On the Matter of Weddings: Or Where I've Been

Part of the field where I would have had the wedding.

I have always had something of an attitude about weddings, even when I was young and in love. Dad, on the other hand, had his own idea of what constituted a wedding, and as he phrased it, he only had one daughter. Well, it was kinda like the Green Acres song.

***

Fast forward thirty years or so and here I am older, more jaded, and definitely more cynical, snickering at the young women clutching their Brides magazine to their chests. At least I was, until the little one got engaged. Unfortunately, she's on the Left Coast. So here I am in Sarasota, charged with planning a wedding. Talk about the unlikeliest of people. All of a sudden, I'm the one sneaking a peak at The Knot. Funny thing is, I'm fully into the thing. Papi's revenge.

***

I have run into the Southern Wedding. In my New York brain, a wedding reception is supposed to rain food and drink. The other day, my mother reminded me that at mine there were no less than 21 different foodstuffs at the cocktail hour alone. Then there is the whole choreography thing of first dances, etc.... and a hell of a good party.

***

My friends from Mississippi inform me that I am mistaken. That some weddings actually have... I almost can't write it... cash bars. In fact, they recently came back from a wedding at a big, old antebellum plantation where when one of the gaggle of young boys came back from the pond with an 8 lb. bass, and the adult boys made a bee line for their trucks and started a fishing frenzy in the poor homeowner's pond. True story.

***

In Sarasota since we are so much more upscale, there is a variant. I've come to learn that a wedding here is an expensive dinner with 3 hors d'oeuvres, count 'em 3, a panoply of unlikely taste combinations and a full bar you pay per drink. My father must be rolling over in his grave. If there is a dance floor at all, it's tucked in a nether corner of the room opposite this same bar. Not surprisingly, many people opt for the beach wedding. Having survived the hellish heat of an outdoor wedding in the summer last year, that's not an option, otherwise I would have suggested a barbeque. Oh, but wait, having it at home-which was my first choice-is even more costly. Rent the tent, rent the air-conditioners, rent the tables, chairs, linens, dishes, cutlery, get liability insurance, a permit from the county.... Yeah, not quite.

***

Oh, well, you know what they say, "When in Rome.." So here's to my prime rib with a mango chutney salsa. At least it's half the price of a New York fete.

Mini Reads for a Friday Afternoon

Well, friends, I've been in reading heaven most of the week, begrudging the time that family, friends and just plain living take. Have I found a marvelous book, you wonder. Not exactly. Just got my hands new books by some of my favorite authors.

First up was Plague Ship by Clive Cussler with Jack DuBrul. Plot is intricate, perhaps too much so, but, boy, what a read! It's just plain fun: you don't read the book, you enter into the Cusslerian world. The writing just carries you along whether or not you find Juan Cabrillo and crew plausible.

James Lee Burke's latest, Swan Peak, although not quite in the same league as some of his earlier works, such as A Stained White Radiance and In the Mists with the Confederate Dead, is a pleasant and riveting visit with old friends Dave Robicheaux and Clete Purcell. No question here as to plausibility. Reformed and practicing alcoholics, Vietnam vets, ex-New Orleans cops, just people living in the marrow of life, the characters are real people to aficionados. In fact, Clete who's been something of a two dimensional character gets a bit more development in this one. The writing here just keeps you reading. Reminds me of the Penn Warren's "And then" sort of thing.

Finally, I was really excited to discover a new writer, Michael Harvey. Actually, he's co-creator of Cold Case Files, so he's not exactly a new writer, but The Chicago Way is his debut novel. His PI, Michael Kelly, would feel right at home with some of the grittiest detectives in the noir tradition, as well as Lahane's Kenzie. His is a bleak Chicago where corruption and violence permeate the chilly fabric of the city. And don't miss the plot twist. I was suspicious when I saw the praise from Grisham, Connelly, and Reichs on the cover. This is one instance in which it is deserved. I'll be reading Harvey from now on.

