COLUMN: My Dog Has Good Taste

By Tobin Barnes
I have a dog’s vision of paradise in my house. It’s a virtual manifestation.
   
Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe in magic anymore, but my dog most certainly does.
   
As for me, long ago I realized that even when extraordinary things happen, there’s always a perfectly reasonable explanation, even if we don’t know what that might be when it happens. It’s kind of…oh well, someday we’ll figure out the why and the wherefore. It’s just a matter of time and science.
   
That’s not the reality my dog Molly is living, however. From her viewpoint, just about everything is miraculous. Dogs, I think, live a life of wonder, which has its negatives and its positives.
   
The negatives include Molly’s inability to rationalize the terror of thunder and lightning. These and other natural phenomena she just has to hunker down and endure, like why the heck that mean dog plagues her existence when she just wants to be friendly.
   
And the positives?
   
Well…they’re wondrous and innumerable, like a veritable host of angels. Alleluia! Those positives begin and end with humans, which, to dogs, are spiritual avatars of divinity.
   
It’s like the witticism, “A dog thinks: Hey, these people I live with feed me, love me, provide me with a nice warm, dry house, pet me, and take good care of me. They must be gods!”

But then “a cat thinks: Hey, these people I live with feed me, love me, provide me with a nice warm, dry house, pet me, and take good care of me. I must be a god!”
   
We used to have cats, but now we have a dog—maybe for self-esteem reasons. After all, as Holbrook Jackson said, “Man is a dog’s idea of what God should be.”
   
And, evidently, we’re fitting the bill.
   
Whenever we put food in her bowl, it makes our dog excited—so much so that it’s like Molly’s thinking: “Hey, that’s just what I wanted!” And when we take her for a walk, she’s absolutely thrilled and seems to be thinking, “Hey, that’s just what I wanted!” And when the gas stove comes on after it’s gotten a little chilly and Molly goes to lie in front of it, it’s kinda like, “Hey, this place is perfect. It’s just what I wanted.”
   
As an unknown author has said, “The dog is the only animal that has seen his god.”
   
To Molly, we are it—perhaps in some sort of dogmatic duality.
   
Not only that, but we provide her with intermittent visions of heaven…and that’s every time we open the refrigerator door.
   
Nirvana is right there in Molly’s glistening eyes and in her absolutely rapt worshipful devotion. As I open the door, it’s as if I have said, “Let there be light,” and there it is, displaying everything a dog could ever want.
   
But then the door closes again and the vision ends, as all visions must.
   
The door stands in the way until the gods open it again—not only the door to heaven but all those darned doors.
   
I’ll never forget the Gary Larson “Far Side” cartoon of these dog scientists dressed in lab coats (no pun intended) conducting experiments and writing mathematical equations on a blackboard trying to decipher the complexities of opening a door knob.
   
Alas, this and so much else is out of reach of dogs, but one thing most certainly is firmly in their control: bringing unconditional companionship into our lives.
   
As Samuel Butler said, “The great pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too.”
   
Amen.

COLUMN: It Only Hurts When I Smile

By Tobin Barnes
“POLITICS, n. A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage.”
   
(“Whoa, Barnes, are you going to make us read more fractured definitions from The Devil’s Dictionary?”)
   
(“Uh, yeah. If you want. I really like them.”)
   
(“But they’re so pessimistic and cynical. Is that what you’re like?”)
   
(“Not necessarily. I’d like to think I’m a fairly optimistic guy. I’d like to think humanity, with some notably vile exceptions—including the recent past, has been improving. Things, I suspect, are unevenly getting better overall.”)
   
(“So why all the cynical definitions? Don’t they just drag everybody down?”)
   
(“I don’t think so. Actually, I think this type of stuff can pull everybody up. Let me explain.”)
   
Ambrose Bierce, the 19th century American writer of The Devil’s Dictionary and many anthologized short stories, looked around and found that people’s perceptions and practice usually differed greatly. He wanted to slap his readers into realizing that disparity.
   
Thus, “POSITIVE, adj. Mistaken at the top of one’s voice.”
   
And, “RESOLUTE, adj. Obstinate in a course that we approve.”
   
And, “RESPONSIBILITY, n. A detachable burden easily shifted to the shoulders of God, Fate, Fortune, Luck or one’s neighbor. In the days of astrology it was customary to unload it upon a star.”
   
Aren’t we all identifiable in that definition?
   
And, “POLITENESS, v. The most acceptable hypocrisy.”
   
