A thought for today

They can put a man in a space station and have him circling the globe at 17,000 miles per hour happily drinking his own pee, but they can't cure the common cold. Discuss.

Now comes the hard part

After eight years of an administration devoted to fumbling its way back to the past, today America decided to have a future again. Our president elect is a man with vision. What a contrast from President Bush, whose sense of vision seemed to extend no further than whatever might be written on a crib sheet tucked up his sleeve. And for the most important problems, there was no crib sheet for him to follow.

In just one day we have gone from quite probably our worst president to one of our best. I know President Bush compares his legacy with that of Harry S Truman. Truman actually had lower public opinion numbers than Bush. But Bush's comparison has the ring of excuses made by failing students ("Bill Gates didn't finish college" and the like). President Truman was unpopular because he made hard decisions that were unpopular--which is what a leader must do sometimes. The Bush record is a long string of inept decisions and obliviousness to their consequences. Harry Truman had a sign on his desk that said "The buck stops here." President Bush was not a leader, and his administration worked hard to shield him and its other members from being held accountable for their decisions (secret torture memos and so on).

But enough of the past, this election is about our future and the future of the world.

I heard man-on-the-street interviews with voters who said they were afraid that a President Obama would raise spending and taxes. President Bush has already raised spending, and a major cause of the ongoing financial crisis is that he misspent the money in ways that don't add to the productivity of our economy. This waste adds up to a couple of trillion dollars in lost opportunity. And Bush has already raised taxes because these vast sums of money were borrowed and have to be paid back.

So, President Obama inherits a colossal mess. If ever we need a leader, it is now, and I have confidence him. Wars, recession, world financial collapse, global warming, nuclear threats from rogue nations, the potential for pandemics. I know people are concerned about Obama's experience. This world is a different place from the one I grew up in. I respect John McCain's experience, but this is a different world from the one he grew up in, too. Yes, some old problems exist. Russia can--and does--behave like the old Soviet Union used to. But this is a new world, and Obama can see it in ways McCain can't. This is a world where Obama's leadership qualities, intelligence, and vision will serve us better than McCain's long view.

The age issue was important in the election, and as the baby boom generation ages we are seeing the passing of the torch. This is the first time I will be older than the president--Obama is at the very tail end of the baby boom, and I am one year older than him.

It's not easy to pass the torch. It's a little like the first time you go to a doctor who is younger than you. All your life older, wiser people were your doctor--and then there comes that day when, sitting naked in a flimsy paper smock, your life is in the hands of someone young enough that you might have told them to look both ways before crossing the street just a few years before.

For those of us old enough to vote--and older--the election of an African American to the presidency is an amazing development. Most transitions into the future are incremental, nearly unnoticed. Not this one. This is something new for us. We now live in a world in which ex-president Mandela sent a telegram of congratulations to President-Elect Obama. But for the little kids I saw holding their mothers' skirts at the polling station this morning, this is normal. By the way, those of you who could have voted in the past and simply never bothered to till today, you have had the power to make this change all along. It is perhaps President-Elect Obama's first act as a leader to have shown you this.

Don't ask me the question if you won't let me tell the truth and nothing but the truth

OMAHA, Nebraska (TP) -- The U.S. Supreme Court has refused to hear an appeal involving a case in which a Nebraska judge banned anyone from saying "robbery" in a bank robbery trial.

Lawyers for the First National Bank had argued that Lancaster County District Judge Jeffre Cheuvront violated their client's constitutional rights by barring witnesses from using such words as "held at gunpoint" and "victim" during their testimony in the trial.

The judge said he banned the language because was concerned about the accused's right to a fair trial.

While restricting First National Bank's testimony, Cheuvront allowed attorneys for John Smith to use such words as "withdrawal" and "bank transaction" to describe the encounter between Smith and the bank.

The teller for the bank says Smith took money from her in October 2004 while she was too frightened by the handheld projectile acceleration device he was pointing at her to deny consent. Smith maintains the bank withdrawal was consensual.

The Associated Press usually does not identify accusers in bank robbery cases, but the First National Bank has allowed its name to be used publicly because of the issue over the judge's language restrictions.

Bank attorney Wendy Murphy said in an e-mail Monday that she was disappointed but not surprised by the high court's decision.

"The First National Bank and this case will forever be known as the beginning of reform on this important issue, because we laid the groundwork for the inevitable day when judges will stop making such ridiculous rulings," Murphy said.

A mistrial was declared in Smith's first trial in November 2006 when the jury deadlocked. The bank said afterward that the judge's ban had a negative effect on its teller's testimony, causing her to pause to ensure her words didn't violate the order.

Cheuvront declared a second mistrial in July 2007 during jury selection, citing news coverage and public protests on the bank's behalf.

The First National Bank sued Cheuvront over the language ban. A federal judge dismissed the lawsuit, ruling that the bank failed to prove that he should intervene. The 8th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals upheld the dismissal, saying the federal court didn't have jurisdiction.

The case was listed Monday among those the Supreme Court declined to hear. Prosecutors previously said they decided not to pursue a third trial.

[With apologies to The Associated Press.]

Another fine mess

Here is a picture of Congressman Laurel and Congressman Hardy. You might know them. They once tried to deliver a piano to a house and ended up destroying the house.

You might even be in their congressional district and voted for them.

