Let's Talk To The Animals

Your humble staffers at Lightning Round headquarters usually steer as clear as we can from animal stories. We have regular shots to protect us from Skiing Squirrel Virus, that irresistible urge to lump in a cuddly tidbit from the kingdom of snouts and fur. But this week, several stories zinged down our wire that go beyond back page grinners, for they reveal much about ourselves if you read between the paws.

FRANKENMUTTON. First they cloned a sheep. Now scientists have come up with a sheep that's 15 percent human. The hope is that they'll soon grow organs human enough to be used for transplants, alleviating a shortage.

From the London Daily Mail:

Animal rights activists fear that if the cells get mixed together, they could end up with cellular fusion, creating a hybrid which would have the features and characteristics of both man and sheep.

We already have such a species. They're called Scientologists.

DEATH IN BLACK AND WHITE. The Berlin Zoo is denying allegations its beloved panda Yan Yan died because of crowds and stress related to her celebrity neighbor, polar bear cub "Cuddly Knut."

Knut, you may recall, was abandoned by his mother despite his infectious cuteness. But he didn't become a superstar until an animal activist said he was better off dead than being raised by humans -- to which millions said, "Oh yeah?"

Apparently Yan Yan thought she was the one deserving of mortality with the overflow visitors spilling her way.

From Reuters:

"Lots of people gave up on seeing Knut because of the long queues, so they went to see Yan Yan instead. She seemed intimidated and anxious," wrote the paper [Bild], suggesting Yan Yan could have had a heart attack.

The final chapter in Yan Yan's life ends with a cipherous tragicness, according to a zoo spokesman.

"Our keepers were stunned. The sad thing is that because of the excitement around Knut, she died alone and no one immediately noticed that she had passed away."

A necropsy -- that's an animal version of an autopsy -- is planned.

RUFFLING FEATHERS. An animal shelter in Seattle has found new homes for 110 parakeets rescued from a one-bedroom apartment. Their owner had been collecting them for five years, according to police.

From the AP:

The owner told the officers he previously tried to give the small birds to another shelter, but said he had been told only five would be kept and the rest would be euthanized.

We sense echoes of Monty Python... "These parakeets are no more! They have ceased to be! If ye hadn'ta gassed them they would be pushin' up the daisies!"

By the way, the bird-loving apartment dweller won't face charges because he cooperated with authorities. Given the alternative, can you really blame him for creating his own sanctuary?

DOGGONE AMAZING. Debbie Parkhurst of Calvert, Maryland says she owes her life to her golden retriever Toby, who knocked her over and jumped up and down on her chest when she was choking on an apple.

From the AP:

That's when the apple dislodged and Toby started licking her face to keep her from passing out, she said.

"I literally have pawprint-shaped bruises on my chest. I'm still a little hoarse, but otherwise, I'm OK," Parkhurst said.

I'd like to see a cat do that.

BURNING LOVE. We turn from animals now to animalistic behavior. A housewife in Brazil faces a 19-year prison sentence for killing her husband, chopping him up into more than 100 pieces, and frying him. The remains of Jose Raimundo Soares dos Santos turned up in plastic bags beneath a staircase in his home.

From the AP:

[A police spokesman] said the killing was either part of a black magic ritual or an attempt by the wife to collect life insurance worth about $34,000.

Only in Brazil, you may think. Well, no. Ask people living in Houston's Red Oak apartments about that strange smell coming from the unit of Timothy Wayne Shepherd. He had a hot girlfriend. Police say he was cooking her on his balcony grills.

From the AP:

A leasing agent at the apartment complex also noticed the thick dark smoke and the intense flames and asked Shepherd what he was doing, Evans said. Another neighbor, 18-year-old James Hebert, told The Houston Chronicle that he often cooked out with Shepherd, and even left his grill at Shepherd's apartment. When he wasn't invited over, he asked his neighbor what was going on. Shepherd replied that he was cooking for a wedding, the newspaper said.

No mention of fava beans or a nice chianti. Supp, supp, supp.

And Now... "The News!"

The guys at jibjab.com strike again with this biting statement about TV news channels. Play, laugh, and hopefully -- if you're an aspiring producer -- learn. (Rated PG for some mild adult humor.)

Dead Air

To die in the sky -- the image is poetic and heavenly. It rhymes, too. But some flights nowadays are barely fit for the living, which makes our lead story all the more ironic.

THE LAST UPGRADE. A crew on a British Airways flight moved a passenger from coach to first class after she died on the flight. Her family was moved with her to give them some privacy to grieve.

But the real shock came for a sleeping first-class passenger who woke up with the deceased next to him.

From the AP:

"I didn't have a clue what was going on. The stewards just plonked the body down without saying a thing. I remember looking at this frail, sparrow-like woman and thinking she was very ill," the newspaper quoted [Paul] Trinder as saying. "When I asked what was going on, I was shocked to hear she was dead."

And likely still earning frequent-flyer miles, too.

LOADED BEHIND THE WHEEL. Bernadette Houghton Headd of Detroit faces road-rage related charges after she shot out the tires on a truck tailgating her. She was licensed to carry a concealed weapon and a crack shot.

From the Detroit Free Press:

When she was arrested, she told police, "I'm tired of people tailgating me."

But her mother said Headd was fearful during a trying and turbulent time in her life. She had been caring for her mother, who had a kidney transplant in December, and for her 18-year-old son, who had surgery in January for scoliosis, Del-Marie Headd said Saturday.

Your Lightning Round thinks Headd could've saved herself a lot of trouble with a carefully worded bumper sticker: "I'm stressed. I'm packing. Need I say more?"

RADIOACTIVE. Debbie Bird of Bowden, England, is so sensitive to electromagnetic radiation, she can break out in a rash when somebody answers their cell phone.

She tells the Daily Mail:

'I don't own a microwave. I don't use mobile phones at all. I can't even use a cordless phone. We have a plasma screen TV because the old style one gave out gamma rays, which brought on my reaction.

'I can't even get in my friend's BMW. If I do I immediately start getting a headache and my head starts tingling.

'Even shopping is a problem. I can't go in places like Starbucks where there is Wi-Fi broadband and always have to be aware of my environment.'

Mrs. Bird and her husband had to electrically shield their home.

The house was completely re-wired, had clear protective film put on the windows and every wall was painted with black carbon paint, which cost £250 per tin, to deflect the harmful rays.

All the couple's bedroom curtains are also silver-plated and they sleep under a silver-plated mosquito net, which also protects against radiation.

Given the FBI's recent transgressions involving electronic surveillance, some of us may want to do the same.

UNHAND THAT BALLOON... WAIT... NO! In our continuing search for Totally Unnecessary Legislation, your Lightning Round stumbled across a bill in New Hampshire that makes it a crime to release a balloon. Get caught and you get slapped with a $250 fine.

From the Concord Union-Leader:

Those who favored the bill said the balloon materials, including the attached strings and ribbons, pose a serious threat to wildlife. Whales, turtles and seabirds that live along New Hampshire's coastline mistakenly eat floating balloons thinking they are food, and then are unable to eat real food.

"Do we now get balloon police?" Rep. Randolph Holden, R-Goffstown, asked.

My grandfather's dog used to eat anything that wasn't nailed down. Where's the law to protect him?

TALE OF THE TAPE. A new study finds duct tape, contrary to an earlier study, doesn't cure warts.

From the AP:

[The finding] does not surprise Dr. Amy Paller, chairman of the dermatology department at Northwestern University's Feinberg School of Medicine, who was not involved in the new study.

"I have plenty of patients come in having tried duct tape. That's why they come in, because it didn't work," Paller said.

And while we're at it, our staffers remind you it's no substitute for Nair, either. Don't ask.

Reel To Reel: 300

Come back with your shield or on it!

