Just Say No To Sex

(Extended spoof, presented In 10 installments of 4 pages each. This is the second installment; previous ones are included on this site, in case you miss one.) "They all seem impressively genuine in their intentions," Dr. Coburn replied. "As young people are prone to do, they actually want to do their part to help save the world – and now they see a practical way to proceed.” “We shall see. But, even if you are able to inculcate your linguistic nonsense, how long do you expect they'll abstain before their fulminating libidos overwhelm your flimsy barricades?” “Until they are comfortably and safely married. I also assume that the most diligent students will continue to maintain a commendable degree of procreative moderation in wedlock.” “Please, they’d all be much safer simply using condoms.” “Condoms? Oh, don't even mention the word. How unnatural, how risky, how–“ “– About waiting for time to reveal the answer?” she interrupted, and then, sighing, said, “Dear me, the greatest liability a bright person can have today is the lack of a solid scientific background. Your well-intentioned mind simply does not have the knowledge required to innovate credibly in the field you have chosen. It is infested with so many cobwebs you simply can’t extricate yourself from them.” “Cobwebs to you, Prissy. Compassionate conservatism to me!” “Yes, out with the new, in with the old! Let us champion antiquated ideas, trotted out as innovations. Luddites of the world, unite!” “I admit it proudly! Antiquated ideas are my favorite kind. They have withstood the test of time and, therefore, their merit is self-evident.” Then he leaned forward and issued, what was to her, a particularly disheartening admonition. “Prepare yourself, Priscilla. The worldwide adoption of my method will actually make the need for your misguided educational programs and medical research superfluous.” “Doctor Coburn, you are – in the field in which you are dabbling – a most ignorant, insensitive, and dangerous man.” “Ignorant! Insensitive! And dangerous? Ah, now I know well the ridicule innovators have had to deal with from time immemorial. I can, at this juncture, even sympathize with the early plight of my arch-nemesis, Freud. What courage he had to persist against the Victorian tide. I shall borrow a page from him, however, not in terms of his erroneous unearthing of the sex drive, but in admirable doggedness.” “Please, don’t confound yourself with Freud. Your approach is not only unrealistic; it’s the most cockamamie – “ “– Dr. Ernst, if you please. One of my all-time least favorite words is ‘cockamamie.’ What a regrettable morass of mortifying associations.” “Excuse me, Richard. Sometimes your prudery is revelatory. I shall simply call it runaway ignorance.” “I think I have now endured enough of the slings of professional jealousy. Do you think I don’t know the medical school is beside itself because this historic advance in sexual behavior-modification has come from the sociology department?” “Not at all, Doctor. The truth, like it or not, is that at the medical school we must be entirely realistic every moment. Lives depend on the pragmatic orderliness of our procedures. Above all, we know we must deal with humanity as we find it – fragile and excitable humanity. We also know that at this particular time in history, due to the plethora of unwanted pregnancies, burgeoning overpopulation, and widespread STDs, Mother Nature has us, like it or not, by the balls!” “Shame on you, Priscilla! What language – and for a woman of your distinction.” “Oh, fiddlesticks! Would you be happier if I said it has us by the ovaries?” “Don’t make light of the dire situation we find ourselves in. You have forgotten one very important aspect of my method. It is a new reality, not a method of contraception that has proved inadequate to our overheated desires or the gleam in a frantic researcher’s eye. No, no, mine is a pragmatic approach that is available for immediate implementation.” “Oh, Dickie – “ “– Priscilla, please. You know how I feel about that alternate appellation.” “Yes, dear,” she replied with a trace of sympathy. “Sorry.” “About what?” “Calling you ‘dear.’” “Oh. I didn’t notice.” “Of course,” she said, resigning herself to his hurtful indifference and moving forward with her argument. “But somewhere beneath your self-assured surface, certainly you suspect the eternal inclinations of man and woman. How can you possibly think that your so-called method can moderate the tidal wave of sexual desire that sweeps through the world at every moment? How can it restrain the young, whose entire physical being throbs with sexual eagerness? Or the poor, who have precious few other pleasures? Or the wealthy, who perpetually court indulgence?” “My dear Dr. Ernst, what you obviously fail to understand is that I don't merely ask people just to say no to sex. I provide, in a series of one hundred compelling and self-evidently true axioms the resources the human will requires to be victorious – axioms that will one day no doubt be viewed as the Euclidean geometry of sexual resistance.” “Sorry, I remain unimpressed.” “Why? Because you’ve been dethroned. While you and your realistic colleagues have trusted to sexual propriety in the heat of desire and the far horizon of medical research, I have had the insight to see the gold at my feet.” “Fool's gold, I'm afraid!” “On the contrary, a solid gold chain every link of which consists of irrefutable logic – a step-by-step approach in which every statement follows the other as relentlessly as one moment follows its antecedent! Take, for example, Coburn's First Axiom of Abstinence. I dare you to find a flaw in it,” he challenged, and took the book from the coffee table. He opened it and held it toward her, as he recited, ‘Sex leads to pregnancy. Pregnancy leads to overpopulation. Therefore, sex must be avoided.’ Argue with that, if you dare!” “Richard, the argument is not with your self-evident nonsense but with your hopes for compliance. How on earth do you expect such a flimsy train of premises and conclusions to compel the world’s billions to adhere to sexual abstinence?” “Mock me if you must, Priscilla! Nevertheless, my hopes are being confirmed as more and more conscientious students sign up for my truly enlightened method.” “To learn what? To say no to sex, despite every natural proclivity and temptation, say no despite drunkenness or drugs? Sorry, Richard. I much prefer condoms to Coburn.” “Oh, Dr. Ernst, the effrontery even to mention my name in apposition to that sine qua non of imperfect prophylaxis.” At that moment, the doorbell rang. Doctor Coburn looked at his watch. “Ah, ha,” he announced, “that must be my new star applicant, Dan Fox.” “Fox? He wants to sign up?” “Correct. He called to apply right before you arrived. Naturally, I invited him to come over right away, lest the legendary stud have second thoughts.” “I can't believe his interest is at all genuine.” “Then it’s a fine fortuity that he has arrived while you’re still here.” “If by some chance you are able to exert even modest restraints on him, how many young girls’ hopes you’ll shatter. It’s preposterous to think you can control him, given the number of girls who’d tear their own clothes off to hop into the sack with him.” Just then Melanie entered the room, and said, “Didn't I hear the doorbell ring?” “Yes, dear. I think it's Dan Fox.” Melanie seemed unusually upset. “Dan Fox? What's he doing here?” “He wants to enroll in my course.” “Daddy, come on. He's the last guy in the world –“ “– Now, now, Mel, don’t prejudge him.” He noticed her hesitation. “Please, just get the door.” “Sure,” she consented, with a bit of teeth grinding. He stood proudly while Melanie walked there. She took a deep breath and pulled it open. “What are you doing here?” she asked the handsome athlete. “Hi, Melanie,” he replied. “I want to sign up for you dad’s course.” “Sure, you do,” she said, indicating she suspected him of harboring an unspoken motive. “Let him in, Mel,” Doctor Coburn called. “All right,” she agreed, and stood aside. “Thanks,” he told her. “Dan, my boy, come right in,” Coburn called. “Thank you!” he replied, with as much transparent enthusiasm as he could muster. Melanie closed the door and observed as her father put out his hand. “Welcome, Fox.” “Glad to be here,” he said, glancing at the skeptical observer beside his new-found mentor. “You know Dr. Ernst?” Coburn asked. “Yes, I do,” Dan said. “Hi, Dr. Ernst.” “Hello, Mr. Fox,” she replied distantly. “I'm delighted you made the big decision to study with me, Dan,” Dr. Coburn said. “Thanks,” he replied. “I'm convinced it's the responsible thing to do – I mean, with all the problems sex can cause.” “Good, Dan!” Dr. Coburn exclaimed. “I see that, besides brawn, you've got brains.” “Thank you, sir. My ideal is, like the ancient Greeks said, ‘a sound mind in a sound body.’” “In a very sound body,” Dr. Ernst commented. “The girls tell me you're quite irresistible.” “Thanks. But it’s not my fault. I was born this way.” “But you can rise above it, I assure you,” Dr. Coburn advised him. “That’s my goal,” Dan said. “I need to save my energy for football.” “Tell me, Dan,” Dr. Ernst inquired, “what makes you believe Doctor Coburn’s method can work for you? Have you read his new book?” “Not yet,” Dan admitted, “but I've heard a lot about it. From what I can tell, it appeals to the mind – and I like that. Mind over body – the same thing you need in the fourth quarter when you're behind and you have to do a lot more than you think you can.” Dr. Coburn turned to Dr. Ernst, and told her, “I have great faith in this young man.” Then he eyed Dan critically. “My hope is that you’ll become one of my star pupils.” Somehow, this comment cut Melanie to the quick, and she said, “Dad, I need to speak with you.” “Later, dear. In the meantime, please, escort Mr. Fox to my study and get him signed up.” She looked at Dan with condescension. “I cannot believe this! Come on.” “Thanks, Melanie,” he said, and followed her. “What do you think?” Dr. Coburn asked. “Me? Oh, I also have great faith in him,” she replied wryly. “Did you notice the way he looked at your daughter?” “No, I didn’t. It all seemed rather usual to me.” “Really?” she asked. “And why do you think Melanie seemed so uneasy? Could she by any chance be infatuated with him?” “Mel? Oh, please, she’s far too well trained for such an indiscretion.” “Richard, sometimes you are a blind ass. Fox obviously has something on his mind other than learning how to say no to sex.” “You suspect he's only here because he’s interested in Melanie? Little Melanie, with all the voluptuous women who are at his beck and call?” “I have a proposition.” “You mean, a proposal?” “Whatever. You teach him your method as best you can. Then you arrange for him and Melanie to be alone for an evening.” “Alone?” “Yes, and Melanie must be given instructions that she is to try every wile she can manage to break down his willpower. If he maintains his indifference to her advances, I will leave you to proselytize as extensively as you can. On the other hand, if by some chance he cannot resist her charms and succumbs, you will admit defeat and cease to promulgate your method.” “But poor Melanie – to subject her to such an excruciating experience.” “Don’t tell me you suspect she might be in any sort of danger? Richard, if your method is half as good as you say it is, she’ll be faced with an insurmountable, and therefore an entirely risk-free, task.” “But to ask her to do something so contrary to her lifelong training–“ “Yes, but think of the possible benefits if you succeed with Dan. Your triumph will resonate throughout the campus. I’ll withdraw all my objections and recommend that the medical school withdraw its. Then you'll have a free hand on campus and on to the welcoming arms of a desperate world!” “Do you I have your word on that?” “Absolutely. Now, how long do you need to indoctrinate Mr. Fox?” “That depends on how much time he’s willing to give me. But in no event will I require more than one month.” “Then you've got a deal,” she said, and put out her hand. “Deal, Priscilla!” he affirmed, and gave her hand a hearty shake. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.” “My pleasure, Richard.” “Don’t forget your gift,” he told her, and picked up the autographed copy of his book from the coffee table. She accepted it. As he walked her to the door, she said, “Good luck. You'll need it.” “Thank you, Priscilla,” he replied, “but not nearly as much luck as you’ll need.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, and his face flushed to a degree that slightly embarrassed him. “Till then,” she said, and went out the door. End of Second Installment

