Horton Hears Nuestro Himno

You think it's bad these darned aliens want to sing our national anthem in Spanish, brace yourself. It gets worse. Try El Gato Ensombrerado on for size. That's right. The Cat in the Hat has gone Espanol and has breached the borders of my all-American household. (Okay, all-Guatemalan-Mexican-Irish-German-Belgian-French-Spanish-
Cherokee-English-Swiss household -- in descending order of percentages). My bilingual wife, thumbing her lovely Hispanic nose at American patriotism, believes our children should grow up bilingual as well. Can you believe it? Right here in my own house people are going around speaking Spanish! And even calling traditionally American things -- like plates and fun-- by their Spanish names. This hurts real Americans. No wonder Rush Limbaugh is addicted to painkillers. When Dr. Seuss showed up in a sombrero I really saw for the first time how out-of-hand things have become. These Spanish speakers are going to be singing our national anthem and reading the children's literature canon in Spanish and actually understanding them!! The next thing you know you won't be able to tell them from ordinary everyday Americans like us and then where in the hell are we going to be? Horton Eschucha a Quien! A who? A what?

Back from Arcata

It was a great trip and a great show. I love working with these folks. Kyrie O'Connor and Adam Felber -- both committed bloggers -- have inspired me to try to post more often. I won't do it, of course. Like most of my inspiration it will curdle and manifest itself as guilt. But I don't mean that as a bad thing. Guilt is what gets the job done most days. Kyrie has graciously featured on her blog, MeMo, a picture of Peter Sagal and I on the streets of Arcata posing with fresh goat cheese. This is illegal in 17 states, but Arcata is an exception to many rules. I first went through there as a long-haired itinerant in 1976 while hitchhiking to Oregon and Alaska. There are still longhairs loitering around the same entrance ramps to 101 that I stood on 30 years ago. The only difference is they've stopped combing their hair and the ponytails have all become dreadlocks. My hair looked like that for a short time in the summer of '76 when I got a thistle tangled up in my hair while hiking in Denali Park. For two days all I could see in my shadow was what looked like a pet squirrel on my head, or a badly centered beehive hairdo. Ah, memories.

California and Bust

I'm on my way to Arcata, California for a taping of Wait, Wait - Don't Tell Me. Adam Felber and Kyrie O'Connor will be the other panelists which really takes the pressure off of me. This one is already lost. Tune in this weekend. With Adam on board it's bound to be fun.

Bleak House

It's been two weeks since I chose not to drive myself and my family into the river. I stand by that decision even though these past many days have been wracked with sickness, frustration, and mind-bending fatigue. The mucus production alone, if collected in one place, would have qualified as a biological WMD. Two ear aches, one sinus infection, one large case of bronchitis and three courses of antibiotics later and the house today sounds a little less like a World War One field hospital and more like a home. You may want to wash your hands after reading this.