How It Rates: ***1/2
Starring: Gerard Butler
Rated: R
Red Flags: Ye Olde Graphic Bloody Battle Violence, Two Sex Scenes, Nudity

300 is the perfect example of making a CGI movie without letting CGI become the star of the show. It is here to transport us back to ancient Greece, fill in the deathy beautiful backgrounds of massive armies and cloud the skies with swarms of arrows. But all the CGI in this picture is no match for the charisma of King Leonidas (Butler) and his 300 battle-hungry Spartan warriors, greatly outnumbered by the Persian army of King Xerxes at the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 B.C. Challenges to the film's historic accuracy have emerged, and Iran has charged it with insulting Persian culture, but we'll leave those arguments aside. As a film, 300 is as exciting as it is visually dazzling and brutally bloody. It's the same sort of demented excitement I got from 2005's Sin City, which like this film is based on a graphic novel by Frank Miller.

The picture works because it instantly gives us an underdog to root for with patriotic overtones. Think of the bedrocks of democracy in B.C.-Greece and many will think of the Athenians, of Aristotle, Socrates, and Plato. Those Athenians could philosophize and write great drama, but the Spartans were the real fighters, the film argues, the true defenders of liberty in their red cloaks and battle-dinged shields. Spartans live to fight and fight to live. They feast on pain. Death be not in peace, but in the height of war, going out in a glorious stand. Can you imagine anybody willing to die with such anticipation and vigor? Yaaaaaaaah!

That sort of dedication is what makes the Spartans so mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Strategically, they're no slouches either, as Leonidas comes up with a plan to even the odds, forcing Xerxes' army into trap after trap. When strategy fails, that Spartan warrior culture takes over -- and look out. At times, it's like Clash Of The Titans merged with The Matrix, as scene after scene of slowed-down, sped-up battles plays out, if you don't mind the blood.

Hey, Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone!

Going away to some boarding school shouldn't feel like incarceration.

THIS IS A SCHOOL, RIGHT? Oprah Winfrey's Leadership Academy For Girls in South Africa is so strict, parents can only visit their children once a month, according to Gavin Prins of News24.com.

From the article:

Cellphones and e-mail correspondence are out of bounds during the week, and girls are only allowed to phone their parents at weekends.

The maximum number of visitors per pupil is four, and visits have to be approved by the school at least two weeks in advance.

And watch what you eat, says one parent:

"The poor children are not even allowed to have any treats. Their diet is fruit, yogurt and sandwiches. When they go on holiday for a month in April they'll be stuffing themselves with sweets and chocolates in any case."

Who's running this school -- Oprah or Sheriff Joe Arpaio? At least Miss O's kids don't have to wear pink underwear and stripes.

Oprah, naturally, says people have it all wrong. A statement posted on TMZ.com says:

"Our goal is to protect the health, welfare and well-being of the students at the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy. As with other boarding schools, we provide a structured, safe and nurturing environment in which the girls can learn and develop."

Jail can be pretty safe and nurturing, too, depending on your perspective.

THEY'RE BACK. That was fast. Sen. Hillary Clinton is once again playing the "vast right-wing conspiracy" card long before the first GOP attack ad hits. Clinton bases her conspiracy theory on accusations of anti-voter actions, including phone jamming by Republican operatives in 2002.

From the AP:

She also said the government should do more to end unusually long lines at certain polling places.

"It just so happens that many of those places where people are waiting for hours are places where people of color are voting or young people are voting. That is un-American, and we're going to end it," Clinton said.

We only hope she means ending the lines and not the voting.

BAD HAIR DAY. When police in Memphis booked Anna Clifford for DUI, they nearly had to use a wide-angle lens on the mugshot. Her ghastly-large spiky hair took up most of the frame.

From a police spokesman quoted in the London Daily Mail:

"When we pulled her over she had been driving with her sunroof open to allow room for her hair. I don’t know what she'd do if it rained."

Perhaps flatten it down into an umbrella?

BAD KID. A 13-year-old Ohio boy is charged with more than 100 felonies. The rap sheet against Andrew Riley includes burglary, theft, vandalism and intimidation.

From ONN:

His stepfather said Riley had a rough childhood.

"He's our oldest, you know. He's our first born and he's been through a lot," said [James] Blake.

The stepdad doesn't elaborate on what "a lot" means, but we're guessing it's nothing compared to what the boy has put others through.

TOO MANY SECRETS. You have no excuse to stash a key under your doormat anymore, not when so many other alternatives exist. We're especially fond of the "lettuce safe."

THRILL OF THE FEET. We have seen the rollercoaster of the future, and you pedal it. But where are all the loops?

CAT-ASTROPHE. Authorities in North Platte, Nebraska put down two stray cats and checked them for rabies after they got into a house and attacked three people.

From the AP:

When investigator John Stadler arrived and opened the bedroom door, "he saw a gray and white cat baring its teeth in attack mode," Gutschenritter said. "He shut the bedroom door and returned to his car for a dart gun."

Both cats were shot, tranquilized and taken to the animal shelter, where they were euthanized.

And to think you laughed when it happened to WJW's Kathleen Cochrane.

Civil War In The Southwest -- The Video

KOLD News 13 covered this past weekend's re-enactment at Picacho Peak featuring the 1st Virginia Volunteer Infantry among hundreds of other historical volunteers.

Here's the story, as reported by Mark Stine. No, your humble servant is not in it, at my insistence to avoid a conflict of interest.

Embedding Windows Media Player isn't working very well on this page so please click the link below:

http://members.cox.net/cfrancis21/PicachoPeak.wmv

Cat Handcuffs, Anyone?

From WJW in Cleveland comes this painful live shot. When a cat doesn't want to be held, it will not be held, as Kathleen Cochrane found out.

Voted Out

Your vote is your voice, but too many people have suddenly gotten laryngitis at the ballot box. The new technology hailed as the savior from dangling chads has created a new set of problems.

UNPLUGGED. Diebold appears ready to ditch its electronic voting machines, riddled with problems and bad karma which could end up hurting sales of the company's mainstay products in the financial world -- including ATMs.

From the AP:

Diebold indicated it still is "vulnerable to these types of challenges because the electronic elections systems industry is emerging." The report also mentioned inconsistency in the way state and local governments are adapting to federal requirements for upgrades in voting technology.

Pencil, paper and a lock on a box sound better all the time.

IN THE RED. One hundred million dollars in marketing and Bono do not a successful charity campaign make, as evidence suggests from the Red efforts. The AIDS-fighting project designed to let people give while they buy red cell phones and trendy fashions has only raised $18 million so far.

From AdAge:

Trent Stamp, president of Charity Navigator, which rates the spending practices of 5,000 nonprofits, said he's concerned about the campaign's impact on the next generation. "The Red campaign can be a good start or it can be a colossal waste of money, and it all depends on whether this edgy, innovative campaign inspires young people to be better citizens or just gives them an excuse to feel good about themselves while they buy an overpriced item they don't really need."

One critic nails it:

"The Red campaign proposes consumption as the cure to the world's evils," said Ben Davis, creative director at Word Pictures Ideas, co-creator of [a Red parody] site. "Can't we just focus on the real solution -- giving money?"

We would, if we hadn't spent it on our Red American Express card already.

WITCH HUNT. Lauren Berrios is a former Catholic who converted to Judaism. But to the Hampton Bays school district in New York City, she's wicked, and she's suing them for $2 million. Berrios says she was fired for using literature to entice people into witchcraft.

What literature, you ask? Oh, the usual suspects -- the Harry Potter and Goosebumps books. Great corruptors of youth they are.

From WCBS-TV, New York:

She believes books that didn't mesh with principal's religious values, even including African-American literature, were taken out of her curriculum.

[Her lawyer] admits that Berrios' appearance didn't help her cause either, especially when she was teaching her students about the Salem witch trials. "Mrs. Berrios has long fingernails, wears dark make-up, wears black," he said.

At least the school didn't throw her in the harbor to see if she floated.

RECORD NO EVIL. If a man beats you to a pulp in the street, and a reporter wasn't there to photograph it, did it happen? France is banning the filming or broadcasting of violent acts unless you're a "professional journalist."

