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7-1-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

My crazy brother-in-law, Oskar, who lives near you in Arkansas, is trying to get me to invest in one of his schemes. He plans to raise ostriches for meat, and he's got lots of spreadsheets that say this is no get-rich-quick scheme like so many of his other crackpot ideas. What do you think about raising ostriches in Arkansas?

--Struthious in Strumica

Dear Struthious:

I've looked over some of the documentation you sent, and it all sounds terribly encouraging, but then I did some additional research online which was a real eye-opener about the true, feral nature of these creatures.

I personally would never get mixed up with any beast that's a direct descendant of the velociraptor of Jurassic Park fame. Yes, that's right-- just a couple of million years ago-- the blink of an eye, geologically speaking-- the cousins of these great big dumb-looking flightless birds would think nothing of ripping open a triceratops for a snack, and what they would do to movie extras doesn't bear describing.

The modern ostrich, like its ancestors, can run faster than a horse and disembowel a lion without half thinking about it. Consider this: there are no lions in Australia, but there are lots and lots of ostriches. Why? Because the ostriches hunted lions until they went extinct, that's why. Ask any zookeeper what his largest expense is and he'll instantly reply: Lions to feed the ostriches.

Everyone has seen those old Wild Kingdom episodes where ostriches in Africa are shown with their heads in a hole in the ground, and Marlon Perkins will always make the same comment about how they think they can't be seen that way. HA! The truth of the matter is that the pressures of near-extinction have driven lions underground, where they survive in dens they hollow out with their claws and primitive tools. Ostriches with their heads in a hole are actually on a lion hunt! Because children may be in the viewing audience, Marlon Perkins always shuts down the cameras just before a great angry bull ostrich whips a 700-pound lion out of its den and thrashes it to death against the side of a baobab tree, then trounces it to a jellied pulp so that it can be swallowed whole, after which it will sometimes regurgitate the paws and tail to feed its young.

Your fancy brochures don't mention the carnivorous side of these overgrown chickens, do they? Nor do they mention that, if you run out of lions to feed them, they'll think nothing of snapping up tender young children, or even household pets! And if you try to interfere, the rescue squad will be searching far and wide for your major internal organs before they can even start the debate about putting you back together again.

So my recommendation is to give ostriches a wide berth, and try to interest your brother-in-law in more practical opportunities, like arranging for the deposit of Nigerian gold in a Swiss bank for 25% of the gross amount.

However, if you do decide to invest in an Arkansas ostrich ranch, please don't ever mention that I called them dumb-looking. At least not while they're hungry.... 

7-2-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

There have been two lawsuits recently over writers who have rewritten classic works and claimed they were original "viewpoints." One was "Lo's Diary," a shameless ripoff of Vladimir Nabokov's "Lolita"; the other was "The Wind Done Gone," an equally shameless ripoff of Margaret Mitchell's "Gone With the Wind." Both of these rewritten books ended up being published. Does this foretell a trend?

-- Bibliophile in Biberach 

Dear Bibliophile:

Sure looks that way. "Creative plagiarism" sure takes the creative effort out of book production, doesn't it?

I can hardly wait for "Moby Dyke," the tale of an angry whale of uncertain sexual identity, who resents the label "sperm" whale and takes out her anger on a boatload of  environmentally exploitive male endangered species rapist killer ogres.

7-3-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Your longevity is admirable. Any nutrition advice that might help the rest of us attain such a venerable age?

-- Deteriorating in Des Moines

Dear Deteriorating:

They tell me that it's mostly in the genes, and that longevity diets and pills and procedures are so much hogwash. Besides, who in their right mind would want to live this long?

That said, I might point out that I have had a lifelong fondness for moderate amounts of red meat, French fries, coffee and marijuana, and an even greater fondness for immoderate amounts of alcohol. And opium when I can get it. Remember that your mileage may vary.
------------

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING - The Office of the Surgeon General of the United States has determined that consumption of red meat may be hazardous to our species. Many animals which feed exclusively on red meat, among them lions, tigers and professional wrestlers, are rapidly becoming extinct. Let that be a lesson to you.

The Office of the Surgeon General of the United States has likewise determined that fried foods are deleterious to your health. The French people, who invented the process of cooking in hot molten lard, have an average lifespan of only 32 years. Without the health-giving properties of all the red wine they consume their average lifespan would be only 20 years, barely enough time to reproduce, which they do in excess anyway, since birth control was not invented in France and thereby scorned by its citizens.

The Office of the Surgeon General of the United States has also determined that coffee is one of the nation's leading killers, often pushing the heart rate beyond 290 beats per minute, which is fine for hummingbirds, but causes the human head to explode from internal pressure. The use of non-dairy "creamers" in coffee, which are made from the by-products of strychnine manufacture mixed with coal tar derivatives, are also lethal.

The Office of the Attorney General of the United States reminds you that, regardless of the health benefits of marijuana, which include freedom from sickness, immortality and lifelong youth, it is still an illegal product and possession will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. People who wish to smoke should indulge in fine American-grown tobacco instead, as its cultivation is supported by your tax dollars anyway.

In the same vein, the Office of the Attorney General of the United States wishes to point out that opium, in addition to being highly illegal, was the ruin of China, and once led to the establishment of sordid dens of ill repute in major cities, where young American boys were lured into a life of crime and addiction by the sinister Fu Manchu, who also seduced his share of American virgins with his wicked drugs and smooth Oriental manner....

7-4-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

The FBI is warning us to be "careful and vigilant" on this Fourth of July. Question: what should I be watching for? Remember profiling is a no-no.

-- Alert in Albuquerque 

Dear Alert:

Yes, as we celebrate the freedoms we enjoy in this wonderful country today, it's only wise to take a few moments to look about us suspiciously and report evildoers, potential evildoers, or those who do not act, dress, speak and behave according to the strictures of Government Bulletin #114789-A, a copy of which all law-abiding citizens are expected to carry with them at all times.

The Office of Homeland Paranoia has issued the following addenda to cover questionable behavior on this particular holiday:

1. Carefully scrutinize postal workers to see if they're wearing an explosives belt. The Postal Service is a vast pool of angry fanatics just waiting for the signal to wreak terror.

2. Bus drivers who use the word "end of the line" too often should be reported for public pessimism. We must all remain optimistic, especially civil servants.

3. Schoolchildren have been known to bring crayon drawings of weapons to their schools. Encourage public strip searches of any child caught with Crayolas.

4. Drug money funds terrorism. Gather your neighbors together to fire-bomb the local Walgreen's, CVS and Rite-Aid stores to end this menace.

5. Fireworks are only thinly disguised munitions. If you see a public fireworks display, have it destroyed by torch-bearing peasants, especially if the skyrockets are pointed at government buildings or in the general direction of Washington, DC.

