I heard the bells on Christmas day

Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

But as my voice warmed up I began to say them with just a little more force, my mind hearing the rhythm, feeling the cadence, and forgetting the people around me I let go:

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

At the time, I didn’t really connect with the poem. They were just these pretty but hollow words that rolled off the tongue in natural iambic pentameter. I guess I just didn’t get it. I thought Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was just about the silliest name I had ever come across and the Civil war was just so long ago. Frankly, I didn’t see what he was whining about.

I didn’t think about the song again until we played it in band. It was 2001, my Senior year in High School. One September morning we were in the middle of rehearsing a pretty arrangement of “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day”, when  a kid ran through the door just as the music was swelling. He was pale, his voice was shaking. He barely got the words out: “Turn on the TV! Something is happening!”   

Then from each black, accursed mouth

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound the carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Something was happening. I watched in panic as the plane flew into the second tower, then in horror as they both collapsed- bodies falling like snow flakes from out of the windows. “Jesus Christ” someone behind me said. The words echoed in my own heart.

It was as if an earthquake rent

The hearth-stones of a continent,

And made forlorn, the households born

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

In the coming months and years we would rally behind our country and against our enemies. We were angry, confused, and most of all afraid. Our leaders were with us. We toppled the Taliban in Afghanistan and embarked on a war with Iraq, the end of which we’ve not yet seen. With this new awareness of a world of hatred and violence, my adolescence officially ended. I was introduced for the first time to a world of darkness. It was as if all of the sudden the candle of innocence that I had carried so long was snuffed out by a sudden and unexpected wind.

And in despair I bowed my head

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

But of course that isn’t the end of the story.

Even now, I get chills when I hear the song because within it is a deep truth. Martin Luther King said that “the moral arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice”. He was living in dark times too. Just like me and Longfellow. But it is in times of darkness we most need to believe in the light. Our ages have been filled with hours of darkness and the God of history has always brought us through.

1^st Century Palestine was certainly an age of darkness. An oppressed people trying desperately to practice their religion under the thumb of a ruthless despot known for his paranoia and his short temper, constant terrorist attacks in the Temple and the marketplaces leading to police retaliation against the people, and widespread disease and poverty. Strange cults emerged announcing the end of the world, attracting large followings because they offered a shred of hope in a time that was otherwise an abyss of darkness.

Into this scene came a stable, a manger, a crying child and the enduring promise of peace on earth good will toward men.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.”

The manger child means that the world is never too dark for love and compassion to win the ultimate victory. Out of the ashes of the deepest failures of humanity, new life can be born. Longfellow’s contemporary, Walt Whitman said: “Roaming in thought over the universe, I saw the little that is good steadily hastening toward immortality, And the vast all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself and become lost and dead.” The manger child means that as long as there is just an once of light in this world the bells will still ring, tolling , thundering through an age of darkness…

Till ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I’d like to say they all stood up and whistled and cheered. I’d like to say I got a standing ovation. But it just didn’t happen that way.

As I finished the poem before my class, my voice was still shaking and everyone clapped politely. I took my seat and Emily Rogers stood up to read Robert Frost. I smiled. I had gotten through the entire thing and I hadn’t forgotten a single word of it. I hope I never do.

Like it or not, that special time is here again. The American people are beginning to look toward the future and wonder who it’s going to be. The stakes are high and all the potential candidates are throwing their hats in the ring and hoping for your vote. I’m talking, of course, about a new season of American Idol.

I love American Idol. I love American Idol for one reason, though. I never buy the CDs, I seldom vote, and I generally don’t care for the music. But I LOVE the judges! The Judges are the best part of American Idol.

First, there’s Randy Jackson, whose chief contribution to the show is to remind everyone that he was the bass player for “Journey” and say “Dog” as many times as is humanly possible in one sentence. As in, “Yo dog, look dog, that was good, dog, but yo dog, this time, dog, without the kazoo, dog. O.k. dog? Dog?”

