A letter from an acquantance who is in the know

An acquaintance who has been flirting with the birther movement writes:

“After Obama’s declaration of support for so-called ‘gay marriage,’ all the evidence has clearly fallen into place, and I am now absolutely convinced that Obama was born in Kenya. Not only that, we in the movement are certain that the man known as Barack Obama was born a female named ‘Barbara.’

“This is what happened, and in the movement we know this for a fact. Her Kenyan father and American mother brought the infant Barbara Obama to the United States from Kenya right after she was born, and they settled in Hawaii The father was disappointed at having a female child and was determined to have a son. Barbara’s mother, however, was incapable of having any more children, so the father decided to have his daughter’s sex changed. As a Kenyan, his decisions were law in that household. All this has been documented by Barbara’s grandmother, the mother of Barbara’s father, whose diary, with the Kenyan birth certificate tucked between the pages, was recently found in a hut in the village in which she had lived. All this is widely known among the birthers. I am told on the best authority, also that the documentation is in the hands of John Boehner and Eric Cantor, who plan to release it at just the right moment.

“But to continue this curious story, once in Hawaii, the parents contracted with a renowned sex change surgeon who practiced in Hawaii  to perform the operation. On the day of the surgery, they took to the child to him, and the surgeon began his work. My source--a well-known figure in the birther movement--tells me that the surgeon reworked the infant’s private parts into a penis and a scrotum. Unfortunately, however, the parents of the male infant whose tiny testicles were to be transplanted into the new scrotum of Barbara/Barack reneged on their agreement to provide their child’s testicles. As a result, the surgeon simply sewed up the empty scrotum. (To of us in the movement, of course, that explains Obama’s lack of cojones).

“Nevertheless, at the father’s insistence and, I’m told, for an additional fee, the surgeon completed a Hawaii birth certificate for ‘Barack’ Obama, a male child, and recorded that he was born in Hawaii. All of that is well known among those in the know, Unfortunately, the surgeon mysteriously disappeared almost immediately after Obama’s bogus inauguration. Coincidence? I think not.

“What has that to do with Obama’s support for marriage between homosexuals? Everything. Without testicles, you see, Obama is still technically a woman, and she is ‘married’ to Michelle, another woman. That is clearly a homosexual relationship that he would like to have recognized by another ‘marriage’ to her.

 “It is all so clear now, isn't it.”

A father and daughter look at graduation

A note with instructions for faculty participants in Loyola’s graduation was in my in-box the other day, and that got me musing on the 2004 graduation, when our daughter Mary, our youngest child, graduated from Loyola.

Mary, was a columnist for the university’s weekly newspaper, The Maroon, in her senior year, and a few days before her final column appeared, the adviser told me she thought it was delightful. I stopped in at The Maroon layout room and read it on the flats, and I was moved to write a reply for the same issue. I think I got mine in just ahead of the paper’s deadline, and the op ed page editor accepted it.

My musing led me to Google the column and my response, and I thought my two or three readers might be entertained by the exchange in this graduation month.

Here was Mary’s column. My response follows.

Goodbye, Loyola. I am off to Paris to begin a glamorous new life ... eventually, anyway. Between that time and graduation, however, I will be back under my parents' roof, which I am totally and utterly okay with. Not having to pay rent will not suck.

Plus, it's cool to have a curfew at the age of 22, right?

Some people might wonder if it bothers me that I don't have a job yet. Does the fact that I don't even have any leads make me wonder if I've wasted four years of my life in the wrong major? They might ask whether I worry that the world will never see that I could be so much more than just the college newspaper columnist with a bad picture and a lame catchphrase.

I really haven't thought about these things, to be honest. Sure I may have had a few sleepless nights where I've considered that a career in gaming and bartending might be a safer, more lucrative path, but who hasn't?

Only recently did I find a little extra time during which to pause and seriously think about my future plans.

Last week my roommate and I waited five hours at the hospital until the doctor finally saw her and diagnosed her acute nausea as food poisoning.

Never mind that I could have diagnosed this condition at home in less than a minute, although my medical expertise is limited to knowing what aisle at Walgreens contains the acetaminophen. And never mind that the term "Emergency Room" is severely misleading and indicates that people who go in there to be treated will be attended to immediately. (As if, I don't know, there was some sort of emergency.)
All the waiting is really a good thing, because it gives the sick a chance to fully realize the depths of their pain and the amazing and loyal people who wait for them a chance to catch up on three weeks' worth of crossword puzzles.