You probably heard about Secretary of the Treasury Henry Paulson getting down on one knee and pleading with House Speaker Nancy Pelosi. He needed her. Clearly he picked a bad moment to leave his wife and propose to someone else's, but now is not the time to dwell on that. Let's leave their personal lives out of this for a moment and focus.

Rep. John Culberson, R-Texas, certainly focused on the key issue when he said "This legislation is giving us a choice between bankrupting our children and bankrupting a few of these big financial institutions on Wall Street that made bad decisions." Yeah, who are these Wall Street fat cats anyway? I'm sure hauling sacks of money from one big financial institution to the next pays well--for them--but what about the rest of America?

We asked them for funding to keep credit from freezing up throughout this nation, and Congressman Laurel and Congressman Hardy took this as their cue to deliver a piano.

O.K., I don't understand it. The good news is we have nothing to fear, as is clearly evident on President Alfred E. Newman’s face.

Today's silver lining

It was another slightly bad day on Wall St. today. Some people are calling today's 449 point drop the "second worst day of the year." But to me it is the second worst day of the week.

Joseph E. Stiglitz, professor at Columbia University and winner of the Nobel Prize for economics, offered some commonsense suggestions today for preventing another Wall St. crisis. I think he has a point.

However, if I may take a moment to reflect, it is at times like this that I think of the following words of The Yellow Emperor's Classic on Medicine:

treating a disease that has alredy developed . . . is like digging a well after you've become thirsty or making weapons after the battle is over.

So wrote Chinese scholars in the third millenium BCE.

This is true of so many things in life, but after all these thousands of years how many of us are wise enough to understand something this obvious? Or at least wise enough to ascertain which of our potential leaders might be wise enough to understand this and nominate financial regulators accordingly?

The premise of this movie . . .

. . . is that a high-school graduate, state beauty queen, hockey mom rises from mayor of a town of 5,000 in Alaska to governor to president of the free world in the first 15 minutes--and then the high jinks begin. She would be vice president to the oldest U.S. president ever elected, see; and he drops off the scene in the first reel. I know it sounds farfetched, but it’s a comedy, not some realistic drama with high stakes. Think of it as a kind of King Ralph meets Baby Mama. I think Tina Fey for the lead, with Amy Poehler as co-writer with her. It’s a fun, heartwarming family film. Sarah, that’s the hockey mom who ends up as president, has five kids and a blue collar husband in tow. Let’s set this in Alaska--and then the action moves to Washington, D.C. Oh, it’s the usual stock characters:

• There’s the husband, Todd, blue collar worker in the oil industry, snowmobiler, fisherman, beauty contest judge


• There’s an ex-brother-in-law, age thirty-six, with three kids from four marriages, who uses a Taser on his 10-year-old stepson


• There’s the pregnant teenage daughter and her hockey-playing aspiring redneck boyfriend


• There’s the cranky neighbor and, well, you get the idea.

Now I know what you’re thinking. People in Alaska will feel picked on. They’ll say “Why don’t you pick on Alabama.” Or “Why don’t you pick on Staten Island.” Well, Alaska has a larger population than Staten Island. Besides, it wouldn’t make sense: Staten Island does not have a governor. Anyway, it’s a comedy. No one would believe these people are real. And, in the end, they have a heart of gold.

Making an Arguement for Misspelling

Dear Laura Fitzpatrick,

I appreciate your article about Ken Smith, senior lecturer in criminology at Bucks New University, in Buckinghamshire, England, who finds so many spelling mistakes in his students' work that he proposes that several misspellings simply be accepted as variants. However, you may have missed a larger issue: Based on the picture accompanying your article, I think Mr. Smith's students are simply too young for university--let alone old enough to study criminology. These students haven't even learned cursive yet.

I think we push students far too hard nowadays. Really, now! At what age would we expect a budding criminologist to know how to spell "accidentally" or look it up in a dictionary? Not enough attention has been paid to the physiological effects on young arms being asked to open heavy boring books before they are ready--merely to find out how a word is spelled!?

Jack Bovill, chairman of the British-based Spelling Society, is certainly correct in saying that people who have trouble with spelling are punished when it comes to applying for jobs or even filling out forms. At a time like this we can hardly afford to see such people waste valuable education time learning how to put letters into arbitrary rows when there are so many bigger ideas to be learned about! I’d feel a lot better knowing that my physiologist concentrated on *physiology* rather than worry about not spelling it “fizzyollogee”! And what is this business with filling out forms, anyway! Is it just me or do we fill out way too many forms? What do they do with these forms? Where is the British-based Forms Society when you need them?

Libby's! Libby's! Libby's!

After some nagging, I am relenting and putting up a blog post again. It’s not as if I haven’t had anything to say. I’ve been working seven days a week for the past 5 weeks and I am *really crabby*. And I have rants galore about store clerks, perps being chased by police, the network at my job, and so-called Communists in China that I just haven’t had time to commit to cyberspace. Perhaps if I had been exiled at the beach, I’d have had time to write about all this. Instead I will take a moment to note an absurdity that took place today (one of oh so many).

The Court of Appeals in Washington has upheld the dismissal of Valarie Plame’s lawsuit against Vice President Cheney et al. for destroying her career. As you probably know, it is not illegal for a journalist to reveal the identity of a spy and put her and her contacts at risk and destroy her career and perhaps put you and me as citizens of this country at more risk than we would otherwise face. Revealing the identities of those who have been trained at taxpayers' expense and who put their lives on the line protecting this nation and, indeed, defend the world from grave danger is what patriotic journalists are supposed to do and that is why we admire them so much.

