MOVE OVER, WOODWARD AND BERNSTEIN

Always eager to prove that I am, first and foremost, a Serious Journalist, here's a couple of recent examples of my work. First, a serious and high-minded comic book. No, really. And, as if that wasn't enough, there's this: a probing investigative expose of nekkid people holding flower pots. (Note: Free registration probably required, but after that build-up, how could you resist?)

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll be waiting for my Pulitzer to come in the mail.

HAVE YOURSELF A GENERIC LITTLE CHRISTMAS...

Here's a sentence I never thought I'd write, be it online or elsewhere: I actually entered my company's holiday decorating contest this year.

Of course, as is the case with many competitions, I play to lose. This is what I managed to come up with, in the span of about 15 minutes, including brainstorming, printing, and decorating proper:



The theme? "A Generic Holiday." After all, nothing gets folks into the holiday spirit like sloth and sarcasm...

TREASON ABOUNDS

These headlines are starting to look a little like an Ann Coulter book signing, but still, I must ask: Why does Google hate America?

TREACHERY IN THE HINTERLANDS

Those bastards!

TOO BAD THE BOOKER'S ALREADY BEEN ANNOUNCED...

The newest installation in the nightmare collaborative novel I'm "writing" with a couple of friends, penned by yours truly (or, at least, by the half-dozen monkeys we keep locked up in the basement with a crash-prone Megtron(tm) PC and a copy of Xywrite) is now online.

In true post-modern blog style, the most recent installment's at the top, meaning you need to read from the bottom of the page up for it to make any sense. Except, of course, that it still won't.

GUESS THE BLIND PEDESTRIAN PLAYKIT'S BEEN DISCONTINUED

I realize this makes me a callous, uncaring parent, but the names of these toys always make me laugh.



Hard to believe that a periscope could cause eye injuries. Or that toy nunchucks could cause "blunt impact." But mostly, I feel sorry for poor Ribbets.

THEY KNOW THEIR AUDIENCE

Consider the ad at the top of a weekly e-mail for journalists that just came over the transom: "You have adult acne.... Will anyone ever find you attractive?"

Yes... and no.

METRO FOR RED-STATERS

One of the gazillion associations in the DC area has written a painfully retentive guide to the metro. "After one trip, you'll be a pro!" the breathless copy reads. Especially helpful -- the detailed instructions for purchasing a farecard, and I quote: "1. Put your money in the slot."

The only thing they forgot to add was not to get scared when the train goes under the Potomac, since it doesn't get wet. (I once worked at a newspaper where the publisher didn't quite grasp the concept of a subway, but that's another story for another day.) All I know, if I was thinking about coming to DC from the distant hinterlands, the level of complexity this suggests would have me out on the shoulder of 395, hitchhiking.

(Shout-out to DCSOB for pointing this one out.)

THE SMOKING GUN

I spent a few years living in Germany during my teenage years -- a few years which just happened to fall during the mid-1980s, so I missed quite a few cultural milestones. MTV? We'd occasionally get a videotape someone would bring back from the states, which would make the rounds of my friends until we had the 2 hours of music memorized*. Cabbage Patch Kids? Luckily, I missed that one until recently, when one of my daughters was given a vintage one by a great-grandmother. Smurfs? Well... actually, they came from Germany, though they were called something like "Schlumphs," which is precariously close to an unflattering German term for a young woman of questionable virtue.

But I digress. When I returned to the states, I had a lot of catching up to do, culturally. And one of the things I never quite got was the TV show Alf, which came and went while I was overseas. Allegedly. I summarily refused to believe that a sitcom starring a stuffed furry alien could possibly have become a prime-time hit, even in the 1980s. And yes, I had seen Knight Rider. It was huge in Germany. In fact, I accused many stateside friends of being part of a conspiracy to convince me that Alf was real, then chuckling at my gullible self behind my back. Even years later, I was never quite convinced.

Flash forward two decades. While visiting the in-laws last weekend, we stumbled upon this.



I'm through the looking glass, sadder and a bit wiser. Sadder, mainly, as had my kids not gleefully colored all over the sucker, I could have made a fortune on eBay.

(*) Back in the day, MTV aired short-form movies that were intentionally synchronized with popular songs of the time, called (I believe) "music videos."

THIS COULD BE ME...

Apparently this is where some journalists wind up during these trying economic times.

It certainly has a lot more panache than the Maytag box I've been eyeing of late...

THIS JUST IN...

... I have no life. I scored a 109.5 on this test. Pity me.

The most embarassing part, aside from the fact that I precisely remember the lyrics to a freakin' Toto song from two decades ago but can't recall what I had for breakfast this morning? I identified lots of songs generated by hair bands. Bad hair bands...

BOO!

OF PUMPKINS AND PAINTBALLS

It's fall, which means it's time for our family's annual trip to the pumpkin patch out in the country. Well, not so much in the country anymore--it's now surrounded by a gaggle of vinyl-clad Northern Virginia McMansions, all with extensive decking so their owners can enjoy an uninterupted view of the moon bounces, the plentiful parking, and all the cheerful examples of copyright infringement the proprietors have plastered on everything that isn't orange and/or organic.

Still, it's fun. Pumpkins, moon bounces, slides, hayrides, and, this year, shooting at targets with a high-powered rifle equiped with a sniper-style scope.

No, really. Okay, so it's paintball, but it still seems like an odd choice for the under-6 crowd.

Now don't get me wrong -- I'm not one of those freedom-hating, Dear Leader-mocking types you see all over the blogosphere. I learned to fire a rifle in high school ROTC (don't ask), and have, in the course of undertaking journalistic research, participated in a paintball battle pitting our hardened newsroom of seasoned reporters against a bunch of Shenandoah Valley locals, who brought their bulletproof vests, automatic paintball rifles, and boundless enthusiasm to the match. I still have the welts to prove it.

At the same time, though, at a pumpkin patch? It's a bit embarrassing. Especially when I caught myself shouting at my daughter, "NO! AIM FOR THE HEAD! NOT THE CHEST--THE HEAD!"

Or not.

MY NEW CAREER...

...as a film reviewer. Scroll down to the review entitled "A stunningly prescient rumination on Euro-American relations," and enjoy.

The balcony is closed.

YEAH, BUT OTHER THAN THAT, DID WE GET ANYTHING WRONG?

A classic correction from The Washington Post:

A Sept. 21 item in the Metro in Brief column about a woman fatally shot in Prince George's County and a child who was wounded incorrectly reported the woman's age, the child's sex, the child's location at the time of the shooting, and the street on which the shooting occurred. A correct account of the incident appears in today's Metro in Brief column.

Guess the editors were busy fact-checking the Page One story about the all-you-can-eat steak.

THIS JUST IN: CULTURE IS DEAD

I wouldn't believe this if I hadn't read it myself: Evidently piqued at the thought of his wife being groped by a treacherous Frenchman, our august president wrote her this lovely, nuanced poem:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Oh my, lump in the bed
How I've missed you.
Roses are redder
Bluer am I
Seeing you kissed by that charming French guy.
The dogs and the cat, they missed you too
Barney's still mad you dropped him, he ate your shoe
The distance, my dear, has been such a barrier
Next time you want an adventure, just land on a carrier.

Awww... They're just like two schoolkids, aren't they? I'm going to try calling my wife a "lump in the bed." Then I'm going to try getting used to sleeping on the sofa downstairs.

THE MOVIE OF THE YEAR

When critics use that phrase, it's usually hyperbole. For us, it's literal.

Ever since we had our first child, we've seen exactly one movie -- no more, and no less -- in the theater each calendar year. Between the relative scarcity of babysitters, and the desire to do something other than sit in a dark room when we're lucky enough to find one, we just don't go to the movies much any more. In fact, we haven't been the movies yet in 2003.

