Sticking It to Distracted Driving

Distracted driving is a big problem. Waiting out a red light, we can't help but notice that most drivers speed by with a cell phone to their ear or just one hand on the steering wheel as they tap out a tweet. Their vehicles tend to swerve, speed up, or slow down depending on the content of that oh-so-vital conversation or e-message. "Sorry I rear-ended you, but I just had to get all the details on Edward and Bella's real-life break-up. Will this affect the final Twilight movie?"

Since there is no well-heeled lobbying group in favor of distracted driving, our legislators made it illegal to text while behind the wheel. Great idea. lawmakers! Making alcohol illegal sure worked out back in the 1920s. No one drinks anymore. As for the War on Drugs, all that cocaine and marijuana coming in from Mexico will rot away in those tunnels under the border when the word gets out that drugs are against the law.

If making distracted driving illegal doesn't work, what can we do?

There is a simple answer - Replace the automatic transmissions in our vehicles with the classic stick shift. It takes every bit of the driver's attention to engage the clutch and shift (or down shift) to the proper gear. Stall your car by starting up a hill in third gear just once and you'll concentrate more on driving than on the tweet about that rat Justin asking Tiffany to the prom. Burn out your clutch by shifting at 5000 rpm and your next cell phone call will be to AAA for a tow. Drift backward from a stop on steep grade into a burly motorcyclist and the damage to your body may exceed that to your car's body.

This is the classic win - win - win. No more distracted driving means fewer accidents and everyone's insurance rates go down. Replacing all those transmissions means jobs, jobs, jobs. Since standard transmissions increase gas mileage, oil imports are a thing of the past.

It has to work out better than Prohibition, The War on Drugs, a Kardashian marriage and other concepts doomed from the start.

Dire Need?

There are a number of things for which our Lehigh Valley has a "dire need". A few more traffic lanes on Route 22 during rush hour comes to mind. Low-fat funnel cake would be a boon during Musik (with a k) fest. A Michele Bachmann-designed electrified fence with alligator-filled moat along the Delaware to keep out those Jersey and NY interlopers would not be unwelcome.

A recent addition to that list came from Jerry Deifer, co-founder of Vision Entertainment Group earlier this week. Jerry proposed a dance club for Bethlehem's Sands Casino claiming that "there is a dire need for a new, up-scale night life experience in the Lehigh Valley." Apparently, Jerry has never spent a rollicking Saturday night at Jolly Joe Timmer's Polka Grove. Now there's a night life experience.

Jerry's "Vision Bar" will feature "an enticing blend of sultry decor, dazzling special lighting effects, and amenities that rival the best." It will include "two large marble bars, a private mezzanine level overlooking the entire facility, VIP bottle service, indulgent small plates, an outdoor terrace, and four large TVs featuring state-of-the-art interactive entertainment." It will be similar to Gypsy Bar at the Borgata in Atlantic City also operated by Vision Entertainment.

I hate to burst your bubble there Jerry, but the Lehigh Valley is scarcely in "dire need" of something we already have. Our corner bars already have the sultry decor of pool tables and shuffleboards. And what is more dazzling than neon beer signs especially when they flicker due to a loose power connection? As for "amenities that rival the best", the Osama urinal cakes that dominate the Lehigh Valley bar scene remain a crowd favorite ten years running. Marble bars may go over in Atlantic City, but we can carve our initials into good old Lehigh Valley wooden bars. Mezzanine seating may be handy for overhead views of low-cut blouses on female patrons in A.C., but the effect is somewhat lessened by the preponderance of wife-beater tee-shirts on male patrons in the L.V. As for VIP bottle service, I've never had a problem getting my ice-cold Yuengling in bottles here. Beer glasses are for wimps and Jersey people. Indulgent small plates? Most Lehigh Valley bars will place your Slim Jims on a small plate if you ask. As for an outdoor terrace, the sidewalks and back alleys around our bars are far superior for getting a breath of fresh air, vomiting, or beating the crap out of a fellow patron. There is less damage from the vomiting or fight and they are easier to clean up. Lastly, I'm not sure what televised "interactive entertainment" might be in Atlantic City, but when I'm drinking I want the non-interactive Yankees or Phillies on the tube. I have enough difficulty interacting my brain with my feet as I stumble to the Mens Room.

Perhaps the Vision Bar will be a great success, but it does not fill a "dire need".

Boxing Day Explained

According to my Daily Calendar, today is Boxing Day in Canada. Our Neighbors to the North have exported many things to us, some good, some not-so-good. Among the good are Canadian bacon (You can't have an Egg McMuffin without it), Dan Ackroyd (That "wild and crazy guy" and pitchman for the Bass-O-Matic), and hockey players with mullets (A never-ending source of amusement). The not-so-good include Canadian geese (Befouling our waters since 1812. That will teach us to invade them.), Celine Dion (Your heart will go on, Celine. OK, we get it), and Justin Bieber (Baby, baby, baby. Enough already).

What are we to make of Boxing Day? Is it simlar to the "Airing of Grievances" and "Feats of Strength" commemorated in the classic "Festivus" Seinfeld episode? Do Canadians settle grievances aired during Christmas dinner by donning gloves and entering a boxing ring? "You both know the rules established by the Saskatchewan Boxing Commission. No blows below the belt. Standing eight count. No grabbing the mullet. Remember we disqualified you for that last year, Grandma."

According to Wikipedia, Boxing Day is a day after Christmas when wealthy people in the UK would give a box containing gifts to their servants. "If you do a really good job cleaning up after our bacchanal on Christmas Day, Jeeves, there may a box filled with goodies for you tomorrow. Hopefully, it will be better than the re-gifted fruitcake that we got from Lady Maude and stuck you with last year."

Our Canadian friends brought socialized medicine and that hilarious custom of arbitrarily adding the letter "u" when spelling from the UK. I guess that Boxing Day is just another remembrance of the good old days when Canada was part of the Empire. Or maybe they like boxed fruitcake north of the border.

An Engineer's Christmas

Having an engineer around the office at Christmas time is, in general, a good thing. Are half the lights not working on the office tree? Does your computer freeze up when you try to e-mail that hilarious video of a cat singing "Jingle Bells"? Does the office goes dark when you plug in the crock pots for the Holiday Brunch?

The engineer will come to your rescue. That nerdy guy with the bad haircut and questionable personal hygiene will make the holiday bright though you may have to suffer through his explanation of Ohm's Law and the superiority of stranded over solid copper wire. More efficient heat dissipation, you know. Just don't ask him to do any gift shopping. It is not in the engineer's DNA.

My first Christmas as an engineer in Corporate America proved this point. Our engineering group of eight was one of four on our floor. Each group had a secretary in those primitive times before voice mail, personal computers, and even fax machines. As Christmas approached, the secretary hit each of us up to contribute to a group gift to our boss. The day of the Department Christmas Party, we realized that we also had to come up with a gift for our secretary. The other groups had theirs neatly wrapped and labeled "Don't Open Until the Party".

In a panic, $5 (a princely sum in those days) was collected from each of us, and, as the junior guy, I was dispatched to make the purchase. The other groups had someone's wife do the buying, but we had no time. Now, engineers are nothing if not practical. Making work more efficient is what we do. If it was up to lawyers and accountants, office workers would still be using carbon paper and "White-Out". I bought Barbara a desk set with a leather-bound blotter and matching heavy-duty stapler and tape dispenser. Those company-issued desk supplies were crap. She would be the envy of her peers. I just knew it.

After lunch came the grand unveiling of the gifts. The bosses went first and unwrapped their gifts of golf-related items and expensive booze. The other secretaries then oohed and ahhed over their gifts of jewelry and costly perfumes. Our Barbara was somewhat underwhelmed with her desk set. In fact, she made a quick trip to the Ladies Room at that point accompanied by the other secretaries casting nasty glances at The Thoughtless Eight.

It may be a coincidence, but in subsequent years, Christmas gifting was changed to a Secret Santa basis. It defies the Laws of Probability, but we eight always were assigned each other while the secretaries were gifted by the boss or another secretary. In a way, this worked out great. We engineers were thrilled with our oh-so-practical miniature tool sets and drafting supplies. The secretaries also got what they wanted.

Speaking of coincidences, for a month or so after that Christmas, The Thoughtless Eight found those ubiquitous "While You Were Out" phone message slips written in shorthand. When we questioned Barbara about the contents of the message, she would reply, "You're the practical ones. You figure it out."

Still a Wimp

Everything old is new again - even shaving with a blade. The fastest-growing brand in Proctor & Gamble's Beauty and Grooming Division is Gillette's Art of Shaving, a boutique product line that includes $45 shaving soaps and $150 badger hair brushes (So expensive because plucking hair from a live badger is not for the faint of heart). A P&G spokesman stated, "For a lot of college-age men, there is an element of being a bad ass for shaving with a blade."

Those of us who served in the Army will pass up this opportunity to be a bad ass. We cringe at the memory of shaving with a nicked-up blade that had bounced around our backpack all day either with cold water or no water at all and no soap. The resultant open wounds on our faces then were coated with camo paint which stung or were exposed to tear gas which caused real pain. Then we got to do it all over again the next day. It was an enormous relief to return to the barracks where there was hot water and/or electricity for our electric shavers. It also allowed the scabs extending from our sideburns to our neckline to heal.

Today's college guys may strive for bad ass status with $45 shaving soap and $150 badger hair brushes. I will remain a wimp and shave as seldom as possible and in the most comfortable way.

Do What You're Good At

The full-page, four-color ad in this week's New Yorker is headlined, "Security and Jobs For Decades to Come". Could it be touting Michele Bachmann's plan to build a double electrical fence with alligator-filled moat along our borders? America is made safe from all those anchor baby moms-to-be plus we get plenty of work for gator wranglers.

Actually, the ad touts the F-35 "Lightning II". It "is more than an innovative leading edge fighter. More than an aircraft with unprecedented capabilities that will help America and its allies defend freedom. It is an advanced technology program that is a cornerstone of our nation's industrial base. Creating direct and indirect jobs for 127,000 Americans...The F-35 Lightning II program. Securing freedom, Securing jobs. Securing America's future."

Macroeconomics tells us that free trade is the optimal condition for everyone. Why spend millions to grow bananas in Alaska when Alaskans can import tropical fruit more cheaply from Honduras? Why spend millions to develop fisheries in Honduras when they can import Alaskan salmon at half the cost? Nations should stick to what they are good at and trade for the rest.

