Breakfast at Tiffany's

So I invite loopy neighbor Emory to breakfast at Edna's Cafe on main street. As we enter the restaurant, a woman with a dog enters at the same time.

"Whoa!" Emory says to me, "A dog can't come into a restaurant."

"Don't worry," I reply, "it's wearing a sign which says, 'Service Dog.'" Emory grunts and we're quickly met by the waiter who leads us to our table.

Emory proceeds to embarrass me by ordering---ugh---beets and squash loudly enough for the other customers to overhear, as he thinks that he's thereby promoting our farm products. As we're finishing our meal, the knucklehead then turns to the dog which is on the floor at the table next to ours and shouts several times, "Hey, service dog, get me another cup of coffee!"

Joy to the World

Thanks to my six readers who mailed me a fruitcake or figgy pudding. Five of the items arrived here in Seine in time for Christmas. O blessed am I! Enough to last me until at least the summer! The sender of the one item (a figgy pudding) which was late---and you know who you are---is penalized by having the homework assignment of rereading all my blogs and properly categorizing them.

Ma and Pa Ternity

I'm eating for two these days. Yep, while Jonka is visiting her relatives in the mysterious ethnic neighborhoods of Cleveland, I'm cooking for both of us and eating both our meals.

Seat of Wisdom

I was relaxing reading the newspaper in my easy chair after the Christmas hubbub when my young grandson, Huey (yes, the other two are named Dewey and Louie), said to me, "Are you busy, Grandpa?"

"Yes, I am," I replied.

"You don't look so busy," he said.

"Well, I am. I'm obfuscating superfluous malfeasance."

"Wow," he remarked wide-eyed, "you make it look so easy."

A Most Deserving Kind of Guy

I really, really hope Gary Busey had a merry Christmas.

A Christmas Carol

When I recently was with the Gulliver's Travels group playing The Tourist in Quebec, I decided to extend my Social Network by hitting a couple of bars at night. At the Burlesque, I met a beautiful Black Swan which, as it turned out, had True Grit. To my surprise, she spoke to me in The King's Speech. When I expressed my disbelief at her ability, she responded with such screeching and scratching, I thought I was trapped in a Tron nightmare. I got the hell out of there faster than you could say "Roger Ebert!"

They Prefer Santa

After some forty years, this will mark the first Christmas Day that none of my children will be with the little woman and me. I wonder if it's because they're tired of their old man belching and farting at the Christmas dinner table.

What Not To Wear

I wonder if Mrs. Claus cracks the same joke every Christmas Eve as Santa departs the North Pole: "Don't tell me you're going out again this year dressed like that"?

Feeling Anything Yet?

I've previously complained how Americans in general and even professional media persons in particular confuse "feel" and "think." "Feel" denotes emotion, whereas "think" denotes thought or idea. So the interviewer asks, "Tell me, Senator, how do you feel about the new tax policy?" And the senator spends two minutes giving an analysis of the political and economic implications of the policy, to the interviewer's satisfaction. But I shout at the tv screen, "No, no, Senator, she asked how you FEEL about it! Simply answer "Angry" or "Joyful" or "Sad"!

As has been said by someone, Christmas is the feeling Christian's holyday, whereas Easter is the thinking Christian's holyday. Christmas is all warm and fuzzy and baby cutsie. So if anyone asks me how or what I feel about Christmas, I'll answer simply "Yes."

Northern Exposure

The little woman and I just returned from a short vacation to Quebec to see if we could find any of my long-lost cousins. Man, what I did find! I discovered that those French Canadians actually catch, cook, and eat possum, raccoons, frogs, and what they call "craw fish." They make and eat some kind of spicy rice sausage which they term "boo-din," which they often have with a Coke as breakfast too. Their music is dominated by---can you imagine in this day and age: the accordion?---and by the violin, music which features many depressive waltzes. They play this stuff late into the night mostly at houses at which couples bring their young children or grandchildren---at performances they call "fais do-do"---and allow---get this---the children to sleep in the corners while the couples dance. And their English? Whew. I know it's French Canada, but come on, the whole industrialized world speaks English, not this choppy non-European French. And, I think, they frequently perform in private and in public what looks like mini-voodoo rituals.

Quebec! I just hope those French Canadians never move south. As for me, I think I'll remain in Seine.

A Strange Little Dude

Remember when my neighbor, Emory, recently called the local funeral home to ask "What's playing?" Well, when the mortuary director finally understood Emory and told him whose bodies were on view, Emory became excited. "Come on," said Emory, "Warren is on display. We gotta see him!"

When we arrived at the funeral home, we found Warren's room. His body strangely was half in his coffin and half out, arms dangling down. "What's with this?" I nervously asked Emory.

"Ah, that's Warren," he replied. "He always saw himself as thinking outside the box."

Suffer the Fools

"Fences make good neighbors"? Well, there's no fence between my farm and that of loony neighbor Emory, so you can imagine what happens. For example, he bought two tickets for the fights in Dover, walked across to my front yard and invited me to accompany him. "Seats are in the nosebleed section," he said, but I didn't care because I love boxing. Turned out the seats were two chairs placed right inside the boxing ring.

Then today I said to him, "I wonder if anyone we know has died lately."

"Let's just call the funeral home and ask," Emory says. So he phones and says, "What's playing today?"

'Tis the Season

It's said that Santa knows if you've been naughty or nice. So be worried---be very worried.

Wonderful, Wacky World of Sightings

So the Catholic Church officially has approved the three apparitions of the heavenly Mary to a young immigrant woman in Champion, Wisconsin near Green Bay in the 1800s, the only appearance of Mary in the U.S. That's a surprise---I never had heard of those events at that place. I guess that Mary, after bearing the "majestic" titles of Our Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Fatima, etc., won't mind being called Our Lady of Champion. I can just imagine some commercial sponsors having a field day with that with the tourists there.

Rumors a few years ago were that Mary was appearing in a field at Tickfaw, Louisiana near Baton Rouge. But as I said then, I was certain that her apparitions weren't real, because I couldn't imagine her tolerating being called Our Lady of Tickfaw.

As far as I know, the only place in the U.S. where the Church has approved of an apparition by a saint (not Mary) is in the bucolic backwoods of Grand Coteau, also in Louisiana and also in the 1800s. There St. John Berchmann, who was an Englishman (of all things, not a Frenchman to match the Cajun French culture of that region), is said to have appeared to a dying nun. I said "dying," not "flying."

Wasn't That Church Exciting Enough for Ingmar Bergman?

From "The Onion" another headline: "Lutheran minister arrested for boring young children."

Fruitcake and Moonshine

Did you know Alabama was the first state to declare Christmas a legal holiday? Go figure. God bless dem rednecks.

Book Him

Seine is a small town, and its police aren't exactly Sherlock Holmes. So when I reported my car stolen from the mall because I couldn't find it, in turn because I forgot I had parked it on the opposite-side parking lot, the police quickly found it. Unfortunately, however, they charged me with auto theft because, they said, "You're fingerprints are all over it."

Re Quest

It's that time of year again, boys and girls. I again yearn for good fruitcake and figgy pudding. Please mail me some before or just after Christmas to:

Ye Old Gargoyle
200 Old Farms Rd.
Seine, DE 19901

And May the Lord throw all kinds of good blessings on you!

The Eyes Have It

Neighbor Emory suddenly has his bags packed for travel. "Why the bags?" I asked him.

He replied that he was motivated by reading in an issue of "National Geographic" the old saying, "In the land of the blind, the one-eyed is king."

"So where are you headed?" I persisted.

"I'm not sure," he said, "but I'll keep an eye out, and I'll know once I'm there."

Name of the Game

The world's richest man, worth about $50 billion, was interviewed this week on the "Larry King Show." He's Carlos Slim of Mexico. He has everything which money can buy except apparently an impressive name. Can't he afford to have it changed to Carlos von Slim or Carlos de Slimoroff or something like that?

A Fractured Mind

Even though, when I was a young man in Quebec, I was their captive for a few days, the local forest Indians allowed me quite a bit of freedom. I could walk about freely, make my own meals, and even throw large rocks at their heads. It was only later that I discovered they were not Indians at all but dirty-clothes hampers.

His and Hers

It seems that more women ran for public offices across the nation in this recent election. It could reach the point in a few years that two women (Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin) will be the top two nominees for U.S. President. Meanwhile, Catholic women still aren't allowed to become simple deacons, let alone priests, in their church.

A Simple Birthday

Today's my late mother's birthday. I remember when I was 8 or 9 years old. I didn't know much what to give her, so I went to what was called Reese's Five-and-Dime Store downtown. There I bought a packet of bobby pins, a comb, a powder puff, and a small bowl into which to put them. She was happy to receive this gift from me. What she didn't know is that earlier, when she wasn't looking, I had raided her purse for the money to buy it.

Gotta Pay the Rent

The winter snow has begun. Time to switch part-time jobs from newspaper delivery boy to the more socially prestigious (at least around here) chimneysweep.

Delaware Punchin' Cousins

I've learned that Delawarites, despite living in a state smaller than many counties in other states, have a strong sense of cultural divide between Northern Delaware and Southern Delaware. The northies (in the Wilmington area near Phily) consider themselves urban and sophisticated, and look down upon the southies (in the Dover area) as rural, almost U.S.-Southern rednecks. This was reflected in yesterday's newspaper obituary for a physician, in which the tongue-in-cheek editor wrote that "Dr. Williams will be buried in Southern Delaware where he was first pronounced day-ed."

Talk Turkey

I was in my field yesterday when three turkeys went walking by. I swear one of them said to me jokingly, I think, "Hey, dude, what's for dinner?"

"I'd tell you, turkey," I replied, "but then I'd have to kill you."

Easter Egg

I've had in my lifetime a few of what I call minor "mystical" experiences. The latest of which was today, what I call a wacky one. I was in my easy chair writing a talk when I heard Bam! on my back- door window. "Oh great," I thought to meself, "that group of anti-Frankenstein townspeople is after me again." But when I opened the door, all I saw was a small bird lying on its back near my doorstep. Its eyes were half-closed, its heart was beating rapidly, but it otherwise didn't move.