Good thing, too. Had we already squandered our movie for the year, we would have had to wait for this to go to video.

WHO NEEDS THE NYT SUNDAY BOOKS SECTION?

My well-documented love for this comic meets my penchant for fair and balanced book reviews.

Maybe we should pass this title along to Mssr. Limbaugh.

IT DOESN'T GET ANY META THAN THIS

Here's the first longish thing I've written for Teacher -- an article on blogging. And now here I am, blogging about an article about other people blogging. It's enough to make your head spin.

It doesn't end there. One of the great things about the Internet is that when you write about people who write on the Internet, they write back about being written about. Journalists have a tendency to "file and forget," so it's kind of refreshing to get feedback, both good and bad, without having to fish for it. Here's one of my interviewees using the title of this entry to poke fun at my short description of him in the story. Hey -- I never claimed to write for the New Yorker.

Another person I interviewed tried to read the article at work, but -- and this is a first in my storied writing career -- her school's Internet filter blocked it, presumably because the article quotes a blog that uses the f-word the way most people use commas. More specifically, the Internet filter had this to say:

This page will not be displayed because... it has exceeded its tolerance of questionable words.

Exceeded its tolerance of questionable words? Funny, I get that from my editors all the time.

GOOD GRIEF

More fair and balanced commentary from the hinterlands.

I'm glad I'm not the person who had to edit this one down into (semi) coherent sentences..

THOUGHTCRIME!

So, you'd think a good way to blow off some steam would be to go hear some live music, right?

Think again.


This is us at a recent concert in oh-so-hip Arlington, where we lived before we became boring suburbanites obsessed with shiny wallpaper and homeowner association-mandated paint colors like "Beachwood." Looks like we're having some good, clean, Right-Thinking fun, right?

Think again. Examine the circled part of the picture carefully. Here it is again, enlarged for your convenience.



Uh-oh. Something tells us our names are on a list now.

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME... HAIRBALLS

So, the Redskins won their first game of the season the other night, though based on what I've read about the NFL's "celebration" on the Pepsi Vanilla(tm)/Fritos(tm) National Mall(tm), good taste was the real loser of the night.

I'm a long-time Redskins fan, having endured a decade-plus of medicore teams, embarassing owner gaffes, and revolving-door coaching. I've even had the, um, luck of attending some historic games, like the one where Gus Frerotte (remember him?) gave himself a concussion by high-fiving a concrete wall with his head, and the bitterly cold, windy December game that led to the sacking of Norv Turner (remember him?), and... well, that's about it. Come to think of it, most of the rest of the past decade's been a blur. A mediocre, turnover-prone blur.

But you read it here first, folks: They're going to the Super Bowl this year. No ifs, ands or buts.

How do I know? Because, after nearly a decade, I found out this summer that my name had finally come up on the season ticket waiting list. Of course, I found this out days after one of our cats wound up having to spend a week at an animal hospital, and the bill came to virtually the exact cost of the season tickets--almost to the penny.

I'm trying to maintain some perspective. After all, as I've been saying, our cat probably won't lose nine games this season. Though come January, if the Redskins are still in the hunt, Sushi had better stay down in the basement on Sunday afternoons.

UPDATE: I just got another e-mail from the Redskins notifying me that good season ticket seats are still available, which is pretty much unheard of in these parts. Either people aren't buying that first win of the season, or a lot of people had sick pets this summer...

I ALWAYS KNEW THAT WHOLE POLITENESS THING WAS A FACADE

Yet another reason not to trust the Canadians.

A TRAITOR IN OUR MIDST

Where I work, in buttoned-down Bethesda, you wouldn't expect drama, rebellion and outright treason to play themselves out in the streets.

You'd be wrong.

First, someone quite unreasonably, I think, spraypainted the newspaper boxes for The Washington Times with one simple word: LIES. That was followed by the word SWILL on the USA Today boxes. Then, the same person hit the parking garage where I stow my Xtreme vehicle with an axiomatic motto, intended to demoralize those of us still contributing to the nation's GDP: COMMUTE WORK COMMUTE SLEEP. And now, the construction site for the Rio Grande, your typical chainy Mexican restaurant being built down the street, has been hit. The same objectively pro-Saddamite spraypainted an arrow pointing to a picture of Uncle Julio, the chain's grinning, sombrero-wearing mascot, and added the question: STEREOTYPE? Clearly this person is a divider, not a uniter, and clearly he hates freedom. Or at least chilie con queso.

Of course, you're no safer in the hinterlands. Check out this fifth columnist in my former place of residence. Fortunately, the Patriots at the paper were quick to run photos of the offending susbstances, let someone accidentally ingest some tabouleh.

THE HOLIDAYS ARE JUST FOUR SHORT MONTHS AWAY...



...not that I'm dropping hints or anything. Who knows, maybe I was just inspired by this heartwarming example of compassionate conservatism (scroll down to the comments for the full effect).

Or, if this all seems so three months ago, there's always this. A timeless classic which plays... a timeless classic.

HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION, PT. 2

Kids at the beach... This is exactly what summer vacation is all about. Nine hours in the car each way, listening to kids tunes involving SpongeBob, Dragontales and the confounded freaking religious vegetables thanks to an iPod whose battery refused to die... not so much.

SOMEONE NOTIFY OPRAH IMMEDIATELY

The scary joke novel I'm writing with two friends has been updated once more, thanks to Jeremy. Taking an already weird literary experiment to new heights, his new entry includes Saladin, Jimi Hendrix, Einstein and a plot line from the cinematic masterpiece Back to the Future II. (As always, the most recent chapter is at the top of the page, though it's no more coherent when it's read chronologically from the bottom up).

Now it's my turn to update the sucker, hopefully without any flying Deloreans or breakdancing robots. Okay, well, maybe just one breakdancing robot. Or two.

If all this makes your brain hurt -- and God knows that's what it does to mine -- you could just read this instead, for a far more coherent and reassuring worldview.

IT STILL MAKES MORE SENSE THAN J-SCHOOL

As if Jayson Blair, massive media consolidation and this wacky unrecession haven't been ill enough portents for those of us in the journalism biz, now there's this fun new option for the upwardly mobile reporter. Instead of putting in your time in the trenches, building a decent clip file, and uncovering that one big scandal that can define a career, you can simply bid for a major-network writing gig on eBay.

Okay, okay, so maybe it's on Fox. But at the moment, the bidding for this Nascar column-writing gig is well north of $200, which vastly exceeds your typical rookie reporter's annual budget for Ramen noodles. A pity, too -- I've always wanted to build on my well-documented ability to cover sophisticated, upscale sporting events.

A SHAMELESS PLUG FOR A SOCK PUPPET

My college friend Cece has a book coming out in September. After years of seeing sock monkey-related imagery from her and her husband, Tom, and not getting the joke, I can't wait.

Thanks to a master's level class my wife took on this Internet thingy, I know you can pre-order the book on Amazon, and help Sock Monkey break the 1,646,444 mark in their sales rankings.

As if that isn't enough of an enticement, Amazon has the book categorized not only in its "monkeys" category, but also under "cleanliness" (where you can also find this Right-Thinking tome). Really, what more could you possibly want?

NO PROBLEMS FINDING A PARKING SPOT WITH THIS

As regular readers of this space know, I drive an SUV (but don't worry -- it's electric). And now, as a way to offer a glimpse of my reclusive, Howard Hughes-like existence (only without the millions of dollars or the Kleenex boxes for my feet), here's a picture of my bitchin' set of wheels.

