This is so typical: I finally wrangle a press pass to PDF, courtesy of Andy Rasiej and Micah Sifry, and come down with a frigging summer cold. Argh.

So, in lieu of some more substantive analyses, some snapshots.

First of all, if there was any consensus, it is that Tom Friedman's role as doyen of America's foreign policy correspondents does not speak well of us. Someone pointed out, in conversation, that the man's brilliant insights into the minds of other countries usually arrive when he interacts with those who serve him; thus, all the heart-warming anecdotes about taxi-drivers or hotel maids with Bluetooth. Friedman's oeuvre - let me at this point confess to owning his most recent book - is glossy, uplifting, and more often than not, utterly beside the point, a repetitive list of business-school bullet points extolling the gleaming marvels of globalization. Yes, the earth is flat - whoopee, we've noticed. Apologize for the practices that brought the world the Friedman Unit, and redeem yourself, Tom.