What would jesus do with his 401K? (WWJD?) 7.23.02

So there I was sitting on my old friend Mike's couch drenched in the green, geeky mist of science fiction role play and video games. It was the 24th annual Journey Beyond Summer Tour 2002. Basically, its 10 men in their mid-30s eating corn chips, swilling Mountain Dew and acting like jackass 16-year-olds for 72 straight hours. Good times ... good times.
I'm playing a game I have never heard of called "Soul Calibur(sic)," one of those video fighting games where you need to know 327 special button combinations just to kick your opponent in the jimmy. I lose horrifically to geek No. 9 who has spent the last four and a half years honing his combat skills in his mother's basement 14 hours a day, and this dude thinks he's Conan the Barbarian. And he did it before I even had the chance to figure out which buttons did what moves - common courtesy in any social situation.
"Yeah, that was really impressive beating a complete novice at a video game."
Then geek No. 10 says to geek No. 9, "Hey, winning is winning."
"Whoa," I says to him I say, "Winning is NOT winning."
Now, I know what you're thinking. Technically, winning IS winning and while it is a tautology like "1=1" or "God is because God is" and therefore not explicitly expressive of any greater meaning, logically a thing IS the equivalent of itself. There are still different kinds of victories and some are better than others.
So to prove my point, I told geek No. 10 that I would play him using only one button. He laughed. So did the other geeks. "What could this possibly prove?" I shouldn't be able to get so much as one hit and if I do, I count that as a kind of victory. Well, I think Jesus stepped in at this point, because I not only got a hit, I beat him. In fact, I won the next 10 games against five different geeks playing with seven different "characters" while I used only one button - and I didn't even press it that fast.
"This," I said, "is better."
Victory can be measured by any number of criteria. Beating a skilled opponent is better than beating a complete reject. Overcoming the odds is better than winning because you had it easy. Succeeding because you make a good product people need is better than making tons of cash defrauding the American people and sending the American economy into the toilet.
I would argue that winning at all costs is what has gotten our country into its current financial grind. You can debate about whose failed economic policy put us here and blame the lingering effects of 9/11, but when it comes to the excesses of greed, America's soul looks like the fat guy in "Seven" chasing down a microwaved chimichanga at Kwik Shop with a 72-oz. Glutton Gulp. We are all on a financial roller coaster ride painting the seats an interesting shade of brown whether we want to be on the ride or not. This is because corporate America has been demonstrating all of the spiritual advancement of a tweeked out shoplifter at the 24-hour adult magazine barn outside Ashland, Neb. But it's more than that. Even professional baseball players are bulking up to beat the band; and if there is any sport in the world where great physical prowess is not needed, it's baseball.
We have put winning at all costs before every other consideration. The stock market isn't back-to-the-jungle survival, it's money. I like cash as much as the next guy who thinks fresh vegetables and trips to the dentist are for rich folks, but how many yachts can you sunbathe on? How much jewelry do you really need?
In these difficult times, I think corporate America should do what the vast majority of America purports to do: put their faith in the Lord. The next time you're at the office of your Forbes 500 company faced with a moral dilemma like adding up numbers correctly or using creative accounting methods, just ask yourself, "What would Jesus do?"
Because nine times out of 10, Jesus wouldn't cook his books. In fact, I am pretty sure you never read in the Bible that Jesus was on his way to a wedding in Canaan when he turned to John, Paul and Ringo and doth spake: "I'm tapped, let's hit the ATM and pick up a really sweet Merlot."
I'm all in favor of people living by the example of Jesus. When it comes to moral compasses, he is right up there on my list of top-10 saviors of all time. I feel comfortable in saying that Jesus was the kind of demigod who believed simple was best, winning was not as important as how you play the game and it is better to lose with your soul intact than to get loaded and go to hell.
I've yet to invest for my retirement, and now seems like a bad time to start. But when I do, I will be looking for an investment firm that can use my money wisely, morally and invest in companies that see things my way.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