New Dracula Musical To Close, Except On Nights With Full Moon

Lestat, the new musical about vampires, if the mind can conceive of such an existent, having been sucked dry at the box office, is performing the most welcome service it has since its debut. It’s closing.

The notice did provide, however, for the show to remain open on nights that feature a full moon.

Marking the debut of Warner Brothers in the theater venue, where it had hoped to further lower unrealistic hopes for intellectual excellence on the boards, while making as much moola as Disney, the fiasco came back to haunt the company as a $12-million guzzle of red ink.

With music and lyrics by the long-time-no-inspiration duo of Elton John and Bernie Taupin, who somehow could bring themselves to attempt yet one more musicalization of the haunts of those absurd creatures, we can now consider the show almost dead.

By the way, it’s when observing the persistent life of such absurdities that we remind ourselves only creatures with an evolutionary basis and an elaborate biological support system do in fact exist and that, consequently, all the monsters who haunted us in our childhood were actually no more than phantasms of the some Hollywood creep's imagination, devised especially to haunt us out of the price of admission.

Just Say No To Sex; Dr. Coburn Shows You How!

(Extended spoof, presented In 10 installments of 4 pages each. This is the sixth installment; previous ones are presented on this site or below each new installment at NewsLaugh, in case you miss one or more.) "Good. You won’t be sorry. She knows the material very nearly as well as I do.” With that, he handed Dan the issue of Playboy, and said, “Review the material while I get her.” “Yes, doctor,” Dan replied, and accepted his assignment. He looked over the centerfold, while Dr. Coburn went to get his guest instructor. “I like this course!” Dan exclaimed to himself. Then, glancing around to make sure he was all alone, he took out his cell phone and made a call. In hushed tones, he said, “Hey, Eddie, baby, guess what?” And then he intentionally mispronounced the doctor’s name. “Today, ‘Cockburn’ is gonna have Melanie give me a private lesson .... I kid you not .... Come on, double or nothing. Fifty bucks says I make it with her .... Deal!... Well, maybe not today, but you can kiss your fifty smackers good-bye.” Just then Melanie tapped on the door. “Gotta go now,” he said, and concluded the conversation. He resumed looking over the magazine. When Melanie entered, he said, “Hi, there.” She noticed his intent involvement with the illusory ink and sarcastically inferred the frequent masculine result. “Studying hard?” “Very hard,” he replied, and then went past the inference to the dutiful nature of his activity. “Your dad gave me the assignment. Then he put the magazine aside, commenting, “Ah, the consolations of ‘mere ink.’” “Oh, this is such a joke!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Yeah, right. Who are you kidding, Dan? You could care less about how to say no to sex.” “You still think that, after I’ve taken lessons for two whole weeks?” “What else? The truth is, you're only here because you're like all the rest of the guys. You only want –“ “– What?” "Mexico." “Oh, you mean Texaco?” She gritted her teeth. “Tyrannosaurus Rex.” “Melanie, it can’t hurt just to say it. I think you mean sex?” “You would come right out with it. Of course, that's what I mean.” “Sorry, babes. Your dad said you're gonna give me a lesson?” “You should be so lucky.” “Melanie, you know you always listen to what he says. So let’s get going.” “This is so ridiculous!” she lamented. Then she relented. “All right, as long as you stay right where you are.” “On the couch?” “Yes.” “Are you going to sit beside me?” “No way. Don’t you even remember that much?” she asked, and quoted, “‘Closeness must be avoided.’” “You’re right. That axiom just slipped my mind for a moment.” “Well, then, don’t let it happen again, all right?” “You have my word.” “OK, are you ready?” “Ready,” he said, and shifted his body a bit. “I’m telling you, Dan, you stand up just once, and the lesson ends. Got it?” “Got it.” “All right. First, I need to see how far you’ve progressed. So we’ll review the materials. Let's start with axiom one,” she said, and could not help asking, “Do you even know that much?” “Sure, I do,” he replied, and recited, “’Sex leads to pregnancy. Pregnancy leads to overpopulation. Therefore, sex must be avoided.’ Well, what do you think?” “As if you believe it. What's axiom two?” "Hey, no problem, Mel. ‘Sex can lead to STDs. STDs can lead to death. Therefore, sex must be avoided." “And how much sex have you avoided lately?” “As much as possible.” “What does that mean? I want a number. How about during the last week? Come on, how many girls have you made love with in the last seven days?” “If you want to know the truth, I haven't touched a woman since I started to study with your dad,” he said as convincingly as he could manage. “What's wrong, don't you believe me?” “What’s the wild rumor going around campus about you and two oversexed cheerleaders?” “I don’t know how that got started.” “Is it true or not?” “Of course, it’s not true. Do you think I would do something like that, especially with what I’ve learned in the last week?” “I asked my dad if you told him about them.” “You did? What did he say?” “He said, ’Don’t be ridiculous.’ But I’m not sure what he meant. Sometimes, he has a hard time talking about certain things.” Then she cast a skeptical eye on him. “You must think my dad’s a real jerk.” “How can you possibly say that, after I’ve come here day after day to learn his method.” “And what do you think of me?” “I think you’re wonderful. A little reserved, but a wonderful woman.” “’A little reserved?’” she replied. “I know exactly what that really means. It’s code for what all the guys think: Melanie’s a jerk because she won’t do what other people like to do and do and do. Well, screw it. I don’t care. How’s that?” “Whatever you say, Melanie. You know as well as I do that you’re sort of the official campus virgin. And guess what. I think it's great that you're like that.” “Oh, sure, you do. Well, it’s not as easy as you think.” “It isn’t?” “No – with guys like you always hitting on me,” she said, and then softened her tone a bit. “After all, I’m only human.” Then, regretting her brief lapse into sentiment, she renewed her resolve. “Which makes me even prouder of my reluctance.” “Reluctance? Does that mean you may actually be willing at some point?” “That’s none of your business. What matters is that I don’t feel like a jerk at all. I feel proud of who I am. And, if you believe a single thing my father has taught you, you'd know why.” “I think I do, but tell me in your own words.” “Sure,” she said, and then went on as if reciting from her father’s teachings. “I’m proud because I know I am the natural remedy for overpopulation and the resultant ecological depredation, the heartbreak of abortion, the scourge of AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases, as well as a moderating influence on the human race's historic obsession with, with–“ “– Come on, Mel, you can do it. What do you think of when I say Mexico, Texaco, and Tyrannosaurus Rex?” She continued to be trammeled with guilt, so he enumerated the letters of the word. “S-E-X. What does that spell?” “Sex,” she managed to utter. “Very good,” he told her. “Let’s go on. Now, why do people like sex?” “Because