Mysteries of Science

As a Man of Science, I've been trained to believe that there is a logical explanation for all natural phenomena. Birds fly due to the Bernoulli effect and their wing shape. That can of Diet Coke that I foolishly left in the freezer split because water expands when it freezes due to hydrogen bonding. Ryan Seacrest makes millions of dollars because...Well, there are some things that science can't explain yet.

Other than Ryan Seacrest's fame, I am mystified by pre-sliced hot dog and hamburger rolls. I understand how loaves of bread are sliced. Those slicing machines at Wegman's are in full view. Rolls are a different matter altogether. Removed from the wrapper, they are stuck together, yet still sliced, even the roll in the middle which has all four sides securely bonded to its sister rolls.

One theory is that a laser (or possibly a Jedi Sword) is involved. This is unlikely though. There were pre-sliced rolls in the days of my youth when lasers (and Jedi Swords) were merely a figment of George Lucas's imagination.

Another theory is that some "sacrificial" waxed paper is inserted in the dough before baking. The dough rises and the paper burns off, but not before leaving a neat, clean slice. I would expect a residue of some sort though.

Perhaps pre-sliced rolls like Ryan Seacrest's fame are beyond scientific explanation and must simply be accepted on faith.

Name Change

Sometimes you really have to change your name to get ahead. Would John Wayne have been as effective as "The Flying Leatherneck" on "The Sands of Iwo Jima" spitting out "True Grit" if he had not changed his name from Marion Morrison? Would Cary Grant have been as "Notorious" throughout the "North By Northwest" while "Bringing Up Baby" under his original moniker of Archibald Leach? Did Mr and Mrs Hudson and Mr and Mrs Hunter really name their boys "Rock" and "Tab" or was it MGM?

Changing their name really worked for these guys. A candidate for Berks County Sheriff may wish he had taken a hint from John, Cary, Rock, and Tab. The local TV news announced Bob Weaknecht''s candidacy for the job this morning. Video showed a placard reading "Weaknecht for Law and Order". I'm sure that Bob is eminently qualified for the position and will do a wonderful job, but what voter entering the booth and reading "Weaknecht" won't envision Barney Fife running for sheriff?

Of course, this is the Greater Lehigh Valley where Warmkessels (not Coldkessels or Hotkessels, mind you) and Druckenmillers (Milled drucks are the best drucks) abound. As the saying goes, "If you ain't Dutch, you ain't much". Maybe a name like Weaknecht isn't really a handicap. Sight unseen though, I'd vote for a guy named John Wayne for Sheriff before I'd vote for a guy named Weaknecht.

Senate High School

"Life is merely an extension of high school" - even for US Senators.

In the spirit of non-partisanship, Pennsylvania's two US senators, Democrat Bob Casey and newly-elected Republican Pat Toomey agreed to sit together for the State of the Union Address last Tuesday. Alas, they could not find two seats together. Pat Toomey found himself a prime seat on the aisle right behind Chief Justice Roberts and in all the good camera angles while poor Bob Casey was stuck in the rear of the chamber "next to some anonymous Representative from California" according to the AP.

Instant Message - Senator Bob to Senator Pat - "So much for Keystone State camaraderie. Here you are with the cool kids from the Supreme Court, on camera and all, while I'm stuck back here with Spicoli from "Fast Times at Ridgemont High". You couldn't save me a seat up there?"

IM - Senator Pat to Senator Bob - "Do I even know you? By the way, Ruth Bader Ginsberg's robe collar thingie is real lace just like Judge Judy, not that you would know from where you are sitting, LOSER!"

IM - Senator Bob to Senator Pat - "How about some respect? I'm the senior Senator from Pennsylvania, you know."

IM - Senator Pat to Senator Bob - "And yet it's the junior Senator from PA who is sitting up here with the cool kids and who, by the way, is invited to a party at Mitch McConnell's house this weekend. His parents will be out of town and all the hot GOP chicks will be there. Only the entire Fox News lineup. Who do you Democrats have at your weekend party - Rachel Madow or Sonia Sotomayor?

