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Conditmania: … After coming up out of Powell BART station in front of Old Navy, a co-worker’s eye was drawn to a picture plastered over a newspaper box.

Frank Rich tries it on in the Times today:

“A.I.” tanked, “Pearl Harbor” is already history, and “Jurassic Park III” is getting sub-two-star reviews. The nation yawned at the prospect of a man holding a knife to a woman’s throat on “Big Brother 2,” and the hottest title that American publishing can come up with for a beach read is “John Adams.” The Mrs. Robert Blake mystery had no legs, and New York’s own summertime pride and joy, the Lizzie Grubman saga, lacks two essential elements that might make it fly west of the Hudson, sex and death.

Under these desperate circumstances, America, summer of ’01, was fated to become Condit Country. And what a terrific place it is. …

The press’s pretense that it is energetically searching for suspects other than Gary Condit rings about as true as O. J. Simpson’s claims to be looking for the “real killer.” You’d have to be a fool to tamper with a hit.

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