It is, however, illegal for a U.S. government official to reveal the name of a U.S. spy (thus one of the bases for the lawsuit against Vice President Cheney et al.). In the original dismissal of Plame’s suit the judge said, essentially, that Vice President Cheney et al.’s desire for revenge against her was understandable. The latest dismissal upheld that decision, saying that even though revealing Plame’s identity might be illegal, it is within the scope of, say, Vice President Cheney’s official duties. Or Vice President Père Ubu or whatever his name is. Appeals Court Chief Judge David Sentelle wrote in his opinion, "The conduct, then, was in the defendants' scope of employment regardless of whether it was unlawful or contrary to the national security of the United States." Well, who can argue with that?

Now, I’m not a lawyer, and I’m sure Judge David Sentelle writes fantastic opinions every day. In fact, I am just too lazy to read through this thing, which in all likelihood I am incapable of understanding anyway. What I don’t get is why Cheney's top aide, Lewis "Scooter" Libby, was convicted of perjury and obstruction of justice. Wasn’t that within Libby’s scope of employment regardless of whether it was unlawful or contrary to the national security of the United States in his important work for Vice President Ubu Enchaîné?

How to be a billionaire

$2,110,100 wins lunch with Warren Buffett

Dear Cute Little Girl,

First of all, for the $2,110,100 you could have gone to a better place than the Dairy Queen for your lunch with Mr. Buffett. But kudos on your winning bid, and I hope you made Mr. Buffett explain to you how he became a billionaire. As a Girl Scout with several merit badges and the gumption to do enough after-school chores to raise $2,110,100, I think it's a safe bet that you'll go far.

Put it in your mouth

Now that so many Korean groceries are being displaced by upscale stores and gentrification, not to mention demolition of old buildings to make way for new ones, there is only *ONE* store that I know of that sells ika shiokara here in New York. (I checked the Japanese sections of several grocery stores in Chinatown--where I didn't see *any* shishamo, although I did find a few brands of nattō.)

So, I need to take the somewhat out-of-my-way subway ride to the Upper East Side to Katagiri. When I double-checked their address on their Web site, I saw that they have been in the same location for 101 years!
I am just so grateful that in this city that is constantly tearing itself apart some continuity somehow survives.

And the tip-off was . . .

. . . the annoying tune it played as it drove down the street.

Police Bust South Beach 'Brothel On Wheels'

. . . doodly doot dee-doo dee-doo, doo-dee doo-dee dee-doo etc.

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits

The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, "You know, I want to set those people over there on fire, but I’m just not close enough to get the job done."

100 points!

A friend of mine has written a new, fun book about the state of wine today. It was reviewed by Forbes recently, and you have got to love Robert Parker's reaction: "It's disgraceful. I'm not going to comment on the book or read it." Or, at least, I admire his reaction--so much internal absurdity in so few words. I don't know whether to think of it as a case of "Criticize Things You Don't Know About" or "Guitar Groups Are On The Way Out"--although I guess, properly, I should appreciate Mr. Parker's comment for it's own perfection, but I'm afraind I can only give it 94 Powell Points.

And I give Alice Feiring 100 Powell Points!

Aw, what the heck, Parker deserve the full 100 Powell Points for his quote. And I'm going to give myself 100 Powell Points for this blog post.

Yay! Everyone deserves 100 Powell Points!

It Can Happen to the Best of Us Dept.

I, unfortunately, have been to too many disasters as president.--President Bush, today

I know what you mean, President Bush; boy, do I know what you mean.

Lie #45 - somehow that . . .

. . . "I did not have sexual relations with that woman" defense never works as well as one might hope. I would almost say it isn't worth a decanter of warm piss.

Lie #44 - your in town

Vice President John Nance Garner once said that the vice presidency "isn't worth a pitcher of warm piss." Others believe he said "isn't worth a bucket of warm piss." Still others have quoted him as saying "a warm bucket of piss."

Not to digress, but I like to think that this Oscar Wilde of warm piss partial quotations used "bucket." This is because if you're like me you hate to think what would happen if you--or any cabinet member--walked into the cabinet room at the White House and saw an inviting pitcher on the table, you would not hesitate to pour yourself a nice glass of lemonade. This wouldn't happen if you saw, say, a galvanized steel bucket sitting on that well-polished mahogany table--you would assume that that was a bucket of warm piss.

Now to my point. John Nance Garner said this during The Great Depression, a time when the price of warm piss had fallen to all-time lows, not even a penny a pitcher--in fact the pitcher was worth more. But do you know what you would have today if you started with $5,000 worth of warm piss and let it compound for 200 years?

Need a shot of Southern Comfort while you think about it?

Five thousand dollars isn't a lot of money today, but stop and perform the caluclation: How does $20 million sound! You can buy a lot of pitchers of warm piss with that kind of money.

Why not start today?

The idea of compound interest is simplicity itself.

Lie #43 - Stoner is the state

Perhaps you saw the news story in Georgia that began thusly:

ATLANTA -- Georgia retailers soon will be banned from selling candy flavored to taste like marijuana to children.
Georgia Governor Sonny Perdue signed a measure into law Wednesday that bans the sale of "marijuana flavored products" to minors -- anyone under 18 -- and calls for a fine of up to $500 for each offense.
The measure takes effect July 1st.
It targets businesses that sell the candies with drug-inspired names such as "Kronic Kandy" and "Pot Suckers."
The law says the candies promote drug use.
Senator Doug Stoner pushed the bill in the senate. "I don't think that folks are aware--

Now hold on a minute. Senator Stoner? So, I called him up.