Fact or Fiction?

Yes, high speed internet is making its way to Cuba via Venezuela. Not to be picky, but does this bit from Information Week seem to have a decided bent? Prominently featured is this quote from the Wiki Leaks report:

"The contract between the two countries, which has been independently verified, adds weight to Cuban statements that the United States economic embargo of the island has forced it to rely on slow and expensive satellite links for Internet connectivity," said Wilileaks investigative editor Julian Assange in the report. "

The supposed refusal of the United States to allow Cuba access has also been in just about every report. But I'm a little confused. Here's Dan Fisk from the National Security Council in May.

...it may interest you to know that the Bush Administration authorized a U.S. company in 2002 to connect Cuba to an existing fiber-optic cable in the Atlantic. That authorization is still valid. The fact is that the Cuban regime has not been interested in providing the Cuban people with Internet access. Further, the President has twice offered to license U.S. non-governmental organizations and faith-based groups to provide Internet-ready computers to the Cuban people if the regime ends it restrictions on Internet access. We are still waiting for the regime to allow Internet access to the Cuban people. I hope you are asking the rulers in Havana the same question. (The full text of his remarks here.)

Wonder why I haven't come across that tidbit in any of the reports?

Meanderings: The Pigeon has Landed

Although my all time favorite comedy is probably Young Frankenstein or Jumping Jack Flash, which was on TV recently, one of the most memorable comedic scenes is to be found in the particularly silly Love at First Bite. Driven from his castle by an angry mob- government types according to Arte Johnson/Mr. Renfield- Dracula relocates to 1970's New York City, where only the tough survive. By the way, how does Renfield know they're from the government? Well, as he explains to George Hamilton/Count Dracula, "they have shoes."

So here is Count Dracula, morphed into a bat, on the prowl for a victim in the Big Apple. Seen through the window of a tenement or project is a dejected, desperately poor family, discussing their plight. At that moment, the unsuspecting bat flies in the window. They look up, stunned, but what do they yell? Are there cries of fear or wonder? No, after a moment's hesitation come cries of "Black chicken! Black chicken!" as they scurry trying to capture the thoroughly humiliated Count who is reduced to feeding on a Skid Row denizen.

The providential fowl is a motif I've had exposure to in life. I once met a Colombian minister, quite a learned fellow, who had graduated from Princeton. His childhood, though, was one of grinding poverty. His widowed mother had raised a large family in those days and in that country. This woman had great faith and would always tell her children, "God will provide."

One day they were walking down the street. Things were at their bleakest: they had nothing to eat. Beset by hunger, the children were complaining. "God will provide" was their mother's reply. Then, as if on cue, a bit fat juicy pigeon landed at their feet. It was a turning point. They remained poor, but circumstances were never again that desperate.

I know, I know, it sounds apocryphal. But this man of the cloth swore it was true. We've seized upon the thought at my house. Think about it. How many times has an unexpected check, or professional opportunity popped up at a particularly opportune moment. Around here, we look at each other and say, "The pigeon has landed." And so it goes.

Dangerous Ground: Updated

The buzz today is about Obama's Op-Ed piece in the New York Times on his plan for Iraq, which strategy entails some fancy footwork around his earlier positions, despite his protestations to the contrary. The media, however, has zeroed in, and rightly so, on a sentence buried in the discussion of the greater Iraq strategy in which the wouldbe president announces that he would send two additional brigades to Afghanistan.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. Is Obama here attempting to establish his willingness to use force in order to compensate for a perceived weakness on national defense? I suspect Hillary would not have found herself in this position. But it is not an unusual one for a Democrat. It is, however, dangerous. History has long taught that military supremacy is not a formula for success in Afghanistan, as both the British and the Russians learned the hard way. I would suggest that before we become involved in a situation that could well make Iraq look like a picnic, we think long and hard. Would it not make more sense to truly turn our attention to improving the lives of Afghanis?