IM - Senator Bob to Senator Pat - "OK, I get it. Now that you are in with the cool GOP crowd. you are dumping me as your friend. If every teen movie ever made is a guide, I'll get my revenge though. I will go to "Mean Girls" screenwriter (and PA native) Tina Fey for advice."

Remembrance of Things Past

The Traffic Guy on local TV Morning News spices up his segment with "Zany Facts". Some don't go well with one's coffee and bagel - "A Boston man keeps Giant Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches in his apartment as pets and Watchbeetles." Others allow for the snappy patter so typical of Morning News Teams - "Fraternal twins, a boy and a girl, have worn identical outfits for the past thirteen years." "That must have been a problem at Prom Time. Did they wear matching dresses or tuxedos? Ha-Ha-Ha."

Actually, that "Zany Fact" rekindled a sense of dread to those of us who were college students in the mid-60s. Contrary to the Woodstock and Animal House images of constant partying down, Lafayette College limited us to four "party weekends" per semester. The best way to insure a date for one of those precious weekends was to have a "steady". The proper care and maintenance of a "steady" required exchange of Valentine's, birthday, and Christmas gifts. The worst possible thing your "steady" could say prior to a gift exchanging occasion was, "Why don't we get each other Going Steady Sweaters?"

Boys' and girls' "Going Steady Sweaters" were identical in every way and tended toward the feminine in material (usually fuzzy), color (always pastel), and pattern (prominently featuring entwined hearts). As a guy, you prayed that those cursed sweaters would never be worn in public. Of course, wearing them at a fraternity party was begging for a beer bath and weeks of unceasing mockery.

I thought that I had successfully repressed this memory. Much as the scent of a madeleine led to Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past", a "Zany Fact" brought back all the humiliation and pain of The Going Steady Sweater Episode after 43 years. Thanks a lot, Traffic Guy.

Reme

"Hon" Status

Your status in life is reflected in how you are addressed by service providers too overburdened or too lazy to look up your name. As a toddler, my pediatrician's receptionist always referred to me as "Little Man". "Sit right here, Little Man. You are getting so big." The Grade School Nurse called us "Kid" regardless of gender (or beard stubble for those who spent a few more years in grade school than the norm.) "You kids line up here for your polio sugar cubes." Achieving puberty at long last, we graduated to "Guy" or "Youse Guys" in High School Gym Class. "Listen up. The President's Physical Fitness Challenge is next month and there will be no more basketball until every one of youse guys can do six chin-ups." Finally, at some point in my thirties. my receding hairline and infrequent shaving routine allowed me to obtain the coveted "Sir" status. "Would you like fries with that, sir?"

Alas, all good things must come to an end. I went to the medical lab today for blood work and was constantly referred to as "Hon". "Roll up your sleeve, Hon." "Nice vein, you have there, Hon". Be careful on the ice outside, Hon."

It is unwise to argue with a person brandishing a hypodermic, but my mind was racing. "I am not a 'Hon'. 'Hons' are feeble old farts with pants hitched halfway up their chest wearing orthopedic, velcroed shoes. Compared to the rest of the guys out there in the Waiting Room, I'm Brad Pitt! I'm still the virile 'Sir' or 'Mister' that I've been since before you were born!"

Actually, the young phlebotomist was right. Like it or not, at 63 years of age, I've achieved "Hon" status. "Tiffany, look at the cute little old guy shuffling down the corridor. I'll bet he's already forgotten which room we told him to go to. Would you like to take my arm, Hon?"

Visit Friendly Iran

The side page ads in The New Yorker offer Greek Fisherman's Caps for those into the Zorba look, umbrellas patterned with cats and dogs for those particularly bad rainstorms, and dress shirts with just the right collar spread. Not until a recent issue did a side page ad offer an opportunity for an indefinite prison stay.

