"Ich bin ein horny"

Another week, another New England icon embarrassed by public declarations of a mouthy intimate.

But enough about Tommi and Gisele.

As I see it, we need a constitutional amendment that says White House interns must be at least three years older than the presidents they serve.

I guess my first thought was I was glad Mimi wasn’t our Nana. I don’t know how I’d explain to her granddaughters why Nana was telling Meredith Vieira about the time Calvin Coolidge deflowered her virtue. My skin vicariously crawled for the whole Alford family.

As a student of history, I usually like randy declarations from old lovers that shed new light on powerful men and women.

For instance, I was thrilled to learn that Charles Kuralt, the CBS “On the Road” correspondent, had a weekend wife in Montana that no one knew about until his star-spangled death July 4, 1997. This beloved American icon had for nearly three decades kept a shadow family in Montana, which kind of made him a polygamist with frequent flyer miles.

The Mimi Alford news about John F. Kennedy doesn’t shed new light on him. It sheds new lava light on him.

Most of us were willing to overlook knowledge he was a real player. We knew he’d slept with Marilyn Monroe, the gangster babe and scores of others beehive haired honeys. Most men would forsake their sacred vows for a romp with Marilyn, something every married man and God, even, would likely salute.

Well, every man but Mitt.

But Alford’s story just makes Kennedy seem indelibly creepy. He just comes across as so entitled. And for a Kennedy that’s really saying something!

He got her drunk on daiquiris, stole her virginity an hour later, pushed drugs on her at wild parties, offered to find her an abortion doctor when she thought she was pregnant, and tried to pimp her out to his mates when he thought the boys needed relaxing.

This isn’t what we expect from the leader of the free world, circa, 1964.

This is what we expect from the leader of the Rolling Stones, circa 1964.

I’ve never been one to deify Kennedy. To me, he’s the Democrats answer to Ronald Reagan. Both are overrated because they’re inspirational communicators and Kennedy’s reputation is further elevated by national tragedy.

Admirers like to wonder what would have happened had it not all ended so tragically in Dallas.

Would he have pulled us out of Vietnam? Would he have sought common sense detente with the Soviets? What would the crucible of the Cold War White House done to this vibrant young man?

Here’s what I now think would have happened.

He would have accelerated the ‘60s. He’d have gone to Woodstock and smoked pot on stage with Jimi Hendrix. He’d have alienated the country by leaving Jackie to live communally with a harem of California runaways. We’d never have heard of Charles Manson because the acid kids would have all flocked to Kennedy instead.

The man was a hippie waiting to happen.

I’ve long contended so many men are pigs because so many women are sheep.

But 19-year-old Alford isn’t 22-year-old Monica Lewinsky in 1995 flashing her underwear at Bill Clinton, a provocation that when it comes to that man’s appetites seems tantamount to entrapment.

This reads like rape. Date rape, certainly.

I think it’s important that Alford came forward. She had essential information about one of the most revered and studied men in American history.

Historians and scholars will want to dig into these revelations and layer them onto what we already knew about Kennedy.

I’d advise them to all wear rubber gloves.

Inner earth: the true final frontier

Russian scientists have succeeded in drilling through two miles of solid Antarctic ice to reach a lake that’s been sealed from human contact for between 15 million and 34 million years, give or take an eon or two.

They are hoping to find microbial life within so-called Lake Vostok that could hint that life could exist on the frozen moons of Jupiter.

I’m hoping they find a copy of my 2003 book, “Hole in One! The Complete Book of Fact, Legend and Lore on Golf’s Luckiest Shot,” current Amazon rank: 1,845,777.

If I could script it, lead scientist Valery Lukin would say, “It was found bookmarked to the page where Arnold Palmer says he remembers his first ace with more clarity than his first kiss because it meant more to him.”

Imagine what that would do for sales. Yes, finding my 9-year-old golf book beneath miles of ancient ice would be ... hmmm ... what’s the word?

Cool?

It would certainly be better than finding Adolph Hitler.

