Incarnations of Al Gore.

• Author: Durst, Will
• Position: Brief Article

Al "Quit Calling Me Scarecrow" Gore is switching gears again.

He fired, I'm sorry, I mean, reluctantly accepted the health-related resignation of his campaign manager, Tony Coelho. Then he replaced Coelho with the presiding Secretary of Commerce, Bill Daley, brother of the current mayor of Chicago and son of the late Richard Boss Daley. The man who did for mayors what ketchup did for cocktail sauce.

This could be just what the doctor ordered, though Robo-Veep's campaign keeps spinning and twisting and twirling in ever-widening circles, as he tries pleasing each and every person he comes in contact with. Kind of like Clinton without the charm, which is like calling the Mojave a beach without the ocean.

But you got to love Al Gore. You got to. Or he'll be really really really sad. And then he might just do something drastic like change his clothes again.

I, for one, am not looking forward to the Shorts, Tank Top, and Flip-flops Al Gore. The Tight Polo Shirt Al Gore was frightening enough to star in a Wes Craven horror series. Some possible future Al Gore incarnations:

* Roots Al Gore: Mr. Tennessee. Overalls, work shirt, and bandanna. Barefoot, he carries a broken mouth harp in back pocket.

* Dot-com Al Gore: Black Metallica T-shirt, ripped jeans, Doc Martens. Three piercings, two visible.

* Brave New Al Gore: Silver unisex jumpsuit and beret. Wraparound shades. Tipper in spandex.

* Hip-Hop Al Gore: Baggies, one leg rolled up. Knit Cypress Hill hat worn low. Oakland Raiders jersey with tiny holes in front.

* Ikea Al Gore: Crisp chinos, polo shirt, and mustache. Nicely trimmed. He's already got it in the closet.

* Ralph Nader Al Gore: Think Colombo. Rumpled $200 suit. Raincoat: even wrinkles have wrinkles. One tie, dirtier than Tonya Harding's living room rug.

* Eau Claire, Wisconsin, which they say is French for "clear water." But yesterday a local confided that the true definition is French for "convenience store." I tend to believe him.

This can't be good. The top three finishers in the seventy-third Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee were all home-schooled. Which means they do not go to public school, nor do they go to private school, but rather to the privatest of all schools, the one that comes with no seat in the back of the room next to the terrarium to crouch down in. You know, the one where the teacher also happens to clean the poop swipes out of your undies. The kind of school where you can never finesse whether or not you had a...