What I've Learned So Far...
The Columns

Ask Dr. Mike Episode 3:
What were we talking about?
First published March 24, 2006

Over the past few weeks we’ve introduced a new feature in this column, called “Ask Dr. Mike,” in which we tackle difficult real(ish) problems from genuine(ish) readers, with all the wisdom and insight that comes from years of writing hilarious(ish) jokes.

I should mention that my doctorate is actually a PhD (Phony Doctorate) in Bartending from the University of Tim On Line. Good old UTOL is a fine institution of higher education, and they’ll be back to offering a full catalog of diplomas ($25 each, three for $60) in the fall once Tim completes his fifty hours of community service.

By incredible coincidence, our first letter addresses this very subject...

Ask Dr. Mike
Relationships Episode 2: The Empress Strikes Back

First published March 17, 2006

Last week’s we introduced a new advice column feature in which we tackled the issue of relationships. By an astonishing coincidence, all the fake readers who wrote in were men asking for relationship advice, providing us with a sort of “premise” or “theme” for the piece.

This week, the women get to have their say.

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.

I was deeply offended by your last column, in which you said that a woman could develop a relationship with a bowl of Häagen-Dazs.

What a terrible generalization! Not this woman! I couldn’t form a serious relationship with anything less than a full quart of Häagen-Dazs, and then it would have to be Rum Raisin...

In this week’s column we’re introducing a new feature, “Ask Dr. Mike,” in which we explore topics relevant to life in today’s complex society through genuine questions from genuine readers, none of which I made up – other than the readers’ names, the questions, and the existence of the readers themselves. Ok, here goes:

Dear Dr. Funny Guy,

Why I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.

I’d like to know the meaning of relationships and why I can’t seem to get me any of ’em. All I really need in my life is a good woman to meet me at the door with my newspaper when I get home from a hard day at the office, stand by me no matter what my mood may be, and honor me with unconditional love and devotion. Is that too much to ask?

You dirty commie.

Signed,

Plenty Of Love To Give...

 Over the past year this column has become a rallying point for people interested in bringing our English language into the twenty-first century. We founded the very first chapter of the Bureau Of Nearly Everybody Hacking English Down, or BONEHED. Since then we have recruited BONEHEDs from throughout the English-bashing world.

As our first order of business, we’ve documented how text messaging has made enormous improvements in our language. In days gone by, a couple would have to end a romantic relationship with a speech like:

“Clyde, I just think we should see other people. Lots of people. In fact we should probably see everybody in the world except each other.”

Now, modern communications technology has made it possible to accomplish this with a simple text message:

“I H8 U...”

Hi. My name is Mike, and I’m an Olympaholic.

Now I’m aware that some of you might be a little bit indifferent to the Winter Olympics that are just winding down right now in Turin, Italy. According to the NBC ratings, that would be about 99.8% of you.

But I just can’t help it. I’m hopelessly hooked on spending two weeks every four years fanatically watching people I’ve never heard of, doing things I won’t even remotely care about again for the next two hundred and six weeks.

I’m not really sure why.

It might be because I know I’m watching people who are the best in the world at whatever it is they are doing. You pretty much have to respect a guy who is the best in the world at flopping onto a coaster sled and hurtling head-first down a chute of solid ice at more than eighty miles per hour. Instead of psychological treatment, this guy gets a gold medal...

Last week in this column we tackled the use of “blogs” by “Generation Y,” or “Generation Z” or “Generation Shrek” or whatever Generation it is that our kids belong to. I mentioned that they could use these blogs to get even with us for inflicting them with childhood torments like crunchy peanut butter, skim milk, and whole wheat bread.

I also pointed out that my son is apparently a leader in this movement with his blog, tenderly titled “My Dad Is A Dork” (believe me, it could have been a whole lot worse). You can check it out at http://learnedsofar.com/dork/.

Well, I got a little feedback on that column:

Dear Mr. Funny Guy,

Why, I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump.