There’s also Paula Abdul, who, if she hadn’t been a pop-star herself, would be the perfect operator at a suicide hotline. Paula Abdul can find the silver lining in even the darkest of clouds. She could be judging the audition of a 300 pound clown in a leotard, beating tympani with one hand and dragging his nails across a chalk-board with the other, all the while singing Dixie in a pterodactylesque falsetto (not an unusual audition at American Idol) and she could still come up with something positive to say. Common Abdulisms are “I really love your spirit”, “You have your own unique sound”, or “I really appreciate that your suspenders match your pocket protector.”

Then, of course, there’s Simon Cowell. Simon Cowell is the judge on American Idol you love to hate. Simon Cowell does for positive reinforcement what Hitler did for race relations. He crushes people’s hopes and dreams with all the attachment of a sociopath. When watching the early audition rounds it’s not uncommon to see an audition end something like this:

Contestant (nice looking young man singing slightly off key): “We are the Champions…”

Simon: “Stop! Stop! What was that?”

Contestant: ““We are the Champions” by Queen”

Simon: That was atrocious! I felt as If I were listening to a cat being bludgeoned to death with a microphone.

Contestant (near tears): Is there anything I can do to improve?

Simon: Yes. Never sing again. Ever. Anywhere! Don’t sing in the shower, or in the privacy of your own room. Don’t even sing in the soundless vacuum of space. Pay a friend to punch you in the stomach whenever you do sing. Also, if you must again emerge from what I can only assume is some sort of underground colony of sewer freaks, please do us surface-dwellers a favor and wear this paper bag over your head.

As you can imagine, these auditions often end in people crying and storming out of the studio, but that’s all part of the fun.

The reason I love the judges so much is because I know them so intimately. Every thing I’ve ever done in my life the American Idol judges have been by my side criticizing me. Randy is the voice of my friends who encourage and reject me. Paula’s my wife, who sees me doing no wrong. And Simon… well, he’s the snake hissing in the back of my psyche telling me I’m not good enough and I’ll never be. I’ve done my best to ignore them, but they’re always there giving their constant stream of unfiltered criticism. Sometimes, I’ve learned, you just have to put on your leotard, grab that tympani mallet, and say “forget the judges!” That’s what real super stars do!
So what did you think guys?

Randy: That was tight Dog, Yo Dog, you nailed that part about Simon. D-Man in the Dog house baby! Yo dog, check this out, dog: I played bass for “Journey”.

Paula: Danny. (sigh) I just love your spirit, you… (sigh) you just lift us all with your (sigh) I just… this is what American Idol is about! We love you.

Simon: I thought it was absolutely horrible. It was as though I were reading an article composed by a drunken monkey tap-dancing on a typewriter. Do you even know what grammar is? And that preachy part at the end: it wasn’t even funny. Either it’s a humor column or its something else, decide! Don’t suddenly change your mind in the middle. Also, if you must insist on having your picture in the paper, do us all a favor and wear this paper bag.

A couple of weeks ago, the stock market took a sudden and unexpected dive. For those of you who haven’t been following this story, apparently over in Beijing, someone spilled their Diet Coke on a computer console and their market went down nine points. This of course scared American investors and sent our market down to the lowest average in decades.

Those of you who watch CNBC (not many people do outside of Guantanamo Bay) know that it doesn’t take much to scare investors. Investors wet their pants over things that average people couldn’t possibly fathom affecting their lives. Things like the price of the cashew nut.

You’ve seen it on the news. A reporter announces something mind numbingly trivial like: “The price of dust has gone down a fourth of a cent,” and then the camera flashes to a shot of investors scrambling around like Wall Street is being attacked by Godzilla.

This is the huge problem with the New York Stock Exchange in my ill-informed opinion: the whole place is in a perpetual state of panic to where the slightest news can threaten the financial security of the free world. But why shouldn’t they be in panic? Imagine you’re a broker. Your job is basically to spend other people’s money and wait around all day for a giant computer to tell you whether you’re going to the Bahamas or federal prison. You don’t know how the computer makes this decision (some suspect it involves a chimpanzee and a giant wheel of some sort) but week after week that this giant computer is deciding your fate and the smallest thing, like the price of chalk, could be the difference between spending your large fortune on a yacht or trading cigarettes for a rock hammer.

