Joyful And Triumphant

What is this feeling? The spirit of Christmas, the way it should be, as celebrated by the family of We Make History.

From the journal of Pvt. Christopher Francis of the 1^st Virginia Volunteer Infantry

"Are you seeking a partner for a dance?" inquires the Confederate soldier of a young lady in front of him.

"No," she says.

He is puzzled. She certainly looks like she is seeking somebody amid the crowded ballroom floor, swirling with the festive colors of Christmas-themed gowns and tailcoats and fellow recruits in their dress uniforms. Perhaps he has heard it wrong in the din of the bustle and laughter of couples forming lines. And if she is not seeking a partner, why is she still standing there before him?

"You were not seeking a partner?" the soldier clarifies.

"Oh, no, I wasn't attached to one," she adds in a hurry.

Relieved, the soldier escorts her to a forming set, apologizing for any misunderstanding, which she accepts with a smile.

At this festive Victorian celebration, the ballroom is a living scrapbook to him, the many faces of friends eliciting memory after memory of moments on the battlefield or the dance floor -- men he fought with, ladies he danced with. A warmth possesses him, stronger than he has felt in many months, and it affixes a smile upon his face even through the most breathtaking dances. He wishes to cavort with every lady in the room, even though he knows it is impossible. But he can try.

The venue is almost too small at times to contain the lines of dancers, either circling around or lining up in sets. Couples pass back and forth among themselves, guided by call, swinging each other and sashaying down the lines to ubiquitous clapping and stomping. The spirited recruit skips about his dancing companion, and one could draw a straight line between their eyes and hearts. He bows often to her as a flourishing touch, catching a smile every now and then until the music ceases and he praises her.

"Thank you so much for a wonderful dance!" he compliments with a bow more apropos to the 18^th Century than 19^th. "You did that beautifully." He turns to the other couples in the set with bows. "All of you did."

In an exhaustive state of bliss, ladies fan themselves, and still they are ready for a waltz.

A lady in a red gown and bonnet approaches the merrily winded Confederate. To his surprise and delight, she asks him for a waltz, which he accepts with another courtly bow.

Some couples tread lightly. Others twirl in ballroom ecstasy, leading each other as forerunners of Fred and Ginger in another place and time.

"I'll keep it simple," the gentleman soldier says, admitting his pedestrian waltzing ability. It gnaws in him, this inability to sweep a lady off her feet, as they say. But the kind and gentle lady minds not a bit in the moment of simple grace, and she asks him for another dance before the evening is through.

"You have my word, ma'am," the recruit says, his Virginia drawl a soothing cloak of reassurance. "I keep my word."

He does, on the very next set dance, not wanting to be distracted with all the beauty surrounding him.

* * *
The ladies and gentlemen of the 1^st Virginia Volunteer Infantry stand about, relaxing and socializing between dances and eagerly anticipating the holidays.

The young ladies voice their anticipation. "Christmas is my favorite time of the year!"

"Caroling, beautiful decorations, so much joy. There's no other season quite like it."

"And Christmas is finally here!"

The talk turns to a Ladies' Chorale fundraiser to procure medical supplies for the troops. But what do the Virginia gentlemen have to offer?

"What would there be to prevent you and these other fine gentlemen from giving it a go?" a lady asks.

The enthusiastic private cautions her: "No doubt your intentions are the best, but I'm afraid after hearing some of us gentlemen sing that it might be the audience would require the medical supplies!"

Encouraged on, the recruits agree, if the ladies can endure it.

"God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
Remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas Day,
To save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray,
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy..."

The Virginia ladies reward them with applause, but now the challenge is offered. "Let us see if you might be able to top that."

It takes only one of them top that -- a young Miss Fox.

"Once in royal Davids city,
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her Baby,
In a manger for His bed:
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ her little Child..."

Her solo voice is a candle in the night, a glowing light of beauty in the darkness, enhanced by the cavernous heights of the ballroom to an ethereal tonality.

The 1^st Virginia gentlemen add to the harmony, and later, the entire gathering joins in for a round of hymns. Merely calling them Christmas Carols would understate the peace flowing through each word lifted up and echoing forth from every corner of the room, deep into the hearts of the assembled.

"O Come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him
Born the King of angels;
O Come, let us adore Him,
O Come, let us adore Him,
O Come, let us adore Him,
Christ The Lord!"

"Isn't this a little of what Heaven will be like," the host notes of the singing and worshiping together.

And once again, it happens. The gentlemen recruit finds his eyes misty with tears of Thanksgiving, overcome with joy but puzzled at why it always manifests itself in this way... wishing he could halt time in its march.

* * *
"Gentlemen, about face!"

The recruits and civilians turn away from the ladies as they remove one shoe each and toss the footwear in the center of the room. Before the imminent charge, their commander warns them of the dangerous task before them. And if anyone is slow...

"Shoot him!" a soldier cries from the rear rank.

Gentlemen pounce on the shoes like mongrels over scraps, save for the Confederate recruit, who has devised his own strategy. As fingers fly over laces and heels, he gracefully steps into the pile, plucks a neglected Capezio, and steps out again, holding the prize high above him to locate its owner, his partner for the next dance. She slips it on before he can offer to fit it himself.

Less is more, the gentleman soldier concludes as he and his beautiful dancing partner begin another set dance, one with only four other couples. They have space to move and flow their steps together.

A few dances later, he lets the rhythm of a waltz flow through him with a woman in a blue colonial gown. When he saw her, his mind flashed back to another waltz he shared with her at the beginning of the year -- his remedy to seeing the heartbreaking sight of her dancing by herself.

Now he delights in a circle mixer, stately balancing his partner back and forth and changing places with her, doing the same with his neighbor, and then repeating it all the way around before forming left- and right-handed stars: one hand joined to the others, the other hand raised in the air as he steps to the majesty of three quarter time. The others follow his example and raise their free hands as well.

"That's it!" the gentleman soldier encourages. "Be joyous!"

A young lad offers him a question: "In the stars, why do you raise your other hand?"

"My heart is all in the dance," he explains, adding that it is a little bit of 18^th Century flourish he is pulling forward into the 19^th Century.

Stateliness and flourish dissolves as the recruit finds himself in a predicament -- bumbling in the middle of a beloved Virginia Reel.

His set, lined with the finest ladies and gentlemen of the 1^st Virginia, gets behind the call, and now their moves are out of line with the caller. His setmates call one move. The host calls another.

What on earth am I supposed to do? the soldier frets. What is going on here? This is our commander calling us here! Is this the Virginia Reel or the Arizona Reel?

But rebels will be rebels on this dance, and so the set continues on its own course, separate from the caller but eventually catching up. The recruit hopes he and his partner will be top couple once again to atone for his mistakes, but instead, everything progresses into vigorous swinging and turning at the command of the caller.

A few couples hurry back into set position, desiring more, looking longingly at the host, hoping for a few more iterations. The dance has lasted barely ten minutes, hardly breaking a sweat for the hardy 1^st Virginia! Unfortunately for them and the fretful private, this is all the reeling for the night. Atonement will have to wait.

* * *
"You have not danced with me yet all night," a young lady informs the Virginia private on the next to the last dance of the festivities.

Good grief, the recruit wonders, has she been longing for me to dance with her all night -- or longer?

He bows to her in acceptance. "Well, let me rectify this situation right now!" His dance with her is short lived, however, as another circle mixer follows with frequent partner changes.

Time allows for one more slow waltz with another young lady, one who admits she does not know how to waltz very well.

"Not to worry," the recruit reassures her, "I am not a great waltzer."

She opens up to him, telling him of a time at a wedding when she felt disappointed in her dancing ability. The recruits heart sinks as she relates a story to him of pressure to dance well. He keeps his steps simple, remembering what he has told another waltzing companion earlier in the evening:

"We are all full of grace."

More pictures, more joy, more words of warmth and appreciation here.

COMING IN JANUARY: The Realm Of The Merry

Leftovers, Anyone?

Writers' strike? No, no. Hunger strike, maybe. Your Lightning Round staffers are way too stuffed to drag ourselves back to the keyboards and plow through the depths of wire copy. We swear it's not the tryptophan. But never fear -- in the holiday spirit, we submit our second annual edition of stories and sites we've been meaning to talk about but pushed aside for a later date... like now.

HIGH-CLASS CONDEMNATION. Many people curse their neighbors, but it's the rare person who can phrase disapproval in a manner you almost savor. BoreMe.com offers several examples of when insults had class:

"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know."
Abraham Lincoln

"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn't it."
Groucho Marx

"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it."
Mark Twain

"He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends."
Oscar Wilde

We submit one more from that great figure Foghorn Leghorn: "That girl's about as sharp as a bowl of wet mush!"