Then I ought to use it to illustrate the true meaning of the word, “dork.” According to wordorigins.org, popular etymology would have it that this American slang term comes from a word meaning a whale's penis. That is half right...

When I was a kid, my parents loved to humiliate me by hugging me in public, or to crush my dreams of glory by keeping me from sky-diving off the tool shed. Back then, the only way I had to get even with them was to wait until they weren’t looking, then drink directly out of the milk carton. If I was really mad I would eat cookies first – and backwash...

Signs Of Our Times
First published January 27, 2006

In the Northwest terminal of the Detroit Metro Airport there is a sign right in the middle of the line to the security check point. Since it's the only can't-miss-it warning sign in the area, this baby clearly deals with the most critical anti-terrorism issue of the day. The sign says:

"Federal Law Prohibits Bringing Fireworks Aboard Any Commercial Aircraft."

Ok now, right away this raises a couple of questions...

You know, to me the worst thing about a Midwestern winter is not the gray skies. It’s not the freezing rain, or the snow, or the sleet, or the skidding on one heel across a parking lot clutching a bag of groceries in one arm and doing the “windmill prayer” (Oh God, oh God, oh God…) with the other.

It’s the stupid winter hats...

Dear Readers:

As we enter the new year, pretty much everybody with a word processor is doing a Year In Review column. They’re trying to make us relive a bunch of stuff we’re just glad to have made it through the first time.

Not me! To commemorate the new year I’ve decided to grab my crystal ball, along with that bottle of Irish whiskey I got for Christmas, and take you on a voyage into the future. Welcome to:

2006 – The Year In Preview

January – Scientists at the National Institute of Health discover that radiation from the wildly popular Apple iPod causes users to turn into silhouettes that dance around hysterically (but well). While many officials are concerned about this phenomenon, iPod sales skyrocket as millions of women buy them for dancing-challenged white male husbands and boyfriends.

February – Tom DeLay finally completes his legal haggling and goes to trial before a judge, jury and court staff consisting entirely of Republican campaign workers. He decides that constant smirking and swaggering haven’t done enough to demonstrate how confident he is, so on the first day of the trial he borrows Michael Jackson’s SUV and moonwalks on the roof...

A Perfect Christmas Day
First published December 23, 2005

6:15 AM – The bedroom door swings open and Todd Junior launches himself onto the bed screaming, “Mom! Dad! Wake Up! IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Dad, who was assembling and wrapping toys until twenty minutes ago, can’t open his eyes, so he groans something – fortunately – unintelligible.

“I told him not to come in here,” shrieks Little Suzy from the doorway, nearly hitting that elusive B-above-high-C, and sending Bernie the Schnauzer into convulsions. “I told him he had to wait until the sun came up!”

“It’s Christmas, it’s Christmas, it’s Ca-Ca-Ca-Ca-Christmas,” chants Todd Junior, marching in pajama-footed cadence back and forth across Dad’s chest.

“I’ll make some coffee” says Mom, pulling on her robe...

Christmas Decorations
Finding the True Meaning of the Holidays in a Glow-In-The-Dark Plastic Reindeer
First published December 16, 2005

 You know, I don’t care where you live (other than maybe downtown Baghdad), I’m willing to bet that there’s some guy in your neighborhood whose roof is literally sagging under the weight of a giant Santa, a small herd of reindeer, and a life-sized nativity scene – complete with “lowing” cattle, two shepherds who look pretty nervous to be up on a roof, a trio of really strung-out Magi, and a fiberglass holy family with our infant Savior lit up by a 450 watt halogen bulb stuck right up his manger.

This guy is my personal hero – I love Christmas decorations!

Yes, I called them “Christmas” decorations, not “Holiday Decorations,” or any other godless secular nonsense. You see, I have a deep reverence for the collection of mostly Druid, Viking and Pagan traditions that today form the Hallmark® of this holiest of all seasons...

