Clueless in L.A.

After graduating college with a BS degree in economic theory (yes, yes, that’s redundant) I got a job as a management trainee at a local savings-and-loan in Westchester, a suburb of L.A. It was not quite the Bailey Building and Loan in Bedford Falls, but it was small-townish and full of quirky characters.

There were two other trainees who started the same day I did: Debbie and Sam. Sam would sit with me at lunch and tell me about his life, such as the fact that he had joined the Mormon Church and been disowned by his Catholic parents. He may have befriended me just for my height, because he soon invited me to join his team in the local Latter Day Saints basketball league. Before the first game, Sam was clearly worried about something. Finally he explained that the rules were pretty much the same as any other basketball game, except that anyone who cursed would be penalized. Sam was afraid that, as a heathen, I would not be able to keep a civil tongue. I managed to muzzle myself, but one opponent who lacked self-control helped us win a game with foul shots off his foul mouth. Sam Frustaci left the S&L before our first year was up and I never saw him again until he showed up in the news.

At the branch where I spent most of my brief S&L career, Jose was our portly armed guard. I used to wonder whether Jose’s gun was as loaded as he was. I wondered, if we were robbed, would he be able to pull his gun as fast as he could sneak a pull on his flask? Fortunately, that wasn’t the branch that was robbed while I was working in it. Sometimes while I was having lunch, Jose would hang around the break room and chat. I enjoyed his company, though some of conversation may have been under the influence; like his occasional suggestion that I ask Jenny out to dinner or a movie. Where did that come from?

Jenny was a teller who was very tall and slender – well skinny is more accurate – okay, stick-like, actually. Sometimes we had lunch break at the same time and would do crossword puzzles together. She was smart and funny. She told me one of my favorite jokes, a more elaborate and funnier version of this one, and she told it using goofy voices. Eventually I was transferred to a different branch and Jenny left the S&L. I later learned through a round about way that when Jenny had lunch break alone, Jose would hang around the break room and listen to Jenny tell about how much she wanted me to ask her out. Yeah, you figured that out, but I never did. Yes, I was pretty dense.

That branch where Jose and Jenny and I worked had the best customers. There was Will, a tall guy about 25 or so who had some kind of mental condition which left him perfectly capable of functioning in the world – the World of Will, that is. He was socially withdrawn so he was never very talkative, but he was never unpleasant; he just did odd things. One day he got up to my window, stared at me a moment and then deliberately fell over backward with a thud. He then stood up and made a small withdrawal from his account. One day he came in with a maple leaf he wanted to put in his account. Dan the manager told Will he was at the wrong branch.

Mrs. Grabovsky was a very tiny, wiry woman from the Old Country. Which Eastern European Old Country I never knew, but her life there had clearly left her wizened and bitter. I imagined that she was unable to eat since her lips were perpetually pressed so tightly together that her mouth was lost among the creases on her face and I doubted its existence.. She appeared to have only one good eye because she looked at everything with her head cocked slightly to the side and her right eye wide, left eye almost closed. Whatever transaction she needed done on a given visit, she was sure that the teller was doing it wrong and stealing her money. When one of us completed an entry and handed her savings passbook back (passbook: look it up) Mrs. Grabovsky would peer at the book with that one evil eye and then focus the orb on the teller. She never spoke the curses out loud but we knew she was placing them on us.

Bill’s mom would come in often. Bill was a guy I had known all through high school. We were never really close but we shared several classes and several friends. Bill did very well in school but always seemed distant and as if he carried some unnamed burden. After high school we lost touch. I knew who his mother was but she didn’t know me. Always looking grim and a little disheveled, she would hand over her passbook with the dwindling balance totals and take out five or ten dollars at a time. One day I happened to leave on break just as she was going out the door. I was going to the convenience store next to the S&L and so was she. She used her withdrawal to buy a bottle of vodka. I found out that’s what she did each visit.