YOU'RE NOT ALONE. Behold the misunderstood introvert, a personality type dear to your Lightning Round editor's heart -- having been one himself, more or less. Who are they? What's wrong with them? Why are they so lonely, or are they really?

Jonathan Rauch offers a guide to caring for this puzzling personality type:

Introverts are not necessarily shy. Shy people are anxious or frightened or self-excoriating in social settings; introverts generally are not. Introverts are also not misanthropic, though some of us do go along with Sartre as far as to say "Hell is other people at breakfast." Rather, introverts are people who find other people tiring.

Rauch busts several myths, even laying the foundation for an Introverts' Rights Movement:

We can only dream that someday, when our condition is more widely understood, when perhaps an Introverts' Rights movement has blossomed and borne fruit, it will not be impolite to say "I'm an introvert. You are a wonderful person and I like you. But now please shush."

Yes, silence is golden.

PUT YOUR HAND DOWN. Be very careful in giving a thumbs-up when overseas. And be especially careful with that "V" for Victory sign too. What you don't know could get you punched out. It seems our innocent and happy expressions of digits have rude and obscene meanings abroad. Language Trainers blog breaks it all down in graphic detail. You -- and your hands -- have been warned.

TO TELL THE TRUTH. So you can't afford a lie detector? We can't either. But Ken Osborn of Entrepreneur.com has come up with some dead giveaways to fibbing, among them:

Nose touch: We have erectile tissues in our noses, which engorge with blood when we lie. This causes a tingling or itching sensation that requires a nose touch to satisfy. The absence of a nose touch doesn't guarantee truth, but the presence of a nose touch often means deception. Of course, sometimes a person will touch his or her nose because of a non-deceptive cause, such as a cold. With some practice, you can quickly learn to distinguish a deceptive nose touch from something innocent.

We call it "Pinocchio syndrome." Poor guy. He didn't just itch, he had to get out the belt sander.

REAL TIME? New York City and Matamoros, Mexico sit thousands of miles apart, but they share a strong bond: both are bastions of the ubiquitous fake Rolex watch. Mind you, many of the fakes we've seen are not half bad. But for the uneducated eye, quality is blind.

ProductDose.com has advice on keeping it real, including one obvious giveaway:

The second hand on a genuine Rolex watch features a smooth and continuous movement that often cannot be duplicated by fake watches. Their movements are often in small, jerky increments.

And if it's running backwards, that's not good either.

"JUBILATION! SHE LOVES ME AGAIN!" And finally, in our tribute to beautiful traditions and colorful dances -- your Lighning Round editor has enjoyed both -- we offer this fusion of past and present. You will never think of Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecila" the same way again after seeing it interpreted by a Latvian folk group. Enjoy, and see you next week.

Stand By For Broadcast

You've read. You've waited. You've anticipated. And finally, I can tell you my episode of The Price Is Right will air on WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 28, at 10am on "most of these CBS stations." Please check the listings for your area.

What am I talking about? Read the backstory.

Back To England, Ye Bloody Lobsterbacks!

Your Patriot Blogmaster charging a few redcoats at the Battle of Cowpens...

...and running the Yankees back to Ohio.
Photos by Rosemary Woods, Copyright © 2007

This is but a taste of the richness of this past weekend's American Heritage Festival in Queen Creek. More words and pictures are coming, I assure you. Enjoy Thanksgiving with your families, and I'll have more to come sometime after the Big Feast and before Christmas.

In the meantime, reflect on these words from President Abraham Lincoln, spoken during his second inaugural address in 1865:

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Many of you will agree Lincoln's sentiments of 1865 are germane to 2007 as well.

Sad 'Ol Saddam

Who would've thunk it? A member of the Axis Of Evil was more than just a dictator and murderer. He was also a tearful ex-tyrant at the end... and quite the ladies' man.

HUSSEIN UNPLUGGED. The Terrorist Watch, a new book from Washington reporter Ronald Kessler, recounts the interrogation of Saddam Hussein by FBI agent George Piro. AFP sums it up:

Piro describes Saddam as having a mania for hygiene, and won his trust by supplying him with copious amounts of baby wipes, to clean his hands and food such as apples.

While praying five times a day in captivity, Saddam also liked fine wine, Johnny Walker Blue Label scotch and Cuban cigars. He also had an eye for the ladies.

"When an American nurse came to draw his blood, Saddam asked Piro to tell her in English that she was cute. Piro demurred," Kessler writes.

Cute, but what about all those WMDs?

Saddam confirmed that he only "pretended" to have retained weapons of mass destruction, to keep arch-rival Iran on the back foot, and believed that he could resume a nuclear program once UN sanctions were eventually lifted.

Outside of the formal interview room, Piro said he and Saddam talked about history, politics, art and sports. Using a notebook given to him by his FBI interrogator, the ruthless fallen dictator began to write love poems.

However, he also admitted gassing the Kurds and underestimating the Bushes, whom he hated. But he came to admire his questioner.

When the interviews were finally complete, Piro said Saddam turned emotional.

"We sat outside, smoked a couple of Cuban cigars, had some coffee, and chatted," the FBI agent recounted. "When we were saying bye, he started to tear up."

And what did Piro think of him?

"However, he was charming, he was charismatic, he was polite, he had a great sense of humor. And yeah, he was likeable," Piro said.

Yeah, we bet Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin were too at parties.

FAT BRAINS. A study from the University of Pittsburgh and University of California suggests curvy women -- ones with big thighs and hips -- have more smarts and pass them on to their kids.

From FOX News:

The researchers suggest that the fat around fuller hips and thighs holds higher levels of omega-3 fatty acids, which are essential for the growth of the brain during pregnancy. Fat around the waist, on the other hand, may have higher levels of omega-6 fatty acids, which are less suited to brain growth, the researchers said.

So go ahead, eat that cupcake. You'll leave behind a smarter generation -- one hopefully smart enough not to watch another season of The Bachelor.

JUNK IN THE TRUNK. Many an eyebrow lifted in your Lightning Round newsroom this week, when we saw this AP bulletin cross the wire:

GAUHATI, India (AP) - In a Nov. 13 story, The Associated Press incorrectly reported that Paris Hilton was praised by conservationists for highlighting the problem of binge-drinking elephants in northeastern India. Lori Berk, a publicist for Hilton, said she never made any comments about helping drunken elephants in India.

It seems like our trusted wire reporters swallowed an Internet hoax, according to the original story quoted by USA Today:

The Associated Press reports that World Entertainment News Network quotes Hilton saying: "There would have been more casualties if the villagers hadn't chased them away. And four elephants died in a similar way three years ago. It is just so sad. The biggest problems are in Assam and Meghalaya. The elephants get drunk all the time. It is becoming really dangerous. We need to stop making alcohol available to them."

Sending them to AA meetings might help, too, if this story weren't a convoluted piece of work... like much of Paris' life.

DIRTY AND HAIRY. A Florida town may need that gorilla detector from the old Muppet Show. People in Glen St. Mary are spotting anonymous apes.

From NBC10.com:

"There is kind of that 'I've seen a bigfoot' type of feel to it," said resident Eric Lawson. "They said it made a nest in that tree, so it's probably somewhere here in the area."

Some believe the mysterious animal is an orangutan -- one local family had found what looked to be an orange ape up high in a tree.

Maybe they need Clint Eastwood instead: "Somebody keep an eye on Clyde!"

PICTURE THIS! Despite the millions pouring into studio coffers every weekend, a new analysis says movies simply don't make money. The reason? Big-name stars are taking their cut off the top through so-called "participation deals," leaving less for everybody else, including the writers and producers now locked in a strike.

The International Herald Tribune reports:

Through the twists and turns of contemporary deal-making, major studios in theory give away as much as 25 percent of a film's receipts under such arrangements.

The actual take is lower, because of certain adjustments. (This is Hollywood, after all.) But a Hanks, Cruise or Carrey whose movie brings $600 million back to the studio from all sources might easily wind up with a $20 million salary, and an additional $50 million on the back end, while an A-list director and producer could take in tens of millions more.

As IHT writer Michael Cieply suggests, maybe the writers and producers should be picketing outside the stars' homes. But what your Lightning Round can't understand is how Hollywood studios continue make profits and lose them at the same time. The studio execs should be working for the Treasury department.

BREAKING UP IS EASY TO DO. You can get married in Vegas at a drive-through chapel, and now you can break up in Broward County, Florida by logging onto the Internet. As the Sun-Sentinel reports:

The Broward County Clerk of Courts launched an online service this month that steers citizens through the application process for filing divorce actions, small claims lawsuits and tenant evictions.

