Come on, politicians everywhere. Check the freaking mic!!!

Looks like Gordon Brown is dead and buried in this UK general election following a simple microphone gaffe in Rochdale. He called an old lady a bigot.

I ask it every time a politician gets caught saying something he shouldn't on a microphone. Before getting in the car - why not look down and automatically check your freaking shirt?

You'd think it would be the first thing they teach you in your campaign training. After TV interview, press conference, photo op - Check the mic, check the mic, check the mic!

Oh Boy - Here Comes Number Two!!!

Ohhh boy! Second one was last night in Bristol! Which means the YouTube-able version of the entire thing will be probably be available in America... mmm... guessing sometime tonight. Oh my. This single Anglophile political junkie finally knows what he's doing with his Friday evening! Score!

I know I was a little sarcastic in my last election blog, but I have to say I'm genuinely excited by this - not just by the second Prime Ministerial debate but the whole furor leading up to the most important and unpredictable election happening in Europe right now.

The Labour Party has been in power for thirteen years under Tony Blair and Gordon Brown. Ironically, it looks like this middle-left party, essentially the equivalent to America's Democrats, has become the public opinion equivalent of the Republicans under G. W. Bush. Some pundits have predicted that the Conservative Party will have no trouble toppling Labour, owing to continued anger over the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as over the explosion of bad press regarding Labour MP's expense accounts. (Many were found guilty of writing off everything from the construction of duck ponds on their property to porn website subscriptions. Not exaggerating.) Conservatives are further helped by the fact that their leader, David Cameron, looks like he has had a shit sometime in the past five years...

whereas Gordon Brown, frankly, not so much.

And yet, despite concerns of a Conservative landslide, it really does look now like the race is up for grabs, thanks to the efforts of Britain's third biggest party. This is the party until recently known as "The Who-Are-They-Kidding They-Haven't-a-Chance Liberal Democrats." Now they're simply known as the Lib Dems, or The Holy Shit Didn't See This Coming Party.

But you surely see them now. This is Nick Clegg, the Lib Dem leader. When he was interviewed on Newsnight eleven days ago, interviewer Jeremy Paxman began by saying, "Nick Clegg, let's first of all establish what planet we're on. You're not going to sit there, are you, and claim that you could be the next Prime Minister."

"I'd like to be the next Prime Minister," replied Clegg.

Paxman: "But you won't be as a result of this election."

Now, following the debate, he is being called the next Winston Churchill, and even the UK's Obama. Of course, some papers have managed to call him a Nazi as well.

I know my tone in the last blog about the first British televised Prime Ministerial debate was tinged with a bit of American snark. I think I was just trying to fit in as a blogger.

However, after having watched the maiden debate in its entirety, I'm genuinely gassed about this election, and a bit astounded at how much that puts me over the top on the dork-o-meter.

I thought the debate-virginal UK candidates really held their own... apart from 'Gas Bubbles' Brown, of course, who never once stopped looking like someone had just tread on his corns.

Yes, I know I tend to find ANYTHING British to be fascinating...

... but it's just so lovely to me to see this weirdly different nation of English-speaking people get so beautifully fired up over the state of their country.

Meanwhile, vegetable spread company Marmite, among the worst of British institutions, right behind Big Brother and the Munich Agreement, is getting ready to sue far-right British National Party over their using a picture of Marmite in one of its campaign ads.

THIS is what it's all about people! If this doesn't get the youth of America interested in international politics, I don't know what will!

Awww... just look at these guys!

Great Britain just held its first EVER televised debate among its Prime Ministerial candidates, and look at those faces... totally loving the camera. All smiley and ... clenchy.

I know the Brits have had over sixty years to make this happen, but clearly the time wasn't right until now. These dudes drip with Bill Clinton-esque suave, tempered with just the right amount of stiff-upper-everything.

The BBC is dubbing this Britain's first "US-style" debate. Apparently American media specialists were hired to help the incumbent Prime Minister and his two main rivals work through this new-fangled campaign technology called 'T.V.' (That's for those who don't prefer to listen in on the 'wireless.')

If the goal of our US experts was to make all three candidates resemble John McCain, they have done an excellent job.