Eventually I decided to become a CPA instead of a banker and resigned. For my last two weeks they assigned me to the worst branch, out in Hawthorne. Coincidently, I was reunited with Debbie, the girl who started the same day I did. She was working the window next to mine the day I saw the men come in with shotguns. The guy, in dark clothes was sliding along outside the window and then carefully opened the door; mostly what I focused on what the long barrel of the gun. Turns out he was a policeman. He and his partners had been summoned by the silent alarm that Debbie had pulled when she was robbed. About 15 minutes earlier a customer handed her a note telling her he had a gun and she should give him all her money. Standing right next to her I didn’t even notice what was going on as she emptied her drawer and gave it to the guy, who left without incident. She then stepped on the alarm button and, very shaken, told the manager what happened. Iwas clueless until the cops arrived.

I think I was clueless the whole time I worked there.

The Lillies of the Field Neither Toil Nor Spin - But Reporters Do

When my daughter was about 9-years-old, we bought her a fish tank and, to make it more interesting, we bought a fish. We didn't know that we had bought a "married" fish, but we found out when the fish had babies. Shortly after the widdle fishies were born, they began to disappear. One day we had 10 fish babies, the next day only 5 and then 2. (Swim, widdle fishies, swim if you can! … Damn!) We managed to save the last fish baby from the cannibal mommy.

This was an obvious teaching moment. It taught my daughter to be careful around her mother, especially before meals. I wish we had found the way to make this traumatic incident into a sign of hope instead of a harsh reality, but we didn’t know how.

Much too long after the fact, I have finally gained that insight, thanks to the news people. The AP is reporting that only 11,000 US jobs were lost in November, the lowest monthly figure since 2007 and they tell us that “this raised hopes for a sustained economic recovery.“ Clearly, what I should have told my daughter on the third day of Fish Horror was, “Look, Allie, the mommy fish ate fewer of her own precious babies today than the last two days. That means we’ll start seeing babies reappear tomorrow.”

A few years ago the murder rate in Cincinnati declined in one year compared to the previous year. In particular, the number of gang-related homicides dropped. The police interpreted that as a sign that their efforts to reduce crime were working. I took it as a sign that, after gang members kill each other, there are fewer gang members left to kill. When all the jobs are gone, we will finally see zero job losses in one month; but we won’t know it because all the reporters will be unemployed. But surely the total lack of jobs can lead only to prosperity, right?

The slow decline in the rate of fish consumption in Allie’s tank did not predict new fish appearing. The only common factor in the eating and the birthing was that the Mother was involved. The economy giveth jobs and the economy taketh them away but one doth not predict the other.

The other strange element of the AP story is that 11,000 jobs were lost in November and yet the unemployment rate dropped. How can that be?

The unemployment rate they are using counts people who are looking for work and can’t find it. So it can drop in one of two ways: those people find work, or they stop looking. 11,000 job losses can’t mean people found work. So we have to conclude that more than 11,000 people stopped looking. (The number of people in the unemployment office went down, not the number of unemployed). They either decided rather than be “unemployed” they would be “retired” or “dead” or probably they took a job in the economy-which-is-not-officially-measured: drug dealing, prostitution, lottery ticket buying or reality show seeking.

People keep saying the economy is about to turn the corner. But which way are we turning? If you get mugged and robbed on the street, don’t let some reporter tell you that means prosperity is just around the corner. Be prepared to defend yourself when you reach the corner because, if you turn the wrong way, you might meet another mugger … or a hungry mommy fish.

The Memory Game

One evening my wife asked me to check what was on TV. I started to click around, but on the Customer Information Channel I got distracted by the promo for that movie with Sean Penn. You know. That movie where he’s a gay politician? Milk! That’s it. Somebody Milk.