Not wanting to have a wildbird possibly bite me, I grabbed it by wrapping it in three feet of white paper towel. And knowing it soon would die, I put it onto its back, still wrapped, and on the grass. Then I placed a few pieces of sod and two clothespins onto the edges of the towel to keep it down. Just the bird's head peeked out of the wrapping.

I returned to my chair and continued my reading and writing. Twenty minutes later, I reached the place in my reading of John's gospel at which Peter and John reach Jesus' tomb on Easter morning, enter it, find it empty, and handle the neatly folded linen cloth which had covered Jesus. At that point, I had the notion to take a break, go see the bird, and prepare to bury it.

To my surprise, what I found was the long white paper towel completely unfolded in the grass, the two clothespins lying perfectly parallel to each other at the head of the towel, and the bird gone.
"Well, well," I said, "the resurrection I just read a minute ago in the gospel, with the 'linen cloth' neatly unfolded instead of folded."

The moral of the experience struck me: Either believe in the Resurrection of Jesus or don't underestimate the strength of a merely-stunned bird.

Biblical Wisdom

I'm back from the Dover airport where I made some $300 in only one hour. I had a batch of small banners printed, then took them to near the beginning of the line for the new-style passenger-security check-in. The banners sold like hotcakes; each one carried the Old Testament dictum, "Gird your loins!"

Eye of the Beholder

On a recent episode of Bill O'Reilly's tv show, one of his assistants reported on a survey of tv watching by Republicans and Democrats. She said that three of the favorite programs among Republicans are "Undercover Boss," "Amazing Race," and "American Idol," and three of the favorites among Democrats are "Madman," "Dexter," and "30 Rock." She and Bill concluded that Republicans are happier than Democrats and like to watch programs which stir competition, "making it," and feeling good. And they concluded that Democrats are angry and like to watch shows which stir conflict or confusion and feeling bad.

Nonsense. I conclude from this survey that Republicans like programs which reflect themselves as simplistic, black-and-white idealists and self-concerned individualists, whereas Democratic prefer those which reflect themselves as appreciative of complexity, satire, and existentialistic reality.
Where's my remote?

Junk Male

When I go next week to the Dover airport for a flight, I'll be subject to the new passenger-search methods. I don't think I'll accept the full-body x-ray, because that would disturb my Korean War shrapnel and trigger my mad-cow disease. I guess I'll have to submit to the close-body manual search. I can only hope it'll be done by a bleached blond. I won't have her arrested if she touches my "junk," but, boy I'm surely going to charge a bag-handling fee to my airline.

Habeus Corpus

The Catholic Diocese of Peoria, in which the famous Archbishop Fulton Sheen (d. 1979) was born, has abandoned its sponsorship of his possible canonization as a saint because the Archdiocese of New York, in which he's buried, refuses to disinter his body and transfer it to Peoria. Must be frustrating for his spirit; good thing he wasn't cremated.

Salvation at a Price

Well, the little woman and I are back in our repaired house, still in Seine. Our temporary, emergency stay in the basement of the ocean-front lighthouse was welcomed. Jonka and I are grateful to the local Salvation Army which made our stay possible.

I think I'll start donating more stuff to the Salvation Army instead of Goodwill. The Army gives much more of its collected items than does Goodwill directly to the poor and needy. Of course, most people think the Sal Army is simply another charitable organization, but it's technically a church denomination, though one whose primary mission is to help the poor. The Sal Army began as a reform movement within the Methodist Church in England, because its founders thought that their Methodist Church was too liturgical, too formal, and not enough concerned with the needy. Ironically, the Methodist Church itself developed from the Anglican Church, because John Wesley and others thought that their Anglican Church was too liturgical and too formal. Go figure.

Thus before Jonka and I vacated the lighthouse, the Sal Army official made us sign a pledge not to drink alcohol, gamble, dance, nor play cards; and pledge to help the poor every week. Then we had to sing all six verses of Wesley's hymn, "Amazing Grace."

But all was not loss or even frustrated, as I demanded that I be made on the spot an honorary officer in the Salvation Army. Henceforth I shall be addressed as Colonel Gargoyle.

La Plus Ca Change

I voted. But I think I've reached the point at which I don't care which political party has the majority in both houses of Congress. Rather, I wish any party would dominate and would be identical to the President's party so that Congress could more easily accomplish legislation. Nonetheless, in two to four years from now, I and the rest of the country will be singing a different tune once again.

You Betcha

I wonder if Sarah Palin is a palindrome.

Election Day

As best-selling author P. J. O'Rourke says, "Don't vote---it will only encourage the bastards."

Let Your Little Light Shine

Lord, have mercy! This past summer and now late autumn have presented the roughest storms, floods, and even hurricanes here in the Northeast. The latest hurricane-strength wind devastated houses and my own farm along with our poor beets, squash, and pumpkin crops. Neighbor Emory also was wiped out.

The public and private shelters are full, so the little woman and I have had to move into about the only place which will take us: the dampy basement of the old lighthouse on the ocean front. So our temporary (we hope) address is, for those of you who want to help:

Basement
Owl's Eye Lighthouse
Beachfront
Ocean City, DE 21840

Emory was placed into the tight-squeeze top room of the lighthouse, where the giant, bright light is. He has borrowed or swiped my three pairs of sunglasses.

I Should've Been Wearing a Necktie

I was lounging in my easy chair watching tv when the doorbell rang. Jonka answered it to find two young women holding notepads, and I barely could hear the conversation of the three of them.

"Jehovah's Witnesses?" I asked Jonka after they departed, knowing that, because they were women and not men, they weren't Mormons.

"No," she said, "they're from a national magazine, and when they saw you, they said, 'It's not him.'"

"Yeah, well," I replied, "they should've used correct grammar and said, 'It's not he.' Anyway, what did they mean by that?"

"They're searching for the sexiest man alive."

Listen to Mom

"What is a friend? A friend is someone in whose presence you can fart." --Mother Theresa, "Reflections on Friendship"

Home Sweet Home

This trend of young college graduates returning home to live with their parents is becoming ridiculous. Yesterday as I was short-cutting from my Hoarders Anonymous meeting and through the city cemetery, my attention was caught by two different, large mausoleums there. Sitting in a folding chair on the front step of each mausoleum was a young man. "Hey, what are you guys doing here?" I asked both.

"What do you think?" replied one, "we've had to return home to live with our parents."

Elite Membership

The Vatican now says that the Simpson family (Homer, Bart, etc.) on tv's "The Simpsons" are actually Catholic. Right. And I baptized my parrot, Holy Ghost, as a Pentecostal.

Delaware Diversification

I'm not a witch. I'm just a gargoyle.

Well Grounded

You know what you don't want? You don't want to have a neighbor who both sees the current movie, "Buried Alive," and who reads the news that it'll take a decade for our nation to make its economic recovery. Why not? Because then you'll find yourself spending about four hours digging into the ground to remove the neighbor from having buried himself in a homemade time capsule designed to be opened in ten years after the recession. Believe me. Took exactly three hours and forty-five minutes for Emory.

Celebs

Paris Hilton is, I think, like Mexico: hot and boring. I liked Bono before he turned pro. And I liked his sister, Pasta, before she became an ante.

Hollow Men

The little woman doesn't want to go trick-or-treating for Halloween. "That's for kids---we'd look like idiots," she says.

So nutty neighbor Emory and I will do the venture on October 31. Because we're both short on cash to spend on costumes, Emory suggests that we wear our 40-year-old old suits and neckties hanging in our closets since the 1960s. Great idea. We'll go as tv "Mad Men"'s Don Draper and Roger Sterling. You can guess who will be who.

I just hope other neighbors don't recognize us through our disguise. Then we'd really look like idiots. And I hope we don't encounter the hotly talked about new witch who is roaming our state of Delaware: Christine O'Connell.

Just Blowin' Smoke

Why don't cigarette packs carry the standard "Use Only As Directed" warning? Because tobacco is the only product which, if used as directed, kills you.

The Competitor

As I mentioned, my crop of beets and squash was poor this summer. But now I'm told by neighbor Emory that his own crop was even worse. Of course, that knucklehead tried to grow what he thought were boneless bananas and hairless grapes.

Holy Trinity

Well, I've finally found someone to match Oprah Winfrey and Rosie O'Donnell. That is to say, if I were to be tied to a chair and forced for a week to watch videos of Oprah or Rosie or this third person, I surely would be driven clinically insane. The third person is tv evangelist Reverend Joel Olsteen.

Genus and Species

So wolves are to be found in a pack, but lions are found in a pride---thus "a pride of lions." I think we also can find an augmentation of Hollywood actresses, a spoilage of oil company executives, a concussion of football players, a duplicity of politicians, a ditzy of Sarah Palin supporters, a bloodline of serial killers, a memory of Alzheimer patients, and an emory of knuckleheads.

Hide the Broom

So what does Lady Gaga wear for Halloween---regular street clothes?

Whitewash

I'm confused. The report on the recent national census doesn't say that at least fifty percent of American citizens are of Scandanavian descent. Then why do three-fourths of the women I see in public places have blond hair?

Woe Is Me

With the cold weather approaching, I had to quit my parttime newspaper route with the Dover Post. I was lucky to land another parttime gig as a chimney sweep here in town, but then my mad-cow disease kicked back in. And with a poor beets and squash season ending, it's gonna be one harsh winter for me and the little woman.

"Kapow, Alice, Right to the Moon!"

"I really embarrassed myself at the town-hall meeting last night," I told the little woman. "I shot myself in the foot several times."

"Maybe aim higher next time," she replied.

Long Live(r) Otto

Today is the commemorative death day of my Uncle Otto. I always liked Uncle Otto. He was kind of any early health nut. He took Carter's little liver pills all his life. When he died, they had to beat his liver to death.