6. Report the activities of Girl Scouts, especially those going door to door with boxes, which could contain plastic explosives. Be especially suspicious of Brownies. Youngsters in brown uniforms gave Hitler the support he needed to seize control of Germany.

7. The FBI has already earmarked libraries for surveillance as potential sources of terrorist information. A good book-burning is a wonderful way to build community spirit on the 4th, especially if you've already destroyed the fireworks.

8. Attorney General John Ashcroft, speaking ex cathedra, has declared President George Bush to be infallible, omniscient and omnipotent, as well as all-merciful and benevolent to those who believe in him. Feel free to beat up anyone who questions this.

9. Buy War Bonds. Never mind *which* war, you pinko Nazi, just buy them! All of them! Now!

10. You may notice certain of your neighbors being visited late at night by men in trench coats driving large dark cars. This is normal. If you never see them again, they probably never existed in the first place, now did they?

Follow these ten rules and the government assures you that your Independence Day celebration will be free of arrests, interrogations, torture and/or lengthy confinement at an undisclosed location.

7-5-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

How did the term "southpaw" for a left-handed person originate? 

-- Sinister in Sinaloa 

Dear Sinister:

Like most American word origins, it has a fascinating story behind it You see, during the Civil War it was customary for young men who favored the Confederate cause to announce that they were leaving to fight at sundown, after they had worked the whole day in the fields. Facing the setting sun, they would point in a southerly direction with their left hand, saying something to the effect that, "I'm going to fight for the South, Paw." Eventually the left hand and the term "southpaw" became synonymous.

--------------------- 
Cf. "The Complete Left-Handed Dummy's Guide to Civil War Era Neologisms"
By Dexter Laevo, Left-Wing Publishers, London & Bombay, 1977 

7-6-2002

I am outraged! Last night I was sitting in the recliner watching "The Simpsons" when, 2 minutes into the episode, the station cut to a live car chase in California, of all places, in which a dozen or so state police cars were tailing a white Chevy Blazer. Of course, I had an immediate flashback to the OJ Simpson white Bronco car chase fiasco from several years back, which lasted almost two hours if I remember correctly.

I watched this lame excuse for entertainment for over an hour hoping that they would resume "The Simpsons" afterwards, but my hopes were dashed. By the time the chase was over (the stupid SUV caught on fire after the back tire went flat and disintegrated) and regular programming resumed, a "Married With Children" rerun was on, a show which went on for 7 seasons after they ran out of material.

Anyway, my question is WHY DO THEY DO THAT? (The news people, I mean.)

--Pissedoff in Pasadena

Dear Pissedoff:

This is a prime example of what happens when spectacle is confused with information. The same news channel which devotes 2 minutes of soundbites to the World Trade Organization will feel obliged to offer an hour of live footage of a car chase, even though it runs roughshod over socially definitive original programming like "The Simpsons."

The worst part is the inane running commentary. The station feels obliged to assign at least 2 people to cover the car chase so they can talk to each other, plus a helicopter person. It's important that neither studio commentator have any idea of what's going on. Remember that these are people whose sole function it is to look good and be able to read from a TelePrompTer without moving their eyes too much. Oh, and they have to be able to shuffle papers convincingly and engage in mindless content-free banter with other members of the news "team," none of whom speaks to each other outside their regularly-scheduled stints on the air.

Consequently the dialogue is somewhat strained, and reminds me most of those poor souls who are forced to comment on golf games or other almost motion-free sports like Major League Baseball. They have nothing to say, but since "dead air" is a no-no in the broadcasting business, they have to keep talking anyway. The results are something like this:

Studio Voice #1: "We interrupt your regularly scheduled program for an on-the-scene Action Sequence™ from KOOK-TV's live Flying Studio in the Air™ and your On The Scene Action Reporter™ Lyle Sturtevandt. Lyle, what's it like there on the scene?"

Helicopter Voice: "Well, Lance, it looks as though a group of possible alleged perpetrators who are perhaps guilty of something and may or may not be of Hispanic origin are fleeing down Bakersfield Freeway in either a Ford Bronco or a Chevrolet Blazer that's either white or some other light color, pursued by 112 police automotive units with their lights and sirens on."

Studio Voice #1: "Exactly what part of Bakersfield Freeway are we taking about, Lyle? From the daring KOOK-TV aerial camerawork it looks like they're right by exit 321 to Fresno, where we had that big tanker fire that was covered by our KOOK-TV's live Flying Studio in the Air™ in November."

Helicopter Voice: "No, Lance, this is closer to the San Rafael Obispo Canyon flyover by exit 498, near where our KOOK-TV SWAT team covered the terrorist bombing of the branch post office 2 years ago come Michaelmas."

Studio Voice #2: "Lyle, this is Candy Applegate back at KOOK-TV studios on Ventura Boulevard near the old Ming the Merciless studio set. Do you have any information of why the alleged possible perpetrators are being pursued?"

Helicopter Voice: "No, Candy, our attempt to contact the CHiPS police helicopter for additional on-the-spot information was frustrated when a rival helicopter from KAYO-TV inadvertently forced the police helicopter to crash into Ruprecht Dallywimple High School, just off exit 994 on the back way to Lagunda Beach. It's a shame KOOK-TV has only one live Flying Studio in the Air™ helicopter, or I'd be able to send you some dandy explosion and fire shots."

Studio Voice #2: That's all right, Lyle, we have lots of other school fire footage we can run. As we say in the studio, 'Seen one school fire, you've seen them all.'"

Helicopter Voice: "This was a real lulu, Candy. Apparently the CHiPS chopper hit a propane tank in the playground before slamming into-- oh, it looks like the Bronco/Blazer may be entering the Enchilada cloverleaf and merging onto West Ponderosa preparatory to taking exit 1,337 at the junction of Bakersfield and Old Alamo Mission Road. No... no... the driver is continuing on past the exit."

Studio Voice #1: "Lyle, Lance here again, we've just been informed here at Action Breaking News™ that it's definitely a Chevrolet Blazer. There are four people believed to be inside who may or may not have been involved in a reckless littering incident on Sunset Boulevard earlier today. The police feel that they may be material witnesses to the purported misdemeanor, although the janitor in Chief of Police Harvey Lee Oswald's office has stated that they are definitely not suspects at this time, and that the 112 units are pursuing them at speeds up to 90 miles an hour solely for questioning and to read them their rights."

Studio Voice #2: "Thank you for that clarification and update, Lance Zbigniew. I've just been handed a note stating that the Chevrolet Blazer driven by the alleged material witnesses may or may not be the same Chevrolet Blazer that was stolen from in front of St. Peter's rectory this morning. If this is indeed the case, there may be a bound and gagged naked altar boy in the back seat, as the Bishop has reported one missing."

Studio Voice #1: "Thank you, Candy Applegate here at KOOK-TV studios for that fascinating insight into this allegedly witnessed event. I've just been informed that our On The Scene Action Reporter™ Lyle Sturtevandt in the KOOK-TV live Flying Studio in the Air™ has an updated report. Over to you, Lyle."