they’re terribly misguided.” “No, because it gives them pleasure.” “Pl-, pl-, pleasure!” “Excellent, Melanie! I see there’s hope.” “That’s enough,” she said. “I have to leave.” “But you’re supposed to give me a lesson,” he reminded her. “Then behave yourself, OK? I’m who I am, and I will always be this way. Got it?” “Yep. And I admire you for what you are.” “You are such a liar.” “You're wrong. In fact, my intention is to be as great an example of your dad's method as you are.” “I’ll believe it when I see it.” “How about this?” he told her. “I've been telling the rest of the guys on the football team about what I’m learning, and pretty soon the whole team is going to study with your dad.” She sat down beside him. “You’re kidding?” “No, I’m not. You just don’t know how devoted I am to this new way of thinking about sex. Imagine how much publicity that will create for your dad’s method. I can see the headline in the school paper now.” He held forth his hands to illustrate the magnitude of the type. “Entire Football Team Swears Off Sex.” “I can't imagine something that would be more helpful,” she said, and then modified her frequent childlike tone so that now it intimated a vastly different need. “Do you find me attractive?” “You?” he said, a bit flustered by what appeared to be her sudden availability. He decided the best thing he could do was to restrain himself. “Well, Melanie, to tell you the truth, I used to find you very attractive – so attractive I had dreams about you. But not anymore.” She moved a bit closer to him. “You had dreams about me?” “You have no idea. I couldn’t help myself. Later in the course, will I learn how to avoid wet dreams?” “They were that hot?” “Yeah. What can I say, I’m a normal guy.” “That depends on what you call normal. All the girls think you’re a real hunk.” “What do you think?” She backed away from the emotional precipice that she sensed she might have approached. “I think you’re very handsome.” “You do?” “Un-huh. But then all the girls do.” “Oh, come on.” “It’s true,” she said, “and you know it.” Then she managed to relocate her legendary resistance. “But I know all too well what handsome men can lead to." “Hey, I know that axiom, too. It leads to ‘feminine arousal.’” Then he dared to venture a parallel. “And what do beautiful women lead to?” Melanie swallowed hard. “’Masculine arousal.’” “Yeah,” he almost panted, and turned to her. “I confess, Melanie. I'm still attracted to you.” “I knew it!” “Does that upset you?” “No,” she replied, “but it does remind me that I must be especially careful when you’re around.” “Ditto, when I’m around you.” “I think you should leave,” she said, and stood up. “No, please, Melanie. I know a better answer.” “What? That you never come back?” “Don’t even say such a thing. I mean, I just need more education.” “Oh, sure, as if that will make a difference.” “It will, I promise. Come on, Melanie. Teach me. I'm all yours.” “What’s the point?” “I can learn. I’ll prove it. Let’s try something really advanced.” “What do you mean?” she asked, and sat down again. “Try to get me excited.” “Why would I do that?” “Just so I can prove you can’t do it. Come on, I promise you, my resistance is up.” “It's what?” “Skip it. I'm here to learn,” he said, and held up the copy of Playboy. “Take me beyond mere ink to the real thing.” “You’re getting carried away.” “Then give me the next rule. I yearn for advanced study.” He looked directly into her eyes, and it must be said that at that moment the entire edifice of the Coburn method seemed to teeter. “The next rule?” she replied, breathing the words back at him. “Please, I yearn to learn! Give it to me.” “Seventy.” “What about sixty-nine?” "There is none. We skip from sixty-eight to seventy.” “Why, tell me why?” “The unfortunate associations that that number evokes.” “OK, I’ll take seventy. Quick! I need all the axioms I can get.” "Yes, Dan,” she whispered. “’Kissing leads to arousal.’” “More, tell me more! I need it when I’m near you.” “You do?” “Need it badly. Need it so much I want to earn a graduate degree in your father’s method. A Ph. D.!” “You do?” she breathed warmly. “How badly do you want to earn it?” “So badly that – “ At that moment, he lost whatever cool he had managed to retain, threw his arms around her, and gave her an enormous kiss. Melanie allowed herself the luxury of enjoying it for a few moments, but then her extensive tutelage asserted itself. “We should stop,” she said. “We’re losing it.” “No, no, don’t say that. We’re gaining each other.” “Please, Dan. Control yourself,” she told him. He sensed her need to take a breather and let her push him away. “Sorry, Mel. But you can't give me a test like that this early. I'm still a sexual undergraduate. And I'm wild for you.” “You are?” “Maybe I’ll never get past it. When it comes to you, I could fail the entire course.” She stood up and recomposed herself. “You better leave.” “You mean that?” “Please,” she said, with a trace of desperate need. “I’ll tell you what. If you only give me a little more time, I know I can learn not to be attracted to you. I want to learn. And, if you give up on me, think how much sex I’ll be in danger of having. I’m helpless without you.” “I’ll tell you what. If you promise to control yourself, I’ll give you one more chance.” “Good. I’m ready.” “Now, you really have to concentrate on everything I say. No more fooling around.” “You have my word.” “I think we should review axiom twenty-nine.” “Is that the one about sitting close together?” “Yes. ‘Sitting close together leads to touching. Touching leads…’” At this point, he joined in and the finished the axiom with her: “’… to kissing. Therefore, sitting close together must be avoided.’” “That was very good,” she said. Just then, Dr. Coburn returned. He tapped on the den door, and called, “Class in progress?” “Yes, Daddy,” Melanie replied. “Keep up the good work,” he told her. “I want to review the material I picked up at the bookstore.” “OK,” she said, and continued to drill Dan on the axioms, while he did his best to be a devoted student. End of Installment Six

Senate Takes Up Debate On Regular Marriage

The Senate, fresh from its rancorous but indecisive debate on a constitutional amendment that would have banned same-sex marriage, has now taken up debate on an amendment that would ban regular marriage. A leading Republican senator stated, “When you consider how high the divorce rate is, you know there are a lot of unhappy marriages out there between men and women. I’m not sure continuing to allow them is in the national interest.” The Democratic whip said, “In addition to the divorce rate, you’ve got to look at how many parents are disappointed in the amount of gratitude their children show and how many children don’t think their parents love them enough. Since parents usually want more gratitude than their children can give, and children often demand more love than most parents can give, it seems there’s an inherent problem with a marriage that can produce children.” President Bush took an unwavering position, saying, “The kind of marriage we allow in America has to set a good example for the children of this great nation, and, frankly, I don’t think a lot of marriages out there are hitting that high marker. So I urge the Congress to pass the amendment. No more regular marriages, no more bad examples for our children – it’s as simple as that. And the result is guaranteed, because, in all likelihood, there won’t be anymore children.”

