Thursday, April 29, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
We at the American Psychological Association send annual warnings like this one to unlicensed therapists across the United States. State law requires that anyone who holds themselves out to the general public as a psychologist, psychiatrist, or trained psychotherapist, must be in possession of a valid state license for the practice of their profession.
In Dr. Love, the Love doctor v. The State of Kansas, 14 Kans. 231 (1999), the Supreme Court of Kansas held that advice columnists whose work “leaves the reasonable reader with the impression that the advisor is a licensed clinician or professionally trained therapist” can be subject to civil fines of up to $750 per day for the unlicensed practice of a profession. In a footnote, the court specified that unlicensed therapists may avoid this liability by posting the following disclaimer with their column:
"[YOUR NAME] is not a trained professional or licensed therapist. If you suffer from a psychological or medical disorder, you should not rely on [YOUR NAME]’s advice, but instead should consult a professional therapist licensed by the State of Kansas."
Please post this disclaimer prominently with your column, or risk civil fines.
Sincerely,
Irving P. Irvingman, Esq.
Dear Mr. Man,
I read your letter carefully, and to you I say, "Oh p-shaw! Don’t be silly."
My readers know I’m not a trained professional or licensed therapist. They know I’m a singer/dancer, spokesmodel, mother of seven, and businesswoman (www.crossstitchingforjesus.com), and definitely not a psychobabbler therapist! I don’t even respect those people! I would never tell my readers (a) that all men want to have sex with their mothers, or (b) that criminals do bad things because they never got hugged by their fathers, or (c) that they probably have repressed a bad memory from their childhood and that's why they are fat as two houses. Isn’t that what psychologists do?
In my opinion, if you have real problems, you should see your clergyman. Whenever I am troubled I visit our own Reverend Casper. Rev. Casper has been our minister for three years now. He is unmarried, celibate, and likely to stay that way.
I say this because if Rev. Casper ever were to engage in sexual conduct, I’m pretty sure it would be gay conduct. His mannerisms are quite effeminate, in a gentle, almost frightened sort of way. All the women at church find that reassuring.
Rev. Casper leads the church choir, has a beautiful tenor voice, and loves show tunes. But I’m sure that Rev. Casper would never sin in that way. He is steadfast in his opposition to gay conduct and sexual gayness of any kind. And he often reminds his flock what Jesus said in the Book of Leviticus, “If thee be a man, be not gay with another man; or if thee be a woman, with a woman,” or something to that effect.
Do I have a problem with Rev. Casper’s gay mannerisms? I do not. To the contrary, the fact that Rev. Casper has suppressed his gaiety makes me admire him that much more. He is living proof that homosexuality is a choice.
By repressing his urges, Rev. Casper has acquired a special kind of wisdom. I imagine it is like the wisdom and strength of those monks who never talk, Buddhists who eat fire, Buckingham Palace guards, and so on. They have a pillar of inner strength, a special fortitude that is stiffened by their experiences. I can go to Rev. Casper with all sorts of problems and he always has good advice for me. In fact, I took your letter to him.
He said that I should pray on this issue, and I have. I have decided that if I am truly doing God’s work, then your licensing laws will not stop me. Also, I doubt that the Kansas Attorney General (who is elected and is a friend of mine) is going to try to stop a respected public figure from dispensing her nuggets of Christian wisdom to a hungry public. People like me! They really, really like me!
But thanks for writing, Irv! And bon justice!
Ethylene
We at the American Psychological Association send annual warnings like this one to unlicensed therapists across the United States. State law requires that anyone who holds themselves out to the general public as a psychologist, psychiatrist, or trained psychotherapist, must be in possession of a valid state license for the practice of their profession.
In Dr. Love, the Love doctor v. The State of Kansas, 14 Kans. 231 (1999), the Supreme Court of Kansas held that advice columnists whose work “leaves the reasonable reader with the impression that the advisor is a licensed clinician or professionally trained therapist” can be subject to civil fines of up to $750 per day for the unlicensed practice of a profession. In a footnote, the court specified that unlicensed therapists may avoid this liability by posting the following disclaimer with their column:
"[YOUR NAME] is not a trained professional or licensed therapist. If you suffer from a psychological or medical disorder, you should not rely on [YOUR NAME]’s advice, but instead should consult a professional therapist licensed by the State of Kansas."
Please post this disclaimer prominently with your column, or risk civil fines.
Sincerely,
Irving P. Irvingman, Esq.
Dear Mr. Man,
I read your letter carefully, and to you I say, "Oh p-shaw! Don’t be silly."
My readers know I’m not a trained professional or licensed therapist. They know I’m a singer/dancer, spokesmodel, mother of seven, and businesswoman (www.crossstitchingforjesus.com), and definitely not a psychobabbler therapist! I don’t even respect those people! I would never tell my readers (a) that all men want to have sex with their mothers, or (b) that criminals do bad things because they never got hugged by their fathers, or (c) that they probably have repressed a bad memory from their childhood and that's why they are fat as two houses. Isn’t that what psychologists do?
In my opinion, if you have real problems, you should see your clergyman. Whenever I am troubled I visit our own Reverend Casper. Rev. Casper has been our minister for three years now. He is unmarried, celibate, and likely to stay that way.
I say this because if Rev. Casper ever were to engage in sexual conduct, I’m pretty sure it would be gay conduct. His mannerisms are quite effeminate, in a gentle, almost frightened sort of way. All the women at church find that reassuring.
Rev. Casper leads the church choir, has a beautiful tenor voice, and loves show tunes. But I’m sure that Rev. Casper would never sin in that way. He is steadfast in his opposition to gay conduct and sexual gayness of any kind. And he often reminds his flock what Jesus said in the Book of Leviticus, “If thee be a man, be not gay with another man; or if thee be a woman, with a woman,” or something to that effect.
Do I have a problem with Rev. Casper’s gay mannerisms? I do not. To the contrary, the fact that Rev. Casper has suppressed his gaiety makes me admire him that much more. He is living proof that homosexuality is a choice.
By repressing his urges, Rev. Casper has acquired a special kind of wisdom. I imagine it is like the wisdom and strength of those monks who never talk, Buddhists who eat fire, Buckingham Palace guards, and so on. They have a pillar of inner strength, a special fortitude that is stiffened by their experiences. I can go to Rev. Casper with all sorts of problems and he always has good advice for me. In fact, I took your letter to him.
He said that I should pray on this issue, and I have. I have decided that if I am truly doing God’s work, then your licensing laws will not stop me. Also, I doubt that the Kansas Attorney General (who is elected and is a friend of mine) is going to try to stop a respected public figure from dispensing her nuggets of Christian wisdom to a hungry public. People like me! They really, really like me!
But thanks for writing, Irv! And bon justice!
Ethylene
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
I don’t know if you answer questions from kids or not, but I admit it, I’m only 14. I’ve changed all the names of the people in this letter because if anyone knew this was me I would get like totally harassed for, like, ever. And probably get a swirly every day for a year, or something.
Anyway, this girl I know at school is really, really pretty, and I think I kind of like her (a lot) and stuff, except that I don’t really know what to do about that.
Her name is Karen. My friend Craig says I should just go up to her and give her something, like a ring or something. But I don’t really have a ring to give her, and my parents only give me enough allowance to cover food and the bare minimum of Nintendo.
So Craig says that next time we have study hall (Karen is in study hall with us) I should sit next to her and put my arm around her. But just the thought of that is like totally scary in a panicky kind of way.
I am not really tall, or good at sports, (except dodgeball, which I rock at), or a total braniac. I’m just a regular person – not a gangster or a nerd or any of that stuff. And Karen is like totally hot to me, even though Craig says that one of her teeth is crooked and that her butt is too big (which I don’t agree with any of).
So I know that you are going to tell me to tell her how I feel, which is what I tried to do last Thursday in study hall. I was able to get her to sit next to me by getting friends to sit in all the other available seats before she got there. But when I smelled her hair (or her perfume or something) and she smiled at me, I almost passed out. Like I was drunk or sick or a little of both. (And just to be totally honest, I was also … um … excited in other ways too, which was not on purpose I SWEAR.) So I just said ‘hi’ and I don’t think she realized how freaked out I was on the inside. But I totally chickened out on asking her to this party my friend Steve is having next week.
So my problem is that I don’t think I can talk to her at all. At least, not at close range. It is like totally overwhelming or something because my body just goes all chemical.
So what do I do? How can I ask her to the party? Should I write her a note or something? That seems kind of strange since we barely know each other. Also, even if that worked, I would still have to sit near her to talk to her anyway.
And I know you’re a Christian and all and I’m not trying to be crude here or anything, but is there some kind of anti-Viagra or something I could take for this? I’m sorry but I’m not going to be able to you-know-what first every time I want to talk to Karen!
Scared to Death
Dear Scared,
First love is a beautiful and sometimes tortuous thing. You are right. My advice is for you to tell her how you feel. That’s difficult, I know. Especially since I can tell from your letter that she is probably out of your league. I sense that you sense this too, don’t you?
That’s OK. It is still worth a try!
Don’t write a note. Notes leave physical evidence that can be used against you by cruel teenagers. I still remember the sting of the teasing laughter at my heartfelt love limerick to the captain of the football team. To this day, I burst out in tears at the recital of limericks.
If you can’t speak to her directly about these things, try the telephone. The nice thing about the telephone is that you control when you call, and you can work from a script if you want to! You can write down what you want to say first, so that you won’t have to wing it. The key is to diagram out all the possibilities, like this:
Preparation:
1. Go to the bathroom first.
2. Have glass of water ready.
Call:
3 deep breaths
Dial
RING … RING….
A. IF Father, Motther, or Unknown person answers, THEN you say: “Hello, may I speak to Karen?
If the response is:
1. Just a minute (goes to get her), THEN you take more deep breaths (be careful not to hyperventilate or you could pass out).
2. Who is calling please?, THEN you say: “YOURNAME, a friend from school.”
That should work. Go to part B.
