In Perspective — My Dream Has Gone Up in Polysobate 60

By Rodney Hays

It took a world where commemorative two-dollar bills are allegedly worth $30 but if you call now you can buy them for $10 to totally shatter my dreams.

Most people's dreams are shattered after taking college classes or after their first performance review or after taking part in "So You Think You Can Dance." Not mine, however. My dreams were shattered after doing some research on The Internet -- The Source Of All Truth.

A couple of weeks ago, after a serious bout of a type of arthritis I have, I decided I might need to change my lifestyle a little bit. The first thing I changed was my diet. I've tried different diets in the past. I've tried the South Beach Diet. I've tried to count calories. I've tried counting points. I've even tried something called the "drink the water in Mexico diet" (that one really works by the way).

I thought I hit the jackpot when a simple search landed on the Twinkie diet. According to the story I read, Kansas State University professor Mark Haub lost 27 pounds by eating mostly junk food, including Twinkies, mixed in with a few greens and proteins shakes. What a beautiful world we live in where a man can lose 27 pounds in two months by eating my beloved Twinkies.

Because of my bad health, I was trying find some type of diet or lifestyle that I could live by and sustain for the rest of my life. Would Twinkies be the answer?

No.

I did a little research on Twinkies and I was shocked, astonished and crushed in what I found. Did you know Twinkies, the delicious sponge cakes of my youth, use 37 different ingredients to make these confectionery treats? I didn't either.

Author Steve Ettlinger has now ruined my life, shattered my dreams and yanked Twinkies off my menu. Ettlinger wrote a book called "Twinkie Deconstructed."

Ettlinger went to great lengths to not only identify the 37 ingredients but to find out where the ingredients came from -- some even come from mines in Oklahoma and corn fields in Iowa. He wanted to know what things like polysorbate 60 and high fructose corn syrup were. I guess I would too.

Actually I guess I do too. Plus I wanted to know why in the world it takes 37 ingredients to make a yellow sponge cake with a cream filling?

Here are a couple of the ingredients I have questions about:

1. Corn syrup, high fructose corn syrup, modified corn starch, cornstarch -- What is the deal with so many corn products in my beloved Twinkies? Does anybody know what happens to corn when you eat it? Not much actually. I'm not even sure our bodies recognize corn. Ever wonder about how corn is digested? To put it delicately, let's just say it travels to the city's waste facility in much the same condition as it enters the body.

So why does it take four different corn products to make my Twinkies? Answer: it doesn't. Or at least it shouldn't.

I also found out that just about everything we eat has corn in it, from hamburger meat to soft drinks.

Sheesh!

2. I understand flour, eggs and sugar but what the heck is polysorbate 60. In one article I read, polysorbate 60 can be used in imitation cream. But it's also used in some medicines like Orajel and something to stimulate hair growth. It can also be used in shampoos, skin softeners and tanning lotion. Yum. Pass me the SPF 60.

Ettlinger had this to say in his book, ingredients like cellulose gum, Polysorbate 60, and calcium sulfate are also used in sheet rock, shampoo, and rocket fuel.

3. Let's not forget about the sodium stearoyl lactylate, natural and artificial flavors, sorbic acid (to retain freshness), Yellow 5, Red 40.

Yellow 5 and Red 40?

I need help. But I guess that help will not come from Twinkies.

It's upsetting. But there are some good foods out there. There's plenty of food that is healthy, including meat (without corn), vegetables (corn is a grain, not a vegetable) and healthy oils (not made with corn).

Maybe I won't miss Twinkies that much. They don't taste nearly as good as they did in 1975 anyway. And I sure won't miss being fat, sick and tired. I can guarantee you that.

I probably will miss that Red 40 though. Red is one of my favorite colors.

In Perspective — It's Not Over Til the Fat Mayan Sings

By Rodney Hays

There's only about 708 days left. That's right, just a little more than 700 days until it starts. No, I'm not talking about another fabulous season premiere of "Jersey Shore," which, of course, is an award-winning reality television program that critics are raving about.

Roto Rooter of RealityTelevisionIsMyLife.com says this of "Jersey Shore": "This show should be required viewing for any teenager who thinks they want to have babies." Bob "Smokey" Bergermeister of Smokey's Reality says, "Jersey Shore is the Sweet-n-Low of the television industry: Everybody knows it's fake and there's a good chance it could cause brain damage, but it comes in a such a pretty package."

No, I'm not talking about "Jersey Shore." What I'm talking about is a little more sinister -- if that's even possible. In a little more than 700 days the world will end.

Read that again really slowly. The. World. Will. End.

That, according to a group of people called the Mayans or the Aztecs or the Canadians, is when the world will officially come to an end due to a cataclysmic event like a flood or a giant asteroid hitting the earth. It could also include hail, fire and brimstones or possibly even a law being passed making every living being watch non-stop "American Idol."

Since I try to live in a very positive world, I don't watch a whole lot of television news so I hadn't heard a whole lot about this event. So I did what any red-blooded Iowan would do, I went to the Internet -- The Source Of All Truth.

I went to Google and punched in "Jersey Shore stars." You would be horrified by what I found. Then I did another search for "Mayan end of the world."

According to several references I found in my tireless search (about 10 minutes), the Mayan calendar (sponsored by Otto's Tire Emporium) ends abruptly on Dec. 21, 2012. Get it? The date is 12/21/12.
For those of you who may not know, the Mayans were known for their art, architecture and wicked sense of humor. I'm not sure why we put so much stock in their calendar but evidently they have predicted other events throughout history such as Labor Day, a guy named Hoyt turning 40 and that a person named "Snooki" would one day be the leader of the free world. Sounds like we should probably take notice when their calendar says we are doomed.

Since we only have about two years left, let's put together several things we need to do before the world closes down like a bad bar-b-que joint.

Here's my End-Of-The-World To-Do List:

1. Travel more -- I think we should all take some time out of our busy schedule and see the world before it is gone. Might I suggest you start with some place with lots of character and depth like France, England or Wapanucka, Okla.

2. Party more -- I know a lot of people think it's just wrong to go to a bar or club or lounge or other places of ill-repute, but it might do you some good. It's fun to go out and have an adult beverage, dance a little and hang out with people who are laughing and having fun.

I've always heard a dancing foot and a praying knee don't belong on the same leg, but I've learned since then that is poppycock (Mayan for not true). You only live once and you've only got 700 more days to do it.

3. Hang with friends and family more -- Everybody needs a little social interaction with friends and family. Don't let your job or your hobby or reality television get in the way of spending more time with those you love over these last 700 or so days.

4. See something substantial -- I went to the Texas Rangers first American League Championship game against the New York Yankees in October. The Yankees came back and won that first game, but the Rangers won the series and I was glad I was there for that game. As a matter of fact, I got the chance to travel, party, hang with friends and family and saw something substantial all in one glorious evening.

These are just a few things I offer to you. I'm sure you have your own list. Go out there and live life. We only have 700 more days left of "Jersey Shore."

Wait, maybe this whole end-of-the-world thing isn't so bad after all.

In Persepctive — It's Rosemary Thyme

By Rodney Hays

What's in there making it green?"

It's rosemary and thyme.

What the ...?

That was my answer to my wife's question recently. We were watching the Food Network and one of the hosts was making some kind of bread concoction. She was kneading the dough and there were little flecks of green throughout the beige doughy mixture. My wife had stepped out of the room -- probably to bring me another glass of cold ice tea, but it could have been something for her -- and when she walked back in, she popped the question.

"What's she got in there making it green?"

And I knew the answer. Scary huh?

Twenty years ago I would have thought rosemary and thyme was some type of accounting office or interior decorator. I wouldn't know they were actual herbs -- not like guys named Herb as in Peaches and Herb, but actual herbs. When I was younger I was sort of a smart aleck. Here's the way the above conversation would've gone 20 years ago:

Wife: What's in there making it green?