“Cynicism” and “skepticism” are words that have been unfairly over-loaded with negative connotations by authority figures who don’t want to be questioned. Cynics and skeptics have been branded as disloyal and unfaithful.
   
On the other hand, “Cynicism” and “Skepticism” are words whose meaning have been utilized as tools by rebels who suspect our tenets have all-too-often been shot through with lies and manipulation.
   
Haven’t the real enemies of humanity been gullibility, ignorance, and, even worse, miseducation? More harm has been done through the ages by herd mentality than any other disease. Those who can bring themselves to think outside the herd have been mankind’s only saving grace, particularly when they are listened to—though sometimes that happens only generations later.
   
Now, of course, nothing spurs outrage quicker than religion, not even politics. And maybe that’s because there’s as many variations on religion as there are practitioners, which begs the question: Is everybody right or is everybody wrong? That’s because I dare to say, no two people have exactly the same beliefs. Various groups, ever splintering, have similar beliefs, but that’s about as far as it goes.
   
This is where Ambrose Bierce’s definitions can be particularly infuriating, but also maybe a tad enlightening if you’re willing to go there with him. It’s not always easy, and, even less, agreeable.
   
For example, “PRAY, v. To ask that the laws of the universe be annulled in behalf of a single petitioner confessedly unworthy.”
   
That’ll get some people going.
   
And, “REVELATION, n. A famous book in which St. John the Divine concealed all that he knew. The revealing is done by the commentators, who know nothing.”
   
And, “RICHES, n. A gift from heaven signifying, “This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased.”
   
And, “SAINT, n. A dead sinner revised and edited.”
   
And, “SCRIPTURES, n. The sacred books of our holy religion, as distinguished from the false and profane writings on which all other faiths are based.”
   
Uncomfortably, I find myself cringing and smiling and nodding all at the same time.

COLUMN: Bitter or Brainy or Both?

By Tobin Barnes
“PHILANTHROPIST, n. A rich (and usually bald) old gentleman who has trained himself to grin while his conscience is picking his pocket.”

That’s a definition from American writer Ambrose Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary.

Bierce is better known for his Civil War short stories, such as “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” about a southern saboteur who, as he’s about to be hanged, imagines his escape back to his wife. But imagination ends up far from reality as the story concludes with the man dead at the end of a rope.

Bierce can be caustic, if not cynical. Some referred to him as “Bitter Bierce.”

I, on the other hand, find him fascinating, especially for someone who lived most of his life in the staid nineteenth century, serving gallantly as a Union officer in the Civil War.

He disappeared without a trace in the midst of the Mexican Revolution. He was by then an elderly journalist following a rebel band and, evidently, still looking for adventure. It’s speculated that he was probably put up against a wall by the Federales and shot to pieces.

So why do I find his writing fascinating, cynical though it can oftentimes be?

Well, cynicism can be a useful tool for both the social critic and the satirist. It can snap us back into a more realistic viewpoint whenever we’ve been too much seduced into lala-land by the slick spinmeisters and charlatans that besiege us.

Dreams have their uses but they must be fulfilled in reality. And that’s where a well-tempered cynicism, albeit one that does not admit defeat, can actually aid humanity.

Bierce’s Devil’s Dictionary is a satirical masterpiece. Its jaundiced eye spares nothing and no one.

“PALACE, n. A fine and costly residence, particularly that of a great official. The residence of a high dignity of the Christian Church is called a palace; that of the Founder of his religion was known as a field, or wayside. There is progress.”

The reconfiguration of accepted definitions is a brilliant ploy.

Perhaps Bierce got the idea from reading definitions from the very first dictionary of the English language that was compiled by another sometime cynic, Samuel Johnson. It took Johnson ten years to single-handedly put his dictionary together, and that, in itself, is quite an achievement. And being the first to do anything thing, of course, is always significant.

Therefore, maybe we can excuse Johnson for the obscurity of some of his definitions which sometimes need the use of another dictionary to comprehend: “NETWORK. Anything reticulated or decussated, at equal distances, with interstices between the intersections.” And “COUGH. A convulsion of the lungs vellicated by some sharp seriousity.”

The aspect of Johnson’s definitions that might have inspired Bierce was Johnson’s willingness to editorialize. For example, Johnson’s definition for “OATS. A grain which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people.” Johnson obviously did not care for Scotsmen and, it seems, haggis.

But back to Bierce.