B. IF Karen answers, you say:
“Hi Karen, this is YOURNAME, from study hall.” (BE PREPARED to describe yourself in more detail, since it sounds like she doesn’t know who you are.)
Add something flattering, like “You sat next to me the other day. You were wearing that really beautiful dress” (or whatever she was wearing). If there is any chance that she will like you, this comment will help. If not, then she’ll think you’re a stalker, but you never would have had a chance with her anyway.
C. At that point she will either (a) brush you off, in which case you should terminate the call as soon as possible with the least amount of humiliation, or (b) be friendly, in which case you are off to the races! You’ll have to develop the rest of your script on your own rom this point forward. But be quick: ask her to Steve's party as soon as possible, and then get off the phone. It sounds like that where Karen is concerned, you are like an adolescent bomb waiting to go off. So start with short, controlled interactions. That's your best bet.
And if the phone call doesn’t work (and let's be honest here, it probably won't), I suggest you try to develop some interest in one of the girls in the Spanish Club.
Good luck, and bon suerte!
Ethylene
I don’t know if you answer questions from kids or not, but I admit it, I’m only 14. I’ve changed all the names of the people in this letter because if anyone knew this was me I would get like totally harassed for, like, ever. And probably get a swirly every day for a year, or something.
Anyway, this girl I know at school is really, really pretty, and I think I kind of like her (a lot) and stuff, except that I don’t really know what to do about that.
Her name is Karen. My friend Craig says I should just go up to her and give her something, like a ring or something. But I don’t really have a ring to give her, and my parents only give me enough allowance to cover food and the bare minimum of Nintendo.
So Craig says that next time we have study hall (Karen is in study hall with us) I should sit next to her and put my arm around her. But just the thought of that is like totally scary in a panicky kind of way.
I am not really tall, or good at sports, (except dodgeball, which I rock at), or a total braniac. I’m just a regular person – not a gangster or a nerd or any of that stuff. And Karen is like totally hot to me, even though Craig says that one of her teeth is crooked and that her butt is too big (which I don’t agree with any of).
So I know that you are going to tell me to tell her how I feel, which is what I tried to do last Thursday in study hall. I was able to get her to sit next to me by getting friends to sit in all the other available seats before she got there. But when I smelled her hair (or her perfume or something) and she smiled at me, I almost passed out. Like I was drunk or sick or a little of both. (And just to be totally honest, I was also … um … excited in other ways too, which was not on purpose I SWEAR.) So I just said ‘hi’ and I don’t think she realized how freaked out I was on the inside. But I totally chickened out on asking her to this party my friend Steve is having next week.
So my problem is that I don’t think I can talk to her at all. At least, not at close range. It is like totally overwhelming or something because my body just goes all chemical.
So what do I do? How can I ask her to the party? Should I write her a note or something? That seems kind of strange since we barely know each other. Also, even if that worked, I would still have to sit near her to talk to her anyway.
And I know you’re a Christian and all and I’m not trying to be crude here or anything, but is there some kind of anti-Viagra or something I could take for this? I’m sorry but I’m not going to be able to you-know-what first every time I want to talk to Karen!
Scared to Death
Dear Scared,
First love is a beautiful and sometimes tortuous thing. You are right. My advice is for you to tell her how you feel. That’s difficult, I know. Especially since I can tell from your letter that she is probably out of your league. I sense that you sense this too, don’t you?
That’s OK. It is still worth a try!
Don’t write a note. Notes leave physical evidence that can be used against you by cruel teenagers. I still remember the sting of the teasing laughter at my heartfelt love limerick to the captain of the football team. To this day, I burst out in tears at the recital of limericks.
If you can’t speak to her directly about these things, try the telephone. The nice thing about the telephone is that you control when you call, and you can work from a script if you want to! You can write down what you want to say first, so that you won’t have to wing it. The key is to diagram out all the possibilities, like this:
Preparation:
1. Go to the bathroom first.
2. Have glass of water ready.
Call:
3 deep breaths
Dial
RING … RING….
A. IF Father, Motther, or Unknown person answers, THEN you say: “Hello, may I speak to Karen?
If the response is:
1. Just a minute (goes to get her), THEN you take more deep breaths (be careful not to hyperventilate or you could pass out).
2. Who is calling please?, THEN you say: “YOURNAME, a friend from school.”
That should work. Go to part B.
B. IF Karen answers, you say:
“Hi Karen, this is YOURNAME, from study hall.” (BE PREPARED to describe yourself in more detail, since it sounds like she doesn’t know who you are.)
Add something flattering, like “You sat next to me the other day. You were wearing that really beautiful dress” (or whatever she was wearing). If there is any chance that she will like you, this comment will help. If not, then she’ll think you’re a stalker, but you never would have had a chance with her anyway.
C. At that point she will either (a) brush you off, in which case you should terminate the call as soon as possible with the least amount of humiliation, or (b) be friendly, in which case you are off to the races! You’ll have to develop the rest of your script on your own rom this point forward. But be quick: ask her to Steve's party as soon as possible, and then get off the phone. It sounds like that where Karen is concerned, you are like an adolescent bomb waiting to go off. So start with short, controlled interactions. That's your best bet.
And if the phone call doesn’t work (and let's be honest here, it probably won't), I suggest you try to develop some interest in one of the girls in the Spanish Club.
Good luck, and bon suerte!
Ethylene
Monday, April 26, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
You are an entertainer. Don’t you think that it was a travesty of justice that Jennifer Hudson was voted off of American Idol? I mean, first that little Clay person, and now this! I know you are white, but I love your column anyway. And since you are a sister and an expert on this kind of show business, I hope you will back me up when I say that that sister got the n****r treatment!
Angry in Chicago
Dear Angry,
I must admit that your letter startled me. I was always taught never to use the n-word in public, and to act ashamed of my Uncle Farley whenever he used it. Also, I have to admit that I just want to take Clay Aiken home and baby him! He is so cute, even if he is disturbingly androgynous. So I can't really agree with everything you say, but I do agree with your general point. And I am so happy that you called me sister!
Yes girlfriend, I do think that Jennifer Hudson had the most talent on this season’s American Idol. It’s frustrating when the uneducated public chooses the clearly inferior candidate, but that’s democracy!
As for what role racism might have played in the voting, I really don’t know. I am so thankful that racism is not an issue where I live, since we have no negroes here. But I don’t doubt that it might have been a factor in the Idol voting. Let’s be honest. Some of those people who got more votes than Jennifer sounded like my daughter’s first French horn lesson. And what’s with that redheaded kid with the crossed eyes?! I’m sorry, but that is not entertainment. This is not the circus sideshow.
But perhaps you’ll feel better about this terrible injustice if you remember last year’s heavy-set, black loser from American Idol, Ruben Stoddard. Ruben now has a successful career underway, and is making enough money to buy his own Dunkin Donuts! So girlfriend, remember what your other girlfriend, Aretha Franklin, says: sisters need to be doing it for themselves.
I hope you feel better, and bon TV!
Ethylene
You are an entertainer. Don’t you think that it was a travesty of justice that Jennifer Hudson was voted off of American Idol? I mean, first that little Clay person, and now this! I know you are white, but I love your column anyway. And since you are a sister and an expert on this kind of show business, I hope you will back me up when I say that that sister got the n****r treatment!
Angry in Chicago
Dear Angry,
I must admit that your letter startled me. I was always taught never to use the n-word in public, and to act ashamed of my Uncle Farley whenever he used it. Also, I have to admit that I just want to take Clay Aiken home and baby him! He is so cute, even if he is disturbingly androgynous. So I can't really agree with everything you say, but I do agree with your general point. And I am so happy that you called me sister!
Yes girlfriend, I do think that Jennifer Hudson had the most talent on this season’s American Idol. It’s frustrating when the uneducated public chooses the clearly inferior candidate, but that’s democracy!
As for what role racism might have played in the voting, I really don’t know. I am so thankful that racism is not an issue where I live, since we have no negroes here. But I don’t doubt that it might have been a factor in the Idol voting. Let’s be honest. Some of those people who got more votes than Jennifer sounded like my daughter’s first French horn lesson. And what’s with that redheaded kid with the crossed eyes?! I’m sorry, but that is not entertainment. This is not the circus sideshow.
But perhaps you’ll feel better about this terrible injustice if you remember last year’s heavy-set, black loser from American Idol, Ruben Stoddard. Ruben now has a successful career underway, and is making enough money to buy his own Dunkin Donuts! So girlfriend, remember what your other girlfriend, Aretha Franklin, says: sisters need to be doing it for themselves.
I hope you feel better, and bon TV!
Ethylene
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
We get your column here in our prison paper, the “Leavenworth Tattler.” Lots of the guys in the population read it, and the guards too. We have an etiquette problem we’d like you to solve.
Those of us in the “permanent population” – I’m in for felony murder (whoops!) and will be here for decades – have our own set of rules. We’re kind of like our own club. The rules are pretty harsh, but also very clear. Everybody knows them, and everybody knows that the penalty for breaking them is, well, death. (Sorry, but that’s the way it is.)
One of the rules is that everybody respects everybody else’s b*tches, or perhaps “assistants” is a better word for purposes of this letter. For example, if my assistant is running an errand for me, it’s like I’m running that errand. You treat my assistant the same way you would treat me. You disrespect my assistant, you disrespect me. It’s our little golden rule, and common courtesy.
My assistant’s name is Boinky. Boinky works in the metal shop every morning, where they stamp out license plates. So the other day I ask Boinky to make me a couple of shivs – you know, for self defense. Boinky is getting ready to make my shivs when a newby, whose job is to pick up metal scrap and recycle it, takes the metal scrap that Boinky was going to use to make my shivs. The kid – some pimply gangbanger – says it was an accident, but he was discourteous to Boinky. And Boinky thinks I should off the kid. Boinky says it’s the principle of the thing.
What should I do? I want to be reasonable. The kid is new. On the other hand, I don’t want to encourage a lawless environment in the work place. Rules are rules. Without rules, the very fabric of our society could break down.
