Greener Pastures For Panara's Blarney

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About Face: A Real Head-Scratcher

In the age of the internet you get to learn all kinds of weird things you didn't want to know, such as how people actually lived in the 1500s. (Remember "peas porridge in the pot, nine days old?" It is more than a cute nursery rhyme.) For me it is the basis of ALL KINDS of exciting medical discoveries, a depressing one of which I am about to share with you. You know how when you get old your skin gets all wrinkly and saggy? (I'm sure none of you is old enough to know this personally, but you've SEEN pictures of really old people, right?) Well in the good old days we were told this is because you got old. Then later conventional wisdom took over, and it became more a matter of too much sun, a smoking habit, not eating the right omega three vitamins and general "hard living." (All living is hard. Whom do the Conventionally Wise think they're kidding?) Now we generally understand that as we age, our skin loses its elasticity, and, due to a variety of factors such as gravity and too much frowning, your face has no choice but to sag as close to the earth as it can get. While wrinkling in the process. So far so good! Turns out, that is not the full explanation. The full explanation is MUCH WEIRDER. In my opinion. It's as weird as cats and dogs living on thatched roof cottages and losing their footing during a bad rainstorm. Thus it "rains" cats and dogs. No, the true explanation for why your facial skin sags and wrinkles is that YOUR SKELETON IS DISINTEGRATING! True. I read this on reputable website with medical links. How it works is, your body slowly loses skeletal mass, and as it does, the skin no longer has enough structure to hold it up. So it sags into the cavities. (Note to the woman who had a face transplant: I hope you ordered one size too small!) I'm sure you never suspected this, since skeletons are supposed to last not only your entire lifetime, but, theoretically, they are supposed to remain in decent shape until the Resurrection of the Dead! Plus, if skeletons actually deteriorated, how could they be finding missing links such as Piltdown Man? (Oh, wait. He was a hoax. Make that Polyurethane Man.) Makes me wonder if early humanoid-type varieties of ape-persons weren't as small as they appeared to be. Maybe they just disintegrated a few sizes! Perhaps Neanderthal Man originally had the physique of Hulk Hogan or Jerome Bettis. I have to admit I'm kind of grossed out. It's bad enough that our bodies are "80 percent water" to begin with. (Which makes us the equivalent of sentient water balloons, going through life hoping to not get punctured.) I am not one of those people that likes to contemplate how many quarts of blood I'm made up of, or what makes it rush around in my body to feed all the cells, or how many miles of capillaries exist in my arms. I'd rather not think about it! So now this idea that our skeletons are dissolving as we go about our day is just not a comfortable one for me. It makes me want to tread lightly before I lose more bone mass and collapse into Silly Putty. Maybe it's one of those things like those montrous-looking but tiny creatures that exist everywhere around us, even on our skin, but are too small to gross us out. (The Dust Mite is pictured at the top of this article to the left.) Figure, if MY skeleton is slowly dissolving, so is everyone else's! So I'm not going to worry about this any more than I worry about mad cow disease. I figure the vegans are well-qualified to run the earth after I'm reduced to a blithering pile of shrinking bones. That reminds me of my kids' jokes. Now they are four and six, so they don't tell really good jokes. They mostly say nonsense things that I'm supposed to laugh at. Such as, "What do you call a bird on the lawn with X's on its eyes?" (What?) "An X-O Bird!" (hahahahahahahaha!) The 6-year-old is actually joke-savvy enough to know this is NOT a joke, and he tries to explain this to the 4-year-old, who pays no attention whatsover and launches into 20 more equally incomprensible jokes. But here are two jokes from my kids that actually made sense! 6-year-old: "What's black and white and black and white and green?" (What?) "Two skunks fighting over a pickle!" From the 4-year-old: "What do you call bones that fly?" (No idea.) "A hot air skeleton!" Haha! I DID laugh for that one! Have no idea how he could make that up! In fact, he doesn't think it's any funnier than the rest of them. I hope the Hot Air Skeleton doesn't dissolve before it runs out of air.

