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At random
Words, words, words . . . ! Words, like clothing fashions, come into, and go out of, style. I'm ready, for instance, for the word "awesome" to leave center stage.
I think the person who brought it into its current over-usage was the sports commentator Howard Cosell, who used it liberally to describe, for example, everything Muhammad Ali did. ("Hey, viewers; that's an awesome pair of boxing shorts Muhammad has on, isn't it?") It's a great word for the lazy: it's a little like the word "nice," it doesn't mean anything specific, it's just a vague mark of tribute, and can be used for everything from a bathroom scale to a nuclear submarine.
In the last few years I was teaching, my students invariably had only one of two responses to any movie they'd seen over the previous weekend. It either was "awesome," or it "sucked,"another word I'm tired of seeing.
And take the word "icon." Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary defines it as meaning "an image or representation; picture, illustration; now, usually, a monumental portrait statue." How, I ask, do we get from that definition to naming Johnny Carson "an icon of late-night television?"
Cowboy George Again?
Someone high in government circles recently described President Bush speaking to his cabinet as "a blind man talking to the deaf." Well, amen! It's a lovely and highly appropriate image, which political cartoonists could have had a field day exploiting. The guy nailed George.
George Bush, it turns out, really never knew any more about Saddam Hussein and his nuclear weapons than does that goofy look-alike who appears from time to time on the Jay Leno TV show. He was just trying to invent a "clear and present danger" with which to justify the invasion and bombing of Iraq.
The Iraquis, he assured us, were going to meet and embrace the liberating U.S. troops.
Instead of a warm welcome, however, the Iraquis, in numerous armed and well orchestrated counter-attacks, have shown in no uncertain terms that they prefer Saddam's form of government.
Yankees, go home? Yes, please!
So, the U.S. treasury is being bled to death, to the tune of 82 billion dollars. What does Bush do about it?
He announces that he'd like to put an American astronaut on Mars. Holy mackerel! Shades of John F. Kennedy -- without the sense of limitations.
| It strikes me that that's what's wrong with a fellow who was born and brought up in great wealth -- you get whatever you want, and you never hear the words, "No" or "Not all of it now, son." |
Traditionally, from FDR forward, it's been the Democrats that pay particular attention to domestic problems, but I've never seen or heard of an American President who seems so indifferent to everyone who stands in the way of his image of himself as a great world leader. The American public education system could well use some of that $82 billion. As could some of the unemployed, who number in the millions since George took office.
| Say, Cowboy George doesn't have any office-seeking children, does he? |
Kansas City Dodgers?
I'm not a native Kansas City Chiefs fan, but during the 30 years I've lived here, I've become pretty attached to them. Last Sunday's game between the Chiefs and Indianapolis Colts was enough to make a stone weep.
Up until the very end, it looked as if KC could pull a slim victory out of the hat. In my mind's eye I pictured Priest Holmes taking the ball and shifting into overdrive, leaving the Colts thunderstruck.
Instead, it was the Chiefs who looked thunderstruck.
But look on the sunny side. Smile and count your blessings.
If you want to see somebody that's familiar with defeat, acquainted with grief, you're looking at him.
From the time I came to full consciousness until 1954, when they moved -- those sun- burned cowards! -- to Los Angeles, I was an ardent Brooklyn Dodgers fan. My mother's college roommate being Branch Rickey's (the Dodger Manager's) niece, my mother and I always got world series seats right behind home plate in Ebbets Field or Yankee Stadium.
| Here was this wonderful baseball club whose games shortly after World War II, I listened to on radio, later watched on TV, my baseball mitt on my hand, just in case Hank Bauer should hit one out of the park and deep into Westchester County. I wanted to help my Dodgers as much as I could. |
The problem with the "subway series" was that the Dodgers were always pitted against the New York Yankees ("Damn Yankees"). The ball club that looked so mighty and professional in spring and summer suddenly began to look like a bunch of hapless kids when faced with Yankee pitchers, who mowed down even the best Dodgers hitters.
That's why "Wait 'til next year" became a rallying cry for all the luckless Dodger fans.
And that's why, shortly after the game began last Sunday, I had the feeling of "Deja-vu all over again."