History does not record the existence of a single Canadian who has not wished his nation had a bit of tropical diversity.
As chilliness North of Niagara would have it, Ottawa has had an ongoing freeze-on, freeze-off relationship with the relatively trendy Province of Quebec, that charming faux-French survival of the Sun King’s proud misjudgments about the importance of the new world.
Now, Canadian legislators have given voice to the sunny idea, Let’s see if we can swap the independent-minded province for Florida.
The offer comes at a particularly opportune time, as a result of the unusually severe hurricanes that have been selecting the Sunshine State as a favorite destination.
The Bush administration has agreed to consider the proposal but admits that there are certain difficulties. For instance, the President will have to explain to his brother and closet presidential wannabe, Jeb, that he’s now a Canadian and can no longer run for President.
To make the loss of their palm-treed haven more palatable to Americans, the Canadians have volunteered to teach everybody in Florida how to speak French. Once, they reason, Florida is enlivened with the sounds of bon jour and merci beaucoup, the switch will seem as uneventful as just swapping one champagne and brie festooned place for another.
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta satire. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta satire. Mostrar todas las entradas
domingo, 14 de noviembre de 2010
sábado, 13 de noviembre de 2010
Book Of Judas Finds Publisher; Record Wait Took 1700 Years
The Book of Judas, penned by the much maligned apostle himself, has finally found a publisher, at the end of a long search that ended at The National Geographic Society.
No, it’s not Random House or Knopf. But, hey, after a 1700-year wait, any publisher is bound to come as good news.
Now, Judas can at long last be assured that the world will know his side of the story, in which he portrays himself, as author’s are prone to do, in a much more favorable light than tradition has placed him. According to the author, while he was the apostle who betrayed Jesus, he was actually Christ’s favorite apostle and was chosen by Jesus to do the reprehensible deed, so Jesus could fulfill what he considered to be his destiny.
So, as if we didn’t have enough reconsider, now we have to reevaluate our estimate of Judas. Was he really just being Christ’s obedient assistant?
We must sympathize with the most devout adherents to the New Testament. What are they to make of Judas’s revised version of the betrayal?
We assume there will be no shortage of debate.
Nor can we, even if we wish, refuse to acknowledge that a certain reluctance to accept the new author’s version will be due to the unfortunate timing of the publication, since the hopes of the world are presently encumbered by the recent parade of people in the Middle East who seem to think that their destiny requires them to seek their own deaths.
No doubt the author would have preferred a more auspicious time for his book to appear, ideally, of course, way back when it might still have at least have had some chance of getting into The Bible.
No, it’s not Random House or Knopf. But, hey, after a 1700-year wait, any publisher is bound to come as good news.
Now, Judas can at long last be assured that the world will know his side of the story, in which he portrays himself, as author’s are prone to do, in a much more favorable light than tradition has placed him. According to the author, while he was the apostle who betrayed Jesus, he was actually Christ’s favorite apostle and was chosen by Jesus to do the reprehensible deed, so Jesus could fulfill what he considered to be his destiny.
So, as if we didn’t have enough reconsider, now we have to reevaluate our estimate of Judas. Was he really just being Christ’s obedient assistant?
We must sympathize with the most devout adherents to the New Testament. What are they to make of Judas’s revised version of the betrayal?
We assume there will be no shortage of debate.
Nor can we, even if we wish, refuse to acknowledge that a certain reluctance to accept the new author’s version will be due to the unfortunate timing of the publication, since the hopes of the world are presently encumbered by the recent parade of people in the Middle East who seem to think that their destiny requires them to seek their own deaths.
No doubt the author would have preferred a more auspicious time for his book to appear, ideally, of course, way back when it might still have at least have had some chance of getting into The Bible.
Bill Gates to Devote Life To Charity; Make Money And You Can, Too
Bill Gates announced that he will transition out of his day-to-day role at Microsoft by July 2008 in order to spend more time working on the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, which focuses on global health and education.
His announcement reminded us of the plethora of graduation speeches that eager students imbibed across the land this spring. As we listened to the meritorious goals heaped on the recent graduates, so they might achieve goals the speaker’s generation has found impossible, we could not help but think, why doesn’t somebody come out and tell the youthful aspirants what the real challenge is?
Like it or not, today’s world, as well as many another age, is conducted by two primary forces: wealth and power, and, other than resort to firearms, power springs from wealth.
So if you want to influence the ways of this outrageously necessitous world, consider the stark truth that all power springs from the opening in a fat wallet. It's called the economic basis of society but, in its current incarnation, in debilitating excess.
When we were recent graduates, we were not aware of such an uncompromising reality and passed up at least two opportunities to make megabucks because we wanted to preserve our mental energy to expend it toward the achievement of our ideals.
Had we been wiser, we would have set aside a few years to stuff our pockets with power and then, like Mr. Gates, have spent the rest of our days placidly pursuing those still-inspiriting ideals.
So we find ourselves, from our own experience, in the unlikely role of advising the most idealistic to enable their altruism by involving themselves, initially, in the activity they undoubtedly are convinced is not the most inviting.
Then, should you be fortunate enough to enable your financial independence, you may, like Mr. Gates, head off into full-time devotion to your undoubtedly meritorious idealisms.
Well, the speech probably would not have been one that would have inspired the administration to invite us back or that the students would have received with endorsement, but the sharp glass on the road through economic necessity is a fact not lightly to be dismissed. Ignore it and you may step on it with painful frequency.
His announcement reminded us of the plethora of graduation speeches that eager students imbibed across the land this spring. As we listened to the meritorious goals heaped on the recent graduates, so they might achieve goals the speaker’s generation has found impossible, we could not help but think, why doesn’t somebody come out and tell the youthful aspirants what the real challenge is?
Like it or not, today’s world, as well as many another age, is conducted by two primary forces: wealth and power, and, other than resort to firearms, power springs from wealth.
So if you want to influence the ways of this outrageously necessitous world, consider the stark truth that all power springs from the opening in a fat wallet. It's called the economic basis of society but, in its current incarnation, in debilitating excess.
When we were recent graduates, we were not aware of such an uncompromising reality and passed up at least two opportunities to make megabucks because we wanted to preserve our mental energy to expend it toward the achievement of our ideals.
Had we been wiser, we would have set aside a few years to stuff our pockets with power and then, like Mr. Gates, have spent the rest of our days placidly pursuing those still-inspiriting ideals.
So we find ourselves, from our own experience, in the unlikely role of advising the most idealistic to enable their altruism by involving themselves, initially, in the activity they undoubtedly are convinced is not the most inviting.
Then, should you be fortunate enough to enable your financial independence, you may, like Mr. Gates, head off into full-time devotion to your undoubtedly meritorious idealisms.