Might As Well Face It, We're Addicted To Oil

I wish I could tell you I saw the State of the Union address, but at that hour Hubby and I are completely absorbed in a routine that involves brushing teeth, donning PJs and reading bedtime stories. On top of all that, we have kids, too! So my impression of the president’s State of the Union speech is based purely on hearsay. If I've misunderstood anything I blame it entirely on the CEO of the Sago mine, who was supposed to be transmitting the information to me via tin cans and a string. But the main point came through loud and clear. We Americans are a bunch of staggering, out-of-control oil addicts! The president didn’t mention the part about assaulting other nations to ensure we could continue getting our fix. That’s no doubt due to our “democracy addiction.” In the State of the Union Address the president informed us we are ADDICTED to oil. Thank you, touchy-feely speechwriters, for not just saying we need the stuff to run our cars. I have not heard, at this point, if the president expects us as a nation to quit cold turkey, attempt a 12-step program, or if we're about to be tossed into the earthly gutter to beg foreign countries for euros "to buy a cup of coffee" (while we sneak to the local gas station to fill up our SUVs). The thing is, in order to solve our problem, don't we need to hit "rock bottom?" Or could we get by with an intervention of some kind? Personally I don't care to call it an addiction. I prefer to think of it as a gas guzzling problem. Sure, we like to gas up, but I can switch to my bike anytime! Let's take a look at the main warning signs of addiction and see how we U.S. motorists stack up. I am taking the liberty of answering for the majority of Americans because I didn’t have time to call or poll. I feel I am no more than one or two standard deviations away from being “average” so this is perfectly acceptable. 1) Does it take more gas to make you feel “full” than it used to? Answer: Yes. Especially after we bought our full-sized van. 2) Do you ever use more gas than you intended to? Answer: Definitely! Every time I get stuck in traffic, accelerate to pass Sunday drivers so fast that their wigs blow off, or have to go back to the store yet again for that one critical item such as my son needs Saltines for some classroom topography project. 3) Do you have “blackouts,” or “lose time” after using a lot of gas? Answer: Not sure about the blackouts, unless you’re referring to the time we left the door open all night and then couldn’t start the van the next day. We spend a third of our lives sleeping, and another 25 percent driving. That doesn’t leave a lot of time for watching State of the Union speeches or buying solar panels for the roof. 4) Do you ever use gas in the morning to reduce anxiety? Answer: Let’s put it this way, if I didn’t use gas in the morning, I’d be CREATING a lot of anxiety! We’ve got to get everybody to work and school, and it’s just too far to walk unless I’m planning to start a family farm on the front lawn. 5) Do you ever find yourself wishing you could gas up in order to calm yourself? Answer: Whenever that needle slips below a quarter tank I start to worry. Then I tell myself to relax, I can afford to pass the three stations with the expensive brand name gas. Then there’s an unexpected detour and suddenly I’m in full panic mode. 6) Do you ever gas up when taking prescription medications? Answer: Yes. I figure what’s more dangerous, me driving under the influence of penicillin, or me hitch-hiking after taking prescription meds? 7) Have you ever gone to work or school smelling of gasoline? Answer: I’m not 100 percent sure, due to the intoxicating effects of inhaled gasoline, but most likely yes. 8) Do you have a history of relationships with other gasoline users? Answer: There was that boy in ninth grade whose mother drove us everywhere. Beyond that it was bikes. But once I hit the real dating scene it was gas users all the way. 9) Do you find yourself using gasoline to help you sleep? Answer: My sister-in-law swears by the “Driving the Baby Around the Block” method of getting cranky babies to sleep. 10) Do you fill up your gas tank more than the recommended amount? Answer: Only to the nearest dollar. Lately it’s been to the nearest nickel because it’s just too expensive to let any spill over. 11) Do you try to conceal your use, or “edit” stories about using gas? Answer: We DO keep the van in the garage at night, so that would technically be concealment. Also if I ever run out of gas on the highway (especially after passing up a few “expensive stations”) I hope to be able to conceal this from my husband. 12) Do you ever use gasoline alone? Answer: After dropping off the kids, yes. But then I rationalize, saying well you never know, I MAY be pregnant. 13) Do you ever say things you regret while using gasoline? Answer: Sometimes I lose my temper. But never in front of the kids, and I don’t do rude hand gestures. 14) Have you ever slept in your car? Answer: Yes, but I was at the U.B campus where there was NO WAY to get a parking space after 8 a.m. So I’d get there an hour before my class started and yes, sometimes I napped. 15) Is your life increasingly chaotic and turbulent? Answer: On a personal level, no. But every time I read the news I get the feeling the world as a whole is trying to pull a “Thelma and Louise” off the nearest cliff. The other area of the State of the Union speech I wanted to address is our president’s call for a ban on human/animal hybrids. Wouldn’t this be the perfect time to meld human DNA with horse DNA? A new race of Centaurs that could gallop to work would surely solve this oil addiction we’re so worried about. Well, it’s hay for thought.

