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5-1-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Why are movie sequels so awful?

-- Disappointed in Discordia

Dear Disappointed:

Generally because really good original movies are made by creative geniuses and sequels are made by bookkeepers from the studio accounting department who are only interested in keeping down costs-- usually by dispensing with a script-- and maximizing profits. Inevitably this results in a product that bombs critically and at the box office as well, but since Hollywood film people have an attention span of about two weeks, they try the same strategy over and over again. This has led to such low-budget cinematic treats as:

"Roadkill Warrior"

"Babe: Pig in a Blanket"

"Schindler's Laundry List"

"Porky's Does Casablanca"

"The Deer Humper"

"American Booty"

"Badfellas"

"Saving Ryan's Privates"

"Raging Cow"

"Full Nylon Jacket"

"Back to the Past"

... and my personal direct-to-video favorite, "The Bare Witch Project."

5-2-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

My husband is the worst procrastinator I have ever known or heard tell about. I swear the man will be late for his own funeral. Is there a cure for this dreaded affliction, or do I just have to suffer with it?

-- Punctual in Punxsutawney

Dear Punctual:

Procrastination is indeed a scourge. I assume that you've tried the standard corrective measures like setting clocks and calendars ahead and strapping explosive timing devices to his person.

I know that it's small consolation, but there is a worse state you could be saddled with. Anticrastination is a rarer condition, but an even more maddening one. Imagine being married to someone who is compelled to do everything ahead of time. These are the folks who line up at the post office on January 1st to mail their income tax returns, and have their car serviced every 200 miles just to be on the safe side. 

There was a married couple in Redbone when I was growing up, Elmira and Elvin Sprungwattle. In this case he was the normal one, punctual enough to set a watch by. Elmira, however, was an anticrastinator of the worst sort, the kind who would do her spring cleaning in the fall and put up the window screens in December. Their son Terwilliger was toilet trained at 2 months, and was never quite the same after the experience. He was the one who wound up in a home at the age of 14 after he was caught for the third time ringing the church bells for the Sunday service on a Wednesday afternoon, stark naked in the belfry except for a diaper.

Elmira drove everyone around her crazy with her need to do everything long before it was due. We would see her long-suffering husband mowing the lawn in January, sometimes in the middle of a snowstorm, and Terwilliger would arrive for the first day of school in mid-July, muffled up with winter clothing and wearing heavy boots. Poor Elvin would have his breakfast set out at 2 am and be waiting for the trolley to work by 3:30, even though the Redbone Savings & Loan where he worked didn't open till 9. Elvira would hear about an engagement between two of Redbone's young people and would immediately send off wedding presents, and then baby shower gifts two weeks after that. Worse yet, she would send sympathy cards to the relatives of the town's old folks long before they passed on.

Alas, her anticrastinating ways caught up with her in the end. One October evening she attempted to drive her buggy across the frozen lake to deliver Christmas presents to the parsonage and drowned, as the ice wasn't due for another eight to ten weeks. Elvin Sprungwattle had the last word, however, by putting a sundial on the top of her headstone and angling it so it was always half an hour behind. They say on quiet nights in the graveyard you can hear spinning in her grave. But it's a slow, infuriated spin....

5-3-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie:

Do you know what I miss? I miss those days before radio and TV and indoor plumbing when people would sit around at night listening to the wolves howling, entertaining themselves and passing on Life Lessons to their offspring in the form of Fables. The world would be a far better place if we had more Fables and less street crime. What do you think?

-- Fabulous in Fabriano

Dear Fabulous:

Not only do I agree with you completely (except the part about no indoor plumbing), but I have gone the extra mile and delved into the pages of Redbone's oral history to collect a batch of classic fables for your personal edification and the amusement of my other readers. Just click on the tattered scroll just below for an adventure in olde tyme funne and proverbial wisdom.

5-4-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I saw an article someplace recently that said that, since printed materials are being replaced by CD-ROM, microfiche and the Internet, libraries that previously sank into their foundations under the weight of their books are now in danger of collapsing in extremely high winds.

-- Fascinated in Fascicular

Dear Fascinated:

This sounded to me at first like one of those made-up "facts" that people release into the Internet out of sheer maliciousness and can never be stamped out afterwards .

Surprisingly, it turns out to be true, as you can see in this article from the Dissociated Press:
----------------
EAU DU PRALINE, Wisconsin (DP) -- The Wisconsin Library Association (WLA) issued a warning to its member libraries today after the catastrophic destruction of the Eau du Praline public library in a tornado last night. 

The library, which was being housed temporarily in a collection of double-wide mobile homes while the 123-year-old main library is being refurbished, was "picked up like it was a feather," according to one eyewitness. 

The Claims Investigation Unit of the WLA Insurance Division attributed the destruction to the increasing reliance of libraries on the Internet and CD-ROMs. Ms. Hepatica Colander, head of the WLA-CIU, stated that "just 50 years ago libraries were built of solid rock and filled with tomes that were as dense as concrete. A windstorm or tornado didn't stand a chance against a citadel like that. Nowadays a library located in a trailer park might have a total weight of only 800 to 1,200 pounds, librarians included. And since trailer parks are tornado magnets, as everyone knows, they're the ones that don't stand a chance when an old-fashioned F3 touches down."

Libraries in tornado-prone areas of Wisconsin are urged to seek donations of old law library volumes, crates of Reader's Digest Condensed Books, and as many National Geographics as they can locate for use as ballast. 
----------------
©2002, The Dissociated Press. All rights reserved. All wrongs revenged. 

5-5-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

TIME magazine this week has an article on the astonishing increase in cases of autism among American children. They didn't offer any suggestions as to why this was happening. Any suggestions?

-- Worried in Worcester

Dear Worried:

I had this one doped out some time ago. Compare the behavior of autistic kids with the behavior of Teletubbies, those odd-looking creatures who repeat the same words over and over, engage in ritualized behavior, live in a world where the illogical is commonplace, and seriously believe that they are controlled by televisions implanted in their abdomens. Now overlay a graph of the rise of autism with the number of kids exposed to the Teletubbies and you'll see it's a perfect match. 