America To Sue Rest Of World For Ungrateful Behavior

America, which has sacrificed the lives of its citizens and its material plentitude more selflessly than any other nation in history to come to the assistance of other countries, noted the astonishingly heated negative commentary about it emanating from virtually every corner of the globe and has decided to sue the rest of the world on the grounds of ungrateful behavior. The President said, “You can’t just go out there and sacrifice your sons and daughters lives and expend so much of the national treasury and not get a little something back. We’ve got sorrowful families all across the land, with whose losses I deeply sympathize, and we can’t even afford to fix the potholes on federal highways. So what choice do we have? We’re taking the ungrateful foreigners to court. Justice will be served. We merit and demand some praise here.” A grandmother for the plaintiff stated, “My family has lost loved ones in three different wars and all in countries that I haven’t heard a good thing said in about America for years. When I take the stand, watch out. I’m patriotic pissed.” The international court at The Hague has declined to take the case, primarily because it is in The Hague. Upon learning of that court’s disinclination, the U. S. has appealed to the U. N. to find a venue that will hear the case.” A prominent attorney for America commented, “We’d rather not have the trial here. Holding it in our own country will detract from the credibility of the outcome, but having it in an unfriendly location is bound to create the kind of inflammatory demonstrations that will lead to a lot of free press.” Not surprisingly, France, Germany, and Spain have also nixed the idea of hosting the trial, maintaining that since they’re all being sued, supporting the action seems inadvisable. Britain and Italy are understood to be considering the matter. Tony Blair is the most disposed to hosting it, saying, “We hardly ever badmouth America, so we hope to come through the trial with flying colors.” The Italian government has expressed some willingness to host it but has indicated it may charge for rental of the courthouse. “I’m confident of victory,” another attorney for America maintained. “All you have to do is look at the newspapers. All the incriminating evidence you need is on the lips of leaders and the public in general in just about every country of the world. The only thing that stands in the way of a big win for the U. S. is finding a country where we can conduct the trial.” Should the verdict go as the plaintiff hopes, the expectation is that the guilty will henceforth base their comments on a true understanding of just who this country is. One of the most persuasive arguments the nation’s attorneys hope to present is based on the usual philosophical tactic of imagining the opposite argument. As the lead attorney for the country put it, “Will you please tell us what other country in the world, besides your own, you would prefer to possess the amount of power America has? We are, in fact, the first nation in the history of the world that could conquer it but, in addition to being freedom-loving people that the whole idea offends, we’re savvy business people who know we just can’t afford the worldwide upkeep.”

Happy Trails, America! But Where Are They?

Judging by the current national sentiment, Uncle Sam has once again wandered off the happy trails on which we’d prefer him to ride. But can we, just the usual joshing sidekick, possibly help him wend his way back through the tumbleweeds? Well, at least, we can give it a go.

To begin, let's ask how the most sagely free and prosperous nation can often wander so distressingly far from the path on which we may find the preconditions of contentment, including the wide laudation of our allies and even encouragement toward our own bliss?

What if we search for clues by separating what has guided us, nationally and internationally, into two visions: the steps we, as a nation, must take and the steps we choose to take.

Since we don’t have much choice about what necessity compels, we’re more likely to mend our ways by casting a savvy eye on what we do by volition. But just to review the various paths before us, so we find our way home with unsurpassable security, let’s briefly explore the less promising paths for remediation.

Where does the ancient bugaboo, necessity, compel us to tread?

Nationally, pretty much all that’s here is comparatively tame – the generally recognized roles of government, such as providing for the common defense, which, of course, includes whacking terrorist everywhere, preserving the right of our citizens to wake up each morning and be free to decide what they’d like to do, if only they didn’t have to go to work, and effecting the timely filling of potholes.

Internationally, we must, of course, cultivate our allies, encourage our biggest adversaries toward reassuring behavior; and do what we can to facilitate the rewards of almost-fair trade.

Since we have little or no choice about the above, we can only regard them as signposts along the trail we ought to be on or as unavoidable gopher holes we ought to approach very carefully.

Now, we come to the first signs of hope for a homeward-bound revelation – the things we actually have a choice about. And what do we see? Nothing less than where we have wandered from our happy trails.

First, nationally, we can actually choose to provide for the usual litany of things we ought to have had a long time ago, like schools we send our kids to with confidence they will return safely and filled with “news about the square of the hypotenuse,” healthcare we can afford without eviscerating our wallets, air we can inhale without significantly eroding the longevity of our lungs, and water we can drink that flows freely from our faucets. We might as individuals also choose to conduct ourselves so that we contribute to a mutually sane society, and the various vociferous factions who would impose their advocacies on all of us might reacquaint themselves with the delights of national diversity.

Now, at long last come to the point in the trail where, we think, Uncle Sam has most egregiously lost his way, that is, we have set our eyes on the things America can choose to do internationally. Here is, in fact, the very spot where we have stumbled off of our happy trails so regularly one might conclude Uncle Sam has, with some frequency, reached into his saddlebag for a sip of 80-proof guidance.

At this suspect location, we have all too often decided that the way to solve our problems internationally is to go to war. We’re not, of course, referring to the big wars, which necessity compels us to participate in, like World Wars I and II, and, just maybe, Korea. But the wars we have elected to take part in, the most wretched examples of misguidance being Viet Nam and now Iraq. These distant guns never had to sound and we never had to incur the remorseful loss of life or the economically debilitating expense of them.

But before we can stop wandering off into these woeful misadventures, we have to see an alternative path – one that definitely keeps us on our happy trails. And what might that revolutionary and salutary remediation in our international conduct consist of?

We think, having arrived at this point in our brief but perspicacious way home, that the answer is right before our eyes. Rather than warring to achieve our goals, we should, working with our allies and all the friends we can attract, use our naturally encouraging disposition and persuasive economic power to bring along nations that would actually like to be free and democratic, while we let the ones that have a problem with these self-evidently superior ideals go their own self-defeating ways.Then we would affably cultivate a world of successful emerging democracies, while our comparatively faltering antagonists would be confronted with examples that reiterate the error of their ways.

As a result, we would find ourselves, not exhausted gladiators of a reluctant empire, but happy emissaries of freedom and plenty. We would inhabit, not a world that can scapegoat us for its myriad self-inflicted agonies, but a world populated more and more by exemplars of the ways we advocate, such prosperous recipients of our benefactions that they might, we expect, actually have some unusually complimentary things to say about us.

And, speaking of exemplars, now that we would have replenished our eviscerated national treasury, we could also afford to provide our own citizenry with the sort of support systems the world’s wealthiest nation should have long ago been able to provide abundantly.

We have now wandered, though briefly, enough in our search for the way back to happy trails to know exactly the fork that has often us astray: international conduct about which we have a choice.

What we need is not the coercion of those who disagree with us, but the encouragement of those who wish to emulate us. What we need is America, not so much as a feared power, but more as a nourishing example of what we consider the most salutary principles.

We might, with these choices, actually achieve our goals internationally – and in ways that help us achieve our goals nationally.

Yes, often-wayward Uncle, with such signposts, we might once again find ourselves on happy trails – and know, for the first time, how to keep ourselves and our fabled white charger squarely on them.