Dodging the Christmas Bullet – The Five
Deadliest Things You Could Buy For Your Wife
First published December 9, 2005

 Ok, we’re in it now. There’s snow on the ground, and every public building you walk into has Bing Crosby crooning about it. Holiday cards have started coming in from all those maniacs who are organized enough to get their holiday cards out before St. Patrick’s Day. Everywhere you go there’s someone walking around wearing a “Let’s Just Kill ‘Em All And Let God Sort ‘Em Out” sweat shirt and a Santa hat. Visions of eggnog (with just a wee splash of rum) are dancing in my head.

Yep, it’s Christmas season all right, and it’s time to think about shopping...

Holiday Horrors: Visa Bills, Fruitcakes, And Those
Mind-Numbing Family Newsletters
First published December 2, 2005

 You feel the familiar dread coming over you as you pull it out of the envelope -  eight sheets of pink paper, covered on both sides with microscopic gray type. These pages chronicle the past twelve months in the lives of your Aunt Edith and Uncle Jake, covering everything they’ve done that was more significant than eating breakfast (and they’ve even gone ahead and documented what they consider some of their more memorable breakfasts).

It’s the Holiday Newsletter.

Reading it, you will discover that Edith and Jake’s oldest boy, Carl, is planning to go to either community college or medical school, as soon as he finishes his GED and his ninety days of community service. You learn all about the egg-candling class Aunt Edith took with her friend Sylvia, and about Uncle Jake bowling a lifetime-high 130 game in the Wednesday Night Elks Club Bowling League. All of your questions are answered regarding George the Gerbil’s tiny little coronary bypass surgery....

A Dictionary For BONEHEDs
First published November 25, 2005

 Not too long ago on this page we formed a group called the Bureau Of Nearly Everybody Hacking English Down. Since then prospective BONEHEDs have contacted me from every part of the country, enlisting in the noble effort to escort our language – in shackles, kicking and screaming if necessary – into the twenty-first century...

Here We Are – The Pilgrims' Pride
First published November 18, 2005

The car pulls into Great Aunt Ellen’s driveway at exactly five minutes after eleven on a fine Thanksgiving morning. Since the moment the family left the house, an hour before dawn this morning, Todd Junior and Little Suzie have been passing the hours playing festive travel games, alternating between the traditional “Let’s Make Little Suzie Cry!” and the crowd-pleasing “Mom, Todd’s Making Me Cry!”

Before the car has quite rolled to a stop, Mom, Todd Junior and Little Suzy are out and sprinting for the bathroom. Dad, who apparently has a much larger bladder,  joins Great Uncle Charlie and Uncle Fred in the garage where they are squatting on the floor and studying the directions for a brand-new turkey fryer.

Great Aunt Ellen has arranged fifteen fire extinguishers at strategic points around the garage. Now she’s standing behind the men, explaining how a story she saw on the six o’clock news proved that frying a turkey in the garage is more dangerous than tossing a burning road flare into a bathtub full of napalm...

Bring Me Back A Bambi Burger
First published November 11, 2005

A few weeks ago in this column I mentioned bow hunting for deer. I pointed out that the concept of the bow hunter as a kind of modern-day Hiawatha, gliding through the forest and slaying the noble beast with a hand-hewn weapon, is not quite accurate when Hiawatha’s hand-hewn weapon is equipped with a laser targeting system.

And now we’re approaching the highlight of the year for all the really serious Bambi Blasters out there – the firearm deer season’s Opening Day! Think of it! A million and-a-half guys in orange hats, a million and-a-half loaded weapons, and three million cases of beer – what could possibly go wrong?

Angel at a U2 Concert
First published November 4, 2005

She was probably a little too large to be a prom queen.

And her hair was probably a little too black, nothing like the beauty parlor blonde of prom queens. She had obviously had that too-black hair carefully cut and styled for the concert, but it was a short, sensible cut, not at all what a prom queen would require for a night at the Palace.

Her outfit was what you might call an “enthusiastic” shade of green. It was a color that the average prom queen would probably avoid in favor of pinks or whites or pastels.