Steel or Feathers? Superbowl XL

Pity the poor Detroit Lions. This Sunday's Superbowl extravaganza at the Pontiac Silverdome is as close as the city is likely to get to that hallowed game. I think the team's been jinxed ever since George Plimpton donned the Lions uniform to provide research for his book "Paper Lion." Since then the Lions have played with all the determination of a paper team competing in a scissors league. They play like journalists in pads. But never mind the poorly scripted reality show that is the Detroit Lions. ("I'm a Detroit Draft Pick, Get Me Out of Here!" or "The Amazing Waste") We want to focus on the big game itself, now less than a week away. In spite of the Motor City's recent malaise as former powerhouse automakers GM and Ford tighten their belts to the point they look like Lindsay Lohan during Lent, Detroit is determined to put on a super show as the Superbowl enters middle age. Turning 40 this year, Detroit doesn't want Super Bowl XL having a midlife crisis. True, it's 40 years later and the original British Invasion seems complete. The Rolling Stones are performing at halftime. They're as American as shepherd's pie, yet here they are facing (let's be honest, early Geezerhood) and they're performing at our quintessential U.S. sporting event. I guess they are tamer than poor, maligned Janet Jackson. That's the other buzz on this event, that it could be the site of a spectacular Al Qaeda-fueled terror attack. With three threatening videotapes in the past month alone, you have to start wondering if they're going to start issuing press kits. Maybe Osama and the guy with the glasses will show up with the teams during media week? All I can say is if there are any surprises at the Super Bowl I'd rather see nipples than nukes! Word has it there has been a lot of terrorist "chatter" about Detroit and the date February 5th. Well, duh, it's the Superbowl. They're probably betting on the game. Somebody wiretap the bookies! I do have my preferences on this. The Steelers represent a traditional blue collar town, and an industry that is a shadow of its former self. As tough as the Seahawks team seems, they reside in an area famous for latte-sipping, tofu-eating hippies. How can we root for a city whose people might not care if their team wins? Also the Steelers still wear the same team uniform with its solid black and gold color scheme. The Seahawks abandoned their blue and gray for a hue that can best be described as "algae." Yes, it might be necessary for oceans to thrive, but it's still slime. Seahawks Coach Mike Holmgren has already won a Superbowl with the Packers. Steelers Coach Bill Cowher has been laboring for the Steelers for 14 long years (that's two consecutive Biblical famine periods) with no ring to show for it. What better going away present for retiring running back Jerome Bettis? Even though I'd prefer to see a Steelers victory, my number one goal here is to see a GAME. That's something I didn't see during the Conference Championship weekend, when the Steelers and Seahawks basically blew out their opponents by a comfortable margin. Also I am including in my nightly prayers, "Lord, please don't let this game be decided, or ruined, by ZEBRAS!" (Honestly, as Noah was closing up the ark I think I would've left the whole referee species behind.) The Steelers ARE at a bit of a disadvantage, playing in a dome. This is a team that is accustomed to battling the elements, along with the other team. And we all know Mother Nature can be a formidable opponent! In the controlled atmosphere of Ford Field they may feel like a pigskin science experiment rather than an athletic contest. It may distract them! But as long as the Steelers players keep their Terrible Towels firmly affixed to their bodies during any commercials with one or more Desperate Housewives, I think we can keep the FCC at bay. So my prediction: Big Ben Roethlisberger shakes off the thumb injury and takes it to the Hawks. If the two teams produce an exciting game, and we get through it without a hint of terrorism, then I will consider us all winners.