Proving once again it’s impossible to out-crazy the crazies, Russia’s state-run news service, Ria Novosti is reviving a theory that Nazis sent a secret submarine to the lake to deliver the remains of Adolph Hitler and Eva Braun for future DNA cloning.

He’d certainly add philosophical spice to the chow hall debates at Gitmo after Seal Team 6 works their magic.

The report sounds like something you’d read in “The Weekly World News.” Favorite headline -- all together now! -- “Baby Born with Wooden Leg!!!”

I mention The News here because the diggings at Lake Vostok also remind me of another one of their great crusades: purifying the global air by simultaneously popping the tires on vintage cars from the 1950s. The logic is the gush of released air from 60 years ago would crowd all the bad air out of the atmosphere.

It is roughly 4,000 miles from the soles of your sneakers to the center of the earth. The deepest anyone’s ever drilled is 7 miles. What’s beyond that is mere speculation.

Here in Pennsylvania, thousands of my hillbilly neighbors are being enriched by Marcellus Shale natural gas deposits. What other natural wonders await down there?

These lakes are water created by pressure and warmth from below the ice. Who knows? Maybe there are perfectly pure pockets of ancient air.

Air from umpteen millions of years ago would be the respiratory equivalent of moonshine. It would be like 999 proof. One whiff and you’re 10-feet tall and bulletproof.

Because it was Capt. James T. Kirk that first told us that space was the final frontier, we’ve taken it at face value. We could have it completely backwards.

Our future may be beneath our feet. Maybe the world going to hell will lead the world to go to hell.

With climate change, extreme weather, Biblical flooding and drought, I’ve for years predicted that adventure vacations of the future will be anything above ground and out of doors.

So much of our discovery these days seems to hinge on the theory that sooner or later the surface atmosphere of Mother Earth will be too poisonous for people and plants.

Why else would Jupiter’s moons be in the mix?

All I know about Jupiter is the cruel rhyme my daughters use on me when they want to feel superior: “Girls go to college to get more knowledge! Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider!”

Poor grammar aside, I have no intentions of validating their taunt.

So I’m looking forward to a subterranean future where neither lawns will need mowing nor snow shoveling. Put up a basketball hoop, a cool stereo, a pool table and a big screen TV -- cable, not satellite -- and it would be just like home.

Think about it: Earth, the ultimate man cave.

Can you dig it?

GOP blows whistle on Clint's halftime

If it’s halftime in America, we’d all better brace ourselves for plenty of flushing and farting.

As a veteran of more than 200 Pittsburgh Steeler home games, that’s what halftime means to me. It doesn’t mean hoped for comebacks. The Steelers are usually favored and protecting a lead.

This may come as a surprise to women, but the men’s rooms in Heinz Field where the Steelers play don’t have individual porcelain urinals, but have instead those stainless steel troughs that stretch for about 50 feet of knee-high wall space. That means those standing at the low end of the slope can expect a communal splashing that ought to have them racing to the nearest laundromat the second the final whistle blows.

The lack of privacy is unsettling to some dainty men. I try and help by telling them the custom at Heinz Field is to put your arms around the strangers to your right and left and offer friendly encouragement.

Anyone who dabbles in public musings knows it’s unwise to say anything nice about President Obama or hint just maybe he made a gutsy call on things like killing bin Laden.

You can count on the conservative backlash to be fierce.

That’s what one of our greatest Americans is finding out.

I’m talking about Clint Eastwood.

Even though he’s never fought for our country, solved a national crisis or found a cure for something itchy, I do consider him one of our greatest Americans.

He’s for more than 50 years made great movies that entertain and help define America. He’s perfectly cool.

Unlike me, he’s never voted for a Democrat presidential candidate and looks at every issue from a conservative point of view.

I have many friends like that. We’d never let politics get in the way of our friendship.

They think about politics, but they aren’t political. There’s a big difference. They are tolerant of my liberal opinions and are open-minded in a political discussion.

And we all love Clint.

