Finding Fault

“The grapevine reported that the California Institute of Technology
in Pasadena, home to the premier seismology laboratory in the area,
had ordered its employees to leave town. Underground water tables
were said to be dropping, a sign that the Big One was about to hit.

“Caltech received so many panicky telephone calls that seismologists
working for the university and the United States Geological Survey
called a press conference on Thursday to squelch the rumors.

"There's no reason to think that there's still some accelerating level of
stress" on the San Andreas, said Dr. Thomas Heaton, a seismologist at
the Geological Survey's Pasadena office.

“Dr. Heaton assured reporters that no one was predicting doom, no one
had been told to flee and no water tables had dropped. In any case,
he added, falling water levels are not known to be harbingers of
earthquakes. "You may have noticed that we're not able to predict
earthquakes," he said dryly. "And if we were, we'd certainly be
telling you."

--- New York Times, 1992.

I’d like to say in the 18 years since that story appeared we have
developed a healthy skepticism towards earthquake predictions.

But I’d be wrong.

This paper reported this past week that rumors spread like wildfire
on the Internet and via text messages about an impending earthquake,
triggering a rash of calls to Caltech, the U.S. Geological Survey and
the Pasadena Fire Department.

It was dismissed as a hoax. "It's a rumor that Caltech is predicting
a major earthquake and sent all employees home - not true," said Jon
Weiner, director of media relations at Caltech. "We can't predict
earthquakes, and we're not sending employees home."

So much for healthy skepticism.

The difference between now and 1992 is that rumors spread by nut jobs
now have an audience in the tens of millions thanks to the Internet,
texting and networking sites, the same folks who have given the world
unfettered access to political wackos, porn stars and spam.

Just to underscore the point: There was a rumor making the rounds on
the Internet several years back that Zero Population Growth
boobytrapped men's toilets with razors set to castrate the
unsuspecting.

I rest my case.

The quake rumor was reportedly spread on Twitter, a networking tool
whose seriousness of purpose is reflected in its name.
One such text message read, “WARNING: State of California has
released a statement that there is a possible 8.4 earthquake within
24hours. Pray, inform and be prepared. please forward this.”

An e-mail version went something like this: "My buddy's wife works at
the seismology dept. in L.A. and they called everyone in today and
said get your kids out of school and stock up on water because there
is going to be a major quake within 24 hours."

There is no seismology department in the city or county of Los
Angeles of course, and the last time I checked, the state wasn’t in
the quake prediction business. Even if it was, it would have been the
victim of budget cuts by now.

To set the record straight, anyone who predicts that an earthquake
will strike California on any given date is going to be 100 per cent
correct. We have quakes --- dozens of them --- everyday. It’s the
nature of the state we live in and the planet we live on.

It’s when predictions specify locales and magnitudes that it gets
sketchy.

Search the Internet and you’ll find dozens of sites run by people in
the earthquake prediction business. They claim psychic powers, or
insight based on physical ailments such has headaches or back spasms
or predictions based on the behavior of chickens, dogs or goldfish.

I had a woman call me on the city desk of the Los Angeles Times some
years back to tell me she often suffered bouts of diarrhea shortly
before an earthquake struck. This was after the Northridge quake
almost leveled our entire operation so I called her methodology into
question.

None of this is intended to minimize the threat of a major earthquake
in our area. It will happen eventually and we should be prepared for
it.

But when you hear a prediction, run don’t walk in the other direction.

Susan Hough, of the U.S. Geological Survey, when asked in an
interview if we will ever be able to predict earthquakes, said, “I’m
inclined to doubt it, but I think it’s possible. The question is: Are
we ever going to be able to identify something in the earth that
tells us—unmistakably—that a “big one” is coming. It’s worth keeping
the lines of investigation going, but there’s been an awful lot of
work and we haven’t found anything yet.”

Flights of Fancy

Let's play pretend.

You're the CEO of a major airline company and things aren't going well. Revenues are shaky, fuel costs are up and the public ranks you slightly below Rosie O'Donnell on the likability index.

But you have to increase cash flow so what do you do? There's got to be some sort of revenue stream out there just waiting to be discovered.

American Airlines chief Bob Crandall once famously removed an olive from each salad served to passengers some years back. A single olive would never be missed, the reasoning went, and savings amounted to at least $40,000 a year.

That's the kind of inspiration you seek.

Then the light bulb goes on over your head.

Why should passengers be allowed to lug their carry-on baggage onto the plane for free? Charge the hell out of them for that coveted overhead storage space. If they don't like it, they can wear two or three changes of clothes.

It's brilliant in its simplicity. Problem is, this is no fantasy.

Spirit Airways announced last week that it intends to charge as much as a $45 fee for carry-on baggage.

That's skyway robbery.

"I didn't think anyone would go this far," Jay Sorensen, an airline consultant who specializes in airline fees, told the Associated Press.

But wait, it gets worse.

Not to be outdone, Ryanair Airlines, based in Dublin, Ireland, disclosed it is considering a plan that would require travelers to pay either 1 Euro

or a British pound (about $1.33 or $1.52) for using the bathroom on flights lasting one hour or less.

The carrier said it is working with Boeing to develop a coin-operated door release so that when nature calls, passengers would need to deposit the change before being able to use the facilities.

(The good news is that if Boeing is in charge of the project, there will be a 500 percent cost overrun and it will run 10 years behind schedule).

The idea is to encourage people to use restrooms in airport terminals before boarding, Ryanair said.

And why do they want to do that? So they can remove two of the three lavatories on some of its planes and squeeze in up to six extra seats. The refurbishing would reduce fares by at least 5 percent, Ryanair claimed.

We have been advised to stay hydrated on airplanes. Drink lots of water because airplane air can dry you out, and a dehydrated person is more susceptible to contracting illness. Now Ryanair has found a way to make hydration pay.

They just don't make capitalists like this anymore.

"By charging for the toilets we are hoping to change passenger behavior so that they use the bathroom before or after," said Stephen McNamara, a Ryanair spokesman.

It will indeed change passenger behavior. Ryanair will be as devoid of customers as it is toilets.

As for Spirit airlines, if they want to charge me for carry-on luggage, I'll tell them where they can stow it.

Coming soon: Fares based on your weight. Since we're treated like cargo anyway, the next logical step is to step on a scale.

Speaking of airlines, it was reported that a 91-year-old German man was refused entry to a flight in Liverpool's John Lennon Airport because he was dead.

The recently departed man was brought to the airport by two relatives, sitting in a wheelchair and sporting a pair of sunglasses.

Staff became suspicious when the man did not respond to questions by airport workers. His relatives, two women aged 41 and 66, were arrested.

The couple were believed to be attempting to flout repatriation fees for the dead man. Bodies being repatriated by air are required to be contained inside hermetically-sealed zinc-lined coffins and require paperwork to travel in the hold.

Of course, if they were flying Spirit Airways, they could have stuck him in the overhead bin for $45.

And I thought the only dead people at airports were the handlers who took an eternity to get the baggage to the carousels.

The Write Stuff

Are you a person who appreciates a deft turn of phrase, who revels in sparkling wordplay, who soars on the wings of language well used?

If that is you, read no further. Because today's topic is bad writing.

It's the time of year that we celebrate a man who is perhaps the most visible bad writer of all time. His name is Edward George Bulwer-Lytton and in 1830 he penned the immortal opening line, "It was a dark and stormy night."

Actually, he wrote: "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."

This kind of turgid writing is not lost on the good folks of the English department at San Jose State University who are even now accepting entries for the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest in which authors are encouraged to "compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels." In other words, write something truly, deliberately bad.

The contest has become legendary over the years, attracting some 10,000 entries from throughout the world. It has also produced a truly remarkable body of work.

Some personal favorites:

"Jennifer stood there, quietly ovulating."

"Fleur looked down her nose at Guilliame, something she was accomplished at, being six foot three in her stocking feet, and having one of those long French noses, not pert like Bridget Bardot's, but more like the one that Charles De Gaulle had when he was still alive and President of France and he wore that cap that was shaped like a little hatbox with a bill in the front to offset his nose, but it didn't work."

"The dual-headed Zhiltoids from Beta Quadrant in the Crab Nebula, who lived entirely on a diet of steaming hot asphalt, thought they had died and gone to heaven upon landing in the Midtown Mall of Fresno, California on the planet Earth during the month they called 'July'."

"She walked into my office on legs as long as one of those long-legged birds that you see in Florida - the pink ones, not the white ones - except that she was standing on both of them, not just one of them, like those birds, the pink ones, and she wasn't wearing pink, but I knew right away that she was trouble, which those birds usually aren't."

"Dr. Metzger turned to greet his new patient, blithely unaware he would soon become a member of a secret brotherhood as old as urology itself."

"Sylvia leaned seductively back in her chair and downed the shot of cheap gin that Brad had poured for her, and speculated once again that, even if it did taste like something you'd rub on a horse, it had the pleasant side effect of softening Brad's facial symmetry which had always reminded her of the collapsed, pocked surface of a cheese quiche that's been cooked at too high a temperature."

"It seemed the stifling summer heat would never end, and it would not, for Bob was in Hell."

"Mike Hummer had been a private detective so long he could remember Preparation A, his hair reminded everyone of a rat who'd bitten into an electrical cord, but he could still run faster than greased owl snot when he was on a bad guy's trail, and they said his friskings were a lot like getting a vasectomy at Sears."

Anyway, you get the point.

As for me, I'm not a fiction writer. I depend on real-life experiences for inspiration:

"Bob drove to work on the 210 Freeway, the engine of his car humming like a watch - a really good one like a Rolex or Patek Phillipe, not a Timex or some knock-off - and passed over the Arroyo, home of the Rose Bowl, the Granddaddy of Them All, which like many granddaddies is falling apart and needs repair, before exiting the concrete ribbon on Lake Avenue, which is near no lake anyone has ever seen and, parking his vehicle, walked into the office in Pasadena, a city that cares about only one thing: parades, football, money, sex, power, politics and bike paths. It was there he wrote about bad writing of which the preceding is a classic example."