Terrorocracy Triumphs in Palestine

The Palestinians held their big election, and by American standards the turnout was stupendous. An estimated 80 percent of the eligible voters went to the polls. (U.S. turnout is typically less than half) What a great day for democracy! Perhaps the winds of freedom and civil discourse will soon be sweeping over the entire Middle East! Except the developed world is not so happy at the news. You see, the winner of the Palestinian election was not some moderate. Not a pro-western leader. Not a party anyone can consider talking sense to. The winner in these elections was Hamas. Yes THAT Hamas. The radical organization that advocates the destruction of Israel. (Admittedly it takes more than desiring the destruction of Israel to be labeled "radical." It's a fairly common sentiment.) The thing is, this group is utterly devoted to terror as a way of life. They are now the officially elected and sanctioned Terrorocracy in the Middle East! Technically, the term HAMAS stands for: "Holy Armageddon! Mullahs Aiming Scuds!" So you can see why the normal nations are upset. I think we've already announced we can't consider negotiating with a duly elected terrorist organization. It would be like if we elected one of the Crips mayor of Los Angeles. John Gotti governor of New York State. Perhaps Tim McVeigh (before he was executed) and David Koresh (before he was incinerated) winning the presidency and vice presidency on the America First ticket! However, now that we've admitted WMDs were no longer the real reason for invading Iraq (at best they were a "consensus reason"), we've settled upon this "bringing democracy to the people of the Middle East" canard. It is certainly a duck of a story that is laying an egg as we speak. ("Canard" is french for "duck" if you'd like to secretly enjoy that statement a little more, perhaps with a nice irony glaze.) Now that we have Terrorocracy, we know darn well that Iraq is going to end up being a Theocracy the moment our "political advisors" skeddadle when the danger of kidnapping or an IED (Improvised Exposive Device, ie. "roadside bomb" or "shrapnel sandwich") gets too great. I have long felt we will not exit Iraq due to political pressure, overseas or domestic. We will exit when we run out of money to fund the operation. One more Katrina-style natural disaster should do it: L.A. earthquake, Northwest volcano, NYC hurricane, whatever it is. Really, do we want to keep wasting money and lives just so the ruling religious party over there can have their Theocracy? Even if it's democratically elected? Ah, for the good old days of puppet dictators! Whatever happened to benign rulers? Wise kings? People whose sole goal wasn't to trample the earth and the people on it? Well regardless, Hamas has announced it doesn't have any immediate terror attacks planned. However it has warned that Israel needs to "change its flag." Gee that's kinda personal! It's one thing to trespass on my lawn, but another to criticize my wardrobe. People in the south are still touchy about the rebel flag. Apparently Hamas wants two of the blue stripes removed because to the Palestinians it represents an alleged Israeli belief that the country's dominion extends from the Nile River (in Egypt) to the Euphrates River (Iraq). As if they didn't already have enough to fight about over there. I suspect it's no coincidence that geopolitics is converging with religion in a region commonly known as the Holy Land. It was the site of the original Eden, and the site of the future Armageddon. Let's just hope it doesn't occur in the "near" future!

Oprah Does The Right Thing

I have to give Oprah Winfrey credit. She went on her show to say, loudly, Mea Culpa! That is something author James Frey* (his real name and unfortunately also the name of another author who does NOT lie for a living. I hope they sort it out via middle initials.) pointedly did NOT do on the Larry King show as he defended his version of the truth. Oprah obviously read my blog and had a change of heart! Okay, she probably read a smattering of the invective being hurled by some very fine writers in newspaper columns all over the country. But my point is, her media empire is vast enough, and audience entrenched enough, that she doesn't have to apologize to anyone. The fact that she'd bother to do so says she cares about her credibility. She even admitted to being embarrasssed at this whole thing. That is just so rarely heard from a celebrity of any kind, much less one of her stature. I'm a little bit amazed that Mr. Lying Author appeared on the show again soley for the purpose of being browbeaten by Oprah, columnist Richard Cohen, and others. He said he had "made mistakes," and when Oprah pressed him on it, even admitted to making mistakes AND lying. Granted, this second Oprah appearance will guarantee even MORE book sales. But honestly, the book was doing so well, fueled first by the book club selection, and now by the controversy, that the second show wasn't really necessary. I'm wondering if his publisher, Doubleday's Nan Talese, threatened to apply a very hot poker to his private parts. They are in major damage control mode. Now that financial success is guaranteed, apparently Nan would STILL like to maintain a shred of credibility. Hard to do when your own husband, Gay Talese, is doing the rounds on national TV basically disagreeing with you. Some have even suggested that the publisher may have subtly nudged Mr. Frey along the duplicitous path he ultimately took. Who knows! Wouldn't surprise me. I would really like the publisher to add a note at the end of the book. "Based on a true story." My brother called me this afternoon to ask if I knew anything about this "Frey guy" and why Oprah was interviewing him, and why he looked so uncomfortable. I said, "Read my blog!" But it also gave me a chance to flick on CBS and catch part of Oprah's show. Yes, it was fun watching Frey agree with everyone that he was, in fact, a big fat liar. I mean really, a root canal with no novocaine? I don't know too many non-Nazi dentists who would do that. So Oprah, from me to you, I'm sorry for calling you the country's most prominent enabler. I am heartened to see you stand up for Truth, Justice AND the American Way. Just like Superman would. As to Mr. Frey's book, well, heating oil prices are high. I hear a lot of people are buying wood-burning stoves. Let's put his book to good use!