She was at the U2 concert with a couple of girl friends, who were also probably a little to large to be prom queens.

And she was gorgeous...

Halloween
First published October 28, 2005

I miss Halloween.

Ok, there is still the fun of handing out the goodies to the kids, of filling every square foot of the yard with inflatable witches and goblins, and of going to Halloween parties where we all seem to believe that our friends won’t recognize us in our Hugh Hefner and the Sexy Playmate costumes.

But it’s just not like the old days.

First, I should explain that I have very fond memories of Halloweens when I was a child. This was many years ago, back when you could ring a neighbor’s doorbell and yell, “Trick or treat!” without first having your buddies set up a diversion to draw fire, then lobbing a percussion grenade through a window...

Dock Tales – The Fall
First published October 21, 2005

It’s October, so a lot of people around here have already taken their stuff out of the water and stored it away for the winter. These are the same people who didn’t put their stuff in until the weather was warm enough that there was at least a remote chance someone would want to use it.

Weird, huh? ...

I had a friend named Scott. He was a Giant.

He was one of the largest men I’ve ever known, with a body that could fill up a room or block out the sun. He once played Harry Potter’s Giant, Hagrid, to my Professor Dumbledore, standing a good-natured, grumbling guard over stacks of new Harry Potter books, while wide-eyed young fans trembled in his shadow then asked kind old Dumbledore to sign autographs...

October in Michigan is a magical thing. The leaves are beginning to change, the nights are cooler, and the kids are back in school. From the football stadium, the festive sounds of the marching band, the referee’s whistle, the tearing ligaments, and the snapping bones fill the crisp autumn air...

BONEHEDs Unite!
First published September 30, 2005

A few weeks ago I suggested in this column that we should completely update the English Language. I mean, here we are text-messaging ourselves into the twenty-first century and we have to waste our time fooling around with outmoded concepts like “spelling,” “grammar,” and “punctuation.”

My idea was to form a group called the Bureau Of Nearly Everybody Hacking English Down, or BONEHED.

Well, as you might suppose, I got a lot of feedback on that one...

Confessions of a Kamikaze Athlete
First published September 23, 2005

 It was just after a session of sunset barefooting, and two of my friends were carrying me up the dock from the lake. My wife was standing on the shore with her hands on her hips in that universal wife-pose that clearly says, “All right, Einstein, what happened this time?”

I simply smiled bravely and said, “Aaaaaaarrrrrgggh...”

Butterfly
First published September 16, 2005

Last Friday I held a monarch butterfly on my finger and carried him out into the blinding afternoon sun.

I had first known him as a scrawny little caterpillar, crawling around on green leaves like an eating machine, converting what seemed like acres of milkweed into a bigger, juicier caterpillar. Then I watched him climb up and hang in the air for a whole day, looking as nervous as a caterpillar can look, working up the courage to do what he had to do.

I watched that caterpillar turn himself inside out – I don’t know any other way to describe it – and transform himself into that distinctive bright green monarch chrysalis, with the row of tiny gold nuggets across the side. And earlier last Friday I watched him fight his way out of his chrysalis, turned whisper-thin and transparent after hanging motionless for two weeks, then I watched him unfurl his monarch’s gold and black wings.

I just got off the phone with my son. He was telling me that he was getting ready for his first real “I’ve-gotta-buy-a-suit-for-it” job interview. He wanted to know if he needed to wear a belt with the suspenders that came with that new suit. I told him not unless it was a gun belt...

Beaucoup Sad
First published September 9, 2005

It was a muggy afternoon and I was twenty-five years old, sitting in a bar on Bourbon Street, next to a screenless window that opened to the sidewalk outside. Somewhere in one of the neighboring bars, a trumpet, clarinet and tuba carried on a musical dogfight around the melody of some gospel song.

My friend and I had a pile of iced crabs on the table between us, and I was banging on the shell of one with the blunt end of a butter knife. My friend was holding another one up to the light, apparently looking for some sort of pull-tab on the little critter...

