Why I want to be like Theda Bara, plus my brush with the most dangerous pop-up on the internet, among the items rattling around in my dormant mind these days…

1. Did you ever notice that all the really good junk food ends in an O? Cheetos, Doritos, Tostitos, Oreos, Fritos… Is there an official rating organization where the food companies apply for admission to the Esteemed Order of O? And how did pizzo miss the cut?
   
   
2. It’s my one goal in life to become the answer to a crossword puzzle clue. I want to join the ranks of Clara Bow, Ernie Els, Theda Bara, Bela Lugosi, Ruby Dee, and Isao Aoki, among the many people who will live on in the crosswords long after their careers are forgotten. Now all I need is a career.
   
   
3. I’m really upset with the airlines for their new restrictions on service animals. I was almost ready to launch my Rent-a-Python app and now they’ve killed my small business. Wait, are we still allowed to have snakes on the train?
   
   
4. From my apartment in Chicago, I can see more than 1,000 other apartments around my neighborhood. I don’t know these people, don’t know their dreams, don’t know their challenges; actually, I don’t know anything about any of them. Sometimes I think I’m pretty aware of what’s happening around me and, other times, I recognize how much I’m in the dark.
   
   
5. I used to see a guy walking down the street in a pair of flip-flops and wonder what his story was. Now I see a guy with a suit and tie and a briefcase and I wonder, what the heck is his deal?
   
   
6. The people who live next to the train tracks think they’re luckier than the people who live next to the expressway, who think they’re luckier than the people who live by the airport… We all need to feel that we’re better off than the next guy, no matter where we are in the pecking order.
   
   
7. I’ve been thinking about all those friend recommendations I get each day from Facebook. I’ve never heard of most of these people, but Mark Zuckerberg might (might????) know something I don’t. Maybe Facebook knows these people are so desperate for connections that they’ll agree to be friends with an absolute stranger. Or maybe Mr. Zuckerberg realizes that I’m just as desperate.
   
   
8. The most dangerous pop-up I’ve seen reently is the one at the top of this post, asking me if I want to banish news that doesn’t agree with my prejudices. It’s way too easy to fall into an echo chamber without thinking about it. Now we’re invited to become less informed, less open and more polarized. What could possibly go wrong?

 
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I sure hope nobody finds out that the password for this blog is "PaSsWoRd!" Otherwise, they might sign on as me and post something that you find offensive, demeaning, or borderline mansplaining. So, if you see anything here that gives offense, I was hacked.
 
The same thing applies to written documents. Back in third grade, Eddie Greenboogers learned how to copy my handwriting and continually wrote all kinds of terrible notes that seemed to have my signature, and he has continued doing that until, um, well, he’s still doing it today. So if you see any paper copies of any documents that suggest I wrote something bad, it was absolutely Eddie Greenboogers, not I.
 
Am I safe now? Probably not. In fact, nobody is safe today, because we live in a gotcha world, where a video of your least articulate moment will be shared by all your “friends” and your kindergarten coloring book will become Exhibit A in your public shaming. Or your murder trial, if you end up raising tigers for a living.
 
Life was so simple when our teachers threatened to make a note of our misdeeds in the “permanent record” that would follow us throughout our lives. As with (spoiler alert) Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and those X-ray glasses they advertised in the back of  comic books, our “permanent record” turned out to be more legend than reality, and we all breathed easier as a result.
 
Of course, that was pre-internet and before the time that anyone, anywhere, could dredge up a bloody scent for the posterazzi. Clearly, it’s all gotten out of hand and we need some new rules to make sense of it all.
 
First, we need a statute of limitations for all the perpetrators of racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, anti-American, anti-religious, nasty, vicious, foul, revolting, offensive, nauseating, sickening vile, ghastly, repugnant, inexcusable statements, posts, pictures, texts, e-mails and emojis.
 
I’d give anyone a pass for anything they said before the age of 16. Even if it’s really, really awful, I will accept that the offender is still developing mentally, is overwhelmed by hormones and peer pressure, and has time to grow out of their wretchedness. 
 