Why Good Things Happen To Bad Authors: Lies & The Lying Liars Who Sell Them

When it comes to book sales, there's nothing as good as a famous person to wave a magic wand and turn your pumpkin of a tome into a glittering coach. So when the Princess of Hype, Oprah Winfrey, selected James Lie's* (not his real name) memoir for her TV book club last fall, it was little wonder that it propelled him out of the pumpkin patch to the top of the New York Times bestseller list for non-fiction. He has reigned there for the past couple of months. Problem is, some super-sleuths at the TheSmokingGun.com suspected something was amiss with "A Million Little Pieces," Mr. Lie's* (not the name on his birth certificate) cindery tale of how he wrecked, then redeemed his life after years of drug and alcohol addiction. (Well, people have been calling it "gritty," but I wanted to stick with my Cinderella theme. So I decided "cindery" meant the same thing. Besides, the man's reputation is now in ashes.) They weren't the only ones to get a whiff of the ocean as they read the tale. Janet Maslin of the New York Times also wrinkled her nose at some of the book's scenes. But the truth crusaders at the Smoking Gun had the gumption to investigate some of Mr. Lie's* (not the name that on his police record) claims. What they discovered is that a Frey* Fact is not the same as a True Fact. For you grammar sticklers who thought "true fact" was redundant, well, no longer! A Frey Fact "may" be 95 percent true, or it may not be true at all. It may be something he thought was true, wished were true, or simply pretended was true. Take the several months he spent in jail. Turns out, it was a few hours. He didn't even have to change his underwear! His "street cred" is not even as good as Martha Stewart's. Now I KNOW it can seem like months when you're in a boring place with no good reading material. But it doesn't justify portraying yourself as a seasoned jailbird. (Martha, on the other hand, knows when to use her turmeric, and that cayenne spice is a weapon.) So Mr. Lie's* (not the name on his book jacket) reputation is in a Million Little Tatters, at least with the literary community, by which I'm referring to people who actually write, edit or review sentences for a living. In the book sales universe, the marketing people are probably in ecstasy. The more notoriety he gets, the better his book does! Oprah was not outraged about this. Instead of standing up for truth and justice, she settled for the American Way. Which is to say, it didn't matter. Yes! She has succeeded in becoming this country's most prominent enabler ever. Larry King invited Mr. Lie* (not the name used on his glossy bio sheet) onto his CNN talk show shortly after the scandal broke. Was he there to apologize? Hahahahahahaha. Surely I jest. He was there to RATIONALIZE. Now, most human beings are natural amateur rationalizers from the time they hit school age. (My 4-year-old: "I didn't mean to hit him. My BRAIN told me to!") However addicts are professional rationalizers -- they do it for a living. So Mr. Lie* (not his original nickname) told us that memoirs are a literary form that aren't about "facts" but rather about one's perception of the facts. Which I could buy if he were referring to his subjective experiences. It is one thing if Christina Crawford tells us her mother Joan was mean to her. It's another if she says her mother died in the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. How much time you spent in jail is not just a matter of perception, it's a matter of public record. Oprah said that the truth didn't matter as much as the emotional experience people had while reading the story of Mr. Lie's* (not his real nom de plume) "truth." Forgive me for stating the obvious, but when it comes to non-fiction, some stories resonate simply because THEY ARE TRUE. Would the Diary of Anne Frank be a classic if we learned she was hiding in the attic due to agoraphobia, and went on to die of old age in a Belgian nursing home? Mr. Lie's* (not what kids called him on the playground) story failed to sell to publishers as fiction, so he punched up some of the scenes, painted himself as the key figure in some girl's death in a train wreck, and repackaged it as a memoir. Why not, there's room in DaVinci's Last Supper painting, too. Didn't Judas have an accomplice? But Mr. Lie* (not the name he uses on his IRS forms) had the nerve to say the book is "95 percent true," so overall the reader is being served a lot more fact than fiction. It would be helpful if the publisher would use a different color ink in order to differentiate the faux prose -- perhaps yellow? With respect to Oprah's contention of the "experience" being true for the reader, I just plea bargain to differ. Suppose a man or woman goes on a date and has an absolutely stunning time. The date of his or her life. Then, before the next date occurs, learns that the other person is in fact already married. Not quite the same date, is it? Sure, a good time was had. Enjoyed every moment of it, maybe. But the experience as a whole has soured because it was based on a lie. A restaurant meal that's only five percent arsenic? Well, I think I'd want the arsenic as an optional side dish, not baked into my entree. So James Frey (his real, sullied name) is going to profit nicely from his jitterbug with the devil. Can't wait to see the eventual movie: "Bogus Memoir and the Brotherhood of the Flaming Pants."