"Visit Friendly Iran, Persian History and Culture, April 1 - 16, 2011" was the descriptor under a photo of three smiling girls in hijabs with the phone number and e-mail address for Serious Traveler, Inc. Unless Serious Traveler knows about some thaw in US - Iranian relations between now and April or the trip will be accompanied by the 101st Airborne Division, an American touring Iran nowadays makes about as much sense as Albert Einstein heading to Munich for Oktoberfest in 1938. "What's the worst that could happen? Get arrested, tortured, and tossed into a concentration camp for a few years? It's worth it for all that history and culture!"

There is one foolproof method to safely travel in even the most politically-charged areas of the globe - Be Canadian. Everyone loves Canadians. Canucks have been basking on Cuban beaches and freely importing Havana cigars for fifty years. Canada maintained an embassy in Hanoi at the height of the Viet Nam war. Serious Traveler probably plans to insure tourist safety in Iran by claiming that the entire tour group is straight from Toronto. Of course, this will require some indoctrination prior to departure:

"Seekers of Persian History and Culture, listen up! Here's how to convince even the most Islamic mullah that you are Canadian. Always ask for Tim Horton's and never ask for Dunkin' Donuts. Keep a photo of Justin Bieber or Celine Dion on your person at all times. Arbitrarily insert the letter "u" when spelling words. "Color" becomes "colour" for example. Bow your head reverently when Wayne Gretzky's name is invoked. It is polite, but not necessary, to do the same when Allah is mentioned. Remember these tips and you'll be as Canadian as a hockey puck and be able to travel safely, eh?"

A Memorable Day

Certain days are memorable.

Fifty years ago today, the sun shone off a blanket of fresh snow. School was called off and I had the chance to earn the princely sum of $0.75 by helping my buddy Richie shovel the parking lot and sidewalks at his Dad's funeral home. That $0.75 was the equivalent of five McDonald's hamburgers in those days. Life was good.

We set up Richie's radio so we could listen to President Kennedy's Inauguration as we shoveled away. It was like we were removing the old gray layers of the past and exposing our future personified by the bright young President. "The torch has been passed to a new generation..." Actually, JFK meant his (and our parents') generation, but surely he was speaking to 13 year olds like us as well. "We will make any sacrifice..." Yes! No more fear of nuclear warfare. No more "duck and cover" drills at school. Here was the young, vigorous leadership that we needed to beat out the Soviets. "Ask not what your country can do for you. Rather ask what you can do for your country." It won't be easy (just like shoveling this snow isn't easy) but if we all pitch in, a bright future is ours.

Ten years later, I was freezing a few miles south of the DMZ in Korea and Richie was sweltering a few miles south of the DMZ in Viet Nam. We did our bit for our country and, just as JFK promised, the future was, if not bright, certainly less fearful than it was in 1961. At least there aren't Fallout Shelters in school basements anymore. President Kennedy, if alive today, would be happy about that.

What would disappoint him, I think, is that in 2011 everyone asks what their country can do for them. We demand security from terrorism, free medical care, and disaster relief, with, oh by the way, lower taxes. And, God forbid, that little Josh and Tiffany should pass up big salaries at Goldman Sachs for public service, the Peace Corps, or the military.

January 20, 1961 was a memorable day anyway.

Replacing Regis

Regis Philbin announced that this will be his final season as co-host of "Live With Regis and Kelly". The search is on for Regis' replacement with Larry King, Conan O'Brien, Howie Mandel, and Kelly's real-life husband leading the list of candidates.

Allow me to throw my hat into the proverbial ring for this "plum" job. I can play the cantankerous, out-of-touch curmudgeon at least as well as Regis has for the past 25 years. I can mispronounce guest names with the best of them. I can change my hair color as often as I change my socks. The only thing I lack is a colorful and unusual moniker. Kelly's standard eye-roll and "Oh, Re-e-e-eg" just won't be as effective with ""Oh, Ed". How about "Live With Percy and Kelly"? She could affectionately call ne "Perse".