(tips)7.19.02

I don't know about you, good folks, but personally I'm not too comfortable with the idea of Joe the Cable Jockey and C.W. McCall the Trucker King spying on me for Uncle Sam under the auspices of Homeland Security and Operation TIPS. It isn't that I am planning anything more subversive this weekend than heckling that stinkpot of a sequel, "Men in Black II," but still...
No, my problem with the Operation TIPS program (Terrorism Information and Prevention System - where ordinary Americans spy on their neighbors and report them if they "see something they consider suspicious") is based on the fact that I don't think the average trucker, cable guy, pizza delivery boy, itinerant hairdresser, meter reader and lawnmower man is qualified to determine who and what is suspicious. Most people I know can't tell the difference between a Mexican, an Arab and a Pakistani without a flow chart.
Oh sure, it sounds reasonable on the face of it, doesn't it? One need not be a law enforcement agent to call one and more eyes makes us more vigilant. Problem is that these days, being suspected of a crime is almost as bad as committing one. Should otherwise guilt-free Americans spend time standing tall before the man because they cut off Joe Blow Trucker Junior G-man?
This new Justice Department program wants a full 4 percent of the United States population ratting on the other 96 percent by August. And that is just for starters. Government informants, they are called. Nothing cute. Why hide it? Their job will be to report their suspicions to the Department of Justice for inclusion in a government database.
If you weren't anxious before, you might want to think about it sometime this weekend when it hits you that since 9/11, we are suddenly living in a bad comic book version of a futuristic America where corporations run wild, patriotism and jingoism are confused and American citizens smile proudly while turning in their neighbors for having guests over at odd hours like 7:45.
Now, I would never suggest that if a Middle Eastern man or even a Middle Western man comes into your feed and grain store looking to buy an unusually large amount of anhydrous ammonia and then asks you if you sell mercury timers without a hint of irony that you shouldn't give your local sheriff a ringy-dingy. Sure, let him see if the guy is a member of Al-Qaeda, a home-grown corn-fed terrorist like Timmy McVeigh or just a nutjob with a bad sense of humor. But here's the thing. I travel around southwest Iowa on stories and I love this place. Iowans are the greatest people on earth - right up there with Canadians. I wouldn't live anywhere else - with the possible exception of Canada - and half the time when I roll into a town, people look at me with great suspicion just because I rolled into town. Maybe it's the goatee. Maybe no REAL American would drive an '86 Chevy Caprice. Who knows? I've even been questioned by the local ice cream merchant in one small town for taking pictures on a public street OF a public street. No friendly curiosity. No warm welcome for a potential tourist. Just cold suspicion. As if a member of a world-wide terrorist organization would find something of interest to blow up in a town of 1,000 people, 90 percent of whom are out of town during the day.
The United States Post Office, as an organization, took a pass on joining Operation TIPS and offered no explanation why. Perhaps they thought turning peeping toms into heroes or allowing heroes to become peeping toms should give us pause. This program is divisive and turns private sector employees into snoops.
Granted the cable industry has come a long way and I have been impressed with how fast they can fix a downed cable or install HBO, but now I don't even want to let them into my house lest my collection of 1960s Indian film posters be mistaken for terrorist propaganda by guys who slept through Western Civ. class. No offense, but I feel safe in saying the average cable jock is not necessarily an expert on world politics, cultures or what constitutes "suspicious activity" in my home.
What sort of training does the government plan to give these guys? What kind of resources will it take to do background checks on its own informants? They do PLAN to do background checks on their own informants, don't they? How much does all of this cost? How effective could it possibly be? Couldn't all of this time, effort and money be better spent on border patrols, port containment inspection and common sense measures like airport security?
Operation TIPS is like getting an expensive yet faulty alarm system for your home when you don't even bother to lock the front door. What's next? Rounding up dissenters for reeducation? Arm bands? Brown shirts? Loyalty tests?
Here's a TIP for you, stay away from MY window!
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