Multiply this by about a thousand investors and a zillion cups of coffee and you have, to say the least, a high pressure environment.

Now I know it’s pretty early in my career to be talking about Nobel Prizes (though a Nobel in economics would be a great thing to casually mention at my high school reunion) but on my lunch break I figured this whole mess out and I think Stockholm will be calling me soon.

What Wall Street needs is a strong leader: someone who can help investors keep their cool, someone who can guide them through the investment process, help them capitalize on their assets, and through a rigorous process of elimination, reach the best deal possible. Someone surrounded by gorgeous models. I’m talking or course about Howie Mandel.

Those of you who have seen the world’s most elaborate televised scratch-off ticket, “Deal or No Deal”, know what I’m talking about. The rest of you should go find the cross-word puzzle because you’re obviously way too sophisticated for this article. I’ll start you off, 26 across in “Gregory Peck”.

What should of happened as soon as China’s market went down is this:

Howie Mandel- This game is easy, you have two options: BUY OR SELL!

(lights flash and the speakers play exciting sound track music you normally expect to hear when Bruce Willis is jumping from a moving vehicle)Howie- Let’s meet our first investor, Bob Arlington from the investment firm: Arlington and Smith.

(Bob runs down the stairs and takes his place next to Howie Mandel, 26 models, and the big computer)Howie- O.K. Bob, are you ready to play “Buy or Sell”?

Bob- Woooooooooooooooooo!

Howie- O.K., this briefcase is your investment portfolio. Now start selecting other briefcases and we’ll see what happens.

Bob- Alright let’s see… my wife and I have been married 10 years so I’m going with number 10!

Howie- Number 10, beautiful Anya. Anya open the case.

Bob- Keep it good.

(she opens case revealing the words “China down 9”)Bob (ghostly pale)- Yesterday I invested my life savings in egg rolls and fireworks. They said it was a sure thing!

(phone rings)Howie- hello… mmm hmm… mmm hmm, o.k., I’ll tell him.

Bob- What?

Howie- The computer has made a generous offer.

Bob- What is it?

Howie- I’ll tell you… right after this!

(The commercial where Faith Hill sings “Happy Birthday” over the phone to her grandfather)Howie- Welcome back to “Buy or Sell”! We’re about to hear Bob’s offer.

Bob- What is it?

Howie- The computer is willing to give you a nickel and half a package of “Juicy Fruit” for your whole portfolio!

(Bob jumps out the window)Howie- O.K., let’s meet our next contestant here on “Buy or Sell”!

On second thought, maybe Stockholm should hold that Nobel for a couple of years while I work out the kinks.

Now, at first glance this ” experiment” may seem to prove that three-year- old Chimpanzees are more intelligent than your average college student, but I think there are some lingering variables that might cast this so called “experiment” into doubt. First of all:

·        Do we know whether these college students are truly average? It’s been my experience that the type of college student that agrees to give over a day to engage in a battle of wits with a chimpanzee is usually not the one who’s working with a full bushel of bananas. If you get my drift. If Yale University brought in the campus Bob Marley Society to perform these tests it might speak to some of the results.

·        Also, how do we know these chimps weren’t above average? Are we dealing with the Mensa monkeys? Think of it this way: Gary Kasprov can beat a computer at chess but I can’t get my computer to print Word documents. The sample that is selected to represent the species in these sorts of studies can skew the results. In general, I’d say computers are smarter than humans but that humans are smarter than monkeys (monkeys remain unaffected by computers and simply smash them into the nearest tree, if you’re interested in making this into a variation on “rock, paper, scissors”). With the exception of a few obvious prodigies in either category, this pattern generally holds. So something fantastic must have been amidst for the Chimpanzees to perform so exceptionally. I personally suspect that these monkeys were nothing more than highly evolved apes brought back from some futuristic post-nuclear dystopia by none other than Charlton Heston. If you’re scratching your head right now, go ask your parents.

·        Furthermore, assuming that both species are properly represented, how is pointing to numbers on a screen an indicator of intelligence anyway? I mean, do we really know if the Chimps even understood the game? How do we know they weren’t simply trying to order a Big Mac? Assuming that they actually knew exactly what they were doing, what does that prove? Should we make Chimpanzees air traffic controllers?