Cash for Quotes

Like a door-to-door proselytizer or a tax audit, checkbook journalism has once again made an unwanted appearance.

The practice involves paying big bucks for an interview or information. It’s been absolutely taboo at every stop I’ve made along my news career. And for good reason which we’ll get to presently.

It’s not taboo everywhere, however. It is sometimes practiced openly and without apology, especially in Europe. Gossip magazines often pay for access to a “star.”

But each time we learn about an incident involving the mainstream media here in the good old USA, it’s like a large pimple that has suddenly appeared on the end of your nose. It’s ugly and embarrassing.

The latest organization to step on the ethical banana peel is ABC news. According to court documents, ABC paid $200,000 to the family of murdered toddler Cayleee Anthony, whose mother, Casey, has been accused of the crime.

The money went to her legal defense team.

ABC explained, "In August 2008 we licensed exclusive rights to an extensive library of photos and home video for use by our broadcasts,platforms, affiliates and international partners. No use of the material was tied to any interview.”

Court documents showed, however, that ABC News paid for a three-night hotel stay at a Florida Ritz-Carlton for Casey's parents George and Cindy Anthony. And if the Anthonys should run into a a reporter while they’re
enjoying their luxurious accommodations, well, that’s just a coincidence, right?

NBC recently drew the wrath of the the Society of Professional Journalists and others for chartering a jet for David Goldman, who had just won a long custody battle with his Brazilian ex-wife over his son. The network generously flew father and son home to New York.

And who else was a board? If you guessed a reporter, you’d be correct.

NBC News spokeswoman Lauren Kapp said that "NBC News does not and will not pay for interviews.”

But as John Cook wrote on the Gawker website, “It's true, in the same sense it's true that Eliot Spitzer paid that nice lady to come visit him in D.C. and she threw in the sex for free.”

It also raises the question: if it’s unethical to pay for interviews, what is it to create rules then find a way to break them? Is there such a thing as felony dishonesty?

Unfortunately, editors have been writing checks for a long time. The New York Times scooped the world with an exclusive interview with the Titanic wireless operator by forking over $1,000 for his story in 1912.

The Hearst folks paid the legal bills of the defendant in the Lindbergh baby kidnapping case to ensure scoops during the trial. David Frost paid Richard Nixon to sit down. Nixon went to Frost after CBS turned down his offer to play for pay.

And in 1978, ABC gave Chuck Colson $10,000 to rat out Watergate co-conspirator H.R. Haldeman. CBS turned around at paid Haldeman $100,000 for an interview in which, to the embarrassment of the network, he said
almost nothing.

Life magazine caused a flap when it paid the original Mercury astronauts for their stories.

So why invest all that time and hard work in investigative journalism? Why not just write a check?

For one thing, people will lie and exaggerate to put a wad of cash in their pockets. A Washington reporter once wrote that he had numerous women tell him they would admit, falsely, that they had sex with President Clinton if the price was right.

Worse, if checkbook journalism becomes widespread, people will withhold information unless they are paid.

And, of course, the credibility of a news organization that has crawled into financial bed with a source hovers somewhere around zero.

As far as I’m concerned, ABC has disqualified itself from covering any aspect of the Anthony trial. They have tainted their judgment by giving money to the defendant and can’t be trusted to report truthfully.

Speaking of television, I was amused that CBS turned down a chance to interview Tiger Woods because he would only answer questions for five minutes.

That’s plenty of time for him to say again and again that his life is in the gutter, that his reputation with his wife, children, peers and the public has been damaged forever and that he only has himself to blame.

How many times do we need to ask him his feelings? How many details of his salacious affairs to we need to know?

Five minutes seems about right.

Stating the Obvious

A new study by the Norman Lear Center at USC's Annenberg School has found that an average half-hour of L.A. local television news packed all its local government coverage - including budget, law enforcement, education, layoffs, new ordinances, voting procedures, personnel changes, city and county government actions on health care, transportation and immigration - into 22 seconds.

But crime stories filled seven times more of the broadcast, averaging 2 minutes, 50 seconds. Sports and weather took the most time: 3 minutes, 36 seconds. Soft news - human interest, oddball stories and miscellaneous fluff - took up the next-largest chunk after crime, averaging 2 minutes, 26 seconds.

Who knew?

Well, most of us, actually. Anyone who has even casually tuned in to local TV news over the last several decades has witnessed the "if it bleeds, it leads" philosophy that subordinates the day's events to the grisly crime du jour.

The Annenberg people seem to have spent a lot of time and energy to state the obvious.

Indeed, a study done in 1998 by the nonpartisan Center for Media and Public Affairs concluded that murder is at the top of the agenda on local television news shows. Stories about city government activities get little attention.

A University of Delaware study in 1999 found that crime stories claim more air time than any other type of story, from public issues and human-interest features to election news.

So what's thepoint of this new study?

"All the L.A. TV stations tell the FCC that they're serving the local public interest," said Martin Kaplan, Annenberg professor and Lear Center director, who was principal investigator on the project, along with Seton Hall professor Matthew Hale.

"These numbers decode what they actually mean by that." He added, "Local television is a profitable business, despite the recession, and newscasts are a big reason why. If stations spend only 22 seconds covering local government, they must really believe it's ratings poison."

One could argue that it is in fact ratings poison. From 1978 to 2008, the average city turnout for a mayoral election was 30 percent; it was 15 percent for a municipal election that is not citywide.

Given those figures, any TV news director worth his breaking news is not about to turn his 6 o'clock news show into C-SPAN no matter how high minded he may be.

It's all about ratings, after all.

It does, however, raise an interesting chicken-and-egg debate. Is audience indifference to local government affairs the result of shoddy television programming? Or does TV merely reflect its audience's apathy?

Probably some of both. Certainly brick-and-mortar governmental coverage isn't always sexy. And TV doesn't invest a lot of time and money in investigative reporting. So local government coverage gets the short end of the television stick.

But local newspapers, public television and radio cover local government activity, so there is clearly an appetite for that kind of news.

So what's to be done?

"There is serious cause for concern here," said attorney George Kieffer, who is a member of the Los Angeles Civic Alliance, a group of community leaders. "Most people get their local news from television. If local television isn't doing the job, we can hardly expect our citizens to be aware of what is going on with our governments."

Kieffer said that he expected the civic community now to begin to weigh in on license renewals based on the degree of local hard news coverage.

Challenging licenses is not going to change the journalistic landscape for the long term, however. And unfortunately, with the decline of newspaper revenues and readership, there will be fewer and fewer watchdogs to keep an eye on our public servants.

What well-funded and resourceful organizations like the Lear Center and the Civic Alliance need to do is fill the gap.

Use their resources to form a team of reporters and editors to cover and investigate local government activities and publish and publicize their work using the latest in electronic media.

This would not only help fulfill the critical watchdog role; the competition would make other media outlets improve their coverage.

Conducting dubious surveys and waiting for local TV to step up to the plate is a no-win game.

A Final Farewell

Come let us now remove our hats, lower our eyes and bid farewell to a piece of Americana which will be soon take its place on the slag heap of history.

Bang the muffled drum, hang the black bunting. And say your final goodbyes to the Hummer, an automotive monstrosity that clogged our streets and parking lots, sucked up our gas and polluted our air for
too many years.

So long, Hummer. May you rest in pieces.

The end came recently when General Motors pulled the plug on this street-legal tank, whose sales were declining faster than Tiger Wood’s endorsements. It was so bad, GM couldn’t even sell the brand to the Chinese, who
apparently can smell a lemon from across the Pacific Ocean.

Just who was responsible for foisting this behemoth on an unsuspecting public?

Why, no other than Arnold Schwarzenegger, the man who put the glutes in government.

It seems that while Arnold was on a movie shoot some years back he spotted a convoy of military vehicles called Humvees and fell completely, madly in love. Too bad he didn’t heed the old military saying that an elephant is a
mouse built to government specs.

His lust to own one convinced the manufacturer to have a go at offering them civilians.

Arnie ended up owning a fleet of Hummers. And the vehicle appeared to be particularly popular with status-seeking suburbanites and under-endowed males.

Great move, Governor, except this hunk of iron was to responsible driving what bacon cheeseburgers are to cardiac health.

It weighed in north of 8,000 pounds, got eight miles to the gallon, cost a fortune to buy and insure and had its fair share of mechanical problems. Riding in it was like looking out of a mailbox. If that isn’t bad enough, it had the carbon footprint of a coal-burning steel mill.

The Hummer was quite possibly America’s ultimate symbol of wretched excess.

It made its debut following the first Gulf War, a made for television conflict in which it played a starring role.
A gas guzzler? Most people assumed it ran on testosterone. Actors and athletes made it the ultimate bling.
There was also a misguided sense of patriotism in owning the vehicle that carried our boys to victory in battle.

When gas prices began to soar, GM tried to downsize the car from monstrous to merely monumental. It didn’t work. Post 9/11 Americans were beginning to understand the pitfalls of our dependence on foreign oil and the warnings about global temperature increases were causing concern.

That didn’t stop the GM folks from trying to sell ice to the Eskimos. Mark LaNeve, vice president of sales, service and marketing for GM North America, said he'd love for consumers to begin thinking of Hummers as tools to get a job done. "No one criticizes a bulldozer for its gas mileage. That's because it's built to do a job."

But as the Sierra Club's Daniel Becker remarked, "It's one thing if it's carrying soldiers to and from a fight, it's another if it'shauling lattes home from Starbucks."

So what did it all mean?

