In-Tune News You’ll Want To Use

Heavy rains inundated New England, which experienced its worst flooding in decades.

The delicious saving grace is, the region, long known for its abundance of lobsters, found its dinner tables awash with them.

They owed the unexpected bounty to growing confusion about just where the ocean stops and the land starts.

“I’ve been a New Englander all my life,” a swarthy resident of Bangor, Maine, said, as he took another bite of the state’s famous delectation. “But I never thought I’d see that day that lobsters would show up for dinner of their own free will.”

The only frustration the diners, determined to make the most of things, dealt with is how to heat up the oven when the kitchen is underwater.

Tom Attea, humorist and creator of NewsLaugh.com, has had six shows produced Off-Broadway and has written comedy for TV. Critics have called his writing “”delightfully funny” and “witty” with “good, genuine laughs.”

STEP #5

An expert is useless unless he or she is credible. Credibility comes through any number of ways, none of which actually have to be based on reality. Once again, perception is King.

You know, I once was an artist. Not just any kind of artist, but a real one. I was the kind of guy who labored 25 hours a day for three years to create something magnificent that I couldn’t sell for a frikkin’ penny. My parents kicked me out of the house and into the streets because they couldn’t stand to look at the damn thing. The art piece was based on a mirror.

But, like I said, I wasn’t a cheap substitute. I picked myself up and began the process again, this time with another art form. I was an artist, after all, and, really, neither the medium nor the money ever mattered as much as the fact that I was a “Principled Artist” and carried that sensibility into everything I did.

This went on for years and years. I received my sustenance through my ideals and values. I also learned the best mixtures of dry and wet cat foods to produce a flavor somewhat like chunky chili.

And then, I woke up.

I realized this whole aura of goodness and integrity and aesthetics and sacrifice that surrounds the artist was a total crock! I began to leave behind the haze of illusion surrounding the romance of the artistic life and got down to brass tacks.

“Life is money. Money is life. Screw satisfaction of Spirit. I want a Condo on Maui!” I called out on the first morning I was sober in perhaps six months. It was actually my third morning in jail but I guess it takes your body a little while to get purified.

Anyhow, in that moment I realized I could leap away from my old impoverished life into a new one filled with riches. It’s the experts that make all the money, and here I had discovered one of the most powerful steps to becoming successful as an expert, which, in my mind IS all about money:

STEP FIVE: HAVE A CONVERSION EXPERIENCE AS THE HUB OF YOUR AREA OF EXPERTISE

A “conversion experience?” you may ask. Well, since your question lives only in my head, I may as well answer it quickly so I can make room for the next voice.

Simply pick the area of your life in which you have the most experience. Now figure out what is the exact opposite of that way of life, or business, or being. There you have it. That is now a viable area of expertise for you.

Do you follow? Okay, I’ll explain, that’s my job, you know.

The conversion experience is about that moment when you realized your life was so vile that you vowed to devote the rest of your breathing days righting that wrong. As an expert, that is the most valuable commodity you have to sell because that passion makes you instantly believable. The inner voice of your target sounds something like this: “Who better to follow than someone who has lived the other side?”

We don’t have to go very far for one of the most potent examples of how this works. You may have heard of Paul of Tarsus. Saint Paul. He’s the guy who was the expert on Jesus. Without Paul, we’d ALL have stale Matzoh in our cupboards.

Everybody believed him — and not only during the time he was around, but for about a couple thousand — THOUSAND years — after.

Why? Because before he had his calling he was riding through the countryside exacting monetary tributes in the most violent ways, literally terrorizing the followers of Christ.

And then, one day he got struck from his horse by a bolt of light. He must have hit his head or something because from that day forward, every moment of his life was spent in opposition to the life he once had.

Do I have to say more?

Well, yes, actually because I’m the expert and that’s my job, too. Why am I getting through to you? Because I, who once was the artist espousing the value of poverty am now the expert urging you on to riches. I am the Anti-Paul. I’ve been there, done that, just like you, and now embody how you, too, can leave your past miserable Spirit-driven life and join me as an expert.

As long as you don’t be the expert on becoming the expert.

At this point you might be wondering why this Step wasn’t Step #1. After all, doesn’t it make sense to choose your area of expertise first?

To be perfectly honest, it probably does. But remember, I promised Ten Steps. I didn’t say anything about them being in a straight line. I would hope you’d have more faith in yourself in being able to piece this all together.

STEP SIX

Step #5 provides a very valuable hint about what it takes to be an expert. Passion. But there’s another force almost as powerful in the perception of your targets. It’s called Pity. As in, “Well, somebody’s gotta do it. Glad it’s not me.”