Was He Wearing His Seat Belt?

The new owner of the company which makes the Segway one-person transporters has died. He fell from a cliff in England while riding his Segway. That's sad, but let's face it, folks, that's also darn funny.

Have a Heart

Weird and baffling, my dream last night. In it, the four cardinal virtues, the three theological virtues, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the seven deadly sins, the three extraordinary spiritual charisma, and the seven corporal works of mercy were engaged in a round-robin tournament of poker or some similar card game. You can imagine which won---and the consequences of that victory.

Veni, vidi, vincit

Has any of you readers (I know "Has" sounds awkward, and you want to see "Have," but "any" is singular, not plural) studied Latin? I need to know how to translate my motto into Latin. The motto is "Pills, not hugs."

Either Way, You Gotta Fight

Instead of going to the movie theater as I told the little woman, I decided to visit the new martial-arts studio in town, as I could use a little conditioning, a little loosening up. Boy, was I surprised at the tools and techniques used at that studio, not at all what I imagined it would be like.

When I returned home a couple of hours later, Jonka asked, "So how was your movie?"

"Didn't see it," I replied, "I decided to check out that new martial-arts studio on main street."

"What martial-arts studio?" she asked.

"The one next to the In Seine Cafe," I said.

"You idiot," Jonka anwered, "you misread their sign. That's not a martial-arts studio---it's a marital-arts studio."

Power of the Pen (and the Match)

My new book, "Delaware Punch Drunk," appears in bookstores on Oct. 1. Please look for it and buy it. No need to read it. Just buy it, then burn it. If you don't, the terrorists win.

A Gargoyle's Prayer

Let us pray: Dear Lord, may we see Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, and Snooki of "Jersey Shore" (required to become a bleached blond like the other two) all ordered into the same jail cell to do time, with the consequences filmed for YouTube.

Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

The little woman and I commemorated our wedding anniversary with a leisurely dinner at a Melting Pot (an apt name, I think, in relation to a marriage) restaurant. I like to "put on" store clerks and restaurant waitresses (it gives me a fleeting but needed feeling of superiority, I guess).

So at the Melting Pot, I badgered the maitre d' about the real name of her restaurant. "Are you sure it isn't 'Melting Spot'?" I asked her several times. Lo and behold if she didn't finally glance at the large, official sign on the wall behind her, the sign with the logos of the restaurant which she had read hundreds of times, to make sure that she was or wasn't working for "Melting Spot."

Then with our waitress I persisted several times, "Are you sure this restaurant isn't named 'Smelting Pot'?" She too eventually double-checked her menu and her shirt tag to make sure she was or wasn't working for "Smelting Pot."

However, unlike that English-speaking Mexican-woman sportswriter who was recently "embarrassed" by what she saw when she entered the (men's) players' locker room after their N.F.L. game, and who had to appear scantily clad on several tv talk shows to complaint about it, the restaurant supervisor and the waitress weren't bleached blonds.

A+

Ever notice that every year in the past two or so decades tuition at public and private colleges rise at an annual rate higher than the national cost of living? I was pleased to read a recent national opinion article (whose name I unfortunately forget) describing the reasons for this, namely, the three a's: athletics, administration, amenities (which apply too to many high schools).

Too many colleges arbitrarily have doubled the number of players on their sports teams, increasing the need for more equipment and more coaches, increasing the number of their games and fancy travel arrangements, plush stadiums, etc. The number of administrators and staff persons at many colleges now match the number of instructors. Almost every "need" of students for their "self-image and happiness" now has to be met with some special program and staff. And "the manner of living to which the students have been accustomed" has to be met in the form of, e.g., effete cafeteria food such as sushi and wild nuts, niches or small rooms with cots in hallways for students to nap between classes, etc. All of this greatly increases cost and spending without having any direct, substantial, positive affect on students' learning, while at the same time diverting money from the hiring of more competent instructors and providing them with needed classroom supplies.

Meanwhile, as studies over the past decades consistently show, typical high-school or college graduates today have less general knowledge and poorer vocabulary and communication skills than their parents and grandparents of yesteryear. (I'm reminded of the latest college at which I taught: in one week I saw three separate students, who were tweeting on their electronic playmates, walk face-first right into posts.)

Sweet Sarah

I first met her at my doctor's office. She was beautiful, and her name is Sarah. She had a calming effect on me, causing me to see things somewhat differently. It took a little pleading, a little persuading, but I was able to have it agreed that I could take her out. I'm looking forward to this. My wife is at a W. o. F. convention (Wives of Farmers---they call themselves WoFFles) in Dover right now, so she won't know. I won't tell if you won't tell. Tonight I'll meet Sarah again with, I hope, a pleasant outcome. I'm excited. I'm looking forward to my date with Sarah Tonin.

His Elevator Doesn't Go All the Way Up

I was standing in the hallway of the building and awaiting the elevator to reach my floor. This impatient dude arrived right after me and pushed the elevator button, which was already lighted, several times.

"No, no," I said to him, "if you keep pushing the button, the increased acceleration of the elevator can harm its current passengers."

"Oh, sorry," he replied.

When Mr. Opportunity Knocks

I was so damn depressed last night, worrying about my hoarding, my Social Security, the economy, the wars, rising poverty, floods and fires, the demise of good rock-and-roll, etc. So I called a suicide center. Somehow I reached one in Pakistan. When I told the hotline person my problem, he became so excited and asked me if I knew how to drive a truck.

Revenge of the Nerds

The little woman and I now have six grandchildren: four boys and two girls, two children for each of our own three offspring. Our own children are traditional, thank goodness-- no wild tattoos or piercings, no bleached blonds, etc. They even gave traditional names to the grandkids. But then it struck me. As I rearranged the names of the six, they came out to be: Donald, Huey, Duey, Louie, Daisy, and Minnie. Arrrgh! What a cruel joke to play on their old man!

You Are What You Are

Another early autumn, another school year. I miss my students---well, most of them. I miss calling each one "student." Most of them didn't like that. My colleagues called them "kids," a word which I (and my own old-time teachers) always considered second-rate English, to be used not of children beyond elementary-grade age, and to be used only in private in family circles. It always baffled me why teachers wouldn't call their clients by the one word which most precisely and with dignity signifies what they are: "student." Then I tried calling the youngsters by these other words: backpacker, deskoccupier, hallrambler, testbomber, "hey, you"---but they didn't like those names either.

Oddly, almost none of my students objected to being called "Christian" or "Catholic," although "Christian" appears only four or five times in the entire New Testament, and "Catholic" appears not at all. The word, "disciple," which the students would also proudly accept, appears almost 300 times in the N.T. Guess what "disciple" means? "Student."

Starbucks Cathedral

Early last evening I stopped at a Starbucks for a coffee and snack on my way home from my Hoarders Anonymous meeting. That Starbucks, I've noticed, is used by many young people as a meetup place. I couldn't help notice a young woman and a man who had just seated themselves at a table; I could tell they were meeting for the first time. The man had, er, one bad eye, a somewhat disfigured face, and a kind of hump on his back.

"So," the woman said to him, "your profile says that you like heights and hearing bells."

That's when I left.

Yes, Morm. No, Morm. Whatever You Say, Morm

The next season of tv programs is upon us. A recently new one is called "16 and Pregnant." Must be filmed entirely in Utah.

Timely

Newspaper headline from "The Onion": "Al Qaeda Also Fed Up with Ground-Zero Construction Delays"

He Didn't Really Mean What He Said, Did He?

As a minor, unproductive theologian who has publicly debated Muslims, I have mixed admiration for and historical-theological criticism of Islamic beliefs. Which brings me to the lady on the bus. When I was riding the city bus to my downtown meeting of H.A. (Hoarders Anonymous), the woman sitting next to me was reading her Bible and mumbling. She eventually complained to me how Muslims are bent on converting or conquering the world in the name of Islam, and that good Christians are not like that, then badgered me with "Don't you agree? Don't you?"

As the bus halted at my stop and I was walking out its door, I quickly said to her, "I think Mohammed speaks in the gospels."

"What? Mohammed? Where?" she angrily demanded.

"Mohammed or Jesus---I can't remember which. Try reading Matthew 28:19-20," I replied as I exited.

September 11th and Beyond: The Bird's Eye View

As large as today's commemoration of the September 11th attack is, you can imagine how much larger it'll be on the tenth anniversary next year. The attack triggered the U.S. invasion of Iraq and Afghanistan.

It also prompts today my "I told you so." Not that anyone listens to me---well, my parrot, Holy Ghost, does and occasionally the little woman. Nine years ago I muttered, "No, no, not another land invasion of Asian countries. Saddam Hussein is being adequately supervised by U.S. air and naval power. Haven't we learned from Korea and Vietnam? Ten or more years from now, we'll still have thousands of troops in Iraq (and Afghanistan). Thousands of American soldiers will be killed and tens of thousands will be maimed for life, and billions of dollars will have been spent. And if the military draft isn't reinstated, we'll see little public protest in the U.S. against these invasions. Then after at least a decade in those foreign countries, things will 'end' in a draw at best. We'll leave, then all of the local interethnic and interreligious and political rivalries will return to their standard of normal. Of course, not a single neighboring country in that region will have lifted a finger to help the U.S., and even most of those we 'helped' eventually will turn on us. Even the Vatican and the U.S. bishops are urging the U.S. not to invade, but watch, after American soldiers have been placed there, the bishops will mute their opposition to these wars."

I wish we had then and will have in the future a U.S. President and backers who will have the courage and wisdom to keep land soldiers the hell out of countries, unless American citizens or significant American property are harmed or are in serious and immediate danger. I wish our leaders will spend those trillions of dollars on increasing U.S. air and naval power around the world and in improving our vital systems of intelligence and security in our homeland. Then announce to the world that any attack on the U.S. by another nation will be answered by devastating and sustained air (and naval) power. Possible attacks by rogue, terrorist groups will simply have to be intercepted beforehand by improved intelligence and security tactics. If terrorist groups can be hit by air in their home region, let it be that (witness the increasing success of air-drone attacks in Afghanistan now), but let us stop ordering Americans to die and be damaged in antiquated land battles. And, lastly, let us think twice before we convince ourselves that our military and our U.S. citizens have the duty to do "nation building" in foreign lands.