America is no longer good at making automobiles, clothing, or Barbie dolls. Our highways are clogged with Hondas. Try finding "Made in the USA" tank tops or Wii games. But, by God, we lead the world in weapons manufacturing. You don't see nuclear submarines coming out of sweatshops in Sri Lanka.

Some might say that spending billions to develop an aircraft "with unprecedented capabilities" is not the most cost-effective way to protect our shores against a terrorist with a bomb in his shoe. Some might say that those billions might be better spent developing energy-saving technology and upgrading our infrastructure. We would not only get those 127,000 good-paying American jobs, but we would have a reduced dependence on foreign oil and bridges that don't fall down.

Fortunately, our far-sighted Congressmen saw through that fallacy and approved the 2012 Defense Budget which includes the F-35 program. They were not influenced by the New Yorker ad or by "campaign contributions" from Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman, but by macroeconomic theory. Do what you're good at, America.

Chase and Me

Saturday was Chase Utley's 33rd birthday. This makes me sad in two ways.

The logical left side of my brain recognizes that the Phillies second baseman is clearly on the down-side of his career. 33 is a prime, productive age for accountants, auto mechanics, or astronauts (and those are only the "a" careers), but, for major league ballplayers, fast balls are faster and that 90 foot distance between the bases is longer when one is well into one's fourth decade of life. Chase missed the first month of last season with a leg injury. The 30+ year old body doesn't heal as quickly.

Let's face it. The day is coming when #26 will not be batting third for the Phillies. The logical left side of my brain doesn't like this, but remembers that the Phillies survived when age eroded the skills of Mike Schmidt and Steve Carlton. It took 28 years for the Utley-led Phillies to win another World Series after the Schmidt / Carlton triumph in 1980, but somewhere in California or the Dominican Republic, the nucleus of the 2036 World Champion Phillies is being born right now. Of course, the next wives of Donald Trump and Newt Gingrich are being born in 2011 as well.

The emotional right side of my brain takes little solace in this. For one thing, I will be 88 in 2036 and it might be difficult to get a good spot along the Victory Parade route for my wheelchair. More to the point, I am now less than twice the age of Chase Utley. We never think that we are getting older. That wrinkled visage that greets us in the bathroom mirror each morning isn't really us. But when we see a graying, hobbling Chase Utley we recognize our own mortality.

Musicians can age ungracefully, but not ballplayers. Mick Jagger, Keith Richard, and Billy Joel are roughly my age. They can look like a train wreck and that's OK. The sex, drugs, and rock & roll got them, but I'm still good. It's different with ballplayers. As long as Chase Utley can sprint around the bases after a home run (and, by the way, that sort of hustle and lack of grandstanding is what makes him my all-time favorite player), I feel young myself.

Use that Grecian Formula and pile on the wrinkle cream, Chase. You're doing it not only for yourself, but for a certain fan who feels good as long as you look good.

Help Us ALF

The late 80s TV series ALF was one of my favorites. The zany Alien Life Form from the planet Melmac had many idiosyncrasies - eating cats and, best of all, an affinity for "genuine imitation Naugahyde". Since Naugahyde is itself imitation leather, imitation Naugahyde might very well be real leather to ALF. Oh, those confusing double negatives.

Equally confusing is a toy store advertising circular in yesterday's mail. It recommended the Perfect Christmas Gifts - an authentic replica of Harry Potter's wand for the little boys on your list and genuine faux pearls for that little princess who is so hard to buy for. Since a replica is by definition non-authentic, an authentic replica of a fictional object like Harry's wand could be the very device (phoenix feather included) to keep Voldemort at bay. Similarly, faux pearls come from some sweatshop in China, but genuine faux pearls are either guaranteed to be fake or come from good old American oysters.

ALF, help us resolve these confusing double negatives.

Should the authentic replica wand and the genuine faux pearls prove to be of the same quality as Skee Ball prizes at Chuck E Cheese, Christmas can still be salvaged. The circular also lists the "M-forcer Marshmallow Launcher" (marshmallows not included). What kid wouldn't want to pepper his kitchen walls or a sibling with soft white sugary treats? How long would it take for the more scientifically-minded tyke to figure out that the marshmallow projectiles stick a lot better if they are heated to a semi-gooey mass?

Maybe the authentic replica wand and the genuine faux pearls really are the Perfect Christmas Gifts.

Eclipsing the Sun Belt

The 2010 Census shows once again that America's population is moving south to the Sun Belt. Arizona, Texas, and Florida are gaining population and congressional seats while Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New York are losing people and political pull.

Logical reasons include the decline of manufacturing in the Rust Belt, lower taxes particularly for retirees in Florida and Texas, and the booming Hispanic population down there. I credit somewhat less logical reasons:

Ubiquitous air conditioning. Immigrants from the Great White North can go from their climate-controlled houses to their air-conditioned cars to 70° shopping malls and never break a sweat in 90° temperatures with 95% humidity. It was not always so. In my Army days down South and in my work days on Florida, Arizona, and Texas projects, I would begin sweating when the sun came up and by the time it set, I would look like Michael Phelps after a workout in the pool. Also, those stories about Louisiana mosquitoes the size of small birds are not far off the mark. What is really distressing is getting mosquito bites in January. Fortunately, the modern, hermetically sealed, air-conditioned Sun Belt lifestyle eliminates the carnivorous insect problem as well.

Readily available cold beer. Gas station convenience stores down South sell cold beer for $1 per can and place the suds in individual brown paper bag so you can blithely drive by state troopers while re-hydrating. Try doing that while wrestling with the six pack minimum purchase in Pennsylvania, plus you have to provide your own single can sized bags.

Cowboy hats. If you wear a cowboy hat in the Sun Belt (especially one of those cool severely-creased leather ones), people accept you as a country music fan. "That man looks just like Tim McGraw." If you wear a Stetson north of the Mason-Dixon line, people think that you never outgrew your childhood Hopalong Cassidy fixation. "That man has issues. Better avoid him."

If the Rust Belt states wish to retain their population and political power, they should mandate compulsory air conditioning, allow drivers to freely guzzle beer, and de-stigmatize cowboy hats. The North shall rise again.

Don't Know Much About History

Our boy Newt Gingrich is quite the historian. Fresh from accepting a six figure "historical consulting fee" from Freddie Mac (Don't call it lobbying!), Newt delved into his vast knowledge of Middle East culture to state that the Palestinians are an "invented people who are, in fact, Arabs". What gave it away, Newt? Was it the flowing robes and the kaffiyehs or the fact that they speak Arabic?

Newt continued. As we all know, Arabs have an "enormous desire to destroy Israel" and therefore any Israeli - Palestinian peace process is "delusional". Way to set up potential President Gingrich as a non-partisan, even-handed broker of peace in the Middle East there, Newt!

Let's compare the actual histories of Palestine and America. In the 1200s, European crusaders conquered Jerusalem and killed off nearly all its inhabitants. In the 1500s and 1600s, Europeans invaded America and killed off nearly all its native inhabitants. The Turks drove the Crusaders out and for 700 years, Arabs, Christians and Jews lived together in what all three claim as the Holy Land. Regardless of their religion or language, all three could claim that they were Palestinians. After all, they were living in Palestine. What should they call themselves, some "invented" term like Eskimos? Any resident of the Western Hemisphere whose bloodline originated elsewhere claims the "invented" classification of "American".

More to the point, Palestinian and American history tell us that varying ethnicities can live together in relative peace. Problems arise when a third party, be it crusaders, conquistadores, or GOP candidates stir the pot of native rivalry to their own advantage. Israeli - Palestinian peace is "delusional" only if third party powers make it so. Common Israelis and Palestinians (or whatever "invented" term Newt would have us call them) would much prefer to live in peace rather than looking over their shoulders for the next rocket attack.

Just don't accept blankets from those nice visitors from overseas until you get your smallpox vaccination, Palestinians. The Indians didn't get vaccinated and look what happened to them.

Mascot Mania

The Philadelphia 76ers are seeking a new mascot. Their current costumed character, a giant rabbit named Hip-Hop, fails to instill fear in opponents or enthusiasm in fans. The Phoenix Suns have a costumed gorilla that bounces from a trampoline through a ring of fire. Now there's a mascot routine that scares (or at least distracts) the opposition and gets the crowd into the game. A break-dancing mutant Easter Bunny just isn't the same.

By the way, the Easter Bunny is responsible for a childhood trauma that I still haven't outgrown. I was placed on the lap of a department store E.B. for the requisite Easter photo when I was three or four years old. The Bunny's head was a rigid mesh-like material with painted-on features. From a distance, it looked like a giant rabbit. Up close, you could see right through the mesh to the human head inside. I was convinced that the evil E.B. had swallowed a human and I was next. I responded with screams and tears. The photo did not go well and the trauma lingers to this day. Perhaps this is why I was never a fan of Hip-Hop.

The 76ers plan to go "Philadelphia Heritage" for their new mascot. They showed some variations on Ben Franklin and the Quaker Oats Guy and requested fans to vote for their favorite. Is some clown in knee pants and a funny hat a true reflection of Philly's sports heritage? No way!

These are the fans who bombarded Santa Claus with snowballs at an Eagles game, who projectile-vomited on a little girl in the stands at a Phillies game, and whose drunken antics led to a judge, prosecutor, and court being set up during games at the Old Veteran's Stadium. The new 76ers mascot should reflect the proud tradition of Philly Fandom. We should be choosing between:

A rude, booing Elf who would hurl snowballs at the opponent's bench

A fat, drunken Lout (dressed in team colors, of course) who would chug overpriced warm beer, belch cheers, and vomit when officials make a call against the home team.

A robed Judge carrying an over-sized gavel who would pound the floor in time to cheers of "Dee-Fense". In true Philly legal tradition, fans can bribe the Judge (or "contribute to his campaign") to have him lead the cheer of their choice.

The Phillie Phanatic and the Eagles' Swoop will be easily eclipsed by the 76ers new mascot if it is one of these.

Wardrobe and Other Malfunctions

The NFL announced this week that Madonna will perform at half-time of the upcoming Super Bowl. Since Janet Jackson's embarrassing "wardrobe malfunction" several years ago, Super Bowl half-time performers have included Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, Prince, Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, The Who, and The Black-Eyed Peas. What do all these acts have in common? If they suffered a Janet Jackson - like "nip slip", no one would care. In fact, exposure of the aged torsos of any of the above would put most Super Bowl viewers face-down in the guacamole.

The exception to that would have been Fergie of the Peas, but most listeners were cringing with eyes shut due to her vocals and would have missed a "wardrobe malfunction" anyway.