I tried to explain this to one of the editors of TIME, but he was too distracted with the program that was appearing on his belly-telly....

5-6-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

As an oldster like yourself, I've been bowled over with the way computers have changed our society at every level. What do you think the latest advance will be that affects our daily life?

-- Futurist in Fuzhou

Dear Futurist:

Well, for one thing, increasing computer speeds will allow us to do things on our home PCs that only supercomputers can do now, like accurately predict the weather.

As a matter of fact those days may almost be upon us. The Redbone Fire Department was just awarded a grant and a pile of new computer equipment to try out one of the latest theories involving probability and firefighting. Rather than waiting for a fire alarm, they can accurately predict where the next fire in their jurisdiction is going to occur, so they simply get there a few minutes ahead of time and wait for it to start. It should save a fortune in firefighting costs, not to mention near-zero property damage and loss of life or injuries. 

If the experiment is a success, watch for it to spread to Police Departments as well-- it will simply be a matter of rounding up criminals before they commit crimes, which will be a giant step for police work, although the ACLU is going to have apoplexy over it, I'm sure....

5-7-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

My grandson Hector is a first-class, dyed-in-the-wool, born-again Gen Z slacker. Any suggestions?

-- Frustrated in Franconia

Dear Frustrated:

There is one organization you might look into: Junior Underachievement. They've been helping young people sort of make something of themselves since there were slugabeds, flâneurs and lubberly lusks. 

It works this way: kids who join are assembled into teams, usually with chains. They then have to complete a task, such as finding a new way to ask for spare change or devising a way to wear even bigger, baggier, more slovenly clothing. Teams that more or less succeed are allowed to share a joint, eat some junk food or watch MTV. 

After several months of this treatment they qualify for a Junior Underachiever badge, which doesn't make them any more unemployable, but at least lets the people at the welfare office recognize those who can be trusted with simple tasks that have minimal responsibility, no need to communicate and adequate rest periods. 

5-8-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

What's meant by the phrase "you can take the people out of the slums, but you can't take the slums out of the people"? My grandfather uses it all the time and I've often wondered what it meant.

-- Slovenly in Slovenia

Dear Slovenly:

It simply means that habits developed in one environment are difficult to change when one moves into a different environment. It's usually derogatory. Think of the Beverly Hillbillies if you need a graphic example.

Here in Redbone we've got Loxpoo Dimblewitt and his wife Congoleum as living proof of that old adage. They used to live in a tarpaper shack down between the dump and the cesspool until Loxpoo found a winning six-figure lottery ticket in a bag of rancid pork fat. They used the money to build a home in a better part of town. Now they live in a brand-new all-brick trailer-- still without electricity or running water, but with a Lexus SUV up on blocks in the dooryard, and they're plumb tickled pink. Just last week they carpeted the bathroom, and they were so happy with the way it turned out that they're thinking of running the carpet clean across the yard and into the house.... 

5-9-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I've been reading some horror stories about demonic possession that quite frankly scared the you-know-what out of me. A girlfriend says that demonic possession is also mentioned in the Bible. Could there really be such a thing?

-- Affrighted in Affton

Dear Affrighted:

Demonic possession is bad enough, but I'd be more concerned with demonic REpossession. I'd truly hate to get mixed up with a repo man with horns and a pitchfork. Although some domestic models I've had acquaintance with almost qualify....

I think what happens in demonic repossession is that you have to be born again, then start backsliding. Suddenly one night you awake to discover that your soul is no longer in its earthly garage and there's a strong smell of brimstone about the place. And you've got virtually no chance of appeal, since all the lawyers in the world work for the other side.

Me, I'd keep up the payments if I was in that situation. There's a big difference between being without wheels and being bound to a big flaming one for an indefinite number of æons. That's why I've always been fond of the Unitarian Universalist Pseudo-Church of the Uncommitted-- the worst punishment in their afterlife is a parking ticket.

5-10-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Here in the sovereign state of Arizona the President of the University has sent out an impassioned plea to graduating seniors asking them to not bring tortillas to fling about after the graduation ceremony. As a graduating senior myself, I'm at a loss as to how to respond to this boneheaded request. Any suggestions?

-- Matriculating in Mesa

Dear Matriculating:

I saw that mentioned in a Dissociated Press story this morning. The idea that popped into my head was to find a Carmen Miranda impersonator (no, not Carmen Electra-- down, boy) and ask her to arrive just before the President's speech in full costume, fruit hat and all. She could then upstage the Prez by singing an altered version of the old banana song that made Carmen, Spanish music and bananas so popular back in the days of early TV:

--------------
"I'm Chiquita Tortilla and I've come to say
Tortillas are a symbol down old Mexico way;
They may seem just like floppy frisbees to you,
But to hungry Mexicanos they're a foodstuff, too.
You can fill them with a salad,
Or make a meat-and-bean pie-aye,
Any way you want to eat them
It's impossible to beat them.
But, political correctness is the current college situation...
So you should never throw tortillas -- at your graduation."
~ Music ©1945 Shawnee Press Inc. Lyrics ©2002 The Dissociated Press
--------------

If that doesn't do the trick, take a tip from the Three Stooges and substitute cream pies for the tortillas. And by all means send me a videotape.... 

5-11-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

My doctor says I'm somewhat overweight and could probably stand to lose a hundred pounds or so. Maybe two hundred. Can you suggest any diets that will help me accomplish this in 3 weeks, as the talent scouts for Playmate of the Month will be in town then?

-- Hidden Treasure in Hidden Valley

Dear Hidden:

My advice to you is to stay hidden. Even if you stopped eating altogether and spent the next 3 weeks running uphill carrying an economy car you couldn't lose a hundred pounds, not to mention two. And the strain would probably kill you outright in the first 15 minutes. 

