin, Staff Writer: The Big Money: Obama



Until I started writing about the economy, I didn't realize just how bad of a president John McCain would be. Half-baked mortgage plans, a politically motivated silence on the bailout plan, and an obvious lack of understanding about how money works in this country show McCain's economic understanding is not sound. Obama, meanwhile, has offered little brilliance on the economy, but he has displayed competence. Economic competence, a dogged and (at times) brave devotion to full diplomacy, and an impressively managed campaign are all it takes to swing my vote this year. And so I must fulfill my cliché: a young, white, urban twentysomething voting for Barack Obama.



Natalie Matthews, Designer: Obama



Obama's campaign has demonstrated an appreciation and understanding of both design and the power of the Internet, two things I deal with on a daily basis. Also, as someone who uses public transportation and sees the value in it environmentally, fiscally, politically, and socially, I also respond to his policy to "strengthen America's transportation infrastructure."

Melonyce McAfee, Copy Editor: Obama



I think a Barack Obama presidency would improve America's international profile. The Bush administration's proud xenophobia has come to define the U.S. overseas, and McCain and his running mate are perpetuating that wrongheadedness. On the home front, Obama has inspired a return to civic life for many Americans who had given up on the idea that the government could ever represent them and their needs. I hope this spark to mobilization and activism will continue past Election Day. I'm a lifelong Democrat, and many of Obama's policies jibe with my values, so I won't pretend that I ever considered voting for McCain, though I did admire him for being a centrist who could get things done in the Senate. But the religious paternalism and faux folksiness that he's adopted as a last gasp to win the election have killed any respect I ever had for the guy.

Michael Newman, Politics Editor: Obama



If you're truly an undecided voter, as few people are, this is a golden age: You can read all the news and analysis and commentary you can stand, browse the blogosphere, look at polls, examine position papers, watch the debates and various videos, talk with your friends, check in with your mother, etc. And certainly I'm not going to tell you not to do all that stuff. (Check this page often!) But there's such a thing as too much information. For me, the most useful reading of this campaign was two unusually honest and well-written political memoirs: Dreams From My Father and Faith of My Fathers. I liked and admired both John McCain and Barack Obama before reading them, and still do after. But I'm more comfortable with Obama's perspective on politics and life than I am with McCain's.

Timothy Noah, "Chatterbox" Columnist: Obama



It's a point of pride that I managed to get through this election without professing shock at John McCain's supposed defection to the Dark Side. I do not think that McCain, a man of good character who once seemed a plausible candidate for the Democratic ticket, has sold his soul to the devil. Smart liberals like Robert Wright and Josh Marshall say the McCain-Palin ticket has waged the most despicable presidential campaign in modern memory. I doubt they'll continue to believe that much past Nov. 4. McCain-Palin doesn't rank even as the most despicable presidential campaign in 2008. (That would be Hillary Clinton's primary campaign, which is far more susceptible to the accusation that it exploited Obama's race.)

Click here to read the rest of Noah's entry.

Meghan O'Rourke, Culture Critic: Obama



For his charisma, his cautiousness, and his cool. In a time of high stakes, we need someone who can sort out the best course of action without bridling in anger. A candidate who actually nods when his opponent makes a powerful counterargument—as Obama did several times during the last debate—is a rare bird. Of course, Obama is untested in many regards. My main concern about him is this: How will he deal with making an unpopular or tough decision? Can he keep his cool then without losing confidence in himself? I believe so, and that's why he has my vote.

Troy Patterson, "Television" Critic: Obama



The conduct of his campaign, in its rejection of the politics of 50-percent-plus-one, promises a practice of statecraft at least marginally less cynical than America has seen in recent decades (and may nearly have come to believe she deserves).

Somerset Perry, Intern: Obama



As a young, (almost) college-educated intern at a mainstream-media publication, who grew up within an hour's drive of San Francisco, I'm not exactly what you would call a swing voter. I'd like to think that, with a little more luck, Somerset the Student would have been just as well-known as Joe the Plumber, but that's probably wishful thinking. So, yes, I'm voting for Obama. I'm voting for him to support an energy and transportation policy that will focus on creating viable sources of renewable energy and reducing carbon emissions; to support a cautious and multilateral foreign policy that ensures American security with diplomacy, not a cowboy hat; and to support economic policies that benefit all Americans instead of just the wealthy. Of course, maybe that's just my demographic talking, but it's what I believe.

Robert Pinsky, Poetry Editor: Obama



Sen. Barack Obama is my choice for reasons that (I hope) reach further than the expectations of my demographic or tribe or herd. I admire Obama's quality of balance: between attention to details and grasp of ideas; or to put that somewhat differently, between politics and ideals. Beyond that quality of balance, he has demonstrated in action an impressive ability to keep his balance through two challenging, stressful campaigns, for nomination and election. Like many millions of Americans, I have gone from finding Barack Obama inspiring—I might say "merely inspiring"—to feeling that he is reliable. We need a trustworthy president.

David Plotz, Editor of Slate: Obama



Ever since McCain inexplicably went ballistic on me in my first (and last) interview with him a decade ago, I've suspected he was too volatile to be president. Nothing that has happened during this campaign has changed my mind. McCain's veering, swerving campaign, his weak team of advisers, his bizarre behavior during the economic bailout, and his appalling selection of Sarah Palin confirm that he lacks the temperament to be president. By contrast, Obama has shown during this endless campaign that he has a first-class temperament. He also has a stellar collection of advisers, a natural curiosity, and an absolutely ruthless political sense. Those will take him far. President Obama will surely disappoint America—given the expectations, how could he not?—but I'm confident he'll lead the country more steadily and more effectively than President McCain would.

Dan Pozmanter, Developer: Obama



This will be one of the easiest votes I've ever cast. We are faced with a choice of continuing down a path of eroding civil liberties, endless war, and economic instability, or turning around and taking that first step back to a sane world. For me, as a proud supporter of the Accountability Now PAC, it comes down to the core issue of respect for our constitutional rights and the rule of law. The Bush administration has insulted both, and McCain has been right there at his side. I'm voting for Barack Obama to restore respect for our country's legal foundation and our fundamental rights.

Nina Shen Rastogi, Contributor: Obama



After eight years of Bush, I want to know that my country is being shepherded by a calm, sober, deeply thoughtful person—one who's committed to repairing our reputation abroad and promoting rational dialogue at home. And if there was any question in my mind, the wildly different tones struck by the Democratic and Republican national conventions absolutely sealed the deal for me.

Bruce Reed, "The Has-Been" Columnist: Obama



I'm voting for Obama because, after the last eight years, our country desperately needs a president who, in Lincoln's words, will think and act anew—to repair our politics, restore our sense of common purpose, reform our government, and give our people the hope and opportunity to get ahead.

Ron Rosenbaum, "The Spectator" Columnist: Obama

Because, as I suggested nearly a year ago in this column, he is one of the only presidential candidates I've seen who has the courage to challenge conventional wisdom—he gives me the feeling he thinks for himself. And because—as I wrote in this column in April—an Obama victory will be a non-negligible landmark in the long history of the civil rights movement. Not the end of racism or redemption from the crime of slavery, but something to celebrate nonetheless. Because having the right to be president is not the same as having won it.

Shmuel Rosner, "Foreigners" Columnist: Not Voting



I would vote if I could, but I can't. I'm an Israeli, not an American. But whom would I vote for? I can't answer that. Being a foreign observer doesn't only mean that I can't cast a vote; it also means that my priorities are different. All I see is the Israeli interest from an Israeli standpoint. I'm not just a one-issue voter, I'm a one-issue voter with no way of understanding—really understanding—how I'd feel if I had the opportunity to be an American voter.

But let me add this: You have two very impressive candidates.

Click here to read the rest of Rosner's entry.

William Saletan, National Correspondent: Obama



The basic purpose of voting is to get rid of leaders who govern badly. Second, the lesson of Sept. 11 is that you can't predict which challenges will confront a president, so you'd better pick somebody with the judgment and temperament to handle whatever comes. Both points argue for Obama. My gut says he'll be the best president we've had in a very long time, but my gut has been wrong before. There's some risk that he'd be pushed around as he seeks consensus and tries to avoid conflict. But there's a greater risk that McCain would cause unnecessary conflict, create new problems, and fail to solve old ones. I worry about Obama's executive inexperience, but McCain has the same weakness, and McCain's most important decision so far, selecting Sarah Palin, shows such poor judgment that I can't imagine Obama doing worse. I used to think McCain was honest, but his lies about Obama raising taxes, practicing socialism, and palling around with terrorists have made my decision easy.

Mark Salter, Software Engineer: Obama



I am voting for Obama; I want a president—not a beer and barbecue buddy—who can clean up the mess that the current administration has left this country with. I feel that Obama has all of the right qualities that I am looking for in a president.

Jack Shafer, Editor at Large: Bob Barr



I've cast a ballot for the Libertarian Party candidate for president in every election since I cast my first, which would be my write-in ballot for John Hospers in 1972. A long line of chowderheads have headed the Libertarian ticket since Hospers (don't ask about the veep candidates), but I've continued to punch Libertarian on my ballot because no other candidate or political party comes close to reflecting my political views of limited government, free markets, civil liberties, and noninterventionist foreign policy.

This year the party put up as its candidate a former Republican House member from Georgia, Bob Barr. As Libertarian candidates go, he's a chowderhead's chowderhead.

Click here to read the rest of Shafer's entry.

Elinor Shields, Deputy Editor, The Big Money: Obama



I am voting for Barack Obama because I'm a British-American who wants the world to see a different side to this country. Plus, I admire him. He brings the poise and openness to lead on the economy, environment, and diplomacy. John McCain, meanwhile, makes me worry. His stance on the financial crisis and his VP pick point to poor judgment and opportunism.

Bill Smee, Executive Producer, Slate V: Obama

I will vote for Obama, and I've written a haiku to explain one of the main reasons why:

McCain picked Palin.

Already 72.

Might die in office.

Mike Steinberger, "Drink" Columnist: Obama

I am in favor of sanity, decency, and responsibility, so I will be voting for Obama. Colin Powell, in his very moving endorsement of Obama, said pretty much everything I feel. Assuming (praying) that the polls prove to be accurate, I intend to awaken my 7-year-old son late on election night so that he can witness the moment an African-American man speaks his first words to the nation as president-elect. I am even planning to let James have a sip of the champagne that I'll be using to clear the lump from my throat.

Dana Stevens, "Movies" Critic: Obama

I wasn't going to include any reason why—because duh—but then a friend pointed out this line from David Sedaris' latest New Yorker column: "I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. 'Can I interest you in the chicken?' she asks. 'Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?' " So, yes, I'm having the chicken.

Seth Stevenson, Contributing Writer: Obama

I'll be proudly voting for Barack Obama. (Or, for all you Palinphones: And, too, those who would seek to be desiring of that Obama administration that pro-Americans are wanting so much out there, also, and honoring our great nation so much, you betcha.)

Maureen Sullivan, Copy Editor: Obama



It's been a long time since I've been actually excited about a Democratic candidate—not just voting my principles against those of the GOP. (Though with this ticket, there's almost as much of that this time around as well. I'm frankly sickened by GOP rally participants who yell racial epithets and tell a black cameraman to "sit down, boy," yet are supposed to represent the "real America." No wonder world opinion of the United States is so low.) Finally, after an inhumanly stiff Al Gore and a truly uninspiring John Kerry, comes Barack Obama: frighteningly smart, incredibly articulate, insanely cool under pressure. The first time I saw him interviewed during the primaries, I was shocked at his authenticity: no canned lines or delivery—this man spoke like a human being, not an automaton. It was my first glimmer of hope for a Democratic ticket in a long, long time.



Click here to read the rest of Sullivan's entry.

John Swansburg, Associate Editor: Obama

Unless I'm mistaken, I am Slate's only Obamican. Back when the primary season began, I was ambivalent about Obama and Clinton—I thought either would be a formidable general-election candidate. So I decided to register as a Republican and vote in New York's GOP primary. It wasn't that there was a Republican whom I liked more than either Democrat—it's that I really liked the idea of voting against Rudy Giuliani, who scares the living daylights out of me. (His sneering speech at the convention may be the lowlight of my time in the party.) Of course, by the time the primary rolled around, Rudy wasn't even in danger of winning his home state, and I'd learned a valuable lesson about trying to meddle in the other party's affairs. (Actually, I've sort of enjoyed being a Republican—makes it really easy to avoid the insufferable Obama organizers prowling the streets of New York asking people whether they're Democrats. Nope!) I ended up voting for John McCain in the primary, but like my comrades Christopher Buckley and Colin Powell, I'm breaking ranks for the general election.

Ellen Tarlin, Copy Editor: Obama

I cannot think of one reason not to vote for Barack Obama: He's pro-choice; he's anti-war; he wants to get out of Iraq and finish the job in Afghanistan; he wants to fix health care; he's pro-gay rights (though won't go all the way to being pro-gay marriage); he wants to cut taxes for the real middle class; he's calm, cool, collected, even-handed, unflappable. He seems like an exceptional human being, a good politician, and someone who can begin to repair the damage Bush has done to our relationships with our allies and to our standing in the world. He's got class. As for the accusation that he doesn't have enough experience: No one has enough experience. Nothing prepares you for the presidency. Nothing can. But Obama has the temperament and the humility to surround himself with smart people and let them do their jobs.

Click here to read the rest of Tarlin's entry.

June Thomas, Foreign Editor: Obama

Two words: Supreme Court.

Garry Trudeau, "Doonesbury" Cartoonist: Obama



Julia Turner, Deputy Editor: Obama



I'm voting for Obama. Not because I'm confident he'll be a great president. He is inexperienced. He faces military and economic calamities. And—as The Best and the Brightest attests—filling the White House with whip-smart technocrats won't necessarily make for good policy. But I'm confident that he'll try to protect things I care about, like the Constitution, education, and choice. I also think his marriage to Michelle, which appears to be an equal partnership when it comes to decision-making and child-rearing, demonstrates feminism in practice at least as well as a Clinton presidency (or, certainly, a Palin vice-presidency) would.

Jacob Weisberg, Chairman and Editor-in-Chief, The Slate Group: Obama



No surprise here: I'm voting Obama. I've been following his career since he was in the Illinois Senate and rooting for him to run for president since the spring of 2006, when I read his first book and interviewed him for a magazine story. I came away from that encounter deeply impressed by Obama's thoughtfulness, his sensitivity to language, and his unusual degree of self-knowledge. This guy is the antidote to the past eight years. He's wise where Bush is foolish, calm where Bush is rash, deep where Bush is shallow. My admiration for him has grown steadily over the past 22 months. Unlike McCain, Obama hasn't allowed running from president to distort his beliefs or his character. His campaign has been true to what he thinks and who he is as a person.

Chris Wilson, Editorial Assistant: Obama

At one point, my plan was not to vote for either McCain or Obama, thinking I could regard the election in a more sobering light when relieved of the burden of choosing a favorite. It was all a mind game; my voting for Barack Obama was a foregone conclusion. I'm a liberal person and I usually vote for Democrats, and while I'm not proud of being a totally predictable voter in this election, I don't mind admitting it. Any further justification would be post facto reasoning for a decision I made by default a long time ago. Plus, I literally wrote the book on Obamamania.

Tim Wu, Contributing Writer: Obama



Most of all, I like his obvious inner calm. It suggests that his decisions will come from somewhere other than expediency, anger, or fear. It's like electing Obi-Wan Kenobi as president.

Emily Yoffe, "Dear Prudence" Columnist: Obama



Please, please, Barack, don't become another Jimmy Carter.

Total:

Barack Obama: 55

John McCain: 1

Bob Barr: 1

Not McCain: 1

Noncitizen, can't vote: 4

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It's not his campaign, disjointed though that's been, that finally repulses me; it's his rapidly deteriorating, increasingly anti-intellectual, no-longer-even-recognizably conservative Republican Party. His problems are not technical, to do with ads, fundraising, and tactics, as some have suggested. They are institutional, to do with his colleagues, his advisers, and his supporters.

I should say here that I know McCain slightly: He spoke at a party given for a book I wrote a few years ago, though I think that was as much because of the subject (Communist prison camps) as the author. But it's not his personality I admire most. Far more important is his knowledge of foreign affairs, an understanding that goes well beyond an ability to guess correctly the name of the Pakistani president. McCain not only knows the names; he knows the people—and by this I mean not just foreign presidents but foreign members of parliament, journalists, generals. He goes to Germany every year, visits Vietnam often, can talk intelligently about Belarus and Uzbekistan. I've heard him do it. Let's just say that's one of the things that distinguished him, for me, from our current president, who once confessed that "this foreign-policy stuff is a little frustrating."

The second thing I liked about McCain was the deliberate distance he always kept from the nuttier wing of his party and, simultaneously, the loyalty he's shown to a recognizably conservative budgetary philosophy, something that many congressional Republicans abandoned long ago. Fiscal conservatism, balanced budgets, sober spending—all these principles have been brushed away as so much nonsense for the last eight years by Republicans more interested in grandstanding about how much they hate Washington. McCain was one of the few to keep talking about these principles. He was also one of shockingly few to understand that there is nothing American, let alone conservative, about torture and that a battle for civilized values could not be won by uncivilized means.

Finally, I admired McCain's willingness to tackle politically risky issues like immigration, the debate about which has long been drenched in hypocrisy. Those who want to ban it are illogically denying both the role that immigrants, especially the millions of illegal immigrants, already play in the American economy, as well as the improbability of forced deportations; those who want to allow it without restriction don't acknowledge the security risks. McCain tried to put together a bipartisan coalition in an effort to find a rational solution. He failed—blocked by the ideologues in his party.

But if these traits appealed to me, I'm guessing they would have appealed to other independents, too. Why, then, has McCain spent the last four months running away from them? The appointment of Sarah Palin—inspired by his closest colleagues—turned out not to be a "maverick" move but, rather, a concession to those Republicans who think foreign policy can be conducted using a series of clichés and those in his party who shout down the federal government while quietly raking in federal subsidies. Though McCain has one of the best records of bipartisanship in the Senate, he has let his campaign appeal to his party's extremes. Though he is a true foreign-policy intellectual, his supporters cultivate ignorance and fear: Watch Sean Hannity's Obama & Friends: History of Radicalism if you don't believe me. Worse, in a fatal effort to appeal to the least thoughtful, most partisan elements of his base, McCain has moved away from his previous positions on torture and immigration. Maybe that's all tactics, and maybe the "real" McCain will ditch the awful ideologues after Nov. 4 if, by some miracle, he happens to win. But how can I know that will happen?

Here's what I do know: I would give anything to rewrite history and make McCain president in 2000. But in 2008, I don't think I can vote for him. Barack Obama is indeed the least experienced, least tested candidate in modern presidential history. But at least if he wins, I can be sure that the mobs who cry "terrorist" at the sound of his name will be kept away—far away—from the White House.

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Isn't it awfully condescending, after all, to assume your adherents will swallow alarmist claims already shot down (e.g., that Obama consorts with terrorists, will "raise your taxes")? Or that a multimillionaire whose upscale economic plan defies the laws of mathematics can presume to channel the "heartland"? Or that a guy who can barely hold his campaign together could seem a wise and disciplined leader? McCain says he's not Bush, whose disdain for the intelligence of the American public went from an insult to an actual destructive force. Maybe, but McCain's scorn and fear-mongering are still too close for comfort.

Obama's issues and party are mine. I don't believe he heralds a "new politics"; everything suggests he's calculating, ingratiating, and a deft networker. I happen to think these are useful qualities for leadership on the world stage. When cornered on an abstract issue (race, abortion), he responds in nuanced and evenhanded terms. This impulse feels new to political life. Or, at least, long-lost. At such moments, there's simply no comparison between him and McCain, an old soldier cowed by his party leadership, or Sarah Palin, a local pol who croons talking points in summer-stock diction. Obama doesn't seem like someone out to fool me.

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4. Republicans have a consistent record of hideous demagoguery in presidential campaigns. (Dems are not blameless, but Republicans are far, far worse.) The story of this election is how McCain made a Faustian bargain and lost.

5. McCain is no dummy, but Obama is smarter. Although you're not supposed to say so, I think having a very smart president is, on balance and allowing for exceptions like Nixon, a good thing.

6. Obama is African-American. I wouldn't vote on race if there were a good reason not to, but all else being equal, having a black president will be a good thing for this country.

7. Electing Obama will give us a big PR boost in the world—just when we desperately need one.

8. Social issues (abortion, gay rights, civil liberties, etc.).

9. Oh yes, Sarah Palin. Give me a break. Not only is she patently not qualified to be president, but her alleged charm totally escapes me. She seems like an unpleasant, cynical, scheming, nasty, vindictive person. McCain is likable and admirable. I feel sorry for him. Palin will be a pleasure to vote against.

A confession: When I read the details of Obama's agenda, I disagree with about 80 percent of it. (Capital gains tax break for small businesses, etc.) I don't care.

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It doesn't take a mathematical genius to see that there is no way to underwrite the hundreds of billions—even trillions—that might be required to prop up the financial system and continue to fund entitlements and cut taxes and fund wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and balance the budget. Ronald Reagan sold us this snake oil in the '80s and proceeded to rack up monumental deficits that dwarfed those for which he chided Jimmy Carter. In that sense—the sense of lying—it is fitting that McCain constantly cites Reagan as his hero. McCain cannot be stupid enough to believe that such enormous sums can be wrung out of the veto pen or a ban on earmarks. His posturing for the last two months has been transparently zany. He "suspended" his campaign, supposedly to work on a bailout bill. He had next to nothing to do with its drafting, and then when it was loaded up with all the ridiculous legislative giveaways he claims to despise, he quietly voted for it—and couldn't even be bothered to speak from the Senate floor. It's his principles that he's suspended, and voters can sense it.

And, OK, presidents don't make economic policy by themselves. (Certainly, the sitting one doesn't.) But gather all of McCain's economic advisers in a room, and you'll shortly want to install rubber wallpaper. The man actually boasts of consorting with Meg Whitman and Carly Fiorina, who between them could not utter a significant syllable about this financial meltdown when they spoke at the Republican Convention. His longtime economic adviser Phil Gramm is culpable enough for our current misery that a less forgiving country would jail or effectively exile him. (Don't take my word for it; ask Carlos Salinas.) I hope that Gramm's grave will carry the inscription: "We have sort of become a nation of whiners," his analysis in July of the state of the U.S. economy.

And so: I can understand voters' apparent belief that Obama will be much better equipped to handle the economy than McCain. That says less than I wish it did about Obama's policy and advisers, but it says everything about a complete inability to take McCain seriously.

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McCain made a bad decision. He chose not to leave a Republican Party that was drifting rightward while he drifted leftward. To win the GOP nomination, McCain had to scramble back to the right, withdrawing his criticisms of Christian right bullies and endorsing what he'd once identified, correctly, as President Bush's tax giveaway to the rich. The policies he embraced were terrible and the rhetoric he spewed was dishonest and sometimes offensive, but they were the things he had to say to hang onto the Republican base. The same goes for his choice of the looser-lipped and quite obviously unqualified Sarah Palin. Because fate has a sense of humor, a credit crisis ended the 28-year Republican ascendancy just a few weeks after the party faithful formally welcomed McCain back into the fold. (At least I think it did; if McCain ends up winning after all, I reserve the right to formulate a harsher judgment.)

It won't surprise anybody to learn that I will vote for the other guy. Obama seemed an implausible candidate when he first announced because he was so short on experience. But after Joe Biden and Chris Dodd got knocked out of the primary race, experience was no longer on the menu; neither Hillary Clinton nor John Edwards had much, either. Meanwhile, Obama's disciplined and level-headed campaign style and his commonsensical grasp of domestic and foreign policy proved his mettle. It doesn't hurt that along the way he gave at least one speech that my grandchildren will study in school. Obama ain't the messiah, but I think he'll be a good president and maybe a great one.