Obama is correct that we need to pay more attention to Afghanistan. I'm just not at all sure more military is the way to go, and I fear that he may well feel the need to prove himself to our national detriment.

Update: Say it ain't so, Mac. Not to be outdone by his rival, McCain pledges to send three more brigades to Afghanistan. Everything I wrote still stands. Seizing on the lesson of Iraq should not entail forgetting earlier conflicts.

Sunday in the Garden

Gather Ye Rosebuds.... In addition to the leading bookstore indicators, the polls continue to show the Illinois Senator's position heading South. This is going to prove interesting. Read about it in Newsweek.

Every Rose has its Thorn. Lots of press about airline imbroglios this week. There was the planeload of passengers who, understandably miffed because the crew was delayed, booed their pilot. As I discovered, wedged between two very large gentlemen with a decided disinclination to close their legs, it is never a good idea to po the airline people. Personally, as I come armed with a good book, I don't mind waiting off the airplane. Were I stuck on the tarmac, I would undoubtedly freak, being tempted to do what this passenger did here.

The Bloom is Off the Rose. T. Boone Pickens, concerned citizen or savvy investor or both, has launched his own media campaign to address the oil situation. His interim solution: wind for generating electricity and natural gas for cars. Of course, he's building a mega wind plant. Read it here.

A Rose by Any Other Name. In the celebrity news corner, we have a new tell-all book by Madonna's brother which happily coincides with the brouhaha over the supposed demise of her marriage and alleged affair with A-Rod. Just in to the newsroom... Angelina Jolie delivered a matched set by Cesarean section. Ouch!

Guns and Roses. Here's a list of the top ten gangster movies. See how it compares with yours. Personally, Scarface did nothing for me. I couldn't get past Al Pacino's Puerto Rican accent. Where's Donnie Brasco, The Valachi Papers, The Black Hand?

It's Axiomatic!

"From each according to his ability, to each according to his need."
Karl Marx

"From each according to his ability, to each according to his work."
Raul Castro

"Socialism means social justice and equality, but equality of rights, of opportunities, not of income..." Raul Castro

"All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others. "
George Orwell

Elegy for a Dictatorship?

This month’s Condé Nast Traveler boasts an article about Cuba entitled “Remains of the Revolution.” And it certainly lives up to the allusion of the title, as author John Graham provides not only a travelogue of sorts, but also a requiem for an era and a regime. His is not a look-at-the-reforms type of piece: these he treats with skepticism. No, rather the impression, unstated, is one of inevitability, like the fate of those multi-storied Havana buildings, decayed and crumbling under the weight of time.

Starting at the Floridita where he finds himself drinking with the likes of Padura, he never loses sight of those Cuban realities most mojito swilling tourists seem to miss. For instance, after telling us he loves Cuba, he feels the need to qualify the statement-

But lest you regard me as a sentimental fool, let me couch my amour in a little pragmatism. Unlike Jack Nicholson, who arrived here in 1998 and proclaimed Fidel "a genius," I see a place that possesses a magnificent legacy architecturally, culturally, and spiritually but that has been suppressed and held back by fifty years of Socialist torpor. Far from being a genius, Fidel was a political anachronism for decades before he resigned. Holding on to l'illusion lyrique (the early, idealistic phase of the revolution) far beyond its sell-by date, he has dragged his talented, free-spirited people down with him.

The sound you hear is yet another chink in the Great Wall of Denial that has shielded the Castroite regime. Are there things he writes that I don’t like? Sure, but I am impressed by just how much he gets right. Read it here.

Cross-posted at Babalublog

Quote of the Day

"It just seems like another racial move on their part," Tejada said. "They know how many lower-income families live in the neighborhood and how much it will impact them. There are a lot of big families here."

Gillespie Park resident Maritzabel Tejada on the parking ban.

