I have a dream, and a plan, to combine the commercial possibilities of Valentine's Day with the substance and meaning of black history month. I call it: Blackentine's Day.

A young imagination is bold, likes to make bigger leaps. It likes to, well, imagine that the dustbuster is a dinosaur; that the computer mouse is a hotrod; that the box is a cave; that the rawhide is a torch... or a baton... or something.

I was not a jock in high school. I know, you're shocked.

Hypocrisy is great fodder for comedy.

I mean, you're gonna be left behind if you don't appreciate the genius that is Meredith Vieira.

If I had a time machine I would go back 30 years and show up at my grandmother's apartment before the gargantuan meals she would serve and I would help her.

Did I end up finding a little blue pill to cure America's electoral dysfunction? Unfortunately, it's not that simple.