Helicopter Voice: "Well, it's all over on this end, Lance and Candy. The Chevrolet Suburban-- not a Blazer, as we've been advised by the Bob Tompkins Chevy dealership on Route 384-a-- was struck by a tactical cruise missile on the off-ramp to La Cucaracha Parkway close to the bronze plaque that marks the site of the former Eat-More Fatback company's rendering plant, one of Los Angeles oldest commercial enterprises, dating back to 1957."

Studio Voice #1: "Lyle, Lance Zbigniew here at KOOK-TV studios again. Is there any word of survivors from this tragic accident?"

Helicopter Voice: "It's not likely there will be any survivors, Lance. As you can see from this slow-motion replay, there's quite an assortment of body parts in the air."

Studio Voice #2: "Lyle, Candy here at KOOK-TV studios. Is there any word on the alleged altar boy who may or may not have been in the alleged vehicle?"

Helicopter Voice: "No sign of him so far, Candy. Although this white streak on the tape may be his body being explosively ejected through the roof of the purported vehicle."

Studio Voice #1: "Uh... Lyle, this just in from Paramount/Sony/MGM/UA/WatchThisSpace Conglomerate Studios. Apparently the entire car chase you've been following was simply an episode in next season's "World's Wildest Staged Police Chases," and not an authentic alleged crime perpetration at all."

Helicopter Voice: "I guess that explains the camera and lighting trucks, doesn't it, Lance. <chuckle> So this is Lyle Stur-- WATCH OUT FOR AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH--"

Studio Voice #1: "It certainly does, Lyle. And now this is Lance Zbigniew and Candy Applegate wrapping up another on-the-scene Action Sequence™ from KOOK-TV's live Flying Studio in the Air,™ which we have just been advised has crashed into our broadcast tower on Hollyw................

7-7-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I recently got a computer when my son upgraded his, although I'm a retired individual with no need for one. I did, however, notice one "program," I think you call it, called "WinDoctor." As I am prone to a variety of ailments, not to mention allergies, food sensitivities and many other conditions, I thought I would "click" on it to see what happened. Well, it's an obvious fraud. After waiting nearly 20 minutes to finish its running (I would not tolerate a 20-minute wait in a doctor's office, believe me!) it said that all my problems had been repaired. Yet this morning I was coughing up and sneezing as badly as ever, and I still have my bad leg, to boot. My son says that you are the best source of information on the "Internet." My question is this:  Should I consult an attorney? 

-- Swindled in Swindon 

Dear Swindled:

I have a much better solution. Let me fax you a couple of aspirin. Take two pages and call me in the morning.

7-8-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I have this stupid summer school assignment to do, but I'd rather be at the beach on a beautiful day like today. The question is: What European country had kings nicknamed "The Lazy", "The Fat" and "The Quarrelsome"? Thanks heaps. I'll remember you in my will. 

-- Surfer in Surf City

Dear Surfer:

In keeping with my policy of supporting the insupportable, I've thoroughly researched your question and prepared the following answer for you to copy wholesale.

The European country was the Principality of Bummerdude, which sort of flourished in the 16th and 18th centuries (it was suspended during the 17th century when nobody showed up for the playoffs). One of the most pessimistic of nations (Motto: "Are you sure you've got the right place?"), Bummerdude had no faith in the election process, preferring to choose its political leadership by the simple expedient of drawing straws. Anyone who drew a short straw was required to serve in Parliament for a period of up to 6 years.

They chose their kings and queens from the winners of an annual "Silly Hat" contest. These unfortunates were required to sit on the Big Tinfoil Throne and make pronouncements, all of which were jeered at by the public jeering squad, also selected by drawing straws. Schoolchildren were given the opportunity to pick an appropriate name for His or Her Majestic Majesty, which is where names like those in the question came from. At first the mocking soubriquets had to have a certain decorum, so they referred to the physical or moral characteristics of the occupier of the throne, like "The Bald," "The Annoying," "The Barely Literate" and so on. Later all caution was flung to the winds, and Their Majesties bore informal titles like "The Badass Greaseball," "The Unwashed Slug 'o Dung," and "Chubby Cheeks Lardass Blind Gumjob the Toothless Senile Old Bastard."

Bummerdude ceased to exist in 1801 when it lost its franchise after the catastrophic "Running After Bulls" tourist event in Pamperloma, when 16 bulls were trampled to death by the drunken crowds and the rest so terrified that the streets were a disgusting mess for weeks afterward.

There you go-- succinct, accurate and to the point. You'll certainly get an "A" for this one. Perhaps you can have it stitched onto your surfer shirt.

Ps/ Surf City? In New Jersey? You're a surfer the way somebody who lives in Kansas is a mountaineer. Sheesh!

7-9-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie:

What is it with all these celebrity restaurants? I just read about the opening of another one. This time it's Britney Spears' new eatery featuring southern cuisine in New York, hence, the name, *Nyla.*

--Bulimic in Bulgaria

Dear Bulimic:

Nyla? Wasn't that Simba's playmate in "The Lion King"? Or am I thinking of a northeastern telephone company? Or the New York Library Association?

Anyway, this is what celebrities do. It's called branding, I think, although I may have that mixed up with something they do to cattle with a hot poker.

Sorry for the mental wandering. It's a confusing day here at Living Dead "R" Us, as the power has been out since 2 am when the bars closed and the police chief, three sheets to the wind as usual, hit a power pole when he was sneaking the minister's underaged daughter home. That means the air conditioning is off, which means that the temperature and humidity in here are both pushing 100, just like the average age. I've been feeding shaved ice through the floppy disk port to keep the Sexium* chip in my computer cool. I'm certainly glad I invested in a 6-hour battery backup for this machine, or I'd be writing this in pencil on lined paper and posting it via the semi-governmental organization that's charged with delivering junk mail.

Where was I? 

Oh, yes-- the celebrity restaurants. Personally, I think the young lady missed a golden opportunity to exploit her name. She should have opened a veggie restaurant and called it "Broccoli Spears."

*I've been beta-testing this new chip from Intel, which is destined to be the successor of the Pentium. After this comes the Septium, or, since it's a two-chip system, the deviated Septium....

7-10-2002 

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Which is more important, to be good or to be lucky?

-- Fortuitous in Fort Lewis

Dear Fortuitous:

Lucky has it, hands down. If you're lucky then you'll win the lottery and you can do all kinds of good with your winnings. Whereas if you're merely good you can die broke and obscure and no one will care or remember what you did. Unless you're someone like Mother Theresa. Then you can die broke and famous.   

7-11-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Lately I've been using the services of a healer and a naturopath. She mentioned one of the earlier American practitioners of the art, and I could swear she said "Buffalo Bill" Cody, whom I know only as a bison assassin and ringmaster of the tawdry "Wild West" shows that were popular around the turn of the 20th century. What's the real story?