George Bush Made Me Do It

I'm not sure if the devil has been demoted, or our president has been promoted, but George W. Bush is catching a lot of blame these days. Some of it well-deserved, no doubt. (Harriet Miers! Poor thing.) But some things simply aren't his fault. Like people hitting their kids. I caught part of a radio talk show last night as I was driving the 6-year-old home from swimming lessons. (He calls them Stroke Lessons because "I already know HOW to swim.") So it was a show I don't normally listen to, but I had it on because these days you never know when the next terrorist attack is coming to a sporting event near you. Some guy calling himself "Larry the Angry Liberal" was on. He was not the host, but rather the guest, and if I understood correctly, he IS a host of his own syndicated show, with about 40 stations carrying him. But he was guesting on someone else's show. Well Larry was having a bad day. A very bad day. Seems due to his position as angry liberal talk show host, someone had confronted him in public (not on his show) and said something to the effect: "If you're against a war for OIL, how come you're still driving a CAR?" And then walked away from him and jumped in his own car with his buddies. This incident angered Larry the Angry Liberal. (Not hard to do, I guess.) It angered him to the point where his blood temperature shot up from 98.6 to 212 degrees. He was extremely angry that this person had asked this question which was designed to stifle debate. Not only that, he had the nerve to walk away and not wait for an answer! Which left poor Larry feeling like a Big Dumb Angry Liberal Talk Show Host. Now as he was relating this story on yesterday evening's talk show, the host asked what his answer would have been if the guy had waited for an answer. "Well I don't really have one," Larry said. But still, he hated the question, and the superior manner in which the man delivered it. He stewed about this so much that he went home and hit his 15-year-old autistic son. Backhanded him across the face. As he later added detail, he said it was dinnertime and the son had banged his spoon on the table (which is not atypical for autistic kids, apparently). Larry had told him to "Shut up," then elbowed him AND struck him. That's a lot of anger. Now, let me say first of all there is probably no person on the planet who hasn't done some awful thing to their kid that they regret immediately upon doing it. Whether it's raising your voice, saying something sarcastic, spanking, propelling, or breaking a toy. (My two kids were fighting over a flag on a wooden stick once. My words had absolutely no effect on them, no matter how I configured them or what tone I delivered them in. So I grabbed the flag and broke it in half right in front of them. Their faces were so devastated that I taped it back together, apologized for losing my temper, and then delivered a lecture on "we must not fight over toys." Which they sort of listened to.) So we're all guilty of this. If you're not, you're a saint, and please put in a good word for me at the Heavenly Happy Hour. And in Larry's defense, he sounded terribly remorseful, almost to the point of tears. Perhaps telling the story on a radio show had a confessional/repentance aspect to it. And I have absolutely no doubt he loves his son and hates the fact that he hit him. But here's where we part philosophical company. He went on to explain that it was not HIS fault that he hit his son. It was George Bush's. Yes! George Bush's "War for Oil" made him do it. That's how bad this war is. And how indifferent George Bush is to what happens to angry liberals' kids. He actually said this as a serious justification. It was not a radio parody or a goof. The host said"How is your son doing now?" and Larry mumbled something about that they would patch things up and everything would be fine and so forth. The host didn't really go after him, just sort of commented, "so you think this is George Bush's fault..." in a kind of incredulous tone. Then he took a caller. The caller was a lady who said it was NOT George Bush's fault, it was HIS fault he had hit his son. Whereupon Larry accused her of being a Bush supporter. (she said she was not) He then asked her what she thought of this War for Oil vs Driving A Car argument. She said she did not CARE about that issue, she was concerned about the guy's son, and his way of dealing with anger. Larry was much more interested in getting to the bottom of the oil vs cars conundrum, whereas this lady was extremely interested in his parenting skills. Believe me, I was rooting for the lady! Go Common Sense Woman, Go! This was irritating Larry, who then explained it this way. HE was like a bunch of dry weeds, and George Bush threw a match at him. It was not HIS fault he grew into a brush fire! The lady then said, "That's a bad anaolgy...weeds don't have BRAINS!" She was probably wondering if Larry had one. He then asked her if she was an educator. (No. Probably just a parent.) But let's put it this way, if Larry really does think he's like "weeds" he'd better think about what people like to do with weeds. Exterminate them! Not that I am suggesting anyone exterminate Larry. I'm just suggesting that his metaphors have managed to make him look like an even worse parent than his original story did. How is this any different than hitting your kid because your football team lost? Because your boss yelled at you? Because you misplaced your car keys? I totally agree with that lady. This was an anger issue, not a "George Bush made me hit my kid" issue. If you can use that as an excuse, you can use anything. It really made me want to tell Larry to shut up. And then elbow him and backhand him across the face. But I didn't. And I didn't do it to anyone else, either. How would Larry feel if "I" hit his kid because of "George Bush's War For Oil?" Gee, do you think he'd press charges or sue? Larry, whoever he is, is really sorry. But he needs to understand that nobody can make you hit your kid but you.