Even though sitting in a hospital waiting room is surprisingly low on the list of things I enjoy doing into the wee hours of the morning, I didn't let that time go to waste.
Again, I had a chance to work on some crossword puzzles, catch up on season four of the "X-Files" and do a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. A lot. And really, when and where else was I going to make time to taste and experience all the fine cuisine that hospital vending machines have to offer? When? I even got to read the front page of the previous day's The Times-Picayune twice. (Twice!)

Around hour three, however, the incredible fun came to an abrupt halt. I had been staring into space for about 45 minutes when it suddenly occurred to me that this was about to be my life for the next few months: one long and uncertain stay in the hospital waiting room that is my parents' house, with limited resources to keep me busy.

As much as I enjoy marathon games of tic-tac-toe - and I do - I suspect it isn't the most productive use of my time, nor might it be the most efficient means to finding a job.

It's strange to think that I won't have school to go back to in the fall. It's not that I'm afraid to leave the safe confines of a college campus.

After all, no amount of studying will give me the friends for whom enduring four hours in a claustrophobic room are worth and who I am confident would do the same for me. Nor will it ever prepare any of us for the bad sushi that will sometimes come our way. The uncertainty of not knowing what is next is what truly terrifies me.

I pondered this thought for another hour.

Finally, at 2:30 in the morning, my roommate and I, exhausted and malnourished, went home - she with a prescription for what I suspect is nothing more than Mylanta, and I with the resolve to just stop freaking out. I don't begrudge those who already have jobs or any sort of post-college plans (for the most part).
I take comfort in knowing that I'm not alone in my doubts, that there's always Moler Beauty College (although I'm calling that "Plan B"), and that I have at least another few years before my parents kick me out (and that's where Parisian sugar daddy comes in). Au revoir, mes amis.

-0-

Dear Mary,
I read in your column in the Life and Times section, a few pages on, that you will be graduating in a couple of weeks and moving back home to think about how you intend to gain fame and fortune when you finally head off to Paris.

That's a lot for a father to digest at one sitting.

Like others who have been responsible for the care and feeding of this year's graduating class for the last 20 years or more, your mother and I are experiencing a tangle of emotions - especially because you are the youngest of our five.

As we've anticipated watching you stride across that stage in cap and gown, we have relived the morning you walked into a kindergarten classroom clutching our hands.

And it hasn't taken much of a stretch of the mind's eye to see you standing in your crib for the first time, wobbly but proud, your diaper draping the latitude of the hip-huggers you wear today.

You were still not much more than a child, or so it seemed, the day we moved you into the dorm for your freshman year, then, just as we wake one spring morning startled to find the azaleas have burst into full flower, one day you came in the door and you were a young woman.

When we paused to wonder at how that happened we realized how much you have changed over these last four years.

You have learned a great deal, in classrooms, in the library and even at places like Madigan's.

You've matured emotionally and intellectually in ways you perhaps don't recognize.

You've developed into one terrific writer. And as we consider all that you have become, we are proud of you beyond measure, as we are of your four siblings.

Sure, I know you have had a few sleepless nights lately weighing a career in bartending or crossword-puzzle solving against going for a graduate degree at Moler Barber College.

And when, with diploma cover in hand, you maneuver those narrow stairs leading down from the stage next Saturday you may see only desert stretching out ahead of you.

It may be cold comfort, but the person in front is likely stepping into that same void, and so is the person in back of you.

I remember breaking under a dinner table interrogation in my senior year and confessing that I didn't know what I was going to do. My mother burst into tears and said, "If only you had taken some education courses, you could at least teach."

Somehow I made it through, and so did my classmates - in part by luck, in part by purpose, even with a few side trips along the way. (And, as it turned out, Mom, I could at least teach.) You and your classmates have the wherewithal to do the same.

Now there's that matter of your living at home for a while. You wrote that you will have "another few years before my parents kick me out," but that was a typo, wasn't it? You meant "months," didn't you? "Weeks?"

Whichever, you may be "totally and utterly okay" with it. But remember, as Ecclesiastes might have written, there's a time to nest and a time to fly.

We do want to make you feel at home, though, for the short time you are with us.

You will find fresh linens on your bed. And we'll lay in a stock of the coffee you've become addicted to in your college years and extra munchies to get you through reruns of "Friends."

At least for the first week.