Me: Boogers and lime Jell-O.

Wife: What?

Me: Boogers and a lime Jell-O. You should have seen how she got it all in there.

Wife: That's disgusting.

Me: I told you we shouldn't be watching the Food Network. You would never see that type of stuff on MTV.

Wife: Isn't that the channel where they show all those shows where guys shoving menopausal porcupines up their noses to make the rest of the group laugh?

Me: Yes.

Wife: You are disgusting.

That was 20 years ago. Of course, 20 years ago we wouldn't have known what Food Network was either. And people shoving chili peppers up their nose were just trying to get into a fraternity.

Today is different. Today, I know what rosemary and thyme are. And I'm starting to learn to cook.

I remember my first cooking experience. Growing up, I didn't have to cook much. My mother is a saint of a woman and cooked pretty much every meal for us with the occasional meal out. And when I got married she taught my wife how to prepare many of my favorite dishes. But I felt like I needed to help.
I loved fried pork chops as a kid. And I thought my first meal should be fried pork chops.

After watching my mom make them for years, I figured I was pretty much an expert. At the grocery store, I carefully selected the prettiest of pork chops for my meal, took them home, plastered them with flour and stuck them in the frying pan.

Shortly thereafter, my wife came home from work to find smoke billowing out of the windows. She opened the door to a shrieking fire alarm and a living room and kitchen dense with smoke. After a quick check to see if I was in the room, I admitted that I was and that the pork chops "might be a little well done." She asked something about "did I put oil in the pan first?" to which I answered "just boogers and lime Jell-O."

The good news is I didn't burn down the house and I got much better. But not immediately.

We had college friends over one night for a little fellowship. I decided to treat the girls to some homemade nachos, not the kind you just nuke in the microwave.

I meticulously piled each chip high with beans, cheese and jalapenos then stuck them in the oven to melt the cheese.

Five minutes later I opened the oven door to what I assumed would be perfectly cooked nachos. What I found instead was what some scientist call, and I quote, "a raging inferno."

Yes, you can leave nachos in the oven too long, I quickly found out.

But I was not lost forever in the kitchen.

Fast forward a couple of years. I had another job that allowed me some free time, so I decided to help out around the house and cook a little. I tried pork chops again -- this time with oil in the pan first -- and I ventured out to other stuff like spaghetti, tacos and something called Hamburger Helper. I got pretty good at it too. I could cook up a decent meal in a little less than 30 minutes without burning down the house or poisoning the kids. I call that a success.

Now, fast forward a few more years. The Food Network has become a sensation. I'm not a smart aleck anymore. And I know my way around a kitchen. I even have several knives in my drawer -- the big, sharp kind -- that I can tell the business end from the other end. I can cut up a bell pepper to compete with some of the best chefs in America and beyond.

I'm branching out and cooking things that I read about in a book or on the Internet -- The Source Of All Truth. And every now and again, I pick up some things on the Food Network that I can use in my very own kitchen.

Things sure have changed in the past 20 years.

The Food Network has more viewers than some of the shows I watched as a kid. MTV has gotten away from music videos and now host shows about girls getting pregnant in third grade. And I enjoy some time in the kitchen.

So, you should come over sometime this week. I'm thinking about making my famous boogers and lime Jell-O with rosemary and thyme, of course.

All of my problems may now be over

I just responded to a very important e-mail I received this morning. I hope things work out all right for all parties involved.

---

From: Ibrahim Dadad <ibrahim.dada@gala.net>
Sent: Fri, November 5, 2010 4:33:10 AM
Subject: I NEED YOUR URGENT ASSISTANCE.


Good Day,

Compliments of the day with your entire family, It’s just my urgent need for foreign partner that made me to contact you for this transaction for assistance. I am a banker by profession in west Africa and currently holding the post of Director Auditing and Accounting unit of the bank.

I have the opportunity of transferring the left over funds ($11.6 million) of one of my bank clients who died in crash since five years ago and none of his family member or relation has come for the claim, and now the bank is planning how to confiscate the fund since no one has come for the claim. Please I need a honest and humanity foreign partner that we can both do this transaction together to achieve this success.

Hence, I am inviting you for the deal I will offer you 40% of the amount mentioned above and if you are sure you can handle the transaction and you are ready to assist me and execute this business, further details of the transfer will be forwarded to you as soon as i receive your return mail,have a great day.

For more clarification reply me back and please note that the claims is 100% risk free.

Thanks.




Dear, Ibrahim:

I hope this correspondence finds you well.

Oh, wow. That's a really sad story. A guy dies in a crash and doesn't have anybody who can come to claim the body or the money is has in his bank account. It's really a sad deal to know that a man lived his entire life without any family or friends with whom he could rely on in times of trouble and sadness. I am very happy for you that your bank will allow you to take the funds and keep them for yourself with a "honest and humanity foreign partner." I am still just so saddened by the loss of the man in a crash that I don't believe I'm ready to make a decision at this time. I hope to be able to make a decision about this in the very near future or possibly sooner than the very near future. I am always excited about the possibility "to achieve this success with you."

Right now, I am just so sad that I am going to a bar and drinking for several hours or longer. If you don't mind, as a measure of good faith, could you send me your bank account numbers so that I may borrow several thousands of dollars to pay off my tab at the bar? I'm not sure if they have Vegas Bombs in West Africa, but I can assure you that here in America they are NOT cheap. I will look on this act of kindness as an extremely act of kindness and will pay you back every penny when and if I decide to became a "honest and humanity foreign partner" with you and help you to "achieve this success."

Please let me know when you have your bank account numbers ready.

I await your honest and humanity reply.

Compliments of the day with your entire family,

R

 

In Perspective — Some Good Telelvision Programming

In Perspective -- Some Good Television Programming

By Rodney Hays


It's an exciting time to be alive. A big election coming in November could change the make-up of Congress as well as talk radio and it's time for a new series of fall television shows. Both of them life-changing events.

But today I want to focus on what I call a gross miscarriage of justice. After many attempts to contact producers in Hollywood, Bollywood and some place called Sri Lanka, I am now taking to pleading my case before millions -- quite possibly hundreds of millions -- of readers of this column.
I have several ideas for great television and nobody seems to want to talk to me about it, let alone produce one of my shows.

Not only did I not get to talk to a producer, one producer's assistant even told me, and I quote, "As I said before, we deliver pizza, not produce television shows."

How rude.

Anyway, I thought I would share some of my better ideas for television this fall and see what you think, dear reader. Maybe we can get a grass roots effort going and tell those fat cats in Hollywood what we think about not hearing from Middle America about what we want to see on television (i.e. more girls in bikinis and Ryan Seacrest fully clothed).

So, without further adieu, let me present my ideas.

1. "It's a Dog's Life" -- This show will feature Tinkerbell, the tiny chihuahua belonging to none other than Paris Hilton.

This will be a reality show based on Tinkerbell's life and what it takes to make it as a pet of a Red Carpet Star.

The first episode will open with Tinkerbell in the waiting room of the jail in Las Vegas as he or she waits for Paris to make bail after her most recent arrest for drug use.

"Does Tinkerbell want a widdle snack?" will be the opening lines from Sgt. Wilmer Hutchins of the Las Vegas Police Department. "Does he or she need a widdle bite to eat?"

Tinkerbell will answer by growling and barking and snapping at the finger of Sgt. Hutchins.
The viewer will also travel along as Paris makes her way across the country making $25,000 for each red-carpet appearance. We will also get to see Tinkerbell and Paris shop for new shoes and a $1,500 designer t-shirt for Tinkerbell that reads: "My Life is Ruff."

