One Person's Bias...

The other day, the local paper headlined an article about a survey at the local university. According to the paper, the university contracted with the American Council of Trustees and Alumni to conduct a survey of intellectual diversity in classrooms. ACTA is a "nonpartisan organization that agitates for intellectual diversity in the classroom." ACTA sent a web-based survey to 14,820 students last spring. 1220 bothered to respond.

What did they want to know? Well, they wanted to find out if "professors have sometimes inappropriately presented their political or religious views in class," or if students felt that they "personally had a class where they felt they had to agree with the professor's views to get a good grade." According to the results, approximately 25% of the respondents felt like they had to agree with a professor to get a good grade. Only 13% felt like their professors inappropriately presented their own views in class.

According to the paper, the university asked ACTA to conduct the survey "in part [in] response to persistent fears among Republican lawmakers that college professors are aggressively pushing their liberal views on students, trying to reach impressionable young adults and change their minds." Apparently, these lawmakers believe that I and my peers have a lot more power and influence than we actually have. Brainwashing young adults would require that the young adults pay attention and listen. Tall order in today's classrooms.

Getting past the obvious problems with methodology (opt-in web survey, poor response rate, those with a problem more likely to respond), I feel the need to get a few things off my chest. Here's the thing: I personally guard against presenting my own views in class. I'm pretty sure that my students can guess which side of the fence I'm on, but in class, I try to take the Daily Show approach and pick on everyone equally. I keep my political bumper stickers in my home office. I try to encourage class discussion where students respect each other's opinions, even if they disagree. And, I try to give assignments where students are free to formulate an argument of their choosing. Their grade depends on their ability to support that argument with relevant and credible evidence.

After reading this article, I'm pretty sure that I'd be accused of liberal bias in the classroom. Because, the thing is, if you're looking for bias, you'll find it. For some, the very mention of African American history, women's history, Native American history, and the history of other minority groups smacks of liberalism. To suggest that dead white guys weren't geniouses who came up with brilliant reforms out of thin air can be seen as blasphemy. In my classes, I don't discount the accomplishments of important generals, politicians, and statesmen, but I also try to present a more complicated picture where those fellows exist in a larger world. Is this unacceptable liberal bias? Perhaps to some.

Most of all, I want students to think. Not to think like me, but to engage with questions of race, gender, ethnicity, and class. I also try to show that even within those categories, there's a continuum that runs from liberal to conservative - and that those definitions change over time.

One last point about the student who feels punished for disagreeing with their professor. I will freely admit that there are some cases where professors fail students who don't agree with them. We had a notorious case in the northeastern post-industrial wasteland. But, there's another side to this issue. Sometimes, in my experience, students don't know what they think and they're not necessarily willing to take the time to figure it out. So, they simply agree with me because they think that's what I want. Would these students say that they felt pressured to agree with me? I don't know. I would hope not.

OK, one more point. Some things are not conservative or liberal, they're just plain wrong. For example, if a student argues that European imperialism was a 100% positive experience for native peoples in Africa, North America, and South America, well, I'm going to challenge that position, even if the student presents evidence. I don't think the student's position is either conservative or liberal, it's just ignorant, simplistic, and offensive. However, the student could perceive that my insistence on a more complex analysis is too liberal.

So, I guess my final point is that without finding out more about the respondents' experience, this survey doesn't say much. But, maybe I'm just biased.

In the News

As you know, I love the Blotter in my local paper. Sure, I feel for victims of car crashes, accidental injuries, and violent crime. I also have some sympathy for the folks who go away on vacation and return to find their air conditioners gone. Or the poor college students who discover that their roommates didn't guard their possessions over the long summer break, and now they have to buy a new laptop, iPod, and Wii, because what college student can survive without all three of those things?

No, the reason I love the blotter is because of entries like the following from the past week:

You know it's going to be good when the headline reads, "Madison reports strange arrest." It all started when a Madison County woman (not Meryl Streep) reported that someone in a truck dropped an object on to her windshield and broke it. A diligent sheriff's deputy (not Don Knotts) surveyed the damage and the crime scene and came to a conclusion. Calling on his finely honed detecting skills and extensive knowledge of all of the county's truck drivers (quite a feat for someone in a rural county), he stopped in to see a man who drove a truck matching the description of the windshield breaker.

When the deputy arrived, he immediately became suspicious. According to the report, "he found the 31 year old man with a syringe jutting from his pocket and wires dragging on the ground from inside his pants." Upon further investigation, the deputy learned that the syringe contained meth residue, which goes a long way toward explaining the rest of the story. According to the report, "the wires led to a battery that made [a] homemade contraption vibrate in his pants." Seems the fellow "placed a small motor inside a pill bottle and then wrapped the bottle in pipe insulation." Then, we assume, he put the contraption where the sun doesn't shine and plugged himself in.