From IDG via MacWorld:

During parliamentary debate of the law, government representatives said the offense of filming or distributing films of acts of violence targets the practice of “happy slapping,” in which a violent attack is filmed by an accomplice, typically with a camera phone, for the amusement of the attacker’s friends.

The law was approved exactly 16 years after a home video camera captured the LAPD beating of Rodney King. Remember, France does not have a First Amendment. But even without the letter of the law, the spirit of the law is infectious.

The journalists’ organization Reporters Without Borders, which campaigns for a free press, has warned that such a system could lead to excessive self censorship as organizations worried about losing their certification suppress certain stories.

If you love your freedom, thank a veteran. And then go enlighten a Frenchman.

NEXT TIME, WE'LL JUST LET IT BURN. Mexico is upset with U.S. Border Patrol agents in Arizona for crossing south of the line to put out a brush fire after it crossed the line, too.

From the AP's account of a Mexican government news release:

"While the department recognizes that the incursion may have been a response to an attempt to deal with an emergency, as the U.S. Embassy states, it has reiterated ... that even during emergency situations, it is required, without exception, to immediately notify the Mexican authorities."

You work the hose, I gotta make a phone call.

Where the heck are the Minutemen when you need 'em? Their fences have problems, but they oughta be at least capable of a bucket brigade. As for Mexico, why get all bent out of shape over a good deed?

The Golden Rule model for handling such incidents goes to Liechtenstein, which recently dealt with an accidental incursion by members of the Swiss Army who got lost.

From the AP:

Officials in Liechtenstein also played down the incident.

Interior ministry spokesman Markus Amman said nobody in Liechtenstein had even noticed the soldiers, who were carrying assault rifles but no ammunition. "It's not like they stormed over here with attack helicopters or something," he said.

Yeah, but those knives they carry are something else.

One commenter on Newsvine still sees a diabolical plot:

This was the first phase of their plan to conquer the world. In 10 years we will all be armed, building clocks, eating swiss cheese and chocolate.

Nut tu menshun ve-a veell ell be-a speekeeng leeke-a thees. Feer zee Sveess. Zeey ere-a cumeeng tu teke-a oofer zee vurld. Meesteke-a my heeeny. Furst Leeechtenstein, zeen vurld. Merk my vurds. Bork Bork Bork!

More Power To You

Our nation's voracious appetite for energy has the former veep urging all of us to diet. Yet in the quest to go electrically lean and clean, some pay to play.

BEST NON-ACTOR IN A NON-SUPPORTING ROLE. Al Gore could set a better example for himself, according to the Tennessee Center for Policy Research.

From the TCPR's press release:

Last August alone, Gore burned through 22,619 kWh-guzzling more than twice the electricity in one month than an average American family uses in an entire year. As a result of his energy consumption, Gore's average monthly electric bill topped $1,359.

Since the release of An Inconvenient Truth, Gore's energy consumption has increased from an average of 16,200 kWh per month in 2005, to 18,400 kWh per month in 2006.

But hold on. The Tennessean has the proverbial rest of the story, which shows Gore is trying to make amends through the wallet.

Electric bills obtained by The Tennessean, however, showed that Gore is paying a premium on his bills to be part of the “green power” program. Gore purchased 108 blocks of “green power” for at least each of the last three months, according to a summary of bills from Nashville Electric Service.

That’s a total of $432 a month spent to pay extra for solar or other renewable energy sources. NES power – outside this program -- is derived largely from coal, which emits carbon, a green house gas.

We're glad Gore can afford to be green. Does he desire the rest of us to cough up more, too?

IT'S NOT NICE TO FOOL WITH MOTHER NATURE! Petmedsonline, of all places, lists several examples of man messing around with nature, including Killer Bees:

Thirty five years after it was introduced into Brazil and escaped from a breeding experiment, the killer bee arrived in Texas, and was spreading north. During its migration the bee has killed hundreds of people and has caused a falloff in honey production.

But it did help Killer Bee Guy Reed Booth of Bisbee.

FORGET PARIS. In mid-February the Associated Press declared a press blackout on Paris Hilton, according to the New York Observer:

“Next week,” entertainment editor Jesse Washington wrote in an e-mail memo obtained by The Transom, “the print team is planning an unconventional experiment: We are NOT going to cover Paris Hilton.

“Barring any major, major news, we are not going to put a single word about Paris on the wire,” the memo continued. “If something does come up, big or small, we encourage discussions on whether we should write about it.”

The results of the experiment, naturally, will be fodder for a future A.P. story. “Hopefully we will be able to discuss what ‘news’ we missed,” read the memo, which could have used some stern copy-editing, “the repercussions of our blackout for AP both editorially and business-wise, and most importantly the force that cause the world to be fixated on this person who, despite her shallow frivolity, represents an epochal development in our culture.”

The Lightning Round has adopted a similar policy towards Britney Spears, and we encourage others to do the same.

IN-TERROR-GATION. Fort Huachuca, located not far south of your Lightning Round's home base, is where many military interrogators hone their craft. Others are learning from the anything-goes style of Jack Bauer on Fox's 24, according to Newsweek:

The Pentagon told NEWSWEEK last week that it didn't know anything about the tactics used on "24," nor had it heard the allegations of their impact. "Humane treatment of detainees is and always has been the [U.S. Department of Defense] standard," said Lt. Col. Mark Ballesteros. But former U.S. Army specialist Tony Lagouranis, who left the military with an honorable discharge in 2005 and has since spoken out about the abuse of Iraqi prisoners there, says the use of tactics like those featured on TV was common during his 2004-2005 Iraqi tour. According to Lagouranis, his unit tried out similar tactics after watching torture scenes on television and DVD. He has since teamed up with Human Rights First, and recently met with the producers of "24" as part of an effort to have them be more "responsible" in their portrayal of torture scenes.

How does one torture responsibly? We sure as heck wouldn't leave it to Fox.

NOTES ON A SCANDAL. The husband of celebrated late classical pianist Joyce Hatto revealed he played listeners by releasing CD's which contained slices of other keyboardists' work.

From the AP:

"It is self-evident that I have acted stupidly, dishonestly and unlawfully," William Barrington-Coupe wrote in a letter acknowledging the fraudulent recordings, which he said he produced without his wife's knowledge while she was dying of ovarian cancer.

Barrington-Coupe says he inserted the other bits to mask the grunts of his wife, who was suffering from ovarian cancer at the time she made the recordings. The fraud fell apart when a listener with iTunes noticed one recording by Hatto was misidentified as another's. Turns out, the computer was telling the truth.

A record company executive who oversees one of the lifted recordings plans no legal action against Barrington-Coupe:

"The guy is 76, he has a heart condition -- well, he says he has a heart condition -- and I can't see what, apart from revenge, it would give anyone," he said.

We recall what it did to Milli Vanilli.

SHE'S CURED! In our last episode, we detailed the hiccup histrionics of Jennifer Mee -- the larger problem being the media attention, not the hiccups itself. We're pleased to report the hiccups have stopped. And so, we hope, have the calls from talk show bookers.

One of our colleagues suggested Mee was faking it. C'mon... she's no Meg Ryan.

Ready For Battle

We have seen the enemy, and they are ours.

We await their advance, to dispatch them with all speed and necessary force.

And you shall know it is us by our tartans and sabers. Bring a sword to a gunfight? That's the way the heroes clash -- ho, ho, ho!

Even when all hope is lost, the numbers lopsided, victory dissolving like tears in rain, we refuse to surrender, submit, yield to those who shall shackle and diminish us, minimalize and render us irrelevant.

For we are warriors in a just and noble cause, and we have only begun to fight.

Fetch my armor and pass the haggis.

(Above photo from the Mesa Highland Games, February 24, 2007. Thank you, Rosemary!)