My beef is this:  This experiment was conducted with no practical intent other than to make us feel stupid. Just like standardized tests! Every year I was in high school there was a news report about how our test scores, nation-wide, were averaging between Latvia and Gilligan’s Island. The media runs these stories for the same reason they run Sudoku and The New York Times Cross Word Puzzle: to make us feel stupid!

WELL I”VE HAD IT! I’m fighting back! I challenge these monkeys to a do-over! This time on our terms! That’s right, an intensive 12 hour Primate Intelligence Decathlon!  This Intelligence Decathlon will consist of eight parts:

1.     The Duck Hunt Challenge. That’s right, we’ll start with the elementary foundation of education upon which all other bricks are laid:  “Super Mario Brothers/Duck Hunt” on the original Nintendo game system! You can point to numbers on a screen, but can you land a cartoon duck? The beauty of this game is, of course, no opposable thumbs necessary!

2.     The Street Smarts Challenge. There’s more to intelligence than just cognitive adaptation to shifts in environmental stimuli, you also gotta have street smarts! One chimp and one human will be dropped off in Spanish Harlem with nothing but a dollar and a switch-blade. If any FOX executives are reading this, I’ll sell you this reality T.V. premise at a reasonable price.

3.     The SCENE IT: STAR WARS EDITION Challenge. You don’t remember which installment in the Star Wars Trilogy contains the scene with Han Solo blasting the bounty hunter Guido in the Cantina? Awww, here’s a banana and a tissue! (epoH weN A :VI edosipe SRAW RATS)

4.     The Deal or No Deal Challenge. I’d like to see a chimp out-smart Howie Mandel! No really, I’d like to see it. My money is on the chimp.

5.     The Texas Hold ‘Em Challenge. Do you know when to hold em’, know when to fold em” know when to umm… dum dee doo dee duuuum! I’m a little rusty on my Kenny Rogers, what, with my sub-chimp recall ability and everything

6.     The Rubic’s Cube Challenge.  We’ll set up a chimpanzee and a human with a Rubic’s Cube and time them. Whichever in the least amount of time, decides that Rubic’s Cubes are pointless and leaves to find something else to do, wins.

7.     The White Castle Challenge. Which species can eat the most White Castle hamburgers in a single sitting? I know this isn’t an intelligence test per se, but aren’t you just dying to know?

8.     Opposable Thumb Wrestling. We should have this one in the bag!

So there you have it Chimpanzees! If you think you’re so smart then show up at Yale University this Saturday and we’ll settle this once and for all! That reminds me, I need to try Map-Questing Yale again. My stupid computer keeps telling me it’s not a real town!

For the Baby:

Mr. Squealing Siren. Mr. Squealing Siren will delight your baby as it squeals nonstop for hours at roughly the decibel level of a NASA shuttle launch. Mr. Squealing Siren requires no batteries and has no discernable off switch, ensuring nothing will come between your child and nonstop fun.

Baby Einstein Poker Set. It’s never too early to get your little one on their way to winning the World Series of Poker. This baby video teaches, with the help of stimulating classical music and entertaining cartoons, your little one basic card hands as well as the rules to 5 Card Draw, Seven Card Stud, and Texas Hold ‘Em. Soon your toddler will be surfing the net for fish in high stake tournaments.

Especially For Boys:

“An Inconvenient Truth” Play Kit. Now your kids can be Al Gore as they present the realities of global warming to the public. Kit comes complete with a suit and tie, a plastic slide projector with images of melting glaciers, and a Nobel Prize medal.  

Strong Men with Big Guns. This new line of action figures is just like every other line of action figures, it features strong men with big guns. Each collectible toy features a different man in mid steroid rage, each with a different big gun. Good luck collecting them all; the makers will simply change the hair color and the shape of the gun, then the name. There will be literally thousands of these things. Look out, also for “Strong Men in Cool  Cars with Big Guns”.