"You've really come up in the world since we last spoke," told him.

"Ah, well," he said humbly.

Wearing my cool t-shirt, I went over to his house and we put on the CD of "Where There's Smoke There's Cheech and Chong."

There certainly is.

Lie #36 - Alice Dee

LSD is dangerous! Do you hear me! This guy took it, and he DIED! Need I say more?

Lie #34 - for godssakes, people . . .

. . . don't miss out on your chance to get this t-shirt!

Lie #30 - i'll be the judge of that

Jack Cafferty couldn't possibly have insulted 1,300,000,000 Chinese people. Yes, he told the truth and, apparently, the lawsuit is not disputing his statement that the United States imported Chinese-made "junk with the lead paint on them and the poisoned pet food." Cafferty went on to opine that "They're basically the same bunch of goons and thugs they've been for the last 50 years."

Anyway, how could 1,300,000,000 Chinese people claim to be insulted when none of them have seen Jack Cafferty or, for that matter, any independent press?

Lie #19 - Mr. Popular

I have now succeeded in installing a statistical counter on this blog. I sort of wish I didn’t. Here’s what I have found out. First of all, my theory that only six people read this blog is correct. Unfortunately, my theory that those six people are my friends is wrong. I don’t know where my so-called friends are these days. Most (i.e. five) of my readers are outside the United States.

Far and away, the most popular page (drum roll here, please, John Densmore) is this one. C’mon, people. What is wrong with you?! Then again, I speak as someone who visited Jim Morrison’s grave twice last year, once in springtime and once in fall. O.K., if I could have, I would have visited four times--there are four seasons, after all, and why wouldn’t people visit Paris four times a year? Well, lack of money, for one thing. Please send me money via PayPal and I will visit Paris on your behalf. If you make this possible for me, I will be able to describe the great food they have, that wonderful Off Off Off Off Broadway theatre they have, the museums, I will visit Jim Morrison’s grave and give him your regards, and if worse comes to worse, I will sit a cafés all over the city, restricting myself parsimoniously to a pain au chocolat and café crème while I brush up my French, and hang out with glamorous people.

Of course there has been a lot on my mind lately. Finally there’s an easy way to follow the DASH diet, it’s called the cookie diet. That cookie diet sounded so great, but have you tried those cookies? They’re made of bran and sardines. You can imagine how scrumptious it was sneaking pinches of that cookie dough into my mouth and licking my fingers, but once those cookies are baked, they’re not that great.

I don’t know about you, but I have been following the CMT Awards and the CMA Awards. I have just tried the new Child Perfume. It’s great, not at all like the unchanged diaper scent I expected. Herschel Walker has been helping me with my tax extension form. And Rob Lowe’s nanny has been helping me find the IRS address. On a sad note, Hazel Court has passed away--but not before bringing a Form 4868 to me and Herschel Walker as we sat with our pain au chocolat and café crème at a sidewalk table at a café on the Upper East Side puzzling over that darn tax extension form. But I will say this, man is Herschel Walker smart. Smarter than me, certainly. I just feel bad that Hazel Court looked perfectly healthy this morning. Herschel and I were shocked when we heard the news. Anyway, thanks to her, I got my IRS extension done. Now, if only I could find that Internal Revenue Service address. I went on the Web and all I’ve found so far is Nutella’s address.

Lie #18 - cool out

Today I solved the Mideast Crisis. Now, now, stop it. It's not what your thinking. Why anyone gets turned on by the Mideast Crisis I have no idea. Such people are aberrant at best. I mean, you could get turned on by sheet rubber, if you know what I mean; or this Marilyn Monroe video, which you can see at the following link. Siobhan Bonnouvrier is hot, if only for her name, never mind what she did with that cougar in Chicago with Todd McShay after ther ACL Festival, on tax day no less--in the back of the Pope mobile. But I digress.

My point is that having discovered a magic phrase. (No, is it not “ponder the monder” or “ponder the maunder,” and it has nothing to do with Maundy money.) Anyway, I went to the Mideast, and you should have seen the place. I mean, rockets and bombs and bullets flying around. I shouted, "Yo! PEOPLE! Cool it." And they did.

So, mission accomplished, I came back to the Unites States and had brunch on the Upper East Side, like I always do. You know where to find me, Nobel Committee, and if you have mislaid my address, you can always call the people at the Able Prize or Norwegian Pickled Herring Institute.

Lie #17 - yo!

It was Friday night and it had been a full day since we'd had a party at our frat house. (I just haven't had time to report them all here, although I'd have to say that if you've been to one frat house party, you've been to them all.)

At Chad's suggestion I brought a case of rum again, which was much appreciated. I had to make a second trip to get a keg. Somehow I seem to be the only person bringing drinks for everyone. And still no girl for me. There actually is a sorority with my equivalent; however, the equivalent of a creepy old guy who should have left college life behind years ago is not a creepy old gal etc. (which would have been an improvement over my dates lately)--it's a crotchety eccentric bizarre old lady who shows up in clothes that smell like mothballs and slips an entire paper plate of nachos into her tremendously large old-lady purse, buttonholes any spare person (O.K., just me), and rails against gentrification for 25 minutes with her nacho and halitosis breath, and mercifully leaves because she doesn't want to miss a rerun of "Petticoat Junction."

