It dawned on me this morning as I shuffled back and forth in the kitchen that not only do I have the mind of a crabby old man in his 80s, this damned flu has left me with the body of one. I was walking like Tim Conway used to shuffle around on "The Carol Burnett Show" --- taking tiny sliding steps, hunched over, clutching my carton of orange juice so I wouldn't spill it from my shaking hands.
Being sick always leads me to have goofy dreams. I woke up convinced that my neighbor two doors down was draining her swimming pool into my back yard, causing it to sink. Because that's what I had been dreaming about; I dreamt that I had looked out the kitchen window and found the back yard filled with water, and when I went downstairs, the neighbor had routed a hose from her pool directly into my yard.
I went inside to fetch a camera, but I couldn't find one, and by the time I got back outside, the neighbor had hidden the pool.
Can you think of a dumber, more pointless dream? I doubt it. Other highlights of last night's somnolent million-dollar movies include a dream in which I was stacking cans of paint --- no particular reason, just stacking cans of paint --- and one in which I was either a private investigator or a crook. I'm not sure which.
Isn't it bad enough that my life is dull? Do my fever-ridden fantasies have to be dull, too?
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Some crafty vandals in Hornell, N.Y., have changed the "Welcome" sign at the town's entrance to proclaim that it's the "Home of Alfred E. Newman." It previously said it was the home of ... wait for it ... Bill Pullman.
Hornell, N.Y.'s so proud of being the hometown of Bill Pullman that it put it on the "Welcome" sign? Speaking of "dull," that's it.
Hell, Our Fair City was the hometown of Murph the Surf, but you don't see us making a big deal out of it.
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I don't know much about smut, but I know what I like. Ahem.
Last week, U.S. District Judge Gary Lancaster threw out obscenity charges filed in Pittsburgh against a California porno peddler. The Bush administration's Justice Department has been filing these kinds of cases in Western Pennsylvania in the hopes that the jury boxes will be filled with little old ladies wearing babushkas who will be shocked, shocked! at the filth on display.
They don't know what lurks behind the pale exteriors of those studabubbas, but I digress.
Dan Kennedy of the Boston Phoenix explains how Lancaster turned conservative philosophy on its ear in his ruling:
And if Lancaster is upheld, you can send your thank-you cards to Supreme Court justices Scalia, Rehnquist, and Thomas.
You may recall that, a few years ago, the three conservatives dissented in Lawrence v. Texas, which overturned anti-sodomy laws. Scalia --- who actually wrote the dissent --- fumed that the majority decision could pave the way for obscenity laws to be overturned as well. It turns out that Lancaster read Scalia's dissent and agreed. Wrote Lancaster:
"In a dissenting opinion joined by Chief Justice Rehnquist and Justice Thomas, Justice Scalia opined that the holding in Lawrence calls into question the constitutionality of the nation's obscenity laws, among many other laws based on the state's desire to establish a 'moral code' of conduct.... It is reasonable to assume that these three members of the Court came to this conclusion only after reflection and that the opinion was not merely a result of over-reactive hyperbole by those on the losing side of the argument."
You've got to love the way that Lancaster is willing to twist the logical knife into the conservative Supremes.
Lancaster's opinion is a great victory for free speech and privacy. It's also a challenge aimed directly at the right-wing agenda being pursued by George W. Bush's Justice Department.
To quote that great legal scholar Tom Lehrer: "Bring on the obscene movies, murals, postcards, neckties, samplers, stained-glass windows, tattoos, anything!"
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To Do This Weekend Art Space 303, Eighth Avenue in Homestead, presents "Revised," black-and-white photographs by Ryan Gorman. Call (412) 476-0755 ... Hungarian Social Club, Walnut Street at 30th Avenue, holds a Valentine's Day dance at 8 p.m. Saturday, featuring Dorothy & Co. Call (724) 864-0042.
It started Saturday night. I felt tired. Now, this could have been because I was out late Friday night, and then up early on Saturday, so I brushed it off. On Sunday, I was still feeling worn down. But Monday morning, I got winded walking to my office from the parking lot, which is unusual, even for someone as lazy as I am.
Monday night, I barely had the strength to drive home.
It would stand to reason that the year I didn't get a flu shot would be the year I got the flu ... although that's a theory that's impossible to prove, isn't it? "Well, it would stand to reason that the day I didn't buy a lottery ticket was the day that I didn't win the lottery." No, actually, it wouldn't.
This was the neon-lettered electric death flu, which manifested itself Monday night and Tuesday morning with pain in every joint and knuckle, and then changed into a hacking cough and slobbery nose by Tuesday afternoon. I ran out of cough syrup and didn't have any food in the house, so I decided I could brave a trip to the bottom of the hill and the House of Rancid Lunchmeat.
Who would be at the grocery store at 3:30 on a Tuesday afternoon?
About 1,000 little old ladies, as it turned out. All of whom wanted 1/8 of a pound of lunchmeat.