-- Easterner in Easthampton 

Dear Easterner:

The confusion comes about over Cody's nickname. Like yourself, most people today believe it was "Buffalo Bill," which isn't the case at all. You see, Mr. Cody was indeed a fan of natural healing, which he learned from the Sioux Indians in exchange for his scalp. (Those flowing locks you see on posters from his Wild West shows were specially made for him in Paris by Mlle. Dora, perruquiste to the stars.) The Sioux were firm believers in the curative powers of gall, specifically that found in the gallbladders of the American bison. And so, just as "Johnny Appleseed" took his name from his calling, so young Fred Cody become known as "Buffalo Bile." 

Eventually, through a printing error on one of his Wild West show posters, he acquired the name we know him by today.... 

7-12-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I noticed you been giving out free essays to innoscent stoodints whove been forced to take Summer School this Summer. I need a essay on Edwin Booth, who was the brother of the guy what shot A. Linkin. I don't know if he was part of the plot or not. Anyway, I need it tomorrow. I'd do it myself except I'd rather not. TIA.

-- Scholar in Schaerbeek 

Dear Scholar:

Yes, your Aunt Nettie is certainly the right person to come to for assistance with these bothersome homework assignments. I get a positive frisson of glee whenever one of you asks for help.

Well now, Edwin Booth was called the "great American actor." He performed Shakespeare for adoring crowds on both sides of the Atlantic until That Tragic Day in April of 1865, when his brother John Wilkes assassinated President Lincoln at Ford's Theatre.

Traumatized by the dreadful event, Edwin abandoned his stage career to become a recluse in his elegant New York town house. As with many people who find themselves affected by tragedy, he began overeating as a form of consolation. By 1880 he weighed 947 pounds and could no longer leave his bed-sitting room. At the time of his death on June 6th, 1893, he tipped the scales at 1,688 pounds. The entire front of his home had to be removed to accommodate a hastily-improvised casket, and a brewery wagon and powerful draft horses replaced the traditional black geldings used at the time to draw hearses.

The Hastings Mortuary & Funerary Viewing Parlor in Manhattan had just installed one of James Otis's new elevators with several tons' capacity, so they won the bid for the viewing and funeral, which was held in the sumptuous third floor parlor. The weight of Booth's body, however, proved too much for the building's structural members, especially when overtaxed by the city's theatrical elite, all of whom came to see and be seen at the funeral home. The arrival of "Diamond Jim" Brady, himself no lightweight-- especially after a six-course lunch at Delmonico's-- was the final straw, and the underpinnings gave way.

The collapse killed several members of New York's high society and injured many more. Booth's corpulent corpse was flung out onto the sidewalk, where it exploded horrifically and led to a wildcat strike by members of the Sanitation Workers' Union #46, soon settled by the inclusion of a "No fat exploded dead guys" clause in their sweeping-up contract.

Fortunately the Acme Blotter Supply warehouse was nearby, and Booth was soaked up with great dispatch by Acme and Hastings Mortuary personnel and rolled into some semblance of respectability, although the resulting shape caused him to be buried vertically in a rapidly-dug well shaft instead of the traditional tomb.
------ 

An excellent essay, even if I do say so myself. Your teacher will be amazed at the depth of detail, which I assure you cannot be found in those stuffy old reference books they impose on you.

7-13-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Like most of the other nicotine addicts, I was outraged to see my state slap yet another hefty tax on my already expensive habit. Is there an alternative to buying ciggies on the black market or making regular trips to North Carolina where they make 'em but don't tax 'em?

—- Pulmonary in Pullman

Dear Pulmonary:

Some people say that the Chinese character for "catastrophe" is made up of the characters for "trouble" and "opportunity," although others say that it depends on one of the squiggles on the left-hand side of the character, which changes it meaning from "opportunity" to "meat loaf."

Anyway, assuming that the first version is true, I strongly recommend you do what one of our local Redbone entrepreneurs did when faced with the same catastrophe.

JoMo Brunchfirst, of the South Bindlestiff Brunchfirsts, reacted to the latest tax rise by opening a new business in downtown Redbone, just across the street from the Snail Wars memorial in Potchester Square. He calls it "JoMo's Secondhand Smoke Shoppe," and what he does is recycle tobacco products. All the kids in town know they can get a dollar for five pounds of Select- or Choice-grade cigarette butts at JoMo's place. Once he has several hundred pounds' worth he recruits ne'er-do-wells as short-term labor to salvage the tobacco from the butts, which he then runs through a cigarette machine and repackages as "Secondhand Smokes." It's been a gold mine for him, since he can sell his brand for a dollar or two less than the competition and still make a bundle. He also has a sideline: grinding up filter tips and selling them as bulk blown-in house insulation.

As a matter of fact he's been so successful that he's considering expanding his operation to include recycled chewing tobacco, which would be harvested in pretty much the same way, then dried out, reformed into "chaws" and sold under the name "Déjà Chew."

If you'll send me your address via e-mail I'll ask JoMo to get in touch with you. I know he's been talking franchise lately, and you could be one of the lucky people to get in on the ground floor of this money-making opportunity.

I wonder if he pays a finders fee? Hmmmmm.... 


Ps/ I've just been informed that the word "catastrophe" is Greek, not Chinese. It's got something to do with the ancient Greek theatre. So ignore the "meat loaf" comment above. From some of the paintings and pottery I've seen, the Greeks never let theirs loaf.... 

7-14-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

We're fighting a war on terrorism now, and it seems to be going ok, I guess.

But we've been fighting a war on drugs for 30 years, and it's not going so well. Clearly, we need new strategies. What kind of battle plan revisions would you give to the drug czar?

-- Patriot in Patterson 

Dear Patriot:

America would rather throw vast sums of taxpayer's money uselessly at the problem than end it permanently by legalizing the stuff, which could then be taxed. However, common sense, efficiency and effectiveness are words that cannot legally be mentioned within a petrified bureaucracy, so any advice I would have for the drug czar would be ignored, and they'd probably put me on a list of suspicious un-American types. 

7-15-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie:

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

--Chuck in Chuckatuck

Dear Chuck:

A lot would depend on certain postulates which haven't been clearly stated in your question. Please answer the following and I'll see what I can do by way of an accurate response.

1. Quantify "how much." Do you mean volume, piece, weight or unit measure?

2. Please clarify "wood," giving full parameters like density, species, unit size, etc. Obviously toothpicks are more chuckable than, say, a sequoia.

3. "Could" is conditional. See #7 below.

4. Define "woodchuck." The name is loosely applied to a variety of woodland creatures in different areas of the world, ranging from Pennsylvania's Punxsutawney Phil through various European marmots to the Mongolian bobac, each of which have distinctly different chuckability potential.

5. Define "chuck," which is a highly informal word meaning anything from "to tickle under the chin" to "abandon with disappointment or disillusion."