The Day After The Oscars

Surveying the punditry from last night's Oscarcast, everyone agrees the show ran way too long. I agree. L.A. Weekly's Nikki Finke is foaming at the sequins, saying "It was lacking in razzle-dazzle. It had no trash and flash." Tom Shales of The Washington Post graded it "alternately (and sometimes simultaneously) a bore and a horror."

Bore, maybe. But horror? If Scorsese lost for Best Director, that would be horror. Without replaying the entire ceremony, I submit some snapshot thoughts:

* Ellen DeGeneres may be a great talk show host, but she's too cute and not funny enough. The improvised bit with Steven Spielberg taking a digital photo of her and Scorsese was a hoot, though.

* How the heck did Melissa Ethridge's "I Need To Wake Up" beat three songs from Dreamgirls? Was the Academy using Diebold voting machines?

* I wish the Academy would create (and announce) a streaming-video site where we could see the nominees for the short-subject films, animated and live action. Year after year, these awards go out to films 95% percent of America hasn't seen, with no way to see them.

* Dump some production numbers. Will Ferrell and Jack Black are no song-and-dance team. The Pilobolus Dance Theatre was intriguing, but it just padded out time. Don't get me started on the half-hour red carpet show or the opening interview montage with the nominees. Keep the Dreamgirls songs.

* An Inconvenient Truth winning for Best Documentary Feature surprised nobody. Pan's Labryinth losing Best Foreign-Language film was a Brink's job.

* Despite what you heard, Celene Dion's "World Premiere" of composer Ennio Morricone's "I Knew I Loved You" was anything but. The song is from Sergio Leone's 1984 gangster epic Once Upon A Time In America. The words to the music are the only thing that premiered. Snarks Shales: "Unfortunately it sounded like the theme from Titanic and every other song she sang."

* Forest Whitaker is now the hottest property in Hollywood after winning for The Last King Of Scotland.

* Happy Feet wins Best Animated Film. March Of The Penguins won in last year's Documentary Feature category. The Academy clearly has what the comic strip "Bloom County" used to call "penguin lust."

* Maybe we can shave a half hour off the Oscars by handing out the Sound Mixing and Sound Editing awards off camera. How many people know the difference, anyway?

* Jennifer Hudson's Best Supporting Actress win for Dreamgirls proves American Idol's Simon doesn't know Jack.

* Even with Al Gore, the entire show went out of its way to come off apolitical. Gore stressed the global warming battle was a winnable fight. Ethridge declared it a nonpartisan issue. It's as if the thought police were waiting offstage to drag them away should they bash Republicans.

* Someone explain to me how Borat's improvised pranks qualify for the Best Adapted Screenplay category.

* Best Blooper: Will Smith's son accidentally started reading ahead to the next category in the teleprompter before his cohort Abigail Breslin presented the award for Best Animated Short film. It came off funnier and more genuine than most of the evening's scripted jokes.

Shut Up And Teach

I learned to read in elementary school, conquered math in middle school, and refined my writing in high school. But I didn't learn how to think until I got into college. In order for that to happen, somebody had to challenge my beliefs. That's called teaching. Apparently some Arizona legislators call it treason.

WE INSTRUCT, YOU DECIDE. Arizona is considering a bill to keep politics out of public schools.

From the AP:

A proposed state law would prohibit any instructor in a public school or college from advocating or opposing a political candidate or one side of a social, political or cultural issue that is part of a partisan debate.

A group of Arizona lawmakers concluded Thursday [Feb. 15] that classrooms should not be forums for schoolteachers and college professors to espouse political opinions.

For the record, no college professor or high school teacher ever tried to indoctrinate me or pass out campaign buttons. We had classroom debates, but the teachers stayed out. But apparently, lawmakers fear teachers will flunk students who disagree with their political beliefs. I ask, how many times has this reallyhappened?

I also detect some lingering resentment towards the Tucson Unified School District, which was called on the carpet last year after immigrant-rights activist Dolores Huerta spoke to students. She said, among other things, "Republicans hate Latinos."

It's the unwritten commandment wafting through the state capitol: Thou shalt not insult a Republican in Arizona. But thou shalt also remember the First Amendment.

TAKING THE "V" OUT OF "TV". Irrationally cracking down on sex and dirty words isn't enough for the FCC. Now it's going after violence on the tube. And cable may not be exempt.

From ArsTechnica:

"The pressure to do something on this is building right now," Commissioner Michael Copps told the AP. "People really feel strongly about this issue all across this land. This is not a red state or a blue state issue."

It is a constitutional issue, however -- and a logistical one.

Another challenge would be coming up with a workable definition of violence. Profanity and sex are arguably simple: provide broadcasters a list of words that cannot be uttered and body parts that cannot be shown, and you're all set. Violence is another matter. Would reports in prime-time news magazines like 60 Minutes and 20/20 be exempt? What about a full-court brawl during a basketball game like the one the New York Knicks and Denver Nuggets engaged in late last year? It's a minefield, to say the least.

And blowing up broadcasters with fines won't solve the problem.

BATTLE OF THE BOOKERS. First, 15-year-old old Jennifer Mee was besieged by hiccups. Now she's besiged by the media. The Florida teenager got caught in the crossfire of the morning show wars when ABC's "Good Morning America" tried to wrangle her story after she appeared on NBC's "Today" show. A GMA booker called Mee's home 57 times last Sunday and slipped a note under her hotel door. Other talk shows are lining up.

From the St. Petersburg Times:

"We went to the media for one reason only, but now I just feel like she is being used," Jennifer's stepfather, Chris Robidoux said about reaching out for help.

"She's not for sale. She's a human being."

And she still has the hiccups.

YOU AGAIN? 911 operators in Sheboygan County, Wisconsin have seen their own deluge of phone calls -- more than 100 prank calls from an 8-year-old girl on a cell phone. She will not be charged with a crime.

From UPI:

"At this point, the matter was corrected," [a Sheriff's department spokesman] said. "We'll leave it for the parents to deal with."

Or not.

EXCUSES, EXCUSES. Since "the dog ate it" doesn't work anymore, Job Profiles provides some ones that might.

A sampling:

* Too worried about genocide in obscure African nations to focus on homework
* Didn’t you see the flash of the nuclear explosion? I was duct taping my windows shut.
* The nice man with the sign says the end is HERE. No one does homework on the eve of the apocalypse.
* The two lights were lit above the clock tower in the center of campus, which if I’m not mistaken means the British are coming by sea, and there is another reason not to do homework.

You just may get points for originality, if nothing else.

In His Excellency's Loyal Service

Hail To The Chief! We Make History honors the Father Of A Nation and A Fine Dancer on his 275th Birthday* with the enthusiastic assistance of The Continental Line.
(*but we stopped counting at 200)

From the journal of Private Christopher Francis
Photographic Assistance by Private Michael C.

(Click any photo for a larger view!)


Shoulder to shoulder. Left before right. This hand above that. Everything has a procedure, and my aim is to follow it precisely.

“I’ve never been in a color guard before,” I admit as I clasp the flagpole in my hands. The Star-Spangled Banner drapes down to tips of my fingers. This part does not worry me.

The challenge lies in matching my cadence to three fellow soldiers of General Washington’s Continental Line. As my own mother is fond of pointing out, I tend to walk fast.

His Excellency welcomes the assembled guests at the front of the room as we wait at the ready, in our tricorns and uniforms. Up close, one can see the nuances of four different tailors. Yet from a distance, we flow together perfectly in our red, white and blue.

“Forward, march!”

We move as one, and I hold the line as I hold the flag, coming to a halt before the group of some fifty ladies and gentlemen in a heartfelt tribute to our liberated nation and its many liberties -- freedom of assembly, to name but one.


“I pledge allegiance to the flag, of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, Under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all…”

In the unison recitation of the Pledge and the singing of our National Anthem with the American Flag in my hands, I doubt I have ever participated in a more patriotic moment.