Ehud Olmert, MD, Lances Inflammed Boil; Aims To Drain Infection

Noticing that inflammatory behavior by Hezbollah and Hamas has been festering more and more acutely, Ehud Olmert, MD – in this case, Military Doctor – decided that, to avoid a wider infection, he had to lance the boil immediately.

The life-threatening activities of Hezbollah and Hamas had simply reached a point where sugical intervention became imperative.

While all who care about human life must regret the loss and maiming of it anywhere, we also know that Lebanon is too weak to clean out Hezbollah itself, while Hamas in Gaza has no intention of remedying itself.

So the only hope is to drain the boil and let the healing process begin.

The most curious question is whether Israel has a silent goahead to clean the sore spot widely enough to include problems the West has with Syria and Iran. As you well know, there are other nations that would dearly like to see remedial treatment of the regime in Syria and the nuclear irritant in Iran.

And it appears that Dr. Olmert may be ready to perform the entire operation, with all the silent assistants he requires during the military operation.

At this writing, Syria is playing a waiting game, no doubt encouraged to by the Israeli fly by of its errant leader's home before the procedure began, while Iran seems to be unwittingly moving toward a position where it may be vulnerable to a bit of a squeeze to exude its harmful elements.

While the surgery may be painful, the overall prognosis is good, in fact, the only hope for peace.

At least, once the dangerous infection has been treated, the painful sensitivity can begin to subside and the wound can eventually heal. It will be a long process and it will no doubt leave a scar, but if the healing process doesn’t begin now, it will only take longer, and the infection may spread and involve even more areas of the Middle Eastern body politic.

Finally, as you might have observed, a boil is in one way similar cancer, in that, despite its wily ways of spreading, it is a dumb disease, because as it continues to grow it finally kills its host and thereby itself.

Airhead Behavior Becomes New Human Norm As Underachievement Reaches New Heights

Today, look high and low, and what do you see? Airhead behavior – in fact, so much of it that it’s threatening to become the new human norm. What is going on here? And can we find hope anywhere?

Yes. Where, you may ask? We’ll take a look.

But to infuse the proceedings with appropriate levity, let’s first present NewsLaugh’s Ten Slams For New Heights In Underachievement.

Then we’ll turn to those gifted and resilient human beings who refuse to partake in the worldwide slide toward the moronic and, instead, valorously persist in their commendable quest for overachievement.

Here are Ten Slams For New Heights In Underachievement

1. The insurgents in Iraq, for explosively undermining the peaceful and progressive rebuilding of their own country, along with terrorists everywhere, for cloaking murder with religious-speak apparently without realizing that their verbal yip “God is great” and operational guideline “Life is cheap” are at idiotic odds with each other, since, if God is great, He’d only make great things, just alike a great dumbbell maker would only make great dumbbells.

2. The Taliban in Afghanistan, for managing to preserve themselves from any notion of truly religious behavior, which must, for all God’s chillin, include effusive mutual consideration, not to mention the same for one’s perhaps turban-tossing self, as well as Islamic militants of similar ilk wherever they so mercilessly inflict their airborne medievalism.

3. The Palestinians who keep firing rockets at Israel, which are actually metaphorical rockets they’re firing at their woeful selves.

4. The Iranian “mullahtocracy” for alarming the world and any sane member of their own society by the senseless and impossible pursuit of nuclear hegemony in the region and threats to civilized folks with far more weaponry.

5. The warring factions in Somalia and Darfur for managing to starve, rape, and kill off tens of thousands of their own men, women, and children, along with the equally insightful bombers in Bali who apparently think blowing up innocent people is the way to have their God reach down and drag them to paradise by their religiously motivated beards.

6. All governments who shrug their shoulders at the human role in making the globe too toasty for the survival of the Dairy Queen and other aspects of human life that require cooler temps to continue.

7. People on the home front who can’t seem to restrain themselves from killing members of their own families, not to mention other innocents who happen to get in the way of their illicit intentions, and the occasional person who still seems to find it necessary to eat a fellow human being.

8. Men who insist on kidnapping and sexually molesting women, whether age 5, 25, or 95.

9. Corporate execs who can’t seem to keep their fingers out of the till or otherwise take the companies they’ve been trusted to conduct will skill for a mighty big spill.

10. Young people who haven’t got enough of a notion of their own self-worth and the worth of other people, including their distressed parents, to lay off of all forms of destructive behavior and tune into the still faint bleeping of their own best potential.

Now, with a spectacular increment in our approval rating, as well our joy, let’s turn to our countervailing consolation and praiseworthy hopes: the gifted and resilient people who continue to aim for the heights of human achievement, despite the pervasive idiocy that encroaches on their persistent positive bents.

1. Medical researchers who carry on with their life-enhancing quest for drugs that will cure cancer, treat AIDS, depopulate mosquitoes, and address other amenable causes of human misery.

2. Tech wizards, who wake up each day bright-eyed in their goal of advancing the revolution in communication, mechanical medicine, and all other promising fields of extrapolation.

3. Politicos and execs who are worthy of the trust that leadership entails and distinguish themselves in the service of its inspiriting call.

4. People who really do believe in freedom and democracy, which, inconveniently for many, includes the wisdom to abstain from trying to make everybody march in lockstep with their own less than universally inviting enthusiasms.

5. Artists and academics who understand that a free mind can only cavort on a stage supported by a free economy, wooly wild and discomfiting that many of its aspects may be.

5. NASA, for continuing to believe in the benefits of space exploration, even in the face of so many short-sighted cutbacks that the space age is beginning to feel like a dream of a more farseeing age.

7. All teachers who care, except those who can’t seem to resist sexually molesting the student body.

8. Smart people everywhere, including Bill, Melinda, and Warren for philanthropy that proves Santa Claus doesn’t always dress in red and say, “Ho, ho, ho!”

9. Nice people anywhere, no matter how smart, dumb, educated or ignorant they are.

10. Everybody who appreciates the finally incomprehensible gift of life and knows that doing the best we can with it is the surest way to distinguish our own lives and express reverence for whatever gifted it.

May the first ten winners read about the second ten and decide to join them. Billions would cheer. And really soon would be a real boon.

Israeli-Hezbollah Conflict Moves To Center Stage; Insurgents In Iraq Strike Back

Pity the neglected insurgents in Iraq. Since the Israeli-Hezbollah conflict has taken center stage in the ongoing tragedy called The Triumph Over Terrorism, the war in Iraq has been relegated, even if briefly, to the wings.

Obviously, the insurgents in what was once, perhaps, a nation, though subjugated by murderous tyranny, had grown used to their starring role on the world’s overly troubled stage, as the leading villains in the unfortunate tale.

Malcontent with their lot, they’ve been doing all they can to call our attention back to them – stomping around on the dusty boards, waving red hankies, and setting off more explosions than ever. For instance, the insulted tragedians are now inflicting a daily toll at death’s door of over 100 shot and exploded innocents.

Too bad they won't just go to their dressing rooms, where they can cool down and touch up their blood stains. Their current role, unwelcome as it may be to them, is to sit out the Israeli excision of Hezbollah and Hamas from the body politic of the Middle East.

While they may be nettled by the backhand of neglect, the scene currently commanding the stage is of greater magnitude than their own petulant urgency, because one of the players, Israel, has an indisputable hold on, in the eyes of most of the world’s audience, the moral high ground. There’s actually someone there whose general moral rectitude and righteous plight make a player to care about and root for.

There is also the undeniable reality that the bloody scene of the insurgency in Iraq has gone on far too long. The audience now views it as a boring comment on its own counterproductive stupidity and longs for a respite from the usual events at center stage.

Even more, the weary audience just wants to know when the dolts who have been shunted offstage will slap themselves in the forehead in recognition of their own deadly idiocy and join in rebuilding the fractured remnant of what never was but may yet be a free and prosperous nation, where the citizens can enjoy life while they sit by with the rest of us and watch yet another determinedly retro part of the world become as self-destructively moronic as they once were.

But now we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves. We’re sure if the insurgents will simply bide their time, the world will be forced to endure their lumbering and ludicrous return to villainous stardom.