However, if you'd like to set *next* year as a more practical target, I can suggest a couple of sure-fire diets.

The first is the Doctor's Ice Cream Diet. Simply pick your favorite flavor of ice cream and eat nothing else until this time next year. In the beginning you'll pig out of course, but after a couple of weeks you won't be able to stand the sight, smell or taste of the stuff. 

Another is the Aversion Therapy Diet. Wire a knife, fork and spoon to a high-voltage source like a Tesla coil. Take your meals at a well-grounded metal table, seated naked in a similarly-grounded chair. I suggest not wearing braces for this one.

Finally, there's the Back-to-Nature Diet, in which you can only eat what you can catch and kill with your bare hands. Ever wonder why Sheena, Queen of the Jungle looked so good? There's your reason.

Please write and let me know how things work out. Under separate cover I'm sending you a Barbie doll as a source of inspiration.... 

5-12-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

One thing I hate about the WWW is the proliferation of movie "reviewers." Even a respectable source like IMDB somehow feels obliged to list opinions from every bozo and his brother-in-law. Shouldn't there be standards?

--Overloaded in Overbury 

Dear Overloaded:

Yes, it is indeed an annoyance. Unfortunately there are some forms of activity like performance art, rap, televangelism and movie reviewing where no talent whatsoever is necessary to capture the public eye, and the wimps that pass for legislators and in the media are eager to defend the clueless on grounds of free speech or artistic expression.

However, some of these Ebert wannabes can be useful. The bonehead who reviews movies for Senility Sunset, the free paper we get here at The Home, has an uncanny ability to review movies precisely in reverse. For instance, "Star Wars," "The Godfather," "Schindler's List" and "Pulp Fiction" all got no stars, whereas "Leonard Part 6," "Ishtar," "Showgirls," "Howard the Duck" and "Battlefield Earth" all got four-star raves. So it's an easy matter to tell whether a picture is any good: if Bonehead Howard says it's a winner, avoid it like the plague.... 

5-13-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

What do you think the Internet will be like in, say, 5 years?

-- Seer in Seelisberg 

Dear Seer:

I shudder to think....

"Hello, NETTIE! Thank you for trying to log on to AOL.COM, the world's only Internet service provider. NETTIE, there are EIGHTY... SIX... THOUSAND... ONE... HUNDRED... FOURTEEN... other customers in the logon queue ahead of you. Your hold time will be approximately SEVEN... HOURS.... and... THIRTY... THREE... minutes... before you connect. 

"NETTIE, for an additional SEVENTY... FIVE... CENTS... we will keep trying this number and notify you when your connection can be completed. There's no need to approve this option: AOL's Auto-Choice has made the decision for you!

"NETTIE, you may wish to consider AOL SuperUltraPremium service for only $149.95 a month. SuperUltraPremium service assures you that there will never be more than 100 people in your particular queue. As a bonus you will receive 5 free e-mails each month, and your next 10 e-mails will be only $1.50 each. Also, NETTIE, the long-distance calls you place through AOL/AT&T/MCI/Sprint/WorldCom, "The Phone Company," will be billed at only $1 per minute, and charged directly to your AOLMasterVISAAmEx card number 3471-0928-4831-5509, expiration date 10/09!

"This message is sponsored by AOLMicrosoft, the world's only software supplier. NETTIE, have you been thinking about upgrading to Microsoft Windows OOPS 4.51, the operating system that's smarter than you are? Well, think no more, since AOLMicrosoft has already upgraded your computer from version 4.50 and charged your credit card $850. We know you'll love the special new features in version 4.51, NETTIE, since you don't have a choice! Version 4.51 includes a patch for AOLMicrosoft Extorter version 38.7¾ that allows you to receive an unlimited number of promotional e-mails, pop-up screens and banner ads. AOLMicrosoft's recent annihilation of the last known pirate ad blocking software company assures you that your favorite ads will reach you without annoying interference, and AOLMicrosoftCitiBank's Personal Wallet will automatically order what you need-- before you even know you need it!"

~ "AOL: There's Simply No Other Way To Live!" ~

5-14-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

You must have heard about that high school vice principal (no pun intended) who forced girls to show their underwear before they were allowed into the prom. What on earth was she thinking?

-- Floored in Floreffe

Dear Floored:

She claims she did it on the grounds of national security. Apparently it's quite easy to convert thong underwear into a weapon, and she feared that some teenage girl might whip off her thong and use it to hold the prom hostage, possibly even commandeering the gymnasium and flying it into a national landmark. You can't be too careful these days....

5-15-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I was reflecting on the name of the part of the country you lie in, the Ozarks. The dictionary simply gives the usual definition of "a region of the Southeastern United States," but I know there must be more to it. Any idea where the name came from?

-- Geographer in Geoduck

Dear Geographer:

The answer will surprise you. It's actually a contraction of "Noah's Ark," as it was pronounced in the 16th century.

You see, early explorers of the New World felt that they had a much better chance of finding the Ark here than in the Old World, which had pretty much been picked over, relic-wise. So one day a couple of enterprising Scots-Irish conmen, Dermott M'Dermott and Duncan MacBruce used the old "Columbus Hustle" to persuade the Queen of Ireland to pawn her crown jewels and finance an exploratory voyage to the southeastern part of what was to later become the United States in order to look for the Ark. 

Unfortunately the only maps they had simply listed Nouveau Orleans ("For a good time call Elspeth"), Ponce's Fountain of Youth® theme park, and huge swathes of blank real estate marked with warning labels like "Ye Chirgeon General hath Determined that yese Forests are Possessed by Dragons." Our two explorers were no dragon-baiting fools and stayed safely within the city limits of Nouveau Orleans. After having spent most of their venture capital on Elspeth and several of her friends at the House of the Rising Member in New Orleans, they sent a progress report to Queen Aoibheann'na'Gopaleen ha' na' Haggis ha'Caoilfhionn O'Darby telling her that they were hot on the trail of the Ark, having traced it to a mountain peak which even the Native Americans called "Ozeark," and that if she would hock a couple of nose studs they were sure they would be planting the Irish flag on the mizzenmast of the poop deck of old Noah's container craft in no time at all.