Sure, it only gets 8 MPG, but that's not what keeps me up at night. My biggest worry is finding a skilled artist with a flair for the medium of airbrush-on-steel during these busy summer months to replace the map of Iraq with one of Iran. Or maybe Liberia. Or France.

SO IT'S NOT THE NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS

Another fair and balanced letter to the editor from my former employer in the hinterlands:

Enough whining about entitlement

I would like to respond to Nelson Graves' column regarding affirmative action. Isn't it time the African American race quit crying about how unfair they have it? Let's start out first by stating this: The Civil War was not over slavery as has been taught to our kids: It was over states' rights, NOT SLAVERY. Haven't there been other (enslaved) races? Some could point (out) that the Jews were slaves to Hitler. Why should a black man get a job over a white man who is more qualified? Do we have a White American Pageant or a "WET" -- White Entertainment Television -- channel? No, we don't. So why should a black man get a job over another because of his skin tone or vice versa?

(Graves made) reference to Michael Jordan; he is one of the few who is doing something with his money in the black community. We all know of the millions of dollars black athletes and also entertainers make, but what do they do with their money? We hear not, "How can I help the African American race" but how nice a "crib" or "ride" he has, so enough of the whining -- it's time!

The whites call your bluff on how bad your race has it and say what needs to be said -- that the only way to have something is to work for it, not rely on someone feeling sorry for you -- and that goes for every color.

But we do have a White Entertainment Television channel -- it's called Fox News.

Bear in mind that this ran in the same august publication that -- and I swear I'm not making this up -- used whiteout to remove a snake from a Far Side cartoon on deadline because a woman called the publisher to complain that snakes were servants of the devil. Unfortunately, the snake was the punchline of the panel, so the next morning readers awoke to a cartoon that made no sense whatsoever. Usually, they had to get to something I wrote before that happened.

HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER VACATION



This is the view from our friends' backyard in Tucson, Arizona, where we spent a few days watching a massive forest fire snake up the far side of the mountain you see here.

It's not like we look at the newspaper and ask aloud, "Hmm. It's vacation time. Where can we go where there's 115-degree weather, an airport named after American Hero Barry Goldwater, and a massive natural disaster?" It just sort of works out that way.

The amazing thing? Somehow, we still managed to have fun. And I'll take 115-degree weather and Barry Goldwater over eternal drizzle and the guy who can't even ride a Segway.

TAKE THAT, SADDAM!

Who says our nation's color-coded rainbow of terror doesn't mean anything? As a result of the previously mentioned return to Mellow Yellow(tm), they've unlocked one door at my office building. Hell, if we go back to blue, they might even let us crack a window!

SLOWEST NEWS DAY. EVER.

I look forward to reading the newspaper on weekends. So as I skimmed the front page of The Washington Post this morning, what do I see? In the paper that brought down Nixon, a front-page article about a woman who tried to eat a 50-ounce steak (and failed, to save you the time of reading about 2,500 words of bland "local color"). You see, she's from Texas! It's a wacky, non-D.C.-like, place!

Okay, let's be fair. Maybe not much else is going on in the world. So let's flip to the Metro section. Surely in a city that Donald Rumsfeld just called statistically more dangerous than Baghdad, something interesting happened. Sure enough -- at the top of a page, a story about earthworms, and how the nonstop rain we've endured over the past few months is a Bad Thing for them. Maybe they could move to Iraq.

Remember, this is the paper of record in the nation's capital, the self-appointed watchdog of our public servants. They should be focusing on the big issues, the barnburners, the exposes -- oh, wait, I forgot to turn to the Style section. I stand corrected!

THE WORLD'S UPSIDE DOWN...

...when in the D.C. area, Newt Gingrich hawks his new novel about the (surprise!) Civil War at Barnes & Noble, while Hillary Clinton hawks her own book at Wal-Mart. No word, though, on whether they were handing out free tackle boxes.

MAYBE HE SHOULD HAVE WORN HIS FLIGHT SUIT

By now, everyone's seen these traitorous, objectively pro-Saddam pictures of Dear Leader:

I've had the dorky priviledge of riding a Segway. And from my limited experience, it's virtually impossible to fall off of one. Of course, W.'s father was the one who thought a grocery store scanner was going to steal his soul, and there was all that unpleasantness with voting machines in his brother's state. So maybe the family just has some issues with technology.

UPDATE: Now there's this. Genius.

YOU CAN'T GO HOME, PT. 34

In the nearly 10 years we've been married, I've joked that we keep moving into increasingly depressing places. First, we lived in a cool, surprisingly hip loft-style apartment in a renovated 110-year-old warehouse. Then we moved to one of the few high-rise apartments in Arlington that overlooked something other than another high rise. Then came the nice but generic townhouse adjoining the world's scariest grocery store, followed by the swank 70s monument to stucco and earth tones we currently call home.

Well, this is what's apparently happened to place # 2. We hear the rats have reclaimed the backyard of place #3, and the owner of place #1 apparently went bankrupt years ago. Still, though, this takes the cake.

It's fun being downwardly mobile.

THINGS I DID IN THE HINTERLAND THIS WEEKEND

• Discovered that the Mark Toner Chop Steak now comes with Freedom Fries.
  
  
• Read this fair and balanced letter to the editor.
  
  
• Learned they give kids free tackle boxes filled with sunflower seeds at Wal-Mart.
  
  
• Saw this license plate: HUNT ELK (I'm assuming they mean the animal, and not members of the civic association).
  

The scary thing? In spite of it all, I love the place.

GOOD GRIEF

Here we go again. Now all my past posts have returned from the Great Beyond, but they can't be reposted. In fact, I don't think anything can be posted at this point. My blog appears to be in a state of suspended animation, much like usual except that I'm actually trying to post.

Anyway. Consider this my attempt to give this stupid blog a Megtron(tm)-worthy kick back into the real world.

Megtron(tm) and Blogger -- two great tastes that taste great together.

UPDATE: Everything seems to be working. Now back to the usual, regularly scheduled lack of updates.

WELL, WELL, WELL...

It seems the picture below was so ugly, it actually broke the Internet. Or at least Blogger. Either way, about three months' worth of postings seem to have disappeared into the ether. One or two of them were even vaguely coherent.

Luckily, I keep a non-Blogger archive, so simply follow the link and you won't miss a darned thing. Western civilization can breathe a collective sigh of relief....

Stupid Blogger.

UPDATE: Well, now the old entries reappeared, but today's disappeared until I manually reentered them. Bad, bad Blogger.

ROCK AND ROLL WILL NEVER DIE...

... but maybe, just maybe, someone should have pulled the plug on its ventilator in the '70s. All of the sudden, the sexual ambiguity that pervaded 80s music is put into some sort of twisted perspective.

But wait -- there's more.

THIS MAKES ME FEEL SOMEWHAT LESS XTREME

The rich, as the author of the upcoming Lance Bass/Paris Hilton blockbuster famously said, are different than you and I. For one thing, they go to Hummer camp, apparently for the priviledge of driving their $50,000 SUVs in the mud, which costs money, as opposed to the mall, which is free.

Speaking of shopping, here's what one of the participants said about her Canyonero-sized car:

"You know when you go shopping and nothing moves you?" she asked. "Then there's the time you see something, and right away know it's perfect. It's like falling in love. When I'm driving it, I feel empowered. It's the car that opens the sea for me. Now I know how Moses felt."

Yeah, Moses was pretty bummed out, what with the imprisonment of his people and ancient Egypt's generally unfulfilling retail options.

In the interest of full disclosure, I drive an extraneous, XTreme-styled SUV myself (but don't worry -- it's electric), and I'm sure I cut quite the Biblical figure when I drive it to the Giant down the street, the Nissan-supplied XTreme bandana draped around my shoulders. At the same time, though, it seems like the newly idle rich now have this tendency not just to flaunt their money -- a time-honored American tradition -- but flaunt it in ways calculated to infuriate as many other people as humanly possible. We've gone from ostentation to irritation.

