Once: Falling Slowly

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Amazing Dog Juggler

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clipped from laughlines.blogs.nytimes.com

That's How I Remember It

And We Mean It

COLUMN: These Are the Sad Tulips

By Tobin Barnes
It’s been officially spring for a few days now, but I’m not buying it. Sell that myth to some other fool besides this fool.

Not that I don’t want spring.

Oh please, I do. Please.

After dragging my behind across the rigors of winter, I crave spring. I’ve even cleaned out my golf bag from last summer, I want it so.

But where we live here in the Black Hills of SoDak, spring is just a tease. A stormy harlot.
That’s right. Spring is a frustration, not a reality.

I’m sure some places get spring when the calendar says it’s spring. (What a blissful coincidence that would be.) These places get a solid couple months of high fifties through pleasantly low seventies.

Not only that, they get daffodils, tulips, flowering shrubbery, and blossoming fruit trees. Those lucky people tiptoe through these delights. That’s where the song came from. Maybe even Tiny Tim and Miss Vicky.

Happy folk, these, who get the whole schmear that people in northern climes only fantasize about.

And like I said, their spring lasts for what you’d actually call a season.

Not here, my friend. Here spring is not a season. It’s a mind game.

In the Black Hills, spring is a heaping dose of late winter that grudgingly gives way to only a few days of what southerners would recognize as springtime and then immediately catapults into an early summer with days in the eighties and oftentimes nineties.

Right about now in late March, we’re typically still dodging blizzards and the consequent week-long meltdowns that occur just after them. Actually, it’s during the meltdowns that we get some of our best “springtime” weather. These are nice clear warm days, but gees louise, it’s all wasted melting down three-foot drifts.

What good is nice weather when you’re tromping around in wet snow, mud, and puddles? It’s like, give me a break—you’re torturing me, man!

And this can go on right up until the end of April, for crying out loud.

The poet T.S. Eliot said, “April is the cruelest month.” I’m thinking he was maybe clandestinely visiting some now unknown friend or relative here in the Black Hills one spring during the late 1920’s when he desolately penned those bleak lines.

Not long after, in a continued fit of melancholy, Eliot changed his nationality from American to British. I’m telling you we lost him as one of the great American writers to be one of the great English writers because of a Black Hills spring.

Occasionally, in April, we get some nice days in the 50’s, maybe even 70’s. But that’s what makes the month cruel. Just as the tulips and daffodils are warily coaxed above ground, happy in their dainty springtime finery, a hard frost or a foot of snow slams down on them.
Wracked with cold, they are no longer shiny, happy tulips and daffodils.

They are sad tulips. Tortured tulips. Miserable tulips.

Tulips that wish they’d never been planted. Maybe even resentful tulips.

I used to think that people who plant tulip and daffodil bulbs in this part of the country were Mary Sunshine optimists.

But after living here for over thirty years, I’ve changed my mind.

Now I think they’re sadists--hard-hearted flower inquisitors selfishly reveling in the nasty vagaries of April...the cruelest month.

THE ETHICIST: A Failing Grade

Hurry, While Supplies Last

Easily Amused

Best of the Monologues

clipped from laughlines.blogs.nytimes.com Aired Wednesday night on CBS: John McCain recently said he supports George Bush’s Iraq policy. I said, “Well, sure, slice me eight more years of that, will you? Let’s go!” I do like John McCain. He looks like a guy who thinks he is sheriff of the neighborhood, you know? “You’re going to have to trim back those hedges.” Read more …

Illogical Traditions

The Art of Fessing Up

Latest Monologue Lines as Gathered by the New York Times

‘You Have No Future! It Is Over.’
Jay Leno

Aired Friday night on NBC: Happy T.G.I.F. Which, if you’re a New Yorker, it means the governor is a freak.

As you know, Governor Eliot Spitzer has resigned. However, his hooker will finish her full term.

We didn’t know anything about this woman. She was given the fake name Kristen, and a vague general description — a petite brunette who was 5 foot 5. That’s all we knew. Yet reporters were able to track down her down in a day and a half. Osama bin Laden, the most famous terrorist in the world, 6 foot 6, long beard, he wears the same robe and a turban every day, and we have no idea where he is. It makes no sense.