You see, experts do things that none of the rest of us really have the balls to do. (My apologies to the women out there, but I’m not too expert at finding better analogies than what I was taught in Brooklyn.) In our minds, they see things in the here and now that we couldn’t even imagine under the influence of 42,000 micrograms of Orange Sunshine. As such, they are the only ones qualified to take on these huge projects. Who else but an expert would do something so humongous? And dangerous.

The expert’s job has more to do with attitude than it has to do with almost anything else. (This, too should be a Step in itself, but I thought of it too late and I already published the title. Since I always completely forget about at least two steps of the Twelve Step Program at any one time, I figure, like me, you start zoning out, so I’ll slip it to you here.) The most important part of that attitude is that you don’t look like you have an attitude.

Yes, I know, that’s what you do now and nobody respects you as an expert, if for anything at all. You’re obviously doing it wrong. Now, you’d think I’d tell you how it works. I can’t. You have to figure it out yourself and make mistakes. What? Do you possibly think I’m going to do everything for you?

Try this: Next time you go into a Starbucks (TM, probably) don’t leave until you’ve managed to mention (something like) this to the Barista, AFTER you receive the most exotic roast they have: “I used to prefer this roast when grown at 11,000 feet. This couldn’t have been grown at more than maybe ten-five at the most, and I love it!”

If the Barista says anything to you beginning with or leading up to the words “Are you…” you’ve blown it. If the Barista says anything at all to you, you’ve blown it. People know an expert when they come across one and usually feel too inadequate to even follow through on a conversation, unless of course they are somewhat expert themselves in which case you should get out of the coffee shop as unobtrusively as possible.

Go from coffee shop to coffee shop until your target Barista gets you another cup of coffee of a different roast, for free, hands it to you and asks your opinion. When you can take a sip of that coffee and simply reply, “I like it” or, “Not my preference.” And then drop it completely without the need to explain yourself, AND the Barista asks you no more questions, then you have attained the attitude of an expert.

But, back to danger.

The experts you question least are usually the experts who are embarking on some sort of journey that may get them killed. Of course you pity the stupid fools. But bottom line, you’d rather see them die than you, and since you feel like such an idiot for not seeing what the expert sees, you’ll be happy to do anything you can to support them in their cockamamie quest - as long as you’re the one not catching the bullet.

STEP NUMBER 6: ALIGN YOURSELF WITH A CAUSE THAT COULD KILL YOU

Things like attaining world peace or ending hunger for children are prime examples of causes that are not adequate to the task of establishing yourself as an expert. They are far too doable. Perhaps even more important; they are far too clear and safe.

Slogging through Dengue Fever-ridden waterways into the deepest most inaccessible part of Mozambique to build a research-facility and hospital from the ground up that will be using you as a research subject in a study of the effects of the Coalanga spider whose bite can take down an elephant but when prepared properly also makes the lost tribe of the Queaxicles immune to hemorrhoids is just the sort of thing that an expert would pursue that none of us would ever undertake, but could clearly get behind. (Way behind!)

The glorious part about this step is that the expert does not even have to be an expert in any aspect of the cause that’s being adopted. All that has to be said is this amazing computer expert is putting all she has into the task, as a human being, because, in the end, that’s all we have. The “Everyman” factor alone flocks people to her. The operative concept, however, has to do with death. Whatever it is, the gamble must include the threat of it; directly or indirectly, physically or emotionally.

An impossible cause can be effective as well, but you have to be careful. There are a whole lot of unemployed experts on the Berlin Wall and the Irish/English Troubles running around out there.

Drew says, “I’m just a nuts and bolts kind of guy, checking out the angles like everyone else. I’m not much for slowing down because, well, they really will catch up with me. What keeps me going is the wonder of how amazing things come through people when they just go about the business of being themselves. I go to http://www.thestoryofthis.net for my inspiration.”

Imagine my surprise when I went to Jamaica a few years ago and learned that I do, indeed, have an accent. You see, unlike my paternal grandmother, I don’t stretch the word “cornbread” into four syllables. She might say, “Here. Have ye some co-orn-bray-ed;” whereas I might say, “You want some corn-bread?” See? Two syllables on the cornbread; “you” rather than “ye.”

Unlike my maternal grandmother, I say “carrion” rather than “kyarn.” In fact, I had no idea what she was talking about until recently when I mentioned the word to my husband. I told him, “Grandmother used to say, ‘That stinks like kyarn.’ I never figured out what ‘kyarn’ was.” He said, “Road kill.” My jaw dropped. “You mean, carrion? Kyarn is carrion?” “Yeah,” he said. “Put the Appalachian accent to it.” It made sense.