Year after year, the Super Bowl Half-Time Show is an over-choreographed, poorly lip-synched disaster. Still, as a 60+ year old music fan, I looked forward to seeing McCartney, the Stones, the Who and the like. I couldn't afford to see them live back in the day and there were no MTV videos then. The potential for personal embarrassment still exists though. I might come up with a reasonable answer when little Timmy asks, "Why is Janet Jackson's top falling off?", but a response to "What did you ever see in these old guys back in the '60s?" would be difficult. I'm working on my response to "Why is that old lady singing 'Papa Don't Preach' and 'Like a Virgin'?"

On, Wisconsin

The great state of Wisconsin has been a source of comedy over the years. Television's "Laverne & Shirley" and "Happy Days" showed us the zany side of America's Dairyland in fiction. The Wisconsin State Legislature showed us its wacky side in fact when members denied a quorum for Governor Scott Walker's plan to limit public service employee union bargaining rights by bolting to Illinois. "Nah - Nah, you can't touch us. We're in Illinois." Very mature, legislators.

Wisconsinites may disagree of politics, but they stand four-square behind their beloved Green Bay Packers. A recent poll revealed that Packers QB Aaron Rodgers was viewed favorably by 89% of state residents. Rodgers beat out George Washington who had a mere 86% approval rating. That wig and knee pants make him look a tad gay and Wisconsin is, after all, the home of super-macho Harley-Davidson. Aaron also topped Mother Teresa at 83%. M.T. may have devoted her life to the sick and dying in India, but she had a weak arm and would never have won a Super Bowl.

Aaron Rodgers fell short of only Abraham Lincoln at 91% and Jesus Christ at 90%. Despair not, Aaron, there is hope. The Packers are undefeated so far this season. Bring a second consecutive Super Bowl title back to the Badger State and you are sure to out-poll those two. Preserving the Union and freeing the slaves is nothing compared to hoisting a Lombardi Trophy in each hand. As for that Jesus guy, he turned water into wine, but Wisconsinites prefer Miller or Pabst beer (proudly brewed in Milwaukee) to toast their gridiron triumphs.

Athletic fame is tenuous though. The New England Patriots' Tom Brady probably had similar popularity ratings in Massachusetts after winning four Super Bowls and then he lost one. Abe, JC, George, and MT surely out-poll him nowadays. All he got was a $10 million per year contract and a super-model wife. I guess that's a meager consolation prize if you lose the upcoming Big Game, Aaron.

End Fast Food Addiction

Like most health-conscious Americans, I shy away from fast food. Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures. Facing a long flight during a layover at the Denver Airport and unwilling to cough up $8 for a packaged in-flight "snack", I queued up to the airport Burger King and ordered a Whopper. The savings weren't all I anticipated. The Whopper price was a whopping $4.40. Oh for the days of $0.15 hamburgers, $0.10 fries, and $0.20 milkshakes at the McDonald's of my youth. In fact, oh for the days of a $3 Whopper at a non-airport Burger King.

Still, the Whopper was a tasty and comparatively economical choice. If I had run to the local grocery store and purchased 1/4 lb of ground beef, lettuce, pickles, onions, mayo and a large bun, could I have done it for less than $4.40? Or, health-conscious person that I am could I have substituted arugula, chopped anti-oxidant vegetables, and a low-cal vinagrette for that price? Probably not. And I received that birthright of all Americans - instant gratification - a burger in my hand within minutes of ordering without the time and mess associated with preparing it myself.

We bemoan the fattening of America due to our fast food addiction. According to the Nutritional Information poster at BK, my Whopper comes in at an impressive 690 calories. Eat two of those rascals and I've made my recommended daily caloric intake. But I've only spent $6 to $9 depending on where I bought the sandwiches and there are no pans to scrub or plates to wash. Fast food may kill me, but it is cheap and convenient.

There is only one way to end America's fast food addiction and it is not Nutritional Posters or scary medical updates on the news. Force customers to prepare their own fast food and clean up after themselves. The prospect of standing over a hot grill, fishing gunk out of the deep fat fryer, and doing the dishes at Mickey D's or BK will cause us to think twice about impulsively picking up a burger on the way home. Nutritional home meals will return and we Americans will once again be svelte and healthy.

The cheap aspect of fast food is a harder nut to crack. Burger King is offering "buy one, get one for free" on Whoppers this weekend. Maybe the money I save on burgers will pay for insulin.

Training and Equipping

The US Senate, "The World's Greatest Deliberative Body, Advising and Consenting Since 1789" did not have a good week. Our duly-elected Senators failed to reach a majority on extending payroll tax reductions that would either "put money in the pocket of citizens and stop these economic hard times in their tracks" according to supporters or "be a boondoggle that would increase the burgeoning deficit and place an untenable burden on our children" according to detractors. Ah well, it's an election year so let's not make any tough decisions.

One decision that was made, and by a whopping 93 - 7 majority, was passage of the 2012 Military Budget. This $662 billion bill includes $13 billion "for training and equipping Afghan security forces and $400 million for Afghan infrastructure projects." Apparently, money sent half-way around the world to a place that we're bailing out of next year doesn't count against that terrifying deficit. It's not as if $400 million couldn't be better used to upgrade our own infrastructure. US highways and bridges are in great shape.

Actually, the $13 billion "for training and equipping" is an All-American Job Creation Stimulus. The good military armament that the Afghans will get will be proudly made in the USA. As tough as it is for US consumers to find anything on their Christmas list that is not made in China, if you want Santa to come down the chimney bearing tanks, artillery, guns and ammo, you've got to buy American. We don't manufacture TV sets, video games, or clothing anymore, but we remain #1 when it comes to bombs and hand grenades.

American workers may take a bit of a hit if those payroll tax reductions expire, but our friends in the Military - Industrial Complex got a pre-Christmas gift of $13 billion. Lest we think that our Senators are heartless, they did include a big 1.6% pay increase for our brave fighting men and women in that 2012 Military Budget. It doesn't make up for the additional 2% they will cough up in increased payroll taxes, but it's not as if Beetle Bailey and Sgt Snorkel make campaign contributions like General Dynamics and Lockheed do.

The Perfect Gift

Finding the perfect Christmas gift is a real challenge especially when it is a work group gift for a boss that no one particularly likes. Many a poor downtrodden secretary (or Admin Assistant in today's world) was handed $5 from everyone in the group and went insane choosing between another pen and pencil set that the boss would never use or a briefcase that he would never carry. Wasteful or not, the gift was absolutely required. Non-contributers might suffer the boss's wrath during Annual Performance Review. "You don't seem to be much of a team player, Bob. Let's add that to your Areas for Improvement."

Just in time for Christmas, this week's New Yorker carries an ad for the perfect boss's gift. It says, "Are you petite? Do you sit short? Miss all the action when you sit? Sitting Taller offers a fabulous booster in a slick handbag for adults or backpack for kids! Carry your height in a bag!"

What boss wouldn't love that? Studies prove that tall people are perceived as more commanding. When sitting tall (thanks to the booster) behind his desk, the boss can gaze imperiously over the heads of his minions. His words will sound like Moses on the mount no matter how foolish. When seated at the Executive Conference Table with his peers, his added height will add weight to his comments. "I always thought that Accounting Boss Smith was an idiot, but what he says sounds great."

So if you really want to rid yourself of a tyrannical boss, get him the Sitting Taller Booster in a Bag. He will be promoted out of your hair in no time. It's also cheaper than hiring a hit man.

It's a Natural Gas

It was a small side note on the Business Page. "Royal Dutch Shell and Mitsubishi paid $17 billion to the Iraqi government for rights to natural gas deposits derived from a new oil field. The natural gas would otherwise be flared to the atmosphere as part of the drilling process." In the same newspaper, Republicans question Obama's decision to remove American troops from Iraq by the end of this year. "Let's stay until the job is finished."

Guess what, GOP? The job is finished now that Dutch and Japanese companies can safely swoop in and haul out that natural gas. After $2 trillion wasted, 4,000 lives lost and many more than that screwed up, the American taxpayer has done his job. There's a certain irony that the Dutch and Japanese are getting their natural gas from Iraq without any domestic pollution while we are getting ours by pressurizing chemicals into our groundwater. Maybe if we spent that $2 trillion on research, we could solve our energy problems without risking flames from our kitchen faucets.

Realistically, that Iraqi natural gas has to be liquefied and transported making it expensive. "Fracked" natural gas is right beneath Pennsylvania and exactly where it can be used so it is much cheaper. Better yet, we can keep it right here now that the Dutch and Japanese won't bid up its price since they have that good stuff from Iraq. What if Bush - Cheney had justified the Iraqi Incursion as "cheap energy" rather than "weapons of mass destruction"?

True Pie

I love pie.

Alas, in our modern health-conscious world, pies have gone low-calorie, gluten-free, high-fiber, and tasteless. The holiday issues of magazines feature recipes for pie "that is good for you". Well, that's not really pie. I want unhealthy. I want to feel the full blast of a guilty pleasure. I want to say, "I have just abused my body, gained three pounds, put myself in a sugar coma and given myself diabetes, but, by God, I loved it."

This is where fruit comes in. Be it apple, cherry, or blueberry, I can claim that amidst the sugar and spices, I did get my RDA of Vitamin C and anti-oxidants. When I am wheeled into the ER for a jolt of insulin, I will be clear-eyed and wrinkle-free.

Furthermore, purist pie lovers reject "ice cream on the side", whipped cream, or, horror of horrors, artificial whipped toppings. Do connoisseurs of single malt Scotch mix it with ginger ale before tasting? Do wine snobs add club soda before sipping? Real pie is best eaten "straight"..

The final qualification for real pie is how it tastes "the morning after". If a slab of last night's pie straight from the refrigerator makes the best breakfast you've ever had, that is real pie. Let's see some Ladies Home Journal low-calorie gluten-free abomination pass that test.

Air Travel Technology

The Thanksgiving Holiday is “the most heavily-travelled time of the year”. Always one to follow the crowd, my wife and I joined the throngs traversing the Friendly Skies this weekend.

Air travel has changed since my first experiences in the early 70s. In those days, airlines treated passengers as honored guests showering us with honey-roasted peanuts (insert Seinfeld joke here) and even changing those funky little headrest napkins between flights. Seats were spacious and aisles were roomy. We had to entertain ourselves with (gasp) books or magazines instead of DVD players and iPads, but at least we were comfortable.

That’s all changed now. Flights are crammed to the gills and seats are spaced the same as a Kindergarten classroom. For this trip, I was assigned a center seat in coach. On both legs, the person seated in front of me decided to take full advantage of that wonderful new invention, the reclining seat.