The United Flavors of America

Has something gotten into America's ice cream? People are saying all kinds of weird stuff lately. Yes, there was Pat Robertson doing the voiceover as God commented on Ariel Sharon's medical chart. Then there was Hillary Clinton telling us it takes a Plantation to Raise a Slave Child -- she did this in a mock urban African-American accent. Not that she was mocking. Just method acting, maybe! If you know what I mean. Wink, wink, nudge nudge, breakdance, breakdance. There was Senator Ted Kennedy lecturing Judge Samuel Alito on being a member of an exclusive club that wanted to keep women out of Princeton back in the 60s or 70s. Meanwhile Kennedy continues to maintain membership in Harvard's Owl Club. ("Who? Me? WHOOOOO!") The Owls don't allow women, apparently, but Ted thinks that paying dues is not the same as being a member. Hey, I'd be satisfied if he'd simply rescue women from inconvenient car accidents! Now there's New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin. And yes, being Mayor of New Orleans these days is sort of like being Mayor of Pompeii, or Alderman of Atlantis. Everyone knows what you're talking about, but the constituency is a little dormant. Anyway, you remember him. He's the one who told everyone to evacuate the city before Hurricane Katrina even though a majority of the inner city population didn't have transportation. Buses were allowed to sit unused while everyone was directed to go to the Superdome with their sleeping bags. (Well it wasn't HIS fault. The bus drivers all wisely took cabs out of the city.) He also encouraged everyone to RETURN to New Orleans just before Hurricane Rita struck. Causing quite a traffic jam between anyone trying to leave, and those trying to perform hurried U-turns in their rental cars. Now he's saying he wants New Orleans to be a "chocolate city." I had to call Hillary Clinton's office for the translation on this, and her staffers assured me he is referring to "people descended from those who used to work on plantations." Okay then! He's calling for an all-black New Orleans. Or a mostly-black New Orleans. Or a primarily black New Orleans. Or at least a mighty sweet New Orleans. I've heard the price of chocolate is set to skyrocket, so maybe it IS a good time to invest in the city. So I have decided that I LIKE Mayor Ray Nagin's idea for re-naming America's people based on foods. Here is a short list I have compiled: African-Americans are now CHOCOLATE Americans. White folks are now ANGELFOOD Americans. Native Americans can be called PEMMICAN Americans. Asian Americans become SAFFRON Americans. Hispanic Americans will be FRIJOLE Americans. The Martians, when they land, will be designated AVOCADO Americans. This will be a lot more fun for those college applications and for the U.S. census forms. And there's no reason we can't commingle food groups for people who are of mixed race! Even though New Orleans is not a city at the moment, I vote that we keep Mayor Nagin in office just for the entertainment value. He says stuff no normal person could get away with! He just needs a place to put his office that isn't six feet below sea level. Is there room, perhaps, in Yellowstone National Park? I keep hearing that volcanic region is going to blow its top. I can hear him now: "Please do NOT touch the hot lava. It is not safe to play in or around a molten area..."

