Rough Language

By ROBERT RECTOR

IT was a beautiful fall day, a warm breeze wafting through the trees, a golden sun making its journey across a brilliant blue sky.

It was good to be alive.

So I took a deep breath of fresh air and, like millions of others of my fellow Americans, promptly ducked indoors to watch football on TV.

Before you jump to any conclusions, let me explain something about football. Despite grumblings to the contrary, you don't have to be a slack-jawed dimwit to enjoy the game.

Quite the contrary, football is theater, a four-act morality play on grass. There is good vs. evil, mano-a-mano combat, drama, truth, beauty, love - the whole nine yards.

So why in the middle of this extravaganza would I start thinking about oxymorons?

It was because a player was penalized for "unnecessary roughness."

I played enough organized football in my youth to understand that roughness usually decides the outcome of a game that has been described as controlled violence. There may be speed, skill and strategy involved, but the overriding aim is to put your opponent on his rear end. It's much easier to score that way.

So how can its violent nature be "unnecessary"? Talk about a classic oxymoron.

An oxymoron, a figure of speech that combines two normally contradictory terms, has been used for centuries in literature. Comedian George Carlin made them a pop culture staple with a routine that skewed "military intelligence" and "jumbo shrimp."

My personal favorite is a message I once saw scrawled on a Hollywood wall: "Anarchy rules."

But there are others that deserve a mention: airline food, athletic scholarship, business ethics, civil servant, government efficiency and porn actress come to mind.

Not to mention rap music, tight slacks, boxing ring, brief speech, common courtesy, customer service, free love, preliminary conclusion, fresh frozen and anything that is "new and improved."

Some might add "clever columnist" to that list, but we'll leave it alone for the time being.

Moving along to a completely unrelated topic, I read a story in the New York Post this past week that reflects on the state of politics as it is practiced in the United States in the 21st Century.

It involves Ann Coulter, the conservative (to put it mildly) columnist and hell-raising pundit who wishes death and destruction on all who disagree with her.

According to the Post story, "There's a good reason why the four authors of the upcoming book `I Hate Ann Coulter!' are remaining anonymous - they're afraid for their safety. `None of us want our real names in the hands of gun-toting, abortion clinic-bombing, self-proclaimed `wing nuts,' who follow Coulter,' one of the scribes tells us.

"Coulter , who called 9/11 widows publicity-loving `harpies,' is shown with a devil's tail and horns on the book's cover. It's only the second time in Simon & Schuster's history that an author's identity has been kept secret, the first being, `Go Ask Alice,' a teen drug addict's diary, published in 1971."

Maybe it's a publicity stunt. But why do I get the feeling it isn't?

All Saints Day

By ROBERT RECTOR
I don't know about you, but I sleep better at night knowing the Internal Revenue Service is on guard.

How else would we know about the goings-on over at All Saints Church in Pasadena - a place where, according to IRS watchdogs, an anti-war sermon delivered in 2004 constitutes campaigning for a candidate, an act so profound that it could cost the church its tax-exempt status.

I mean, just look at the kind of stuff the Rev. Ed Bacon, rector of All Saints, tells his flock.

"We believe in transformation here - the transformation of those who worship together in order for each of us in turn to do our part to transform the world to be more like that dream God has for creation. A world that has not yet been but can and will be if we dedicate our energies to it. A world of healing, love and justice for all, a world of peace among peoples and nations and a world where every human being is fully alive without bigotry, violence, injustice, oppression, terrorism, war or torture."

Shocking? Inflammatory? Revolutionary? Dangerous? Let's get real.

All Saints, the largest Episcopalian church west of the Mississippi, has a reputation for social activism that stretches back more than 65 years. During World War II, its rector spoke out against the internment of Japanese-Americans. The Rev. George Regas, who headed the church for 28 years before retiring in 1995, opposed the war in Vietnam, championed female clergy and supported gays in the church.

So when the topic is war - in this case the war in Iraq - guess on which side of the issue the folks at All Saints are going to land.

But Regas, appearing as a guest pastor, apparently stepped over the line when he delivered a sermon entitled "If Jesus Debated Senator Kerry and President Bush." Though he did not endorse a candidate, he said Jesus would condemn the Iraq war and Bush's doctrine of pre-emptive war.

He also acknowledged in the same sermon that "good people of profound faith will be either for George Bush or John Kerry for reasons deeply rooted in their faith."

Nonetheless, his sermon has caused the IRS to bluster and bully in a way long associated with that particularly agency.

Activism in churches is as old as our nation itself. The Revolutionary War was nurtured in churches. So was the abolitionist cause. So was the civil rights movement. Conservative Protestants and Catholics have been in the forefront of the right to life movement for decades.

At which point do you separate the issues from the individuals? And beyond that, do we really want the IRS playing the role of free speech cop?

Some call the All Saints case selective harassment. But conservative churches as well as liberal ones have been investigated across the country by the IRS over the years.

One church in upstate New York lost its tax-exempt status in 1995 after running a full-page ad in USA Today in 1992 saying that it would be "a sin to vote for Bill Clinton."

But there's no debating that this episode is taking place under the watch of the Bush administration, whose re-election campaign sent a detailed plan of action to religious volunteers across the country asking them to turn over church directories to the campaign, distribute issue guides in their churches and persuade their pastors to hold voter registration drives.

If that isn't campaigning for a candidate, what is?

I suspect the 1954 law governing political activities by nonprofits was never intended to muzzle churches. Even if it had, religion in this country increasingly has a bearing on political affiliation, political values, policy attitudes and candidate choice.

To somehow attempt to regulate it is folly.

The doctrine of separation of church and state is not only intended to keep religion out of government but government out of religion as well.

The Evening News

By ROBERT RECTOR

SOME years back, Jack Smith, my friend and colleague at the Los Angeles Times, described his bout with a particularly virulent flu bug.

As his temperature climbed and he became delirious, he believed he saw the face of God.
It was kind and round, accented with bushy eyebrows and a thick mustache. It radiated understanding and reassurance.

It wasn't until the fever began to break that Jack realized he was watching Walter Cronkite on the CBS Evening News.

To some, Cronkite was God. To me, it was more like having the news delivered by your favorite grandfather. He was wise and warm, and it was as though we sat on his lap and played with his pocket watch as he spoke. And in the end of his newscasts, the anchor they called “the most trusted man in America” left us with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, truth and justice might triumph.

Cronkite retired in 1981 and, Dan Rather, Tom Brokaw and Peter Jennings notwithstanding, things just haven't been the same in Television Land. Network news ratings, while still healthy, have been in steady decline. Like it or not, television (and newspapers for that matter) are in a death struggle with cable, blogs, Web sites and whatever other technology du jour is popular.

Network news isn't exactly cutting edge. The formats are about the same they were in Cronkite's day. Unfortunately, the personalities aren't.

Over at NBC, we have Brian Williams whose made-for-TV good looks can't cover up a lack of charisma while a sense of foreboding and melancholy permeate his broadcasts.

ABC's situation is the stuff of Shakespearian tragedies. The popular Peter Jennings dies of lung cancer after he reportedly resumes smoking after 9/11. He is replaced with Bob Woodruff and Elizabeth Vargas. Woodruff is badly injured in Iraq. Vargas, about to go on maternity leave, abruptly resigns amid declining ratings. Out of these ashes rises Charles Gibson, a proper Princetonian whom the older demographic can relate to.

Which brings us to Katie Couric. CBS has not only elevated Katie to the anchor chair, she spent the last week appearing on almost every network show this side of “Survivor.”
There was Katie with her own prime-time special. There was Katie on “60 Minutes” As one wag remarked, maybe CBS stands for the Couric Broadcasting Network.

Her debut was the most anticipated and covered event since the unveiling of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' baby Suri, which not coincidently was part of Katie's first newscast.
And it worked. Ratings were through the roof. But will it last?

This is not your father's evening news. According to Howard Kurtz, CBS has decided that by the time Katie comes onto their screen, the viewers will know the major stories. Therefore, they intend to work around the edges of the news.
This is either “in depth”' or a happy talk gimmick, depending on your point of view. So far, the presentation seems soft. But then again, that's the brand of soap that CBS is selling.