What do you think? I respect the hell out of your opinion about stuff like this.
Trunk
P.S. I want to give a shout out to all the guys on death row! Whassup!
Dear Trunk,
If you read my column you know what I am about to say. And these lessons are especially important for readers like you. So pay attention.
Never ever EVER use profanity. It is a sin against God. Hell is a horrible place; not a casual expletive. And you may think that the word you use for your “assistants” isn’t profanity, or that it refers to a female dog, but we know better. So please STOP. You and the rest of your “population” will thank me in the long run.
Now, on to your problem. I see your dilemma. You want to deter violations of the rules, yet you don’t want to impose draconian punishments. Jesus did say “spare the rod, spoil the child.” But I don’t think Jesus’s use of the word “rod” included shivs, and I don’t think he meant for you to shove the rod through the child’s head, so to speak. In other words, I think that while all true Christians support corporal punishment, they oppose unnecessary cruelty.
In this case, I think death is too harsh a punishment for this young man’s mistake. Boinky needs to remember that Jesus tells us also to “turn the other cheek.” I am sure that in the rough and tumble prison environment, people like Boinky have to get used to turning their cheeks. Otherwise you’d all be fighting all the time, and that’s not good.
So explain to Boinky that in this case, discretion is the better part of valor. Have him explain to the gangbanger (I really don’t like that term!) that his feelings were hurt, and that if the gangbanger disrespects him again, Trunk will be unhappy. I bet that works!
Finally, thanks again to all of your population friends for reading my column. Jesus went to the lepers, so I am more than happy to mediate your disputes. Please write any time.
And bon guillotine!
Ethylene
We get your column here in our prison paper, the “Leavenworth Tattler.” Lots of the guys in the population read it, and the guards too. We have an etiquette problem we’d like you to solve.
Those of us in the “permanent population” – I’m in for felony murder (whoops!) and will be here for decades – have our own set of rules. We’re kind of like our own club. The rules are pretty harsh, but also very clear. Everybody knows them, and everybody knows that the penalty for breaking them is, well, death. (Sorry, but that’s the way it is.)
One of the rules is that everybody respects everybody else’s b*tches, or perhaps “assistants” is a better word for purposes of this letter. For example, if my assistant is running an errand for me, it’s like I’m running that errand. You treat my assistant the same way you would treat me. You disrespect my assistant, you disrespect me. It’s our little golden rule, and common courtesy.
My assistant’s name is Boinky. Boinky works in the metal shop every morning, where they stamp out license plates. So the other day I ask Boinky to make me a couple of shivs – you know, for self defense. Boinky is getting ready to make my shivs when a newby, whose job is to pick up metal scrap and recycle it, takes the metal scrap that Boinky was going to use to make my shivs. The kid – some pimply gangbanger – says it was an accident, but he was discourteous to Boinky. And Boinky thinks I should off the kid. Boinky says it’s the principle of the thing.
What should I do? I want to be reasonable. The kid is new. On the other hand, I don’t want to encourage a lawless environment in the work place. Rules are rules. Without rules, the very fabric of our society could break down.
What do you think? I respect the hell out of your opinion about stuff like this.
Trunk
P.S. I want to give a shout out to all the guys on death row! Whassup!
Dear Trunk,
If you read my column you know what I am about to say. And these lessons are especially important for readers like you. So pay attention.
Never ever EVER use profanity. It is a sin against God. Hell is a horrible place; not a casual expletive. And you may think that the word you use for your “assistants” isn’t profanity, or that it refers to a female dog, but we know better. So please STOP. You and the rest of your “population” will thank me in the long run.
Now, on to your problem. I see your dilemma. You want to deter violations of the rules, yet you don’t want to impose draconian punishments. Jesus did say “spare the rod, spoil the child.” But I don’t think Jesus’s use of the word “rod” included shivs, and I don’t think he meant for you to shove the rod through the child’s head, so to speak. In other words, I think that while all true Christians support corporal punishment, they oppose unnecessary cruelty.
In this case, I think death is too harsh a punishment for this young man’s mistake. Boinky needs to remember that Jesus tells us also to “turn the other cheek.” I am sure that in the rough and tumble prison environment, people like Boinky have to get used to turning their cheeks. Otherwise you’d all be fighting all the time, and that’s not good.
So explain to Boinky that in this case, discretion is the better part of valor. Have him explain to the gangbanger (I really don’t like that term!) that his feelings were hurt, and that if the gangbanger disrespects him again, Trunk will be unhappy. I bet that works!
Finally, thanks again to all of your population friends for reading my column. Jesus went to the lepers, so I am more than happy to mediate your disputes. Please write any time.
And bon guillotine!
Ethylene
Friday, April 23, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
This is a delicate subject, and I don’t mind if you decide to reply privately. Our oldest son, Thad, is 17 years old. Puberty has been difficult for him. His face broke out quite severely, he showers 5 times a day, and he has been very awkward with girls. We have spoken to him about drugs, and we don’t believe he is using drugs (thank God!).
But the other day while I was putting away Thad’s laundry, I found a stack of pornographic magazines in his dresser. These included FHM Magazine, Esquire Magazine, Paris Match, and something called “Stuff Magazine.” I panicked. I couldn’t decide whether to throw them out or leave them where I found them, whether to punish Thad or say nothing of it.
Fortunately, my husband Keith was home. He said that this sort of thing was normal, but that we need to talk with Thad. I gave the magazines to Keith, and he is going to give them back to Thad and have a talk with Thad.
The problem is that Keith is apparently not sure what to say, because it’s been more than 5 days and Keith still hasn’t gotten around to talking with Thad. Every time I bring it up Keith says that he needs to plan this talk carefully, and then disappears into the bathroom (where he does his best thinking).
I think Thad must have seen by now that the magazines were gone, so it’s more than a little awkward around the house. And I have not yet been able to determine whether this tension has anything to do with the black eye that Thad’s younger brother Steven showed up with this afternoon.
We need your help. What should Keith tell Thad? Are we doing the right thing?
Concerned Mother
Dear CM,
Thad’s interest in pornography must be nipped in the bud immediately. Do not give him back that filth! Destroy the magazines, preferably using incineration combined with prayer. While these magazines he has may seem relatively innocuous compared to more hardcore material like Playboy or the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, studies show that porn is addictive. And magazines like these are the gateway magazines to the hard stuff.
Remember, Thad’s urges are natural, but sinful. Don’t hate the sinner; hate the sin. Left alone, Thad’s budding interest in this literary genre will undoubtedly swell into a larger problem. Without treatment, Thad faces a long, hard future. The sooner your husband speaks to Thad the better.
I took the liberty of perusing my “Recommended Reading for Christians” list to see if there are any books that might help your husband find the right words for his conversation with Thad. I haven’t read them, but two books by Dan and Marilyn Quayle seem to be on point, interestingly enough: “Standing Firm,” by Dan Quayle, and “Embrace the Serpent,” by Marilyn Quayle.
I hope these help you help Thad. Good luck, and bon parent!
Ethylene
This is a delicate subject, and I don’t mind if you decide to reply privately. Our oldest son, Thad, is 17 years old. Puberty has been difficult for him. His face broke out quite severely, he showers 5 times a day, and he has been very awkward with girls. We have spoken to him about drugs, and we don’t believe he is using drugs (thank God!).
But the other day while I was putting away Thad’s laundry, I found a stack of pornographic magazines in his dresser. These included FHM Magazine, Esquire Magazine, Paris Match, and something called “Stuff Magazine.” I panicked. I couldn’t decide whether to throw them out or leave them where I found them, whether to punish Thad or say nothing of it.
Fortunately, my husband Keith was home. He said that this sort of thing was normal, but that we need to talk with Thad. I gave the magazines to Keith, and he is going to give them back to Thad and have a talk with Thad.
The problem is that Keith is apparently not sure what to say, because it’s been more than 5 days and Keith still hasn’t gotten around to talking with Thad. Every time I bring it up Keith says that he needs to plan this talk carefully, and then disappears into the bathroom (where he does his best thinking).
I think Thad must have seen by now that the magazines were gone, so it’s more than a little awkward around the house. And I have not yet been able to determine whether this tension has anything to do with the black eye that Thad’s younger brother Steven showed up with this afternoon.
We need your help. What should Keith tell Thad? Are we doing the right thing?
Concerned Mother
Dear CM,
Thad’s interest in pornography must be nipped in the bud immediately. Do not give him back that filth! Destroy the magazines, preferably using incineration combined with prayer. While these magazines he has may seem relatively innocuous compared to more hardcore material like Playboy or the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, studies show that porn is addictive. And magazines like these are the gateway magazines to the hard stuff.
Remember, Thad’s urges are natural, but sinful. Don’t hate the sinner; hate the sin. Left alone, Thad’s budding interest in this literary genre will undoubtedly swell into a larger problem. Without treatment, Thad faces a long, hard future. The sooner your husband speaks to Thad the better.
I took the liberty of perusing my “Recommended Reading for Christians” list to see if there are any books that might help your husband find the right words for his conversation with Thad. I haven’t read them, but two books by Dan and Marilyn Quayle seem to be on point, interestingly enough: “Standing Firm,” by Dan Quayle, and “Embrace the Serpent,” by Marilyn Quayle.
I hope these help you help Thad. Good luck, and bon parent!
Ethylene
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
My wife is due with our first child in just over a week. We are very conflicted about whether to breastfeed or bottle feed. We trust your advice, and we know you had to make this decision seven times. What do you think?
NewDad
Dear NewDad,
What do you mean "we are conflicted"?
Each mother has to make this choice on her own. Some people say it all comes down to this tradeoff: the health benefits of breastmilk for the baby versus the convenience of the bottle. BALONEY! I say it all comes down to a different tradeoff: your wife’s figure versus your wife’s exhaustion. Let me explain.