Absolutely nothing in the long run. The chromed giants of the 50s and 60s and the muscle cars of the
1970s were replaced with Japanese fuel-sippers when oil supplies were low and prices soared.

When prices went down and availability was restored, the SUV made its way onto the automotive scene where it enjoyed a long reign.

Now, with gas prices rising and petrol dollars fueling terrorism (not to mention Iran’s nuclear ambitions), we turn our eyes to hybrids and electric vehicles. And they’re coming.

But the pendulum swings. At some point, muscular vehicles will come rumbling down the street
again.

As one publication pointed out, "Being big and powerful is essential to our national identity.”

Sorry Excuses

In keeping with the spirit of the moment, I am proposing a new Olympic event.

The good news is that you don’t have to be swifter, higher or stronger.

The bad news is you have to be contrite, tearful and humble.

The competition? Public apologies.

We have been witness to some gold medal efforts this past week, featuring socko performances from Toyota to Tiger.
Past participants feature a rogues gallery of high profile personalities, many of whom were caught engaged in sexual activities that would make a lumberjack blush.

It seems we live in the Age of Apologies. So it’s about time we recognize those who win our hearts and minds and those who flop in the attempt.

Let the games begin.

Toyota president Akio Toyoda: Pressured into appearing before a congressional committee, he explained that "My name is on every car." He admitted that his company "lacked the customer perspective" when it came to doing recalls, instead relying on technical information.

"Customers have become uncertain about safety of Toyota vehicles and I take responsibility for that," Toyoda said. "I myself as well as Toyota am not perfect."

Well, neither are airline pilots, Mr. Toyoda, but they manage to do their job for the most part with maiming or killing people. It didn’t help Toyoda that he had to appear at a hearing largely characterized by political posturing, which delivered more theater than answers. Bronze medal.

Tiger Woods: For a man who has spent his life in the spotlight, Tiger Woods has never seemed comfortable as a celebrity. Even with the golfing press, for the most part a bunch of fawning sycophants, interviews were curt and to the point.

We thought it was because he was a private person. We now understand he is but for reasons we could not have imagined.

It came as no surprise to me that at his so-called “press conference,” in which he apologized for his promiscuous behavior, he displayed all the emotion of a man studying a tricky downhill putt.

This is a man who is complete control of himself, even when he isn’t.

Did I believe him? Heck yes. Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be. The guy has fallen from the peak of stardom to the pit of despair. But more than ego, there’s a lot of money involved and he has business partners who want to see him reclaim his image. Sure, he’s sorry.

Nonetheless, his act played well in Peoria. Gold medal.

Mark Sanford. The South Carolina governor told everyone he was hiking the Appalachian Trail when in fact he was winging it down to Argentina to snuggle with his “soul mate.”

It cost him his wife and family but this self-admitted liar and cheat still has his job. No medal.

Eliot Spitzer, the former governor of New York chose to spend his free time with high-priced prostitutes to the tune of some $80,000. When exposed, he tearfully resigned his office but has managed to keep his family together.

He is now writing political commentary and considering another run for office. Bronze medal.

James McGreevy: The former governor of New Jersey, with is wife at this side, completed the rare double axle by announcing he was going to resign coupled with an admission of his homosexuality. He also admitted to an affair with the man he appointed his Homeland Security advisor.

Since leaving office, he has studied to become an Episcopal priest. Silver medal.

Larry Craig. At a press conference in 2007 Sen. Craig denied allegations that he solicited gay sex in an airport restroom. He apologized, sort of.

He was sorry for pleading guilty, sorry for failing to consult with anyone beforehand and sorry for not telling
anyone he got arrested. He denied wrongdoing, stating, "I am not gay. I never have been gay." No medal.

Latrell Sprewell. The former NBA star apologized for choking his coach PJ Carlesimo. ” I’m sorry for what I did, and if you don’t believe that, I’ll kick your butt.” No medal.

And, of course, Bill Clinton. “Now, this matter is between me, the two people I love most -- my wife and our daughter -- and our God. I must put it right, and I am prepared to do whatever it takes to do so. “Nothing is more important to me personally. But it is private, and I intend to reclaim my family life for my family. It's nobody's business but ours.”

Now we know where Tiger got his script. Bronze medal.

Call Girls

I have a wife, two daughters, four nieces, a sister, sister-in-law
and a mother. So I consider myself somewhat of an expert on women, if such a thing
is possible.

What I’ve learned over the years is that most women want two things
out of life: (1) shoes and (2) telephones.

The second part of that equation was proved recently by a survey of
300 residents in a variety of locales that found, fairly consistently
from one city to the next, about 33 percent of women said they would
"put their sex lives on hold for a year" in order to continue to have
access to their mobile phone.

This doesn’t come as a complete surprise. As one wag once remarked,
"Women are actually like cell phones. They like to be held and talked
to, but push the wrong button, and you'll be disconnected."

I had an upclose and personal view of the relationship between women
and their cell mobile phones at a gym the other day. There were women
on each side of me as I stumbled along on a treadmill.

As I huffed and puffed, they all conversed on phones as they ran like
deer without missing a beat. It was an Olympian display of dexterity
and concentration.

Indeed, mobile phones are so important to women that Samsung, among
other manufacturers, has come up with a phone that includes an
ovulation calendar, a favorite fragrance list and biorhythms. And, of
course, it comes in pink.

“You can put in your birth date and it will tell you if you are
intelligent, attractive or emotionally stable. You can't be all three
on any day - I've played around with it," Samsung Mobile marketing
manager Jenny Goodridge was quoted as saying.

I also read a survey that stated 46 percent of women would opt to
forgo sex for two weeks rather than give up access to the Internet
for the same period.

These women are called wives.

In a related development, 43% of the respondents to a recent survey
taken in Canada said they would rather have bacon than sex.

But, of course, that’s Canada where they wear bacon after shave.

Nonetheless, applying the Law of Unintended Consequences to these
surveys, we may one day find that overpopulation is a thing of the
past thanks in large part to mobile phones, the Internet and BLT
sandwiches.

Speaking of Canada, the Great White North got off to a shaky start
with the Winter Olympics.

Bad weather (some are calling it the Spring Olympics), bad ice (in
the speedskating venue), bad planning (snafus at the opening
ceremonies) and bad luck (the death of a luger) have plagued the
games since they opened. Not a good return on a billion-dollar
investment.

Throw in NBC’s projected $200 million loss on the broadcast and we
have the sporting equivalent of the Titanic.

As for the Canadians, they could care less if Vancouver slides off
into the Pacific Ocean as long as they win the hockey gold medal.
Which they will. After all, Canada is the only place you can play
hockey 12 months of the year --- outdoors.

And speaking of mistakes, I wrote last week that we don’t have
anybody to root against anymore in the Winter Olympics with the
decline and fall of the Soviet empire. I added that those pesky
Iranians and the North Koreans were not participating.

They are. The Iranians have four skiers. North Korea has two skaters.
But don’t look for them on the victory stand.

Slip Sliding Away

Let me establish one thing right off the bat. I'm a warm weather guy, Southern California born and bred. I put a sweater on when it drops below 65 degrees.

Ski runs and hot chocolate? Not for this kid. Give me a round of golf with the sun on my face and a cold beer at the turn.

Minneapolis or Maui? There's really no choice.

That's why I view the Winter Olympics with a touch of astonishment.

Here are hundreds of our finest athletes participating in a bunch of events that are a variation on a single theme: sliding around on ice and snow.

It's a competition only an orthopedic surgeon could love.

Let's get serious. It's hard to get excited about the luge (which is German for "whose idea was this anyway?") that features the contestants lying on their backs on a small sled, flying down the mountain at breakneck speeds while steering with their calfs and shoulders). Sound like fun? Me neither.

There's a variation of luge called the skeleton in which the participant rockets down an icy track face first. It's like driving a Toyota down a ski jump.

Or consider curling. This game is brought to us by the Scots, who also gave the world haggis, an incomprehensible brogue, men in skirts and "MacBeth."

Curling is sort of like shuffleboard played on ice. Teams take turns sliding a heavy, polished rock down the ice toward the target (called the house). Two sweepers with brooms accompany each rock and, using timing and their best judgment along with direction from their teammates, help direct the stones to their resting place.

Sound boring? You bet. Although someone once pointed out that women like it since it is one the few times in their lives they see a man with a broom in his hands.

Ice Dancing? It's the same as figure skating only different. Snowboarding features a bunch of athletes who look like they were dressed by Goodwill. Short track speed skating is like watching marbles in a blender.

The biathlon consists of a race in which contestants ski around a cross-country track, and where the total distance is broken up by either two or four shooting rounds, half in prone position, the other half standing. Depending on the shooting performance, extra distance or time is added to the contestant's total running distance/time.

Edge of the seat excitement? Only if your cousin is involved.

To give the Games their due, the Winter Olympics has its moments. Figure skating remains a big draw. Downhill skiing, ski jumping and snowboarding are worth a look.

Hockey is one of the world's great sports, which unfortunately doesn't always play well on TV. Still, when a bunch of rag-tag college kids beat what was in fact a team of pros from the Soviet Union in 1980 in Lake Placid, it was a turning point in the Cold War. Now that's entertainment.

Alas, while there are good guys to root for this year, there are no bad guys to root against. The Soviet and Eastern Bloc automatons have vanished. North Korea and Iran don't field teams. And that robs the Games of much of its drama.

That didn't stop NBC from shelling out $5.7 billion for the rights to broadcast the Olympics through 2012.

The trouble is that this may not be our finest Olympic moment. Even designated star Lindsey Vonn is injured and may be a no-show.

Then there's competition. When NBC broadcasts the Nordic Combined today, for example, FOX will be airing the Daytona 500. That may not be a big deal in Finland, but it will be in Florida.

The advertisers have read the tea leaves, and NBC is already figuring on losing $250 million on the deal.