The War Against the Poor: More of the Same in Sarasota

For decades, there has been a tension in Sarasota between the haves and the have nots, leading to the anecdote often tossed into discussions that many years ago when one of the former was queried as to who would cut their lawns if the latter could not afford to live in the city, he supposedly responded with "Let them live in Bradenton," the Gulf Coast equivalent to "Let them eat cake," one supposes.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved to this town were the gated developments rising all over the county. My Northern brain could not comprehend the wall upon wall before me when there was so little crime. Alas, at the time I was blissfully oblivious to the wannabe factor. A town of aspiring social climbers, many of whose entire capital resulted from the sale of the Long Island Cape Cod and others whose only endowment is a decided talent for self-aggrandizement, has no room for real people, for the gritty, messy, unraveled ends of humanity.

It strikes me that if this crew has its way, and it has taken over the centers of legal authority, all of Sarasota will morph into a over-sized Longboat Key. For the uninitiated, there is not a single foot of undeveloped, unobstructed beachfront not in private hands on Longboat, unless you include the small patch of public beach with no parking for miles. That'll keep the riff-raff out. There is also nary a poor person on the island. But it is the grass that seizes my imagination. Mile after mile of lawn is so manicured and uniform in color that it resembles nothing more than a carpet, as if no blade of grass would dare defy the strictures of the place by growing wild or unevenly.

So where are we now? Well, we have the use of public funds in the name of parking spaces for development projects of near million dollar condos. Then there are the temperance society smoking laws: no smoking on the beaches, no county employment for smokers. And now apparently we have the parking laws. The latest front in the war against the poor is the parking ban in Gillespie Park, a working class neighborhood, too close to the gentrified downtown for its own good. From now on, parking is limited to driveways and the streets. It is hinted that the same will befall the rest of Sarasota. Sounds logical, doesn't it? I mean, nobody wants to live next to the Jukes with the rusting hulks on the lawn or the immigrants of questionable legal status who live dorm style in a two bedroom cottage.

That is the problem. Each proposal sounds reasonable but carries with it more and more erosion of the live and let live atmosphere that once characterized the place. To many people, it is just code for another measure to make it more difficult for the working class, many of whom have about five feet of driveway and at least two cars of whatever vintage. If nothing else, it is symptomatic of the prissiness that is taking over our lives, here in Paradise.

I stand to gain nothing in this discussion, as I have no garage or driveway. Lucky for me, I don't live in Gillespie Park, either. But they will come for me, fear not.

The Sarasota Herald Tribune has done some solid reporting here. Good column here.

Life as Art

You can blame this post on Obama, because going by the leading bookstore indicators, Obama fatigue has set in. That is not to say he will not win, but no longer does his mug on the cover of anything guarantee swift sales. Noting this reminds me of the infamous Warhol quote about "15 minutes" of fame. I'll grant Obama more than 15 minutes, but his star is dimming just the same.

Roundabout this time, I come across the book pictured above. It occurs to me that I know very few people who love Hemingway's writing. Those that do seem to be either advanced in years or male or both. Yet Hemingway as a character himself is almost universally beloved. I wonder how the great man would feel that it is his colorful career rather than his spartan prose that excites many readers?

***

Fertile ground for rumination, here. After all, there have been a plethora of autobiographies by people who are essentially nobodies. They haven't crossed the Delaware, cured polio, or even performed Hamlet on stage. True, in the modern purview even Willie Loman was worthy of a work of literature. "Could it be that there is something more to this, though?" I ask myself. So...

***

Deep, deep thought of the day: In a world in which we deny the existence of great men and women... even Mother Teresa came in for criticism and had her faith questioned... in a world that is increasingly less literate... the average adult American reads four books a year and when was the last time a book of poetry by anyone other than a talented dying boy who appeared on Larry King was a best seller... centered more and more on the ego... could it be that in a stark, post modern world, stripped of furbelows and flounces, our creative impulses have turned inward and we look upon our lives as just so much clay to make a statement? It could explain the inauthenticity which surrounds us. Verry Interresting.