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On issues related to foreign policy, especially matters concerning the Middle East, it's easier for me to identify with John McCain. I live in a tough neighborhood, and McCain seems to be the candidate most comfortable with the idea that countries in areas like that sometimes need to use force. However, I also see the advantages of Obama, especially the chance for America to recover its image. (Just don't expect too much.) I see how friendly countries like Israel can benefit from a United States that is more acceptable to the broader world.

I also realize that what we see now is hardly an indication of what the presidency of either man would be like. That might be problematic for those people who vote for a specific policy and get something else, but for an outsider, it's also comforting. Both Obama and McCain can become strong leaders, and they can do the right things even in areas where they now promise to do the wrong things. I'd vote for that.

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Raffi Khatchadourian's profile of Barr in this week's New Yorker depicts him—accurately, I think—as no more Libertarian than your standard Newt Gingrich clone. Barr, Khatchadourian reports, is against the legalization of such illicit drugs as crack and heroin. Khatchadourian continues:

[Barr] wrote the Defense of Marriage Act, voted for a constitutional amendment outlawing flag desecration, and even tried to legislate against Wiccan soldiers who wanted to practice their faith while in the service. A churchgoing Methodist, Barr rarely invoked religion when discussing policy with his aides, but he told constituents that "God's hand" was guiding his votes.

Some libertarian.

There's more bad Barr news. A Cato Institute blog item, reviewing Barr's House votes from 1995 to 2003, tags him an enemy of free trade. In 2003, Reason magazine called Barr "one of the most conservative members of Congress." In his defense, Barr told Newsweek that was then and this is now. He's grown! Since being voted out of Congress, he's laundered his hard-right résumé with a consultancy at the American Civil Liberties Union. He has stated his regrets for having voting for the Patriot Act.

Who is the real Bob Barr? When he was an unrepentant hard-right Republican, he did have notes of libertarianism to him. But in his libertarian rebranding, he can't quite mask his old, musky self. He's a fraud.

This much I know about Barr's opponents: Barack Obama proved in his acceptance speech at the Denver convention that he's a classic Democrat, a proponent of big government and economic intervention—just like George W. Bush, and we know what sort of misery eight years of those policies have brought. I love the way Obama sings but I hate the lyrics.

I'd like to say I have an equivalent sense of what John McCain stands for, but how can I, seeing as he has no clear idea of what he believes beyond what he shed in his last brain spasm? My friends in Arizona have always laughed about how easily the East Coast press fell for his straight-talk bullshit. You'll see, you'll see, they said. And they were right.

Which brings me back to Barr and the absentee ballot I cast for him this morning (Oct. 23). He gets my vote not because he'd be a good president. He wouldn't. He gets my vote not because he has a chance of becoming a president. He doesn't. And I didn't vote for him because he represents my views. He doesn't. I voted for Barr because he happens to stand adjacent to a set of values I cherish and that I've gotten into the habit of resubscribing to every four years—peace, prosperity, and liberty.

You got a problem with that?

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It's too bad that it takes the economy being in the toilet to get swing voters to take a hard look at whether they want to support the GOP when it unabashedly backs deregulation and the ensuing rampant greed of Wall Street, which we're now all paying for through the bailout. (And if there were ever a time I could agree with the Republican battle cry of "I don't want my taxes to pay for this," it's when a large company runs itself into the ground, assumes the government will pay for it, and then goes for some spa treatments that presumably we'll end up paying for eventually, too.) But a lot of people are out of jobs, and that changes the way decisions are made when a crisis hits that close to home. I'd love to think that Obama will get elected because he's spent his career thus far working for just causes (his GOP-mocked community organizing, after all, was helping those who'd lost their jobs), but if the sour economy gets him in the door, I'm not sure I care. The last eight years have brought us a pretty much purposeless war and an Osama Bin Laden still at large, not to mention the current economic mess. I'm not sure how we can gamble on any more.

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And I cannot think of one reason to vote for John McCain: He's pretending to be pro-life, his choice of running mate is a frightening joke, his health care plan would not provide health care to those without it and would take it away from those who get it through work. He doesn't understand economics. He's pro-deregulation, pro-big business. He is pro-war yet anti-veteran. He has abandoned any political beliefs he might have sincerely held to win the Republican nomination. He has run a very dirty campaign. I don't believe a word he says, I don't trust him, and I can't imagine our country would be better off with him at the helm. He's a hothead, he's belligerent, and in the presence of opponents, he acts like a petulant child. As for the assertion that Republican administrations are fiscally conservative and nonintrusive: This is the party line, but it's simply not true. Nobody has gotten us into more financial trouble than Ronald Reagan and Presidents Bush I and II. It was Bill Clinton who got our country into the best economic shape I have seen in my lifetime. And nobody has so trampled our civil liberties and eroded our privacy as Bush II. Will McCain, Washington insider for 26 years, "reform Worshington"? I don't think so.

DAYTON, Ohio—Who says John McCain doesn't have a tight campaign message? At his rally here Monday, the message was clear and pithy:



Boo.



In three acts, McCain presented the Obama Horror Show. If Obama is elected, your taxes will go up, you'll be unsafe from foreign threats, and, especially if Congress goes Democratic, you will be forced to endure an era of unchecked liberalism.



Obama aides have long argued that their candidate offers hope while McCain offers fear. Judging by the balance of messages both candidates are giving voters before Election Day, it's hard to disagree.

The minute McCain took the stage at a high-school gymnasium in Dayton, he unspooled the chain of nightmares Obama would unleash after the inauguration. McCain heralded "Joe the Plumber," as he has for the last two weeks, to make the case that Obama's tax policies are aimed at redistributing wealth. He also pointed to a 2001 interview in which (so the McCain campaign says) Obama claimed one of the tragedies of the civil rights era was that it failed to redistribute wealth. "That is what change means for Barack the Redistributor," he told a crowd of about 2,000, which didn't fill the gym. "It means taking your money and giving it to someone else."

Since McCain has been labeling Obama a redistributor, it was certainly convenient that Obama used a version of that word in a sentence in an interview seven years ago. But it's hard to see how the new attack is going to change the bleak political landscape for McCain.

One reason his attacks are not effective is that Obama's remarks are simply not very subversive. Reading them in context, and trying to keep from napping, it's clear that when Obama talks about redistribution, he's not talking about taxing the rich to give handouts—as McCain would have us think. Obama's talking about the Supreme Court's reluctance to force school districts to spend money to provide equality in schools. Later in the same interview, when Obama again discusses redistribution, he also talks about the complexities of school funding after Brown v. Board of Education.

With so little time left, McCain needs clear and effective critiques. So far, his tax attacks have been ineffective. Polls show that, over the last month, voters nationally and in key states like Virginia have come to trust Obama more on the question of taxes. Making hay of a seven-year-old quote about the civil rights struggles of a previous generation is not going to change the dynamic.

In Dayton, McCain also questioned Obama's readiness to face a foreign crisis, as he did last week, and raised the specter of Democrats controlling the White House and Congress. "Can you imagine an Obama, Reid, Pelosi combination?" he said to scattered boos.

Though the central thrust of McCain's argument is about the danger of an Obama presidency, the McCain pitch is not all negative (just as Obama's "closing argument" of hope for the future uses the McCain-Bush boogeyman). McCain makes an affirmative case for his policies—promising to cut taxes, reduce spending, and buy up mortgages to keep people in their homes. His closing oration is a call to restore America's greatness that is generally positive. It's even rousing, especially by McCain standards. When McCain says, "I'm an American, and I choose to fight," it sparks the crowd. He's just got to hope that the mix of fight and fright does enough to help him come from behind.

Like our financial system, our voter registration system needs a federal government bailout. Before the election, while the public and press are still paying attention, we should get both presidential candidates to commit to a more sensible, secure, and universal voter registration process.

When it comes to charges of "voter fraud" and "vote suppression," each election is worse than the last. This year, John McCain has claimed that some fraudulent voter registration cards turned in by ACORN employees threatened the "fabric of democracy." The Obama campaign has sent letters to Attorney General Michael Mukasey accusing Republicans of deliberately trying to suppress the vote. And the Ohio Republican Party is battling the Ohio secretary of state—in litigation that's already made it to the Supreme Court—over mismatches between voter registration and motor-vehicle-department databases. Now House Minority Leader John Boehner wants the Department of Justice to get involved to stop voter fraud. That went so well last time, so why not?

These charges and countercharges are the real danger to the fabric of our democracy. If people are not convinced their votes will be accurately counted, they are more likely to view election results as illegitimate and, therefore, the government less worthy of our respect and willingness to abide by the rule of law.

What can be done about it? Though there are many things that can be done to improve our election system—from nonpartisan election administration, to a uniform ballot design for federal elections, to improvements in our voting machinery—the most urgent fix is needed for our system of voter registration.

Right now, voter registration takes place primarily on the county level, and it requires a lot of effort on the part of outside groups such as ACORN, the political parties, and others. These groups sometimes work with volunteers, but more often than not they pay people to collect voter registration forms.

This is where a lot of the registration fraud comes from. Even for workers not paid by the card, a low-wage worker doing voter registration may be tempted to falsify information to keep his or her job, going so far as to register names in the phone book or cartoon characters. (This is why registration fraud does not lead to actual election fraud: These false names are not part of any effort to get thousands of people to the polls claiming to be someone else to vote for a candidate whose supporters cannot verify how anyone at the polling place has voted.)

The New York Times recently reported that ACORN turned in about 400,000 registration cards that were duplicates, incomplete, or fraudulent. And in California, a Republican-leaning group has been accused of changing Democratic registrants to a Republican affiliation without their permission. Why not, when they were paid $7 to $12 for each Republican registration?

The solution is to take the job of voter registration for federal elections out of the hands of third parties (and out of the hands of the counties and states) and give it to the federal government. The Constitution grants Congress wide authority over congressional elections. The next president should propose legislation to have the Census Bureau, when it conducts the 2010 census, also register all eligible voters who wish to be registered for future federal elections. High-school seniors could be signed up as well so that they would be registered to vote on their 18^th birthday. When people submit change-of-address cards to the post office, election officials would also change their registration information.

This change would eliminate most voter registration fraud. Government employees would not have an incentive to pad registration lists with additional people in order to keep their jobs. The system would also eliminate the need for matches between state databases, a problem that has proved so troublesome because of the bad quality of the data. The federal government could assign each person a unique voter-identification number, which would remain the same regardless of where the voter moves. The unique ID would prevent people from voting in two jurisdictions, such as snowbirds who might be tempted to vote in Florida and New York. States would not have to use the system for their state and local elections, but most would choose to do so because of the cost savings.

There's something in this for both Democrats and Republicans. Democrats talk about wanting to expand the franchise, and there's no better way to do it than the way most mature democracies do it: by having the government register voters. For Republicans serious about ballot integrity, this should be a winner as well. No more ACORN registration drives, and no more concerns about Democratic secretaries of state not aggressively matching voters enough to motor vehicle databases.

Finally, universal voter registration is good for the country, not only because it will make it easier for those who wish to vote to do so, but because it should end controversy over ballot integrity that threatens to undermine the legitimacy of our election process. If President McCain or Obama makes this a priority, we can have the system ready in time for the president's re-election.

In theory, Americans love an anti-politician—an outsider who tells the voters what he actually thinks rather than suffocating his personality beneath layers of polspeak. Think of Warren Beatty in Bulworth, Michael Douglas in The American President. In reality, voters tend to ruthlessly punish any spark of genuine personality. And the worst personality trait you can have, politically speaking, is humor—not the corny, banquet-speaker humor of Ronald Reagan but humor as a cutting tool of social analysis.

Consider the case of Al Franken. The Saturday Night Live writer turned Minnesota Senate candidate spent most of the last year trailing badly as pundits clucked their tongues at his "potty mouth." Lately, he has pulled even with his opponent, Norm Coleman, but he's done so only by riding an overwhelming anti-Republican wave and running a relentlessly dull, cookie-cutter campaign. Even so, his shameful comic past has marked him indelibly. Former Bush speechwriter Michael Gerson warned that Franken's election would "push our culture toward vulgarity and viciousness." Even some Democrats apparently regard him as a bad joke. Not long ago, NBC political director Chuck Todd waxed incredulous at the prospect of Franken winning. "I have had multiple very high-level Democrats on the Hill sit there with their fingers crossed," reported Todd. "They are scared of Franken winning. More importantly, they fear that if Franken wins, then every liberal Hollywood type is going to say, 'Hey, I can run for office, too.' " Coleman recently released a campaign flier calling Franken "completely unfit for public office" because of his comedy career.

It's understandable that people might, at first blush, think of Franken as the equivalent of Sen. Carrot Top—or the next Jesse Ventura, a fellow Minnesotan to whom Franken is incessantly compared. It doesn't help that Franken is best known for playing the goofy character Stuart Smalley on Saturday Night Live. And so Franken's comedic career has been transformed in the public mind into the job-training equivalent of dressing up in tights and smashing a fake chair over somebody's head.

Actually, while Franken has done lots of straight comedy, he began his career as a political satirist—a very different thing. Satire is a form of political commentary. It can be mindless, but so can an op-ed on fiscal policy in the Wall Street Journal. At its best, satire clarifies a truth that the subject would like to muddy.

Franken's critics are aware of his political satire, but that, too, has become another count in the indictment—Al Franken, trash talker. "He lampooned Rush Limbaugh as a 'big fat idiot,' and he dismissed Ann Coulter as a 'nutcase,' " clucked U.S. News earlier this year. Critics who take note of Franken's political books treat them as the left's answer to Coulter or Bill O'Reilly. But this misses the satirical point. To get the joke of Rush Limbaugh Is a Big Fat Idiot, you need only to look at the cover, which features Franken posing in a tweed jacket in front of a wall of musty bound volumes, clutching a pipe, looking comically pompous. Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right has the joke in the title itself. Coulter writes books with titles like Slander: Liberal Lies About the American Right, whose charge is meant to be taken at face value. Franken's title mocks the accusation itself with over-the-top redundancy and subverts its own claim to truth by appropriating the corrupted slogan "Fair and Balanced."

Franken does resort to invective on occasion, but this hardly defines his satirical style. (You could just as easily cherry-pick Jon Stewart's most obscene sentences—he recently said "Fuck you" to Sarah Palin—to paint him as a foul-mouthed ranter.) His books are laced with wonky disquisitions on economic policy that are themselves laced with jokes. He evinces vastly more knowledge about domestic policy than most members of Congress or national political reporters I've met.

To be sure, Franken skewers his targets, a habit which has contributed to his reputation as a raging left-winger. The Wall Street Journal has reported that Franken's politics "neatly mirror" those of the "liberal base." There's a misperception at work here that conflates blunt opposition to the Republican right with left-wing beliefs. As a confessed Bush hater who's not enamored with the left, I'm a fellow victim of this confusion. Franken is actually a moderate who initially favored the Iraq war and has praised the centrist Democratic Leadership Council.

Indeed, what Franken reveals of himself in Rush Limbaugh Is a Big Fat Idiot confounds a lot of blue-state-elitist stereotypes. Franken recounts having said a prayer for George H.W. Bush upon his election, defending Bob Dole's honor to a European journalist, and making multiple overseas trips to entertain American troops. The Franken persona is best summed up by the instance when, upon hearing National Review Editor Rich Lowry claim that liberals had sissified politics, Franken challenged Lowry to a fistfight. When Lowry refused, they met for an amiable lunch. If, say, Jim Webb did this sort of thing, it would be seen as rough-hewn, populist authenticity.

Normally, a politician's self-depiction should be considered self-serving fluff unless proven otherwise. But the book predates any hints of his interest in elective office. What's more, it's so stuffed with impolitic statements that it's unimaginable that Franken could have contemplated ever running for office when he wrote it. He pokes fun at Christianity ("[W]ill someone explain to me how Jesus can be both the son of God and also God?"), calls Ted Kennedy "bloated," and casually admits that "I'd make a terrible politician."

The most surprising thing about Franken's oeuvre is that, as good a satirist as he is, he's clearly smarter than he is funny. Dave Barry once famously defined a sense of humor as a "measurement of the extent to which we realize that we are trapped in a world almost totally devoid of reason." Franken has an infinite faith in the power of reason. Time and again, he tries to present his adversaries with detailed rebuttals and gets nowhere. One book has a small moment of triumph, in which he badgers House budget committee Chairman John Kasich into admitting that Republicans were employing a misleading measure of their plans to cut Medicare. "I took a few victory laps around the table," he writes. Franken doesn't write, however, that Kasich and his fellow Republicans continued to brandish the misleading statistic anyway.

I would guess that Franken is running for the Senate because he thinks he will have moments like these, when the superior force of his reason will carry the day. I have never seen or heard of a successful politician who thinks like this. I can't imagine he'll find politics anything but a crushing disappointment. But I'm eager to see him try.

Just two nights ago on his show, Fox News Channel's Brit Hume led panelists Fred Barnes, Morton Kondracke, and Charles Krauthammer in a discussion of the purported liberal coverage of the presidential campaign.

A greater collection of like minds may never have been assembled. Hume recently told the Los Angeles Times that he's "a journalist first and a conservative second or third." Barnes is executive editor of the Weekly Standard and author of the 2006 book Rebel-in-Chief: Inside the Bold and Controversial Presidency of George W. Bush. Krauthammer is a leading conservative columnist and thinker. Kondracke's distinguishing feature is that he has no distinguishing feature—unless being a chameleon is distinguishing.

And so, without any sense of irony, the conservative quartet batted around the subject of liberal media bias. Nobody had a new idea to share, and because there weren't any liberals on tap, no real critical view of the premise was aired. It was as predictable as a theological discussion among a foursome of atheists.

The panel's general gist was that the press has preferred Barack Obama to John McCain. Hume came dangerously close to complicating the conversation by citing "widespread agreement" in the mainstream media of press biased in favor of Obama over Hillary Clinton, both of whom are liberals. Was Hume implying that Obama is more liberal than Clinton, hence the press' favorite? But brevity being the soul of good television, nobody pursued the point, and the segment motored on to the usual touchstones of the press corps' deficiencies in reporting out Obama's connections to Antoin "Tony" Rezko and the Rev. Jeremiah Wright. For some inexplicable reason, coverage of the William Ayers connection didn't come up, so those playing the Fox News Drinking Game at home probably cried in their shot glasses.

Although I don't think the New York Times or Washington Post or any of the other prestigious media machines have tilted toward a candidate this year, the bellyaching conservatives do have a point. The press, especially the Washington press, is still overwhelmingly populated by liberals. I should know. I've been working here as a (nonliberal) journalist for the last 26 years, not counting a four-year furlough to the liberal burgs of San Francisco and Seattle.

I can't say I've ever taken tissue samples from Washington reporters and scanned their DNA for liberal markers, but whenever I do a tally—formal or otherwise—the numbers come back liberal. For instance, while editing Washington City Paper in the early 1990s, I sent a freelancer to the voter registrars' offices to check the party affiliations of what I considered the top 30 or so Washington Post editors and reporters. I don't have the clip handy, but as I recall about 80 percent were registered Democratic, about 15 percent independent, and about 5 percent were Republican.

One of the registered Republicans (I'm pretty sure it was Tony Kornheiser, but I beg forgiveness if I am wrong) explained that he and his wife wanted all of the campaign literature from both parties mailed to their home, so each election cycle they flipped a coin to determine how they registered. That year he registered as a Republican because he lost the flip.

A similarly lopsided count of media liberals can be found at Slate, where we report this week that Obama got 55 of the 57 votes cast by staffers and contributors. That's an extraordinary turnout. I doubt that Obama will garner 96 percent even in his home precinct of Hyde Park. Editor David Plotz theorizes that Obama polled so well at the magazine because 1) most of us live in extremely Democratic cities on the East and West coasts (as if geography was political destiny!); 2) the staff skews young, and all polls show younger voters favoring the Democrat; 3) several of the magazine's contributors are Obama advisers; and 4) "we are all journalists," and liberals, as our beloved founder Michael Kinsley wrote in 2000, are naturally attracted to the profession.

Kinsley holds that a journalist's personal political views say nothing, one way or the other, about what sort of stories he'll file and that "any liberal bias in reporting is more than counterbalanced by the conservative tilt of the commentariat." (Note to thinkers who argue that a Democratic voter isn't the same thing as a liberal: Stick it in your ear.)

My personal experience confirms Kinsley's hunch that liberals flock to media jobs. In the 10 years that I hired at Washington City Paper and SF Weekly, only one reporter or editor job went to a self-identified conservative. I can't be guilty of any pro-liberal bias partly because liberals—I'm thinking Timothy Noah—tend to creep me out. Yet year after year, the best applicants were almost exclusively liberal.

Even so, the Obamavalanche Slate recorded this year, like the similar blowouts for Kerry and Gore in 2004 and 2000, require additional meditation. In theory, Slate is a quasi-liberal magazine about politics and culture that publishes opinion, interpretive journalism, essays, straight reporting, and more. But I've never witnessed any top editor applying a liberal litmus test to a prospective hire or freelancer, and I've been here since before the magazine's 1996 launch.

Far from practicing monoculture, the Slate farm has always planted conservative and libertarian ideas in its Web pages, as can be gleaned from scanning the archives, where you'll find the bylines of such writers as James Q. Wilson, Steve Chapman, Steven E. Landsburg, Brian Doherty, Richard A. Epstein, Andrew Sullivan, Christopher Caldwell, Michael Young, William F. Buckley Jr., Eugene Volokh, Herbert Stein, Ben Stein, Daniel Drezner, Karen Lehrman, David Brooks, Anne Applebaum, Sam Tanenhaus, Jonah Goldberg, Tucker Carlson, Mark Steyn, Matt Labash, Alex Kozinski, Jack Goldsmith, Douglas W. Kmiec, David Frum, Richard A. Posner, R. Emmett Tyrrell Jr., Ross Douthat, Lucianne Goldberg, Viet Dinh, James Pinkerton, David Klinghoffer, Dinesh D'Souza, Wladyslaw Pleszczynski, Norman Podhoretz, Nick Gillespie, Midge Decter, Abigail Thernstrom, Stephan Thernstrom, Cathy Young, Radley Balko, Jill Stewart, Charles Paul Freund, and William McGurn. And I'm not even counting those heretics Kaus and Hitchens.

So if Slate is so keen on conservative and libertarian ideas, why do so few staffers tilt that way? One explanation could be that like-hires-like in almost every field, and that editors depend on their social networks to fill positions. But that's a pretty thin explanation if their social networks are big enough to assign pieces to conservatives and libertarians but not hire them. Another explanation could be that Slate knows it can't be taken seriously as a magazine of ideas without considering ideas outside of its quasi-liberal wheelhouse. But that seems pretty thin, too. This magazine has never been a debate society. Its mission has been to prowl for the vital, the new, and the urgent.

I can't solve the Slate Obamavalanche conundrum. But that doesn't mean I'd support an affirmative action program for conservatives just because they think they're underrepresented. Screw that. Conservatives put their minds to filling the ranks of the commentariat, and they did OK there. If they want to fill more mainstream reporter and editor jobs, let them tug harder on their bootstraps.

And if the folks at Fox News Channel really think that the mainstream media is doing such an awful job of reporting the 2008 campaign, they should direct their complaints to their boss, Rupert Murdoch, who owns the second-biggest newspaper in the country, the Wall Street Journal. The best press criticism isn't a column or a moan of disgust into a TV camera. It's writing a better story.

******

I stole my nifty headline from a book that I recommended last May: The Future of the Internet—and How to Stop It. I sought guidance for this piece from notorious liberal Timothy Noah, whose insights proved worthless, thereby proving that there is a liberal conspiracy to undo me. Thanks, Tim! Send liberal complaints via e-mail to slate.pressbox@gmail.com. (E-mail may be quoted by name in "The Fray," Slate's readers' forum; in a future article; or elsewhere unless the writer stipulates otherwise. Permanent disclosure: Slate is owned by the Washington Post Co.)

Track my errors: This hand-built RSS feed will ring every time Slate runs a "Press Box" correction. For e-mail notification of errors in this specific column, type the word liberal in the subject head of an e-mail message, and send it to slate.pressbox@gmail.com.