My other wish is that one or two decades from now, most of the U.S. military personnel and their families will not have the misfortune of looking back and concluding that their sacrifices were in vain.

Now we have the controversy over the proposed new Islamic mosque near the World Trade Center in New York City. In light of the history of harsh anti-Catholicism and anti-Semitism in the U.S., where oh where is the united voice of the American Catholic bishops in defending the religious liberty of American Muslims?

Well, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it---unless, of course, I hear otherwise from Holy Ghost.

One Man's Junk Is Another Man's Treasure

The little woman and I don't much speak to each other anymore. It's not that we have nothing to say, though I am a man of few words. It's more that we don't see each other anymore. It's not that we're more frequently separated lately from one another. It's more that we can hardly view each other. You see, every room in our house is now piled high with stuff. By "high" I mean at least six feet---and because I'm six feet tall and she's less than that---well, you get the picture. By "stuff" I mean things I myself, not she, have collected and moved to Seine and continue to collect. I think I'm a collector. I have piles and stacks of books, notebooks, old grading books, old textbooks, newspapers, magazines, journals, posters, boxes of videos, etc., dating from today to about ten years back.

Jonka is calling the tv show, "Buried Alive: Hoarders," as I speak.

Cobwebs

I enjoyed again watching the fine H. G. Wells' movie from the 1950s, "The Time Machine." I've noticed that in similar films about time travel by such machines, the occupant of the vehicle never eats or drinks while transmitting through time. I think that if you're riding in such a contraption, you'd enjoy eating corn on the cob. I don't think it would affect things one way or another. But the point I'm trying to make here is that corn on the cob is real good, isn't it?

Ratty Tat Too

All this fuss about tattoos! I think tattoos, especially large ones or several of them on a person, are repulsive, dirty-looking, weird. Yet, after watching a few episodes of tv's "L.A. Ink," and developing a crush on its main woman tattoo artist, I was persuaded to visit a tattoo parlor. First, I received the traditional butterfly tattoo. Then I asked for and was given the image of an anchor. With plenty of time scheduled for this, I next obtained a tattoo of dice. Then she talked me into one featuring the state capitol of Delaware; this was followed by a large one of Popeye. Well, I found that I had to have a second tattoo butterfly to remind me of the first, then a second anchor to have me reflect upon the first one; a second tattoo of dice came next, because I wanted a refresher about the first dice; I had to have another capitol building at Dover in order not to forget the previous one; then, of course, a second Popeye to honor the first one.

Dear Lord, then I realized the addictiveness toward tattoos about which you hear people speak. Good thing my tattoos all were temporary.

In the Wild

I have no desire to visit Africa or any other hot-weather region. But I wonder. I wonder if Africa has zoos. If it does, it seems logical that its zoo cages would be filled with dogs, cats, rabbits, turtles, hamsters, and goldfish.

The Dirty Dozen

"Garg, have you ever been on trial for anything?" came the question from my neighbor.

"No, I haven't, Emory. Why do you ask?"

He replied, "I was only wondering what a jury of your peers would look like."

My Honey Bun

The little woman still wears her beehive hairdo from the '60s. This morning I again found honey on her pillowcase.

Ready or Knotty, Here He Comes

My loony neighbor, Emory, has begun the daily wearing of a bow tie. One day it's bright red, the next day bright yellow, the next day poker-dot, then orange and pink stripes, etc.

"You know," he said to me, "people look at a guy funny when he wears a bow tie. It's as if they're thinking, 'What's with this guy?' They're afraid you might say or do something crazy at any moment."

I replied, "Well, I think all crazy people should be required to wear bow ties so that we'll know who they are."

Bus Boy

I enjoy the look on their faces. When I ride the city bus here and there, I try to sit next to a young woman. I eventually turn to her and say, "Say, you remind me of myself when I was your age. I too wore women's clothing all the time."

Hotheads

Here we go again. I read that over the past two weeks about a dozen soldiers at Army bases in North Carolina and in Texas were hospitalized in critical condition after their ten-to-fifteen-miles "practice" hikes in 100-degree heat. And a few more high-school football players in a few states collapsed in the same condition during their "practice" sessions in 100-degree heat. I guess the soldiers are practicing for the present or the next war in the next foreign country into which the U.S. government will intrude itself. I guess the football players are practicing for their next war which they call the football season. I hope the all those players and their coaches will not be dismayed, that they continue toughening up with these practice sessions, so that the boys can continue their helmeted mission in a different uniform---but still in 100-degree heat.

Stationary Stationery

I'm still in Seine, but I've moved to a new address, namely, 2+ (pronounced "Two Much") Writer's Block (same zip code 19901).

Forget the Nose

I was sitting on a bench in the park here in Seine. It's mostly older, retired guys who do the same during the day. They sometimes do strange things. I began to find it easy to sit there and scoff at each old man's folly. But I also found it easy to scoff at each one's Adam's apple.

Where There's Smoke

More forest fires in the Southwest and West and now in Russia! Which reminds me: I bet that primitive man discovered fire and invented the wheel on the same day. Then that night in all their excitement they burned the wheel. I have no way of proving that, though.

No, They Don't Have Souls

Dogs and air shows---what nuisances! I see that another pilot has accidentally crashed his airplane practicing for an air show in Illinois. His defective plane could've just as well landed the next day on the people watching it from the ground. Why does the law continue allowing onlookers to be so endangered?

And a medium-size city in Texas, which has tens of thousands of poor or homeless people in its central district, is considering spending ten-million dollars---that's MILLION---of public money---that's PUBLIC taxpayers' money---to build a state-of-the-art shelter for---you guessed it---dogs.

I'd like to pass a law requiring pilots of airplanes in air shows to pack at least three stray, non-parachuted dogs into the back seat of their aircraft before leaving the ground.

Old Man with His Cane

"What's wrong, old man, why aren't you eating your breakfast?" the little woman asked me this morning.

"I'm on the horns of a dilemma," I replied.

"Ouch! That must hurt," she said.

"Very funny. I opened this can of cane syrup---you know, the heavy, dark kind which looks like, and even at times tastes like, motor oil---the kind I really like. It's from a box of cans sent to me at Christmas by a former student. Anyway, I was thinking of how many sugar canes it took, how many hours of cultivation it took, sweating in the hot harvest sun, to make this one can of syrup."

"So?" Jonka asked.

"So I'm pondering the ethical implication of pouring pure, sweet, natural, handmade cane syrup onto frozen, cardboard Eggo waffles."

OLive Oil

Bare with me if my thoughts are jumbled and jumbled my word are incorrrect. I just havnt' been sleepin much lately. In fact Im' up 24/7 with my eyes pealed to the tv. As a ex-Lousianian, I think it's my duty to my new follow Delawarans to report to them aboot the gulf oil spill. So i constantly watch the cable-tv chunnel which shows continous reel-time pictures of the underwater spill.

Call of the Mild

You know what you don't want to do? You don't want to spend six days and nights in a remote log cabin in the thick forest and rugged terrain of Moose Jaw, Saskatchtewan, with no mail, phone, radio, tv, air conditioning, nor even electricity and running water, and with no one with you except your spouse---and call that a vacation. Take my word for it.

Probably Has a Nice Pension Plan

"God Hinting at Retirement" reads a newspaper headline from "The Onion." Dear God, we can only hope and pray it's so!

Only Once a Year (Thank Goodness)

Attention! Let it be known that today is Appreciate the Little Woman Day! Take it seriously. (Posted by order of Jonka.)

Who Was Insulted?

Not much by my neighbor, Emory, surprises me anymore. We both like birds. I named my parrot Holy Ghost, and he gave his parrot the "imaginative" name of Polly. So I was visiting him the other day. He went to his backyard shed to grab some of his homemade beer and meth. I was in his living room stretched out in his easy chair and half-dozing. I swear that his parrot, perched right next to me, then crackled, "Aaawwkk, Polly want a role model."

Round and Yellow with Two Black Dots

As you know, I'm not a smiler. Smiling is for sissies. Anyway, the day before we left for vacation, I stopped at my neighborhood pub to quaff a few, because I don't think they have bars where we were heading. I walked into the pub during happy hour, and was promptly escorted out.

An American in Rome

B-16 announced that he's creating a new department at the Vatican to combat secularism in the advanced Christian countries. With all the congregations (departments) and offices already in the Vatican, with their cardinal-bishops and titular archbishops and titular bishops (those who work full-time there and not in dioceses), do they really need another department in the Vat?

If I were pope, I'd reduce the whole scene to four departments corresponding to the Church's three basic mission activities (worship, education, service [charities] ) supported by the fourth (administration: personnel, finance, law). But then they'd probably impeach old Pope Gargoyle I.

Six of One, Half-Dozen of the Other

The little woman thinks I acted unethically yesterday. What I did, when I made a quick visit to my shrink before Jonka and I left town for vacation, was this: during that visit, I told my doctor that I gave to his receptionist the name of a crazy guy (my neighbor, Emory) whom he could call in case of an emergency or in case he needed someone to fill a time slot.

Living It Up (or Down)

"I like our living room," I told the little woman last night.

"'Living' room?" she replied. "What 'living' goes on here? All you do is sit in your easy chair smoking that damn pipe and reading 'People' or watching tv, and not paying a shred of attention to me! It's more like a boring room. That's it, let's call it the 'boring room.'"

"Very funny," I said. "So what would you call it if right now I die in it?"

Keep Peeling

Ah, you gotta love "The Onion":

Headlines:

"Restoration of 'Star Spangled Banner' Uncovers Horrifying New Verses"

"Report: 9 of 10 Americans Cannot Eat Another Bite"

"What the Hell Am I Supposed To Do with All These Constitutional Rights?"