Martha we hardly knew ye (Martha) 7.12.02

I don't know if you remember a while back I was talking about what I call "the tyranny of the nice" or not? Any way, what with Martha Stewart's fresh-baked cookies in the fire, I thought why not put all my good Council Bluffs manners to work and kick her while she's down.
This woman exemplifies the tyranny of the nice. She is the kind of woman who graciously let's guests use her bathroom and then immediately cleans the thing when they're done because the very idea of someone else's nether regions being near her porcelain gives her the creeps.
Kick, kick, kick.
Like most vampires, Martha Stewart won't be down for long unless we get a stake of imported Irish holy oak in her heart, stuff her mouth with roasted garlic from the garden and bury her in an elegant yet tastefully unmarked grave far from our villages and even then I have the strange feeling she would rise with the next full moon to show us all how to make our own Christmas wreaths out of cornstalks and pine cones.
Now don't get me wrong. I hate Martha Stewart and everything she represents much in the same way that I despise Michael Jackson, Pokemon and dessert forks. There is something wrong about all of these things, especially dessert forks. Do I really need a separate fork for cake?
Martha Stewart is Jersey social climber who has spent her life in search of what could be twistedly referred to as the American Dream, but what is actually just the bloodless pursuit of money and power.
How does a stockbroker become a maven of domesticity? Much in the same way that a twisted freak and alleged pedophile like the King of Pop gets to walk around free. Image control, public relations and a whole lot of cash.
Tight control of how one is perceived is the best way to worm your way into the hearts and minds of the nation. We all want a good life, decent food, that warm feeling that comes from doing special things for the ones we love. Martha Stewart gives us those things in tightly-controlled, anal-retentive, tasteful packages. She also has a media empire to dole them out to us at market rates.
She reminds me of the crocheted toilet paper covers my grandmother used to knit. It's like, if you don't want people to see your toilet paper, don't leave it out. If toilet paper is so disturbing to you, why highlight its presence in your toilet by giving it a sweater with ducks on it? And why take the time to knit a little sweater for your TP if any of the above is true?
Learning to string peppers, dry tomatoes, can, compost and preserve, all of these things make practical sense and enrich life, but why do I need Martha Stewart to teach me how to organize my kitchen the way she does? So she can sell me her line of K-Mart products? If I don't know how to use a doily by now, chances are I am not a doily kind of guy. In the time it takes to carve a turkey Martha-style, Thanksgiving is practically over.
I'd like to invite Martha over to my house for dinner some night and serve her one of my favorite dishes: turkey franks on slices of wheat bread garnished haphazardly with Heinz 57 Sauce and green onions served on a plate I am pretty sure is clean with paper towels I got from the men's room at work because I knew I had company coming over. Oh and chips.
Of course, the perfect vintage to go with this meal is diet orange Hy-Vee pop with lots of tap water ice cubes in plastic "Lord of the Rings" and "Batman Forever" collectible mugs. Now that's good livin'!
Martha won't hang though, don't worry about her. Even if the Security and Exchange Commission can get her dead-to-rights for trading on insider information, she walks with a different crowd than you and me. Super-rich New York socialites like Martha don't buy and sell stocks on Ameritrade. They aren't putting their financial well-being in the hands of some 25-year-old stockbroker who got his business degree from ISU, I can tell you that much.
The rigged game is a lot more common than most of us realize. Cooked books, insider information and accounting schemes are just the latest in the greed buffet. Dick Cheney is haunted by his Halliburton days as VP, Ken Lay conducted the interviews for the regulatory commission that oversees his industry, even the president didn't practice what he preached.
These things really shouldn't come as a great surprise to us. Government and big business have been in bed together for so long now that politics don't even matter. Wealthy corporations give to candidates of both parties because they don't care so much who wins so long as whoever wins is in their pocket. It was corporate sponsorship that kept the third parties out of the debates. Candidates are product. They want us to choose between Coke and Pepsi because RC and Dr. Pepper are too small, they might still have integrity.
Martha Stewart is not the root of all evil, though, just a good example of the modern symptom. She seems like a sweetheart on the face of things, but underneath the clean matronly image, she has all the cunning ferocity of a wolverine and all the moral rectitude and ethics one expects from of a social climbing stockbroker.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

Lawn Chair Larry Lives (lawnchairlarry) 7.2.02

Well, thanks to Steve Fosset, billionaire investment banker and intrepid adventurer, there is little point to becoming rich now. I was planning to rake it in at some point and start adventuring myself, but why bother. It's been done.
Apparently, the greatest advantage to being a billionaire is you can afford to try repeatedly to fly around the world in nothing but a high tech hot air balloon with little more than 50 gallons of Gatorade, a crate of Power Bars, computerized weather tracking computers, digital satellite communications equipment, an electric blanket and a port-a-potty to seek the praise of a public you normally just feed off of.
It's good to know all you need in this life to leave your mark is a tub full of guts ... oh, and a bank account you can choke a horse with.
Let me tell you about ma an with more intestinal fortitude than money - or brains for that matter - a working class hero with a dream to take to the skies, a man who would not let limited cash flow or no knowledge whatsoever of physics, engineering or aerodynamics stand in his way.
Lawn Chair Larry Walters was a Los Angeles man, a truck driver who, like most truck drivers, wanted to fly. Unfortunately, Larry was saddled with poor eyesight and unburdened by a billion dollars with which to make his meager dream of flight come true.
So 20 years ago on a sunny Los Angeles day in 1982 while sitting in his Sears aluminum lawn chair drinking Miller Lite (of course) and staring up at the afternoon sky at jets flying overhead, Larry had a vision and it was just crazy enough to work.
Larry calculated that 45 four-foot diameter helium-filled Army surplus weather balloons might have just enough pull to launch him and his lawn chair some 30 feet into the sky where he might enjoy the sensation of flight for a short time.
Larry's calculations included a few minor errors - namely it was all guesswork. Larry soared not 30 feet, not 100 feet, not even 1,000 feet into the air, but 16,000 feet into the busy sky over Los Angeles armed with a few sandwiches, some Miller Lite (of course) and a pellet gun to pop the balloons and facilitate his descent.
Once in the air, Larry was afraid that if he popped the balloons his aluminum lawn chair flying machine might become unstable and he might really be in trouble or drop his beer.
Fourteen hours later, Larry wandered into LAX air space and drew the attention of commercial pilots who almost dropped THEIR Miller Lites before they reported the strange sight.
His dream realized and feeling the pressing need to go to the bathroom, Larry decided it was time to risk popping a few balloons and return to the loving bonds of Terra Firma.
Larry's descent was stable enough, but his tether lines blacked out parts of Long Beach for 20 minutes when he ran into them.
On the ground, Larry was arrested. The FAA fined Larry $1,500 after they figured out exactly which rules he had violated. Larry gave up trucking, became a motivational speaker and in 1993 walked into a forest to shot himself in the heart at 44.
Lawn Chair Larry has been immortalized for what some call "his stupidity," but that is short-sighted and unkind. Old Lawn Chair maybe wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack but he not only made his dream come true for a couple hundred dollars, he shot right past it, got a cool new job, achieved the height record for highest altitude gas-filled clustered balloons and a Darwin's Award honorable mention for not dying during the stunt.
Anybody can make their dreams come true with with six multi-million dollar balloons and years to waste, but it's the guy sitting around eating Van Camp's Pork and Beans from a can, watching "Battle Bots" wondering if he has enough money to go to the dentist this month who gets a wild hair one day who makes the dream a reality for ALL of us.
Honestly, who do you REALLY identify with more, Larry or Steve?
Rest easy Lawn Chair Larry, not everyone down here thinks you are a complete tool.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