"It kind of guides you through, it asks questions. Once it knows your name, it will put it in every space it should go," said Kris Mazzeo, director of the circuit/civil family division of the clerk of courts.

The self-service system is intended for people who can't afford an attorney or don't want to spend the money on one. Each section provides legal definitions and asks questions to determine which forms need to be filled out. The completed forms can be printed at home and mailed to the clerk's office. Some paperwork requires a notary signature.

Unfortunately, it won't mitigate any backstabbing, money-grubbing or child-pawning. That's still your problem.

WE'RE SHOCKED, SHOCKED! And finally this week, we leave you with this news blooper from Davenport, IA, courtesy of Break. KWQC-TV tried to run a story on a woman recovering from a lightning strike (and no, she hadn't just read one of our stories). If you believe everything you see, it looks like she has a little more recovering to do.

Thin The Candidate Herd In Mere Minutes

The presidential primaries and caucai will be here sooner than you think. We know you don't have time to do your homework and figure out who you're voting for. Nobody's jumping out at you, and you realize the answer is not Ron Paul.

VAJoe.com is here to help with its Candidate Calculator. In the spirit of online dating sites, you submit where you stand on various issues, and the site determines what candidate is the best fit for you.

For the record, it said I was a 64 percent match with Rudy Giulaini. Of course, I'm a moderate mutt, meaning I'm persona non grata with most of the wingers.

My dad scored an 84 percent match with Mitt Romney, even though Dad can be very liberal on a lot of things. I guess that explains the other 16 percent.

And Away They Go

As Genesis sang in the 1980's, "It's no fun being an illegal alien." Yet so many continue to cross the line, thinking they can live under the radar. Many do, but we have a few words for those who don't.

EXPELLED. Faculty at Catalina Magnet High School in Tucson found marijuana on a student. They called police. Then police called the Border Patrol to the school when they found out he was an illegal immigrant. Now the student and his family have all been deported.

A student protest march followed. Tucson Police say they've changed their policy -- but only a little, as the Arizona Daily Star notes:

Tucson police officers no longer will call Border Patrol agents to schools or churches, [Assistant Chief Roberto] Villaseñor said. However, police will provide information to the federal government that will allow those officials to follow up on the investigation, he said. The change is based on Border Patrol policy not to respond to schools or churches unless agents are asked to do so.

Star columnist Ernesto Portillo notes:

Undocumented immigrants, the bulk of whom keep our economy running, are being chased further underground by heavy-handed incidents like this.
Some at the march said they worried smaller schoolyard infractions, like ditching or fighting, could result in their families being deported.

The students said they are tired of being made to feel unwanted and treated with naked disdain.

We at your Lightning Round empathize with those feelings. But who's the real villain -- the government, or the families of these children for putting them in a position where they could be deported in the first place?

Risking your own neck is one thing. Pulling your family in with you and subjecting them to the same danger is simply cruel. I dare call it a form of child neglect. Parents who love their children don't leave them vulnerable to deportation, regardless of whether they're living better in the U.S. or not.

As for "naked disdain," what about the naked disdain for proper procedure, or for legal immigrants who have put up with the system, its mounds of paperwork, its unfathomable delays and frustrations, and its bureaucratic baloney? What about Mexico's disdain for wanting to solve the problem?

We maintain the best advice is simple -- painful, counter-cultural, politically incorrect, yet simple: don't immigrate illegally.

ANYTHING WE FIND UNDER THE BED CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN A COURT OF LAW. Children in the Tucson Police Department's gang-outreach program may have their rooms searched by cops, if both the kids and their parents consent.

As the Arizona Daily Star reports:

The searches, police and City Council members say, are meant to be educational, showing concerned parents signs of gang activity.

...

"Ultimately our goal is to help these kids stay away from gangs," said Sgt. Greg Mammana, who heads the gang unit. "It's all done on a consent basis. … There is nothing in terms of us going in there to identify stuff to arrest anyone."

But Mammana acknowledged that if criminal evidence was found, police would take appropriate action.

We just have to wonder what signs of "gang activity" the police are looking for.

Do the 20th Street Dawgs hand out membership cards now? Do the Crips have a handbook? Are the kids violating their acceptable quota of red or blue bandannas and headwraps?

REMEMBER, REMEMBER THE CASH OF NOVEMBER. Your Lightning Round staffers have been sitting on their hands, politely yet begrudgingly abstaining from sharing exactly what they think about Ron Paul. However, we couldn't ignore how he raised more than $4 million in one day on Monday, which happened to be Guy Fawkes Day.

From the AP:

Fawkes was a British mercenary who failed in his attempt to kill King James I on Nov. 5, 1605. He also was the model for the protagonist in the movie "V for Vendetta." Paul backers motivated donors on the Internet with mashed-up clips of the film on the online video site YouTube as well as the Guy Fawkes Day refrain: "Remember, remember the 5th of November."

We liked V For Vendetta. However, let us also remember, remember Fawkes tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament.

So when Paul says he's running for the White House -- oh, we shudder to think about what he's going to do if he gets there.

THE COMMANDMENTS YOU CAN'T REFUSE. The London Daily Mail reports police found a list of the Mafia's "Ten Commandments" after arresting a top Godfather in Sicily.

Here they are, and we translated them into "commandmentese."

1. Thou shalt not present thyself directly to a Mafioso. A third person must do such.
2. Thou shalt not covet wives of thine friends.
3. Thou shalt not be seen with cops.
4. Thou shalt not partake of pubs and clubs.
5. Thou shalt always be available for The Family, even if thy wife is great with child.
6. Thou shalt always respect appointments.
7. Thou shalt honour thy wife.
8. Thou shalt not bear false witness when asked for any information.
9. Thou shalt not appropriate money belonging to others.
10. Anyone with a close relative of the cops, kin who bear false witness, and those bereft of morality cannot be a member of The Family.

Number 8 seems odd given the Mafia code of silence. And we wonder about Number 4, given Tony Soprano's office in the back of the "Bing."

WE ARE... REINDEER! We leave you with a trailer for a holiday classic like you've never seen it before.

Dick Cheney's Latest Hang-Up

One of our heartfelt principles here at your Lightning Round states that some people have nothing better to do than to look for ways to be outraged, even to the point of hyperventilating over minor annoyances until they're gasping and choking on their own anger. So it's understandable yet regrettable to see the scene unfolding around the vice president. Forget about skeletons in the closet. We want to see what's hanging next to the car...

SENSE IS FLAGGING. You'd think people would be worried about Dick Cheney's aim. But nooooooo. What's working people up is that he went hunting at a New York club where a Confederate battle flag hangs in the garage.

From The New York Times:

In a brief interview [Tuesday] morning, a spokeswoman for Mr. Cheney told us that neither the vice president nor anyone in his entourage had seen the flag.

“Until this issue was raised by the press last night, no one in our office was aware there was such a flag,” said the spokeswoman, Megan M. Mitchell. “The vice president did not see a flag, nor did anyone on his staff traveling with him in New York.”

Asked whether Mr. Cheney had an opinion about the flag’s being displayed, Ms. Mitchell replied, “Bottom line, he didn’t see the flag.” Asked whether the vice president had views in general on the appropriateness of displaying the Confederate battle flag, she said, “I haven’t had a chance to talk with him about that.”

He didn't wave that flag. It wasn't his garage. He didn't even see it. And in our estimation, the veep has a lot of other things on his plate these days besides a rebel banner. But the Rev. Al Sharpton is not letting it slide:

The Rev. Al Sharpton issued a statement last night that read, in part:

I call on Vice President Cheney to leave immediately, denounce the club, and apologize for going to a club that represents lynching, hate, and murder to black people. In this age of Jena, La., events and hangman nooses all over the country, for the Vice President to relax under the flag of the hangman nooses is an unpardonable insult to all Americans, particularly blacks. He ought to leave immediately, call for the flag to be brought down at once, and apologize for being connected to an institution that would be insensitive enough to fly it in the first place. What is interesting to me is that this is not even in the South that it is flying. The club owners must identify with the philosophy of the Confederacy because they can’t say that they are a historic club that 200 years ago was a part of the Confederacy since New York was never a Confederate state.

Your Lightning Round editor-in-chief poses this question: symbol of hatred or not, are we so desperate to hate Dick Cheney that we'll grasp at anything we can get to justify our seething? Credit the VP with not taking the bait. The whole controversy reeks of manufactured outrage.

Perhaps he should have shot that flag. Then the haters would have to weigh a loose trigger finger against the powerful symbolism of the pellet spray. Could their poisoned brains handle such deep thought?