And speaking of gimmicks, let's hope the “free speech” segment at the end of the broadcast where professional blowhards like Rush Limbaugh can vent will be axed and soon.
And let's also hope critics will stop writing about what Katie is wearing and focus and what she is saying.

To me, Katie Couric has been a kind of journalistic Doris Day: neat, pretty and perky, but can she do MacBeth?

If she doesn't work out, there's always Rosie O'Donnell.
Robert Rector is a former editor with the Pasadena Star-News and Los Angeles Times.

Go Away

By ROBERT RECTOR

THINGS I grow weary of:

John Mark Karr: OK, I know this alleged creep confessed to the murder of JonBenet Ramsey but flunked his DNA test and now faces at best a misdemeanor charge of possessing child pornography. But can we let it go now? It seemed clear from the outset this guy's so-called confession was some sort of sick gesture. That didn't stop the media, especially the cable TV jackals, from force feeding it to us 24/7.

And they're apparently not done yet. Nancy Grace, CNN's so-called legal expert who presides over the underbelly of America with the personality of a bouncer at a biker bar, now promises to 'investigate the next step in the decade-old investigation, and what happens to Karr, who faces child porn charges in California.' And if that isn't enough, Nancy 'investigates the past decade in the JonBenet Ramsey murder case, from her death to a former suspect's alleged confession.'
And one more thing: What is it about Colorado DAs that causes them to step on a legal banana peel when faced with high-visibility cases? First, Kobe. Now, Karr.

Dr. Z: It appears that whenever the Chrysler automotive corporation finds itself sinking slowly out of sight, it turns to its chairman to bail out the boat.

First, there was Lee Iacocca, whose 'If you can find a better car, buy it,' led the Detroit automakers in a Buy American crusade.

Iacocca was perfect for the job. A square shooter who made eye-to-eye contact, he could sell ice to Eskimos and was the kind of guy you'd follow into combat.

Now, Chrysler is pinning its hopes on Dieter Zetsche, the respected CEO of DaimlerChrysler, the folks who bring you Mercedes-Benz and Chrysler products.
But instead of the straight-from-the-shoulder approach of Iacocca, Zetsche, or Dr. Z as he is called, has been made into a commercial buffoon, a second-rate comic act who bounces soccer balls off his head and makes house calls to tout German engineering by proclaiming, 'After all, ve invented the automobile.'

Next up: Dr. Z, dressed in lederhosen, piles into a Chrysler minivan with an oompah band and motors off to Oktoberfest.

If this cartoonish campaign isn't lame enough, it is repeated so often on television that I leap for my remote control whenever it comes on. Auf Wiedersehen, Dr. Z.

And speaking of commercials, my hat is off to the makers of Head On, the headache remedy whose ingenuous ad campaign will actually give you a splitting headache.
It's really quite simple. Against the backdrop of a woman who appears to be applying deodorant above her eyebrows, an irritating voice repeats over and over, 'Head On, apply directly to the forehead.'

It makes my eyes water.

But if it does give you a headache, I suggest you take a couple of aspirin.

Dr. Dara Jamieson, director of the Headache Center of New York-Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Medical Center, told CBS news that 'the only thing distinctive about this product is its commercial. There's nothing in the ingredients that would treat headaches ...'

The NFL in L.A.: It is telling that the first NFL game that USC's Heisman Trophy winning quarterback Matt Leinert saw in person was the first one he played in with the Arizona Cardinals.

When you don't have a pro franchise in town for more than a decade, that's what happens: a generation that wouldn't know a Saint from a Seahawk.

Isn't the clock about to strike midnight on this deal? Isn't it a slam dunk that pro football will return to the Coliseum within the next two years? Hasn't this dance gone on long enough?
Not necessarily. Joe Scott, a former columnist with the Herald Examiner and Times, an astute observer of the passing parade, writes:

'Both Paul Tagliabue, who retired last month, and Roger Goodell, the new commissioner, have each supported such a return. But putting a team back in Los Angeles, while on Goodell's agenda, is not the owners' immediate concern.

'His daunting assignment from the 32 owners,' the New York Times Judy Battista wrote in a recent analytical story, 'is to resolve complex money issues: a revenue-sharing solution and structure a new collective-bargaining agreement with the player's union.'

'The festering question confronting the Los Angeles and Anaheim groups is this: Does it makes economic sense for NFL owners to spend up to $800 million to build a new stadium given the tension between the haves and the have-nots.'

It appears to be easier to negotiate a nuclear arms agreement with Iran than it is to seal a deal with the NFL.

I, for one, will sit this dance out.

Sinners and Saints

By ROBERT RECTOR
YOU never quite know what stories will touch a nerve and whose nerve will be touched.

I wrote recently about Barry Minkow, the boy wonder carpet cleaning entrepreneur turned felon turned preacher and fraud investigator, who showed up recently on "60Minutes" as the poster boy for reformed criminals.

To make a long column short, I said that for all his remorsefulness and alleged good deeds, the new Barry still didn't quite pass the smell test.

Some readers agreed. Others accused me of anti-Christian bias. And at least one member of the criminal-turned-saint community felt compelled to respond at length.

That would be Sam E. Antar, who, like Barry Minkow, found himself up to his eyebrows in fraud some years back. Here's what he had to say:

"I was the former Chief Financial Officer of Crazy Eddie (a New York area consumer electronics retailer) who helped mastermind one of the largest securities frauds uncovered during the 1980s," Antar writes.

"Like Barry Minkow, my crimes hurt many people economically, many of whom have still not recovered today. I committed my crimes with full knowledge of the harm I was causing others and later only cooperated with the government out of fear of a very long prison sentence.
"I write the above, to give you insight into the heinous character to my early years of life, not to boast about my criminal past but to provide you some insight as to how Barry Minkow has inspired me to turn my life around...

"... After I was finished with the Crazy Eddie criminal and civil cases upon learning about Barry Minkow, I began to emulate him. I decided to help the accounting profession, the government and anti-fraud professionals in efforts to fight white collar crime.

"In the last two years alone, I have taught at over 20 college campuses, professional groups, and government organizations about white collar crime. I have 18 speaking appearances scheduled in the next 9 months alone. All my appearances are without charge or reimbursement for any cost.

"Am I a Boy Scout? Is Barry Minkow a Boy Scout? I cannot speak for Barry Minkow. However, I believe he would share my thoughts. When I am asked about my uncompensated speaking appearances I always warn audiences not to think of me as a Boy Scout. In today's business world we should never assume anyone's good intentions. For anti-fraud professionals the assumption of good intentions is a professional hazard.

"Likewise for reporters like yourself. Your profession requires professional skepticism too. However, why single out Barry Minkow just based on his past? The difference is that Barry Minkow is not being investigated, under inquiry, or under government scrutiny for what he is doing today in putting his life together and setting a positive example for others to follow in turning their lives around...

"Barry Minkow is trying to make amends for a past he cannot erase. He is setting an example for others like myself the turn our lives' around and become positive forces for good in our great country."

I wish both these gentlemen well in their new careers. After all, reformed car thieves advise cops on crime prevention. Ex-burglars give homeowners security advice.

But, in my mind as well as others, they will be forever dogged by their pasts. Minkow cost his investors more than $100 million. Antar not only defrauded the public out of multiple millions, but he also helped investigators send his family members to jail while he walked.

Both thumbed their noses at a country that was built on an honest day's pay for an honest day's work.

What is the rate of recidivism for greed? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, I hope Minkow and Antar are walking the straight and narrow. As Oscar Wilde once said, it is "remorse that makes one walk on thorns."

Case Study in Skepticism

By ROBERT RECTOR

IF your mother tells you she loves you, check it out ..."

That was the advice given by an old city editor to young staffers many decades ago, back in the days reporters wore hats in the newsroom and kept a fifth of Old Inspiration in their desk drawers.

It was his way of injecting a healthy dose of skepticism into the work of his young charges.