In the season-ending cliffhanger, we will find out if a series of rabies shots will save Tinkerbell after being attacked by a rabid Lindsay Lohan.

2. "Something's Afoot" --This wonderful television program will be a reality show based on the life of a podiatrist.

Each week Dr. Ray Forkitover will walk the viewers through what it's like to become a foot specialist and diagnose feet ailments and deformities.

Week One will start out with Dr. Forkitover examining the foot of a 83-year-old man with what can only medically be described as "foot nastiness." The good doctor will take a small garden implement to the nastiness of the foot and expel it from the foot. He will then dine on Salisbury steak in the hospital cafeteria.

For the third episode, the doctor will make a house call to rural Indiana where he will try to excise a demon from a man's right great toe. The great toe has become inflamed from what can only be described as "tight Birkenstocks." The toe scares everyone when it begins to talk in broken English and threatens to destroy everything that is holy unless someone can bring Simon Cowell back to American Idol.

In the season's final episode, it will be a matter of life and death when Dr. Forkitover tries to save the life of a pinky toe that has been damaged after kicking a giant toy Tonka Front-End Loader, left out by a 3-year-old.

The doctor will have to decide which is more important: The damaged pinky toe or his teenage daughter's dangerous experimentation with Justin Bieber music.

3. "How to Sleep In Church" -- This will be a side-splitting comedy on C-SPAN. It will show the inner workings of Congress.

In the season premiere, a Congressional sub-committee will grill the founder of Craig's List about his "adult services" portion of the popular website.

"How could you put together such filth and call yourself an American, Sir:?" the Congressman from Rhode Island will ask.

"I didn't know that Rhode Island had congressman," Craig's List will respond.

"By the way, how do you create one of those 'adult services' ads?" one of the Congressman will ask.

"I'm only asking because my constituents want to know, not because it sounds like a great way to meet chicks."

4. "Bikini Girl Goes to Law School" -- The premise of this wonderful comedy is about a girl who wears a bikini every day to law school. After graduating at the top of her class, she will get a job prosecuting high-profile criminal cases in Miami, where she will sometimes wear a sarong. But mostly a bikini.

Each week she will request a change of venue to "the beach."

I think that's a show everyone would watch.

So help me get the word out on these wonderful television shows.

And can someone give me the name of a good podiatrist? I have a terrible case of foot nastiness.

I May Just Have to Attend This Rally

This is some funny stuff. Stephen Colbert says Stephen Hawking is reducing God to a high school junior. Oh and he announces that he's having his own rally on Washington D.C.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
March to Keep Fear Alive
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes 2010 Election Fox News

Screaming Kids Will NOT Be Tolerated

Just read a great article about a restaurant in North Carolina and a few other places saying "No" to screaming kids. You can read about it here.

I cannot express enough thanks to these restaurants standing up for what is right. Thanks so much. There's nothing in the world that can ruin a meal faster than screaming brats (Okay, maybe food poisoning, but just barely).

This isn't a case of me just getting old and wishing for the good ol' days. There is a trend of kids becoming increasingly more belligerent in public places period, not just restaurants.

There are restaurants now I won't go to because they seem to be way too bratty-kid-friendly (I'm looking at you Frisco Gloria's). I understand if the kids are raising corn and cane at a place meant for children like a Chuck E. Cheese or something that's a kid's birthday party destination. But kids are started to run around like wild banshees at places that are supposed to be for adults and families (with children that know how to act inside a restaurant). They need to be stopped.

I was eating breakfast a couple of years ago at a place that is definitely family-friendly, but it's also a place where a lot of people like to have business meetings or just get together with friends. The day I was there I was by myself, reading the paper and enjoying my breakfast.

Then it happened.

A family came in with two kids — a little girl who was probably 3 or 4 and a toddler. The 3-year-old began with just a few screams at the top of her lungs. Then she started using the restaurant as her own personal play area, while she continued to scream. It wasn't just me disturbed by this scene. Everybody was giving her the evil glare. It was a solid 30 minutes of running around and screaming.

Now, some of you may be thinking that her poor single mother was probably just lucky to have enough energy to get the kids in and out of the car and couldn't muster the strength to discipline her child "that technically wasn't killing anyone." I would agree somewhat if that was the case. But this wasn't the case. Her father and mother both sat idly by while this young human being/animal meted out her reign of terror on a room full of people trying to eat their meals. They never said one thing to her. Not one.

When they left, I led the restaurant in the slow clap, celebrating their departure. I asked the owner if these folks came in a lot and she said they were in all the time. Can you imagine?

So I like it when restaurants stand up and say, "the money for a kid's meal isn't enough to offset the lost cost of a bunch of adults and families with well-behaved children leaving and going down the street." I hope more restaurants issue policies like this. I would support those places.

You're kid acts up, You. Are. Not. Welcome. Here.

That's all. It's a simple policy.

And who does it punish? It punishes the parents. They have limited choices where they can take their brats, and they should have fewer. You know why? It's the parents fault. It's all their fault.

Hopefully, I'm not talking about you in this post. Hopefully, I'm just preaching to the choir. But if I am talking about you, shame on you. Teach your kids to act right in public or keep them home until they are old enough or until I pass on, which will probably be another 60 years or so.

That's a long time to do without margaritas at Gloria's.

In Perspective — I'll Drink to This

By Rodney Hays

Raise your glass and let's all toast the fact that heavy drinkers live longer than non-drinkers.

I've been waiting on this research to come out for quite some time now. In case you haven't heard, Time magazine is running a feature story on a study that was conducted about mortality rates among people who are heavy drinkers, moderate drinkers and non-drinkers.

The study was done over 20 years with 1,824 people who were between the ages of 55 and 65 and had any kind of outpatient care in the previous three years.

According to the magazine's website, "Just over 69% of the never-drinkers died during the 20 years, 60% of the heavy drinkers died and only 41% of the moderate drinkers died."

That's right, you are 9% more likely to die if you don't drink at all. People who drink moderately never die.

That is an awesome statistic.

Since I don't want to die, I'm going to start moderately drinking beginning now as I write this column.
Haha. That's a joke, I started early this morning, way before I started writing this column.

First thing I had to do was to figure out what "moderate" drinking was. I went to the Internet -- The
Source Of All Truth -- to find my answer. According to the Center for Disease Control and Bartending, moderate drinking is defined as "no more than one drink per day for women and no more than two drinks per day for men."

What?

That can't be right. It's time to go back to the Internet -- The Source Of All Truth -- for another reference.

And here it is. According to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, "a man can drink up to four drinks on a day and still be considered moderate drinkers."

Now that's more like it.

As a person that likes to partake of an adult beverage every now and again, I really like it when people feel the need to produce studies justifying the need to drink. I know there are a lot of people who are going to oppose this type of research (I'm looking at you Pat Robertson), but there seems to be some benefits to being a moderate or "social drinker."

There are probably several reasons that moderate drinkers and even heavy drinkers outlive those who might be considered teetotalers.

The first is probably the whole social network thing. People who drink socially, tend to do so in -- wait for it -- social settings. They hang around people. They talk. They laugh. They enjoy the company of others.

I also think moderate drinkers have a lot less stress than those who don't drink at all.

Let's imagine two very different scenarios.

First, let's imagine coming home from a rough day at work sitting down on the couch and watching an hour of Keith Olbermann before eating a gallon of Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra and falling asleep to a Rachel Maddow marathon. The next thing you know, you're walking the dog and mumbling to yourself when your wife walks up and says, "honey, we don't have a dog. Now put down that rake."

Now, let's imagine being that same person coming home from a especially stressful day, walking over to the bar, pouring a nice glass of red wine, or popping open a beer or perchance mixing a nice vodka and Red Bull. This can only lead to one thing and that is a night of peaceful bliss, forgetting the cares of the world and MSNBC. The worst thing that can happen is that you can't seem to get the awful taste of Red Bull out of your mouth.