Especially For Girls:

Botox Barbie. Barbie is now in her 50s and needs to make sure she can compete with all the new toys. Your daughter can help Barbie inject collagen in her lips and Botox in her face to keep a youthful look. Also comes with a needle and a special “Botox Jr.” formula so your child can be as beautiful as her Barbie.

10,000,000,000 Beads. I don’t know, they make necklaces or something with them, but rest assured there will be ten thousand million beads spread out all over your house by February. You won’t be able to vacuum them because they’ll tear up your vacuum so you will personally have to pick up ever single bead off the floor. This is a great gift to give some one else’s kids.

For Dad:

IPhone- This is all your dad wants. He can imagine listening to his old albums while cruising the internet and taking calls from his clients. He wants an IPhone so much he’d be willing to sell his thumbs on E-Bay. But let’s face it an IPhone costs about the same as a small congressional campaign so your Dad is going to settle for:

World’s Best Dad Paper Weight .This elegant gift is practical yet aesthetically pleasing. It will be the envy of his coworkers. They’ll all pass by his cubicle and see the weight keeping his papers from blowing adrift in the wind and think to themselves, “Wow! I wish I had one of those! My papers are constantly blowing everywhere and my thankless children have never once praised me that highly. All I got was this stupid IPhone!”

For Mom:

The Blog. This is the latest offering from novelist Nicholas Sparks, author of “The Notebook”. Your mother will live vicariously through Anne whose one true love Quentin writes about her in his blog everyday. Her nurse reads it to her because she’s in a coma from a row-boating accident she had the night she was supposed to meet him to leave with him forever.  Heart broken Quentin continues to profess his love for her even though he has no idea about the terrible accident. I don’t want to give away the ending but it involves a puppy, the song “endless love”, and the empire state building.

Black and Decker Belt Sander. Trust me, she’ll love it!

Just keep in mind, this year, as you do your holiday shopping that the most precious gift of all truly is the miraculous birth of the manger child and the enduring promise of peace on earth and good will toward all. Hopefully this sentiment will comfort you while you’re taking out a second mortgage on the house so you can afford all this junk.

These loonies are called “pundits”. No one knows where pundits come from or why they get to be on TV. Some suspect they might be a colony of sewer dwellers whose only knowledge of the surface world comes from talk radio. What we do know about pundits is that they have the capacity to passionately disagree on virtually any issue put in front of them.

For instance, we all tend to agree that Dog fighting is bad. If two sensible people got together and discussed dog fighting it would be a pretty dry conversation. It would be put on PBS or C-SPAN and no one would watch it because it would be just about as exciting as watching a chess match between a toaster and a ball of yarn. But bring in two pundits and you’ve got the dueling dodos:

Moderator: Hello, welcome to HARDFIRE! I’m Bob Moderator. Tonight our big debate: “Dog Fighting: is it that bad?” Joining me to discuss this are two mentally unstable pundits. Here is animal rights activist and blogger, the cofounder of the A.A.E.P., Jane Womak. Also joining me is right-wing radio host Kyle Rudd, whose new book “Shut UP Commie or I’ll Make You!” has climbed the top seller list over night.  Kyle, let me start with you. Is dog fighting that bad?

Kyle: Absolutely not Bob. This is an issue that has been blown way out of proportion by the elitist pro-canine liberal media. Not all Americans go to art museums and operas for fun. Some of us regular Americans like to bowl, or go to the movies, or electrocute starved dogs and force them to participate in cruel and inhumane blood sports. Same difference.

Moderator: Jane?

Jane: Bob, We here at “Animals at the Expense of People” believe as 99.7% of our polled friends and family do, that any one who mistreats an animal should be executed without a trial. If Fido doesn’t get due process, neither should Michael Vick!

Moderator: Both valid points. We’re talking about this, obviously, because of the recent scandal involving N.F.L. player Michael Vick. Do you feel he was treated fairly Kyle?

Kyle: We have soldiers dying in Iraq for our freedom and this poor man doesn’t even have the freedom to electrocute animals for money. What kind of world are we living in? It’s sick!