And this with the Games in our time zone.

If you think for a minute this will cool the media onslaught surrounding the Games, forget it. There will be nearly 200 hours of coverage on NBC alone. Get ready for a lot of snow on your screen.

The good news is that when the Games conclude, there's only three weeks until spring.

The Winter of Toyota's Discontent

BATON ROUGE, La. --- A man who attempted to return his recalled
Toyota pickup truck to All Star Toyota on Airline Highway on Saturday
crashed into the dealership building when his allegedly faulty
accelerator stuck, the Baton Rouge Police Department reported.


These are trying times for Toyota.

The Japanese auto maker, the world’s largest, issued a recall in January affecting some 2.3 million vehicles, just months after a separate recall that affected nearly 4 million cars.

The problem: a defect that causes the throttle to stick open.

It’s not pleasant to contemplate the consequences of such a flaw. Many of us have heard the horrifying 911 tape of an off-duty California Highway Patrolman who was traveling with three members of his family when the car accelerated to 120 MPH and crashed, killing them all.

Equally as chilling is Toyota’s reaction. First it blamed the floor mats. Then it blamed pedal mechanisms and claimed it had a quick fix.Then the company declared a moratorium on sales. Now, many automotive experts are looking at the electronic throttle system as the culprit which, if true, would require major engineering fixes.

On top of that, the company’s showcase car, the Prius, has brake problems.

One corporate communication expert called it the worst-handled auto recall in history in terms of the consumer anxiety and the mixed messages that were being sent at the outset.

That’s because while many Toyota owners were wondering if their next ride could be their last, the company was retreating to the bunker.

More than 60 new cases of runaway Toyotas have been reported since the company said it had solved the problem with a massive recall of suspect floor mats and proposed changes to gas pedals, safety experts said.

In one dramatic incident, four people died in Southlake, Tex., when a 2008 Toyota sped off the road, crashed through a fence and landed upside down in a pond. The car's floor mats were found in the trunk of the car, where owners had been advised to put them as part of the recall.

If there’s such a thing as automotive marshall law, Transportation Secretary Ray LaHood came close to invoking it this week by recommending that millions of Toyota owners affected by a massive recall "stop driving." (LaHood later amended his remarks to say, “what I meant to say or what I thought I said was, if you own one of these cars or if you're in doubt, take it to the dealer and they're going to fix it."

The beneficiaries of all this are Ford and General Motors, who have seen their sales soar in January while Toyota’s were declining.

Which is ironic since Ford and GM are the New York Yankees of automotive recalls. Consider:

-Oct 13, 2009: Ford Motor Co. adds 4.5 million older-model vehicles to a long list of those recalled due to a defective cruise controlswitch that can cause fires, pushing Ford's total recall due to faulty switches to 14.3 million.

-March, 1996: Ford recalls more than 8 million 1988-1993 cars to replace defective ignition switches in what was the largest single U.S. recall at the time. The switches can produce electrical shorts,causing engine misfires that led to stalling, as well as and brake and steering failures. The problem is implicated in hundreds of vehicle fires, and as many as 11 deaths and 31 injuries.

- April,1993: The feds ask General Motors to recall 4.7 million 1973-1987 full-size pickup trucks with side-mounted fuel tanks.

-- September, 1987: Ford recalls 4.3 million 1986-1988 model cars, trucks and vans, including some of its most popular models. Ford says the recall follows 222 reports of engine fires caused by a failure of couplings used to connect fuel lines.

-- Feb. 1981: GM recalls 5.8 million 1978-1981 cars and light trucks for replacement of two bolts which could fail and send the vehicles out of control.

And, of course, the design of Ford’s Pinto allowed its fuel tank to be easily damaged in the event of a rear-end collision which sometimes resulted in deadly fires and explosions. When Ford became aware of the flaw, it decided it was cheaper to pay off lawsuits than to redesign the car.

If you’re looking for corporate responsibility or ethical business practices, the automotive industry is a lousy place to look.

It appears that an industry increasingly focused on high-tech engineering and alternative fuels still embraces an old and corrupt business model.

Toyota is traveling a well worn path that, unfortunately, seems to extent endlessly into the horizon.

The Whole Bowl Game

OK, my fellow Americans, everyone into the pool.

It’s time for a well-earned respite from our weary world. It’s time to forget, at least temporarily, about the economy, health care, terrorism, to look away from the grim faces of Jay Leno and Conan O’Brien.

It’s time to put our brains in neutral. It’s time for the Super Bowl.

That’s right, folks. The event that defines American Excess like no other is just a week away. Starting this week, millions of our fellow countrymen will sit slack-jawed and gimlet eyed while a thousand hours of broadcast hype
rolls over them like a thick fog.

This year’s game promises to be a titanic, a game for the ages, a match so thrilling in its concept and execution that the mere act of watching it will provide an eyewitness to history. Of course, they say that every year but what the heck.

In one corner are the Indianapolis Colts, whose quarterback is the football equivalent of the Colossus of Rhodes. Peyton Manning, to hear tell, is seven feet tall, has an IQ of 200 and threw 400 touchdown passes this year.

The Colts will play the New Orleans Saints. Nobody much cares who plays for the Saints. The important thing is that they represent a city that invented jazz, the cover charge and massive public drunkenness. No real self-respecting saint would be caught dead in this town.

On the other hand, it was taxpayer dollars that put the city back together after Hurricane Katrina so I guess we all have a rooting interest here.

All Super Bowls are referred to by Roman numeral. This year’s game is Super Bowl XLIV which sounds like a personalized license plate. Personally, I think they ought to carry through the Roman numeral theme completely. First downs would be Ist and X. Game scores would be, for example, XXI to XIV. Players would wear Roman numerals on their jerseys (except the Romans forgot to include zero which is problematic).

The festivities usually start with a painfully long pre-game show in which a bunch of former players and coaches engage in verbal wet towel snapping while astounding the audience by saying nothing of substance for hours on end.

Members of the media will swarm over third string linemen, back-up long snappers and assistant trainers looking for that one that one quote, that one angle that will distinguish their story from a thousand others. And fail.

Players will say it’s “gut check time,” that they need “to give 110 per cent,” that they’re ready to “shock the world,” that they will “leave it all out on the field.” If they lose, “the other guys wanted it more.” If they win, they will insist God wrote their game plan.

Pre-game ceremonies include the entire 82nd Airborne Division parachuting into the stadium to re-create the Liberation of Paris. Halftime will feature U2 singing mournful songs about social injustice accompanied by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the massed musicians of the New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, Boston and Wala
Wala Symphony Orchestras and the Bolshoi Ballet.

This will be followed by Keith Olbermann and Bill O’Reilly reciting the Bill of Rights while lashed together with leather straps. As they do, a squadron of deadly Predator Drones will fly slowly over the stadium, daring anyone to leave.

The game which will be like watching paint dry because both teams will be playing not to lose rather than to win.

That’s why commercials are so popular during the Super Bowl. This year’s lineup includes beer ads aimed at 20-year-old guys, commercials for high-tech equipment or companies that nobody will understand or remember, and snack food and soft drinks ads wrapped around commercials for cholesterol lowering drugs.

But enjoy it while you can. The landscape is already changing. An anti-abortion spot and an ad for a gay dating site are already in the works. Next year, thanks to the U.S. Supreme Court striking down limits on corporate spending on political advertising, guess what we’ll be watching? You’ll miss the Dorito ads.

The Politics of Disaster

Even to a hardened soul who has spent most of his life reporting the news - much of it bad - this week was particularly dark.

The news from Haiti was gut wrenching, tens of thousands dead, an entire nation displaced, in an earthquake that devastated a people who must surely believe they have been put on earth to suffer.

And those who dwell in our hillsides and canyons, survivors of what seemed to be a never-ending firestorm this summer, now are lashed by rain so severe that it threatened to bury their neighborhoods in a tsunami of mud.

Yet in the midst of this gloom, there was a beam of light. And it came from an unexpected source.

Former President George W. Bush, a man who spent eight years squandering the respect of his nation, appeared at a White House Press Conference this past week, along with former President Bill Clinton and President Obama, to raise money for Haitian earthquake victims.

If there was ever a time to push politics aside, this was it. And President Bush did just that, praising President Obama's swift and timely response to the disaster.

In doing so, he appeared poised and presidential, regaining a measure of stature in the eyes of the American people while distancing himself from the extreme wing of the Republican party.

More than that, Bush's gesture was a sign of national unity, something we haven't seen since Obama took office.

There was irony that Bush was there in the aftermathof a catastrophic emergency. He had fumbled the Katrina disaster. Obama was no doubt mindful of that as he formulated a decisive reaction to the Haitian crisis.

But that backstory wasn't in evidence this week. "Now's not the time to focus on politics. It's time to focus on helping people," Bush said on CBS's "Face the Nation."

Clinton agreed. "When people see us together - look, they know we have differences, even though we're friends," he said on CNN. "The only political thing I hope that comes out of this is that people keep their differences of conviction, but they treat their neighbors as friends."

Unfortunately, not everyone could resist turning the Haitian crisis into a political football.

The inevitable Rush Limbaugh, for example, said that the disaster enables Mr. Obama to highlight his "compassionate" and "humanitarian" credentials and to "boost his credibility with the black community."

He also criticized the White House's promotion of charitable organizations through which people can contribute to the disaster relief. "We've already donated to Haiti," he said. "It's called the U.S. income tax."

Further, Limbaugh continued, "I do believe that everything is political to this president. Everything this president sees is a political opportunity, including Haiti, and he will use it to burnish his credentials with minorities in this country and around the world, and to accuse Republicans of having no compassion."

Glenn Beck, in a burst of verbal tossed salad that was as hard to understand as it was to imagine, criticized President Obama for reacting more quickly to Haiti than he did to Afghanistan and the the Fort Hood shootings. In fact, he pointed to this as example of how Obama is further dividing the country.

