Politicians Mating on the Beach

The sexual exploits of golf Tiger Woods don't involve a politician. But since they do follow a string of high profile infidelities on the part of elected officials, why not toss him into the mix. And it's a mix that brings up the vision of male elephant seals on the beach fighting to build the biggest harem.

A lot of moral condemnation goes into the response to actions by people like former New York Attorney General Elliot Spitzer, who was having sex with a prostitute, and the current governor of South Carolina Mark Sanford. (We really don't have to list everyone to prove a point here).

But what if this is nature at work? In the movie, "Jurassic Park," the all-female dinosaur population has evolved to produce off-spring and Sam Neill's character observes that "nature will find a way."

I prefer to say that "Nature will not be denied." Certainly, the spread of pornography on the Internet demonstrates, not loose morals in my opinion, but rather the overwhelming urge to reproduce that has been programmed into us.

So where do Mister Spitzer, Sanford and Wood fit into this. They fit into the category of good breeding stock. If you are nature and want to perpetuate and improve the human race, who better to engage in wide-spread mating than men with ambition, desire and energy (the last seems particular important to me. How these guys do it?)

To say that there is a biological component to this behavior is not to condone it, any more than noting that lionesses will kill lionesses from other prides and that chimpanzees will hunt down and murder other chimps, makes killing people from other groups something we should condone.

But understanding the origins of behavior can lead to better ways of preventing or dealing with it. These are not necessarily people who have fallen away from God, or family. Maybe, they are just doing what comes naturally.

The Tyranny of the Suburban Lawn

Few things in America signify waste more than the suburban lawn (although steakhouses come close.) They waste energy, time and the environment. And this is not to say lawns are bad. Lawns have a lot of great purposes--passive and active recreation, privacy.

But the pursuit of the perennially green lawn has prodded a couple of generations to douse the world in fertilizers that cause all kinds of problems, such as stimulating the growth of aquatic weeds that can choke a lake. Pesticides present their own problems in affecting benign insects and animals. Pesticides too have their place, but not in the amounts and frequency with which they are used. You could speak of a fertilizer-pesticide habit as one of the addictions.

There is of course the waste of water, also sometimes represented by sprinklers that go on in the middle of a rain, or go on at times when grass is as green as Ireland. The worst are those that go on in deserts environments and other sandy environments, such as those near oceans, where water simply runs through the soil. At the Jersey shore, there are always a number of houses that show a homeowner has admitted defeat and put in pebbles for lawn and some well chosen shrubs to provide greenery. It's actually an attractive model.

But for many lawns are a sign of a certain level wealth and leisure and perhaps the allure of the eternally green lawn is that homeowners can live out what I call "The Myth of the Suburban Squire." Either a property owner has the time to care for the lawn or the money to hire someone to do it if the owner is too busy.

In the 1800s, farm homes didn't have lawns. They often had orchards that offered some open space around houses. But on small farms, space was another resource that couldn't be wasted.
This is not to suggest tearing up sod and turning us into a nation of small fruit growers. But it underscores how the concept of space is as entwined in conservation or resources as the discussion of water.

Perhaps the economy will introduce some attitude change. Water, fertilizer and pesticide must be purchased and perhaps in a nation of millions of foreclosed homes, we'll get to a more sensible policy the hard way.

And maybe we'll just learn to live with a little less green.

Better English in Fewer Words

As we all know, English is a difficult language. Different letters and combinations of letters can represent many sounds. The same letters and combinations can be pronounced in different ways. This is a very inefficient system, taxing our education system, baffling non- native speakers.

It became obvious that readers and speakers need help and through observation, I have concluded that English can be greatly simplified because for most sentences, we need to use only six verbs: to be; to do, to get, to have, to go, to feel. These words contain the power of simplicity because they can be used in so many occasions where a multitude of verbs might be needed.

And no better example of efficient use of English can be found than advertisements I viewed while walking through New York's Port Authority Bus Terminal. I looked in awe at two advertisements on the bus terminal walls. "There may be easier ways to get to the airport." and "The bus terminal just got a bit healthier."