First, her figure. Some women find that they enjoy the way they look when they are breastfeeding. I don't want to be indiscreet here, but our society puts a lot of emphasis on breast size. When your wife is breastfeeding, she may turn more heads, fill out her clothes better, etc. On the other hand, you will find that you may like her new look too. That can be a problem because the baby is going to have the right of first refusal, if you catch my meaning, and sometimes this creates a weird tension that is, frankly, kind of creepy for the woman. Your wife should think about that.
Second, there is the exhaustion issue. If your wife chooses to breastfeed, it means that she and she alone must feed the baby. And newborns eat like it’s going out of style.
Say that in your normal (pre-baby) life, you went to bed at 11 and woke up at 7. During those 8 hours now, your newborn will demand to be fed at least 4 times. And when I say “demand to be fed” I mean that she will scream bloody murder until she is fed. Do you want to get up at 1:00 am, prepare a bottle, warm it up, and feed the baby? I didn’t think so. If your wife breastfeeds, she has to do those feedings. When the baby cries, you will pat your wife, mumble “Baby … crying …”, roll over, take a big deep breath, and go back to sleep.
Now some people say that a breastfeeding mother can pump milk during the day, so that her husband can feed the baby at night. BALONEY! Once babies have had the breast, they will not take the bottle. As my husband used to say, "Duh!" And more importantly, those breast pumps are a nightmare! They don’t work, they hurt, and while you’re pumping you half expect farmer Ted to walk in and bring you your hay.
So for the dad, breastfeeding is the option you want. But wait, you say. If this is so great for the new dad, why in the world would the new mom choose it? Good question.
Well of course there is the beautiful bonding experience that is breastfeeding. It is a mother's sweetest memory. But the hidden secret of breastfeeding is this: breastfeeding-induced exhaustion works for mothers too! It is the greatest bargaining chip mothers have. Why?
Two reasons. First, everyone cuts exhausted people a break. A few years ago, when I was still performing with the “Up With Farmers” traveling revue, we were asked to do a 3:30 am slot on the Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon. As you know, Jerry stays up for something like 60 hours during the telethon. After the first lost night’s lost sleep, he is a wreck. But because he is a wreck, he gets away with saying or doing pretty much anything.
We were waiting backstage to do our big song/dance number while Robert Goulet was finishing up, when Jerry came back to “thank” us. He stumbled up to us, a cigarette dangling from his lips, patted his hair with his hands, and said, “So, where are you kids from?” As he did this he clasped my hand, smearing some sort of hair grease all over my hand and wrist. We said we were from Kansas, and he proceeded to tell us a very disturbing story about some stripclub he and Dean Martin played in Kansas City. But as he told the story, he proceeded to unzip his fly and urinate into an empty soda bottle right in front of us! As the story ended, he zipped up and handed the bottle to an assistant. Then he patted me on the back, said “Break a leg” and walked away. We were almost too shocked to perform. I burned that dress later that day.
My point is, no one objected to his boorish behavior because he was tired! As long as your wife is breastfeeding, she will be exhausted, and you will know why she is exhausted, and (and this is the key) why you are not.
It is like a get out of jail free card for moms! Imagine this scenario:
YOU: Honey, I have a late meeting today. Could you pick up the dry cleaning?
HER: Well … I … I suppose I could … I am just so tired. But I guess it’s about time I got back in the swing of things. We really ought to wean the baby from breastmilk anyway. Sure, I can …
YOU: Never mind. I’ll cancel my meeting.
As you might guess, that scenario only unfolds three or four times before you, the dad, learn the new rules of the game, and stop asking.
So yes, I enthusiastically recommend that new mothers breastfeed. It’s a win-win situation for all concerned!
Thanks for writing, and bon bebido!
Ethylene
My wife is due with our first child in just over a week. We are very conflicted about whether to breastfeed or bottle feed. We trust your advice, and we know you had to make this decision seven times. What do you think?
NewDad
Dear NewDad,
What do you mean "we are conflicted"?
Each mother has to make this choice on her own. Some people say it all comes down to this tradeoff: the health benefits of breastmilk for the baby versus the convenience of the bottle. BALONEY! I say it all comes down to a different tradeoff: your wife’s figure versus your wife’s exhaustion. Let me explain.
First, her figure. Some women find that they enjoy the way they look when they are breastfeeding. I don't want to be indiscreet here, but our society puts a lot of emphasis on breast size. When your wife is breastfeeding, she may turn more heads, fill out her clothes better, etc. On the other hand, you will find that you may like her new look too. That can be a problem because the baby is going to have the right of first refusal, if you catch my meaning, and sometimes this creates a weird tension that is, frankly, kind of creepy for the woman. Your wife should think about that.
Second, there is the exhaustion issue. If your wife chooses to breastfeed, it means that she and she alone must feed the baby. And newborns eat like it’s going out of style.
Say that in your normal (pre-baby) life, you went to bed at 11 and woke up at 7. During those 8 hours now, your newborn will demand to be fed at least 4 times. And when I say “demand to be fed” I mean that she will scream bloody murder until she is fed. Do you want to get up at 1:00 am, prepare a bottle, warm it up, and feed the baby? I didn’t think so. If your wife breastfeeds, she has to do those feedings. When the baby cries, you will pat your wife, mumble “Baby … crying …”, roll over, take a big deep breath, and go back to sleep.
Now some people say that a breastfeeding mother can pump milk during the day, so that her husband can feed the baby at night. BALONEY! Once babies have had the breast, they will not take the bottle. As my husband used to say, "Duh!" And more importantly, those breast pumps are a nightmare! They don’t work, they hurt, and while you’re pumping you half expect farmer Ted to walk in and bring you your hay.
So for the dad, breastfeeding is the option you want. But wait, you say. If this is so great for the new dad, why in the world would the new mom choose it? Good question.
Well of course there is the beautiful bonding experience that is breastfeeding. It is a mother's sweetest memory. But the hidden secret of breastfeeding is this: breastfeeding-induced exhaustion works for mothers too! It is the greatest bargaining chip mothers have. Why?
Two reasons. First, everyone cuts exhausted people a break. A few years ago, when I was still performing with the “Up With Farmers” traveling revue, we were asked to do a 3:30 am slot on the Jerry Lewis Labor Day Telethon. As you know, Jerry stays up for something like 60 hours during the telethon. After the first lost night’s lost sleep, he is a wreck. But because he is a wreck, he gets away with saying or doing pretty much anything.
We were waiting backstage to do our big song/dance number while Robert Goulet was finishing up, when Jerry came back to “thank” us. He stumbled up to us, a cigarette dangling from his lips, patted his hair with his hands, and said, “So, where are you kids from?” As he did this he clasped my hand, smearing some sort of hair grease all over my hand and wrist. We said we were from Kansas, and he proceeded to tell us a very disturbing story about some stripclub he and Dean Martin played in Kansas City. But as he told the story, he proceeded to unzip his fly and urinate into an empty soda bottle right in front of us! As the story ended, he zipped up and handed the bottle to an assistant. Then he patted me on the back, said “Break a leg” and walked away. We were almost too shocked to perform. I burned that dress later that day.
My point is, no one objected to his boorish behavior because he was tired! As long as your wife is breastfeeding, she will be exhausted, and you will know why she is exhausted, and (and this is the key) why you are not.
It is like a get out of jail free card for moms! Imagine this scenario:
YOU: Honey, I have a late meeting today. Could you pick up the dry cleaning?
HER: Well … I … I suppose I could … I am just so tired. But I guess it’s about time I got back in the swing of things. We really ought to wean the baby from breastmilk anyway. Sure, I can …
YOU: Never mind. I’ll cancel my meeting.
As you might guess, that scenario only unfolds three or four times before you, the dad, learn the new rules of the game, and stop asking.
So yes, I enthusiastically recommend that new mothers breastfeed. It’s a win-win situation for all concerned!
Thanks for writing, and bon bebido!
Ethylene
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Dear Ethlyene,
Permit me to introduce myself. I am Curtis Rutherford, editor in chief of the new magazine called “Disciples.” We are a sort of conservative Christian version of “People,” focusing on the popular, hip side of the Christian right. Instead of dense articles about policy issues, Disciples features snappy, half-page profiles of good-looking young conservatives, like Sean Hannity.
One of our weekly features is our “Hookups” section, in which we discuss (in a light hearted way) hip, young Christian couples. This includes not only married couples, but good-looking young conservative Christians who are dating one another as well.
Someone sent us a picture of you, which we would like to feature in this month's Hookups. I am doing the last-minute fact-checking on this photo. In these days of photoshop, one cannot be too careful. I fell for that John Kerry-Jane Fonda photo hook, line and sinker! (Though that photo is probably true in spirit.)
Your photo was sent to us anonymously, and it is a picture of you and Ralph Reed, smiling for the camera, at a dinner somewhere. (I enclose a copy for your review.) The caption we are proposing to run would read as follows: “Uber-consultant Ralph Reed enjoys an intimate dinner with popular advice columnist, Ethylene Crud.”
Please notify us within 5 days if you object to our use of this picture.
Thanks very much,
Curtis Rutherford
Dear Mr. Rutherford,
I am printing my response to your letter in my column in order to clear up this ugly rumor ONCE AND FOR ALL!
I am not dating, nor have I ever dated, Ralph Reed. NEVER. That photo was taken at the Kansas’ Delegation’s 2001 Innaugural Ball in Washington. It is a long story, but here’s the short version.
Prior to the 2000 Kansas Republican primary, there was a musical benefit concert for George W. Bush held in Normal, KS. The headliners were Lee Greenwood and Bruce Willis, and their respective bands. I was one of the opening acts. Ralph Reed was in attendance and apparently developed some sort of misguided crush on me.
On Inauguration Day, the Kansas Congressional delegation hosted their first ever inaugural ball. It was a small affair, held in the Houlihan’s on M Street in Georgetown. For dinner that night I was seated (by no coincidence, I fear) next to Mr. Reed. A photographer took our picture and we smiled for the camera. That’s all!