In the meantime, Ann Coulter took the White House press conference as an opportunity to tee off on President Clinton, calling him a "horny hick" and referring to his involvement in an attempt to help the millions suffering in Haiti as a "shame and embarrassment."

Then there was Pat Robertson, everybody's favorite purveyor of that Old Time Religion, who declared: "Something happened a long time ago in Haiti, and people might not want to talk about it," he said. "They were under the heel of the French ... and they got together and swore a pact to the devil. They said, `We will serve you if you'll get us free from the French."'

It is almost beyond comprehension that each of these people, who have enjoyed a measure of success in their chosen professions, have somehow in the process lost their compassion and sense of sorrow for the plight of their fellow man.

It is incomprehensible that they would view the horrors in Haiti and not, at the very least, be moved to throttle back on the rhetoric until the bodies are buried.

It is incomprehensible that they would in the future be viewed as any more than they are: heartless messengers of fear and cynicism whose agenda is shameless self promotion.

They would be better served by living by the words of the American patriot and Founding Father Thomas Paine who said, "My country is the world, and my religion is to do good."

Welcome to My World

I would like to welcome Sarah Palin to the ancient and honorable order of journalism.

I doubt she will accept the invitation, however. Because, despite her new gig as a Fox News commentator, I'm not sure Sarah is quite ready to describe herself as a member of the Fourth Estate.

I don't think we'll see her hanging out at the bar of the local press club anytime soon.

She doesn't have a lot in common with most of us. I mean, she's a former vice presidential candidate who will make big bucks engaging in Fox's legendary "fair and balanced" coverage.

Most of us are a humble but a proud and resourceful lot who are a few thousand notches down on the glamour scale. No Louis Vuitton? No problem.

Sarah operates at a different level. For example, documents obtained by the Politico web site reveal the going rate for the former Alaska governor: $100,000 a speech, with a discount to $75,000 for West Coast appearances.

That's pretty tall corn for a populist politician, not to mention a working stiff reporter.

The last time I was asked to speak was at my kid's school career day. I guess the check is still in the mail.

But, hey, ours is a big tent. So step in Sarah and experience our world.

After all, she has the credentials.

She received her bachelor's degree in communications with an emphasis in journalism from the University of Idaho. Her early ambition was to be a sportscaster. Covering sports is sort oflike journalism, so she passes that test.

She actually worked in the profession, both in television and print, for several years which qualifies her as an ink-stained wretch. Not that I'd ever utter that term to her face.

She left journalism to go into the fishing industry with her husband. Come to think of it, journalism is somewhat like fishing. Every reporter wants to land the big one and sometimes the process stinks.

She's even written a book, "Going Rogue," which as a best seller, even though, like Sarah herself, it received mixed reviews.

The Associated Press challenged some of Palin's statements as non-factual, such as her assertions that she traveled frugally, avoided large campaign donors, was against the bankers' bailouts of 2008, and entered politics for purely altruistic reasons. The analysis concluded by characterizing the book as "a pre-campaign manifesto."

Conservative radio talk show host John Ziegler praised it as "the best book and greatest literary achievement by a political figure in my lifetime..."

But that's the media for you, Sarah. People either hate you or love you, often at the same time. You'll mostly hear from the former.

I guess I would be more comfortable with Journalist Sarah if (1) I was convinced her motives were pure and (2) she didn't always speak ill of her newfound brothers and sisters (in one classic mixed metaphor, she said of the media, "How about, in honor of the American soldier, you quit makin' things up?").

Let's face it, Sarah is more interested in staying on the political radar screen than embarking on a journalism career.

Even though she told CNN that "right now I cannot even imagine running for national office in 2012," she's leaving the door so wide open a moose could walk through it.

I watched her debut on Fox earlier this week. She seemed comfortable enough, considering she considers the media enemy territory. Of course, she appeared with the usually abrasive Bill O'Reilly, who threw her more softballs than next season's Dodger pitching rotation.

She was predictably critical of President Obama, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid, her critics and anyone to the left of Barry Goldwater.

She espoused the conservative, Tea Party political line that we've come to expect from her.

But I couldn't help wondering what we will hear from Sarah that we can't already hear from the rest of the Fox folks. And if she is running for office, isn't she just preaching to the choir by appearing on Fox?

Perhaps. But Sarah has star power. And a place to display it. I wouldn't count her out yet.

In the meantime, welcome to journalism, Sarah, even if your were just passing through.

Invasion of the Body Scanners

When Richard Reid brought explosives onto an airliner in his shoes, authorities made millions of us remove our footwear for inspection before we boarded our flight.

Along the way, we were also required to carry our deodorant in a thimble and our toothpaste in an eye dropper.

Now comes Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab who smuggled explosives onto a flight in his underwear and failed in an attempt to blow up the airplane near Detroit.

Should we now assume that all dignity will be abandoned in the name of security and we will be ordered to fling our undergarments onto the conveyor belt?

Probably not. But you can bet your briefs that we will soon be subjected to virtual strip searches when the government begins to use body scanners to foil terrorist attacks.

Those scanners are coming to an airport near you. Soon.

Should we be concerned? Is our privacy being violated?

The Transportation Security Agency assures us that passengers walk through the machines fully clothed; the resulting image appears on a monitor in a separate room and conceals passenger faces and sensitive areas.

One report says that the resulting images are scrubbed by an "algorithm" so they look like a "chalk etching" or a "fuzzy photo negative."

"It covers up the dirty bits," James Carafano, a homeland security expert at the conservative Heritage Foundation, told the Washington Post.

I seriously doubt that these scanners will "cover up the dirty bits."

Why? Because, if they do, that's exactly where the terrorists will conceal their weapons.

Even potential death in a fiery explosion can't quiet privacy concerns, however. One young woman I know wonders how long it will be before the scanned images begin to show up on Facebook.

Others wonder how much cash a body scan of a celebrity will bring from the gossip mongers in what would be the ultimate paparazzi shot. Can you say six figures?

The alternative is a full body pat-down in front of an airport full of gawkers. Or perhaps we can run reluctant passengers past a pack of bomb-sniffing dogs.

Some suggest we employ the security measures used by the Israelis. In a country surrounded by enemies, no flight out of Tel Aviv has ever been hijacked.

Lisa Beyer, former Jerusalem bureau chief for Time magazine, wrote about the Israeli security drill: "They ask a lot of questions, don't hesitate to take their time doing it, aren't embarrassed about profiling fliers and are quick to take matters to a higher level of scrutiny. The point of the long question sessions is to find inconsistencies in a terrorist's cover story, or to agitate him into a panic.

"Almost always, I'd be questioned by one agent, who would then leave to consult with a second agent, who would appear and ask many of the same questions. Then the two would compare notes, often with a supervisor, before the first agent would return with more questions."

That sounds like a procedure that would add hours to the screening process. How much of this is the American public prepared to tolerate?

We had better be prepared to accept all of it.

We are at war. And war requires sacrifices.

We face a ruthless and adaptable enemy that seems intent on targeting the innocent and defenseless. That makes security more complicated.

Can we learn from our mistakes and take measures that are effective without being even more Draconian?

We have little choice but to meet that challenge. That means not only the nation's security apparatus but the flying public as well.

The alternative is obvious and unpleasant.

Jon Adler, head of the Federal Law Enforcement Officers Association, put it this way: "I don't consider the full-body scanners an invasion of privacy. I think a bomb detonating on a plane is the biggest invasion of privacy a person can experience."

A Bucket List

QUICK, name five things that don't exist anymore. My list: typewriter ribbons, ink wells, record needles, Oldsmobiles and the Soviet Union.

An author named Anna Jane Grossman who studies such things instead chooses blind dates, getting lost, porn magazines, looking old and body hair.

My list admittedly dates me somewhat, a point that was driven home when I read a recent piece on the Huffington Post Web site about things that are becoming obsolete.

There are some old favorites here, like handwritten letters and some not so old products, such as CDs and dial up Internet.

Technology is the common denominator. Whatever product is on this particular Bucket List has been replaced by some super whiz bang wireless global positioning satellite-directed hand held high def billion gigabyte gizmo that will simplify our lives but only if you know a Caltech grad who can tell you how to operate it.

The article confirmed my feelings that nostalgia has become the yearning for something that happened several hours ago. Such is progress.

Without further ado, here is the Huffington list accompanied by some personal observations, an act on my part that will never become obsolete.

Calling. That's right, conversation. The Huffington folks predict that texting will replace the call and offer as evidence the 110 billion texts sent in December 2008. None of which were sent or received by me. First of all, the keyboard is so small that any

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text I attempt turns out to look like it was scrawled by a drunk writing in Sanskrit. And second of all, I don't have time to learn the lingo, like LTLWDLS (Let's twist like we did last summer) or MTFBWU (May the force be with you). Besides, I like the sound of the human voice.

Dial up Internet. Sure, you could sign on, have breakfast, and return just in time to get connected. But those crackling, buzzing noises made me feel like I was starring in a Grade B science fiction movie.

Encyclopedias. Which are presumably being replaced by Wikipedia, the online equivalent which is written and edited by anyone and everyone. That policy clearly leads to errors.If I need to be absolutely correct, I’ll reach for the Encyclopedia Britannica.

CDs. People download music directly onto MP3 players and the like these days. Indeed, the No. 1 music retailer in the United States is Apple’s itunes. I received a Christmas gift this year of a turntable which will install 78 rpm and 45 rpm records onto a MP3. Nice of them to think of us old folks.

Landline phones. I have trouble giving up my landline phones, probably because I resist wearing my cell phone on my hip like some gunslinger in “3:10 to Yuma.” Or one of those ear pieces that make you look like a cyborg. But there is another good reason, according to experts. With a land line phone, the 9-1-1 dispatch center gets the caller’s physical address — 123 Main Street. With a wireless phone, they get latitude and longitude information from the cell carrier. That is converted into the caller’s approximate location.