Madison Avenue's great minds had come to the same realization. And many Americans have an innate understanding of this concept. They might say "I have a car. I have a cold. I have a way with words." Or, "I got the mumps. I got two dollars in my pocket. I got four years on probation." That's more economical than "I own a car. I am suffering from a cold. I can speak and write eloquently". Or "I am suffering from the mumps. I found two dollars in my pocket. I was sentenced to four years probation."

Phrases with "to go" are familiar to all. "I go to college." "I go to town every Friday night." "I go with the girl with the great legs." It's almost unnecessary to recount the uses of "to be". They are numerous, as in "I am sick."I am a Republican." "He is the greatest person I've ever known."

There are an equally large number of sentences that show the versatility of the verb "to feel".Thus we have "I feel sick." "I feel that health care should be publicly financed." "I feel the scales on your skin." Perhaps "to do" has fewer uses. Nevertheless, it can be inserted into enough sentences for inclusion. So we have "I do a lot of work." "I do a couple of guys a night."

These words live in the phrases of the great, from Martin Luther King's "I have a dream," to John F. Kennedy's "I am a Berliner", Richard Nixon's "I am not a crook" and Arnold Schwarzenegger's "I will be back."

And I urge readers to emulate their example. Go out and write fewer words, speak fewer words, hear fewer words.

And know their power.

Into the Wild

After each storm, the trees throw down their challenge: branches lying carelessly along the ground or cast down with force and digging into the earth for several inches, defying me to pull them out.

Limbs lying whole or broken warn me: "This is our kingdom. Enter at your peril." I know they watch us from the backyard. In bed at night, I hear their murmuring; their contempt. "We were here before you. We will be here after you. We have seen great things and small things of man. They are all the same; simply things of men."

Sometimes, I hear tapping and awake. I run outside and realize they have drizzled acorns or perhaps a low-lying branch has teased against the roof. I think I hear snickering from the far end of the year. But when I look--all is quiet.

In the day, I venture beyond the patio and they glower. This is their kingdom. They torment me. They litter the smooth grass of summer with walnuts to obstruct the path of the lawnmower. They leave large dead limbs as traps overhead for the unwary, cover my roof hoping to test my fear of heights; fling the smallest twigs to the ground to make the work harder.

It was not always like this, I hear them sigh. Once they ruled, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi and beyond. None dared contest them. They were friend to the squirrel, the martin and the jay. Now, they are few.

And with each intrusion into their realm, I know they are watching. Waiting. Plotting. They will be back. They will be great again.

Harry Potter and the Theory of Humor

In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy learn to deal with their fears by facing a boggart, a shape-shifting creature that will take the shape of whatever frightens them the most.

Ron Weasley fears giant spiders, in the language of Potterdom, an acromantula, a large talking spider. Professor Remus Lupin, a werewolf in professor's clothing, tells the students to wave their wands and say the incantation, "Riddikulus", while imagining something silly happening to the sources of their terror. Ron does as told and the giant arachnid suddenly has roller skates on each of his eight feet and can't find firm footing and slides awkwardly while the students roar. And each student in turn reduces his or her fears to objects of derisive laughter, (except for Harry, but that's another story.)

There is a basic insight here about just what humor is, and that's a subject about which a lot has been written and little concluded. Yet isn't this the basis of much of our laughter? We laugh at the things we are fearful of, at the things we are angry at (fear turned outward of course).

Ultimately, what author J.K. Rowling has grasped is reduction of fear by making it absurd and the tribal nature of the process. Humor is how we join hands, call the demons before the campfire, name them and steal their power. We join in community with those who share our transformation of fear to laughter.

And in this, we are strong.

Orphans with a Chip on their Shoulder

When the movie "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Price" reveals that Voldemart, who started life as a preppy kid named Tom Riddle, was an orphan, it set the fight of good and evil on a different stage--one between characters whose parents died.