BUSTED. Speaking of thoughtless hatred, the notorious Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, KS is ordered to pay nearly $11 million in damages to a Maryland family. The church (and we at your Lightning Round use that term very loosely with this group) believes the death of American soldiers is God's punishment for the nation's tolerance of homosexuality, and they shamelessly picket the funerals of service members holding signs like "Thank God for Dead Soldiers." But this time, they picked the wrong family to mess with, they got sued, and now they're going to have to buck up.

It doesn't matter what their lawyer said, as reported by Reuters:

Defense attorney Jonathan Katz urged jurors not to award punitive damages because the $2.9 million in compensatory damages was already three times the defendants' net worth.

"It's enough already to bankrupt them and financially destroy them," Katz said.

Hmmm, Jon, don't you think that's the idea?

FAKING IT. FEMA got burned on a fake news conference they held last week to discuss emergency assistance on the California wildfires. As Amanda Ripley of Time explains it:

Real reporters were only notified 15 minutes in advance, so all they could reasonably do was call in to a conference line. But the line was set to "listen-only" mode, so asking questions was out of the question. Only the people there — a group consisting almost entirely of FEMA public affairs employees — could grill FEMA representatives.

None of this was disclosed by Vice Adm. Harvey E. Johnson, the deputy administrator of FEMA, who dutifully responded to the softballs from his underlings (i.e. "Are you happy with FEMA's response so far?") as if they were real.

Homeland Security chief Michael Chertoff later called it "one of the dumbest and most inappropriate things I've seen since I've been in government," and vowed it wouldn't happen again -- after it's happened several times already.

Notes Ripley:

Since 2000, the nation has held four full-scale exercises to simulate a major terrorist attack. Each time, the "mock media" is played by fake reporters — paid PR people, to be specific — just like in the fake FEMA press conference last week.

Since 2003, Ogilvy PR, an international firm which also works for Disney and Slim-Fast, has been paid by the government to hold fake press conferences and broadcast live to a Virtual News Network (VNN), a closed-circuit satellite TV network modeled after CNN. Only people involved in the exercise can watch VNN or access its web site. The real media are only allowed to watch from afar.

Heckuva job, Mikey. Your Lighting Round has learned FEMA hired correspondents from The Onion.

GONE GREEN. Many people are waving off going out in style for going back to nature. Hence, the green funeral -- no additives, no preservatives, and biodegradable caskets. The Portland Press-Herald lays it all out:

The idea of earth-friendly funerals is catching on as part of that broader green movement. But there are other factors, too, including distaste for the embalming process and modern commercial funerals that can cost $10,000.

A green burial can cost $1,000 to $2,000, although there is no market standard. [One green funeral] and cremation cost about $350.

Some also have the desire to return to a simpler, personal way of laying loved ones to rest.

"It's a lot more than just about the environment. It's a return to tradition. It speaks to the idea of dust to dust," [author Mark] Harris said. "This is the way we used to bury people, in the first hundred years of our country's history."

It could also be a respite for the frustrated loved one. Your Lightning Round editor recalls a colleague whose boyfriend didn't care about his unhealthy ways... or dying from them.

"I'm gonna bury you in a cardboard box!" she threatened to him. "And then I'm gonna take the money for your funeral and go on a cruise!"

PLAY IT AGAIN. Records -- yes, those vinyl things with holes in the middle -- are making a comeback. It's all about the musical experience, Wired magazine reports:

Records, the vinyl evangelists will tell you, provide more of a connection between fans and artists. And many of today's music fans buy 180-gram vinyl LPs for home listening and MP3s for their portable devices.

And CD's, despite what I think, simply don't sound as good to audiophiles.

Although CDs have a wider dynamic range, mastering houses are often encouraged to compress the audio on CDs to make it as loud as possible: It's the so-called loudness war. Since the audio on vinyl can't be compressed to such extremes, records generally offer a more nuanced sound.

Another reason for vinyl's sonic superiority is that no matter how high a sampling rate is, it can never contain all of the data present in an analog groove, Nyquist's theorem to the contrary.

We assume that would include all the dust, crackles and pops, too.

Reel To Reel: Michael Clayton

Cleaning up is a messy business.

How It Rates: ***
Starring: George Clooney, Tom Wilkinson, Tilda Swinton, Sydney Pollack, Michael O'Keefe
Rated: R
Red Flags: Language, Brief Violence

It's ironic that a lawyer good enough to fix troubled cases isn't good enough to run a bar or take out everybody at the poker table, but that's exactly the world of Michael Clayton, a talker-thriller that hits an occasional dead spot, but still effectively leads us through a slimy tale of corporate law. What it has to say isn't earth-shattering -- scummy corporations rely on big-shot lawyers to twist the truth -- but it says it in a compelling, tension-filled movie.

The title character (Clooney) is a self-described "janitor," a legal eagle at a huge New York firm who cleans up messes for clients outside of the courtroom. An opening scene has him advising a valued customer who's just committed a hit-and-run accident, telling him exactly what his options are in a hard-reality demeanor. Clayton has a precise method, refined over many years and many cases, with an answer for just about anything and a knowledge of the system. However, he can't seem to fix his own problems, including the aforementioned bar. He has some semblance of a family life, including a son from a previous marriage, but it's more procedural than heartfelt as he ferries the child with him on some of his rounds.

He is also unprepared to face his toughest assignment yet: damage control in a multi-billion dollar class-action lawsuit. Clayton's firm represents agricultural conglomerate uNorth, which is facing a lawsuit over deaths from a weed killer, and the case could collapse after the lead defense lawyer on the case, Arthur Edens (Wilkinson), suffers a breakdown during a deposition. Edens strips off his clothes and runs naked through a parking lot, part of what he calls a "moment of clarity." Clayton is convinced Edens is off his medication, but in the process of trying to save him and the case, Clayton learns his colleague found damaging evidence against the ag company. At the same time, uNorth's lead counsel, Karen Crowder (Swinton) is playing fixer herself. She's unconvinced Clayton can get the job done, so she turns to a pair of men who repair cases in ways more akin to the CIA.

I like watching George Clooney. He speaks with a cool-headed this-is-how-it's-gonna-be directness reminiscent of his Danny Ocean roles. Sydney Pollack is also compelling as one of the firm's partners, even though it still seems like he's playing yet another riff on his George Fields agent character from Tootsie. Michael Clayton is told partly in flashback, setting up a key moment and then replaying the events leading up to it, but I still didn't understand all of the nuance or significance of the key moment, when Clayton gets out of his car and runs up a hill to where three horses are standing. We also get some parables from Clayton's son, a fantasy-book buff who keeps talking about a novel filled with lost and cautious characters who don't know why they're in the community they're in. It's not hard to make the link to Clayton... or Edens.

Overall, Michael Clayton is well-acted and well-executed, but it doesn't say anything prophetic, not like A Civil Action did some years ago. And Eden's raving lunacy doesn't measure up to the Howard Beale of Network. Perhaps in the ashes of Enron, Tyco, WorldCom and other corporate mega-scandals, Michael Clayton isn't showing us anything we haven't already read in the papers.

Take This Gavel And Shove It!

Natural disasters, like the fires consuming California right now, are useful for diverting your attention from flaming injustices. Usually, defying a judge's order is called contempt of court. But leave it to your lawmakers to find a way around that, especially on something having to do with security.

"JUDGES? WE DON' NEED NO STEEEENKING JUDGES!" Homeland Security Director Michael Chertoff has overruled a federal judge who temporarily blocked construction on a border fence. The fence passes through the San Pedro Riparian Area of Southern Arizona, and environmental groups had sued, but a border-security law enacted by Congress gives Chertoff the power -- unbelievable as it may seem -- to trump a judge.

From KOLD News 13's Political Specialist Bud Foster:

The Defenders of Wildlife had planned to asked the federal court for a temporary injunction to buy more time but that has been rendered moot..

In a statement released just after the decision, it said, "Today's decision highlights the need for Congress to step in with legislation that would secure the nation's border while still being mindful of the impacts to the environment and local communities."

Congressman Raul Grijalva agrees with that assessment. In a statement of his own, he says "the secretary's decision to invoke a waiver for fence construction in the San Pedro is short sighted and will devastate the region and the river. It is an insult to those of us who live on the border. The secretary's responsibility is to protect the homeland, not selectively destroy our environment for political gain."

The judge's office had no comment on the decision other than to say it's not sure what it can do, if anything, now.

However, your Lightning Round knows exactly what the Bush Administration wants this judge to do: sit down and shut up.