Placing the flag in the stand before the crowd, my duty is complete and part of me exhales, only to lament later not adding more military finesse and precision to my solo part of the ceremony. Shouldn’t I have saluted somewhere in this? Should I have added a snap of my feet? Everything has a procedure. Yet General Washington is satisfied, and my cadence is about to evolve from marching to dancing.

The charming schoolteacher Miss Kay is looking out for me.

“Do you have a partner for the procession?” she asks. She has someone already lined up.

After a bit of confusion as to whether I am supposed to be escorting someone else, I introduce myself to beautiful woman in blue with a low bow. She graciously accepts my invitation, and we’re soon promenading around the room, getting a better look at the colorful fashions and ubiquitous newcomers taking their first steps back in time.

Our first dance is entitled, “I Care Not For These Ladies,” the most whimsically misleading English Country Dance title I have ever heard as the ladies and gentlemen circulate in a round. I meet and greet at least a half-dozen partners, sharing a few turns and some fancy steps before its time to move on.

This night, I must keep a promise to a beautiful young daughter of a fellow soldier.

“I owe you a dance,” I say to her before the evening commences. I have owed her that dance since December. “I intend to pay my debt or suffer the consequences.”

Yet when the line dances commence, others keep reaching her first. Other times, she disappears from my sight. Where is she?

But I can’t linger on the floor too long in waiting. The guest list measures many names shorter than in previous soirées, and the available partners disappear like the sunlight of a February day. Now is the time to use those fast feet, paired with a sharp eye for a partnerless lady. Do your duty, soldier. Seek out that one on the floor with a countenance exuding dismay or desperation, visible all the way from the other side of the room.

“The woman in blue,” a fellow Continental hints to me at one point. “She’s sat out the last two dances.” Why is it always the women in blue? She’s taken before I can rescue her.

“Girls keep running away,” one gentleman says during a break for refreshments. I cannot understand why. Even though he is dressed one hundred years forward in time, in the garb of the 1st Virginia Volunteer Infantry, he is still very much a Virginia gentleman and the justification for any fear escapes my comprehension.

Let us hope it is not a playful tossle of the hair intimidating them. One such dance, “Away To The Camp,” all but requires it as the ladies and gentlemen parade around each other in one of the figures and daintily tickle and pinch each others’ locks. My hair is not yet at ponytail length, but my curls get a generous tweak.


I offer a couple of dances to some shy young folk. They dance as well as those triple their age, and they love every moment. Even during a pause in the festivities, many continue dancing about, as does one wee lass who cavorts straight up to me. I launch into an extemporaneous jig. We both share a Miracle Moment, capering together in the middle of an otherwise barren dance floor.

“Do you ever get a feeling of butterflies in you when you dance with someone?” she asks.

“I get that all the time.”

“Well, I only get that when I dance with that boy over there,” she explains, indicating a precocious and lively patriot lad.

No doubt it is more than butterflies.

“That’s a good feeling,” I say.

Other butterflies flutter within me. I still must repay my debt. If I don’t, I am bound to some sort of reprimand. The punishment remains undetermined, but I have no doubt it will involve some sort of a jig. However, I finally find the lady I owe, and we agree the next dance shall settle it.

Setting things right will have to wait a bit longer, however, for lined up on the ballroom floor are thirteen American Belles, fine ladies representing thirteen new states.


I am called to duty again, to help present these paradigms of beauty and character to the assembled guests in a courtly promenade for photographs and admiration. With only four of us on the Line, each of us enjoy three opportunities to escort a lady. One lucky patriot enjoys a fourth!



Now, let me settle that debt…

“You’re outranked,” a fellow Continental teases. He’s a Lieutenant. He’s also her father. “But I will defer to the private.”

I am thankful for his graciousness. It allows me to share a beautiful, waltz-like number with her -- one that involves changing places across the set several times white staring straight into her eyes. Here come those butterflies again. She is clearly an excellent dancer, much better than I will ever be on this evening. I try my best to be worthy of her grace, stepping in elegance, my arms extended outward as we round each other. I am a soldier, a gentleman, a Virginian, one who has danced all his life… or at least nine balls. And if fulfilling those high standards are not enough motivation, General Washington is dancing right next to us in the set. Compared to his impeccable skill, any mistake on my part will magnify fivefold. I pass the test, my debt repaid, my partner pleased.

But to my frustration, I still end up missing the mark on other dances I thought I would have mastered by this point. What should be a graceful pivot in "Come, Let's Be Merry" displays all the grace of a broken see-saw. Later, I am chosen to demonstrate an alleman left and right with our gracious caller and dancing master only to find my hands don’t link up with my partner’s the way they’re supposed to -- much to the amusement of the ballroom.

And then, in a time-shortened Virginia Reel, I execute the opening turns and passes without fault only to mysteriously find myself discombobulated when the moment of reeling arrives. I nearly start reeling with the wrong side until my fellow Continentals and His Excellency graciously set me back on the right path. And I call myself a Virginian! I should know this like my own face! I have danced for twenty and thirty minutes in these reels with nary an error. What is wrong with me?

I later thank my dancing companions for bearing with me through my deficiencies. “It happens to everyone,” the Lieutenant comforts.

That is true. And I must not forget, we are all laughing together, not at each other. I am not back in elementary school, reliving the nightmare of square dancing. But I shall not be satisfied until I dance a flawless reel at the next ball!



I know His Excellency will not be satisfied until everyone does their homework. He draws several names for prizes, but only a couple of winners have a historical fact at the ready, as stated in the rules. The rest prefer to jig -- or sing -- taking an alternate way out. We hear no mention of the General taking command of the Continentals in 1775. Nobody speaks of his accepting Lord Cornwallis’ surrender in 1781… although a lone British regular in the hall likely prefers it that way.



Many things are worth dancing about, especially birthdays. A round of “Happy Birthday” simply will not suffice amongst 18th Century celebrants, especially one celebrating her 16th birthday. Thus she enjoys a moment as the center of attention while we sing and dance in a circle around her…


“For she’s a jolly good fellow! For she’s a jolly good fellow! For she’s a jolly good fellow -- whom nobody can deny!”


We invite others with February birthdays to join her in the center for a joyous encore. You could sing that song of everyone in the room -- everyone jolly, good fellows, enjoying life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

When the final waltz arrives, it is always with a bit of sadness. I share the last dance with a young lass, who is not intimidated by this Yankee Doodle Dandy and his basic waltzing ability. She twirls when she wants, if she wants. I merely follow and smile and bow to my partner with words of gratitude.

“You’re a much better waltzer than I am.”

Private Christopher, I think, you have so much to learn and so many willing to teach.

It is obvious the Revolution is not over. We are leading a new one, looking back to move forward. Most times, we will not carry muskets or wear uniforms. And sadly, for most people, the stories of our American Belles will escape attention as the rest of the world obsesses on the wreckage of other peoples’ lives. We’ve got a long fight ahead of us. But with a little inspiration, a lot of heart, a generous spirit, and a clear sense of purpose, victory shall be ours! Huzzah!

* * *

“I really like your outfit!” calls a teenage girl standing from a second floor balcony.

I am walking back through the motel room parking lot in my full Continental regalia, haversack over my shoulder, tricorn atop my head, uplifted and renewed from an after-ball feast and some time with friends in the late hours.

“Thank you!” I offer with a smile and an elegant bow.

I explain where I have been and what I have done. If I were not tired and she were not holding an empty bottle, I would offer to teach her a few steps from the past.

She thinks it is cool. Yea, victory shall be ours.

Click here for more memories, more photos and our tribute to the beautiful American Belles!


COMING IN MARCH: A Tribute To The Ladies Of Virginia... Even In The Darkest Hours Of A Nation

Voter Tantrums

In my salad days of reporting, I heard a political scientist declare we were "overworking the American voter," forcing too many ballot items before them and deluging them with initiatives. Arizona and California are notorious for offloading issues onto the electorate, especially silly ones -- like that million-dollar voter lottery Arizonans rejected last November. However, it's nice to see some other folks getting into the game.