Film. Can you even buy it anymore?

Yellow Pages and address books. Many of us still rely on the Yellow Pages. That’s because many of us use them as door stops. For the rest of us, the Internet is the portal to goods and services. As for address books, there’s still something comforting about handwritten entries on paper. And sometimes reading the names you have scratched off over the years can be downright entertaining.

Wires. Huffington explains: “Wireless internet, wireless updating, wireless downloads, wireless charging, wireless headphones: Although wires are still around (for now!), they're well on their way to being a thing of the past.” Sounds great. In the meantime, be prepared to put up with poor service, dropped calls and slow Internet.

Catalogs. Are you kidding? We still get enough in the mail each year to put a dent in the Amazon rain forest.

Handwritten letters. I think the last handwritten letters I received were from my kids at summer camp. And that was 20 years ago. Oh sure, I get a few missives from angry readers and the occasional Christmas letter but let’s face it, this is a lost art. And that’s a shame. There’s actually a Web site called handwritten letters.com that celebrates the art of putting thoughts and dreams on paper. They explain it this way: “... to actually sit down and put a part of you into a handwritten letter, to tell a story and express an emotion to someone important to you, provides a glimpse into who you are.”

Here’s hoping I’m not on the obsolete list next year.

Pratfalls in the Press

Every year about this time, I collect the best of the worst of print journalism, corrections of mistakes that have been made in the gathering of news.

This is not intended to mock the profession that has kept us fed and clothed for many years. Instead it is a recognition that, despite what some think, journalists are human and when you start each day with a blank slate, filling it at breakneck speed will result in slipups.

Add the fact that newsroom staffs and budgets have been cut to the bone over the last few years and it's no surprise that accuracy has sometimes suffered.

Besides, nobody finds it more amusing than the practitioners of the craft (unless, of course, it was your mistake).

Here, then, are a sampling of the corrections that made us smile, if not groan. They have been collected from the Internet, from contributors and from Craig Silverman, who runs a website called Regret the Error.

In the thick of things: In a recipe for salsa published recently, one of the ingredients was misstated, due to an error. The correct ingredients is 2 tsp. of cilantro instead of 2 tsp. of cement. (Publication unknown).

Off the track: Due to incorrect information received from the clerk of courts office, Diane K. Merchant, 38, was incorrectly listed as being fined for prostitution in Wednesday's paper. The charge should have been failure to stop at a railroad crossing. (Publication unknown).

Choke hold: A photo caption on Tuesday's Page A8 said a student was performing the Heimlich maneuver on a dummy. The student was actually playing around and pretending to choke the dummy. (Washington News Tribune).

Dumb and dumber: A headline on page one of the Toronto Sun yesterday was both inaccurate and misleading. In fact, as the story reported, the mother of a boy involved in a high school fight in Keswick said her son "said something stupid." She did not say nor imply he was stupid. The Sun regrets the error and apologizes to the boy and his family. (Toronto Sun).

Cat calls: A reply to a question in Notes & Queries yesterday recommended purchasing lion and tiger urine from Chester Zoo to stop neighborhood cats from urinating in a vegetable patch. Chester Zoo would like to forestall requests for its big cats' urine: It asks us to make clear that it does not in fact sell either tiger or lion urine. Many years ago the zoo sold elephant dung, but it no longer does. (Guardian, U.K.)

No not me: An article on Aug. 2 about older alumni who have been helped by university career counselors referred imprecisely to comments by a 1990 graduate of Lehigh University who lost his job in February when his company was downsized, and a correction in this space last Sunday misspelled his surname. As the article correctly noted, he is David Monson, not Munson, and he was speaking generally - not about himself - when he said that newly unemployed people sometimes mope around the house in sweatpants. (New York Times).

Living dread: An article on May 25, 2007, `The Cult Guru Who Stole My Son' made claims that William Van Gordon was a `brainwashed zombie' and Edo Shonin brainwashed him and that the Buddhist retreat which they ran was a cult. We accept this is untrue. We apologize to both men for the contrary impression given. (Daily Mail, U.K.)

Just kidding: In my column on Aug. 22 I suggested that Sharon Osbourne was an unemployed, drug-addled, unfit mum with a litter of feral kids. This was not intended to be taken literally. I fully accept she is none of these things and sincerely apologize to Sharon and her family for my unacceptable comments. (The Sun, U.K.)

Ho Sweet Ho: In our entry on Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon Days, we referred to a Prairie Ho Companion; we meant a Prairie Home Companion. This has been corrected. (The Guardian, U.K.)

And last but not least: The Ottawa Citizen and Southam News wish to apologize for our apology to Mark Steyn, published Oct. 22. In correcting the incorrect statements about Mr. Steyn published Oct. 15, we incorrectly published the incorrect correction. We accept and regret that our original regrets were unacceptable ... (Ottawa Citizen and Southam News).

The Best of 2009

We wrote last week about some of the worst ideas of 2009.

Space limitations kept the list to a precious few. We fondly remembered the exploits of Octomom and Balloon Boy, Tiger Woods and Mark Sanford, Gavin Newsome and the Tea Party Patriots.

But we hardly scratched the surface.

We had every intent of revisiting the subject this week. But like Scrooge, our resolve to engage in another "bah, humbug" column has been melted away in the warm bask of the holidays.

So instead of mocking the mediocre, we will instead hail the heroes today, those formidable individuals who give us hope that maybe, just maybe, the human race sometimes gets it right.

So let us raise a glass in praise of:

Captain Chesley Burnett "Sully" Sullenberger III. Our newest Rose Parade grand marshal successfully carried out the emergency ditching of US Airways Flight 1549 in the Hudson River, offshore from Manhattan, on Jan. 15, 2009, after his plane struck a flock of geese, disabling both engines. His piloting skills saved the lives of all 155 people on the aircraft.

But more than that, he is the sort of "aw, shucks" hero that Americans love, a Jimmy Stewart firmly in command at the controls. And yet he is an American everyman: Sullenberger lost 40 percent of his salary over the years, which contributed to financial strain prior to the Hudson landing. He and his wife were facing the possibility of having to sell their home in order to stay afloat.

Jorge Munoz is a school bus driver who has taken it on himself to help hungry New Yorkers make it through tough times. Since 2004, he has handed out more than 70,000 meals from his mobile soup kitchen in Queens - for free, according to CNN. Munoz estimates that food and gas cost approximately $400 to $450 a week; he and his family are funding the operation through their savings and his weekly $700 paycheck. "I'll help anyone who needs to eat. Just line up," Munoz says.

Firefighters. Oh, sure, they drew some flack for their response to the Station Fire in its early hours. They reacted slowly. They should have used helicopter water drops after dark. But for those of us who watched the fire burn 250 square miles of the Angeles National Forest, it was a miracle it wasn't much worse. In a sort of slow-motion rampage, it threatened thousands of homes and businesses, threatened to destroy Mt. Wilson and burned for weeks, covering much of the Foothill area in smoke and ash. Two firefighters died in the blaze. Battling this inferno were brave men and women who defended a lot of homes they could probably never afford to live in. Without them, a lot of us would still be bunking down in high school gyms.

Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt. Just about the time the Olympic Games get boring, along come a couple of young studs who do the impossible. The best thing about them: they seemed to be having a genuinely good time while smashing world records. Honorbale mention: Brett Favre. Old guys can still play, too.

Mandi Bohrer. Mandi is gung-ho Army all the way. She graduated from West Point, served in Iraq and is married to a fellow officer. She and her husband are also parents of a 4-year-old daughter. Both mom and dad are being deployed to Afghanistan. It was either go together or stagger their deployments and spend nearly three years apart. In the meantime, the Bohrers have updated their wills and documented their last wishes. "It weighs heavily on me," Bohrer told Newsweek magazine. "But if I don't step in and go, someone else will have to. Someone else will have to leave their family."

Barack Obama. Not so much for who he is but what he represents. He is not the first president who rose from humble beginnings to achieve the highest office in the land. But he's the first African-American to do so and that very fact has endeared him to millions while earning him a place in history and ending an ugly chapter in the United States.

Worst Ideas of the Year

Just think of the really bad ideas we have had to endure and overcome over the years. The Edsel, leisure suits, Jerry Springer, mood rings and wine in a box come to mind.

But just when you think there couldn't be any more dumb ideas, when you believe that mankind has run the gamut on stupidity, a new crop appears.

As a public service, therefore, I offer the Worst Ideas of 2009, an entirely personal and nonscientific survey of people and their schemes that left us shaking our collective heads and proves there is no statute of limitations on dumb deeds done daily:

Worst reality show ideas: A tie between Octomom and Balloon Boy.

Nadya Suleman is the single mother of six who thought it would be a good idea to bring eight more children into the world through in-vitro fertilization. Just the thing you want to do when you're out of a job and on public assistance. For this act, she receives more media coverage than World War II. A British TV firm has signed a contract with her for a reality show. With any luck, it won't be shown in the U.S.

In the meantime, Richard and Mayumi Heene decided to compete with Nadya for bad parent of the year when they claimed their son, Falcon, was carried away by a balloon shaped like a flying saucer in Ft. Collins, Colorado. After a three-hour flight that covered 50 miles, caused Denver International Airport to be shut down and involved the National Guard, several police jurisdictions and the worldwide media at a cost of some $2 million, it was discovered the incident was a hoax. It's purpose? To make the family "more marketable for future media interests," according to authorities.

The couple pleaded guilty last month.

Runner up: "Jon and Kate Plus Eight Get Divorced."

