THE LOW POST: The Vilsack Buzz

"But you can't be Tom Vilsack," I said. "Tom Vilsack has no lips and a saggy neck and he looks like a roadie for a Lawrence Welk tribute band. But you're bald, for one thing, and --"

"No, no, you don't understand," the man snapped. "I'm not Tom Vilsack. I'm Tom Vilsack's buzz."

The bathroom was silent for a moment except for the dripping of the faucet.

"Impossible," I said finally. "Tom Vilsack has a buzz already? A 2008 buzz?"

"No, it's possible, believe me," the man said. "I'm him."

"But the midterm elections only ended like ten minutes ago!" I said. "Nobody can possibly have a buzz yet!"

"You couldn't be more wrong," he said, pulling out a wrinkled magazine from somewhere under his suit jacket. "Check out this week's Time. Here. Read the underlined section."

I took the magazine and read. "'Real Buzz Begins for Next White House Bids.'" I kept reading, then shook my head. "But this is all about McCain. Says he attended 346 events this year. Then there's a little bit about Biden, and Romney . . ."

"But it mentions Vilsack," the man said. "And here. Look, this is from the New York Post last week. Story's called '1st Up for '08 Gives Hill Fair Warning.' Maggie Haberman says that announcing early 'generates some buzz' for Vilsack.' You hear that? I'm generated."

He held up the Post article, which was ripped around the edges. I waved him off.

"I don't know," I said. "That doesn't mean anything. What does Joe Trippi say? You don't have a buzz without a Joe Trippi quote."

"Des Moines Register from the weekend," he said, clearing his throat and handing me the clip. He read: "'Joe Trippi, who managed Democrat Howard Dean's 2004 presidential campaign, said Vilsack generates a good buzz when he travels around the country.'"

I examined the article closely.

"Wow," I said. "Vilsack does have a buzz. Goddamn."

"That's what I'm telling you," he said. "So can I have that six dollars?"

He wrung his hands nervously in front of him, then scratched his nose. I noticed that he had a sore on the back of his left hand, which also had a piece of dirty gauze around the thumb.

"Wait a second," I said. "If you're Tom Vilsack's buzz, then what the hell are you doing sleeping in Union Station on a Sunday night? What's going on here?"

"Oh," he said, eyes darting left and right. "I'm not sleeping here."

I stared at him. "Bullshit," I said.