Well, the speech probably would not have been one that would have inspired the administration to invite us back or that the students would have received with endorsement, but the sharp glass on the road through economic necessity is a fact not lightly to be dismissed. Ignore it and you may step on it with painful frequency.
Bill Clinton In Secret Talks With Hillary; Agrees To Run For Vice President
Former President Bill Clinton has been holding secret talks with his wife and wannabe President Hillary and has, the rumor mill informs us, agreed to be her Vice Presidential candidate.
In an exclusive interview, he confided, “Even though I want to help Hillary in every way I can, it wasn't an easy decision. After all, if you remember, I was the President. But, since I’ll be back in the White House, I decided I would rather have more to keep myself busy than just being America’s First Man."
So, as 2008 draws nigh and the inevitable blizzard of questions to her on who she hopes to name as her running mate go discreetly unanswered, just remember you heard it here first that the resourceful husband and wife team plan to make another run for the White House.
Given the current state of America’s feelings about the comeuppances of the Republican tenure, there is actually a very high likelihood that the dedicated duo could once again be frolicking in the realms of Presidential empowerment. Only this time we would, of course, have President Hillary Clinton and Vice President Bill Clinton.
While Democrats cheer, Republicans may double over with wails of dread, while they reach out with hopeful hands for the now-flirtatious Rudy or the ever-coy Jeb.
In an exclusive interview, he confided, “Even though I want to help Hillary in every way I can, it wasn't an easy decision. After all, if you remember, I was the President. But, since I’ll be back in the White House, I decided I would rather have more to keep myself busy than just being America’s First Man."
So, as 2008 draws nigh and the inevitable blizzard of questions to her on who she hopes to name as her running mate go discreetly unanswered, just remember you heard it here first that the resourceful husband and wife team plan to make another run for the White House.
Given the current state of America’s feelings about the comeuppances of the Republican tenure, there is actually a very high likelihood that the dedicated duo could once again be frolicking in the realms of Presidential empowerment. Only this time we would, of course, have President Hillary Clinton and Vice President Bill Clinton.
While Democrats cheer, Republicans may double over with wails of dread, while they reach out with hopeful hands for the now-flirtatious Rudy or the ever-coy Jeb.
Bat Ejection Techniques – Country Survival Course #27
People lie! They lie about the bliss of rural relocation. They lie about the size of fish they catch. They lie about being there for you. But, mostly, they lie about bats! Such a silly thing, yet no one can admit the ugly truth. “Bats only come into your house. It never happens to me,” friends say. Liars!
Evidence to the contrary exists. Bat visitations have occurred regularly in all three of my country homes. Each was a different style house, in a different town with different surroundings. No way am I the only person this is happening to! I’ll believe the annual summer bat inundation isn’t a part of normal life when butter is fat free and Smucky’s Electric gets back to me with that wiring estimate they promised just prior to the Mammoth die off.
One of my sisters in particular gets a kick out of telling people I am a witch attracting bats to my home like anorexics migrating to the Cannes Film Festival. She does it to be ornery – a competitive sport in my family. Of course, I could get even by pointing out right here in my very public essay that she is my OLDER sister by a DECADE. However, I am too peaceable and well centered for such adolescent behavior. Besides, you are here to learn another fine country skill – the Bat Ejection Technique (BET).
Lesson 1 – Why BET
Rural dwellers should all master BETs. Realtors will never admit to the Coloptera inundation plaguing the West. Property values would tumble! Amidst all this denial, a seamy cover-up has formed. Copies of Bat Removal for Dummies are burned at country BBQs and members of the Society of the Dead Elk deliver bat traps to farms under cover of darkness.
As my town’s resident City Idiot, I chose to break ranks. If Cidiots are not taught to deal properly with winged rodentia, both will suffer. Bats will be ‘baseballed’ into walls with brooms. If not, Cidiot homes will overflow with wiggling blankets of screeching critters. Folks will be driven back to the burbs in droves. Quite selfishly - I need newbies to stay in the country. Please don’t leave me alone out here! Take notes.
Lesson 2 - History of the BET
For whatever reasons bats enter homes in pairs. My hypothesis is; one holds the dog door open while the other flies through and vise versa. Attempts to document this behavior have been hampered by the presence of innumerable dogs kissing my eyes shut when I stake out the laundry room floor. Nonetheless, like bats to Noah’s ark, they arrive by twos.
Throughout history Novice Bat Ejectors dispelled unwanted intruders with the pacifistic Zero Interference Technique (ZIT). For a true ZIT open all windows and doors and cower on the floor waiting for the bats to fly back out. I researched the effectiveness of this method at my first country home. There are three problems with this technique:
Bats never leave as easily as they enter. A person could learn Arabic before the ZIT clears matters up.
Heat leaves houses quite quickly resulting in cold ZITs.
Bats tend to turn up in the middle of the night. Sleep deprivation is a direct side effect of ZITs.
Lesson 3 – Modernization
Athletic newbies frequently combine the open window/door approach of a ZIT with a more proactive approach. They jump around with a blanket in an attempt to herd bats outside. This is the Comforter Herding Ejection Technique (CHET). A good CHET take two people. Even then CHETs are hard.
Bats do not know they shouldn’t fly around the blanket.
The technique is rendered totally ineffective when your husband, who is suppose to hold the opposite side of the blanket, does a “stop, drop and roll” every time he spots a bat from thirty yards away.
At night neighbors can see you, but not the bat. So there you are running amuck in your PJs. The doors and windows are wide open as you spiraling over furniture with your flag-like fabric in tow. Meanwhile your underwear-clad man is having what is apparently some version of repeating epileptic seizures. And you, you cold-hearted bitch, you just keep on dancing.
Lesson 4 – BET Evolution
Bat invasion number three of year number two was a turning point for me. For some bizarre reason I was washing the morning dishes. We must have been out of coffee. Obviously I was not quick-witted enough to get out of dish duty. Suddenly, I heard the high-pitched chatter of a bat straight over my head.
The space over my cabinets is where all my gigantic jelly-making kettles are poised. Grabbing the step stool, I hovered near and listened. Something was in my stoneware – dark, like a cave, the crafty little bugger. Please, don’t let it get airborne. I have to go to town this morning, I thought. There was no time for the traditional CHET dance.
My cerebral light bulb clicked on. Hey, It’s easier to catch bats when they aren’t moving. A Nobel Prize for would be mine. Apparently washing dishes has some net value after all. I slid a plate over the stoneware rim and took my captive out side.