They saw the same now-controversial ad featuring Eastwood -- and if his voice gets any more gravelly it ought to be quarried -- saying of Detroit, “They almost lost everything. But we all pulled together. Now Motor City is fighting again.”

None of them reported thinking, “Son of a bitch! The outlaw Josie Wales is shilling for that Muslim tourist in the White House. That’s it. My next pickup is gonna be built in Japan!”

No, they thought, “Cool! Clint’s talking about American auto workers, guys who are as red neck and blue collar as me. Man, I’m glad we’re still making cars in Detroit. USA! USA!”

They saw no political intent. They discerned no pro-Obama messages.

They are not Karl Rove.

“I was, frankly, offended by it,” he told Fox News. Yes, to a conservative an American icon saying something obvious and positive about an American success that happened because of Obama is offensive.

Picking a fight with Clint Eastwood is the clearest sign the national GOP is completely unhinged. They are mired in a dismal primary season being contested by candidates who each have something disqualifying about their record or personality. And that’s disqualifying just to fellow conservatives. With the economy strengthening and adding jobs and foreign policy off the table, they fear they are facing an historic electoral debacle.

Those fears are justified.

Attacking Clint Eastwood might work on Fox News, but it won’t work in an America where anyone with any sense is happy they’re making money and better vehicles in Motor City.

Most Americans are smart enough to recognize when a good thing is a good thing.

Eastwood, who is on record as being opposed to bailouts, has already come out and said the ad is not meant to boost Obama and is intended “to be a message about job growth and the spirit of America,” something he thinks all politicians should embrace.

It’s halftime in America. What are you going to do?

For me, I’ll continue to try and avoid the partisan squabbles that so agitate the petty minds of people like Karl Rove.

Instead, I’ll put my arms around those to the left and the right of me and I will encourage them.

Super Bowl recap

I woke up this morning feeling like I let Gisele down. I should have prayed harder for Tommi.

• My last sentence for my Saturday post was, “My prediction: Giants 27, Patriots 17. Wake me when it’s over.” What was I thinking? I guess I was fearful the game would be an overblown bore. Wrong. It was a classic.

• My score prediction, however, was closer than many of the best experts and only six points from perfection. Lot of good it did me. I haven’t made a wager in years. Not because I lack the nerve. Freelance writing for a living is a higher stakes gamble than any game of chance.

• The ads for movies next year promise another year of blockbusters stinkers. Special effects haven’t been special since “Jurassic Park.” The new Sacha Baron Cohen movie “The Dictator” looked funny.

• I would have loved a few more plays of watching the Giants try not to score. Why didn’t they just play stall ball? Manning could have taken the snap and just stood there for at least 10 seconds until the Pats had to act. Or he could have just run in reverse. It happens during hockey penalty kills all the time. I used to excel at the maneuver myself when I was an outstanding amateur hockey player. And it’s indicative of my humility that I don’t write about those days more often.

• Seeing Madonna performing with a microphone had me wondering about nipples. Not hers. Mine. Mine are about as unnecessary as her microphone. Why the charade? I was disappointed we didn’t see any nipples, but M.I.A. showed us her finger. I’m all for anything that’ll infuriate the family values crowd, but this was just lame. Of course, before I had no idea of her existence and now I'll never forget her and I guess that was the point.

• I was at a pre-concert press conference with Garth Brooks about 10 years ago. It was just after Madonna had released her dirty book, "Sex," with all those naked pictures of herself and various animals and, I think, Vanilla Ice. I asked with a straight-face if, given the ardent reaction of his female fans, if Brooks had ever considered doing a book like hers. I caught him mid-drink and so off guard he almost shot Pepsi through his nostrils. Had he, it would have been a high-light of my career.

• In four months, Boston fans have suffered two of the most crushing defeats I can recall. The Red Sox blew a 9 game lead with just three weeks left in the season and were knocked out in the last inning of the last game. Coupled with yesterday’s loss, the pall over New England must be impenetrable. I wish I could be there to rub it in. No region raced from lovable losers to obnoxious winners more quickly than New England. Plus, their baseball championships are tainted with performance enhancers, their football with Bill Belichick’s Spygate. Read Ed Bouchette’s great article in Sunday’s Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. The scandal was worse than you thought.