Animal Shelter needs our support (dogpound)7.5.02

Shots of dogs are almost as common on my camera as pictures of people. At the Pride Parade, in Bayliss Park or just out and about on assignment, if I see people with their dogs, they are about twice as likely to end up in the paper than people with kids. I'm funny that way, but frankly your dog says more about you than your kids. Your kids just look like you, a dog is a lifestyle choice.
My family always had dogs growing up, partly because we liked dogs better than people, but also because people kept dumping them on us. So growing up, I never adopted an animal from the Council Bluffs Animal Shelter. We usually just kept the dogs that floated over our transom rather than take them to the pound.
With that said, we could only keep so many dogs and when we went to the animal shelter, it was to drop off some loser's dog. People dump animals in the vain hope that someone else would actually want to take on the challenge of a parvo-plagued bitch that had given birth within hours of being abandoned on a rock road from a moving car.
I don't know what it is about people who dump dogs in the sticks as though passing the buck keeps their karma in good standing, well, I assure it doesn't. More often than not, dogs that get dropped off get run over, killed by coyotes and bigger dogs or taken to the pound by a DECENT human beings.
I spent some time at the Animal Shelter this week and I recommend that most people give it a try. You won't find a facility that does better with as little as Galen Barrett, chief animal control officer, has to work with.
I warn you up front though, it's depressing. Every dog, cat, hamster and iguana in the place is somebody else's botched responsibility.
Animal Shelter workers will tell you that if as many people who abandon their pets actually moved when they said they were moving and couldn't take care of an animal, Council Bluffs would be a ghost town.
One rarely sees more dedicated city workers. There are no Cruella DeVilles at the Animal Shelter, no stereotypical Hollywood hound haters. There are volunteers and employees who do their best to convince everyone who walks in the door to adopt.
"I'll be honest with you," said one employee on my last trip. "If you don't adopt this dog, it will probably be put to sleep."
Now that is salesmanship. They are always closing the deal at the Animal Shelter and they aren't even working on commission. There is something more important going on down there because every day starts with full cages. For each dog and cat that come into the Animal Shelter, one dog and one cat has to go out with an owner or they are put to sleep.
It is a harsh reality and not for the sensitive, you can bet on that. I had to curb my inclination to make eye contact or touch any of the animals because they aren't toys, they are innocent, living creatures brought into this world more often than not by the misguided intentions of people who either let their pets breed without regard or took on a pet capriciously and changed their mind later. I don't want to get their hopes up and I can't afford to get attached to an animal I can't help or take care of myself.
Working at the Animal Shelter takes a kind of emotional fortitude this writer has not been able to muster. Sharon Powders is a clerk at the Animal Shelter and a member of Support Our Local Animal Shelter. She told me she used to cry every night when she started working down there and some of the women still do.
It comes as a shock to many who realize a stray dog or cat has as little as three days from the time it enters the shelter until it is claimed, adopted or put to sleep. Abandoned pets can be adopted or killed right after they enter the shelter.
Luckily, SOLAS volunteers and shelter employees can keep some of the animals around for much longer. They make space where they can and even take animals to the homes of volunteers who get nothing in return to find people who can take care of pets.
It is easy to point the finger of blame and say someone needs to do something about this, but when it comes down to it, the "someone" is all of us. Our taxes fund the place poorly, so a donation to SOLAS is always helpful.
Volunteers are always needed because as it is, 15 people do the work of 30. Call Mary Jones at 256-2287 to donate time or money.
And this can not be said often enough or loud enough for people to listen. GET YOUR PETS FIXED. Spay and neuter your cats and dogs. Uncontrolled breeding is the reason why this problem goes on year after year. A litter of puppies is not a donation to the Animal Shelter, it is bunch of dogs they might have to put to kill because someone else failed to take care of business.
Resources are needed if the Animal Shelter is ever to make its way into the 21st century so while we are busy building gateways and convention centers, perhaps we could set a grant or two aside to expand and fund our shelter in a manner of which we can be proud.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