Plate removed, an upside-down shake and plop. The bat was on the ground. I watched for a moment making sure my son’s devil cat did not turn up. Finally, the bat orientated itself and flew off with chatter. Dam, I’m good, I mused. Then I turned and took two steps towards the door. Gasp! Leap! Curse!
Something bad hit my bare foot. Reflexes took over. I went for a field goal. Another bat had been in the jar. Curse! Hebbie Jebies! Will I never learn? Twos, always twos! Scratches, tiny claws on my foot - it was all to early. First dishes, then this.
The traumatized bat landed several feet away. It took a good five minutes before the winged menace recovered enough to fly off. Headed for town, I left a note for my son. “Finish the dishes.”
Lesson 5 – BET Mastery
I learned two things that morning. First, generic dish soap sucks. Second, a motionless bat is the best bat to catch. Chasing them in flight is a fool’s game. In retrospect Samuel, my Great Pyrenees, had attempted to point this out earlier that spring.
Hearing one of the midnight riots, I ordered all my dogs out. There was no need to look for the cause. I knew by then what the combination of barking and a synchronized chase meant at 1 a.m. Ho hum, more bats in the house. The other dogs complied. Sam however stood there looking sleepy, stubborn, sad and guilty.
Anyone who owns a Pyrenees knows this is their natural state. Just as I demanded, “Samuel, go!” I spotted the diminutive little wing sticking out from under his massive front paw. Here Mom, a motionless bat is the best bat to catch. He is a genius!
BET Summary
Grab a teacup or the aquarium net and a saucer
Wait for a landing
Cup/net over the Bat
Saucer or magazine carefully slid under
Out the door it goes
Hee Haw! With practice you’ll be back in bed before the underwear-clad epileptic knows your gone. You can BET on it.
Evidence to the contrary exists. Bat visitations have occurred regularly in all three of my country homes. Each was a different style house, in a different town with different surroundings. No way am I the only person this is happening to! I’ll believe the annual summer bat inundation isn’t a part of normal life when butter is fat free and Smucky’s Electric gets back to me with that wiring estimate they promised just prior to the Mammoth die off.
One of my sisters in particular gets a kick out of telling people I am a witch attracting bats to my home like anorexics migrating to the Cannes Film Festival. She does it to be ornery – a competitive sport in my family. Of course, I could get even by pointing out right here in my very public essay that she is my OLDER sister by a DECADE. However, I am too peaceable and well centered for such adolescent behavior. Besides, you are here to learn another fine country skill – the Bat Ejection Technique (BET).
Lesson 1 – Why BET
Rural dwellers should all master BETs. Realtors will never admit to the Coloptera inundation plaguing the West. Property values would tumble! Amidst all this denial, a seamy cover-up has formed. Copies of Bat Removal for Dummies are burned at country BBQs and members of the Society of the Dead Elk deliver bat traps to farms under cover of darkness.
As my town’s resident City Idiot, I chose to break ranks. If Cidiots are not taught to deal properly with winged rodentia, both will suffer. Bats will be ‘baseballed’ into walls with brooms. If not, Cidiot homes will overflow with wiggling blankets of screeching critters. Folks will be driven back to the burbs in droves. Quite selfishly - I need newbies to stay in the country. Please don’t leave me alone out here! Take notes.
Lesson 2 - History of the BET
For whatever reasons bats enter homes in pairs. My hypothesis is; one holds the dog door open while the other flies through and vise versa. Attempts to document this behavior have been hampered by the presence of innumerable dogs kissing my eyes shut when I stake out the laundry room floor. Nonetheless, like bats to Noah’s ark, they arrive by twos.
Throughout history Novice Bat Ejectors dispelled unwanted intruders with the pacifistic Zero Interference Technique (ZIT). For a true ZIT open all windows and doors and cower on the floor waiting for the bats to fly back out. I researched the effectiveness of this method at my first country home. There are three problems with this technique:
Bats never leave as easily as they enter. A person could learn Arabic before the ZIT clears matters up.
Heat leaves houses quite quickly resulting in cold ZITs.
Bats tend to turn up in the middle of the night. Sleep deprivation is a direct side effect of ZITs.
Lesson 3 – Modernization
Athletic newbies frequently combine the open window/door approach of a ZIT with a more proactive approach. They jump around with a blanket in an attempt to herd bats outside. This is the Comforter Herding Ejection Technique (CHET). A good CHET take two people. Even then CHETs are hard.
Bats do not know they shouldn’t fly around the blanket.
The technique is rendered totally ineffective when your husband, who is suppose to hold the opposite side of the blanket, does a “stop, drop and roll” every time he spots a bat from thirty yards away.
At night neighbors can see you, but not the bat. So there you are running amuck in your PJs. The doors and windows are wide open as you spiraling over furniture with your flag-like fabric in tow. Meanwhile your underwear-clad man is having what is apparently some version of repeating epileptic seizures. And you, you cold-hearted bitch, you just keep on dancing.
Lesson 4 – BET Evolution
Bat invasion number three of year number two was a turning point for me. For some bizarre reason I was washing the morning dishes. We must have been out of coffee. Obviously I was not quick-witted enough to get out of dish duty. Suddenly, I heard the high-pitched chatter of a bat straight over my head.
The space over my cabinets is where all my gigantic jelly-making kettles are poised. Grabbing the step stool, I hovered near and listened. Something was in my stoneware – dark, like a cave, the crafty little bugger. Please, don’t let it get airborne. I have to go to town this morning, I thought. There was no time for the traditional CHET dance.
My cerebral light bulb clicked on. Hey, It’s easier to catch bats when they aren’t moving. A Nobel Prize for would be mine. Apparently washing dishes has some net value after all. I slid a plate over the stoneware rim and took my captive out side.
Plate removed, an upside-down shake and plop. The bat was on the ground. I watched for a moment making sure my son’s devil cat did not turn up. Finally, the bat orientated itself and flew off with chatter. Dam, I’m good, I mused. Then I turned and took two steps towards the door. Gasp! Leap! Curse!
Something bad hit my bare foot. Reflexes took over. I went for a field goal. Another bat had been in the jar. Curse! Hebbie Jebies! Will I never learn? Twos, always twos! Scratches, tiny claws on my foot - it was all to early. First dishes, then this.
The traumatized bat landed several feet away. It took a good five minutes before the winged menace recovered enough to fly off. Headed for town, I left a note for my son. “Finish the dishes.”
Lesson 5 – BET Mastery
I learned two things that morning. First, generic dish soap sucks. Second, a motionless bat is the best bat to catch. Chasing them in flight is a fool’s game. In retrospect Samuel, my Great Pyrenees, had attempted to point this out earlier that spring.