You tell me. Which one of these two scenarios is going to relieve the most stress?

The second scenario, of course.

I have to say I have lived on both sides of the alcohol drinking fence.

There was a time when my Baptist upbringing kept me from drinking any alcohol. At that point, I figured if God wanted us to drink, he would've given us shot glasses instead of hands.

Even then, I always had questions about why Jesus turned water into wine and wine was served at the last supper and so forth. I asked that question to many theologians and I always got the same answer: The wine was different then. It was much weaker and you couldn't get drunk. And the water was really disgusting so they had to drink wine.

I never could understand that.

What I did understand was when a much wiser individual told me the difference between Catholics and Baptists. "The Baptists won't wave at each other at the liquor store," he said.

I lived the teetotaler lifestyle for a while, but I have since mended my ways and understand that moderation in anything is really the way to go.

We would all live a lot healthier lifestyles if we could live our lives in moderation.

Working hard is great ... in moderation. Playing hard is a lot of fun ... in moderation. A big ol' steak with bake potatoes and a slice of grandma's coconut cream pie is amazing ... in moderation.

The world will be a healthier place if we would take smaller doses of a lot of stuff, including MSNBC and Rush Limbaugh.

And we would all probably get along better if we took our religion in moderate doses. If we approached people of differing opinions with a little more open minds. If we could all just see that love is really what makes the world go round.

So everything is good in moderation. Except love, you can abuse the heck out of that stuff.



To read more of Rodney Hays' humor, check out his blog at www.rodneyhays.com. Follow him on Twitter and become a friend on Facebook.

People Making Money on Youtube

Just read an interesting article about people making money on Youtube.com. You can read it here.

I mean some people are just making a little walking around money. Some people are making some I'm-bout-to-go-buy-a-Lexus-money with videos on Youtube.

And I want in.

I've been making humorous videos since I was about 19 years old (I would have started earlier but video didn't exist when I was a teenager. Well, technically it existed, but it wasn't easy to get the equipment and you definitely couldn't get an editing bay to fit in your bedroom ... never mind).

But when I started making videos people laughed. A lot of people laughed. Most of them laughed at the poor quality of the videos and choppy video edits, but they laughed and that's the goal.

I've been in videos where my buddy and I were in a bathtub talking about boys and girls talking mommy and daddy talk. I've been in videos where we mocked Calvin Klein cologne; it was called "Confession by Jesus Christ." I've done fake Bruce Lee videos and videos where I was a chef who couldn't cook. I've done a bunch. But now I found out people are making SIX FIGURES doing this videos.

There really is only one answer: Stop crying in your milk and get a camera and start making videos again. So I think that's what I'll do. I'm going to buy a freakin' camera, write a few scripts, and start producing video. I can do this. I'll be the only old dude on Youtube, but I can do this.

I have to do this.

Because you see when everybody else was out working and earning money and saving for retirement, I was out making videos. So I'm a little behind.

If anyone has a camera I can borrow until I get my first big check from Youtube, let me know.

Why Do We Dream?

I had a strange dream last night. I dreamed I was playing football for a combination of my Alma Mater, Butner High School, and the high school I cover for the newspaper, Prosper High School. They are both the Eagles so I guess it could be really easy to combine them.

For some reason in my dream I am the stud of the football team — more than likely this is my subconscious telling me that I was and still am to some degree, a stud. I caught two touchdown passes in some type of championship game, which I can only assume was the Inter-Galactic Football

Championships of the World. I was going to be named MVP (Most Valuable Planetarian). Everybody knew who I was because I still worked for the paper (the job I have now) and I worked at the store (the job I had when I was 18).

Why do we dream? Why are dreams so important? What do they mean? Why do I sleep until noon?
These are all important questions. I will try to answer them in this communique.

First, why do we dream? I believe it has something to do with our subconscious minds running completely amok because it doesn't have important things to do like roll your eyes when somebody blows their nose at the dinner table.

According to an article in Psychology Today (read it here), Freud said "that whether we intend it or not, we're all poets. That's because on most nights, we dream. And dreams are lot like poetry, in that in both things, we express our internal life in similar ways."

And also like poetry, I don't understand my dreams about half the time.
Theories vary on why we dream and I honestly don't understand any of the theories except one: The Absence of Theory.

There's one theory about dreams that just says our dreams are just a bunch of random images produced by an unconscious mind. That could explain why sometimes I dream I'm dining in a fancy restaurant where everybody, including the wait staff and the pretentious chick sitting at the table by the window, farts. It's very random and doesn't have any impact on my life.

Why are dreams so important? There is one theory out there that dreams kind of help our brains "defragment" during the night. During the subconscious portion of the day, our mind works in sorting through some of the days information intake and sorts it in a while that is beneficial. I think this is another viable theory that might be possible. That's why every time I listen to political talk radio, I dream of that fancy restaurant. That way my brain can take that informational overload from all those blowhards on AM Radio and produce it to something my brain can sort through, a really bad smelling wind.

What do dreams mean? Maybe just maybe, our conscious minds are trying to figure out what the unconscious mind is doing. The conscious mind wants to be in the know, it wants to be in control.
When you go to sleep, you put the conscious mind at rest. When you wake up the next morning, it wants a full report of what happened in the middle of the night. The subconscious attends those meetings, but is very coy about what it "did" in the middle of the night.

Conscious mind: All right, it's time to report. Heart?
Heart: Pumped all night, sir.
Conscious mind: Lungs?
Lungs: Took in oxygen and got rid of carbon dioxide and other toxins.
Conscious mind: Perfect. Subconscious?
Subconscious: I did some stuff (stifled laugh).
Conscious mind: For example?
Subconscious: I … hehe … I made a bunch of mental photos of you in a really nice restaurant … hehe … and … hehe … everyone was …. hehe …
Conscious mind: Oh my God, just spit it out.
Subconscious: That's what she said … hehe.

And on and on it would go.

Anyway, I'm glad we do sleep and dream and recover from the previous day.

One final question:  Why do I sleep until noon?

Because if God wanted us to see the sunrise, he would've made it later in the day.

In Perspective — Some Brave Fall Football Predictions

In Perspective -- A Few Bold Predictions for Fall

By Rodney Hays

It's that time of year. The time to don the pads, sweat like a grown man and drive your opponent to the ground. Of course I'm talking about shopping for school clothes at the mall. But it's also football season and that means it's time for my annual gridiron predictions.

I'm only going to make predictions about college football because college football is -- in my humble but accurate opinion -- my bread and butter. I picked the eventual national champion 16 out of the last 20 years. I had to wait until the season ended in each of those occurrences, but it still wasn't easy. For instance, I predict the 2009 National Champion to be -- drum roll, please -- the Alabama Crimson Tide.

Am I right? Of course.

The preseason polls are out and I know some of the so-called expert out there have Alabama winning it all again this year. To that I say foo-eee. Everyone knows teams that have elephants as a mascot do not repeat as national champions in a year ending in 2010. So I think it's safe to say that won't happen.
Other experts predict Boise State as the national champion this year. Boise State has about as much chance of being the national champion as Reggie Bush's chances of giving the commencement address at next year's USC graduation. Raise your hand if you even find the state of Boise on a map. Some people have told me it's either in Iowa or Rhode Island or Singapore, but I really don't know.

Also teams with blue fields should not be allowed to play football at the college level anyway. I would rather watch Rush Limbaugh debate Al Gore in Speedo bikinis than watch football played on a blue field.

I believe I can also safely rule out Harvard as a national champion. Harvard hasn't won a national championship since 1919 when they won against the New Hampshire School Of Beauty and Bartending.

