When I was a boy (Uh Oh. Here we go again with another in Mel’s series of meandering memories) my grandfather ran a junkyard just east of the town where I was born. You probably didn’t need to know this, but it does explain quite a bit about me. Each visit to his dump was a bit of adventure and I remember the distinct smells of the place (rusting metal and cattle from the pasture across the road) and the sound the merchandise made as I rummaged through and over piles of stuff. I once took a girl there for family meet and greet. I was, after all, a stupid young man. Having a relative “in the business” meant lots of  freebies. One thing I became a connoisseur of was second-hand comic books. My grandparents gave me crates of them, dating back to the 1950′s and ’60′s. There were a few super hero titles in the stacks, but many were classic Harvey books (Ritchie Rich, Casper, Wendy). My favorites were the piles of macabre books and I learned to read with classic science-gone-wrong titles like Killdozer, Swamp Thing, and Ghost Rider. As if to keep me on the path of righteousness, there were always Evangelical comics mixed in, usually published by the Spire company. Generally they were biographies, such as the Billy Graham Story and (inexplicably) The Tom Landry Story. Many were condensed comic serial versions of full length books from Spire’s heyday (The Cross and The Switchblade, Burn Baby Burn, God’s Smuggler and The Hiding Place). I’m not ashamed to admit that I spent hours reading the biographical comics and still find myself reading mostly about the lives of famous individuals. The comics didn’t end up hurting me too much. No, it was when grandpa started giving me boxes of ’70′s Redbook and Good Housekeeping that I slid into the abyss. I started down the path of baking William Conrad’s favorite meatloaf and getting fondue tips from Dyan Cannon, then I began the life of an adolescent hoodlum.

The New York Times, the paper that doesn’t resemble a comic book no matter which way you hold it, ran a story today by George Gene Gustines on the growing popularity of comic book publisher Blue Water Productions ( http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/29/fashion/29comics.html?partner=rss&emc=rss ) The company has found success in publishing multiple lines of biographical comic featuring influential individuals and positive role models for young people. Many of the subjects I understand and would enjoy reading about. The Sarah Palin book would be wonderfully interesting and a refreshing antidote to her self-penned biography. What an action packed comic that would be as we turn pages and see her shooting animals from a helicopter, or fighting a giant salmon. Lady GaGa’s book doesn’t carry a lot of weight since her videos and live appearances are better than anything a comic artist could conceive. Lindsey Lohan would make a great comic heroine, especially as a rags-to riches-to-rags/ fight-the-man story (better yet, just rehash Steve Martin’s The Jerk as a comic book). In October, Blue Water plans to publish an Olivia Newton-John comic book. Big hair and all. At least the proceeds, if any, go to charity.

Darren Davis, Bluewater’s president, insists at the conclusion of the Times article that there will be no Heidi Montag-Pratt comic book, or biographies of other reality TV stars. Aw, C’mon! Jersey Shore’s Snooki is a walking cartoon herself. Tell me that the publishing world isn’t waiting for Snooki and The Situation to join other mutants with weird tans and misshapen torsos to fight New Jersey’s evil Governor Jon Corzine. Now that’s a comic book. You can purchase these wonderful (and mercifully short) bio-comics at your local Jo-Ann Fabrics store. No comment on that one.

(The following handwritten prayer journal thoughts were found recently among  discarded speech notes by a cleaning crew after Sarah Palin had deplaned in Nashville to speak before the National Tea Party Movement on Saturday, February 6th. We told Otto to not add his own elements to the prayer, but he insists he had nothing to do with the language)

Dear Lord, God of the good people of Alaska and the other 48 states. Please, I beg you, help me to channel the spirit of Ronald Reagan as I go down to speak my Tea Party supporters in Nashville. Not the old Ronald Reagan from the TV, but the one that we always talk about. The powerful Reagan who wiped out the liberals and had them all sent to live in those nasty camps before that wimpy Bill Clinton had them liberated. I ask you, God, to persuade these Tea Partyers that I am to be their leader. They need a strong, Reagany leader like me and Todd. Right now they’re just clingin’ to their guns and you and their teabags. Oh Heavenly Father, you alone know that I’m the right woman to save these Tea Party folks from four more years of bad old Washingten politics. Please allow me to be the one to help the Tea Partyers spread their message-that Mr. Obama isn’t one of us, but an uppity democrat from a land far away. You know, Lord, that I went to college in that far away land of Hawaii and it sure as hell ain’t on American soil (sorry God. Sometimes I just get so mad at these Washingten inciters and their fancy ways of trickin’ us good folks you put on earth to do right).