Hearing one of the midnight riots, I ordered all my dogs out. There was no need to look for the cause. I knew by then what the combination of barking and a synchronized chase meant at 1 a.m. Ho hum, more bats in the house. The other dogs complied. Sam however stood there looking sleepy, stubborn, sad and guilty.
Anyone who owns a Pyrenees knows this is their natural state. Just as I demanded, “Samuel, go!” I spotted the diminutive little wing sticking out from under his massive front paw. Here Mom, a motionless bat is the best bat to catch. He is a genius!
BET Summary
Grab a teacup or the aquarium net and a saucer
Wait for a landing
Cup/net over the Bat
Saucer or magazine carefully slid under
Out the door it goes
Hee Haw! With practice you’ll be back in bed before the underwear-clad epileptic knows your gone. You can BET on it.
viernes, 12 de noviembre de 2010
Basketball For Short People: Basket To Be Lowered
Since the 1950s, when short but fast players had a chance of making it onto a professional court – such as the legendary Bob Cousy of the Boston Celtics, known for startling innovations like dribbling and passing behind the back – the sport has been dominated by ever taller athletes, starting with the arrival of Wilt, The Stilt, Chamberlain.
Now, The National Basketball Association has come to realize that the trend to tall has demoralized people of who fall within the usual range of human height and that it has positively devastated short people.
Compared to the slam-dunking ways of the seven footers, these distressed athletes just can’t get people interested in watching them hoop it up. As a result, interest in the game as a participation sport has waned, and the association is concerned that, as fewer people work up their excitement about playing it, fewer of them will pay to see it.
In an effort to return basketball to the widely poplar place it held in the minds and hearts of the American public before it became the exclusive province of players whose mothers are suspected of stretching them as infants, the association is considering legitimizing a court just for people of average height, with a special accommodation for shorter people. The basic plan calls for the basket to be lowered by one foot for players from 5’ 6” to 6’ 6” and two feet for people who are even shorter but still imagine slam-dunking the ball and hanging from the hoop in a celebratory manner.
When the new rules go into effect, virtually everyone will finally be able to play the game in as dramatic a fashion as today’s seven footers.
For now the plan calls for limiting the innovation to amateur players, but the association confides that if fans once again take an interest in watching average-size people play the game, there is the potential to establish an entire new league, made up of speed merchants who are only eye-high to a current pro’s elbows.
Now, The National Basketball Association has come to realize that the trend to tall has demoralized people of who fall within the usual range of human height and that it has positively devastated short people.
Compared to the slam-dunking ways of the seven footers, these distressed athletes just can’t get people interested in watching them hoop it up. As a result, interest in the game as a participation sport has waned, and the association is concerned that, as fewer people work up their excitement about playing it, fewer of them will pay to see it.
In an effort to return basketball to the widely poplar place it held in the minds and hearts of the American public before it became the exclusive province of players whose mothers are suspected of stretching them as infants, the association is considering legitimizing a court just for people of average height, with a special accommodation for shorter people. The basic plan calls for the basket to be lowered by one foot for players from 5’ 6” to 6’ 6” and two feet for people who are even shorter but still imagine slam-dunking the ball and hanging from the hoop in a celebratory manner.
When the new rules go into effect, virtually everyone will finally be able to play the game in as dramatic a fashion as today’s seven footers.
For now the plan calls for limiting the innovation to amateur players, but the association confides that if fans once again take an interest in watching average-size people play the game, there is the potential to establish an entire new league, made up of speed merchants who are only eye-high to a current pro’s elbows.
Baby Boomers Moderate Exercise; Notice Scarcity of Seniors In Marathons
Baby boomers, who exercise more than any generation before them, have been flocking to orthopedic surgeons to tend to their aching tendons and joints.
As news of the growing need for surgical intervention spread, a number of boomers have found the willpower to moderate the intensity of their workout routines.
Personal experience has also confirmed the wisdom of moderation. For example, one inveterate marathoner was shocked by the surprising perception that there were not a lot of senior citizens dashing across the finish line in the New York Marathon.
He began to wonder if at a certain age less strenuous activity might actually be, not only the better part of healthcare, but all that’s generally possible. He also began to ask himself if seniors who persisted in intense physical challenges like the marathon were absent at or near the finish line because they literally dropped by the wayside. He dismissed that possibility, because it really brought into question his hope for up-to-the-last-minute youth.
He shared the possible advisability of moderation with a fellow boomer, who happened to be his girlfriend. She agreed to take it into consideration but required proof of the astonishing comeuppance. So, while working out at her gym, she looked around and noticed, to her amazement, that there were not a lot of seniors sweating along with her, especially on the running track and in the weight room.
Most unsettling of all, she noticed that a confounded lot of the runners looked younger than she did.
She dared to break the stunning revelation to a friend, who told her boyfriend. Since hot news has a way of making it through the boomer vine, soon the bewildered generation was abuzz with the invitation to moderation.
Being serious about their health, many have researched the bone-crushing consequences of persistent over-exercise and have discovered that that they really should take it a little easy on themselves, especially since many of them are flirting with age 60. It seems that if they can persuade themselves of the wisdom at least some moderation they will go a long way toward preserving their knees, ankles, and assorted joints, tendons, and muscles. They could also save on visits to the surgeon.
As expected, however, hard-line boomers are adopting an over-exercise-until-you-drop attitude.
As one recalcitrant member of the group said, “Hey, it’s like exercising came with the genes. I can’t change my routine anymore than I can change my feet, which wake up every morning, ready to run for miles.”
This group is so determined they plan to exercise excessively, even if it means hobbling into old age due to self-inflicted hobbling. As another member of the over-exercise or you’re over-the-hill group stated, ”Look, if I’m going to need a knee replacement or two, I might as well be one of the first in my generation to get one.”
As news of the growing need for surgical intervention spread, a number of boomers have found the willpower to moderate the intensity of their workout routines.
Personal experience has also confirmed the wisdom of moderation. For example, one inveterate marathoner was shocked by the surprising perception that there were not a lot of senior citizens dashing across the finish line in the New York Marathon.
He began to wonder if at a certain age less strenuous activity might actually be, not only the better part of healthcare, but all that’s generally possible. He also began to ask himself if seniors who persisted in intense physical challenges like the marathon were absent at or near the finish line because they literally dropped by the wayside. He dismissed that possibility, because it really brought into question his hope for up-to-the-last-minute youth.
He shared the possible advisability of moderation with a fellow boomer, who happened to be his girlfriend. She agreed to take it into consideration but required proof of the astonishing comeuppance. So, while working out at her gym, she looked around and noticed, to her amazement, that there were not a lot of seniors sweating along with her, especially on the running track and in the weight room.
Most unsettling of all, she noticed that a confounded lot of the runners looked younger than she did.
