| 
 The live exemplification proved her thesis: I bartered a sack of saucisse au poivre for a damn good bottle of a local Sylvaner. But if internet trades are really the future of commerce, how can I convince my ISP to take my art-college pocket-lint sculptures as payment for my bill? | 
| 
  Keeping up the swingin' theme of this year's conference, B'Dul's 
                  analysis shimmied its way into our hearts by linking the dance 
                  maven's wardrobe to contemporary events. But if black crinoline 
                  really marked the nation's mourning of the assassination of 
                  MLK, and if puffs of lime-green fuzz on Cissy's top told us 
                  it was okay to party again in the '70s, how are we to know ourselves 
                  now that she's adorned in grandmotherly simplicity? Where's 
                  Bobby to help us jitterbug our way through this long slog of 
                  political retrograde?  | 
| 
 Jones' creation of "The Glammy Mammy" through digital 
                  morphing of Al Jolson, Hattie McDaniel, Mrs. Butterworth, and 
                  Halle Berry gave graphic punch to his always cogent prose. But 
                  the shocker was when the screen made its final shift: to the 
                  Tea Party's Obama-as-the-Joker image. It's story, but it's hardly 
                  folky.  | 
| 
 Twissle rocked our bootayz with a thumping thesis: the City of Angels now contains America's foundational myth, and reality TV is its apotheosis. At bottom, it is irrefutable, but are we really that desperate to believe? | 
| 
 A mindless showing of surgery highlights: Teresa Guidice getting her "bubbies," the Botox party in Orange County, Heidi Montag before and after. Uh, wasn't there supposed to be some commentary? Afterwards, the attendees complained in the lobby and took to various social networking sites to express their irritation. Ulruch stuck his head out in the lobby and said, "That's my point." My friend from kindergarten thinks he's full of it, but this woman I once met in a bar isn't so sure. | 
| 
 In theory, the wisdom of the crowd makes the best decisions—you know, like it did with the housing market. And the creation of the Tea Party. And the popularity of Jersey Shore. But the stout Mott-Stauffer was not deterred by these stats and unleashed a cage full of uber-rodents on the crowd, cowing us into admitting acceptance of the notion. | 
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