My philosophical conclusion? Even though I don't have halitosis or wear a sweater in serious need of de-balling (and she could shave her upper lip while she's at it), the way she appears to me is the way I appear to the sorority girls.

I guess the reason why a particular frat party is like no other falls to which combination of misdemenors (or worse) are committed and what gets destroyed.

This party started to get out of hand by about 2:45 (a.m.). Four guys quite spontaneously insisted on demonstrating wrestling moves and a chair overturned, knocking over a lamp, which shattered, prompting someone to throw the empty keg through the window. People were shouting and laughing. And then I shouted, "Yo! PEOPLE! Cool it."

And they did! I should add that I am not a yo-sayer. In fact, that was the first time I said "yo" in my whole life. But everyone calmed down, righted the furniture, took out their wallets to pay for the damage, and at a decent hour the guests went home.

Lie #16 - Lola

I, um, made out with a Julianne Moore-lookalike drag queen. And our second date had started out so well, until-- Don't tell anyone this happened. Sometimes you can't go back in time and undo history. I'll just try to focus on the positive side of this experience.

Lie #15 - more hopelessness

This is the worst news story in Africa.*

*Go ahead, call me a liar.

Lie #14 - the ladies man

I felt pretty dejected after last night's party at the ΔΙΚ House. I went to a bar tonight to cheer myself up with alcohol, and you'll never guess what ended up happening: I made out with Julianne Moore.

I know what you're thinking, she's married and has kids and what would she be doing hanging out in a dank bar on a Tuesday night? But, hey, I'm the guy who discovered a planet that nobody else could find, which I am now thinking I should have named Julianne Moore instead of GJ 43c.

If you must know, Julianne Moore is much better looking in person than in the movies--and she's a better kisser.

Lie #13 - party hearty

Chad said I was the coolest guy in the frat house and that we should celebrate my astronomical discovery. So we did what they apparently do every Monday night: I brought a case of rum and we got drunk and partied till 4 a.m. This was the first time was I attended a frat party.

All the frat brothers were there, of course. There was Chad, the good-natured, mesomorphic, all-American in a general sort of way. There was the studious nerd. And the somewhat aphasic athlete, who turns out actually does play football (he was the guy who ate the banana I didn't). There was me--the creepy older guy who should have left college years ago. And a whole bunch of other guys, including the good-looking studley athlete (not sure what sport) with a girl on each arm.

I looked around and I noticed that I was the only guy without a girl. I'm all for the two-girls-for-every-boy policy, but only if I'm one of the boys. I really thought that after literally being hazed to join this frat there would be some kind of benefit--at a party held in my honor no less. Even the wimpy nerd guy met a nice girl (with thick glasses etc., but I'd say she was librarian hot).

I asked Chad about this. "How come girls walk in and start making out with guys they don't even know.

"Because colleges are institutions of higher learning," Chad said, lifting a rum and Coke to his lips.

"They're making out with every guy except me," I said. "And some guy have two girls."

"You're the creepy old guy who should have left college years ago. No college girl is going to make out with you."

Lie #12 - small world

I discovered the smallest planet outside the solar system. As you know, the universe is 20,000,000,000 years old and it is about 115,000,000,000 light years across. Our galaxy contains about 200,000,000,000 stars; so, you can imagine how it took me practically all day to find this planet. Here is an artist's rendering of it:

Because of its eccentric shape it has a wobbly orbit, which made it easier than usual to find. The planet, which I have named GJ 436c, orbits a red dwarf in leo about 30 light years from here. Its days are four years long, although the planet is so small that a year there is barely an afternoon here. The planet is populated by Native American dwarves, who spend most of their time moving their clocks forward and backward because of the constant change due to daylight savings time.

To indicate just how small the planet is, in the artist's rendering above a bowling ball has been added on the left to give you a sense of the scale.

Lie #11 - brown haze

Today I got hazed. The guys at Delta Iota Kappa said it was just a formality, because of my street cred. It turned out I wasn't the only pledge. The house had an opening for the rôle of creepy old guy who should have been done with college life years ago.

Anyway, they had me and Arthur each sit at a table in the kitchen coating a banana, skin and all, with peanut butter. They took away Arthur and his banana first. About 15 minutes later they came for me--I noticed Arthur in the hallway with his shirtsleeves all wet. They took me to the bathroom.

"Put your banana in the toilet," Chad said--he's the president of the ΔΙΚ house.

So, I did what he asked.

"Now, take it out and peel it and eat it," he said. About a dozen other frat guys were standing around and laughing.

"No," I said.

"Do you want to join our frat or not?" Chad said.

"I don't care," I said.

"O.K., you're in," said Chad. "You passed the hazing. If you ate that banana, we definitely wouldn't have let you in."

So, I'm a member in good standing of a fraternity!

"What about Arthur?" I said.

"He won't be joining us," said one of the frat brothers.

As I walked down the hall to the TV room they filled me in a bit more.

"Actually whether eating the banana or not is passing the test is determined at random by tossing a coin. This way, if anyone finds out about our hazing tactics, they won't know how to ace the test."

I looked behind me down the hallway and I noticed a large football-player-looking guy getting peanut butter all over his hands as he peeled and ate my banana.

