The City Sentinel weekly broadsheet is adopting a time-honored method of hyping sales: they’re cutting the price. Each issue at newsstands is now ten cents instead of fifty; the back page of this week’s edition has a half-page ad offering a yearly subscription for $5. (Their Web site still reflects the old $25 rate.) I won’t speculate as to how much it costs to produce a single issue, but it’s got to be more than a dime; it costs more than that to mail it out to subscribers. But getting a few more eyeballs for the advertisers in the future might well be worth a little bit more red ink in the present.

The blind leading the bland:

Microsoft said Friday that it would offer $44.6 billion for Yahoo, the ailing search giant. The surprise offer of $31 a share represents a 62 percent premium to Thursday’s closing share price. Yahoo shareholders could elect to receive either cash or stock.

The proposed acquisition, the largest ever by Microsoft, would give some relief to Yahoo’s long-suffering shareholders, who have seen the company’s stock slide nearly 32 percent this year. It would also create the most formidable competitor yet for Google, the search engine giant.

I can’t wait to see what sort of horrid Dr. Moreauvian hybrid emerges from the fusion of Windows Live Mail (née Hotmail) and Yahoo! Mail.

And will that perennial #3 news channel rename itself MSYNBC? (Y not?)

“Hero Firefighter Loses Lifelong Battle With Fire” was the headline on this particular faux news item, and pictured therein was Lt. Frank Castillo, 46, of the Des Moines Fire Department, who had “finally succumbed to the combustion he had so bravely battled through most of his adult life.”

The Onion ran this piece in September 2006. Playing the role of Lt. Frank Castillo was Captain Rudy Lindia, a real-life firefighter from Ottawa, who, once he discovered the picture, didn’t think it was all that funny:

“We feel really crummy about it and we apologize to the firefighter in question,” said Chet Clem, a spokesman for the website. “But at the same time, we subscribe to a number of photo services and we have to trust that the images we buy from these photo sites are properly licensed.”

The stock-photo service used by The Onion said they had proper releases for use of the picture; Capt. Lindia says that he assumed the photo was intended only for use by the city of Ottawa.

(Via Fark.)

Kathy Shaidle, on Section 13 of the Canadian Human Rights Act:

Right now, it is illegal for any Canadian to “communicate … any matter” “likely to expose a person or persons to hatred or contempt.”

In other words, a Canadian can not only be punished for expressing their views (thought crime), they can be charged with possibly harming someone in the near or distant future, merely by uttering or writing forbidden combinations of words (pre-crime).

Now, if I’m gonna have to live in a science fiction novel, I at least want my flying car and robot maid!

And yes, she used “they” and “their” as singular pronouns in the second paragraph quoted. Better to face the mockery of the Grammar Police, which is generally at least somewhat good-natured, than the wrath of the perpetually-aggrieved souls who spend their days whinging to the Canadian Human Rights Commission.

The name is purely a coincidence, but this actually sounds something like me:

Every day the voices add up. He has difficulty suppressing them. In the shadows, he watches people read. He hides behind a volume. But he’s really watching you. He’s watching you read. The store is quiet in those nooks with the soft chairs. However, Charles’ mind is as loud as a train tunnel, voices boiling out of memory. He’s that guy you see reading quietly in a corner. You have no idea.

Okay, maybe not quite so (potentially) sociopathic. But there’s a dialogue in there somewhere — or maybe just overlapping monologues. Loud as it is, it’s hard to tell.

(Found by Lynn S.)

After all, you worked for it:

John McCain has a campaign finance problem. When his campaign was down and out, he agreed to take public funding for the primaries. Public funding comes with spending limits overall and by state. Also, a candidate who accepts funding cannot raise money from private sources. Now that it is possible he will be the nominee, McCain will want to be free of those fundraising and spending limits, but he cannot withdraw from the public system.

At least, not without a pass from the Federal Election Commission, but that isn’t happening:

The FEC does not now have a quorum to meet and regulate. (The lack of a quorum was caused by Barack Obama’s hold on a nominee to the FEC, but never mind).