So when I get my $400 child tax credit check in the mail this summer, I'll have to find some equally obnoxious way of spending it (while doing my share to create those 1 million new jobs we've been promised). Maybe I'll pick up some remaindered NO SLACK FOR IRAQ mud flaps at the local Wal-Mart.

ASK FOR IT BY NAME

You know you're in for a fun afternoon at work when you walk into the office and smell the smoke from your burning computer wafting all the way down the hallway.

Hard to believe as it may seem, a four-year-old computer from one of the world's best-known and most-trusted brands -- MEGTRON (tm)(R) -- isn't the most reliable piece of mission-critical eqiupment in the world. Even before the unfortunate explosion, it would make noises alternating between the death rattle of a Soviet-era iron lung and a high school nerd's rock tumbler whenever you tried to do something inadvisable, like turn it on. I realize the folks in the MEGTRON (tm)(R) head office are probably pretty busy, what with having to fight Godzilla, but I can't help but think there's an air traffic controller out there somewhere trying to guide a 747 into a fogged-in airport using one of these suckers.

The saddest, nay, tragic part of this whole sad story? Even after the explosion, it was easily repairable, and even as I speak (or type), it's growling menacingly under my desk. Maybe it senses that Mothra is nearby...

MOOSE AND SQUIRREL

I'm way, way late to the party in bringing up Jayson Blair, the disgraced New York Times reporter who decided that the best way to avoid a work-related trip to West Virginia is to assume that everyone's house there overlooks tobacco fields. If you've been living on a desert island for the past month, or simply don't share the average journalist's narcissistic belief that everyone in the world is as interested in media gossip as the average journalist, here's an overview.

The part of this whole sorry mess that rings the most true to me as an, ahem, journalist isn't the sense of outrage at the desecration of my noble craft (picture a rendering plant on an August afternoon), or the sad realization that most people affected by Mssr. Blair's fabrications simply assumed that's the way the media goes about its business (a reasonable assumption, incidentally). No, what really bugs me is the moose.

Other writers have explained the moose in detail, but the upshot is this: At some point, Times management handed out little Beanie Baby-style meese to employees, as a reminder that they should feel free to talk about important, but often unspoken, issues. Apparently, some people actually bring them to meetings. Important meetings.

Beyond some college freelancing, I've never worked at the Times (a fact that should be glaringly obvious to anyone who's read anything I've ever done). But I've seen similar animal-related travesties at several of my jobs. At one, the editors decided to counter the complaint that there was too much "bad news" in the paper by running a graphic of a smiling cartoon dog holding a paper bearing the words "GOOD NEWS!" with any story that didn't involve blunt force trauma. At another, they handed out not meese, but little plastic fish, supposedly to symbolize the sense of fun that a fishmonger might have on the job. Some middle-management guru made a small fortune extrapolating this concept of forced workplace frivolity into a very thin book featuring very large type, ignoring the fact that, as Dilbert once pointed out, the "title characters get tossed around and eaten."

But I digress. We all got fun plastic fish. We had a naming contest, which resulted in our workplace mascot being given the name "James Pond." A good time was had by all.

Weeks later, the layoffs began.

Meanwhile, you can hear from the man himself, Mssr. Jayson Blair, minus his company-appointed moose. Oh, those wacky Inter web pranksters!

SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE #47

I really, really hope this is a joke:

Lance Bass To Star In 'Gatsby' Film With Paris Hilton

So what does Lance Bass have in common with hotel heiress Paris Hilton?

Well, besides being blonde and getting invited to socialite-stuffed shindigs, the 'NSYNC vocalist and the older half of the model/actress Hilton sisters are teaming up for the latest Hollywood take on an F. Scott Fitzgerald classic.

"[It's] a remake along the lines of 'The Great Gatsby,' but younger," Bass explained at Wednesday's "Matrix Reloaded" premiere in Los Angeles. Bass will star in the currently-in-development flick, one of many he has on his plate.

Does anyone have any sense of karma anymore? Speaking of which, there's this:

"I'm writing my first horror film right now, called 'Imaginary Friend,' " he added. "It should be along the lines of that old fun Freddy Krueger-type stuff. ... We've got a nice imaginary friend-type [slasher character] that will scare the bejesus out of ya'."

That would be F. Scott himself, back from the grave. And he's gonna be pissed.

BEST. NOVEL. EVER.

Thanks to the Internet web screen machine thingy, I've finally managed to find the book The Washington Post called "the worst novel in the world" (at least until my own masterpiece of contemporary fiction comes out). The sad thing? I actually read quite a bit of it.

The Great American Parade is apparently a satirical novel of ideas that, so far as I can tell, involves lengthy discussions of progressive income taxation, complete with every novelist's favorite plot device, the numerical chart.

Of course, any novelist worth his or her salt knows not to rely on such flashy, Harlequin romance-like gimmicks as -- and this isn't a joke -- a fictional conversation with Barbara Streisand in which the protagonists complement her on an article she wrote on social issues. No, you also have to be able to write credible dialogue. Like this:

"What can be done?" Rumsfeld anxiously asked Cheney, as they both saw the color rising in Bush's face.

"Not a damned thing! Not a damned thing!" Cheney replied, teeth clenched, face reddened in outrage. "This whole damned affair has gotten out of hand-but what can we do? It's all on camera. It's in every living room in the country. Right now! And, God damn it, it's being watched everywhere else in the world!

"And we're here to celebrate America's achievements-and its most notable achievers! What a mockery these damned college students are making of our parade!" he continued, seething with anger.

"And of us-of all of us!" lamented Colin Powell at his side.

And they would have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn't for those meddling kids!

So maybe the folks at The Washington Post have a point. Of course, the same august publication once singled out this Web site for generally favorable attention, so there's no accounting for taste.

HATS OFF

At the end of last year, I switched jobs. Sadly, the magazine I used to edit is now no more.

I was actually quite proud of TechNews, mainly because of the way we attempted to cover abstruse technologies in an entertaining, engaging way -- and you haven't gotten abstruse until you start talking about folder pin-post bushings on printing presses. Nor have you gotten truly retentive as an editor until you determine that the hyphen in the above sentence goes between "pin" and "post." We tried to make this stuff fun, and had fun in the process.

A moment of silence, please, for the only publication that allowed its editor to reminisce at length about his fading glory days of watching ink trucks and making fun of local TV newscasts.

Come to think of it, maybe there's a reason it went under.

EH-OH...

It's no longer topical, or even particularly relevant, but this has been updated for the first time in what seems like years.

But don't thank me. Thank this Right-Thinking American.

OPERATION ENDURING NAUSEA

Some liberty-hating ne'r-do-wells say Paris--er, Freedom City, is the most romantic setting in the world. According to the folks at my favorite forum for nuanced political discussion, it's not. Instead, try the flight deck of a Floating Fortress(tm):

Us ladies here already supported President Bush... it's just been a loooooooong time since we've seen a REAL man leading the way.....and it's his manilness and values that make him so sexy.

Yesterday when GW got off the plane, all I could think was "He's so good-looking. What a cutie!" (Then I'd bounce back to "That's your president, woman. Knock it off.")

i am totally with you, that was exactly my thought. he is hot. i sent my sisterinlaw one of those photos of him and said the same thing to her, and all she said in return was "mmmmmmmm".... LOL. i admit to being pathetic, and i critcized the pathetic soccer moms for finding the bubbaloon attractive. i mean GOOD GRIEF, how can you even compare???