Well, the trusting but gullible Queen forwarded the cash by the next outgoing explorer, and it was party time at the House of the Rising Member once again. 

Eventually Dermott and Duncan became bored with a life of unbridled lust and untrammeled hedonism and decided to go off in search of Noah's Ark while they waited for venereal antibiotics to be invented. They managed to convince a herd of ne'er-do-wells and low-lives to join them, and they set off for the fabled land which the Native Americans called "Ozeark," or "place of the hill-Williams." They found only a series of low eroded hills with nary a sign of a ship of any description. So they sold the crew into bondage to the Native Americans for enough wampum to open a fast food pastry franchise, and their little shop, Duncan/Dermott's, became a favorite stopping place for weary travelers from that time forward, especially after coffee was discovered and regular police patrols were organized....

5-16-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

For a school project I have to write about the Graft Zipplen, which was some kind of a boat I think. In Germany. What do you know about it? Nickelodeon is having an All Slime, All the Time special tonight which I don't want to miss, or I'd gladly do it myself.

-- Scholar in Scholem

Dear Scholar:

You should really be more careful when you write down your homework assignments. I searched and searched for "Graft Zipplen" to no avail. Fortunately the Gargoyle search engine has the Lousy Speller option. It appears you mean the "Craft (of) Ziploc," referring to early attempts to manufacture an easy-to use, self-sealing pouch for containing leftovers.

It all started in 1899 in the little German town of Bumf, which was the paperwork capital of what was then known as the Austro-Mongolian Empire. A poor shoemaker, Handels Feetz, was dismayed at the huge volumes of worthless paper that arrived in the town each day by train, to be stored in the Altschrottunbrauchbarbedeutungslospapierlager der Unleserlichhingekritzelt, a magnificent 17th century palace which had been built for the purpose of preserving these bureaucratic documents of no redeeming social value. 

Feetz became obsessed with the idea of turning these documents into something worthwhile, thereby making a name for himself and putting the town of Bumf on the map as something other than a legislative landfill. He began logically, attempting to treat the paper with various chemicals to convert it into a sort of artificial leather, but alas! the stuff was too flimsy for uppers and of course, having originated with the government, was sole-less even though in many cases it had been composed by heels (shoemaker humor-- sorry).

One day he heard his wife Katrinka complaining about the utter lack of decent storage containers for preserving leftovers, and he was struck with a brilliant idea! By pressing the coal tars out of the inks in the worthless paper and treating the exudates thus obtained with alcohol and sulfuric acid, processing it via fractional distillation and expanding it into a thin film with heated hydrogen, he was able to produce a thin, strong, transparent film that was ideal for food storage. He named the new material after his daughters Polly and Ethyl, calling it ethylpollyene.

It was a sensation, of course, and Feetz had dreams of becoming a millionaire several times over. Unfortunately the Royal Director of the Altschrottunbrauchbarbedeutungslospapierlager der Unleserlichhingekritzelt, Baron Länderscape, heard about the invention and had poor Handels Feetz arrested, brought before a mock trial, and shot for misusing government documents that had been remanded to the care of the State. 

So there you go, young Scholar! The complete history of the "Craft of Ziploc," all ready for you to plagiarize. Never let it be said that Aunt Nettie doesn't foster good study habits among her young fans. Someday you may grow up to publish other people's works as your own, and I sincerely hope you'll remember me, as I will be beyond revenge by then. 

5-17-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I'm so fed up hearing about guilty people getting off because some defense lawyer invents something like the "Twinkie Defense" or the "Prozac Defense" or even the "Elmo Defense." Where will it all end?

-- Guilt/Free in Guidonia

Dear Guilt/Free:

As I've said on many occasions, you should not confuse a trial with the determination of justice. The defense attorney is only interested in winning the case. Guilt or innocence is secondary, if it appears on the radar screen at all. If these people could get Osama bin Laden off the hook on a technicality, they'd have no qualms about doing it. As a matter of fact "qualm removal" is on all law school agendas, along with ethics extraction.

I expect that the next breakthrough in freeing evildoers will be the "Human Nature Defense." Some overpaid attorney for a guilty millionaire will convince a not-very-bright jury that it was in his client's genetic inheritance and psychological makeup to commit the crime, and that he really had no choice in the matter. A single victory will establish legal precedence, and after that, all bets are off. 

5-18-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

With all the junk on TV these days, I have a hard time finding decent programs to watch. I like patriotic, inspirational, uplifting shows of the kind you can't hardly find on TV no more. Any suggestions?

-- Bored in Bora-Bora

Dear Bored:

I know just what you mean. If it weren't for "The Simpsons" I'm not sure what I would do. 

However, there is hope on the horizon. I have been advised by several readers that there's a program that reflects my personality, values and ideals perfectly. I have investigated and discovered that it's perfectly true. 

As a matter of fact I am so impressed with this show that I have had a wristband made up to give me a source of inspiration and confidence in these trying times. It says "WWSBSPD?" Whenever I am befuddled, bollixed, discombobulated or just plain flummoxed, I take a deep breath, close my eyes and whisper, "What Would SpongeBob SquarePants Do?" Then I turn over my SpongeBob Magic 8-Ball and follow the wisdom displayed there. It is truly a comfort. 

5-20-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

My wife and I are about to invest in our first home. We're really new at this. Any suggestions?

-- Houselorn in Housemann

Dear Houselorn:

Yes, having purchased several abodes in my life, I have several pieces of advice.

1. Avoid homes located in places jocularly referred to as "Tornado Alley" or shown on USGS maps as being located in a flood plain. A sign of the former is a brand-new double-wide located on a decades-old slab in a neighborhood that also has lots of new people living in new trailers on decades-old slabs. Likewise the absence of trees is a dead giveaway. For flood risks, look for high-water marks or evidence of helicopter rescues on the roof. 