Unlike my mother-in-law, I say “they fought,” not “they fit.”

Thus, I concluded that I have no accent. After all, I’m fairly well educated. I studied French for three years, and I did some self-study of German and Greek. Plus, I’m well read, and I’ve authored several books. Ain’t I the berries? I couldn’t possibly have a hillbilly, Appalachian accent. And, yet, in Jamaica, everyone I met asked, “What part of the South are you from?”

So, I did a little research and learned that the Appalachian region has its own language. Linguists call it “Appalachian English.” The Scots-Irish settled the entire region known as Appalachia (all of West Virginia and portions of Virginia, Pennsylvania, North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee and Georgia) in the mid-1700’s. At the time, physical boundaries kept modernization out. Then in the 1940’s, the Great Smoky Mountains National Park was created; and that brought tourists to the area. By the 1950’s, highways and telephones were more prevalent throughout Appalachia, bringing the modern world another step closer to its rural inhabitants.

Now, I don’t want you to think we in Appalachia are a bunch of snobs. We realize that the same immigrants who settled here settled land elsewhere, but the linguists tell us that our speech patterns will not be found in any other dialect to the extent that they are in Appalachia. In addition, we Appalachians use variants of our own speech patterns. Just because I don’t use the same words as my grandmothers doesn’t mean that I don’t have an Appalachian accent. In fact, the linguists say that each region has its own speech patterns and that most of us allow our situations to govern our speech. For example, when I’m talking with my family, I’m liable to let down my guard a littleuse a bit more Appalachian English and a bit less Standard American English. In a more formal situation, I’ll try to employ a lot less Appalachian English. Even though I know from personal experience that most Appalachians are not “dumb hillbillies,” I’m afraid that others might see me that way if I use the language I naturally use. And yet, some phonological differences are so inbred, that I can’t not use them.

Did you know that the t at the end of slept is not silent? You might say, “I slept in this morning.” I would say, “I slep in.” To me, that “t” just doesn’t feel right. It reminds me of an episode of “All in The Family” where Edith met a Jewish baker and he called her “Edit.” She told him, “My name’s Edith! Th!” So then he called her “Edit-th.” To me, “slep-t” would be every bit as awkward.

Do you say “exactly” or “exackly”? And how about ten? I’ve actually heard people say “ten” with a short e soundlike in the word “bed.” How weird is that? Tin and ten are words with the “exack” same sound but different meanings.

The linguists also point out some lexical differences in Appalachian English. For example, the Standard American English word might be faucet, but the Appalachian English version would be spigot. If somebody looks sick, we might say, “he’s peaked” (that’s peek-ed). Did you hurt your finger? Then we might say you “stoved it up.” I once knew a man who substituted “for” for “because.” He’d say, “I need to go to the store, for I’m out of milk.” My brother would substitute the entire remainder of our family with the word “nim.” He’d ask me, “Did Mama and nim go to the store?” Some people say “knowed” rather than “knew.” We’re famous for our double negatives. “I don’t have none of that.” Our present perfect tense has raised some eyebrows, too. “He’s done done it now!”

This little foray into my Appalachian heritage has given me new insight. We might chop off some of our “-ings”; we might “reckon” rather than “guess” sometimes; and we might have places with such outlandish names as “Lick Skillet,” “Frog Holler” and “Sugar Loaf,” but we have a rich history. We know where we came from and, for the most part, where we’re going. And if anyone thinks we’re a bunch of ignorant hillbillies, then you ought to come and get to know us a little better. If you stay long enough, we might be able to teach you how to talk right.

Gayle Trent’s latest book is a comedic mystery titled BETWEEN A CLUTCH AND A HARD PLACE. Find out more about the book at Gayle’s Web Page.

Laughter and Health!

We’ve long known that the ability to laugh is helpful to those coping with major illness and the stress of life’s problems. But researchers are now saying laughter can do a lot more — it can basically bring balance to all the components of the immune system, which helps us fight off diseases.

As we mentioned earlier, laughter reduces levels of certain stress hormones. In doing this, laughter provides a safety valve that shuts off the flow of stress hormones and the fight-or-flight compounds that swing into action in our bodies when we experience stress, anger or hostility. These stress hormones suppress the immune system, increase the number of blood platelets (which can cause obstructions in arteries) and raise blood pressure. When we’re laughing, natural killer cells that destroy tumors and viruses increase, as do Gamma-interferon (a disease-fighting protein), T-cells, which are a major part of the immune response, and B-cells, which make disease-destroying antibodies.