But I'm not going to waste my time ranking teams. Instead of an actual poll, I'm going to do something much more difficult. I'm going to make five -- count them, five -- bold predictions about this upcoming season. So, here is the official In Perspective Top 5 NCAA Football Predictions.

Prediction Number 5: In honor of Colorado and Nebraska playing their last season in the Big 12, the other six Big 12 South teams will pummel these teams into the ground. This includes Baylor and Texas Tech. I predict the final score of the Baylor vs. Nebraska game to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 93 to -4. The game will be played in the driving rain at Floyd Casey Stadium in front of a crowd of 23 rowdy students calling themselves The Good Ol' Baylor Line. Also Bear quarterback Ned Frenstein will throw for an unprecedented 87 touchdown passes and run for another 62. Nebraska Head Coach Bo Pelini will tell the media after the game, and I quote, "Well, there's always next year when we play the Purdue Boiler Makers, the Iowa Hawkeyes and the New Hampshire School of Beauty and Bartending."

Prediction Number 4: I predict this year's Heisman trophy will go to the nation's top player. I know it's a stretch because in the past it has gone to other players that were not the top football player in the nation. I'm talking about players like Pontificus W. Fairchild, III, who was the famous running back from the 1919 National Champion Harvard Crimson. During his senior campaign, Pontificus ran for an unheard of 23 yards and one touchdown. He was also the team's star punter averaging just a little under 4 yards per punt.

And there's also Tim Tebow.

Prediction No. 3: I predict this year's BCS poll will cause extreme controversy when the first poll comes out and Boise State is ranked No. 2 just ahead of the Detroit Lions. There will be rioting in the streets of Singapore as rabid Boise State fans cry foul for not being ranked No. 1 after huge wins over North Dakota A&M, Western State Methodist University of Kansas and the New Hampshire School of Beauty and Bartending.

On a positive note, Detroit Lions' fans will celebrate the highest the team has been ranked since 1705.

Prediction No. 2: The vuvuzela will drive approximately 12 million football fans nuts this season. You remember the vuvuzela, the annoying noisemaker made famous at this year's World Cup. I predict many Baylor Bear fans will seek psychiatric help after a home game where 92,000 Royal Ambassadors bring vuvuzelas to the game and blow them for approximately 96 hours.
I also predict that at least one Longhorn fan will be spotted leaving a game in Austin with a burnt-orange vuvuzela firmly planted in his "rump roast."

Prediction No. 1: My No. 1 bold prediction only comes with a lot of thought and prayerful consideration. I have gone back and forth on this many times, but I believe this prediction might just be the boldest I've had in my 37 seconds of sports predictions. I have consulted with various experts in sports and furniture sales to come up with this bold prediction.

Without further adieu, here is my No. 1 football prediction for 2010: Brett Favre will decide to finally retire instead of returning for his fifth season as quarterback of the Vikings of the New Hampshire School of Beauty and Bartending. He will cite his surgically repaired ankle and his bum shoulder as the reasons. But those close to Brett tell me it is because he wants to move on and use the degree he earned from this prestigious university.

So, if you're ever in Hattiesburg, Miss. stop in to the local Chili's and tell that grizzled bartender, "hi."

In Perspective — Taming The Wild West on a Rhino

In Perspective -- Taming the Wild West on a Rhino

By Rodney Hays

What would Marshal Matt Dillon think of the world today?

I started pondering that a little last week as I spent the weekend on a real life trail ride. My trail ride was quite a bit different than anything Matt Dillon was probably ever on.

The trail ride started on a ranch in Western Oklahoma on the South Canadian River near the town of Camargo. Camargo is a thriving community of 115 people or so with a store, a post office and, as most small Oklahoma towns, a bank to serve the hundred or so customers.

I got there a day early, so our gang decided to go up the river to check things out.

Back in the day when trail rides meant driving cattle to market or discovering a new frontier, most of the riders rode horses or sat in some type of horse-drawn carriage. I'm sure when the cowboys of old started out they looked forward to the trail, the freedom, the wide-open spaces. They saddled their horse, put a bed roll on the back, filled up a canteen and some jerky and took off. Their jobs and their lives depended on it.

Our lives didn't. Thank the good Lord.

Matt Dillon, Festus and the gang probably didn't have to drive too many cattle but they spent many hours on the back of horse chasing criminals and checking on the people around Dodge City.

As I said, our trail ride was slightly different.

Instead of a horse, my trail ride began in the driver's seat of a Yamaha Rhino ATV. ATV stands for "This Ain't Matt Dillon's Horse." But, man, was it great for a ride down the sandy bed of the South Canadian River.

Instead of a pair of chaps, spurs and a cowboy hat, I wore swim trunks (a red Speedo in case you're wondering), a pair of flip-flops (thongs for those of you over the age of 40) and a cheap cowboy hat I picked up at a truck stop along the way. I have to admit that I was pretty darn sexy in my attire. Not Matt Dillon sexy, but still.

We didn't have any beef jerky but we did have plenty of ham, cheese, bread, chips, cookies, vegetables and enough beer to get the whole town of Camargo drunker than Cooter Brown.

The trail ride lasted three days. On Day One we rode from my friend David's ranch --- Riverview -- up the river to Camargo. After a brief rain two nights before, we had plenty of water to splash around and keep us cool. Day One was probably about six to 10 miles. It was fun and relaxing and made us really look forward to the second day.

Day Two we set out south to a destination that always seemed to be "just around the next bend."

There's a saying on the river where something is always just around the next bend, but it never is "just around the next bend." The destination is always more like 93 miles then around that next bend.

My friends decided to join the other dozen or so people on horseback that day. They wanted to experience the trail ride the way our forebears might have. I decided to stick with the Rhino.

Everything started out nicely. The horses were behaving, the air was warm but not too hot and the water stops along the way left us refreshed.

That was the first 30 minutes.

Then all hell broke loose on the trail. The horses were still behaving splendidly, but the saddle that was so soft and comfy in the beginning now felt like straddling a Mack truck. The air felt like it was blowing in from the Devil's lair. And the water was becoming warmer than a Starbucks' Americana. It was miserable.

After a couple of hours, my friends couldn't take the horse anymore and asked if I wanted to ride, it was really more than just a suggestion.

So my wife and I climbed aboard some horses. It was the first time we had ridden a horse in 20 years or so.

I jumped on Hank and she climbed onto Biscuit. They were buddies, good friends. Biscuit followed Hank like a puppy following a small child. And we trudged on while my friends took over the duty on the Rhino.

One small piece of advice on riding horseback: Do not attempt to ride a horse with a red Speedo -- or any color Speedo for that matter -- and a pair of flip flops (thongs for those of you over the age of 40). That attire can make a short ride seem like the Chisholm Trail.

But I was a trooper and I wanted my friends to get some relief to their hind quarters.

After what seemed like four to six hours, I asked my friend if he wanted to take back over on the horse because my ham hocks were a little tender. He told me I had only been on 38 minutes, but that he would indeed mount the fare steed Hank once more.

He lasted another 20 minutes or so before we tied up the horses to the back of the Rhino and led them the rest of the way there.

At the end of Day Two, we were tired, exhausted, dehydrated and riddled with saddle sores. We stayed for dinner, then went back to the ranch for about 12 hours of sleep.

Day Three didn't happen.

The whole experience took me back to the days of Gunsmoke and the cowboys who made so much of the great west possible. Those guys took a lot of discomfort to make a way for lots of people to have a great deal of comfort today.

In the end I don't know what Marshal Matt Dillon might think about our world today, but I think he would like the folks I met.

I got to meet plenty of people around Dewey County Oklahoma and I have to say some of them are a lot like Matt Dillon and Festus and the gang. They work a little and play a lot. They spend their days in the hot sun in the summer and the cold wind of winter.