6. In what sense is "if" being used- the conditional, the postulative, the dependent, the ambiguous, the presuppositional, the subjective or the provisional?

7. "Could" is entirely too ambiguous. Is the question whether the woodchuck, as defined, has the potential to chuck wood? Or is it a question of intrinsic motivation?

8. "Chuck." See #5.

9. "Wood." See #2. 

Ref: "Tossing the Caber: Wood Chucking Abilities Among the Highland Scots MacMarmots" by Heavea McHo, PhD. Scotch-on-the Rocks Press, John o' Groats and Bombay, 1964 

7-16-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Just like the song, whiskers on kittens and brown paper packages tied up with string are two of my favorite things. What are YOUR favorite things?

-- Ebullient in Eburacum

Dear Ebullient:

Over the interminable years my favorite things have frequently changed, but here's a list of those I can remember:

Not getting hit by a car. It doesn't matter what kind of car, any kind will Do. Even light trucks.

Discovering that the cottage cheese 'way in the back of the fridge that's two months past its sell-by date is still good.

Bubble wrap. Especially when you twist it for the string-of-firecrackers effect.

Sending tourists out looking for Arkansas' best surfing beach.

Bacon fat. There's something soul-satisfying about knowing you have 30-40 coffee cans full of bacon fat in the cellar for emergencies.

Inhaling helium for the "Donald Duck voice" effect.

Prosthetic arms, especially the kind where you can plug in forks and screwdrivers and things.

A bathtub full of concrete and an unconscious, tightly-bound enemy.

Watching some pretentious rich guy wearing a top hat and spats and carrying a gold-headed walking stick slip on a banana peel and fall down an open manhole.

Finding a winning lottery ticket in the pocket of a housedress you bought at Goodwill.

Being the subject of a newspaper article for having the most number of old tires in the back yard.

Spiders.

Raindrops on kittens, although a fire hose has a much more satisfying effect.

The knowledge that we're unlikely to be hit by a falling durian fruit in the USA-- what a great country!

Watching kids playing "Jackass" in the neighbor's yard, and getting to talk to a reporter when one of them dies.

7-17-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Why do we never hear of someone with "heart cancer"?

-- Joe Curious in Johnson City 

Dear Joe:

Ah, how soon we forget! Youngsters growing up today have never experienced the dreaded diagnosis of heart cancer in a family member, which was the nation's #1 killer through the end of the 1920s. Back in those days, of course, it was a death sentence, since transplants were impossible and technological advances like today's Humvee Heart® and Mr. Pumpee® existed only in science fiction.

Doctors, of course, would try to be optimistic, offering to remove the affected organ to prevent the spread of the disease, but even they had to admit that this surgical procedure had an unacceptably high morbidity rate of 100%. Sometimes as high as 103%.

Finally, as the disease reached epidemic proportions in 1911, the American Heart Cancer Association devoted its resources to finding a cure. Schoolchildren went door to door collecting money, there were celebrity bean dinner fundraisers for which George and Ira Gershwin wrote an inspirational tune,* all proceeds from which went to fund the AHCA's research.

President William "Tubby" Taft, at 748 pounds himself a prime candidate for the disease, declared February 14th to be "Stump for the Pump Day," during which politicians distributed heart-decorated messages of good cheer to their constituencies.

Finally, in 1919 an alert researcher noted that people who routinely drank Cocaine-Cola at their neighborhood drugstore soda fountains never developed the disease. The news spread like wildfire, and pharmacists were hard pressed to keep up with the demand. In an emergency session the US Pure Food and Slaughterhouse Regulation Commission permitted the sale of "Coke" without a prescription, and families were urged to stock up on the beverage, which was now available everywhere in the familiar heart-shaped bottle. A rival company sprang up to take advantage of the craze, claiming that its "Pepsin-Cola" cured stomach cancer as well as heart cancer, but these claims were later refuted.

In 1923 the Mortician's Union attempted to have "Coke" taken off the market as an unfair restraint on trade, but the American Dental Association funded a countersuit and prevailed. The last patient to die of heart cancer expired in 1928, and there hasn't been a single case since. The American Heart Cancer Association, flushed with victory, agreed to split into two organizations to better concentrate on other lethal afflictions.

So that's why there's no such thing as heart cancer these days. Think about that the next time you enjoy a frosty bottle of "Coke" with lunch, and send up a silent prayer of thanks to the Advertising Council, without whose guidance and support none of this would have been possible.

———————————————— 
* "Beans, Beans, Good for the Heart," which went Platinum in only 6 weeks, a record for Edison Cylinders at the time.

7-18-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

It sure is hot down here in the Southland, ain't it? Been hotter than the pins in the hinges of the gates of Hell, and the humidity is an even worse torment. Any tips for us old fogies in staying cool?

-- Torrid in Torrance 

Dear Torrid:

Fortunately most old folks tolerate heat better than cold, which is why the average age in Florida is 91, and why the leading cause of death among the elderly in Minnesota is parts snapping off in January.

Here at Living Dead "R" Us we have a pool which nobody can use to cool off because it means one of the young and blonde Swim Therapy airheads will suddenly emerge from the bushes and force us to do aqua-calisthetics or whatever they call it until we can drag her under and drown her.

The management at LDRU, ever thrifty, has installed precisely *one* Chinese window AC unit down in the "game room," which nobody uses either, for fear of activating the young and blonde Recreation Therapist. It's harder to kill them on dry land, so we generally just avoid the room where she stands with her smile and her ping-pong paddle, frozen in standby mode until the sound of a walker sets her in motion. I believe she is paid by slipping quarters into a slot at the back of her head.

However, you're quite right- this year has been a lulu so far, climatically speaking. I believe I saw steam escaping with a faint whistle from the wall thermometer this afternoon. (Audience participation: enter your favorite "It was SO hot that...," simile, metaphor or joke here.)

Anyway, this year I have determined to take action and force the administration to do something. I got the idea from those Nigerian women who went the Lady Godiva route to protest something or other. Today at high noon I'm stretching out by the side of the pool, in full view of innocent passersby, in a string bikini I have made out of two potholders and an oven mitt (see pic below.) I'd go the full nudity route, but I don't want any of Redbone's fine citizens to go blind or insane. I figure that one hour of sweating in the sunshine should do it. By then masses of pitchfork-carrying peasants will be chasing the LDRU bureaucracy down the street screaming death threats. I do so wish that Rudy Giuliani was our mayor, though. It would be so much more dramatic to be condemned from the pulpit, as it were.

I'll let you know Friday if my strategy worked. Until then, I suggest a series of well-iced gin and tonics as an emergency measure. Charge them to Nursing Homeland Security and send the bill to Congress.... 

7-19-2002

Power to the Pendulous!

Well, yesterday's little scenario went off pretty well. I'm now the proud possessor of a shiny new room air conditioner and the envy of the rest of Living Dead "R" Us.