Laughter may lead to hiccuping and coughing, which clears the respiratory tract by dislodging mucous plugs. Laughter also increases the concentration of salivary immunoglobulin A, which defends against infectious organisms entering through the respiratory tract.

What may surprise you even more is the fact that researchers estimate that laughing 100 times is equal to 10 minutes on the rowing machine or 15 minutes on an exercise bike. Laughing can be a total body workout! Blood pressure is lowered, and there is an increase in vascular blood flow and in oxygenation of the blood, which further assists healing. Laughter also gives your diaphragm and abdominal, respiratory, facial, leg and back muscles a workout. That’s why you often feel exhausted after a long bout of laughter — you’ve just had an aerobic workout!

The psychological benefits of humor are quite amazing, according to doctors and nurses who are members of the American Association for Therapeutic Humor. People often store negative emotions, such as anger, sadness and fear, rather than expressing them. Laughter provides a way for these emotions to be harmlessly released. Laughter is cathartic. That’s why some people who are upset or stressed out go to a funny movie or a comedy club, so they can laugh the negative emotions away (these negative emotions, when held inside, can cause biochemical changes that can affect our bodies).

Increasingly, mental health professionals are suggesting “laughter therapy,” which teaches people how to laugh — openly — at things that aren’t usually funny and to cope in difficult situations by using humor. Following the lead of real-life funny-doc Patch Adams (portrayed by Robin Williams in a movie by the same name), doctors and psychiatrists are becoming more aware of the therapeutic benefits of laughter and humor. This is due, in part, to the growing body of humor and laughter scholarship (500 academicians from different disciplines belong to the International Society for Humor Studies).

Here are some tips to help you put more laughter in your life:

Figure out what makes you laugh and do it (or read it or watch it) more often.

Surround yourself with funny people — be with them every chance you get.

Develop your own sense of humor. Maybe even take a class to learn how to be a better comic — or at least a better joke-teller at that next party. Be funny every chance you get — as long as it’s not at someone else’s expense!

About the author:

http://www.a1-comedy-4u.info/

My mother was incredibly superstitious. She was forever flinging spilt salt over her
shoulder, crossing her fingers or chanting incantations for luck. Particularly sharp in
my mind are two rhymes that she would say out loud whenever the occasion
demanded. The first, on seeing a dropped pin was: “See a pin and pick it up and all
day long you’ll have good luck”. This was to be said quickly because apparently you
weren’t supposed to breath while stooping to pick up the pin and chanting the
rhyme. As far as I was able to determine, the days on which my mother was lucky
enough to find a pin were not noticeably fortunate. To my mind, the verse would
have been more accurate if it went thus: “See a pin and pick it up and all day long
you’ll have a pin”.

The second verse I remember was chanted whenever my mother saw a white horse.
The verse was usually again chanted out loud, whoever was present, while wetting a
finger and dragging it in the form of a cross on a shoe. The verse went like this:
“White horse, white horse, bring me good luck; today or tomorrow I’ll pick
something up.” The “something” in the verse was non-specific, presumably it
referred to a pin. Either that or a virus from licking unwashed fingers.

I’m not superstitious myself, but I do habitually count magpies, when they gather in
the field outside my window; mentally running through the song from the 1970’s
children’s program as I count. I tell myself that the number of magpies can’t
possibly have a bearing on how my life will turn out but I can’t help it. It is a
compulsion that I have obviously picked up from my mother.

The problem here is that I am a little confused over the rules for counting magpies.
Does one count the magpies spotted in a single sitting, as it were? Or is the method
accumulative? Do you tot up all the magpies you spot in one day? I can’t find
anywhere on the internet that explains this. And how is the rhyme to be interpreted?
One and Two are fairly explanatory, as are three and four if you know someone who
is pregnant. But five for silver? Will I find some small change - or come second in an
Olympic event? That’s a big gamut.

However many magpies I see, and whichever method I choose to count them, my
luck never seems to change. To be honest
I’ve been having a pretty cruddy time of it lately so maybe you’re supposed to count
them in binary format…

1 for sorrow, 1 for sorrow, 1 for sorrow…

Martyn Davies is the editor of The Encyclopedia Spuria http://www.spuripedia.co.uk
writes for Mature Times and BrynmawrScene and has been on the Philosan dependancy
list for nearly ten years

For all the dumb people and Bozos who think it might be fun to Surf Hurricane Storm Surges, well, this article is for you. And since there is a non-ending supply of brain dead thrill seekers out there, let me explain how you do it, so at least you can have one last thrill before you die trying.

First Storm Surges are not like regular surf, it is choppy hard to paddle out into and there is a hell of a lot of debris out there floating around as you are trying to catch pieces of waves. How do I know this? Well let’s just say I was young and dumb once just like you.