Armageddon married in the morning (marriage) 6.18.02

I am not a big fan of weddings. Next to funerals and graduations, they are my least favorite social functions to attend. My favorites are, in no particular order, ritual circumcisions, sweat lodges, armistice agreements and public executions.
Of course, being a groomsman is much worse than just going to a wedding. At 33, all of my friends were married long ago. Then I decided to go back to school and hang out with 19 and 20-year-olds. Long story short about to get long again, three weddings in the last year so far and now one of my little buddies wants me to be a groomsman.
It isn't basking in other people's happiness that I hate so much. No, I lie, I do hate that almost more than anything. My existence is pretty empty, bitter, dull, loveless, petless and even plantless so being asked to publicly acknowledge and participate in the joy of others is about as much fun to me as eye surgery.
There is something inconvenient about attending someone else's celebration of wedded bliss. The miserable individual buying the happy couple a gift is a rude social irony. But to have to stand up during the whole thing? That just crosses the line from friendly obligation to brutal indignity.
And of course they're Catholic, too, so this thing isn't going to be a 15-minute job either. It's going to go on and on and on until not only the bride and groom feel married but everyone in the church, the guy down the street and even the lilies of the field. The nerve of some people.
Frankly, I'm tempted to end the friendship just to get out of the wedding. If I had to drive far, miss "Farscape" or be out after 9 at night, I probably would tell them to go do something biologically improbable that weren't planning to do on their wedding night any how.
My favorite part is the tuxedo fitting. Not the wearing of the tuxedo, although that bites too, but actually having a stranger measure all your body parts. I suppose if you are skinny as a rail or super buff it's no problem, but I'm a bit of a fatty the way Robert Downey Jr. kind of likes heroin. There is nothing less likely to put me in good mood than hearing the words "Brianne, could you bring me TWO tape measures?"
The only saving grace is I will not be expected to pay for the rental of the monkey suit myself unlike most bridesmaids and their hideous dress. They should go on strike. Not only are they asked to look like hell in comparison to the bride, they have to pay for the humiliation of wearing their worst fuschia taffeta nightmares in public.
At least there is the payoff of the bachelor party the night before and the reception right after, huh? Not for me, I'm on about four different kinds of medication. So these days I do all these things sober.
Alcohol is bad for you. Legally, ethically and morally I feel obligated to say so. But there are a lot of things alcohol makes easier, that's why it's a crutch. Explaining how you know the groom for four hours to Talula, the bride's great aunt from Keokuk even she hasn't seen since she was 3-years old, for example, that takes anesthetic.
I really don't see any advantage to being married that just living together doesn't accomplish without all the fuss. Does it really matter if children are "legitimate" these days? Being born "out of wedlock" just isn't the stigma it once was.
I think women would be better off if they gave up on marriage as an institution. They could keep their names and a lion's share of the power in society if you think about it. The difference between a patriarchal society and a matriarchal one is basically whose name the kids get.
The whole taking the man's name thing really stretches back to the idea of women-as-property anyway. You no longer belong to your father, you now belong to your husband. Your dad has the goats to prove it. We're beyond that, so why not drop the ritual?
Breeding doesn't have the same consequence it once did. Birth control has made sex largely recreational. Kids aren't needed to work the farm since family farms are quickly becoming a thing of the past. There are over 6 billion people on the planet so I think we accomplished the whole fruitful multiplicity thing. God's got to be satisfied with the way that command worked out.
I suppose it is still pretty nice to have someone who is legally obligated to hang out with you constantly, but I don't know a man or woman who doesn't have serious complaints about their spouse. Men don't listen, women don't stop talking. Men are lazy, women don't stop talking. Men hide their feelings, women don't stop talking. The list goes on.
They say married men live longer and that makes marriage a good deal for them. They don't tell you those extra years are spent praying for death. I don't care what THEY say, man was not meant to wear pants around the house.
Still, when I see these anniversary announcements about some couple married 50 years or more, I think it must be worth all this effort. Marriages are like sitcoms. Most of them might be miserable, unfunny wastes of time, but when you get a really good one, it is an inspiration to everyone else to keep trying.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