"Don't pay any atttention to him," Chad said. "Can you help us carry these two couches out into the street?"

"You're throwing them away? They look new."

"Don't ask," said Chad.

Lie #10 - damn lies

Today I told a lie. O.K., that's not true; in fact I did not lie at all today. Um, so I guess that part about me telling a lie isn't true. Now look what you made me do! I wouldn't have told any lies at all until you made me lie about lying. This is all your fault. I think we need to put Chelsea Clinton on the spot and demand that she explain all this! If you can't stand the heat stay out of the kitchen. If somebody runs for president, do they think they're someone special? Who is this so-called "Monica Lewinsky," anyway! We need to give Kenneth Starr another $40,000,000 so he can investigate Whitewater, Kenneth Foster's "suicide," and the blue dress. Since all this inflation, that might now cost $80,000,000--but every penny would be well spent if we can at last find the truth! Bill Clinton needs to be impeached again--otherwise we will never be able to put these questions to rest once and for all! And if impeaching him twice doesn't do it, I say impeach him again!! There hasn't been anywhere near enough impeaching around here lately!

Lie #9 - Delta Iota Kappa

Running around naked in Times Square in the rain just keeps on paying dividends. Today one of my blog readers called me and asked whether I’d like to join his fraternity. He explained that what I did on Monday was the sort of thing they strongly encouraged and that I would make an excellent member--after a suitable hazing, of course.

I explained that I was long out of school and, in fact, was an important businessman in the imported Norwegian canned pickled herring industry (not to mention my experience in building demolition--which I did mention and which led to a confusing conversation in which I had to explain that I did not “build a demolition” (there’s no such thing as that), rather I demolished-- Oh, never mind, in the end neither of us knew what I was talking about).

Anyway, the young man went on to explain that one of their fraternity brothers had died of old age and they were looking for someone to take his place as the creepy guy who was way to old for college and was I interested?

“Was he one of those guys who goes back to get their degree at age 80 because World War II interrupted their studies?” I asked.

“No, nothing like that,” said the young man. “It had to do with the terms of his grandfather’s will.”

Apparently, the guy would get his inheritance in monthly checks “as long as he stayed in college.” The grandfather probably meant that he would get the money if he stuck out college and graduated. It’s too bad the grandfather didn’t hire a lawyer and do better job of drafting the terms of that will. It’s too bad the guy didn’t study law while he was in college for 60 years, because he might have been able the get the darn will interpreted a different way.

“So,” said the young man. “Are you ready to join the men who’ve joined the ΔΙΚs?”

“I sure am!” I said.

Wow! I’ve been asked to join a fraternity!

Lie #8 - pants

I forgot to mention that after the Times Square debacle on Monday, I caught the subway downtown to go back to my office. I've got to say I was pretty much in the dumps besides feeling chilly. I ran into, of all people, Charlie Todd, who took one look at me and told me to put some pants on. Little did I know that at that moment I started a revolution. Charlie told me he was declaring March 31st National For Godsakes Put On Your Pants Day.

Lie #7 - fool

So, I pulled off an April Fool's prank you wouldn't believe today. Here's the setup: I had a bouquet of spring flowers delivered to my secretary first thing in the morning. Then I gave her a card saying that I appreciated all the work she has done for me this year and inside was a gift certificate for a half day at a spa and a dinner for two for her and her husband. You should've seen the look on her face!! Haw! Haw! Haw! She sure wasn't expecting that! I'm still laughing about it.

Lie #6 - there's no place like home

So happy to be back in America that I ran naked through the rain today. In Times Square. I was hoping to get arrested, but I was a little disappointed about that not happening. In fact, cops were just saying "Move along folks. There's nothing to see here." And, unfortunately, there wasn't much of a crowd either. Even though it was lunchtime, most people were paying attention to the Naked Cowboy.

All I can say is if M&Ms steals my idea--running around actually naked instead of in underwear and with a guitar and boots--I'll sue!

Lie #5 - first ladies

I spent much of the day on the streets of Paris selling Norwegian pickeled herring. Although I cornered the market recently, it is not selling as rapidly or for as high a price as I expected.

While I was out on Rue Montainge who should come up to me all smiles, but The First Lady of France, herself. I met Carla Bruni-Sarkozy. Most people don't know that she is a math genius. She told me she was very impressed that I had won the Abel Prize.

I have to admit that I was a bit intimidated to meet this impressive woman in a grand fur coat surroudned by her security detail. When I explained to her what I was doing, she bought a can of pickeled herring from me. She didn't have euros on her--and I don't take credit cards. But fishing thrugh the pockets of her coat she found two Norwegian crowns; so, I sold her a tin of the herring.

Carla told me she had just got back from London, and the subject of the photograph of her that Christies is auctioning off came up.

I told her not to worry about that and to feel free to come to America anytime. We got over being prudes decades ago. In fact, we got over all of that stuff back when Eleanor Roosevelt posed for a photograph.

Although she was a great humanitarian and progressive thinker on human rights, a lot of people don't know that Eleanor Roosevelt was practically crippled with embarrassment about how pigeontoed-toed she was. She didn't want people to see her walk; so, she usually got pushed around in a wheelchair by her husband, which was quite difficult for him to do as he himself was in a wheelchair.