In fact you are not the dumbest moron out there, in fact last time a Hurricane came thru Key West, that was Hurricane Rita, one of the popular surf shops in town sold thirteen brand new surfboards. These long boards were sold just before Hurricane Rita in Key West. You know there will be others out during Hurricane Wilma.

While other people were boarding things up and in true Key West Style writing the name of the newest Hurricane on each piece of plywood, these folks were plotting the direction of the storm and the possible best locations to die, or I mean ride the biggest waves. Look when even the Dolphins take off for the day, you probably ought to know something is up. And listen to me Big Guy, it ain’t the surf “Dude!” Think on this, if not how do you want your tombstone to read?

“Lance Winslow” - Online Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance; www.WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/

ANECDOTES OF THE LATE O. S. ARI

” …Ari’s voice, full of wit, filled the room… ” (Mustafa Dogrusoz in ‘Kibris’ -5 February 1999)

” …He always wore a smile… ” (Harid Fedai in ‘Halkin Sesi’ -27 December 1992)

(In his newspaper columns [mostly between 1968-1992 in Cypriot ‘Halkin Sesi’ -also ‘Birlik’ etc.] often by a little story or joke did the hailed teacher-thinker-poet the late Orhan Seyfi Ari [1918- 1992] made or highlighted his points ~so also in his lectures, debates, discussions, teaching his school pupils. These simply put anecdotes are hoped briefly and miscellaneously to familiarise with his wit and a few of the less involved of the very many views he was also popular for…)

DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQES, he thought, were rather like broadcasting live on the radio a match between two boxers called Abdi and Bandinelli, and announcing the winner as Abdinelli…

‘NEVER TOO LATE to change one’s mind or to make a start’ was not of more use to one, sometimes, or to a nation, than it would be to the driver of a car rolling down a cliff to then decide to drive carefully…

IRRELEVANCY was a natural and common refuge of man ~”You have gone bald!” he joked with a friend who he had not seen for a long time -his friend looked at him, then responded, “Ha..! As if your son’s got more hair than I..!”

THE TROUBLES OF THE WORLD had much to do with this, that some with breathing difficulties had become deep sea divers…

IGNORANT WE ALL ARE of many things, he thought -some of us, even of our ignorance…

PERSEVERANCE it was an example of, the little delicate plant that shots and grows through the concrete of the pavement …

WHINING “O-oh!..” his friend explained, “I missed my train.. oh, I was twenty minutes late.. I am so sorry…” He replied: “Don’t be -you would have missed it also if you were only twenty seconds late..!”

EVOLUTION.. “we were apes”… Now..?! Were we not, now, ‘man’!?..

JUSTIFICATIONS of some reminded him of someone in his early teens to whom he had given leaflets, booklets, on how harmful smoking was -some months later the teenager came to him waving a newspaper which mentioned that an elderly person was a smoker…

RELATIONSHIPS had much to do with knowing that one could not stand before a mirror and make faces and expect to see a smiling image…

STRENGTH did not necessarily suffice ~”I am a wrestler!” threatened one -the other laughed: “But.. I am a runner…”

GOD “Perhaps does not exist;” he said “but, Sir, what if He does..!?”

POPULARITY it helped to wear a smile -the vinegar merchant who smiled had more customers than the honey merchant who did not…

Copyright The Quipping Queen 2006.

DOG DITTY DAILY #3

A Motivational Moment for Misguided Masters & Mutts

Compiled by Hugo Hotagen, DDD (Duke of Doorknobs & Doghouses), a loyal lapdog-in-training apprented to the affable, agnostic and all-round air-headed Court of the Quipping Queen.

A quirky, quizzical and sometimes questionable quotidian quotation, in honor of the “Year of the Dog”, follows herewith:

“To his dog, every man is Napoleon; hence the constant popularity of dogs.”

Author: Aldous Huxley (British novelist and satirist).

Copyright The Quipping Queen 2005.

NAME THAT PLANET

Or, who put the ram in rama-dama-ding-dong…I’d like to shake his hand?

By Ovid Publius Hadweenzic, an errant Knight-In-Shining Armor, with a trusty thirty-pound encyclopedia under his arm to keep him warm at night, a bag of dog biscuits to keep strange critters happy, and a wooden hobby-horse which he rides every now and then to remind him that he’s destined to become the world’s first cosmic cowboy catapulted into space

The world of late has been faced with a new conundrum, (as if we haven’t got enough to keep us busy for the next millennium). What to call the newly discovered 10th planet of our solar system?

