Barack Obama’s Facebook account posted a link today about their new yard sign for the 2012 presidential campaign.  I took a look and was stunned by what I saw.

It costs $15.

This really caught me caught off guard.  I know in 2008, once Obama had attained “rock star” status, his campaign office phones were ringing off the hook with people asking for Obama yard signs. Eventually, the offices became tapped and didn’t even bother making more; why would you if your candidate has 100% name recognition across the country?

But in a bygone era, yard signs were something else.  Campaign staffers, or even shameless politicians themselves, would have to come to your house and ask you for permission to just take one of their yard signs.  They’d even take three minutes to stick it in the ground for you because they were that desperate.  And there’s no doubt that in 2000, congressional candidate Barack Obama may have found himself doing the same.  Publicly supporting a candidate was a favor you did for them.

But for any high profile campaign where name recognition is not an issue, yard signs have very little utility, aside from telling your neighbors how wealthy you are.  So what exactly is happening here with the Obama signs?

Any political marketer will tell you that the Obama campaign has recognized (for some time now) that political campaigns have finally made the two-decade-long crossover into consumer goods.  Campaigns aren’t just selling a candidate and public policy anymore — they’re selling a brand that people feel they need to own, and show others they own.  And they do this with all sorts of products and goods that in the past served some sort of populist/grassroots purpose, but today are nothing more than a trademarked logo.

How can a candidate (not just Obama) ask the media, public and all his/her stakeholders to just “talk about the issues” when their campaign is fueled and funded by anything but?

These yard signs have no value for the campaign in the traditional sense, but in the consumer sense, every $15 they make is going toward the $1 billion they’ve pledged to raise for the 2012 cycle.  And if that last number isn’t an indication that campaigns are now big businesses, then what is?

Spicy deviled eggs

I love deviled eggs. Hard-boiling and peeling was a little difficult because the eggs were brand new, so we (my sister helped out) only suffered a few casualties before all was said and done. I wanted to make these with a little kick so I used spicy mayo, spicy Dijon, horse radish, and my mom’s assortment of ground Indian spices. They turned out great!

Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Maple Cinnamon Sage Brown Butter

I want to lie and tell you this was delicious, but this gnocchi came out just awful. A friend showed me this recipe online and got me really excited about it. Right before I tried making the gnocchi, I saw all the horror stories under the ratings and reviews. I basically used too much flour, didn’t cook them long enough, and completely ruined the sauce. Additionally, the sage leaves shouldn’t have been charred like they are here. I tried sucking it up and shoving these down anyway, but I just couldn’t. Oh well, I’ll try again another time.

This will be removed within a week. My apologies to all.

This weekend is Lollapalooza 2011. Although I won’t be going this time around, I can’t believe it’s been a year since the last one. Lolla 2010 marked the beginning of what I think was, and will probably ever be, the most exciting 365 days of my life.

One year ago, Lolla 2010 was at the tail end of a whirlwind summer in Evanston. I did a lot of stuff in a real hurry, and thankfully, I blogged about it all so I could at least try to keep track of it. I finally explored Chicago to my heart’s content, something I hadn’t done in my two years at Northwestern. It was the best time of my life.

But waiting at the end of that summer was Paris. On August 31, I boarded a plane to Charles de Gaulle airport with surprisingly little excitement about studying abroad. In retrospect, I was an idiot; Paris turned out to be something that recollections and photos will never do justice. On top of that, I traveled to Normandy, Strasbourg, Brussels, Athens, Rome, Florence and Barcelona. Yes, I came back broke, but there was no question that this was the pinnacle of my youth, the stories I’ll tell my grandkids about, the best time of my life.

And then I came back to Evanston. For a while, I was in withdrawal from Paris (and admittedly, I still am), but that didn’t stop me from having the two most enjoyable quarters I’ve had at Northwestern. The defining moment of winter/spring in Evanston was Dance Marathon, where for the first time in history, we raised more than $1,000,000 for the Children’s Heart Foundation. The feelings I’ve felt at DM have never been replicated elsewhere, and that DM in particular. Those 30 hours were the best time of my life.

Without a day to rest, I took my last exam at school and hours later found myself in New York City. This summer wasn’t as reckless and brash as some of the other segments of the past year. But it was undoubtedly the most important; I spent the majority of my time becoming a real person. I grew a lot in NYC – I learned how to fend for myself, I learned how to balance work and play, and I woke up everyday with purpose (also very tired). With respect to its effect on my future, this was the best time of my life.

Now, it’s almost time to pack my bags to leave NYC. Every few months for the past year, I’ve had to say goodbye to the best time of my life, only to find something just as good. I don’t know how I got so lucky. What I do know is that I’ve had to rely on a lot of people, especially my family, for helping me seize all the opportunities that have come my way. For now, I just need to start saving up for Lolla 2012.

I have never laughed so hard in my life (except at my own jokes, of course). Last weekend I went to the Comedy Cellar, a tiny comedy club tucked under a restaurant on an average SoHo street.

By all accounts, the place really doesn’t look special at all. In fact, it took a lot of searching to find it. But those who ultimately earn discovery of the unassuming hole-in-the-wall are in for what is widely believed to be the funniest hour and half New York can offer.

It was a set full of five or six comedians, most of which were writers for the likes of Letterman, Conan, etc. Each one was funnier than the other. Each one was more vulgar than the other. Each one made me feel more inadequate than the other.

Just kidding about the last part, but it was absolutely true for some people. At the Comedy Cellar, it’s said that only the masochistic should sit in the front row. Why? Because they will rip you into pieces. One guy in particular was virtually emasculated by almost all of the comedians, and I’m sure the girl he was with dumped him after the show.

But don’t let that scare you. Only a fraction (be it sizable) of the comedy is at the audience’s expense. I loved the political humor, I loved the social commentary, and I loved the bathroom humor. This place goes down as one of the highlights of NYC. If you’re thinking of visiting, which I highly recommend, then get there early. Unless you’re a masochist.