you got questions, i got answers (q&a) 6.20.02

Occasionally I get questions and suggestions from people I meet. Today, I thought I would answer a few of them for the curious. Don't worry, the names of the innocent are left out so if you sent me an e-mail and wanted to know why your husband still looks at other women, you won't be embarrassed.
The first question I get is "where do you get your ideas?" That is a good question and one I have hit on previously though not answered directly. I tap into something called running thoughts, that little conversation you have in your head. At least I have that little conversations going. I am not sure if other people do to the same extent or not.
The other place I get my ideas is from the thousands of black squirrels in Council Bluffs. The squirrels are not what they seem and will give you ideas if you let them. So don't worry the squirrels.
"Why do you espouse sentiments normally reserved for people much older than you like spanking?"
I am very much in touch with my inner child AND my inner old man. As a matter of fact, my inner old man regularly beats my inner child for swearing in public while my inner child is quick to point out that my inner old man also swears in public and is a hypocrite.
I think that age is largely an illusion. Not just in some hippie-dippy, new age way, but in the very real sense that no matter how old you are it doesn't matter. You are still just as entitled to be a jackass as when you were young. More so in some cases.
I have always admired the fearless manner in which many of my elders seem to live. Sure, inside they could be quivering masses of jelly, but to the world they could be hard core. They have seen a great deal and know a great deal. When you listen you can learn something from just about anybody whether they intend it or not.
Also, I like to be in touch with my inner hayseed and if that makes me a little self-consciously rural once in a while, so be it.
"At a reunion with childhood friends, I discovered they had become self-centered, materialistic and boring. Why is it not possible to have friends at the age of 60 that are like the friends of 12 to 16?"
Life can be a grinding experience. It's tough out there and the accumulation of material wealth has become a necessity in some ways and good practice in another.
I think there is a certain fearlessness we have when we are 12. Someone else is paying the bills. We can afford to like who we want, play as much as we want, love people without fear of rejection. Life feels like it will go on forever.
Maybe after so many years of doing for "me and mine" successfully, people get wrapped up in what they collect. It means they did their job well.
We have a lot of imagination when we are young and that tends to fizzle out when our brains settle into patterns. Imagination is really the firing of strange parts of the brain. It's like firecrackers, they go off only once and when you're out of firecrackers, that's it. So you need to keep buying firecrackers is how this analogy wraps up. I don't know, I think I am out of firecrackers.
"Are you aware that 'The Jungle' was written by Upton Sinclair and not Sinclair Lewis as you suggested?" and "How many people do you think caught that error. 1) Yes, I am. Sorry about that. I guess that is the kind of mistake you make when you are only kind of educated and type faster than you think. MEA CULPA! 2) Seven. Not too shabby.
"Are you happy?" This one comes up fairly often in one form or another. I honestly don't know. Sometimes I am and sometimes I'm not. I believe it was the Kids in the Hall who said it best: the only way to be happy is to know you won't be happy all the time. That works for me. Happiness is not a destination to reach, but a way of traveling. Don't worry, be happy. Happy happens, too! Jesus don't want me for a sunbeam, the poet said.
"Have you made arrangements for the after life?" Yes. I have arranged for body to be made into Soylent Green. Soylent Green, it's made of people!
"How can I be a part of the new and improved Nonpareil and insure that the quality keeps coming?" It's easy. Just call Ext. 225 and subscribe. Tell them Greg told you to call because I think there is some special deal going on right now. I don't know, I get mine free.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

three-card monty mind games (mind games) 6.14..02

Life since 9-11 has gotten a bit tougher on the old psyche. I know I am not alone in this. It seems like we have only three choices: To obsess over the news, ignore the news or try to find that perfect balance that is "the new normal."
Terrorist arrests, financial news, security lines, fear of the inevitable. And these are just for starters. Passive news reception is an option for some, but what about the conspiracy theorists among us forced by some demon or other to find the man behind the curtain?
Conspiracy theorists get a bad name, frankly. Any time two or more people get together to secretly plan an action that is unlawful or by some estimation unethical, immoral or against the rules, it constitutes a conspiracy. Regular folks lie, cheat and steal on a daily basis to cover their tracks. Are politicos better than us? Not likely.
It is possible, just possible mind you, that politicians occasionally hide, obfuscate or bend the truth they present to the public for a variety of reasons both well intentioned and nefarious - like cheating and stealing.
Take the recent revelations regarding former Chicago gang member and convict turned international terrorist Jose Pedillo and his dirty, dirty bombs.
Pedillo has been in custody for a month for his association with al-Qaida and his plan to unleash a radiological weapon on the people of his homeland. Yet, we are only just hearing about this subject now as FBI agent Coleen Rowley began her blistering commentary to Congress on the FBI's shortcomings. Coincidence? Yeah, like finding Robert Downey Jr. passed out in your swimming pool.
And the national media dumps Rowley and jumps on dirty bombs because fear sells and everybody is buying. Righteous indignation is on sale this week. Buy two rants and get an impassioned plea before Congress absolutely free.
Here is one tip that something is fishy. A dirty bomb is not much more damaging than a conventional bomb. It is more frightening because most people hear "radioactive" and go mental because "The Planet of the Apes" and "Attack of the 50-Foot Woman" put that fear there long ago.
What should scare us all more is the inability of the FBI and CIA to gather and share information as well as stop terrorism.
Government sources should be arresting people's fears about dirty bombs where possible and necessary, not allowing them to run rampant to cover their own tracks.
Top this poo-poo platter off with the red herring in this case, Jose Pedillo, who managed to go from Chicago to Pakistan to join al-Qaida, should serve more to highlight the ineffeciency of our government's crime fighting agencies than to avert our attention from it.
The FBI had no problem infiltrating the KKK, the civil rights or peace movements of the 1960s. The CIA could get agents into the KGB. Those groups can smell a fink a mile away. Americans and other westerners joined Al-Qaida and the Taliban easily enough to make the news. Those groups seem easy enough to infiltrate by amateurs but the pros can't do it?
If a spoon-fed white boy like John Walker Lindh and a filthy criminal like Jose Pedillo could both pass muster, anybody should be able to throw down a few "Allah ackbars" and get in. Realistically, it seems to take an earnest interest in Islam (which cannot be that hard to find or fake) not an expert knoweldge of Arabic.
The timing of this latest round of dirty bomb scares stinks.
Terror is the weapon of our enemies, but let's face it, working up the American people into a lather has been the tool of our leaders for quite some time. They have no trouble coming up with ideas and announcements guaranteed to scare us all stupid. The color-coded security warning system, routine vague alerts from John Ashcroft about the next attack coming in X number of days and occasional news releases that have that "freshly planted" scent.
It doesn't matter what part of the political spectrum you call home, this is the game leaders of all stripes play with the public. Maybe it all started off with good intentions to prevent panic, keep us calm, get the war machine rolling or get things back to normal, but it eventually turned into a three-card monty game.
You need a war, let's invade Granada or go back to Iraq two or three times without managing to get rid of Saddam Hussein. There's always the Balkans or Somalia. It is no coincidence that as The Cold War wound down we found ourselves with a new world full of enemies to go after on the nightly news. Economies stagnate in peace time, but get your war on and people are suddenly motivated and doing their best to not think anything that might get them in trouble.
We are all living in a strange new world. But for the first time since the War of 1812, violence has come to our shores from abroad. It was easy to take things overseas - fighting, dissenting, getting on with democracy. The real trick now will be forging ahead with our American value system intact, but one thing is for sure, the old bag of tricks is starting to wear thin.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