GO FORTH AND MULTIPLY -- OR ELSE! A group promoting same-sex marriage is trying to get a new item on Washington's ballot: Initiative 957 would require heterosexual couples to have children within three years or see their marriages annulled. It would also force couples to prove they can procreate before they can marry.

Crazy? That's just what the Washington Defense of Marriage Alliance wants you to think.

From the AP:

"Our intention is not to actually put this into law," he said. "All we want is to get this on the ballot and cause people to talk about it."

The group's Web site gives another reason: "And at the very least, it should be good fun to see the social conservatives who have long screamed that marriage exists for the sole purpose of procreation be forced to choke on their own rhetoric."

It's unlikely the initiative will pass, but if it does, it would also face a Washington Supreme Court challenge, forcing the same justices who banned same-sex marriage to consider whether procreation and marriage go hand in hand.

If we want to use the ballot process for hissy fits, your Lightning Round staff offers these items:

* "Three Strikes And You're Out Act" -- an initiative preventing people who have been divorced three times from marrying again. We see it especially useful in Hollywood.

* "Not In Front Of The Kids Act" -- preventing people with children from getting divorced until the young ones have moved out of the house

* "True Love Waits Act" -- requires a 30-day waiting period for marriage licenses. Already, Vegas wedding chapels are lining up opposition. But hey, it worked with handguns, didn't it?

EAT UP. To this day, my beloved Queen Mother says I need to eat more and will lovingly push food my way. In that spirit, a high-end London restaurant is offering free meals to skinny models.

From Reuters:

Bumpkin restaurant in trendy Notting Hill is offering models with a Body Mass Index (BMI) of less than 18 the opportunity to gorge on fish pies, lamb burgers, king prawns and scallops.

"If I could recommend a dish to a size zero model, it would be a charter pie containing leeks, chicken and bacon; it's enough to keep you warm and energized all day," Bumpkin general manager Dariush Nejad said in a statement on Monday.

Of course, this is all a by-product of the debate surrounding social x-rays on the runway after the deaths of two Latin American models. However, we're not told if any mother figure is around to make sure everybody cleans their plate.

HOW NOW SOUSED COW? A Cornish cattle farmer is letting his herd quaff beer -- up to 40 pints a day. Darren Pluess says the beef is better for it.

From the Manchester Evening News:

Mr Pluess claims the result is fatty well-marbled meat and burgers from the herd fetch up to £40 in restaurants.

"You can't really taste the beer, it just tastes like really, really good beef," he said.

"The cows were kept relaxed and happy by being fed beer and having massages.

"The result of this royal treatment is a quality of beef and a taste like no other.

"Due to the cows being so very relaxed a rich, succulent and tender beef is created."

Those massages come from giant self-service brushes on the shed walls that provide a back rub, so exorcise those dirty thoughts.

And we want to know, how's the milk?

HOME GROWN. Don't bother sending any of Mr. Pluess' products to Senators Max Baucus and Jon Tester of Montana. They're charbroiled over Japanese beef in the Senate Dining Room.

From the AP:

"We were puzzled that the United States Senate Dining Room featured Japanese beef instead of homegrown Montana beef," they wrote [to the restaurant's general manager], adding that Montana cattle "graze on the high plains and in the mountain valleys so their beef is natural, delicious and healthy."

But the real issue here is hard feelings: the Japanese banned U.S. beef imports for several years in the mad cow disease scare, resuming only after intense begging from Congress.

No word on whether Senators Baucus and Tester had Freedom Fries with their meals.

SERVING WITH A CONDITION. West Virginia legislator Ron Thompson may be the first politican to run to rehab and stay in office at the same time. He has been AWOL from the state capitol for months. Voters still re-elected him, but colleagues declared Thompson's House of Delegates seat vacant after he missed his swearing-in. But they reversed themselves when they got a note from his psychiatrist.

From The (WV) State Journal:

According to the doctor’s letter, Ron Thompson has been suffering for some time from a medical condition that has prevented him from performing his legislative duties and taking the oath of office. The doctor told the speaker that he expects Ron Thompson to make a full recovery and eventually be able to fulfill his obligations to the Legislature and his constituents.

The specifics of that condition remain a mystery, but our Lightning Round amateur diagnosis points to an obsession with Thomas Jefferson, specifically his undocumented, mis-attributed mantra: "That government is best which governs least."

Don't Be Lonely

"Do you see marriage in your future?" a friend asked not long ago.

"No," I said, my mind wandering through the muck of uncertainty. "But maybe my mission in life doesn't involve marriage. I don't want to rush things."

That was only half the truth. The other half: I'm not even dating. I haven't dated since college, and the one relationship I had dissolved in the pain of the past.

I met Jessica at a night out while at Mizzou. A couple of dorms held an ice skating outing one Friday night, and I couldn't resist the lure of cold ice and good times -- anything to divert my attention from exams approaching in the distance.

Jessica was a sophomore. I was a senior. She was a plump, lively girl, about a head shorter than me.

From my journal of December 3, 1993:

We're both from St. Louis, and she sort've knew me already from Six Flags [my summer job] and a class that shares the same room as one of my CS classes. She talks a mile a minute, which might drive some people crazy, but it doesn't bother me at all. We skated together tonight and had a great time.

Jessica came over to my dorm room the next day with tea to take some of the edge off the study crunch.

The more I told her about the finals situation, the more she became convinced I needed more than tea. She gave me a back massage this afternoon. She's really good, on account she plans to study physical therapy. That massage really mellowed me out. I also read over a draft of a paper she'd written for a learning strategies class, and I basically tightened and refined her sentences, not bothering to mess with structure.

A few nights later, she came over again. We talked... we slow danced in the dark... and then we kissed. Passionately.

"Have you ever kissed anybody before?" she asked.

"Not like that," I replied, embarrassed because I'd told her I wasn't after a physical relationship.

Neither of us were ready for one, anyway -- especially Jessica. The night of the big kiss, she revealed to me the evil of a previous boyfriend, one who had his way with her in high school. She hesitated to call it date rape, but her description left no doubt it was. I refused to let her accept any guilt or let the guy off easy, but her handling of the incident bothered me. She had told an aunt and some people at the campus Women's Center but not her parents. Knowing her father would go after the ex with full prosecutorial force, she didn't want to relive it on the witness stand. The pain stayed bottled up within her.

"I feel safe around you," she said to me as we held each other.

I felt helpless. A few days later, she called and told me of holding a knife and not trusting herself with it. I begged her to come clean to her parents, telling her I couldn't do anything more to help her. Both of us survived that scare, but she kept the secret.

We went out again, to the fading St. Louis Center over Christmas Break. And then it was over -- an amicable parting. We lost track of each other, and I knew it was for the best. I feared being an emotional trigger for her, and as much as I wanted to help her, I didn't think I was the right person. I would be graduating soon anyway, off into the real world, and this was no time to start a long-term relationship.

I have never had another girlfriend since then. I've been too busy grinding out a living on nights and weekends. I've attended at least four weddings among my newsroom peers. I've seen at least three others collapse.

I spend ten hours a day staring at a computer screen, cramming my head with information, talking on the phone, chasing down video, churning out scripts all to feed this hungry beast called a 10pm newscast. It's hardly attractive, yet it's what I do. The day isn't even over, even when it's over, as the necessary adrenaline fails to wear off. Hours evaporate as your humble servant downshifts with some web surfing only to find himself in a state of dark restlessness, desperate for a few hours in the land of his dreams.

What lady would tolerate such emptiness and odd hours? Why should she?

My parents don't nag me about marriage anymore. They know better. And with my brother married and raising a family, they've got grandkids. Still they fantasize, imagining me tying the knot with some beautiful girl met through some historical diversion and holding a colonial-style wedding. They imagine me in a tricorn and breeches instead of a tux.