Lie #4 - math prize

I was awarded 6 million crowns by the Norwegian Academy of Science and Letters for my pioneering work with Tits. Now, now, stop it. It's not what your thinking. Why anyone gets turned on by little birds I have no idea. Such people are aberrant at best.

I am talking, of course, about my work regarding the new and influential notion of groups as geometric objects and their symmetry that I did with Jacques Tits, of France.

By the way, the Norwegian crown is a lot stronger than the dollar; so, it didn't make sense to convert all the money to--gulp--American dollars. That's why I spent my half of the $1.2 million on Norwegian pickeled herring. They don't call me an algebra whiz for nothing!

Lie #3 - There's gonna be a rumble

I blew up buildings in France. No, no, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m not a terrorist. I was working with a demolition crew that had to clear some run-down apartment blocks from the 1950s to make room for something new and nifty.

By the way, the French don’t implode structures with dynamite the way we do in America. They have a kind of hydraulic jacking device that lifts one side of a building and can actually turn it upside down. It’s a lot quieter than the way we do it, and a lot less noisy.

The last structure that had to be destroyed was the house that the crew was staying in during the project flipped just fine, but it was too light to self-crush like the apartment buildings we did. So, the demolition company sold it to a guy who shipped it to the Kaszuby area, by the Baltic sea, in northern Poland.

Interestingly, everyone I have met on this project speaks fluent English, with an American accent, which makes my attempts with my phrasebook sound quite pitiful.

Lie #2 - raison d'être

Every day for a year I will come up with a new premise for a blog about doing something every day for a year.

[Message to Puerto Rican Governor Anibal Acevedo Vila: Don't make false statements. Lie! Plenty of people have gotten the book thrown at them for making false statements, but nobody has ever gotten into legal trouble for lying. I envy you having 12 associates, by the way, I have to write this whole blog myself.]

LIES! - Lie #1 - if I did it

This is a blog; so, I might as well write something--which I have not done often enough (or have done too often in some people's opinion).

Now that yet another hot blog seems to have wound down, I feel like I should try to do something. So, every day for a year I will tell a lie.* I know that doesn't sound very positive or particularly impressive, but I'm trying to get in touch with my inner Cretan (that's a lie, by the way). Anyway, I can't help thinking that if more people lied, we would get better at separating truth from fiction. And Lord knows there isn't enough fiction in this world.

So, here goes: Today I ate a lemon, skin and all. Swallowed it whole.

*This itself might be a lie.

In search of lost comedy

For some reason I found myself thinking of Perfect Strangers today. A little bored with my work, I headed for the Web and stumbled upon the random fact that today is the 22nd anniversary of the show's debut. The show ran until 1993 and thus accumulated more than the traditional 5 years of episodes needed for syndication.

When Perfect Strangers debuted, I was a newlywed. I think my wife found it first, probably by accident while changing channels, and Balki Bartokomous's jumbled English is what caught her attention--possibly because it took her a minute or so to determine whether it was grammatically and idiomatically proper. She was a foreigner and she jumbled her English now and then, too--but she was fluent enough to get the jokes.

During the run of the show, 1986 to 1993, my wife and I lived in four apartments, changed jobs, changed careers, bought a cat. Perfect Strangers was one of those great shows that nevertheless by the time it ended you had almost forgotten it was still on the air. That wasn't really the show's fault, it's just that by 1993 we were working too hard and not watching much television. Now we're divorced, but I still have the cat.

It's easy to forget how great the physical comedy was; something that is way more difficult to pull off than most people realize. I remembered how good Mark-Linn Baker was when I saw an episode of "Hangin' with Mr. Cooper" that he directed that climaxed in a side-plitting scene involving Mark Curry smashing up a lot of glass with a golf club--there are about a million ways to do that and not be funny.

Speaking of the end of an era, tomorrow, Wednesday, March 26th, is the 366th--and thus last--new thing.

My fellow New Yorkers . . .

. . . Here is a picture of me:
I've had kind of a bad day, and I don't want to talk about it much.

Here is a picture of my wife:
She's pretty good looking actually, except this is a picture of her when she's thrilled to see me.

Somehow when I prepared myself for a career in public service, I expected it to be more like this:
It hasn't worked out like that as much as I'd hoped. C'mon people, cut me some slack. If I want to have a good time, it costs me $5,500 an hour. Do you know how long it takes me to get $5,500? On a government salary? A lot longer than an hour, let me tell you. Do you think you could lighten up once in a while and be a little more forgiving? Now let's pull ourselves together and focus on what's really important: the bond insurance industry.

The coward bastard bomber

When I heard early this morning about the bomb attack on the military recruitment station in Times Square, I immediately thought of two previous similar attacks. (The police aren’t explicitly making that connection, however.)

Not to be a conspiracy theorist, but I believe these attacks are all the work of the same man: The Coward Bastard Bomber. Why did I even remember these attacks in October and May of 2005? Because they were weirdly petty. Early one morning in May of 2005 a “novelty bomb,” as the police are calling them, exploded near the British consulate. In October of 2005 there was another, near the Mexican consulate, shattering windows. We remember, Coward Bastard, wherever you are, we remember.

Mayor Bloomberg went to Times Square today and spoke about the situation, calling the bomber a coward: "Whoever the coward was that committed this disgraceful act on our city will be found and prosecuted to the full extent of the law," Bloomberg said. Mayor Bloomberg forgot to add “bastard”--well, he didn’t forget, it’s just that the Mayor tends not to say “bastard” in front of TV cameras and on the radio. For one thing, it’s undignified, even if it’s true. I, however, have no reservations about saying "Whoever the coward bastard was that committed this disgraceful act, he is a coward and a bastard.”