We can cut the fellow some slack, because what man doesn't want something that vibrates in his pants? You've really got to hand it to this guy, so to speak. I mean, seriously, he could have gotten a cell phone, set it to vibrate, and constantly called himself. Or, he could get one of those contraptions, what's it called? You know, those things that vibrate. I think they're called vibrators.

But no, this genius looked around his house and asked himself, "WWMacD"? (What Would MacGyver Do?) In response, he decided to build a better vibrator, one that risked lighting up his "little buddy" with several volts of electrical current. I think we can agree that in this fellow's case, fertility problems might not be the worst outcome. I have to say that I'm a little disappointed that he didn't use a paper clip and chewing gum. MacGyver would have. But then, MacGyver wasn't hyped up on meth, or at least we don't think he was. Probably best not to consider what the fellow might have done with the chewing gum.

According to the Blotter entry, the fellow is in jail on multiple charges that don't include "possession of a strange vibrating contraption." There's no mention of what became of his contraption. I imagine it's quite the conversation piece in the evidence room.

As if that wasn't enough entertainment, in yesterday's paper, there's a story of a woman who flagged down a police officer. It was 5AM and she wanted a ride to Odd Street. You just can't make this stuff up. The officer agreed to take her to her destination so she happily climbed into the car. That was her first mistake.

Seems she forgot that police cars are equipped with computers that retrieve information. On their way to Odd Street, the officer learned the woman's name, her real name - her second mistake. Using his trusty computer, the officer learned that the woman was wanted in a neighboring county. D'oh!

Seems she also forgot that police cars are equipped with other neat gadgets, like radios. She also forgot that police cars can go lots of places, not just Odd Street. Imagine her disappointment when she didn't arrive at Odd Street. Instead, the officer "gave her a ride to the county line where a sheriff's deputy picked her up and took her to the county jail." So, let this be a lesson to you - if you're wanted by the police, it's best to stay out of their cars. Find another way to Odd Street.

In case you're wondering, these geniuses are not in the same jail. It's probably best because there's no telling what might happen if they were allowed to combine their mental acumen.

Kerosene

"Don't put kerosene on your hair." This is the actual headline to "The People's Pharmacy" section of my local paper. Intrigued, I read further. Seems someone wrote in to take the columnists to task on their obvious oversight when advising readers about lice treatment. According to this genius, "Kerosene really works and works fast." With this treatment, "the child can return to school the next day."

I know what you're thinking, and the columnists are right on it. They state clearly and without hesitation, "Kerosene should not be used." They list a couple of good reasons, like absorbing toxins through your scalp is never a good idea and inhaling kerosene fumes isn't good for anyone. Then, they get to the one reason that any sane person would put at the top of the list: "A spark could trigger a horrendous accident, leading to severe burns or death."

I'm thinking that the letter writer probably read the columnists' response and thought, "Well, duh. I'm not going to light a match around my kid's kerosene soaked head. I'll be too busy holding him down with one hand as he tries to escape the burning pain searing through his scalp, while using the other hand to reach the volume knob on the stereo to turn up the Lynyrd Skynyrd so I can drown out his screams. Who'd have time for a cigarette?"

The columnists' don't offer any other remedies to avoid, but I'd like to take a moment to mention that gasoline, crude oil, fertilizer, and medical waste are also poor treatment options for lice infestations.

On a related note, I'm imagining that Mao Tse Tung and Vladimir Lenin were regulars at "The People's Pharmacy."

Super Tuesday

Well, Super Tuesday has come and gone. The morning paper tells me that Barack Obama won my state. Approximately half of the voters in my town cast ballots for him. I was not one of them. Apparently, I'm not as hegemonic as I think I am.

According to today's paper: "Driven in part by strong support in Clarke County, Barack Obama ran away in the Georgia's Democratic presidential primary Tuesday." Gotta love local coverage. Wonder if Obama is still running. Did he cry, "Run away! Run away!" like the knights in Quest for the Holy Grail?

I talked briefly about the election in my classes yesterday. One student remarked that candidates who had dropped out of the race still appeared on the ballot. I said, "I know, John Edwards was still on the ballot." The student replied, "I voted on the Republican ticket and Giuliani was still there." Until he said that, I'd completely forgotten that I'm in a red state now. A very red state. A state that's so red, Mike Huckabee won here. If Huckabee wins the national election, I'm planning to evolve into another species, just to prove him wrong. Then, I'm moving to Canada.

Civic Engagement - Athens Style

The other day, I was reading the Athens Banner Herald and learned that Michael Stipe of REM had been rejected for jury duty. Stipe responded to a jury summons, thus proving that even internationally known rock stars are just local citizens when it comes to the county court system. In this case, Stipe got called for the trial of a local fellow who cornered a middle-schooler in a school bathroom and tried to molest her. Fortunately, other students heard the commotion and alerted the school counselor who thwarted the attack.

