Summer thriller
The big media-hype story of the summer appears to be in place. Everybody loves a whodunit with all the elements of good tragedy (hubris, rich powerful people, unrequited love, etc. etc.), and that’s what Gary “The Condom” Condit has provided. While major stories of the Bush administration turning back human progress go unnoticed, everyone wants to find missing intern Chandra Levy, who I’m sad to say probably took an acid bath at the hands of some contract killer a while ago.

Meanwhile Condit, a guy suffering from Clintonitis (can we define the term “romantic"?), turns out to be a super-creep. This is a guy who can’t stop banging impressionable young girls in his care, sinking so low as to screw his pastor’s 18-year old daughter.! All this from a Bible-beating, conservative elitist, too.

He’s already impeded the investigation (lying to officers the first two interviews and finally admitting the affair on the third), not to mention that Levy left home without ID or wallet—a practice she was known to do when “meeting her secret lover” who demanded she be discreet and nameless (like his airline ho). Then Condomman took his own private lie detector test and passed with flying colors (sample question: Do little girls like your big muscles? Why yes, they do).

Cases like these can be so interesting to follow because they illuminate pathetic shortcomings not only in human nature, but in our biased justice system as well. Powerful, rich people probably have better than a 50-50 chance of getting away with murder (and if they have Johnny Cochran, it probably jumps to an 80-percent success rate). Of course, as of press time, Condit is still technically innocent.

If John Walsh and Texas Ranger Chuck Norris never find anything, maybe the case will go unsolved. I would be looking in the direction of top aides or shady friends (big business partners that stand to gain from Condom use). It’s kind of taking on a No Way Out meets Absolute Power feel. We need Glint Eastwood to stare down Condit with his legendary stink-eye while muttering, “When you decided to knock boots with my preacher’s daughter, you made it my business.”

One thing’s for sure: With this country’s memory and predisposition for lying, cock-first bastards, Condit will probably be president soon or, at the very least, have his own television show. Tentative titles? How about Can’t Get Enough or Oops! I Killed the Intern. Or even better, how about a Real World series on Washington interns; then we could see how much separates these five-timin’ Congress dogs from the average thong-slappin’ gangster rapper they love to decry.

Weekly props
1. Shakespeare in the Park
2. Buffalo Springfield box set
3. James Brown Live at the Apollo Vol. II
4. Wine and Blues at the Bridge (Corning)