"Cleveland Indians Sign Guy Who Successfully Jogged across Street"

"Miss Nude America Loses Title Day after Appearing Clothed in 'Woman's Day'"

Better Than "Windows"

I can't remember crap anymore. "Who's that smart guy in a wheelchair?" I asked the little woman at the breakfast table this morning---one of many similar questions to her lately.

"Stephen Hawking," she quickly replied and without disturbance to sipping her cup of tea.

"That's it," I said. "And henceforth I shall call you Google."

Thank goodness the tea hit my newspaper and not my face.

Sam and Janet

"Enchanted" or "Enchante' is the old-fashioned reply, usually by the woman, to the man to whom she's being introduced. It's rooted in the medieval belief that romance or love could be captured by an atmosphere of magical enchantment.

And so we have the famous song from the musical, "South Pacific." If I remember correctly, the song begins: "Sam and Janet evening / You will see a stranger. / You will see a stranger." Or something like that (I guess Sam and Janet are the main characters in the play). Which leads me to tomorrow:

Tomorrow is the "meet" anniversary for the little woman and me. It was many decades ago that we first laid eyes upon each other across a certain large meeting room---kind of a Sam and Janet happening. For me it was pure, old-fashioned enchantment. I like to think it was for her too. If I'm lucky, the spell never will evaporate; and, if I'm lucky, the enchantment won't turn into witchery.

Horsefly

On my return from Little Rock, I stopped in Cleveland to see my old buddy, Tom. Tom is a cussing, hard-drinking, bar-fighting, womanizing Irish-American bachelor (all the things I always wanted to be, I guess). For years he worked as a probation officer. He would do some office work in the mornings, then "go into the field" in the afternoons. "Going into the field" meant that he would go to a movie theater or go home and nap.

Anyway, Tom is a would-be horse owner or trainer. When I arrived at his condo, I found two of those play horses---the kind you find as rides in front of Walmart---each tied to his front porch with a rope. When I entered his living room, my eye caught his moving ceiling fan which had a dozen small toy horses tied to it like a carousel. Several paintings or photos of horses adorned the walls, and his tv constantly played reruns of Kentucky Derby races. After a few drinks of Kentucky bourbon with Tom, his laughter at my jokes turned into whinnies.

I then realized that Cleveland Tom had much in common with my neighbor, Seine Emory. It was time to leave.

Turn the Screws

Whew, I had a rough day. And I learned a new lesson: I learned that that which doesn't kill me doesn't make me stronger---it increases and prolongs my suffering.

Where Did I Go Wrong?

More answers from old tests by my former students:

1. "Which type of attractive force or bond holds together the sodium ions and the chloride ions in a crystal of sodium chloride?"
Leah J.'s answer: "James bond"

2. "Name one measure which can be implemented to avoid river flooding in times of intense rainfall (e.g., at the Mississippi River)."
Brian R.'s answer: "Flooding can be avoided by placing a number of big dames into the river."

3. "Name six animals which live in the Arctic region."
Matt F.'s answer: "2 polar bears and 4 seals"

4. "What is the highest frequency noise which the human ear can register."
Cathy B.'s answer: "Mariah Carey"

Good Thing I Wasn't in Hope, Arkansas

Good news! While I was in Little Rock this past weekend for a beets-and-squash conference, a new grandson of mine was born. It was my turn in the family to name the latest young 'un, and because I was so enjoying myself in Arkansas, and so delighted at this news, I said he legally shall be called Little Rock(y).

Russian Roulette

People ask me, "Why in the world do you like Rasputin [the Russian "mad monk" of the early 1900s]?"

I reply that, like me, Rasputin was impervious to bullets and liquor---as I still have some two-dozen bullets---well, shotgun pellets---in my body from an, er, hunting accident, years ago; and I still have in my body, says my physician, Doctor Smirnoff, a large batch of undigested but benign beer and vodka from my drinking days in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Moreover, I like the way that Raz deliciously blended quest for physical pleasure with quest for spiritual mysticism---no sugary pietistic nonsense for him.

When I explain it this way to questioners, I make a few new members, at least with males, for my group. For you to join, visit www.delawarerasputinsociety.org.

Our Lord of Haut Culture

I see that lightning struck a tall outdoor statue of Jesus near Solid Rock Evangelical Church in Monroe, Ohio yesterday, burning it to the ground. Way to go, Jesus! Probably too explicit for Him; probably prefers the subtlety of "appearing" in rough outline form in tortillas, dirty window panes, etc.

Ant It the Truth

Scientists say that ants lift 50 percent of their body weight, and, boy, they do so, because ants are such hard workers. Well, my grandson, who has an ant farm in his room, found eight of the many ants unexpectedly outside of the glass farm, just wandering aimlessly on the table.

"Grandpa," he said, "look! Why are these ants here?"

"Well, student grandson," I replied, "probably because they were judged by their supervisor ant to be lifting only 20 or 30 percent of their body weight."

Knock on Wood(y)

Mimes and ventriloquists---ugh. I'm reading a report that at a nightclub in Phily the ventriloquist's dummy crossed the line by suggesting that his partner is the actual dummy.

Proud of Every One of 'Em

It's early June with its many graduation ceremonies. I become nostalgic for former students. So I search my files for copies of their tests in miscellaneous subjects from years ago. Here are some questions and answers I find:

1. "Explain why phosphorus trichloride is polar."
Jennifer B.'s answer: "God made it that way."

2. "Briefly explain what hard water is."
Jean-Paul S.'s answer: "Ice"

3. "What do Mahatma Gandhi and Genghis Khan have in common?"
Aline A.'s answer: "Unusual names"

4. "Name one of the early Romans' greatest achievements."
Melissa A.'s answer: "Learning to speak Latin"

Sweet Odor of Friendship

"You know," the little woman said to me this morning, "you don't have many friends. Lord knows, neighbor Emory hardly counts as one."

"You're right," I replied, "but it might be due to my definition of what a friend is."

"And what might that be?" Jonka asked.

"A person in whose presence you can fart."

Lost Again

This week B-16 is beatifying Jerzy Popieluzsko, the priest in Poland who was murdered by government agents in the 1980s for his public pronouncements against the oppressive communist government in that country. The worldwide Church still has its occasional martyrs these days.

I read that Popieluzsko is so "Pop"ular among his fellow Poles, some 80 cities in that country have one or more streets named after him, and about 18,000 schools, parks, etc. are named for him. Good luck, then, to all the firemen, policemen, mailmen, deliverymen, and cabdrivers in Poland.

Goodbye, Old Friend

This June 9th the Catholic Church commemorates Saint Ephrem, a Syrian monk from the fourth century. I'm reminded of my old friend, Brother Ephrem, a member of a Catholic religious order of brothers, who assumed the saint's name, and who died a couple of years ago. Because of this elderly brother's humility, generosity, self-discipline, and industriousness, I liked to call him "Venerable" (but always behind his back, so that he wouldn't cuff my ears if he heard me). Now, after his death, I firmly believe that the canonical, official title of Venerable should be applied to Brother Ephrem. He deserves it more than ever.

Where's My Grain of Salt?

I remember it was precisely four years ago, when I was watching "Sunday Morning" on tv, when a commercial in the program appeared featuring British Petroleum. The spokesman in the commercial was new to me; it was the C.E.O. for B.P., Tony Hayward. He trumpeted his company as the leader among oil companies in promoting environmental sensitivity and safety concerns. I believed him and his British accent. Heck, I tend to believe all commercials and all politicians when they speak.

Then the same Tony Hayward and B.P. hit the news lately with the Gulf of Mexico oil-spill disaster. How naive could I have been? For honesty and facts in the news, I'm now sticking with Jon Stewart, Bill Maher, and Jay Leno, not oil-company publicists.

Every Other Generation

My young grandson visited me and the little woman last week.

"Grandpa," he asked me while I was reading the newspaper, "do you know how to juggle?"

"No," I answered.

"Can you paint pictures of people?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Can you fly an airplane?"

"No, why do you ask?" I said.

"I can't do any of those things, either. I must've got it from you."

Jetfibs and Julpartels

From the Bad Guesses Department:
British-tv host Eamonn Holmes: "What travels at three-hundred million miles a second?"
Contestant: "A cheetah."

From the We Prefer the Wild Ones Department:
"Do a Civilized Tourist: Create the Civilized Tourist Spot" (from a public sign in China)

From the Very Helpful Customer-Service Department:
"It will either be done before 5:00 tonight or after 5:00 tonight" (service rep at Verizon to customer Michael McHugh)

Collar and Chain

The current issue of "Time" magazine features Pope Benedict XVI and the clergy-pedophile scandal as its front cover and main story. By now I've read about 200 documents, articles, and books on the scandal. Of that number and of the many television reports I've watched, I've read and seen many instances in which bishops and B-16 himself have apologized for the criminal deeds of those priests and some nuns---not apologies for any bishops by name, mind you, who mishandled those priests---just apologies on behalf of the priests. And yet I've read or seen only TWO apologies directly from the many criminal PRIESTS themselves. Something's wrong with this picture.

An Angst a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

Yes, even downtown Seine has its blocks of trendy, avant-garde, yuppy, green---or whatever the word for them is these days---stores and cafes. In fact, as I was pushing my cart in one of those particular supermarkets, I couldn't believe the signs on the segments of the fruit and veggie stands: "The Grapes of Wrath," "The Oranges of Indecision," "The Kumquats of Longing," "The Melons of Lost Dreams."

The Owl Toys with My Mind

The little woman and I saw the new Woody Allen movie at the theater last night. I can't decide if the film was bad in a good way, good in a good way, good in a bad way, or bad in a bad way.

Sound Mind in a Sound Body

I wonder if, before being clamped into the arm irons and leg irons on the torture rack, prisoners in the middle ages first did their recommended stretching exercises.