She dared to break the stunning revelation to a friend, who told her boyfriend. Since hot news has a way of making it through the boomer vine, soon the bewildered generation was abuzz with the invitation to moderation.
Being serious about their health, many have researched the bone-crushing consequences of persistent over-exercise and have discovered that that they really should take it a little easy on themselves, especially since many of them are flirting with age 60. It seems that if they can persuade themselves of the wisdom at least some moderation they will go a long way toward preserving their knees, ankles, and assorted joints, tendons, and muscles. They could also save on visits to the surgeon.
As expected, however, hard-line boomers are adopting an over-exercise-until-you-drop attitude.
As one recalcitrant member of the group said, “Hey, it’s like exercising came with the genes. I can’t change my routine anymore than I can change my feet, which wake up every morning, ready to run for miles.”
This group is so determined they plan to exercise excessively, even if it means hobbling into old age due to self-inflicted hobbling. As another member of the over-exercise or you’re over-the-hill group stated, ”Look, if I’m going to need a knee replacement or two, I might as well be one of the first in my generation to get one.”
Avant Garde Composer Creates New Piece, Called Making Popcorn
An American avant garde composer, who takes his inspiration from the most upstart composers of recent times, had a piece performed last night at Carnegie Hall, titled “Making Popcorn.”
The Boston Pops Orchestra, which commissioned the piece, left the stage to make way for the performance.
Stagehands then wheeled out a popcorn-making machine and prepared it for the performance by filling it with dry corn, butter, and salt.
When the machine was “tuned,” the composer entered to conduct his own work. Taking the podium, he raised his baton and the machine was switched on. When the first kernel popped, he gave a firm downbeat and then continued to conduct as the kernels popped away. The piece concluded when all the popcorn had contributed its sound.
In an interview prior to the concert, the composer told us, “It’s a new piece for percussion. As you know, there have been more additions to the percussion of the orchestra than to any other one. Take, for instance, the brake drum and the ratchet, which is really just a noisemaker. My hope is that the success of my new piece will make the popcorn machine a standard ingredient of the symphony orchestra.”
“Would you consider it to be a tuned or an untuned percussion instrument,” we asked, indulging the wayward simpleton.
“I’m not sure yet,” he told us. “While the individual pops do have different pitches, they’re impossible to control.”
After savoring the performance, this observer began to long for the once-scandalous composition by John Cage, called 4'33", in which, as you probably know, a pianist enters, sits down at the piano for four minutes and thirty-three seconds,, and does absolutely nothing. Then he gets up and exits.
Who would have though a concert would come when one reconsidered Cage's work an instance of generous reticence?
The Boston Pops Orchestra, which commissioned the piece, left the stage to make way for the performance.
Stagehands then wheeled out a popcorn-making machine and prepared it for the performance by filling it with dry corn, butter, and salt.
When the machine was “tuned,” the composer entered to conduct his own work. Taking the podium, he raised his baton and the machine was switched on. When the first kernel popped, he gave a firm downbeat and then continued to conduct as the kernels popped away. The piece concluded when all the popcorn had contributed its sound.
In an interview prior to the concert, the composer told us, “It’s a new piece for percussion. As you know, there have been more additions to the percussion of the orchestra than to any other one. Take, for instance, the brake drum and the ratchet, which is really just a noisemaker. My hope is that the success of my new piece will make the popcorn machine a standard ingredient of the symphony orchestra.”
“Would you consider it to be a tuned or an untuned percussion instrument,” we asked, indulging the wayward simpleton.
“I’m not sure yet,” he told us. “While the individual pops do have different pitches, they’re impossible to control.”
After savoring the performance, this observer began to long for the once-scandalous composition by John Cage, called 4'33", in which, as you probably know, a pianist enters, sits down at the piano for four minutes and thirty-three seconds,, and does absolutely nothing. Then he gets up and exits.
Who would have though a concert would come when one reconsidered Cage's work an instance of generous reticence?
Audit Report on Katrina Debit Cards; Some Recipients Swam In Champagne
A federal audit on the spending proclivities of people who were issued debit cards by FEMA during the Katrina disaster indicates that some of them were swimming in champagne – and good stuff, too.
Among the survival rations that were purchased, we find a $200 bottle of champagne, used as a life-saving device at the hurricane shelter known as Hooters. The establishment, upon hearing of the purchase, has nobly agreed to refund the amount to FEMA.
Other items that emergency cards were used to purchase are the following:
A flotation device of questionable effect, called diamond jewelry.
An escape route from the rising waters to a vacation in the Dominican Republic.
Salvation from a divorce lawyer by paying off a $1,000 legal bill.
Drying out at a strip club, where the recuperative process required $600.
Recuperation with $400 of “adult erotica products.”
The auditors concluded that such purchases were "not necessary to satisfy legitimate disaster needs."
Greg Kutz, a GAO forensic auditor, said one "fraudster" way up in West Virginia received a rental assistance check by using the address of a cemetery in New Orleans.
Another application, employing a vacant lot as an address, found favor in FEMA for a payment of $2,358 in rental assistance.
The relief organization also paid $8,000 and then $5,000 more, in a double-dip into rental assistance, to help a long-suffering recipient survive at a resort hotel in Honolulu.
The GAO also found that FEMA lost track of 750 debit cards, worth a total of $1.5 million.
As a result of the debit-card debacle, FEMA itself has been scheduled to receive federal disaster relief.
Among the survival rations that were purchased, we find a $200 bottle of champagne, used as a life-saving device at the hurricane shelter known as Hooters. The establishment, upon hearing of the purchase, has nobly agreed to refund the amount to FEMA.
Other items that emergency cards were used to purchase are the following:
A flotation device of questionable effect, called diamond jewelry.
An escape route from the rising waters to a vacation in the Dominican Republic.
Salvation from a divorce lawyer by paying off a $1,000 legal bill.
Drying out at a strip club, where the recuperative process required $600.
Recuperation with $400 of “adult erotica products.”
The auditors concluded that such purchases were "not necessary to satisfy legitimate disaster needs."
Greg Kutz, a GAO forensic auditor, said one "fraudster" way up in West Virginia received a rental assistance check by using the address of a cemetery in New Orleans.
Another application, employing a vacant lot as an address, found favor in FEMA for a payment of $2,358 in rental assistance.
The relief organization also paid $8,000 and then $5,000 more, in a double-dip into rental assistance, to help a long-suffering recipient survive at a resort hotel in Honolulu.
The GAO also found that FEMA lost track of 750 debit cards, worth a total of $1.5 million.
As a result of the debit-card debacle, FEMA itself has been scheduled to receive federal disaster relief.