In the jury interviews, Stipe said that he did not feel that he could offer impartial judgement in the case because he had had negative experiences with stalkers. He didn't say, but I'm sure was thinking, that his impartial judgement would also be negatively influenced by the fact that he's a human being and the fellow in question is just sick. Anyway, Stipe was dismissed. The paper did not say if he sang, signed autographs or posed for pictures with fans. I would guess that he did not. I'm also guessing that this may be one of the very few times that other Clarke County residents were actually glad that they responded to their jury summons.

So, here's to Michael Stipe. Good for you for demonstrating your commitment to the democratic process and standing as a good example for everyone - in contrast to other famous people who shall remain nameless (and pantyless).

In case you're wondering, the court made quick work of the case and handed down a life sentence.

More Gift Ideas

In today's paper, I learned that you can surprise someone on your Christmas list with rhino poop. That's right, actual feces from an actual rhinocerous. The International Rhino Foundation (IRF) has high hopes for this fundraiser, auctioning the droppings on eBay. According to the report, "Each piece is dried, mounted in a clear trophy case, and marked with the type of rhino that produced it."

Well, I think we can all take comfort in knowing that each piece is dried. Wonder if the little plaque says, "Rhino that dealt it..." Unfortunatley, if you were hoping for a speciman from the rare Javan rhino, you're you-know-what out of luck. The rhino is so rare that speciman collectors can't find any specimans. I like to think that the Javan-the-Hut rhino is just too proud to have its crap on display.

Now, let's think about who actually works in this industry. There are the speciman collectors - and seriously, who wouldn't want that job? Tromping through the jungle, hoping to land your foot in something really nasty. I suppose there's some skill involved, wouldn't want to bring hippo poo home by mistake. Which brings us to the training for these folks - I'm thinking pictures and smells figure prominently. And then there are the poor souls who sit around and literally watch rhino dung dry. Imagine a cocktail party. You cross the room to meet an intriguing looking young man. You ask, "So, what do you do?" "I mount rhino dung," he replies. And so ends your holiday party season.

What's that, you don't know who you'd send rhino poo to? Well, might I suggest Bill Head, County Commissioner in Carroll County, GA? In a recent work session, Head shared his views on the county's jail situation, saying "the county needed more jail space because of criminals from nearby Atlanta and 'the wetbacks from down south.'"

As you'd imagine, folks are calling on Head to apologize. But, Head is proving Headstrong, bull-Headed even. He refuses to apologize, instead offering an explanation for his comments. Seems he believes that people just misunderstood him. Well, these comments ought to clear things up. Head recently told reporters, "Wetbacks can come from anywhere. They can come from Cuba; they can come from any of the islands; they can come from Mexico. Anyone is a wetback if they are illegal."

Ah, well, that does clear things up. He's not only insulting Hispanics, he's also insulting our intelligence. So, congratulations Bill Head of Carroll County, GA, you've just won a sizeable gift of rhino poo for Christmas, decidedly undried rhino poo.

Mr. Potato Nose

According to today's blotter, "Pitched potato knocks out husband." Here's the story: In the wee hours on Thanksgiving morning, sheriff's deputies in a nearby town responded to a call from a 43 year-old woman. We're not sure what she told them, but when they arrived, they found her husband unconscious with a knot on his nose, a potato laying nearby.

As the husband came to, he and his wife recounted their evening, to the best of their combined ability. According to the couple, they got into a tussle around 1AM, after "they had been drinking," smashed, as it were. We don't know what they were arguing about, but perhaps they engaged in the age-old pre-Thanksgiving "Irish potato" or "sweet potato" debate. The argument boiled over when the husband "used an expletive" to describe his wife. At that point, she grabbed a trusty potato and hurled it at him, "hitting him in the nose and causing him to pass out." Say what you want about this woman, she's got an arm and great aim, even when smashed. She immediately called 911, sure she'd just committed homicide by spud.

When the deputies arrived, the wife told them "that she didn't mean to hit her husband." She just meant to scare him, really. The husband didn't press charges and the woman was not arrested or booked on assault with a deadly spud charges. If you ask me, the whole story sounds twice-baked. Just remember, potatoes don't knock people unconscious, people knock people unconscious. I hear the couple has agreed to let the wife make any potato-related decisions from now on.

Wait, wait, it's a toilet

I've discovered the joy of free "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" podcasts from iTunes. Now, even though my local NPR station doesn't broadcast WWDTM, I can listen to it any time I want to. Which is exactly what I did on my way home from the family Thanksgiving.

I listened to a broadcast from earlier this month, prior to the local university's homecoming game. In one of the show's games, Peter Sagal asked one of the panelists about a news bit from my own college town. I was very excited and sat up a little taller in the car. He referred to the drought and asked the panelist what the university was doing to curb excessive flushing at the football stadium.

I sank back down. I figured he must be making it up, since I've been following the local plumbing coverage so closely. But, no, it's true. This story passed right under my well-trained nose. The university considered posting official flushers in the stadium bathrooms to determine when and if a toilet needed to be flushed. Peter didn't say anything about specific training for this job, though I'm sure there must have been some training. After all, I had to pass a test on handling hazardous materials for my adjunct teaching job in the history department of a local college. Maybe the toilet monitors had to pass a history exam.