It took only ten minutes after I shed my bathrobe and stretched out in the sun before the crowds began to gather, and only a minute or so after that there were angry shouts and cries of "We've got to protect the children!" A school bus heading for Vacation Bible School was forcibly turned away down another street. 

Shortly thereafter a human wave composed of indignant citizens, conservatively sprinkled with ministers and social workers, broke over the LDRU administrative offices, while others of carpentrial ability began erecting a gallows in the front yard. Rumor had it that Geraldo Rivera was on his way.

Anyway, the fire department arrived and cooled everyone down with their hoses set on "stun," and reason eventually prevailed. The Boleslaw Twins who run LDRU were somewhat roughed up and definitely frightened out of what passes for their wits. Pontoon John, the handyperson, was instantly sent out to Sears on an emergency air conditioner retrieval mission, and in less than an hour after I made my brazen appearance by the pool I was able to re-robe and retire to my rapidly cooling cubicle, aglow in victory. Also aglow from the fact I had forgotten the sunblock. 

In retrospect, I really wish I had gone the full nudist route-- the Twins would probably have sprung for central air.

7-20-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Are you a collector or a thrower-outer? Just curious.

- Junkie in Junction City

Dear Junkie:

I fall into the latter camp, fortunately. I've been exposed to too many junk collectors. Like my Cousin Marlin, who made the Collyer Brothers look like neat freaks. He never threw *anything* away. That's not hyperbole, either. He had gum that he had chewed in kindergarten, neatly wrapped in silver foil and set on a shelf to ossify. He had shoelaces he had broken in grade school, birthday cards he had gotten as a toddler, ration books from WWII, burned out light bulbs, and more string than any normal person would have use for in a lifetime. Paper bags, too- every lunch bag, every grocery bag, every peanut sack that he had ever come in contact with. He had trash bags full of outgrown or outworn clothing, and a whole barn full of cans that he had accumulated from every meal he had ever eaten. And milk bottles. And car parts. And on and on.

Marlin never married, for obvious reasons. He wasn't too bad looking, but as soon as any woman he was sweet on caught her first glimpse of Castle Crapola, she was gone, no questions asked, no answers given.

Marlin was an object lesson to me as a child. One day I stood outside his place and I swore an oath, something like this: "As God is my witness, I'm never going to save anything again! As God is my witness, I'll never be a clutterer, ever again!"

Although, come to think of it, I may have seen that in a movie....

Anyway, from that day forward, or another day that was very much like it, I have thrown out anything that didn't have an immediate purpose or use, including most of my boy friends. If it wouldn't fit in a suitcase, I left it behind. All I ever kept was memories. 

You don't have to dust memories....

7-21-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I noticed from your recent column that you too have a hatred (or maybe hidden envy) for those exercise or fitness experts. Why is it that they do the same things I do but they don't sweat, breathe hard, ache or gasp like I do? At first I thought I envied them but its getting to be more of a hatred each day.

-- Sweating in Sweetwater

Dear Sweating:

I am convinced that they're not human, or not fully human at any rate. I suspect that there are nefarious agents of major fitness chains-- perhaps a cabal of all of them-- who hang around high school and college athletic departments the way legitimate sports agents do. When they spot a likely candidate he or she is either chloroformed on the spot or allowed to pass out from alcoholic excess at a weekend party, then spirited away to the secret underground laboratory where their higher mental functions are removed, their adrenalin output quadrupled, their sweat glands extracted, a third lung added and a smile permanently set to show off their capped teeth. After that they are auctioned off to the highest bidders from Bally's or Gold's Gym or one of the others. 

When you really think about it, that's the only logical explanation.

7-22-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie:

I have always been timid and shy by nature. I would really like to be a social butterfly, someone who goes to parties and does wild and crazy things. I'm embarrassed to ask my doctor if there are medications which might relieve my condition. Can you suggest anything?

- Wallflower in Walpole

Dear Wallflower:

Indeed I can. There are kinds of medications known as "anti-repressants" which are just what the doctor- metaphorically speaking- ordered. Even better, they're available without a prescription, although you must be over 21 to purchase them.

So before you go to your next party, stop by and pick up a six-pack or a fifth, take a generous dose, and before you know it you'll be dancing on tabletops in your underwear.   

7-23-2002

Dere Ant Neddie:

for sumerskol im having to write about metal illness. i don't know nuthin about metal illness and coud sure use som help. I think skol is a waist of time. I alreddy now all I need to now. pleas huray, as it is overdo allreddy.

-- Genius in Geneva 

Dear Genius:

Ah, another poor soul in need of Aunt Nettie's patented brand of Homework Helper™. You youngsters are certainly lucky that I have so much time on my hands to research and write these things for you. I do this out of my sincere love for children, not from personal gain-- other than spiritual merit, of course. So here you go.

-------------- 
METAL ILLNESS 

Metal illness is any condition or affliction that affects a metal's ability to be strong and healthy and productive. RUST is the leading example of a serious metal illness. It affects iron and steel and never sleeps. Rust is why boats are never made out of iron or steel. They tried making "ironclads" during the Civil War, but they immediately caught rust, rolled over and sank, with great loss of life. The "Titanic" was another experiment that went horribly wrong. The boat got halfway across the Atlantic Ocean when it was suddenly attacked by a pile of disguised rust and it too rolled over and sank with great loss of life. 

The only kind of ironish material that does not rust is STAINLESS STEEL, which was invented by the Catholic Church long ago. How it is made is still a deep dark secret protected by the Swiss Guards at the Vatican. The smelters at the Vatican produce over a million billion tons of stainless steel every year, the proceeds from which are given to the poor, which explains why poor people in Catholic countries are so rich.

Building materials that don't suffer from metal illness include bricks, concrete, rock and wood. Also plastic. When people were smarter long ago they built with these materials, which is why places like Rome have lasted so long. If the Egyptians had built their pyramids out of iron there would be nothing left of them today but a big rusty red spot in the desert, which tourists would come to see anyway, since tourists are not very particular.

There are other metals which don't rust, but these are usually non-ironish kinds like ALUMINUM, BRASS, TUNGSTEN and LEAD. They can suffer from milder forms of metal illness, though, which is why lawn chairs are a mess if you leave them outside too long. GOLD is a metal that does not suffer from metal illness at all. However it is not much used in construction and manufacturing because of its weight, which is so heavy you'd get a double hernia just trying to move something like a lawn chair in out of the rain, which you wouldn't have to do in the first place because gold laughs at rain and most acids, too. Throwing a beaker of acid in gold's face would have no effect at all, except it would be a waste of the acid. The gold would just laugh.

This concludes my essay on METAL ILLNESS. I hope you enjoyed it, as it was a great pleasure for me to research and write about, and I did not copy a single line out of the encyclopedia.

---------------- 
I think I can safely say that this is a definitive statement on metal illness. Hand it in proudly, claim it as your own, and bask in the recognition and rewards. Your teachers will be so impressed they will probably let you repeat a grade or two out of sheer admiration.