Well, that’s not all. As the night wore on, Mr. Reed showed quite an interest in me -- too much of an interest in fact. I finally told him, “I’m married!” To which he replied, “Who isn’t?” Then he nodded across the table at former House speakers Livingston and Gingrich, and winked at me with one of his perpetually exhausted-looking eyes.
It was creepy. First of all, Ralph Reed weighs about 90 pounds soaking wet. His eyes are slits surrounded by black circles. On TV he looks "boyish." Up close he looks like a strangely contented heroin addict. In short, he is not my type. But even if he were Billy Ray Cyrus himself, I would have rebuffed his advances, because I take my marital vows seriously, thank you very much.
So NO, you may not use that picture in your magazine. I applaud your efforts to make Christianinty cool, but not with that picture.
Thank you and good day sir! I said, GOOD DAY!
Ethylene
Permit me to introduce myself. I am Curtis Rutherford, editor in chief of the new magazine called “Disciples.” We are a sort of conservative Christian version of “People,” focusing on the popular, hip side of the Christian right. Instead of dense articles about policy issues, Disciples features snappy, half-page profiles of good-looking young conservatives, like Sean Hannity.
One of our weekly features is our “Hookups” section, in which we discuss (in a light hearted way) hip, young Christian couples. This includes not only married couples, but good-looking young conservative Christians who are dating one another as well.
Someone sent us a picture of you, which we would like to feature in this month's Hookups. I am doing the last-minute fact-checking on this photo. In these days of photoshop, one cannot be too careful. I fell for that John Kerry-Jane Fonda photo hook, line and sinker! (Though that photo is probably true in spirit.)
Your photo was sent to us anonymously, and it is a picture of you and Ralph Reed, smiling for the camera, at a dinner somewhere. (I enclose a copy for your review.) The caption we are proposing to run would read as follows: “Uber-consultant Ralph Reed enjoys an intimate dinner with popular advice columnist, Ethylene Crud.”
Please notify us within 5 days if you object to our use of this picture.
Thanks very much,
Curtis Rutherford
Dear Mr. Rutherford,
I am printing my response to your letter in my column in order to clear up this ugly rumor ONCE AND FOR ALL!
I am not dating, nor have I ever dated, Ralph Reed. NEVER. That photo was taken at the Kansas’ Delegation’s 2001 Innaugural Ball in Washington. It is a long story, but here’s the short version.
Prior to the 2000 Kansas Republican primary, there was a musical benefit concert for George W. Bush held in Normal, KS. The headliners were Lee Greenwood and Bruce Willis, and their respective bands. I was one of the opening acts. Ralph Reed was in attendance and apparently developed some sort of misguided crush on me.
On Inauguration Day, the Kansas Congressional delegation hosted their first ever inaugural ball. It was a small affair, held in the Houlihan’s on M Street in Georgetown. For dinner that night I was seated (by no coincidence, I fear) next to Mr. Reed. A photographer took our picture and we smiled for the camera. That’s all!
Well, that’s not all. As the night wore on, Mr. Reed showed quite an interest in me -- too much of an interest in fact. I finally told him, “I’m married!” To which he replied, “Who isn’t?” Then he nodded across the table at former House speakers Livingston and Gingrich, and winked at me with one of his perpetually exhausted-looking eyes.
It was creepy. First of all, Ralph Reed weighs about 90 pounds soaking wet. His eyes are slits surrounded by black circles. On TV he looks "boyish." Up close he looks like a strangely contented heroin addict. In short, he is not my type. But even if he were Billy Ray Cyrus himself, I would have rebuffed his advances, because I take my marital vows seriously, thank you very much.
So NO, you may not use that picture in your magazine. I applaud your efforts to make Christianinty cool, but not with that picture.
Thank you and good day sir! I said, GOOD DAY!
Ethylene
Monday, April 19, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
Our 13-year old, Belinda, is a musical prodigy. She plays the piano, the oboe, and the accordion. But mostly she can sing and dance. We happen to live in Branson, MO, and Belinda recently won a children's talent contest at the Andy Williams theater. We got to meet Andy himself! (Unfortunately, Belinda did not know who he was, and was frightened by the enormous size of his head and the bronze tint of his face. Fortunately for us, Andy mistakenly took Belinda's tears of terror for tears of excitement. So no harm done!)
My question is this. Are there any good camps or schools for gifted children like Belinda to develop their talent as entertainers? There are so few positive role models for singer/dancers any more, what with trashy girls like Brittney Spears, Christine Aguilera, and that Pink person. Whatever became of your Kathie Lee Giffords, your John Davidsons, and your Anita Bryants?
I know that show business can be a cruel and heartless place. I want Belinda to be able to develop her talent and be a virtuous young woman. What do you suggest?
Stacey G., Mother
Dear Stacey,
I understand your predicament. I too was blessed with singer/dancer talent at a young age. Fortunately, we lived so far from any center of culture that I never had the opportunity to get mixed up with entertainment types.
You are right about the absence of good role models for girls Belinda's age. It used to be that you could count on country music for that sort of thing, but country lost its innocence forever in the person of Tanya Tucker.
Just last year I went to FanFare in Nashville. My daughter Rose and I wanted to meet Lee Anne Rimes, and waited in line under the hot sun for more than an hour to get her autograph. When we got to the front of the line she was in an air-conditioned booth guarded by two burly men. We could see her face through a bullet-proof glass panel, and could converse through a speaker system, the kind they have at the drive through window at the bank. When I started to tell her that Rose was a singer too, Lee Anne got this sick look on her face and started rapping on the inside of the booth to get the attention of her bodyguards. They told us to move along, and when I resisted, one pushed me into Rose, who spilled her grape nehi all over her sun dress. It was awful!
So I guess my point is that Belinda needs to find her own style, and her own voice. Join the church choir. Have her volunteer for shows at school. Put on your own shows! If she has the music in her, it will come out eventually.
Good luck to you and Belinda, and bon chanson!
Ethylene
Our 13-year old, Belinda, is a musical prodigy. She plays the piano, the oboe, and the accordion. But mostly she can sing and dance. We happen to live in Branson, MO, and Belinda recently won a children's talent contest at the Andy Williams theater. We got to meet Andy himself! (Unfortunately, Belinda did not know who he was, and was frightened by the enormous size of his head and the bronze tint of his face. Fortunately for us, Andy mistakenly took Belinda's tears of terror for tears of excitement. So no harm done!)
My question is this. Are there any good camps or schools for gifted children like Belinda to develop their talent as entertainers? There are so few positive role models for singer/dancers any more, what with trashy girls like Brittney Spears, Christine Aguilera, and that Pink person. Whatever became of your Kathie Lee Giffords, your John Davidsons, and your Anita Bryants?
I know that show business can be a cruel and heartless place. I want Belinda to be able to develop her talent and be a virtuous young woman. What do you suggest?
Stacey G., Mother
Dear Stacey,
I understand your predicament. I too was blessed with singer/dancer talent at a young age. Fortunately, we lived so far from any center of culture that I never had the opportunity to get mixed up with entertainment types.
You are right about the absence of good role models for girls Belinda's age. It used to be that you could count on country music for that sort of thing, but country lost its innocence forever in the person of Tanya Tucker.
Just last year I went to FanFare in Nashville. My daughter Rose and I wanted to meet Lee Anne Rimes, and waited in line under the hot sun for more than an hour to get her autograph. When we got to the front of the line she was in an air-conditioned booth guarded by two burly men. We could see her face through a bullet-proof glass panel, and could converse through a speaker system, the kind they have at the drive through window at the bank. When I started to tell her that Rose was a singer too, Lee Anne got this sick look on her face and started rapping on the inside of the booth to get the attention of her bodyguards. They told us to move along, and when I resisted, one pushed me into Rose, who spilled her grape nehi all over her sun dress. It was awful!
So I guess my point is that Belinda needs to find her own style, and her own voice. Join the church choir. Have her volunteer for shows at school. Put on your own shows! If she has the music in her, it will come out eventually.
Good luck to you and Belinda, and bon chanson!
Ethylene
Sunday, April 18, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
I know you don’t like to talk about politics in your column, but I am so mad I could just vomit!
As a fellow heartlander, surely you share my growing alarm at the shabby way the Democraps, Klintonites and their fellow travelers in the liberal media are treating our president. They are savaging the man, just savaging him! He is truly a saint for putting up with it. I believe he draws great strength from his faith, and from Dick Cheney.
I don’t think it’s at all fair what they are saying. They say he wanted to invade Iraq even before 9/11, that he lied about weapons of mass destruction there, that he is under Dick Cheney’s spell, and that he is dumb. Each of these charges can be answered simply, and in the same way. “No he isn’t, and so what if he is.”
As a simple heartlander, I feel so powerless to do anything about this. All the girls in my investment club feel the same way, as does everyone in the Junior League here. My state is already red, so voting doesn’t help much. I just want to take the president in my arms, put his head on my shoulder, stroke his hair, and tell him that everything will be all right. But of course I can’t do that, not without being wrestled to the ground by the Secret Service (the thought of which, I must admit, makes me all tingly).
Ethylene, what can a loyal American do?
Evelyn W., Topeka
Dear Evelyn,
I feel your pain. But let me caution you against using terms like “Democraps” and “Klintonites” in anger. It only undermines your credibility, and plays into the hands of your opponents. Besides, the word “Democrat” has enough evil connotations on its own without you trying to add more.
I know it’s difficult to watch the liberal media savages spew their filth, and vile, putrid, hateful venom at our president. Just the other day I heard a supposedly "neutral" news man say that the president had advocated a doctrine of "preemptive war." He even went so far as to call it "The Bush Doctrine"! That sort of casual smear is par for the course for the liberal media. Thank God for Fox News.
Sometimes I think that the president today is not unlike Jesus -- you know, without the virgin mother, the actual physical crucifixion, and the resurrection. Nevertheless, W’s troubles do remind one of Mel Gibson’s, ‘The Passion.’ Those horrible 9/11 commission people are the Romans, Colin Powell is Judas, and the Democrats are, of course, the Jews (bless their hearts).