With the election just a week away and Barack Obama pulling away from John McCain, tiny tendrils of trepidation are starting to drift over the liberal members of the commentariat and the political press corps.

If McCain wins, ample boilerplate exists from which to form their disposable Wednesday, Nov. 5, stories about his victory: "He took risks and they paid off … courage of his convictions … left for dead one time too many … the pundits eat crow … how could the pollsters have gotten it so wrong—again! … Will his White House harbor Straight Talk or double talk?"

But if Obama wins, these scribes know that they'll be facing the toughest assignment of their careers. They've all oversubscribed to the notion that Obama's candidacy is momentous, without parallel, and earth-shattering, so they can't file garden-variety pieces about the "winds of change" blowing through Washington. They're convinced that not only the whole world will be reading but that historians will be drawing on their words. Will what I write be worthy of this moment in time? they're asking themselves. It's a perfect prescription for performance anxiety.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to say that the press corps is in the tank for Obama even if they're voting for him in overwhelming numbers. Obama irritates many of the reporters who cover him because he's so controlling and inaccessible. So they're not as much in love with Obama as they're in love with the idea of Obama, of the "meaning" of his run for the presidency, of the redemption he offers a sinful nation that scratched slavery into its liberty-loving Constitution.

The windows of this mind-set are provided by Slate's Jacob Weisberg, for whom the Obama election is a national referendum on racism; the New York Times' Nicholas D. Kristof, for whom an Obama presidency is an opportunity to "rebrand" our nation and "find a path to restore America's global influence"; E.J. Dionne, who sees an Obama presidency as representing a chance to "rekindle the sense of possibility and transformation" in American life; and a swooning Andrew Sullivan, who almost a year ago speculated that Obama might be "that bridge to the 21^st century that Bill Clinton told us about." For Chris Matthews, of course, the Obama candidacy is a "thrill" going up his leg, one that will arc over his torso and detonate his head in the event of a victory.

The leading Obama cheerleader among the commentariat is Newsweek's Jonathan Alter, whose "erection of the heart" for the candidate has no match. Alter sees the presidential election as a world referendum on the United States and "the common sense and decency of the American people." Obama symbolizes hope over fear, and his election would produce an "Obama Dividend" that would "blow the minds of people in the Middle East and other regions, and help restore American prestige." Obama, Alter continues, "knows how to think big, elevate the debate and transport the public to a new place."

Such overwriting leaves Alter little acreage upon which to build a monument if his candidate wins, but the problem isn't Alter's alone. Even political reporters who have scrubbed from their copy any evidence of Obama lust face the same Nov. 5 dilemma as the commentariat. How do you pack all the Obama touch points—healing, hope, change, civility, the second coming of Camelot, post-boomer politician, inspirer of youth, great uniter, world president, and so on—into one story without sounding hagiographic? Isn't that what the commemorative issue of People magazine is for? Then again, how do you write about Obama's victory without looping in the touch points? Hence the performance anxiety.

Reporters do their least self-conscious work when they're startled by a story they hadn't prepared to write. Think of the astonishing coverage of the 9/11 attack, natural disasters, and the 2000 election-that-would-not-end. But giving a reporter (or a pundit) too much time to think about a historic event such as VE Day, the moon landing, the fall of Communism, or the release of Nelson Mandela is like entering him into a grandiosity competition to see who can squeeze the most poetry out of his keyboard. Suddenly, everybody with a notepad and a word processor thinks he's Norman Mailer.

Every new president gets a honeymoon, of course, but not like the one we're likely to witness. As the countdown to the Obama rapture accelerates this week, say a prayer for the press corps skeptics, naysayers, cynics, pragmatists, faultfinders, and scoffers who'd rather not dance at Obama's magisterial ball. And if they write something noteworthy, send it my way.

******

"Erection of the heart" is the sweet phrase Lester Bangs coined to describe his physiological response to seeing Elvis Presley in concert for the first time. Thanks to Christopher Beam for the column idea. Styling by Chris Wilson. Faculty adviser, Emily Yoffe. Coffee by Bouvé. Lester Bangs quotation provided by Bill Wyman. Again, the e-mail address for noteworthy skeptical articles about the Obama ascendancy is slate.pressbox@gmail.com. (E-mail may be quoted by name in "The Fray," Slate's readers' forum; in a future article; or elsewhere unless the writer stipulates otherwise. Permanent disclosure: Slate is owned by the Washington Post Co.)

Track my errors: This hand-built RSS feed will ring every time Slate runs a "Press Box" correction. For e-mail notification of errors in this specific column, type the word anxiety in the subject head of an e-mail message, and send it to slate.pressbox@gmail.com.

According to the polling site FiveThirtyEight.com, the chance of your vote deciding the election is one in 10 million, even if you live in a swing state like Virginia or Colorado. Why bother voting at all? In 2004, Slate's resident mathematician, Jordan Ellenberg, crunched the numbers and explained why voting does make rational sense. The article is reprinted below.

Let's say, for the sake of argument, you were among the 72,000 people who participated in the Guinness-certified world's largest chicken dance in Canfield, Ohio, in 1996. You probably feel pretty proud. But according to Slate's Stephen E. Landsburg, you shouldn't. After all, unless a previous chicken dance for 71,999 were on the books, your participation made no difference; the record would have fallen whether or not you'd shown up.



Landsburg is arguing against voting, not chicken-dancing: Your presidential vote, he says, "will never matter unless the election in your state is within one vote of a dead-even tie." That, of course, is extremely unlikely. So, the negligible chance of casting the deciding ballot is outweighed by the small but certain costs of voting, like the gas you'll use and the time you'll spend.



And yet people vote anyway, by the millions. Political scientists call this conundrum "the paradox of voting," and you could stay up half the night (I just did) reading research literature on the subject. Why do people vote when it's so unlikely to matter? Maybe because the pleasurable feeling of doing one's duty offsets the cost of gas. Maybe because people have an interest in their candidate not just winning but winning by as large a margin as possible. Maybe because we're motivated to avoid even small possibilities of regret—the regret that those Al Gore supporters who sat out Florida in 2000 surely feel, whether economists think they're being rational or not.



But let's stick to mathematics. Suppose we grant to Landsburg that voting carries a certain cost and that your vote should be considered worthwhile only if it decides the election. Everyone can agree that's unlikely—but how unlikely? Landsburg first proposes

modeling voters in a state, say Florida, as 6,000,000 coin-flippers, each choosing George Bush with some probability p and John Kerry with probability 1-p. For instance, if p is 1/2, 1-p is also 1/2; each voter has an equal chance of selecting Bush or Kerry. As you might expect, the odds of a tied outcome are not bad—about 1 in 3,100, as Landsburg computes.

But p might not be 1/2, and even a tiny bias in voter preference can make a tie exceedingly unlikely. For instance, if p = .51, the chance of a tie drops to 1 in 10¹⁰⁴⁶, a probability so small as to be effectively zero. (Here's Landsburg's computation.) Your vote is not going to count.



So, are we back to Landsburg's discouraging conclusion that voting is most often a waste of time? Not quite, because it's impossible to know in advance what proportion of your fellow Floridians are planning to vote for Bush. If you knew p was exactly 1/2, you'd be sure to get out and vote. If you knew Bush held a 51 percent advantage, you'd be foolish to bother. But you don't know, and without that knowledge you can't reason as Landsburg wants you to.



You don't know, but you can guess. A Sept. 29 poll of 704 Florida voters by CNN/USA has Bush leading Kerry 52-43. For simplicity, let's dump the still-undecideds and third-party enthusiasts and say that, among 669 randomly selected likely Florida voters, 366 supported Bush and 303 Kerry, a 55-45 margin in Bush's favor. If forced to make a guess, we might expect 55 percent of Florida voters to favor Bush. But how confident should we be that our guess is right? In particular, how likely is it that the real proportion of Bush votes in the state is very close to 50 percent?

The inconvenient truth is that the poll alone can't tell you. If, for instance, a poll in Massachusetts showed a 10-point Bush lead, we'd still think Bush was behind, though we might rate the race closer than we did previously. Our best guess about the true state of things represents a compromise between our prior intuitions and the poll results.

The mathematical method by which this compromise is hammered out is called Bayesian inference. The computations involved, though elementary, are a bit tedious to include here, but stats fans can find more in the accompanying computations page. Let's suppose we start out with the (somewhat unrealistic) belief that the true vote count for Bush in Florida is equally likely to be any number between zero and 6,000,000. Given the 52-43 poll result, the Bayesian computation puts the chance of a tie at about 1 in 5 million. If the polls were exactly even, the chance would go up to 1 in 300,000. Those still aren't fantastic odds, but both beat the 1-in-120 million chance of winning Powerball by a mile.* Suddenly voting seems a lot more justifiable.

Even if your vote helps swing Florida, Florida might not swing the election. But if the electoral vote is sufficiently close, many states could be in a position to affect the national outcome. You know that if 538 fewer Bush votes had been counted in Florida, Al Gore would be president. But did you know that only 1,231,944 more Bob Dole voters, carefully apportioned among Nevada, Kentucky, Arizona, Tennessee, New Mexico, Florida, New Hampshire, Delaware, Ohio, and Pennsylvania, would have given their man the election, despite Clinton's lead of 8 million in the popular vote?

It's precisely this sensitivity to small swings in key states that makes people fume about the Electoral College—that saturates Tampa with campaign ads and volunteers and leaves Los Angeles quiet, that makes elections vulnerable to targeted fraud beforehand and targeted lawsuits afterwards. So, let's take a moment to cheer this one fine feature of our system: It puts many voters in many states on notice that their vote might really count. The state that swings could be your own. So, ignore Landsburg! Take your place in this big majestic chicken dance we call democracy! Vote!

Thanks to John Londregan and Howard Rosenthal for helpful suggestions and pointers to relevant literature.

Correction, Oct. 14, 2004: This article originally stated that the chance of winning the Powerball lottery is 1 in 80 million. It is actually close to 1 in 120 million. (Return to the corrected sentence.)

Barack Obama's campaign recently announced record fundraising totals of $150 million for September and more than $600 million for the primaries and general election combined. What happens to all the leftover cash he can't spend? In 2004, Brendan I. Koerner explained what happens to a candidate's war chest after the campaign folds. The article is reprinted below.

After his dismal fourth-place showing in Iowa, Richard Gephardt has decided to call off his quest for the White House. What's going to happen to the millions of dollars still in Gephardt's campaign war chest?

Although he can't hand the entire kitty to another candidate or blow it on a deluxe Waikiki vacation, the longtime congressman has plenty of disbursement options. According to Gephardt's last filing with the Federal Election Commission, he had nearly $6 million in cash on hand. And that was before he received an additional $3.1 million in federal matching funds earlier this month. Because he accepted public financing, Gephardt must now submit his books to an FEC audit and refund any unspent public funds to the United States Treasury. He'll also have to pay off some pretty sizable debts—those placards and TV ads in South Carolina don't come cheap.

But after all creditors have been paid off, it's likely that Gephardt will still have a few million dollars to spare. He could save the money for his next campaign for public office, but that route seems unlikely; Gephardt has announced that he will not seek another term in Congress, and it's likely that his political career is now over. He could also disburse the money to the Democratic National Committee or a Democratic state party, as Al Gore did last July. Gore, who still has about $6.6 million left over from his failed presidential bid, donated $450,000 to the Tennessee Democratic Party, citing a "special relationship" with the state he once represented in the Senate.

Gephardt could also give the money to any charities he sees fit, provided he doesn't receive compensation from the recipient organizations until the donations have been expended. And, of course, he could refund the donations, although this is a rarity; the bureaucratic headache of sending out $50 checks to thousands of individual donors is usually considered more trouble than it's worth.

The campaign funds cannot be employed for personal use, such as buying a hot tub or paying for a kid's braces. But there's a small loophole for ex-candidates who still retain public office, as Gephardt does. According to FEC regulations, leftover campaign funds "may be used to defray any ordinary and necessary expenses incurred in connection with the recipient's duties as a holder of Federal office, if applicable." Those expenses include travel costs associated with "bona fide official responsibilities"—the FEC guidelines specifically mention fact-finding missions as copacetic, for example. Gephardt can also use the excess cash to defray "the costs of winding down" his congressional office after his term is up at year's end, though he's only permitted 6 months to use the money to close up shop.

Gephardt is also barred from simply transferring his war chest to another candidate. His campaign can make donations to other candidates, but only according to the rules that govern individual contributions—a maximum of $2,000. If Gephardt wants the eventual Democratic nominee to have access to his campaign funds, his best bet is to sign over the pot to the DNC.

Bonus Explainer: The FEC occasionally lets candidates accused of financial improprieties use campaign funds in their defense. Last year, for example, the FEC voted to allow James Treffinger, a one-time candidate for the Senate from New Jersey, to use leftover campaign dough to combat corruption charges. The commission, however, was careful to state that the funds could only be used to defend against charges related to Treffinger's campaign—specifically, allegations that he extorted campaign donations from a sewage-repair company that had been awarded no-bid contracts in Treffinger's home county. He could not, however, use the campaign funds to fight accompanying ethics charges related to his dicey reign as a county executive. In October, Treffinger was sentenced to 13 months in federal prison.

Got a question about today's news? Ask the Explainer.

With only a week to go before the election, pollsters are busier than ever. But some are wondering if the polls can be trusted at all this year or whether their spurious results might affect the outcome of the race. In a "Politics" thought experiment published in January, Daniel Engber imagined an election without polls. The article is reprinted below.

We learned two things from Tuesday's Democratic primary in New Hampshire: First, the Hillary Clinton campaign is very much alive; second, the pre-election polls were virtually useless. According to the numbers, Barack Obama was on pace to win by a margin of five to 13 percentage points; instead, he lost by three.

But opinion polling might be much worse than inaccurate. It's easy to imagine that the polls themselves affect the outcome of the elections they're supposed to predict. Voters may be inclined to jump on the bandwagon of a candidate who appears to be cruising to victory. Or they may stay home if they think their favorite is either out of the running or coasting to an easy win. Many believe that ubiquitous horse-race coverage pushes second-tier candidates out of the picture—and that Joseph Biden, Chris Dodd, Bill Richardson, and Ron Paul are all suffering at the hands of meddlesome pollsters.

Is it true that we'd be better off without polls? What would happen if pre-election polls were banned altogether? Let's conduct a thought experiment to find out.

Our counter-factual may seem prima facie ridiculous, since any attempt to ban media organizations from presenting opinion polls would run afoul of the First Amendment. But the idea doesn't seem so far-fetched when you consider similar policies that have been implemented in democracies around the world. According to a survey conducted in 1997, 39 of 78 countries had some kind of rule against pre-election polling. In the Philippines, the government briefly banned election surveys in the 15 days leading up to a national election. India's Election Commission banned the broadcast of opinion polls for two weeks in 1998. Starting in 1977, France had a two-week embargo on opinion poll results, which was later reduced to two days. Even our neighbors to the north imposed a three-day embargo in the mid-1990s. (The rule was later overturned by Canada's Supreme Court.)

For our purposes, let's assume a ban that applies to releasing poll results, as opposed to conducting polls. Using the abandoned Canadian law as a guide, we'll imagine a situation in which it's illegal to "broadcast, publish, or disseminate the results of an opinion survey respecting how electors will vote in an election." We'll also assume that the embargo lasts for the entire election season, instead of just the 48 or 72 hours leading up to Election Day.

First of all, the numbers would leak out anyway. We know that the Canadian embargo was violated by Internet activists who published survey results via U.S. servers. In our experiment, we'd expect to see major media outlets holding to the gag rule, while bloggers provided a steady diet of rumors and reports about the latest numbers. Savvy campaign strategists might try to feed false or self-serving information into the blogosphere, but true political junkies could consult mainstream media sources based overseas. (In short, only highly motivated voters with Internet access would keep abreast of the polling data.)

Without polling numbers to drive their narrative, political journalists would turn to other, less direct measures of candidate strength. At the outset of campaign season, the front-runners would be designated according to the size of their war chests, and the number of endorsements each had racked up. Focus groups, man-on-the-street interviews, and even voter brain scans would get more media play. Political futures markets might become a central element of mainstream campaign coverage, rather than the fringe oddity they are today.

Reporters might pay more attention to the turnout at campaign events, totting up average attendance figures and reporting them as rough guides to candidate popularity. As a result, campaign operatives would have an incentive to attract the biggest crowds they possibly could—and to hire extras to fill seats.

Of course, things might be very much the same without pre-election polling. Reporters don't always follow the numbers. Toward the end of 2006 and the beginning of 2007, for example, John McCain was repeatedly described as the Republican "front-runner," despite the fact that 53 of 57 national polls taken during that period showed him trailing Rudy Giuliani.

It's also possible that the worried-over "bandwagon" effect may not exist at all. What data we have from political scientists has been somewhat equivocal on the matter: Voters don't seem to be drawn inexorably toward the leader in yesterday's poll. If the bandwagon effect does exist, it might get canceled out by an equal and opposite inclination—the so-called "underdog" effect.

Pollsters concede that the effect of pre-election surveys is more clear-cut in the primaries, where voters are more inclined to vote strategically than they are in the general election. (It's no accident that the rise of public-opinion polling in the 20^th century coincided with the movement toward primary elections.) By that token, a world without polling might help lesser-known candidates stick around. Meanwhile, the results of each individual primary election would become even more important than they already are. In our hypothetical scenario, the results in Iowa would be the first widely reported numbers of the entire race. The rankings established in Iowa would create a pecking order lasting all the way until New Hampshire—with no poll numbers in the meantime that might back up or deny the existence of any kind of "bounce."

In real life, pre-election polls seem to affect voter turnout in two ways. An apparent rout might make the outcome of an election seem like a foregone conclusion, leading voters to stay home. But polls showing a tight race tend to excite voters, and make them more likely to participate. We expect these effects to show up most acutely among young voters with a modest interest in politics—the kind who are interested enough to see the polls, but not fanatical about supporting their candidate.

If that's true, polling might have hurt Barack Obama's chances in New Hampshire. The polls leading up to Tuesday's Democratic primary suggested a decisive victory for the senator. But the polls may have depressed turnout among the young voters who were most likely to support him. (Independent voters might also have decided to vote for McCain, in what was thought to be the closer race.) So, in a world without pre-election polling, Obama would have had an easier time fending off a late surge from his opponents—but he'd have a harder time prevailing in close contests in the future.

The possibilities go on and on. But now it's your turn: What do you think would happen if our election cycle were spared the endless opinion polls? Would campaign coverage look any different? Or maybe the candidates themselves would change their messages, and their approach. …

Send your ideas, considered or far-fetched, to slate.thought@gmail.com. (You can also post a message in the Fray.) The results may be used in a future column.

Today, Slate's staff and contributors reveal how they're voting in next week's presidential election. This continues a tradition we began in 2000 and repeated in 2004. It will come as little surprise to many of our readers—and certainly as no surprise to Sarah "Media Elite" Palin—that Barack Obama won Slate in a landslide. In capturing 55 of our 57 votes, with 1 to McCain and 1 to Libertarian Bob Barr, Obama won an even bigger Slate majority than Al Gore in 2000 (29 of 37 votes) or John Kerry in 2004 (46 of 52 votes). Incidentally, this is a voluntary project: Our staff and contributors can reveal how they voted, but they are not required to.

My two predecessors as Slate's editor, Michael Kinsley and Jacob Weisberg, each wrote articles explaining why we reveal our votes. I don't have anything to add to their eloquent arguments, so please read Kinsley's 2000 piece here (mentally subbing "McCain" for "Bush" and "Obama" for "Gore"), and Weisberg's 2004 piece here ("McCain" for "Bush" and "Obama" for "Kerry").

Why did Obama win the swing state of Slate? Like Mike and Jacob before me, I don't think a candidate's Slate victory reflects a bias that has corrupted the magazine during the campaign. There are obvious reasons why Slate would lean heavily toward Obama: Most of our staff and contributors live in extremely Democratic cities on the East and West Coast. (It's worth noting that our lone McCain voter, Deputy Managing Editor Rachael Larimore, lives in Ohio.) Slate's voters tend to skew young, and all polls show younger voters favoring the Democrat. Also, a significant number of former Slate contributors, among them Austan Goolsbee, Jason Furman, and Phil Carter, are now advising Obama. It's understandable that our affection for them and respect for their views may be accruing to Obama. (He's taking Jason and Austan's advice on the economy? Then he must be pretty smart.) And, finally, we are journalists, and, to quote Kinsley:

No doubt it is true that most journalists vote Democratic, just as most business executives (including most media owners) vote Republican, though neither tendency is as pronounced as their respective critics believe. This is a natural result of the sort of people who are attracted to various careers. It is not the product of any conspiracy. There is no Liberal Central Committee drafting young liberals into journalism against their will or blackballing young conservatives. And there is nothing that can be done to change this disparity, unless conservative press critics would like to see the media institute a political quota system, favoring conservatives over better-qualified liberals (affirmative action for opponents of affirmative action).

But—for the millionth time!—an opinion is not a bias! The fact that reporters tend to be liberal says nothing one way or another about their tendency to be biased. It does suggest that when political bias does creep in, it is more likely to tilt liberal than conservative. But there are so many other pressures and prejudices built into the news—including occasional overcompensation for fear of appearing biased—that raw political bias plays a fairly small role. …Of course it is not easy to persuade folks of this, and many will never believe it. No doubt it is easier just to keep your political opinions secret and imply that you don't have any. But that absurdity or dishonesty itself undermines your credibility. Or it ought to.

Thanks to the many readers who wrote in to point out that the site was automatically reloading like a maniac on Friday, making it difficult to read articles, post in the Fray, and generally enjoy any time spent on Slate. (The bug also made it difficult for us to publish articles, if that's any consolation.) The problem was introduced as we released some improvements to our site redesign. We've now got the refresh bug fixed, so please resume your normal Slate activities. We're sorry about the mix-up, and we appreciate your patience.

And don't forget to send any bugs you notice to slateredesign@slate.com and submit any feedback on the redesign to the Slate Fare Fray.

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Slate is pleased to announce a new video partnership with Charlie Rose, host of the long-running PBS interview program.

Every weekday, Slate and our video magazine, Slate V, will present excerpts from the most recent Charlie Rose show, meaning we'll bring you some of the most interesting thinkers, artists, politicians, scientists, and business people alive today.

To kick things off, we've collected a small sampling of interviews from the Charlie Rose archives, excerpts that demonstrate the caliber of guests you'll be seeing in the coming months. Here you can watch discussions with the late William F. Buckley, Warren Buffett, Dr. Stephen Hawking, Steve Martin, Helen Mirren, Salman Rushdie, Jerry Seinfeld, Bruce Springsteen, Ted Turner, and Neil Young.

And here's another example: On Sunday, Robert Draper published a much-discussed piece in the New York Times Magazine about the many reinventions of John McCain's campaign. The article mentions a certain interview as pivotal in bringing a little-known Alaska governor to the attention of McCain's top staff:

One tape in particular struck [campaign manager Rick] Davis as arresting: an interview with [Sarah] Palin … on "The Charlie Rose Show" that was shown in October 2007.

Here's an excerpt from the interview that, regardless of your view of Palin, altered the course of the 2008 campaign (notice how she says she's still undecided in the GOP primary contest and how she demonstrates her now-legendary ability to turn every question back toward her favorite issue, energy):

So, keep an eye on Slate V to see the best of Charlie Rose every day. And for much more, including full-length episodes, check out www.charlierose.com.

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In 1991, Sports Illustrated forecast that in the year 2000 (cue Conan O'Brien), any sports fan would be able to punch up any camera angle from any game at any time—in short, to be a couch-bound producer and director. While it's not quite the Olympian vision SI prophesied, 21^st-century fans can now approximate the inside of a production truck. During the baseball playoffs, MLB.com debuted "TBS Hot Corner," a live video stream that shows four angles you won't find on TV: "backstop cam," pitcher cam," "dugout cam," and "batter cam." NBC and NFL.com have also started supplementing NBC's Sunday Night Football with four extra online-only camera angles that run alongside a stream of NBC's actual telecast.

