Let the Roll Call Begin

The roll-call for the Democratic presidential nominee just began at 5:50pm EDT. I wonder how many states will need to report before the necessary 2,210 are met for my man, Barack.

What?

I always understood one of the unspoken rules of journalism to be that an article's title should give you some idea of the story while catching your attention. The following Reuters headline certainly caught my attention but does it make any sense? Your thoughts, please, as to what it means before you read the article.

Hantuchova Swept Aside By Big - Serving Groenfeld

Okay, but what does the graphic mean?

Not helpful!

No kidding - I'd love to try this in person

From this week's New Yorker magazine. Yet again, I've missed my true calling when it comes to Olympic opportunity. (No bad skin, though, and I stopped biting my nails a long time ago - please tell Hayes.)

Graphic onscreen: Twenty-two minutes until John Kenney.

We see John Kenney in his office cubicle, listening to an iPod and looking really closely at the tip of a pencil.

AL TRAUTWIG: Twenty-two minutes now until we see John Kenney try to medal in the elusive sport of bi-monthly-status-meeting commenting. First time for this event, and one that’s unfamiliar to some of our viewers. Mary Carillo, you competed briefly in this event. What should we look for?

MARY CARILLO: Al, this is an event dominated by the Dutch, the Swiss, and, to a great extent, the North Koreans. These are active participants in bi-monthly status meetings, people who really prepare, whereas Americans— new to the sport—tend to be far more lethargic, taking it more as a pastime than as something to really prepare for.

A.T.: John Kenney.

M.C.: Indeed. Kenney has a unique approach to the sport. He appears, at first, almost completely ignorant of what’s happening in a meeting, often looking around with a puzzled expression.

A.T.: A cat-and-mouse game.

M.C.: No. He genuinely has no idea what’s going on.

A.T.: How does he catch up?

M.C.: He might borrow the minutes of the last meeting from whomever he’s sitting next to or even whisper to his neighbor, asking something like “What’s happening? Who’s this Phil guy?”

A.T.: He never attended college.

M.C.: No, not even close. And that’s the remarkable thing. He’s able to glom on to something someone said and repeat it as if it were his own thought.

A.T.: As only a true Olympian can. Mary Carillo spoke with the two women who spurred John Kenney on to meeting greatness.

A montage of photographs of John Kenney as a baby, a child, a teen-ager. In every one, he’s sitting at a conference table. In one photo, age four, he appears to be pointing to a staffing chart. During this montage, we hear the voices of two women.

MOTHER: The first words out of his mouth—

SISTER: I’ll never forget this—

MOTHER: His first words were “I’d like to speak to Ted’s earlier point on the Q1 numbers.”

We now see John’s mother and his sister, speaking to Mary Carillo.

MOTHER: We knew he was special.

SISTER: And very different.

A montage of John and his mother and sister eating unusually large waffles, playing cards, and playing miniature golf. Throughout, we hear Mary Carillo.

M.C.: John never knew his father, an out-of-work freelance U-boat captain. His mother had to make ends meet on her salary as the senior vice-president of global marketing at Brown Brothers Harriman. But, always, John loved meetings. So much so that one Christmas he asked only for a conference table, easels, and an overhead projector.

MOTHER: We never even knew that meetings were an Olympic event. But that’s when John met his social-studies teacher, Mr. Bluth.

A montage of photographs of young John with Howard Bluth.

BLUTH: He was just different from the other kids. And not just because he drooled a lot.

Howard Bluth being interviewed by Mary Carillo.

M.C.: What made him so different?

BLUTH: He was . . . weird. Odd. Quirky. A little annoying. Short. Very bad skin. No one liked him. Not even me. He was a horrible athlete, didn’t say much. In twenty-five years of teaching, I’d never seen a student with less energy, interest, or charisma. It was almost like he was catatonic. But then, when called upon in class, he was able, at an early age, to take a fresh, cogent thought that a classmate had made moments before and restate it as if it were his own. I knew then that he had the raw skills to become a truly great middle-management-meeting Olympian.

A montage of John Kenney in meetings over the years: Now looking lethargic, now biting his nails, now staring out a window, now spilling coffee on himself, now laughing out of context at something he thought was funny in his head. Followed by a montage of comments he’s made in meetings.

J.K.: Maybe let’s regroup in two weeks?

J.K.: I’m not sure I understand what Alan means when he says “profit and loss.” How can you have both?

J.K.: Larry’s point is an important one. I’d just like to recap what he just said.

J.K.: How about a round of applause for Tina’s thought about the outsourcing thing she was just talking about.

Back to Al and Mary.

A.T.: An amazing story, a bizarre sport.

M.C.: Like the trampoline, like beach volleyball, like archery in many ways, so few people understand why or how or even the point of bimonthly-status-meeting commenting. But herein lies the mystery—and the power—of this odd, odd sport.

A.T.: We take you now to the conference room, where the meeting is already in progress . . . .♦

Think the worst is over?

Courtesy of the NY Times Magazine, this past weekend's edition.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/17/magazine/17pessimist-t.html?_r=1&oref=slogin&ref=magazine&pagewanted=all