I guess some women just like sissy-men (evidence the popularity of Keanu Reeves and Leo DiCaprio). I want a man that looks and acts like a man. Give me Sean Connery (yes, even old and bald) or Tom Selleck any day. I like a man that makes me feel like a woman. Bush just has that manly vibe going on.

I think two of the most attractive things about President Bush is that he loves and respects his wife and family and that he looks to God for guidance. (He didn't look too bad in that suit, either.)

Then there was my favorite comment:

Manly man bump! Woo-hoo.

Justice O'Connor, get off the computer! Court is in session.

I need a cold shower. With bleach.

HAD I KNOWN, I WOULD HAVE PICKED UP A CARD

Today, freedom-hating countries like France--er, Freedom, are celebrating May Day, typically as a celebration of the working class, endless dole lines, clove cigarettes, lukewarm mystery meats, etc. Thank goodness our Right-Thinking president has found a way to rechannel all that worthless energy:

NOW, THEREFORE, I, GEORGE W. BUSH, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim May 1, 2003, as Loyalty Day. I call upon all the people of the United States to join in support of this national observance. I also call upon government officials to display the flag of the United States on all government buildings on Loyalty Day.

How can you not love all these cute little slogans and names? Hope I can get enough rest before we have to start preparing for Hate Week!

WHY I LOVE MY JOB

It's stories like this that make the drive a quarter of the way around the Beltway worthwhile. (Note: registration probably required.)

My favorite line?

This being Fossil Ridge's first mummification, there were some mishaps.

As the Interweb net screen machine types like to say, read the whole darned thing.

UH-OH.

Sometimes I delve fairly deep into the realms of nerddom. And when I do, nothing good ever comes of it. Consider this, from the What Monty Python Character are you? online quiz.




Hmm. Maybe I could call myself the "Freedom Guard."

JUST WHEN I THINK I'VE HEARD IT ALL

Give Iraq democracy, yes, but there's one thing that's definitely not open to negotiation. This absolutely has to be the new Iraqi national anthem.

My favorite stanza:

IT MIGHT BE A SMART BOMB
THEY FIND STUPID PEOPLE TOO
AND IF YOU STAND WITH THE LIKES OF SADDAM
ONE JUST MIGHT FIND YOU

Download the mp3, or you're simply not a patriot. Or have you forgotten?

My head hurts.

YOU CAN'T GO HOME...

It's been more than a year since we moved away from our old Arlington neighborhood. And for the first time, I went back to the spot where I arguably spent most of my free hours during our time there: the friendly bizarro grocery store -- friendly, at least, to visitors from the alternate universe from which it presumably fell, landing in a clatter of bad '50s architecture along Wilson Boulevard.

Imagine all the conflicting emotions I felt as I walked through the doors, seeing the familiar sights, hearing the familiar sounds, and yes, smelling the familiar smell of rotting produce.

Of course, time stands still for no man, and for no grocery store. As I scanned the aisles, tears streaming liberally down my cheeks, I noticed a few new things. Everything seems to have been pushed closer together at some point. The headless pharmacist cutout was conspicuously absent. The back wall looked like it had received a fresh coat of paint at some point during the Bush Deux administration. And they had new signs hanging at the front of every aisle, all the better to direct the store's virtually nonexistent clientele to the definitely nonexistent product on the shelves.

Disorienting, yes. Then I saw this sign hanging in front of one aisle, and I knew all was right in the world.

Bread
and
Bread
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: You can't go home, but you can shop there.

PREDICTABLE, BUT FUN

Okay, so maybe this is childish (not to mention a week or so behind the times), but I rather liked my own humble contribution to the cause.

In case you're wondering where the picture came from, thank another Right-Thinking American.

OH. MY. GOD.

Another letter from my newspaper alma mater. I'd love to be the guy writing the headlines for these things:

North's Civil War tactics like Hussein's

I have read your editorial regarding the statue of Lincoln in Richmond and I find it hard to believe that someone in your position is so poorly educated. Do you know anyone in the Sons of Confederate Veterans? Do you know what the SCV does? Apparently not, or you wouldn't have shot off your uneducated mouth. I strongly suggest you do some serious research and try reading some books which are not written with a Northern point of view and liberal slant. You may find that some of Saddam Hussein's tactics were derived from atrocities committed by the North during the Civil War. Try reading "The South Was Right" by the Kennedy brothers; if you can't find a copy, I can furnish you one. One other thing I would like to remind you of is that you are in the South now and statements such as that editorial are inflammatory. You could lose advertising, subscribers and readers -- that could be costly.

[name withheld]

And smile when you say that, boy!

HAPPY V-B DAY



One word: genius.

A MODEST PROPOSAL

For your perusal, a letter to the editor from a paper I used to work for. I'm assuming the editors came up with the nuanced headline:

End war quickly: Nuke Iraqi cities

The battle for Baghdad looms on the horizon. Coalition forces are poised to attack Baghdad, a city of 5 million people. Tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqi civilians will be killed. A military analyst recently said our military forces are expecting a 70 to 90 percent casualty rate should we go ahead with this invasion. Saddam Hussein has shown he will stop at nothing to defend his homeland and save himself... The time is now for the president to stop this war and bring every soldier home.

There is only one solution to the evil that is Saddam Hussein. I pray President Bush will take a cue from one of our great former presidents, Harry S. Truman, and attack Iraq with nuclear weapons.

We should give Saddam Hussein and his henchmen 24 hours to surrender unconditionally. When he does not, vaporize Basra. Then, like dominos, move north, destroying every major city, until only Baghdad is left. If Saddam does not get the message or his followers do not revolt, Baghdad will be only a dusty memory.

Many in the global community, in the current administration, and in Congress have called for careful "surgical" strikes to save the innocents of Iraq while putting our troops in grave danger. No Iraqi life is worth saving if it costs the life of one U.S. soldier.

[NAME WITHHELD]
Staunton

Wow. Note that the author prays that Bush will make this humanitarian decision. Wonder if he's a wolf collector who likes browsing the personals?

MEANWHILE, BACK ON THE HOMEFRONT...

Whenever I dare to leave the friendly duct-taped confines of my home, I've noticed that the variable message signs on the Beltway now include the friendly and not at all Orwellian message "HEIGHTENED HOMELAND SECURITY ALERT -- REPORT TERRORISM," followed by an 800 number. I guess I'll give them a ring if I pass a car with personalized plates that read LUVSADDAM.

Meanwhile, at the office, we recently received this message.

> >Our front door is locked again. Please carry your side door card with you.
> >Our current policy dictates that we lock the [deleted] door when the threat code rises above yellow.

I guess if anthrax is going to come in, it's just going to have to knock.

WHAT WE'RE FIGHTING FOR

Sometimes, freedom isn't free. It's $19.95, plus shipping and handling.

Okay, so maybe I'm being one of those evil, cynical, Perrier-swilling, freedom fry-munching nellies. I must admit that looking into this lil' guy's Big Sad Eyes(tm), I get this warm glow inside, much like the night-vision shots from downtown Baghdad of late. And besides, isn't his fully automatic weapon JUST THE CUTEST DARNED THING?

If you can stomach it, there's also a cute 'lil Navy guy, with the same Big Sad Eyes. And if you flip through the pages of my favorite bastion of Right-Thinking journalism (plus James Brady!), Parade Magazine, you'll see a similar ad for an equally armed-to-the-teeth teddy bear.

Look, I'm an army brat, so I mean no disrespect to the military. I think these schlocky, creepily infantile "tributes" are doing a perfectly good job of just that all by themselves.

LET'S HOPE THEY'RE NOT OF THE CHEESE-EATING SURRENDER VARIETY...

Meet the newest members of the Coalition of the Willing(tm): Monkeys.