As a sports-television producer, I was particularly interested in checking out these new streams. After tuning in to NFL.com for several games, I'm happy to report that the producer (and director) haven't been consigned to the dustbin—these do-it-yourself productions still don't come close to replicating the experience of watching a game on TV. These online streams aren't really meant to compete with high-definition television, though, and shouldn't be approached that way. Perhaps in the future (the year 2020?), the home viewer will have total control over everything that comes into his living room. But for now, let's be content to enhance our TV broadcasts with some extra online goodies—sour cream and bacon bits for the couch potato.

The setup of Sunday Night Football Extra is much simpler than that of an actual production truck, which offers myriad camera angles that change constantly as the operator looks around for relevant shots. NFL.com offers five looks; the actual game broadcast begins as the largest shot, in the center, with the other four options visible in the four corners of the screen. This is smart—there is no guesswork involved in selecting a different look, and it allows easy switching back and forth before a play or if you notice something interesting. When you click on a different camera angle, it takes over the prominent middle position. Below the video there is a box with running stats and a live chat that provides a place for Joe the Computer-Savvy Plumber to e-mail questions to NBC Sports analysts like Tiki Barber and Cris Collinsworth. This is mostly white noise, although it's amusing to picture the former players tapping out answers between bites of their catered dinner at 30 Rock, grumbling about the extra duty. (NBC assured me that the players really do answer the questions themselves.)

An inventory of the camera angles: First is the high end-zone cam, which is essentially the same as the coaches' film—formation junkies, this one's for you. While you can't see the receivers flanked wide or the corners who are covering them at the snap, the rest of the players are visible. If you want to know what the QB is seeing when he breaks the huddle—is the safety in the box? is a blitz coming? should I shift the play to the strong side to take advantage of the defensive personnel?—plan on spending some time with this angle. I viewed almost the entire first quarter of the first game I watched online (Steelers at Browns) from this vantage.

The low-angle sideline cam is akin to standing on the bench during the game—great for watching sweeps in the direction of the camera and for judging whether the ball carrier broke the plane of the end zone. Otherwise, it's like getting a sideline pass without getting to stand next to all the players. You miss most of the action, and you don't get any free Gatorade.

The "Star" cam isolates on one player from each team—or, in the case of the Tampa-Seattle game, five different players. Other "stars" have included Pittsburgh wide receiver Hines Ward and safety Troy Polamalu, Jacksonville QB David Gerrard, and Cleveland wideout Braylon Edwards. For quarterbacks, this feature is a bit redundant—the camera's always on the guy with the ball—but it's fantastic for the other positions. Watching Polamalu fly around the field at full speed on every play is fantastic, and not just because his jouncing hair is hypnotic. Few athletes play with Polamalu's reckless abandon, and it's thrilling to try to forecast collisions by watching him bounce around the iso cam.

The Star cam works even better for receivers. After watching Ward and Edwards for three straight hours, I now understand why so many wide receivers are narcissistic—their job is to run one wind sprint after another with only the occasional ball thrown their way to break up the track workout. Even Ward, by consensus the most team-first, blocking-happy wideout in the league (although we cognoscenti also know him as a dirty player), could be seen remonstrating angrily that he was open, breaking off routes halfheartedly, and, when teammate Nate Washington scored on a pass play against the Jaguars, cutting directly to the bench rather than joining his buddy for a little celebration. Mostly, he just ran, ran, ran.

Ward also looked up at the JumboTron regularly, hoping to determine what had happened on pass plays not directed at him. That's another revelation (or perhaps confirmation) provided by the extra angles—generally speaking, only the quarterback and the person who gets the ball know what happens on any given play. When the players all mumble about "having to check the film" to decipher why a play worked or didn't, it's not just dissembling—they likely don't have a clue.

The best angle of all is the cable cam, a bird's eye view from a camera that's suspended on a wire 20 or so feet above the field. You know the one—it's the low-flying gizmo that's punched up for a handful of plays on big-budget telecasts like SNF. After watching it live for a full quarter, it's clear that the networks are cheating us. I want more cable cam on TV right now!

The cam-on-a-wire provides a thrilling combo of video game hyperactivity and crunching impact. While the regular live-action angle captures much of football's blend of speed and violence, this look enhances it like an electron microscope and exposes much of the mauling going on in the trenches to boot. Watching the cable cam as rain splatters the lens is like being on the field with a dripping face shield. (I can't wait for online coverage of games played in wintry conditions.) When Browns running back Jerome Harrison took a screen pass and juked his way to a long gainer, I almost had to take some oxygen. In the Bucs-Seahawks contest, Leroy Hill of Seattle knocked out an opponent and a teammate on the same hit. From just above the action, the blow was so jolting and violent I felt for a moment that Teddy Roosevelt should have outlawed the game when he had the chance. Sacks are also amazing on the cable cam. If you don't appreciate Ben Roethlisberger's toughness, watch him absorb a beating on cable cam. I was ready to petition the league to let the Steelers have an extra bye week—and I'm a Bengals fan!

With all this supplementary material on the Web, I'm not about to complain that SI's idyll hasn't arrived just yet. OK, I'll complain a little. My biggest beef with Sunday Night Football Extra is that the extra angles don't come with replays. We all take instant replay for granted until we don't have it. Watching the games on NFL.com, I realized that without replay it's impossible to understand the inner workings of a game that is much too fast for the naked eye. Statistics and most other graphics, like the First and Ten yellow line, are also missing. (The score/time line is omnipresent on all the angles.) Fixating on the other angles without frequently toggling back to the main broadcast feed (or having the TV on along with the computer) is like being inside a tornado—you know there's a major event going on, but things move too quickly to grasp the big picture. Watching the cable cam for 10 straight minutes is a huge rush, but it's pure viscera. It won't help you understand strategy, or why a play worked (or didn't). A great addition would be to have an analyst dedicated to the other angles. My dream: Ron Jaworski calling the high-angle formation cam.

The NFL says the online enhancement is a one-year experiment, with its continuation hinging on usage and positive feedback. (The league is very satisfied with it so far, according to the PR man I spoke with.) Of course, once there are enough viewers and potential ad dollars, the endless excess inherent in regular football broadcasts will migrate online. Sunday Night Football Extra doesn't so much reveal what we're missing in traditional TV productions as it emphasizes the best parts of it, minus the dancing robots, endlessly repeated promos during play, and cutaways to the players' mothers in the stands.

Twenty years from now, when computers and TVs are replaced by an omnivorous media- consumption device, those elements will still be firmly in place, even though by that point, we'll be able to project our own holographic images onto the field and, through advanced Wii-like technology, tear our knee ligaments just like Tom Brady—the ultimate fantasy football. As much as I look forward to dodging the next-generation Troy Polamalu, I'm fully aware that the experience will involve beer ads and reminders that 60 Minutes is up next, except on the West Coast, where it can be seen at its regularly scheduled time.

PHILADELPHIA—Forty minutes before the first pitch of Game 4 of the World Series, the closest thing Philadelphia has to a bad-luck charm comes climbing through our section. Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams, now rather tame-looking in a suit and tie and with hair cut short, is the guy who blew the Phillies' last chance at a championship, giving up a series-ending home run to Joe Carter in 1993. Even so, Williams doesn't get the black-cat treatment tonight—every man and woman in a Chase Utley jersey (and they're all wearing Chase Utley jerseys) wants to shake his hand and grab a photo.

Williams' enduring popularity owes something to his stint as a local radio host, but it also seems like a response to what the pitcher was able to achieve despite lacking much natural ability. Never skilled enough to be an elite reliever, he always took the ball, gripped it tight, and threw it as hard as he could. Fifteen years ago, his best simply wasn't good enough. This is the story of the Phillies, a team that's been cursed by something a lot more mundane than the heavens: not having enough talent.

The 2008 Phillies don't have that problem or any other visible affliction. After beating the Tampa Bay Rays 10-2 behind Joe Blanton's pitching and two Ryan Howard home runs, the Phils need but one more win to take the World Series. Taking comfort in the skills of Howard and Utley and Jimmy Rollins and Brad Lidge and Cole Hamels, the fans in Philly seem to have breezed through the pessimistic stage of postseason fandom and roared ahead to planning the victory parade. By the middle innings, the folks behind me start strategizing about how to run on the field to celebrate the title without getting arrested. "I think I could run around the field for a while before anyone could catch me," says one of the fans. "Those guys are pretty out of shape."

You can't blame Phils fans for feeling self-confident. The team is 6-0 at home in the playoffs, Rollins and Howard are hitting, Lidge hasn't blown a save all season, and Hamels—the starter in Monday night's potentially championship-clinching Game 5—has looked unbeatable in four postseason starts. Or, as former Phillies first baseman John Kruk, previewing Monday's game on SportsCenter, put it: "Hamels is a Southern California kid. What comes out of Southern California? Scripts. The Phillies couldn't have scripted this any better." (What comes out of John Kruk's mouth? Poetry.)

Meanwhile, the Rays are playing like they have "OPPONENT" written across their chests—less a rival for a championship than an obstacle that will necessarily be overcome. Despite the fact that Tampa Bay's probably the better team—consider the 97-win regular season and a playoff victory over the defending champion Red Sox—there's still a sense in the stands that the visitors from the American League aren't deserving and aren't even quite real, a feeling that's natural when confronted by a squad that long decorated itself with fluorescent marine life. I'm guessing the Rays would also feel more authentic if they had a few fans: I count only three Tampa supporters all night, and it's possible that it's just the same person in several different sweatshirts.

It takes Tampa Bay about five minutes to live down to expectations. In the first inning, pitcher Andy Sonnanstine and third baseman Evan Longoria botch a rundown between third and home, costing the Rays a run. In the third, second baseman Akinori Iwamura can't coax an easy grounder into his glove, leading to another run. Tampa Bay manager Joe Maddon also seems to be trying out for the part of bumbling out-of-town rube (complete with an earflap-bedecked baseball cap that looks straight out of Mayberry). Going into the bottom of the fourth, the Rays trail just 2-1 despite Sonnanstine's remarkable inability to throw the ball in the vicinity of the catcher's glove. Rather than see this as an auspicious opportunity to go to the Rays' deep, well-rested bullpen, the usually sensible Maddon sticks with his starter. "Left Sonnanstine in too long?" I write in my notebook. A few seconds later, Ryan Howard hits a three-run, opposite-field homer to put the Phils up four. My response to myself: "Yeah, they left him in too long." (In defense of Joe Maddon, both guys the Rays had warming up in the bullpen at the start of the fourth inning eventually come in, and both eventually give up home runs—taking out Sonnanstine probably wouldn't have worked either.)

With the Rays looking lovably inept—they also seem to have lost the ability to hit, by the way—the one thing that's missing from this World Series is real antagonism. Of course, not every championship is contested between arch-enemies—I don't recall there being much of a blood feud between the White Sox and Astros or even between the Red Sox and Rockies last year. Still, it's telling that there are almost as many signs in the stands dedicated to dissing the Mets as there are to mocking Tampa Bay's cowbells and mohawks. (The lone dementedly Philly-style banner: "Do it for Steve Irwin, beat the Rays.") The only real hostility that the perpetually hostile Philadelphia faithful can muster is chanting "Eva, Eva" whenever Evan Longoria comes to bat—and who could resist that? (The Phils fans are getting positive affirmation on this front: Longoria has yet to get a hit in the World Series.)

At the start of the game, the fans stood and cheered and waved their complimentary white towels when the public-address announcer said they were about to show the crowd on television. After Howard's fourth-inning homer, nobody needs prodding. The rest of the night is a slow celebration. The rotund Joe Blanton—the pitcher!—homers on a line drive and takes the slowest home run trot I've ever seen. As he nears second base, he looks willing to sacrifice the run in order to get a reprieve from running the bases. In the eighth inning, Jayson Werth hits another liner over the left-field wall, and Howard skies one out of the park to right for his second of the night. Even the Phillie Phanatic nearly hits for the cycle, coming within a few inches of clipping both Rays base coaches with his undersized ATV.

With the Phillies on the verge of winning a title, you'd never think this town has a sad baseball history. Everyone's wearing burgundy, the buses all say, "Go Phillies!" where the destination should be, and the lead story on the local news is about someone who's fashioned his garden into a topiary Phils extravaganza. Just one more win, and the Phillies will have symmetrical championships: '80 and '08. Of course, it'll take just one more loss for baseball to be done in Philly for the year; if the Rays' Scott Kazmir can somehow beat Cole Hamels on Monday, they get to go back home and line up their best two starters—James Shields and Matt Garza—for Games 6 and 7. The Rays are certainly no joke, and the Phillies are no sure thing. On this night, though, they both could've fooled me.

CHARLOTTE, N.C.—North Carolina is certainly not a bellwether state. At the same time, it is almost certainly true that if Barack Obama wins North Carolina, he will win the presidency. A blue Carolina—the polls close at 7:30 p.m. ET, so we should know fairly soon on Tuesday—could precede a blue Missouri, Colorado, and Nevada. And while an Obama victory would be historic for the United States, it would be even more momentous for North Carolina.

The state has been reliably conservative for decades—Jimmy Carter was the last Democratic presidential candidate to carry North Carolina. Any conversation about change in the state's politics has to reckon with Jesse Helms, former head of the Senate intolerance committee, who represented the state for 30 years. Among the Democrats who failed to unseat him were Jim Hunt, the state's legendary governor; and Harvey Gantt, Charlotte's only black mayor. Helms' "Hands" campaign ad against Gantt has become the textbook example of race-baiting.

That legacy is part of the reason why no one expected North Carolina to be in play this year. But with only days remaining in the campaign, here we are, with the race effectively a dead heat. What happened? To try to get an idea, I spent some time with Obama and McCain volunteers working in and around Charlotte.

But part of the answer, of course, is—nothing happened. North Carolina has long had a strong Democratic Party. All but three of the state's governors since 1948 have been Democrats. More than half of the state legislators are Democrats. And a million years ago in this campaign, there was actually a North Carolina Democrat running for president.

It has now been 12 years since Helms was re-elected. (He retired in 2002 and died earlier this year.) Since 1996, North Carolina's population has jumped by more than 1.5 million people. Many of those folks are Democrats, primarily from New York and Florida, plus plenty of rust-belters from Ohio and Pennsylvania. The state ranks high on immigration, too; North Carolina's Hispanic population increased by 8 percent from July 2006 to July 2007.

All of which has contributed to a very tense election season in North Carolina. More than 30 cars had their tires slashed at an Obama rally in Fayetteville, the carcass of a baby bear was left on the campus of Western Carolina University with two Obama signs around its neck, and Republican Rep. Robin Hayes remarked that "liberals hate real Americans that work and accomplish and achieve and believe in God" as he introduced John McCain at a rally in Concord.

In addition to North Carolina being a sudden swing state in the presidential race, it's also busy with Senate and gubernatorial races. In 2002, Elizabeth Dole defeated Bill Clinton's former chief of staff by a nine-point margin to take Helms' place. But Dole has become less popular lately, dogged by a ranking as the 93^rd most effective senator and a report that in 2006, Dole spent just 13 days in the state. Dole's now running a few points behind state Sen. Kay Hagan, and the top of the ticket hasn't been able to give her much help. More than $17 million has been spent on ads in the state's Senate race alone. It's safe to say that any North Carolinian within sight of a TV has seen a few political ads.

So perhaps it's not surprising that Obama's infamous ground game still meets some resistance in densely Republican parts of the state. Though many Republican candidates are avoiding the party label, Republicans in North Carolina will tell you exactly what they are. In a campaign narrative that has pitted urban elites vs. rural voters in "real America," Charlotte falls right in the middle. The city is the second-biggest banking center in the United States, and nearly every tall building bears the mark of either Bank of America or Wachovia. Charlotte has been called "one big suburb," and it does feel that way—the small downtown is known as Center City, and then there's everything else, sprawling for miles and miles into South Carolina.

Charlotte's in the middle politically, too. Four years ago, Mecklenburg County went for Kerry, but just barely: 51.6 percent to Bush's 48 percent. The neighboring counties of Gaston and Union are often considered Charlotte's outskirts, and they voted for Bush by 68-32 and 70-30 margins, respectively, making them some of Bush's strongest counties in the state.

On Saturday, the Obama campaign rallied groups of canvassers at its main Charlotte office, tucked behind a Best Buy and a Target. Twice a day on the weekend, bands of volunteers are dispatched into Democratic parts of the city to get out the vote. (Early voting has already started, or residents can wait for Election Day.) But it's the hard sells that interest me, the Carolinians who still aren't quite sure about "that one."

So I go to an area called Ballantyne, 16 miles south of Charlotte's center. Ballantyne is a country club community, a four-star resort, and the most recent example of Charlotte's rapid growth. It looks like a suburb, but it's still within city limits.

A busload of Obama supporters from the George Washington University in Washington, D.C., has come to knock on doors. The weekend before, they were in Arlington, Va.; two weeks before that, they canvassed Columbus, Ohio. The students look young, confident, and like they just rode a bus down from Washington. A young Obama organizer named Punya gives them their orders.

Each pair is assigned 100 doors; the campaign is hoping to reach 10,000 doors by Election Day. Punya tells them just what is riding on their knocks: "Mecklenburg County and Union County are possibly the most important counties in North Carolina. You're working in the most important part of the state." She explains that they'll be talking to like-minded voters but not necessarily motivated ones: "The majority of people you'll be talking to are Democrats or undeclared. They're sporadic voters; they don't vote every year. We want them to vote this year."

I go with two of the students, Marc Friend and Alexa Pollock, to their assigned territory: a condo complex called Copper Ridge. There are entryways with about 16 buttons on each. So Marc and Alexa won't be knocking on doors, they'll be ringing buzzers, hoping folks will let them inside or come out for a chat.

This hope doesn't get them far. At least half the folks don't answer. Those who do respond are not very interested in talking to representatives from the North Carolina Democratic Party, which is how Marc and Alexa describe themselves. This doesn't seem like the best possible script—for undecideds, party politics wouldn't seem to be a big selling point. Marc and Alexa experiment with a number of variations and find more success once they start telling people that they are with the Kay Hagan campaign. Using Hagan's name casts the students as locals rather than the carpetbaggers they are, and they are treated with more courtesy than before.

Still, it would be an exaggeration to say they're welcome. At one point, a woman comes to the door and says: "You can't solicit in here. So stop ringing the buzzers."

After a phone consultation with Punya, who explains that political campaigns are exempt from no-soliciting policies as long as they don't post anything, Marc and Alexa move to the next doorway and ring another buzzer. The door clicks open, and a grandmother in a blue sweatshirt with a glittered design emerges. "We're here with the North Carolina Democratic Party," says Marc. "Y'all are in the wrong group!" she says. She's friendly but absolutely serious, and she affirms what has become clear: This is not Obama Land. And it does not want to be.

Marc explains to me why he's not discouraged. "It'd be nice if they could get North Carolina for Obama, but it's not crucial like Ohio or Pennsylvania," he says. "And if Obama wins—I should say when Obama wins—he'll need a Senate he can work with. Not necessarily 60, but 50-some. That's why we're working so hard for Kay here and [Al] Franken in Minnesota."

Later that day, I tag along with two McCain canvassers, who have better luck: Pam and Mike Wisniewski, a young married couple who live in North Charlotte. Like so many others in North Carolina, they grew up elsewhere—Pam in Florida, Mike in Michigan. Pam wears a Women for McCain T-shirt; Mike has one that says "McCain-Palin, Country First." We are in a neighborhood called Ashbrook, full of houses built in the 1950s, home to a lot of older residents: It is a McCain canvasser's dream. Mike and Pam skip the houses that already have McCain or Obama signs in the yard. Their script dictates that they say they're there on behalf of the McCain-Palin campaign—no mention of Liddy Dole—and then ask whether they can count on his or her support. This time around, people do come to the door, and many of them have either voted for McCain already or plan to.

Pam hands out fliers she's made about how Obama's tax plan will affect small businesses and agrees with an older Asian man that Obama should release his birth certificate. "My grandmother has her birth certificate from the 1920s," Mike says to me while the others chat. "So it's not that hard."

One gray-haired lady tells them she's already voted. "May we ask who you voted for?" Pam says. "You can ask, but I ain't going to tell you," the woman responds. Then she shows her hand. "All that brainpower won't get you through all the things McCain's been through. But I won't tell you who I'm voting for. You have a good day, and I think y'all are real smart to be doing this."

At a small apartment complex around the corner, a man engages them—but with frustration. "You're too late. I already voted," he says. May we ask who for? "It doesn't matter—there was nobody good to vote for. I was thinking of putting my own name in." He shakes his head. "It's a real disappointment."

The next day is a warm Sunday afternoon, and an Obama volunteer stands outside the door of the main library in downtown Charlotte handing out voting guides. The library is an early-voting site, and the line snakes up the stairs from the basement, where the polls are. One woman tells me she came here after spending an hour and a half waiting at a local community college; another couple says poll workers told them to come here because the line at their site was three hours long.

For everyone here, if there is a last-minute October surprise, it will come too late. It's getting late for John McCain, too: 1.6 million people have already voted in the state, and 54 percent of them have been Democrats, compared with 29 percent registered as Republicans. It's not necessarily damning since the polls could fill with Republicans on Election Day. But the numbers suggest an enthusiasm for Obama that McCain can't match.

Across town, it's game day, and Steve Hinson from Pineville holds up a huge McCain sign outside Bank of America Stadium, where the Carolina Panthers are about to kick off. He says he's worried that Obama might win Virginia but that McCain will eke out a victory in his state: "Most people we talk to are the silent supporters, not being as vocal or public as Obama supporters," he says. "Young people are a lot more vocal about what they believe."

If the vocal youth turn out big this year, that silent majority could become a minority. The state probably won't be a bright shade of Carolina blue for a while. But anyone will tell you the hues of the landscape are changing. Perhaps in 40 years, Ballantyne will be a Democratic canvasser's paradise.

BEAVER, Pa.—Pennsylvania is more a nation than a state, less a state than a confederation. Political science is wasted on the place because, just when the numbers are in and the formulas calculated, truculent locals do what they want in spite of themselves.

The old recipe worked this way: Philadelphia and western Pennsylvania would vote for whatever Democrat was on the ballot. This vote would be countered by Republican suburbs in four counties bordering Philly and by a rural, Republican "T" that comprised the counties in the state's center and stretched across its northern tier. This gave undecided voters powers bordering on the occult, and candidates appealed to them with the caution of a sinner creeping up on John the Baptist.

Pennsylvania's Democrats and Republicans were, at times, indistinguishable from one another. Democrats took care to wave the flag, preferably from the barrel of a hunting rifle pointed at an abortion clinic. Republicans courted labor unions and rarely engaged in the kind of Jesus jingoism practiced by their counterparts in other states.

All in all, this is a state whose politics are far middle and trending inward.

That middle-road extremism causes a few weird hostage trades as the parties overlap. Consider Jason Colangelo, who was in the crowd at a Sarah Palin rally last week, howling loudly for the heads of the Democrats—and all but begging me not to tell his father that he's voting Republican.

"The word Republican was a swear word in my house," he said, first giving his name as Jason Christopher before his sister Tami ratted him out.

Jason is fed up. He sees Barack Obama as an elitist with dubious flag cred. He was so infuriated at Rep. John Murtha's fierce criticism of Marines implicated in a massacre at Haditha, Iraq, that he vowed not to vote for him. I had to point out that Jason lives in the 4^th Congressional District. Murtha represents the 12^th.

Obama has a double-digit lead in almost every statewide poll, and cross-tabs from the polls pretty much show the state's east, especially the Philadelphia region, heavily favoring Obama. The center and north-central parts of the state are predictably McCain. In the west, where striking steelworkers once turned an old Civil War cannon on Pinkerton guards and angry farmers staged a rebellion against a tax on whiskey that had to be put down by the new federal government, a Survey USA poll shows Obama at 49 percent and John McCain at 46 percent.