All of the WWDTM panelists were aghast and disgusted - which are normal responses. I, on the other hand, thought, "It's finally come to this. We finally make it on Wait, Wait and they're talking about our toilets."

Lotion commotion

Today's blotter carries the most creative response to the drought: Door-to-door lotion sales. I'll let you absorb that before I go on.

As the pioneering lotioneer was negotiating a sale, some other fellow "beat him up and stole his lotion." The salesman flagged down a police officer, who went to find additional witnesses to the great lotion commotion. When the officer returned, the victim had slipped away.

The lotion thief, "Hamp," is homeless and has a scraped knee and cheek. The blotter writer wants us all to know, "The lotion was valued at $5 and 'smells good,' according to police." As opposed to the "hot" lotion that's more expensive and stinks. Police have issued an all-points bulletin for "Homeless man with really soft fragrant skin trying to move a large supply of lotion."

Word has it that the lotion salesman is really chapped about the whole thing, though his friends are telling him that he needs to have a thick skin.

Toilet gift idea

You know how you don't really notice something for a while, then after you do notice it, you see it everywhere? Well, apparently, it's happened with me and toilets. Ever since my original post referring to "if it's yellow, let it mellow...," I see toilet references everywhere. This would be fitting, even ironic, for my friend who enjoys the potty humor. As for me, I find it terribly troubling.

Putting those concerns aside, here's the latest installment in "Heg's Toilet Fact of the Day:"

For the last week or so, the local paper has been running a series of articles recommending gift ideas centered around a particular theme. Today's theme: Mind & Body Gifts. There's the Affirmagy Wrap - a blanket with the same annoying (oh, I mean, affirming) sayings that you see on posters. The paper decided to feature the "Motherhood" blanket, where you can wrap yourself in affirmations like, "I am blessed to be a mother. Motherhood uplifts my world with light. I am grateful for my creative feminine energy." Wonder what the single, childless woman's wrap says. "Thank God I have this blanket since I don't have anything else to keep me warm, except this bottle of Jack Daniels and some wool socks. Woohoo, go me!" Surprisingly, no one at Affirmagy has contacted me to write for them.

Next, Sharper Image has come out with Noise Cancellation Headphones. Put the headphones on and with the push of a button, you can create "a quiet place" - because our world has become so damn loud that you have to wear headphones to experience any peace and quiet.

So, moving on, the article suggests a hula hoop for exercise while on the road. It folds up for easy storage during travel. Apparently, the designers haven't been in a hotel room lately. Not sure where I'd find space to unfold my hula hoop and swivel without damaging something (on me or in the room). How embarrassing to admit that no, you're not a rock star who trashed the room while gyrating with a lovesick fan. Instead, you're a middle-aged business traveler, gyrating to get rid of your love handles.

OK, on to the toilet suggestion. The Kohler C3 toilet seat. Retails for $750-$1300. That's right. You can either pay your mortgage, or buy one of these toilet seats for the "luxury minded person who desires cleanliness, comfort and convenience." Luckily, I don't have anyone like that on my Christmas list this year.

The description starts: "Promising better performance for the big job..." I'm tempted to just stop there, but it gets better. Among the features of the C3-100 and C3-200 (weren't they in Star Wars?), there's a "seat ring that warms, hydro-cleansing wand, and warm air fan for 'partial' drying." I'm going to stop there. Why "partial" drying? Does it only dry part of you? Which part? And, let's consider the hydro-cleansing wand for a moment. I don't know about you, but I can't get "bippity-boppity-boo" out of my head.

OK, moving on. In addition to these fabulous, totally unneccesary features, the seats also come with a blue light so you can find the toilet in the dark, a lid that softly closes by touch, and a deodorizer. And, finally, it has a memory chip, allowing it to remember specialized settings for two users. Not a memory chip that remembers you, specifically. Can you imagine - you walk into the bathroom and the toilet moans, "Oh God, not you again." Or, "Hope you didn't have chili last night." Or simply snaps the lid shut and refuses to open.

So, hope these gift ideas have been helpful. Happy shopping!

Toilet News

The other night, I settled in front of the TV with my big plate of homemade spaghetti and meatballs. I caught the tail-end of a report about the Atlanta mayor's press conference, where she called on all citizens to conserve more water. I didn't see the entire report, but apparently her remarks focused on the evils of flushing. More specifically, she encouraged everyone to rush home, rip out their water-guzzling high flow toilets and replace them with the low flow variety. She ended her remarks with an enthusiastic, "So we're all going to save water, right?" There was a slight murmuring from the gathered, not the rousing "Damn straight!' that she was hoping for.

