It’s not every day you see those sweatpants traded in for tailored suits and shoulder pads.

Last week, as I watched students march down Walnut in appropriate business attire, I wondered how soon they (you?) would be making more money than our fine new mayor.

How much does Nutter make? That’s public information: $186,044.

Depending on who you are, you might be wowed or seriously underwhelmed by that number. But if I may offer the moderately knowledgeable opinion of a Regular Working Person: that is a relatively measly sum for someone with what is — almost inarguably — one of the most difficult jobs in the county.

The catch, of course, is that salaries are in no way decided by how hard a job is — assuming such a thing can even be measured. (Imagine: seventh grade teachers and coal miners would be buying homes in Greenwich and summering in Tuscany.)

Of course there’s nothing easy about the 80-hour weeks recent grads put in at i-banks. But — upon graduation — Wharton undergraduates command an average starting salary of $108,509 (that’s base salary + signing bonus + annual bonus). 100 grand!

Pardon me while I peel my jaw up off the floor.

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Bush’s brain. Boy genius. The Architect. Turd Blossom.

Call him what you want, but there’s no denying that Karl Rove is one of the most brilliant and sought-after speakers in the world. An overwhelming sense of merriment was palpable on Penn’s campus on Monday, when SPEC officially announced that the former Deputy Chief of Staff to President George W. Bush would be the spring keynote speaker.

Many Penn students acknowledged the value of a Rove address on a SPEC online survey. SPEC Connaissance co-director Elana Wilf said there was great student interest in a speaker who is “controversial and political.” Ms. Wilf and her colleagues rightfully translated this to mean “Karl Rove.”

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Or is it State of the Unions?

Anyway, as a senior, I can breathe a sigh of relief now that Emeril Lagasse, renowned Food Network star (”It’s more than a cookery show, it’s relaxing!”), will not be sending me off into the real world with his Crab Remick recipe. By the way, when you watch the YouTube clip I want your opinions on whether the cameraman was drunk.

Nevertheless, I wonder what Lagasse’s speech would have been like…

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[Movie trailer voice] Coming this November…

Two candidates. Two heroes.

In a world of uncertainty, bloodshed, and UberIslamoFascism. Only one hero and one presidential candidate can survive. [/Movie trailer voice]

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This Monday was MLK Day, this year brought to you by Lyndon B. Johnson. Two weeks from yesterday, however, is Super Tuesday — which Wikipedia says is also referred to as the Tuesday of Destiny. (Regardless of accuracy, I will call it that until I die.)

There are a couple of reasons I’m especially excited for Super Tuesday ‘08. For one, this is the first presidential election cycle I can vote in, and everyone says you never forget your first time. (That’s what they were talking about, right?)

But more importantly, this year’s Super Tuesday will go down as one of the most important in recent memory. Both sides of the presidency are still up in the air, and Feb. 5 looks to be the day that solidifies our two contenders for November. This is a race where there’s no sure thing: no incumbents, no dominant party and no Al Gore. I can’t wait to be part of the change that all the candidates are talking about.

There’s just one big problem: Pennsylvania has no say in the matter.

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Ann Coulter is one great American dame. Her constant presence in the American media circuit and her inspired authorship of many best-selling books are testament to the resonance of her arguments.

Or maybe it’s just because she’s blonde. She’s a MILF, too wouldn’t you say? It makes her stand out from the other female Republican pundits - and there you have the probable reason for her media success. Bill O’ Reilly is probably thankful he sits under a desk when he sees Ann Coulter on his show.

“There are other female Republican pundits?” one might ask, to which I would reply,

“Yes, you are just confusing them for men.”

It is quite easy to do, since, whilst relatively coherent, they all look like the spawn of Margaret Thatcher and a gerbil. If Ann Coulter had looked like one of these Maggie-gerbils, I would bet all the money in my pockets against all the money in yours that you just wouldn’t know her name.

Unless you were related to or haunted by her. Sonnet to this affect after the jump.

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It is bizarre to this antiquated pocketwatch-wearing Englishman that Iowa (Englishman: “Iowa? Funny name, that. Who’s that then?”) holds such prominence in choosing a presidential candidate.

Something seems amiss from the point of view of a foreigner in America who grew up with a democratic system that is, well, normal. A state of corn growers, where there are more dirt tracks than roads, with a population that is something like one percent of the nation, has such power?

To me, that’s like going back to the UK and asking a bunch of sheep farmers from Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch, Wales (you bet your sweet arse it exists) to shout at each other for an evening about who they want for Prime Minister. Then, after the inevitable fight and customary sheep shagging has ended, I take the consensus and plaster it all over the front pages of every mainstream publication. This will then give credibility to some potential twit, all because he promised to make sheep-shagging legal and ban all beef so lamb prices skyrocket.

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In late October, I cheated on my political crush.

Since hearing his speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention, I’ve had a crush on Obama (see below). I was the first person in my small Alabama town to put an Obama ‘08 sticker on my car (and have the key marks to show for it). But, on October 30th, before the Democratic debate at Drexel, I betrayed Barack’s trust and campaigned for Hillary Clinton.

It happened for the same reason that many affairs do. Convenience.

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