That's nowhere near the reality of the registration figures. Gov. Ed Rendell, a Democrat who is skilled at spotting the landmines before running onto the battlefield, predicts that the western counties outside Allegheny—home to Pittsburgh—could easily tip to the GOP altogether.

This shift in the state's west was mirrored four years ago by a surprise in the four Republican counties adjacent to Philadelphia. Once depended upon to offset 6-to-1 vote margins for the Democrats in Philly, three of the suburban counties went for John Kerry. Republican women in those counties, economic conservatives but social liberals, ditched the GOP over abortion.

In many ways, those Republican women are the mirror image of western Pennsylvania Democrats, who four years ago leaned Republican so hard that counties such as Cambria and Greene tipped into the GOP column for the first time since George McGovern scared the blue out of their collars in 1972. Beaver County, which by registration is 2-to-1 Democrat, gave Kerry a scant 51 percent.

"These are inherently conservative areas that are a little bit, I suspect, skeptical about Obama," says Dick Thornburgh, the former governor and attorney general who hails from Pittsburgh. That skepticism, he cautions, is "not that they're against him so much, but they really don't know quite where he's going to lead the country."

This sense of edging gently into—or away from—the unknown is fundamental in how Pennsylvania moves: like a glacier heading into a cliff. You will, if you live long enough to witness it, see a cataclysmic shift. Your grandchildren might see the next.

In 1991, Thornburgh saw Republican counties switch to Democrat Harris Wofford, the wonky academic who defeated Thornburgh in a special Senate election to replace middle-road Republican John Heinz. That loss presaged President George H.W. Bush's defeat a year later, both in Pennsylvania and nationally.

Something's up this year, too—and it could mean a final revision of how Pennsylvania is read.

Philadelphia and its once-Republican suburbs have become Barack Obama's new address. McCain and Sarah Palin, who know they need to strip away one of Obama's leaner states to carry off an electoral majority, have been prowling the fields and mountains of western Pennsylvania like Elmer Fudd on the first day of rabbit season.

It is hard to tell if this is going to make any difference. In theory, peeling the state out of Obama's grasp by luring its western voters might work. But those voters trended Republican last time for a singular reason.

Consider Greene County, a bituminous stretch in the southwestern corner, bordering West Virginia and sounding a lot like it. Democrats have held sway there for generations because of the coal unions. And as coal jobs vanished and sons and daughters migrated to other states for work, what remained were retirees and older workers for whom pensions and Social Security obviated any economic issues. What remained were God, guns, and gays—issues patented in the last 20 years by the Republican Party.

These issues continue to hold sway throughout post-industrial Pennsylvania. But with the economy now tanking, it would not take a great deal to get these Pennsylvanians to revert to Democratic form. Similarly, those pro-business, pro-choice women in Bucks, Montgomery, and Delaware counties near Philadelphia might worry more about Obama's tax plans than about McCain's promise to appoint pro-life judges to the Supreme Court.

Add to all this economy vs. values nonsense the fact that Pennsylvania is barely a state in any sense of cohesion. Candidates running statewide must buy into multiple media markets. There is the Scranton-Wilkes Barre region, where New York TV stations and Yankees caps abound. Monroe County, a never-win for the Democrats, could be turned on its ear by the arrival of—brace yourselves—New York Democrats fleeing stratospheric housing prices.

Then there are Philadelphians, who often view themselves as their own city-state. (Writer David Bradley, when I called him for comment on an election 20 years ago, told me, "Do you know what Philadelphia thinks the state is for? The lottery.") Erie and the northwest are as likely to tune into Cleveland or Buffalo as Pittsburgh. Central Pennsylvania breaks, both ethnically and culturally, into a couple of places, ranging from the Pennsylvania Dutch country, where Lancaster County voters have long been Republican, to isolated valley towns such as Johnstown, which exists as almost its own media market. (It is a small one.)

What Pennsylvanians have in common is their lack of commonality. And it is along those dividing lines that each campaign is hoping to work the plate tectonics of our 21 electoral votes.

Not many people see this dynamic as it is being worked out. One of the few who does is Rendell, the state's blunt-as-a-knuckle governor and the former chairman of the Democratic National Committee. He pushed the Obama camp to send its candidate back into the state, at one point dispatching a tart memorandum to the campaign. Rendell knows that some Republicans in the Philly suburbs could return to the fold and that guys like Jason Colangelo could decamp from their party in anger at Obama and the charms of La Palin. Most of all, he is sufficiently unscientific enough in his politics to believe that campaigning actually gets a candidate votes, and McCain has been campaigning here like crazy.

The Republican strategy in Pennsylvania has focused largely on wooing veterans and social conservatives, trying to raise questions about Obama's religion and Americanism, and attempting to reconnect white voters with their residual fears. They stumbled last week when Ashley Todd, a 20-year-old McCain volunteer from Texas, told police she had been mugged at a cash machine in a Pittsburgh neighborhood and that her black assailant—let's call him Joe the Robber—flew into a rage when he saw the McCain sticker on her car. Todd said the robber held her down and scratched a "B" into her right cheek. Police noticed the "B" was carved backward, suggesting it might have been done by dyslexic assassins hired by the Democrats or, perhaps, by Miss Todd using a mirror. She ultimately confessed to a hoax.

Things did not improve the following week. State party officials fired Bryan Rudnick, a consultant, who dispatched an e-mail to 75,000 Jewish voters here invoking the risk of another Holocaust if Obama were elected. "Jewish Americans cannot afford to make the wrong decision on Tuesday," it read. "Many of our ancestors ignored the warning signs in the 1930s and 1940s and made a tragic mistake. Let's not make a similar one this year!"

Following Obama's Pennsylvania operation is like watching John F. Kennedy run for president using Walter Mondale's staff. When Palin gave a speech in Pittsburgh bizarrely suggesting that Obama wanted to tax trust funds set up by families to see to the needs of their special-needs children once their parents are gone, it took all day to get an "official" response from the Obama camp. When it came, it consisted of a boilerplate denial that wandered back into the canned rhetoric about how Obama only wants to raise taxes on families taking in $250,000 a year. It was an answer so lacking in succinctness as to be useless.

The closest I got to something printable was the initial remark from Obama's statewide spokesman, who said: "This is crazy. She's just making stuff up." Indeed, she was. And when I quoted him, he sent off a frantic e-mail demanding that I take down his comments because they were not the authorized, vanilla-pudding response.

Such smugness doesn't sit well with Rendell, who operated as a human hammer on behalf of Hillary Clinton in the primary and has since dedicated himself to being the same for Obama. Looking at both the polling numbers in the west and the nonstop string of McCain-Palin visits, he sent a message to the Obama staff. "I said, 'Forget the polls. We need you back here. We need Senator Obama here and we need President Clinton and we need Hillary here,' " Rendell said.

On Tuesday, Obama was in Pittsburgh. Bill Clinton was scheduled for a visit to a neighboring county. Rendell is, if nothing else, a man who knows how to read and win his state. Or even his states.

John McCain is in big trouble in Ohio. It's not just that the poll-tracking sites show Barack Obama ahead, with leads of five to six points, after averaging the various polls. In a less scientific but historically accurate indicator—which has correctly predicted the winner of Ohio's electoral votes the past six elections—McCain is also getting thumped in the Busken presidential cookie poll. Busken is a family-run bakery in Cincinnati, and every election since 1984, it has sold iced cookies bearing images of the presidential candidates' faces. As of today, Obama is outselling McCain at Busken's 19 stores by a cookie margin of more than 2-to-1.

But the margin isn't what strikes Brian Busken, the state's foremost analyst of politics and baked goods (and the company's vice president of marketing). Busken says he's never seen turnout—er, sales—like this. "We started selling them earlier this election because the election has been such a hot topic, and this is by far the most cookies we've sold in any election year." So far the bakery has sold almost 12,000 presidential cookies.

Good news for Busken's bottom line is bad news for the McCain campaign. No Republican has ever won the presidency without taking Ohio. Further, the Buckeye State isn't just a swing state. It's a bellwether. And for good reason: Ohio is a microcosm of the nation. According to the Census Bureau, Ohioans graduate from high school, go to college, have children, shop, and buy homes in numbers almost mirroring national averages. Our median income is $43,371; the national median is $44,334. Our population breakdown is slightly whiter than the United States as a whole, but we have just as many women-owned and black-owned business as elsewhere. Even our commute is almost identical to the national average. (And we're probably all listening to the same bad music or talk radio for those 23 minutes in the car.) The state is utterly Midwestern, but it borders—and is influenced by—the Northeast (New York and Pennsylvania) and the South (West Virginia and Kentucky).

And the Obama campaign is competing in almost every corner of it, says David Wilhelm, Bill Clinton's campaign manager in 1992 and former chairman of the Democratic National Committee. An Ohio native, he's now informally advising the Obama campaign. "It's a fair criticism" that the Kerry campaign devoted too many resources to "the three Cs," says Wilhelm, referring to Hamilton County, Franklin County, and Cuyahoga County, home to Cincinnati, Columbus, and Cleveland, respectively. He notes that the three counties account for less than 30 percent of the general election vote while the next nine largest counties, home to medium-sized cities like Toledo, Youngstown, Canton, and Dayton, make up another 30 percent of the population. The rest is small towns and rural residents.

All that said, Kerry lost to Bush by only about 120,000 votes. That sounds like a lot, but as the Obama campaign likes to point out, that's only 10 votes per precinct.

Obama, with local volunteers on the ground in every county, has good reason to be confident. Campaigning across the state and relying on local volunteers worked for Bush in 2004, and trekking into places where Democrats hadn't bothered before was a key to victory for Democrats in the 2006 election. Democratic Gov. Ted Strickland might have won anyhow—he was running against Ken Blackwell, the secretary of state in the unpopular Bob Taft administration. But fellow Democrat Sherrod Brown unseating Mike DeWine in the Senate was more surprising.

The benefits to the Democrats of Strickland's and Brown's victories are twofold. First, they laid the groundwork for Obama's strategy. Second, they've re-energized Ohio's Democratic Party and helped provide an infrastructure for the Obama campaign to work with. Strickland was a Hillary Clinton supporter during the primaries but quickly threw his weight behind Obama once he was declared the nominee. And both politicians have stumped tirelessly for Obama.

"The one big difference between now and four years ago," says Wilhelm, is "the election of Ted Strickland, Sherrod Brown, the emergence of a strong party, a governor who cares about that party, a senator who cares about that party. One thing that has been absent this year is the turf wars, the infighting that was part of the deal in Ohio in the past."

But it's not just infrastructure and strategy. Obama is popular because Ohioans, like most Americans, trust him more on the economy. Ohio has withstood a net loss of more than 200,000 jobs since 2000, with more than 236,000 manufacturing jobs disappearing. During the primaries, Obama slammed NAFTA in his Ohio appearances, blaming the trade agreement for killing 50,000 jobs.

And then, aside from matters of policy or strategy, there's the enthusiasm factor. Democrats are genuinely excited about Barack Obama. The Obama voters I talked to cited the need for "change" and how they were taken with his ideas. "I feel strongly about this election," says Eric Sidle, a second-year law student at Case Western Reserve in Cleveland. "Barack Obama is a liberal who doesn't run away from his liberal ideals."

So, to review: Voters are excited about Obama. They trust him more to fix the economy. And he has a better organization and deeper pockets than John Kerry did against George Bush in 2004. What, if anything, does John McCain have going for him?

In a word: cookies. In past presidential cookie polls, Busken made cookies of only the presidential candidates. This year, by popular demand, it is also selling vice-presidential cookies. Busken didn't have specific poll (I mean sales) numbers for me. But based on what I've seen in my encounters with voters, as well as my visits to the bakery, I'll make a prediction: At least a few reluctant Republicans who aren't excited about John McCain will vote for him because they are enthralled with Sarah Palin.

McCain's decision to introduce Palin as his running mate at Wright State University's Nutter Center in Dayton was coincidental (the rally was announced on Aug. 18, by all reports before he decided on Palin) but fortuitous. Ohio gave Hillary Clinton one of her last big primary victories. If one of McCain's goals was to pry away some of those disgruntled Hillary voters, and to do so with someone running as a "heartlander," he couldn't have picked a better location.

"The day she and John McCain appeared at the Nutter Center, there was an instant surge in the number of volunteers," says former Sen. Mike DeWine, chairman of McCain's Ohio campaign. In Summit County alone, he says, home to Akron, 112 people called to volunteer that same afternoon. (In the previous week, it had received a total of four calls.)

It's hard to say whether a significant number of Hillary voters have defected to McCain. But the ones who have done so are heartfelt and outspoken. I attended a Palin rally in early October in Wilmington, and one of the warm-up speakers was "Cynthia from Columbus," who said McCain appealed to her because of his bipartisanship, his experience, and his judgment. And standing in front of me were Lynn and Andrea King, a mother and daughter who supported Clinton during the primaries but now plan to vote for McCain.

"We were very angry that Obama didn't pick her as vice president," Andrea said. "We were angry to begin with that she didn't win the primary." Lynn said her support for the Republican Party may outlast this campaign. "I have a real bad taste in my mouth for Democrats right now, for the way they treated Hillary Clinton," she said. "And then after she was a dead horse, they said, 'Oh, she'd have made a great president.' She was treated poorly by her own people."

For their part, the Democrats I talked to are not too worried about disgruntled Clinton supporters tipping the state for McCain. And there are surely many voters like Niti Patel of Cincinnati, who said that, while Hillary never appealed to her, the selection of Palin drove her into the Obama camp. "I was wavering between Obama and McCain until he picked her. She's just. …" She trailed off, unable to find the right words.

There's no denying, though, that Palin has fired up a part of the Republican base that was wavering in its support of McCain. And it's fired up the women in the party. There were significantly more women than men in the crowd at that rally in Wilmington. And a good many were decked out or accessorized in pink. Pink T-shirts with the GOP elephant and "It's a girl." Black T-shirts with "Read my lipstick" in pink lettering. There was even a woman whose resemblance to Palin inspired her to dress up like the governor, complete with the black power suit, half-upswept hairdo, and oversized flag pin.

More significant, perhaps, was the enthusiasm of the women who spoke before Palin. They got the crowd cheering louder.

Before the rally, I met Lois Lomley and Shirley Schulz in the long line snaking into the conference center. Both were wearing "Read my lipstick" T-shirts. Before McCain chose Palin, "my vote was more based on the issues," Lomley says. "But she's a quick study and a breath of fresh air. She's accomplished so much."

For all the controversy about Palin's invocation of the "heartland" theme and her small-town and "real America" rhetoric, it's not turning off anyone who is inclined to support her. Even when she steps off the campaign bus to make a quick stop at Wal-Mart to buy diapers for Trig, as she did in Gallipolis a few weeks ago, she creates a sensation.

DeWine was with her that day. "When you put 12,000 people in an open field in Belmont County, which is historically a Democrat county going back 100 years, that's a lot of people," he says. "She's energizing a large number of volunteers. The reason is that she's real. … She's authentic. That's really the attraction."

Of course, hers is not the only name on the ticket. The one thread of a silver lining in the latest Quinnipiac poll of Ohio, which shows Obama with a 14-point lead, is that voters trust McCain more on foreign policy. That's why Marshall Lilly, a moderate independent who's a nonproliferation officer in the office of Iranian affairs at the State Department, is supporting McCain. (He'll vote absentee in Ohio, as he recently moved to Washington and is very careful to clarify that his opinions are his own and that he's not speaking on behalf of the State Department.) "I think we saw the consequences of having a very inexperienced president and a very experienced, strong, and forceful vice president with Bush and Cheney," he says. "That's not something I would like to see repeated."

It may not be the most ringing endorsement of Republican stewardship. Then again, the McCain campaign will take its support where it can get it—and it's at pains to show that it's not giving up. The Ohio Newspaper Poll shows Obama leading the state by three points but has McCain leading by significant margins in southern and central Ohio, and he and Palin are fighting particularly hard in those areas. McCain and/or Palin has made more than two dozen stops in the state since August.

All of which is encouraging to state campaign chairman Mike DeWine. Either that or he's just keeping up a brave face. "We're going to carry Ohio," he says, in one of the most unsurprising statements of the campaign.

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As with every election, the Busken presidential cookie pool has its rules, caveats, and provisos. The company takes phone orders and will ship the cookies anywhere in the United States, but only cookies purchased in its Cincinnati-area stores count toward the election total. And big purchases—like the 200 cookies that Rob Portman, former U.S. trade representative and director of the OMB in the Bush administration, sent to the McCain campaign—don't count either. "We don't allow them to stuff the ballot boxes," Busken says.

With the election just a week away, both campaigns are making their final arguments to voters. The details differ, but the basic message is the same: This election is all about you. Far be it from us to shatter anyone's illusions.

In reality, this election is not about just any old average voter anymore—if it ever was in the first place. As the clock ticks down, both the Obama and McCain campaigns are making a final push to win over a very small slice of remaining swing voters.

Which raises the question: Are you a swing voter? Being undecided is not enough, in itself, for membership. In fact, very few Americans, at this late hour, still qualify for the club. Think you have what it takes? Slate's handy Swing Voter Calculator can help you figure out whether you make the cut.

As Slate's John Dickerson wrote last month, the state you live in is by far the most important factor in whether the campaigns will give you any love. Your personal characteristics could make you the swingiest of swingers, based on opinion polls of people like you—but if you live in Alabama, you're simply not worth the campaigns' time at this late hour. That's the reality of the Electoral College system, and for that reason the calculator weighs your home state more heavily than anything else.

At the same time, not all swing voters are created equal. Florida may be close in the polls, but if you're a black woman with a postgraduate degree, you lose serious points on the swing scale. (Such voters tend to favor Obama by a wide margin.) Late in the game, it also matters whether there are a lot of people like you in your state, a figure represented by the blue meter at the top, which is set to a default of 33 percent—roughly the average value for the many different combinations of characteristics. The campaigns need to be as efficient as possible with only a few days left, and they don't have time to go after small pockets of swing voters that represent a fractional number of people in a given state. You gain points on this calculator if there are a lot of people who share your characteristics in your state, as displayed by the first meter.

Needless to say, this calculator is only an approximation of complex voting behavior, which can only partially be predicted by a person's age, education, race, and so forth. The application's behavior is based entirely on polls, with the needle moving left or right based on how closely each state and demographic is divided between Obama and McCain. With a week to go before the election, the needle had better be pretty far to the right if you hope to get any attention from the candidates.

Sources: Gallup, Pollster, RealClearPolitics, the Census Bureau, the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life.

Design by Natalie Matthews. Programming by Chris Wilson.

A couple of weeks ago, TechCrunch, a blog that hit it big by chronicling the rising fortunes of Web startups, launched a decidedly downbeat new feature: a layoff tracker. Silicon Valley insiders have long wondered how deeply an economic downturn might hurt tech firms; after all, companies here in the Bay Area weathered the worst of the last recession, and since then, they've all adopted leaner, less profligate business practices. (E.g., there are no more Super Bowl ads featuring sock puppets.) But hard times are here again. Venture capital firms are telling their clients to batten down the hatches because free money is gone. Share prices for the biggest tech companies have plummeted over the past year. Per TechCrunch, dozens of companies have announced plans to let go of more than 24,000 workers, and no one doubts more cuts are coming soon. Even Google's fabled free-food privileges are being cut back.

The worst-hit companies are the smallest—the startups that are the star players in the Valley's recurring tragedy of flameout and rebirth. With the market down and the financial sector in distress, startups that launched with only the haziest plans for making money now have nowhere to go. Young entrepreneurs flock to Silicon Valley to win billion-dollar IPOs or to sell out to Google or Microsoft for huge sums, but neither option is feasible anymore. Now startups have to think of other ways to make money. The bad news is that the Web economy is dominated by advertising dollars, and advertising often suffers during a recession. So what to do? In the absence of ads, an IPO market, venture capital funding, and guaranteed acquisition, how can startups make any money?

Allow me to propose something crazy. Tech companies should start charging people to use their services. No, seriously. Let's take the biggest example of a Web site that has no clear path to profitability: Facebook. The social network attracts more than 100 million "active users" around the world, but as of now—as even its founder Mark Zuckerberg admits—it's still looking for a "business model" (that is, a way to make tons more money than it spends).

But let me say that again: 100 million people use Facebook regularly. Judging from some of the folks in my social network, a sizable minority of Facebook users have hundreds of "friends" and check in to the site multiple times a day—call them superactive users. Let's imagine that Facebook became a tiered service. A free plan would limit you to 200 friends, one status update per day, or some other non-Draconian combination of restrictions. But for $5 a month, the limits would be lifted. Certainly, many users would balk; tens of thousands would join Facebook groups to protest the new pay model. Let's assume that 95 percent of users will refuse to pay a dime. That still leaves 5 percent, or 5 million people, to pay $60 a year. That's $300 million in the bank.

I confess that I didn't come up with the idea for this radical business model on my own. I stole it from David Heinemeier Hansson, a developer at the innovative Web software company 37signals, a firm that has long proselytized the advantages of asking people to pay for stuff. The firm makes a tidy sum by charging small businesses—companies in what it calls the Fortune 5 Million—$50 or $100 a month to use its suite of excellent project-management and collaboration apps.

"We've found out that having a price is really cool for making profits," Hansson pointed out last spring in an entertaining presentation called "The Secret to Making Money Online." "You have customers, they pay you money for the product or service, and you get profits! It's almost too simple to work." Of course, 37signals didn't come up with this idea on its own, either: "I've heard that over time—hundreds of years actually—this has been how most businesses have made their money. But somehow that notion got lost in the Web world."

But wait a minute, you might be thinking. That can't really work—perhaps Facebook can make a few hundred million dollars a year by charging people to use its site, but Facebook's investors have valued the company at $15 billion. Facebook harbors Google-like aspirations of changing every facet of society—by mapping our social relationships, it aims to alter how we make friends, how we do business, how we understand the world around us. That sounds like a very grand plan, a plan that deserves to make billions—not just a few hundred million.

But does it? What exactly is so bad about making a few hundred million a year? Is that anything to scoff at? A strange delusion overtakes the tech industry in good times. When entrepreneurs see a few startups selling for billions—in 2006, Google snapped up money-losing YouTube for $1.6 billion—they believe that they, too, can realize billion-dollar dreams, and in the process they overlook million-dollar opportunities. "People tend not to look closely at the odds," Hansson told me. "There will always be people winning the lottery, but that doesn't mean a good financial strategy is to go out and buy lots of lottery tickets."

Instead of taking a heap of venture capital money—lottery tickets—in the hope of one day getting a huge payout, Hansson says that Web entrepreneurs would be better off starting their businesses in the way most offline entrepreneurs do: Use a small amount of seed capital to make a good product that appeals to a client base that is willing to pay you for it. Then, over time, use the money you make from your customers to improve the product or to create more products—allowing you to attract more paying customers, which then lets you invest more into the business, and so on. It's a cycle that has proved quite successful over the millenniums that humans have engaged in economic activity.

Hansson calls this the neighborhood Italian restaurant model of Web commerce: It's a lot easier to start a nice neighborhood restaurant than it is to start the best Italian restaurant in the world (the Google of restaurants). But just like their bigger brothers, neighborhood Italian restaurants make money. Sure, they don't make as much as the best restaurants in the world, but they do well enough—and it's not nearly as much of a headache to run a neighborhood restaurant as it is to run a place where investors, critics, and the world's press are breathing down your neck.

Indeed, launching a small business online is much easier than starting one offline. Startup costs have plummeted over the last few years; using application-hosting services from Google or Amazon, one or two smart developers can cobble together a Web app with just a few thousand dollars. And the Web offers numerous ways to charge for your wares. Like 37signals, you can levy a subscription fee. But Hansson points to other firms that have seen success with different strategies. Freshview, a software company based in Australia, runs a service called Campaign Monitor that manages e-mail newsletters. There's no subscription fee; you just pay per use—a flat fee of $5 plus $.01 for every recipient. (E.g., sending a newsletter to 4,500 subscribers would cost you $50.) The Web also lets businesses offer tiered pricing. FaxIt Nice, a clever startup that lets you send faxes from your computer, charges $4.99 to send a single fax or $.18 per page if you buy in bulk.