In between they carry on the dying legacy of the cowboy and what it means to tame the wild west.

They could use a few more Miss Kitties though.

Dr. Laura has lost her ever-loving mind

Did you hear about Dr. Laura's N-word rant on her show? This woman reminds me of the old proverb from Abe Lincoln: Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

That's it. I'm getting my own radio show.

Read the story and listen to the audio here.

iPhone4 vs HTC Evo

This is so funny. It also makes me wonder if I should give up my iPhone for another brand.

While on a brief trip to the country last week, I really enjoyed several things that I had forgotten about. 

I forgot about how quiet the country is, especially at night. I sat on the porch with my wife several times and just listened to the crickets and the locusts and the God-knows-what conduct their nightly serenade. It's always a very relaxing time. Nature knows how to sing us to sleep each night and help us to forget about how hard life can be. I miss that.

I live in the suburbs, but I still don't get the complete silence at night. I hear the constant buzz of traffic and electric lights and transformers and people upstairs watching porn, you know, all the stuff the suburbs has to offer. 

I also forgot about how many stars you can see in the country. Once you get away from the light pollution of the big city, the sky really opens up with all its beauty.Okay, honestly, I never got out to see the stars because I was in bed early most nights – the country will really take it out of you — but still.

 I enjoy the sunsets around my house and on some clear, crisp nights, you might even be able to make out the faint shadow of the Milky Way. But mostly in the city, you see inky blackness with the faint echo shine of the lights on the ground. 

In high school, I remember looking up and seeing the stars and I probably took them for granted. I guess I shouldn't have done that. If scientists who study stars and space and Uranus had grown up in the city where they didn't see any stars, we may have never known anything about anything outside our earthly home. We wouldn't care. I'm glad we have scientist and the country and stars and the Milky Way, especially the candy bar. 

I forgot about the absence of stuff. I can drive up the road from my house and I see stuff for miles around. I see strip malls, and retail shops and fast food and lights and billboards and just a bunch of junk. It all runs together so much that I probably don't even notice most of it any more. I still drive by things every day and see something new because I couldn't see it before either because I wasn't paying attention or because of all the clutter. 

The country is conveniently free of strip malls and billboards and bright lights and clutter. You see the ubiquitous fence, the occasional cattle guard, the evergreens, the scrub brush and cows, lots of cows. That is all. Cows don't need strip malls. Cowboys don't need strip malls. Heck, most of us could probably get away with a few less nail salons and donut shops that seem to frequent every new strip mall. 

I miss those things about the country. 

But I'm not about to give up my Starbucks or my neighbor's porn collection. So I guess I'll just stay in the suburbs. 

Dang it. 

In Perspective - Forward This

I have a few pet peeves in life, things like warm beer, tight underwear and anything with Ryan Seacrest. But few things drive me up a wall as much as e-mail “forwards.”
 
For those of you who might not be familiar with e-mail “forwards,” let me give you a little sample.
 
You open your inbox to a message with a subject line that reads, “Fwd: fwd: Fwd: fwd: fwd: fwd: You Gotta Read This.” What follows is usually a list of 9,389 e-mail addresses of people who have already received this e-mail over the past 400 years along with a 9,000-word treatise about a man and a dog looking for heaven and a bowl of water or something.

The fact is forwarded e-mails have, in fact, been around for hundreds of years. I know what some of you are thinking: The Internet — The Source Of All Truth — has only been around since 1901, when it was invented by Al Gore.

That’s a joke, of course. Al Gore didn’t invent the Internet – The Source Of All Truth — until the 1920s.
 
Again, that’s not exactly true, but it’s close. Seriously, the first forwarded e-mail was actually a chain letter that began circulating in 1105. It was started when a religious fanatic named Herman Wozniak wrote a letter, made copies at his local Kinko’s and began passing the copies around claiming they originated from Al Gore.
 
Ha. Another joke. Herman actually claimed the letter was penned by none other than the Pope himself.
 
The letter instructed the receiver to make 100 copies (also at a local Kinko’s) and pass the copies out within five days to friends, family and others in the receiver’s address book. There were stories about the faithful few who passed out the copies and received rewards like money, girls, and Ryan Seacrest marathons. For those who didn’t heed the call to pass out the copies ... it was death — death by Ryan Seacrest marathons. It was horrible.
 
There have been variations of the chain letters through the years. Remember the one back in the 1970s that told people they needed to return the letter to the sender along with $1. In return, the receiver could then send the letter out to all his friends asking for $1 in return. If everything worked according to plan, the receiver could earn up to $3 — minus stationery, stamps and a humongous Kinko’s bill.
Today, the chain letter or forwarded e-mail is way too easy. You can now send an e-mail to hundreds and hundreds of people with a couple of keystrokes — no visit to Kinko’s needed.
 
Forwarded e-mails today consist of messages about free food coupons from Cracker Barrel, millions of dollars being handed out by Bill Gates and plans of Disney Land building a new theme park near Boley, Okla. and Celina, Texas. While all of these e-mails seem like they could be true they are, in fact, all false. But they continue to traverse the globe via the World Wide Web.
 
I actually don’t receive that many e-mail forwards any more. People pretty much know that I won’t open them, so don’t send them my way. But I have a new perpetrator, who I will call Steve (because that’s his name) who just won’t quit. 
 
Steve got my name innocently enough. Sometimes groups of people need to share their e-mail addresses in order to conduct business. Instead of sending hundreds of individual e-mails to communicate something, you can click on a group and send one e-mail to everyone on the list. My e-mail address was on one of those lists. Steve received an e-mail with my e-mail address along with several other people’s e-mail address. The first e-mail I got from Steve was all business. Plenty of good information.
 
But then it started.
 
I started getting two and three and four forwarded e-mails a day. At first I would open them and scroll down about two inches before I hit the “delete” button. Then I started just deleting them without even opening them. Then it got so bad I created a “rule.” If an e-mail came from Steve’s e-mail address, my software will do the following: Delete the message and put the message in a giant bon fire and send a automatic reply to Steve threatening to send Ryan Seacrest to his house to perform show tunes from “Cats.”
 
You don’t want that, Steve. Trust me.
 
So, I guess the message is this: If you have something to say to somebody, just say it. Don’t send them what somebody else said to somebody else who said it to somebody else.
But, seriously, if you get those Cracker Barrel coupons, will you please give me a call.

In Perspective — Flipping the Page to a New Chapter

By Rodney Hays

Some people say birthdays get harder the older you get. But I think some of the hardest birthdays might just be those of your kids.

My son turned 23 this week and just last month my daughter turned 20. I no longer have any teenage kids and that seems a little weird.

My kids have grown up so fast. This week I've been thinking back to 23 years ago when my son, my first born, came into this world. We were in the hospital for nearly a week awaiting his arrival. He finally came late on a Sunday afternoon. I was one of the first ones to hold him and I had the chance to take him out and show him off to friends and family. I was 20 and couldn't grow a beard -- for what it's worth I still can't.

I didn't have many grey hairs back then. But that would change.

My son loved sports almost from day one. He would play whatever sport was in season and some that weren't in season. Laren never hung out inside much, opting instead to be outside doing something.

From the beginning, he was so much fun to be around. He always woke up with a smile and made us laugh.

His mother and I took him to the zoo when he was just 9 months old -- still to young to appreciate tigers, and elephants and poo-flinging gorillas. On the way home, he was tired, hungry and cranky. We were trying to make him happy. In the end the only thing we could do to bring the crying to an end was to point a camera at him and told him to say "cheese," to which he would stop crying for a minute smile and say "cheese."

