originally 10/27/98
I'm really running out of time, so here's the stuff..
A thought occurs to me.What does Bill Clinton do when he wants to smoke a cuban?

Time for Dale's household hint of the day- If, while doing laundry, you have an
intense need to blow your nose, grab the used fabric softener sheet out
of the dryer and use it again. If you don't use softener sheets- maybe
you should reconsider.Remember, all Dale's household hints are personally
tested for your safety.No animals were harmed, but my nose got a little
greasy.Well wasn't that fun.

I was talking to Barb McKusker at work. She wondered aloud if I had overslept
since the clocks were set back an hour.(No, I wasn't late, but not by much.)
I told her oversleeping was impossible. She began to contradict me, and in my
normal diplomatic manner, I interrupted her and said while it was possible to sleep too
late it was impossible to oversleep. She just smiled one of those smiles
that make me uneasy. And it became all the more clear that half of my
genes are DeBuhr, and they are pretty dominant genes. Not that they want
to dominate, they'd rather sleep in.

John Glenn is going back up in space. Three cheers for the old coot.
He's already an astronaut hero, let somebody else have a turn.
If it's important for somebody elderly togo, let somebody elderly who hasn't gone go.
Raffle off the chance to help pay the national debt. What is he going to do up there
he hasn'talready done, the first space-walker? Is it the bucket seats in plush
corinthian leather, or the Bose six-channel stereo he craves to
experience? It would be cheaper for the American taxpayer to buy him a Buick.

I don't know why, but it's not as funny with any other brand of
car. Launching politicians into outer space is appealing though. Bill
Clinton, and most of Congress would go if you said it was a deep-space
probe. Say, "To boldly go where no man has gone before," and they'd be
wearing the first space-suits with drool catchers. Bill's would also
have a cigar cutter. Sorry. Maybe it's just Glenn's last hurrah (or
maybe he's taking along Viagra). We all die anyway, and so will this
rant. Just wait

.Speaking of dying. Frankie Yankovic died. You know,
the King of Polka. I did not know this until I read it in the newspaper-
there are different styles of polka. Frankie popularized the Serbian, as
opposed to the Polish. I suddenly feel culturally narrow, but I am not
going to devote the rest of my life to the advancement of polka to
compensate. This is enough. But I have to admire the guy, dead as he
is. He was the King of something. Only got him an article on page 10
of the local newspaper though, and this place has the Czech-Slovak
museum.

May I contrast this, please, with the death of another member of
the music industry- one Frank Sinatra.

I don't recall anybody declaring him King of anything. This was a guy who
associated with other guys nicknamed after fruit and small fur-bearing animals.
Guys called 'Bananas,' or 'the Weasel.' I like bananas, most everybody does, but it
is not a good thing to be called one. And there are some small furry
critters you'd like to see, but not a weasel. But call a guy 'Goose
Berries,' or ' Bear,' and you know this guy could be a friend for
life. Where am I going with this?

Oh yeah, sorry.Sinatra was a punk.This was a guy who could deny
knowing anything of his mobster friends'backgrounds, and yet could
tell a reporter he could have her killed.

I can't say his singing impressed me. Again, maybe I'm too culturally
narrow. Maybe he sold more records than Frankie Yankovic. I can't say
I ever met either of them. But it would be a fair guess that Yankovic
was more loved by those around him, Sinatra more feared. And it does not
seem fair that Yankovic got buried on page 10, and Sinatra got more
adoring coverage than a foreign head of state.

Maybe Sinatra would have been a better person if he too had learned to
play the accordion. You've got to admit, it's hard to imagine an
accordion-playing tyrant. Or a mime,maybe he should have been a mime.
How could you take a mime seriously when he threatens to have you knee-capped?
Okay, it would be hard to be a singer and a mime at the same time.
I was just trying to expand my mind. Kind of like an accordion.

When I get to heaven I imagine Frankie Yankovic will be there,
playing for those who would polka on the streets of gold.
But I can't imagine Sinatra there, he and his friends couldn't
bully their way in. Fortunately, for Sinatra, I am not his Judge.
Fortunately for you, I'm out of time.