Another Dracula, Another Flop
This week Warner Brothers joined the Walt Disney company in attempting to transform Broadway from a venue with a whisper of hope for social relevance into one that presents works that are the intellectual equivalent of Mickey Mouse caper.
If Disney could do it with, for example, The Lion King, why couldn’t Warner Brothers find a property to achieve Broadway fame and fortune with? Unfortunately, their imaginations never soared higher than redoing the Dracula legend, based on a contemporary author’s odd novelistic take on it.
In order to hew to Disney’s proven path to moronic megabucks, Warner hired the same songwriting team Disney did for The Lion King, Elton John and his comparatively invisible lyricist Bernie Taupin.
Fortunately, the show was a no-go from the start. The word of mouth was devastating and the reviews turned out to make the word of mouth sound brilliant.
The question is, why would anybody, given the entire world of properties to choose from or, on a wild bet, even to create an entirely original one, choose the exhausted and irrelevant legend of Dracula?
As we of say about trying to work with an idea that doesn’t seem to have a life of its own, you can stand up a dead body, but you can’t make it sing and dance, and, once you let go, it’s bound to fall down.
If Disney could do it with, for example, The Lion King, why couldn’t Warner Brothers find a property to achieve Broadway fame and fortune with? Unfortunately, their imaginations never soared higher than redoing the Dracula legend, based on a contemporary author’s odd novelistic take on it.
In order to hew to Disney’s proven path to moronic megabucks, Warner hired the same songwriting team Disney did for The Lion King, Elton John and his comparatively invisible lyricist Bernie Taupin.
Fortunately, the show was a no-go from the start. The word of mouth was devastating and the reviews turned out to make the word of mouth sound brilliant.
The question is, why would anybody, given the entire world of properties to choose from or, on a wild bet, even to create an entirely original one, choose the exhausted and irrelevant legend of Dracula?
As we of say about trying to work with an idea that doesn’t seem to have a life of its own, you can stand up a dead body, but you can’t make it sing and dance, and, once you let go, it’s bound to fall down.
Ancient Mayan Mummy Proves A Tattoo Is Forever
Evidence of the extraordinary longevity of tattoos has finally been discovered, in a mummified Mayan female whose panoramic tattoos have lasted almost two thousand years.
Tattoo artists were ecstatic at the discovery, immediately citing the mummy as proof that once you’re lucky enough to have a tattoo, you can forget about upkeep.
On the other hand, those who have decorated themselves with tattoos but in later years regretted the colorful self-mutilation, were widely distressed by the discovery. As one man with a prominent tattoo on the pierced tip of his nose told us, “I suspect when I’m finally old enough to feel really stupid about this tattoo it’ll still be here., Now, I know if I want to get rid of it, I’ll have to fork over the bucks for plastic surgery.”
Curiously enough, the mummy’s bones revealed what at first appeared to be dichotomous lifestyles. She was apparently motherly, because bone evidence revealed that she had given birth to a child, but a variety hardly motherly clubs were also found buried with her.
An archaeologist explained the seeming duality of tender sentiment and weaponry by stating, “My theory is that she went to the grave, regretting the tattoos and asked to be buried with clubs so she could ward off any evil spirits who might arrive to apply even more tattoos.”
Tattoo artists were ecstatic at the discovery, immediately citing the mummy as proof that once you’re lucky enough to have a tattoo, you can forget about upkeep.
On the other hand, those who have decorated themselves with tattoos but in later years regretted the colorful self-mutilation, were widely distressed by the discovery. As one man with a prominent tattoo on the pierced tip of his nose told us, “I suspect when I’m finally old enough to feel really stupid about this tattoo it’ll still be here., Now, I know if I want to get rid of it, I’ll have to fork over the bucks for plastic surgery.”
Curiously enough, the mummy’s bones revealed what at first appeared to be dichotomous lifestyles. She was apparently motherly, because bone evidence revealed that she had given birth to a child, but a variety hardly motherly clubs were also found buried with her.
An archaeologist explained the seeming duality of tender sentiment and weaponry by stating, “My theory is that she went to the grave, regretting the tattoos and asked to be buried with clubs so she could ward off any evil spirits who might arrive to apply even more tattoos.”
America To Sue Rest Of World For Ungrateful Behavior
America, which has sacrificed the lives of its citizens and its material plentitude more selflessly than any other nation in history to come to the assistance of other countries, noted the astonishingly heated negative commentary about it emanating from virtually every corner of the globe and has decided to sue the rest of the world on the grounds of ungrateful behavior.
The President said, “You can’t just go out there and sacrifice your sons and daughters lives and expend so much of the national treasury and not get a little something back. We’ve got sorrowful families all across the land, with whose losses I deeply sympathize, and we can’t even afford to fix the potholes on federal highways. So what choice do we have? We’re taking the ungrateful foreigners to court. Justice will be served. We merit and demand some praise here.”
A grandmother for the plaintiff stated, “My family has lost loved ones in three different wars and all in countries that I haven’t heard a good thing said in about America for years. When I take the stand, watch out. I’m patriotic pissed.”
The international court at The Hague has declined to take the case, primarily because it is in The Hague. Upon learning of that court’s disinclination, the U. S. has appealed to the U. N. to find a venue that will hear the case.”
A prominent attorney for America commented, “We’d rather not have the trial here. Holding it in our own country will detract from the credibility of the outcome, but having it in an unfriendly location is bound to create the kind of inflammatory demonstrations that will lead to a lot of free press.”
Not surprisingly, France, Germany, and Spain have also nixed the idea of hosting the trial, maintaining that since they’re all being sued, supporting the action seems inadvisable.
Britain and Italy are understood to be considering the matter. Tony Blair is the most disposed to hosting it, saying, “We hardly ever badmouth America, so we hope to come through the trial with flying colors.”
The Italian government has expressed some willingness to host it but has indicated it may charge for rental of the courthouse. “I’m confident of victory,” another attorney for America maintained. “All you have to do is look at the newspapers. All the incriminating evidence you need is on the lips of leaders and the public in general in just about every country of the world. The only thing that stands in the way of a big win for the U. S. is finding a country where we can conduct the trial.”
Should the verdict go as the plaintiff hopes, the expectation is that the guilty will henceforth base their comments on a true understanding of just who this country is.
One of the most persuasive arguments the nation’s attorneys hope to present is based on the usual philosophical tactic of imagining the opposite argument.
As the lead attorney for the country put it, “Will you please tell us what other country in the world, besides your own, you would prefer to possess the amount of power America has? We are, in fact, the first nation in the history of the world that could conquer it but, in addition to being freedom-loving people that the whole idea offends, we’re savvy business people who know we just can’t afford the worldwide upkeep.”