We'll even deliver the want ads section of The Times-Picayune to your bedroom door every morning.

Love, Dad

P.S. About that curfew. Since you'll be a college graduate, we've decided to extend it to 1 a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights.

An adventure in medical education

Retired from teaching, I may be. But I find I can still make a contribution to the education of young people.

I recently made an appointment with my doctor for my annual physical exam, and in the week before the day of the appointment, I developed a rash and a little cluster of pustules low on my posterior, at that chasm between the two halves of the body (I’ll spare you a description of the contortions I had to go through to see what was causing the painful itching I had). At about the same time, and I didn’t know whether this was related or not, I began to experience some pain urinating.

I was in an examination room when Ted opened the door. He is just a few years younger than I and has been my doctor for about 30 years. I have great confidence in him and consider him a friend. During my annual physicals we have often spent more time just chatting than with the exams themselves.

He is an avuncular, generous fellow, and over the years he has hosted students from local medical schools —always females, in my experience—who move from room to room with him as he makes his rounds. He explains to them his diagnoses of the complaints his patients bring to him and answers their questions.

Usually, he has had just one student in tow, but this time, four lovely young women with fetching smiles and wearing starched and shiny lab coats stood behind him in the doorway. He and I greeted each other and he asked why I was there. It was time for my annual physical, I said. “But I have something else I need to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?”

I looked at the smiling doctors-to-be.

“I’d rather tell you privately.”

He would be back, he said. In the meantime, he would have another young woman, a Chinese who was studying to be a nurse practitioner, go through the preliminary work. She went down the checklist about my general health, took my pulse and listened to me breathe.

Ted returned with one of the young women, and introduced her as a first-year medical student. She beamed. He told her to wait outside and dismissed the nurse practitioner student.

It was time for the piece de resistance, the digital exam of my prostate.

I took off my slacks and stood next to the examining table.

“So what’s this private matter,” he asked, as he snapped on a latex glove.

“You’ll see it when you are down there.”

“Drop your shorts.”

I did as I was told, and shorts around my ankles I bent over the table. He looked.

“Shingles,” he exclaimed. He was exuberant.

“Classic shingles,” he said, as he checked the condition of my prostate.

“Your prostate is enlarged,” he said, “and that’s because it has been infected by the shingles. There’s no evidence of an abnormality. But that’s what’s causing the pain when you urinate.”

He took off the glove. I resumed breathing.

“Would you mind if I showed the student?” He asked me.

Modesty gave me pause. “I’d hate to get her all excited.”

He laughed. “Pshaw.”

I agreed to let her see and I assumed the posture of a shy ostrich. He opened the door and asked the student in.

“Classic shingles,” he said to her. She looked at my 75-year-old nether region—I assume she looked—while he discussed the symptoms. I wondered whether she was still smiling.

When Ted finally ushered her out, I dug my face out of the examination table and dressed. He and I talked about the remedies for shingles and he prescribed a couple of pills for me to take during the next week. Then he was off to another room.

The young woman passed me without a word as I was leaving. But I understood. She probably didn’t recognize my face.

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Newspaper Mottoes How newspapers of the United States have described themselves to their readers

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It was once common for a newspaper to state a motto (slogan, tagline) in its nameplate on Page One. Like the New York Times' "All the News That's Fit to Print," the motto was a statement of principle for some newspapers; for others, such as theChicago Tribune ("World's Greatest Newspaper") or the Allentown Morning Call ("Lehigh Valley's Greatest Newspaper"), it was simply a chest-out boast. What follows are some mottoes that have flown under the flags of American newspapers through the years. 

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Worth Looking Into

--Aberdeen (S.D.) American News

The Newspaper That Pays for Itself

--Abilene (Tex.) Reporter News

Give Light and the People Will Find Their Way

--(Albuquerque) New Mexico State Tribune (adopted by all Scripps-Howard newspapers) [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

A Fearless And Wide-Awake Democratic Newspaper

--The (Alexandria, La.) Weekly Town Talk

Lehigh Valley's Greatest Newspaper

--The (Allentown, Pa.) Morning Call

If You Don't Want It Printed, Don't Let It Happen

--The Aspen (Colo.) Daily News [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