If the object was to make Gordon "Gas Bubbles" Brown into the next Obama, well...

... call it a C+.

Having just viewed the results online, I have only one reaction to this momentous political event: who the f--k designed this set?

It looks like strippers are about to emerge at any moment from behind the pillars, with teased out 70's hair and leg-warmers, plus a couple of small children and Dr. Who.

And apparently the UK has replaced its traditional red, white and blue national color scheme with red, white and beige. Perhaps with the ultra-right British National Party gaining quick ground this election...

... having too much white on the stage could send the wrong message:

So they've supplanted white with beige - surely meant to represent the color of Britain's many cows.

And so to Conservative leader David Cameron, Lib Dems candidate Nick Clegg, and Labour incumbent Gordon Brown, I say bravo on your first tandem TV performance, in which you tackled such heated topics as the economic recovery, crime, and the growing call among MP's to continue to put taxpayer pounds toward porn. I think this is just the start of many exciting and no-holds-barred live events these seasoned, and now TV-sassy, UK politicos will rock during this election. As Gordon so beautifully zinged today at rival Cameron, "It's answer time, not question time, David."

Boo-yah, Gord! I couldn't have put it better myself.

Well, I mean, given ten minutes I probably could have come up with ANYTHING better than that, but hey, it's early days.

By all accounts you were a bastard, but it was totally worth it.

Tributes for Sex Pistols manager Malcolm McLaren

Malcolm McLaren gave the world, either directly or through inspiration, The Sex Pistols, The Clash, The Jam, The Buzzcocks, The Smiths, and a lot of bands I hold dear. He died Thursday of cancer, aged 64. Thanks, Malc, for inventing British punk as we know it!

Yeah, thanks, Malcolm (even though you can't hear me). Hi, sorry, this is Will. Can I chime in?

Yeah. Can you keep it brief though? I have laundry I need to do.

No problem. I just have to say that after watching "The Filth and the Fury" documentary, and after doing quite a lot of reading about punk, the Pistols, and British culture - I began to find Malcolm quite a repulsive figure; a man who unabashedly bilked his proteges out of money, used their insecurities to feed his fame, and enjoyed insulting, humiliating, shocking, and bullying anyone weaker than himself.

And yet - through his management of the Sex Pistols and the New York Dolls, his dedication to the destruction of haute couture, and his brilliant manipulation of the idiotic British press - it's hard to point to any other single figure who did more to foster the necessary destruction of normalcy in the late 70's, and who made punk power a real possibility. Doesn't matter if you like other bands better than the ones Malcolm handled - (like me - I much prefer The Clash) - they wouldn't exist without Malcolm's belief in something different and his ability to set off very public explosions.

So for me this begs the question - is it better to be a bastard, a user, a manipulator, and a selfish prick than to make NO lasting contributions to culture?

I wrestle with this question every time I sit down to fill out my tax return or call someone to "talk through our differences," and all of the hundreds of times a year I seem to say, "I'm sorry."

Okay, I'm done. Thanks, Malcolm!

Wait - who am I talking to? You really are dead.

You missed Becky Shaw. And now I'm missing pillows.

Okay, job's over, Boston done, back to New York, Lower East Side, hustle, hustle, boil and bubble. Despite my anxieties about being back, I have to say I'm relieved. I was excited to see downtown. I'll take the stink of rotting Chinese gangster bodies and fresh tattoo ink over the River Charles or Eastern freaking Standard any day. Went for a walk on a bone-bruised foot around the old neighborhood and actually enjoyed it.

Now I'm back in my tiny Orchard Street apartment to discover the woman who was subletting said apartment stole two, possibly three, of my pillows. Now that's a new one! A phone call to Pittsburgh confirmed my worst fears. My pillows are in Pittsburgh.

It was "totally an accident," and the pillows will be returned via post tomorrow. Still - you gotta give it up to an otherwise responsible sublessor who accidentally packs your pillows into a box and ships them to Western Pennsylvania. The really impressive part was when she got upset with me for "sounding kind of annoyed" on the phone. "Are you annoyed? I mean, I didn't do it on purpose!"

You know what? Fair enough. After all there was nothing in our renter's agreement about coming back to a complete pillow set after two months on the road. I probably should have just let it go.