Like the guy fleeing from the hungry bear, I don't have to be faster than the bear. I just have to be faster than the other guys that the bear is chasing. I am clearly more camera-friendly than Larry King. The Keeper in "Tales From the Crypt" is less scary on camera than Larry King. Conan O'Brien has wit, youth, and good looks. But those are also Kelly's strong points and she will certainly prefer me to someone who might outshine her. Unlike Howie Mandel, I'm not so germophobic that I'd refuse to shake hands with guests. That's got to be a point in my favor.

Then there's Kelly's real-life husband. Apparently, he is male-model handsome, witty, and urbane. My only hope to sabotage him is to slip into Kelly's house and raise all the toilet seats. Nothing infuriates a woman more than a raised toilet seat. That anger will show during his audition and the job will be mine!

Dress Code Explained

UBS, the Swiss banking giant, issued an employee dress last week that resulted in some controversy. Three items stood out. For each of these three, there's the Released to the Public Justification (or RPJ) and the Devious Corporate Real Reason (or DCRR):

1. Employees are required to keep their toenails clipped.

RPJ - We want our employees to present a fashionable yet professional appearance to the public. Open-toed shoes and dressy sandals are all the rage but really look most professional with well-trimmed toenails.

DCRR - Too many employees avoid boring, interminable meetings by scaling their cubicle walls and hanging there suspended by their fingernails and toenails much like squirrels fleeing predators. When management tears those employees down, unsightly scratch marks remain on the walls. Of course, unsightly bruises and broken bones also remain on the employees, but that's OK. It's cheaper to hire new employees than to purchase new cubicles.


2. Eating garlic is declared off-limits.

RPJ - Banking requires face-to-face contact and bad breath impedes effective communication.

DCRR - As a secretive Swiss bank, some of our best clients are Third World dictators, former Nazis, and, a little known fact, vampires. In a recent Customer Survey, our vampire clientele praised our decision to remove crucifixes and wooden stake and mallet sets from our offices while noting that vampires are repelled by garlic and some of our senior account representatives have been indulging in a Caesar Salad at lunch. They even threatened to transfer their accounts to Transylvania National Bank.


3. Employees are requested to wear flesh-colored underwear.

RPJ - While a sheer blouse and a black bra might be acceptable at the disco, it is distracting in a professional banking environment.

DCRR - We are such a secretive Swiss bank, that even we don't know how much money we have stored in the vaults. We think that some of it might be missing lately and fear an "inside job" by UBS executives. But how can we identify these embezzlers? If we require that everyone wear flesh-colored underwear, honest Swiss employees will, of course, wear pasty-white to match their nearly albino skin tone. We had a nice summer in Zurich last year. It fell on a Tuesday. Dishonest employees will flee to sunnier climes with their ill-gotten gains and return with that rarest of Swiss skin conditions, a suntan. Their original pasty white underwear will stand out like Hester Prynne's scarlet letter.

Memories

Sports Radio is broadcasting memories of Dr Martin Luther King, Jr today by prominent athletes. Most of them weren't alive during the 60s so they don't have a first-hand perspective of that tumultous time. As a college student, then a soldier, and finally an engineer back then, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't appreciate the man as much as I should have. Forty years later, I know that he was right.

On the day that Dr King was assassinated, we junior Chemical Engineering students were more concerned with the scheduled exam in Thermodynamics II. Thermo II was a brutal course. The median exam score was about 50%. Rather than delay the exam and spend the period discussing the horrible events in Memphis, we voted to get it over with and take the exam. Had we devoted that hour to the principles of non-violent social change rather than the finer points of the Carnot Cycle, we would be better people (and engineers for that matter) today.

As an ROTC student with a punched ticket to SE Asia, I questioned Dr King's opposition to the Viet Nam war. Then I went there and realized that Dr King was correct. Forty years later, I'm wearing athletic shoes made in Viet Nam and eating tuna imported from a cannery there. What did 60,000 of my contemporaries die for anyway?