Spl Chkr Blooz
First published September 2, 2005

Hey, I have an idea. Let’s completely redesign the English language.

First a little background. Earlier in my career as a writer, sandwiched in between the days of chiseling my prose into the walls of King Tut’s Tomb and working on my PowerBook, I did all my writing on a thing called a “typewriter.”

Back in those days, writers had to have at least a vague idea how to spell the words we wanted to use. And if we screwed up, we had to try to spot the problem ourselves. We sometimes even had to “look up” words in a thing called a “dictionary!” ...

An Ice Hockey Primer
First published August 26, 2005

All the time my son was growing up I coached his ice hockey teams. This means that I spent years standing around ice rinks, plotting complex strategies and line combinations so we could get the drop on teams like the Linda's Craft Center Penguins...

Ok, I realize that I write a lot about the differences between men and women. That’s because there are just so many differences, and most of them are a lot of fun to write about. So get over it.

For instance, the other day I happened to overhear four kids, two boys and two girls, all in about the fifth grade, exchanging fairly typical ten-year-old-kid banter. Suddenly one of the boys shouted at one of the girls, in that universal taunting sing-song that seems to have been genetically hard-wired into every child in the history of the world, “You don’t have a peee-nis!”

Without missing a beat, the little girl replied, “Oh yeah? Well, you don’t have a bike!” ...

My Grass Is Never Greener
First published August 12, 2005

Ok, I’d just like to know who made it a law that a perfect lawn of rich green grass is good, and all that crap that actually wants to grow in your yard is bad...

On Plumbing
First published August 5, 2005

Not too long ago some plumbing broke in our house. This came to my attention when somebody flushed the toilet upstairs and the ceiling in the basement family room crashed down onto one of the cats.

After giving the cat a bath and a mild sedative, my first impulse was to set up some colored spotlights, designate the area an Ornamental Fountain, then sell the house...

Life in a Cat House
First published July 29, 2005

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about Brenna the Dog, the big scary Doberman who is actually a giant cream puff with fuzzy ears. Now I’ve been asked to provide equal time for our cats. Ok, here goes.

First off, I’m pretty sure we have three cats. I’m not entirely sure, because you can never be entirely sure of anything when it comes to cats. I have my suspicions that one of them might be a really tiny covert CIA agent in a kitty suit, but so far Karl Rove has been uncharacteristically silent on the subject...

I have a ring that just turned thirty years old.

Thirty years.

I can remember being about seventeen and thinking that I was not real sure I even wanted to live for thirty years. I mean, think about it – thirty! How could person that old have anything left to live for?

It’s a simple gold ring, kind of medium-wide, with a pattern of leaves inscribed around it. Some of the detail in the leaves has worn away, ground down by thirty years of duty on a hand that held wrenches, and cameras, and cobbler’s nails, and ski ropes, and power saws, and guitars, and maybe an occasional beer bottle. A hand that typed hundreds of thousands of words on a portable typewriter, and later on a computer keyboard...

Modern Communication
First published July 15, 2005

I just read about a couple in India who got married by cell phone, because the groom got caught in a monsoon and couldn’t make it through the flood waters to get to the wedding.

Wow! Talk about losing that last really great excuse!

Confessions of a Doberman Dad
First published July 9, 2005

As I mentioned in this column a few weeks ago, I have a Doberman named Brenna, who happens to be the biggest baby of all dogs. Ok, I know what you’re going to say; that your little poodlie-cocka-whatever is the definition of a cute dog, and that the Doberman is big and vicious.

Yeah, right.

True enough, Dobies were originally bred for military use, police work and Disney movies...

Well, here it is  – the Fourth of July Weekend! All across the United States something like 286 million bags of crushed ice are heading for coolers, and a similar number of Americans are heading for any place featuring sunshine and other Americans...