"Badvertising": People Must Be Lining Up to Hire This Couple

Signs of the Times

clipped from laughlines.blogs.nytimes.com Signs found at funnypicturescenter.com

COLUMN: Let Your Sappy Side Take Over

By Tobin Barnes
So let’s get back to romantic comedies.

We’re not talking high-brow entertainment here—nothing particularly intellectual. People don’t make a living studying this stuff.

Matter of fact, the story lines are quite predictable: boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy wins girl back. That’s it.

Of course, the better romantic comedies supply nice little twists and turns to the here-it-comes plot paths. But nothing ever gets too complex. You don’t have to take notes. Just let your sappy side take over, and you’ll be fine.

Other than the predictable plotting, the other common story staple is “fighting lovers.” Almost every romantic comedy has them. This is the element that causes the “boy loses girl” part of the plot. Something about the boy or something about the girl or something about both of them causes a temporary interruption in the moon, June and spoon.

And that’s what makes the whole thing interesting. It’s a disappointment to see a couple breaking up, and it makes you all gooey to see them get back together again in the end. Yeah, the whole thing’s just one big insidious contrivance. Nothing profound whatsoever—it’s “only rock-n-roll, but I like it.”

Sue me.

Two of my favorite recent romantic comedies are “Juno” and “Definitely, Maybe.”

The big complication that breaks up the ultra laid-back couple in “Juno” is teenage pregnancy. Uh huh, not your usual light-hearted-romp material. But the witty dialogue and particularly the deft presentation by the female lead, Ellen Page, elevates the usual what-have-we-done-to-deserve-this angst from drama to romantic comedy.

Added to that, you know from the get-go that things are going to work out for the best—all the characters are just so darned nice and lovable.

That’s the way you want it, and that’s the way you get it in this genre.

At the end, “Juno” leaves the couple strumming their guitars and singing “Anyone Else But You.” All their problems are in the past or at least taken care of for the time being.

That’s right, pretty trite, but in this case, wholly satisfying.

(By the way, the movie’s opening credits are a real treat, creatively setting the slacker tone for what’s to come.)

On the other hand, “Definitely, Maybe” uses mystery to keep the boy meets girl framework interesting. At the outset, the soon-to-be-single guy and his daughter get into a discussion about how he got together with her mother. The father turns this oft-done-before scenario into a scavenger hunt via flashbacks to his relationships with not just the girl’s mother, but with two other women as well.

The whole thing keeps you hopping. In a good sort of way.

The daughter is played by child actress du jour, Abigail Breslin, whom you may have seen in “Little Miss Sunshine.”

Turns out that the identity of the daughter’s mother makes sense and the real flame of the guy’s life, which develops by the movie’s end, makes sense, too. Of course, “Definitely, Maybe” has fighting lovers times three, but that just makes it more fun.

(Another by the way: The red-headed Isla Fisher’s on-screen charisma is worth the price of admission alone.)

So there you go. My spiel on romantic comedies.

I guess I like them mostly because they continue to give me the comfy notion that the whole love thing sometimes works, at least for some couples somewhere.

Truthiness

clipped from laughlines.blogs.nytimes.com If Web Ads Told the Truth Parody banner ads (found here, where you can find more):

COLUMN: Why Aren't They Any Better Than They Are?

By Tobin Barnes
I’m an easy touch when it comes to romantic comedies. Yeah, a real mushy schlub--that’s me.

Oh sure, I like well-done regular, non-romantic comedies, too, but those are seldom as advertised--that is, funny. Oftentimes, you’ve already seen the best of the comedy in the trailer. Still, you vainly hope there’s maybe a little bit more. Sadly...there seldom is.

So you spend the whole ninety-minute, long hard slog of a comedy wondering what the heck you’re doing there and hoping nobody you know sees you leave. It’s often cheese whizzy acting run amok in a half-wit story. Embarrassing for all involved, including you.

Even the trailer stuff isn’t funny anymore because you’ve already seen it.

Way, way too many comedies are like that.