He could always refuse public funding for the post-convention campaign:

[H]owever, he pledged to accept public funding for the general election if his opponent did so. Obama has taken a similar pledge. Also, McCain would get around some of this by using “outside groups” (527 groups and others) to fund his effort, but he has been a fierce critic of such groups and tactics.

Of course. They wouldn’t play his way.

Maybe he can borrow a few bucks from his old pal Russ Feingold.

(Via Coyote Blog.)

Originally seen observed here.

I normally don’t spend a lot of time here on the subject of Britney Spears, but inasmuch as a lot of other blogs do, the opportunity occasionally arises to point to something one of them said.

Herewith, some decent-quality snark found at Hecklerspray:

It’s been reported that medics at the hospital have classified Britney Spears as ‘GD’ — or Gravely Disabled, which allows them to keep Britney against her will.

Seeing Britney Spears described as Gravely Disabled by expert professionals might look incredibly shocking, but don’t worry — Gravely Disabled is actually two or three notches up from Wanting To Marry Kevin Federline, so at least we can presume that Britney Spears is on the up and up.

Twenty years ago I did my own stint in the Home for the Bewildered. If I learned anything from the experience — and who says I have? — it’s that being the center of attention has more drawbacks than delights. I have sought the shadows ever since. (Yes, I’m on display here, sort of, but I have more or less effective control of the narrative, something that’s seldom said of anyone regularly mentioned on TMZ.)

And when you get right down to it, if thirty years down the pike someone asks “Whatever happened to Britney Spears?” there are basically two possible answers: one involves settling down in some place like Tangipahoa Parish, and the other involves being laid to rest in some place like Forest Lawn. For some folks, it’s not as easy a call as you might think.

Automobile Magazine columnist Ezra Dyer has a car — a ten-year-old BMW M3 — and a spouse who deems said Bimmer unsatisfactory family transportation. What to do?

Most women secretly want to drive a monster truck, and Heather is no different. My job, then, is to consider what she wants (Grave Digger with a vanity mirror) and what I want (at the moment, the General Lee as interpreted by Chip Foose) and meet in the middle. That means a crossover.

There’s only one problem. From a car guy perspective, “crossover” is the new code for “minivan.” And like a minivan, nobody’s buying a Toyota RAV4 because it causes a primal stirring in the loins. You buy a crossover because it’s useful. It answers your needs. And I find that just so depressing.

A 32-inch TV would meet my needs, which is why I got a 50-inch. A George Foreman electric grill would meet my needs, which is why I got a bitchin’ Weber. A two-blade razor would meet my needs, so naturally I use a Gillette Octo-Blade Follicle-Nuker Turbo. Excess is best, but there’s no such thing as an excessive crossover. Yet.

Do women truly covet monster trucks? I remember an issue of Automobile when the staff somehow managed to get their mitts on some sort of Class 6 hauler, and the office babes were just totally “Oh. My. God.” Or at least so reported the Head Babe, editor-in-chief Jean Jennings, who devoted an entire page to the impact it had on her crew. I can say only that we have some pretty heavy haulers at 42nd and Treadmill, and scant few females volunteering to drive them.

For myself, speaking as a person with a George Foreman grill, a sack of twin-blade razors and two 20-inch TVs, I suggest Mr Dyer hold out for a Mazdaspeed CX-9. You know they have to be contemplating the idea.

From My Favorite Year:

Benjy Stone: I think I’m going to be unwell.

Alan Swann: Ladies are unwell, Stone. Gentlemen vomit.

More than that, deponent sprayeth not.

Okay, “avoiding” is the wrong word. But there is one compelling reason to be apprehensive about it:

It just occurred to me why I’ve lost inspiration and passion for my art. It started in the mid-eighties when I started listening to all that New Age weebie-wobie crap about happiness being our birthright as human beings.

That may well be for regular people, but the Muse never kisses the completed, fulfilled artistic soul. I’m sorry, I didn’t make the rules, that’s just facts. No wonder the Arts are taking a beating. A recent poll conducted by the Pew Research Center shows that almost 85% of Americans believe that they are happy. And that’s just sad.