I had a project expanding a facility in Memphis in the 70s. I had to go to City Hall to obtain the original drawings from its 1965 construction. The floor plan included a "Janitor's Closet" replete with urinals and water closets. I asked our Plant Manager about it and he said, "That's the Colored Bathroom. We just can't call it that on the drawings". That was the mind set in Memphis in those days. What courage Dr King had to travel to Memphis, Birmingham, Selma, etc. and face that.

I didn't realize it at the time, but you were right, Dr King.

Duct Tape

The tragic shooting in Tucson had two curious aftereffects according to yesterday's "USA Today". Gunshops are selling out of "extended magazines" that allow Glock pistols (like the one used by Jared Loughner) to fire extra rounds. Also, Shooting Ranges have been busier than usual. Owners report that "Young people are shooting and seeing how fast they can change clips."

Veterans of the Viet Nam era have one piece of advice to those young people at the shooting range - Duct Tape. If you lined up two M-16 magazines just right and duct taped them together, switching magazines was a cinch. Empty the first magazine in a hail of lead, release, invert, insert the second magazine and resume fire. It would take two seconds tops.

Extended magazine? You don't need no stinkin' extended magazine. A penny's worth of duct tape and you have a double magazine!

That's the problem with psychotic serial killer imitators nowadays. They rely on extended magazines and practice at the shooting range when a penny's worth of duct tape gives better results.

Actually, the problem is that there may very well be psychotic serial killer imitators out there.

Weather Slang

The English language is constantly evolving.

Old words gain new meanings. The 1944 film "In Our Time" accompanied my morning exercise today. As Paul Henried romanced Ida Lupino amidst the splendor of a glamorous dinner club, Ida said, "This place is so gay." A 1944 compliment has become a 2011 insult.

Newly-minted words come from technology (iPhone, Blu-Ray), music (hip-hop), and politics (Obamacare). Even the weatherman is expanding our vocabulary. Our crack meteorologists labeled the two most recent snow storms as a "nor'easter" and a "clipper". To properly announce the imminent arrival of a "nor'easter", the weatherman should dress in New England fisherman rain togs, clench a pipe in his teeth, and say, "Theah's a real nor'easter comin' up the coast. Batten down the hatches." That would add some authenticity to the Accu-Weaher forecast!

Similarly, the weatherman should wear a white smock and brandish barbering tools when forecasting a "clipper". "Our roads will be trimmed with snow by a clipper on its way in from Canada."

Today's forecast features a new piece of weather slang. The storm coming later this week will provide "plowable" snow. "Better grab the seed and hitch up the team, Farmer John. We are getting some plowable snow on the south 40. Let's get those crops planted!" Clearly, this calls for a costume of bib overalls and a straw hat on the weatherman.

Can it be that meteorologists are developing these swell new terms not to increase our vocabulary but to gain higher ratings with costumes and entertainment value? If they dress in cat and dog costumes to forecast a heavy rainstorm, they will have gone too far.

A Shortcut to Fame

They (whoever "they" are) say, "There is no shortcut to success."

American Idol appears to be a shortcut to fame as a recording artist. Carrie Underwood, Clay Aiken and Jennifer Hudson made it big after stints on "Idol". On the other hand, Taylor Hicks and Ruben Studdard won the thing and are now performing before Kiwanis meetings in obscure Iowa Holiday Inns. Surviving the slings and arrows of Simon's criticism is no guarantee of success.

For those unwilling to suffer through weeks of uncertainty as an "Idol" contestant, there is a one-shot chance to make a mark in the musical world (and win swell prizes!). Tomorrow, at the King of Prussia Mall outside Philly, The Ultimate Fan Singing Challenge will take place. Singers will perform their favorite Justin Bieber hit and be judged on vocal ability plus "the most "Bieber Fever". (Symptoms include forehead-obscuring hair flops and constant repetition of "Baby, Baby, Baby".)