Great Column Ideas
First published June 24, 2005

People often ask me, “Where do you get the ideas for your columns?” Then they go on to say things like, “Why, you must be some kind of genius to come up with such great material week after week!” Or, “You’re so clever, you should run for Emperor of the World!”

Ok, so nobody’s ever said any of that other stuff.

But to answer the question, my ideas come from lots of places...

Girl Cars
First published June 17, 2005

Last week on this page we talked about guys and their obsession with the automobile. In the course of that discussion I happened to mention “girl cars.” As you might have guessed, this sparked a bit of controversy;

Dear Mr. Funny Guy,

You got a lot of nerve! Why I ought to rip your arm off and beat you with the bloody stump, you no good commie…

Yours truly,

Sister Mary Catherine...

Last week we talked about big boys and their toys. I’m sure most women were just stunned to learn that, when it comes to their stuff, most guys are emotionally about eight years old. Now we’ll move on and discuss the most important material thing in the average man’s life:

The curtains in the guest bathroom!

No, wait, that’s not right. I’m pretty sure the average man would have a hard time telling you whether or not he even had a guest bathroom, unless he had recently replaced the toilet in there. What I really meant to say was:

His car!

Yeah, that’s better...

Big Boys and Toys
First published June 3, 2005

While we’re on the subject of men versus women (We are? Yes, we are. If you had paid attention to last week’s column, you would know that!) we might as well talk about men and our love affair with toys.

I’ll be the first to admit it – most men never really mature a whole lot beyond the Roy Rogers pajamas stage, and I am a prime example...

Can You Get A Hemi In Mauve?
First published May 27, 2005

I’m going to go way out on a limb here and make a bold statement:

Men are real different from women!

There, I said it. If this is going to ignite a firestorm of controversy, so be it. I can take the heat.

Now I’m not talking about the kind of differences your little friends used to point out when you were nine years old and trying to figure out why boys and girls use separate locker rooms...

Moving Out
First published May 20, 2005

I fondly remember the day a couple of years ago when my 21-year-old live-at-home college student son announced happily, “Dad, I’ve found a great apartment, and I’m moving out.” While I knew I was going to miss him, I was glad to have him asserting his independence and leaving home without the assistance of federal marshals...

Fuzzy Guys
First published May 13, 2005

A number of readers have emailed with comments about the photo of me that runs with this column. First, let me clear up the main point of confusion – I’m the one on the right.

The one on the left is Brenna The Dog, who not only thinks she’s human, she thinks I’m sending her to Princeton next fall.

Minuet in G? It's For Me.
First published May 6, 2005

In my opinion, the two greatest inventions of all time are cell phones and those little plastic dealies on the end of shoe laces (those of you who think I should promote things like “penicillin” or “nuclear power” onto this list have obviously never tried to lace a kid’s hockey skate with those little plastic dealies missing)...

Thrills And Grills
First published April 29, 2005

I’m an excellent cook. Ok, I’ll admit it –  saying that is a lot like Dustin Hoffman’s character in Rain Man saying, “I’m an excellent driver.”

To me, “cooking” is tossing a slab of raw beef on the grill then standing around with a long skinny fork in one hand and a beer in the other. In fact, I view any meal that doesn’t involve animal flesh charred over a gas flame to be a near tragedy – better than starvation, but not much...

Beer And Engineering - The Perfect Dock
First published April 22, 2005

The Egyptians engineered the Pyramids. The Romans engineered the Coliseum. Somebody or other apparently engineered Stonehenge. And a couple of weeks ago, my friend Tom and I engineered The Dock.

For us The Dock represents a sacred ritual of spring – kind of like sacrificing a goat, only with a little less bloodshed, and you don’t get any lamb chops when you’re done...

A Box 'O Wine And Thou
First published April 15, 2005

Living in Whitmore Lake is a little bit like scarfing down a whole package of Oreos while you watch a Three Stooges movie – the experience is very pleasant, but you’re not necessarily going to brag to all your high-class pals about it...