The beauty of such small Web businesses is that they are well-positioned to survive downturns. Software from 37signals replaces collaboration tools that cost thousands of dollars; as IT departments around the country shrink, Hansson predicts that his software will increase its market share. Contrast that to the fate of Web firms that rely on advertising to make money: When the economy turns sour, large clients will stop buying ads, and suddenly the Web firms are sunk.

Hansson told me that many aspiring Web entrepreneurs thanked him for the presentation he gave last spring. "Many felt that being in San Francisco, they were being pushed to start the next billion-dollar social-viral-whatever thing, and if they were not doing that—if they were just trying to think about a business that makes money—they got the feeling that they were doing it wrong," he says.

Since then, however, Hansson has seen some evidence that rationality is coming back to the startup world. Consider the nascent microblogging sector. The much-ballyhooed startup Twitter now has more than a million users, but it still has no way to earn a single penny from them. But in September, a new microblogging service hit the Web. Yammer is pretty much identical to Twitter except in one major way—it charges businesses a fee to manage employees' Yammering. It's unclear whether this is the right model, but at least it's a model—something Twitter might have thought of, Hansson notes, if it hadn't been given a free ride by investors. Incidentally, Twitter seems to have heeded the message; the company says it'll reveal its business model next year. Hopefully that won't be too late.

Over the last couple of months, John McCain has launched at least a dozen automated phone campaigns that question Barack Obama's alleged ties to terrorists, among other charges. McCain, who was famously targeted by ugly robo-calls in the 2000 presidential primary, defends his effort as "totally accurate." Several Republicans have criticized the calls. Even Sarah Palin says she doesn't much like them. The Obama campaign has scolded McCain to stop the phone campaign; Obama has even launched his own robo-calls to denounce McCain's robo-calls.

With all this Sturm und Drang, you might think that automated phone calls will make a difference in the presidential race. They won't. Robo-calls are the pyrotechnics of politics: They create a big disturbance, but they don't have a prolonged effect. Numerous studies of robo-call campaigns show that they're ineffective both as tools of mobilization and persuasion—they don't convince voters to go to the polls (or to stay away), and they don't change people's minds about which way to vote. So why do campaigns run robo-calls? Because they're cheap and easy. Telemarketing firms charge politicians between 2 and 5 cents per completed robo-call; that's as low as $20,000 to reach 1 million voters right in their homes.

Compared with TV advertising, door-to-door canvassing, and mega-rallies, automated phone calls are seductive because they harness modern telecommunications technology in the service of political persuasion. That being said, it's Obama's campaign, not McCain's, that has hit upon the cheapest effective way of contacting voters via the phone: text messaging. During the last two years, Obama has collected hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of cell phone numbers from loyal supporters and new registrants. Now his campaign is sending out text messages to people across the country—the texts remind people to register to vote, to go to the polls, and to organize others on behalf of the campaign.

On the surface, these texts don't seem that different from robo-calls—they're both automated messages and both easy to ignore. But for reasons that aren't completely understood, text messaging is different: We pay attention to short messages that pop up on our phones.

These conclusions arise out of work by Donald Green and Alan Gerber, two political scientists at Yale whose book, Get Out the Vote: How To Increase Voter Turnout, is considered the bible of voter mobilization efforts. Green and Gerber are the product of a wave of empiricism that has washed over political science during the past decade. Rather than merely theorizing about how campaigns might get people to vote, Green, Gerber, and their colleagues favor randomized field experiments to test how different techniques work during real elections. Their method has much in common with double-blind pharmaceutical studies: With the cooperation of political campaigns (often at the state and local level), researchers randomly divide voters into two categories, a treatment group and a control group. They subject the treatment group to a given tactic—robo-calls, e-mail, direct mail, door-to-door canvassing, etc. Then they use statistical analysis to determine whether voters in the treatment group behaved differently from voters in the control group.

Political scientists have run dozens of such studies during the past few years, and the work has led to what you might call the central tenet of voter mobilization: Personal appeals work better than impersonal ones. Having campaign volunteers visit voters door-to-door is the "gold standard" of voter mobilization efforts, Green and Gerber write. On average, the tactic produces one vote for every 14 people contacted. The next-most-effective way to reach voters is to have live, human volunteers call them on the phone to chat: This tactic produces one new vote for every 38 people contacted. Other efforts are nearly worthless. Paying human telemarketers to call voters produces one vote for every 180 people contacted. Sending people nonpartisan get-out-the-vote mailers will yield one vote per 200 contacts. (A partisan mailer is even less effective.)

Meanwhile, pinning leaflets to doors, sending people e-mail, and running robo-calls produced no discernible effect on the electorate. Green and Gerber cite many robo-call studies, but the most definitive is a test they ran during the 2006 Republican primary in Texas. Gov. Rick Perry recorded a call praising a state Supreme Court candidate as a true conservative. The robo-call was "microtargeted" to go out only to Perry supporters—people who'd be most open to his message. But as Green and Gerber show, Perry supporters who received the call reacted no differently from those who'd been kept off the list. They were no more likely to vote, nor, if they voted, to vote for Perry's candidate.

These findings create an obvious difficulty for campaigns: It's expensive and time-consuming to run the kind of personal mobilization efforts that science shows work best. Green and Gerber estimate that a door-canvassing operation costs $16 per hour, with six voters contacted each hour; if you convince one of every 14 voters you canvass, you're paying $29 for each new voter. A volunteer phone bank operation will run you even more—$38 per acquired voter. This is the wondrous thing about text-messaging: Studies show that text-based get-out-the-vote appeals win one voter for every 25 people contacted. That's nearly as effective as door-canvassing, but it's much, much cheaper. Text messages cost about 6 cents per contact—only $1.50 per new voter.

Not much is known about the specifics of Obama's text-messaging operation (the campaign did not respond to my request for comment). We do know that the campaign compiled its list of cell numbers in two main ways. First, the campaign has requested mobile numbers of new voters at registration drives. Then, late in the summer, the Obama camp got a huge haul of mobile numbers through a clever gimmick surrounding Obama's V.P. pick—if you texted the campaign, Obama promised to text you back as soon as he'd made his choice.

I joined Obama's text list around that time. (I would have joined McCain's text message list as well, but he doesn't have one.) Since then, I've received two or three messages a week from the Obama campaign. A typical one: "Help Barack. Tell your friends & family the last day to register to vote in CA is this Monday, Oct 20th! Visit VoteForChange.com to register NOW. Please forward."

The texts reminded me to watch the convention and the debates and to donate money to the Red Cross when Hurricane Gustav hit. In September, Obama asked me to text him my ZIP code. I did, and now I get location-specific messages—alerts to phone banks and debate-watching parties in my area, reminders of registration deadlines in my state, and appeals for me to volunteer in neighboring states. The messages are rendered in a friendly, professional tone (they refer to the candidate as Barack) and have been free of both fundraising appeals and any kind of negative campaigning.

The beauty of text messaging is that it is both automated and personalized. This is true of e-mail, too, but given the flood of messages you get each day (no small amount from Obama), you're probably more attuned to ignoring e-mail. Text messages show up on a device that you carry with you all day long—and because you probably get only a handful of them each day, you're likely to read each one.

This is especially true when the message seems to have been tailored to you specifically—Obama's often are. The campaign knows a lot about me: At the least, it knows that I live in California, and because I joined the text-message list in order to learn the V.P. pick, that I'm fairly interested in politics (and therefore likely to vote). It's possible that they might know even more; given my ZIP code and my phone number, they could potentially have tied my text-message account to my voter registration file, allowing the campaign to send me messages based on my party registration, whether I usually vote by mail, and whether I sometimes forget to vote. (It doesn't appear that the campaign knows what's in my registration file, though; I'm registered as a permanent absentee voter, but the campaign hasn't asked me to mail in my ballot yet.)

Because text messages allow for such precise targeting, it seems likely that over the next week the Obama campaign will direct its appeals to voters in battleground states, especially first-time voters that the campaign has registered during the past year. In 2006, political science grad students Aaron Strauss and Allison Dale studied how newly registered voters responded to text-message reminders sent out just before the election. The text messages increased turnout by 3.1 percentage points. Strauss says there's a simple reason why: "The most prevalent excuse for registered voters who don't cast a ballot is, 'I'm too busy' or 'I forgot.' Texting someone is a convenient, targeted, and noticeable reminder for them to schedule their Election Day activities with a block of time set aside for going to the polling place." In a post-election survey, Strauss and Dale asked voters whether they found the text messages helpful; 59 percent said yes.

Obama's campaign seems to know these lessons well. During the primaries, the campaign sent out multiple messages to supporters during Election Day; they'll do the same next week. There's some question about whether text messages will continue to be effective beyond this election—if telemarketing companies can get ahold of our cell numbers and we get barraged by political spam, text-based mobilization efforts may eventually become as useless as robo-calls. At the moment, though, we're in thrall to our cell phones—and when Obama texts you next Tuesday, you'll have a hard time saying no.

Even the most ardent fans of 30 Rock (NBC, Thursdays at 9:30 p.m. ET) will concede that it doesn't look its sharpest as its third season opens. Only the most churlish will be much put out by this, though. A relatively flat episode of Tina Fey's backstage farce is still the fizziest thing in prime-time comedy, and some strategic broadening of the humor can only help widen the audience of the show that ended last season in, by at least one ratings measure, 113^th place. Having demonstrated the integrity of its anarchic archness and dart-gun wit, 30 Rock earned the right to crass things up a bit.

Thus, the season premiere returns us to a land where the natives (a bit cuddlier than we'd remembered) clamber across a comic landscape rendered somewhat more crudely than before. Fey's Liz Lemon—the head writer on the show-within-the-show, two parts Mary Richards, one part Oscar Madison—enters the scene swinging her purse through the deco heaven of Rockefeller Plaza. Brightly pretty, in contrast to her prettily schlubby normal presentation, childless Liz is dolled up for a meeting with an official from an adoption agency. Megan Mullally, late of Will & Grace, plays the adoption screener with her usual big brassiness, a kind of Broadway glare that washes out the show's more finely shaded absurdity. The central theme of Mullally's story line is head trauma—not necessarily a leading indicator of refinement.

Next week's plot contrives to introduce Liz to 30 Rock's fanciest guest star yet. Goofy on sleeping pills in her first-class plane seat, Liz drools, almost literally, over a seatmate named Oprah. Within the radius of Ms. Winfrey's aura, Liz blusters and babbles with the force of a 4-year-old swooning on Santa's lap. The show has its celebrity worship both ways, refreshing a joke about the talk show host's celestial glow even as it basks cozily in it.

All the while, Liz and her boss at NBC, Alec Baldwin's Jack Donaghy, continue their fine squabbling, with its hints of Tracy-Hepburn tension and father-daughter dueling. First, a recently humbled Jack must seize control of his old job (which may involve, in contravention of his moral code, submitting to the sexual advances of a sexless gray lump). Then he needs to quash a scandal (proceeding from the fictionalized network's having faked, for the sake of ratings, such Olympic events as synchronized running and octuples tennis). Jack's ethical misadventures reflect, maybe, writers'-room fretting about the compromises required to thrive in the business of show, and that's swell: The brief vision of an Olympic tetherbell bout is the kind of silliness that needs no defense. The user-friendly new 30 Rock, making a virtue of its anxieties, may well worry its way to success.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta (Bravo, Tuesday at 9 p.m. ET) is the third iteration of a reality-soap franchise that documents the most exhilarating developments in nouveau riche vulgarity. The original concentrates on five women living safe behind the jewel-encrusted battlements of a gated community in Orange County, Calif., where they make stabs at being adequate parents while attempting, surgically and sartorially, to extend their own girlhoods. The second installment features the smooth, hard shells and delightfully pathetic affectations of a makeshift clique in New York City. These dames exist to caricature the pretensions of every status-minded Gothamite short of Mrs. Astor; at times, the follies seem designed to inspire New Yorkers to renounce all possessions but the cab fare to the admissions office of the nearest ashram, kibbutz, or ascetical sleep-away camp. One might almost forgive the good citizens of Atlanta if they reacted to Bravo's depiction of their city by reanimating William T. Sherman so that he could burn it down again.

The latest edition, with its predominantly black cast, brings some fresh flavor to this little empire's examination of expensive bad taste. The producers have encouraged their subjects—it can have required only the slightest effort of persuasion—and edited their footage such that the central plot of The R.H. of A. is a duel between divas. The more unappealing of the two is stern, cold, leonine, faintly desperate Sheree, who explained early on that she is in the process of divorcing an NFL offensive tackle and expecting a handsome lump-sum settlement. The lifestyle to which she has become accustomed is quite silly. Her entourage includes a "PR girl" (plainly seen to be subcompetent) and a "creative director" (presumably deranged). In the first episode, a shopgirl convinced Sheree to buy a purse by alleging that the cowhide—or snakeskin, or raptor pelt, whatever it was—had been treated with Botox. I dare you to imagine what the aesthetic qualities of a product boasting such a selling point might be. And I am secure in the knowledge that Sheree, owning one, knows that she's better than me. "I was upper-middle-class growing up," she says, "but I left that behind."

Her nemesis, the bubbly NeNe, claims far humbler origins, if her hootchie-ish attire and lively inattention to bourgeois propriety are fair indications. NeNe has elevated bralessness to a state of mind. She is the fun-loving type, and why not? Her husband, a local real-estate mogul, only occasionally scolds her for thinking of ordering carbohydrates at dinner. Preparing to attend a party at Sheree's, NeNe dressed with the intent to upstage—only to discover, at the door, that her name had been "accidentally" omitted from the list. Circumstances instead required NeNe to stand there in the driveway and yelp profanely at the publicist while the valet brought the Range Rover back around.

The other Atlanta "housewives"—the term here has no coherent meaning outside scare quotes—are DeShawn, Kim, and Lisa. Tender DeShawn, wife of baby-faced point guard Eric Snow, is new in town. Good help being hard to find these days, she spends much of her screen time interviewing prospective "estate managers" and overseeing the whining of her children while the personal chef makes them pancakes. Brazen Kim is supported by an unseen sugar daddy—"he's a great friend and a great provider"—and passes time between assignations by toying with a career in country music. There's a lovely moment when, receiving a record producer at the front door, she chucks her cigarette behind the hedge. Lisa, a real-estate agent, would be the most likable of the women by a long stretch if she weren't such a sickeningly indefatigable go-getter. She snared her husband in near-record speed, meeting and marrying an NFL linebacker in the space of 53 days. They just had a kid. "Having a 9-month-old, it revives you," she beams. Then she mounts a treadmill, because a girl's gotta stay in shape if she's going to flee mobs of young mothers enraged by lines like that.

Though Lisa is the only R.H. of A. with a discernible work ethic—as opposed to a steadfast commitment to work it, work it—her peers share something of her jock-ish perspective. On this show, people plot their social maneuverings and conspicuous consumption in the tones of halftime pep talks and SportsCenter sound bites. "I decided that [I was] really gonna step up my fundraising game," says DeShawn of the party with which she locally launches herself. (Her photo hogs the front of the glossy invitation.) Elsewhere, Sheree's "shoe stylist" claims that his client owns more than 1,000 pairs of heels: "But we're not done. We're not done. We will continue to add to the collection for sure." What is the ideal these female gladiators are battling to achieve? Well, when Sheree went out on the town with her "gay boyfriend"—a swishy confidante being another must-have accessory on this turf—she was very much taken with the luscious superficiality of performers at a drag show.

This fluff might be the perfect stuff for our time of financial crisis. On the one hand, the women are so easy to detest that the show plays like a class-warfare propaganda film—just the thing to get your bile healthily flowing. On the other, as Simon Doonan charmingly ventured last week in the New York Observer, these courtesans are performing a vital function by shoring up consumer confidence among people with the leisure time to dish about it: "Please don't knock these craven, uncultivated, whore-ishly attired self-involved wonderful ladies," Doonan wrote. "By displacing cocktail chatter about the impending recession/depression, the R. H. of A.'s allow us to sleep at night." The show lets us eat the rich like so much comfort food.

In 1951, Jacobo Árbenz Gúzman became Guatemala's second democratically elected president. Árbenz's authoritarian predecessors had been very sympathetic to American business interests, particularly those of the United Fruit Co. (now Chiquita), which had bought up land titles on the cheap from Guatemala's corrupt elite for its ever-expanding banana empire. Once in office, Presidente Árbenz sought to take it all back, nationalizing UFC's Guatemalan assets and redistributing them to the poor.

But UFC had friends in very high places—the assistant secretary of state for inter-American affairs, John Moor Cabot, was the brother of UFC President Thomas Cabot. The secretary of state himself, John Foster Dulles, had done legal work for UFC, and his brother Allen Dulles was director of the CIA and also on UFC's board. Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act, we now know that the various Cabots and Dulleses had a series of top-secret meetings in which they decided that Árbenz had to go and sponsored a coup that drove Árbenz from office in 1954.

With a U.S. puppet back in the president's mansion, UFC's profits were safe. But it appears the company wasn't the only beneficiary of this Cold War cloak-and-dagger diplomacy: A recent study by economists Arindrajit Dube, Ethan Kaplan, and Suresh Naidu argues that those in on the planning process also profited handsomely. By tracking the stock prices of UFC and other politically vulnerable firms in the months leading up to CIA-staged coups in Guatemala, Chile, Cuba, and Iran, the researchers provide evidence that someone—perhaps one of the Dulleses, Cabots, or others in the know—was trading stocks based on classified information of these coups-in-the-making.

This exposé is a contribution to the rapidly expanding field of "forensic economics," which tries to understand the who, what, and why of illicit transactions. Since these are activities that take place out of sight (at least when they're done right), researchers are forced to look for fingerprints left in the data by smugglers, bribe-taking politicians, and other lawbreakers.

Dube, Kaplan, and Naidu examine how the stock market reacted to events that no Wall Street trader should have known about: top-secret meetings of the coup-plotting cabals at CIA headquarters and presidential approvals of CIA-organized invasions. These events would have increased the expected future profits of companies like UFC—if the CIA-led coup in Guatemala were successful, for example, UFC would get its plantations back. If stock traders were privy to the coup-planning process, we would expect them to bid up the prices of affected companies in anticipation of these higher profits. These meetings and authorizations were all highly classified, however, and since you can't trade on information you don't have, UFC's stock price shouldn't have budged until the coup actually took place and the investing world learned of the regime change.

Unless, that is, some of the Cabots, Dulleses, or other insiders were using their privileged information to profit personally from a future coup. To understand why insider trading would boost a company's stock price, suppose that someone in on the planning—perhaps at UFC or at the State Department itself—started quietly buying up cheap UFC stock in anticipation of the price jump that would come when the coup took place (or tipped off his stock-trading cousins about the future boost to UFC so they could do the same). All of this pre-coup buying would increase demand for UFC stock, bidding up its price even before CIA operatives actually got to work overthrowing the Guatemalan government.

Such trading on inside information is illegal, and when it involves highly classified details about a future CIA coup, it verges on treason. Yet the researchers found that prices of companies affected by the CIA's regime-toppling efforts—UFC in Guatemala, Anglo-Iranian (oil) in Iran, Anaconda (mining) in Chile, and American Sugar in Cuba—went up in the weeks and months preceding the coups. (The authors restrict their analysis to coups for which they had access to declassified planning documents and for which U.S. companies had had property nationalized by the targeted regimes.)

Furthermore, these gains were concentrated in the days following crucial government authorizations or plans for the coup (suggesting the trades weren't simply the result of good guesswork about a coup in the making). For example, in the week that President Eisenhower gave full approval to Operation PBFortune to overthrow Árbenz, UFC's price went up by 3.8 percent; the stock market overall was flat that week.

In all, shares of coup-affected companies went up by a total of 10 percent following top-secret authorizations, swamping the 3.5 percent gain that came immediately in the coups' aftermaths. If information hadn't been leaking into the stock market via insider trading, then the entire impact of the coup should have appeared only when the very public invasions took place and the investing world finally got news of the regime change. Unfortunately, there are limits to what these stock-market forensics can uncover. When the researchers contacted the Securities and Exchange Commission to find out who was trading on these days, they learned that there are limits to what the Freedom of Information Act could provide. So, we can't pin the apparent insider trading on anyone in particular.

There's also some evidence, albeit tentative, that the market was very good at forecasting the coups' success and failure—a further indication that the traders driving up the price had detailed knowledge of the covert plans (and their expected outcomes). The CIA-led invasion of Cuba is referred to these days as the Bay of Pigs fiasco for a reason, and whoever was trading on insider knowledge seemed to place his bets accordingly—the pre-invasion increase in American Sugar's stock price was much lower than the gains for companies affected by the other, successful coups in the study.

What about the forensic economics of the Bush administration? Researchers have already estimated what it's worth for Republican-connected companies to have George W. Bush in the White House by looking at what happened to the stock prices of companies with former Republican lawmakers on their boards when Al Gore gave up his fight for the presidency on Dec. 13, 2000 (they went up; Democratically connected companies' prices went down).

If and when the story behind the U.S. invasion of Iraq becomes public, researchers will surely also be analyzing the share prices of the many companies that profited from a U.S.-occupied Iraq. None will see greater scrutiny than oil services giant Halliburton, whose former CEO Dick Cheney left the company to become vice president in 2000 and undoubtedly took part in the invasion's planning. (Some say he was pivotal in the decision to invade.) In the Iraq war's aftermath, Halliburton received billions in no-bid reconstruction contracts, boosting its profits and leading to accusations of corruption.

Halliburton's stock price jumped 7.6 percent the day the Senate authorized the use of force in Iraq, so investors clearly anticipated that war would be good for the company. Did insiders also profit from advance notice of these sweetheart deals to come? Conspiracy theorists will no doubt be interested in what happened to Halliburton stock on days when less-public meetings took place. Cheney himself certainly could not have traded on any inside information—monitoring of insider trades and stock transactions is much more sophisticated now than it was in the 1950s. But perhaps others in the V.P.'s office or at Halliburton (or their cousins, or their cousins' cousins) might have been able to do some trading on the sly. If so, they may have left tracks in the data for researchers to follow.

Trick or treat! Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, and now my son is old enough to be excited about it, too. But lately I've been feeling a little frightened by the environmental impact of all those plastic bats and fun-size candy bars. What's a green Halloween-lover to do?

Halloween may offer the Lantern a chance to dress up as his namesake, but it doesn't provide many other opportunities for the eco-conscious. Any holiday that involves creating a ridiculous costume that you're going to wear exactly once while you gorge on prepackaged junk food is not exactly tailor-made for going green.

Let's start with the reason for the season: all that candy. Diets rich in sugary foods are typically considered less eco-friendly than those with modest amounts; in Sweden, for example, a model diet crafted by a team of environmental scientists suggested consumers cut down on sweets by about 50 percent. A British report (PDF) called that recommendation a "medium" priority for greening our food choices. (One risk, the report noted, was attracting accusations of "nanny state misery-guts spoilsportism"—a pretty good description of how people react if someone tries to take away their candy.)

Do sweets deserve such a bad rap? In total, the National Confectioners Association projects at least $2.2 billion worth of candy will be sold this Halloween season—and that's a low estimate, including only what's specifically marketed for the holiday. That means a lot of extra, nonrecyclable packaging for all those fun-size candy bars. It also means millions of pounds of cocoa and corn syrup that needs to be farmed, processed, and shipped. (Now, if you eat candy instead of dinner on Oct. 31, you may be replacing calories from other sources—so you can subtract that from your Halloween toll. But the Lantern guesses that many Halloween candy binges involve a few extra calories, too.)

To take a specific example, consider the Cadbury Dairy Milk bar—which received a "carbon audit" by the British-based organization Carbon Trust. According to the analysis, a 49-gram chocolate bar has a carbon footprint of about 169 grams—a ratio of 3.45 grams of CO₂ for every gram of chocolate. That ratio stacks up pretty well compared with meat but is a good deal worse than most fruits and vegetables or bread. Digging down, one interesting result is that the milk used in the candy bar turns out to be by far the largest component of its carbon footprint—suggesting that dark chocolate may be an environmentally friendlier choice.