HIKE! Elsewhere in the halls of Washington, House Ways and Means Committee Chairman Charles Rangel is getting out the tax bucket and preparing to give the rich a good soaking. He's proposing a $48 billion tax hike on hedge fund and buyout firm executives.

As Bloomberg reports:

The New York Democrat said the proposal would more than double the tax rate on so-called carried interest, the compensation that executives at buyout and venture-capital firms, as well as real estate and oil and gas partnerships, receive for managing investments. It would also require hedge- fund managers to pay tax on income they defer in offshore accounts, he said.

The so-called patch, which lawmakers must pass this year to forestall a tax increase on 21 million households, will set up a showdown between Democrats who want to offset the lost revenue with new levies and Republicans who oppose any increase. The carried-interest measure will also be part of a broader overhaul that contains a permanent repeal of the minimum tax, a tax-rate surcharge on wealthy households and a lower corporate rate.

We don't expect Rep. Rangel's proposal to get very far, but hey, somebody needs to pay for that war in Iraq...

NAP TIME. Meanwhile, those fires are still burning in the Golden State. Rest assured, your Federal Government is on the case, but man, those planning meetings are a real bore, as we can tell from Vice President Cheney's nod-off caught on camera. RawStory has a look:



In all fairness, we found it hard to tell whether he was nodding off at all the first time we saw it. But after a few more viewings, we're convinced. Looks like somebody could use some Red Bull.

IT'S TEN O'CLOCK. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR CHILD IS? You will if you outfit your young one with a GPS tracker jacket. As The Guardian reports:

You switch it on when you leave the house and what you get is nothing less than the ability to know where someone is - within four square metres - anywhere in the world. You can watch them move, check where they've been and get updates every 10 seconds. You don't even need to be permanently logged on to your computer, as you can have email alerts sent to your Blackberry or text messages to your mobile.

But, and this is a big but, kids can always take the jacket off. And with the cost ranging in the hundreds of dollars, this is one piece of clothing you don't want them to lose. As our assistant editor Sluggo Wisekampf said, "Ya wanna treat your kid like a dog, buy a leash!"

STICK YOUR FINGER THERE. A school lunchroom fingerprint scanner is upsetting parents in Salem, Oregon. They claim it violates privacy. The school claims it speeds up the cafeteria line by matching each student with their pre-paid lunch account.

As the Salem Statesman-Journal reports:

Jack Adams, the superintendent of the North Santiam School District, said the system does not take a student's actual fingerprint.

"It's a string, not a fingerprint," Adams said. "It's three mathematical pieces of information taken from a student's finger. It's stored on the school computer and can't be used in any other way."

But some parents are opposed to the finger-scanning of minors in schools. They say they're concerned that the prints their children register with the school could be stolen, misplaced or used for a form of fraud that hasn't even been invented.

If I'm a kid, I'm more concerned with putting one of my digits where every other kid has put theirs... eeeeeewwwwww, gross!

Dance And Danceability

An unforgettable night of honour and grace, just as Jane Austen would have wished it -- another noble effort of We Make History.

From the writing desk of Mr. Christopher Francis, a regimental, and with full apologies and tribute to Miss Austen.

Photographic mementos are preserved here.

The seasoned regimental stood amongst his friends, settled for only a short time in the line of highly respectable ladies and gentlemen, dancing companions all. He was a sprightly man, known for spontaneous demonstrations of spirit, with enough welled inside to sustain him through a prolonged and hurried travel of one hundred miles by carriage. Yet he could still be disposed to moments of weariness, as much as he laboured to disguise them, as in the moment when an involuntary expression of fatigue migrated from his lungs through his mouth despite his best effort at suppression.

It caught the eye of the ballroom host standing next to him. "Mr. Francis!" he said in a low tone of teasing disapproval.

"It has been a long day's journey into night," the regimental replied, ashamed that he would permit a display so incongruent with the occasion. Indeed, it was with haste that he had departed a wedding in his other life and time. Moments after witnessing a colleague joined in matrimony, he offered the new couple a hearty, if anachronistic, "HUZZAH!" as they passed by him at the ceremony's conclusion.

Not one inferior of character had been received into the large hall. Genteel and graced young Britons in their finest apparel, gowns and coats and breeches, awaited instruction from the dancing mistress Madame Toussaint, a highly regarded caller whom the regimental regretted could not share in more of the dances she explained. She laboured to ensure each step footed with precision, in order, with a steadfast patience and kindness well-suited to many eager newcomers, numbered in the dozens about the room, to the point of starting the music over if need be to ensure the enjoyment of the gathered.

When Sellinger's Round was called, she hinted not at the dance's complexities, but of its repetitions, its choruses and verses, which relieved the regimental's first dancing companion. She was a young lady who, during the opening promenade, confided she had never attended a ball such as this one. The regimental reassured her as his eyes floated between her and the guests in their satin and silk. Fathers accompanied their daughters, and they would be recognized by the host throughout the evening as the finest of company. He took note of a few three-cornered hats. As was tradition, a few had strayed from the designated segment of time, offering long coats and baggy breeches or more opulent gowns. A few ladies chose fashions in tribute to the Renassiance. And one gentleman prophesied by his gray wool uniform of a future conflict in the former colonies.

But his focus would remain on his partner as he led her through the intricacies of the opening number, sometimes catching himself in mistakes, but making his best effort to please the lady and dampen any fear. Both of them found themselves hurrying through figures at times but not losing themselves.

"It is a bit complicated," he admitted. The regimental worked to support his disclosure as a gentleman of experience as his legs maneuvered through settings and sidings and slippings to the notes of the pianoforte.

"Thank you very much for a wonderful dance," he said upon bowing to her at the end, indicating not only the pleasure of her company, but his thankfulness for her willing tolerance of his awkward figures.

He found it unseemly that perspiration should adorn his forehead, although the fluttering waves of the guests in hopes of generating a breeze gave him some solace. He questioned his choice of attire: the dark blue embroidered coat and tails topping his white breeches and hose. His shoes, to much relief, were quite up to the task.

"From perspiration comes inspiration!" he declared and continued dancing.

However, he realized his coat might attract the suspicious eye, its epaulets hinting at French sympathies, which he made every effort to dismiss before anyone could challenge them. "I must have a word with my tailor." he explained. "She has a eye for things French. But I am loyal to Britain!"

As if to prove his allegiance, he sought out a gentleman topped in a large hat and dark regimental coat trimmed in the manner of a naval commander.

"That is a wonderful bicorn," he noted of the headpiece which reminded him of French soldiers. "Are you allied with Napoleon?"

No, he returned with kind resolution. "The British Navy."

Of course, the regimental concluded. How could he not recognize the vestments of his mother country? "There may be spies among us," he offered, desiring to explain away his unfounded suspicions.

Upon seeking another partner, he found himself in a dilemma, approaching two ladies standing together and not sure which one to bow to in request for a dance. How could he offer in such a way that would be both fair and mannered? His mind brought forth a memory from another ball in another time, of a technique shown to him by a commander whereby he closed his eyes, pointed, and twirled around, with his tip of his finger indicating the winner of the lot. The regimental did so, and upon opening his eyes, found a smiling face in front of him.

"You," he smiled. Perhaps it was not as mannered as he desired. But fair it was.

The call came for sets of six, and from a demonstration at the front of the hall, many could tell a favourite dance was upon them: "Come, Let Us Be Merry!"

Heads around him turned in confusion, and the regimental quickly gathered he was the only one in the set who knew the dance. His determination strengthened in the realization he must lead them, or find the effort disintegrating into confusion. Standing with his partner as head couple, he encouraged observation as he took hands with the lady and gracefully turned her towards the others, bowed, and turned again with the appropriate honours. He cast her off to the middle, touched hands briefly with her, and then cast to the bottom of the set, where they joined inside hands, and the regimental walked her in three-quarter time up the centre of the couples, turning to face her on opposite beats until the top of the set where they cast back to the centre and all joined hands to circle round.

The others learned quickly, after an iteration or two. A young lad in a ponytail and three-cornered hat danced as well as his betters, and no one frowned at any missteps. "Thank you for leading us!" a lady proclaimed to the regimental upon the dance's conclusion. He bowed to her in return.

He would have another opportunity to demonstrate his abilities, when Christchurch's Bells was announced. The gracious caller sought him to show the assembled the proper way of turning a lady, in a serpentine manner with the partner's hand held gracefully -- and sometimes closely in a crowded set. Then, to the amusement of the guests, she demonstrated the improper way, swinging his arm about as if she were throwing him aside to the gutters of London. The regimental exaggerated the moment for as much comedic effect as he thought proper, stumbling as her hand let go in feigned dizziness, leaving no doubt as to the absurdly of gracelessness and the discomfort it would cause.