The President said, “You can’t just go out there and sacrifice your sons and daughters lives and expend so much of the national treasury and not get a little something back. We’ve got sorrowful families all across the land, with whose losses I deeply sympathize, and we can’t even afford to fix the potholes on federal highways. So what choice do we have? We’re taking the ungrateful foreigners to court. Justice will be served. We merit and demand some praise here.”
A grandmother for the plaintiff stated, “My family has lost loved ones in three different wars and all in countries that I haven’t heard a good thing said in about America for years. When I take the stand, watch out. I’m patriotic pissed.”
The international court at The Hague has declined to take the case, primarily because it is in The Hague. Upon learning of that court’s disinclination, the U. S. has appealed to the U. N. to find a venue that will hear the case.”
A prominent attorney for America commented, “We’d rather not have the trial here. Holding it in our own country will detract from the credibility of the outcome, but having it in an unfriendly location is bound to create the kind of inflammatory demonstrations that will lead to a lot of free press.”
Not surprisingly, France, Germany, and Spain have also nixed the idea of hosting the trial, maintaining that since they’re all being sued, supporting the action seems inadvisable.
Britain and Italy are understood to be considering the matter. Tony Blair is the most disposed to hosting it, saying, “We hardly ever badmouth America, so we hope to come through the trial with flying colors.”
The Italian government has expressed some willingness to host it but has indicated it may charge for rental of the courthouse. “I’m confident of victory,” another attorney for America maintained. “All you have to do is look at the newspapers. All the incriminating evidence you need is on the lips of leaders and the public in general in just about every country of the world. The only thing that stands in the way of a big win for the U. S. is finding a country where we can conduct the trial.”
Should the verdict go as the plaintiff hopes, the expectation is that the guilty will henceforth base their comments on a true understanding of just who this country is.
One of the most persuasive arguments the nation’s attorneys hope to present is based on the usual philosophical tactic of imagining the opposite argument.
As the lead attorney for the country put it, “Will you please tell us what other country in the world, besides your own, you would prefer to possess the amount of power America has? We are, in fact, the first nation in the history of the world that could conquer it but, in addition to being freedom-loving people that the whole idea offends, we’re savvy business people who know we just can’t afford the worldwide upkeep.”
America: Still So Young No Americans Allowed
If sometimes, weighed down with the complexities of uneasy empire, we perchance wonder if America could be freedom’s fading star, it’s somewhat reassuring to realize that the nation is so young it still does not recognize the existence of Americans. Even the Indians don’t completely get the nod, because they’re still camped out on reservations.
We might see the persistent refusal to accept “I’m an American” as a recognized nationality, at least on the home front, as a consonant reflection of our mixed and matched heritage. But it does present us with inconveniences.
Tell a fellow American who asks your nationality, “I’m an American,” and what does he say? “Oh, come on, tell me, really, what are you?”
“I just told you,” you repeat, in your resourceful attempt to nationalize yourself, “I was born and rear-beaten in America.”
“No, no,” your interrogator presses on, “I mean, where did your parents come from?”
“Well,” you let out, “my mother was born in West Virginia.”
“Then where did your father come from?”
Now, you’ve been cornered, so you finally confess that he came from here, there, or wherever. Let’s say Ireland. And what does your pouncing interrogator reply?
“Oh, so you’re Irish.”
Actually, the only time you get to be an American is when you’re likely to suffer the slings of outrageous interactions in distant lands.
“Oh, so you’re an American,” you're told, usually in a tone that intimates at least a slight reprimand, as soon as the securely French, Italian, or whatever person you chance to chat with determines you’re from the USA.
And, no matter how much effort your make to elude detection by speaking in the tongue of your assailant, the nonchalant accusation pops to the fore as soon as your first Yankee twang intrudes.
Will Durant, the popular (dare we say American?) historian, estimated that it takes about eight-hundred years for a country to develop a civilization. I wonder how long it takes short of that to develop the nationality that might achieve it.
We might see the persistent refusal to accept “I’m an American” as a recognized nationality, at least on the home front, as a consonant reflection of our mixed and matched heritage. But it does present us with inconveniences.
Tell a fellow American who asks your nationality, “I’m an American,” and what does he say? “Oh, come on, tell me, really, what are you?”
“I just told you,” you repeat, in your resourceful attempt to nationalize yourself, “I was born and rear-beaten in America.”
“No, no,” your interrogator presses on, “I mean, where did your parents come from?”
“Well,” you let out, “my mother was born in West Virginia.”
“Then where did your father come from?”
Now, you’ve been cornered, so you finally confess that he came from here, there, or wherever. Let’s say Ireland. And what does your pouncing interrogator reply?
“Oh, so you’re Irish.”
Actually, the only time you get to be an American is when you’re likely to suffer the slings of outrageous interactions in distant lands.
“Oh, so you’re an American,” you're told, usually in a tone that intimates at least a slight reprimand, as soon as the securely French, Italian, or whatever person you chance to chat with determines you’re from the USA.
And, no matter how much effort your make to elude detection by speaking in the tongue of your assailant, the nonchalant accusation pops to the fore as soon as your first Yankee twang intrudes.
Will Durant, the popular (dare we say American?) historian, estimated that it takes about eight-hundred years for a country to develop a civilization. I wonder how long it takes short of that to develop the nationality that might achieve it.
jueves, 11 de noviembre de 2010
A Life Of Lorenzo Da Ponte: Talent Flies; Practical Reason Walks
Among the world’s favorite operas, we find three of them with a libretto penned by Lorenzo Da Ponte and music by none other than the astonishingly delightful Viennese ear-confectioner Mozart. The list is a delight in itself: The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovann, and Così Fan Tutte.
We learn in the new book, The Librettist of Venice, by Rodney Bolt, that Da Ponte grew so close with the unequalled Mozart – both of whom, we learn, were not only talented but vain, insecure and ambitious – that while writing Don Giovanni, they worked in adjoining lodges and shouted to each other through their windows.
Da Ponte even dared to contend with Mozart, who believed the text should be subservient to the music, while Da Ponte was certain that the words should be primary, in fact, that without his poetry even Mighty Mo’s music would be nothing.
Yet how Da Ponte tumbled from the heights. Hard as it may be to imagine, he wound up in New York, running, at one time, a grocery store on the Bowery.
Brilliant as an artist, he was apparently, in his personal life, a managerial moron. Or, said another way, while talent flies, practical reason just plods along, like a relative moron.
Da Ponte, born Jewish, was, as a result of his father’s having decided the family should become Catholic for the easement of a life of trade, ordained a priest. But his real vocation was married women. His exploits, we learn, rivaled Casanova, who became his pal and, if we believe such a thing is possible in the category at hand, his mentor.