Of course, there’s also some notable comedies, like “Airplane,” “Naked Gun,” and “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” They, too, feature hammy acting with a half-wit story, but who cares? They’re funny.

Why are they funny and most other comedies aren’t? Magic maybe. As E.B. White said, “Analyzing humor is like dissecting a frog. Few people are interested and the frog dies of it.”

And action movies can be even worse. Unlike comedies, the typical action movie delivers as advertised in spades. You get action till hell won’t have it. Goes on and on. Pretty soon, gets you looking at your watch.

Actually gets tedious: arsenal-emptying gun fights, mass theatrical death, and smash-em-up car chases. All that mayhem quickly turns me into a jaded Homer Simpson—Boring!

Action needs to be oh-so-carefully dolloped—one element amidst numerous others, most importantly characterization. The audience needs to care about the people involved in the action or they might as well watch plaster manikins getting blown up and mangled. And that’s much the case with most action movies.

Maybe this mind-numbing brand of carnage has evolved from some of those hyper-intense video games. The movie’s director is toting up a score rather than framing an engaging story.

One of the notable exceptions in this case is “Saving Private Ryan.” Even in the opening scenes when you don’t know anybody, you care about those soldiers on the beach. The movie all-too-realistically portrays action endured by real people we care about. Granted, there’s much death and mayhem, but no game-like, mega-blaster aura. Instead, the effect is nauseatingly unsettling.

It’s action with a purpose.

And later in the movie, as you get to know the individual characters, what they go through becomes even more emotionally relevant.

Now that’s an action movie.

Good action is based on believable people struggling in a dramatically consistent environment. In other words, action shouldn’t be based on cardboard people dodging gimmicky terrors coming out of leftfield.

Finally, who doesn’t love a well-done drama. I certainly do.

But all-too-often poorly done dramas get dreary. Great dramas deliver catharsis not dreck.

Remember that high school literature word, catharsis?

It’s what good drama does for you. Helps clean out your own repressed demons while observing the characters’ turmoil. It’s like been there, seen that, perhaps even done it. Maybe feel better now.

So seldom does drama get to that level.

Mediocre and bad dramas instead hold us under water and drown us in the drudgery.

Sure, we want the cold hard facts about life, but give us some new angles, some new ways to think about the challenges. Inspire us, enlighten us, and, yes, entertain us the way “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” does.

Now that’s rarefied drama.

People are paid millions to come up with fine comedy, action, and drama. Why do they so often fail miserably?

But hey, didn’t this start out about romantic comedy? So what gives?

Sorry, I’ll talk about all that next time.

Worst Candy Ever

Sympathy for Tech Support

David Pogue of the New York Times posted these mishaps in his "Circuits" column:

Caller: So, I'm having a problem with my mouse? It's, like, squeaking?
Agent: I'm sorry, did you say squeaking?
Caller: That's right. The faster I move it across the screen, the louder it squeaks.
Agent: I'm sorry—are you pressing your mouse up against the screen?
Caller: Well, sure! There's a message that says, "Click here to continue!"

----

Caller: Hey, can you help me? My computer has locked up, and no matter how many times I type eleven, it won't unfreeze.
Agent: What do you mean, "type eleven?"
Caller: The message on my screen says, "Error Type 11!"

---

On one call, the caller seemed to be taking an inordinately long time to complete each instruction she was given.
Agent: Ma'am, I can't help noticing that every time I give you an instruction, it takes a really long time before you get back to me. Is your computer that slow?
Caller: Oh, no, it's just the stupid, stupid design of this computer. Every time I want to click something, I have to unplug the keyboard to plug in the mouse. And then every time I want to use the keyboard again, I have to unplug the mouse. Because there's only one jack.
Agent: Ma'am, you do realize that there's a jack on the keyboard itself? You're supposed to plug the mouse into the keyboard, and the keyboard into the computer.
Caller: Are YOU KIDDING ME!? Oh, wait a minute—yes, I see it now! Oh, holy cow. That's going to be so much easier!
Agent: Just out of curiosity, how long have you been using your computer that way?
Caller: Six weeks!