By the way, the book looks interesting. More here.

Airlines Fighting Back

The little one who is a frequent flier received this today from an airline. Thought it might be of interest.

An Open Letter to All Airline Customers



Our country is facing a possible sharp economic downturn because of

skyrocketing

oil and fuel prices, but by pulling together, we can all do something

to help now.



For airlines, ultra-expensive fuel means thousands of lost jobs and

severe reductions in air service to both large and small communities.

To the broader economy, oil prices mean slower activity and widespread

economic pain. This pain can be alleviated, and that is why we are

taking the extraordinary step of writing this joint letter to our

customers.



Since high oil prices are partly a response to normal market forces,

the nation needs to focus on increased energy supplies and

conservation. However, there is another side to this story because

normal market forces are being dangerously amplified by poorly

regulated market speculation.



Twenty years ago, 21 percent of oil contracts were purchased by

speculators who trade oil on paper with no intention of ever taking

delivery. Today, oil speculators purchase 66 percent of all oil

futures contracts, and that reflects just the transactions that are

known.



Speculators buy up large amounts of oil and then sell it to each

other again and again. A barrel of oil may trade 20-plus times before

it is delivered and used; the price goes up with each trade and

consumers pick up the final tab. Some market experts estimate that

current prices reflect as much as $30 to $60 per barrel in unnecessary

speculative costs.



Over seventy years ago, Congress established regulations to control

excessive, largely unchecked market speculation and manipulation.

However, over the past two decades, these regulatory limits have been

weakened or removed. We believe that restoring and enforcing these

limits, along with several other modest measures, will provide more

disclosure, transparency and sound market oversight. Together, these

reforms will help cool the over-heated oil market and permit the

economy to prosper.



The nation needs to pull together to reform the oil markets and solve

this growing problem.



We need your help. Get more information and contact Congress by

visiting www.StopOilSpeculationNow.com/sos.





Sincerely,





Robert Fornaro

Chairman, President and CEO

AirTran Airways, Inc.



Bill Ayer

Chairman, President and CEO

Alaska Airlines, Inc.





Gerard J. Arpey

Chairman, President and CEO

American Airlines, Inc.



Lawrence W. Kellner

Chairman and CEO

Continental Airlines, Inc.





Richard Anderson

CEO

Delta Air Lines, Inc.



Mark B. Dunkerley

President and CEO

Hawaiian Airlines, Inc.





Dave Barger

CEO

JetBlue Airways Corporation



Timothy E. Hoeksema

Chairman, President and CEO

Midwest Airlines





Douglas M. Steenland

President and CEO

Northwest Airlines, Inc.



Gary Kelly

Chairman and CEO

Southwest Airlines Co.





Glenn F. Tilton

Chairman, President and CEO

United Airlines, Inc.



Douglas Parker

Chairman and CEO

US Airways Group, Inc.

About That Silver Lining...

A few days ago, I posted about the potential positives in our current economic situation. This week's Time has "10 Things You Can Like About $4 Gas." That last point kinda reminds me of all those studies that say hunger was healthy for Cubans during "the special period." For what it's worth.

You say "Village"...

Cuba's village of Camaguey, settled in 1528, contains large and small squares, serpentine streets, alleys and irregular urban blacks[blocks?], which make it "highly exceptional for Latin American colonial towns" located on the plains, the world heritage committee said late Monday.

I'm sure that in the 1500's, it was a village. But by the 20th century, my mother would have said "city." That's because Camaguey was the provincial capital, the place to go for upscale shopping and high brow ladies, girdled up to their sternums. Be that as it may, word is out today that Unesco has designated Camaguey as a World Heritage Site. You can read about it here.

Telex Reviewed: Updated

Update: A kindly anonymous comment indicates that Kushner has put up a website associated with the book. It is quite lovely. Just click on the circles for some slide shows and more.