Iraq Opens Suicide Bomber Range; Calls It Twice-Blessed Paradise Express

In an effort to reduce the loss of life and limb by suicide bombers, the Iraqi government has opened a suicide bomber range. The government's intention is to encourage all those who are determined to carry out such an explosive termination to execute the insane plan in a way that is being hailed as twice-blessed.

The government maintains that it will be blessed because, one, the bombers will be carrying out their hope of putting themselves on the expressway to the paradise of their dreams and, two, they will accomplish their mission without blasting off with anyone else.

As Iraqi Prime Minister Maliki stated, "We have established a way for the suicide bombers to achieve their highest goal in a far more considerate way; now, they can blow themselves up in sanctimonious privacy.”

A suicide bomber, who had arrived to take advantage of the new opportunity, said, “I think the government did a great thing. Just think! Now, I get to blow myself up, which I long to do so much I can't express the intensity of my need. But now, while the end will be the same for me, I won’t have to kill anybody else to get to paradise.”

The government also touted the range as an ideal opportunity for suicide bombers to execute their plans while they provided themselves with some insurance against the misfortune that, should they meet Allah and discover He actually disapproves of anyone blowing other human beings, they might escape the severe condemnation attendant to detonating others.

A suicide bomber commented, "I like that it comes with an insurance policy against any possible disapproval by Allah. If by some chance He disapproves of one human being blowing up himself and other human beings, at least, I'll only be punished for blowing up myself. It removes a lot of concerns."

Prime Minister al-Maliki went on to say, “In an effort to achieve reconciliation, we must stop the murder of Iraqi by Iraqi, as well as, come to think of it, the murder of anybody by an Iraqi, including the murder of coalition troops, who are here to help us make a smooth transition to a peaceful and prosperous nation, not to mention protecting me and the government from coming to a premature end due to the various activities of insurgents, including their suicide bombers.”

Another suicide bomber who decided to take advantage of the new opportunity said, “I think this approach is wonderful. I get to blow myself up, which I long to do so much, and I can go to paradise as soon as my timer reaches zero. At the same time I won’t inconvenience anyone else with my detonation. It really makes the most sense; the end will be the same for me, and, just think, I won’t have to kill anybody else to head for heavenly bliss.” He seemed about to say something else, but, unfortunately, his timer hit zero.

President Bush told reporters, “I think a private detonation range for suicide bombers is a real breakthrough in the peace process. I encourage all would-be bombers to take advantage of this considerate opportunity. In fact, I encourage every country that has experienced the tragedy inflicted by suicide bombers to immediately establish its own suicide bomber range.”

Donald Rumsfeld stated, “Oh, I consider the suicide bomber range a wonderful solution to one of the thorniest and intractable problems we face in Iraq. I have instructed General Casey to cooperate fully and, if necessary, to provide assistance in terms of dynamite and timers. I just hope the practice catches on enough to get the SB’s off the street. I can’t tell you how it upsets me to see people being blown up every day.”

While the bomber range is certainly a regrettable development in terms of the more promising sensibilities of civilization, it may at least be seen, in the dismal brutality of its context, as an intensely rational response to inexcusably irrational behavior.

JazzFest In New Orleans Kicks Off Without Jazz

The Jazzfest in New Orleans, intended to revive the sodden spirits of the land of legendary jazz greats, went off, oddly enough, with comparatively little jazz. There was, in conspicuous unlikelihood, Bruce Springsteen, who did manage a soulful rendition of When the Saints Go Marching In. Also on hand was the legendary jazz performer Elvis Costello.

While all the misplaced rockers do come as a wakeup call to the people who expect the Jazzfest to feature jazz, the sad truth is that jazz hasn’t been the leading act in New Orleans, or anywhere else in the lower 48, since Bill Haley and the Comets strolled around Preservation Hall, thumping out Rock Around the Clock, ratcheting up that old backbeat rhythm in the first verifiable intrusion of rock and roll into the sensibilities of the former comparatively civilized ears of now extensively deaf humanity.

Of course, there were some performers with a tad of credibility toward the appellation of jazz artist, such as verifiable regulars Dr. John and Allan Toussaint.

It’s time deal with the indisputable encumbrance that we’re living in an age when the big music stars are not, despite their passing pretensions, exponents of the jazz mode, except perhaps in the persona of the skillful New Yorker trumpeter, Wynton Marsalis. The giants of jazz, from raspy voiced trumpeter Louis Armstrong to smoothly elegant pianist Bill Evans, have long been sleeping in the arms of time.

The truth of music in New Orleans has for many years been in the sound of music one hears when he or she strolls through the fabled French Quarter. They have been, not the lilting lines of jazz, but the raucous thumps of rock.

Since popular music is unlikely to return to those golden days of yore, it seems that the least irritating way to return consonance to the Jazzfest is simply to rename it the Musicfest.

Then, while our ears might be just as troubled, at least our minds could ease off the incongruity that persists in troubling them.

New Reality Show Debuts, Called New Orleans, Sink Or Swim

As if Katrina wasn’t a bad enough blow for New Orleans, geologists now inform us that, due to more exact measurements via satellite, they have been able to determine that the down but not out metropolis is sinking faster than previously thought – instead of about a fifth of an inch a year, about an inch, which is, of course, about a foot every dozen years. Always keen to ride the crest of a new wave onto megabuck beach, a television production company, having alighted on an enormous pot of gold with a previous, highly imaginative reality show, has honed in on the sinking city and created a new show, called “New Orleans, Sink Or Swim.” The concept immediately sparked interest in the equally imaginative creative minds at the networks, and ABC raced to option it. The show, scheduled to debut in the fall, will feature twelve people stranded in New Orleans, or one actor per inch for the twelve years during which they hope the show will run. Complications will develop as the innovative members of the cast compete to stay above the waterline, while involving themselves in the usual crowd-pleasing boy-outdoes-girl shenanigans. Rumor has it that the show will include guest appearances by longtime New Orleans residents, among them Fats Domino, who will demonstrate, as the city gives way to the sea, how well his rotund body floats. Also, newly reelected Mayor Ray Nagin is expected to appear and endorse rebuilding even in the area that sinks deepest. He will, however, limit his endorsement to the construction of a seaquarium.

Jimmy Hoffa Continues To Evade FBI

As the FBI, operating on a tip from a prisoner who reported witnessing suspicious activity on the night of Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance, continued to search for the former teamster leader, he was somehow still able to evade capture. Although Mr. Hoffa disappeared over fifty years ago, no sign of him or his remains have been detected, despite numerous tips of either’s possible whereabouts. Given the run-ins the teamster boss had with the FBI during the period when he was definitely alive, some observes say it is no wonder he refuses to be located. This week, the cement floor of the oldest barn on the property where the teamster boss of yore may be hiding out was dug up and, while at a certain depth a color change was noted in the soil, there was, at the end of the dig, still no sign of Jimmy. The small town near the farm where the search is ongoing has begun to deal with the excavation by treating it lightly. A local bakery has created a new hit, which it calls Jimmy Hoffa cupcakes. They consist of an earth-chocolate cupcake with a green hand reaching out of it and, according to the owners of the bakery, the new creation has become their hottest-selling item. Despite his obvious skill at evasion, Mr. Hoffa has not yet dared appear at the bakery to purchase one. Meanwhile, back at the farm, despite the efforts of diggers with heavy equipment, forensic experts, and search dogs, there was, at week’s end, still no sign of Mr. Hoffa. A forensic expert on the scene noted, "You'd think we'd find him. He was born in February of 1913, so by now he should have slowed down quite a lot." He added, "But, since he disappeared way back in 1975, you'd think the authorities would decide it's finally time to put the lid on the search.” However, as you know, the FBI always gets its man – a policy that should serve as a warning to Osama Bin Laden and his associates of evil. They may have evaded capture till now, but, with the feds on their trail, they should know that no cave is too deep, no mountain too high. The FBI never gives up, even after you’re out of circulation, one way or another.