God, I’ve sinned in my heart and don’t deserve to lead the Tea Party nation. I had this dream. You know all of my dreams, but this one was just sooo dreamy. You remember the dream about Scott Brown? He was so oily and hunky and came to pick me up on his Yamaha sled? I don’t know where Todd was in the dream. Probably off shirtless and hot, plowing the driveway or making a bed for me out of cash and 2012 champaigne campaign posters. I’m sorry. Please tell me, of Lord, what to read in order to help me not sin and I’ll have my staff go and get copies. I just want to be a good leader to the American moms and the dads who are out there workin’ to make this a great country. When you make me President, I’ll take over that Hawaii and have them worship you, too. George W. Bush already got Texas for the Americans and look how great that’s worked out! You are a good God! I’m having thoughts about Rick Perry, please please help me with that, too.

One last thing, oh dearest God of all the people in America (except Rahm Emanuel, because, despite his holy name, he ain’t an American and someday I’ll have him and the other illegal alien liberals depted deposited sent back to where they came from). I saw you from the plane window today. There you were, all majesty-ey and God-like. You sort of looked like Ronald Reagan. Seriously, just a little Grecian Formula and you’d look like the God I’ve always imagined-somwhere between Reagan, Todd, Scott Brown and Dan Rather (darn that Perky One!). Amen, from Sarah.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP4PJlufZ0c

The last couple of days have been full of every sort of work except for flipping burgers, and thats okay with me. I’m enjoying the last hour of calm before going off to the hospital and diving into banquet prep. Morning Joe is on in the background covering the queue forming outside Sarah Palin’s book signing in Grand Rapids, Michigan. As a former GR college student and resident of some years, the event holds a certain fascination. I often will blow off my daily routine and follow some interesting event. Alas, I’m growing up and will go to work rather than driving an hour-and-change north to buy Going Rogue.

My earliest read this morning, the thing that made me ponder first thing today, had nothing to do with the former Vice Presidential Candidate’s book. Instead, it was National Public Radio’s list of the 50 most important albums of the last decade. I love these lists, even though they make me groan at the same time. Rolling Stone’s best 100 albums of the decade list is something I look forward to, partly because I disagree with a lot of the numerical placement of the albums included. I remember the 1989 list and my horrified teenage reaction to seeing U2′s The Joshua Tree in third place. Ultimately, I still think they called that one wrong (#1 for the 80′s according to RS? Purple Rain, with Born In The USA at #2). NPR did a very smart thing and simply alphabetized their selections and did not assign importance order. Nearly all of the 30 comments (as of an hour ago) featured some sort strain of “I would have included…” or “This list is too mainstream, because…” My favorite reaction was “Your list didn’t include enough women and Canadians.” Importance and influence aren’t really based on gender or nationality and thats the point. Importance is subjective and it may only apply to whomever the listener is.

In many ways, NPR had a pretty well-rounded list of most important albums of the ’00′s. Radiohead’s Kid A was featured, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco, as well as a few choices that I will debate for a long time (The Carter III by Lil Wayne, Britney Spears’ In The Zone). Yes, I’m going to be one of those “you should have chosen…” people and add To The Five Boroughs by The Beastie Boys, but that is purely a personal hang-up of my own. Check the list out for yourself here: 50mostimportant.

She's Not Overly Concerned About Critics.