I was reminded of that the other day while watching a "60 Minutes" piece on Barry Minkow, the businessman turned felon turned preacher who got his start right under my nose in the San Fernando Valley in the 1980s.

When our paths first crossed, I was working on the city desk of the Los Angeles Times Valley edition, and Minkow, a high school kid, was running his own carpet cleaning company, Zzzz Best, out of his parents' garage in Reseda.

It was a good story: Energetic young entrepreneur finds gold in the stain game.

Indeed, the story got even better. Minkow's company grew to include 1,400 employees and had begun to specialize in insurance restoration business. He starred in his own TV commercials, extolling the superiority of Zzzz Best. And we followed it each step of the way.

Life was good for young Barry. He received favorable press, portrayed as a role model. Mayor Tom Bradley declared a Barry Minkow Day. He appeared on Oprah. He lectured in business schools and contributed to Narcotics Anonymous.

He had a Ferrari Testarossa adorned with Zzzz Best personalized license plates and lived in a mansion in Woodland Hills. When he took his company public, it was valued at more than $200 million.

It sounded too good to be true.

Dan Akst, the same reporter who earlier had written glowingly of Minkow, began to hear talk about credit card fraud. Using a dose of skepticism that the old editor would have admired and following the paper trail, Akst wrote an article in May of 1987 that carried the headline "Behind `Whiz Kid' Is a Trail of False Credit-Card Billings."

The next day Zzzz Best stock lost 28 percent of its value. By the time the scam was fully revealed, investors had lost more than $100 million. The following year, Minkow was convicted on 57 counts of fraud and sentenced to 25 years in jail.

In between, we learned that Minkow's real talent was not cleaning carpets but raising capital by any means necessary. According to published accounts, he arranged burglaries in order to collect insurance money. He borrowed $2,000 from his grandmother and then stole her pearls. When he needed cash in 1984, he forged $13,000 worth of money orders from a Reseda liquor store.

He opened a merchant's account at a local bank, which allowed him to accept credit card payments. For the next few years, whenever he needed money, he would add bogus charges to his customers' credit card accounts and receive ready cash from the bank. If a customer complained, Minkow blamed the forgeries on crooked employees, paid up and carried on.

Minkow served just under seven-and-a-half years, most of them at Englewood Federal Prison in Jefferson County, Colorado. During his early prison stay in San Pedro, before his trial, Minkow became a Christian. He earned a Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts degrees in Church Ministries from Liberty University, which was founded by Jerry Falwell. In 1996 he earned a Master of Divinity, also from Liberty.

Since 1997, he has served as the senior pastor of San Diego's Community Bible Church. Minkow also is an executive at the Fraud Discovery Institute in San Diego, which he helped found, where he investigates the same kind of crime he perpetuated and works with law enforcement.

Now he tells "60 Minutes" that he spends his time ministering to his parishioners, uncovering white collar crime and repaying his debts. He's written a book called "Cleaning Up," and his agent is negotiating with several production companies to film his life story.

Minkow says that "there's this great phrase in the Bible: `When the man's ways please the Lord, he makes even his enemies be at peace with him."'

Perhaps. But I remain skeptical. Just like the Barry of old, it all sounds just a little too good to be true.

An Electric Moment

By ROBERT RECTOR

It is noble and admirable that electric car enthusiasts, a group usually comprised of idealistic actors with a lot of time of their hands, are rallying to save the city of Pasadena's fleet of zero-emission vehicles.

In case you have missed this unfolding eco-drama, Nissan Motors is trying to retrieve 11 Hyperminis that they leased to the city. Nissan declined to renew the leases after they expired in December and subsequently asked they be returned.

And although the city denies taking an activist role in this spat, officials have done everything short of throwing their bodies in front of tow trucks to prevent their fleet from being returned and ground up like so much shoulder clod. Or recycled, if you prefer.

For their part, Nissan says the vehicles were part of a temporary research program that was extended well beyond its intended lifetime and must be returned.

A company official said that the manufacturer of the cars' batteries would no longer be making them, and Nissan's relocation from Gardena to Nashville, Tenn., would preclude its ability to maintain the cars. "It's not just what you see on the surface: `Bad Nissan, they're just taking these cars back,"' the official said.

Pardon me if this sounds like the same song, different lyrics. General Motors leased more than 800 of its all-electric EV1 cars out of about 1,100 manufactured in the late 1990s with the provision that after the 3-year leases were up, the cars reverted to the company. Despite unfulfilled waiting lists and positive feedback from the lessees, GM stated that it could not sell enough of the cars to make the EV1 profitable. The company then proceeded to trash the entire fleet.

Do we see a pattern here?

In the meantime, the Pasadena cause has been taken up by a group called Plug In America, co-founded by, what else, an actor. They are promising Nissan "positive press" if they let Pasadena keep the Hyperminis.

While I'm not convinced that "positive press" is the kind of incentive to turns heads in a company with global revenues in excess of $80 billion, one can hope that his kind of activism indicates that the day may soon dawn when consumers demand, and get, an alternative to the fossil-fuel burning behemoths of today.

The bad news is that Nissan is considering entering into an alliance with Renault and General Motors, creating a mega-conglomerate that would damn near rule the world. How do you make your voice heard in an operation of that size?

Perhaps that voice will come from the Silicon Valley, where Tesla Motors has revived interest in the electric car with a new, sexy $100,000 roadster.

Sounds expensive. But since hydrogen cars are costing a cool million at this time, maybe it's not a bad deal.

The Tesla is nobody's golf cart. Powered by 900 pounds of lithium-ion batteries and an electric motor, it can go 0-60 in 4 seconds with a top speed of 130 mph and has a range of 250 miles.

Its first 100 cars, due to be delivered in 2007, are already sold to, guess who, actors for the most part.

The company has raised $60 million and identifies backers such as Google founders Sergey Brin and Larry Page, former eBay executive Jeff Skoll and Jim Marver of VantagePoint Venture Partners. PayPal co-founder Elon Musk is Tesla's chairman. The company was founded in 2003 by Martin Eberhard and Marc Tarpenning, Tesla's vice president of engineering.

And yes, they hope to build bigger and cheaper cars in the near future. Its sexy project, Musk says, will allow the company to sell a four-door sedan, to be built in the United States, with a price of less than $50,000, by 2008.

Is this the car of the future? Only time will tell. But we can hope that cars like the Tesla, and the actors who own them, will change the way we drive today.

Inhuman Relations

By ROBERT RECTOR

THIS months's winner of the What Were They Thinking Award goes to Northwest Airlines, which offered some helpful suggestions recently to its employees who are being laid off.

Entitled "101 Ways to Save Money," the good folks at Northwest, motivated no doubt by pure paternalistic instincts, advised their soon-to-be-unemployed workers to buy jewelry at pawnshops, auto parts at junkyards and to take shorter showers.

Wait, there's more. The list included asking doctors for prescription drug samples, borrowing a dress "for a big night out" and giving children hand-me-down toys and clothes.

Also suggested: "take a date for a walk along the beach or in the woods," "write letters instead of calling" and "never grocery shop hungry" which seems like odd advice to give the newly poor.

And the capper: "Don't be shy about pulling something you like out of the trash."

Now I understand that most airlines haven't always had warm and fuzzy relations with their employees and that bankruptcy in the industry is as common as lost baggage, but advising your employees to engage in Dumpster diving as a way to make ends meet may establish a new low.

Call it inhuman relations.

To give Northwest its due, the suggestions were prepared for them by an employee-assistance company called NEAS. On its Web site, NEAS describes itself as "people who truly listen, who genuinely care, who are available at all times, and who know how to enhance the lives of employees and support the productivity and profitability of employers."

It sounds more like people who truly and genuinely cooked up some of these ideas over beers after hours.

Nonetheless, the booklet went out with Northwest's stamp on it, forcing the airline to apologize before the ink was dry.

"We do realize that some of the information in there might be a bit insincere and, for that, we do apologize," spokesman Roman Blahoski said.

"There are some tips in there that are very useful and there are some tips that, looking back, were a bit insensitive."

Northwest's senior vice president of ground operations, Crystal Knotek, said in the statement that the company would make sure that "all materials are properly reviewed in the future."