No Green Thumb Either
First published April 8, 2005

Ok, so the ice is off the lake and only two of my dock poles, plus my neighbor’s paddle boat, went out with it. It’s Spring! Time for me to avoid working in the yard!

If you happened to read last week’s column, you’ll recall that I am pretty much pathologically tool-challenged. This disability extends to gardening tools, power or otherwise, so if you happen to see me out “puttering” in the yard, you would be well advised to take cover. I’ve actually broken a window with the head flying off a leaf rake...

No More Mr. Fixit
First published April 1, 2005

Some guys are “handy,” meaning that if you give one of them a hammer he will be able to hold it in his “hand” without dropping it through a glass coffee table. If you ask him to fix a leak under the sink he can fix it without having to replace the entire west half of the house. If you need a loose screw tightened he can do it without necessarily drawing blood.

I am not one of those handy guys. I believe that if God had intended for me to use a screwdriver, he would have given me the ability. Or at least the desire...

Treasures of Spring
First published March 25, 2005

Each Spring, as Old Man Winter starts thinking about getting his frosty white butt out of town for Spring Break, we Michigaroonies begin to experience a phenomenon that’s unique to states where we spend four months a year walking around in stupid-looking little wool hats and wearing socks to bed. I’m talking about Slush Nuggets.

In case you’ve never heard of them, “Slush Nuggets” are those great little treasures that appear in the yard as the snow melts. I live on a busy street, where snowplows push grimy little glaciers up into my yard all winter long, so by the time March rolls around I’ve accumulated a particularly rich haul of Slush Nuggets...

Revenge of the Snowbirds
First published March 18, 2005

Last week my column was about Snowbirds, those uncaring people who send us cute postcards from Florida while we’re up here chipping little snot icicles off our upper lips. It seems that there are a few people who didn’t completely agree with the tone of my piece. Some were a little bit militant:

Dear Mr. Funny Guy,

You got a lot of nerve! Why I ought to rip your head off and crap down your neck, you no good commie…

Well, you get the idea...

Guidelines For Snowbirds
First published March 11, 2005

Two kinds of people live in Michigan in the winter. There are those who manage to go South and get warm for a while, who we’ll call “Snowbirds,” and there are those who don’t, who we’ll call “Depressed.”

I don’t count people who go to Hawaii, which is clearly not “South.” These people are in a third category, and we’ll call them “Arrogant Pampered Jerks.” I’d really rather not talk about them...

One Marine
Originally published in the Toledo Blade, April 2003. This was in response to the first week of the US invasion of Iraq. Like the war, this one is not particularly funny.

I don’t really know him all that well.

The first time I saw him, he was a scrawny kid just about to start high school, all arms and legs and elbows and knees, standing on the dock with his water ski. He was wearing a pair of swim trunks clearly made for a much larger person. Or maybe several much larger persons. He was waiting his turn to ski behind my boat, and when it came his turn to ski he sliced the water with an unexpected explosion of power and athleticism. And when he was done, he thanked me politely for the ride.

Not too long ago I read about a study that concluded that humans and chimps have less in common genetically than anyone had previously thought. It seems that a biologist named Roy Britten at the California Institute of Technology has used his computer and a whole bunch of numbers to demonstrate that the genes of humans, once believed to be about 98.5% identical those of chimpanzees, are in fact only about 95% the same.

What a relief!...

Five Million Reasons To Move To Philadelphia
Written for the Cleveland Plain Dealer, bumped when the Jim Thome deal was consummated.

I don’t usually write about professional sports. This is because most of what I know about professional sports involves paying $8 for a plastic cup half full of lukewarm beer. I was kind of fascinated, though, when I read that the Philadelphia Phillies paid free agent Jim Thome of the Cleveland Indians $15 million a year to jump teams. Now, since Philadelphia’s offer is roughly $5 million a year more than what the Indians were able to come up with, it seems like a done deal that there would be a Thome-shaped hole in the air over by first base at Jacobs Field...