What is the Coward Bastard Bomber against? Mexicans? The British? Windows? Small buildings? He did break a couple of windows at 3:45 this morning, although apparently the “Uncle Sam Wants You” poster behind the window was unscathed. Clearly this attack is more bastardly than dastardly. The U.S. military just spent $60,000,000 to practice shooting down a satellite (they succeeded); so, you know an ammunition container filled with gunpowder (or pineapple or apple, as in the earlier incidents) could no doubt bring the Pentagon to its knees. I have news for you, Coward Bastard Bomber.

Yes, somebody could have got hurt, most likely the Coward Bastard Bomber himself, which is a typical fate for cowards and bastards who make bombs and carry them around on bicycles.

I don’t know whether these attacks qualify as felonies, but I suspect they do. And I can’t remember whether all that fuss about the three-strikes-and-you’re-out law finally resulted in New York having that law, the one where if you're convicted of committing three felonies you can never get out of prison. I hope we have that law, and I envision this conversation:

“What’re youse in for?” [This is New York, of course.]
“Bombings!”
“Say . . . Aren’t you the Coward Bastard Bomber?”
“I . . . uh . . . don’ think of myself that way.”
“You put gunpowder into a plastic pineapple and broke windows at 3 a.m.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re in the pen for the duration? Wow, I have actually met the Coward Bastard Bomber.”

When are . . .

. . . people going to learn to stop stealing?

Bai Ling on her way to the airport:


Bai Ling one hour later being booked on suspicion of stealing $16.22 worth of batteries and magazines from a store at the airport:

Need I say more? Pay for your batteries and magazines. Don't disturb the peace.*

*Note to Bai Ling: If you'd just asked me, I would have bought the batteries and magazines for you and none of this would have happened. Stop being so shy and call me. Disturbing the peace does not pay.

Waiting for Garfield

O.K., I'm sold on the Garfield minus Garfield phenomenon.



So, what does it mean that removing the cat from "Garfield," one of the most popular cartoon strips in the world, tranforms it into something utterly avant garde, perhaps even something profound?

Burlesque and you

If you are like me--and there is a 25% chance that you are me, because only about four people read this blog--then you are aware of the renaissance in burlesque that has left New York dizzy with visions of tassle-whirling pasties and--like me--you have neglected for far too long to see what all the excitement is about. Anyway, tonight I caught the This Is Burlesque show at Corio.

Upstairs at Corio is a lot like a comfortable living room, the furniture being a mix of quaint, old-fashioned mid-century modern and quaint old-fashioned post modernism. It is a safe place, and I felt comfortable.

I should say that burlesque is not stripping for fat chicks, as a friend of mine has characterized it; for one thing, the women are in pretty good shape. At the risk of giving away what goes on at a burlesque show, let me say right here that I am not going to say whether any of these gorgeous women end up in less that their G-strings and pasties or confirm or deny that a Ping-Pong ball hit me in the forehead.

I will say that in looking over the menu I wondered whether the food at a burlesque show is “food.” The answer is that the scallops I had were great. Take away Angie Pontani and her sisters and you would still have a restaurant that served a delicious meal with large portions, as a friend of mine has already mentioned.

But eating great scallops in winter would be so much less of an experience without Murray Hill presiding. My friend, a theatre major, said to me “If they break down the fourth wall, I’m out of here.” I told her I thought the fourth wall had already dissolved, that the domestic arrangement of couches and chairs formed a continuum with the stage. . . . Murray Hill, who has a kind of Benny Hill-like cherubic face and began with a song containing the line “I like chicks!,” describes himself as the “hardest working middle-aged man in show business.” Never before has the smarminess and the seamy side of show business been so adorable. As he worked the room, commenting on members of the audience with the kind of laser-accurate insights that we would hope our therapists would have, I told my friend that I thought part of what burlesque does is push the envelope rather like the way fire departments out west set controlled brushfires. “You overintellectualizing,” my friend said.

I just wish that someday I could learn to underintellectualize. I probably should not have turned down the free vodka shot.

In due course Murray Hill set his sites on us: “What? Have you been going out for five years or something?” Yes, I laughed. Having been in a five-year-plus relationship that went thud I knew only too well that that is what I certainly must have looked like with my 26-year-old female friend (platonic, for real).

It has been a long time since I had seen such a parade of stockings and straps and bustiers. I suddenly found myself with a memory from when I was very young, probably too young for nursery school and watching my mother get dressed--I am old enough to know a time when girdles and stockings held up with snaps and straps were the normal innerwear of most women.

The highlight of the show for me was Melody Sweets, who approached the stage from the back of the room. She leaned down to me and said “Where are your drinks?” (they hadn’t arrived yet). She then went into an endearing version of Tom Waits’ “The Piano Has Been Drinking.” And so there is that glamour, the dizzy lyrics she sung sweetly (she did another nice song at the end of the show), and I am left reminding myself that “Melody Sweets actually spoke to me! I will never wash my ear again!”

Sorry about that . . .

. . . previous post. You need to cleanse your palate with something pretty. That whole truck thing-- I'm starting to put together a theory that America is not classy.

For Some Reason . . .

. . . I am always the last to know about these sorts of things.