A while back I posted on Telex from Cuba. Well, some of the reviews are in. Both the San Francisco Chronicle and the LA Times have write-ups here and here. The latter includes some author's commentary. Perhaps the prettiest review comes from the International Herald Tribune. The New York Times has the first chapter . As for your humble correspondent, my earlier impressions.

Whose Wiser?

Here's an interesting angle to the proposed hostile takeover of Anheuser-Busch by Belgian InBev. Among the machinations afoot is a move to replace the board which turned down InBev's offer. The Budsters have countered with a number of moves. In this Reuters article the embattled company discloses an eye opening fact about their unwanted suitor:

Anheuser also made a political jab at InBev. It said that InBev, through a subsidiary, has a partnership with the government of Cuba to produce and distribute products in Cuba.

Gee, that's illegal, isn't it?

Sunday Song

What's it all about? BO professes himself a bit flummoxed by the uproar caused by his "refining" his Iraq policy according to this Reuters' report on MSNBC. I would agree with him that it is a good thing to adapt to circumstances. Only problem is that had we followed his earlier prescription we would have lost the war. Bit of a problem, there.

Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear.... While on the topic of MSNBC, I've read in a few venues- most of them conservative- that there is a struggle going on for the soul of the NBC network. The latest entry is from Jed Babbin at Human Events. Sad thing is I really miss the network of old, even MSNBC which before its hosts went off the reservation had the most interesting political coverage. Website is still pretty good.

Let's call the whole thing off. Robert Samuelson in Newsweek informs us that the effects of speculation in the commodities markets have been exaggerated. After all, it's pension funds and school endowments dabbling in futures. Question, if they are in the market are they not increasing demand? Still, it's worth reading.

Fly me to the moon. If you've ever wondered how much of a difference one person can make, read this and see how a single goat was enough to change a young woman's life. The requisite heart-warming human interest story here.

Why? Being intimately acquainted with Slovenians, or Slovenskis, as they call themselves, this tragic story does not surprise. An officially organized last trip down the river turned tragic as two canoes were sucked into the soon to be opened dam. Among the eight lost, the mayor and member of parliament. Read about it here.

When Road Leads to Neverending Road

There's a line in Waiting for Godot, something to the effect that it is the worst thing to have thought, which would seem pretty stupid. And yet like much of Godot, though it be madness, yet there is a method in't. Witness what happens when instead of jumping on a bandwagon of whatever stripe, you find yourself actually trying to sort things out for yourself.

From the very beginning of the Bobama odyssey, I have been asking, "What, pray tell, is an organizer?" I mean what kind of occupation is that? As a title, it has no substance, an occupation built of air, shapeless, open to all sorts of construction. Then last week, I stumbled upon an article by Byron York in the National Review that took that very tack, namely, what is an organizer and what did Barack Obama do during his tenure as such.

A portion of the article is available on line, and the magazine is still available for a day or two. Aha, I thought upon reading, organizer is just another word for rabble-rouser, because going by the Saul Alinksky rule book, you have to convince people they are wronged, then cause all sorts of grief. Smugly, I thought, "I knew it."

But then I stumbled upon a link to an article/essay by Camille Paglia about Hillary on Penúltimos Días. Now I'm not going to cry crocodile tears for old Hil. If she were a true feminist, she would have given old Bill a good, swift kick in his ample posterior when she discovered he was doing some variation of the dirty with young Monica. She did not. So while I admire her single-mindedness, I cannot see her as the poster girl for feminism. Yet, I know full well that to many men, she is the prototypical emasculating woman. These last would vote for Kim Jong-Il before they would cast a vote in her direction.

It was not the article, then, that got to me, rather, it was the era. I used to love to inform my students that I attended Barnard and not Columbia because that worthy institution admitted men only. You see, I hit my teens during the "women's lib" movement. I benefited from their activism, dare I say "organizing." What was consciousness raising after all? So now, I had to alter my perspective somewhat.