The Philly Area winner will be entered into a national on-line competition to win a trip for four to the Los Angeles premiere of Justin's biographical movie, "Never Say Never" plus a meet-and-greet with Bieber himself.

OMG! Justin got his start as a You Tube sensation. This is my chance! Millions will vote in the Justin Contest and check out my video. All that stands between me and fame is an intense case of "Bieber Fever".

But how to catch "Bieber Fever"? I can catch Dengue Fever or Yellow Fever by being bitten by the tropical Dengue or Yellow mosquito. Obviously, I can catch "Bieber Fever" by being bitten by someone named Bieber. Justin, himself, is out of the question with his travel schedule and upstanding moral character. (He would never show favoritism by biting one fan to give him an advantage over others). Fortunately, the Lehigh Valley abounds in Biebers. They have their own bus line for Heaven's sake.

All I have to do to get my video before millions and achieve fame is to board a Bieber Bus and ask the driver to bite me. That is a whole lot easier than trying out for American Idol.

There is a shortcut to fame if you're clever enough to find it!

The Golden Age of Bert

Bert Blyleven was elected into the Baseball Hall of Fame yesterday.

Enjoy this shining moment all you Berts (and Burts) out there. The Golden Age of Berts is over, because there are no new Berts (or Burts) to replace you. Not that long ago, Burt Reynolds was selected "The Sexiest Man Alive". Burt Lancaster was the guy smooching Deborah Kerr awash in the Hawaiian surf in "From Here to Eternity". Bert Parks was singing "There She Is, Miss America" every year. And Bert Blyleven was winning twenty games for the Minnesota Twins. It was a great time to be a Bert.

Then "Sesame Street" came along. No parent would name their child Bert for fear of the inevitable playground taunt of "Hey, Bert, where's Ernie?" Parents feared that their little Bert would grow a unibrow, become a bottle cap collector, and adore pigeons. "Oh sure, there's a chance that my little one will become Movie Star Burt and race across America with Sally Field in tow in "Cannonball Run", but I can't risk his becoming TV Show Bert. All those pigeon droppings and scummy bottle caps would gross me out."

Now there are no Berts (or Burts) under the age of 40.

But is the Golden Age of Bert really over? It isn't Sesame Street Kyle, Josh, or Jared hauling in all those royalties from dolls, books, games, etc. Mock his unibrow, turtleneck, and vertically-striped sweater all you will, American parents. Bert is laughing all the way to the bank!

The Cheese Fries Strategy

Pundits cited the usual reasons for Penn State's defeat in the Outback Bowl last week. The Lions threw five interceptions, one returned for a touchdown. Four other Big Ten teams went down to defeat on the same day. It was practically a home game for the University of Florida being played in Tampa. The Gators were inspired to send their retiring coach out with a victory.

Actually, the Lions' fate was sealed before the game at the Outback Bowl Banquet. Reports noted that the teams consumed 400 pounds of cheese fries at that bacchanal along with 600 pounds of various meats, etc. Imagine the scene at a Florida Gators coaches' meeting before the Banquet:

Coach A - That Penn State team is really good. I can't come up with defensive or offensive schemes that will work against them. How can we slow them down?

Coach B - If we can't beat them with the Wildcat Formation or the Safety Blitz, it's time for The Cheese Fries Strategy.

Coach A - The Cheese Fries Strategy? What in the name of "Bear" Bryant is that?

Coach B - Have you ever known a Pennsylvania kid to pass up anything fried and smothered in Velveeta? Philly kids will eat cheese steaks until they vomit and Pittsburgh kids will consume Primanti's sandwiches until they burst.

Coach A - But Joe Paterno has his players on a strict lean protein diet. He hasn't won 400 games by mistake.