But we shouldn’t make too much of this analogy. Jesus’ physical pain was probably a lot worse than the president’s mental pain. And the president has the support of his lovely wife and family. Jesus was alone. While Jesus didn’t have wild teenage daughters to keep track of, he also didn’t have their love and support.
Nor did Jesus have Dick Cheney. And it’s a good thing too! Because I have a feeling that if a can-do guy like the Vice President had been around back then, he would have found a way to stop the crucifixion before it even got rolling. In which case we might all be (i) wearing togas, (ii) having orgies, and (iii) binging and purging at every meal!
I have never tried (i) and (ii), but (iii) is no picnic, let me tell you.
Chin up Evelyn! Remember, Jesus had the last laugh, and I have a feeling that our president will too.
Ethylene
I know you don’t like to talk about politics in your column, but I am so mad I could just vomit!
As a fellow heartlander, surely you share my growing alarm at the shabby way the Democraps, Klintonites and their fellow travelers in the liberal media are treating our president. They are savaging the man, just savaging him! He is truly a saint for putting up with it. I believe he draws great strength from his faith, and from Dick Cheney.
I don’t think it’s at all fair what they are saying. They say he wanted to invade Iraq even before 9/11, that he lied about weapons of mass destruction there, that he is under Dick Cheney’s spell, and that he is dumb. Each of these charges can be answered simply, and in the same way. “No he isn’t, and so what if he is.”
As a simple heartlander, I feel so powerless to do anything about this. All the girls in my investment club feel the same way, as does everyone in the Junior League here. My state is already red, so voting doesn’t help much. I just want to take the president in my arms, put his head on my shoulder, stroke his hair, and tell him that everything will be all right. But of course I can’t do that, not without being wrestled to the ground by the Secret Service (the thought of which, I must admit, makes me all tingly).
Ethylene, what can a loyal American do?
Evelyn W., Topeka
Dear Evelyn,
I feel your pain. But let me caution you against using terms like “Democraps” and “Klintonites” in anger. It only undermines your credibility, and plays into the hands of your opponents. Besides, the word “Democrat” has enough evil connotations on its own without you trying to add more.
I know it’s difficult to watch the liberal media savages spew their filth, and vile, putrid, hateful venom at our president. Just the other day I heard a supposedly "neutral" news man say that the president had advocated a doctrine of "preemptive war." He even went so far as to call it "The Bush Doctrine"! That sort of casual smear is par for the course for the liberal media. Thank God for Fox News.
Sometimes I think that the president today is not unlike Jesus -- you know, without the virgin mother, the actual physical crucifixion, and the resurrection. Nevertheless, W’s troubles do remind one of Mel Gibson’s, ‘The Passion.’ Those horrible 9/11 commission people are the Romans, Colin Powell is Judas, and the Democrats are, of course, the Jews (bless their hearts).
But we shouldn’t make too much of this analogy. Jesus’ physical pain was probably a lot worse than the president’s mental pain. And the president has the support of his lovely wife and family. Jesus was alone. While Jesus didn’t have wild teenage daughters to keep track of, he also didn’t have their love and support.
Nor did Jesus have Dick Cheney. And it’s a good thing too! Because I have a feeling that if a can-do guy like the Vice President had been around back then, he would have found a way to stop the crucifixion before it even got rolling. In which case we might all be (i) wearing togas, (ii) having orgies, and (iii) binging and purging at every meal!
I have never tried (i) and (ii), but (iii) is no picnic, let me tell you.
Chin up Evelyn! Remember, Jesus had the last laugh, and I have a feeling that our president will too.
Ethylene
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
I am at wit's end, and need your help.
Our only child, Evan, has been a model child up to now. We have taken great pride in his development, having spent countless hours researching how we can help him thrive and grow. We have all the books: 'What to Expect When You're Expecting,' 'What To Expect from Your Toddler,' 'Dress Your Baby for Success,' and 'Terrible Twos? Not Necessarily," to name a few.
We were careful to provide all the best pre-natal care. We played Mozart for him while he was in the womb. We have provided a stimulating and supportive early childhood environment, and Evan has grown into a bright and well-adjusted 4 year old.
However, Evan has a problem. All the books suggest that at age 4, Evan should have had an "imaginary friend" by now. But he shows no sign of developing such a friend, nor any interest in imaginary play at all. We have talked to his pediatrician, his psychologist, his neurologist (we had a brain scan which the neurologist said was negative), and my friend Nancy (who is very good with crystals). None have been much help. Still no imaginary friend.
I have searched my brain for explanations. Does Evan have too many real friends? Should we have gotten him a dog? Could this be related to his fear of balloons? In retrospect, we may have neglected his left brain development. As I look at Evan, the left half of his head is marginally smaller than the right. That has got to mean something.
For the time being, we have cancelled his French lessons and replaced them with a daily "structured play period," during which we focus on art and storytelling. But is there more I can do? I know that you are a seven-time mother and have worked in the arts. What do you suggest? I have developed a bad case of warts worrying about this.
Tippy A.
Dear Tippy,
Thanks for your letter. First, let me say that Evan is doing fine. Don't worry so much about him. I think I know what Evan needs. Two things, really. First, he needs space. Between you and him. Lots of it. Second, he needs for you and your husband to throw away all those books!
I am sorry to be so direct. I am not normally a blunt person, but this occasion calls for someone to "keep it real," as the African Americans say. You are hovering over Evan, and you may smother him (not literally; it's just an expression). This is often the case with first children, and is perfectly normal. So stop it!
My husband Matthew and I used to hover over our first-born, Ezra. We wanted him to become an architect, but you can't squeeze a square peg into a round hole, as they say. When Ezra took the Myers-Briggs test in 6th grade we learned that he was better suited to a career as either a minister or game show host. So we loosened the reins a bit, and now he is 7th grade class president and the team mascot at football games. (He looks so cute in that little turkey suit -- his team is the "Gobblers.")
Anyway, my point is, let Evan develop on his own. Don't try to steer him this way or that (except toward the Lord, of course). Have faith in your own instincts, and don't rely on the so-called experts to tell you what's "normal." Most of those books are written by liberals anyway. (Check the back covers, and you'll see that the all have Ph.Ds. Nuff said.)
I think that if you follow these few simple rules you will find that Evan will be just fine. That doesn't mean you won't go through a rough patch now and then. It is normal for kids to T-P houses, blow up mailboxes, and steal cars. (My brothers did all those things. But at least they never smoked marijuana!) But if they know you love them, and they love the Lord, all will be fine. If not in this life, then the next.
Oh, and about those warts. There is this Mormon woman in our neighborhood who knows all about natural remedies. (Normally I would not associate with with such a strange cult, but she's very nice.) She gave me an extract of turtle shell that cleared up a case of warts I had. You can get it at Whole Foods. It's usually next to the cans of free range asparagus.
Hope this helps! Bon Vive!
Ethylene
I am at wit's end, and need your help.
Our only child, Evan, has been a model child up to now. We have taken great pride in his development, having spent countless hours researching how we can help him thrive and grow. We have all the books: 'What to Expect When You're Expecting,' 'What To Expect from Your Toddler,' 'Dress Your Baby for Success,' and 'Terrible Twos? Not Necessarily," to name a few.
We were careful to provide all the best pre-natal care. We played Mozart for him while he was in the womb. We have provided a stimulating and supportive early childhood environment, and Evan has grown into a bright and well-adjusted 4 year old.
However, Evan has a problem. All the books suggest that at age 4, Evan should have had an "imaginary friend" by now. But he shows no sign of developing such a friend, nor any interest in imaginary play at all. We have talked to his pediatrician, his psychologist, his neurologist (we had a brain scan which the neurologist said was negative), and my friend Nancy (who is very good with crystals). None have been much help. Still no imaginary friend.
I have searched my brain for explanations. Does Evan have too many real friends? Should we have gotten him a dog? Could this be related to his fear of balloons? In retrospect, we may have neglected his left brain development. As I look at Evan, the left half of his head is marginally smaller than the right. That has got to mean something.
For the time being, we have cancelled his French lessons and replaced them with a daily "structured play period," during which we focus on art and storytelling. But is there more I can do? I know that you are a seven-time mother and have worked in the arts. What do you suggest? I have developed a bad case of warts worrying about this.
Tippy A.
Dear Tippy,
Thanks for your letter. First, let me say that Evan is doing fine. Don't worry so much about him. I think I know what Evan needs. Two things, really. First, he needs space. Between you and him. Lots of it. Second, he needs for you and your husband to throw away all those books!
I am sorry to be so direct. I am not normally a blunt person, but this occasion calls for someone to "keep it real," as the African Americans say. You are hovering over Evan, and you may smother him (not literally; it's just an expression). This is often the case with first children, and is perfectly normal. So stop it!
My husband Matthew and I used to hover over our first-born, Ezra. We wanted him to become an architect, but you can't squeeze a square peg into a round hole, as they say. When Ezra took the Myers-Briggs test in 6th grade we learned that he was better suited to a career as either a minister or game show host. So we loosened the reins a bit, and now he is 7th grade class president and the team mascot at football games. (He looks so cute in that little turkey suit -- his team is the "Gobblers.")
Anyway, my point is, let Evan develop on his own. Don't try to steer him this way or that (except toward the Lord, of course). Have faith in your own instincts, and don't rely on the so-called experts to tell you what's "normal." Most of those books are written by liberals anyway. (Check the back covers, and you'll see that the all have Ph.Ds. Nuff said.)
I think that if you follow these few simple rules you will find that Evan will be just fine. That doesn't mean you won't go through a rough patch now and then. It is normal for kids to T-P houses, blow up mailboxes, and steal cars. (My brothers did all those things. But at least they never smoked marijuana!) But if they know you love them, and they love the Lord, all will be fine. If not in this life, then the next.