As all roads seem to lead to Cuba lately, I began to realize something the opposition in Cuba has been saying. Just like downtrodden women...do I begin to head toward battered women...no, this near interminable post will never end then....Anyway, it occurs to me that, shockingly, people who have been beaten down might actually need to be informed of the same. I'm not sure what the mechanism is, whether you begin to lose the sense of entitlement as a human being, whether you think that the consumption of crumbs is your appointed lot in life, whatever.

In the end, then, one man or woman's organizer is an other's rabble-rouser. I promise to look into this one carefully. Meantime, "Let's go." (They stay seated.)

The Escapist Reader: Taking It Out On Trade

It's a funny thing, but the format of a book can tell you much about its contents, for instance, those trade paperbacks, you know, the ones that have exactly the same story as your regular joe paperback but cost twice as much. Of course, the kind of trade paperbacks to which I'm referring would not be caught dead in the form of one of those low brow less than tomes. No, these are stories that will never appear in any other form. They will follow the lives of ineloquent, white bread residents of the Midwest, or women with psychosocial "problems," or nonwhites in some distant country. One thing they all share is that nothing much seems to happen, or that by the time the one thing does happen the reader has ceased to care.

I blame Oprah for the rise of the trade paperback, although I do so with a heavy heart. Oprah has done a good thing with her book recommendations: rekindled the interest of many women in reading, stimulated a portion of the beleaguered publishing industry, and generally presented reading as a good thing in our increasingly non literate society. I used to read all of her selections until Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone, circa nineteen ninety something, which was so depressing it crystallized for me what was wrong with them. The people were boring, and their lives were enough to send me reaching for the scotch that must be somewhere in the back of the junk closet. In the past few years, thankfully, she's turned to the classics so at least we can be depressed with more style. Here's a complete list of her book club titles.

Actually, I don't object to all of them, just the contemporary trade paperback titles. Have a gander at the summer reading list in her magazine here. Don't think I'll be picking up any of these babies anytime soon. Call me a Philistine, but I have my own theory of what a summer reading book should be. It should have a beginning, middle, and an end, even if the end is at the beginning. It should have interesting characters, not lumpen. Most importantly, something should happen. For sitting on a beach, nothing beats murder, mayhem, international espionage, even romance. What I don't want while on the sand is a book that forces me to think, that makes it a struggle to focus. Instead, engross me, make me care about your characters, carry me along with the strength of the writing, and stay away from the passive voice. Let me have a little vicarious thrill. There will be time enough for serious matter in the fall.

A Barnyard Story

A friend sent me this one, and I just had to share. I wish I could give credit where it is due.

THE BELLS

John the farmer was in the fertilized egg business. He had several hundred young layers (hens), called 'pullets', and ten roosters, whose job it was to fertilize the eggs.

The farmer kept records and any rooster that didn't perform went into the soup pot and was replaced. That took an awful lot of his time, so he bought a set of tiny bells and attached them to his roosters. Each bell had a different tone so John could tell from a distance, which rooster was performing. Now he could sit on the porch and fill out an efficiency report simply by listening to the bells.

The farmer's favorite rooster was "old" Butch, a very fine specimen he was, too. But on this particular morning John noticed "old" Butch's bell hadn't rung at all! John went to investigate. The other roosters were chasing pullets, bells-a-ringin g. The pullets, hearing the roosters coming, would run for cover.

But to Farmer John's amazement, "old" Butch had his bell in his beak, so it couldn't ring. He'd sneak up on a pullet, do his job and walk on to the next one. John was so proud of old Butch, he entered him in the Renfrew County Fair and he became an overnight sensation among the judges.

The result...The judges not only awarded "old Butch" the No Bell Piece Prize but they awarded him the Pulletsurprise as well.

Clearly "old Butch" was a politician in the making: who else but a politician could figure out how to win two of the most highly coveted awards on our planet by being the best at sneaking up on the populace and screwing them when they weren't paying attention.

Vote carefully this year...the bells are not always audible