Jane: Bob, do you see this adorable calendar photo depicting two puppies in sailor outfits? Let me read the caption for you. It says: “Bone Voyage”

Moderator: awww…

Jane: I think I’ve made my point.

Kyle: Typical liberal media propaganda! How do you know those puppies aren’t terrorist puppies disguised as sailors?

Moderator: Jane, do you think the N.F.L. handled the scandal properly?

Jane: No, Bob, this was a real missed opportunity. The N.F.L. should have publicly hanged all those involved… I think the head commissioner shoul-

Kyle: DON’T CRITICIZE THE N.F.L., WE’RE AT WAR!

Jane: Excuse me, It’s my turn to rant!

Kyle: How dare you, go and…

Jane: DON’T TALK OVER ME!

Kyle: Liberal, Yankee, tree hugging…

 Jane: ignorant, war-mongering,

Kyle: protesting,

Jane: poopie head!

Kyle: takes one to know one!

Jane: I am rubber, you are glue…

Moderator: I wish I could let you guys keep going because you’re each making such valid points, but unfortunately we have to take a commercial break. When we return, two freshman senators are going to risk it all in “the octagon!” You’re    watching HARDFIRE! 

Music. Fade. Cut to commercial. Emmy please!

I know they’re stupid, but I love these shows and I can’t help it. I’m not sure what it is but something in me really loves a good argument. I just like the heat of the fight… two vicious pundits circling each other, salivating, starving for flesh. It’s intoxicating to watch as the moderator gets out of the way and they go at it tearing each other to pieces until finally only one is left standing triumphantly over the corpse of the other. Of course I’m just kidding when I compare cable news to a dog fight. There are some obvious differences. For instance, the producers don’t electrocute the partisan pundits to make them more vicious. Unless of course it’s sweeps week.

“Did you know that 96.7% of drug users grew up in an environment where there was a television? Did you further know that Kids who watch T.V. are ten time more likely to be obese, 20 times more likely to have attention deficit disorder, 70 times more likely to flunk college algebra, and 230 times more likely to end up living in a cardboard box and collecting aluminum cans for a living? Did you know that you ought to be ashamed of yourself or that your kid is going to grow up to be fat, lazy, and stupid? Did you know that you are a bad parent? Did you further know…”

And so on and so on. As fair and balanced as these articles are, they don’t tell the whole story. For instance, did you know there’s a direct link between the amount of television a child watches and their parent’s sanity?

When my two year-old is not watching “Dora the Explorer”, she is running around trashing the house like a rock star in a hotel room. One of Norah’s favorite non-television related activities is getting naked, taking a box of Rice Krispies, dumping them on the floor, and dancing on top of them while waving a toilet brush in the air and screaming “help!” at the top of her lungs. I know the parenting magazines call this “explorative learning” but I don’t think she’d be missing too much if she watched “Sesame Street” for an hour.

So, yes, we place her in front of the T.V. when we need a break. BIG DEAL! LAH-DE-DAH! We’re not one bit defensive about it because we have nothing to be defensive about so take your moralistic, holier than thou, granola eating, N.P.R. listening attitude and… (SLAP!) Thanks. I needed that.

The key is to make sure your toddlers are watching shows that are educational and age-appropriate. By “age appropriate” I, of course, mean “incredibly annoying.” Being that I am familiar with many of these shows, allow me to give you a brief guide:

DORA THE EXPLORER. Dora is incredibly educational. Dora is a young cartoon girl who goes on all kinds of colorful and exciting adventures. Dora teaches kids Spanish phrases, problem solving skills, and how to get past border security. Just follow the map: desert… barbwire fence… ORCHARD!

BLUES CLUES. This show is about one incompetent young man’s brave struggle through normal day to day existence. I’m not kidding; Joe does not belong in a house by himself. Joe has trouble with the most rudimentary tasks and when he’s not talking to inanimate objects, he’s looking to your children for help. They will certainly delight in teaching Joe how to brush his teeth, comb his hair, and get the mail, but the grim reality is that if it weren’t for the cartoon dog leaving little reminders everywhere, Joe would probably drown himself trying to take a bath.

