Morning Walk, Ignorant and Free

Bennet, Brown, Bogart, Bechtel. They died during the second half of the nineteenth century. They rest before me, in the Mercer Cemetery, with its prickly spires rising heavenward. I walk along the east iron fence. Grant, Creed, Stokes, Fell. From a niche in the gate, a tall man appears. His face is obscured beneath a hood, but I can see his chin moving up and down, working the mouthpiece of a cell phone. The pitch of his voice is low and menacing.

"Oh yeah," I think. "You're inconspicuous."

He stops talking, and I suspect that he hears my thoughts. I pick up the pace and turn the corner. Ahead, three anti-abortion demonstrators stand, their backs against the north wall of the cemetery. I read one of their signs: LIFE YES, ABORTION NO. Most of the pedestrians in front of me ignore these quiet activitsts, but one man raises the middle finger of his left hand as he passes. He flaunts the finger in the faces of the demonstrators . At first, I am appalled. They are older, resolute, unphased. They could be my Mom and her fellow churchgoers. How dare this man gesture in such a way. But I soon relax, and marvel at how much of the First Amemdment has played out before my eyes. I pick up a newspaper, and redress the goverment with grievances.

Doddering in the Night

Last night I felt like I was going to . . . well, die. I woke up around 1:30 am, my night clothes soaked in sweat, my heartbeat fast and faint, my head in the throes of pre-dizziness. So I nudged the wife, in case there was anything she wanted to say to me. She put her hand on my cheek. "You're cold as ice," she said, conjuring a symptom I hadn't thought of on my own, and then she drifted back to sleep. I summoned my last ounce of bravery to stand up and dodder into the bathroom. Once there, I relieved myself, and went back to bed, where this morning I awoke, ready to greet a brand new day.

My Kingdom for the Body of a Horse

Spring is in the air. As usual, from the spring air, I extract the scent of dread. This is the time of year I most fear…and I most fear everything! Warmer temperatures usually facilitate horrors such as terrorist attacks and the removal of my protective gear, my sweaters, scarves, gloves. I despise shedding my winter coat. During the dark, chilly months, friends and co-workers had forgotten that my neck and arms were fashioned from broomsticks. They’d forgotten how I tend to vanish when I turn sideways. All this comes roaring laughably back to them, and, while they politely refrain from gasping, they do their best to keep their gaze level with my eyes, willing their eyes to waver above the unfortunate state of my girthless frame. For, regardless of the volume of my food intake, it seems that I am doomed to remain an ectomorph, leaning toward emaciation. This has been the case since adolescence, so the assumption that I am a symbiotic shelter for some hungry organism, earth-born or otherwise, seems unfounded. It is time that I accept my form. Now is the spring of my discontent made glorious summer by the promise of the coming of another cold, dark winter.

Or maybe I could lift weights.

Administration of Evil

Have you noticed that the Current Account Deficit Hit Record $665.9 Billion in 2004? Round it up .1 Billion, and see what you get.

I'm Awake Now

U.S. Report Lists Possibilities for Terrorist Attacks
By Eric Lipton

WASHINGTON, March 15 - The Department of Homeland Security, trying to focus antiterrorism spending better nationwide, has identified a dozen possible strikes it views as most plausible or devastating, including detonation of a nuclear device in a major city, release of sarin nerve agent in office buildings and a truck bombing of a sports arena.

The document, known simply as the National Planning Scenarios, reads more like a doomsday plan, offering estimates of the probable deaths and economic damage caused by each type of attack. They include blowing up a chlorine tank, killing 17,500 people and injuring more than 100,000.

Hey, that last's one I keep harping about: Stop Reading This (after you've read this) and Do Something!.

Btw, if you sign up with the NY Times Online, you'll get a handy chart, entitled 15 Nightmares for Disaster Planning.

Lapping at the Cavity Well

Vote delayed on fluoridated water
By Lawrence Hajna, Courier-Post Staff

The state's Public Health Council on Monday delayed a vote on whether to require fluoridation of a substantial portion of New Jersey's water supplies, saying the public should have an opportunity to comment on the proposal. The council was poised to vote on a petition by the New Jersey Dental Association but pulled the vote upon the recommendation of the Department of Health and Senior Services.

The dental association is pushing for a regulation requiring investor-owned water companies to fluoridate their water to a standard of 1 part per million. The association says this will help in the fight against tooth decay.

Do you really think that dentists want to win the fight against tooth decay? It's a cavity cash cow for them and the insurance industry. They're all in the business to make money. So why is the Dental Association pushing so hard to dump that by-product of industrial processes into our water? Who would be "encouraging" them to do so? It all smacks of . . .

Um, if I should be so unfortunate as to be in a situation where I should, say, require emergency dental surgery, I suggest you delete your browser history. You never saw this.

Train Tract No. 719

The train is late, and I had not expected to see it now. But, seizing the moment, I run toward it. You have to cross the tracks to board the platform, so the race is on. I am running on the icy pavement with my head down, and as the whistle blows, it occurs to me that the engineer thinks I am unaware of the impending collision. I stop. Once the train passes, I cross the tracks, run the length of the platform, and enter the train. I've made it. Or at least I think I've made it. Perhaps I had slipped on the ice and slid beneath the merciless steel train wheels. Was my life force so strong that I have continued on in spirit form? A loud noise startles me, and I associate the sound with the searing pain of cold wheel slicing through warm leg bone. But the sound is a heavy briefcase that had been dropped to the floor by another passenger. I consider continuing my conceit, if it is a conceit, when I arrive at work. I will greet my coworkers, and in that instant before they respond, I will fall to my spirit knees in mock agony, and cry, "It's true! You can't see me or hear me! I'm a ghost!" And then I will tell them about my near-death experience. And if they do not respond, I will accept my lot and wander off.