After 16 though, your driver’s license comes with the burden of accountability. If you’re old enough to take responsibility for a car, you’re old enough to take responsibility for your actions. Yeah, you’re still a kid, partly, but you’ve been online since you were two and you’ve probably been part of the mob more than a few times, so suck it up and be ready to take the heat.  
 
Along the same line of reasoning, it’s time we rejected all claims of “youthful indiscretions,” which is the favored excuse for people in powerful positions who do terrible things or make terrible statements that, without a doubt, they knew were terrible at the time. And, if they didn’t know, they were pretty damned stupid and they really don’t belong in positions of power in the first place.
 
At the same time, we need some form of parole for people who see the light and change their ways. Maybe we can agree to ignore statements or (most) infractions at least 10 years in the past, if the person has not made similar statements or committed similar infractions since then. With elected officials, C-Suite executives, educators and clergy, I might lengthen that to 15 or 20 years. But if a person goes a decade or more without repeating the sin, it’s likely they don’t represent a current threat.
 
I’m okay if we never forgive someone for murder, rape or child molesting, though. Some things are just too venal for forgiveness on this Earth. Everything else is on the table, though, because we want people to have an incentive to do better and be better.
 
We talk a lot about healing our wounds in this society. Maybe we can start the process by committing less bloodletting.
 
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​​Dining out is pretty close to normal again, which is a continuing source of joy for a guy who’s energized by a noisy joint and really tired of doing his own dishes. Part Two of our celebration…

1. Compared to delivery services in Chicago, going to a restaurant is a gigantic bargain. By the time I’ve paid the delivery fee and the service charges and the tip for the driver, my $15 pizza costs $57.50, and it’s cold.
2. I am comfortable enough with my gluttony to be the only person who orders dessert, so it’s irritating when the waiter comes back with six spoons. Did I say I wanted to share?
3. Alcohol is much better in restaurants and bars than it is at home. I get more lively and animated when I’m drinking in a bar, but having a drink with dinner at home can be kinda sad. That doesn’t stop me, of course, but it’s a bummer.
4. One really great thing about meeting friends for dinner at a restaurant: I don’t need to clean the apartment before they arrive. When we get together at a restaurant, I can leave the laundry basket on the dining room table and I can leave my leftover bagel on the recliner. And they’ll never know what a slob I am, unless they happen to read this post.
5. Is fine dining still a thing and should it be? Could we gush over a perfectly steamed hot dog the same way we do with a flinty wine?
6. I saw a restaurant promoting their brunch with about 200 items, which sounds great until you realize you only like 12 of them and you only have room in your stomach for five. Mostly, you’re paying for the dream.
7. At some places, I always order the same thing because they have a recipe I like and I can’t get anywhere else. There’s probably something else on the menu I’d like, but why take the risk?
8. One thing I’ll never understand is how excited people get about restaurants that serve breakfast all day long. Breakfast food is usually a choice between fried eggs and fried dough, with maybe a bit of fruit on the side for variety. And people want more of this?

 
 
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Now that almost all the restrictions have been lifted and outdoor dining is available pretty much everywhere in the country, I’m rediscovering the joys of never, ever, ever cooking my own food. I’m also rediscovering some of the fascinating questions that come with restaurant visits, including…

1. I used to think I went to restaurants because somebody else did the cooking for me. After eating in for the past year, I now realize the best thing about restaurants is that somebody else does the dishes.
2. Whenever I order something and the waiter tells me, "That’s my favorite entrée," I wonder if he expects me to offer him a fork so he can dig in.
3. We need a six-month moratorium on schools and park districts and churches hitting up their local restaurants for donations. Pretty much every local joint is under water and behind on at least a million payments at this point, so let’s give them a chance to breathe for a while. Actually, let’s make the moratorium 12 months, not six, and require that people eat at the restaurant at least ten times before asking for a handout.
4. The great divide in dining out is whether you want your plate picked up before everyone else is finished. If I'm the last guy eating and everyone's plate is gone, then I'm a pig at a trough. But if everyone sits with dirty plates while I finish…actually I am still a pig at a trough. Never mind.
5. Sometimes, I need to stifle the laughter when the waiter explains, “Tonight, Chef has combined caviar, foie gras and truffles into a puff pastry that tastes exactly like Cheetos. For $57.”
6. In a fancy restaurant, they pick up the appetizer plate and then hand back your dirty knife and fork. But only after the busser has fondled them.
7. Speaking of which, bussers are paid by the plate, not the hour, which is why they keep asking if you are done with your food. At least I hope that’s why they’re asking.
8. I’m really miffed when the server refuses to write down my order and assures me he’ll remember every detail. At my age, I can’t remember anything I’ve said, so I’ll have to take his word for it when he comes back with the kale waffles.