---

A Canadian customer was calling to find out if there was a faster way to trigger menu commands than mousing up to the menus.
Agent: Certainly, sir. There are keyboard shortcuts for many of those commands. For example, suppose you want to trigger the Select All command…
Caller: Yes, I use that one all the time! How do I do it?
Agent: Well, you just press Control-A.
Caller (after a pause): Well, that's not working for me.
Agent: Do you have a text document open in front of you?
Caller: Yes, I sure do.
Agent: OK, now press Control-A.
Caller: I am, but nothing happens.
Agent: The text isn't highlighted?
Caller: No, there's no change at all.
Agent: That's odd. If you press Control-A, the whole document should be highlighted. Try it again. Press Control-A. Tell me exactly what's happening.
Caller (nearing his Canadian breaking point): Listen. I'm pressing Control, eh? And nothing's happening, eh?

COLUMN: Sounding Like a Know-it-all

By Tobin Barnes
(Warning: Up ahead you’ve got more metaphors and cliches than you can shake a stick at. Be brave.)

Whoa, Obama’s got the mo.

And Hillary’s got no show.

But don’t cry for her Argentina. She’s still got Bill and the Senate and will no doubt fight another day. All a mixed blessing.

Anyway, that’s how I see it.

But what do I know?

Nothing. Zip. Nada. No more than the next Joe Schmoe, but then maybe more than the Schmoes in the media. They’re constantly proven wrong—especially the fathead know-it-alls, and there’s a ton of them, making up one of those commodities where there’s more supply than demand—a deflationary spiral.

Thing is, we’ve all got our opinions, and one opinion’s about as good as another—not much.
But as Damon Runyon once said in a paraphrase of Ecclesiastes, “The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet.”

And Obama’s looking pretty swift and strong right now. Some sort of decathlete, maybe. Multi-dimensional. He’s got the stuff you can’t coach.

Therefore, the bandwagon’s pulling up to the betting window.

Hillary’s pretty much got to run the table from here on out, and her cue stick’s gotten shorter every day. Matter of fact, she might very well be bowing out as we speak. (Whoops, I’m sounding like a know-it-all.)

Whatever. Let’s move on and see what other tortured metaphors can I come up with to describe this knock-down-drag-out.

How about this one:

America’s still looking for the great white hope.

Just so happens this time he’s black.

But no problem.

If Obama can make a once-profoundly racist society overlook his color—totally ignore it in most cases—what other charming and inspirational things can he do for this country?
That seems to be his appeal.

After seven years of wandering in the desert, many Americans think they’ve spotted a gorgeous oasis, metaphorically speaking (I warned you). It might be nothing but a mirage, but it looks good from here. Maybe just goes to show the level of our thirst for the kind of America we’ve all come to expect but haven’t had the chance to celebrate lately.

Oh sure, there’s a lot of pie-in-the-sky stuff amongst all this “change” business, maybe some angelic choirs, some rose-colored glasses perhaps, but even Karl Rove had dreams, don’tchathink? He, Bush and Cheney surely also had a vision that covered them with warmth when nestled all snug in their jammies.

And, heck, we tried that vision by golly, and, heck, it soured for most of us—about 70 percent in the polls last couple years.

So maybe it’s time for another vision put forward by a guy who’s got some moxie for a change, some skills, some street cred, some forward propulsion. Someone who paid attention in class, for crying out loud.

I’m thinking that’s what people are thinking.

And that’s been Hillary’s campaign problem.

(Alert: Finishing with an overwrought extended metaphor.)

Hillary’s more like the highly competent class president who can four-point plan the holy heck out of things, but the kids think she’s a egghead geek. They’re not out selling the magazines or helping at the car washes she so carefully arranges. They’re not even showing up to help decorate for the prom. They’ll let her do it instead. And by golly, she’ll do a pretty darned good job of it. That’s why they elected her in the first place.

But where’s the school pride?

(Been a high school teacher way too long, haven’t I?)

On the other hand, Obama’s the BMOC the kids want to emulate. They feel good about themselves knowing he likes to hang with the gang. Speaks their lingo.
Believe it or not, they might even show up to help clean the gym after the big dance.

Voting and YOU!

Everything a Parent Has Ever Said

On the Spot Reporting