7-24-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

The big 5 (well, for now anyway) Accounting firms and the American Institute of CPAs spent a combined total of over 27 MILLION dollars on the 2000 Federal Elections (with over 10 million going to each party). Could this be a factor in why the President and Congress seem hesitant to impose reforms on the accounting industry?

-- Calculating in Caledon 

Dear Calculating:

Perhaps in some backwards country like Zimbabwe or Bangladesh or France this might be a problem, but not here in the good old USA, where men are men and politicians are all straight shooters, except possibly in certain San Francisco electoral districts.

There are many naïve Americans (not Native Americans, please note) who caution us that huge political donations are inimical to the proper exercise of government. Fortunately, in light of recent events these people are soon hustled into big cars in the middle of the night and never heard from again. 

One of the problems inherent in reforming the accounting industry is that the subject matter is so gosh-darned dull. How can any investigating committee review procedures which put most people to sleep faster than a handful of Sominex washed down with a quart of bourbon? I mean, the people who become accountants are the ones whose pictures you see in a yearbook and cannot honestly remember ever seeing in person. They were the ones who were always class treasurer, which is perhaps why the school bake sale and topless car wash fundraising efforts never brought in more than $11.95. 

No, I suggest that Congresspeople just let sleeping dogs lie. Better the devil you know than the devil who gets his kicks doing regression analysis....

7-25-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Although I'm an above-average math and science student I find literature hopelessly disorganized, dull and boring. I have to do a paper on Coleridge's poem "The Ancient Mariner," and, quite frankly, it's so soppy I can't get beyond the first few lines. Is there a chance you could summarize it for me and spare me the cost of a copy of Cliff's Notes?

-- Logical in Logan

Dear Logical:

Poor dear! I know how difficult it must be for you to deal with great works of literature instead of numbers and formulae. I agree with you that humankind's ongoing, ever-changing struggle to discover its place in the universe and the record of human inter-relationships are beneath contempt as subjects for study. Therefore I am acceding to your request.

A fine, thoughtful summary, if I do say so myself. Please hand it in as your own work, with my compliments.

7-26-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

In a recent column you talked about the Italian city of Verona as having a beachfront and salty air. May I point out that Verona is about 40 miles from the Adriatic, the nearest body of ocean-type water, and hence can hardly be described as a seaside community?

-- Stickler in Stiegel

Dear Stickler:

Modern-day Verona is indeed located in northeastern Italy, quite far from being beachfront property, just as you describe. However, this wasn't always the case. Back when Shakespeare and Coleridge were writing, Verona was located in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, midway between the extinct cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum on the Italian west coast. It prospered as a tourist retreat until 1631, when a violent eruption of the mountain sent tourists scurrying and property values plunging, as they once had in the nearby cities. Worried about a decreasing tax base, the city fathers voted in 1632 to move the entire city to its present-day location. 

Merchants grumbled about the loss of the lucrative summer tourist trade. But the city fathers assured them that the proximity to the Alps would more than make up for it, as middle- to upper-class skiers were notoriously more generous than the working-class families that flocked to the old Verona. There was also the river Adige, sections of which were perfect for whitewater rafting in the summertime. They also pointed out than another good-sized eruption might leave Verona under several million cubic feet of hot ash, which definitely would not be good for business.

At last the merchants were persuaded, and in 1635 the move to the northeast was begun, an engineering feat unparalleled in its time. It was especially difficult to move the old Roman ruins, which the Veronians insisted on taking with them for sentimental reasons, not to mention the extensive vineyards and orchards. However, by 1648 the entire town had been successfully transplanted, and all that remained in the old location were now-meaningless road signs and the occasional billboard.

------------- 
References: 

"On the Road: Personal Recollections of the Great Veronese Migration" by Guiseppe Kero Aque. Manuscript in the collection of the Veronian Automobile Association, c. 1655 

"Fear and Loathing in La Veronese" Anonymous. Personal account of the journey by a free-lance apothecary. Manuscript in the estate of Dr. Timothy Leary.

7-27-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

In a recent article you mentioned "Bindlestiff," which is apparently the name of a town in your neck of the woods. Was it founded by hobos? 

-- Intrigued in Inuvik

Dear Intrigued:

No, curiously enough, it was the other way around. Myron Bindlestiff was a wealthy businessman who barely escaped an anti-Semitic pogrom in his home country and emigrated to the USA with his family in 1874. He built the first Orthodox synagogue in Arkansas, which attracted a small Jewish population and eventually a town grew up, which was named in honor of its founder.

When the Great Depression began in 1929 after decades of prosperity, it was discovered that the American hobo tradition had been lost. Tens of thousands of desperate people, unemployable and depending on the charity of others, had no idea how to take up the life of a vagrant. The last hobo jungle in Illinois, for example, had been turned into a theme park in 1925.

Always a charitable man, Bindlestiff recognized the enormity of the dilemma and founded a school for transient ergophobes, where students were taught about hobo signs, trained in the most effective sob stories, instructed in the art of riding the rails, and equipped with the classic pole-and-kerchief badge of the journeyman vagrant.

When these vagabonds met on the road, they hailed each other with the traditional cry of "Ho, bo!" from whence came their formal name. Graduates of the charity school, however, proud of their status and wishing to distance themselves from common guttersnipes, ragamuffins and ne'er-do-wells, began addressing each other as "bindlestiffs," and soon the name caught on for the more elegant variety of tramp.

In 1982 the old Bindlestiff mansion was donated to the state and converted into a museum of vagrancy. As with Williamsburg in nearby Virginia, it features an authentic recreation of a Depression-era Skid Row, with actors in period costumes portraying winos, derelicts, rag-bone-and-bottle collectors, bag ladies, and the earliest incarnation of squeegee men, who were known as spit-and-smear boys in the vernacular of the time. There's a gift store where tourists can purchase begging cups, apple boxes and genuine Mulligan stew cookers.

If you're ever in the area I suggest a visit. Dress is extremely casual, and don't forget the spare change.

7-28-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

I just finished reading Jean-Paul Sartre's "Being and Nothingness." What a depressing book! I notice that you seem to take a very pessimistic view of the world, too. Would you describe yourself as an existentialist?

-- Low Down in Los Difuntos 

Dear Low:

I'm not sure how you would classify it, but if my Zeitgeist is Weltschmerzed it was entirely due to the influence of Alfredo Foondap Wadbingo, the peripatetic philosopher from Washboard Flats, about 6 miles southeast of Redbone. He was one of the most depressing individuals who ever lived, and it was worse after his book, "The Persistence of Futility" was published. 

Alfredo, or "Alfie" as he was known in the neighborhood, could go into a cheerful, brightly-lit saloon filled with Saturday-night revelers and half an hour later people would be sobbing on their barstools or sitting in the sawdust with their head in their hands wondering about the state of their soul (or if any such concept existed). He was more of a wet blanket than any Carrie Nation or Billy Sunday ever aspired to. 