What is it about orphans? Kal-El lost a planet and became Clark Kent and Superman, a force for good. Bruce Wayne's parents were murdered and he trod the virtuous path as Batman, while Robin was orphaned in an act of circus sabotage. Orphaned Peter Parker transformed a spider bite into a war on crime. That's a lot of Superheroes who were brought up outside the biological nuclear family.

On the other side, Magneto in X-Men was orphaned as a boy by the Holocaust and turned to seeking revenge on the world of humankind, a hatred similar to that expressed in Voldemart, who was institutionalized because of his status, and it clearly hadn't gone well.

Do orphans have a different motivation from those with parents? Should we assume the evil lord, Sauron, from Lord of the Rings was an orphan because if he had parents going, "He's got a big eye. Yes him does, He's got a big bright eyes-wisey. Yes him does" he would have been easier on Middle Earth and spent less time in the company of the United Brotherhood of Orcs? Would Esther, the child of evil in "The Orphan" have been better if someone had taken her out for ice cream so often?

Orphans touch on two primal fears: The fear of abandonment, which is strong in children, largely fear of abandonment by parents, while in adults it is more fear of abandonment by friends or spouses. And then there is the fear that we don't know who we are, that perhaps we really were left on the stoop and our parents covered this up.

And these characters tap into the power of these fears. Harry is supported by love, but as the choosing hat declares in the first movie, he has a desire to prove himself. All of us do. But this seems deeper seated. Both Magneto and Voldemort suggest that while this power can be turned to good, some seek to hurt the world to make up for the hurt they have suffered.

Thus is born a battle between love and hate.

Joseph and Mary Visit the Guidance Counselor

"Joseph and Mary, I wanted to talk to you about your son, Yeshua."
"Jesus," Mary corrected.
"Jesus?"
"Oh, yes, he's been studying Geek and likes the ring of the language," said Mary with a bright smile.
"Jesus, then."
"What's the problem. Is he having difficulty with his grades?" Mary queried.
"Oh, no. He's a marvelous student. It's just that things happen."
"Things?" asked Joseph.
"We've been having a rat problem and hired and hired and exterminator to kill them."
"So!" said Joseph.
"And your son brought them all back to life."
"He always did like animals," Mary smiled more broadly.
"Then, there's trouble in sports."
"Trouble? I thought he was a good athlete," Joseph interjected.
"Very capable. But odd things, like during the thunderstorm when he ran for a touchdown by running through a puddle of water."
"A lot of people run through puddles," Joseph said with a puzzled look.
"It was more like he ran over it. It was a trough in the field three-feet deep. And then there's so many issues when he scores."
Joseph frowned. "Scoring is good. Isn't it?"
"He's our top scorer. But when he crosses the goal lines, there are sounds of trumpets and angels singing, and the sun breaks through the clouds and a voice rings out 'This is my beloved son.' It unnerves people."
"A proud father is a proud father," Mary sniffed. Joseph shifted uncomfortably and switched the subject.
"At least he doesn't drink," Joseph opined.
"No, and that's good. but I'm afraid the upper classmen take advantage of him. After they learned he could turn water into wine, they have been offering him many to come to their parties and create beer by the keg. The police had to be called to break up some drunken brawls."
"We've tried to tell him not to do that in the wrong crowd," Mary frowned.
The counselor coughed.
"There was one episode that I chided him about. He was on the class field trip and went to the synagogue. He saw the gift shop and trashed it. He muttered something about a den of thieves. It was a first-time offense, so we overlooked it."
"We'll talk to him," Joseph said sternly.
"Don't bother," the counselor said with a wave of the hand. "There is one last thing that worries me. I guess it's more odd than anything. It's in wood shop."
"Well, his father is a carpenter," Mary beamed.
"Father?" Joseph muttered almost inaudibly. He coughed out, "What's wrong in wood shop?"
"He keeps taking two large beams of wood and laying them perpendicular to each other on the floor. Then he lies down with his hands stretch out across one and his fee on the floor. When he is asked about it, he just says it's his father's will."
Joseph smashed his hand down on the table. "Ouch," he said.
The counselor and Mary hardly noticed.
"I tell the teacher it's just a minor peculiarity. Nothing will probly come of it."