But other ingredients in candy create other concerns. Corn syrup—that now-ubiquitous sweetener that is a major ingredient in many candies—has been criticized as the product of subsidized "monoculture" farming that wreaks havoc on the land. Cocoa presents another problem. Like coffee, cocoa flourishes in many of the world's biodiversity "hot spots"; as a result, cocoa cultivation has resulted in the destruction of millions of acres of environmentally fragile rainforest. Still, there's a flip side: In Brazil, some environmentalists—and chocolate manufacturers—argue that more eco-friendly cocoa cultivation techniques may offer the best hope of encouraging local farmers to save the rainforest. The hope is that as the market for carbon credits expands, cocoa farmers might be paid both for their crops and for the carbon sequestered by the surrounding forest—creating an incentive against deforestation. In general, the big candy manufacturers have begun placing a greater emphasis on sustainable cocoa farming—if for no other reason than to ensure that the world's cocoa supply doesn't disappear due to overproduction.

So, how do you make a greener Halloween? First, buy an organic pumpkin—but make sure it isn't coming from too far away, given how much cargo space your future jack-o'-lantern would take up in a truck. Second, try to make costumes and decorations out of old material rather than spending money on something that may never get another use after Nov. 1. Third, do your very best to hand out snacks that aren't so bad for the planet.

Assuming you don't want to be the only house in the neighborhood offering juice boxes on Halloween, your options for eco-friendly treats are pretty slim. You can't do homemade because of concerns over unwrapped treats. It is possible to purchase organic, bite-size chocolates, lollipops, and gummy bears, but these aren't perfect replacements: If you can even find them, you'll have to pay a hefty markup—and those candies still require a lot of processing and extra packaging. (For an expert's take on greener Halloween candy, check out the ridiculously comprehensive Candy Blog, which did a Green Halloween series two years ago.)

The Lantern's advice? Like your mom probably told you, try moderation: Give out one candy per trick-or-treater instead of three, and don't feel the need to stock up on a whole new set of decorations every year. The orange-and-black holiday is never going to be very green, but if you don't go overboard, the environmental toll doesn't need to be quite so scary.

Is there an environmental quandary that's been keeping you up at night? Send it to ask.the.lantern@gmail.com, and check this space every Tuesday.

The New York Times gets readers in the Halloween mood by leading with yesterday's scary economic news, including that consumer spending has dropped for the first time in 17 years. The Washington Post leads with another ominous tale, about how the Bush administration is planning a blitz of new business-friendly (and consumer- and environment-unfriendly) regulations in his last weeks in office. The rest of the top stories are election-related: The Los Angeles Times leads with the presidential campaign, where each candidate talked about the bad economic news, with Obama blaming it on Bush policies and McCain saying his mortgage-buyout plan would fix it. USA Today leads with campaign-trail interviews of Obama and McCain. The Wall Street Journal tops its worldwide newsbox with a campaign catchall, including the two candidates taking shots at their opponents' running mates. Although, at this point, election news is more likely to elicit exhaustion than fear, the NYT does front a poll showing that half of voters said they were "scared" of what the other candidate would do if elected president.

"The new rules" sought by the president, the Post writes, "would be among the most controversial deregulatory steps of the Bush era and could be difficult for his successor to undo. Some would ease or lift constraints on private industry, including power plants, mines and farms." The new regulations, up to 90 in total, would ease commercial ocean-fishing activities and reduce limits on carbon dioxide-increasing emissions from power plants and pollution near national parks. Environmentalists say the rules "will force Americans to choke on dirtier air for years to come," while an electricity lobby group said they would bring "common sense to the Clean Air Act."

Gross domestic product shrank 0.3 percent over the last quarter (July through September), the worst drop since 2001, and bad news was all around. "Thursday's GDP report showed pervasive economic weakness," the Journal wrote. The Times notes that one aspect of the economic news—that capital spending by businesses declined—is especially ominous, because those sorts of cuts can rapidly spiral downward. Some are now forecasting unemployment rates of 8 percent by the middle of next year. And while government spending and exports were both up last quarter, there are signs they, too, are slowing down. "We are now entering the harshest part of the recession," one economist told the NYT.

The lead stat in the NYT poll is that 59 percent of voters think Sarah Palin is not qualified to be vice president, an increase of nine points since the beginning of the month—an increase, the paper said, driven almost entirely by Republican and independent voters. Overall, 52 percent said they supported Obama, 39 percent McCain, 2 percent Ralph Nader, and 1 percent Bob Barr.

Still trying to think of a Halloween costume? How about a pirate—not the old Johnny Depp kind but the newer, edgier Somali variety. Both the NYT and LAT run dispatches from Somalia's pirate country, where offshore banditry is the biggest employer. Says the NYT: "Flush with cash, the pirates drive the biggest cars, run many of the town's businesses—like hotels—and throw the best parties, residents say. Fatuma Abdul Kadir said she went to a pirate wedding in July that lasted two days, with nonstop dancing and goat meat, and a band flown in from neighboring Djibouti. 'It was wonderful,' said Ms. Fatuma, 21. 'I'm now dating a pirate.' "

Maybe wear a suit and monocle and go as a corporate fat cat? The Journal fronts a good analysis of how the banks now being bailed out by the government owe roughly $40 billion in unpaid executive pay, bonuses, and pensions. While the Treasury Department is putting restrictions on what executives at bailed-out banks can now earn, it won't affect these debts. At some companies, the debts to executives are greater than their entire pension program. (The $40 billion figure, however, is as of the end of 2007, and the paper notes that given that much of the debt was in stocks, it is likely lower now.)

Or an angel: The Post fronts a long, nuanced feature on Jerry Falwell's Liberty University and how the election is playing out among evangelical college students.

Several of the papers have fun Halloween-related features. The Journal fronts a profile of a Brazilian man whose fear of being buried alive led him to construct an elaborate ventilated tomb stocked with food and water—just in case. The Post fronts a feature on Japan's quirky monsters, yokai: "One yokai likes to plunge a large, hairy disembodied foot through the roofs of rich people's houses. Another is made entirely of discarded dinnerware and is more dangerous to himself than to others." And the LAT has an evergreen about restrictions on sex offenders at Halloween: In Maryland, they have to hang signs outside their homes saying they have no candy. In other states, police will check on sex offenders to make sure they're home. New Mexico has required them to post signs saying, "Sex offender lives here." Boo!

All the major U.S. newspapers lead today with news that the Federal Reserve has lowered its benchmark interest rate by half a percentage point and with word from Washington that the government is considering a plan to bail out homeowners facing foreclosure.

The Fed's move brings the interest rate banks use when lending to one another overnight to 1 percent, the lowest it's been since the dot-com bust of 2003, reports the New York Times. The NYT piles on the gloom, noting that banks remain reluctant to lend at all, that unemployment is up, and that consumer spending is down. The sky isn't falling, but the "ground is moving from underneath us," as an investment-firm economist puts it. (In a separate front-page story, the Times reports on layoffs emanating from Wall Street into the greater New York region.) To reduce foreclosures, the government is putting together a plan to use $50 billion from its $700 billion bailout of the banking industry to guarantee $500 billion to $600 billion in home loans.

Negotiators for the U.S. Treasury Department and the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp. are working on the homeowner bailout and may announce their plan in a few days, according to the Washington Post's anonymously sourced lead story. While the government has so far focused on a bailout for banks, continued market turmoil and political pressure have pushed officials toward considering direct homeowner aid. The plan under discussion would reduce a homeowner's monthly mortgage payments by cutting the interest rate or extending the repayment period. In exchange for these favors, the lender would get a government guarantee of compensation for losses in case the homeowner defaults anyway.

The Wall Street Journal emphasizes the international nature of the current financial crisis, reporting that central banks in countries around the world are taking rate-cutting measures similar to the Fed's. The Los Angeles Times predicts that the "depth of the country's economic distress" could be revealed today, when the government releases its estimate of third-quarter growth. In its lead story, USAToday notes that credit card holders are unlikely to see any interest rate relief.

The WP reports that the 33 banks signed up to benefit from billions in bailout dollars from the Treasury Department are continuing to pay dividends to shareholders, even though the money is supposed to be for loans. While foreign banks are typically required to suspend quarterly dividend payments before repaying government investments and the U.S. government required Chrysler to do so in a 1979 bailout, the Treasury says such a condition would have discouraged banks from participating in its program.

The NYT fronts a fun story on the different stuff that goes on at rallies for the Democratic and Republican presidential candidates. The piece has lots of riffing on rope lines and one-liners. Among other comparisons, the Times reports that Barack Obama and Sarah Palin get people similarly fired up, whereas the tickets' "grayer eminences," Joe Biden and John McCain, tend to elicit less enthusiasm. The Times is also pumped about early voting, reporting that lots of people are doing it this year. On a more depressing note, the LAT fronts a story on the fretting over likely Election Day confusion and vote suppression, and the Post offers a Page One story on voter controversies in Ohio.

Colombian security forces are under international scrutiny for killing lots of civilians, according to a front-page NYT story. Promotions and benefits give soldiers incentive to shoot vagrants and claim combat kills, a trend the Times says calls into question the Colombian government's reported gains in its struggle against the FARC. Colombia is the chief ally of the United States in Latin America and receives $500 million yearly in counterinsurgency aid.

The International Monetary Fund has created a new type of loan for "A-list" developing countries battered by the global financial crisis, reports the WSJ. The new type of loan comes without the restrictions usually attached to IMF loans, which typically require budget cuts or interest rate increases.

USAT tops its front page today with an exclusive story on the Chinese government putting together a list of U.S. athletes it feared might demonstrate during the summer's Olympic games. The athletes roused suspicion because their association with the advocacy group known as Team Darfur. The U.S. Olympic Committee, for its part, considered China's concerns complete bunk.

Many gay couples remarry each other many times in order to keep up with different and changing laws on gay marriage around the country, reports the WSJ. It's not clear that there are more than anecdotes to prove this trend, in which same-sex couples "tie themselves in knots to tie the knot," but the Journal does have the goods on gay folks scrambling to wed in California. In San Francisco, marriage license applications have tripled in the last month ahead of an anti-gay-marriage referendum on Election Day.

USA Today and the Washington Post lead with and the Wall Street Journal banners the latest wild ride on Wall Street as investors ignored a flurry of bad economic news and sent the Dow Jones industrial average up almost 900 points, or 10.9 percent. It marked the second-largest point increase and the sixth-biggest percentage gain in history. The New York Times leads with a look at what it calls the upcoming "credit card crisis." Lenders are cutting back on credit card offers and reducing credit lines at a time when the declining economy is making it more difficult for consumers to make ends meet. Even those with good credit are being affected as lenders try to prevent more losses, which could amount to $55 billion over the next year and a half on top of the approximately $21 billion in bad credit-card loans that lenders wrote off in the first six months of 2008.

The Los Angeles Times leads with a new poll that shows Barack Obama with a significant lead in two crucial battleground states. In Ohio, Obama leads 49 percent to 40 percent among likely voters, while in Florida his lead is 50 percent to 43 percent. Voters still see John McCain as more qualified to deal with terrorism and Iraq, but that's hardly the top issue at a time when about 90 percent of registered voters in Ohio say the economy is doing badly. The poll also includes an interesting nugget that shows how it has been difficult for Obama to shake a persistent rumor that he's Muslim. Around 7 percent of voters think Obama is Muslim, while more than 40 percent say they're not sure what his religion is.

Investors were encouraged by signs that the credit crunch is easing a bit and by expectations that the Federal Reserve would cut interest rates today, possibly to as low as 1 percent. There are early signs that the Fed's move to begin buying up commercial paper, which started on Monday, has helped restore some confidence in the credit markets.

Still, everyone cautions that yesterday's surge is unlikely to hold and could turn into "the sixth in a string of failed one-day rallies in less than a month that lured buyers in only to shred more wealth," notes USAT. Or as the LAT so eloquently puts it, "the rally might have been little more than a head fake." After all, yesterday's point gain was second only to the one that took place on Oct. 13, and we all know what happened afterward. There are also plenty of signs that the economy is in for a lot more hardship in the months ahead. Yesterday morning a private research firm reported that consumer confidence has fallen to the lowest level in its 41-year history.

USAT points out that some market watchers believe the biggest reason for yesterday's rally "may have been fear of being left behind." As the NYT notes, while investors may be more willing to believe that stocks have decreased enough to justify jumping into the markets again, no one knows whether their value has fallen enough considering that if there's a long global recession corporate profits will surely plunge.

The NYT's David Leonhardt takes an impressively sober look at whether stocks are actually cheap now and if investors should be jumping in to avoid missing the boat on an upcoming market surge. Many of the country's top financial minds say yes. But others aren't quite so sure and say stocks are only cheap now if you compare them with their performance over the past 20 years, which could in fact prove to have been one great big bubble. "It was a nice party," one expert tells the NYT. "The problem is that all the bills are coming due at the same time." Some think stocks could still fall as much as 35 percent before the market hits bottom. This means that those who sink their money into the markets now might have to wait decades until their investment pays off.

USAT fronts a look at how several states are cutting back on health care programs at a time when the economic slump is likely to lead more people to require help to pay for medical assistance. Many states are trying to deal with budget shortfalls by cutting back on Medicaid, which pays medical costs for millions of low-income Americans.

Speaking of health care, the LAT takes an interesting look at how states often have different rules on what kind of health services they provide to illegal immigrants. The piece focuses on dialysis because it offers a particularly poignant example since many states don't cover the treatment for illegal immigrants. Dialysis involves a lifetime commitment that can easily reach $1 million per patient, but some say that not covering the treatment could be even more costly. That's because states that don't cover it still have to treat illegal immigrants when they reach the emergency room with almost-fatal levels of toxins in their system. And some argue that repeatedly rescuing patients from the brink of death not only hurts their long-term health, but also costs more in the long run.

The WP fronts word that U.S. commanders in Afghanistan say they need around 20,000 more troops to fight the Taliban. Around 4,000 troops are set to arrive in January, and up to 12,000 more could arrive sometime in the spring or summer. But now there's also a request for up to 10,000 more support forces, such as intelligence officers and engineers, that commanders say are crucial to build up resources to a point where the additional troops could actually help the U.S. mission. As opposed to Iraq, which easily absorbed the extra troops that were part of last year's "surge," Afghanistan doesn't have the necessary infrastructure to take in all the additional troops. But the problem is that support forces are already stretched thin.

While the Supreme Court gets most of the attention when the media talk about a president's judicial appointments, the NYT takes a look at how President Bush has managed to change the face of appeals courts across the country during his two terms in office. And since many of the judges Bush placed "were among the youngest ever nominated," they are poised to have a long-term impact on the country. By the time the Bush era is over, conservative judges will have control of 10 of the 13 circuits, while judges appointed by Democrats have a majority in only one circuit. The trend could be reversed if Obama wins, but if McCain is elected, "Republicans could achieve commanding majorities on all 13 circuits," reports the NYT.

The WP's Ruth Marcus says that while Obama promised to bring in a new style of politics, it's not the way he "has run his campaign or the message he has run it on." There's little doubt that the Democrat has run a good campaign, but it never contained "much more than a passing hint of the new politics he envisions." And even though Obama went back to this theme in his closing argument, there's little evidence that the Democrat would change dramatically if he gets to the White House. "I know how he wants to govern," writes Marcus. "I'm not convinced he can pull it off."

The New York Times and Washington Post lead with, while the Los Angeles Times and USA Today give big front-page play to, news that Sen. Ted Stevens was found guilty of concealing tens of thousands of dollars in free home renovations and other gifts. The 84-year-old Republican senator from Alaska was convicted on all seven felony counts, each with a maximum penalty of five years in prison. No one thinks he would get anywhere near the maximum sentence, but the NYT says he would likely have to spend at least some time in jail. Stevens blamed "repeated instances of prosecutorial misconduct" for the outcome and vowed to "fight this unjust verdict with every ounce of energy I have."

The Los Angeles Times leads with the infighting that is already taking place over the future of the Republican Party. The more conservative wing of the party wants the GOP to once again emphasize the fight against abortion, gay marriage, and illegal immigration while moderates say Republicans should be focusing on broadening their base. USA Today leads with a look at how Barack Obama's huge fundraising lead is allowing him to spend much more on advertising than John McCain. This disparity will be fully evident Wednesday, when a half-hour prime-time ad for Obama will run on CBS, NBC, and Fox. The Wall Street Journal leads its world-wide newsbox with the presidential campaigns that took both candidates to Ohio yesterday, where they continued to focus on economic issues.

When he left the courtroom, Stevens asked Alaskans to "stand with me as I pursue my rights." The longest-serving Republican in Senate history is up for re-election and will remain on the ballot despite the guilty verdict. Polls have shown a tight race but the LAT and NYT highlight that most political analysts predict the conviction will be enough to put his Democratic opponent, Mayor Mark Begich, in the Senate.

Democrats were practically salivating yesterday as a victory in Alaska would get them one step closer to achieving the filibuster-proof majority in the Senate they so crave. Democratic candidates around the country immediately seized the moment to tie their opponents to Stevens and demand that they give back any money they received from the Alaska senator. If Stevens does manage to keep his job, it would take a two-thirds vote to expel him from the Senate, and the issue isn't even likely to be raised until he has exhausted all his appeals.

While the fight for the future of the Republican Party has been going on for some time, it's getting more heated now that many are getting ready for the possibility that a member of their party won't be in the White House next year. A key argument is starting to break out over who should be the next chairman of the Republican National Committee, and some conservatives say that even if John McCain does win, he shouldn't be allowed to name the party's leader. All this talk is angering some within the party who say Republicans should be devoting all their energy to next week's elections instead of trying to plot their way into the party's leadership.

The WSJ hears word that the United States is discussing whether it should pursue talks with members of the Taliban in Afghanistan, which the paper describes as "a major policy shift that would have been unthinkable a few months ago." Officials are also apparently considering creating local militias in Afghanistan to fight against the Taliban. The recommendation to participate in talks that would be led by the Afghan government has been put forward in a draft classified White House assessment of U.S. strategy in Afghanistan. U.S. officials insist any talks wouldn't include any of the Taliban's top leaders, but it's far from clear whether anyone with control over the group would even be willing to participate in these meetings. Of course, the recommendations could change and the next president wouldn't be obligated to pursue them. But both presidential candidates have expressed support for some kind of outreach to the Taliban and the idea also has the backing of Gen. David Petraeus.

The NYT and WP front more details about Sunday's raid in Syria that killed Abu Ghadiyah, an Iraqi who ran an extensive smuggling network that sent weapons, money, and foreign fighters into Iraq. It was carried out by Special Forces and was similar to a raid that took place in Pakistan a few weeks ago. It appeared to mark the first time that American ground forces have operated in Syria. The WP highlights that officials say the raid was meant to serve as a warning to the Syrian government. For its part, the NYT gets word that this should be seen as an example of how the Bush administration is "determined to operate under an expansive definition of self-defense" that allows U.S. forces to strike militant targets in sovereign nations.

The NYT fronts a look at how the Bush administration is looking into ways to provide financial assistance to help bring about the much talked about merger between General Motors and Chrysler. Officials are looking into whether they should tap into the $700 billion bailout program for these funds. They could also get the money from the $25 billion loan program for the auto industry or go back to Congress after the election. Direct efforts to help the ailing companies are likely to be met by cries of "me too" from other industries that are currently in trouble, which, as the WP notes, could very well put the government in a "tricky situation of picking winners and losers within the economy." The WSJ and WP hear word that the Bush administration is working to quickly release the first $5 billion of the $25 billion loan program.

The LAT fronts a piece that asks whether it's even worth it for the government to spend so much money saving the Big Three. There's little doubt that "the prospect of failure by any of them is worrisome" since they employ hundreds of thousands of people. But while many experts predict that a Big Three failure would lead to huge problems in the economy, others aren't sure the effects would be quite so devastating. Although there would no doubt be an adjustment period, the situation wouldn't be so bad in the long term since other companies could quickly fill the void.

Inside, the NYT's Andrew Ross Sorkin says government officials shouldn't be too quick to eat up the claim by General Motors that it's too big to fail. While there are lots of jobs on the line, the truth is that a Chrysler-GM merger would likely lead to mass layoffs as well. Unless the government insists that the companies implement much-needed reforms, "any investment would just be a Band-Aid."

The LAT fronts two first-person pieces from reporters who have been covering the candidates for months. The story about McCain follows a familiar path of describing how the candidate that was once open with reporters closed himself off after the primaries were over. Writing about Obama, Peter Nicholas notes Obama's intense discipline makes following him around "a bit maddening" because he's almost never spontaneous and seems to always follow a set script. Despite all the long days he has spent trailing Obama, Nicholas "still can't say with certainty who he is."

The Washington Post leads with a poll showing Barack Obama up eight points against John McCain in Virginia. If McCain loses the Old Dominion, he'll have to run the table in states where he's currently down much more than eight points. The Los Angeles Times leads with news that voting by mail will be at historic levels in California and elsewhere, transforming the relationship voters have with the trappings of democracy. The New York Times highlights the predicament McCain is in.

The Wall Street Journal's lead space is taken up by the expansion of the global financial crisis to the Middle East. USA Today scoops Army plans to continue to use involuntary extensions of enlistment—so-called stop-loss orders—through 2009 despite its promises to curtail the practice. Above its lead story, the paper proclaims: "Yo! Phillies could win it all tonight."

The LAT fronts reports of a dramatic U.S. raid inside Syria, which the Associated Press broke and which none of the papers lead with. (It was a lead story on the Drudge Report, though.) Details are sketchy, but the incursion is reported to have killed at least eight people. Syria claimed all those harmed were civilians, and U.S. officials aren't saying much. The LAT does some curtain-pulling, reporting that although U.S. officials "would not confirm the attack, they used language typically employed after raids conducted by secretive Special Operations forces."

Four helicopters apparently flew over the Iraqi border in Bukamal near the town of Deir Ezzor and may have raided a building in search of a militant network. Syria did not sanction the action and was not pleased by the raid.

The Washington Post fronts that rarest of creatures—a trend story with data to back it up. While everything else tanks, gun sales are up. Gun owners and lovers alternately cite the sinking economy and the prospect of an Obama presidency as prime motivators for the shopping spree. Most gun lovers interviewed said their primary concern was Obama's gun-control policy, which they feared would be more restrictive than Bush's—but some said they'd be voting for him anyway.

In a Post poll taken last month, Obama trailed among college-educated white men in Virginia by 30 points. In the latest survey, he's now tied among that same group. Obama holds a 52-44 lead in Virginia, a state where he's opened nearly 50 offices staffed by more than 250 paid workers and thousands more volunteers. More than half of voters said they'd been contacted personally by the campaign—far more than said the same about McCain.

Obama is winning 2-to-1 in Northern Virginia and tied in the rest of the state, which Bush carried in 2004 by eight points. Half of voters had "strongly" or "somewhat" negative views of Sarah Palin. McCain's attempt to tag Obama as a tax hiker doesn't appear to be working: By 15 points, Virginia voters favor Obama, over McCain, to handle tax policy.

The financial storm is now sweeping across the Middle East, the Journal reports. Kuwait's central bank quickly guaranteed bank deposits and orchestrated a bailout of a major bank. International investors are pulling back, and oil prices have dropped some 50 percent from their July highs. Dubai real-estate brokers are expressing pessimism. Maybe that indoor ski resort in the desert wasn't such a great idea, after all.

New York Times reporters Adam Nagourney and Jeff Zeleny check in on the McCain campaign and find it battling on turf that President Bush carried four years ago, evidence of the plummeting political fortunes of the Republican Party. McCain and Palin will do fewer joint rallies, they report, in order to cover more ground.

Obama, meanwhile, will make his closing argument beginning on Monday, the pair reports. Obama intends to return to the uplifting rhetoric of the 2004 convention speech that catapulted his political career. McCain will make no such shift and will continue to pound away at Obama as a tax-happy liberal intent on wealth spreading, they find.