The 21st century has seen some technological wonders. Smart phones, fracking to retrieve natural gas, and Mitt Romney's hair come to mind. Still, the reclining seat trumps them all. The fine folks seated in front of me apparently had never encountered this marvel before and only returned to that so-20th-century full upright position when threatened with bodily harm by the flight crew.

I miss those honey-roasted peanuts and especially the headrest napkin, but the thing I’d really like to see again is adult-compatible seat spacing.

Bieber Fever Cured

Bieber Fever is about to become a thing of the past.

How can this be when that whole paternity thing was swept under the rug and when scores of pre-teens are camping out at Rockefeller Center in the cold and rain for the Canadian Heartthrob's appearance on tomorrow's "Today Show"? The NYPD can pepper-spray Occupy Wall Street protesters downtown, but they dare not risk the wrath of Bieber fans.

Alas, the very flower of maximum popularity holds the seeds of its own destruction. This morning, the Today Show's Al Roker interviewed a pair of ladies holding a sign declaring "Moms 4 Bieber". "He's so cute. I could just hug him to death."

No self-respecting teen can idolize someone also appreciated by her parents! Look at the history of Teen Idols. Donnie Osmond was the Justin Bieber of the early 80s until his fans' parents jumped on the bandwagon and he hasn't been heard from since. David Cassidy next ascended to the title of Boy Most Likley To Be Pictured On Middle School Trapper-Keepers until Moms across America decided he was "cute". Where has he been for the past thirty years? More recently, the Jonas Brothers were The Boys We Would Most Like To Crash Tiffany's 13th Birthday Sleepover. Then, Mom said, "I'm a fan, too. Those boys are so wholesome." Kevin, Joe, and Nick, we hardly knew ye.

Still, history provides hope for Justin Bieber. When the Beatles threatened to become cross-generational idols and descend into Dave Clark Five or Gerry and the Pacemakers anonymity, they put out "Sgt Pepper". Now perceived by parents as drug-addled, Mahareshi-worshipping wackos instead of cute guys with odd haircuts, they regained their popularity with rebellious youth. The Beatles have probably sold more records in the forty years since they broke up than anyone.

Of course, there is another path. Elvis went from the swivel-hipped, sideburned rebel feared by parents and beloved by teens to those horrible movies and eventually to Vegas headliner. It kept him in blue suede shoes for a lot of years.

Justin, if you want to be relevant in 2041, get grungy, get rebellious or maybe even develop a Vegas Revue. It's not too late.

Don't Know Much About History

It's OK for Sam Cooke to sing, "Don't know much about history. Don't know much biology. Don't know much about a science book. Don't know much about the French I took", but Sam isn't running for President. Michele Bachmann is running though and a course in Remedial History might do her some good.

Appearing before an Iowa church group this weekend, Michele said, "Probably the greatest amount of censorship today occurs in the pulpits of churches because we have a law that limits pastors from what they can say about politics in the pulpit. That's not the American way."

Actually, Michele, it is very much the American way. In fact, "free exercise of religion" is the very first sentence of the Bill of Rights. The Founding Fathers were very clear that religion and politics do not mix. Roman emperors declared themselves gods so any word against them was not only treason but blasphemy. Savonarola stopped the Florentine Renaissance in its tracks from the pulpit. Ferdinand and Isabella killed or exiled all non-Catholics from Spain. King Charles, head of the Church of England, exiled those dissenting Pilgrims to Holland and eventually to America. The Pilgrims, in an act of hypocrisy, then exiled dissenting Roger Williams to Rhode Island. Rhode Island, Pennsylvania, and Maryland were specifically established as a haven for persecuted Baptists, Quakers, and Catholics.

Pastors can say anything they want from the pulpit (good old Bill of Rights again). They can urge parishioners to send in those Right To Life postcards conveniently displayed in the narthex. They can decry segregation. They can espouse voting rights. But they cannot tell you who to vote for. If they do, their church becomes a political organ and is no longer tax-exempt.

That's the extent of "the greatest amount of censorship today", Michele. It has worked out pretty well since 1789 and I think we ought to stick with it.

Triumph of the Geeks

What inspires the techno-geek to trade in his current iPhone for the new iPhone 4S? Does he have several hundred dollars burning a hole in his pocket? Is he anxious to tie himself into a two-year contract to a particular carrier? Even the geekiest among us recognize those as disincentives.

The iPhone 4S's "must buy" feature is "Siri, the built-in personal assistant that responds to your voice in a soothing, robotic female tone." No longer must you key in your Internet requests. Siri will schedule your meetings, text your friends, give you GPS directions, rate restaurants, preview movies, and more. You simply "speak to the phone". In fact, Siri is a female version of HAL, the computer from "2001, A Space Odyssey", presumably without the homicidal tendencies.

But here's the feature that clinches it for the techno-geeks out there. When you say "Thank you" to Siri, she responds with "That's nice of you to say" or "Your wish is my command." The guys who were ignored by girls in high school, who spent their collegiate nights playing "Dungeons and Dragons" instead of partying at the frat house and who spend their workdays typing out computer code in a lonely cubicle can now flick out their iPhone and have a conversation with a "soothing female voice". That is certainly worth a couple hundred dollars and a two year contract. Better yet, Siri ends the conversation with "Your wish is my command". Even Joe Jock from high school never heard that from Tiffany the Cheerleader.

Steve Jobs, you saved the best for last. Thank you from geeks everywhere.

Workplace Ecology

A newspaper ad from Warren County Recycling urges us to "Cut down on waste and get some extra mileage out of your holiday by packing up your post-turkey-day detritus as ecologically-sustainable workday meals". "Detritus", really? To me, detritus is the drumstick that Uncle Stanley spit out when his dentures failed. Detritus is the pumpkin pie crust that little Tiffany The Picky Eater left on her dessert plate or the stringy sweet potatoes that even the dog refused. Call me a Despoiler of the Earth, but that sort of stuff goes in the garbage.

Even good old Thanksgiving dinner "leftovers" pose a hazard when recycled into workday meals. When I began my journey through Cubicle Land in the early '70s, we either ate a cold brown-bagged lunch or departed the premises to a restaurant. Then microwaves appeared alongside the coffee, soda, and snack machines. The buttery scent of microwave popcorn would waft over the workplace. It was far more pleasing than the scent of smoldering Marlboros from the ashtray in the adjacent cubicle. (This was a lo-o-ong time ago).

Then lunchtime would arrive and the microwave would spew forth the odor from whatever Bob from Accounting couldn't finish at dinner last night. Bob was being "ecologically-sustainable" all right, but the fumes from his pork and sauerkraut leftovers overpowered not only the odiferous cloud from boss's pipe smoke but the secretary's cologne which had been known to cause the potted plants next to her desk to wilt.

Despite signs urging microwave users to clean up after themselves and the best efforts of the cleaning crew, splatter built up over time and re-cooked itself into a medley of odors. Bob's sauerkraut would combine with Chang's Chinese and Pradeep's curry residue for a "We Are The World" symphony of smells. At that point, the Marlboros weren't so bad.

I encourage our friends in Warren County to pack those "ecologically-sustainable workday meals". Just avoid pre-masticated "detritus" (You never know what caused Uncle Stanley's teeth to fall out in the first place) and please clean the microwave after use.

Pulitzer, anyone?

Journalism is a tough racket. Young reporters must suffer through endless City Council meetings or high school field hockey games and then interview the principals for a newsworthy story. Is this how Woodward and Bernstein started?

Lehigh Valley news reporters will face their most challenging interviews yet this coming weekend when Comic Con comes to Allentown. Alas, this is a minor league Comic Con. Instead of an appearance by Captain Kirk or Mr Spock from the original "Star Trek", the best that Allentown can do is the doctor from "Star Trek - Voyager". Now, an interview with Dr McCoy from the original or with the sexy redhead doctor from "Next Generation" might be a career-maker for a local journalist, but Pulitzer-seeking reporters would be better served interviewing the guy dressed like a Klingon who lives in his parents' basement in Macungie.

There is hope for local scribes, however. Also appearing at Comic Con are the guy who played Chewbacca and the guy who did Yoda's voice in "Star Wars". It's not exactly "What did the President know and when did he know it?" but these probing questions could lead to a Page 1 by-line:

Q - "Chewbacca, is it The Force that makes Imperial Storm Troopers such crappy shots while every blast from you and Han drops a bad guy?"

A - "A-a-agh."

Q - "Yoda. you are three feet tall and have hands the size of a Kindergartener's. Still, you wield a full-size light saber and slay adult-size bad guys. How is that?"

A - "Matters not size. Special effects overcome."

Q - "Chewie, you are bigger, stronger, and a better pilot than Han Solo yet he's the one who gets all the glory and, no surprise, the girls. What do you have to say about that?"

A - "A-a-agh."

Q - "Yoda, Luke wasn't fully Jedi trained, yet George Lucas killed you off in "Return of the Jedi", why did he do that?"

A - (Out of character) The Department of Education claimed that kids across America were mangling grammar while claiming that it was part of their Jedi training. Verbal SAT scores were plummeting. The Feds threatened to give future "Star Wars" movies an X rating unless George killed me off. Then George killed off the franchise anyway by introducing Jar Jar Binks. Instead of hauling in millions doing Yoda's voice, here I am in Allentown working for peanuts. Thanks, George."

Now, there is a Pulitzer-winning interview.

Pretentious Cannibals

Advertising is the art of convincing consumers to purchase things that they neither want nor need. An effective advertising ploy is pretension. "Your appreciation of this product makes you a better person than the guy in the next cubicle."

Wine labels are the perfect vehicle for pretension in advertising. An actual chardonnay label reads, "Aromas of peach and melon greet you with slight hints of spice and vanilla. On the palate, white fruit and nectarine with spice lead to a crisp, dry finish. This is a perfect summer wine and matches well with shellfish or with friends on the patio."

Why, yes. My refined nose picked up those peach, melon, spice, and vanilla scents immediately and distinguished between them though I really couldn't determine which melon (perhaps muskmelon?) or which spice (definite indications of Sumatran cardamon). My trained palate sensed white fruit (from the apartheid tree?) and nectarine with spice (Let's see, there was Scary, Posh, Baby, and Nectarine with Spice, right?). I can't wait until summer to enjoy this wine while eating shellfish and especially while nibbling on friends on the patio. So few wines go with both shellfish and human flesh. Shrimp on the Barbie or Bob From Next Door on the patio grill, this wine is the perfect complement.