2. If the current residents seem extremely evasive, are unusually anxious to sell for a very low sum, and if the realtor appears to be related to them and offers to do the title search for you free of charge, it's highly unlikely you're dealing with the actual owners.

3. Another reason for a low price is poltergeist infestation or demonic possession. Keep your eyes open for floating household appliances, spontaneous combustion of family pets, or sepulchral voices warning you of the wrath of the damned. Remember that most children in this day and age are not familiar with Latin, especially spoken backward.

4. Check out the neighborhood carefully. Strike up conversations with your potential neighbors, working words like "robbery," "carjacking," "shooting galleries," etc., into the conversation. If people seem unduly happy about the murder rate dropping, look elsewhere. Bullet holes in siding are also a warning sign, as are a multiplicity of rottweilers and pit bulls.

5. Houses do not normally hum, not even very happy houses. Suspect the electrical system or termites.

6. It's always a good idea to have a registered home inspector give the place a once-over. Enthusiastic prospective homeowners sometimes overlook important items, like the absence of a heating system or flooring.

7. Plumbing is another often-ignored area. Turn on a bathroom or kitchen tap. Water should abundantly flow. Dust, sand, rust or unidentifiable slime are considered disincentives to purchase. Ask to use the toilet. If the owners nervously suggest using a bush in the back yard instead, it could indicate problems. Also, septic tanks do not normally explode as a self-cleaning mechanism, regardless of what you're told. 

If I can think of anything else I'll send it to you via e-mail. It might also be wise to pick up a practical homeowner's guidebook like Dave Barry's "Homes and Other Black Holes." Not that we are suggesting pessimism or anything....

5-21-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Some of the summer clothing styles they're advertising for pre-teen girls are absolutely scary. Whatever happened to modesty, coyness and the innocence of youth?

-- Amazed in Amazonia

Dear Amazed:

It went the way of the hoop skirt, the poodle skirt and the fender skirt. You should see what my great-whatever niece Bimbette wears-- or barely wears-- in warm weather. I'm sure there are issues of Playboy that leave more to the imagination.

Luckily, fashion changes don't bother me much anymore: I think my title as Town Frump is pretty secure at this point.

However, I see your point, and raise you an observation from one of the psychologist interns who work here as part of their courses. He said that there were two books assigned for one of his courses in childhood development. The title of the first was, "Sexual Life of the Child from 6 to 10," which didn't bother him too much until he noticed the title of the companion volume, "Sexual Life of the Child from 10 to Midnight."

I personally preferred the era of romance: romance has given us epic novels, tales of splendor, great songs and operas, and traditions of chivalry that have come down to us from medieval times. What has sex given us but a Britney Spears TV special?

5-22-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I have liked this boy called James for a long time since year 7. I am now in year 9, he is in the same year as me. It isn't just a crush. Everyone says he flirts with me he does a little bit I have noticed that. But I am being sent to another school and my friend told me to say that I am leaving and he will make a move. But that advice didn't work, so that is why I am asking you I am leaving Friday so I need him to know how much I like him. And to be going out with him. But I cannot say it to his face can you give me some different advice than to tell him to his face. E-mail me back with your advice PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!! 

-- Em in Emden

Dear Em:

Take the advice of an old lady who first fell madly, passionately in love when William McKinley was still in the White House, worried about what was happening in Cuba. 

It lasted 2 weeks before I fell madly, passionately in love with someone else. And that was just a start....

The Official Nettie Advice: 

A. Boys are different than girls and always will be. You're thinking relationships, he's thinking sports or cars or video games. 

B. You already sent him a message that you were leaving and nothing happened. Maybe nothing ever will. Deal with it.

C. Send him a nice card (snail or e-mail) asking him to stay in touch and including your new address, phone number and e-mail contact. Don't hold your breath waiting for a response (see A above).

D. Consider that the love of your life might be waiting for you at your new school, and then your big problem would be getting *rid* of James.

E. Take the long view. At your age everything seems intense and forever. Very few things are in the long run. 

F. Work on your mind and your skills. Everything else settles, fades, bulges or sags out of recognition in less time than you'll ever believe.

G. NEVER judge your own worth by whether someone likes you or not. Become wonderful and Mister Right will show up at the appropriate moment.

5-23-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I really like your new "Redbone Fables" section on your Web site. Will there be more of them?

-- Entertained in Entebbe

Dear Entertained:

First of all, I blush with shame at not having given credit to the author of these tales, Allsott the Fabulous, one of Redbone's oddest citizens-- and that alone is saying quite a lot. He managed to support himself for 88 years simply by telling stories. Oh, he was caught quite often, especially for fraud, impersonation and copyright infringement, but while in prison he composed Allsott's Fables, the source of these tales. Here's another from his Collected Work:
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There was once a poor fisherman married to a shrewish wife who constantly upbraided him for their poverty. He was quite a miserable soul, but he dutifully put out to sea each day, even in the worst weather, bringing home his meager catch each evening, which barely sustained the two of them.

One day when he was hopelessly lost in a fog and overcome with despair he pulled up his net and in it found a only single flounder, although one of considerable size. Sighing deeply, he was about to disembowel it when the fish spoke to him, saying, "Fisherman, fisherman, stay your hand, for I am Neptune's favorite, with the power to give great gifts to whichever mortals I choose. Spare me, and I will grant you three wishes."

The fisherman was taken aback, but he had heard some wild tales of sea creatures in his day and had very little to lose when you got right down to it. As a test he said to the flounder, "Well, for starters, you could get rid of this fog." Immediately the fog lifted and the fisherman found himself on a glassy smooth sea not far from his hovel. He was so flabbergasted that he couldn't think of another thing to ask for. The flounder assured him that he would return whenever the fisherman called him to grant the remaining two wishes.