That's the first good idea Northwest has had this month.

Of course, this kind of behavior isn't new in the airline game.

American Airlines several years back set an industry standard for insensitivity when it gave huge bonuses to its top executives shortly after flight attendants, mechanics and pilots had agreed to give back hundreds of millions in salary and benefits to keep the company from bankruptcy.

Chairman and Chief Executive Donald J. Carty would have gotten a $1.6 million bonus, based on his salary of $811,000, presumably for leading his company to the brink of financial ruin.

If that wasn't enough, American kept news of the bonuses a secret from its unions while negotiations over salary and benefit reductions were ongoing.

The resulting outcry forced American to scrap the bonuses.

All of this proves at least one thing: The airline industry is to public relations what Mel Gibson is to inter-faith understanding.

Idiot's Delight

By ROBERT RECTOR

AMERICANS seem to have an unnatural fascination with our collective stupidity.
Jay Leno has made it a staple of the "Tonight Show" by trotting out people who seemingly would have trouble remembering their addresses.
And usually, about once a year, some polling operation will release the results of a survey that shows that more people know Boy George than George Bush.
The latest example is a poll by Zogby International released this week which shows that three-quarters of Americans can correctly identify two of Snow White's seven dwarfs while only a quarter can name two Supreme Court justices.
As if to underscore this blight on our collective consciousness, the two dwarfs most often named were Sleepy and Dopey.
And for those few who could rattle off the names of the current justices, Clarence Thomas was the most mentioned. Which shows you the value of having a lurid sexual harassment episode as part of your confirmation hearing.
Other findings: 57 percent of Americans could identify J.K. Rowling's fictional boy wizard as Harry Potter but only 50 percent could name the British Prime Minister, Tony Blair. Big deal. One's a prestidigitator, the other's a politician. Both practice slight of hand.
Asked what planet Superman was from, 60 percent named the fictional planet Krypton while only 37 percent knew that Mercury is the planet closet to the sun. On the other hand, besides being the name of Queen's lead singer and a poor-selling Ford product, Mercury doesn't get a lot of ink.
Respondents were far more familiar with the Three Stooges - Larry, Moe, and Curly - than they were with three branches of the U.S. government although that's a loaded question considering the kind of slapstick and pratfalls we see in Washington these days.
Twenty-three percent of those surveyed knew Taylor Hicks was the most recent "American Idol" but less than half that number were able to name the Supreme Court justice confirmed this year, Samuel A. Alito Jr. Personally, I'm willing to bet that Alito has a better voice.
And last but not least, just over 60 percent of the respondents were able to name Bart as Homer's son on the television show, "The Simpsons" compared to 20.5 percent who were able to name one of the ancient Greek poet Homer's epic poems, "The Iliad" and "The Odyssey."
This is not a bad thing. I believe that "The Simpsons" says more about human nature than any philosopher since Plato.

Ultimately, who says Americans are dumb? All we have done over the past few centuries is to knit together a diverse population to create the most powerful nation on Earth, one with a standard of living and educational system unmatched is most of the world.
There is something called the theory of "collective intelligence" that holds a large group of diverse, informed, independent-thinking people will almost always deliver the right answer to a question.
And who cares if we stumble over "who's buried in Grant's tomb?" More often than not, we get it right.

Flying Home

By ROBERT RECTOR
IT was one of those moments when you feel like you're a bug on the windshield of life.
I awoke last Thursday in my Washington, D.C., hotel room to the chilling news that dozens of Islamic militants had been arrested in a plot to blow up commercial airliners and that air traffic had been disrupted on both sides of the Atlantic.
As luck would have it, I was scheduled to fly to Los Angeles that very afternoon.
The images on CNN were not reassuring. Heathrow Airport looked to be populated with people who had just crossed the River Styx, condemned to a wait in line for eternity with no hope of escape. Armed troops patrolled airports in the United States, presumably ready to confiscate hair gel or hand lotion at gunpoint.
There was only one thing to do. Sort out luggage in accordance with new security measures and get to the airport as soon as possible, ready to endure unimaginable indignities as we fought through crowded check-in lines and air-tight security.
We arrived at Dulles Airport more than three hours before flight time and were greeted by a line of traffic as we approached the terminal.
My darkest fears were being realized. But the lines were not travelers nor additional security personnel but hordes of TV reporters who had descended on the airport like flies on a rib roast, their truck dish antennas pointed skyward as if praying for a few good quotes.
Then, as if the whole incident had been a practical joke, we checked our bags and got through security in no more than 15 minutes.
No toothpaste. No problem.
That gave me more than three hours, sitting in a sterile terminal, to contemplate two things: 1) Riding on an airplane with 200 people who may or may not have used deodorant (a banned substance), and 2) the status of commercial airline travel and what the future might hold.
A couple of thoughts right off. These are hard times for the airline industry. Aside from security concerns, high fuel costs have forced them to offer fewer flights packed with more people, certainly not user friendly but an understandable nuisance.
And people can be downright stupid. According to an Associated Press story, airport security people have confiscated a man-sized artificial palm tree and a sausage grinder along with piles of Swiss Army knives at airport checkpoints.
Pennsylvania turns a small profit by disposing of these castoff items, which it accepts from security contractors at 12 airports in five U.S. states, by selling them on eBay.
Most of the contraband merchandise is knives, nail clippers and cuticle scissors that were forbidden as carry-on items following the terror attacks 9/11. But there's also frosting-encrusted wedding cake servers, sex toys and a couple of chain saws.
OK, so there's enough blame to pass around.
But as grateful as we were to get on our flight back to Los Angeles, it was like hopping a westbound freight. Half the television monitors didn't work. There were no headsets available. Despite the fact that passengers had to dump their bottled water before they got on the plane, the servers were so short of beverages they asked for people to share soft drinks and served tap water. My seat reclined on its own.
Minor stuff, sure, but even in hard times, a well-functioning aircraft can make a five-hour flight tolerable.
The airline industry has in recent years encouraged people to purchase food and drink before boarding. That means the carrier saves money on food preparation. But new security measures could put and end to that. While cheeseburgers aren't on the banned list yet, they could be next.
When you think about where people could store explosive material, the possibilities are endless.
And carry-on luggage? That could be a thing of the past as well. All of which will most likely translate to higher prices.
For the near term, it looks like a bumpy ride. In the future, you may have two choices. The new Airbus A380 will carry 550 people in relative comfort. The new Boeing Sonic Cruiser will travel faster than today's jets, cutting travel time by 15 percent to 20 percent but in smaller planes.
And beyond that? Some futurists predict we'll all be piloting our own personal aircraft. Indeed, the Small Aircraft Transportation System, a joint project between NASA and the FAA, is trying to develop a system of more than 5,000 small airports connected by virtual "highways in the sky" for the use of a new generation of small, safe, easy-to-fly, and inexpensive airplanes.
At which time terrorism will be replaced by sky rage.

Prime Time

By ROBERT RECTOR
British Prime Minister Tony Blair is visiting our Fair State this week and
as is common when highly visible Brits come to call, Americans are ga-ga over
the prospect.

Blair is not royalty, no more so than Dick Cheney, for example, although
he has a spiffier title than the vice president. Officially, Blair is the
Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,
First Lord of the Treasury, Privy Counsellor, Minister for the Civil Service
and Member of Parliament for the constituency of Sedgefield.

That sounds royal to our American tin ears so Blair is getting the
princely treatment by members of the public and press who find his visit a
refreshing distraction from the numbing carnage in the Middle East.

It as always been a bit of a puzzlement that Britons, usually preceived as
restrained and proper to a fault, nonetheless feast on media that display no
such traits. Indeed, most news outlets in England are loud, brash, and
irreverant, seldom letting the facts get in the way of a turn of phrase.

And true to form, the Brits coverage of Blairs visit to California is
colorful if nothing else.

"Tony Blair is to make a joint appearance in California with Arnie "The
Governator" Schwarzenegger, a menacing hulk with limited English and a
reputation for getting frisky with female colleagues," writes the Financial
Times.