Maybe that is not what the wine advertisers meant. Still, one imagines pretentious cannibals flocking to purchase this particular vintage.

President Pat or Alex

All it takes is one brilliant idea to achieve fame and fortune. Edison ran electricity through a filament in an evacuated bulb and next thing you know he is one of the wealthiest men in America. Bill Gates decided that typing in a few lines of MS-DOS code was no way to get on and surf the Internet, developed Windows, and earned enough money to eradicate malaria worldwide. But what great idea did Silvio Berlusconi come up with to earn billions and become Prime Minister of Italy?

According to an NPR segment yesterday, Silvio was a struggling TV game show producer in Italy when he decided to spice up the competition by having an attractive model remove a piece of clothing each time a contestant correctly answered a question. Ratings soared and Silvio took full advantage. Eventually, he bought out pretty much every TV network in Italy, entered politics, and the rest is history.

Would this work in America? Would Pat Sajak be our President today if Vanna White had to strip after every successful spin on the Wheel of Fortune? "I'd like to buy a vowel, Pat. Check that. I don't really care about the puzzle. I'd rather have Vanna remove her bra."

Would Alex Trebek be trading verbal ripostes with Mitt, Newt, Herman and the other candidates today if the correct answer to "Potent Potables" as a Daily Double offered the option of doubling one's winnings or removing the blouse of a rival contestant? The normally passive "Jeopardy" audience would become a frenzied "Jerry Springer Show"-like mob. Ratings would soar and Canadian Alex would become wealthy enough to obtain one of those fake US Birth Certificates enabling him to run for the presidency.

Based on Silvio Berlusconi's success, it could happen here. Republicans seeking a poised telegenic candidate need look no father than Pat Sajak or Alex Trebek. It's not too late to add gratuitous nudity to "Wheel" or "Jeopardy". The new and improved quiz shows would certainly draw higher ratings than the GOP Debates.

Sometimes Losers Win

The news release stated, "In Viet Nam, the first Gap franchise opened in Ho Chi Minh City at the end of September and two more will follow in the city's commercial hub by the end of the year. "Asians are very aspirational. They have always wanted this," said a Gap spokesperson. The store opening featured trays of champagne and mint vodka with famous Vietnamese actors, models, and singers on hand."

So forty years after 60,000 young Americans of my generation died over there it turns out that the Vietnamese weren't really trying to topple the first domino that would lead to the spread of godless, monolithic Communism throughout Asia and then to the rest of the world. All they really wanted was to buy comfort fit, boot-length jeans. Instead of sending the 101st Airborne over there, we should have built a few Levi's Factory Outlets.

We veterans shouldn't be bitter on Veteran's Day. Still, it is interesting that young men (and women) have their lives shattered by war while corporations (who are people, too) survive and prosper even when they are on the losing side. It's no coincidence that Indiana Jones hung for dear life from a Mercedes-Benz hood ornament during that harrowing chase in the first movie. M-B manufactured many Wehrmacht vehicles and survived the war to put 350SLs on the driveways of our McMansions today. Bayer developed the gas used at Auschwitz and survived the war to put aspirin in our medicine chests. Mitsubishi built the Zero airplanes that strafed my father on Okinawa and survived to build cars and to can tuna. Meanwhile, Bethlehem Steel manufactured much of the armament that enabled us to win WW II and today is out of business. Maybe it's better to lose the war if you're a corporation.

Newscasters urge us to "thank a veteran for their service and sacrifice" today. Let's limit that to flesh and blood veterans who risked life, limb, and mental health. Our corporate (who are people, too) veterans will make out OK regardless.

Disclaimers

Disclaimers are interesting. The classic, of course, is "Seek medical attention if your erection lasts four hours or more" for Cialis. How do you explain that one to your child? "Well, Timmy, those people not wearing shirts and holding hands while sitting in adjacent bathtubs located outdoors for no apparent reason may catch a cold after four hours and need a doctor."

The disclaimer for protein-booster Muscle Milk states, "Contains no milk". Actually, this disclaimer might be a ploy to enter the lactose-intolerant market. "Tired of being picked on by those milk-swigging bullies in the cafeteria? Get on the Muscle Milk regimen. You'll be a Schwarzenegger in no time and free of gastric distress in the bargain."

Then there is the print advertisement lauding Panama as a tourist destination. To allay fears of disease while in-country, Panama offers free 30-day medical insurance to visitors. Clever tourists might take advantage of this. "My rheumatism is acting up again, Clara, and our HMO doesn't cover it anymore. Let's go to Panama. I'll get treatment and you can frolic in the Canal."

"Wait a minute. Here's a disclaimer. (The medical insurance) doesn't cover injuries as a result of foreign enemy invasion (war being declared or not), civil war, revolution, rebellion, insurrection, or other incidents or offenses against the country's internal security. In other words, come to Panama to relax and to get healthy unless there's a revolution in which case, you are out of luck. Darned lawyers and their disclaimers."

Muscle Milk's disclaimer probably will increase their business. Panama's will likely scare people away. Cialis's is just odd.

Secret Santa

I dreaded the Secret Santa Gift Exchange back in my working days. Invariably, I received a gift I had no use for but would have to display at least through January. "Oh wow! A paper weight with a jolly winter scene inside! Thanks a lot."

Secret Santa visited the Department of Homeland Security last week bearing three new surveillance drones. The problem is that DHS doesn't have operators or satellite band width for the seven drones that they already possess. In fact, the existing drones can only fly five days per week, so if you're planning to smuggle drugs or enter the country illegally, you really want to do it on weekends. Car rental and border hotel rates are cheaper then, too.

An anonymous Homeland Security official stated, "We didn't ask for these drones." How, then, in this time of burgeoning Federal deficits and threats to shut down the government if the debt ceiling is not raised. did DHS receive $32 million worth of aircraft that they can't operate anyway? Was $32 million the Secret Santa Gift Limit between Washington departments this year? "Darn, I drew Justice in Secret Santa, where can I find $32 million worth of gavels? Those things never wear out, but our judges will need them eventually, won't they?"

Actually, Homeland Security's Secret Santa is the Congressional Unmanned Systems Caucus. These fifty congressmen all have drone manufacturers or suppliers in their districts and those manufacturers expect some return for their $1.6 million in campaign contributions. Apparently, the $240 million spent for drones since 2005 isn't enough.

Homeland Security can always do what I did with my unwanted Secret Santa gifts. Hide them away for a few years and re-gift them. I can imagine the scene at the Department of Agriculture just before Christmas, 2015. "Oh wow! Three surveillance drones! Thanks so much, Homeland Security. We can use them as tiny, tiny grain silos until we figure out how to operate them."

Brown Shoe Army Blues

7-Eleven is saying thanks this Veteran's Day with free Slurpees. Active duty, retired, and veteran GIs with proof of service get a frosty treat at no charge. In fact, Slurpee trailers will visit US military bases across the country this week. "All right, Private. You will consume that Slurpee by the numbers. 1 - Insert straw; 2 - Suck deep; 3 - Freeze that pea brain of yours."

From time immemorial, veteran soldiers have informed recruits that the Army was much tougher back in the day. Those of us who served in the 60s constantly heard about "the brown shoe Army" of the 40s. "You think that crawling through mud under barbed wire with live machine gun fire over your head is tough? In the brown shoe Army, that mud had hungry alligators in it." "You complain about running a mile in combat boots with your weapon held over your head? In the brown shoe Army, you ran that mile barefoot over broken glass holding a cinder block in each hand."

Actually, today's Army does seem like a kinder, gentler organization than I remember. Drill Instructors are no longer allowed to physically or verbally abuse recruits. In my first day of Basic Training, I stopped counting after 300 push-ups assessed for such infractions as "not standing close enough to my razor" and a loose thread on a buttonhole. Verbal abuse was actually educational. I never knew that four letter words could be strung together like that.

The Army has abolished KP. Recruits no longer rise at 0330 hrs and spend 18 hours washing and scrubbing the mess hall and its appurtenances with scalding hot water and bleach. To this day, my fingers are wrinkled and ghostly white.

And now, thanks to 7-Eleven, soldiers can sidle up to the Slurpee Mobile after a tough day for a frosty treat. Our brave lads (and lasses) in uniform deserve it, but back in my day, we didn't have anything like that. We drank warm tap water with salt tablets and were happy to have it.

Brown shoe Army guys, I know what you meant. They have it too easy nowadays.

Bang for the Buck

The debate rages on regarding tax rates. From the left, we hear, "The wealthiest 1% has a lower tax rate now than at any time in history." "Warren Buffet's secretary pays more to the IRS than he does." "General Electric paid zero taxes last year." From the right, we hear, "This is class warfare." "Increased tax rates will stifle job creation." "Higher taxes will limit the genius of a Steve Jobs or a Bill Gates and all the ensuing economic progress." "A 9-9-9 Plan or a 20% flat tax will solve all our problems."

But what does all this sound and fury mean to the common American? I'm reminded of a conversation I had with my father back in 1964. I had just learned how to fill out a Federal Income Tax form in Problems of Democracy class at school. The family Form 1040 that year showed that we owed the IRS a few bucks (and that on a whopping income of less than $5,000). When I gave my Dad the bad news, he said, "We will pay it because we have to. It is too bad, though. My tax dollars help to build an aircraft carrier or buy a bomb that will keep those Russkies on their side of the ocean and you know what? If Khruschev was in the White House, it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference to me. I'd still be spending ten hours a day loading and unloading sides of beef. Maybe my boss would be speaking Russian, but that's it."

Putting it in the simplest of terms, who gets more bang for his tax buck - the common man or the wealthiest 1%? Who benefits more when we spend $1 trillion to "stabilize" Iraq - the guy loading sides of beef or the executives at Exxon? Who loses more money if billions of tax dollars do not rescue those banks that are "too big to fail" - the guy living from paycheck to paycheck or the bankers who will miss out on their bonuses? Who gets richer when the government builds a "bridge to nowhere" in Alaska - the Walmart greeter in Cleveland whose tax dollars paid for it or the contractors whose political donations made it happen?

Fox News repeatedly informs us that 50% of taxpayers pay no tax at all (and a lot of them have cable TV and dishwashers!). Maybe that is at it should be. Updating my Dad's argument, if the Chinese call in their IOUs and take over, Dick Cheney and his Halliburton buddies have a lot more to lose than I do. Maybe they should pay to maintain the status quo.

The Bladder's Revenge

During my working life, November was the cruelest month. Mornings involved crawling from a warm bed to a chilly bathroom, hopping into a shower that ranged from cold to hot in a heartbeat and the dreaded scraping frost from the windshield. Still, the worst part was waking up when it was still dark outside. The birds aren't even up yet, why should I be? When I'm retired, I will sleep until dawn at least. My diurnal clock insists on it.