Well, needless to say the fisherman's wife blew a fuse (figuratively speaking-- they had no electricity in their miserable hovel) and drove the poor fisherman out the door back to his boat in a hail of pots and pans and curses, screaming at him to ask for a new house and an inexhaustible larder and haute couture fashions and a Rolls-Royce cabriolet, and....

So the terrified fisherman rowed back out to sea and called to the flounder in despair. Immediately the fish reappeared and the poor man poured out his tale of woe. The fish assured him that everything his dreadful wife had requested was well within his power to fulfill for a second wish. Then, leaning close and dropping his voice to a whisper, he made a suggestion for the third wish, which so impressed the fisherman that he nearly fell overboard. He then rowed for home as fast as he had ever rowed before. 

Lo and behold, there in place of his miserable hovel was a splendid Malibu-style beachfront split-level with elegant landscaping and the Rolls in the garage. 

The flounder's suggestion for a third wish met him at the door. Gorgeous, intelligent, soft-spoken and a hell of a financial manager....

------------------
Moral: Sometimes the biggest and best home improvements have nothing to do with building materials.

5-24-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I have to do a nessay on over popul ation. I have serched online but I can't find any thing to copy that makes sence. I now you like to help kids with home werk. Will you send me some thing on over popul ation I can hand in? p.s. its not even in the ensyklopeetea. I loked.

-- Despirit in Deseret

Dear Despirit:

Ah, another young scholar in need. My favorite questions come from youngsters who only need a slight boost to achieve mediocrity in the classroom. 

If you break the word (or words) in your essay topic down to their components, you can plainly see that the subject is the popul, a burrowing rodent that was a great nuisance to American farmers as they attempted to convert rangeland into farmland during the 19th century, and farmland into real estate in the 20th. The popul is related to the common shrew, only larger and with a bigger appetite. It is resistant to most pesticides, and it was only through the application of toxic waste sludges to farmland did the popul cease to menace the American crop surplus output.

Over-populized areas can be almost ruined. The residents of De Kalb county in Illinois sent a letter to the Agriculture Department in 1951 insisting that the Federal government get involved, which shows you just how bad off they were. They even suggested using parts of the county to test nuclear weapons as a popul deterrent. And they were right to do so. A popul explosion can wipe out entire civilizations: the Mayans of Central America were overrun with them and with Spaniards in the 16th century, and ceased to exist as a culture. They recorded their battles against the rodent in their great book, "Popul Vuh," or "Gone with the Populs" in English. This unique volume, illustrated with elaborate cartoons, tells the story in detail. See also "Popul Doh!: The Effect of Beer on the Decline of Mayan Cartoon Writing" Simpson Press (London & Bombay, 1954). It shows how the quality of the drawings deteriorated over time as the Mayans put all their tax dollars into developing a premium beer for export, but which they were forced to consume at home to keep up their strength. (Recently republished by Lager & Sudds as "The Dos Equis Files.")

There you go! A nice concise essay that I am certain will win you the gold star.

5-25-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Would you settle a bet for us? You know the old expression, "not worth a tinker's dam(n)?" referring to something worthless? Well, which version is the right one-- tinker's D-A-M, or tinker's D-A-M-N? 

-- Damien in Damariscotta

Dear Damien:

I'm not sure on which side you had your money placed, but the fact of the matter is that the actual phrase is "Tinker's Dam." 

It refers to an actual dam which was to be constructed on the Whamakapoochie River in Dakota Territory in 1859, and it became a legend unequalled in dam-building history, at least until the facts are in on China's Three Gorges effort. Here's what happened.

Dakota Territory's Congressman, James E. ("Jimmy") Tinker's palm had been solidly greased, as we used to say, to build a dam by the wicked timber barrens who ruled the area. They were called timber barrens because they hated trees, cutting down and selling them wherever they found them, leaving barren prairie behind. The timber barrens claimed that Indians hid in forests, glades, and even in copses and thickets, waiting to spring out upon unsuspecting women and children who happened to be passing by, although there were only about 300 people in the entire territory at the time and few of them either women or children. So to protect the women and children of the future, they said, all trees should be cut down and sold to logging companies. Oh, they were the very devil on trees, the timber barrens were-- even Johnny Appleseed gave them a wide berth.

Eventually the last stand of trees left in the area was in Chuckabung County, fortunately protected by all manner of treaties and covenants and clauses which frustrated the timber barrens all out of countenance. Finally they found a loophole: according to an ancient law, if a dam were to be constructed on the Whamakapoochie it would flood the entire valley in which Chuckabung County nestled like a pearl in a large green deciduous oyster. And preparatory to flooding the valley, it was perfectly acceptable to cut down the trees in advance of the floodwaters, since they took up so much room and since no one would want to drink the water from the subsequent reservoir for fear of ingesting poison sumac or rotten oak splinters.

The timber barrens were delirious with joy, and paid the conniving Congressman Tinker a handsome sum to pass some legislation requiring that a dam be built and the valley flooded, so that there would be adequate water for future generations. And so it was, and the unhappy people of Chuckabung County were relocated to Bungachuck County with all their goods and chattels, where they lamented their fate and cursed the timber barrens who had driven them from their arboreal mollusk.

It came to pass that on July 4th of that year there was a grand ground-breaking ceremony for the building of the dam, in which Old Glory and Congressman James E. ("Jimmy") Tinker were prominently displayed. All the former residents attended, wearing black and giving off a funereal air. Curiously enough, when it came to the naming ceremony, it was revealed that the great construction was to be called the James E. ("Jimmy") Tinker Memorial Dam. The Congressman affected surprise, but went along with the scenario, even to the point of draining a bottle of ceremonial champagne before breaking it over the head of one of the coolies who were going to do the actual labor, Irishmen being scarce in this part of the world due to the whiskey shortage.