Here’s one of Bierce’s longest definitions (I think it’s worth the read and the thought, however): “PAST, n. That part of Eternity with some small fraction of which we have a slight and regrettable acquaintance. A moving line called the Present parts it from an imaginary period known as the Future. These two grand divisions of Eternity, of which the one is continually effacing the other, are entirely unlike. The one is dark with sorrow and disappointment, the other bright with prosperity and joy. The Past is the region of sobs, the Future is the realm of song. In the one crouches Memory, clad in sackcloth and ashes, mumbling penitential prayer; in the sunshine of the other Hope flies with a free wing, beckoning to temples of success and bowers of ease. Yet the Past is the Future of yesterday, the Future is the Past of tomorrow. They are one—the knowledge and the dream.”

Cynical? No doubt.

Neglectful of the positives in life? Probably.

Profound and grimly instructive in its wit? Terribly.

Monologue | Wednesday night on “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” on NBC: Police in Cairo have detained an American man who arrived on a flight from J.F.K. with two handguns, 250 bullets, swords, daggers and knives in his luggage. When they heard this, J.F.K. screeners were like, “Sure he had all these things, but here’s what he didn’t have — bottled water or nail clippers.” Read more…

Monologue | Monday night on “The Late Show With David Letterman” on CBS: The State Department now has warned against travel to the tribal regions of Pakistan. There goes my summer vacation. Read more…

Cajun-Style Night Fishing

(Sent by Roy Wilson)

COLUMN: Trivial Fulfillment Is an Oxymoron

By Tobin Barnes
No one could ever count to a trillion. A human’s life span isn’t long enough.
  
I learned that from a free application called “Awesome Facts” that I have on my iPod Touch. Applications are little specific programs you can download to smart phones, iPods, and iPads.
  
I talked about the new iPad last time. Through intricate and somewhat disturbingly convoluted reasoning, I said iPads are first going to make humanity obese and then later make us into nothing but brains without bodies.
  
My arguments almost made sense.
  
Nevertheless, I suppose I’ll be getting an iPad or one of its derivatives someday. That technology is the future. But I’m in no hurry. And that has nothing to do with my fears of becoming fat or turning into a bodiless brain, although either would give anyone pause about welcoming the “brave new world.”
  
No, I’m in no hurry because I already have an iPod Touch, and from everything I’ve learned, the iPad is mostly just a bigger iPod Touch: same touch technology, same Internet access, and same music and reading potential, as well as many of the same types of applications, only everything’s bigger.
  
No doubt, bigger can be better, but I’ll wait for the second or third generation improvements and meanwhile put up with the much smaller screen on my iPod.
  
So I’m familiar with the technology and the applications, and I’m a big fan despite what it most certainly means for the future of humanity. Heck, I’m already brainier.
  
I probably wouldn’t have ever run into that stuff about counting to a trillion without my “Awesome Facts” application. It’s neat.
  
All I have to do is “touch” the application and up comes an awesome fact...and I mean awesome! That may not turn a lot of people on, but admittedly, an awesome fact can give me a little bit of a rush, kinda like an ice cream freeze.
  
If you know anything about me, you know I’m a trivia nut—not that it’s ever done anything for me other than to remind others of my strikingly nerdy similarity to Cliff Clavin.
  
And my only justification for such indulgence might be a paraphrase of the Rolling Stones: “It’s only trivia, but I like it.”
  
Actually, trivia in many ways is just knowledge that other people think is unimportant, but we trivia buffs know better.
  
For example, “Awesome Facts” told me that “One in ten Americans don’t know that the Sun is a star.” Now some dumb clucks think knowing the sun is a star is trivia, but we know it’s essential knowledge, right? And furthermore, knowing that one in ten Americans is a dumb cluck gives me a little jolt of “Hey, I’m not a dumb cluck!”
  
Now here’s another awesome fact:  “Technically speaking, crystal glass is actually a liquid that flows very slowly”—so slowly that you won’t notice it in your lifetime. Now that’s a slow flow.
  
Yeah, stuff like that just gets my motor running. Wow.
  
And sometimes I run into an awesome fact that confirms what I suspected before, and that, too, can be gratifying.
  
For example, “It is possible to lead a cow upstairs but not downstairs.”
  
With that, I now know that one of my old man’s stories is true. He used to tell me about the time he and some friends led a cow up to the top of this wooden tower. It was meant to be a prank. The tower, which no longer exists, was on the college campus of my hometown.
  
Sure enough, they couldn’t get the cow back down the steps. They had to kill it up on that tower and butcher it there. Yeah, pretty much of a mess.
  