Today marked the much-anticipated release of Sarah Palin’s automaticbiography Going Rogue and her taped appearance on The Oprah Winfrey Show. I have not read the book, but may at some point. I’m sure it will turn up at a yard sale in a couple of seasons and I’ll be able to finish it before the sellers kick me out for loitering. What I know of the book has led me to think about how my own self penned portrait will differ from Palin’s. Here are some things that would separate the two tomes:

1. My life story will have more than five chapters. Having a very short autobiography is the life achievement equivalent  of having a quickie in the stairwell. The life I’ve tried to lead is full of nuance and passion, rage and screaming. Probably some hair pulling, but thats just over-stretching this creepy analogy. Five chapters. Forrest Gump will soon be carrying this around in his suitcase with his special feather.
2. My autobiographical rationale for staying with my wife will not having anything to do with degree of tan or shirtlessness. Yes, Sarah gets folksy in the book and quashes divorce rumors by saying something along the lines of “just look at tanned, shirtless Todd. I could never leave that.”  Want to bet that he uses the same logical yardstick for staying together?
3. Hopefully, my autobiography isn’t a defense of public spells of ignorance (i.e., a printed version of that same ignorance). One of my dreams is to have a sit down interview with Katie Couric. When she asks me what reading I do in the backwoods of Michigan I will naively answer “Highlights for Children.” It would be nice to think that I just use the book to tell my story and not re-hash all of the stupid things I’ve done. Besides, thats a whole other book in itself.
4. I won’t charge anybody $100  for a signed copy of my autobiography. Yes, Sarah Palin is raising dough for the campaign she isn’t running for  in 2012 by selling signed copies of Going Rogue. When I publish my epic tale of life in the north, I’m going to sign it for free. Not only that, but if you buy it over the internet I’ll throw in a box of Ding-Dongs. God Bless America, where you can still bribe people with Hostess Cakes. Onward and…Upward.

I hate being serious, so I’m going to give up even the merest pretense of doing so. Serious, thoughtful, aware living is so frowny and dull. I don’t want to think about the things plaguing the world. There is not a reason to care about whether Sara Palin is off in the woods Twittering with the bears. The President can call any action he wants stupid and then send David Axlerod out to fix it the situation on Face The Nation. My serious thought days are behind me. What I really want to consider today is what would make a perfect Summer experience. I’ve already enjoyed the below average temperatures in Michigan and the so-so humidity. The movies have been okay. I even paid to see one. The new Sims (which is a lot like the one released five years ago. Note to EA Games: Please release an actual upgrade.) is taking lots of time as I have to download skins and objects for it. Still…the perfect Summer might have lots of other great, memorable times and events. Here are some that I can only wish for.

• 50 Foot Katherine Heigl. Science has given us so many advances. We can slow the onset of nasty diseases and build space stations that don’t do much of anything. Why then should Katherine Heigl make crappy romantic comedies with Gerard Butler? No! I want a movie wherein ginormous Izzy is assailed by Butler and 300 men of Sparta. Actually forget the movie, just find some nobel winning mind of science to make her 50 feet tall. All blond hair and Heigl-y goodness. Alrighty then.
• Outlaw waxed beans. The world doesn’t need them. Once they’re off the market, I fear, they’ll become the new cannabis. There will wax-bashes in secret locations all over the states. Americans will travel to Amsterdam to consume them in public. We’ll find an alternate version of Pulp Fiction in which John Travolta tells Samuel L. Jackson about how cool wax beans are in Europe.
• We’ll get a “just kidding” from Axl Rose and he’ll put out a Chinese Democracy that doesn’t suck.
• Cleveland will be found to be the center of enlightenment in all the universe.
• Not sure about Detroit. Probably have to smoke more waxed beans to figure Detroit out.
• No old television geezer will climb into a claw foot tub on a dock, beach, river side, lawn or bathroom for the purposes of artificially enabled lovemaking. Whats more, I quit making dorky jokes about Cialis.
• Bacon will be classified as a health food.
• Yao Ming will wed giant Katherine Heigl (alright, its on the brain. What can I say?).
• Brett Favre will really retire, the Lions will be assured of winning maybe one NFC North game. Nah. Pure fantasy.
• Ernie Harwell will live forever and go back to doing radio games.

Oh, well. It’s been a pretty strange summer so far. Anything could happen.

