Will there be a wing for Cliff Notes At the George W Bush Library?

Does anyone else find it strange that former presidents are always honored with libraries after their terms are over? What do most presidents have to do with libraries anyway? Several presidents, most notably the current occupant of 1500 Pennsylvania Avenue, don't seem to have read many books. he Bush library fund has already garnered $200 million; that's about $1million for every page he's read in his life.
Certainly even some of our better read presidents would more appropriately lend their names to things other than libraries; the Bill Clinton Hooters comes to mind. Shouldn't, after all, this honor say something meaningful about the president's personality? Wouldn't Gerald Ford rather have a golf course named after him, or Jimmy Carter a homeless shelter. Maybe Ronald Reagan could be memorialized with an Alzheimers Center, or perhaps an Alzheimers center (sorry, cheap joke.) The highest tribute, of course, would be to find something that was particularly indicative of that president's administration. They kind of got it right when they named the Kennedy space center after the president who was the most responsible for our taking the lead in the race to the moon. And the interstate highway system seems a fitting tribute to Ike. Unfortunately, given his economic record, the homeless shelter might still be most appropriate for Carter. I guess the question would be "What could possibly be the most fitting tribute to Dubyah?" Considering the enormous amount of money that will be raised, a library seems a waste of resources for a president who won't even read a newspaper.
But what will be the one thing about his administration that will most need memorializing. Nothing to do with education. His hideous "No Child Left Behind" program would preclude that.
And although it might be appropriate, naming a village of cardboard shelters for the poor after him would be unfair to Herbert Hoover, a man who worked hard for that honor.
So the question remains, "What would be the most appropriate tribute to George W. Bush?" Wait a minute. I've got it. How about a cemetery?

An eye for an eye or two for a dollar.

I had been pretty negligent about having my eyes checked over the past several years. More specifically, I hadn't had a real eye exam since I out processed from the Navy fifteen years ago. There are a lot of reasons to have regular eye exams, and the only reason I hadn't was that I didn't get around to making an appointment. Finally I did and I went to the the exam. I did pretty well on the eye charts. Despite using some weak reading glasses, my 48 year-old eyes cruised through the check-up. Then came the look inside. The doctor noticed a scratch on my right retina. He gave me an explanation of what he thought it might be and told me that, even though he was 95% sure it was nothing, I should have it checked out by a specialist. He made the appointment for me and sent me on my way.
Now, I don't consider myself an alarmist, but 95% sure meant that he was 5% unsure. And 95% nothing was 5% something. For the three weeks up to the appointment with the specialist I kept telling myself it was nothing and kept imagining it was something. I would walk around with my right eye closed to see just how much I needed that depth perception deal anyway. I even pictured myself with an eyepatch, but that look soon included a wooden leg an a parrot as well, which seemed the wrong way to go for a high school English teacher, except of course when reading Treasure Island.
When the specialist examined my eye he said that the scar was really two contusions that had been there for a long time, possibly since my childhood. He asked if I could remember any trauma to my eye when I was a child. I didn't have to think too hard. Four decades earlier I had done some trauma to my eye. some incredibly stupid trauma. It was in the basement of Tim Bonnets house in Edina Minnesota where I was an eight-year old sharpshooter with a mission to assassinate an unsuspecting plastic soldier. I got the victim in the middle of the BB gun's sight and fired. Unfortunately, while looking through the sight I failed to notice the rock wall behind the enemy soldier. No sooner had I pulled the trigger than the ricocheting BB hit me square in the eye. The soldier escaped un scathed.
Despite the fact that my eye hurt for what seemed like years afterward, especially in the bright sunlight, I never told my mother about the incident until a week ago. She asked me if I had ever told my father, and I told her I hadn't told anyone. She asked me if I had told Tim's parents, and I told her again that I hadn't told anyone. She asked me why I hadn't told anyone and I told her that, even at eight years-old, I knew what I had done was really stupid.
The positive thing that came out of this whole thing was that the ophthalmic photographer who took pictures of the retinas of my eyes is an artist who has some pretty neat art based on retinas, a little weird, but kind of cool. Check out the link for PJ Saine.