At that point a great hue and cry was raised, as Emma Bustlewitt, county librarian, burst through the crowd waving a document, and ascended the stage that had been built for the ceremony. In a trembling but far-carrying voice she announced the result of her weeks of study poring over old deeds and covenants by candlelight. It turned out that there was a codicil to the original loophole, which stated that a dam could indeed be built, but that it could not be built of earth, nor of rock, nor carvéd stone, timber, concrete, ironwork, pottery or any material other than black obsidian, and Peruvian black obsidian at that! Why, the transportation costs for a single block alone would be equal to the fair market value of all of Chuckabung County, trees and agricultural machinery included!

Curses, foiled again! cried the timber barrens, as they slunk into dark and inglorious places, gnashing their few remaining teeth. Rejoice! cried the displaced citizens of Chuckabung County, and they forthwith moved back from Bungachuck County with all their goods and chattels as fast as their little legs could carry them. As soon as they had gotten the curtains hung and fires built in the stoves they voted James E. ("Jimmy") Tinker out of office by mandate, waiting patiently for the railroad to build a spur through Dakota Territory so they could ride him out of town on a rail.

Thus it was that Tinker's Dam entered the lore of the Wild West and the oral history of the people of Chuckabung, which eventually prospered and became a fairly small town, even by Dakota standards. And to this very day we refer to something of little value as not being worth Tinker's Dam. 

5-26-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Sequels to movies always seem to suck. Has there ever been a movie sequel that was as good as, or better than the original?

-- Cinephile in Cincinnati 

Dear Cinephile:

The only one that comes to mind is the sequel to the movie version of "A Streetcar Named Desire," which was called "How Stella Got Her Groove Back." 

5-27-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

As a wedding present I received a beautiful wooden spice rack filled with bottles of spices. My problem is that I've never even heard of some of them, much less know how to use them. Is there a guide someplace that will help me?

-- Unseasoned in Unity

Dear Unseasoned:

Well, as a woman who was known for her cooking skills back in her salad days-- if you'll pardon the pun-- I feel I'm qualified to give you some guidelines in using the more exotic spices. Here's a little list you can keep near the stove which lists the major properties of each and some of the foods they're used with.

OREGANO -- Ever wonder what happens to all the unsold merchandise at pizza parlors? They're purchased in bulk by one of the major spice companies, dried, ground up, tinted green and sold as oregano, which is the Italian word for "recycled." It's the reason why all pizzas taste and smell pretty much the same. Oregano cannot legally be used in any dish but pizza, although some cooks have been known to slip it into regular tomato sauce for that extra pizza-y zing.

THYME -- A wild herb related to the Oxnard family, it was known as "gastropucker" in Europe until a marketing firm got ahold of the rights to it and changed the name. A highly aromatic spice, it is oftentimes not used in food preparation at all. An open bottle kept in the bathroom or laundry area will mask offensive smells effectively for about a month, after which it should be replaced. In cuisine it is generally added to tomato sauce, veal dishes, toasted whelk and sweetbreads. It is also used in endless bad puns.

TARRAGON -- This so-called "spice" started out as a prank by a bunch of French cooks, who persuaded an American tourist that it was the essential ingredient in exotic sauces. It is actually made up of ground and fluffed Brussels sprouts, which is why it smells and tastes the way it does. No honest recipe will ever call for it, and if you find one where it is called for, substituting oregano will greatly improve the results.

BASIL -- Named after Basil Wolftooth, who discovered it growing wild in his bailiwick in 1127. It's well known in Europe as an insect repellent, and can be added to tomato sauces if one runs out of thyme. Basil is also the essential ingredient in pesto, which, as the name indicates, is also an insect repellent, but one that can be applied to the body when spurged with bear grease and fusel oil. 

FENNEL -- This curious spice, known as "doggy catnip" because of its effect on the canine species, is the perfect "come and get it" additive to home-made dog food. It can also be added to tomato sauces, and, mixed into sour cream, as a dressing for hot dogs or hush puppies.

MARIJUANA -- While not technically a spice, marijuana is the essential ingredient in certain brownie recipes. Keep it in an old oregano jar to throw off suspicion. It also contributes a certain je-ne-sais-quoi to tomato sauces, bean dip and pizza toppings.

CORIANDER -- Discovered by Danish gastronome Corey Anders in 1811, and named after him, coriander is sometimes called "vegetable fugu" after the Japanese fish which can be either delicious or lethal depending on how it is prepared. The leaves on the northern side of the plant are flavorful and add zest to tomato sauces, but the leaves on the southern side of the plant are instantaneously and undetectably poisonous. When purchasing coriander in the marketplace, always be certain to get northern leaves, unless your marriage isn't working out and there's a substantial double-indemnity clause in hubby's life insurance.

CUMIN -- Another two-faced plant. Cumin is widely believed to be an aphrodisiac, which it is in small quantities. Beyond a certain point, however, it becomes one of the world's most powerful organic laxatives. Remember the old rule of thumb: "A pinch will grow an inch, but to splurge will cause a purge." Add it to passionfruit to increase its effectiveness. 

ALLSPICE -- As the name implies, a mixture of all the above. Designed for the indecisive cook, a touch of allspice will add character to a dish without actually improving it. Half a teaspoon added to home-made tomato sauce will bring out the flavor and aroma of Ragú or Chef Boy-ar-dee.

Those are your basic spice groups. There are also others like borage, fenugreek and verbena which are manufactured solely for inclusion in gift spice racks and are not used in cooking at all. At your 50th wedding anniversary look at your spice rack and those bottles will still be sealed. Many of them have the caps bonded on at the factory to prevent accidental ingestion.

5-28-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I am really, really into NASCAR and auto racing in general. Are you? Did you watch the Indy 500 on Sunday??

-- Revved in Revson

Dear Revved:

I've been involved in several high-speed auto chases in my lifetime, but competitive auto racing leaves me cold. If it weren't for the accidents, I don't think anyone would go to see them. And as for watching them on TV-- give me a break. Only golf is more boring. Those wheel-level cameras are supposed to add excitement, but they only leave me with a bad case of motion sickness.