Now I'm retired and guess what? I'm still fumbling around in the pre-dawn November darkness. Oh, I don't want to and I don't have to, but my aged lower back has other ideas. "There's no comfortable position for you in this nice warm bed. I will ache until you must arise and walk off the stiffness. By then, you will be properly chilled and totally awake. Bwahh-Ha-Ha!"

Then my bladder chimes in, "Even if you go back to bed just to warm up, I will magically re-fill and you will be popping up for a bathroom break in 5 minutes. Resistance is futile."

My brain cries out in anguish, "Why have I done to deserve this, lower back and bladder?"

They reply in unison, "You may not remember guzzling beer all night long then sleeping past noon on a lumpy couch or the bare, hard floor back in your college days, but we do. Do you have any idea how much stress that put on us? Now is the Time of Our Revenge"

Truly, "What goes around, comes around", not only in human-to-human interactions but also in the intra-human conflict.

Career Counseling

It's not too soon for high school seniors to begin pondering career choices. Straight to the work force or to college is just part of the decision More relevant is the Ultimate Goal. Wall Street or Occupy Wall Street? Athletics or Reality TV?

Recent news reports give some direction:

Obama's Jobs Bill appears to be dead in the water. All those "Job Creators" on Wall Street can pocket their multi-million dollar holiday bonuses without fear that Uncle Sam will take a larger chunk in taxes. Let's say that the average Wall Street top executive salary with bonuses comes in at about $2 million. That's about $5,000 per day. The average Occupy Wall Street remuneration is about $0 per day. It's a tough choice, but I'll take an office on Wall Street over a spot on the pavement outside it. The pay is better.

CC Sabathia signed a contract extension with the NY Yankees granting him a $30 million average annual paycheck over the next several years. There are about 200 days in the baseball season, so CC hauls in a cool $150,000 per day. The financially-astute among us should turn in that Wall Street pinstripe suit for Yankee pinstripes. And you don't have to wear a tie to work. That makes the decision even easier.

Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries split up after 72 days of marriage. Reportedly, they were paid $12 million for the televised ceremony plus $2.5 million for exclusive photos. Rounding off, Kim and Kris averaged $200,000 per day of Reality TV wedded bliss. Take that, CC Sabathia!

So there are your career choices, Youth of America, along with the training you will need:

Occupy Wall Street - $0 per day. Prerequisites - Ability to sleep on cold pavement and forage for food. Recommended Training - Army Ranger Survival School.

Wall Street Executive - $5,000 per day. Prerequisites - Lack of conscience and overwhelming greed. Recommended Training - Top-ranked business school or viewing Michael Douglas' "Wall Street" until memorized.

NY Yankee - $150,000 per day. Prerequisites - Outstanding athletic ability or a friendly pharamacist. Recommended Training - If the guys pick a girl for their team before they pick you in grade school Dodgeball, you had best become acquainted with a Dominican pharmacist. Those muscles will get you to the big leagues and "steroid rage" will be a good legal defense when you are arrested after pulverizing those grade school bullies.

Reality TV Star - $200,000 per day. Prerequisites - None really. Significant cosmetic surgery helps and a viral You Tube sex video can't hurt. Recommended Training - Are you serious?

There you have it, Youth of America. Kim Kardashian is available now as is one of her sisters. Can you put up with her for $200,000 per day?

The (British) Empire Strikes Back

Fox News created a great brouhaha a couple of years ago when national retailers instructed their salespeople to wish customers "Happy Holidays". "They're taking the 'Christ' out of Christmas! This is another sign of America's decline!" Apparently, Fox News remembers when the Schuylkill Expressway was jammed with traffic on a Sunday morning headed for church instead of to the Eagles game. Ah, the good old days. They didn't actually exist, but they were terrific anyway.

Bill O'Reilly and Sean Hannity have a new bone to pick this year. Macy's announced yesterday that it will open all its stores at midnight on Thanksgiving for the first time ever. It will be offering Black Friday Specials starting at that time.

Macy's plan is actually more insidious than it appears on the surface. Its prime Black Friday Special, sure to draw families from fellowship over pumpkin pie, is a $65 Justin Bieber limited-edition fragrance gift set including a 3.4 ounce eau de parfum spray and the singer's new holiday CD. This is totally un-American! "3.4 ounces" is 500 grams. It's a blatant attempt to indoctrinate American youth into the metric system. "Eau de Parfum" sounds French to me. What ever happened to good old Americanized "Toilet Water"? Lastly, Justin Bieber is Canadian. What sort of holidays from The Great White North is he singing about? "We Wish You a Merry Boxing Day"? "Joy to the World. Victoria Day Is Come"? "Good King Wenceslas Looked Down on the Feast of Canada Day"?

I can hear Bill O'Reilly now. "First, they secularized Christmas. Now they're going after Thanksgiving. We kicked those Canadians' behinds in the War of 1812 and this is their revenge. Wake up, America!"

The Bacon Theory

As world population exceeds 7 billion and those old Malthusian concerns about food supply for that many people recur, it is reassuring to know that a Bethlehem restaurant offers the "Bender-Ender". This ten-ounce burger is topped by a fried egg and (of course) bacon and is stuffed in the middle of two grilled cheese sandwiches. This one sandwich includes more calories, protein, and fat than an average village in Bangladesh consumes in a week.

I'll have Diet Coke with mine. I must maintain my slim, girlish figure.

KFC unveiled an addition to its Famous Bowl in numerous TV ads this week. How can one improve on a bowl-ful of mashed potatoes, corn, gravy and crispy chicken bits? "We added bacon!", reply the perky KFC employees in the commercial. "Everything's better with bacon."

So true. Is it the nitrites or the fat or the cholestrol that give the Famous Bowl that extra zip? Who cares?

No to be outdone, Burger King offers the Triple Stacker. It includes three 5 oz beef patties, two slices of cheese, and three bacon strips smothered in Special Stacker Sauce. Note that the Triple Stacker does not contain any of that pesky lettuce, tomato or other "rabbit food" to interfere with its bacon-infused burger deliciousness.

In 1798, Thomas Malthus famously declared that when population growth exceeds grain supply, war, pestilence, and misery will result. Thanks to The Green Revolution, this has (fortunately) not occurred. If Malthus were alive today, he might amend his theory. "When population growth exceeds bacon supply, look out! After all, everything's better with bacon."

No Schwinns to China

Pundits point to our perilous financial state and the rise of China as harbingers of the fall of America on the world stage. It's actually much simpler than that. America's fortunes began to wane when we went to "English" bicycles.

We Children of the 1950s had two choices when we graduated from tricycles to "two-wheelers" - good old American-made Schwinns with sturdy metal frames and coaster brakes or "English" bikes with flimsy frames, hand brakes, and all of three gears. It was so much easier tackling hills by gearing down with those lightweight "English" bikes. Later, bikes had up to ten gears and American kids grew ever softer. Is it a coincidence that American Schwinn-riding kids of the 30s and 40s grew up strong and won two world wars while English bike riders lost their Empire? Is it a coincidence that after "English" bikes came to America, we fought to a draw in Korea and gave up Viet Nam?

Pedaling that massive Schwinn up the hill not only developed physical endurance, it made us mentally tough. There's no easy way out. There's no low - low gear to ease that pain. Schwinn riders would never package sub-prime mortgages and scuttle the economy while hauling in huge bonuses. They would take their medicine and like it.

All is not lost, however. Our Chinese rivals appear to favor "ten speed" bikes. Much as it would help our Balance of Payments, we must never export Schwinns to China. Let them grow soft physically and mentally. America will rise again.

Rebarkably Refreshing

I love my dog, but there are limits. I will feed him the finest kibble (all natural, no fillers) and provide him the proper medication (surprisingly expensive), but I will NOT give him trendy bottled water. If tap water is good enough for me, it's good enough for a canine who would just as soon drink from the toilet bowl.

Yet, there is a market for the stuff. I recently saw an internet ad stating:
"K9 Water Co., Inc. is proud to offer you Toilet Water, Puddle Water, Hose Water
and Gutter Water, the world’s first flavored, vitamin fortified bottled water specifically formulated to provide your dog with essential vitamins that contribute to overall
good health and provide the hydration your dog needs.

Our water can be enjoyed in four of the flavors dogs enjoy most: chicken, beef, liver and lamb.
Try all four tasty flavors today and your dog will rave that it is Rebarkably Refreshing!™"

Get that? ReBARKably refreshing? It's not a typo, but a trademarked phrase. Somewhere, an English teacher is wondering why she ever went into the profession.

If my drinking water contains only chlorine (and perhaps a touch of fecal colioform), my dog's water will NOT include "essential vitamins that contribute to overall good health". Which is the dominant species here anyway?

I might buy it though just to taste liver-flavored water. I imagine that chicken, beef, or lamb-flavored water would taste something like diluted soups of the same name, but liver flavor? That would be a taste treat unlike any in my experience. And this is from a guy who once ate a "Pupperoni" doggie treat by mistake (or possibly one too many beers).

My "boy" may whine that "all the other dogs in the neighborhood carry around bottled water" and that "times have changed", but I hereby play the "I'm the master. You're the pet" card. If anyone in this family gets vitamin-fortified liver-flavored water, it's me.

The Power of Advertising

Chilly October mornings require a hot breakfast cereal.

Back in the day, three cereals divided the market. There was oatmeal, granular, sticky, and reminiscent of those oatmeal baths that we kids had to take when poison ivy attacked. Not my favorite. I had nightmares about drowning in that gelatinous mass. There was shredded wheat, not the glazed, bite size chunks that you see today, but cakes of the stuff. Mom would pour water or hot milk over the shredded wheat to soften it up, but it would be either gloppy like paste or still hard and scratchy when swallowed. Not a taste treat. Finally, there was Cream of Wheat, smooth, consistent, and great with cinnamon or raisins.

You would think that, of the three, Cream of Wheat would be the big seller nowadays. Yet, McDonald's features oatmeal on its breakfast menu. I blame it all on Wilfred Brimley. When a cranky old guy tells you that oatmeal is good for your heart, you believe him. "I'll have oatmeal instead of Cream of Wheat this morning, Alice. I know it tastes like crap and I'm never sure whether to chew it before I swallow, but it kept old Wilfred going all these years."

That is the power of advertising. We pass up Cream of Wheat that tastes better and is probably just as nutritious for oatmeal because an old coot with a white mustache told us so.