 
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On behalf of the university, its staff, and all the alumni of our fine institution, I bid a warm welcome to the graduating class of 2021.
 
What an exciting year to be completing your studies at our university. Yes, I realize that you didn’t exactly complete your studies “at” our university, but we did include the school colors in all our Zoom backgrounds and we did insist that you rent space in our dorms even when you couldn’t be here, so it’s really the same thing.
 
At first, I was a bit nervous about speaking to such a large group, even on Zoom, but I remembered that incredibly sensible advice that I should imagine all of you are just sitting there in your underwear. And that’s easy to do, since I can see so many of you actually are sitting there in your underwear. Also, it turns out that Spiderman underpants come in adult sizes.
 
Of course, you didn’t travel all the way from your kitchen to your dining room table to listen to a long presentation about the glories of our university or the traditions we uphold. You want to hear about how special you are and how bright your future is, and you especially want to hear that you’ll be able to pay back your student loans before you die.
 
I am delighted to tell you that I can answer all your questions in the affirmative. Yes, you are a truly special class, a group of immensely gifted students who mastered the art of packing, again and again, while we announced and retracted our campus opening plans 42 times over the past 15 months. You completed more than 35,000 hours of distanced chemistry lab with only 17 homes burned down in the process. You made your school spirit known when you hacked into the scoreboard at the stadium to Rickroll the football team. And you certainly made your mark when you voted to replace our school mascot with a CBD gummy bear.
 
We know this past year has included a number of disappointments for you as we canceled many on-campus experiences. Many of you were upset you were unable to make out with your bae in the library and you couldn’t play Frisbee on the quad. You’ve told us you feel cheated because you didn’t spend enough time in our hallowed halls, partying with your friends in the dorm, and sharing meals in the cafeteria. (Well, actually nobody said they missed the cafeteria, but the staff there is very sensitive, so we are including them here.)
 
We feel your pain, but our attorneys want you to see this in the most positive of lights. When you return for your class reunions, it will be as if you are here for the first time. You’ll be energized and inspired as you experience the university in 3-D. And, of course, you’ll be surprised as you sample the unique offerings in our cafeteria. (Not pleasantly surprised, we know, but at least you’ll be grateful that you didn’t spend all four years dining on this stuff.)
 
Most important, our distanced journey over the past year has prepared you better than any other graduating class for the world you enter as adults. Working in isolation is now the number one job skill that almost every employer seeks. Whether you’ll be picking produce in the grocery store for Instacart or lubricating the self-driving cars for Uber or dropping Amazon boxes in somebody’s yard, your ability to thrive without human contact will make you even more valuable to the handful of companies that will still be hiring humans in the coming years.
 
For those of you who will be entering the white collar professions, your year of remote learning has prepared you for a lifetime career of working from home, sitting at the same dining room table where you have been based since early in 2020. While earlier graduating classes developed such obsolete skills as personal contact and team building, your graduating class is uniquely equipped for the brave new world of isolation, two-dimensional colleagues and, of course, working from home while wearing Spiderman underpants.
 
Yes, honored graduates, you are the most special, most prepared, most likely to succeed class in history. While many of the adjustments we made to your education over the past year were forced on us by the pandemic, we now recognize that they are the model we should follow from this day forward. Clearly, the incredible value of your remote education justifies the 27% tuition increase we implemented last September, and we look forward to increasing our distanced learning, and tuition, for many years to come.
 
And, no, we don’t give refunds.
 
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