Da Ponte himself admitted a shortcoming in comparison with his rival for insincere relationships: he didn’t have Casanova’s purported talent for fleecing the women he falsely wooed. In fact, Da Ponte claims he actually loved the ones he made out with.
He also considered himself adroit politically, but his moves were disastrous. He upset the successors of Joseph II so much he was exiled from Vienna.
Now,still technically a priest he was married to a younger but more wisely practical woman named Nancy Grahl, but even she was unable to keep the man out of bankruptcy in London and again in America, where they moved in 1805, because her family had settled here.
He attempted to establish Italian opera companies when English-speaking audiences had little interest in them. To add onions to opera, the grocery business failed.
He finally became a teacher, bookseller and wannabe impresario.
On the positive side, New York turned out to be the most agreeable spot for him. It was relatively liberal, and Da Ponte found himself a favorite of the cultural elite.
He became the first professor of Italian at Columbia University. While the position was pretty much ceremonial, Da Ponte has the double distinction of having been the first Jew and first priest on the school’s faculty.
He lived on into his 80’s, revered but regarded as eccentric.
He was charming man who made a profession of being European when such a state was still considered novel.
Yet when one compares his everyday doings with his winged collaboration with Mozart, one can only shake his head with the recognition of how quicksilver brilliant the remarkable syntheses of talent are, way up in mental processes we can only hope will drop answers into our expectant consciousness, compared to the "first we do this and then we do that" plodding of the practical but still invaluable mind.
We learn in the new book, The Librettist of Venice, by Rodney Bolt, that Da Ponte grew so close with the unequalled Mozart – both of whom, we learn, were not only talented but vain, insecure and ambitious – that while writing Don Giovanni, they worked in adjoining lodges and shouted to each other through their windows.
Da Ponte even dared to contend with Mozart, who believed the text should be subservient to the music, while Da Ponte was certain that the words should be primary, in fact, that without his poetry even Mighty Mo’s music would be nothing.
Yet how Da Ponte tumbled from the heights. Hard as it may be to imagine, he wound up in New York, running, at one time, a grocery store on the Bowery.
Brilliant as an artist, he was apparently, in his personal life, a managerial moron. Or, said another way, while talent flies, practical reason just plods along, like a relative moron.
Da Ponte, born Jewish, was, as a result of his father’s having decided the family should become Catholic for the easement of a life of trade, ordained a priest. But his real vocation was married women. His exploits, we learn, rivaled Casanova, who became his pal and, if we believe such a thing is possible in the category at hand, his mentor.
Da Ponte himself admitted a shortcoming in comparison with his rival for insincere relationships: he didn’t have Casanova’s purported talent for fleecing the women he falsely wooed. In fact, Da Ponte claims he actually loved the ones he made out with.
He also considered himself adroit politically, but his moves were disastrous. He upset the successors of Joseph II so much he was exiled from Vienna.
Now,still technically a priest he was married to a younger but more wisely practical woman named Nancy Grahl, but even she was unable to keep the man out of bankruptcy in London and again in America, where they moved in 1805, because her family had settled here.
He attempted to establish Italian opera companies when English-speaking audiences had little interest in them. To add onions to opera, the grocery business failed.
He finally became a teacher, bookseller and wannabe impresario.
On the positive side, New York turned out to be the most agreeable spot for him. It was relatively liberal, and Da Ponte found himself a favorite of the cultural elite.
He became the first professor of Italian at Columbia University. While the position was pretty much ceremonial, Da Ponte has the double distinction of having been the first Jew and first priest on the school’s faculty.
He lived on into his 80’s, revered but regarded as eccentric.
He was charming man who made a profession of being European when such a state was still considered novel.
Yet when one compares his everyday doings with his winged collaboration with Mozart, one can only shake his head with the recognition of how quicksilver brilliant the remarkable syntheses of talent are, way up in mental processes we can only hope will drop answers into our expectant consciousness, compared to the "first we do this and then we do that" plodding of the practical but still invaluable mind.
A Cialis A Day Keeps The Uncertainty Away
The maker of Cialis will apply to the FDA for approval of a once-a-day version of its ED treatment. The company maintains that a daily dose will allow the benefactor to enjoy more spontaneous delight than he can with what the manufacturer refers to as its "on demand" version.
The company maintains that side effects of the new dosage are mild and consist primarily of an inexplicable bulge in the pantaloons.
Dr. Ira D. Sharlip, professor of urology at the Univesity of California, San Francisco, stated, "For patients who are more sexually active, which generally means younger patients, whose sexual activity is more spontaneous, it will be an attractive alternative, provided the cost is not prohibitive."
Until now, men had to take Cialis and other impotence drugs thirty minutes or more before they flung themselves into the arms of their lovers. Now they’ll be ready at the drop of a belt.
Some analysts doubt that millions of men will take the drug every day, since the biggest users of the therapy generally have sex only a couple of times a week.
Insurance companies may also refuse to pay for a daily dose.
Interestingly, a Cialis a day may also have cardiovascular benefits, since the enzyme that Cialis, as well as other impotence drugs, inhibits, flows in all the body’s blood vessels. As a result, the drug may be an effective treatment for high blood pressure.
An expert stated, "There may be a much bigger picture than just for erectile dysfunction."
He certainly chose his adjective well, since “bigger” does seem to be the operative word here, except in regard to the one item Cialis does, at its best, reduce the size of, and that is, of course, the performance anxiety, or uncertainty, of the aspiring lover.
The company maintains that side effects of the new dosage are mild and consist primarily of an inexplicable bulge in the pantaloons.
Dr. Ira D. Sharlip, professor of urology at the Univesity of California, San Francisco, stated, "For patients who are more sexually active, which generally means younger patients, whose sexual activity is more spontaneous, it will be an attractive alternative, provided the cost is not prohibitive."
Until now, men had to take Cialis and other impotence drugs thirty minutes or more before they flung themselves into the arms of their lovers. Now they’ll be ready at the drop of a belt.
Some analysts doubt that millions of men will take the drug every day, since the biggest users of the therapy generally have sex only a couple of times a week.
Insurance companies may also refuse to pay for a daily dose.
Interestingly, a Cialis a day may also have cardiovascular benefits, since the enzyme that Cialis, as well as other impotence drugs, inhibits, flows in all the body’s blood vessels. As a result, the drug may be an effective treatment for high blood pressure.
An expert stated, "There may be a much bigger picture than just for erectile dysfunction."
He certainly chose his adjective well, since “bigger” does seem to be the operative word here, except in regard to the one item Cialis does, at its best, reduce the size of, and that is, of course, the performance anxiety, or uncertainty, of the aspiring lover.
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