The Guardian takes it a step farther, offering this advice to the Prime
Minister:

"Never, ever go more than a few sentences without saying this word, dude.
Forget all the "Comrades, and I say to you" stuff. Dude is probably the most
totally awesome thing you can say while you're here.

"Like. Like is, like, the valley mantra. If you say the word like, like
every few words, you are totally telling your listeners that you are from,
like, the valley.

"Mexicans. There's a lot of them in the valley, picking fruit...Many of
these Mexicans are from Mexico, some are from other places that, dude,
without being heavy, may as well be Mexico...

"The governor. Don't call him Arnie. That's way too British. In California
he is known as Arnold, or The Arnold. And the addition of a comic Austrian
accent always brings laughs from a sophisticated audience. Mimic his
pronunciation of Kahl-ee-faw-nyah - a surefire vote winner. But remember,
Arnold was once in the movies. This makes him far more important than any
politician.

"Culture. California is home to some of your life-forming listening, Tony.
The Doors, the Byrds, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, and Albert Hammond,
singer of the bittersweet seventies hit 'It Never Rains in California' (he
wrote it in London). And nobody summed up the cultural finesse of living in
Los Angeles better than honorary Londoner Woody Allen, who in Annie Hall
described it as "a city where the only cultural advantage is that you can
make a make a right turn on a red light".

"Things not to mention: earthquakes, drought, fires, Charles Manson,
George W Bush, Enron, the Lodi terrorist cell, Richard Nixon, the death
penalty, how hot it is in England, Warren Beatty, the prison system,
immigration reform, Ohio, looted antiquities, smog, the price of petrol,
community farming, New York City."

While this kind of stuff may have them rolling in the aisles back in merry
olde England, serving up tired cliches with a side of bad taste is about as
funny as Mel Gibson after a few shots of tequila.

Surfer talk? Valley girls? Charles Manson? Woody Allen? If you're going
to toss around stereotypes, at least try some that didn't fade away 30 years
ago.

Racial stereotypes? What a hoot.

Can you imagine this kind of dispatch appearing in a U.S. paper?

"Dear President Bush. Should you visit Great Britain in the near future,
prepare to encounter the following:

"The country is populated by painfully conservative people who are largely
characterized by pale skin and bad teeth.
"Bring your own food. Britons subside on blood pudding and kidney meat,
usually boiled and washed down by warm beer or vast quantities of gin.

"The weather ranges from awful to unbearable. The country's great
literary tradition was born of the fact that there was nothing to do but stay
indoors and write.

"The country's greatest export is expensive automobiles whose beauty and
luxury are only exceeded by their complete unreliability.

"The national past-time, aside from oppressing the Irish, is football.
Not real, man-on-man football like we play, but dull contests played by guys
in short shorts who do nothing for hours on end but feign injury. The sport is a mere excuse
for the real past-time: alcohol fueled riots staged by participants called
hooligans who mame hundreds of fans each season."

Now that we understand each other, welcome to California, Mr. Blair. And
have a bloody good time.

Warming to the Issue

By ROBERT RECTOR
The announcement this past week that British Prime Tony Blair and California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger have agreed to work together to explore ways of fighting global warming is either:
(A) A bold step in combating global warming:
(B) A slap in the face of the White House;
(C) A symbolic gesture;
(D) A cheap political stunt:
(E) All of the above.
The two agreed to collaborate on research into cleaner-burning fuels and technologies, and look into the possibility of setting up a system whereby polluters in California and Britain could buy and sell the right to emit greenhouse gases.
While "bold" may be too strong a word to attach to this non-binding agreement, it most certainly shows that Schwarzenegger is taking an active role in combating what is increasingly perceived as an issue that could soon reach a crisis stage.
To be truthful, the prime minister and the governor aren't breaking much new ground here. Former President Clinton and big-city mayors from around the globe, including Los Angeles, have joined in an initiative to combat climate change and increase energy efficiency in everything from street lights to building materials.
But the idea of using market forces and market incentives to curb pollution is a step worth taking.
The White House was conspicuous by its absence when the announcement was made and many saw the agreement as a rebuff to President Bush who in the past has dismissed Blair's calls to focus on global warming as a critical international environmental issue.
The governor didn't mince words. ``The message is that we do not wait for the federal government to act. ... We see there is not great leadership by the federal government when it comes to protecting the environment,'' Schwarzenegger said. ``So that is why as a state, we will move forward because we know it is the right thing to do.
Is this a mere symbolic gesture? It could be if California, the 12th-largest source of greenhouse gases in the world last year, doesn't do something to cap greenhouse emissions in the state.
The group Environment California, which said that unless a mandatory and enforceable cap is established, ``promises to do something about global warming are nothing more than a lot of hot air.''
Business leaders don't want strict limits on emissions. The governor has called on California to cut its greenhouse gas emissions to 2000 levels by 2010.
Stay tuned.
And lastly, was this a mere political dog-and-pony show? Schwarzennger's Democratic opponent, State Treasuere Phil Angelides, certainly thought so.
The event was ``classic Arnold Schwarzenegger: a promise to talk about, and perhaps someday do something, on an issue,'' Angelides said. ``The governor's always a showman ... never getting things done.''
Perhaps. It is an election year after all and incumbents have been known to use their offices as a bullypulpit.
But there seems to be genuine momentum behind combating global warming and the Blair/Schwarzenegger agreement hopefully signals a continuing committment to focus on the issue.
So the answer to the quiz?: (E) All of the above.
But no matter how you view it, we can hope that the actions taken this past week will lay the foundation for meaninful action in the near future. And that local government entities and even individuals follow suit and redouble their efforts in helping to avoid what could be a looming environmental disaster.

United We Sit

By ROBERT RECTOR
I've known more than a few doctors in my life for whom the expression, "Physician, heal thyself" was apt advice.
While admonishing patients to clean up their life styles, they privately endulged in cigar smoking and bourbon drinking that would make a trucker blush. I only mention this by way of admitting that I too am guilty of failing to practice what I preach. Indeed, I didn't heed my own words that appeared on these pages in May predicting that this summer's air travel season would set new records for frustration.
"You don't need to be a genius to see that air travel this summer will amount to squeezing toothpaste into the tube," was the way I phrased it.
I then quoted an airline official as saying, "As load factors have crept up, we have been seeing involuntary denied boardings go up proportionately, and we'll see them go up even more so this summer."
I thought about these words long and hard one recent evening when I found myself stuck in Denver with several thousands of my closest traveling companions, looking for a way out.
Do you remeber the scene in the movie "Dr. Zhivago" where scores of Muscovites crammed the train station hoping to flee their city which was in the throes of a violent Bolshevik revolution? It was something like that.
For reasons that remain unclear, almost every single United Airlines flight into or out of Denver that day was either delayed or cancelled.
This is no small deal. Denver is a major hub for United and the resulting chaos was instantly evident.
It didn't appear to be weather. There was some rain in the area but nothing that would ground a jet. Based on a weather map that United conveniently displayed on a large flat screen near its complaint department, the only bad weather appeared to be over the Dakotas, the land that time forgot. No cause for delays there.
Security breach? Nope. Overbooking and bad management? Probably. My problem was minor compared to most. I had an 8:30 p.m. flight to Burbank that was being delayed to 10 p.m.
I was told I could try standby on a flight to Orange County but I figured I had better odds of winning the lottery. And besides, it would have taken me longer to drive from Orange County to my home in Glendale than it would to fly from Denver to John Wayne airport.
I was right about the standby odds. At a gate for a flight to San Francisco, the attendant announced she already had 125 standbys and that any others should go away.
In the midst of all this, it was remarkable to see the patience and fortitude that most the traveling public shows in the face of this bovine boogie we call air travel.
A woman with three young sons was trying to get to Birmingham, Ala. A United representative said they could get her as close as Miami. She kept her cool as she traveresed the customer service line that stretched almost the length of the terminal to try to work things out.
Another couple walked by, discussing the fact that the next plane to their destination would be three days hence. But they talked as though they were discussing their dinner entree.
Another woman had arrived at O'Hare in Chicago at 6 a.m., finally got a flight into Denver but now as denied a connecting flight to Los Angeles. Bleary eyed and clearly agitated, she nonetheless kept her cool.
Maybe that's the problem. Maybe we, the traveling public, need to raise holy hell with everyone from the Federal Aviation Administration to our congressional representatives to the ticket clerk to the sky cap until the airlines begin to understand that an acceptable level of service is not treating passengers as though they were qued up for a meat packing plant.
Then again, this is an industry where bankruptcy in the norm and employee strikes are commonplace.
As for me, I got out. My 8:30 flight left at 10:30. This was no small concern since there is a nightime curfew at Bob Hope airport. And it was hardly a comfort when, before we left, United employes started passing out blankets so travelers could sleep on the floor.
As air travel horror story goes, however, it doesn't touch one told to me by a friend who used to travel the world for the government.
In a flight over Nigeria one evening, the co-pilot emerged from the cockpit to shake hands with the passengers and wish them a pleasant jounrey. Moments later, with the plane on auto, the pilot emerged to get a drink of water from the galley. Just then, the plane hit some turbulence, slamming the door to the cockpit shut, locking both pilots out.
They had to break down the door with an axe to regain control of the plane.
Happy landings.