Stand up for your rights, America! Eat Cream of Wheat. As an old coot with a white mustache (and a goatee to boot), I volunteer for the advertising campaign.

The Seven Finger Solution

They say that you should never trust a skinny chef or a mechanic with clean fingernails. To that, I would add that you should never trust a tree surgeon with all of his fingers.

I met with a tree guy to discuss some work this week and was at first appalled that he was lacking three digits on his right hand. Then I felt reassured. Here is a man of experience who has tackled the forest primeval, taken his lumps, and emerged victorious.

The Verizon Yellow Pages conducted an advertising campaign this past summer featuring the "Super Guarantee". Designated "Super Contractors" were backed with a money back promise. In the ads, the contractors wore a flowing yellow cape, not unlike that worn by Superman. In fact, at Musik (with a k) fest, Verizon handed out yellow capes mostly to kids giving Volksplatz the look of a failed "modern sculpture" by Christo and Jean Claude.

Who needs capes to designate proficiency in working with one's hands though? With just one glance, it is easy to discern masters of the mechanical arts. A top-notch carpenter always has flattened fingertips and bruised fingernails. The best electricians invariably have "stick out" hair and a wide-eyed, permanently shocked look. Master plumbers carry the detritus from pipes they have removed on their clothing. Experienced welders proudly bear slag scars. These are not deformities, but badges of honor and experience.

I know that my tree job is in good hands. Only seven fingers, but good hands nonetheless.

Coughlin's Law

Searching through my tee-shirt drawer yesterday, I realized that my prized Ryan Howard Phillies shirt had settled toward the bottom of the stack. This is the same shirt that had to be literally ripped off my body for periodic laundering during the oh-so-satisfying 2011 regular season or, for that matter, the preceding five glory years. I just couldn't bear to wear it again after the disappointment of this year's playoff failure.

Coughlin's Law states, "Everything must end badly. Otherwise, it would never end." So it is with the recent success of my beloved Phillies. Ryan Howard ruptured his achilles tendon. Cole Hamels is having surgery on his pitching elbow. Rumor has it that Jimmy Rollins, Ryan Madsen, and Raul Ibanez will depart as free agents. Placido Polanco and Chase Utley had injury-plagued seasons and aren't getting any younger. The latest Golden Age of Phillies Baseball appears to be ending very badly, indeed.

But all is not lost. They will come back. The World Champion 1980 Phillies settled into 28 years of mediocrity until they won another title, but they did come back. Unfortunately, if it takes another 28 years for the Phils to win the World Series, it is highly unlikely that I will be alive to see it. I must cherish this moment. I will wear my Ryan Howard shirt until it falls from my body in tatters. I will proudly display Ryan's #6 past throngs of jeering Mets fans. If the 2011 season was my last shot, I will go out with my head held high.

Another World Series win would have been great, though. Damn you, Coughlin.

Trade-Offs

It was scary growing up in the early 60s. Today's Express-Times notes that on this day in 1961, the newspaper informed its readers what would happen if a 50 megaton nuclear weapon were dropped on Easton's Center Circle. "Virtually all of Easton, Phillipsburg and the contiguous communities would vanish from the face of the earth. The initial violence of fission would vaporize everything within a mile radius of its point of explosion. The ensuing fireball would burgeon out over a seven mile radius consuming buildings and burning to death everyone outside the sturdiest underground shelters."

Whether the school basement area with those scary yellow and black signs qualified as a "sturdy underground shelter" was open to question. Our weekly drill of ducking beneath our school desks with out arms over our heads certainly didn't.

Paranoia increased when 10th grade Hygiene class changed from learning the three bones in the inner ear (hammer, anvil, and stirrup) for the fifth consecutive year to Nuclear Survival. "The Russians will certainly drop a bomb on Bethlehem Steel, so the Christmas City will be vaporized. The greatest danger for the rest of northeastern PA is nuclear fallout." The thing I'll always remember was that we were given wrapped loaves of bread and knives and shown how to carefully cut and peel back its wrapping so that nasty fallout wouldn't get on the bread itself.

Fifty years later, I realize that handing a knife to a 14 year old in a classroom setting might be more dangerous than nuclear fallout. Also, once the wrapper was removed, fallout would contaminate the exposed bread immediately. Still, the manually dexterous among us who successfully completed this task were given certificates and charged with insuring our families' survival.

As a side note, the sandwiches served in the school cafeteria on those days seemed to have more dirty fingerprints on them than usual.

Life is a series of trade-offs. 10th grade Hygiene traded potential stabbings in the hallways and likely post-lunch food poisoning for providing 14 year olds the knowledge to lead their families to post-nuclear safety. And they say that school isn't relevant.

Carnivores on the Loose

We old-timers remember when it took a veritable blizzard for school to be called off. Unless the snow was over the Kindergarteners' heads and they couldn't breathe, we trudged through snow drifts to the old schoolhouse. Nowadays, a forecast for "wintry mix" (whatever that is) shuts down the Halls of Learning even if roads are dry at 7 AM.

Schools take any excuse to shut down - the First Day of Hunting Season, the Jewish High Holy Days, Teacher In-Service. Four school districts near Columbus, OH found a new excuse - Carnivores on the Loose. The keeper of an Exotic Animal Preserve was found dead yesterday and all the animal pens were opened. There are lions, tigers, and bears (Oh my!) not to mention wolves and other large carnivores wandering the Ohio countryside right now. Experts from the Columbus Zoo recommend that local residents stay indoors. Little Tiffany and Josh waiting at the school bus stop might look like Olde Country Buffet to a hungry lion.

My hometown lacked a zoo or even a nearby Exotic Animal Preserve. Still, I think that a pack of hungry wolves on the loose might have caused even our hard-hearted School Superintendent to call off classes. Many a time, I prayed for a blizzard when I was unprepared for a math or science test. Of course that was only realistic in mid-winter. Kids today have it so easy. They can avoid that test and get school called off any time of the year if there is a Breakout at the Zoo. No wonder the US ranks above only Swaziland and Bolivia in academic performance.

Risky Behavior

You know it's a slow news day when the Today Show has a feature story on a woman who massages sharks into hypnosis in its first half hour. "Concentrate only on my hand, Sharky. You are getting sleepy...sleepy. Your eyelids are getting heavy...heavy. What do you mean you don't have eyelids? Cousteau, get me out of here before Sharky wakes up!"

The feature story that set my blood boiling though was that of a Michigan man who was jailed for Child Abuse for using his 9 year old daughter as his Designated Driver. A gas station convenience store camera with audio showed him buying the girl a candy apple and bragging that he was drunk and she was his driving his van. There was exterior video that showed the little girl hopping into a Safety Seat behind the wheel and pulling away from the pumps.

The issue here is whether it is better to have a 9 year old (possibly on a sugar high from that candy apple) or a drunk driving down the Interstate. I contend that the Public Safety is improved with the 9 year old. This is not Child Abuse. It is what all those Miller Lite commercial tag lines "Drink Responsibly" urge us to do.

Proponents of raising the Driving Age tell us that 16 year olds lack sufficient brain development to determine "risky behavior". Yet, we have an adult massaging sharks. My guess is that the Michigan 9 year old's brain is sufficiently developed to avoid manual contact with sharks and also to get her drunken Dad safely home.

Just Another Brick in the Wall

People love to be scared. Halloween ranks only behind Christmas for consumer spending. You can't flip your TV remote without choosing a vampire, zombie, or attractive blonde wearing a semi-revealing outfit in peril show (or in the case of the Twilight trilogy - not-terribly-attractive and modestly dressed. We're Christians here!).

If it works for entertainment, why not use "scare tactics" in politics? Actually, it has worked out quite well in the past. Kennedy used the "Missle Gap". ("Elect Nixon and the Russians will have Sputniks orbiting your kids pre-school!). LBJ used the mushroom cloud behind the little girl picking daisies. ("If Goldwater wins, he will bomb our enemies back to the Stone Age and they might retaliate.") Bush Senior used Willie Horton. ("Dukakis let a murderer out on a prison furlough and he raped and murdered again. How good are your door locks, really?), and Bush, Jr had the whole Swift Boat thing (Sure, Kerry volunteered for dangerous service in Viet Nam while I used my Daddy's connections to go to Texas Air National Guard drills when I felt like it, but he probably didn't deserve those three Purple Hearts. Do you want a liar in the White House?")

Michele Bachmann is now using scare tactics to spur her Presidential bid. Saturday, she promised to build a fence on the US - Mexico border "And it will be every mile. It will be every yard. It will be every inch of that border because the portion you fail to secure is a highway into the US." Michele now kicks in with The Big Scare. "Fifty-nine thousand illegals came across that border this year from nations other than Mexico. They were from Yemen and from Syria. These are nations that are state sponsors of terrorism!"

Fifty-nine thousand crazed Arab terrorists swimming the Rio Grande and showing up on my suburban cul-de-sac each year! OMG! Build that fence, Michele!

Of course, Michele didn't exactly get her facts straight. Yemen is technically not a sponsor of terrorism per the State Dept, but the big one is that those 59,000 non-Mexican illegals were almost entirely Central and South Americans taking the only land path to the US from the south.

Not that the facts matter. We know that Frankenstein was actually a cultivated British actor in platform shoes, but he still scares us. We know that the 9/11 bombers entered this country legally through airports not by infiltrating from Mexico, but a big, honking wall will make us feel more secure. As H.L.Mencken said, "No one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American public" or failed to be elected either.

They're People Too

"Corporations are people, too", according to Mitt Romney. Just like us flesh and blood Americans, corporations have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of governmental largess by making unlimited, anonymous campaign contributions. Thank you, 2010 Supreme Court.

Let's compare a flesh and blood American like yours truly to an American corporation, say General Electric. In the second quarter of 2011, I "earned" about $10,000 between my pension and Social Security and paid about 25% of that in Federal taxes. In the same quarter, GE earned $3,7 billion and paid zero in Federal taxes. If corporations are "people, too", shouldn't they be paying at least something for the rights and privleges of being an American?

"Not so fast," reply the Republican candidates. "Corporations are Job Creators. They need every penny of those profits to drag the country out of this recession. It hasn't happened for three years now, but it will come. Look at all the jobs that GE has created for Tax Attorneys to make sure that they can take advantage of every loophole in the Tax Code. Surely, GE and other corporations will get around to creating jobs for you common folk soon."

