You can hide behind a fake Internet identity and phony e-mail address. You can pretend you're a man, a woman, animal or random collection of numbers. You can write any fool thing you want, just to inspire outrage. But you will be held responsible for what you say and do, if not here and soon, then sometime and someplace.

What do I owe you? What do you owe me? And what do we all owe the people who come next?

The Republican Party of Virginia owes me money and an apology because, like everyone these days, I'm outraged. Outraged! By everything!

No matter who wins this presidential race, somebody far too young is going to have a hand too close to the nuclear button, the economy toggle and the dial that I imagine sends hurricanes toward Cuba. Barack Obama turned 47 last month. Sarah Palin is a child by comparison; she doesn't turn 45 until a few weeks after the inauguration.

Hurricane Isabel turned that Thursday gray and rainy and dark, with a wind that came in loud bursts across the afternoon. We huddled around a useless radio, holding a newborn and trying to keep the boys from being too curious about all that noise outside.

I could pretend I parked so far away because I needed to stretch my legs. Or because I was trying to avoid the car-pool scrum near the front door. But what I really needed was to delay this moment as long as I could. And that involved walking a long way. Slowly.

It should be illegal for genetically clumsy old guys to ride perfectly good skateboards in lazy arcs across abandoned parking lots covered in glass bits and pebbles. The potential health care costs alone are catastrophic. But that's the only thing about skateboarding that should be a crime.

When Paris Hilton makes a legitimate appearance in the American political process, with her clothes (mostly) on, it's time to try something new. At the moment, I'd prefer a national round of Twister, which the past quarter century argues has a better chance of determining a decent president than actually voting.

It's easy. Really. Just two little words: I'm sorry. You don't need anything else. You don't even need to explain what you did - unless you're one of my kids, and I'm trying to make a point about your behavior. You don't have to add any subordinate clauses leaking the air out of what's otherwise a clean, declarative statement: I'm sorry.

It isn't unusual for Mark Warner to consider his words before he answers a question. So it wasn't surprising that the U.S. Senate hopeful hemmed a bit when I asked him about America's "moral obligation" in Iraq, toward the end of a marathon editorial board interview this week.