Eat Your Greens

I think that salad is nothing more than a salad-dressing delivery system.

Illusion Be Damned

As I've said, being in Seine is a weird experience. For example, when I slowly drove past the town cemetery last week, I saw a funeral burial in session. I knew the ceremony was for Samantha, the assistant for one of the town's magicians. Samantha had died unexpectedly. She was the young woman who allowed herself to be sawed in half by the magician on stage in their act. Anyway, I noticed as I was passing by that not one coffin but two short ones side by side were being lowered into the ground.

Share and Share Alike

You know, if you go with a bag (a real bag or sack---not your wife) to the zoo early when it opens and right after the workers have made their rounds feeding the animals and birds in their cages, and you scoop up the spilled seed, etc from the sides of the cages when no one is looking, you'd be surprised how you can feed your family for the next three or four days on that.

Americans Disdain History

At Walmart's yesterday I bought a pair of socks for $19.51. So I said to the cashier who was checking me, "Hey, '1951'--that's the year Harry Truman fired General MacArthur."

The cashier looked at me with a blank stare, so I had to explain to her all about Truman and MacArthur and the Korean War. Because I was in the express line with only the socks to pay, I had to give her the "Reader's Digest" condensed version about what I was talking, but she certainly didn't seem interested. Then, before I could even finish my commentary, the customers in line behind me became upset and began muttering, so I had to cut it even shorter.

Anyway, I'm not allowed in the express line at Walmart's anymore.

Going Green but Seeing Red

I guess everyone has verbal phrases which irks him or her. One phrase which has bugged me for years is "under the weather." So he's absent from work because "he's under the weather." What the hell does that mean? He's ill---period.

Now comes "leaving your carbon footprint." I swear by the Greek gods, the next person who talks to me about my "carbon footprint" is gonna get my carbon footprint plastered right across his face.

Try Real Hard To Remember the Alamo!

So the cowboys and cowgirls on the Texas State Board of Education now order changes in Texas schoolchildren's textbooks, changes which are motivated by the conservative political view to the point that the modifications will be semi-historical or even anti-historical. Jeez, what a wacky, weird state with its hurricanes and humidity, its Willie Nelson characters and crazed cowboys, its polluted oil towns and dust prairies, its roaming steer and moaning football fanatics and barking Bible thumpers, its giant barbeque and chili stands, etc.

I hope that my children, grandchildren, and I never have to live in that cactus haven. You can't tell me that Texas cowboys and Board members, when they're branding their cattle, don't sort of "accidentally" brand each other every once in a while. It must be their way in that state of letting off stress.

The Mind Is a Funny Thing

I couldn't believe it. This morning I went to Dover for my weekly session with my shrink, Dr. Fraud-Gilbride.

"Doctor Tom isn't here today," his receptionist told me as I entered the office. "But he has a substitute who will see you."

As I say, I couldn't believe it. During the entire session, while I was lying on my back on the couch and talking to the young sub shrink, she was silently TEXTING her friends!

Yes, she was a bleached blond. Now I believe it.

More Than Hair Loss

Neighbor Emory and I went together to Frank's Barber Shop in town. I like punny names for hair salons---e.g., Hairport; A Cut Above---and for other kinds of stores, but when it comes to my own hair, I want an old-fashionedly named and run barber shop for men. Anyway, while Emory was sitting in his barber chair, a guy walked into the shop.

"Hey, don't I know you?" Emory asked the guy.

"I don't know," the man replied. "My name's Warren Kost. What's yours?"

"Emory Wheeler," Emory answered.

"Doesn't ring a bell," the guy said.

"Maybe we went to different schools together," Emory added.

And so it went. That's the last time I'm taking Emory to town.

On Break

Don't read this blog. It has nothing to say.

Glad We Don't Use Metric

"Yardley" is the name of the college student who was murdered last week by her girlfriend-beating boyfriend, a pampered star athlete at the same college. My concern here is not the killing but the name. Young Americans no longer show much concern, ministers and rabbis tell us, about the Christian or Jewish background of the names for their new babies. The young parents are more concerned with trend, cutsie, or social prestige. Hence "Yardley." It won't be long, I'm sure, before this leads to Inchley or Footley (perhaps for babies of short parents) or Mileley (for babies of tall parents) (wait, hasn't "Mileley" already been introduced via singer Mileley Cyrus?). And, before long, we'll see Ounceley or Poundly (for small babies) or Tonley (for heavy ones). Then on to Wideley, Tallley, Highley, and so forth.

Definition of "Paradox": Two Doctors

"Whispers in the Loggia"---sounds sexy, doesn't it? "Whispers" is actually a blog on Catholic Church activities, considered by surveys to be the best such blog in the nation. It reports on events and scuttlebutt in the Church, and often correctly predicts ecclesiastical appointments and documents which are tightly guarded as secrets by the hierarchical authorities. "Whispers" is written by Rocco Palmo, a former journalist and a layman, not a theologian nor a priest, who lives in Philadelphia.

Now comes word that the Aquinas Institute of Theology in Saint Louis will grant Palmo an honorary doctorate in theology for his journalistic blog. A Ph.D. for writing a gossip-and-facts blog, of all things---and Palmo is only 27 years old!

I'm gonna talk to my crazy neighbor, old Emory. Together we'll submit my own "Old Gargoyle" blog and Emory's hand-drawn, wacky cartoons of Holy Ghost, his old parrot, to Aquinas Institute for its consideration. Heck, we stand a good chance of each getting an honorary degree out of this. Just think: "Doctor Gargoyle" and "Doctor Emory"---sound ritzy. Wish us luck.

The Little Gem

I don't know why I'm feeling religious lately---I've never been a religious person. Anyway, I forgot to remind you on April 11 that that day was the commemoration day of Saint Gemma, a young woman who died in the early 1900s in Italy. What I find remarkable about Gemma is her stunning beauty. I kid you not; google "Saint Gemma" to see photographs of her on her website. As I've said before, I have a crush on a dead saint of a century ago. I think God will punish me. Last year on April 11, when I mentioned my Gemma crush to others, the only fine-food Italian restaurant in town, the one I really enjoyed, suddenly and unexpectedly went out of business.

Where Does Little John Fit into This?

The new movie, "Robin Hood," appears this month in theaters starring Russell Crowe as Robin, Cate Blanchett as Maid Marian, and Matthew Macfadgen as the Sheriff of Nottingham. It's a big-budget romance adventure, and I'll see it, because I'm a sucker for Robin Hood movies and King Arthur movies. But I don't know if it'll outdo the romance of the smaller, underappreciated 1970s film, "Robin and Marian."

In "Robin and Marian," Sean Connery plays an aging Robin who comes out of retirement to fight the Sheriff (Robert Shaw) and to reclaim his old-flame Marian (Audrey Hepburn). Two kinds of romanticism in two different scenes kind of summarize the power of this movie. In one, Connery and Shaw descend their horses, and prepare to engage each other in one-on-one sword combat. Facing each other, they draw their swords, but suddenly each one drops to one knee, and jabbing his sword into the ground in the manner of a Christian cross, says a prayer before fighting his opponent. In the other scene, the final one, a wounded and dying Connery has Hepburn at his bedside. He orders Hepburn to bring him his fabled bow and arrow. Then with his last bit of breath and strength, Robin Hood draws and shoots his arrow through the nearby open window, telling Marian to bury him wherever the arrow lands.

Many critics think, as I do, that the 1960s and '70s were the modern golden age of both movies and rock music. Or maybe those critics and I are now just cranky old goats.

Scared Cows and Sacred Cows

I see some evangelical preachers and their congregations saying that the Hurricane Katrina disaster and now the Gulf oil-spill disaster are God's ordained punishment for the wickedness and lack of religious faith in New Orleans with its French Quarter lifestyle, voodoo, gambling, etc (read: Catholicism). Yet those same preachers, when they or their relatives fall to some serious disease or accident, don't blame that condition on God's punishment or on evil spirits. Well, some do---in the sense that now and then some of them do nothing but pray over their ill relatives instead of also seeking medical help. Then some of them allow these ill persons---even children---to die, followed by praying over their house-kept bodies for what they believe will be the bodies' imminent resurrection.

Persuasive stuff. Hell, I'm beginning to believe that my mad-cow disease is God's punishment for what I did to those two bovines in the field when I was a teenager. (Please, don't ask me for details.) Maybe God is Hindu.

You Can't Fool Mother Nature

It's spring, and the little woman is going crazy outside weeding and planting her garden. Now she's bugging me to drive her to this and that garden-and-flowers show or demonstration.

I think that if there was a big gardening conference, and you took the podium to give a speech in favor of fast-motioning gardening, I bet you'd be booed right off the stage. They're just not ready for that.

Oh, Christ, Not Him!

I read that a woman in Massachusetts has been cited by police for hitting a pedestrian. The walker's real name is Lord Jesus Christ. I don't want to see Christ forgive the driver---I want to see him sue the woman in court. That should be much more intellectually challenging (church vs. state; omniscience vs. accident; etc.) and much more fun to watch.

Go Stand in the Corner by Yourself

Speaking of New Orleans: I love blues and sad music. Last week I finally saw the recent movie, "The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call: New Orleans," starring Nicholas Cage and set in the Big Easy. In the final scene of the film, a stirring, slow, blues song plays in the background but for only ten or twenty seconds. But, man, it's just about the saddest, soul-gripping song I've ever heard: titled "Mother Died." Turns out it's by the New Orleans blues-jazz group, Washboard Chaz, of whom I hadn't previously heard. Try to hear it.

A problem arises: If I enter heaven when I myself die, what am I going to do when the choirs of angels and souls will be singing and hearing joyful, praiseful music for all eternity, but I'll be wanting to hear and sing only terribly sad music for all eternity?

Cyclic History

Playoffs, playoffs, nothing but playoffs on tv these days! What do we have---two-hundred teams in the N.B.A. playoffs through June, JUNE? All sports leagues might as well do what "The Onion" recommends: Let all teams which feel like their deserve to be in the annual playoffs be in the playoffs.