In the scene that caught my attention, Milk was talking to the other guy, and looking at that actor, I thought Milk was talking to George Bush, who the other guy played in "W". Of course I found that funny - because of the type casting - so I said,
”That actor, there …”
KAREN: “Sean Penn?”
ME: “No, the one who plays the guy that shoots him… Dan.”
KAREN: “Yeah?”
ME: “The actor, who plays Dan … I can’t think of Dan’s name …”
KAREN: “Mmmm…”
ME: “Anyway, he plays Dan, who kills Harvey Milk and he also plays "W". Two evil roles. Like typecasting.
KAREN: “Ha. Yeah.” (Okay, I thought it was funnier than "Ha.Yaeh." but I moved on to trying to remember the guy's name)
ME: “James something.”
KAREN: “Yes.”
ME: “Jaaaaames …?”
KAREN: “His dad played a doctor. I mean in our time. Doctuuurrrr … Kildare?”
ME: “No. The one who worked with Dr. Welby.” At this point, in my head I was making a connection with the father actor in some commercial for auto parts with an annoying jingle.
KAREN: “But he was a doctor.”
ME: “Yeah. Oh, Dan White!”
KAREN: “Right.”
ME: Played by James something. We’re almost there. I’m going to have to go to Google.” I picked up the laptop, but then I remembered. “James Brolin!”
KAREN: “… was the father.”
ME: “….on Dr. Welby, MD”
I googled “brolin george bush imdb”. “Josh Brolin,” I announced.
KAREN: “Yes, I was thinking it was a ‘J’ name.”
I googled “james brolin marcus welby”.
ME: “James Brolin was best known for … Dr. Steven Kiley … Marcus Welby, M.D.”
KAREN: “Kiley. I was close. I said Kildare.”
ME: “Yeah. K I L. Not bad. Oh! Double-A M C O!"

We used to entertain ourselves with card games or Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. Now this memory game fills the evening just as well.

The game changes with age. I see our future whenever we visit the in-laws. (My father-in-law's initials, by the way, are CRS)
DAD: “That guy there. Not the one that married the singer. The other one, who shot him.””
MOM: “Sean Penn?”
DAD: “The other one.”
MOM: “The other one’s father was a doctor.”
DAD: “I think his father played a doctor.”
MOM: “On Marcus Welby.”
DAD: “What?”
MOM: “Marcus Welby.”
DAD: “Marcus Welby?”
MOM: “Robert Young. He was on the show with the father of that guy.”
DAD: “Sean Penn?”
MOM: “He’s dead now.”
DAD: “Milk is dead.”
MOM: “I just said Marcus is dead. Welby, Kildare, Ben Casey. They’re all dead.”
DAD: “You know Sam Fishman died yesterday.”
MOM: “Oh, here’s Karen and John. Hello. We were just watching that movie where Sean Penn dies.”
DAD: “We weren’t watching the movie. It was a preview.”
MOM: “It wasn’t the movie. We were watching a preview.”
DAD: “What?”

And so it goes. Their game is like playing Scrabble back to back, with two boards. As far as I know, it’s still entertaining. And if it’s not, who remembers?

Crash Into Me

Six days after reality show star wannabees, Michaele and Tareq Salahi, crashed a state dinner at the White House, they continue to get their names and faces in every news and entertainment medium; and I do mean EVERY medium: on iTunes you can download Bing Crosby’s new Christmas tune, “Michaele and Tareq Salahi is the thing to say, on a bright Hawaiian Christmas day.”

The saga seems destined to continue endlessly and now they want their adventure to become a book, which would then be turned into a 3D animated movie by Pixar.
I flipped around the cable news stations and this is what I heard today:

CHRIS MATTHEWS: Wecome back to Hardball. My guests are Republican Senator Mad Redface and Democratic Congressperson Whiney Holdhisbreath Blueface. Gentlemen, Here’s what my question is, because after all these reports I have a question, and I want you to answer it, after I ask it, and here’s what it is, do you think the Secret Service should be punished?
REDFACE: Well, I ...
MATTHEWS: Because a lot of people are saying they should. But who’s to blame. I mean, that’s my question, and I’m just saying, I’m asking.