I was going to write a perky Monday post about those clean cut Jonas Brothers, those peppy singing lads and their smart cache of catchy songs. No such luck. Too weird a day, too weird a time. First of all, before  the weeping hoopla of Michael’s (hopefully) final curtain call and the beginning of the unraveling of the Sarah Palin myth, I want to take a moment to consider Robert S. Macnamara. The former Kennedy and Johnson Secretary of defense died this morning at 93. His holds as much a powerful American legacy as that of the men he worked for. Each time you buckle your automobile  seat belt or pass a Vietnam War memorial, Macnamara is in large part the reason. He saved millions of lives as the saftey minded, pioneering head of Ford Motor company in the 1950′s only to sacrifice thousands as the architect of our failed conflict in southeast asia. Errol Morris’ The Fog of War came out at the beginning of our twisted road through Iraq and it is an amazing cautionary tale from a man scarred by a legacy life and death decisions. Good movie, better lessons.

Today is just cautionary tale central. The Jackson memorial “show” takes place Tuesday at the Staples Center in L.A. It is expected that a million people will show up, even though more than 900,ooo won’t have tickets. There is something in the human spirit that tells us to congregate in shared experience. We may not have been the world’s biggest Jackson fans, but it’s the “I was there (albeit, two blocks away)” that counts. I have the weird feeling that this will be our Woodstock.

Finally, there’s the ongoing Sarah Palin resignation speculation. Whatever the reason is, she doesn’t want you, me or the press to know what it is. Over the weekend the Palin Machine threatened to sue any media outlet (notably Huffington and MSNBC) that “investigates” her. Red flag. The bloggers are under scrutiny from Camp Palin, as well. Red Flag. What is they don’t want us to know?  I bet you it has nothing to do with the Wassilla Sports Complex. The wagons are being circled for somethng bigger. Oh well. Onward and upward.

After nearly two weeks of irrelevancy, the Sarah Palin Machine, that feel-good conservative juggernaut, performed a Friday afternoon massacre. This afternoon, Mrs. Palin announced that she’d be hanging it up as the Commander-in-Snowshoes on the 26thof the month and going back to being citizen Sarah. Just a regular hockey mom from Wassilla, Alaska. A lipsticked-up pitbull ready to spend time with the family. With a folksy “Hell Yeah!” the kids encouraged Mamma Palin to pack it in and become Joe the Mother. Right. If you believe this then there’s a bridge to nowhere that you can have for cheap (cliche joke. Insert better joke here). Sarah, the second coming of Ronald Reagan (sic) is just gearing up for the big 2012 assault, even to the point of quoting Douglas Mcarthur. She is desperate to become the Republican president, not the Republican candidate, and this is just machine maneuvering. It’s all so easy. The Palin party gives up the governorship in Alaska before a complete legacy tarnishing takes place at her hands and then she stands as a place holder for two and a half years. Screenwriters can’t even dream up this level of pudding thick political quagmire.

Sarah Palin not finishing out her term as Alaska’s governor goes beyond mere greed or self interest.  This is the complete failure of imagination and heart. She is the human onion. Peel away the stringy layers and at the core you find a foul smelling, green heart which cares not for Alaska and it’s people.  Just another showtime politician ready to work the big stages. Why finish the job you were elected to do when the bigger prize is just around the corner? Barack Obama did it, so why not Sarah Palin? Well, for starters, Barack Obama has a soul. Sure, I’m being too harsh, but the robot has come home to roost. When chosen for the Vice Presidential slot on the ticket, Sarah and her machine became the ticket. Last week I said something about that thing that the great pop stars all have in common, that ability to craft on a singular skill. Sarah Palin’s singular skill is selling Sarah Palin. I would say to her if I had the chance “lead your people, be the best Governor Alaska has ever had.” Too late. She’s selling Sarah on the great Republican roadshow. Onward and upward

I wanted to start by saying how cool I think the SocialVibe widget is. For years I’ve avoided putting ad content on any web endeavor that has my name attached. With this, at least I get to use my little post for some good and to be a more pro-active human citizen-as God created me to be.