Scientists were sick and tired of calling the nameless nuisance holding up the rear of the universe, “2003 UB313″. And, politicians the world over needed something to distract the hungry hordes. The latter were totally bummed out about having to put up with the usual ration of bread and circuses, and were preparing to stomp all over the newly-planted flower beds, hurl hanging baskets about with glee, and encourage their precious pets to piddle or poop on the well-manicured lawns outside the seats of government.

While spin doctors spun their wheels aimlessly and birds began to twitter off-key, bigwigs stopped clipping their coupons, playing a round of golf and pressing the flesh. Minor minions also decided to get in on the act of being totally dumbfounded as to what to do.

They were all in a deep and dark funk. And, popping “happy” pills did not seem to relieve them of their profound perturbation about the possibility that some “rogue astronomer” might leap up and take credit for discovering the newest heavenly body. More to the point, they feared their worst nightmare might actually come true …and shudder the thought …that some renegade rascal of a rapscallion would name the latest addition to our solar system … “The Big Bopper”.

So, while it’s comfy to know that “2003 UB313″ regularly orbits the sun (like anyone really gives a hoot), and is larger than Pluto (not that anyone’s been out there lately with a measuring tape to confirm this of course), the real issue at hand is giving the number a human face as it were.

After all, if there’s one thing savvy, consumer-conscious human beings can’t stand is not having a brand-name label and familiar image they can trust attached to all their stuff. And, who knows for Pete’s sake just what treasures and treats lie waiting beneath the surface of “2003 UB313″ to be pinched, pillaged, or plundered!

In order to avoid a long, drawn-out competition between roving bands of nincompoops and ninnyheads inhabiting Earth, (all of whom claim to have spotted the ‘whatchamacallit’ with their backyard binoculars), it was decided that something had to be done, and fast.

Concern that the identification of a new planet might spark a celestial civil war, (as the other nine blessed bodies with deep roots among the Greek and Roman Gods were not exactly thrilled about the news of a new mythical deity in the neighborhood trying to horn in on their sacred solar system), all of which prompted the United Nations to convene an extraordinary meeting to deliberate upon the matter.

Meanwhile, long-forgotten mythical deities seeking a new lease on life were threatening to cash in their “Get Out of Jail Free Card”, not to mention demanding a “Free Lunch” in addition to exercising their “Equal Opportunity Rights”.

Fortunately, one dedicated diplomat from the land of ice and snow stepped forward to announce that he had a suggestion. Why not invoke the “not withstanding clause” in a repatriated Canadian constitution — it might just do the trick. When asked what this had to do with the price of tea in China or the finer points of English grammar, he replied tersely if not curtly, “such a clause permits Canucks to do anything we please as long as an emergency has been declared”. He was politely thanked for his tangential contribution to the esteemed gathering of well-known windbags and hot-air enthusiasts by the Third Under-Secretary to the Snooze-Button Control Operator (seated quietly next to a somnolent-looking Secretary General who was indulging in his favorite passion — navel-gazing).

So, in the absence of an answer that everyone could live with, the powers that be sent out a 911 call on the Transcendental Meditation Hotline. Since the “Big Guy in the Sky” was busy performing miracles on 34th street, burning bushes, and whipping up loaves of bread and oodles of fish for supper that night, I took the call.

This was a fortunate stroke of fate as it turned out. Fending off one-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-people eaters and gritting teeth like grand pooh-bahs do certainly appealed to my keen spirit of adventure. However, it seems the ornery overlords were a tad miffed at being put on hold for four and a half hours. As if that were not enough, they complained constantly about the miserable choice of mood music and weren’t at all impressed with having to navigate a newly-minted maze of dulcet toned, voice-activated digital telephone instructions, (affectionately called the “Tree of Useless Knowledge”).

Anyway after much consternation and constipated consideration, I perused the pithy pages of my encyclopedia for a hint as to how to solve this disturbing dilemma, namely, how to come up with a marvellous moniker for the new planet. After much too-ing and fro-ing, not to mention more than the occasional hemming and hawing, the answer popped out of my snorting cerebellum. Just install a big suggestion box in a mall somewhere and let everyone toss in their two-cents worth.

The names below represent a sample of those submitted (just to prove this was a fair, legitimate, and totally transparent community consultation process):

Bacchus (He puts on a terrific beer garden, organizes nifty wine & cheese affairs not to mention hosts more than a few hot-tub & toga parties)

Buddhabot (A Warp-Speed Wisdom Wonderkin)

Captain Kangaroo (A terrific child-minder on a Saturday morning)

Cleopatra (In honor of “The Queen of Face-Lifts, Tummy Tucks & Botox Injections”)

Cronos (Nominated by Father Time in honor of the “World’s First ‘Clockwatcher’”)

Cupid (He deserves a bigger and better target practise range don’t you think?)

