Negropedia Brown was pedaling furiously on his bike. He needed to return to his bodega office in fast order. His last case resulted in picketing, "Hell no, the negro must go!" the surly crowd chanted.

It was only hours after Negropedia had declared Slate's Jody Rosen to be in need of hip hop autotuning. And the crowd disappeared as quickly as they had arrived once the case files fell off the front page of the blog where he stashed his evidence, but the dank smell of defeat lingered.

Perhaps humbled by the angry mob, Negropedia was still undaunted. He knew he was the best — in fact, only! — Ethnocultural Blog Detective in town. More important: He knew the stately town of Mediaville needed someone to solve these mysteries of ethnocultural dissonance.

See, Negropedia felt strongly that people's perspective and choices were inevitably informed by their ethnic/cultural background. And often in Mediaville, despite no obvious ill intent, there were weird mysteries of slights, misinterpretations, and lack of sympathy resulting from what Negropedia's father called "culture gaps".

Negropedia found it odd how the folks in Mediaville loved to talk about how technology was changing the town, but never about how the face of the population was changing as well. It seemed to him that as long as America was a melting pot, someone would need to watch over mixing the ingredients to make sure things didn't get salty.

Still, these cases were tricky. And people weren't always receptive to being called out in this manner. So he'd have to be on top of his game. Even he thought the casework on the last mystery was sloppy.

As Negropedia rode to his office, he noticed a cavalcade of cars streaming alongside him. And as he turned the corner of the block where his Astoria bodega office was located he noticed a throng of men in suits looking very serious in front of his door. Negropedia didn't need to be a boy-blog genius to know what Secret Service looked like. And just as Negropedia was about to ask what was going on, the crowd of uniformed men parted and out stepped the President of the United States, Barack Obama.

Negropedia immediately stood to attention and saluted his president, "Mr. President, sir, what brings you to this neck of the woods?"

Barack looked at Negropedia warmly. He paused, nurturing the moment with his poise:

"Negropedia, as you know, my father was a black man from Kenya. My mother a white lady from Kansas. I've run on the beaches in Hawaii, and shoveled snow in Chicago. I regard diversity in experience as the primary currency for a rich perspective."

Negropedia could feel his eyes welling from emotion. Obama always made him cry.

"You know, that I know, there isn't only one way. One color. One truth." Obama continued, "And I sought you out, here, in Astoria Queens, where Greeks and Arabs both fry falafel in peace, knowing that, neither will succeed if they bicker over who originally came up with the falafel. But both will have made the world a better place if they just make the falafel as best they can."

Negropedia listened intently, but was getting hungry.

"I came to seek you out because there is a mystery that I do not understand."

Negropedia was excited for the opportunity to get started on a new case. But business is business, and times were tough, so he pointed to his sign:

Obama smiled a broad grin, his ears radiating charm. "Oh, of course I'm going to pay you." He fished around in his pockets and then flipped a quarter in the air.

"At your service, Mr. President." Negropedia declared. "What's the problem?"

The President pulled out a magazine he had been holding behind his back. Vanity Fair.

"I'm a fan of Vanity Fair, Negropedia. I consider it one of the pillars of America. The editor looks like George Washington, and it's one of the flagships of our biggest media institutions. I know the book itself can skew towards a certain demographic, so I went to their website, because that's where magazines keep their freshest most up-to-date content. And I've been feeling a little behind what with Iran, and the economy, and walking the dog..."

Negropedia nodded.

"So on their home page they have a technology section. And they offer a "Blogopticon" with this description:

Navigating the blogosphere can be trying, what with everyone from Al Roker to your Wiccan cousin out in New Mexico vying for the attention of the world's billion-plus Web surfers. In an effort to make some sense of it all, Vanity Fair has charted the most influential or amusing blogs about politics, gossip, Hollywood, media, and miscellany, and located them on two basic continuums: tone and content.

And I think, awesome! Because I agree, the internet can be totally overwhelming. But as I'm looking — and it's a very handy and functional charticle-thing — but I keep looking back and feeling as if something is missing. Like there's another continuum that should be incorporated in a service like this."

Negropedia took Obama's blackberry and looked at the matrix. He started rubbing the melanin on his elbows, he always did that when thinking at maximum capacity.

Barack was now pacing, "It being Father's Day weekend and all, I can't help but wonder if there are any internet sites out there that would speak to/from his perspective (bless him). I am a man of two worlds, after all. Perhaps since entering office I've taken the "politically correct" thing to heart, but I wonder from looking at this Blog Matrix if the internet is really just a World White Web?

Negropedia gasped at the phrasing, then returned to looking at the web page with his brow furrowed. He then looked the President in his eyes earnestly,

"No, Mr. President. You're right to ask me about this. And there's two words that will quickly solve this mystery."

(click/turn to "Page 91" for the answer to the Case of Vanity Fair and the World White Web)