Morocco offers US monkeys to detonate mine

RABAT, D.C., Morocco, March 24 (UPI) -- A Moroccan publication accused the government Monday of providing unusual assistance to U.S. troops fighting in Iraq by offering them 2,000 monkeys trained in detonating land mines.

The weekly al-Usbu' al-Siyassi reported that Morocco offered the U.S. forces a large number of monkeys, some from Morocco's Atlas Mountains and others imported, to use them for detonating land mines planted by the Iraqis.

The publication quoted a highly-informed source as saying, "that is not a scientific illusion but a well-known military tactic."

You can tell people's attention spans have grown dangerously thin when wacky feature articles like this pop up within a week of the bombing. Next up on CNN: A profile of Flipper, the Navy's wacky dolphin pal. In one fell swoop, he'll sweep the harbor for mines and back-flip his way into your heart!

PR PATRIOTS

First they came for the French fries. Then they came for the French toast. But when they came for French's Mustard, it was time for Right-Thinking Americans everywhere to stand their ground. Or at least for a PR agency to earn its hefty retainer fee:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Recently there has been some confusion as to the origin of French's mustard. For the record, French's would like to say, there is nothing more American than French's mustard.

Born in New York by the R. T. French company, French's Cream Salad Mustard made it's [sic] debut in 1904 at the St. Louis World's Fair along with it's [sic] side kick, the hot dog. Both were an instant success! By 1915 the French's pennant became the brand's official logo, symbolizing French's affiliation with baseball and American celebration.

Throughout the years consumers have professed their lifelong love of America's number one mustard. "For many Americans, French's mustard IS Americana. It's all about baseball, hot dogs, family and fun," says Elliot Penner, president of French's mustard.

The silliness goes on from there, including a mention that last year the company introduced a "new dispensing technology" (take that, Saddam!)

So it's time to rummage through your trash cans and pull out all those perfectly good bottles of mustard you threw away after watching Fox News for three days straight. But don't thank me. Thank Ellyn Small of the Bender Hammerling Group: Patriot. PR Pro. Defender of the Mustard. Mangler of the Possessive Pronoun.

SHOCK-N-AWE(tm)

In troubled times such as these, thank goodness for the inter web net screen machine. As war rages halfway around the world, it's allowing Right-Thinking Americans to thoughtfully debate in real time the ramifications of military action. Serious, impassioned debate that, during past wars, could only have served to torture roommates. Consider these messages, all posted within minutes of today's massive bombing campaign:

First confirmed explosions reported!

Lets hope this is the real thing and not just another teaser!

Yeah, those "teasers" have been a real drag. Kind of like seeing the trailers for the new Matrix movie and knowing we'll have to wait months to hear Keanu say "Whoa" again. Bummer.

Of course, war is often about tragedy. Consider this sad tale:

AAARRRRRRGGGGH!!!!!

I have been watching Fox almost non-stop (save for 20-30 minute 'naps') since Wednesday nite! I even took off work yesterday. So this morning I'm on my way into work, and Rush starts reporting that sirens going off in BaghDAD (thanks for the pronunciation, Shep)! I have THE WORST luck ever!

Worst luck ever, except maybe for the night janitor at the Baghdad Presidential Palace. Then there's this:

Too bad my cat passed away recently. She would give them Shock & Paw.

You go, Mr. Whiskers! Then there's my favorite, reprinted here verbatim:

ROCK & ROLL !

Good to see George Will weighing in.

Not that the actual media is doing much better, mind you. Last night, I was watching pixellated videophone images of tanks racing across the desert on CNN and listening in disbelief to the following on-air discussion between the anchor and his military analyst, one of a zillion of the gruff but lovable retired generals they pull out of mothballs for such affairs:

ANCHOR: General, can you imagine this technology? To be able to see this as it happens?

GENERAL: Well, I'm incredibly proud of our military right now. They're doing an incredible jo--

ANCHOR (interrupts): But this technology! Isn't it amazing! We're looking at tanks! In the desert! Live! On TV! EXCLUSIVELY! It's HISTORY IN THE MAKING!

Nice. That's like a WW2-era newspaper running headlines like this: LATEST GUADALCANAL MOVIETONE TO BE IN LIFELIKE TECHNICOLOR.

DEJA VU

When the bombs started falling in Gulf War I, I was heading back to my on-campus apartment with my roommate. Because a couple of our roommates had dropped out over the summer, these two guys we didn't know were assigned to take their places midway through the year. They were truly scary -- let's put it this way: I'd bet my present-day mortgage that both wound up becoming charter Maxim subscribers. Amazingly, they both had girlfriends, and remarkably well-adjusted ones, too, though every time they brought them over, they invariably wound up berating them about being stupid. Most of the time, though, they'd just scurry off to their room, close -- and lock -- the door, and then chuckle to each other as they set things on fire and listened to industrial rock. A few years later, when Beavis and Butthead first came on MTV, I did a double take-- these guys WERE Beavis and Butthead, only with 300 or so more SAT points to share between them.

Anyway. We were driving back from dinner and heard on the radio that the war had started. When we walked into the apartment, there were our roommates, sitting in front of the TV, drinking beer.

"You're just in time," the blond-haired, Beavis-like one said. "We're toasting the kicking of some towelheaded ass."

So last night, after watching the little 48-hour ultimatum countdown clock expire on MSNBC (pathetic in its own right -- I was joking that Dick Clark would host the final hour), we turned the TV off. An hour or so later, my old roommate called.

"You got a beer in your hand?" he asked.

And so the circle goes unbroken.

Oh, and those two roommates? Their names were Karl Rove and Ari Fleischer.

IF YOU LIKE PINA COLADAS....

The last time we visited the in-laws, I picked up a copy of the newspaper I used to work for and noticed they had added a personals section. But not just any personal section--after all, those ads you see in Washington's City Paper for BWJMFSers into, say, "gimp suits and light voter fraud" wouldn't exactly play in the hinterlands. Instead, they run their own, presumably more right-thinking personals geared specifically at Christians. What that means, I don't know. Maybe you have to wear sandals on the first date. It also apparently means you're dealing with a... um, selective pool of prospective mates. Selective like this:



Leaving the question of what exactly's involved with collecting wolves aside, you might wonder if someone with such... ah, unique tastes would ever find that special someone. Luckily, the photographic proof was on the very same page:



Wow. A cowboy wedding. And with three husbands, even! Wonder which one is the wolf collector.

SPONGY SYNERGY

This will only make sense to those of you who know my four-year-old, but this new product frightens me. Of course, I've brought home scarier toys before.

PS. New Get Your War On, once again.

OUR OWN LIL' TOM RIDGE

Over the past few days, my one-year-old daughter Sara has started playing this cute little game we call Homeland Security. She opens our kitchen pantry and, over the course of a half hour or so, takes out every canned item -- and only the canned items -- and stockpiles them on a toddler-sized chair in our den.

Preparedness can be so darned cute! I just don't have the heart to tell her the threat indicator's moved back to Mellow Yellow.

WHITE FLAKES OF DEATH, PT. 96

Much like the movie Groundhog Day, I'm starting to wonder if I'm trapped in a bad 6-o-clock newscast. You see, there's a hardware store across the street from my office, and for the fourth or fifth time in the past month, TV crews have staked the place out to gauge the Mood of the Populace. And apparently, the Populace is interested in only two things these days: snow shovels and duct tape.

When I walked across the street to the shopping center today, I saw a cameraman and his sound guy sprinting backwards, filming a middle-aged woman, snow shovel in hand and leering like an idiot. Never mind that we had just been through a blizzard ONE WEEK AGO and a less major snowstorm ONE DAY AGO. Maybe some people have simply forgotten to look out their windows for the past 10 days and needed the assistance of their friendly local TV stations to remind them that a $12.99 shovel is the only thing separating them from certain death from above.