animal abusers must pay (animial crulety) 6.11.02

I would like to say I don't understand people who are cruel to animals, but unfortunately that is not the case. I do not share their cruel intentions or abusive tendencies, but having been an American high school senior, I know what it is to be lowly and miserable and look for something or someone even more lowly to make more miserable than me. My apologies to the one freshman in the class of '90 I was mean to once.
But I have no sympathy for people who give in to the craven, disturbed tendency to act out with violence toward the weak and suffer no guilt. It's just not Christian. To have dominion over the earth does not mean to rule with an iron fist, but with kindness and justice.
Which brings us to Sherman.
Last Thursday, a Labrador-retriever named Sherman was found with an arrow shot through his rectal gland and out his leg near 23rd Street and South Expressway.
Dandi Haven of 2212 S. Sixth St. was ticketed for animal abuse Friday because animal control officers were able to follow a trail of blood from where Sherman was found to Haven's house.
Sherman died Monday after several days of what I know was fine care at the Strohbehn Veterinary Clinic. Art and Jody Strohbehn have taken care of many of my family's dogs, cats and even one rat over the years. They are decent and caring people, the exact opposite of the kind of human being that would shoot a Labrador-retriever in the butt.
After his relative guilt or innocence is determined by a court of law, Haven could face a two-year prison sentence and a $2,000 fine. Of course, he could have a very good excuse for shooting a dog in the butt with an arrow fired from a crossbow. I don't know. I wasn't there.
One theory has it that Sherman, the Labrador-retriever mix, attacked Haven's rottweiller and Haven was left with no choice to but to grab his crossbow from wherever it was safely stored, load an arrow or "bolt" into it and fire it in the general direction of Sherman's anus, which in all fairness is about all one could hit on a dog when its back is turned to you.
Hoses used to work on dogs when I was a kid, but these are dangerous times and one never knows if a Labrador-retriever is just a mutt or a member of Al Qaeda come to destroy our way of life.
Two years in prison and $2,000. Does that sound like a steep penalty for animal abuse to you? It doesn't to me.
When Jeffrey Dalmer was getting his start in life as a sociopath, he practiced on animals. Sociopaths revel in the control they have over another living creature. They lack empathy, the ability to understand someone else's pain. Serial killers and other sociopaths are fascinated by their lack of empathy. It's like when your foot falls asleep and you smack it on the floor and go "wow, I can't feel a thing."
If you or I caused pain to an animal or another human being, we would understand its pain and feel bad about it. If you or I were sociopaths, we would not hesitate to inflict pain on an animal because our lack of feeling would fascinate us.
Eventually, the fascination with an animal's pain is not enough and sociopaths start to practice their ways on people. Some become serial killers or rapists, while others become cannibals seeing themselves as higher up on the evolutionary ladder.
Whether you are a vegetarian or a carnivore, a member of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals or a member of People for the Eating of Tasty Animals, we should all be equally concerned with the abuse of animals because anyone who abuses animals could just as easily turn their attentions to peolpe. They are a criminal element capable of escalating crimes.
As a society we need to punish animal abusers to the fullest extent the law will allow to send a clear message that it is wrong. We need to discourage this behavior in children who tend to play a little too close to the edge sometimes anyway.
Personally, I have a soft spot for dogs and find anyone who would abuse one to be particularly despicable.
Since the dawn of time, dogs have been our constant companions. They have shared our food, our camp fires, helped us hunt and herd animals, guarded our homes and remained close to our hearts. They are members of the family. They teach us what unconditional love is. A dog will lay down its life selflessly for its family and besides a little kibble, asks for nothing in return.
Dogs are closer to us than any other creature on this planet. I remember every chihuahua, poodle, husky, German shepherd, terrier, Labrador and mutt that was ever a part of my family. I cannot imagine a God that does not put a high value on the existence of creatures that bring so much joy.
I suggest we all watch the outcome of this case with great attention and concern.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.