I’ve never been able to get a Muse to return my calls, but it’s always seemed to me that if everything seems to be going your way, it’s at least possible that you’re not actually going anywhere.

This does not mean, however, that we need to spend our lives on the bleeding edge:

I now realize that all that contentment came at a great price: my Muse no longer felt needed, so she left. I cast out a powerful force, that is, the impetus behind my art. In a word, I committed artistic suicide by eradicating melancholy from my life.

I’m not talking about clinical depression, mind you, which certainly needs to be treated. I’m talking about that bittersweet, aching sadness that demands artistic expression. If we erase that from our lives nothing needs to be expressed and we become banal, not only as individuals, but as a society. What will finally satisfy us Americans? Money? If so, how much money is enough? How many gadgets do we really need? How many pairs of shoes can we actually wear? How many TVs can we watch? How many pills can one take before one feels robbed of the fullness of life in all its grandeur and messiness?

The line between clinical depression and “bittersweet, aching sadness” is not always clearly delineated, I suspect; at various times in my life I’ve found myself switching sides, and I’ve never been particularly good at nailing down the exact crossover point. And it occurs to me that maybe I’m not supposed to.

Still, I duly pop my anti-anxiety tab every day, at least partly because I fear the consequences if I don’t.

Fillyjonk offers a D. H. Lawrence poem I hadn’t seen before, and if you were expecting some sort of emotional tumult — I think perhaps I was — you’re in for something of a surprise, especially if all you know of Lawrence is That Book:

[L]ike, I suspect, most Americans, I know of Lawrence mostly because of the (in)famous “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” (which I have never read) which was known as a “bad” book because it contained sex scenes. (and I suspect they may be more tame than the scenes commonly available in ’strong romance’ novels of today. But then again — never have read it.)

She suspects correctly. But Lawrence wasn’t out to write a book about screwing. He was out to reverse what he saw as an alarming trend: an overemphasis on the mental at the expense of the physical.

Still, there’s enough in the book to allow for multiple interpretations, of which perhaps the most amusing was the 1959 review by Ed Zern of Field & Stream:

Although written many years ago, Lady Chatterley’s Lover has just been reissued by Grove Press, and this fictional account of the day-by-day life of an English gamekeeper is still of considerable interest to outdoor-minded readers, as it contains many passages on pheasant-raising, the apprehending of poachers, ways to control vermin, and other chores and duties of the professional gamekeeper.

Unfortunately, one is obliged to wade through many pages of extraneous material in order to discover and savor these sidelights on the management of a Midland shooting estate, and in this reviewer’s opinion the book cannot take the place of J. R. Miller’s Practical Gamekeeper.

Zern was kidding. I think.

This year’s campers at the Glastonbury Festival will be dealing with something new: biodegradable tent pegs.

Seriously. They’re made from potatoes:

[E]co-friendly tent pegs … are to be made from biodegradable potato starch. The problem with the normal metal sort is that they can injure grazing dairy cows which inhabit the field once the festival is finished. The metal pegs are “a real problem for the cows”, said [organiser Michael] Eavis. The potato pegs, which organisers are buying in advance, will therefore be made compulsory for campers this year.

With around 175,000 visitors expected, that’s a lot of pegs. Apparently they’re already in widespread use in the turf industry, and they’ll hold up for the three days of the festival, after which they’ll start to break down. I have no idea if the cattle, once returned to the grounds, will actually try to eat the pegs.

The forty-second Super Bowl is being held at the University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale, Arizona, and I thought back to the 1960s, when Super Bowls were no big deal, and the University of Phoenix Commuters were winning all sorts of Western Athletic Conference titles. The new stadium, built in 2003 and generally acclaimed as one of the premier sports venues worldwide, testifies to the greatness of those Phoenix teams, and …

What? The University doesn’t have any sports teams? Their name is on the building because they wrote a large check for the rights?

Oh.

Never mind.