"I am a bit of a player," he softly admitted later, hesitant to leave an unseemly impression among the refined, cultured and knowledgeable.

They proved themselves worthy when prizes were announced, offering historic facts and dramatic recitations instead of the common jig to claim their rewards, save for one gentlemen at the end. Somebody, the regimental concluded, must always bend against the wind. Yet all would cavort a few moments later to claim tins of cookies passed among sashaying couples in several lines.

Perspiration adorned the regimental once again, and he ventured outside after the end of a set. "Air, glorious air!" he proclaimed, letting the wind revive his spirit. Others had gathered outside in search of the same relief. His heavy uniform was indeed the culprit, more dangerous than any French spy. Yet the concern lingered enough that several gentlemen decided, on a future occasion, to provide more representation for the Royal Army, in brightly coloured uniforms. Procurement would be another matter.

"Do you wish to be head couple?" a lady offered after she accepted the regimental's bow and offer of a dance.

"Yes," he replied and formed a new set. The host and a young lady joined him as Madame Toussaint introduced the caper: "The Spaniard."

To the regimental's relief, the host pointed out the Spanish influence of the young soldier's uniform. Perhaps, the gentleman thought, he had defended his loyalties unnecessarily and thought too little of his seamstress.

He smiled as he skipped up and down the line with his dancing partner, a seasoned young lady of impeccable manner and beauty, inside and out. He added extra flourish to his turns and lilts in his steps to match his joy, his free hand raised in happiness as they cavorted. The dance progressed them all the way to the end of the line, where another soldier awaited the regimental and his free hand. He enthusiastically slapped it in what societies would later call a high-five.

"I don't think that was historical," the lady remarked with the grin of humour.

"Yes, but it was lively," the regimental replied.

The end of the evening drew nearer than many expected, as minutes evaporated in the bliss of good company and fine dancing. Time remained for two more dances before the final waltz, but the moments were consumed in merely one: the Duke of Kent's Waltz.

For the final set dance, the regimental asked for the company of a young lady with an infectious smile, one who had impressed him with her spirit and quality of footwork. She did not disappoint him as the two balanced and turned each other, casting off in graceful steps behind the other couples. In one measure, he added an ambitious flourish, leaping slightly into the air and touching down lightly in a "double-axle," as it would be known later. He tried it only once.

All through the dance, the two exchanged smiles, the regimental grinning and returning grins as they were drawn into the beauty of the music and the movements. The caller's voice drifted into silence as the moves ingrained themselves among the couples. The dance ran long, and then longer, and then longer still, nobody wanting to end the moment, all enveloped in the joy of grace and pleasant company, basking in a moment long anticipated.

When the evening ended, after the final waltz, the regimental offered his traditional cry of approval: "Huzzah! Huzzah!" Even among the genteel, the cry echoed over and over again.

Early in the evening, a charming schoolteacher offered her approval of such boisterous displays.

"I know why we love you," she whispered to the regimental.

"I love you too," he responded, his heart humbled.

Click here for more reflections and moments of happiness from this evening's fine assembly.

NEXT: A Servant In The Cause

Curse Of The Tongue

Life is hard. Work is hard. Working in a lingual cesspool is pushing it. But some folks claim it has advantages.

WHAT THE *&%@#? If office morale is in the toilet, potty mouths may be the solution, according to a study from the University of East Anglia, as reported by AFP:

Researchers said swearing in front of senior staff or customers should be seriously discouraged or banned, but in other circumstances it helped foster solidarity among employees and express frustration, stress or other feelings.

"Employees use swearing on a continuous basis, but not necessarily in a negative, abusive manner," said Baruch, who works in the university's business school in Norwich.

Banning swear words and reprimanding staff might represent strong leadership, but could remove key links between staff and impact on morale and motivation, he said.

Our Lightning Round language critic offered this thought: how about removing the source of frustration or stress? You can only say *^%$@! so many times before you feel like you need to take a shower.

BANNED WORDS. And from the flip-side department, a Pasadena, California teenager has started a no-cussing club.

From KNBC-TV:

The group's message is clearly labeled on its site: "Ya wanna hang with us? Don't cuss."

"A lot of kids at my school, and some of my friends, would cuss and use dirty language all the time. They did it so much they didn't even realize they were doing it," Hatch said on the site.

Hatch said that the cussing bothered him so much, he challenged them to stop.

"They were shocked. They didn't know that it was bothering me. They didn't even realize how much they were doing it until I said something. I was actually surprised at how they reacted. They accepted my No Cussing Challenge," Hatch said.

So far, the club has at least 50 members. Yes, there is hope for our youth!

FUEL INJECTION. Republican House staffers were furious over a suggestion they get inoculated for several diseases before attending a NASCAR race at Lowe's Motor Speedway in North Carolina. They were there to take the public's temperature on health care and homeland security issues. But everybody was hot about the infectious implications.

From the Washington Times:

The recommendation also angered some lawmakers, who thought it was insulting to suggest that race fans might be infectious.

However, the dispute raised questions among NASCAR fans about whether they needed to be immunized as well.

"No one has suggested that fans get any — or need any — shots at all," NASCAR spokesman Ramsey Poston said. "This simply appears to be a dispute between staffers that has been blown out of proportion."

The on-staff nurse here at Lightning Round headquarters says Congressional staffers should be just fine, but they could use a few booster shots or tablets for the following afflictions:

Deficitis -- symptoms include spending money like it's no tomorrow
Belligeria -- continued support for questionable military actions
Oral diarrhea -- particularly acute to the Senate, symptoms including filibustering
Campaignarrhea -- patients include lawmakers who never stop running
Spinal Atrophy -- you wonder why your lawmakers can't pass workable immigration reform?
Gas -- always a chronic problem

As for the rest of us, the American drug industry is working on remedies for these:

Apathitis -- who cares who's President; when does American Idol start up again?
Unimatrimonia Compulsia -- our schools are failing, our highways are crumbling, crime is rising, the economy is sinking, the terrorists are gunning for us, but dadgummit, we need to do something about GAY MARRIAGE!!!!
Partisanism -- this is a toughy, but we remain optimistic for a cure

GRAVE SITUATION. Are things turning around in Iraq? Maybe we can get some unbiased insight from cemetery workers, who say their businesses is slowing down because of a drop in violence.

As McClatchy Newspapers reports:

A drop in violence around Iraq has cut burials in the huge Wadi al Salam cemetery here by at least one-third in the past six months, and that's cut the pay of thousands of workers who make their living digging graves, washing corpses or selling burial shrouds.

Few people have a better sense of the death rate in Iraq .

...

Dhurgham Majed al Malik, 48, whose family has arranged burial services for generations, said that this spring, private cars and taxis with caskets lashed to their roofs arrived at a rate of 6,500 a month. Now it's 4,000 or less, he said.

But while you exhale just a little bit, consider these words:

"We Iraqis are full with sadness and tragedies now," Ali Hazim said. "I swear by the name of Allah that each house bears some weight of sadness and of tragedy, and this is the reality of Iraqis now."

BIG BROTHER BUFFET. The Dutch are opening a new restaurant at the University of Wageningren where researchers watch every move you make and every bite you take in the name of discovering what works and what doesn't in the commercial dining room.

Reuters reports:

From a control room, researchers can direct cameras built into the ceiling of the restaurant to zoom in on individual diners and their plates. They watch how people walk through the restaurant, what food catches their eye, whether they always sit at the same table and how much food they throw away.

"You're already watched by cameras everywhere like 'Big Brother' so what difference does it make here?" said Bert Visser, a plant scientist eating a chicken sandwich. "Presentation really influences what you choose."

Patricia van der Souven, a research assistant eating pumpkin soup and a salad, agreed: "One day they had blue lights and I didn't come in because the food didn't look nice. Blue light isn't warm, it's too business-like."

Sort of like Hell's Kitchen, without Gordon Ramsay spitting in your face.

OFFSIDES. We've figured out a way to outsource just about everything, so why not the Super Bowl? The NFL is considering playing the Big Game At The End in London one day.

From the AP:

"There's a great deal of interest in holding a Super Bowl in London," [NFL Commissioner Roger] Goodell told reporters Monday. "So we'll be looking at that."

The commissioner said London's Wembley Stadium would make a great candidate for American pro football's biggest match-up, given the opening of the stadium's latest incarnation and enthusiasm overseas for the game.

Imagine the irony of the New England Patriots winning a Super Bowl in England. The Yanks are coming! The Yanks are coming! I can just see the taunts from the crowd -- many dressed as Redcoats.

If You Can't Report Something Nice, Go To Jail!