Google Eyed

By ROBERT RECTOR The folks over at Merriam-Webster, the dictionary publishers, don't move especially fast when it comes time to include a new word in their book.
Usually, they wait 10 to 20 years to make sure a word or turn of phrase has entered everyday use.
Look up the word "ecstasy," for example, and there is no mention of the infamous drug favored by the dance club subculture, but simply "the state of being overpowered by emotion..."
But the MW linguists moved with lightening-like speed recently when they decided to include the word "Google" a mere five years after its first known public reference as a verb in that standard of grammatical excellence, the New York Post.
Google, of course, is the Internet search engine whose speed in obtaining data is apparently only exceeded by its rapid use in everyday conversation.
Want to find something? You google it. I've uttered it myself.
So if you're a Google executive, you're delighted that your brand has become part of the language, joining Xerox, Band-Aid and Coke has staples of our language, right? Wrong.
According to published reports, Google's 2005 report to investors noted that "there is a risk that the word Google could become so commonly used that it becomes synonymous with the word 'search.' If this happens, we would lose protection for our trademark, which could result in other people using the word 'Google' to refer to their own products."
It's happened before. Asprin, bikini, escalator and crock pot, once trademarked, have fallen into generic use.
I could fill a book with letters I received over a long career in journalism from angry attorneys, taking my paper to task for abusing their trademarks.
A letter from the Max Factor cosmetics people once complained when we didn't capatalize "pancake makeup," which they said was their brand. General Electric once scolded when we lower cased "Laundromat," which they claimed as their own. Who knew?
"Google" appears to be the only term with trademark baggage to make the new dictionary but there are many others making a debut.
Mouse potato, a person who spends a great deal of time using a computer (and, presumebly, googling stuff) is now official. As is "avian influenze" (or bird flu to you), gastric bypass, supersize, drama queen, big box and sandwich generation ( a generation of people who are caring for their aging parents while supporting their own children). All pretty much self-explanatory.
Less obvious: Labelmate ( a singer or musician who records for the same company as another) and qigong (an ancient Chinese healing art involving meditation, controlled breathing, and movement exercises).
Then there is unibrown, "a single continuous brow resulting from the growing together of eyebrow" (do we really need a word for this?) and polyamory, "the state or practice of having more than one open romantic relationship at a time" (which is nothing new in Hollywood and other foreign lands).
Interestingly enough, it's been 200 years since Noah Webster penned "A Compendious Dictionary of the English Language" which contained 37,000 entries including thousands of words that were in daily use in America but not listed in any other dictionary.
So what was new in 1806?
Electrician, "one versed in electricity," made its first appearance. So did psychology, vaccinate ("to inoculate with the virus of the cow pox'), caucus ("name of secret meetings for electioneering purposes"), census, chowder, Americanize, ortheopy ("the art of just pronunication"), publicity, sectarian, surf and spry.
Most seemed to have staying power.
So here's to you Google. May you last 200 years and may your name always be capitalized.

Trial by Jury

By ROBERT RECTOR
Just as surely as Christmas, Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July roll around once a year, so does my summons for jury duty.
Remarkably, those in charge of such things manage to pinpoint the most inconvenient time to pull me in. But inconvenience is rarely an excuse so off I go to do my duty at $15 a day.
In the last 10 years, I've heard criminal, civil and federal matters in locations throughout the county.
I've seen everything from shoplifters to drug runners, victims of everything from fender benders to plane crashes.
And almost every time, I've not only been selected for trial but I've been chosen foreman. I used to think it was because I wore a tie but even dressing down didn't work.
So it was pretty much business as usual when I trudged off to court in downtown Los Angeles one recent week.
But a couple of things made this particular term of service unusual. One was a confrontation in the jury assembly room. The other was a case that said a lot about the society we live in.
Those who would know Los Angeles need only to visit a jury assembly room. There, dozens of strangers from every conceivable ethnic and socio-economic background huddle together like unhappy passengers waiting for some long-delayed airplane.
The drill is simple. Bring something to read, sit down, shut up and wait to see if you are called for a trial. There is one other rule: If you need to use your cell phone, take it outside in the hall.
One guy didn't get the cell phone message. One who did took umbrage with the one who didn't.
The conversation went something like this:
"Would you please have some respect for others and take your cell phone outside."
"I took it outside and it didn't work there." "Well, my cell phone worked outside." "Let me borrow yours then."
"That's not the point, just don't use it in here." "OK, that's fine, let me use yours."
At this point, testosterone was beginning to best civility and a couple of clerks had to intervene.
As jury assembly room drama goes, it was edge-of-the-seat excitement.
One of the combatants was white, the other black. Just another example of how cell phones bring our worlds together.
Eventually, I was selected to be a potential juror in a domestic abuse case. Sitting in the jury box, the attorneys and judge sorted through us like clothes at a garage sale in an attempt to select a panel.
Where did we work? Were we married? Kids? Do you know a cop? Ever been a victim of domestic violence?
That's when the rubber met the road. In a panel of 20, 10 were women. Of those 10, five indicated they had been victims of domestic abuse. Several others said they knew someone who was. A couple of women were quite adament that they could not deliver an unbiased verdict in the case.
Were they telling the truth? The five abuse victims met with the judge and both attorneys in chambers. We will never know what was said but all five were eventually dismissed from the panel on challenges from the defense attorney. As were several other women.
At the conclusion of the first day, the jury as constituted was nearly all male.
As I drove to the courthouse the next morning, I was thinking that jury selection could continue for days while they sought what to me was an elusive commodity: Women with no strong feelings about domestic abuse.
After all, a Harris poll released last month found that large percentages of adults say that they have some familiarity with domestic violence, with 79 percent recalling "seeing or hearing something" about domestic violence in the last year. Fifty-three percent admit they have heard of the National Domestic Violence Hotline, however this number rose substantially to 71 percent among those who admit they have been victims of domestic violence.
California law enforcement officials answer nearly 200,000 abuse calls a year. Those are the ones who call. Several of the women on my panel said their abuse was never reported to authorities.
When I arrived at court, I found that the matter had been decided without a trial and we were dismissed.
A waste of time? For some perhaps, but every experience is an education and this one taught me how domestic abuse is all around us.
I can only hope justice was served.

