A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

There's been so much written about Mel Gibson's new movie, Freaky Good Friday, that I'm reluctant to say anything myself. While all the usual do-gooder suspects have been complaining about the movie's violence, luckily people see things differently in my old stomping grounds:

But the Rev. Jeffery Schroeder, resident chaplain at the Interdenominational Stuarts Draft Christian Home and Retirement Community, said that Gibson, no stranger to violent films or torture scenes, could have upped the gore for realism's sake.

"It didn't go as far as it could have," Schroeder said.

Funny. The only "torture scene" I remember Mel Gibson being involved in was What Women Want.

NOTE TO SELF: STOP READING NEWS

What a week. Not only do I find out that my own wife is probably a terrorist, but I'm also suddenly overqualified for a career in manufacturing, and a wacky little culture war is breaking out.

Is it November yet?



Oh, wait. Never mind.

BACK TO THE SADDEST CIRCLE OF HELL



I know I often say that The Family Circus is disturbing, but really. The mystery object on Dolly's head aside, the mind reels at just what kinds of images Bil might have hidden on his computer. In some circles, this would be called "a desperate cry for help." To me, it's just desperate.

LET'S PARTY LIKE IT'S... 2000

Okay, I realize I'm probably not the right person to be critiquing the local nightlife scene, given my last night out on the town involved an ex-Monkee and a would-be stalker. But still, this is almost unspeakably sad.

A bar, based on a movie from 2000? And a bad movie from 2000, at that. What's next? A place where the dress code includes leg warmers and headbands? (Oh, that's right -- Jaxx is still in business. Speaking of which, check out their hard-rockin' motto, prominently displayed on their Web site: "We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason." Good times!)

Again, demographically speaking, I'm probably the wrong person to be talking about the party scene. Though the neighborhood Burger King does have a pretty bitchin' ball room.

NEXT QUESTION

I've always wondered what it would be like to be in a book club. Of course, I'd actually have to learn to read first, but that's a minor detail.

Anyway. I was flipping through a book my wife was reading the other day, and much to my dismay, it had a set of ready-made questions for book clubs to discuss at the end. Which would be fine, except that many of them were questions that could be answered with a "yes" or "no," or simply had no relation to the book. I can imagine some pretty awkward discussions:

"Did you have a mother figure that wasn't your mother?"
"That's kind of personal, don't you think?"
"The book says to ask this question. Did you have a mother figure that wasn't your mother?"
"Uh.. sure. I guess."
"Who?"
"Lynne Cheney."
"Hmm. Next question."

With that in mind, I've taken the liberty of coming up with some similarly EZ-n-Fun discussion questions for one of my favorite bits of light reading:

• Have you ever worn a hat? Discuss.
  
• The novel is set in Ireland. Do you like U2?
  
• Have you ever exposed yourself on a beach?
  
• In the chapter "Oxen of the Sun," which character reminds you of your favorite doctor on ER? Discuss.
  
• The final chapter is a lengthy internal monologue. Have you ever written a sentence without commas or periods? Was it a grocery list? If not, did anyone else understand it?

I'll have my agent give Oprah's agent a call.

MAYBE I SHOULDN'T TRY TO GET OUT MORE

So I'm at a concert a few nights ago, and some random guy sees a friend's digital camera and asks if he can use it to take a picture. Once he's told sure, he can try to get a picture of himself with the musicians, he shakes his head.

"No," he says, pointing at me. "I want a picture of that guy."

Now, when you're blessed with an Adonislike physique that quite often overshadows your incredible wit, you get used to this sort of request. Still, given the setting, it struck me as kind of odd. After a little questioning, he confessed. Twenty years ago, he told me, his college roommate "used to have your look..."

Hmmm. Unless that sentence ended with "...but then there was that tragic incident with the pack of feral wolves and the overzealous Botox clinician," there's no way that's good news.

Maybe I'm just a little oversensitive. In my pre-beard days, I've been compared to Rick Moranis by small children. Now that I have a beard, I've been compared to Michael Moore by my own children. Quite a complement, I know, but the strange part is that I weigh about 140 pounds.

Lest you think this guy was trying to get a picture for a fake passport or something, he did mention his friend's name, and I did, of course, Google it. While I don't think this guy was his style-challenged roommate, it's yet another flattering comparison.

The moral of this story? Avoid free tickets to concerts headlined by former '60s idols. The things I'll do to get out of the house...