A Salt Lake City judge has sentenced a reporter with KUTV to do a public-service story or go to jail. This is Katie Baker's punishment for interviewing a potential juror in the Warren Jeffs trial, in violation of a decorum order set by the court.

From the AP:

"She violated the order," Baker's attorney, Jeff Hunt, told The Associated Press. "But she did that not knowing it was prohibited by the court. It was a mistake."

During a hearing, [Judge James L.] Shumate accepted Baker's explanation but gave her 90 days to complete a public-service story and provide a DVD to the court or be found in contempt, Hunt said.

"It does bother me a little bit that he would order a reporter to do a story. ... The station is reviewing its next steps," the attorney said.

Hunt said the judge did not explain what story would meet his public-service benchmark. Shumate's office said a written version of the ruling was being prepared.

Some of you press-bashers are saying, "Good, hold reporters accountable!"

But this is not good. This sets a very bad precedent for First Amendment law in this country, and KUTV should challenge this ruling with full force. Where does a judge get off ordering a reporter to do a story -- public-service or not? The judge did not specify a specific topic for this ordered report, but it doesn't matter. If this order stands, the invitation is there for other judges to order up stories if they don't like press coverage.

Suppose a judge ordered the paper to do a positive story on a murder suspect found not guilty. It sounds fair, you may think at first; it's helping to clear the person's reputation. We always think people are tried and convicted in the media, anyway. But think about this carefully. This goes beyond keeping cameras out of the courtroom or moving trials because of publicity. A judge has now become the ultimate editor, deciding what will and what won't be published. Do you want a judge deciding what you read in the paper or watch on TV? Do you want the courts influencing the news agenda in your newsrooms?

Of course some of this is hyperbole, but with apathy towards the First Amendment in this country and the general dislike of reporters in general, it's not much of a stretch. This isn't about whether Katie Baker messed up. She did, and she admitted as such. This is about a judge punishing a reporter by becoming her new editor, if only for one story. Somebody tell me where in the First Amendment Judge Shumate got the right to do that.

Quality Produces Quantity

Producers, reporters, anybody who works in TV will one day have to answer that question, "Why is there so much crime on TV news?"

The answer is, "Because you watch it." Crime, sensationalism, and tabloid sensibilities bring ratings. For producers like me, the challenge is where to draw the line between ambulance chasing and reporting on the crime stories people want to know about while getting "other news" in.

Tuesday night's 10pm newscast on KOLD News 13 had both ying and yang. We had a story on a missing Tucson woman found dead and a six-year-old shot to death while she was sleeping on the family couch. But we also had stories on the search for a new Tucson Unified School District superintendent, safety inspections for truckers. But the longest story of the night was a four-minute epic on the rise of Buddhism among Tucsonans.

So it's heartening to read a story in The Boston Globe about a study from The Project for Excellence in Journalism, which found quality news attracts viewers, too:

In an unprecedented survey, a team of researchers under the auspices of the Project for Excellence in Journalism studied the minute-by-minute Nielsen ratings for newscasts from 154 local television stations over five years, more than 33,000 news stories in all.

What they found is that quality sells. The sensationalism of late-1990s WHDH, the study suggests, does bring good ratings. But well-done, substantive TV news proves just as popular - and often earns even better ratings.

Viewers, the study found, are perfectly willing to watch stories on education policy or tax debates - in many cases they'll tune in to those stories but flip away from a segment on a celebrity divorce or a deadly highway pileup. And they'll consistently reward in-depth reporting with higher ratings than more cursory stories, no matter what the topic.

The findings suggest that the shift to violence and voyeurism has left everyone worse off. Viewers, fed a diet of out-of-state car chase footage, are left knowing less about issues, like the schools, that actually affect them. And the TV stations, in clumsily catering to an audience they misunderstood, may actually be sabotaging their own ratings.

"I think what governs most television news directors is the sense that they have no choice, that they have to use crime, accidents, and disaster to grab the interest of the viewer," says Marion Just, a political science professor at Wellesley College and one of the study's lead researchers. "But they do have a choice. They can do well and do good."

Take heart, TV newsers. We know people vote with the remote, but they're willing to give you a shot if you're relevant.

According to [Project founder Tom] Rosenstiel, the findings may be explained in part by the shrinking of the network TV news audience. "There are so may other ways to be entertained on television," says Rosenstiel. "People that turn to a local newscast are that hardy few that's actually looking for information."

Aha! People who watch news want news! Something a lot of us forget sometimes.

Flagged For Ridicule

Your Lightning Round editor-in-chief senses the entire immigration debate bounding through the gate of animosity into the garden of absurdity. And we need look no further than our city of headquarters to find the awful truth.

THEY'VE GOTTA GO. For more than 50 years, a Mexican flag has flown alongside a U.S. Flag at the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum in Tucson, reflecting the fact that the Sonoran Desert stretches across the border. But no more. And Old Glory's gone as well. The flags, the poles, everything must go as the Museum operates on the old loony PR principle that it's easier to cheese off the many versus the few.

The Arizona Daily Star says it all came down to nagging questions and a threat:

Questions from visitors about why the Mexican flag was being flown on U.S. soil escalated in the past couple of years, said board chairwoman Sophia Kaluzniacki.

An anonymous death threat against the museum's animals made earlier this year by a phone caller also factored into the [museum] board's decision, but to a lesser degree, she said. The desire to avoid controversy on border-related issues was the main thrust, she said.

Winifred "Wynee" Warden, a museum trustee who wasn't there for the vote on the flag flap, doesn't think it's right:

"That border thing is going to be resolved one way or another. Eventually then they can put the Mexican flag up, I guess. It's crazy," she said. "It's the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, and so they both should be represented. It's too bad when you have to kowtow to everyone who complains."

At least the museum didn't have to remove any Mexican spotted owls. And we hear it's putting up a new flag -- a white one.

UPDATE: Just hours after we went to press, we learned the museum board voted to reverse its decision, saying:

“The board must balance both the educational mission of the Museum with protection of its collections, staff and visitors,” said board chairwoman Sophia Kaluzniacki. “While it saddened us to experience increasing messages of violence, we also must stand true to the history and traditions of the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. On behalf of the board we did not anticipate the degree of response this action would create and we regret any concerns that were generated.”

A simple "We blew it!" will suffice.

FROM THE MOUTHS OF BABES. Homeland Security may be getting the scoop on you not from your phone records or wiretaps, but from your kids. Boston Herald columnist Michael Graham found that out after his daughter went in for a checkup:

“The doctor wanted to know how much you and mom drink, and if I think it’s too much,” my daughter told us afterward, rolling her eyes in that exasperated 13-year-old way. “She asked if you two did drugs, or if there are drugs in the house.”

“What!” I yelped. “Who told her about my stash -- er, I mean, ‘It’s an outrage!’ ”

I turned to my wife. “You took her to the doctor. Why didn’t you say something?”

She couldn’t, she told me, because she knew nothing about it. All these questions were asked in private, without my wife’s knowledge or consent.

“The doctor wanted to know how we get along,” my daughter continued. Then she paused. “And if, well, Daddy, if you made me feel uncomfortable.”

Graham points to guidelines from the American Academy of Pediatrics that he says condone, if not encourage, snooping by doctors in the name of spotting abuse and other problems in the home that would contribute to poor child health -- to say the least. Your Lightning Round is still looking for those guidelines, but in the meantime, we offer some counter-advice from commenter Yaakov Watkins:

I agree that the doctors should ask all the questions they want. Parents should ask all the questions they want also. Like "Where did the doctor touch you?" "Did the nurse hurt you?" "How big was the needle?" "How many times did the nurse poke you with the needle?" "Did the nurse talk to you about things that made you feel funny?" "Was there a gun in the doctor's office?", "Were you ever alone with the doctor?"

Touche.

GUT CHECK. The mystery of what your appendix does may be solved. Surgeons and specialists at Duke University theorize it's a storehouse for good bacteria, as the AP reports:

Diseases such as cholera or amoebic dysentery would clear the gut of useful bacteria. The appendix's job is to reboot the digestive system in that case.

But it seems we're doing part of the appendix's job for it:

If a person's gut flora dies, they can usually repopulate it easily with germs they pick up from other people, [Duke University professor Bill Parker] said. But before dense populations in modern times and during epidemics of cholera that affected a whole region, it wasn't as easy to grow back that bacteria and the appendix came in handy.

In less developed countries, where the appendix may be still useful, the rate of appendicitis is lower than in the U.S., other studies have shown, Parker said.

He said the appendix may be another case of an overly hygienic society triggering an overreaction by the body's immune system.