Michael Bates runs the numbers on Oklahoma Republicans, and concludes that if their first choice is not John McCain, regardless of their actual preference they should vote for Mike Huckabee:

If you’re an Oklahoma Republican and want Mike Huckabee to have a chance at the nomination, vote for Huckabee. You won’t be accidentally helping McCain.

If you’re an Oklahoma Republican and want Mitt Romney to have a chance at the nomination, vote for Huckabee, even if you don’t particularly like Huckabee. Huckabee has the best shot at denying McCain the delegates and the win here in Oklahoma and thus at slowing McCain’s national momentum, which would give Romney the opportunity to fight on.

If you’re an Oklahoma Republican and you don’t like anyone left in the race — this is my category — vote for Huckabee. Denying McCain a win here helps to stop his momentum and leaves the door open for a new candidate to be chosen at the convention.

It appears that this might work in other states where Huckabee is running second to McCain, as the polls say he is in Oklahoma. And Bates offers a generalized version:

It comes down to this: If you don’t want McCain to be the nominee, you need to vote for the non-McCain candidate who has the best poll numbers in your state.

Emphasis in the original. I am not a Republican, but should McCain prevail, I’ll have no trouble voting against him in November.

I guess. In between spates of dyspepsia, or worse, I knocked out Form 1040 (and Form 511) this morning, Dawdling Tax Service having gotten itself in gear to accept new returns.

Observations on the process:

• I made little enough to qualify for the IRS Free File program; my filing service of choice — they’re quite efficient, late opening notwithstanding — charges for the state return, and apparently the OTC complains if you don’t do them both at the same time.

• The Oklahoma standard deduction — maximum $2,750 for single folk — complicates the matter, since it might still be beneficial to itemize even if your deductions don’t reach the Federal standard ($5,350).
• I am still vexed that the state, when it sends out the 1099-G for your previous year’s refund (which is taxable income), includes the amount you paid for use tax.

And I really don’t miss TeleFile, which I used a couple of times around the turn of the century.

Should I be designating these with Roman numerals, as though they were Super Bowls or something? Nah. Why bother? It’s just a trip through the referrer logs, fercryingoutloud.

right to die libertarian:  The trick is to become libertarian before you die.

is Bono in illuminati?  Well, fnord to you too.

women who like to give blow jobs in oklahoma city:  Mayor Cornett didn’t address this in the State of the City speech.

charles hill expert opinion microsoft yahoo:  It will never work.

The Upside Down Squad sex position:  I assume they’re for it.

Why Is My Cat Screaming at Night?  Sex upside down, maybe?

can greyhounds benefit from viagra?  Good lord, no. They’ll go after the damn cat.

my mother walks around the house naked:  It’s a scheme to keep you from bringing all your little friends home.

does wearing underpants reduce penis size:  If they’re too tight, maybe.

sarah jessica parker ugly hideous legs:  Believe me, I’ve seen worse.

will 35 inch tires hurt my gas mileage on a v10 super duty:  What gas mileage? Gas yardage, maybe.

I just can’t believe how much easier it is to find pictures of nude women than it is finding women wearing clothes:  Something about supply and demand, I would think.

etiquette “skinny dip” “mother in law”:  You should always let her go first.

The definitive bubble car was the Isetta, literally “small Iso,” designed by Iso SpA in the ruins of postwar Europe and built all over the Continent under license, mostly by BMW, which sold over 130,000 of them between 1955 and 1962, a few of which somehow managed to disappear into the US.

Of course, nobody would build such a teensy little vehicle today, right? Wrong:

A new range of city models is being planned by BMW, and they could be called Isetta after the famous bubble car of the Fifties.

Back in September, bosses announced plans for a fourth brand — and this is the clearest indication of what it will be.

Why? Pretty much the obvious reason:

[S]mall turbo petrol and diesel engines would be used to help keep costs down, yet provide decent performance and excellent economy and emissions. This last feature is a key reason for BMW giving the city car project the go-ahead. It needs to reduce the average CO2 outputs from its vehicles to meet new EU targets.