After writing yesterday’s fountain of crass humor and poor grammar, I got a little spam from some sort of gestation calculation website. Let me just say that I realize the obvious. Michelle Duggar has not been pregnant for 162 months (13 1/2 years-or one month for every game of the regular baseball season) of her life. I purposely exaggerated 18 separate kids at 9 months apiece. Certainly, she’s had multiple births, pre-term labor and alien abductions which would shorten her gestation ordeal. I also noticed in my “research” that J.B. Duggar has published an autobiography, which is sold in Christian bookstores. No wonder Christians get a bad rap. Nothing terribly charitable about knocking someone up 18 times. Hey, who am I to judge.

Speaking of knocking up, last Wednesday I wrote about Sarah Palin calling Dave Letterman pathetic publicly and enlisting John Ziegler to fight for her cause. The joke about A-Rod and using the seventh inning stretch to assault one of the Palin daughters was completely disgusting and should not have been uttered. Of course, the Palins and Ziegler have turned the situation into cash-for-gold. Ziegler is now leading the “fire Dave” movement and Dave is uttering yet another round of apologies (during what was one his best ratings weeks in nearly 15 years). The reality is that the Palin machine, the one that is digging for the next Republican nomination (shouldn’t take much), just keeps hammering this. I may hate the joke, but I still believe that the pathetic one in this situation is Sarah Palin. If I ever dragged my child through such a situation, I’d hope some sensible handler would say “enough.” She doesn’t have handlers, but acolytes and cronies, who just perpetuate the machine. May none of us ever be mowed down by Sarah Palin and her snowmobile of justice.

This morning presented me with a mixed bag of thoughts, a veritable variety pack of useless, mind crowding (it doesn’t take much) notions. The first was this week’s admission in Rolling Stone by Adam Lambert that he’s gay. Excuse me while I steal Amy Poehler and Seth Myers SNL feature. Really? Nobody in America saw that coming. Adam  had to publicly come out of the (very fabulous) closet? Really? Wow. Shock and dismay sweeps a weary nation. Oh, no wait, it doesn’t. Adam Lambert is the Spruce Goose of homosexuality. Over the past several months the is he/ain’t he question of Lambert’s sexuality has been like watching Howard Hughes’ wooden airliner trying to take off. We knew in our heart’s that Adam wasn’t flying straight and as he came back to earth the confession came out. You know what? Good for him. Say it loud and say it proud. It takes more of a man to say what you are than to hem and haw like a Chicago politician. Lambert also makes admissions about drug use as well and something about a trip at Burning Man leading him to audition for American Idol. Some people have religious conversions, but I guess in his world the equivalent of a conversion is to sing for Idol. As for the cover photo on RS, I wish that I could wear those clothes and get away with it. If more glam means more rock-and-or-roll and less of the crap that’s on radio now-good.

     Then there is good old Sarah Palin. Unlike over-honest Adam Lambert, Sarah Shrewd and Shrill is spending her 300th day in the news cycle being dishonest, disingenuous and uniquely Sarah Palin. Today’s bit was her reaction to David’s Letterman’s joke that she was in Bloomingdale’s shopping for more “slutty flight attendant” makeup. Our would be veep has not yet grasped the simple reality that jokes are going to be made and to show a little class. This is why the Quebec disc-jockey’s scored so much pub last fall, because Sarah can’t take a joke. Oh no, she went to rat-fink talk show host John Ziegler’s show and whined about how pathetic Letterman is. Ziegler later went on M.S.N.B.C. and defended Palin, while trying to make anchor Contessa Brewer look stupid. Ziegler drinks his Summer’s Eve from a glass with a paper umbrella on top. Letterman may be pathetic, but at least he’s no Sarah Palin. I’ve heard terms like “magnanimous,” “gracious,” and “classy” thrown the Alaska Governor’s way too much. If she had any class, she’d do the gracious thing and govern Alaska without being the ever present Republican front runner/media whore. Take a page from Adam Lambert, Sarah. Here’s a guy that seems cool with himself and the world and doesn’t have to scrape for press or for love. Just Saying.