Admittedly, I was often unsure whether my dad’s stories were true.
  
Trivia has finally given me closure.

Monologue | Thursday night on “Jimmy Kimmel Live” on ABC: Hey, it turns out the prime suspect in the failed attempt to bomb Times Square is not the brightest. They figured out the events leading up to Saturday. First, Faisal Shahzad buys an S.U.V. off Craigslist, using a traceable email, and fills it with, basically, wedding sparklers. Then he drives two different cars into New York — the one with the bomb in it and a getaway car. He plants the bomb but leaves the keys to the getaway car in the car with the bomb in it. So he has to take the subway home. And then, once he gets home, he realizes he also left the key to his apartment in the SUV with the bomb in it, and has to get his landlord to let him in. If this isn’t the work of a stoner, I don’t know what is. Read more…

Monologue | Thursday night on “The Late Show With David Letterman” on CBS: How about that Times Square bomber? Now, I’m no genius, but this guy left his house keys in the bomb car. It was the one flaw in an otherwise perfect crime. Read more…

Rox: "My Baby Left Me"

A lot of great traditions mixed up in here. I think you're going to like this:

COLUMN: Things Are Bound to Get Chubbier

By Tobin Barnes
I’ve been turning things over in my mind lately—uh huh, trying to think.
   
It’s oftentimes painful.
   
But unlike turning over garden soil in the spring so it’s less compacted and ready for planting, turning things over in my mind doesn’t accomplish much other than inspiring me to turn things over again.
   
That’s right. My mind has become a recycled compost heap.
   
Nevertheless, things have occurred to me, though admittedly of dubious value.
   
For example, I recently turned over the idea that human beings are going to be blobs some day. And, heck, it seems more than likely since we are already halfway there. But now that they’ve come out with the Apple iPad, it’s pretty much a done deal.
   
Blobdom is now cemented into our future kinda like the cornerstone of a new Chucky Cheese franchise.
   
Heck, you’ve got to know that touch computer technology is the way things are going. That’s right, touch. It’s not even press or pull, which would indicate some little effort. You just touch the screen. You can’t even call it contact.
   
We’re not going to get exercise sitting upright, moving a mouse, and tapping keys anymore. And already for some that was the extent of their aerobic exercise—that is, except perhaps for moving a hand down to food and drink and then moving it back to mouth.
   
Now with the iPad and its ilk and kith and kin that will soon be barraging us in infinite product lines, all we will have to do is touch what we want. And even if we touch one thousand desires a day—music, videos, friends, reports, etcetera—what’s that, about ten calories?
   
After all, you can use an iPad in nearly any muscleless position of relaxation you can think of, including totally bean bagged in bed in a state of effortless suspension.
   
Gees, maybe even touch will be outmoded. It will merely be a matter of looking at icons and stuff will pop up on a screen. How many calories a day do you think it takes to run your eyeballs?
   
Of course, we won’t ever have to type anything again; instead, we’ll just input stuff by saying it, like we’re in Star Trek. That technology is already well on its way.
   
Speaking of Star Trek, I remember one old classic episode where the people of a planet had evolved into nothing but brains in these things like glass terrariums. They just thought and their desires were fulfilled through brainwaves.
   
It threw Captain Kirk for a loop. Couldn’t even shake hands with these guys, let alone exchange cigars.
   
Maybe that’s going to be us some day—pickled brains in bottles sitting in carrot juice.
   
But first, I think humans are inevitably going to go through a blob phase to get there. Our bodies will become slack, pudgy, useless appendages that we’ll eventually decide to discard.
   
Fat bodies, after all, just divert energy from enriching brain cells.
   
Yeah, so I’ve been turning this compost heap over and over in my mind, and I think that’s where we’re headed.
   
We’ll all just be brains with no need for lipstick or even styling mousse.
   
That’s right. Mark it down.
   
It all began with the iPad.
   

Monologue | Thursday night on “The Late Show With David Letterman” on CBS: There’s a show on CBS called “The Mentalist.” It’s about a detective with heightened powers of observation. Let me give you an example of how good this guy is. This guy is so good, he can tell the difference between a Goldman Sachs executive that is a lying crook and a Goldman Sachs executive that’s a lying weasel. He’s that good. Read more…

Monologue | Thursday night on “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” on NBC: Rielle Hunter appeared on “Oprah” to discuss her love affair with John Edwards. Not to be outdone, next week, John Edwards is appearing to discuss his love affair with John Edwards. Read more…