"Give me about an eighth of a pound of chipped ham ... not too thin ... and let me see ... about an eighth of a pound of jumbo ... is it the Kahn's jumbo? And about an eighth of a pound of roast beef?"
An eighth of a pound? That's just about enough for one sandwich. You might as well eat it there; it's a waste of wax paper to wrap it.
So, I dragged myself back home and hid in bed with the covers over my head for the next 36 hours. Didn't go out and get the mail; didn't even feel like watching TV. Besides, what was there to watch? Something about Punxsutawney Phil coming out of his hole and seeing six more weeks of Social Security.
Last night, I did roust myself long enough to warm up some soup, and flicked on the tube as it heated. It was a public service announcement for Black History Month, sponsored by Pittsburgh Public Schools, and it featured Alma Speed Fox, who was identified as a "Civil Right's Leader."
That said something about either the advertising agency that did the spots, or the Pittsburgh Public Schools, I suspect. Whatever it said wasn't good.
The good news, of course, is that if I felt well enough to complain about typos on TV, I was probably getting better.
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The city is thinking about selling the Lysle Boulevard parking garage, or renovating it for use as a park-and-ride for the Port Authority bus terminal, according to Pat Cloonan in The Daily News.
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Eighteen thousand people showed up to see a guy in a top hat drag a rodent out of his hole, according to the Punxsutawney Spirit.
Alycia at Selling Myself Down the River has a theory about the Vice President's informal attire at the ceremony marking the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz:
Robin Givhan wrote an article about the "wardrobe malfunction" in the Washington Post. Givhan points out that Cheney was dressed as if he were about to "operate a snow blower." Well, first of all. Maybe he did! For all we know he decided to help out with the grunt work beforehand. If things took a little longer than expected he may not have had time to change clothes.
But seriously, here's my theory. Cheney went ahead with inauguration ceremonies on January 20th as planned and wore standard formal attire. He caught a bit of a sniffle afterwards and the doctors that make sure he's still breathing everyday gave him a dressing down.
This could be. And after all, the Vice President's health is a matter we should all be concerned about. If he gets sick, then George W. Bush will be in charge.
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Pittsburghers may feel frustrated by the endless backstabbing, grandstanding, hackery and general buffoonery that can sometimes characterize their city government and school board. But as John at Detroitblog points out, for pure entertainment value, corruption, and incompetence, it is really hard to top Detroit City Hall:
I won’t mention the bizarre press conference Saturday with the mayor and police chief, in which the mayor said the Navigator actually was for his wife, until it wasn’t anymore, that he lied but the press made him look like he’s lying when he’s not, that this is all about racism and his earring, that even the police in a faraway city are in on the conspiracy against him, and that his wife sleeps well at night, not surprising considering he’s out clubbing and she’s got the whole bed to herself. But I won’t mention any of that.
I won't even bring up how clumsy, unprofessional and cheesy it is to allow a lame controversy to grow uncontrollably and become the focus of the media for weeks because of amateur damage-control efforts.
I'm not even going to refer to the sudden surge in negative national publicity caused by said lame controversy, greasing the wheels for more of the same a year from now during the Superbowl.
Whew! Glad he's not mentioning that.
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That pesky Bill of Rights:
A Denver police sergeant is under investigation for allegedly threatening to arrest a woman Monday for displaying on her truck a derogatory bumper sticker about President Bush. ...
Ted Halaby, chairman of the Colorado Republican Party, said that while he finds the bumper sticker's message distasteful, he also realizes that it's probably protected under the First Amendment.
"There are all sorts of derogatory bumper stickers that seem to be covered under the First Amendment," he said, "whether or not you find them personally distasteful."
(Rocky Mountain News, Denver)
Um, "probably"?
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That pesky Bill of Rights, part 2:
"They need a new law for these protesters: 'You cross the line, you do the time,' " said Kenneth E. Boring, 80, still apparently irritated by the experience as he waited to leave Reagan National Airport.
He and his wife Dottie, 59, of Dalton, Ga., are members of Republican Eagles, the elite GOP fundraising group, but they watched the president's speech from the Willard InterContinental Hotel. The security line was too long, they said, and made longer, in their opinion, by the protesters.
"It's time to put a stop to all this nonsense, protesting and causing confusion," Boring said.
(The Washington Post)
Damn Bill of Rights freaks. Who do they think they are? Gitmo's too good for 'em.
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Good Carson obit from Aaron Barnhart, TV critic of the Kansas City Star and proprietor of TV Barn:
He created the modern TV talk show, with its monologue as the signature piece. By poking fun at the foibles of public officials from John F. Kennedy to Dan Quayle, Carson became the country’s de facto fourth national newscaster.
He also became comforter-in-chief. His brand of light entertainment was tailored for the bedtime hour, with a well-honed formula of prepared comedy and conversation that played especially well in the middle America where he grew up.
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Sign of the Times: Seen on the Buy 'n Fly gas station on Lincoln Way in White Oak --- "Steelers Items 50% Off."
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