"Until then, you people "people" will have to pick up the tab for:

National Defense - About 60 cents of every dollar you pay to Washington goes for the jets, tanks, and aircraft carriers that provide friendly foreign governments so that Exxon, Halliburton, GE and the like can haul in those off-shore profits. Your life might not be impacted if the Saudi people overthrew their King, but Dick Cheney's stock options from Halliburton would take a hit. You can't expect our corporate "people" to stand still for that. They shouldn't have to pay for it, though.

The State Department - You may never need our ambassador to Kazakhstan to pressure the locals for a zoning permit for that McDonald's in downtown Astana, but the Golden Arches won't be quite as golden if they can't spread the American Way there and haul in a few rubles in the process. Of course, Ronald McDonald shouldn't have to pay for the privilege.

The Agriculture Department - Those subsidies and price supports that keep our food prices high enough to support "the family farmer" mostly go to the corporate agribusinesses that put the family farmer out of business. You can't expect agribusiness to pay taxes on that. You people "people" have Food Stamps and $5 foot-longs. What else do you want?

The Justice Department - Your tax dollars are financing The War on Drugs. We can't have "hopheads" coming in late for work, spending their money on drugs instead of food for their families, beating their wives and children, and driving under the influence. Of course, it's OK for alcoholics to do the same. Alcohol is legal and, oh by the way, Anheuser Busch, Miller, and Coors sponsor race car teams and stadiums out of their profits. Kevin Harvick's #29 Budweiser racing car, and sponsorship of Miller Park in Milwaukee or Coors Field in Denver is a much better use for corporate money than alcohol awareness or even, heaven forbid, paying taxes to fund Federal prisons where abusers of their product reside.

So, you see, corporations are people, too. Except for the paying taxes part. That's up to you people "people"."

Homestyle

Food labels assault us with adjectives - "Natural", "Lite", "Organic", "Lo-Cal", "Free Range, Grass Fed, Humanely Slaughtered. This cow volunteered to be eaten!". We take these advertising claims with a grain of salt. Every now and then though, a food label goes beyond the pale.

Kibbles & Bits Dog Food is now "Homestyle With That Home-Cooked Taste". These words conjure the image of Mama Lassie wielding a spoon over a savory pot filled with all of Fido's favorite foods from puppyhood. So warm, so comforting. Wait a minute. We're talking kibble here - dried chunks of meat by-products. Mama Lassie was cooking up this crap? No wonder Fido left home.

How does Kibbles & Bits know that its product has "that home-cooked taste"? Unless K&B has a Pet Psychic on staff to translate doggie taste testers' tail-wagging and drooling into human language, how can they make this claim? There is a law requiring Truth in Advertising after all.

Kibbles & Bits must hire humans to determine whether their Homestyle product is truly that. Is it a coincidence that K&B dares make this claim at a time when people are desperately seeking employment of any kind? "Help Wanted - Taste Testers for an exciting new Homestyle product. Preferred applicants will have strong teeth and bitter childhood memories."

"This kibble tastes just like the Hamburger Helper that Mama forgot to put meat in and left on the stove overnight. It's Homestyle, all right."

What Makes Neutrino Run?

Hot Scientific News Flash! The speed of light has been broken!

Researchers at CERN that mammoth atom-smashing tunnel beneath the Alps clocked a neutrino at a speed exceeding Warp 1. Take that, Albert Einstein. You had postulated that the speed of light could not be exceeded, but we Star Trek fans know that the Enterprise could go to Warp 9 and we Star Wars fans know that the Millennium Falcon could achieve hyperspace when Han and Chewie got it all together. It just took a while for 21st century scientists to catch up to Gene Roddenberry and George Lucas.

By the way, isn't neutrino a cool name for a subatomic particle or anything else for that matter? When I first studied science all we had were boring protons, neutrons and electrons. You could never name a sports car "The Proton" and expect it to sell. But if Ferrari brought out the new 2011 "Neutrino", buyers would be lined up outside the dealership. The name just sounds funky and fast.

This is probably why modern parents with boring names like Mark and Carol name their offspring Connor and Tiffany. The names sound cool. No doubt the proton and neutron that gave birth to the speedy CERN subatomic particle last week shared Mark and Carol's thoughts. "We lived our lives with dull, common names. Let's give the little guy a name that folks will remember. We'll call him Neutrino."

But why is little Neutrino so fast and why did we just find out about it now? By definition, a neutrino looks just like an electron but carries no electrical charge. Normal "hetero" electrons carry a negative charge and are attracted to those sexy positively-charged protons. Neutrinos are the LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered) of the subatomic world.

Until last week, "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" might have been the law in subatomics as well as the US Military. When those closeted neutrinos saw American soldiers, sailors, and Marines publicly "coming out", they may have decided to do the same. Alas, protons, electrons, and neutrons were less broad-minded than the US military brass. Only the fastest neutrinos survived their wrath and exceeded the previously inviolable speed of light in their escape.

Don't feel bad, Albert Einstein. Hetero subatomic particles still can't exceed the speed of light.

What's In A Name?

"What is in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet." True enough, Mr Shakespeare, but the wrong name can get you beaten like a rented mule.

I read every line of the newspaper sports section. Hope springs eternal that good (the Phillies, Eagles, Lafayette) will triumph over evil (the Yankees, Cowboys, Lehigh). The sports section also provides amusement. How many ways can high school field hockey players spell Kaylee, Kayleigh, Kylee? Why are high school boy soccer players either named something precious like Channing or Keegan or something foreign like Luis or Vladimir?

Then there is the name that just jumps off the page. Scoring a goal for Northampton HS yesterday was Romeo Gaye. Mr and Mrs Gaye had it in for you, Romeo. With a surname like that, you've got to have a Christian name like Marvin for the musically-inclined or Gordon for fans of alliteration or Mike or Jack or some other "k" name to up your macho quotient. Romeo exposes you to both first and family name mockery.

"Yo, Romeo, where's Juliet?"

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou? Losing this game, that's where."

"Don't ask. Don't tell. Romeo Gaye can go to..."

"My Gay-Dar picks up that kid from Glee and Romeo."

Of course, Mr and Mrs Gaye may have taken Johnny Cash's "Boy Named Sue" literally. Romeo must "grow up quick and grow up mean. His fists must "get hard and his wits get keen." Will mockery of Romeo land one "kickin' and a-gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer"? By the way, "the mud and the blood and the beer" is almost Shakespearean.

Come to think of it, young Mr Gaye is better off as Romeo than as Channing or Keegan.

Acne Apps

I don't own a smart phone. I am therefore deprived of all those swell "apps" that would allow me to simultaneously read the Great Works of Western Literature on a tiny screen while ordering a pizza and texting to my friends while driving my car. How did humanity muddle through before smart phones?

Not all "apps" are what they appear to be. The Federal Trade Commission stopped "Acne App" and "Acne Power" from advertising their product last week. After downloading the "app" and paying $1.99, customers were told to hold their smart phone display screen near their skin for a few minutes each day while its colored lights treated their acne. Hey, it's cheaper than Clearasil and doesn't leave that greasy film. You may develop brain cancer from holding your smart phone near your head, but you'll have clear skin.

Those killjoys at the FTC found the acne-fighting claims "unsubstantiated". Typical of interfering, overregulating big government, they forced the acne apps from the marketplace no doubt causing many tax-paying Americans to lose their jobs. Do the Tea Partiers and the Republican presidential candidates know about this?

Nearly 15,000 people purchased the acne "app". "Build a better mousetrap and the world will beat a path to your door." Actually, provide a useless product, market it properly and people will buy it. I fondly remember Pet Rocks and Mood Rings from the '70s. These products helped push America out of the Carter "stagflation" and Oil Shocks. Would acne "apps" have provided the consumer spending binge that we need to get out of the current economic hard times? Thanks to the FTC, we will never know.

Macho Macho Man

Last Monday was National Talk Like a Pirate Day. Arr-r-r and I missed it. Me one chance each year-r-r to sound salty and tough and have nary a landlubber lookin' funny at me.

Using language and tone to sound macho not only commands respect o'er the Seven Seas but in the political arena as well. Pundits credit Rick Perry's rise to the top of the polls in part to his twangy, down-home debate performances reinforcing his fearless cowboy image. Mitt Romney cannot adopt a manly West Texas drawl at this late date (Perry has that shtick sewn up), but he can upgrade his Macho Quotient by talking like a pirate.

"Guvner-r-r Perry, ye claim that if Ben Ber-r-rnanke keeps on printin' all that fool money ye Texans would know how to handle him. We Massachusetts Yankees would keelhaul that scurvy rat and hang 'im from the yard arm! Out-macho that!"

"Guvner-r-r, the only gun control ye believe in is to use both hands (pause for cheers and applause). Ye go a-joggin' in Texas carryin' yer pistol with holler-point bullets to shoot coyotes. When I set sail with me crew of hearties, we need both hands and both feet to aim our ship's cannon and we shoot at killer-r-r whales not bilge rat size coyotes. Who's more manly now?"

"Guvner-r-r, landlubbers like yer cowboy boots with "Liberty" stitched on 'em. Ar-r-r, look at me new pirate eye patch. It'll show up in every campaign photo not just full-body shots. And in case I ferget, the patch has "I'm anti-government health care and pro-life now" stitched inside."

Politics aside, since I missed National Talk Like a Pirate Day would someone please remind me when National Walk Like an Egyptian Day comes around?

Really Real Housewives

"The Real Housewives" franchise is inescapable. The "reality" TV series featuring wealthy, well-dressed, perfectly-coiffed women who depart their McMansions and gated communities to "do lunch" with their friends and complain about the vicissitudes of their lives has series set in New York, New Jersey, Atlanta, Beverly Hills, and Orange County. Alas, more program slots are available than there are wealthy gated communities in which to set them. Bravo considered "The Real Housewives of Macungie" wherein the ladies spend the morning making apple butter and "schnitz und knepp" then gather for lunch at Shankweilers for a hearty bowl of chicken and waffles, but it bombed with test audiences.

"Real Housewife" Taylor Armstrong really did have something to complain about last month. Her husband Russell committed suicide. This was Taylor's opportunity to guest on "Entertainment Tonight" and "Today". She tearfully revealed that Russell was abusive. He once "grabbed her by the neck, shoved her against a wall, and threatened to kill her if she ever again made pizza without vegetables for the family."

What a brute! How could he expect her to stop at Whole Foods for arugula and sun-dried bean sprouts when that was the Day of the Triple Whammy? The cook called in sick. It took forever for that new bartender to make mimosas at lunch and the plastic surgeon ran out of botox just before her appointment. Life isn't easy in Beverly Hills.

And they call "Real Housewives" reality TV.