CLICK

GRETCHEN CARLSON: You're back with Fox and Friends. You know what? Did Obama bow? I bet he bowed to these people.
STEVE DOOCY: Given everything we know about him, I’m sure he did.
CARLSON: What kind of a name is Salahi?
DOOCY: It’s a weird, crazy name. Tareq Salahi? They’re illegal alien Muslims.
CARLSON: He’s turning us into an alien Muslim country and bowing to them.

CLICK

KEITH OLBERMANN: Bill O’Reilly reported that some New Yorkers at the party got bombed at the bar and he suggested that therefore the Salahi’s were connected to 9/11. And for that, Bill-O is today’s ... woorrst person in the wooorrrld.

CLICK

GLENN BECK: The fact that no one is raising this question shows that there is a coverup. The Salahis knew where Bin Laden was hiding but the Secret Service didn’t ask. Am I the only one who sees this?

CLICK

MATTHEWS: The couple posed for pictures with Joe Biden. The wife is pretty hot, in my opinion. Look at her with her hands on Biden. According to Biden, the Obama team had set up a website for people to report that they weren’t invited but the Salihis didn’t understand how to use it. What do you think? Was it Biden or Obama or do you think the secret service is at fault?
BLUEFACE: Are you done?
MATTHEWS: Yes
BLUEFACE: Okay I think...
MATTHEWS: Sorry I’ve got to cut you off. We’re out of time

CLICK

CAMPBELL BROWN: On CNN News we did some investigative reporting and we have graphics and magic boards showing that the Salahis wanted to be on real housewives of DC. We’re here with JohnnyB who claims to be an expert on wanting to be a reality show.
JOHNNYB: I want to do a show about being a CPA and a comedy writer.
BROWN: A totally bizarre combination.
JOHNNYB: Exactly. I've been trying to become famous on that premise for years. These Salahi yahoos go to a party uninvited and you can’t turn around without stepping in their fame. I wrote great comedy for a well known radio star for years and couldn’t even get a mention in his biography.
BROWN: Some radio guy failed to mention you in a book? That's your story?
JOHNNYB: Yeah.
BROWN: So you are not really an expert, you’re just bitter?
JOHNNYB: Maybe.

CLICK

OLBERMANN: While your critics rail against you, you, Mr. President, stood up for the right of everyone to have health care and now you stand for the right of every American to attend a state dinner, opening up our government to all who are hungry…

CLICK

GRETA VAN SUSTEREN: Fox News has just received a startling 911 phone recording.
OPERATOR: 911. What's your emergency?
MAN: Oh God, I think my son just crashed a state dinner.
OPERATOR: You think he did or he did?
MAN: I don’t know. He was hanging around the function and I was trying to work on this reality show I'm developing and then the state dinner started up and we can’t find my son.
BOY: Can I come out yet dad?

CLICK

OLBERMANN: That’s it for November 30, day 6 of the coverage of the state dinner party crashers.

Just Bury The Crap

Finding lies and inaccuracies in Sarah Palin's book is like finding cat turds in a litter box: unpleasant but not unexpected. If you know what it's full of, why keep sifting through it?

Number 1 Golfer’s Club Injured In Late Night Incident

Hot Freak Style News – Orlando, FL - One of Tiger Woods’ championship golf clubs was reported injured during an argument between the golfer and his wife early Friday morning. Neighbors reported that golf pros riding carts equipped with sirens woke them at about 3 a.m. as they rushed to care for the damaged club.

Former model Elin Nordegren was said to be teed off with her husband over reports of an affair he had with sexy Manhattan hostess and VIP diva, Rachel Uchitel. Tiger is known to favor women with foreign names who also happen to be smoking hot.

Initially the couple told police that the club was in the back of their SUV and was damaged when Woods was pulling out of the driveway at 2 a.m. to “hit the driving range” but instead hit a fire hydrant and a tree. Investigators say that the injuries to the club were not consistent with a fall from a vehicle. “The damage matches the pattern of scratches and bends occurring when a jealous wife swings the club at her husbands car. Happens all too often in Florida,” said the club forensics expert from the Orlando police department. "It appears she also bashed the windows of the SUV, making a hole in one," he added.