Perhaps amusingly, it was the money BMW made off the Isetta which enabled the company to produce larger models in the 1960s; there’s a touch of irony in the prospect that once again the bubble car will be saving the Roundel’s rump.

(Via AutoblogGreen.)

With the departure of John Q. Porter, Oklahoma City Public Schools have now gone through four superintendents in eight years, and the Oklahoman suggests looking closer to home for number five:

It isn’t unusual for urban districts to seek superintendents with experience leading urban schools — with good reason, because urban districts have some unusual challenges. But Oklahoma City’s recent superintendent history shows the pitfalls of going beyond state borders to find a schools chief.

For starters, transplants often aren’t familiar with the state’s education laws and procedures, particularly as they relate to spending.

And spending, and reimbursement for same, was a major factor in Porter’s undoing.

Still, how do you find someone with big-city experience in a state with few big cities? Says the Oklahoman, look to the suburbs:

Many of the suburban districts face some of the same demographic and socioeconomic challenges as Oklahoma City.

Then again, if they’re right next door, they might have a perfectly plausible reason for not wanting to take the Oklahoma City job. Stories do get around. Not that I know any of them.

General Motors knew exactly what they were doing when they began producing the Hummer: they were creating a niche vehicle, instantly recognizable — something you can’t say of too many of the General’s generics — with off-road and rock-hopping capabilities as good as any you could get anywhere. So I have no trouble defending the Hummer.

Some of its owners, maybe not so much:

So I’m in the parking lot at Lowes and nitwit in the hummer is taking up far too much road space. Along comes little car with family inside, taking up the appropriate space in the road and refusing to budge. Nitwit in hummer was forced to hop the curb and of course shouted a few explicits out of the window. I followed, plenty of room since I was too driving a normal sized car.

If he’d left it at that — but no:

“Did you see that, did you see that, I had to go up on the curb to avoid that idiot, did you see where he parked?”

I quickly looked around, hoping beyond all hope nitwit wasn’t addressing me, I only wanted to run in and get some molding.

No such luck.

“Some people, I’m going to have to take my car to the garage tomorrow, the wheels are probably all out of alignment.”

I snorted, I couldn’t stop myself, it was an involuntary sound it just came out. It’s the kind of snort one makes when they’re trying desperately not to laugh at the pure lunacy of nitwit.

“Excuse me?” said nitwit indignantly

I was forced to respond.

“Look”, says me “that is not a car, you’re driving a hummer. It was built to crush small villages in war-torn areas. Haven’t you seen the commercials, apparently it can scale a 65% incline. I seriously doubt you knocked your wheels out of alignment and if you did, ask for a refund. If you’re not aware of your vehicle’s capabilities perhaps you should consider a small car and do us all a favor by allowing us to drive around parking lots without fear of you infringing on our side of the road — have a nice day.”

And for the coup de grâce:

And as I turned to leave — “You probably swerve around tiny little pot holes as well don’t you?”

The curtain of charity descends.

Information isn’t top-down anymore: we don’t have to settle for artificial dissemination.

So I’m pleased to see that the Oklahoman is paying out Steve Lackmeyer’s leash a bit, giving him his very own WordPress blog. (And if you’re coming here from OKC Central, this is the story on that Minnesota Sonic Drive-In.)

Now to see if his TrackBacks work.

One of the better features in the present-day bereft-of-local-listings TV Guide is Rochell D. Thomas’ column “Is It Just Me?” You’ll find it around the middle of the book, and it contains a sidebar, too small a photo, and several WTF?-type questions, one of which I’m throwing open here because I’m not quite sure how to answer it myself. From the February 11-17 issue:

Are all those time-traveler issues a trip? First Journeyman warped back to his past and borrowed clothes from his old self. Now Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles has got a robot from 2007 going back to 1999 to save future rebel leader John Connor’s life, then taking the 15-year-old and his mother, Sarah, eight years into the future to 2007. Having leapt into ‘07, they find themselves trying to stop the “rise of the machines” two years after Sarah dies of cancer and four years before a nuclear war, slated for 2011. Confusing? I think so. Either John and his mother ceased to exist from 2000 to 2006, or John’s living in the same city as his 23-year-old self. And what happens if, when he’s not trying to save suicidal classmates, 1999 Connor tuns into 2007 Connor? Isn’t there some sci-fi law that states a person can’t exist in the same place with their future (or past) self? I can’t wrap my head around it.