(Speaking of which, one of the points I've gleaned from my nightly, blurry-eyed re-readings of the full contents of the Ready.org site is that one subtle, easily missed sign of terror-related trouble is things falling from the sky, which might force one to "improvise." That, or get out a snow shovel.)

But as always, I digress. Don't get me wrong -- I don't have the print reporter's automatic disdain for all things televised. Back in my newspaper days, I was friends with some of the guys from the local TV station (the only people we felt we could safely make fun of as we wrote our groundbreaking exposes about baby pageants and the like). One even risked his fledgling broadcast career by showing up in drag to a Halloween party we threw. But still -- the ground has been covered with snow since basically the end of November here, and there's been other pressing news of late. Does this mean when it finally melts, I'll have to watch camera crews film people rushing to hoard flower bulbs and garden shears?

MASS OR CLASS?

Apparently, neither. Here's the ad that Blogger, in its infinite wisdom, saw fit to put on the top of this humble site earlier today:



Yep, they've got my demographic nailed!

WHAT A COUNTRY!

I didn't watch the Grammies last night (didn't the Doobie Brothers get back together or something?), but earlier in the day I watched an interview on CNN with a Russian country band called -- and if I was a Russian country musician, this is exactly what I'd call my band -- Berring Straits, who had apparently been nominated for something somewhere.

Here's how you can tell I spent way too much of the '80s listening to tragically bad standup comedy: As I was watching these perfectly nice Russian musicans field various softballs from the CNN anchor, the only thing I could think of was one sentence: "In Russia, the Grammies watch YOU!"

Okay, okay. Try coming up with your own wacky post-glastnost Soviet country music humor. Attempting to do so drove the greatest Russian thinker of our time, one Mssr. Yakoff Smirnoff, to madness, so clearly I never stood a chance. Though I got an even bigger, and equally unintentional, laugh out of CNN minutes later when the same anchor, over a bed of dramatic War in Iraq Deux(tm) music, somehow managed to blurt out this sentence with a straight face: "We'll look at how the media in other countries are reporting on the Iraq crisis. Are they reporting the news, or just grandstanding their own countries' political positions?"

In Russia, CNN watches--oh, never mind.

LITERATURE MARCHES ON

I took a break from digging out of the snow and wrapping my bottled water and freedom fries in plastic sheeting duct-taped to the AC vents in our safe room to add another installment to this novel-in-progress I'm, um, "writing" with two friends.

Instead of the proverbial infinite numbers of monkeys, there's just three of us, so it's safe to say we ain't coming up with Shakespeare.

It started out innocently enough, what with the idea of having a little fun with the conventions of Important Fiction. Sure enough, the first few installments had sort of a slightly edgy Garrison Keilor feel to them, and even a few elegant, and possibly even gramatically correct, sentences. But it didn't take long for the sensibility to morph into Carl Hiassen, and then, tragically, Quentin Tarrantino, probably with a little Hunter S. Thompson on a peyote binge thrown in for good measure. When they make the movie, through the magic of computer-generated effects, Christopher Walken will play every role.

But I digress. Assuming your book club hasn't already started following along, read for yourself. (Because I'm too lazy to fix it, the most recent installments are at the top of the page, meaning you'll have to scroll to the bottom to begin.) Not that it'll make more sense that way.

ORANGE SNOW

If there's one thing that will take the D.C. area's collective mind off an Orange Alert, it's a really big snowstorm. And that's what we got this long, and soon to be longer, weekend--something like two feet worth.

And the best thing? Thanks to the Orange Alert, everyone had already stocked up on essentials well before the snowstorm, making it easy for us to grab the requsite supplies at the 11th hour. Of course, I'm not exactly sure what you're supposed to do with duct tape in the snow. Make a really secure snowman?

Sad to say, my wife Sally actually did succumb to the Orange Crush and bought some bottled water. Of course, since this was a whole week after the nation went Code Orange, the only bottled water left at the store was Evian, the stuff the primates capitulards et toujours en quete du fromage swig like it's... well, water. I tell you, what's a Right-Thinking American to do?

Luckily, it's no dilemma at all. If you've seen our safe room, no amount of duct tape -- or mineral water -- would convince anyone of sound mind to spend a day or 12 in there.

ORANGE CRUSH

Here's how to tell, in the Washington, D.C., area, the difference between an orange terror alert and a winter storm warning: Instead of TV crews staking out the grocery stores to film people hoarding milk, they're staking out the hardware stores to film people hoarding duct tape.

There's a hardware store across the street from my office, and this afternoon I saw the telltale microwave mast of a live TV crew jutting from the roof of a van in the parking lot. Sure enough, there was the requsite reporter, pacing the sidewalk in front of the store in hopes of finding someone racing out with reams of plastic sheeting and duct tape in time to kick off the 5 o'clock newscast. I almost walked over, in hopes of being interviewed and getting to say, "It's duct tape. I need it... for taping something." Of course, that would be Wrong during these Trying Times.

I shouldn't joke, considering that I work and live in one of the two most likely target cities. And while telling people to stock up on duct tape is disconcertingly akin to the Reagan-era advice about digging a hole and hiding under a piece of wood should the Rooskies decide to go all Strangelove on us, at least they're saying something now. Last week, when we moved up to orange from Mellow Yellow, this was the verbatim quote from Homeland Security Uberlord Tom Ridge about what people should do. Parse it at your own risk:

"There are so many available sources of information that you could refer to that will give you and your family and your businesses and your schools some comfort to know that in the eventuality, with the possibility that something might happen, you have taken some precautionary measures or taken some steps to minimize the damage or perhaps to avoid it altogether."

In other words, do what you need to do to feel like you've done something. Which, come to think of it, is exactly why people mob the Safeway the instant the season's first snowflake falls.

NOW I'M REALLY CONFUSED

I know spam is old hat, even though The New York Times just saw fit to give it notice. Years ago, when the inter web was still shiny and new, I used to keep an archive of all the ludicrous e-mail I got. Maybe the folks at the Newspaper of Record(tm) just happened to stumble across it last week.

But I digress. It takes a lot for me to pay attention to junk mail now -- the last one that caught my eye was the gramatically (and hopefully anatomically) incorrect one with the subject "I have f---ed by elephant!" Then, in the same day, I got these two beauties:

RV - Warning!

Don't Touch that Dirty Hose

The Cleaner Way of Dealing with a Dirty Job! Make Emptying Your RV Holding Tanks Easy!

• The toughest hose available
• Available in 12' and 20' lengths

One touch electric waste evacuation is finally here!

No more reaching into the dark regions under your RV to drain tanks. Installs minutes – keep your hands clean from now on!

Fine. A little out of my demo, but who doesn't like keeping their hands clean? But that didn't prepare me for this:

Hello,

I am offering $50,000 2003 US dollars for the below equipment:

1. The mind warper generation 4 Dimensional Warp Generator # 52 4350a series wrist watch with z60 or better memory adapter. Or if in stock the AMD Dimensional Warp Generator module containing the GRC79 induction motor, two I80200 warp stabilizers, 256GB of SRAM, and two Analog Devices isolinear modules, This unit also has a menu driven GUI accessible on the front panel XID display. Or perhaps you have some reliable all in 1 units available?

2. The special 23200 or Acme 5X24 series time transducing capacitor with built in temporal displacement.

I need this with complete jumper/auxiliary system

3. An age stopping finger ring if available.

VERY IMPORTANT: All equipment must be original in sealed closed casing of it's time. No old imitation electronic parts or materials are accepted. Please send photos of the above items so I can verify you have them available.