Officials are keeping the condition and identity of the club confidential. One wonders if Woods’ wife would wield a wood and whether Woods was wounded. Perhaps his spouse preferred to pursue and pummel the player with his prized putter for purportedly playing a round with his paramour.

Rumors suggest that the club with which Woods’ wife whacked her wandering husband was also involved in the liaison with the hostess/whore. However, photos of the two together reveal that Uchitel was present both when Tiger was sporting his wood and when he was stroking his putts, so it remains a mystery which of his sticks he was struck by.

It is also unknown whether Tiger's balls were involved in the fracas. Fans hope the situation can be ironed out. Hot Freak Style News will continue to follow the story.

No Thanks To You

I want to express my thanks for many things, but I won’t, because it only leads to trouble.

Naturally, I am thankful for my wife who has stayed with me for over 30 years. I am thankful for my daughter who can brighten my day with a simple text message or im. I am thankful for my sister and my niece. I am thankful for my friend, Marshall. And also for my other friends. Nevertheless, I am not going to write that I am thankful for any of these people because this is where it starts to get tricky.

“Why didn’t you mention some specific reason you are thankful for me,” my sister might ask.
“Why didn’t he mention me? I’m his friend too,” Marshall’s wife will wonder, “and what about our kids? I thought he liked them.”
It begins to feel like planning a party:
“If we are thankful for the Smith’s, we have to be thankful for the Hendersons. And the Scotts were thankful for us on their blog, so don’t leave them out.”
“What about MY family,” my devoted wife will ask, aren’t you thankful for them?”

Which brings up the other problem. I like to communicate clearly and precisely. When I say I am thankful for my wife, I fear it implies that that encompasses the totality of her existence. Perhaps I need to state some specific negative thing about her just so it is understood that there is a balance. I mean, for example, I am not thankful for her talking to me – at certain times.

Now if I list everyone I am thankful for, and why, plus at least one qualifier, I will be writing forever.

Maybe I should just say the things I am thankful for, like pie and beer. But there are so many things: warm sunny days, the beach, Andie MacDowell and so on. Again, the list is too long to include it all here.

I think I will pick just one thing. I am thankful for humor.
I am thankful for being able to be amused by and laugh at the things I am not thankful for.
“Just humor? What about me?” asks Comedy.
“Don’t forget your old pal, Parody.”
“Don’t confuse me with him,” chimes in Satire.
“Who would have thought that you would overlook me?” smirks Irony.

Never mind. But, hey, I am thankful for you reading this.

Breakfast At Realities

I met my friend Giddy Golightly at Mom's Country Cholesterol and Vegan Home Style Diner. She pushed aside her Watermelon Wellness Frappe to get a better angle on my fried chicken and waffles. Mumbling around the forkful of my breakfast stuffed in her mouth, she said, “Just got back from Heidi and Spencer Pratt’s interview.

“Are they dead?” I asked.

She considered it and replied, “No. They didn’t seem to be.”

“I thought you were on the celebrity death desk at E! Entertainment Network.”

“I know. Right? But when nobody dies, they make me cover other stories.” She stabbed a hunk of ham steak on my plate and introduced it to her teeth. Her yogurt sat fermenting. Heidi and Spencer told us about their new book, ‘How to be Famous: Our Guide to Looking the Part, Playing the Press, and Becoming a Tabloid Fixture.’"

“In the Twilight Zone episode titled ‘To Serve Man’,” I told her, “it turns out the aliens’ book is not a manual on how they can make our lives better; it is instead a cookbook.”

She looked up, a crumb of biscuit in the corner of her mouth. “Seriously? You don’t even say, ‘spoiler alert’?”

“Some fringe celebrities plan an event to promote a book with ‘Playing the Press’ right in the title? Could they be more obvious?”