So we guess it's fair to say your appendix can get stressed out -- just like the rest of you.

READIN', RITIN', AND RELOADIN'. English teacher Shirley Katz wants to take her Glock 9mm pistol to class with her in Medford, Oregon to protect against a Columbine-style attack. Naturally, district rules prohibit packing by faculty.

From the AP:

Katz won’t say whether she has ever taken her 9 mm Glock pistol to school, but she practices with it regularly and has thought about what she would do if she had to confront a gunman. She would be sure students were locked in nearby offices out of the line of fire, and she would be ready with her pistol.

“Our safety plan at our school now is that if somebody threatening comes in, you try to avoid eye contact, and do whatever they say, and that is not acceptable anymore,” she said. Shootings at Virginia Tech University and the one-room Amish school in Pennsylvania, “reinforced my belief we have to take action, we can’t just acquiesce as we have been taught to do.”

And by golly, you better raise your hand before speaking in her class.

FLOORED. Meanwhile in Mahwah, New Jersey, students at a high school are eating lunch on the floor. Administrators decided to maximize teaching time by combining all lunch periods into one mass feeding, leaving hundreds of the hungry without table settings.

As WCBS-TV New York reports:

The cafeteria holds around 300, some outside picnic tables are provided, and seniors can leave for lunch. But parents and some students were quick to speak out to school leadership against hundreds left to floor dining -- and got nowhere.

"Kids should not be eating on the floor," one mother said. "Nobody should be eating on the floor. Animals eat on the floor."

Added a student named "Samantha": "It's dirty. It's disgusting."

CBS 2 HD was able to obtain and analyze three floor swabs. The findings found "very high" bacteria counts, suggesting a combination of "dirty" surfaces.

Mahwah High School says it's finding other seating for the kids. As for the food... well, we all remember our school cafeteria diets. Mystery meat, anyone? Anyone?

"I Will Continue To Do My Job"

I'm still following the story of Air Force MSgt. Bradley Behling and his tribulations with PODS after they mistakenly sold all his stuff while he was in Iraq. He has updated me, and things appear to be moving forward, but I cannot share the details with you. This case is a delicate legal dance, and any more media exposure could blow it. Please continue to keep him and his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Some of you have been following the comments in the last update, in which an anonymous poster challenged MSgt. Behling's character and wondered whether he actually earned his Bronze Star. I have the sergeant's response, which he has allowed me to post here:

To Anonymous,

I am sorry that you feel the need to attack my character. I guess the fact that you chose to remain anonymous shows your character.

I know exactly how people feel about me at my last job. I often get calls from them for advice or invites to group functions.

My ex wife is a good person, and we are great friends- she has testified for me on my behalf. I doubt that if I was a gambling degenerate liar she would have done that. I was able to pay for everything that I had to replace from savings, and investments. If my "gambling problem" was so severe I doubt I would have had the means to do that.

You ask for proof all I can to is write about my time there Any of these facts are easily verifiable in my squadron.

February ‘06 a tasking came down for a 1st Sgt to deploy with the cops to Iraq, since they are my folks anyway I thought it would be a good experience, my commander didn’t want to let me go because of the crap going on with my soon to be ex at the time. I convinced him and he let me go.

March-May we went through the Army “prepatory course” for Convoy operations, Urban Terrain Combat scenarios, Local confrontations, and detainee ops. All of this because we were filling an ILO mission (In-Lieu-Of) the Army did not have enough people to send to this area, so it fell to us. We could not go until we had completed this training. I established myself during this time by doing everything that the “kids” did taking no advantage of my rank and position to include being pepper sprayed and running the combat course. At the end of training the kids collected over $500 for me and bought me this beautiful shadow box that said “MSgt Brad Behling Army Qualified 1st Sgt You are the corner stone of our morale” and $300 in “Gucci gear” to go over my flack vest. It was very moving.

We came back for 10 days around Memorial Day, and on 2 June we departed for the AOR and landed in Kuwait for 10 more days of training in desert conditions.

We Arrived in Camp Bucca on the 14th of June, change of command on the 17th. We fell in on 65 additional troops that were staying for another 4 months, and cops being cops I was concerned that they would not mesh well, but as all things when it comes to my professional life it worked out fantastic and they became quick teachers and friends to all of my cops.

The 30th of June an Airman from the 886th (our sister squadron) was shot by a 9mm from some kid messing around. 98% of the time where the bullet went in it goes straight through and he gets a painful reminder, this time it clipped his right shoulder bone and cut 45 degrees through his body severing a major artery on the way out his left side. There was nothing anyone could have done.

While our units responded to the crime scene I got two kids in my office both named Ryan, both 19. They were in the same barracks when their friend was shot. They were of course hysterical and I did my best to calm them down getting them some water and talking to them about their time in the desert and what they had accomplished during their time there, consoling them about their friend and telling them that the hospital there was above reproach.

After I calmed them down I went to the crime scene, they were taking him out and while still alive at the time I knew it looked grim. I found the other 1st Sgt Frank Guzman standing with CID getting asked a hundred questions he did not have the answer to. I got him out of there and let CID do their job.

When I returned to my office I found the two Ryan’s much calmer, and I did not elude as to the condition of their friend. CID finished up in the crime scene and came and spoke to the two Ryan’s in turn, Frank returned to the scene to clean up the blood once it was released. I found out that Carl had died about an hour and a half later. No one knew what to do with him because we were Air Force, so I had to dust off my mortuary hat, and start the paperwork and help them prep the body.

Arrangements were being made to pick him up and the two kids had still not been told that their friend was dead, so I went to the leadership of the 886th, and talked to their Operations Superintendent-SMSgt Hoffstetter I said “You can tell them or I can tell them but I do not want them over hearing that their friend is dead.”

The Senior said he had told someone once and he would never do it again, I said “That is fine I respect that, I think it is important to see someone from their leadership however so will you at least stand with me while I do it.”

That was the longest hallway on the planet that day. When I walked in I pulled my chair from around the desk and said. “Guys, there is no easy way to say this but Carl died a short time ago.” They fell to pieces. “There is nothing I can say to make you feel any better right now, but there are 8 other people standing outside needing your strength, and need to know you are going to be OK.” The chaplain gathered the other members of that squad and they were out there waiting on them. Frank stayed with them while I went to lodging and arranged movement of everyone in that trailer out to an empty one, I dropped the keys and the completed copies of the mortuary paperwork off with Frank and went back to my room and cried for 20 min.

The next day a Services mortuary team arrived and I assisted them in re-packing the head with ice, sealing him in the container, and getting the flag on. We drove him around the base once. It was moving as everyone stopped and saluted as we drove by. Two helicopters lifted off that day one with Carl, and the other with a 21 year old who was facing murder charges.

As we walked away from chopper pad I ran into one of the Ryan’s put my hand on his shoulder and asked how he was holding up. He said “I’ll be ok sir; and sir if no one else says it, thanks for getting him home to his family.”

I teared up at that, here this kid had just lost a good friend and he was thanking me, shows his character.

MSgt. Behling also shared this story involving his squadron, even though he was not on this particular convoy:

We are coming up on the year anniversary of an IED attack that blew up Brandon Byers he lost a chunk of his left hand and his left leg was filled with shrapnel. We were returning from escorting a convoy to Kuwait when we were struck. IED (Improvised Explosive Device) sorry I speak in acronyms:-). This particular type of IED was called an EFP. (Explosively Formed Projectile) it’s small copper plates that form in to “bullets” as the explosion happens. They sliced through the hummer like a knife through warm butter. “Fortunately” he was the only one seriously hurt in the attack; a couple of others were grazed by flying metal. He was medevac’d (choppered) out to Camp Arifjan where they did as much as they could for him. That was a long week. Sitting with him catching barf and trying to get him prepared for the next chapter in his life. He is still here and has had several surgeries to his hand. It can move, and he has some feeling in it. Amazing some of the things doctors can do now a day.

After it is all said and done I came to the realization that no one is guaranteed a tomorrow, and we need to make the most of today. The petty things in my life don’t even register anymore, and I am far more content with my lot in life.

The cops love me and they all feel cared for, I have 370 of them and I know all of their 1st names, and most of their spouses and children’s names. Amazing how far that goes.

So to Anonymous I say think of me what you will. I know what really matters in this life. It is not Bronze Stars- I personally would have had that young man live and come back with nothing. The fact that my leadership saw fit to submit me for that award is humbling.

Your opinion of me is just that and if there was anything constructive in your criticism of my character I failed to see it.

I will continue to do my job and be there for my Airmen both here and where you are.

MSgt Bradley Behling
99th Security Forces 1st Sgt