All of us here at Living Dead "R" Us received complimentary tickets to the Redbone 500... or actually, since sponsorship has been taken over by Daffy Dave's Discount Duds, it's now known as the Redbone 449.95. Needless to say it's a local attraction. A bunch of the good ol' boys get likkered up, take the mufflers off their cars and run around and around until most of them pass out from carbon monoxide poisoning. It's closer to "Survivor" than the Indy 500. 

Afterwards there's a barbecue, which isn't as big a deal as it sounds. In this part of the country, known as the "Hog, Lard & Rendered Fat Capital of the Universe," there's always a lot of surplus swineage to put on the coals, so barbecues are thrown for the slightest occasion-- birthdays, football games, debutante balls-- even tornados. As soon as the warning sirens go off there's a rush to set up the grills and fry up some pork products so's people can sit on their lawn sofas with a couple of cases of beer and watch the action. It's a different story if they become part of the action, of course. Then their neighbors will throw sympathy and fund-raising barbecues for the unfortunate victims where spare trailer parts will be donated to assemble them a new home.

But to answer your question, I spent the day in quiet meditation. Even quieter than usual since my great-etc-nephew Gizmo brought me some homegrown wackybaccy when he came to upgrade my computer the other day. It's amazing how fascinating, meditative and insightful reruns of "The Dukes of Hazzard" become under certain conditions....

5-29-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

At a local restaurant I noticed both "chicken fingers" and "buffalo wings" on the menu. Does this mean that genetic engineering has spilled over from the orchard and field into the barnyard? What other horrors do we have to look forward to?

-- Organic in Organabo

Dear Organic:

I'm afraid it's true. Agricultural scientists and food processing megacorporations have been quietly testing the waters to see what people will accept by way of genetically altered livestock products. The items you mentioned are just the tip of the freak farm iceberg. Lots more are on the way. Over the next few years you can look for even odder foodstuffs, like pork flippers, turkey elbows, halibut shanks and veal tentacles.

Eventually, once public acceptance has been assured, watch for things like Blobsters: adding slug genes to regular lobsters produces these succulent and helpless morsels, shell-free and 100% meat. And Swineberries: bacon-flavored fruit harvested right off the hog that's perfect for the breakfast menu. Or perhaps you'd care for Catteloupes, melon-shaped food units which allows you to slice a steak off one end and pour milk out of the other.

Oh, it's going to be a wild and crazy time going to the supermarket in a dozen years. I'm so happy I won't be around to see it.... 

5-30-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: Are names destiny?

-- Quasimodo in Quabbin

Dear Quasimodo:

Well... sometimes yes, sometimes no. History would have been changed mightily if Adolf Hitler had tried to keep his family name of Schikelgruber, wouldn't it? I mean, trying to get herds of stormtroopers to shout out "Heil Schikelgruber!" without cracking up would have been impossible, no matter how hard old cowlick-and-penwiper stomped his little foot. 

Conversely, I doubt that the automobile would have caught on as quickly as it did if Henry Ford's last name had been Farschmeltz-Slaggendoofer. 

On the other hand, many people with unusual names have made such a lasting contribution to society or culture that their names have become synonymous with their inventions and discoveries. People like Philip Toilet, Anna Maria Kleenex, Karl Adolphus Blimp, John Calendar and Leonard Skyscraper, to name a few. When we use the eponymous words today we rarely think of the struggles and suffering that the bearers of those names endured as they were growing up. 

In his classic study of the field, "Onomastics in Ordinary Life, " Sir Howard Misnomer relates the personal stories of many unusually-named people whose monikers became household words. He quotes Aneurysm Kelvinator, who made legendary contributions to both brain surgery and household refrigeration saying during an interview, "As a child I used to imagine that I had been kidnapped, and that my real name was Johnny Jones." Similarly, Barbara Sternwallow Pooperscooper relates that she was afraid to mingle with other children, since the name Sternwallow had such a comic effect on them. "I had hoped to marry someone named Smith," she states in her biography, "but the only person who ever proposed to me was Herman. Who could know at the time that the name "pooperscooper" would enter the English vocabulary as a common noun, thanks to his invention. Truly every cloud has a silver lining." 

Even if you have no plans to be an inventor or discoverer, be patient. It was not until late middle age, when he found himself beating off a pack of wild dogs in the Australian desert, that Sir Flinders Bashdingoes realized how prescient his ancestors had been....

5-31-2002

The Grasshopper and the Amp 
A Redbone Fable

Courtesy of the late Allsott the Fabulous

Once upon a time there was a lazy grasshopper who, noting that winter was approaching, sought a refuge, since he had spent the summer romping and frolicking and not storing away supplies for the winter like the industrious ants.

After poking about a bit he discovered a hole in the floor of a rundown trailer and, hopping inside, he discovered the perfect hiding place inside a huge amplifier, whose transformers on standby cast a warm glow for him to bask in. There were also lots of crumbs and spilled beer for him to subsist on throughout the cruel winter. So he made himself a little nest of straw and leaves and thought he was the luckiest grasshopper in the world, having idled away his summer and now found a snug retreat for the winter.

At some point in the evening someone plugged a Stratocaster into the amp, cranked it up to 10, and attempted a rendition of Eric Clapton's "Layla" after 11 beers. The grasshopper thought it was an earthquake and fled the trailer as fast as all his legs could carry him. But it was a nippy night and he was soon driven back to his refuge, which was silent again.

The following night, after 6 beers and some primo weed, the same person tried to execute Megadeth's "Skull Beneath the Skin," and the poor grasshopper was forced to flee again into the cold. On the third night it was the Stones' "Jumpin' Jack Flash," and over the weekend it was nonstop heavy metal, in the course of which a snowstorm blew up and the grasshopper's emergency exit was blocked.

Many months later it was spring again, but the grasshopper no longer cared to go outside to romp and frolic in the sun, as he had gone deaf and insane over the winter.
----------------- 
Moral: What security is to the worker is slow death to the footloose and fancy free. 

MUSEUM OF
DEPRESSIONIST ART

GALLERY OF
THE UNIDENTIFIABLE