“The book tells people how to be famous. Everyone wants to be famous.”

“Steve Martin used to do a routine called ‘How to earn one million dollars and never pay taxes. First,’ he said, ‘get a million dollars.’ Heidi and Spencer can’t tell people how to get famous – they can tell people how to stay famous – you just sucker the press in. Heidi and Spencer don’t even know if their own lives are real or a TV show.”

“Hello! They are on a reality TV show. Reality has the word ‘real’ in it. Except you don’t say REAL-it-ee, you say re-AL-it-ee. Why is that?”

“Because of the liberal media, I guess. Look, I have never watched ‘Laguna Beach’ or ‘The Hills’, the MTV semi-reality vehicles that spawned the Heidi-and-Spencer-Pratt entity. My daughter used to watch those shows and I was in the room, but even hot, young woman on the beach couldn’t make me look or listen. So I guess I shouldn’t judge them.”

“Exactly. And they want to help people like you understand them. They explained that ‘The Hills’ only focuses on a small part of their lives, they want a new show to reveal everything that happens to them.”

“If you hold two mirrors facing each other, you get a reflection of infinite nothing. That would be the result of a reality show about reality show stars who became stars by being in a scripted reality show.”

“This is an important cultural phenomenon. Like Heidi said, ‘You don't get to see our everyday lives and what we do’.

“That is the exact purpose of my life. That is my reason for doing everything that is NOT watching Heidi and Spencer. The philosopher Berkeley said we can’t know if people exist; we know only that we perceive them and can talk only about what we perceive. I don’t want to perceive them. Berkeley should be known as the father of the reality show.”

“Why be a hater? The Pratts were like the best part of ‘I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here’ last season.”

“’I’m a Celebrity, get me out of Here’ is like Charon’s boat on the river Styx. It carries the deceased to the underworld and they never return to life.”

You are Mr. Stupid Analogy Today, aren’t you? Are you going to eat that bacon or turn it into some pseudo-intellectual pop culture commentary?” She grabbed it before I could answer.

She was right, but it still hurt my feelings. I decided not to tell her about Gilligan’s Island being based on the Greek myth of the underworld. The Skipper was Hades and Gilligan was his three-headed dog, Cerberus. The Castaways were carried across the water to the central marsh and unable to ever leave. Gilligan’s Island was a spinoff from the Twilight Zone and a metaphor for Hollywood celebrity – the first reality show. But maybe that was just the bacon/sausage/cheese/egg/jalapeno/biscuit talking.

What Would Squanto Do?

I was pretty cavalier in my post about the global climate change leading to the end of the world as we know it. Today I read of a shocking and sobering development that has brought the extent of the destruction into focus and chilled me to my soul.

“Heavy rains in Midwest lead to pumpkin shortage”. "Our calculations indicate that we may deplete our inventory of canned Libby's pumpkin as we approach the Thanksgiving holiday” which means NO PUMPKIN PIE!

Some people won’t care. They’ll just put an apple pie on the Thanksgiving table and expect everyone to be thrilled with the novelty of it all. Yes, there are people who tire of the familiar and are bored with the same foods appearing on the table every Thanksgiving. I imagine these same people tire of the sun coming up every morning. “Oh, yawn. I awake again, breathing and alive, day after day. I wish it were not always so.”

My wife’s own mother once wanted to shake things up a little one year and not have sweet potato casserole. Did she not understand why they call it “tradition”? Did she learn nothing from “Fiddler on the roof?” No sweet potato casserole? My wife fainted, I shouted, my daughter cried. We all went to counseling and when the therapist suggested maybe we shouldn’t visit them anymore, my mother-in-law relented. Had it been pumpkin pie that was in question, I would never have forgiven her.

There were warning signs of disaster in the news. There is a weather related shortage of Eggo waffles. Upon learning of that I should have turned off the mulching mower and manually raked the leaves. I should have started biking to work and eating locally grown foods, like, say, goetta.

