The governor wins this easily for getting caught on camera saying, "Kick their asses out." It's not so much the words, which aren't exactly governorly, but it's that he said it at a sit-in at Bush's executive office suite while two black legislators protested his "One Florida" plan. Jeb made his remark while the camera was rolling. Our friend, Jon the stoner, has some advice for the governor: "You know those big, uh, movie camera-looking things on those dudes' shoulders that have, like, television station logos on them? They are like filming you, man. It's got to do with like, images, man. And, uh, people can actually see it on TV later. So, dude, chill, when those things are, um, like,… oh shit, I forgot what I was talking about, man." Jon is right, Jeb. In fact we'd have thought Papa George would have warned you about that already. But the quote was just part of a bigger gaffe -- his killing of affirmative action for minority college students. Well, actually, it's not much of a gaffe when it's cold and calculated, is it? While affirmative action may not be a perfect system (perhaps it should also be based on economic factors rather than simply race), Jeb's move stunk up the place. It's no time to go backward on race relations, Jeb.

The governor wins this easily for getting caught on camera saying, "Kick their asses out." It's not so much the words, which aren't exactly governorly, but it's that he said it at a sit-in at Bush's executive office suite while two black legislators protested his "One Florida" plan. Jeb made his remark while the camera was rolling. Our friend, Jon the stoner, has some advice for the governor: "You know those big, uh, movie camera-looking things on those dudes' shoulders that have, like, television station logos on them? They are like filming you, man. It's got to do with like, images, man. And, uh, people can actually see it on TV later. So, dude, chill, when those things are, um, like,… oh shit, I forgot what I was talking about, man." Jon is right, Jeb. In fact we'd have thought Papa George would have warned you about that already. But the quote was just part of a bigger gaffe -- his killing of affirmative action for minority college students. Well, actually, it's not much of a gaffe when it's cold and calculated, is it? While affirmative action may not be a perfect system (perhaps it should also be based on economic factors rather than simply race), Jeb's move stunk up the place. It's no time to go backward on race relations, Jeb.

Police departments in general are notoriously secretive and manipulative with their information. Some of the secretiveness is for good reason -- if a crucial fact in an ongoing investigation gets out to the press, it could hurt the case. The manipulation comes into play when a key fact could make the cops look bad. Like the fact that an unarmed, handcuffed suspect was given a black eye on the way to jail. Things like that. The worst police PIOs (Public Information Officers) will thwart journalists' efforts to get at records that reveal such things, delaying the release of key documents or going as far as outright lying about their existence. Such practice is against the law and often ends up biting the department in the ass, but it's done all the time anyway. And still other PIOs are always trying to manipulate the way a reporter writes a story. When it doesn't come out the way they want it, they take it personally and begin obstructing certain members of the fourth estate. Unlike those scoundrels Mike Reed plays it straight. He gets records and promptly faxes them to the reporter. He doesn't play favorites. He doesn't gum up the process, and he doesn't try to write the story for you. He's a classic, professional, just-the-facts-ma'am kind of cop. The way it should be.

Police departments in general are notoriously secretive and manipulative with their information. Some of the secretiveness is for good reason -- if a crucial fact in an ongoing investigation gets out to the press, it could hurt the case. The manipulation comes into play when a key fact could make the cops look bad. Like the fact that an unarmed, handcuffed suspect was given a black eye on the way to jail. Things like that. The worst police PIOs (Public Information Officers) will thwart journalists' efforts to get at records that reveal such things, delaying the release of key documents or going as far as outright lying about their existence. Such practice is against the law and often ends up biting the department in the ass, but it's done all the time anyway. And still other PIOs are always trying to manipulate the way a reporter writes a story. When it doesn't come out the way they want it, they take it personally and begin obstructing certain members of the fourth estate. Unlike those scoundrels Mike Reed plays it straight. He gets records and promptly faxes them to the reporter. He doesn't play favorites. He doesn't gum up the process, and he doesn't try to write the story for you. He's a classic, professional, just-the-facts-ma'am kind of cop. The way it should be.