Testing Limits

By ROBERT RECTOR

It is rare that I turn to the city of Los Angeles in a search for sanity.
But according to published reports, there is a movement afoot in L.A. to extend the tenure of elected officials from two terms to three.
That's right, folks, they're taking a monkey wrench to term limits. And not a moment too soon.
According to a story in the Los Angeles Times, the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce and the League of Women Voters have decided that what term limits actually do is create a whirlwind of office shuffling while elevating the power of bureaucrats and lobbyists.
"...The difficulty of getting things done requires a good deal of time and a sustained commitment to a vision," said George Kieffer, a law firm partner and key player in the Civic Alliance, another powerful group expressing interest in the proposal. "That's more and more difficult to do with people looking at short-term horizons and other offices."
Duh.
I'm surprised it took the good and visionary people of Los Angeles this long to see that term limits aren't working.
All they needed to do was gaze northward to the sort of chaos that exists in the state legislature to see what actually gets limited in Sacramento is leadership, constructive compromise and vision. As our action-hero governor has discovered.
For the record, Assembly members are limited to three terms of two years each. State senators serve two four-year terms.
Given the steep learning curve, the reelection demands and abundant number of adjournments, the time spent in actual governance is shockingly limited.
I did some reporting out of Sacramento at one point in my career. I thnk the thing that struck me most was the turnover, especially at the committee chair and speaker level and the void in leadership and institutional knowledge that it ultimately created.
I admired Bob Hertzberg when he was speaker of the Assembly. He was visionary, adept at molding bi-partisan consensus and energetic. And he wasn't around long enough to accomplish one-tenth of his agenda.
Lame duck leaders get no respect and it seems in Sacramento, everyone is a lame duck.
There were subtler problems. There seemed to be a dependence on lobbyists and other special interests types in Sacramento who often had a better take on the issues becasue they had been around longer.
Most importantly, a Public Policy Institute study showed that legislators operating under term limits screen out fewer bills assigned to them and are more likely to see their work rewritten at later stages.
The practice of hijacking Assembly bills, gutting their contents andamending them thoroughly in the Senate, has increased sharply.
In addition, legislative oversight of the executive branch has declined significantly, according to the study. There is a widespread sense in Sacramento that something needs to be done soon to provide more stability and expertise to theLegislature's policymaking process.
And last but not least, while term limits may have had the noble intent of abolishing career politicians and power mongers like Jess Unruh and Willie Brown, what they have in fact created is a new kind of career pol. The new model operates out of suticase.
The city council in Los Angeles, for example, includes two former state legislators who were termed out. Another announced his intent to run for state Senate only weeks after being reelected. In fact, the mayor himself is a former Assembly speaker who walked the term plank.
My favorite take on term limits comes from David S. Border, writing in the Washington Post:
"If bankers were limited to 12 years in their jobs, for example, would we logically expect that loan policies would become more prudent? Hardly. The knowledge that they won't be around when repayment time comes would probably impel them to gin up the volume of loan approvals and let their successors worry about those that are, in banking jargon, "nonperforming."
"As Tom Lehrer wrote in his wonderful song about the German-born missile-designer of famously flexible loyalties, "Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down? That's not my department, says Wernher von Braun."
Let's hope that the rocket being launched in Los Angeles lands in Sacramento.

News and Views

By ROBERT RECTOR

A few items of interest you may have missed recently from news reports, blogs, web sites and other highly suspect sources.

News: Paris Hilton reportedly ordered her helicopter pilot to make an emergency landing on a German farm - so she could use the toilet.
The actress was said to be touring the European country when she made the surprise request.
A source told Britain's More magazine: "She gave the farmer a bit of a shock. Her bouncers even blocked the farm door so the family couldn't go inside their own house while she was using the loo."
The star then allegedly spent another 10 minutes on the startled farmer's porch, so she could smoke a cigarette.
The unnamed farmer said: "She was cold as a fish, and cursed about the weather."
Views: The Germans must be sick of us. First, our World Cup team, then Paris Hilton. The end results both smelled.

News: BOCA RATON, Fla. - A hundred bucks might buy you more than six dozen burgers from McDonald's, but the swanky Old Homestead Steakhouse will sell you one brawny beef sandwich for the same price.
Boca Raton Mayor Steven Abrams could barely speak between bites as he devoured the 20-ounce, $100 hamburger billed as the "beluga caviar of sandwiches."
"Heaven on a bun," restaurant owner Marc Sherry said.
The burger debuted at the restaurant in the Boca Raton Resort and Club, where a membership costs $40,000 and an additional $3,600 a year.
The bill for one burger, with garnishing that includes organic greens, exotic mushrooms and tomatoes, comes out to $124.50 with tax and an 18 percent tip included. The restaurant will donate $10 from each sale to the Make-A-Wish Foundation.
Views: May I suggest a Dom Perignon "Oenotheque" 1966 to go with that? At $1500 a bottle, it would be perfect to wash dowm a burger. And don't even dwell on the fact that some guy in the kitchen feeds his family on less than you paid for your sandwich and a membership.

News: BAGHDAD (Reuters) - Saddam Hussein ended a brief hunger strike after missing just one meal in his U.S.-run prison, a U.S. military spokesman said Friday.
The former Iraqi leader had refused lunch Thursday in protest at the killing of one of his lawyers by gunmen, but the spokesman said he ate his evening meal.
Views: Maybe they offered him one of those $100 Old Homestead Steakhouse burgers.

News: One sunny afternoon in January, Vicki Chandler, a 55-year-old underwriting associate at Cigna HealthCare in Chattanooga, Tenn., was walking to her car when a teenager in loose khaki pants approached her, pointed to her pocketbook and said, "I need that." As she recounts the incident, he snatched the purse and took off.
But then he ran into trouble. As he ran, his loose trousers slipped down below his hips. As he reached down to hold them up, the teen was forced to throw the purse aside.
It's a problem for perpetrators. Young men and teens wearing low-slung, baggy pants fairly regularly get tripped up in their getaways, a development that has given amused police officers and law-abiding citizens a welcome edge in the fight against crime.
Views: Finally, a fashion trend we can get behind. Next for the super hip (and criminally inclined): Tying your shoe laces together.

News: When lifelong musician Roger Busdicker died last week, his daughters made the final arrangements: They had his cremated remains buried in his clarinet.
Views: Please don't stick my ashes in my keyboard or scatter them is some musty old newsroom. I've asked for my remains to be put in the cup on the 18th hole of my local golf course. Based on my friends' skills, they will remain undisturbed for a long time.

Birthday Songs

By ROBERT RECTOR
When "Sgt. Pepper's Lonley Heart's Club Band" was released in1967, it was called the most influential rock album of all time.
While that may have been laying it on a bit thick, I do rememberdigesting it like a fine meal, savoring every nuance, every flavor. And so didmany of my friends, not star-struck teenagers but people with careers andfamilies.
Such was the popularity and importance of the Beatles at the apexof their career.
And now Paul McCartney is 64. Lots of people turn 64, of course, but only Sir Paul had the foresight to write "When I'm 64," which appeared on Sgt. Pepper and cemented his rightful place in the birthday hall of fame.
Depending on how you interpreted the song, he was either mocking old age or hoping for a soft landing when his time came. Of course, in 1967, being 64 was impossible to contemplate. And his quaint view of enduring love was almost comedic, a song that sounded like it was written and performed by Lawrence Welk smack dab in the middle of a rock masterpiece.
So here's to those of us who have made the journey with Paul and reached 64. Here's to Brian Wilson. And Muhammad Ali. And Michael Bloomberg, Dick Butkus, Clarence Clemmons, Michael Crawford, Michael Eisner, Mick Fleetwood, Aretha Franklin, Stephen Hawking, John Irving, Erica Jong, Wayne Newton, Muammar Qaddafi, Roger Staubach, Barbra Steisand, Michael York. To name a few.
But unlike the lyrics of the song, a lot of us are not "yours sincerely wasting away." Indeed, it used to be that most Americans retired at 65, then got sick and died within a few years. Today, according to a MacArthur Foundation study, nearly nine in 10 Americans ages 65-74 say they have no disability.
Of course, those who make that statement don't count the usual aches and pains that come from dealing with the unrelenting pull of gravity for more than a half-century. Maybe they just forgot. That happens a lot when you're 64.
Nearly two-thirds of baby boomers say they feel younger today than their actual age, up from just under half in 1998. And eight in 10 Americans reject the notion that "my retirement is or will be similar to my parent's retirement." Today, on average, 64-year-olds can expect to live more than 16 years, about four years longer than they would have in 1967 at age 64, according to government statisticians.
So to what do we owe this endless summer? Medical advances? Healthier life styles? Viagra?
According to many experts, various factors contribute to an individual's longevity. Significant factors in life expectancy include genetics, access to health care, hygiene, diet, exercise and lifestyle.
Moreover, the Census Bureau says that life expectancy in the U.S. will be in the mid-80s by the year 2050 (up from 77 today) and will top out eventually in the low 90s, barring major scientific advances that can change the rate of human aging itself, as opposed to merely treating the effects of aging as is done today.
We've had some good times in these 64 years. We've gone through a lot of down times as well. Wars, recessions, natural disasters, terrorism, the dark side of humanity that it seems to confront every generation.
Ironically, it has been no bed of roses for Sir Paul. The comfortable retirement with a life-time partner that he sang about eluded him. His first wife, Linda, died of breast cancer at 59, after they had been married 29 years. Last month, he announced his separation from his second wife, Heather Mills, who is 38.
Of the Beatles, only Paul and Ringo, who is 66, made it to 64. John Lennon, who would have been 64 this year, was shot and killed at age 40. George Harrison died of cancer at age 58.
For those of us still standing, look how far we've come.
"The slogan back then was never trust anyone over 30," Jeff Greenfield, a CNN commentator, who is 63, told the New York Times. "We thought people would be dead or in a home by their 60s."
And life today seems to offer a lot more than we were promised in Paul's song:

Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four.

Hog Wild

By ROBERT RECTOR
WHAT is it about motorcycles that turns their riders into blithering idiots?
I'm speaking, of course, about the recent accident involving Pittsburgh Steeler quarterback Ben Roethlisberger, who turned his face into an omelet after plowing his high-powered bike into a car and getting pitched head first into a windshield. Helmetless.
Here's a guy who is a pure gold sports hero, who led his team to a Super Bowl win, who at 24 has the world eating out his hand. And he makes two stupid mistakes: (1) He rides a motorcycle thereby jeopardizing his career, and (2) he rides without a helmet thereby jeopardizing his life.
One hopes he has learned a lesson, one that came at a steep price: Seven hours of surgery to repair multiple facial fractures. It could have been worse. Had he been on the freeway, he would probably be dead.
Of course, Roethlisberger hasn't cornered the market on motorcycle stupidity, not by a long shot.
Our very own man/child governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, came close to terminating himself in 2001 when he crashed his bike, breaking several ribs, just about the same time he was pulling in $30 million per flick.
Think that was stupid? Five years later and now governor, Arnold gets into another motorcycle accident, this time with his 12-year-old son as a passenger. They both suffer cuts and bruises.
Think that was stupid? Turns out, the governor was operating his bike illegally, having not obtained the proper endorsement on his California driver's license to operate a motorcycle.
Crazy? How about this: Ben Roethlisberger doesn't have a valid motorcycle license either, according to Pittsburgh television reports.
But Ben and Arnold were lucky. Author T.E. Lawrence, rocker Duane Allman and astronaut Pete Conrad didn't survive their last motorcycle rides.
There must be something incredibly alluring about riding a motorcycle. Frankly, I don't know what it is. It's that life-on-the-edge thing, I guess. I tried it once and didn't catch the fever.
I don't understand, given the dangerous nature of motorcycles, why there is constant agitation to repeal helmet laws. Such was the case in Pennsylvania where an existing helmet law was axed several years ago.
Roethlisberger, by all accounts an otherwise bright young man, has been outspoken in defending his freedom to ride without a helmet. Even after his coach Bill Cowher brought up the issue, Roethlisberger demurred.
"It's one of those things, where he talked about being a risk-taker and I'm not really a risk-taker, I'm pretty conservative and laid-back," Roethlisberger told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. "So the big thing is just be careful, and that's what we do. I think every person that rides is careful.
"That's the biggest thing, I'll just continue to be careful..."
Talk about whistling past the graveyard.
Yet those "feel-the-wind-in-your-hair" goofs continue to push for the right to go helmetless, claiming that better rider training is the key to safer motorcycling. Indeed, the trend over the last several years has been to repeal helmet laws, according to Rae Tyson, a spokesman for the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration in Washington, a leading advocate of laws requiring all motorcyclists to wear helmets.
"The truth is that those who are in favor of repeal are far more organized than proponents of mandatory helmet laws," Tyson said.
But guess who pays the price in higher health costs every time one of these folks scrambles his or her brain in an accident?
A University of California study showed that this state's helmet law has been highly effective in reducing injuries and fatalities due to motorcycle crashes. In the first year of the law, the number of hospitalized brain-injured motorcyclists dropped 53 percent, from 1,258 to 588. Similarly, hospital charges for brain-injured motorcyclists paid by Medi-Cal and other taxpayer sources dropped from $17 million in 1991 to $11million in 1992 In the first two years of California's law, statewide motorcycle fatalities declined 38 percent and total medical care costs were reduced by 35 percent, or $35 million. Seventy three percent of the reduced hospitalization costs were attributable to reduced costs for patients with head injuries.
Bottom line: Ride if you must, but ride as if your life depended on it. There are no fender benders for motorcycle riders.

Off the Mark

By ROBERT RECTOR
It was a throw-away line, a comment to underscore a point.
Speaking of blogging in a column earlier this week, I wrote that "before the Internet, bloggers were ... the lunatics we used to see ranting on street corners. Now, they call them citizen journalists. Which is like being a citizen thoracic surgeon.
"All you need to know about bloggers is that the insufferable billionaire Mark Cuban, owner of the Dallas Mavericks, is one ..."
If you don't know Mr. Cuban, he is an entrepreneurial genius who made several billions in the technology sector while still in his 40s.
Reaching into his petty cash drawer, he bought the NBA's Dallas Mavericks for $285 million. As owner, he has distinguished himself by racking up more than $1 million in fines for offensives ranging from berating officials on his blog to running onto the court to dispute calls.
Some call his act energy. I call it ego.
Bottom line: Mark Cuban lives in a different universe than mine.
That is why I was surprised to hear from Mr. Cuban, who apparently hangs on every word I write.
"Insufferable? Big word for someone you have never met," he huffed in an e-mail.
Well, Mr. Cuban, anyone with a passing interest in news or sports has caught you and your act. You often get as much camera time as your players. I didn't have to shake your hand to decide you were "insufferable." And if that is too big a word for you, "bombastic" or "self-absorbed" would fit just as well.
Sure, I'd like to meet you sometime, but I bet we travel in different circles.
For example, you have your own $40 million Gulfstream V jet. I fly coach and hope to accumulate enough bonus miles someday for a free trip to San Jose.
You own an NBA team and hang with the assorted billionaires who make up your exclusive fraternity. I coached AYSO soccer and helped out in a couple of fundraising bake sales.
You own a high-definition television channel. I own a digital camera.
You live in a 24,000-square-foot mansion. My house clocks in at about 2,300 square feet, give or take a porch or two.
I'm an ink-stained wretch, and you're a billionaire, yet we can have this dialogue. Is this a great country or what?
Alas, our paths will probably never cross again. But as a parting gift, you directed me to your blog titled, "Why Journalism Matters."
In it you wrote: "Want to get younger viewers? Go out and hire the very best recent college journalism graduates you can find. Give them a camera, a computer and an area of specialty; Business, local politics, national politics, whatever. Better yet, ask them what they think matters ... Tell them their only requirement is that they are equal parts journalist and adrenalin junkies. Focused on fearlessly finding the truth behind stories that matter to them, their families and friends. Guess what, even for a 21 year old, it's not just about Paris Hilton, Bradgelina and the latest Rap feud ..."
Good idea, Mark, but of course most newspapers already hire the best and the brightest. There are some conditions attached, of course: unbiased, balanced and thorough reporting and an ability to write is a requirement.
"Fearlessly finding the truth"? It's called investigative journalism, and it takes vast amounts of time, skill and more than a little bit of luck. I knew two reporters at the Los Angeles Times who spent five years on one investigative story.
In the meantime, readers want the news, and they pay for it to be delivered seven days a week. Not just "stories that matter" to the reporters but stories that matter to them: what the city council or state government or school board did, the election results and, yes, who won the basketball game.
Unless you are going to feed them the unsubstantiated drivel that we call blogs.