Oh, and about those warts. There is this Mormon woman in our neighborhood who knows all about natural remedies. (Normally I would not associate with with such a strange cult, but she's very nice.) She gave me an extract of turtle shell that cleared up a case of warts I had. You can get it at Whole Foods. It's usually next to the cans of free range asparagus.
Hope this helps! Bon Vive!
Ethylene
Thursday, April 15, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
I am a 19 year old freshman at Bard College, in the Hudson Valley. It is 1:30am on a Saturday night, and my friends and I just found your column on the internet. I have got to tell you, it is probably the awesomest thing I have ever read. It is honest. It is true. It is honest. You seem to possess a wisdom that defiles time or place, a deep understanding of people of all races, creeds (I hate that band), religions, sexes, and body types. After reading your column I feel that I can bring any problem to you no matter how big or small or big. And so I had to write to you to you, to, like, explicate my feelings and shit. (I'm not gonna lie to you; we have been partying pretty hard. But this letter is totally straight up, I SWEAR TO GOD.)
My question is this.
OK. My roommate Blake has challenged me to disprove his thesis. His thesis is that our universe -- including God -- is very likely nothing more than a fleck of dirt under the fingernail of a giant who lives in another (probably larger) universe. (Well duh, of course it'd have be larger unless there was some sort of warping of the laws of spacial space.)
My problem is that I can't disprove this, and it's making me totally paranoid. What if this giant decides to clean his fingernails? I mean, that could happen AT ANY MOMENT! In which case we would be destroyed in an instant.
I might never see Paris.
About an hour ago this had me so freaked out that I ended up rocking back and forth in the fetal position for 26 minutes. Then I had like about seven Krispy Kremes, which calmed me down some, and we got online and googled the question. Somehow we ended up at your column, I'm not sure how.
I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want to disprove this theory. Can you help?
Your newest fan,
Dink
P.S. Is it true that you are hot?
Dear Dink,
I normally don't print letters containing profanity, but yours seemed so sweet that I chose to ignore your use of a common vulgarity meaning 'excrement'. Besides, you're a 19-year old male. You have virtually no control over yourself whatsoever.
Yours is what the academics like to call an existential question, one that is not easily answered. My faith tells me that ours is THE universe, and that it was created by God. But I cannot prove that scientifically. The key to resolving your conflict is to accept that there are things that we humans cannot understand.
Why do puppies look like they understand what we are saying? Can we be sure that they don't? No. Why does country music make us sad, or modern art make us nauseous? Science provides no answers to questions like these.
The same is true of existential questions. Is ours the only universe? Will the sun come up tomorrow with 100 percent certainty? Were our eye teeth once giant human tusks back in caveman times? Nobody knows, Dink. Maybe someday when your kids' kids are grownups, one of them will fly in fast spaceship and smash through the wall of the universe and discover some answers to questions like these. (It's very late and I've had one or two spritzers.) Until then, you need to get comfortable with your ignorance.
We are all ignorant. (Some more than others, true.) The sooner we accept that and stop being so literal and empirical, the happier we will all be.
Why, just the other day I opened a fortune cookie that said, "Follow the leader within you." What in the world does that mean? I don't know, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it.
I hope this helps you with your navel-gazing, Dink. Bon (internal) voyage!
I am a 19 year old freshman at Bard College, in the Hudson Valley. It is 1:30am on a Saturday night, and my friends and I just found your column on the internet. I have got to tell you, it is probably the awesomest thing I have ever read. It is honest. It is true. It is honest. You seem to possess a wisdom that defiles time or place, a deep understanding of people of all races, creeds (I hate that band), religions, sexes, and body types. After reading your column I feel that I can bring any problem to you no matter how big or small or big. And so I had to write to you to you, to, like, explicate my feelings and shit. (I'm not gonna lie to you; we have been partying pretty hard. But this letter is totally straight up, I SWEAR TO GOD.)
My question is this.
OK. My roommate Blake has challenged me to disprove his thesis. His thesis is that our universe -- including God -- is very likely nothing more than a fleck of dirt under the fingernail of a giant who lives in another (probably larger) universe. (Well duh, of course it'd have be larger unless there was some sort of warping of the laws of spacial space.)
My problem is that I can't disprove this, and it's making me totally paranoid. What if this giant decides to clean his fingernails? I mean, that could happen AT ANY MOMENT! In which case we would be destroyed in an instant.
I might never see Paris.
About an hour ago this had me so freaked out that I ended up rocking back and forth in the fetal position for 26 minutes. Then I had like about seven Krispy Kremes, which calmed me down some, and we got online and googled the question. Somehow we ended up at your column, I'm not sure how.
I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want to disprove this theory. Can you help?
Your newest fan,
Dink
P.S. Is it true that you are hot?
Dear Dink,
I normally don't print letters containing profanity, but yours seemed so sweet that I chose to ignore your use of a common vulgarity meaning 'excrement'. Besides, you're a 19-year old male. You have virtually no control over yourself whatsoever.
Yours is what the academics like to call an existential question, one that is not easily answered. My faith tells me that ours is THE universe, and that it was created by God. But I cannot prove that scientifically. The key to resolving your conflict is to accept that there are things that we humans cannot understand.
Why do puppies look like they understand what we are saying? Can we be sure that they don't? No. Why does country music make us sad, or modern art make us nauseous? Science provides no answers to questions like these.
The same is true of existential questions. Is ours the only universe? Will the sun come up tomorrow with 100 percent certainty? Were our eye teeth once giant human tusks back in caveman times? Nobody knows, Dink. Maybe someday when your kids' kids are grownups, one of them will fly in fast spaceship and smash through the wall of the universe and discover some answers to questions like these. (It's very late and I've had one or two spritzers.) Until then, you need to get comfortable with your ignorance.
We are all ignorant. (Some more than others, true.) The sooner we accept that and stop being so literal and empirical, the happier we will all be.
Why, just the other day I opened a fortune cookie that said, "Follow the leader within you." What in the world does that mean? I don't know, but I'm not going to lose sleep over it.
I hope this helps you with your navel-gazing, Dink. Bon (internal) voyage!
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
I need your advice.
My family is addicted to this new television show, "The Apprentice." Until this year, the only things we watched on TV were "Touched By an Angel," that Dick Van Dyke doctor show, CMT, and Fox News. Now we live and breathe for "The Apprentice." Or, at least, my husband and kids do.
Which brings to my problem. Not only do I not like the show, but I believe that there is something slightly satanic about it and its star, Donald Trump. I came to this conclusion by looking at the facts. First, Mr. Trump is from New York. That speaks for itself, I think. Second, his hair. We know from the Bible that the devil may appear in forms that are sometimes only slightly strange and grotesque. That is, Satan sometimes gives us only subtle clues to his presence, and we must be vigilant and attentive in such situations. If that hair doesn't qualify as a clue, I don't know what does. Why else would a man with that much money choose to look that bad?
Third, the show pits regular, god-fearing people against one another in a scheming, back-stabbing, cleavage-lifting fits of evil. Granted, this is fairly typical of reality TV, but until now my family has avoided this particular form of satanic Hollywood fare.
Fourth, and finally, the show celebrates moments of pain. If you haven't seen the show, it culminates each week in Mr. Trump telling some poor soul "You're fired." We the viewers are invited to enjoy this painful moment, voyeuristically. Is that not Satan's way of anesthetizing us to his ways? I ask you?!
I realize I can't stop the show. But what can I do to wean my family off of it?
In Satan's Grasp
Dear Grasp,
Your letter touched me deeply. I too have been tempted by satanic television (in my case, The Bachelor), and recoiled in horror at the sight of Donald Trump's head. I feel your pain.
Let me tell you a story. Years ago, when I was performing with a traveling revue called "Up With Farmers," we did a show at the lobby of Trump Tower in Manhattan. We were doing our big closing number -- a dance extravaganza to Neil Diamond's "Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show" -- when Donald Trump emerged from the elevator to watch. After we finished, he came over and took a few pictures with the group. During the photos he had his arm around me and whispered in my ear,
"So is it true what they say about you farm girls?"
I replied, "What do they say, Mr. Trump?"
"That you know things," he said. "You know what I mean."
I caught the gist of his thrust right then, and my face went blank with shock. Before I could answer he said, "How'd you like to ride The Donald, baby?"
I was so mad I could spit. I regained my senses, dug my spiked heel into his $400 shoes, and kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. He went down like Don Zimmer. I heard he wasn't right for several days.
So you see? You need to stand up to evil. Especially New York-type evil. Don't sell yourself short. Perhaps you CAN stop the show. I suggest that you start by contacting the Eagle Forum, People for Decency, Americans for Goodness Sake, and other media watchdog groups.
Good luck, go get 'em, and bon gendarme!
Ethylene
I need your advice.
My family is addicted to this new television show, "The Apprentice." Until this year, the only things we watched on TV were "Touched By an Angel," that Dick Van Dyke doctor show, CMT, and Fox News. Now we live and breathe for "The Apprentice." Or, at least, my husband and kids do.
Which brings to my problem. Not only do I not like the show, but I believe that there is something slightly satanic about it and its star, Donald Trump. I came to this conclusion by looking at the facts. First, Mr. Trump is from New York. That speaks for itself, I think. Second, his hair. We know from the Bible that the devil may appear in forms that are sometimes only slightly strange and grotesque. That is, Satan sometimes gives us only subtle clues to his presence, and we must be vigilant and attentive in such situations. If that hair doesn't qualify as a clue, I don't know what does. Why else would a man with that much money choose to look that bad?
Third, the show pits regular, god-fearing people against one another in a scheming, back-stabbing, cleavage-lifting fits of evil. Granted, this is fairly typical of reality TV, but until now my family has avoided this particular form of satanic Hollywood fare.
Fourth, and finally, the show celebrates moments of pain. If you haven't seen the show, it culminates each week in Mr. Trump telling some poor soul "You're fired." We the viewers are invited to enjoy this painful moment, voyeuristically. Is that not Satan's way of anesthetizing us to his ways? I ask you?!
