Yesterday my wife Sue and I were up in Lake Placid to attend the Democratic Rural Conference and see the leading presidential contenders up close. A steamroller had preceeded us into town--clean-cut young men in black suits were tacking "Kerry" signs to every available lamppost, like so many rottweilers marking their territory. Johnny Haircut's paid publicity machine was out in full force, and was doing its best to turn the multi-candidate conference into a Kerry rally.

Inside the hall, the first dozen or so rows had been "reserved" (for Kerry supporters); Kerry literature, signs, and stickers covered every chair, and it was announced that he would be given "more time to speak" since he had to catch a flight to Chicago. My wife, ever-intrepid, ignored the signs and sat us down in the front row, directly in front of the podium. Thus we were among the few to see Rep. Dennis Kucinich at close hand. Our hearts went out to him immediately. He had all the best, most progressive ideas, and the scrappy demeanor of a bantamweight fighter. Too bad the Kerry gang sabotaged his big moment in Lake Placid.

After Kucinich made his stand, the Man of the Hour appeared to hoots, stomping, and sounds reminiscent of the Jerry Springer show: "Kerry, Kerry, Kerry!" As Coiffure Boy stepped up and began to orate, my wife insisted on moving to the back of the hall before she lost her breakfast. We both heard enough to feel nausea. John Kerry is truly Master Thespian--a third-rate tragedian playing Kennedy as a funeral director. The oil in his demeanor could prove a valuable natural resource.

Kerry may have had the money, the matinee-idol looks, and the renegade Mormons on his side, but the next candidate who spoke lifted our spirits skyward. Sue and I felt hope for the first time in over two years. Howard Dean was bright, funny, relevant, and real. (And he got more real applause than Scary Kerry.) Though we both really liked Kucinich, we realized that Howard Dean could actually WIN. If the grass roots surge can keep the rottweilers at bay and the DNC from punting the election, Howard Dean could be the next President of the United States.

When we got back to Utica, we both felt so good that it didn't even matter that we were bone-tired and that I had received a letter from an agent rejecting my novel, telling me she "just didn't find it funny enough." (Everyone else who didn't throw it across the room immediately thought it was HILARIOUS.) Even today, I still feel pretty good.