I'm guessing she went back to her office, held her head in her hands, and moaned, "Why me? Andy Young and Maynard Jackson never had to talk about toilets. Young got a major thoroughfare named after him, and Jackson got the airport. My name is going in the crapper." As far as I could tell, she avoided saying, "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down," thus preserving some of her dignity.

As if that wasn't absurd enough, the reporter covering the press conference wrapped up her report while standing in a bathroom in front of a toilet. I guess she wanted to make sure that we all understood what the mayor was referring to, in case any of us were confused by the mayor's references to toilets. I thought, "So, it's finally come to this."

But, that's not all. Apparently toilets were big news on this day and the crack team of reporters provided full coverage (puns absolutely intended). The next reporter went forth and found a contractor to talk about the ins and outs of removing high flow toilets, the new scourge of our existence. The contractor described a two-flow toilet - where you could decide to use an entire flush or only half of a flush. As he started to explain when and why you might need a full flush, I decided that I'd heard enough. I'd worked too hard on my dinner to have it ruined by this fellow's feeble attempts to delicately talk about an indelicate subject.

Water...Need Water...

Still dry as a powderkeg here. No rain in the forecast, now that Tropical Storm Noel took one look toward north Georgia and said, "Hell no, I won't go." Autumn is dismal, as all the leaves go straight from green to shriveled brown. From recent news reports, we're becoming a bit nutty.

In the latest "drought-mania" stories:

• A local dentist installed port-a-pots in his office parking lot and is encouraging his staff (most of whom are related to the dentist) to use the port-a-pots instead of the indoor facilities. The article in the paper assured the general public that the dentist's patients could still use the indoor facilities. Let's hope this dentist's extreme conservation doesn't extend to hand-washing. I'm happy to report that this is not my dentist.
• Meanwhile, at the Georgia Aquarium, they're installing no-water urinals, hoping to save 1 million gallons of water each year. Wonder if they figured in how much water it will take to clean the no-water urinals. I'm guessing they didn't discuss their plans with the custodial staff. That's not all the Aquarium is doing for the cause. They've also drained a few exhibits. Lest we think the aquarium staff have lost their minds, they assured everyone that no fish were harmed in the draining of the tanks. So, no fish fry at the aquarium.
• In a recent letter to the editor, some fellow who is clearly vying for the "Lou Dobbs Award" argued that illegal immigrants were making the drought worse. In a masterful, albeit racist and outlandish, adaptation of anti-immigrant logic, he makes the following argument: Because these folks are here "illegally," they're sucking up valuable resources (in this case, water) and leaving none for the rest of us. And, because they don't pay taxes, they enjoy all of these services for free. Because apparently, they've located the only "all utilities free" housing in town. Wish I was smart enough to have running water in my house without having to pay for it. Seems we could all learn a lot from illegal immigrants. In his final point, the fellow really stretches the argument, and finally goes completely off the rails. According to this genius, illegal immigrants send all of our valuable resources back to their country of origin, so we can't have them. I wondered where all those tanker trucks were headed.
• And, finally, some good folks in a neighboring county organized a prayer service to ask the Almighty for rain. During the service, one of the ministers assured the faithful that the drought was a natural process, not God's punishment. I have to admit that I found this reassuring. I was glad to know that God wasn't spending his time figuring out ways to screw over north Georgia, that perhaps He had better things to do with his time.

So, the drought continues. We have officially reached Step F of the county's drought management plan. I think we can all guess what the "F" stands for.

Superbaby

Over lunch, I read the baby announcements in the local paper. Seems Mr. & Mrs. Wong named their newborn son Kalel Jorel. The paper noted that the baby was born in a local hospital, but who knows, maybe his little rocket ship crashed on the Wong's farm, then the baby lifted Mr. Wong's truck with one hand.

It's just Wong, Wong on so many levels. If nothing else, this is the most convincing evidence that soul mates exist. Think about it: I can see one person thinking that name is a good idea, but 2 people agreeing that it's a good idea? What are the odds?

Maybe the namer won some sort of bet - the kind of bet that leaves a little baby scarred for life. I'm thinking of getting some kryptonite and taking it by their house as a baby gift. Hope the baby likes REM and 3 Doors Down, because he's never going to get through an entire day without some smartass singing "Superman" or "Kryptonite."

Newspaper Ads

Let me start by saying that I am not in the market for a dog. That said, I read through the ads for pets in today's paper. It's a very slow day.

I came across these gems:

Beagle puppies, AKC registered, 6 wks old, male and female, parents onsite, good for hunting or pets!
[So, if you want to hunt some beagles, these people can set you right up.]

Cocker spaniel AKC, beautiful puppies, home raised with children.
[Too bad, I prefer my puppies cave-raised with wolves.]

Great Dane, AKC, female puppy, 5 mths old, Last of Liter.
[I really don't have anything more to add.]