For x Years The South's Standard Newspaper

--The Atlanta Constitution

Covers Dixie Like The Dew

--The Atlanta Journal

South's Oldest Newspaper--Established 1785

--The (Augusta, Ga.) Chronicle

The Great Newspaper of the Southern San Joaquin Valley

--The Bakersfield (Calif.) Californian

Light For All

--The (Baltimore) Sun

Maine's Largest Daily Newspaper

--(Bangor, Me.) Daily News

At the Crossroads of West Texas

--Big Spring (Texas) Herald [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

A Clean Newsy Newspaper For the Home

--The (Beaver, Pa.) Daily Times

The Hometown Newspaper Of The Southern Tier

--The (Binghamton, N.Y) Evening Press

Liked by Many, Cussed by Some, Read by Them All

--The Blackshear (Ga.) Times

Fanning the Flames of Discontent

--(Boonville, Mo.) Anderson Valley Advertiser

The Gimlet -- It Bores In.

--(Brownsville, Ky.) Edmonson News

Boston's Independent Newspaper

--Boston Traveler

America's Most Colorful Newspaper

--Burlington (Vt.) Free Press [Thanks to John Engels, International Business Initiatives--IBI]

To Give The News Impartially, Without Fear or Favor.

                                --Chattanooga Times Free Press [Thanks to Bill Peterson]

An Independent Newspaper

--Chicago Daily News

World's Greatest Newspaper

--Chicago Tribune

Open to all Parties--but influenced by none

--The (Cincinnati) Centinel of the North-Western Territory

The Newspaper That Serves Its Readers

--The Cleveland Press

Independent But Not Neutral

                                          --Colebrook (N.H.) News and Sentinel

A Weekly Newspaper for the Mutual Benefit of Ourselves, Colleton and Beaufort Districts and Mankind Generally.

--Colleton and Beaufort (S.C.) Sun [Thanks to Debbie van Tuyll, Augusta State University]

Independent Since 1880 / America's Oldest Independent College Daily

--The Cornell Daily Sun [Thanks to Donna Kramer]

Continuously Published for x Years

--The Dallas Times Herald

The Voice of the Rocky Mountain Empire

--The Denver Post

Colorado's First Newspaper--Founded in 1859

--(Denver) Rocky Mountain News

On Guard for x Years

--The Detroit Free Press

The Home Newspaper For More Than x Years

--The Detroit News

America's Oldest Continuously Published Newspaper

--Hartford Courant [Thanks to Diego Sorbara]

Houston's Family Newspaper

--Houston Chronicle

Mississippi's Leading Newspaper For More Than A Century

--The (Jackson) Clarion-Ledger

A Leader In The Growth And Development Of Florida And The South For x Years

--The (Jacksonville) Florida Times-Union

America's No. 1 Small City / Capital of the East Texas Oil Field

--Kilgore (Tex.) News Herald

The Oldest Newspaper West of the Mississippi

--(Little Rock) Arkansas Gazette

Long Island's Only-Online Newspaper

--The Long Island Times [Thanks to Denise Newton]

An Independent Democratic Newspaper Of The First Class Unchallenged In Its Field

--The Longview (Tex.) Daily News

Largest Circulation In The Entire West

--Los Angeles Herald Examiner

Largest Circulation In The West

--Los Angeles Times

The Only Newspaper in the World That Gives a Damn About Yerington

--Mason Valley (Nev.) News

Your GOOD NEWSpaper!

--The McKenzie (Tenn.) Banner

Florida's Most Complete Newspaper (also, Florida's Complete Newspaper)

--The Miami Herald

Central And South Alabama's Largest Evening Newspaper

--(Montgomery) Alabama Journal

Serving America's International Gateway Since 1837

--The (New Orleans) Times-Picayune

The Lively One, With a Mind of Its Own

--The (New Orleans) States-Item [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

The Truth is Always Fair

--(New Orleans) Daily Truth [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

The Best Paper, the Brightest Paper, the Cheapest Paper

--(New Orleans)Evening Chronicle [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

The Only Louisiana Newspaper for a Dime a Week

--(New Orleans) Evening Telegram [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

Patroness of Peace, Commerce, and the Liberal Arts

--The (New York) American Minerva

New York's Picture Newspaper

--(New York) Daily News

Established x Years Ago. A European Edition Is Published Daily In Paris

--New York Herald-Tribune

It Shines For All.

--The New York Sun

All The News That's Fit to Print

--The New York Times

Haec olim meminisse juvabit [It will profit us to remember these things in the future. Virgil.]