Coach B - Yeah, but we are in control of the pre-game Banquet. We set out a buffet of "healthy" foods at first so the Penn State coaches don't know what is up. Then we move the coaches to a separate room with an open bar. When they are gone, we replace the garden salad with 400 pounds of cheese fries. We don't let our players touch it, so all 400 pounds are there for the 100 or so Penn State gridders. With 4 pounds of cholesterol in their gut, they couldn't beat The Little Sisters of the Poor in the game!

Coach A - That's brilliant! But in the spirit of sportsmanship and being good hosts, we should have EMT personnel on hand with respirators and oxygen. Four pounds of cheese fries would clog Lance Armstrong's arteries.

Did this really happen? Anyone who saw the game wouldn't doubt it.

Heated Rhetoric

The incoming Congress may very well gut Health Care (No Death Panel for Granny!) and reduce Wall Street regulation (Bernie Madoff wasn't really a bad guy), but we can be sure that the Bush tax cuts will remain in place for the wealthiest among us. After all, it's not as if taxing an additional 3% off the $100 billion paid out in Wall Street bonuses this year will make a real dent in the deficit. That $3 billion will no doubt be used by The Rich to create jobs for the rest of us.

Or maybe not. It took all of three minutes for Nieman Marcus to sell all 100 of its limited edition Chevy Camaros priced at $75K just before Christmas. A Manhattan dealership is sold out of $225K Ferraris and another is fresh out of $170K Audi R8s. There is also a shortage of those giant red ribbons that thoughtful gift givers place on the roof of a brand new luxury car before driving it under the Christmas tree.

In a recent column, Kathleen Parker supported extension of tax cuts for high earners by criticizing "the heated rhetoric that stokes class warfare and demonizes the doers who create jobs for others." Few Americans would deny a "doer" like Henry Ford or Thomas Edison all the tax breaks (and $225K Ferraris) he wants if a Ford Motor Company or a General Electric which actually produces something tangible while providing thousands of employment opportunities Unfortunately, the guys getting the tax breaks today (and $170K Audis) are producing nothing tangible other than market manipulation and precious few employment opportunities.

Perhaps a little more "heated rhetoric" would have been advisable. As a side benefit, if "class warfare" resulted in street barricades and a rousing musical score, we would have a modern update of "Les Miserables".

More Wikileaks

Dave Barry's Year In Review appeared in yesterday's newspaper. As always, I guffawed repeatedly while reading it.

Dave wrote "International tensions continued to mount in December with the release by Wikileaks of classified cables from the State Department which apparently has the same level of data security as an Etch-a-Sketch. The cables reveal a number of embarrassing secrets such as:

The last three rounds of Middle East peace talks have consisted entirely of delegates playing Twister.

The Republics of Tajikistan and Uzbekistan frequently, as a prank, exchange places in the United Nations and no one has ever noticed.

High-ranking officials of Scotland speaking in private admit that they don't understand what in hell they are saying either."

Not that I could ever top Dave Barry, but I would add the following startling revelations from Wikileaks:

The government of Zimbabwe revealed that "Zimbabwe" is not a Swahili term meaning "Land of Freedom", but is derived from the background chorus of a doo-wop song that President Mugabe always liked.

When you suddenly wake a Brit in the middle of the night, they actually speak just like the Beatles sing - in normal unaccented American English. That whole British accent thing is a put-on to make their former colonies feel inferior.

The Republic of Kyrgyzstan is not seeking nuclear armaments from Iran, but vowels.

Though officially titled "Mahatma" meaning "Great Spirit", Gandhi was actually referred to in diplomatic circles as "Bob", a name that he preferred.

Secretary of State Hillary Clinton issued a strongly worded statement to Canada as Justin Bieber Mania swept across America. "Hockey, round bacon, all those geese and Celine Dion, we can live with, but unless you Canucks explain the meaning of 'Baby, Baby, Baby', it's war." Conflict was averted when the Canadian Prime Minister explained that he didn't understand what Beiber's hit song meant either.

There really isn't a country named Liechtenstein. Diplomats made it up because it's fun to say.

When I grow up, I want to be as clever a writer as Dave Barry.