Worst idea by a married man: Tie between Tiger Woods and Mark Sanford. Tiger, perhaps the most recognized sports icon in the world, could drive a golf ball 350 yards but had trouble getting his SUV out of a driveway. Apparently, the pressure of winning a golf tournament is nothing compared to being chased by your wife wielding a three iron after discovering you've been unfaithful.

Although Tiger has always been presented as a squeaky clean family values guy, the number of women he allegedly had on his speed dial could have filled the Los Angeles phone book.

Tiger's main benefactor is Nike, whose slogan is "just do it." Apparently, Tiger took it literally.

Not to be outdone, South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford not only cheated on his wife, but came off as a sort of a romantic Keystone Kop in the process. Sanford, mentioned as presidential material, disappeared for 18 days in June, while explaining he was "hiking the Appalachian Trail."

Turns out he was Flying Down to Rio to spend time with his "soul mate," a 43-year-old divorced mother of two. (Sample e-mail from Mark to Maria: "...you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses ... I love your tan lines ... I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of night's light ..."). To this day, he has refused to resign from office even after being censured and bidding goodbye to his wife and four sons who packed up and left him. Runner up: David Letterman who announced his infidelities between jokes.

Worst food idea: Domino's pasta in a bread bowl (about 1,500 calories). Honorable mention: Chili's Smokehouse Bacon Triple-the-Cheese Big Mouth Burger with Jalapeno Ranch Dressing (2,040 calories).

Worst beverage idea: Utopia Beer. This Sam Adams product is 27 percent alcohol by volume and $150 a bottle. Runner Up: Vio, brought to you by Coca-Cola, a blend of skim milk, sparkling water, and 27 grams of sugar. Carbonated skim milk? Cheers.

Worst political idea: San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsome running for governor. This bright young light from Bombast by the Bay couldn't even knock poor old Jerry Brown out of the prelims.

Maybe it was his support of gay marriage by extorting, "It's going to happen, whether you like it or not" (which is probably what the deckhands on the Titanic said) or his affair with the wife of his campaign manager. His worst mistake was remaining a mystery in Southern California where all the voters live.

Runner up: The Tea Party "patriots" who showed up armed and dangerous at Town Halls across the country, loudly shouting down elected officials and all who disagreed with them. And they called President Obama a Nazi?

A Lot Like Christmas

Ah, Christmas. We celebrate it on the same day with the same trappings. We deck our halls, done our gay apparel, roast our chestnuts on an open fire. Yet, we all celebrate it differently.

That's because of traditions.

Maybe your family plays a spirited game of touch football using Aunt Mary's fruit cake.

Maybe you make book on how much Christmas cheer Cousin Charlie will consume before he falls into the tree.

Maybe its a keepsake, like that ornament from the Kern County Fair.

Or that recipe for Eggnog casserole.

My mother used to cook up a batch of sweet potatues covered with marshmellows every Christmas becase "it's one of dad's favorites." Years later, dad admitted to me he hated the dish but ate if to keep peace in the family.

My kids tried to start a tradition one year by awakening at 3 a.m., about five minutes after I had collapsed into bed exhausted from an evening of Greco-Roman wrestling with a mass of "some assembly required" toys. It was the
shortest tradition ever.

We do watch a scratchy old video tape of "A Christmas Carol" starring GeorgeC. Scott every year simply because he is the best Scrooge of all time.

There's a fire in the fireplace Christmas morning even if it's 80 degrees outside. There's always a birthday cake
because the Old Man of the House had the misfortune of being born on Christmas Day.

One family I read about buys the ugliest, tackiest outdoor decorations they can find. They try to sneak them onto their friend's lawns or houses during the season. The rules of the game state that if you get the tacky decor up without getting caught, the victim has to keep it in their yard until Christmas. If you get caught putting
them there, you have to put them on your lawn.

Pretty funny unless you live next door to the loser.

Leave the cozy confines of the U.S. of A. and you find Christmas traditions that are, well, different:

On Christmas morning, people in Portugal have a traditional feast called "consoda" with a twist; not only does the
family get together to eat but also dead people are invited. Extra places are set and food is offered to the deceased. Which is a great idea because since the deceased rarely show up, meaning more food for everybody.

In parts of Austria, Bavaria and Switzerland, the last month of the year is a time, especially for naughty kids, to be frightened. It seems young men dress up as the Krampus, a devil-demon creature equipped with cow bells and rods, usually accompanied by the Nikolaus (a sort of Santa Claus) and roam the streets to scare hell out of the
children as well as adults. This is called a Krampuslauf.

Leave it to those Germanic types to celebrate as only they know how.

In Greenland, so I'm told, kiviak is a gastronomical Christmas treat made from the raw flesh of an auk which has been buried under a stone in sealskin for several months until it's achieved an advanced stage of decomposition. Apparently, it smells like old blue cheese and tastes very pungent.

I could not find no other country that has adopted this tradition.

In some rural areas of south Wales, the Mari Llwyd is a person hiding under a horsehair sheet while
carrying a horse's skull on a pike . The Mari Llwyd wanders the streets at Christmas with a band of mummers and anyone "given the bite" by the horse's jaws must pay a cash fine.

Which is the basis for our IRS.

Little known facts about some other Christmas traditions:

--- Santa's reindeers are all females since male reindeer reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid December.Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring.

That makes sense because only female reindeer would stop and ask for directions.

--- Truth be told , the 19th-century author who bequeathed us the image of a fat, jolly, white-bearded St. Nicholas ("His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!") was himself a dour, straitlaced academician. As a professor of classics at the General Theological Seminary in New York City, Clement C. Moore's most notable work prior
to "A Visit from St. Nicholas" was a two-volume tome entitled "A Compendious Lexicon of the Hebrew Language."

Fortunately for us, the man had children.

--- Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer began life as an advertising campaign for a department store. In 1939, Montgomery Ward asked one of their copywriters, 34-year-old Robert L. May, to come up with a Christmas story coloring book they could give away to shoppers as a promotional gimmick.

As a child, May was rather sickly, shy and introverted. So, he based the story on his childhood feelings of alienation from his peers. As to the name, May considered and rejected Rollo (too cheerful) and Reginald (too British) before deciding on Rudolph.

According to one published account, May's boss was worried that a story featuring a red nose - an image associated with drinking and drunkards - wasn't suitable for a Christmas tale. May responded by taking Denver Gillen, a friend from Montgomery Ward's art department, to the Lincoln Park Zoo to sketch some deer. Gillen's illustrations of a
red-nosed reindeer overcame the hesitancy of May's bosses, and the Rudolph story was approved.

And to end on a happy note: Data from the National Center for Health Statistics show that suicides aren't more prevalent during the holdiays. In fact, there's a rise during the spring and summer months.

A Man's Home Is His Castle

Most journalists, at least the print variety, believe it is their sworn duty to comfort the afflicted, represent the under represeted, give voice to the voiceless.

But sometimes you just have to say what the heck and extend a hand to the rich.

It is in that spirit that I stand ready today to assist Candy Spelling, who finds herself in a spot of bother.

It seems Mrs. Spelling, widow of legendary television producer Aaron Spelling, is having trouble selling her 4.7-acre estate in Holmby Hills.

She is the process of downsizing to a a 16,500-square-foot condo in Century City which will set her back $47 million. So unloading the Holmby place would probably help her bottom line.

It certainly has everything you'd want in a home: a kitchen that serve 800, five fireplaces and four wet bars. There are seven bedrooms in the servants' quarters alone.

The main house features a bowling alley, a wine storage and tasting room, gift-wrapping room, a humidity-controlled silver storage room, China room, library, gym and media room. And, of couse, a screening room with a wall-to-wall video theater setup that rises from the floor.

Nobody quite knows how many rooms are in the place. "You're really asking the wrong person," Spelling once joked. "There's a lot. (The house) has evolved and I actually haven't gone around and counted."

Outside, you'll find a tennis court, fountains, a waterfall, a pool and spa, a reflection pool and a pool house with a kitchen, and 16 car ports.

Asking price: $150 million which makes it the most expensive residential real estate listing in the United States.

It also makes it hard to sell. Let's face it, this isn't the place for the 10 per cent down, 30-year mortgage set.

Indeed, you have to be prescreened and prequalified. After that, all you need is a fortune to buy someone else's view of paradise.

So this could take awhile.

We recently visited a home owned by a family that once faced a similar problem.

The master of the house had died unexpectedly, leaving his widow and daughter alone in a home that makes the Spelling spread look like a San Bernardino County fixer upper.

It's called Biltmore House and it rises like a fairy tale castle in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Ashville, North Carolina.

Constructed by George Washington Vanderbilt, grandson of the family patriarch, between 1888 and 1895, it gives ostentatiousness a bad name.

Built in a French Renaissance style, its 175,000 square feet (the Spelling house is 53,000
square feet) contains 250 rooms. The architect was Richard Morris Hunt and the grounds, all 175,000 acres, were under the care of Frederick Law Olmsted, who designed Central Park in New York City.

It had a 70,000 gallon indoor swimming pool, bowling alley, two-story library, and other 19th-century novelties such as electric lights, elevators, forced-air heating, centrally-controlled clocks, fire alarms and an intenal intercom
system.

Remember: It was occupied by just three people: Vanderbilt, his wife and daughter, joined from time to time by guests. He called it his "little mountain escape."

It's no wonder the Gilded Age led some common folks to grab their pitchforks and join the Communist Party.

In 1930, faced with a Depression, Vanderbilt's only child, Cornelia Stuyvesant Vanderbilt, and her husband, John Amherst Cecil, opened Biltmore House to the public. Family members continued to live there until 1956, when it was permanently opened to the pulic although it is still owned by the Vanderbilt heirs.

If nothing else, the Vanderbilts know how to make a buck. According to the Biltmore website, the estate draws approximately 1 million visitors a year. At about $50 a pop, the tourist income alone would buy you, say, a Century City condo.