It had all the ingredients of an epic: A diminutive wannabe dictator (Ken Jenne) angling behind the scenes for a colossal power-grab; a protectionist gang of ethically questionable politicos who will stop at nothing to retain their preeminence (county commissioners); and a horde of profiteers angling on both sides of the issue (lobbyists and contractors). In politics, battles are almost always between evil and slightly less evil, and in this case it's hard to tell what side was which. Creating a strong mayor in Broward would, it seems, put too much absolute power in one set of hands. The thought of Ken Jenne with all that power is abominable for just about everybody but his long-time cronies. Yet there are few things as politically frightening as the county commission as it now stands, with the likes of campaign thief Scott Cowan and perennial good ol' girl Lori Parrish sitting up there. Perhaps it would take a dictator to clean Broward County's pipes and bring it to national prominence. Or maybe infamy. Jenne lost out this time, but this one's far from over. It's only round one in this political death match.

It had all the ingredients of an epic: A diminutive wannabe dictator (Ken Jenne) angling behind the scenes for a colossal power-grab; a protectionist gang of ethically questionable politicos who will stop at nothing to retain their preeminence (county commissioners); and a horde of profiteers angling on both sides of the issue (lobbyists and contractors). In politics, battles are almost always between evil and slightly less evil, and in this case it's hard to tell what side was which. Creating a strong mayor in Broward would, it seems, put too much absolute power in one set of hands. The thought of Ken Jenne with all that power is abominable for just about everybody but his long-time cronies. Yet there are few things as politically frightening as the county commission as it now stands, with the likes of campaign thief Scott Cowan and perennial good ol' girl Lori Parrish sitting up there. Perhaps it would take a dictator to clean Broward County's pipes and bring it to national prominence. Or maybe infamy. Jenne lost out this time, but this one's far from over. It's only round one in this political death match.

Admit it. You read Lambiet's "South Florida Insider" in the Sun-Sentinel. Everybody does. (That's why The Herald tried to lure him away, unsuccessfully.) While the rest of the Sun-Sentinel aims for -- and usually achieves -- a sleepy weave of the banal and irrelevant, Lambiet's writing is solid, punchy, and fun. It may carry more cachet to keep up with political columnist Buddy Nevins, but we're guessing Nevins doesn't pull down half the readership of the Bald One. The great unwashed simply don't care about politics anymore, Buddy. We want to know what the beautiful people are up to in SoBe. Not that Lambiet isn't a journalist's journalist. He has a source book to die for (though he loses points with us for overuse of anonymous attribution), and his network of informants would make a G-man jealous. Hell, he even breaks news once in a while.

Admit it. You read Lambiet's "South Florida Insider" in the Sun-Sentinel. Everybody does. (That's why The Herald tried to lure him away, unsuccessfully.) While the rest of the Sun-Sentinel aims for -- and usually achieves -- a sleepy weave of the banal and irrelevant, Lambiet's writing is solid, punchy, and fun. It may carry more cachet to keep up with political columnist Buddy Nevins, but we're guessing Nevins doesn't pull down half the readership of the Bald One. The great unwashed simply don't care about politics anymore, Buddy. We want to know what the beautiful people are up to in SoBe. Not that Lambiet isn't a journalist's journalist. He has a source book to die for (though he loses points with us for overuse of anonymous attribution), and his network of informants would make a G-man jealous. Hell, he even breaks news once in a while.

One has to ponder the reliability of a newspaper when it gets the name of its own employee wrong. Makes you wonder exactly how badly the daily hacks butcher the name of your average Joe Blow whose house burns down or who gets busted for snorting coke off the toilet seat at his local dive bar. So, for posterity's sake: "A story on page 1B of Sunday's edition about the Sun-Sentinel Children's Fund misidentified the Sun-Sentinel Marketing Manager for Charities. She is Andrea Bradley. We regret the error." We hope they get the name right on her paycheck.

One has to ponder the reliability of a newspaper when it gets the name of its own employee wrong. Makes you wonder exactly how badly the daily hacks butcher the name of your average Joe Blow whose house burns down or who gets busted for snorting coke off the toilet seat at his local dive bar. So, for posterity's sake: "A story on page 1B of Sunday's edition about the Sun-Sentinel Children's Fund misidentified the Sun-Sentinel Marketing Manager for Charities. She is Andrea Bradley. We regret the error." We hope they get the name right on her paycheck.