Hades (The Daring Duathalon Dude who invented “The Burnt Barbecued Beef Challenge” and the “Walking on Hot Coals Contest” …for macho men of course!)

Hera (In honor of the “Diva of Domestic Drudgery”)

Hermes (Didn’t he invent the typewriter?)

Juno (Pays tribute to the patron saint and power-broker behind the miracle of “Immaculate Conception”)

Joan of Arc (Nominated by the “International Society of Trojan Horse Engineers” to honor the world’s first under-cover hobby-horse rider)

Leprechaun (Nominated by the “International Association of Environmentally-Friendly, Vertically-Challenged, Transparent Entities” for “exemplary conduct above and beyond the call of duty”)

Loki (”Mischief-Makers Anonymous” voted him the most popular “Master of Mayhem” for 2005!)

Poseidon (Nominated by “The International Association of Sea Monsters & Shipwrecks” for his invaluable contribution to establishing fraternal relations with the “Bathing Beauties & Mermaids Society”)

Puck (Someone has to poke fun at the folks on the newest planet in our solar system!)

Robin Goodfellow (Nominated by “The Goody-Two-Shoes Society of America & Friends” for his swarthy looks and swooning charisma, award-winning pearly-toothed smile, and unparalleled jolly-jump-up capabilities)

Satyr (In honor of “The King of Canoodling, Spooning & Romping About In the Holly-Fuds”)

Spiderwoman (A wickedly wonky weaver-of-webs if ever there was one!)

Titan (Nominated by the highly-respected “International Association of Windbags & Hot-Air Enthusiasts” as “The Next Best Thing to ‘The Big Bopper’”)

The Pit Stop At the End of The Universe (The “International Commode, Outhouse & Tinkle-Pantry Manufacturers’Association” and the “Fast-Food Franchise Owners of the Universe” recommended this planet as the best place to showcase their new cutting-edge “Cosmic Water-Closet Technology” and new veggie-burger vending machines)

Thor (In honor of the “Father of Firecrackers” who adores letting the sparks fly and putting on a great “Thunderbolt & Lightening Spectacle” every now and then!)

The Queen of Sheba (Now there’s one very ‘Saucy Sylph of Shebang’!)

Tom Dick & Harry (Nominated by “The International Association of Innocuous Individuals” because these guys are more qualified than the “Three Musketeers” to keep up with the Jones’ not to mention fill every Joe-Job going in the universe)

Vulcan (Voted “Playmate of the Year” by the “Vacuous Vixens of the Universe”)

Wink’n Blink’n & Nod (Nominated by the “European Union of Fairy Tale Writers”, “The Sandmans’ Society”, the “North-American Sleep-Deprivation Research Institute” and “Sleepwalkers’ Anonymous”)

Xena (In honor of the world’s first “Weed Whacking Wizardess”!)

Yahoo (Nominated by the “International Association of Podunk Places” for solving a pressing social problem - where to accommodate hard-to-house “Yammering Yokels”)

Zorro (An equal opportunity, incognitio, Hunky Halloween Hero)

With all the mall ballots and entries counted in the “Name That New Planet Contest”, the gruelling selection task began. After 48 excruciating hours, a talented tollbooth attendant, one Heaver Herstmonceux, (from Three Legs Town, Ohio) was declared the winner. As luck would have it, the name chosen eloquently expresses the essence of those who have made a lonely planet at the end of the universe their home.

For the nail-biting nosey-parkers who’ve been waiting anxiously for the answer so they can fill their rumor mill with the lastest gossip — quit complaining, cool your heels and hold your horses! And, if that doesn’t work, take my advice humble advice - “Get a Life!”

Okay, okay …so who do you think would dare to live on a remote “Bob-Fearing” planet at the end of the universe?

Who else …but a band of boisterous do-gooders with a devil-may-care attitude to life, liberty, and the pleasurable pursuit of puttering about (entailing a well-stocked refrigerator full of beer, frozen pizza and ice-cream — the staple diet of these casually-dressed cosmic critters).

For those who are still in a quandary, the winning entry was you guessed it …an easy-to-remember, four-lettered word that just trips off the tip of your tongue …“DAVE”!