open letter to Tropicana

17 October 2005

Tropicana Products, Inc.P. O. Box 049003Chicago, IL 60604-9003

To Whom It May Concern:

As I was shopping the other day, I walked over to the refrigerated section to get some orange juice. I really expected to just go over and grab some orange juice and continue my shopping, but I found the task to be much more difficult than I had imagined.

The first carton I grabbed said “Original” in big, bold letters. Before I could put the juice into my cart, though, I noticed that it also said “No Pulp”. That seemed strange, because I was sure that the original must have had pulp. I put the carton back and looked for another. I saw that there were many different pulp options: No pulp, reduced pulp, some pulp, and lots of pulp. Nowhere did I see just “regular pulp”. Now, I don’t really understand why anyone would want orange juice with no pulp. Why not just drink Hi-C or Tang or something like that? On the other hand, what do you do with “lots of pulp”? I realize you must want to do something with the pulp you took out of the “no pulp” and “reduced pulp” versions, but who buys orange juice with extra pulp? Do you eat it with a fork? And “some pulp”? I don’t even know what that means. Where does that even fall on the pulp continuum?

Could you please make some regular pulp-leveled orange juice for those of us who are not so high maintenance as most of you customers seem to be. Call me old fashioned, but I just want some regular old orange juice. You know, the kind mother used to buy.

Thank You,



Skip Chalker

The Grinding Wheels of Government

If the world is going to Hell in a handbasket, at least we can take consolation in the fact that it is a long trip. And if the governmental bureaucracy is in charge of the paperwork, it will be a really long trip. This fact was once again brought to my attention recently when I tried to get a replacement social security card for my son. Since the government has decided that everyone should be assigned a social security number shortly after conception, instead of waiting until you are old enough to work, I held onto his social security card throughout his formative years and gave it to him during his early teenage years when he got his first real wallet. Which he promptly lost.
He, of course, denies that I ever gave it to him, and I, of course, say that I remember the touching ceremony that went along with the presentation. The rite of passage in which he became more than just a name; he became a government appointed number. Truthfully, I don't know for sure that I did give it to him, but since I am writing this column, I get to tell the story my way. Whatever really happened, the social security card is lost and now we get to see bureaucracy in action as we try to get that flimsy, 2 inch by 3 inch, piece of cardboard replaced.
The history of bureaucracy is a long one, dating back to just after the invention of the wheel. Cave paintings have recently been discovered that prove that the wheel was invented by a man named Ogg. As often happens, one invention leads to another and Grok, a neighbor of Ogg's, followed up the invention of the wheel with the invention of The Department of Wheel Registration. This tied in nicely with Mary Leakey's discovery of Zinjanthropus man. Leakey found the remains of fifteen bodies all in line and facing what appear to be the traces of a coffee-like substance possibly left by a Homo-habilus clerk at the Olduvai Gorge Department of Wheel Registration office.
By tracing the history of inventions from the Wheel, we eventually arrive at the computer, which in many cases has actually cut out some bureaucracy and speeded up the processing of some forms. Social Security does not seem to be one of those cases. In order to get a new copy of a social security card, it still takes 10 -14 days. Any decent forger could produce one in a matter of hours. Terrorists were able to get a full set of forged documents; visas, passports, driver's licenses, the whole works, in less time than that. And they didn't even have to wait in line.
To be completely fair, although it is kind of an American pastime to complain about government bureaucracy, it is much better than in most countries. And many of the governmental bureaucracies are trying to use the internet in order to speed up service and to create a flow of information to consumers. The social Security administration is one such agency. They have a marvelous website with many interesting features. I even found a game at their site. It's one of those simulation games where you set up a country and you have to find the best and quickest way to get government services to your people. At first I thought it sounded a bit hokey, but after a while decided that it might be kind of fun. I clicked on it and a window came up telling me that I didn't have the correct reader. It asked me if I wanted to load the reader. I wasn't really sure. The game had peaked my interest, but I really didn't need anything taking up more memory. I started to click the cancel button, but decided "what the heck! I can always dump it later." I clicked the load button and another window popped up.
"Loading Reader", it said. "Loading time: 10-14 days."