Great Pyrenees puppies, 4 months old, male and female purebred, excellent as pet or guardian, gentle with children, raised with goat herd.
[Sound of Music, anyone? Ladee-o'deladee-o'delow]

Miniature schnauzer puppies, AKC, black and silver, this breed does not shed fur.
[What does it shed? Pounds? Chocolate?]

[Then, in the tradition of blending names to designate a new breed, as in Bennifer and Brangelina, we have the following:]

Shitzupoos, CKC registered, all shots and wormed.

[I 've decided that I can't own one of these dogs, because I'm not nearly mature enough to say the breed name out loud without chuckling like Beevis and/or Butthead.]

Again, it's a very slow, gray day.

Pole Positions

Amidst all the talk of political polls these days, it was refreshing to see two stories about actual poles in yesterday's paper. The first story told of the failed attempt to erect a flagpole in a neighboring county. In what has to be the greatest pissing contest of all time, the US Armed Forces Tribute Foundation wanted to construct a flagpole that would "pierce the sky 40 yards higher than the current tallest freestanding flagpole in Jordan, which reaches 430 feet."

The flagpole would serve as "the centerpiece in a proposed $1.5 million park honoring US military veterans." For what better way to honor veterans than to erect a 550 foot phallic symbol so far off the beaten path that no one will ever find it? The article reports that the group only raised $6800 of the necessary $1.5 million. Too bad none of them own a cornfield in Iowa, because I've heard that if you erect a 550-foot flagpole in Iowa, they will come.

What's that? You don't think a 550-foot flagpole is ludicrous? Consider these facts from the article: To ensure that the pole won't sway like a sapling in the wind, one manufacturer estimated that it would need to be 9 feet thick at the base, tapering to 2 feet thick at the top. Apparently, height matters, but sturdiness matters more. Nothing more disappointing than a 550 foot pole that bends in a stiff breeze.

In a fantastic show of self-confidence, "a beacon [at the top of the flagpole] would warn off airplanes." That's right. The pole would be so tall that aircraft might run into it. Just as a point of reference, the mighty redwoods in California "can reach 200 feet tall." The capitol dome in Washington, DC? 287 feet. Statue of Liberty, ground to tip of torch? 305 feet. Big Ben clock tower in London? 315 feet tall. So, add a redwood to the top of Big Ben and you'll almost reach the height of this proposed flagpole. The article explains that a "huge US flag would flutter above." I'm thinking you'd need a flag the size of Utah if you want to see it from the ground. If you're in a plane, however, you could see the flag up close and personal.

Undaunted, organizers are taking their slightly scaled down proposal to a neighboring state. I'm sure we'll all anxiously await updates on this story.

In other pole-related news, seems pole dancing is all the rage in exercise circles these days. That's right. Stipper poles aren't just for gentleman's clubs anymore. According to the article in yesterday's paper, more and more people, including Oprah, are installing the poles in their homes "as a way to get Madonna arms and Britney Spears abdominals while enhancing their sensuality." Go ahead. Just try to get the mental image of Oprah swinging around a stripper pole out of your head.

According to one woman, she installed a pole so she could exercise in the privacy of her own home. She didn't want to join a gym or run through her neighborhood. So, clearly, her only other option was to install a stripper pole "atop a small stage" in her basement.

Another woman also touts the benefits of an in-home stripper pole. She says, "You drop in a load of laundry, you take a spin. You cook dinner, you take another spin...It's just like a little playground for women." Here's the thing. I know what I typically wear when I'm doing laundry or cooking dinner. I'm not necessarily a slouch, but I'm thinking that a stripper pole probably loses some of its appeal if the person swinging on it is wearing baggy sweats, no make-up, and has her hair tied back in a pony-tail.

In the end, I think this might be taking feminism a bit too far. Personally, I think it's OK if we don't reclaim all of the tools of our oppression. Perhaps our time would be better spent trying to free ourselves from oppressive laundry and cooking.

In the news

My day typically starts with a cup of coffee, email, and perusing the day's news. This morning, on Yahoo.com, I learned that researchers have finally answered the age-old question: how good is a cat's long-term memory? Turns out, cats remember things they've done for about 10 minutes. Their memory for things they've seen is virtually non-existent. The researchers conducted similar experiments with horses and dogs and arrived at the same conclusions. While you ponder that, consider that someone somewhere is funding this research.

Researchers suggest that their findings are important (despite all evidence to the contrary). Learning how long cats, dogs and horses remember things they've done will somehow help us understand how we humans navigate around things in the dark and remember where we parked our cars. Ironically, I may not remember where I put my bedroom slipper as I climb into bed, but I'll sure remember this research report when I trip over the slipper on my way to the bathroom at 2AM.

In other news from the world of science, seems Oregon State University scientists have developed a way to test wastewater for drugs. According to the report, the scientists went to 10 U.S. cities, extracted a teaspoon of wastewater from the local water treatment plant, and conducted a "community urinalysis." I'm not sure which I'd rather do: spend the day with a bunch of cats who can't find their parked cars or analyze a sample of an entire community's urine. If these are my choices, I'll forgo a career in science.