I don’t think John and Sarah winked out of existence for those six years. Further, I don’t see a reason why John at 15 can’t live in the same town as John at 23, provided the two Johns don’t interact. But then again, I have even less of a clue about how this is supposed to work than Ms Thomas does. Suggestions are welcomed.

Trini’s sister is getting married this summer, and as tradition presumably demands, she’s dictated the outfits for the lesser members of the party. These are the shoes specified, “Jane” by David’s Bridal, which comes in about eleventy-five different colors or can be dyed to match other stuff in the store. It’s a pretty innocuous shoe, but Trini objected on humanitarian grounds: it would be cruel, she said, to make her wear heels, even heels this low, for any length of time, and she doesn’t care a fig about any presumed advantages of the configuration. I opined that considering these shoes will likely never be worn again unless they’re donated to Goodwill or something, it might not be worth the bother or expense. Bridezilla, so far, will not be moved.

Eric Sauck goes to school in Ann Arbor, Michigan; he sent a letter to Automobile Magazine, which is based in Ann Arbor, and sent the same letter to Motor Trend, which is on the West Coast but which is owned by the same outfit: Source Interlink Media. (The other two major motor mags have a similar configuration: Car and Driver is in Ann Arbor, Road & Track in southern California, and both are owned by Hachette Fillipachi.)

It should be obvious here that the two editorial staffs aren’t looking over each other’s shoulders, and the text varies between the two magazines: Automobile’s version of the letter is slightly shorter. Motor Trend gave Sauck the sort-of-coveted “Letter of the Month” award and a 30GB Zune, which they probably bought off Woot.

Oh, the letter itself? Sauck was complaining about the sudden vogue — especially in car mags — for electric parking brakes, and points out what happens when the battery goes dead:

You’re locked out of your car (smart keys), you can’t pop the clutch to start it (auto-clutch transmissions), you have to find the radio reset code (anti-theft audio), you have to schedule a pricey dealer visit to clear that OBD fault code, and, oh yeah, your car might roll down that hill like a two-ton bowling ball. I’ll sacrifice my Big Gulp Mountain Dew any day if it means I get the reassurance of a good mechanical handbrake.

I have to admit, I admire this guy’s outlook — not to mention his skill in repurposing content. If he doesn’t have a blog, he should.

As always, okc.gov has posted the Mayor’s State of the City address, but this year there’s one serious flaw in the transcript: you can read his description of the Core to Shore projections for the next quarter-century or so, but you may have no idea what he’s talking about because the city didn’t post the video.

So get it here and start it at about “Even if you are the most dedicated downtown observer, you’re going to have a hard time orienting yourself, so I’ll try to help.” The video narration isn’t exactly the same as the printed transcript, but it’s not so far off that you’ll get hopelessly bogged down.

I have no idea whether this will also sync with Dark Side of the Moon.

Things were moving along swimmingly just after 6 pm: I cast ballot #867. At that one moment — do not assume this applied all day — there were twice as many Democrats in line as there were Republicans, which I sort of expected; there were twice as many black Republicans as black Democrats, which I didn’t. Things went smoothly, as they usually do at this precinct, but I was greeted at the door by a faceful of sleet, which tipped my mood from “crabby” to “irascible,” and then the clusterfsck at 50th and May — there was already a road closure, but this time there were three fire engines at the intersection, and I didn’t particularly feel like approaching it to find out why — moved me just about all the way to “pissed.” I expect, though, that the results of the voting will not disappoint me too horribly.

Serious turnout, I dare say. With 55 percent of state precincts reporting, there are 220,000 votes counted on the Democratic side and over 150,000 on the Republican, which means that we’ve already beaten the 2004 primary total with lots of room to spare. (State record for a primary was 631,146, in 1996; we’re on track to beat that handily.) Never underestimate the advantages of not having an incumbent.