The Fighting Irish

Now that the Holidays are over maybe we can turn our attention to something more important than how stores should greet shoppers or what to call that big green tree-like thing that people put in their homes to celibrate Christmas. I understand that not everyone who celibrates holidays this time of year is celibrating Christmas, so I have no problem with being wished "Happy Holidays" when I check out at the cash register. However, anyone who shells out forty dollars for a dead pine tree that is going to be covered in lights and ornaments is celibrating Christmas. I would no more call it a Holiday Tree than I would stand in the front yard in my underwear singing "I'm dreaming of a white holiday. When did we become so emotionally fragile that validation of our religious beliefs relied how we are greeted by a store clerk who, when it comes right down to it, doesn't really care if we have a Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, or Great Kwanza.
Of course this isn't the first time we have seen this sort of lunacy. A few years ago there was a story about some zealots who were insisting that Notre Dame University change the name of their athletic teams from the "Fighting Irish." Due to the fact that I am half Irish by heritage, I was appalled. After all, one of the greatest sources of pride in my Irish heritage is that very same Celtic reputation for fighting. As a student of history, it was with much pride that I learned that during the height of the British Empire, there were more British troops stationed in Ireland than in any colony except for India. The Irish are such tenacious fighters that they gave England more trouble than any of the Colonies. "Fighting Irish" is a great and historic name, one to be proud of.
Once my blood pressure returned to normal, however, I started to think of possible alternatives to the old name. Here are a couple that I thought might be acceptable:
The Drinking Irish
Sure, this one doesn't necessarily strike fear into the opponents the way "Fighting Irish" might, but from my experience most of the really good fighting that my Irish friends and family have done has been a result of their being terrific drinkers, which leads me to my second, and best alternative....
The Drinking and Fighting Irish
No! This is just a pipe-dream! It seems that the Irish reputation for drinking has been blown out of proportion by anti-Irish bigots. When Former President Clinton compared the peace talks between Israel and the PLO to getting two Irishmen to leave a bar, he was condemned by the Irish anti-defamation league. I read the statement that the founder of the league gave from the bar he owns in Boston.
So my guess is that those goody two shoes will find these even more offensive than the original. Of course it might be that "fighting" isn't even the objectionable part of the name. Not long ago, a woman in Vermont had her request for a vanity plate denied because it said "Irish." The state decided that some people might find it offensive. These "Irish" weren't even "fighting" or "drinking." The first State in the Union tolerant enough to recognize the union of same sex couples felt that "Irish" was an offensive term. If it is so offensive how do you explain that every year, for one day in March, everyone pretends to be Irish?
Shortly after that the same state refused to let a couple put "Romans 8" on their vanity plate because it was offensive. And who would be offended by that? Colossians? What's next? Will the state refuse to pass cars through the state required inspection because they find bumper stickers or window stickers offensive. I've seen some bumper stickers that are
pretty crass, and some that might be considered exclusionary. Will Dartmouth stickers become offensive to people who could only get into UVM? We live in a day when tolerance seems to be synonymous with censorship. The people who speak loudest about acceptance are the ones who are most militant about telling us what is acceptable. Naturally there are words and names that most reasonable people won't and shouldn't tolerate. But let's use some common sense. We are in danger of turning ourselves into such a white bread, watered down culture that there will be nothing left to tolerate. And to tell you the truth this makes me fighting mad. It really gets my Irish up!