Now it is too late. I wish I had heeded this poem

First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for my pie — and I killed the bastards.

The Rapture of Indian Summer

Disappearing rain forests and melting ice caps be damned! I am enjoying the climate changes in Cincinnati. We had two warm, sunny autumn weekends in a row. That doesn’t sound like much to you but, in Cincinnati, that miracle is like unto finding a chocolate chunk shaped like Jesus in your Graeter’s mocha chip ice cream.

We’re here in the middle of the country, so the coming floods, famine and pestilence that are soon to destroy the coasts will likely take years longer to get here, just like fashion trends. So we did not concern ourselves with global climate upheaval this past lovely weekend: I wore shorts and my “Ohio State Dad” t-shirt to rake the leaves and we enjoyed lunch on the sidewalk table outside the European Café, basking in the emissions from passing cars.

They call this Indian Summer, which I am sure is some kind of insult, like “Indian giver.” This web page tells how the term Indian Summer traveled to the UK where “Indian” was mistakenly thought to refer to people from India as opposed to those from America, who were themselves mistaken for people from India when misguided Europeans stumbled onto our shores. An irony wrapped in ignorance inside of xenophobia.

Speaking of Indians, “A nearly two-decade legal challenge by Native American activists to the nickname of the Washington Redskins came to a close Monday when the Supreme Court declined to review the group's last loss in federal courts.” You might think the tribes would also challenge the name “Native Americans”, seeing as they were natives before this was America. You might also think that giving up a racist sports team name would be a fair trade for the natives not bringing the genocide thing to trial – an even better trade than the Manhattan deal – but you would be wrong.

Football is important to our culture and economy. A team name, mascot and logo is big business and the Washington team has deeply invested in theirs, giving “Redskins” a tremendous intangible value. You can’t overturn a corporation’s right to profits just because somebody's feelings are hurt. Sticks and stones and all that.

Football is this important: “The University of Cincinnati plans to borrow $9.7 million to start construction on several athletic practice fields on its main campus. To be completed by fall 2010, the fields are a critical factor in UC’s strategy to retain football coach Brian Kelly.” On top of the millions they pay the coach of a COLLEGE team, they are borrowing millions in an uncertain economy in order to entice the coach to honor his contract. The thing is, they will get it all back in sales of tickets, team merchandise and TV rights because we love our football (that includes me) We’re also going to get a big fancy casino in Cincinnati. Despite the financial and other crises in our country, we are all about the bread and circuses here, particularly if the bread is a bun wrapped around a hot dog and smothered in chili and cheese.

Football is this important: A letter to the editor of the Cincinnati Enquirer says, “Notre Damers, quit picking on coach Charlie Weis. There is nothing he can do because it’s out of his hands. God has intervened and is repaying Notre Dame for bestowing an honorary degree on pro-abortion President Obama.” Charlie O’Leary’s god is a vengeful god. Also a little meshugah. Wouldn’t it have been easier to stop the university from bestowing the degree rather than to engineer a last minute touchdown for Michigan? I mean, have you seen how bad Michigan is this year? Getting some of these lousy teams to beat Notre Dame is a tough job for God. But punishing the football team may be the only thing the people of South Bend will understand.

Besides, much of the evil we see, the honorary degrees to Barack Obeetlejuice and Indians challenging corporate greed, is the work of Satan. Satan is among us and we may be soon to see the final showdown between Devil and God. I wonder if we could book it in our new college football stadium? Football is our religion, after all (college football being generally played on God's first Sabbath).

Yes, we are seeing global climate disaster, wars and rumors of wars and other signs of the apocalypse (Bengals sweep Steelers; UC Football in top 5). But while the world goes to Hell around us, my wife and I will sit on the sidewalk in front of the European Café and enjoy out gyros and souvlaki, thankfully relieved of the polluting traffic as all the righteous people of Cincinnati will have been taken to Heaven in the Rapture.