The O.J. Effect

The O.J. Simpson murder case was a mark of progress in race relations.

No, I'm not talking about the judge, jury, prosecution or defense in this now 15-year old murder case in the usual sense. And I have no doubt that the rage we saw in Simpson's relatively recent conviction in the Las Vegas case involving memorabilia showed us the man that slew Ron Goldman and Nicole Simpson.

The important thing was that it showed that blacks have come far enough in America that a rich black man with money can beat the rap. It's a viewpoint that I haven't seen discussed in the years that have passed since the famous White Bronco slow-mo chase and slow-mo trial.

This is not a cynical dismissal of the verdict. This is a recognition that in the past, a rich and famous black man accused of serious crime would not have beaten the system, if you believe Simpson to be guilty or that he would have been acquitted, if you believe he was innocent. A black man accused of murdering a white woman would have been lynched in most of America.
At best, he might have been driven from his home.

Take the boxer Jack Johnson, who was convicted of violating the Mann Act, simply for consorting with (and marrying two) white women and for whom there has been a repeated pleas for pardons.

When we look back at the election of Barack Obama as president in the United States in 2008, perhaps we can remember that there was another important, if not particularly noble, landmark in the Simpson case.

Going Postal

The assertion by the postmaster general that mail delivery may need to be cut one day a week to bail out the service's budget underscores just what government needs. It's time to run the post office just like a business.

Certainly, it's time to abandon the silly idea that it costs the same to mail a stamp 1,000 miles as it does across town. And why should the post office be forced to serve markets where it can't possibly make money.

We can cut back service to costly states likely Montana, Idaho and most of Oregon. Nobody much lives there and why should the rest of us be subsidizing those lifestyles. Hey, they wanted to live in the woods next to nature. Live next to nature. Did you ever see a bear den getting daily mail delivery?

And what an opportunity for the entrepreneurial spirit. Companies will go into business to serve these markets. They'll be able to charge a premium offering a vital service for pick up and delivery--a dollar for a first-class letter. You want your Social Security check, that will be extra? You want to make sure your payment gets to the phone company? Another premium.

Now some argue this will simply encourage more email and online bill payment? Sure, nobody writes letters anymore. But out in the wide open spaces, who can afford the bandwidth, even if you can get it.

Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat ... you know the drill. Get serious. If people want their mail in inclement weather, they can pay for it. Snow boots and rain ponchos cost money.

And who can overlook one of the real benefits to this--nobody in delivering this mail is going to bring a submachine gun to work to deal with grudges. These people will be making good money. No one wants to throw that away.

The Luck of the Irish

One of the most unglamorous jobs, that would seem to have been highly desirable, was that of the Irish king.
If the stories are to be believed, the almost-king had to have sex with a mare in public. This must have deterred all but the most determined, or perhaps the loneliest.
As the candidate learned of his decision, he asks the priest incredulously.
"I have to have sex with a horse?"
"That's right."
"You're kidding? My brother put you up to this."
"No, it's in the sacred texts. The King must get it on with a horse."
"Maybe it's a copying error. Someone jokingly said, 'The king must have sex with a young filly.' You know how literal scribes can be."

"Nope. It's with a real horse. It's in all the texts, back to the oldest."

"How about we just engage in some heavy petting?"

"Uh, uh. It has to be stick the royal scepter in and ride her to the finish."

"Do I have to do this more than once? I don't want to come home smelling like a stable and have my wife say, 'You've been with HER again.'"

"Just once. That's all. You just plant the royal seed, show your power and fertility and that's it"

"Well, at least nobody has to know about it but you."

"Oh, no. It's got to be in front of the assembled nobles and priests."

"Did the last king do this?"
"Everyone back to the beginning."

"You know. I'm new here. What did he die of?"

"Hoof and mouth disease."

"I think I'm going to apply for the throne of England. They've got an easier test."
"What's that?"

"Killing a dragon."