The urine researchers are an enthusiastic bunch. Makes you wonder if this was their lifelong dream. When their 4th grade teacher asked what they wanted to do when they grew up, they must have responded, "I want to test an entire community's urine output!" According to one researcher, "Wastewater facilities are wonderful places to understand what humans consume and excrete." Well, you know what they say, one person's "wonderful place" is another person's "stinky, smelly, sesspool of filth." So, the next time you consume, excrete and flush, just remember that you're contributing to science.

Finally, in today's blotter, there was this story: This fellow went to a local strip club where he told one of the dancers a sob story about how he'd lost his home in a fire and didn't have anywhere to stay. Because that's what any of us would do if we'd lost our home in a fire - go to a strip club and ask a dancer for advice. Who needs the Red Cross when there's the red light district?

Being the helpful sort, the dancer suggested that the fellow get a room at the same hotel where she was staying. When she knocked on his door at 3:30AM, he must have thought he'd hit the jackpot. Here was his dream come true: a stripper with a heart of gold who also wanted to have sex with a homeless man with absolutely no problem solving abilities. I'm pretty sure he wasn't expecting her friend to punch him in the eye and steal the $4000 he had in his pants pocket. That's right, he didn't have anywhere to stay, but he had $4000. While it might have come as a surprise to him, I daresay no one else was surprised by this outcome.

I feel pretty certain that this fellow had trouble finding his parked car, and that his "contribution" to the local water treatment plant significantly skewed the sample.

Breaking and Entering

In today's Blotter, there's a report of a man who broke into a local convenience store. Unfortunately, robbery isn't unheard of in this town, but this fellow's strategy certainly stands out. He broke through a wall with a sledgehammer. It happened some time between 5AM-6AM. The report raises several compelling questions:

1) Didn't the convenience store have any windows? If so, let's think through that decision-making process. "Let's see, I'm standing here at 5AM and I'd really like some cigarettes. I need to get into that store that's inconveniently closed right now. Luckily, I have my sledgehammer. Glass is pretty easy to break, so I think I'll take my hammer and bust a hole in that concrete wall. That shouldn't take too long or make too much noise. I'll be smoking in no time."

2) Didn't anyone hear any unusual noises? I've never heard of a sledgehammer with a silencer, so you figure someone must have heard this fellow's nefarious deed. Surely the convenience store wasn't in the middle of nowhere, because really, how convenient would that be? It would just be a store at that point. Maybe he happened to find the only window-less convenience store conveniently located next to a rock quarry.

3) How big was this fellow? Breaking through a wall with a sledgehammer can't be easy, so kudos to him and whatever exercise regimen he's on. Especially since he's a smoker. Wonder if he practiced on other walls before this big heist. If so, the police could just look for the house with walls like swiss cheese.

It seems like the strategy was doomed to fail. But, no. The thief got away with $60,600 of checks, cash, and cigarettes. Apparently, the police have a prime suspect because a former employee once told the owner that he would break into the store. And, when he said "break into the store," he meant "break into the store."

Mountain Sojourn

This weekend, after attending my nieces' 5th birthday party, I returned home. I decided to avoid the city that's too busy to hate, because they're also too busy to stay off the roads. Instead, I meandered along the 2-lane highways through the mountains. Some would argue that these are merely hills, but to me, they're mountains.

As I wound along, I thought about the recent story in the local paper. Seems state officials found a moonshine still in the mountains. I still can't figure out why this is news. Wouldn't it be more newsworthy to report that they didn't find a moonshine still in the mountains? The article went on to quote one official who discouraged buying moonshine produced in a still because of the detrimental health effects. I'm thinking that if I drove up into the mountains, and purchased moonshine made in a metal drum with a coil sticking out of the top of it from someone without any teeth, I'm probably not too concerned about my health.

Anyway, didn't see any moonshine stills in my sojourn, and I have to say that I was a bit disappointed, but then, I didn't look very hard. Apparently, I care about my health. Instead, I traversed the back roads, remembering the times I'd driven that same stretch of highway on the way to my grandmother's house. I literally drove over the river and through the woods to my grandmother's house, and was always greeted with a smile and "Are you back?" on the other side.

Eventually, I ended up in "the Queen City." I'm not sure why it's called this, but it's on every sign in the city. I know, because I passed every sign at least twice. I did not ever see any queens - of the royal or female impersonating variety. I also did not ever see any signs pointing in the direction I wanted to go. So, I drove around in circles. I know I was driving in circles when I passed the mall for the third time. I'm not sure when I started cursing, but I do remember reciting a veritable sonnet of obscenity while sitting at an increasingly familiar stoplight.

I passed several gas stations and considered buying a map, but when you're 30 miles from home, and you're looking for a major highway, and the town you're trying to get to is decent sized, buying a map seems utterly ridiculous. As I came upon the same gas station for the third time, I gave up and asked for directions. Turns out, I'd been driving around the south end of town, when I needed to head north. Hmm, I would have known that if someone posted a sign pointing in that direction!