So here's a suggestion for Candy Spelling. Open your place for tours. Oh sure, the neighbors might complain about tour buses lurching and belching their way through Holmby
Hills.

But the Spellings threw a lot of parties in their day so trafficis nothing new in the neighborhood.

Throw open the doors, Candy. We'd all like to see the place. And you can make a few bucks while you're waiting for that certain someone with a checkbook to show up.

That advice comes free of charge. Now, back to the afflicted.

The Fraud Flu

There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned pandemic to bring out the
worst in people.

While our medical community is struggling to keep the vast swine flu
outbreak under control against formidable obstacles, a gaggle of scam
artists, conspiracy theorists and assorted other crazies have emerged
to peddle their wares to a panicked public.

That’s nothing new. But I guess we need a reminder from time to time
that those who seek profit or stature while exploiting other people’s
misery rank somewhere below child molesters, war criminals and
dishonest mechanics in the grand scheme of things.

A quick scan of the Internet on the topic of swine flu reveals an
array of alleged cures including air "sterilizers," photon machines,
supplement pills to boost the immune system, protective shampoos and
face masks. Even fake Tamiflu is being advertised, according to
published reports.

One product that drew a warning letter from the FDA is the Photon
Genie, a gadget that delivers "energy waves." Its Web site claimed it
"helps strengthen the immune system, and a strong immune system is
key to preventing swine flu symptoms and key to treating swine flu."

Of course, sticking your finger in a light socket will provide
“energy waves” as well but I don’t suggest it.

Another was a spray called “Swine Flu...Gone” made with ionic silver.
Simply apply to your hands “and on any surface where these germs may
exist and kill the virus," its web site claimed.

It is made by a company called Secrets of Eden which sells
supplements and oils with a Biblical flair,
said its general manager, Rick Strawcutter, a former pastor in
Adrian, Mich. The staff "got a little carried away" on marketing for
one product and "drew the ire of the FDA," he told the Associated
Press.

Carried away? The federal Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease
Registry says
silver "may cause harmful health effects," depending on the amount
and type of exposure.

Maybe Rev. Strawcutter should call his product line Nearer My God to
Thee.

Even mainstream advertisers aren’t immune, so to speak, from jumping
on the pandemic bandwagon. The makers of Dial Soap, Kleenex, Clorox
and other big brands launched a joint promotional campaign costing up
to $1 million, according to the AP. The pitch:

"Germs are tiny organisms that can cause disease. According to the
CDC, up to 80 percent of infectious diseases, like the flu, are
spread by your hands. That's why frequent, proper handwashing is so
important in preventing spread of the flu, other viruses and germs.
An antibacterial soap like Dial Complete foaming hand wash kills 99.9
percent of germs."

Thanks for the science lesson. Except you forgot this part: Flu is
caused by a virus, so killing bacteria is of uncertain benefit.

If that’s not bad enough, consider the reaction from the paranoid
community, whose take on the epidemic has been described in some
circles as “The Days of Swine and Neuroses.”

One commentator opines: “U.S. President Barack Obama has now declared
a national emergency over in swine flu infections. The reasoning
behind such a declaration? According to the White House, it’s
designed to “allow hospitals to better handle the surge in patients”
by allowing them to bypass certain federal laws. That’s the public
explanation for this, but the real agenda behind this declaration may
be far more sinister. Declaring a national emergency immediately
gives federal authorities dangerous new powers that can now be
enforced at gunpoint…”

Or consider this one: The "swine flu" is a creation of the
pharmaceutical companies. They know it, they knew it would happen,
and they are criminally profiting from their creation.”

Or this: “Sagging TV News ratings and plummeting ad revenues are
already forcing massive layoffs. Without a huge increase in ratings
TV news could go the way of the newspaper. Using press passes they
got access to government labs with the virus and spread the virus
using their Mexican affiliates.

Wait, it gets worse: “World governments, spooked by the prospect of
radical climate change caused by over-population of the planet, have
assembled a super-secret task force to engineer and distribute a
super virulent strain of influenza designed to "correct" the human
population (and institute global Martial Law).

A variation on this has President Obama using the flu to weed out
political opponents, leaving a country full of Mao-quoting Muslim
vegans who drive hybrids and support gay marriage.

Or my personal favorite: A prophecy that a black man would occupy
the White House “when pigs fly” ties the Obama presidency to the
swine flu.

Man, since he emerged from primordial ooze, has tried to somehow
explain things he fears and can’t control, like pandemics, natural
disasters, BCS college football ratings and hedge funds.

Often, these explanations take on bizarre shapes as we grapple with
problems that seem beyond our grasp.

This is what we do know: U.S. officials reported this week the
addition of another million doses H1N1 swine flu vaccine, bringing
the total so far to 23.2 million doses. The first estimates called
for 40 million.

According to some medical experts, a cumulative 22.4 million doses is
a remarkable success that began in 2004 when the U.S. decided to
ensure a yearlong supply of the hens' eggs in which the vaccine is
made, and which continued this spring when the U.S. signed contracts
to ensure a huge supply of vaccine.

And officials said that every day more vaccine is becoming available,
and they hope to see an end to the shortage over the next several
weeks.

In addition, the genetic makeup of the H1N1 flu virus hasn't changed
since it first appeared in April, so the vaccine is a good, effective
match, according the medical experts.

Kathleen Sebelius, secretary of the U.S. Department of Health and
Human Services, said that the swine flu continues to be "very mild
for most people. But there is no question we are seeing very severe
cases hit in populations normally not susceptible to the flu and
without underlying health conditions in some cases. Young people and
pregnant women have been particular targets of that." That's a
significant difference from run-of-the-mill seasonal flu, which
typically poses a much bigger risk to the elderly.

Common sense advice: When it becomes available, get the swine flu
vaccine and your seasonal flu shot as well.

Drink plenty of liquids and avoid reading Internet rumors.

I wish you and yours safety and sanity.

Santa in September

Let me be the first to remind you that Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or any other end-of-the-year holiday you choose to celebrate is drawing near.

Except that I won't be the first.

The steady drumbeat of holiday advertising is even now starting to rumble in the distance. It won't be long until the tempo becomes so loud and rapid that the natives will become restless and break into a shopping frenzy.

Or at least that's what retailers hope. As humorist Robert Paul once remarked, "Even before Christmas has said Hello, it's saying `Buy Buy."'

I noticed it last weekend while watching TV. The unmistakable jingle of faux-Christmas music caught my attention just in time to see a commercial courtesy of Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart is to retailing what the German army was to the Maginot Line. We think we can resist but fighting is futile. Surrender now. If Wal-Mart says it's time to shop, it's time to gas up the SUV, max out the credit cards and hit the stores.

That being said, Wal-Mart has nothing on Kmart. They sent a mailing out to customers about their new site, Christmas Lane, during the summer. It promises "the best deals for Christmas, five months early."

Only a skeptic like me would wonder if they're trying to move last year's leftovers.

The alternative to this madness is to do what a bunch of Brits did recently. A group called the Movement for the Containment of Christmas demonstrated the courage of its convictions with an act of terrorism.

OK, terrorism might be too harsh a word. But the group attacked a storefront run by a charity. When the store put Christmas cards on display in August, the "terrorists" glued the door of the shop closed.

Wait until they see Disney's "Christmas Carol" with Jim Carrey. They may try to burn down Washington again.

The recession, which lingers like a bad hangover, will probably result in even more advertising than we're used to enduring. In tough times, retailers will often spend more ad money to lure shoppers through the doors.

But there may be an upside to a down economy. The Associated Press reports that stores are turning back the clock, conjuring images of hearth and home as they stock their holiday merchandise.

Retailers hope embracing holiday traditions from cozier times will tempt recession-weary consumers to open their wallets in a season expected to show flat sales at best.

Better yet, ostentatious outdoor displays are also getting the boot. Home Shopping Network is moving away from holiday lawn decor to interior decorations, including adding nativity scenes. That means fewer of the big inflatable lawn decorations that have dominated suburban yards in recent years.

This is particularly good news to me. I have a neighbor who adorns his front yard with 20-foot-tall grinning Santa every Christmas which puts out more light than a night game at Dodger Stadium. When it is deflated during the day, it looks like the Hindenburg crashed on his property.

Of course, no matter what the calendar says or which way the stock market indicators point, there are always those tough-to-buy-for folks that make shopping even more of a chore.

So as a public service, I offer these actual gift items, culled from the Internet, for the man, or woman, who has everything:

The Barack Obama Action Figure: "If you think fighting Nazis or inter-galactic robots is tough, you should try fighting Republicans. Those G.O.P.s will use every dirty trick in the book to knock you out of action. It takes sharp wits, quick reflexes, and substantial campaign contributions just to stay alive. But Barack Obama is up to the task..."

The John McCain Action Figure: "He flew bombing raids in North Vietnam. He chaired the Senate Commerce Committee in Washington. And now he can kick Ken and G.I. Joe's butts in your toy box. Sarah Palin action figure not included."

Wall Street Financial Victims Play Set: "Run for your lives. They're coming!!! No, not monsters or vampires or aliens. The Stock Brokers and Investment Bankers are coming!!! Hide your money. Disguise your IRAs and 401(k)s. Spend your kids' college fund before it's swallowed up. Like a swarm of locusts, the denizens of Wall Street are determined to devour every cent you own in order to quench their insatiable greed!"

The 2010 Already Sucks button. "This straight to the point button is the perfect gift for anyone frustrated with politics or current events!"

How to Traumatize Your Children Book: "Most parents don't know what they're doing -- they try their best to screw up their kids, but most still grow up to be normal adults. Well, this indispensable book takes the guesswork out of raising a dysfunctional child. Within these 191 pages, you'll learn how to shatter self-esteem, buy your child's love, and teach your child how to be a bad friend."

If none of these fit the bill, eBay has a selection of Michael Jackson ornaments for sale.