--Niles' Weekly Register

Good Paper, Good Ink, Good Work and Prompt Delivery

--Osceola (Ark.) Times

Discover What's In It For You

--(Palmdale, Calif.) Antelope Valley Press

The Oldest Daily Newspaper In The United States--Founded 1771 / An Independent Newspaper For All The People

--The Philadelphia Inquirer

The State's Greatest Newspaper

--The (Phoenix) Arizona Republic

Published In The Interests Of The Oregon Country And Its People

--(Portland) Oregon Journal

Going where no dog has gone before -- and without a leash!

The only good sacred cow is medium rare with fries.

--The Putnam Pit (Cookeville, Putnam County, Tennessee) [Thanks to Geoff Davidian, publisher]

The Mountain West's First Newspaper

--(Salt Lake City) Deseret News

A Constructive Force In The Community

--San Antonio (Tex.) Light

The City's Only Home-Owned Newspaper

--San Francisco Chronicle

Monarch of the Dailies

--San Franciso Examiner

San Francisco's Evening Newspaper

--News Call Bulletin

The Oldest Daily Newspaper In Southern California

--Santa Barbara News-Press

The West's Oldest Newspaper...Founded 1849

--The (Santa Fe) New Mexican

Light of the Coastal Empire

--Savannah Morning News [Thanks to Julia Muller, Savannah Now]

Today's News Today

--Schenectady (N.Y.) Union-Star

The Great Newspaper Of The Great Northwest (also, The Voice of the Northwest)

--Seattle Post-Intelligencer

The Only Evening Newspaper in St. Louis With the Associated Press News Service

--St.Louis Post-Dispatch

Oldest Newspaper in Minnesota

--St. Paul Pioneer-Press

Hometown Folks Serving Hometown Folks for Over 20 Years (Also Serving Sylacauga and Pell City)

--The Talledega (Ala.) Daily Home [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

One of America's Great Newspapers--In One of America's Great Cities

--The Toledo Blade

116 Years In the Town Too Tough To Die/No Tombstone Is Complete Without Its Epitaph

--Tombstone (Ariz.) Epitaph [Thanks to Charles Walker]

Oklahoma's Greatest Newspaper / Reliability, Character, Enterprise

--Tulsa Daily World

Kansas' Leading Home Newspaper For x Years

--The Wichita Eagle

Your Hometown Newspaper Since 1916

--(Wiggins, Miss) Stone County Enterprise [Thanks to Angus Lind, The Times-Picayune]

An International Daily Newspaper

--Christian Science Monitor

Righteousness Exalteth A Nation

--Freedom's Journal

The World Is Governed Too Much

--The Globe

Our Country Is The World--Our Countrymen Are Mankind

--The Liberator

Right Is Of No Sex, Truth Is Of No Color, God Is The Father of Us All, And We Are All Brethren.

--The North Star

Power Is Always Stealing From The Many To The Few

--United States' Telegraph

It Screams

--The (Whitesburg, KY) Mountain Eagle [Thanks to Hunter Marks]

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A summer day in New Orleans

I had a little time to kill this afternoon, and I decided to get gas for the car while the needle was still hovering above "Empty."

The temperature had been in the 90s, and no rain was in the forecast I had heard on the noon news, so I punched the button on the pump to get the deluxe wash,too. “See the attendant,” a pop-up on the screen told me. I filled my tank and went inside the store to do what I had been told.

“The car wash is broken,” a dark fellow with what I took to be a thick Pakistani accent told me. I had not heard him clearly. “What?” I asked. A lighter skinned man behind the immigrant said more clearly, “The car wash is broken.”

Another day in New Orleans, I thought, not altogether happily, and walked outside and drove away.

An hour or so later, I was sitting in the den reading, and I heard rain against the window pane. “Lucky for me the wash was broken,” I thought. (Had I gotten the wash, of course, I would have muttered, "Just my luck.")

I should have second-guessed the weatherman. Earlier, I had looked up at the sky, and it was filled with great fluffy creatures: crouching rabbits, begging poodles and a full-bodied naked woman lying on her side.

After the rain had stopped, I took the dogs out into the steam, and we walked three-quarters around the block when the rain began again. I had had the foresight to take an umbrella, but the dogs had not, so they needed drying when we got home. Still, as soon as I had worked them over with beach towels, they shook whatever wet was left on them on me and the furniture.

By then, the rain had stopped again, and we have had no more since.

And no more cumulus rabbits, poodles, or – I am sad to say – full-bodied naked women.

Nuthin' but blue skies.