So, if you've lost anything recently, I'd suggest that you start your search in the Queen City. It's probably there, trying desparately to find a way out.

Daily horoscope

This morning, I woke up, got the coffee going, and went to the door to retrieve the morning paper. I opened the door and looked down expectantly at my doormat, but alas, no paper. This is the second time in a week that my paper boy didn't come. Yes, I have an image of a 12 year-old boy earning a little spending money, riding his bike and hurling my paper up 3 flights of stairs so that it lands perfectly on my doormat.

I called the office to let them know that once again, my paper didn't arrive. They apologized and said they'd send someone out right away. Gotta love smallish towns. Around 11AM, there was a knock at my door. I opened the door and there stood the world's oldest man, holding my paper. I was crushed. No future hall-of-famer earning a little extra cash, no bike with a bell on the handle-bars, no freckles, no chewing gum, no cap, no impish grin. Nope, just Grampa, permanently stooped into a curve. I took the paper and thanked him for coming all the way out (from the nursing home, or maybe the grave.) I watched to make sure that he made it back down the stairs. Then I thought, "Well, if the climb up didn't kill him, he should be OK on way down."

About an hour later, I settled on the couch with my lunch and read the news of the day. Here is my horoscope, exactly as printed in the paper:

Strange things are afoot if you should find yourself lurking around a convenience store. Remember that you probably don't need the tantalizing wares of unhealthful repute.

I read it several times, and have finally accepted that it says just that. Call me crazy, but this doesn't sound like a prediction to me. It sounds like a pregnant woman's conscience. It's like those fortunes you get in fortune cookies - the ones that say, "Drink more water for a clear complexion." This isn't a fortune. It's advice. They should call them advice cookies, because calling them fortune cookies is just false advertising.

But, back to my non-horoscope: I must admit that "strange things" would be "afoot" if I found myself "lurking around a convenience store." First of all, I don't lurk. Second, I don't go to convenience stores. Something about the convenience of it all gives me the creeps and makes me feel lazy. I'm someone who prefers to get my Starbucks beans at Starbucks, not a bookstore. I like to get my books at a bookstore, not Cracker Barrel. I'm going to stop now because I'm starting to sound like Andy Rooney. You get the point. I don't want a steak at Waffle House.

Finally, if I want to be tantalized by "wares of unhealthful repute," I'm certainly not going to a convenience store. "Unhealthful repute" takes on a whole new meaning in those places. Which wares are they referring to? The hot dogs that date back to the Kennedy adminstration? (Seriously, you can chop them open and count the rings.) Or maybe they mean the doughnuts and bearclaws that you could bounce quarters off of. They probably mean the vat of soda in a cup so big, you need two hands and a forklift to get it off the counter. Call me a snob, but none of this sounds tantalizing. Certainly not tantalizing enough to violate my "no lurking" policy.

Anyway, I'm relieved to report that apparently nothing was afoot today, as evidenced by the fact that I did not lurk at a convenience store, leering at the "wares of unhealthful repute" that I probably don't need.

Blotter

One of my favorite activities is reading the local paper. I don't mind admitting that the local paper is one of the main reasons why I moved back here. I love the local paper, especially the Blotter and the Editorial Page. There, amidst the news of the day, you're sure to find a little nugget, a little snippet so unexpected that you'll have to read it twice, maybe three times.

For example, in today's blotter, police responded to a burglary in progress at a house under renovation near the university. When police got there, they easily found 3 students hiding inside. Apparently, the students were not very good at hiding. Maybe they were hindered by the fact that they'd been drinking and it was 3AM. As police hauled them out of their "hiding" places, the students assured police that they weren't burglarizing the house. No, they were just curious about the renovation. That's right, of all the possible explanations for their behavior, these geniuses went with "curious about the renovation." They were so curious that they decided to down a few cold ones and go check it out - at 3AM. Our crack police force didn't fall for it and charged them with prowling and loitering.

But, in what easily qualifies as my favorite blotter entry of all time, police stopped a 21 year old man because he was driving erratically at 2AM. The man, "whose breath smelled of alcohol," offered the officers $800 to let him go immediately. The officers declined and arrested him instead. As they drove him to the police station, "the officer saw the man reaching into the back of his pants and putting something into his mouth." Naturally, the officer asked what the man was doing. And here's his response, exactly as reported in the blotter. "The man said he was eating feces to foil a DUI breath test." Turns out, police found residue of a pill in the man's mouth.

While the story is easily strong enough to stand on its own, I know there's a punchline in there somewhere. So far, I've come up with, "Gee, I've heard of shit for brains, but never heard of shit for breath." Or, "That's certainly a new twist on 'potty mouth.'" Or, "Guess he was just talking shit."

I don't know who writes the Blotter, but they're not paying him or her nearly enough.