Over the past year, I have shared many wonderful moments with fine women, but that's all they were -- moments. No numbers were exchanged, no dates attempted. My path is solo. At times I wish it weren't so, notably last year during my first full night in New York City, when an inexplicable sadness crept in. Amazing sights surrounded me, and nobody stood by my side to share the moment. I remember also a Saturday night sight from my youth in Kansas City, wandering the Country Club Plaza where it seemed like I was the only single person in the world.

The words of the kindly schoolteacher Miss Kay come back to me: "Don't be lonely."

I know, Miss Kay, and I count the blessings of several friendships. However, I won't be on the giving or receiving end of flowers this Valentine's Day. That is the reality I live with given this mad career choice and my own uncertainties. If the proverbial right girl is out there, I haven't met her yet. If I never meet her, so be it. "Love is patient," we are told, even if that sentiment doesn't fit on a candy heart.

In Space, No One Can Hear You Plead Insanity

It took awhile, but our art department finally got around to anointing us with our official logo. Ooooo. Not only is it nice to look at, but our headline writer also marvels at the space savings up top.

Speaking of space, NASA astronaut turned attempted first-degree murder suspect Lisa Nowak is giving praise to the tabloid gods for the death of Anna Nicole Smith. Rag-mags had more than enough to work with on Nowak: sex, space, diapers, a folding knife, garbage bags, and rubber tubing. You need a humdinger of a tale to top that. But even though she's off the front page, the legal heat's still on, and the laywers are in pre-game mode.

OUT OF THIS WORLD. Oh the stories to be told. And Nowak's defense attorney Donald Lykkebak had one for the judge at his client's arraignment:

From FloridaToday.com:

"What we have here is a desperate woman who wants to have a conversation with another woman. She didn't shoot her. She didn't stab her. She didn't do anything except spray her with pepper spray."

If that didn't work... there was the tubing. And what about that stuff they found in Nowak's duffle bag? According to video from CNN, Lykkebak said this:

"These things were in the duffel bag. And they didn't leave the duffel bag... And there is no evidence she intended to do anything other than have a talk.

Defense lawyers specialize in raising reasonable doubts, reasonable or not. Take this example from last week's stealth-marketing scare in Boston involving light-up devices advertising a cartoon show. Said Michael Rich, the attorney for the two men charged in the panic attack:

"I saw the devices before they were put up. It never occurred to me that it would be anything anyone would be worried about with these devices."

So when did a Lite Brite suddenly become a weapon of mass destruction? But silly us, this is a post 9/11 world.

CRIME 101. Given the heightened awareness we've all been told to possess, an assignment by a Scottsdale, Arizona criminology teacher should've vanished from the lesson plan long ago. But it remained -- until now.

From the AP:

After staged incidents resulted in calls to police the past two years, a Desert Mountain High School assignment that requires students to act out and videotape a mock crime will no longer be required.

Scottsdale Unified School District spokeswoman Marijke Van Fleet said Monday that school officials decided to eliminate the assignment that led to last month's arrests of three students.

Police have responded to a mock kidnapping and a mock carjacking. And we thought our homework was tough. I guess playing "Clue" just doesn't cut it anymore...

CURED. Disgraced pastor Rev. Ted Haggard claims he's cured of homosexuality. We're automatically skeptical of that claim, but the early signs indicate he's making (pun alert) a good-faith effort.

From the Denver Post:

In [an email] message, Haggard revealed that he and his wife, Gayle, intend to leave Colorado Springs and pursue master's degrees [in psychology] through online courses.

Haggard mentioned Missouri and Iowa as possible destinations. Another oversight board member, the Rev. Mike Ware of Westminster, said the group recommended the move out of town, and the Haggards agreed.

"This is a good place for Ted," Ware said. "It's hard to heal in Colorado Springs right now. It's like an open wound. He needs to get somewhere he can get the wound healed."

We note Rev. Haggard came to Arizona for treatment, which is quickly becoming the state of choice for public figures running to rehab. The list includes ex-congressman Mark Foley and Rush Limbaugh. But with the sordid past behind him, Rev. Haggard earns a nod for at least wanting to help others in a lower-key manner.

"Many of us that go into the healing, helping professions do so out of some sort of dysfunction or traumatic event in our lives, and we want to do what we can to help other people avoid what we've gone through," [Focus On The Family's H.B. London] said. "He is certainly gifted and intelligent and has an intuitive side to him. And he has life experience. Those are good credentials."

But if we see him in a Snickers ad, it's back to therapy.

LOST. A Malaysian woman is back home, 25 years after taking the wrong bus.

From UPI:

Jaeyana Beuraheng told her eight children she accidentally boarded a bus bound for Bangkok instead of Malaysia, and once there she boarded a second incorrect bus because she could not read or speak Thai or English, The Times of London reported Wednesday.

Beuraheng ended up begging and wound up in jail because of the language barrier. When three students from her home village met up with her, they helped her get home.

It's something to think about the next time I ride New York's MTA. Getting stuck in Brooklyn wouldn't be bad. Just keep me out of Queens.

AIR PELOSI. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi is defending her request for a bigger plane to fly her and family non-stop to home base in San Francisco. The White House is backing her up.

She's trying to blame the mess on Donald Rumsfeld. But she's also having second thoughts.

From the Washington Times:

"I don't even like having the security," Pelosi said. "I would rather travel on the plane with my friends to get some work done. I like my freedom, but there are certain sacrifices you have to make when you are speaker of the House."

In an interview on Fox News, Pelosi said the plane request was not hers.

"I wish I didn't have to have so much security, because I like my freedom of mobility," she said, adding that she would be willing to fly commercial aviation. "I'm not asking to go on that plane. If you need to take me there for security purposes, you're going to have to get a plane that goes across the country."

We detect more than a few Republicans are calling for the history-making speaker to make history again and go on the first-ever House Speaker Road Trip.

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS. You may have heard about the ancient Romeo and Juliet discovered in Italy. But what caught our eyes is this story's placement on one our favorite websites, the Drudge Report.


Looks like somebody could use a few more hugs.

Reel To Reel: Alpha Dog

Yo, dog! This is all messed up, man.

How It Rates: ***
Starring: Bruce Willis, Justin Timberlake, Sharon Stone, Emile Hirsch
Rated: R (should be NC-17)
Red Flags: Strong Language (more than 300 f-bombs!), Graphic Sexuality And Nudity, Violence

"You wanna' know what this is all about?" says the father of a drug-dealing son wanted for kidnapping and murder conspiracy, "you can say this is about drugs or guns or bad decisions, whatever you like. But this whole thing is about parenting. And taking care of your children."

"Taking care" is a highly flexible term, as we see in Alpha Dog, a film reminiscent of 1995's Kids, with its wallowing in a cesspool of teen drugs, sex, and violence. That film left out the parents. Alpha Dog brings them in as contributors to delinquency, unindicted co-conspirators. We quickly learn the father (Willis) is suspected of being his son's major dope supplier. That obviously counts as family values.

The movie is lifted from the true story of Jesse James Hollywood, who became one of the youngest people ever to make the FBI's Ten Most Wanted list. He is currently awaiting trial in California. The names in the movie are changed for legal reasons, but the sequence of events comes straight from the case files.

Emilie Hirch plays Hollywood in the role of Johnny Truelove, a rising drug kingpin with enough cash and juice for his own pad, constantly surrounded by homeboys, hangers-on, and loose girls in a continuous "gangsta" orgy interrupted only by drug deals which we don't see. Truelove even has his own servant whom his crew belittle for a few yuks between beers and bong hits.

One of Johnny's clients is Jake Mazursky (Ben Foster), a guy who looks like he's doing more drugs than he's selling. His eyes are constantly dilated (Foster took glaucoma drops during filming to get that effect) and he is always a few words away from an explosive outburst. Jake owes Johnny $1200 for a drug debt. When he shows up one night and can't pay it off, the war is on. After a couple of escalating strikes, Johnny goes to confront Jake but ends up kidnapping his 15-year-old half brother Zack (Anton Yelchin) instead.