I realize I can't stop the show. But what can I do to wean my family off of it?
In Satan's Grasp
Dear Grasp,
Your letter touched me deeply. I too have been tempted by satanic television (in my case, The Bachelor), and recoiled in horror at the sight of Donald Trump's head. I feel your pain.
Let me tell you a story. Years ago, when I was performing with a traveling revue called "Up With Farmers," we did a show at the lobby of Trump Tower in Manhattan. We were doing our big closing number -- a dance extravaganza to Neil Diamond's "Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show" -- when Donald Trump emerged from the elevator to watch. After we finished, he came over and took a few pictures with the group. During the photos he had his arm around me and whispered in my ear,
"So is it true what they say about you farm girls?"
I replied, "What do they say, Mr. Trump?"
"That you know things," he said. "You know what I mean."
I caught the gist of his thrust right then, and my face went blank with shock. Before I could answer he said, "How'd you like to ride The Donald, baby?"
I was so mad I could spit. I regained my senses, dug my spiked heel into his $400 shoes, and kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. He went down like Don Zimmer. I heard he wasn't right for several days.
So you see? You need to stand up to evil. Especially New York-type evil. Don't sell yourself short. Perhaps you CAN stop the show. I suggest that you start by contacting the Eagle Forum, People for Decency, Americans for Goodness Sake, and other media watchdog groups.
Good luck, go get 'em, and bon gendarme!
Ethylene
Sunday, April 11, 2004
Dear Ethylene,
I am a successful plastic surgeon in a small southern city. I do mostly chin jobs for men, lipo and breast enhancement for women. I vacation in the Carrribean and am the life of the party wherever I go, primarily because I am widely read, a great conversationalist, and have a delightful sense of humor.
My problem is this. The other day I overheard a couple of guys at the club. They were talking about me. They called me a "colossal blowhard" and a "windbag," nothing I hadn't heard before. But what really griped my cookies was when they started dumping on my work.
They said that my work takes advantage of people with low self esteem, that I "sponge off of people's insecurities," and that I "prey on young girls." As a God-fearing Christian, I have never been so insulted.
First of all, my work helps improve the self-esteem of my patients. Say you're a guy, and the ladies won't give you the time of day on account of you've got one of those turkey necks or an extra chin. Or you're a woman and your husband wants a little on the side because he's sick of your thunder thighs. Or you're a blossoming young woman and your friends shun you, and you can't make the cheerleading squad, because you're flat. I can help.
I don't play God, but I do help people feel good about themselves. So what if I make a lot of money doing it? That work helps pay for the truly necessary plastic surgery I do FREE OF CHARGE. Like when I removed a poor Latino kid's spare tire, GRATIS. Now he's a model for the Ford Agency, at 16! I straightened a poor girl's nose right before her first communion. You don't think she appreciated that? No one hears about the good works we plastic surgeons do. I refuse to feel bad about making a living helping people. Besides, last time I checked we lived in a capitalist society.
I guess my question for you, Ethylene, is "I'm right and those guys at the club are wrong, right?"
Dr. FeelGood
Dear Dr.,
I'm not sure quite where to start. I apologize for not printing your entire letter, but I thought I could capture the gist of it without all the citations to obscure philosophers. Let me get the easy parts out of the way first.
I agree that faith and capitalism are good, and that people should care about their appearance. However, when it comes to enhancing one's God-given natural assets I draw the line at hair care products, undergarments, and makeup. Now I admit that I may not be able to empathize fully with your patients' wishes, since I was given so much by God in the looks department. But I do know that God loves the fat, ugly and bald just the way they are. He does not want the likes of you fooling with his creation, or convincing people that they are fatter, uglier and more bald than they really are.
I'm sorry to be the bearer of this bad news for a God-fearing man like yourself, but better you should hear it now while you can change your ways. You are like the children in Second Kings, 2:23-24. Remember? Elishah was on his way to Bethel and a group of children taunted him, calling him a "bald head." Elishah called a curse upon the children, whereupon a she-bear attacked and "tore 42 of the youths." This passage should give pause to you, Joan Rivers, and your ilk.
Use your medical knowledge (and all the many talents that you say you have) for good, not evil.
Thanks for writing and bon fillet!
Ethylene
I am a successful plastic surgeon in a small southern city. I do mostly chin jobs for men, lipo and breast enhancement for women. I vacation in the Carrribean and am the life of the party wherever I go, primarily because I am widely read, a great conversationalist, and have a delightful sense of humor.
My problem is this. The other day I overheard a couple of guys at the club. They were talking about me. They called me a "colossal blowhard" and a "windbag," nothing I hadn't heard before. But what really griped my cookies was when they started dumping on my work.
They said that my work takes advantage of people with low self esteem, that I "sponge off of people's insecurities," and that I "prey on young girls." As a God-fearing Christian, I have never been so insulted.
First of all, my work helps improve the self-esteem of my patients. Say you're a guy, and the ladies won't give you the time of day on account of you've got one of those turkey necks or an extra chin. Or you're a woman and your husband wants a little on the side because he's sick of your thunder thighs. Or you're a blossoming young woman and your friends shun you, and you can't make the cheerleading squad, because you're flat. I can help.
I don't play God, but I do help people feel good about themselves. So what if I make a lot of money doing it? That work helps pay for the truly necessary plastic surgery I do FREE OF CHARGE. Like when I removed a poor Latino kid's spare tire, GRATIS. Now he's a model for the Ford Agency, at 16! I straightened a poor girl's nose right before her first communion. You don't think she appreciated that? No one hears about the good works we plastic surgeons do. I refuse to feel bad about making a living helping people. Besides, last time I checked we lived in a capitalist society.
I guess my question for you, Ethylene, is "I'm right and those guys at the club are wrong, right?"
Dr. FeelGood
Dear Dr.,
I'm not sure quite where to start. I apologize for not printing your entire letter, but I thought I could capture the gist of it without all the citations to obscure philosophers. Let me get the easy parts out of the way first.
I agree that faith and capitalism are good, and that people should care about their appearance. However, when it comes to enhancing one's God-given natural assets I draw the line at hair care products, undergarments, and makeup. Now I admit that I may not be able to empathize fully with your patients' wishes, since I was given so much by God in the looks department. But I do know that God loves the fat, ugly and bald just the way they are. He does not want the likes of you fooling with his creation, or convincing people that they are fatter, uglier and more bald than they really are.
I'm sorry to be the bearer of this bad news for a God-fearing man like yourself, but better you should hear it now while you can change your ways. You are like the children in Second Kings, 2:23-24. Remember? Elishah was on his way to Bethel and a group of children taunted him, calling him a "bald head." Elishah called a curse upon the children, whereupon a she-bear attacked and "tore 42 of the youths." This passage should give pause to you, Joan Rivers, and your ilk.
Use your medical knowledge (and all the many talents that you say you have) for good, not evil.
Thanks for writing and bon fillet!
Ethylene
Dear Ethylene,
I wish you would bring your column back. It is a ray of light in a dark existence, a rainbow in an otherwise colorless world.
fungobat
Dear Fungo,
Your request was so ... so ... so literary that I could not say no. I have decided to bring back "Dear Ethylene."
I took the liberty of looking up the origin of your name, "fungobat". At first I thought that it was a breed of flying rodent, but come to find out that it refers to "a long thin baseball bat, used in practices, that resembles a stickball bat." When I saw the picture of the fungo bat in the encyclopedia, I realized that my father had one when I was a child.
My father was a Methodist minister who believed firmly that sparing the rod spoiled the child. When we kids strayed from the ways of the lord, we felt the sting of the fungo bat. And it's a darn good thing too, because all my siblings and I know Jesus today! Of course, parents should use the spanking option judiciously, and never in anger. I am sure that my father regrets taking the fungo -- which he called a "switch" -- to my younger brother Ezra when he was 14. Ezra was by then already a star lineman on the football team, and was being disciplined for using colorful language at the previous Saturday's game. (If I recall correctly, he used the "d word" in anger.) Apparently daddy thought that Ezra would accept his punishment as he had in the past, but such was not the case. Ezra wrestled the switch from daddy and broke both of daddy's tibias. That was the last we saw of the fungo bat, needless to say!
To this day, daddy walks with a limp and winces whenever Ezra makes any sudden movements. But Ezra is a man of god, and I'm sure that makes daddy very proud.
So anyway, "Dear Ethylene" is back! Keep those cards and letters coming, and bon escrito!
Ethylene
I wish you would bring your column back. It is a ray of light in a dark existence, a rainbow in an otherwise colorless world.
fungobat
Dear Fungo,
Your request was so ... so ... so literary that I could not say no. I have decided to bring back "Dear Ethylene."
I took the liberty of looking up the origin of your name, "fungobat". At first I thought that it was a breed of flying rodent, but come to find out that it refers to "a long thin baseball bat, used in practices, that resembles a stickball bat." When I saw the picture of the fungo bat in the encyclopedia, I realized that my father had one when I was a child.
My father was a Methodist minister who believed firmly that sparing the rod spoiled the child. When we kids strayed from the ways of the lord, we felt the sting of the fungo bat. And it's a darn good thing too, because all my siblings and I know Jesus today! Of course, parents should use the spanking option judiciously, and never in anger. I am sure that my father regrets taking the fungo -- which he called a "switch" -- to my younger brother Ezra when he was 14. Ezra was by then already a star lineman on the football team, and was being disciplined for using colorful language at the previous Saturday's game. (If I recall correctly, he used the "d word" in anger.) Apparently daddy thought that Ezra would accept his punishment as he had in the past, but such was not the case. Ezra wrestled the switch from daddy and broke both of daddy's tibias. That was the last we saw of the fungo bat, needless to say!
To this day, daddy walks with a limp and winces whenever Ezra makes any sudden movements. But Ezra is a man of god, and I'm sure that makes daddy very proud.
So anyway, "Dear Ethylene" is back! Keep those cards and letters coming, and bon escrito!
Ethylene