THE WIGGLES. Imagine an overly medicated version of the Monkees in classic Star Trek uniforms and you have “The Wiggles”! The Wiggles are a band for toddlers that play extremely “age appropriate” music. Norah loves The Wiggles. If the President of the United States were to walk through our front door it wouldn’t register a bleep on her radar, but if the Wiggles were to walk through the door, she’d shriek and faint like a twelve year old at a Justin Timberlake concert.

TELETUBBIES. Many child shows these days are taking on a new format I like to call “the extended acid trip”. The “Teletubbies” were the original, though, and for my money, they’re still the best. This show will freak you out. As far as I can tell, the Teletubbies are alien babies who jump around in a field all day and speak a weird little alien language. Whatever you do, don’t watch it too long or they will begin to haunt your dreams. Believe me, you don’t want the freaky little baby faced sun messing with your head!

These are just a few of the shows on television that are rich in educational value and fun to watch! As long as Television is watched in moderation, it should have no lasting harmful effects. After all, I watched tons of television as a child and I turned out fine. I watched tons of television as a child and I turned out fine. I watched tons of television as a child and I turned out fine. Now if you need me, I’ll be out collecting aluminum cans.

The point is that for the past ten years it’s looked as though there was nothing too disgusting or sleazy for Fox to put on T.V. In fact disgusting and sleazy seems to be their marketing strategy. You can almost imagine this conversation going on with two Fox executives:

Executive 1: This new show is going to be called “Who Wants to Divorce a Man Swallowing a Scorpion?” We’ll offer happily married couples huge sums of money to get divorced on national television while eating dangerous arachnids.

Executive 2: Hmmm… I’m just not sure if it’s disgusting or sleazy enough. Could you show me “Venereal Disease Island” again?

Last Fall, though, it looked for a brief moment like FOX had seen the light. After pressure from local stations who said they would refuse to air it, Rupert Murdock, the head honcho over at FOX entertainment, quickly caved and pulled the plug on a controversial but much anticipated project. The project, of course, was an O.J. Simpson book/interview slated to be titled “If I Did It”, in which (SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING: completing the following sentence may cause your eyes to roll so far back into your head that you are actually able to watch your own brain aneurism) O.J. Simpson explains how he hypothetically would have killed his wife and her husband had he hypothetically committed the murder, which he didn’t, hypothetically.

With a single word from Murdock, this bizarre confession from an alternate universe was entirely scrapped. The interview was canceled (I believe it was replaced by “Awkward Duets with Smokey Robinson”), the book was pulped, booksellers were compensated, the ghostwriter had to hand back his commission check, and the jerk who came up with the whole idea was taken behind a small Italian diner and shot.

No one seemed to care, either. No one demanded the people’s right to see the interview. There weren’t any free speech arguments made on talk shows. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson didn’t march anywhere. Even Johnny Cochran knew this project was a pile of mulch (“if the book is crap, then you must scrap”). The whole thing was dead and buried, and the will of the public not to be subjected to trash had triumphed.

Even when the story tried to emerge from its grave a couple of weeks ago, it was shot down again. Apparently there’s a boot legged copy of the book floating around, Newsweek recently published a controversial chapter, and soon the book is going to be up for sale on E-bay. Yet all of this has done little to resurrect interest in the project.

This has lead to one inevitable conclusion: PEOPLE ARE IN CHARGE OF WHAT’S ON T.V.! You have the power to choose what you watch! (SURGEON GENERAL’S WARNING: the following is a self righteous rant and may result in fatigue and/or severe migraines) I’m not some puritanical prude who pines for the days when Lucy and Ricky slept in separate beds. I’m not saying Television should reflect the Ten Commandments. But you know, it would be nice if it at least reflected the Geneva Convention (you can’t tell me the U.N. would sanction what goes on a t Fear Factor). I for one feel invigorated by the power of the remote. It’s time we voted for television programming with our thumb! If you don’t want to watch something, turn it off. If there’s nothing better on, read a book or go outside. Stage protests, jam the phones, write your congressmen and for the love of God, send a check to PBS!