Zack and Jake come from an affluent family. Jake is a bad seed his father would rather not deal with. Zack has been raised as a good little boy by a mother (Stone) who likely got parenting advice from Desperate Housewives' Bree Van De Kamp as we hear about "homework parties" -- with hats. The kid brother is tired of the structure and Norman Rockwell existence and secretly craves Jake's lifestyle, which he's already slipping into by smoking weed.

One day, Zack goes out for a walk after a fight with his parents. That's when Johnny and his gang grab him, thinking they can use him as a bargaining chip. For the next few days, Zack gets a sweet taste of the decadence of suburban homies -- hanging out, doing dope, taking care of weed and playing video games. It's Stockholm Syndrome in the Inland Empire. Johnny soon finds he's in over his head, as the kidnapping fails to make Jake settle up and leaves him with one deadly option.

Alpha Dog is cringingly profane, but constantly intriguing. The film makes you wonder how kids from good families crash and burn, and you soon see the reason. Every parent in the film, with the exception of Stone's character, is either stoned, clueless, indifferent, or lawless. Tough love is not in their vocabulary. They would rather be friends to their children than protectors, or they simply don't know how to be protectors. Their children have some sense of morality, but it surfaces too late -- too many drugs, too much drinking, too much referring to women as female dogs. Watching Zack drift down into it is one of the film's strong points.

Johnny becomes the victim of his own lawlessness, turning from cool kingpin to scared fugitive. Yet from the outset, his charisma seems weak for a major player. He sounds a little too white and nerdy, somebody with only a little more street cred than Kevin Federline. Johnny's pal Frankie, played by an astonishingly solid Justin Timberlake, could crush him out like a Marlboro.

Parts of the film are shot pseudo-documentary style, including an emotional scene with Zack's mother who talks about the aftermath of her son's death in Palm Springs. Normally this might be a distraction, but the sparingly short clips all work. The film also keeps a running count of witnesses to Zack's kidnapping and captivity, as if it's a prosecution's exhibit -- which in some way, it is. Writer-director Nick Cassavetes had extensive access to investigative files. This caused legal bumps in the case and almost kept the film off the screen.

The movie reaffirms timeless warnings about what children become if parents aren't strong role models -- yada, yada, yada. We've seen it before. Alpha Dog's main problem is that it plays too much like a rap video and not enough like a morality play -- which it clearly wants to be.

The Lightning Round: Hey Joe! I Heard You Shot Your Mouth Off...

We took a vote here at headquarters on which season people would prefer start earlier: Christmas Season or Campaign Season? The results weren't even close. We'd rather be merry, especially when the presidential preliminaries resemble the opening rounds of American Idol.

LOOSE LIPS SINK CAMPAIGNS. Sen. Joe Biden of Delaware may have borrowed John Kerry's tongue. Hence his now-infamous comments about fellow Senator Barack Obama of Illinois, as reported in the New York Observer and captured in a YouTube clip:

"I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy... I mean, that's a storybook, man."

Your Humble Servant here at the Lightning Round learned in journalism school that you never use the word "articulate" in any description of an African-American leader. The reason? Use of such word carries negative connontations about the rest of the race, even if you never meant to take a swipe at anybody. If the senator had simply stopped with that word, we could argue about political correctness run amok. Biden, however, poured gas on the fire: "bright," "clean," "nice-looking guy." Huuuuh boy.

Obama is brushing it off, according to the Washington Times:

Mr. Obama dismissed the remarks as the Delaware senator just "being Joe."

"He certainly didn't intend to offend, and I'll leave it at that," he told reporters who asked whether Mr. Biden had apologized.

Biden tried to clear things up:

Reporters on the conference call peppered Mr. Biden with questions about the Obama remarks, and he said the "clean" word probably came from an old saying his mother used: "Clean as a whistle, sharp as a tack." He described Mr. Obama as "crisp and clear."

We remind you Biden dropped out of the 1988 Presidential Race after he got caught lifting remarks from a British pol. No matter whose words he's using -- his, his mother's, or somebody else's -- we strongly suspect he'll soon be using one more: "withdraw."

RUMOR CONTROL. As Super Bowl Sunday approaches, we would like to dispel some recurring legends surrounding the Big Game. However, the Chicago Tribune did it for us:

Two-thirds of all avocados sold in the United States are purchased for consumption during the Super Bowl.

Water department officials across the country fearfully await the "halftime flush," when millions run to the bathroom at once, pushing water systems to the brink of calamity.

Lingerie sales jump in the days before the Super Bowl as women look for ways to woo their significant others away from the big game.

False, false and false (and slightly sexist).

And don't forget the one about domestic violence on game day.

GROWTH SPURT. This, unfortunately, is no urban legend. A study in The New England Journal of Medicine indicates certain shampoos and soaps with laventer and tea oils can make young boys grow breasts. Three boys -- ages 4, 7, and 10 -- raised alarm when they raised their shirts.

From the AP:

The three boys were brought to their doctors with overdeveloped breasts that looked like those of girls in early puberty. They were sore in one case. For each boy, doctors could tie the problem only to their use over several months of the natural-oil products.

The researchers suspected that the oils might be upsetting the boys' hormonal balance.

We often wonder whether young boys actually have a hormonal balance, but let's not drift. Thankfully, the problem goes away once you stop using the suspect soaps. Sorry, Playtex, no new market here.

PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND... Drug company Alexza is developing "smokable" painkillers for faster relief.

From Reuters:

The company's lead product is a vaporized version of an old drug called prochlorperazine, which Alexza is developing for migraine headaches but is currently used in liquid, oral or suppository form to treat severe nausea.

While it is sometimes given intravenously in hospitals to treat patients with acute migraines, the drug is inconvenient to deliver.

Alexza is hoping to provide similar results but in such a way that patients can carry the delivery device -- an inhaler that looks like a miniature hip flask -- in a pocketbook or the glove compartment of a car.

The device contains a battery-powered package that heats a thin coating of drug to create a vapor that can be sucked into the lungs.

We already have a smokable painkiller. Proponents of medical marijuana claim anti-nausea and painkiller pills don't work, and smoking reefer is the only thing that does. Truth be told, you could make the same claim about crack... or banana peels.

So now we have an interesting question before us. If the smokable painkiller makes the market, do the proponents of medicinal pot lose their strongest argument?

We're Going To Have To Float That Live Shot

A crew with WDJT in Milwaukee is alive, but their microwave truck is down after it fell through thin ice (click to see photo). We're told the driver mistakenly thought he was still on the road. The station later pulled the truck out, and now station engineers are trying to see if they can salvage any of the thousands of dollars worth of electronics inside, which may or may not include the following:

* Microwave transmitter and amplifier
* IFB system (the in-ear device that lets reporters hear producers snarling at them, "Wrap it up!")
* Videotape editor
* Various TV monitors
* Cell phones

When I worked in the Rio Grande Valley, I had to deal with several mishaps involving live trucks. Often photographers driving the trucks would venture out into colonias for some story. Those who know colonias know these ramshackle wildcat subdivisions often lack paved roads. So the live units would get stuck in the mud and we'd have to call up a tow truck.

The microwave masts took a lot of abuse. One election night, a photographer drove under a low-hanging tree branch and ripped off the transmitting dish. Another dish came off during high winds. One photog stripped part of the siding off a fast-food restaurant during a turn, forgetting he was driving "Unit 11" -- our behemoth production van rivaling the size of a UPS truck. People got behind the wheel and thought they were driving a tank. The damage added up.

When one driver ended up ripping out the mast, our general manager called a staff meeting. "I'm sick of the truck gettin' torn up," he said in his displaced Louisiana drawl. "You think we can report this to our insurance company? They'd cancel our damn insurance!"

New rules went into effect, and a few people ended up with suspensions. I'm not sure whether the Milwaukee crew's jobs are on thin ice after this incident [rim shot], but I expect everybody's gonna get a dose of re-training on the live truck once it's dried out and repaired. At least it looks like the mast survived.