The Lord of the Jell-O Shots (jell-o shots) 6.7.02

Zippers! A fun new way to drink alcohol by slurping it in the form of fruity gelatin! Land-a-goshin'! What evil is this? We must protect the children!
This is a stylized representation of the stance of Pride Omaha Inc. as espoused in a their recent newsletter (Vol. 23, no. 2) and on KETV. Normally, I would not pay much attention, but once again, Council Bluffs was dragged into the fray because Zippers aren't sold in Omaha, but they are available in Council Bluffs, which apparently shouldn't allow their sale even though most Iowans I know have the mental capacity (a grade school education) and the technology (Tupperware and a fridge) to make Jell-O shots.
KETV could have ignored the non-story, but it's more fun to make Council Bluffs look like Sodom and/or Gomorrah for selling a legal product distributed throughout the Midwest and consumed for decades in all corners of the United States. The rest of the world is too hip to do Jell-O shots.
While I fault no one for wanting to protect their children from the world's evils, it does raise certain issues about how we go about these things.
Realize that Zippers are new, but Jell-O shots are as old as the hills. A kid would still need to show I.D. to buy Zippers and while the containers might look like any other Jell-O snack, thus allowing kids to bring alcohol to school, there are several other products that could be used in the same way.
Bottles, for instance. Any bottle can hold alcohol. You can take the lid off a bottle of Tropicana, put in a shot of vodka and take a screwdriver to school. Any thermos, can of pop or flask for that matter could easily be smuggled into school with hooch in it. When was the last time any school checked for flasks? 1886?
In junior high footbal, some guys used to soak their mouthguards in Jack Daniels. Anyone with initiative can take put alcohol in gelatin, but why? It's geeky. Hemingway never did Jell-O shots. It's time consuming. It takes hours to turn vodka into gelatin. It is kitschy and uncool. Jell-O shots are what tourists do on vacation and that's only if they never had one before.
Let's face it, when it comes to keeping kids from doing the things we don't want them to do, we need to be Zen masters. We can't just think outside the box, we have to be the box the other box comes in.
Kids want to do anything adults don't want them to do because they think anything we don't want them to do is fun. They're right sometimes, too. Any number of things we try to keep kids from doing is fun. Candy, fire, TV, video games, sticking their tongues on frozen light poles, 19th century French lithographs, backyard professional wrestling, beating on their siblings, onanism, riding bikes after dark and the list goes on.
And look at the absolutely terrible, un-fun things we are always trying to make them do just because they are good for them like broccoli, church, school, reading, learning, swimming, speaking Spanish, kissing strange aunts, being upstanding members of society and that list goes on as well.
The psychology is devious. Kids are so sure we are trying to get them to do things using reverse psychology - even when we aren't - that when we are being straight with them, they assume we are lying.
So we have to use reverse-reverse psychology by making it seem like we are trying to get kids to do the things we don't want them to do, pretend we don't care if they do or don't do the things we want them to or, and this is my favorite, pretend we are into the things we don't want them to do so they think they aren't cool.
You don't want kids to do Jell-O shots? Get grandma and all the old folks to sit around doing them at the next family picnic, hand them out to any kids who want them. Make it a party. This tactic works to keep kids from playing badmitten, too.
Shouting "the sky is falling" every time some new fangled product hits the shelves as if this is the one that means the end of western civilization only serves to draw the attention of children to the things we don't want them to do. They want the end of civilization. Read "The Lord of the Flies;" it's all in there.
The same Pride Omaha newsletter said the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism reported 1,400 college students die each year from alcohol-related incidents. This information usually sends people into a "we must do more" tailspin when the truth is raising the drinking limit, making alcohol taboo for 18 to 20-year-olds and constantly talking about alcohol as though it were an epidemic does more to encourage drinking among minors than anything.
I remember quite well what motivated me and my friends to drink in college when the drinking age was raised from 19 to 21 just before I turned 19. I drank every weekend to spite a law I believe was and still is ridiculous.
There is nothing wrong with drinking at 18 that isn't wrong with drinking in general. If we settle down a bit and gave our kids a few sips of beer or wine at the table as they grew up, they would be much less inclined to get hammered silly as if every illegal opportunity to drink is their last.
Sometimes good humor and common sense will work wonders.
- Greg Jerrett is a Nonpareil staff writer. His column runs on Wednesdays and Saturdays. He may be contacted at 328-1811, Ext. 279, or by e-mail at gjerrett@nonpareilonline.com.