That last one’s for me. Every year I send them ten dollars but I really don’t need another Cookie Monster fanny pack. Though, they are great for storing snacks and sodas in while I’m catching up on my latest episode of “Venereal Disease Island.”

First, I had to write my name on a list that looked suspiciously like a petition to have land based phone lines banned from the city. Then I had to stand around, party style, staring at cell phones that easily cost more than the last car I bought. 45 minutes later, someone named “Chad” finally called my name.

Chad very much wants to be of assistance. He asks me what he can help me with today. I tell him I want a cell-phone and he gets a look in his eyes like a starved pit bull seeing an 12oz porter house.

“O.K.” he says, “First we’ll have to run a credit check!”

Chad clacks away at his key board while asking me ridiculous questions like ‘what was my mother’s maiden name?’ I’ve never understood this question. Is he trying to figure out whether I have Gypsy blood? Finally Chad sends my information off to a computer, who a minute later reports definitively that I, despite having reasonable credit, am deceased.

“It says here, Mr. Nettleton that you’re dead”, Chad says with solemn conviction.

For a second I believe him. I can here the eerie theme music playing and Rod Sterling’s voice announcing, “Young Danny Nettleton is about to find out that there is no cell phone service in… THE TWILIGHT ZONE (dee dee deedee dee dee deedee dummmmm).”

“Could you double check that,” I ask, trying not to appear rude, “I’m pretty sure I’m alive. Maybe you spelled my name wrong. A lot of people do that. It‘s Nettleton not Middleton.”

“No, it goes by social security number. Let me try… hmmm… (clacking away at keys) hmmm. Yeah, you’re dead. Sorry.”

“Does this mean I can’t buy a cell phone?”

Chad laughs. “No, this just means we have to sell you a ‘Go Phone’, now what kind of plan do you want?”

Picking a cell phone plan easily passes the mathematical portion of the SATS as the most complicated thing I’ve ever had to do. I hope, for all of our sakes, that unlocking the nuclear football isn’t this confusing. There are, as far as I can tell three basic plans and the only discernable difference is the prices:

39.99 a month. 400 any time minutes. 200 roll over min. 20 personal minutes. 100 nation-wide minutes. 60 funeral minutes. 80 birthday minutes. 100 statewide minutes. 2 mobile to mobile minutes. 40 frequent flier points.

49.99 a month. 700,000 any time minutes. 400 roll over minutes. 500 nation wide minutes. 400 mother in law minutes. 60 chill out minutes. 300 international minutes. 3,000 latin lover minutes. 800 night time minutes. 5 golden rings. 40 day minutes. 30 midnight minutes. 20 mobile to mobile minutes. And free calls to Topeka Kansas.

69.99. A pigeon named “Carlo” and a pad of paper.

Each time I put a finger on a plan that I thought I understood, Chad winced as If I were making a fatal chess error. Finally, I signed up for the most expensive plan and I was ready to actually pick out my phone.

This part I had a pretty good handle on. I wanted a cell-phone used for making phone calls. That was it. They tried to interest me in Blue Berries, Black Jacks, and Black Beards, but I wasn’t going to have it. My fear was that I was going to be tricked into walking out of the store with some sort of gadget that could download music, take pictures and videos, get emails, play games, organize my schedule, wake me up in the morning, and make my coffee but wouldn’t actually be able to make phone calls. I also worried that I would wind up with one of those silly microphone ear pieces my friends all have that from one angle make them look like they should be playing key board 15 years ago for New Kids On The Block, and from the other make them appear to be the guy in the park yelling at the trash cans.

“What kind of phone do you want?”, Chad asks.

Now it’s my turn to have fun.

“What kind did that guy use to tape Saddam Hussein’s execution?”

Chad stares at me blankly. “I’m… I’m not exactly sure.”

“It was just such good quality, not at all grainy like the one that filmed Kramer ranting in that Comedy Club.”

“umm. We have some good camera phones.”

“Nah, I think I’ll just take this one right here.”

“Are sure ? It doesn’t have a lot of features.”

“I’m dead. Who am I going to text message?”

“O.K. are you going to pay cash or credit.”

“That depends”

“Depends on what?”

“What’s your mother’s maiden name?