West Virginia Mining Disaster 2006

My title is a nod to the Bee Gees and their mournful tune "New York Mining Disaster 1941" (which, according to them, was written in the dark, and actually was based on a mine disaster in Wales that killed more than 200 children.) It is hard to know what to say about the tragedy at Sago Mine that hasn't already been said by the families of the fallen miners. The mining industry is about as foreign to me as drilling for oil or creating clones. So I generally wouldn't take an interest in what's going on unless we run out of oil, start using coal to heat my house or I meet a copy of myself socially. So far none of that has happened. While loading web pages on the subject I was assaulted by ridiculous sponsored internet ads like "Miners Needed! Work From Home!" Let me guess, you send a check for $500 to some post office box and they mail you a plastic shovel and instructions on how you can earn thousands by starting your very own mine in the backyard. Won't the homeowners' association be pleased! But the news from Sago was serious. Whether the miners had been found dead or alive, it would've all been a part of a week's work for the "always on" cable news media. Even so, the word "Sago" may not have entered the general public's Proper Noun Vocabulary but for one small aspect of the story. They got it wrong. As wrong as it is possible to be wrong. Big, bad wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Everyone got scooped by a mother with two kids who rushed out of the local church when Truth crystallized and hope shattered, punctuated by helplessly flailing fists. "There's but one alive," she said. She had hurried to the church with her kids when the bells first pealed the happy news that the men were alive. She wanted to celebrate with the families who expected to embrace their missing men that morning. Instead they were cold-cocked by circumstances that flowed from a tangled skein of communications. Stunned townspeople gasped their grief to CNN's Anderson Cooper, the only cable news reporter still on the scene in these desperate morning hours. Even he seemed disbelieving at first. Then the truth settled like the blackest of coal dust. Twelve dead. Only one alive. I was struck by the religious symbolism that seemed to permeate the story. Local businesses put up signs exhorting everyone to pray for the trapped men. People placing the fate of their loved ones in God's hands. Pleas for a miracle. The strains of the song "Amazing Grace" wafting from the church as waiting families struggled to keep despair at bay. At long last, the bells chiming the thrilling, but ultimately mistaken news. Then the Sago Mine's CEO had no choice but to bludgeon the ecstatic crowd with the facts. He had gone from Angel of Light to Messenger of Death with the phrase, "There's been a miscommunication." The stampede of emotions that followed was as inevitable as it was frightening. "God took away our miracle," said one family member. Several days later Anderson Cooper re-interviewed the woman who initially broke the story for (let's be honest here) the ENTIRE U.S. news media. She had taken two photographs inside the church. Not of the pandemonium that later occurred, but of the governor of West Virginia and Sago Mine CEO Ben Hatfield as they were about to deliver the stunning news. CNN showed both photos, which seemed unremarkable at first. (and I wish I could show you the photo but I can't find it online.) As I was staring at the shot of Hatfield I noticed in the background behind him a GIANT picture of the Last Supper. It was so big it almost seemed like a mural on the wall, the apostles looming over Hatield's shoulders. "Twelve alive, one dead." Is God trying to tell us something? If so, what? Maybe that our settled, comfortable way of life is about to be upended. That we're in for a reversal of fortune intended to pry us away from our material way of living and thinking, and toward our Creator. Crazy, I know. But no crazier that a big, fat picture of the Last Supper as a mute backdrop to that horrific announcement. No crazier than believing there is a meaning to everything that happens, and that God's healing power remains, all appearances to the contrary. No crazier than regarding this life as the briefest of rest stops, and realizing we'll all be moving on soon. I can only hope the hugely talented Canadian balladeer Gordon Lightfoot is composing a musical ode that will memorialize this tragedy as indelibly as his song about a sunken Great Lakes freighter, "The Edmund Fitzgerald."