Update, 9:30 pm: This was called for Clinton almost right after the polls closed; McCain has maintained about a four-percentage-point lead over Huckabee most of the evening, with Romney well back.

Visitor number 1,500,000 should drop by.

It took 99½ months to get the first half a million; 20½ to get the second; just under 23 to get the third. (I’ve never quite gotten back up to the heady traffic levels of 2005.) Still, the numbers I used to get in a month in 2001 (and in a year before that) are numbers I get in a week today.

Now if only I had some content for all these folks to read….

Update, 6:28 pm: Someone local, yet, off a Cox IP and running Mac OS X — and who apparently has me bookmarked. Imagine that.

Apparently a very narrow demographic:

While BMW still aims for the luxury car market stratosphere (the 7-Series and Rolls, neither of which amount to much) and the lower reaches (the MINI line, which is still premium priced for what it is), the propeller badge might as well be a rifle sight. And yuppies are in the crosshairs.

No car is more identified with a particular rung of the corporate ladder than BMW. Nothing says “mover and shaker” more than an alphabet soup 3 or 5 in a reserved parking place. We’re not talking about the top slot; the truly highly-placed drive something with more presence. We’re looking at the upper middle execs whose cars must stand out from the “ordinary” (cynics might say “practical”) machines driven by the company’s lesser lights.

Overpaying is part of the cachet, “I’m going places, and I don’t need to worry about what it cost.” Sure, Bimmer’s rep for speed and handling is a nice seasoning. But truth be told, the sort of person who regularly buys/leases a BMW probably doesn’t have the time to go joyriding. The exact position of this “Bimmer spot” within the corporate hierarchy varies from country to country, but the template remains the same: Urban Professional on the Move.

Which of course lets me out, since I’m not going anywhere, in several senses of the word. And obviously not everyone sporting a roundel is yuppie scum. (I know better.)

Still, I have to wonder if there’s a bubble involved, and maybe there is:

If there is a significant worldwide economic downturn, existing and potential BMW buyers may not make enough bonus — or simply feel “safe” enough — to take on a new car after three to five years. Should the corporate ax man’s blade swing through the lower executive level with special violence, BMW sales will suffer widespread decapitation.

That’s the problem with near luxury products. They’re not expensive enough to rise about the fray, and they’re not cheap enough to be seen as a necessity, or fly under the corporate accountant’s radar.

We don’t have a lot of high-zoot vehicles where I work, anyway; mostly it’s trucks and sport-utilities. Then again, damn few of us are overpaid. (Some of us — I have reference to, um, me — don’t even come close to it.)

Yale diplomat-in-residence Charles Hill (no relation), who served as chief foreign-policy adviser to the Giuliani campaign, says that Rudy’s failure to get the message out killed his candidacy:

The candidate’s focus on Florida — at the expense of campaigning in the early primaries — was a mistake, Hill said in an interview with the [Yale Daily] News on Friday. But it was also part of a larger failure on the part of Giuliani’s communications staff to engage the media and, through them, the American public, Hill said.

Hill pointed to a foreign-policy speech Giuliani gave in September as emblematic of the campaign’s inability to draw attention to its candidate.

“Giuliani gave a speech in London that was a very serious and impressive speech,” Hill said. “It got very good press in London, and got no press here at all. Things that were done were not reported very well, and that, I think, was the fault of the communications team itself.”

And the Giuliani campaign largely steered clear of the down-and-dirty stuff, which, says the man on whom nothing was lost, was also a mistake:

Hill said there were good advertisements that argued back, that Hill said seemed to him perfectly honest, but which Giuliani rejected for fear of appearing to unfairly attack his fellow Republicans.

“That approach, I think, doesn’t work,” Hill said. “When you’re charged with something and you don’t answer, then it’s taken to be truth.”

No secrets here: as belligerent GOP-lite guys go, I’d have much preferred Giuliani to John McCain. C’est la vie.