Government Monitors Phone Bills; Agrees To Pay Half

The National Security Administration, admitting it has monitored the phone bills of millions of Americans, decided to palliate the perturbed populace by agreeing to pay half of every American's phone bill. While consumers lauded the action, reaction on Capitol Hill was mixed, with Republicans maintaining that such a gesture is fiscally irresponsible. To shore up their case, they pointed to their unimpeachable conduct in regard to the national debt. Democrats by and large praised the gesture, with a Democratic member of The House Ways And Means Committee stating, "Do you know what it's like to get a disconnect notice? I do. But I'm not sure my Republican counterparts on the Committee are even aware such unconscionable resources for collection exist." President Bush commented, "It doesn't seem to me that phone bills pose a problem that should channel money away from the programs on which I prefer to squander the national treasure." But, so as not to flagrantly debilitate his already bottom-scraping approval numbers, he requested that the Federal Communications Commission examine whether or not the government has the right to help the public pay its phone bills. Democrat Ted Kennedy was quick to respond, stating, "This is just another instance of how the current administration is out of touch with the true wishes of the American public. Why doesn't George Bush call up a few average Americans and ask if they'd like the federal government to pay half of their phone bills?"

Chinese Hope To Make British Car That Works

Remember the MG? Worse yet, did you ever own one? Then cower in fear. The Chinese bought the MG brand name and are about to open a plant to build the malfunctioning suckers in Oklahoma. The Nanjing Automobile Group, which acquired bankrupt MG Rover Group last year, plans to be the first Chinese automaker to open a factory in the US. The product will be called the MG TF Coupe and will be out in 2008. Let’s hope they do a better job with the racy brand than the Brits did. I never did own an MG, but I owned another British car, a venerable Jaguar, that I had repaired at a place that specialized in servicing MGs. Here is my story, with one caveat. I understand now that Ford bought the Jag brand, it works better. My old Jaguar XJ 6 sedan was a beauty, prettiest car on the road. Only trouble is the mechanical aspects brought home the idea of a hornet's nest. There were always at least five things going wrong at the same time. To save money on the upkeep, I used to take it to place that worked on MGs instead of to the Jag dealer. I asked the guy who ran the shop, a wily Irishman, why the cars always had problems. “Well, you know the limeys," he replied with a ornery glint in his eyes. "A bunch of socialists. So they’re on the assembly line, and they see an engine with a loose screw. So Frank looks at Harry and says, “Harry, would you look at that? A loose screw.” And Harry says, “Why, yes, I believe you've got that right. It is a loose screw. ” But do either one of them bend over and tighten it. No. The engine just keeps moving along the assembly line. Then there was the day I was parked outside the shop, waiting for a space inside the busy place, so I could pull my car in for repairs, when suddenly I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Then there was a huge thump on the side of the car near the sidewalk. I turned and an otherwise normal-looking businessman in a suit had a furious look on his face and was actually kicking my car. I rolled down the window and, in keeping with the British spirit of the car, I asked calmly, “Excuse me, sir, but why are you kicking my car?” “I used to own one of these damn things,” he shouted, “and every time I see one I think how many problems I had with it and I get upset.” Then he quieted down, as if the confession let the hottest steam out. “I’m sorry,” he went on, “but I couldn’t help myelf.” “That’s OK,” I said, “I might decide to kick it myself.” Then there were the two worst problems I had with it. The drain in the dashboard for the air conditioner used to get plugged. Apparently, it was too small. Anyway, the condensation would build up, and pretty soon I could hear water sloshing in the dashboard. The real problem was, when I turned a corner, the water would rush to one side and pour out of the vent onto my lap or, worse yet, onto the lap of the person who was unfortunate enough to be on the passenger side. The other rather inconvenient problem was, when I’d be driving down the highway at night and a car would come my way, and I’d push on the button on the floor to dim the headlights, they’d go out completely. That’s right. I’d be hurtling down the highway in pitch darkness, except for the scant illumination provided by the distant oncoming lights. So I’d quickly start slamming at the button, and, after three or four desperate shots, back on would come the headlights. When I brought the problem to the attention of my world-weary mechanic, he referred to the name of the manufacturer of the electrical setup, as he informed me, “You now what they call the Lucas electrical system, don’t you? The prince of darkness.” To add insult to injury, I went to the automobile show at the old New York Collesum one year. When I saw the Jag on display, I went up to the dealer in attendance and asked, "Why can’t they make a Jaguar that works right?” He smiled slyly and gestured toward the sleek, gleaming grey sedan, and just said, “But look at it.” Yep, if you liked the design, you were expected to put up with the malfunctions. Last, when the time came that I could no longer stand the wreck, primarily because the radiator wouldn’t stop leaking, I looked in the yellow pages for the places that buy used cars. I saw an ad that said "2000 Cars Wanted." I called. The guy who answered was very receptive till he asked, “What kind of car do you have?” “A Jaguar,” I confessed. “Oh," he said, his voice growing recessive, “that’s the only car we don’t take.” So I loaded the radiator of the embarrassingly rejected beast up with fresh water and drove it to the nearest dealer in American cars, swearing I’d never buy another import. Fortunately, I arrived before the thing started to smoke and managed to make a halfway decent deal. I drove out in a new American car. While it didn't turn out to be a flawless mechancial achievement, either, it was at least a hundred times better than the Jag. Obviously, this article strayed from MGs, but the car was cut from the same carelesss cloth as the Jag. Both brands help account for why, in these sleekly robotic times of exact Japanese assembly, English cars now own even less of the road than Detroit’s.

Bill Gates to Devote Life To Charity; Make Money And You Can, Too

Bill Gates announced that he will transition out of his day-to-day role at Microsoft by July 2008 in order to spend more time working on the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, which focuses on global health and education. His announcement reminded us of the plethora of graduation speeches that eager students imbibed across the land this spring. As we listened to the meritorious goals heaped on the recent graduates, so they might achieve goals the speaker’s generation has found impossible, we could not help but think, why doesn’t somebody come out and tell the youthful aspirants what the real challenge is? Like it or not, today’s world, as well as many another age, is conducted by two primary forces: wealth and power, and, other than resort to firearms, power springs from wealth. So if you want to influence the ways of this outrageously necessitous world, consider the stark truth that all power springs from the opening in a fat wallet. It's called the economic basis of society but, in its current incarnation, in debilitating excess. When we were recent graduates, we were not aware of such an uncompromising reality and passed up at least two opportunities to make megabucks because we wanted to preserve our mental energy to expend it toward the achievement of our ideals. Had we been wiser, we would have set aside a few years to stuff our pockets with power and then, like Mr. Gates, have spent the rest of our days placidly pursuing those still-inspiriting ideals. So we find ourselves, from our own experience, in the unlikely role of advising the most idealistic to enable their altruism by involving themselves, initially, in the activity they undoubtedly are convinced is not the most inviting. Then, should you be fortunate enough to enable your financial independence, you may, like Mr. Gates, head off into full-time devotion to your undoubtedly meritorious idealisms. Well, the speech probably would not have been one that would have inspired the administration to invite us back or that the students would have received with endorsement, but the sharp glass on the road through economic necessity is a fact not lightly to be dismissed. Ignore it and you may step on it with painful frequency.