About the Author

Ovid Publius Hadweenzic, Ph.D., a professor of profound and pithy knowledge spends much of his expandable time expounding upon the virtues and vices of playing with silly putty - a keen issue of debate in THE COURT OF THE QUIPPING QUEEN

When George Carlin hit the height of his fame in the mid-seventies, he was considered by many to be a serious innovator. Besides being extremely unpredictable (walking off minutes into the act, insulting the audience or simply not showing up), behind every scathing and hilarious rant there lay a solid foundation of social commentary relevant to the times. Nothing was too taboo - religion, politics, sex, all the way down the line to simple fart jokes - he talked and the world listened, laughed and, most importantly, thought.

Other comics were out there doing it as well, Richard Pryor the most notable, fueling his raging stage show - like Carlin - with a drug habit to match. Bill Hicks (a self-titled ‘Chomsky with dick jokes’) wouldn’t hit until a decade or so later but he carried the tradition on with an acerbic wit and level of skill that managed to set the bar that much higher for future generations.

And though those torch bearers seem to be few and far between these days, the impact of these artists can still be seen, and felt, in this new generation - it’s just a matter of searching.

Once they’re found, a little study can follow their slight branches down into thicker territory, on to the trunk, and finally the roots. There we find one person: Lenny Bruce.

Ever hear the Carlin bit about ‘context’, or his famous ‘Seven Things You Can’t Say on Television’ routine? What about Pryor’s ‘racial epithets’? Or Hicks’ bit about a resurrected Jesus witnessing the crucifix necklace phenomenon?

They’re all variations, but at the core he’s there - Lenny. Lenny. Lenny.

Eleven books have been written about him and numerous documentaries have been made. He literally blew the comedic scene apart in the early sixties, taking comedy to levels no one thought possible, championing the First Amendment (in a battle he wouldn’t officialy win until nearly four decades after his death) and changing the very face of the profession forever. He didn’t just push the envelope, he folded it into a paper airplane and flew that motherfucker into space.

Yet still, mention him to nearly anyone in their twenties - fans of Chris Rock and Dave Chapelle, not to mention Jon Stewart - and the inevitable ‘who?’ follows. You can imagine my frustration.

The greatest tragedy to be found amongst this mess, though, is the lost masterpiece Lenny, directed by Bob Fosse in 1974 and garnering six Oscar nominations (including Best Actor, Actress, Director and Film). Ever see it for rent at the video store? Maybe in the classics section? Last week I was in Blockbuster and I asked the teenager behind the counter what Fosse movies they had. After several minutes of searching and a dazed ‘Gee, I never even heard of the bugger…’ he informed me they didn’t even have one. Forget the Oscar, Emmy, Tony and Palm d’Or the man won, we want tits and explosions, goddamit.

For anyone reading this who hasn’t heard of him and carries any interest or opinion about censorship, truth and the art of comedy, I suggest searching out a copy of Lenny.

Based on Julian Barry’s stage play of the same title, Lenny was shot in black and white and remains, thirty years later, a cast spell from start to finish. Fosse was an undisputed master of both musical theatre and cinema, and Lenny is a robust testament to his genius. He perfectly captures nearly every opposing aspect of the comedian’s life, from the most tender, personal moments all the way to the flashing, nearly clairvoyant brilliance he displayed onstage during the zenith of his career. No stranger to the turmoil most performers experience in their personal lives as well, however, Fosse does not shy away from taking us directly into some of the artist’s most bitter and humiliating moments.

Dustin Hoffman is phenomenal in the role, somehow managing to fall into Bruce’s body and channeling him with a tittering, manic grace that is sometimes hard to watch but never anything less than riveting. As with all of Fosse’s films the cast is utterly believable, right down to the lowest paid extra, leaving you feeling as if you’ve stepped right into the furtive, bawdy underworld of the late 1950’s New York Jazz circuit.

Valerie Perinne is truly excellent in her portrayal of Lenny’s stripper wife, Honey, and Jan Miner is dead-on in a small role as his mother Sally Marr, but the meat and bones of this thing is the combination of Hoffman and Fosse. Every emotional angle Hoffman comes at us from is perfectly reflected in the tilt and sway of the camera, every broken scene and lost moment written in shadow and light that slides with a natural ease. The score, of course, is amazing (Fosse was already making good money choreographing and writing musical comedy sketches by the age of fifteen, after two years of touring theatres and strip joints in the Chicago area during the early 40’s), but the overall triumph is in Fosse’s ability to show Lenny Bruce as THE innovator that he truly was. Lenny himself once said: “Comedy isn’t about telling jokes - it’s about telling the truth.” And that’s exactly what Fosse has done here.

Lenny’s fight, at the core, was a humanitarian one, and Fosse paints a portrait of Lenny as many different things throughout the movie, but beneath it all, he finds a core that was uniquely, and tragically, human.

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