Laren was always the life of the party. When he was in kindergarten, we got the call from his teacher asking us to speak to Laren about taking a nap during nap time or at least resting and trying to refrain from keeping the class entertained and keeping everyone from napping. We tried. We failed. He continued to be the star of his own show in the classroom. And in the end, his teacher decided that having him in her class wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Macy, my daughter, was born in 1990. She never was much trouble either. You hear all of those horror stories of babies getting their days and nights mixed up and crying for unknown reasons. With Macy, we almost always knew the reason she was crying: she was hungry or dirty.

She did not like to have a dirty or wet diaper or anything remotely disgusting on her hands. But as soon as the offending object was removed or replaced, she was a happy camper again, laughing at her older brother.

Our little girl was, like her brother, smart as a whip too. After just a couple of days of kindergarten, she had memorized everyone's name in her class in alphabetical order. We were good friends with her kindergarten teacher, which I'm sure was a big help to all of us.

When she was in third grade, we got the call from another one of Macy's teachers, Mrs. Coker. Mrs. Coker informed us that Macy was causing a slight commotion in the classroom during reading time. The teacher, who also taught my wife third grade, was reading "The Indian in The Cupboard" to the class. My little girl had already read the book and was in no mood to hear the story again, so she hid under her desk. She would not, we were told, come out because she didn't want to hear the story about an Indian in any cupboard again after reading it to herself over the summer.

My kids were always best friends. Laren played the organized sports and Macy would help him get ready for the season, always ready to provide batting practice to Laren's pitching, or to be his caddie in golf or to play goalie for the neighborhood kids to take slapshots in street hockey.

When both of my kids were in high school, they seemed to grow even closer to each other.

They always road to school together until my son graduated from high school. They would even skip class, we would learn later, to go enjoy a delicious lunch outside of school.

We wanted to get so mad at them, but we couldn't because if that's the worst thing they did, we could handle that.

Now, they both celebrated birthdays this summer and it's a little sad, I guess. But it's not because I'm getting older or they are growing up and don't need us anymore. They will always need us and I am not getting old.

But like a good book, one chapter closes, another begins and the story continues.

I still love to hang out with my kids as adults. And I'm so proud of both of them for what they are accomplishing in their adult lives.

But I think back to some of the memories of yesteryear and I wish they were still at home reading books, playing sports and skipping class.

Happy birthday, Laren and Macy.

Now go out there and make a lot of money, daddy needs to retire.

In Perspective — A Rose By Any Other Name ...

By Rodney Hays

This week as I was perusing the Internet -- The Source of All Truth -- for porn ... er ... I mean news, I ran into a story about baby names.

According to the article I read (or had my assistant read aloud to me), there are eight countries that have pretty strict naming laws when it comes to children. I thought this was very interesting coming from a country where naming laws are pretty much non-existent, especially in Hollywood and the NFL.

In Germany you have to be able to determine the gender of a baby from the name. That means names like Carrie, Jackie, Jordan, Morgan, Alex and Sue.

Okay, so most of the time Sue is a girl's name, but if Johnny Cash can write a song about a Boy Named Sue, then it is possible.

Also in Germany, the office of vital statistics, the Standesanmt, has the final say on whether a name will work or not. You can appeal their decision, but each appeal comes with a fee. And if you continue to lose on appeal, the state names your child Joe Bob.

In 1982, Sweden passed a law to keep regular folks from giving their children noble names.

The story said several changes have been made to the law since then. But "the part of the law referencing first names reads: 'First names shall not be approved if they can cause offense or can be supposed to cause discomfort for the one using it, or names which for some obvious reason are not suitable as a first name.'"

This is a good rule that we here in America should probably embrace, names that cause offense or discomfort happens far too often here in the United States. A good law like that would prevent children from being named Apple and Onyx and Dick Cheney.

In Japan, one given name and one surname are chosen for babies, except for the imperial family, who only receive given names. This is another good rule for keeping names short and allowing kids to learn to spell their own full names sometime before their 17th birthday.

Denmark has a nice pre-approved list for people to choose from. Parents can choose from a list of only 7,000 pre-approved names, some for girls, some for boys.

"If you want to name your child something that isn't on the list, you have to get special permission from your local church, and the name is then reviewed by governmental officials," the article said.

Your church has to approve the name. Huh? That must be why names like Anus, Pluto and Monkey have all been rejected as names in Denmark.

New Zealand is also on the list of being picky with names.

The article said New Zealand's Births, Deaths, and Marriages Registration Act of 1995 restricts names that "might cause offence to a reasonable person; or [...] is unreasonably long; or without adequate justification, [...] is, includes, or resembles, an official title or rank."

Some names have been rejected, of course. A few of those names are: Stallion, Yeah Detroit, Fish and Chips, Twisty Poi, Keenan Got Lucy, Sex Fruit, Satan, and Adolf Hitler.

Adolf Hitler is not a name you see much anymore at all. I would venture a guess that most people with the last name Hitler, if there are any, steer clear of Adolf for a first name. I don't think I know anybody with the first name Adolf, unless you count the Coors guy, and I don't know him personally. I also don't know anybody with the last name Hitler, which would be odd with any first name, even Michaelangelo.

The good folks of New Zealand have allowed a few crazy names like Benson and Hedges (for a set of twins), Midnight Chardonnay, Number 16 Bus Shelter and Violence.

China makes choosing a baby name very simple, the name is based on the "ability of computer scanners to read those names on a national identification card," the story said. The government asks parents to use names that are easy to read.

Parents can also not use characters that cannot be represented on the computer keyboard. There are more than 70,000 Chinese characters but only 13,000 can be typed from a computer keyboard.

Okay, how big must Chinese keyboards be to type 13,000 characters? They must take up entire desks in China. Your computer desktop is literally your computer desktop over there.

I like names like former Dallas Maverick great Wang XuXu, current Houston Rocket Yao Ming and Chinese gymnast Dong Fangxiao.

Actually Chinese parents are very good at naming their children. They just aren't very good at keeping up with their ages when it comes time for the Olympics.

I realize that Americans would struggle with laws for naming children. With stringent laws we would never have really cool names for rappers -- Lil' Wayne, Lil' Kim, Gucci Mane, Chingy, Flo Rida and Puff Daddy.

If we had these laws, we wouldn't have cool football player names like Ocho Cinco, TJ Houshmandzadeh, Amani Toomer, Dick Butkis and Peyton Manning.

And don't even get me started on the NBA (I'm looking at you Nene).

But I am glad I live in the greatest country on earth where children's names are only limited by the imagination of their parents and number of keys on the keyboard.

If you are looking for creative names for your child, you might think about Rabbit, Kei$ha, Jack Bauer and Adolf Coors.

Might want to check on the legality on some of those.

In Perspective — Are You Team Jacob or Team Edward?

Are You Team Edward or Team Jacob?

By Rodney Hays

Team Jacob or Team Edward?

If I heard that question once, I've heard it a million times over the past weekend. Everyone wants to know which team I'm on.

Read on to find out.

For those of you who might have been living under a rock or aren't a teenage girl, the Team Jacob vs. Team Edward question refers to which one girls would rather be attacked by: a werewolf or a vampire. Some girls decide getting mauled by a giant wolf named Jacob would be the perfect ending to short life, others feel being ripped to shreds by a glittery vampire might be the way to leave this world for the nether regions.

Edward and Jacob are characters in "The Twilight Saga" series. There have been three movies so far, the most recent one, The Twilight Sage: Al Gore Is A Vampire, was hugely successful at the box office.

Just kidding. It actually flopped.

Seriously, the Twilight movies are based on a four-pack of books by wildly successful author Stephenie Meyer.

The books have sold millions of copies around the world, including some parts of Iowa and Nebraska.

There are still a few people who may not have read the books due to the following reasons: A) You are waiting on the movies. B) You are waiting on someone to read them to you. Or C) You are a man.
I have to admit that I read all four of the books and I even found myself cheering for the wolves and the vampires to eat Iowa and Nebraska.