A dreadful influence on children, his mere appearance in a schoolyard was enough to send youngsters home in tears, asking their parents why they were born and what was the meaning (if any) of the miserable lives they were forced to eke out in this vale of tears. Alfie compounded the damage by telling the wee ones morbid tales about his Spanish fatalist pig, ¿Por Que?, who later became a Communist and wrote a book named "Animal Farm" under the pen name of "George Orwell," an anagram for "growl leer ego," which was ¿Por Que? Pig's view of the human race in general.

Alfie worked himself into such a state that he became unable to move, eat, sleep or eventually breathe. At some point he was declared deceased, but no one had the courage to actually bury him, so we had him bronzed. If you ever pass through Washboard Flats, he's the one on the fountain in the center of town.

7-29-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Like a lot of people, I'm getting fed up with some American catch-phrases. Examples: "Don't go there," "Too much information," "Bada-bing." They have their (brief) popularity, and then they just get old.

Anyway, you've been around long enough to see a lot of catch phrases come and go. Which ones do you wish we'd bring back? Which ones are you just as glad to see gone?

—- Lexical in Lexington 

Dear Lexical:

I must confess that I was glad to see the end of such fin-de-siècle expressions as "Gee, Dad, it's a Wurlitzer!" as an expression of surprise, or "Roscoe, lift me with a blimp," as a request for intoxicants. Oh, and describing a mixed up person as "Fried baloney and jam, seltzer on the side," seems a little strained in retrospect, although it was a "zinger" at the time. 

There was much more as we got into the early 20th century. I recall hearing the expression "Saving grease in a paper sack," which meant trying to hide the obvious. A finical or overly neat character had "Shinola on his shoe soles," and a girl who stuffed her underwear to appear more buxom was "Mattressing her corset." We teens of that era would sometimes pin the label "Fudge puppy in a train wreck," on someone you would call "clueless." I honestly don't remember why, except that it had nothing to do with either junior canines or the railway. Or fudge, for that matter.

Let's see... back then a "Fire in the outhouse" was someone who promised a lot but delivered nothing, just like "All crank and no bang," which came from early automobiles. A perennial optimist, or someone who always found a silver lining in every dark cloud was "Chewing church glass and vomiting rainbows." 

Then, during the Twenties, we had lots of jazz and liquor expressions. For instance, we might slip away to a "blind pig" to "slug some pisco" and "jolt our bones" on the dance floor— unless of course, "Izzy and Moe" or a "bluenose" caused us to "23 skidoo." Oh, we had some fun times until Prohibition ended and everything got boring again. I knew the handwriting was on the wall when the white-glove dance studios started teaching the lindy hop to society matrons. <sigh!> What expressions would I keep? Sorry, but all the best of them have already been soaked up into everyday language. The rest weren't worth saving....

7-30-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Why do they call those things in the road "speed bumps" when their purpose is to slow you down?

- Perplexed in Perpetua 

Dear Perplexed:

Like most really simple-minded questions, this one has an inordinately complicated answer.

You see, what we in America call "speed bumps" actually originated in Great Britain around the turn of the 20th century. Over there they were called "sleeping policemen," after the tendency of British constables to sleep across a road during the night shift to deter drivers from speeding.

Unfortunately this had just the opposite effect. Automobile (or, as they called them, "motorcar") lighting systems weren't anywhere near as good as they are today, and very often the only warning the driver would have of a slumbering constable was a bump in the road, and sometimes a bit of thrashing against the undercarriage for a kilometer or two. Not wanting to be run in for the dual crime of speeding and bobbycide, the drivers would invariably speed up, usually with a cry of something like "Blimey, a bump! Speed up, lad, or the law'll have our oxters!" which was soon shortened to "Bump! Speed!"

When the expression crossed the Atlantic it was reversed, as Americans drive on the "right" or "correct" side of the road, and the term "speed, bump" entered our vocabulary, even though we more sensibly use macadam humps rather than live policemen for our slower-downers. After a while the comma was dropped.

------ 
Source: "Prolegomena to a Definitive History of Traffic Control Devices" by Ramsey Speedwell. Stopengo Press London & Bombay, 1988

7-31-2002

Dear Aunt Nettie: 

Isn't the Internet an amazing source of information? I swear you can find the most obscure facts in no time at all. Just this morning I discovered that pandas are actually a species of elk! Isn't that amazing?

- Credulous in Credence 

Dear Credulous:

I admit that it can be an amazing font of information, but you have to take it with a grain of salt until you verify it in another medium. For instance, in just one week of careful Internet searching I learned the following tidbits: 

1. Rubber bands are a member of the peach family.

2. Eggplant is one of the ingredients of dynamite.

3. There are 293 ways to make change for a chicken.

4. The average person's left hand last longer when refrigerated.

5. The chicken is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.

6. There are more Canadians than people in the world.

7. Two thirds of the world's giant squid are grown in New Jersey.

8. The longest one syllable word in the English language is
"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!"

9. On a Canadian two-dollar bill, all 50 breeds of chicken are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial.

10. All of the clocks in the movie "Pulp Fiction" are stuck on 4:20; the time displayed on John Travolta's watch is 10:10.

11. No letter in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver, or purple.

12. "Krumt" is the only common English word that ends in the letters "mt."

13/14. All ingredients are listed across the top of Canada.

15. A shark was born in a ladies' room during a dance. Really!

16. Banff is the only state whose name is just one syllable.

17. There are only four words in the English language which end in "dous": chickendous, sharkenendous, eggplantdous, and rubberbandous.

18. Los Angeles' full name is "Winston Churchill."

19. There is no number 19.

20. A cat is bigger than its brain.

21 & 22. Tigers have 32 muscles in each eyeball. Especially those who work out.

23. Al Capone's business card said he was a used ostrich dealer.

24. The characters Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street were named after Bert the pervert and Ernie the serial killer in Frank Capo's "Texas Chainsaw Massacre III."

25. A giant squid has a life span of 24 hours.

26. A goldfish has a memory span of three centuries.

27. A golf ball has 118 ridges around the edge.

28. It's impossible to sneeze with your left hand.

29. The giant squid grows the largest egglplant in the world.

30. In England, the Speaker of the House is not allowed to be a chicken. Or a shark. Or a giant squid.

31. The microwave was invented after a researcher walked by a radar tube and his chicken melted.

32. Mr. Rogers is an ordained giant squid.

33. The average person falls asleep eventually.

34. There are 336 dimples on a regulation stewardess.

35. "Breqvchdastezex" is the longest word that is typed with only the left hand.

See what I mean? I believe the appropriate adage is "Trust, but verify."

MUSEUM OF
DEPRESSIONIST ART

GALLERY OF
THE UNIDENTIFIABLE