All about the gear

My skis finally followed the Nordic Track, the rowing machine and the exercise bike to that recycling center of good intentions--the French Club garage sale. Unlike the other fitness aids, they were not even suitable to hang laundry on. I had had high hopes for skiing--my father had earned the names Crazy Dave and Mad Dog Hobson on the slopes. But the hot-dog genes were lost in the shuffle; as soon as my speed rose above a sedate walking pace, I tended to shriek and flap my arms until I fell over or was clubbed senseless by a tree limb. So I have settled instead on the more traditional North Country method of winter transportation, snowshoes. You can raise a hell of a sweat, and it takes its own brand of courage to strap on devices that make one walk like a giant thinsulate chicken.

What it Takes to Get A Hearing

Ahh--and now Ms. Jackson's right breast goes to Capitol Hill. Life is not only sillier than we think it is, but sillier than we can possibly imagine. The FCC, the moguls of big media, and some of the most senatorial hairpieces in Washington have all gone up in flames on national TV--over this "wardrobe malfunction." Meanwhile the movers and shakers at Comcast-- feeling ignored I suppose--have tried to acquire Disney (sort of like China offering to buy Russia) for $56 billion. If I were a Disney character, my derby hat would flip, my eyes would bug out past my nose and then snap back, and I would spit out the stub of my cigar and yell ah-OOOOOOO-gah!

Not my week

This was the one week each year where I have my nose rubbed in what a geek I am--one of a pitiful handful of American males who did not view the Super Bowl, or the network's hottest examples of the art of persuasion, or the regrettable "wardrobe malfunction" by a certain hootchy-kootchy star. What a kafuffle! As if a momentary nippleflash could unravel the moral fiber of a nation enjoying the spectacle of pituitary monsters and crazed armored cyborgs pounding each other into jelly. Haven't they heard of video games? As for Ms. Jackson, anyone who has raised a child in the MTV age has already seen more of her person than any person other than a significant other should. This could never have happened on the radio.