Play It Again, Louie

As an ex-Orleanian (who spent a while playing the harmonica on the streets of the French Quarter; who taught boxing to the boys in the now-closed Milne Boys Home where the orphan, Louie Armstrong, was housed; and who did a stint in the local parish jail), I'm enjoying the new HBO-TV drama series, "Treme." It basically shows the struggle for respect and justice by the working class of New Orleans in the months following Hurricane Katrina and interwoven with the theme of Crescent City music. Lovers of the Big Easy will understand and appreciate "Treme," but I fear that outsiders who dislike N.O. will have reinforced their view of the city as Third World and inhabited by nothing but backward baffoons.

Ant Misbehaving

I don't understand economics. I don't understand how Wall Street and General Motors are doing much better, when national unemployment remains so high, and people are increasingly losing their homes. Things are bad. They're bad because so few jobs are available. Unemployment is so bad, the worker ants in the four large ant colonies in my backyard have been idled.

Delaware Punch Drunk

I'm still in Seine after all these years. By now I've learned that Delawareans can be as wacky as people in Berkeley or Hollywood or Austin. Did you know that at restaurants here the customers aren't expected to ask for Coke, Pepsi, or 7-Up but for Delaware Punch? And that citizens here can, and many do, bid at public auctions on their license plates for their vehicles? Because of the fact that Delaware was the first colony to achieve statehood, locals want their plates to have the least numerals possible---i.e., as close to "1" ("First in the Nation")---as possible. So some of them spend tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands, of dollars for sparse-looking plates on their cars.

I too joined the license frenzy. Armed with the book, "How To Win at Auctions," I attended my first public bidding session (I was simply assigned by first plate by the state). I think I was very successful, as I didn't have to pay too much. My new plate number is 673426.

Okliddles and Omterjacks

From the Whichever Comes First Department:
"He'll be haunted by not, not for the rest of his life, but until the day he dies."
(First Minister of Scotland Alex Salmon)

From the Excessive Honesty Department:
Attorney: "Were you freebasing the cocaine?"
Defendant: "No I bought it."
(courtroom testimony in Redding, California)

From the You Bedder Believe It, Sayz Mayor Chet Department:
"Village of Crestwood:
"English Is Our Language--
"No Excetions---Learn It"
(billboard erected by Crestwood, Illinois Mayor Chester Stranczek)

Good Ad Vice

"Stay thirsty, my friend."

Wipe Off That Smile

The little woman loves flowers. So I can imagine how much she lamented having "wasted" an entire, new, pretty bouquet upon the head and shoulders of our neighbor, Emory. You see, Jonka had Emory join her and me on our visit to the grave of her friend, Hortense, who died last week. When we three arrived at the cemetery and the grave site, surrounded by trees, birds, and the gray, solemn tombstones of others, Jonka began angrily swatting Emory with her bouquet in response to his remark, "Ahh, I've never felt so alive."

Bogie Would Be Proud

It made Pope Benedict quite happy. It was a piece of the chain which tradition says bound St Paul on a nearby island during one of his missionary journeys. The chain piece was given to the Pope by the Church leaders of Malta on Benedict's visit this week to the Maltan people. But, my Deep Throat at the Vatican tells me, what delighted B-16 even more was the other gift presented to him by a group of prominent Maltan laypersons: the Maltese Falcon.

Readers' Alert

I've been quietly informed through my younger cousin who works for the government that if you access http://www.license.shorturl.com/ you'll be able to see, thanks to U.S. Homeland Security, your driver's license with your photo and full info on yourself. After accessing, you'll need to type your name, city, state in order to see the full info. This is not good---why does the government do this to us? But you will eventually be able to hit the "Please Remove" box provided, to eliminate your vital info. The info will still be available, of course, to Homeland Security and your State Vehicles Office. Please tell others.

An Offer He Couldn't Refuse

After shopping downtown, I went to the corner of Abbot and Costello where I had parked my car. There I saw my neighbor, Emory, waiting for the city bus. He often takes the bus from his farm to the city park downtown to sit and read the paper and feed the birds. But now he looked rather beat up with torn shirt and blood marks on his arms and face.

"Emory," I shouted, "what the heck happened to you?"

"Damn pigeons," Emory answered. "Six or seven attacked me while I was on the bench in the park. They made it clear that if I didn't return next time with thirty- or forty-pound bags of peanuts or seed instead of the usual five-ounce bag, I would be visited by two-dozen more of their kind."

Emory isn't the crispiest ear of corn in the field.

Gone but Not Forgotten

My young grandson frightened the hell out of me the other day. "I see dead people," I heard him whisper from the next room. When I rushed into the room, I found him looking at photos in the newspaper's obituaries.

Bless Me, Doctor, for I Have Sinned

The clergy-pedophilia scandal in the Catholic Church is back in the news. When the media made it known that so many guilty priests were quietly sent by their bishops to "therapy" in "rehabilitation clinic," the public howled in protest.

The last few years in the U.S. have seen an increasing number of celebrities guilty of sexual misconduct, though, admittedly, not with children. But what has happened to most of them? Voluntarily or involuntarily, quietly sent to "therapy" in "rehabilitation clinics."

Go figure.

Do They Have Souls?

I'm required once a year by the S.P.C.A. and P.E.T.A. to make this public affirmation: No animals have been harmed in the making of my blogs.

Who Wants To Tango with Her?

Sarah Palin---who remains as cute as a button---seems to be unofficially running for some higher office, as she romps back and forth across the country. I think I'll change my mind and DO vote for her---but only if I can watch her do a season of "Dancing with the Stars," ya betcha.

I Can Bank on It

I'm home after spending two hours in detention at the police station this morning. Why? Because of what I do every year or two on April 1st, and on which I've reported in a previous blog:

I enter a different branch of my bank wearing a long raincoat with its collar up, a hat, and sunglasses, and carrying a bag. I choose a woman teller, preferably a bleached blond, and approach her counter. Placing my bag on her counter in front of her, I silently give her a note. She nervously reads the note which always says, "Quick! Take all the money from my bag, and put it into your bank!" And it's always just a matter of seconds before the frightened teller sounds the alarm.

Is That You, Uncle Emory?

I was thinking. I bet it would be embarrassing to the Feared One himself as well as to his visitee if the Grim Reaper had to go fetch a human, and it happened to be the Reaper's monthly laundry day, leaving him with really nothing much to wear.

Icribums and Inphezzles

From the Tough Way To Lose Weight Department:
"Dead Guitarist Now Slimmer and Trimmer" (newspaper headline in Fresno, California about a guitarist for the Grateful Dead)

From the Unanswerable Questions Department:
"And you are how old a woman, sir?" (courtroom transcript from a lawyer questioning a woman in Lansing, Michigan)

From the What Does Illinois Have against Horse Comedy Department?:
"A judge in early July upheld that law by the Illinois Legislature which forced the nation's last operating horse-laughter facility to shut down this year." (in the Arkansas "Democrat-Gazette")

From the So THAT'S Why You Didn't Serve in the Military Department:
"So many minority youths had volunteered . . . that there was literally no room for patriotic folks like myself." (former Republican U.S. Representative Tom DeLay explaining at the 1988 G.O.P. Convention why he and vice-presidential nominee Dan Quayle did not fight in the Vietnam War)

Back to the Confessional

I moved my butt to church this morning for Palm Sunday and Holy Week. When the little woman and I arrived, I had her drop me in front, and had her drive her way to the far back side of the giant parking lot, because, well, she just needs more practice in weaving in and out of lanes.

While waiting for her to walk back to the front door of the church, I could see inside that all of the many religious statues and pictures were covered with long red cloths. Four different couples in their 30s walked past me to enter, and upon seeing the covered objects, they themselves exclaimed to each other, "Look at that. I wonder why all the statutes are draped like that?"

I seized the opportunity to tell each couple, "Good morning, folks. Well, today begins Holy Week, and it's so important, all pastors have the duty once a year at this time to test the religious knowledge of their people. So after the service, our pastor will conduct an important quiz with the statutes and pictures. We'll have to name from memory all the saints and scenes under the coverings."

"Ohhh, no," was the response of every one of them as they proceeded with looks of surprise and apprehension to leave me to find a pew for seating.

Never underestimate the religious illiteracy of the American people.

Where's the Other One?

It was enlightening. In my dream last night, I temporarily "died" in surgery, and my soul visited not heaven, hell, or purgatory but limbo. Limbo, of all places. Enlightening because when I peeked into limbo, I saw thousands of unclaimed, unmatched socks.

Old Macs, Big Macs, and Last Snacks

As I was delivering Meals on Wheels to elderly shut-ins in Seine, I began to wonder as I handed each package of food to its recipient. In keeping with the subconscious trend in the American population to eat more and to be served bigger meals, were these packages larger than before, containing much more food than, say, in the 1960s or so? As far as that goes, I wonder if last meals for about-to-be-executed prisoners in U.S. prisons are larger than they were thirty or forty years ago? That wouldn't be healthy.

No-Bull Lock

I recently violated my own advice to you not to visit Austin, Texas. Temptation swayed me to go there for its music and film festivals. Let me tell you, days on a Greyhound bus from Delaware to Austin, stopping at every little town day and night, eating nothing but fried chicken and grits, made it doubtfully worthwhile. I can firmly advise you: don't travel more than one or two hours by bus to anywhere.

Anyway, I was in Austin when the news broke about the marital trouble between Sandra Bullock and Jesse James. Yahoo! At last, my chance to make a move on pretty Sandra. But after three nights of camping behind some trees across from her Austin house, I saw only a dark-window van enter and leave her place just twice. And after all the tickets I've bought to see her movies. Maybe I can mail her a request for a partial refund---or just leave it in her house mailbox. Still, I don't want to find myself lassoed, run over by a race car, or shot in the back.