The NYT fronts a shift in Bush administration strategy—or is it a tactic?—in the Pakistani tribal region teeming with al-Qaida and Taliban militants and sympathizers. In July, reports the Times, Bush gave the approval for special-forces raids into Pakistan. Facing fierce political resistance from the Pakistani government, Bush has now reversed course and is curbing land raids.

Instead, the administration is relying on unmanned drones operated by the CIA. There have been at least 18 predator attacks since early August, compared with just five strikes in the seven months prior.

The Post runs a front-page look at the FBI's anthrax case against scientist Bruce E. Ivins, who took his own life. The FBI desperately wants to convict Ivins in the court of public opinion. But color TP unimpressed by what the bureau leaked to the Post. Then again, what does TP know about anthrax science?

The LAT is talking kitchen-table politics of a different kind. Already, at least 40 percent of voters in California have requested that ballots be mailed to them. Many more requests are expected before the request deadline of Tuesday—and the front-page publicity won't hurt those numbers. One Californian explains the motivation for mailing a vote in early: "Now I don't have to pay attention to the flood of ads and last-minute attacks. I can tune the election out." Good luck with that.

And the Philadelphia Phillies finally figured out a way to plate runs in pounding the Tampa Bay Rays to take a three-games-to-one lead: Keep runners out of scoring position and just knock the ball out of the park.

The Los Angeles Times fills its lead slot with a look at the presidential candidates' strategies for the last nine days on the campaign trail. McCain plans to spend most of his time attacking Obama's economic plan and warning of a Democratic supermajority, while the Obama campaign is concerned primarily with staving off overconfidence. The Washington Post leads with a look at the increased scrutiny of credit card donations given to the candidates through their Web sites. Barack Obama's record-shattering $150 million campaign haul has raised questions in both parties about the laxly overseen, anonymous world of Internet campaign donations. The New York Times leads with the slowing demand for American products, which means thousands of Americans are losing their jobs. Many of the United States' highest-profile corporations have announced layoffs, and economists expect unemployment numbers to exceed 200,000 when they are announced Nov. 7.

Barack Obama's "message of hope" will remain the same through Nov. 4, the LAT reports, while John McCain is sharpening the points of a "three-pronged" final attack that will focus on Obama's tax plan, his limited experience, and the excessive power the Democratic Party could wield if he is elected. Both sides admit the outlook is bleak for McCain, and the LAT reports that McCain's aides privately discuss his return to the Senate. Even though Obama leads comfortably in several states that McCain cannot afford to lose, his campaign is concerned about "overconfidence." Obama campaign officials cite the razor-thin margins by which many battleground states were won in recent elections as caution that the race is still anyone's game. A framed front-pager in the WP focuses on the Republican Party's well-oiled get-out-the-vote machine in Colorado (a must-win for McCain), which may be threatened by Obama's impressively organized volunteers. Colorado Republicans say their grassroots experience in the state should give them an edge.

The WP's lead story reports that lawyers for both parties have asked the Federal Election Commission to examine Internet campaign donations, as the presidential campaigns have "permitted donors using false names or stolen credit cards to make contributions." Conservative bloggers first raised the issue when they reported that "test" donations to the Obama campaign under names like "Osama Bin Laden" were always accepted. The Obama campaign says it makes strenuous efforts to flag suspicious donations and points to such irregularities in both candidates' donor records.

An article in the NYT follows two Hollywood directors who are preparing to release R-rated comedies while hoping to somehow escape the shadow of dirty-laughs-with-a-heart extraordinaire Judd Apatow. It doesn't help Kevin Smith, director of Zack and Miri Make a Porno, that his movie stars Seth Rogen, the best-known face from Apatow's wildly popular films. Smith and David Wain, director of the upcoming comedy Role Models, both credit Apatow with reinvigorating the R-rated comedy marketplace, and Smith says he is happy if moviegoers mistakenly believe Apatow was a part of Zack and Miri.

The WP metro section reports that churches and other ministries in the D.C. area are on "the front lines" of the economic crisis as their requests for aid have soared in recent months. Requests at charities operated by the Catholic Archdiocese of Washington have increased by 25 percent, and houses of worship of several faiths have seen a dramatic increase in calls. Churches are responding creatively: One cut its sermon broadcasts on TV and radio and decreased support to international missions to focus on the 300 percent increase in requests for marriage counseling.

A sprawling front-page story kicks off a seven-part LAT series on "Noir Los Angeles." Part 1 profiles the "Gangster Squad," an extralegal group of LAPD officers formed in 1946 to fight organized crime off the record. The squad was known in shady circles for its gun-to-the-head interrogations and obsessive eavesdropping on crime bosses like Mickey Cohen.

The WP "Book World" section reviews a psychological biography of Bill Clinton, a "strange book" that reads like "the work of someone who at times appears to be in the grips of a schoolboy crush." The author, a psychologist at Johns Hopkins, seems to approach Clinton with preconceived designs, specifically in his attempt to diagnose Clinton with "hypomania" (a psychological predisposition toward charm in which the author has a significant professional interest).

The NYT goes in search of the real Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, American-girl twins with an aura of tabloid-worthy celebrity but a murkily defined public identity. The identical (but fraternal twin) sisters were first known as actors who shared a role on Full House, but now they would rather be known as entrepreneurs. They are co-presidents of a multibillion-dollar entertainment company and manage several fashion lines that carry their own designs. Mary Kate continues to act, starring in the television show Weeds, while Ashley is fixated on creating "a true American brand."

WP ombudsman Deborah Howell sums up a controversy-ridden week at the paper involving two glaring photo errors (one accidentally selected photo pictured Jack Valenti, who died last year) and a slew of subscriber cancellations after the Post endorsed Barack Obama.

A New Yorker who lost her Wall Street job well ahead of the current situation pens a column in the NYT about finding relief in her misfortune and, after a much-needed period of rest, feels "energized, eager to start a new career, and open to possibility."

All the papers lead with some take on the fiscal fiasco. The Washington Post runs a banner headline heralding the spread of the bailout to cover insurers, agreed to under pressure from the struggling insurance industry. The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and Los Angeles Times lead with the international dimensions of the crisis, as currencies plunge, stock markets tumble, and traders look to Washington for even more help.

Hartford, Prudential, and MetLife have become the next entities that are too big to fail, the WP reports, as the Bush administration agreed to include them and dozens of regional insurers in a bailout along with banks. In the first high-profile example, the Treasury gave PNC Financial Services $7.7 billion to buy Cleveland's National City. Meanwhile, the cost of saving AIG is still going up, as the company has already burned through most of the $123 billion in emergency loans it received in the opening salvoes of the crisis. The Journal highlights how this shows that the Treasury is becoming a piggy bank for ailing industries more broadly as automakers also look out hopefully for a lifeline (back in Weekend, the paper explains how they got there in the first place).

Bad news flowed in from around the globe as markets in Europe and Asia reported deep losses in what the WSJ called "a day when many people around the world became convinced the economy is in for a long recession." (The paper also declared that the idea of the U.S. as the powerhouse of the international economy is now "in tatters.") Japan was particularly gloomy, with the Nikkei tanking 9 percent and titans like Sony and Toyota finally showing signs of strain. Emerging economies have also been hard-hit, with companies from Brazil to Indonesia sagging badly, and leaders are begging the International Monetary Fund to take on a greater role in softening the blow. (First up: Iceland.) While the United States pumps billions into its finance industry, European governments have been less willing to swoop in to save their own, although governments are considering action to calm the soaring yen and dollar while salvaging the depressed euro, pound, peso, and ruble.

The Dow dove only about 100 points Friday, but the LAT reports that Goldman Sachs at least was advocating for another stimulus package, and traders are waiting on expected interest-rate cuts from the Fed to loosen up credit. Meanwhile, their wives are having to reconcile themselves to the idea of a slightly less lavish existence—even though bank salaries and bonuses have so far not caught up with the news—and the rest of us hold yard sales to raise extra cash.

In politics, the election has already begun, as early returns from Georgia, North Carolina, and Florida show Barack Obama—surprise!—racking up a heavy head start. That's a change from previous years, the LAT reports, when Republicans were better able to mobilize their key constituencies before Election Day; this year, African Americans are voting early in much greater numbers. The NYT explains how the McCain camp took its eye off the ball in Florida, trailing Obama in registration numbers, a mistake that is now coming home to roost as the new early-voting system takes effect. Meanwhile, Obama is already picking his Cabinet, replacing the veepstakes as Washington's new favorite parlor game. And things are also looking good for Al Franken in Minnesota, according to the WP's front page, leading incumbent Norm Coleman by six points in the latest state poll.

The picture is not quite as gloomy for the GOP in statehouses, where the party is looking to flip at least half of the 12 chambers considered up for grabs.

The NYT takes an A-1 gander at what the U.S. is planning to do with the 5,000 Iraqi prisoners still considered dangerous when it hands over military operations to the Iraqi army. The 12,000 people still in detention is a decrease from last year's peak of 26,000, but releasing the rest gets harder with each one. The LAT also fronts a look at allegations of misconduct at Guantanamo Bay, where Brig. Gen. Thomas Hartmann is accused of bullying cases to trial and using coerced evidence over prosecutors' objections in an ambiguous legal space with fuzzy lines of authority.

But move on to the sports section today—there's a World Series going on!

The Oct. 26 air raid in which U.S. special-operations pilots flew two dozen Black Hawk helicopters across Iraq's border and killed eight people on Syrian territory marks a new phase in the Bush administration's war on terror—a phase rife with limited payoffs and astonishingly high risks.

U.S. officials say the cross-border attack was aimed at, and killed, a high-level al-Qaida agent known as Abu Ghadiyah, who has long been smuggling jihadists and arms into western Iraq.

However, Syrian officials say the strikes killed civilians, including a woman and children. They filed a complaint with the U. N. Security Council, closed down the American School in Damascus, and canceled their participation in the upcoming regional conference on Iraqi security.

Even the Iraqi government has joined the Syrians in condemning the airstrikes and is now insisting that a new Status of Forces Agreement—the treaty that permits U.S. troops to remain in Iraq—must include a clause forbidding those troops from using Iraq as a base for attacking other countries.

Finally, at a time when some members of the Bush administration have begun to see the merits of reaching out to Syria—as an inducement to pry it away from Iran, sever its ties with Hezbollah, stabilize Lebanon, and secure the borders of Iraq—the air raid, a deliberate violation of Syrian sovereignty, pushes those goals further out of reach.

The strikes have also enflamed the passions of the Syrian people—thousands protested in the streets today—so that, if President Bashir Assad should ever want to cooperate with America, he might provoke still more protests, potentially a radical uprising. (All the evidence suggests that Assad would like to restore relations; his police are keeping the protesters away from the U.S. Embassy, a sign that he wants to keep things from getting out of hand.)

Certainly Iraq's porous borders are a problem, which foreign jihadists have been exploiting for years now. However, earlier this month, Gen. David Petraeus, the recently departed commander of U.S. forces in Iraq (now commander of Central Command), said that the number of these incursions has dropped to just 20 a month, down from 120 per month a year ago. Iraqi President Jalal Talabani also told President Bush just last month that Syria was no longer much of a problem.

Still, that doesn't mean it's no problem, and the argument could be made that, if a high-level target like Abu Ghadiyah shows up on the scanners just a few miles across the border, we might want to exploit the opportunity.

But that temptation at least should be weighed. On the one hand, what is the tactical benefit of killing him and maybe taking out this particular safe house—to what extent will the act shock or foil the enemy, or cut down the flow of foreign fighters and arms? On the other hand, what is the strategic cost of violating international law, alienating the regional powers, and impeding a political settlement of the war in Iraq?

The intelligence isn't in yet, but early indications are that the first answer is "Not much" and the second is "Quite a lot."

Perhaps the raid could be justified if it were a one-time—or even a very rare—operation. But it seems we will be seeing more of these raids in Syria, Pakistan, and perhaps elsewhere. (Meanwhile, the Pakistani government has also formally protested the U.S. airstrikes in the frontier territories across the border of Afghanistan.)

Eli Lake reports in the New Republic that President Bush signed a decision in July allowing commanders on the ground to decide whether to launch tactical attacks across borders. The attack on Syria and the recent attacks on northwestern Pakistan—all taken without the permission of the Syrian or Pakistani government—are all of a piece.

One can understand the impulse behind this decision. If, say, Osama Bin Laden were spotted just across the border, why waste the time it would take to phone Washington for permission to strike? He might get away. But this is a rare, and hypothetical, example. It doesn't justify giving colonels or generals a broad blank check to make the sort of decision—essentially, committing an act of war—that should be made, and made very carefully, by the commander in chief.

Another consideration here: Recent history shows that there are other ways to deal with the threat of incursions from Syria.

In May 2007, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice met for a half-hour with Syrian Foreign Minister Walid al-Moallem precisely to discuss border security. (The two were at a regional conference; Rice approached him for a private face-to-face talk.) In the weeks and months after Sept. 11, 2001, Syria had cooperated extensively with the United States, providing some of the most useful intelligence information about al-Qaida. Syria ended this relationship in March 2003, when Bush invaded Iraq. Relations deteriorated further in 2005 when Syria was implicated in the assassination of former Lebanese Prime Minister Rafiq Hariri, and in response, the United States withdrew its ambassador.

At the 2007 meeting with Secretary Rice, Foreign Minister Moallem said that Syria would like to resume cooperating with Washington on security and intelligence, if Washington resumed diplomatic relations—that is, if a U.S. ambassador were returned to Damascus. The White House nixed the deal.

Later that year, Gen. Petraeus, increasingly frustrated with cross-border trafficking, wanted to go to Damascus to talk with military officers about possible security measures. The White House refused to let him go.

Bush and especially Vice President Dick Cheney were still firmly wedded to the belief that deals should not be made with dictators—or at least not with dictators who were not our allies—on the grounds that even sitting down with them legitimizes their regime.

At the time, whether covering for her superiors or speaking for herself, Rice justified the refusal to make a deal by saying, "The Syrians know what they have to do." Maybe they did, but they didn't know what they would get in return. That's what diplomacy is about. The Syrians got, and still get, many goodies for their ties with Iran. To break away from that benefactor, they need to know we'll supply them with goodies in exchange.

Israel is talking with Syria. Iraq is not only talking with Syria but also joining Syria in condemning a U.S. action. What is the point of our continued refusal?

If Rice or Petraeus had been allowed to take their talks further in 2007, last weekend's airstrike might not have been necessary.

Maybe the next president will reconsider the costs and benefits.

Problem: Multiple sclerosis is a quite common and often terrible disease that most frequently attacks young adults—especially young women. There are two phases to MS—an early one and a late one. The early phase, in which the disease waxes and wanes, is caused when the body becomes allergic to its own tissues—specifically, white matter located in the brain and spinal cord. The inflammation caused by this allergy (which attacks the cells that form a protective layer surrounding the long, cablelike structures in nerve cells responsible for carrying electrical signals) causes the early symptoms (like visual disturbances or unsteadiness in walking) and primes the body for the second phase, in which irreversible damage is done to nerve cells, causing marked weakness, fatigue, loss of balance and coordination, bladder and bowel problems, and even changes in thinking and depression. There is a lot of evidence that if the early phase is managed in ways that decrease symptoms, the late phase, during which most of the irreversible damage happens, can be delayed and perhaps even prevented.

An obvious approach, then, to treating early MS would make use of medications that alter the body's immune response to decrease auto-allergy. Indeed, some immunosuppressive medicines already play an important role in the treatment of MS, but so far, the results have not been as good as we'd like.

New research: An important new study gives us reason to be optimistic about this approach. The University of Cambridge researchers tested Campath-1H, an artificially produced human antibody that was developed for use in a specialized cancer treatment. Campath-1H inactivates some cells important for the immune response in patients with early-phase MS. The study compared this medication with another drug already in use to treat MS, and the results were pretty striking. The benefits of the experimental treatment compared with conventional treatment were very, very impressive: After three years, the disease progressed much more slowly and the disability associated with MS actually decreased in patients who received the experimental treatment, while patients getting the conventional medication became increasingly disabled. Because the new treatment lessened early-phase inflammation and symptoms, it would be reasonable to expect to have considerable long-term benefits, since it might delay the development of the late phase of the disease, in which nerve cells are progressively damaged. (The medication being tested has no effect at all once a patient reaches this phase.)

Caveats: This drug, though both powerful and effective, isn't likely to become part of mainstream treatment for MS. Campath-1H can lead to very serious side effects. For example, 3 percent (six of 223) of the patients on whom it was tested developed ITP, an illness in which blood leaks through the walls of damaged blood vessels. Some others developed auto-allergic thyroid problems. There was one death among the patients who developed ITP. Because of these risks, the study was closed early, and it is unlikely that the drug (at least in its present form) will be promoted for use in MS. But since it is already licensed for use in cancer treatment, a few doctors are using it "off-label" for patients with MS, despite the risks.

Conclusion: The mix of good news and bad news raises agonizing personal decisions for patients and agonizing professional decisions for doctors. How do we go about balancing risks and benefits? I suspect that each of us would have a different answer to this question. For some, the prospect of advancing disability seems so terrible that they will risk the dangers of serious and perhaps lethal side effects in the hope for an improved outcome. Others might choose to avoid the immediate possible dangers of this treatment in favor of a longer-term risk of disability (and I should say that some patients with MS do very, very well), with the hope that future developments, perhaps drawing on this research study, will lead to more effective but safer, newer treatments. How would you choose?

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Exactly why patients with MS become allergic to their own brains and spinal-cord tissues is still unclear, but some clues point to a process that begins with a viral infection, perhaps even a common one. People who live in colder climates—far from the equator in either direction—are at much greater risk for developing MS than those in tropical countries. The differences in risk are enormous: People who live in one location might have a 75-times greater risk of developing multiple sclerosis. If they move when young, the risk of MS comes to resemble that of the people in the new location. However, if people migrate after age 15, they carry with them an MS risk—high or low—that corresponds to their place of origin. I have always interpreted this pattern to suggest that early exposure to a virus common in the tropics causes an infection in children that is harmless but produces lifelong immunity. On the other hand, people missing this early pattern of infection and immunity would be susceptible to an infection later in life—and these later-occurring infections might start the process that leads to MS.

This is not as far-fetched as it might seem. Poliovirus (which has no relationship to MS) has a similar epidemiological pattern. Very young children in tropical countries, perhaps with inferior sanitation, almost never suffer neurological damage when infected with poliovirus—and in that setting, almost all children do become infected early. However, at least before the advent of the vaccine, children in northern cities with good sanitation, who probably missed the early, harmless, polio infection that would have given them immunity, were instead at risk for the paralytic form of the disease if they acquired an infection with this virus later in life.

When I was a little girl in the 1950s, my mother mistakenly believed she was an heiress. We lived modestly, but my mother's father, Poppa Jack, had founded and built a successful company that manufactured high-school-athletic letter jackets. When his heart gave out suddenly at 56, an estate attorney informed my mother, her two sisters, and their younger brother (then all in their 20s) that their prosperous father had left substantial riches to be divided among them. The siblings—referred to in the family as "the kids" for the next 40 years—would get their "inheritance" at the expiration of a lifelong trust to support their mother, my Grandma Rose. With the piñata of a future fortune hanging out of reach, my mother, inheriting her father's entrepreneurial spirit, opened a dress shop.

Financially comfortable, Grandma Rose married the estate attorney, Fred, and they lived happily into their ninth decades. The coat company for years churned out orders for leather-sleeved jackets in every combination of high-school colors. My step-grandfather, who generally kept a dignified veil over questions about Poppa's estate, once told me the factory was intended mainly as a source of employment for family members. Indeed, copious cousins of questionable competence found jobs there. In the long run, dynastic socialism was bad for business. Poppa Jack's well-intentioned legacy ran out of gas and into receivership just as his daughter became a grandmother herself.

For today's mid-life matrons, inheriting wealth has gotten no easier. We came of age in the 1970s, and unlike many of our mothers, tossed aside paternalism to pursue intellectually satisfying careers. Feminists of my era started businesses, bought property, and invested in the market. We deciphered our own 401(k) plans. But gender independence notwithstanding, we accumulated less for retirement than men.

Now we middle-class, middle-aged women are, at times, struggling to afford our advancing maturity. Considering today's sagging IRAs and deflated real estate values, frankly, a family bequest would be more than welcome right around now. We eschewed princess fantasies for personal accomplishments, but as we are eased out of the workforce, it would be nice to rely on the old man's money.

"Intergenerational wealth transfer," however, is no longer a significant portion of the retirement equation. Philanthropy, longevity, and serial marriages begetting multiple heirs have eroded patriarchal estates. For nonagenarian and octogenarian parents, a positive net worth is less imperative than a long-term care plan. Even when substantial holdings remain for heirs, their bestowal isn't always benevolent.

Economists say there are four bequest motives: accidental, egoistic, strategic, or altruistic. People leave money to others because they are bighearted, manipulative, self-centered, or disorganized. Endowing a middle-aged offspring's undercapitalized retirement is not on the list. As my contemporaries take, well, stock, I hear frequent tales of affluent fathers lacing their legacies with dissension, hurt feelings, or misunderstanding by passing on assets in an ungenerous or disorderly manner. Unsettlingly, their daughters find themselves unraveling wills, insurance policies, and asset preservation plans rather than simply mourning their parents.

In one case, two unmarried sisters of retirement age, an artist and a scientist, whom I've known and adored separately for decades, now maintain a chilly animosity toward each other. Their strong-willed father's intricate but secretive financial deals kept him actively engaged until he died at 99. A complicated man, he told each daughter different secrets. While teams of accountants now painstakingly unravel his byzantine Bleak House financial portfolio, my friends communicate exclusively and contentiously through opposing probate attorneys.

Some progenitors can't bear to part with their estates even in death. A woman from an illustrious family, whose originality and candor I've always admired, had to take her addled elderly father to court when he converted the combined fortunes of two distinguished bloodlines into a perpetual care vehicle for his garden.

Then there are legatees with warring agendas. A photographer friend and her sister have been united in disregard for their stepmother since their father died three years ago. Their own mother passed away when they were quite young. During the intervening years, the daughters frequently discussed the family weal with their dad, a real estate baron. The conversation continued after the sisters grew up and the magnate remarried. A cordial relationship among all, paired with prenuptial and financial agreements, reassured the daughters their legacy was secure. The conflicted father did leave his daughters abundant property, but, not so fast—his very healthy second wife can live in his mansion and off the other assets for the foreseeable future. In the meantime, the widow says the daughters should get lost. They can collect daddy's money on the day she dies.

Without an inheritance in hand, my mother practiced independence. To others expecting a patrimony, I recommend the same. For our part, my husband and I have some investments, but our practical retirement plan is: Keep working. In six years we'll be eligible for Medicare and our small portion of Social Security. Apart from that, the biggest bump in our financial future will be inheriting one-quarter ownership in my mother's shag-carpeted condo.

Theoretically, a great fortune will go to the heirs of my boomer cohort. Economic models project that by the middle of this century, at least $41 trillion will transfer to estates and bequests for today's infants and teenagers. Just to be safe, however, the kids should develop some skills.

I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that my husband and I won't add much to the $41 trillion handoff. Not to shortchange our two kids, but they should not expect an inheritance from us. We instead direct them to self-reliant futures built on luck, determination, and enterprise. We've funded their educations and are glad to help, within reason, on housing. Our 20-year-old son in San Francisco, in his second year as a college sophomore, will inescapably be on our rent and tuition payroll for some time. Though I am confident he will one day be independent, he asked us recently, in all earnestness: "What is the deal with taxes and insurance?"

Our single daughter, 16 years ahead of her brother, is a NYC documentary filmmaker. A few years ago, we loaned her the down payment for her Chelsea co-op apartment. The loan will undoubtedly outlive the lenders as her mortgage endures, but the cozy fourth-floor walk-up forms the beginnings of her estate. What becomes of it from here is entirely up to her.