I will offer you $50,000 2003 US funds total for everything with the ring if you can teleport to me in the Boston area within the next 48 earth hours to conduct business in person.

Business in person is greatly preferred! If business cannot be conducted in person, I will send you a deposit only after proof you have them available, and then the remaining funds upon delivery of the time pieces.

Too bad I only have the 4340 series Dimensional Warp Generator. Also, I'm not a big fan of teleporting to Boston. You still have to find a cab back to the airport.

PS. New Get Your War On panels. Worth a look if you've never seen them before.

RESTON FREEZES OVER

Reston(tm), if not hell, must be freezing over, considering I've managed to update the main part of my site twice in as many months. Chalk it up to the kids taking long naps this weekend.

If you're so inclined, you could check out my newest pretentious photos, mostly from Ireland and France. "New," of course, being a relative term, since we took that trip more than a year ago. But they're still new to you!

I've also posted the most recent edition of our holiday newsletter (PDF). Ever the narcissists, we sent this sucker to acquaintances of friends of friends of friends, so I'm guessing it isn't new to anyone reading this. For the morbidly curious, though, it does have a lovely series of pictures of the various wallpaper patterns in our house. Be prepared to be underwhelmed.

Speaking of underwhelming, I've also updated my resume. Beats working, right? (Prospective -- and current -- employers, please disregard the previous sentence. In fact, disregard everything you see here...)

WE'RE NUMBER 17!

At long last, I've learned why my heavy-handed, take-no-prisoners style of investigative journalism ("Chalk Dust: Going Up in Smoke?") hasn't exactly ignited my career. It's hard breaking the doors wide open when you work in the country ranked 17th in terms of press freedom.

Interestingly, the U.S.'s relatively poor ranking has nothing to do with the MSNBCNNAOLTIMEWARNERFOXDISNEYVH1-style consolidation of late. It has more to do with the growing number of cranky judges who, upon hearing a journalist refusing to divulge their sources, carefully consider the storied tradition of journalistic impartiality and the constitutional significance of the First Amendement -- and then throw them in jail. This is truly tragic, particularly since it hasn't happened to Geraldo or Ashleigh Banfield -- yet.

Meanwhile, the brutally oppresive regime to our north, Canada, ranked fifth in press freedom, while Finland, of all places, ranked first. Small wonder -- when I was writing about bundle-strappers and newsprint butt rolls at my last gig, I lived in constant fear of being scooped by those pesky Fins. Now I know why.

EVEN MORE SHAMEFUL THAN BRIAN DUNKLEMAN

Do we watch too much intellectually stimulating reality television at our home?

Let's put it this way: Our four-year-old now runs around the house, singing and then shouting, "I'm going to Hollywood? Thanks!"

Forgive us.

HIGHER EDUCATION

Good news. After years of fumbling around the Internet, I've finally received some instruction on how to do it correctly.

My wife the teacher recently took a distance-learning class on using the Internet in the classroom. Granted, that's a good thing, and granted, there are lots of teachers out there who need a little help understanding the technology. But still -- this was just sad. A section in the workbook dealt exclusively with using the browser's "back" button. (And no, the next section wasn't entitled "The Forward Button -- The Back Button's Sneaky Pal." But it could have been.) And then there were the videotapes -- these scary, staged workshops where wide-eyed teachers sit in fear as some California-type drones on about the marvels of Amazon.com.

Did I mention this is a master's-level course?

But as always, I digress. I found the assumption that teachers were all a bunch of ignorant technophobes a bit insulting, and I'm not even a teacher. And though I'm not taking the aforementioned class, I thought I'd write the required summary essay as if I was the person it was obviously intended for:

My Paper

Hey, what's up. Here's my paper. Or report. Or whatever. I sure enjoyed learning about this interweb net screen thing. I saw it on that show with the nerdy kid once, and I thought to myself, "Wow! That Interweb net screen thing can sure do a lot of things. I'll bet my students could use it to write really good term papers on my favorite science project: Spitting in cups."

So, I watched the tapes with my cats, Mr. Whiskers and Fluffums. They (the tapes, not the cats) were good. (It's hairball season.) They (again, the tapes, not the cats) were in color, unlike those crappy TV shows I had to watch growing up. Also, I didn't have to fiddle with the tracking on my 1979 Megtron(tm) Betamax very much. Also, there was a good "rapport" between the instructors and their students, who were--and this part just about made me bust a gut--also teachers. Teachers teaching teachers! I haven't laughed that hard since the last time Billy got himself in hot water in the Family Circus. I don't know, I think I might have had a crush on that one teacher with the scraggly beard and graying hair. He reminded me of someone I met at the militia outing in Idaho last summer. Or maybe I'm thinking of the swarthy, yet somewhat darkly exotic, one I wouldn't want to sit next to on an airplane, no matter what our great, God-fearing president tells us about not hating those folk who will burn in hell. Someday.

Anyway. I learned that the Inter Web screen has lots of interesting things for teachers. Like www.spankthenaughtyschoolboywithahickoryswitch.com. Also, I learned that that "AOL" thing they keep advertising during ER might have something to do with the Inter Web, but I don't know. Maybe I'll learn more when I get my Ph.D. in teaching and small motor repair. Do you have any videotapes for that?

In conclusion, I learned a lot. So Please give me a Master's Degree.

Sincerely,

Edna J. Thrackapple
Edumacator

PS. I forgot to rewind one of the videotapes before sending this in. You aren't going to dock me a letter grade, are you?

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'll just wait for my honorary degree to come in the mail.

AMERICAN MADE

Don't worry, this isn't about to become one of the thousands of blogs with the same links to the same warmed-over stories about politics, etc. But this one is simply too good to pass up. From a Reuters article about a Bush speech in St. Louis:

Bush delivered his message in front of a fake wall of cardboard boxes stamped "Made in U.S.A." The real boxes, set to Bush's side, had their "Made in China" stamps blotted out.

The White House said it did not intend to cover up the markings on the boxes. "It appears it was an overzealous volunteer. We'll take it up with the appropriate channels," White House spokeswoman Claire Buchan said.

Our country's new motto? America: Made in China(tm).

THIS JUST IN: IRONY ISN'T DEAD

Just in case the jive-talking kangaroo movie that's currently at the top of the box-office charts isn't exactly your cup of tea, here's an example of some more hearty intellectual fare expected to hit the silver screen soon.

Never mind that the same august playwright -- it seems unfair to sully his artistic vision with the derogatory term "screenwriter" -- once planned a sequel to a well-received series of boxing movies in which he would box the devil himself; now he's planning to fight the terrestial Evil One(tm). But here's the funny part: In the last Rambo movie, didn't Sly fight with the Afghan muhjadeen against the evil Ruskies?

Who knows, maybe the movie will be a construct for a serious exploration of the complex geopolitical challenges of shifting ideologies. Or maybe it'll have a bunch of cool explosions. Either way, it brings new meaning to the dialogue, "Do we get to win this time?"

WOW! AN UPDATE!

Well, for the first time in what seems like a zillion years, I've actually updated some things on this site (including fixing a glitch that obscured the last half-dozen posts -- my bad). In case you want to know what I've been doing with my life of late, you could read this. But you're not missing much.

You may also notice some microscopic changes to the layout of these pages (again, you're not missing much), plus the addition of some recent reads, listens and views in the column on your left. You may notice those will change about as often as the aforelinked description of my life; in both cases it's because I don't get out much, folks.

Next up: Maybe, just maybe, some more actual updates, including some more pretentious pics. Who knows, maybe I'll put up the last two holiday newsletters as well, considering my index page still links to the one from 2000 (and that link might still be broken). Hey -- at least I'm within the margin of error of the millenium.