But alas, they do not eat Iowa or Nebraska, but they do have some pretty good fight scenes, including one where Bella (the heroine of the book) is fighting with Edward (the vampire of the book) about where to get the best tacos in Washington.

Haha. That's a joke. Washington doesn't have tacos.

In the first book (and movie) Twilight, we are introduced to Bella, Edward and Jacob, three teenagers in or near Forks, Washington. Actually we find out that Edward isn't really a teenager at all but a "21 Jump Street" type character who is actually in his 70s but doesn't look a day older than 25. He is also very skinny, has strange amber-colored eyes, drives a Volvo and reads Dilbert cartoons in his spare time.
Jacob isn't actually from a small town outside of Forks called LaPush. He is from a native American tribe known for its rich history in ridding the greater Forks area of vampires and other blood-sucking creatures, like Dick Cheney and Dianne Feinstein.

Bella is a clumsy girl who recently left her mother in Arizona to live with her dad in rainy Washington. She finds the weather in Washington fits in very well with her pasty white skin and her overly drab personality.

In the first book, we get to watch as Bella falls madly in love with Edward and Edward falls madly in love with the Sonic Drive-In and their delicious fried pickles.

That's a joke. Edward falls for Bella too ... or does he.

The other books are basically the continuation of this forbidden love and all the obstacles the two have to overcome to get married in what many people call a "starter marriage."

There have been three movies so far based on the books. The latest, "The Twilight Saga: Eclipse" came out last week to record-setting crowds. The movie opened last Wednesday and through the weekend collected as estimated $175.3 million in the United States and Canada. It was just $3.6 million short of the November opening of "New Moon," the movie based on the second Twilight book.

Several other records were broken with the release of the movie, including Most Teenagers Attending a Movie Dressed like Vampires, Most Dads Asking "You Want to See What?", and "Most Wolves With Six-Packs In a Movie About Vampires."

The movies star three up and coming actors: Robert Pattinson as Edward Cullen, Kristen Stewart as Bella Swan and Taylor Lautner as Jacob Black. All three actors have become hotter than a Bearden, Okla. sidewalk.

But possibly the biggest story in all of this is the books' author Stephenie Meyer.
According to the bio on the author's website, "Stephenie Meyer's life changed dramatically on June 2, 2003. The stay-at-home mother of three young sons woke up from a dream featuring seemingly real characters that she could not get out of her head."

Meyer started writing seven years ago and now is No. 26 on the 2009 Forbes Top Celebrity 100 List. She was expected to earn around $50 million in 2009. That's not bad money.

As a writer of articles, columns, short stories and plenty of drivel, I am very happy for Meyer. She has done a great thing catching fire with books that people -- especially young girls -- seem to like and somehow connect with.

I read the books, because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. They aren't bad. Just because they aren't as good as "Travels With Charley" by John Steinbeck doesn't mean the books aren't American classics.

And the movies seem to be pretty well done with lots of great special effects.

I'm looking forward to some of the crowds dying down so I can go see the latest movie. I'll be the guy with the glasses and big floppy hat sitting near the back in the Imax theater.

I wish all the kids from Twilight well. I wish Stephenie Meyer well. And I wish movie popcorn was less than $20.

Oh and by the way, I'm a fan of Team Alice Cullen. That girl rocks.

In Perspective - Beware the Strawberry Ice Cream

By Rodney Hays

In Perspective - Beware the Strawberry Ice Cream


Last week I took the week off from my walk down memory lane to discuss the Mediocre 10 and the new football re-alignments. This week I return to my childhood.

The year I started kindergarten my little family moved to Midwest City, Okla. -- home of the famous Tinker Air Force Base and the infamous Shotgun Sam's pizza parlor I used to eat at when I was a kid. I say Shotgun Sam's was infamous because I think that's where I ate the pizza that made me throw up one night and caused me to swear off pizza for the better part of a year.

I started school at East Side Elementary School -- Home of the Fighting Jets -- in 1972. I don't remember my teacher's name, but I do remember I was in the afternoon kindergarten class, which was very cool for me because that meant I could sleep late and watch The Price Is Right with its brand spanking new host, Bob Barker.

In that kindergarten class, to quote Robert Fulghum, I learned all I really need to know. I learned how to read by having fun with Dick and Jane and their dog Spot. I learned to write my name poorly, which I still do to this day. I learned to color way outside the lines and that purple was my favorite color, even for elephants. I learned that naps were good. And I learned that strawberry ice cream, no matter how good it tastes going down, does not impress girls when it comes back up.

I had to learn that last lesson the hard way.

I guess I had known most of my life up until that point that I was allergic to strawberries. At the time that wasn't a huge deal since the taste of real strawberries disgusted me. I always thought they looked so cool, but that little prickly fruit totally weirded me out when one was set before me.

On the other hand, the taste of imitation strawberry was right up my alley.

One day in school, the lunch room provided all good students with strawberry ice cream. Since I wasn't a good student, I traded my Spam sandwich for a small carton of the creamy delicious goodness.

I ate that strawberry ice cream like it was the antidote to the poison that Jack Bauer was exposed to. I sucked it down because it was delicious. I cashed that little cup because I wanted some ice cream, allergies or no allergies.

Then I went back to class.

After lunch at East Side Elementary school, we went out to the playground and then on to class for a little story time (probably more fun with Dick and Jane and reading about Spot running. See.).
All the students were gathered around the teacher. I remember sitting, what we called, Indian Style on the floor, but I'm sure today it is called Native American Style or maybe, criss-crossed. The teacher began the story. My stomach began to gurgle.

Before I knew what hit me, that pink creamy goodness that went down so easily, was now a pile of steamy pink froth sitting in between my Native American sitting legs.

It was disgusting.

It was so disgusting in fact, that a really pretty kindergarten girl sitting next to me decided she too would toss her lunch into the mix.

The weird part about all of that was there was a restroom right there in the classroom. I could have gotten up, walked five feet, and emptied my ice cream snack into a proper receptacle. Instead I emptied it onto the floor, in the middle of story time, causing another student to do the same.

I was embarrassed to say the least. And I didn't eat strawberry, real or fake for several years after (I mean when Starburst was introduced, who could pass that up). I also didn't get asked to the prom that year.

There was another great memory that really stands out from East Side Elementary School. It was show 'n tell.

One March my Uncle Jerry gave me some little tiny baby chickens for Easter. They were real live chickens, nothing plastic. They were all yellow and white except for their dyed little chicken wings, which were all the colors of Easter.

We must have had a half a dozen or so live chickens in a box in our living room. It smelled like Green Acres right there where I watched the Price Is Right -- and Green Acres for that matter.

But I was so proud the day I walked into that classroom with my little colorful chicks. My fellow classmates thought having baby chickens at your house might just be the coolest thing they had seen since the introduction of the 45 rpm record machine.

Most of the class even forgave me for smelling up the room with the scent of fake strawberry and bile.
Those were great times back then. I look back on East Side Elementary with fondness. Except for my short visit with the principal one day.

I was sent to the principal's office for being bad or coloring on the wall or throwing up my lunch or something. When I arrived, the principal didn't even want to hear my side of the story. He just reached into his drawer and showed me his extremely large paddle and told me where on my body the paddle might be applied. I got the point. I still think it's weird to threaten a 6-year-old with an instrument of torture, but this was the same school that gave strawberry ice cream to a kid with allergies. I should've known.

Anyway, kindergarten was a lot of fun. That first year is always exciting for kids. And I believe I probably did really learn a whole bunch of stuff I really need to know.

I learned to share. I learned to play nice. I learned to keep my hands to myself. And I learned that when throwing up, aim for the goofy-looking kid on the left.