A Life Of Lorenzo Da Ponte: Talent Flies; Practical Reason Walks

Among the world’s favorite operas, we find three of them with a libretto penned by Lorenzo Da Ponte and music by none other than the astonishingly delightful Viennese ear-confectioner Mozart. The list is a delight in itself: The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovann, and Così Fan Tutte. We learn in the new book, The Librettist of Venice, by Rodney Bolt, that Da Ponte grew so close with the unequalled Mozart – both of whom, we learn, were not only talented but vain, insecure and ambitious – that while writing Don Giovanni, they worked in adjoining lodges and shouted to each other through their windows. Da Ponte even dared to contend with Mozart, who believed the text should be subservient to the music, while Da Ponte was certain that the words should be primary, in fact, that without his poetry even Mighty Mo’s music would be nothing. Yet how Da Ponte tumbled from the heights. Hard as it may be to imagine, he wound up in New York, running, at one time, a grocery store on the Bowery. Brilliant as an artist, he was apparently, in his personal life, a managerial moron. Or, said another way, while talent flies, practical reason just plods along, like a relative moron. Da Ponte, born Jewish, was, as a result of his father’s having decided the family should become Catholic for the easement of a life of trade, ordained a priest. But his real vocation was married women. His exploits, we learn, rivaled Casanova, who became his pal and, if we believe such a thing is possible in the category at hand, his mentor. Da Ponte himself admitted a shortcoming in comparison with his rival for insincere relationships: he didn’t have Casanova’s purported talent for fleecing the women he falsely wooed. In fact, Da Ponte claims he actually loved the ones he made out with. He also considered himself adroit politically, but his moves were disastrous. He upset the successors of Joseph II so much he was exiled from Vienna. Now,still technically a priest he was married to a younger but more wisely practical woman named Nancy Grahl, but even she was unable to keep the man out of bankruptcy in London and again in America, where they moved in 1805, because her family had settled here. He attempted to establish Italian opera companies when English-speaking audiences had little interest in them. To add onions to opera, the grocery business failed. He finally became a teacher, bookseller and wannabe impresario. On the positive side, New York turned out to be the most agreeable spot for him. It was relatively liberal, and Da Ponte found himself a favorite of the cultural elite. He became the first professor of Italian at Columbia University. While the position was pretty much ceremonial, Da Ponte has the double distinction of having been the first Jew and first priest on the school’s faculty. He lived on into his 80’s, revered but regarded as eccentric. He was charming man who made a profession of being European when such a state was still considered novel. Yet when one compares his everyday doings with his winged collaboration with Mozart, one can only shake his head with the recognition of how quicksilver brilliant the remarkable syntheses of talent are, way up in mental processes we can only hope will drop answers into our expectant consciousness, compared to the "first we do this and then we do that" plodding of the practical but still invaluable mind.

A Bomb For A Bomb And A Rocket For A Rocket; What Hath Terrorism Wrought But A New Code Of Hammurabi

Look far and wide, and what do we see? The most civilized nations, at least, the ones we've got at this point in our nascent human development, having made an uneasy accommodation to behavior that they would historically wretch at as downright repellent. It’s none other than the law of Hammurabi, or tit for tat, writ in TNT. So we arrive at the big question. What hath terrorism wrought? These merciless scoundrels have compelled us transform our own sense of right and wrong into a workable counterpoint to their own beastly behavior. We have been compelled to consider killing them as a regrettably acceptable ethical necessity and, if a few thousand civilians happen to get in the way, what else can we do by keep the bombs and rockets flying. This transformation of our own generally commendable ethical sense is, other than killing and maiming us physically, the most deleterious result of the murderous amorality of the terrorists. It is, if you will, their second-saddest triumph. Here we are, the hope of the world, in terms of nations whose conduct is preferably guided by the mutually nourishing principle of the sanctity of life, compelled to wreak death and destruction. Must we be reduced to combating it in the murderously unethical mud out of which terrorism launches its salvos or is there a way to remain on a higher plane while we contend with it for world domination, truth, justice, and American TV? Can we, in fact, triumph over what, at present, appears to be the illicit accomplishment of our faux-religious foes? Would we be the folks in the white hats, albeit soiled, if we couldn't? But how might we achieve what presents itself as an unlikely distinction? Why, simply by abstaining from being as unconscionably ruthless as the terrorists. Sure, we have to defend ourselves, not to mention our precious infrastructure, which is, at its best, part of the common achievement, enhancement, and promise of the human race. Yes, we have to hunt them down and kill them before they kill more of us. But we don’t have to stoop to the level of savage immorality that they do when they kill or capture us. Tempting as it is to disregard them as an inconvenience, we should abide by the most recognized rules of engagement, that is, the Geneva Conventions. Abide by them even though we realize that the ill-informed and immoral assassins and torturers we're presently at war with do not qualify as enemy combatants, most justifiably because they themselves do not recognize such relatively humane agreements about how we should do battle with one another. It is by putting ourselves firmly on the high ground of right conduct that we can remain above the terrorists, do what they may, and make them look, in the eyes of all unprejudiced humanity, like the lowdown criminals they have condemned themselves to be. To go on a bit, with your patient indulgence at the brief suspension of laughter, in the defense of life, we must do our best never to harm and demean it and all we can to preserve and respect it. It is by being the champions of life that we can diminish and defeat those who have no care for it. Let life be for life and death for death; then life must win, and death, in time, die. Isn't that right, me hearties?

Bill Gates to Devote Life To Charity; Make Money And You Can, Too

Bill Gates announced that he will transition out of his day-to-day role at Microsoft by July 2008 in order to spend more time working on the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, which focuses on global health and education. His announcement reminded us of the plethora of graduation speeches that eager students imbibed across the land this spring. As we listened to the meritorious goals heaped on the recent graduates, so they might achieve goals the speaker’s generation has found impossible, we could not help but think, why doesn’t somebody come out and tell the youthful aspirants what the real challenge is? Like it or not, today’s world, as well as many another age, is conducted by two primary forces: wealth and power, and, other than resort to firearms, power springs from wealth. So if you want to influence the ways of this outrageously necessitous world, consider the stark truth that all power springs from the opening in a fat wallet. It's called the economic basis of society but, in its current incarnation, in debilitating excess. When we were recent graduates, we were not aware of such an uncompromising reality and passed up at least two opportunities to make megabucks because we wanted to preserve our mental energy to expend it toward the achievement of our ideals. Had we been wiser, we would have set aside a few years to stuff our pockets with power and then, like Mr. Gates, have spent the rest of our days placidly pursuing those still-inspiriting ideals. So we find ourselves, from our own experience, in the unlikely role of advising the most idealistic to enable their altruism by involving themselves, initially, in the activity they undoubtedly are convinced is not the most inviting. Then, should you be fortunate enough to enable your financial independence, you may, like Mr. Gates, head off into full-time devotion to your undoubtedly meritorious idealisms. Well, the speech probably would not have been one that would have inspired the administration to invite us back or that the students would have received with endorsement, but the sharp glass on the road through economic necessity is a fact not lightly to be dismissed. Ignore it and you may step on it with painful frequency.

America: Still So Young No Americans Allowed

If sometimes, weighed down with the complexities of uneasy empire, we perchance wonder if America could be freedom’s fading star, it’s somewhat reassuring to realize that the nation is so young it still does not recognize the existence of Americans. Even the Indians don’t completely get the nod, because they’re still camped out on reservations. We might see the persistent refusal to accept “I’m an American” as a recognized nationality, at least on the home front, as a consonant reflection of our mixed and matched heritage. But it does present us with inconveniences. Tell a fellow American who asks your nationality, “I’m an American,” and what does he say? “Oh, come on, tell me, really, what are you?” “I just told you,” you repeat, in your resourceful attempt to nationalize yourself, “I was born and rear-beaten in America.” “No, no,” your interrogator presses on, “I mean, where did your parents come from?” “Well,” you let out, “my mother was born in West Virginia.” “Then where did your father come from?” Now, you’ve been cornered, so you finally confess that he came from here, there, or wherever. Let’s say Ireland. And what does your pouncing interrogator reply? “Oh, so you’re Irish.” Actually, the only time you get to be an American is when you’re likely to suffer the slings of outrageous interactions in distant lands. “Oh, so you’re an American,” you're told, usually in a tone that intimates at least a slight reprimand, as soon as the securely French, Italian, or whatever person you chance to chat with determines you’re from the USA. And, no matter how much effort your make to elude detection by speaking in the tongue of your assailant, the nonchalant accusation pops to the fore as soon as your first Yankee twang intrudes. Will Durant, the popular (dare we say American?) historian, estimated that it takes about eight-hundred years for a country to develop a civilization. I wonder how long it takes short of that to develop the nationality that might achieve it.