Don't Start: I know, I know. But replace me with Mike Ovitz? No offense to our immigrant ancestors and the perils of Ellis Island, but the guy's name is a patronymic, minus the nymic. Besides, he'll never be able to compete with my wit, charm, and ability to predict major political movements with roughly 15% accuracy.

Watching a bit of the GOP convention. Reminded tonight that Liddy Dole embodies condescension the way Nixon did paranoia, or Clinton smarm. Every audience seems, from her tone, to be composed of third-graders. Slow ones.

So what have I been doing? Taking my son to beaches and parks. Cooking great dinners (tonight's featured home-made baba ghanoush). Trying to shoehorn in some deadlines. Not much, but it has been a life of distraction, to say the least. Spending all day with a three-year-old takes its toll on one's . . . you know, the thing with the thinking about stuff for longer than . . . um . . . attention span! That's the ticket.

This caught my eye today. Mister Prime Time is prepping to drag his aged body back on the gridiron for more beatings:

After three seasons away from the NFL, Deion Sanders signed with the Baltimore Ravens on Tuesday.

The seven-time Pro Bowl cornerback passed his physical and signed a one-year contract laden with incentives. He will practice with the team for the first time Wednesday, and expects to play in the Ravens' season opener Sept. 12 against the Cleveland Browns.

I always thought Deion was a hot-dog player who managed some clever picks downfield but was too often a no show in plain old coverage. I wouldn't have wanted to pay his salary at his peak. Now? I wouldn't give him league minimum.