Non-Jack of All Trades

Well, it's official. The count now stands at eight by "Big Brother," nine by "Survivor," five by "Dancing with the Stars," and eleven by "Jeopardy": rejections of my applications to be a contestant.

Who needs 'em anyway?

Eye of the Beholder

Ugh. The eye drops which my doctor placed into my eyes left me with blurry vision. When I returned home and had some coffee and buttered toast, that food tasted blurry.

Vimash and Velkobmis

From the Making Points Clear Department:
"We've all lost it, but there's losing it, and there's losing it---and that's the latter." (commentator on Britain's Radio 5 Live)

From the Better Lose Some Weight Department:
"Bargain: 4-inch-wide divan bed and mattress. Excellent condition" (a classified ad in Britain's "Cambrian News")

From the I'll Try To Remember That Department:
"Every Monday in August except July 3rd, 8:00-9:00 p.m." (a flyer advertising dance lessons at a club in Baltimore)

Parrothead

I dropped in on Crazy Emory, my neighbor, for chit-chat, when I noticed that his parrot's cage was empty.

"Hey, Em'," I said, "what's with the empty cage? Where's Warren?"

"I had to take Warren to the pet shrink," Emory replied.

"A pet psychiatrist? Are you kidding? For what?" I asked.

"Well," said Emory, "Warren reached the point at which he wanted more than crackers, but just didn't know how or didn't have the courage to ask."

Go Midwest, Young Man

I just returned from the Midwest where I attended conferences in the attempt to bolster lagging sales for my beets and squash crops. I also tried to do some cultural siteseeing. I say "tried," because that wasn't so successful. In Minneapolis, e.g., I wanted to see "the land of a thousand lakes," but the lake-tour bus I took showed us only six. The tour driver was not at all cooperative in honoring my demand for my money back. When I further complained, he offered to sell me a ticket for the next bus to Wobegone, Minnesota. I didnt' want to see Wobegone. Next in Dubuque, Iowa, a pleasant small city on hills, called "the San Francisco of the Midwest," I was anxious to meet the famous "little old lady from Dubuque." When I asked some locals about her, they directed me to a residence which turned out to be that of the city's retired Catholic archbishop. Very funny. On to rural Iowa where I tried to track down the famous "Field of Dreams"; where I was led to, instead, was a large field which contained only a dumb ten-foot-high, "world's largest" ball of string.

I hopped a bus to Chicago to experience "the Windy City," and found it to be merely calm and cold. I hit the road then to downstate Peoria to its one and only performance theater to see how well the touring "Phantom of the Opera" would "play in Peoria." Alas, the theater recently had been burned down by some phantom arsonist. Down to St Louis where I anticipated meeting the famous "St Louis Woman." When I inquired about her on the streets, a guy in a large hat and a long coat brought to me not one but two "St Louis women," as he called them---but for a price.

Back to Delaware where I think I'll stay for a while. Things seem to be a little more exciting here.

Lighting Bolts

When I was a kid, a couple of kids (a brother and a sister) lived three houses from ours. They were the Bolt (maybe Bult) family, and our two families were mortal enemies of each other. I don't know why. But my parents would encourage my older brother Mike and me, and Mr and Mrs Bolt would encourage their kids, who were the same age as Mike and I, to engage in an almost-weekly ritual of throwing rocks at each other across the front yards. The rocks were plentiful from the dusty, rocky, gravel street in front of our houses. At times, Mike and I would dart for protective cover into the deep ditch which ran along side the street; then the Bolt brats would take their turn in the ditch.

One night, Mike, rascal that he was, persuaded me to join him in slipping out the house and into the Bolts' backyard. There we found their wash hanging on their outdoor clothesline (as was customary for all households in those days), and we proceeded to apply mud from the freshly wet yard onto their sheets, shirts, underwear, etc.

We never were seriously hurt from the rock throwing. Our mother received an irate phone call from Mrs Bolt about her muddied clothes, but Mom simply celebrated the victory with us. I don't remember the Bolts ever attacking us again.

Mike was, as I said, a rascal, who led me astray at times, and whom I would at times keep in check. It was good to have a brother who could batter lightning Bolts. Still, we had to learn our lesson, which would come to us later in the form of four two-year stints in the state juvenile reformatory.

Ear Ache

I don't know why, and don't ask me why---but I think that just about the two silliest-sounding words in English are the Spanish-background name "Raoul" and the noun "youths." Both words just crack me up. I pray to God one of my grandkids won't be named Raoul. And I swear on the little woman's dowry that "youths" is the dumbest-sounding plural of "youth." Just leave the plural at "youth," okay?

Tillmos and Trulwups

From the That Clears Things Up Department:
"He was a state sponsor of terror. In other words, the government had declared, 'You are a state sponsor of terror.'" (President George W. Bush on Saddam Hussein)

From the I'll Try Anything Once Department:
English-language menu items in a restaurant in Cordoba, Spain: "Embezzled egg" and "Pudding with scum"

From the Astonishingly Fascinating Books Department:
Actual book titles in Britain: "A Study of Hospital Waiting Lists in Cardiff, 1953-1954," "Parish Ministers' Hats," "The Toothbrush: Its Use and Abuse"

From the Is There One Person out There Who Understands This? Department:
"There's more secrets in my family than there is in a hot dinner." (British talk-show host Jeremy Kyle)

From the Expert Predictions Department:
"A.A.A. Says Record Gas-Price Predictions May or May Not Come True" (headline in the Kingsport, Tennessee "Times-News")

Can't Elope

Know what's good? A few slices of fresh cantaloupe with scoops of vanilla ice cream atop them. What? No, I don't have any cantaloupe for you. Wanna try some beets or squash from my fields?

But You Promised

Doggone it, I forgot to stop at Office Depot yesterday afternoon to buy more memory for my computer.

Open Wide

You might recall that my neighbor, Crazy Emory, doesn't play with a full deck; or, as the locals around Seine like to say, he can't tell a beet from a squash. Well, we were chatting about our old-age aches and pains when he said that a couple of days ago he confused his Preparation H with his Poligrip.

"Jeez louise," I said (I kinda like expressions from the '20s), "that must've caused some unpleasantness."

"Naw," said Emory, "now I talk like a butthole, but at least my gums don't itch."

Anti-Clericalism

I thought the following happened only in blogs: I was in the hall of the hospital, having visited my bedridden mother-in-law. I was standing next to the open door of the adjoining room when a priest arrived to visit that other person who, I knew, was dying.

"John," the priest called to the patient upon entering his room. "John," again. But no reply from John; and the relatives near his bed said nothing.

"John," the priest said again as he sat next to the dying man. No reply. The priest pressed the old man's shoulder, "John, it's your pastor. Is there anything I can do for you?"

John half-opened his eyes. Then to the surprise of the bystanders, he raised his head toward the priest and almost shouted, "Stop mailing me [offertory] envelopes!"

The Yellowed Rose of Texas

What's with the city of Austin, Texas? An irate local taxpayer did a suicide flight in his small airplane straight into the city's I.R.S. building. Austin's large lake suffered such a drop in water level, two abandoned, dumped vehicles linked with past, unsolved murders became visible in it. The city and its metro area have been favorite locales for the filming of vicious slasher movies. Texas' governor's mansion, situated in Austin, was almost totally burned by an arsonist without the state trooper-guards noticing anything was wrong. The governor there has called for Texas to secede from the union of the U.S. states. The Longhorns football players of the University of Texas in the middle of the city are driven by fancy air-conditioned buses, instead of walking, only two blocks from their hyperexpensive locker rooms to their practice area. Austinites are such dog lovers, they are ready to equate the mistreatment of dogs with the murder of cops or the kidnapping of children.

Cigar-chomping, pot-smoking, irascible, Willie Nelson-type country singer Kinky Friedman of Austin continuously runs for governor or some other state office, and is given serious attention. The city council of Austin honored a couple of homeless, mentally challenged persons, who recently died, after they for years interrupted council meetings with their strange speeches, and were tolerated in doing so. Hundreds of thousands of bats annually fly into the city to inhabit caves at its downtown bridges to the delight of the locals. The downtown museum dedicated to the famous author, O. Henry, who briefly lived in Austin in a small house which is now the museum, is almost totally unknown to the public. The state legislature in Austin came very close to legally allowing students at the giant U. of Texas campus to keep private firearms in their dorms, and even to carry the weapons into the classrooms. The official slogan of the city is "Keep Austin Weird."

I can tell you that Austin is one strange, ominous city which I'm certainly going to avoid at all cost, and I urge you to do the same. Try Omaha.

Lisbon Antigua

Frightening. I suddenly awoke at 2:00 this morning, and suddenly began speaking fluent Portugese for about ten minutes, even though I've never studied the language nor been around someone who speaks it. I forced myself to return to sleep.

A Kid Named Oscar

When I was a kid growing Up in District 9, all I ever wanted was An Education. But every day at school those Inglourious Basterds would throw me against The Hurt Locker, and beat the beejezus out of me. And so I never graduated. My future was Up in the Air. I was young and hungry and A Serious Man, but the only work I could find was as a part-time Avatar when the circus was in town. That didn't last long, however, because early on I was hit on The Blind Side, and fell from the trapeze like Lucifer from heaven. Lucifer, though, didn't have to spend eight months in the hospital semi-recuperating.

Many years later after those unfortunate events, my Crazy Heart remained erratic and unhealthy. I had Precious little to live for, until I met the little woman. Jonka changed my life---after she insisted I change my name from Oscar.

Umings and Ulrans

From the Not-So-Peachy Salon Names Department:
"Four Eye Hair Porch" (sign in English on a salon in China)

From Those Little Computer Postmen Too Deserve a Break Department:
Tech support: "Hello. What's your problem?"
Customer caller: "I was going to send an e-mail to someone, and wanted to know: will it get delivered today, even though it's Presidents Day?"

From the When He Calls, You Answer Department:
Dialog in an American film: "That's when I got my call from God."
Subtitle as it appears in an European version: "That's when God telephoned me."