• I thought most of the ads were great. I liked the Rocky-theme one, but wish for jingoistic reasons it had featured an American car company, rather than Hyundai. I liked the Elton John Pepsi one (I sense he enjoys playing dress-up), the Bud Light one about the dog named Weego, and the cat-killing dog. The Seinfeld commercial for Acura was decent, but will get worse and more boring with each viewing.

• Madonna didn’t do anything to disgrace herself -- well, no more than she’s done for the past 25 years. But I kept wondering why the NFL thinks its fans want to watch this kind of circus. In fact, I’d prefer the circus, i.e. Ringling Bros. The only part I enjoyed was the acrobat on the slack line. I’d like next year to see them bring the cat trainer I saw during Mallory Point sunset festivities at Key West.

• I loved the Clint Eastwood commercial celebrating Detroit’s resurgence -- thanks President Obama! I guess it was supposed to remind us of Eastwood’s iconic role in “Gran Torino.” Worked with me. I’d love a half-time show that featured just 30 minutes of clips of Eastwood in “The Outlaw Josie Wales,” “The Good, The Bad & The Ugly,” “In The Line of Fire,” etc.

• Four months ago Giant fans were calling for the firing of coach Tom Coughlin and questioning the leadership abilities of Eli Manning. Eight months from today, bet on it, Giant fans will be calling for the firing of coach Tom Coughlin and questioning the leadership abilities Eli Manning. It’s because 20 percent of the American public are absolute idiots and 80 percent of them are rabid NFL fans.

• Another prediction of mine coming to pass: I said Gisele Bundchen was bound to become the Yoko Ono of the Patriots. It’s all over the news that she’s blaming Tommi’s teammates for the loss.

• Just 15 days until pitchers and catchers report!

Thoughts on the Super Bowl

I believe I’m deserving of acclaim for having gone the past two weeks and not once mentioning the Super Bowl. In fact, other than a tweet announcing my phone number in Roman Numerals is DCCXXIV CMLXI MMDLVIII, I haven’t really thought about it.

But I fear if I don’t write something about the game, the NFL might revoke my blogging license and I’ll lose out on all these great blogging perks. So let’s ensure that doesn’t happen by filing some scattergun thoughts as the hype ascends to unbearable levels.

• I'm filled with dread knowing something I've avoided for 30 years is bound to happen in scant hours. Yes, I'll watch Madonna perform. Super Bowl halftime acts should be like host cities. We should just go back to the greats again and again. That means Petty, McCartney, Stones, Springsteen each get to play once very five or six years. And I get to pick who performs, which means every two or three years you get a Lucinda Williams, a Todd Snider or Robert Earl Keen.

• Tom Brady keeps making it easy to hate him. This week it was leaked that his supermodel wife Gisele Bundchen had written a sappy note to family and friends asking them all to pray that Tommy does well and leads the Patriots to victory. I'll pray that every Haitian refugee wins their first Super Bowl ring before I pray Tom Brady wins his fourth.

• The high in Indianapolis tomorrow will be about 44-degrees, or about 25-degrees cooler than it will be in New Orleans. Nothing against, Indy, but if I’m going to a Super Bowl, I want to see flowers, outdoor dining and be able to stroll around in short sleeves. The Super Bowl will be in New York City in two years. How long before it’s in Buffalo?

• Why not homeboy John Mellencamp in Indy instead of Madonna? My wife and I saw him with Dylan and Willie Nelson a few years ago. Didn’t know what the expect. The man rocks. He’d be perfect.

• The next step in halftime entertainment will be to project holograms of dead icons. And that will be magnificent. I’m thinking a 70-foot Elvis singing, “Hound Dog.”

• Something tells me this game will be remembered for a really bad call and it’ll involves a Giant defender hitting the Lady Brady just a tad too hard.

• How come Elton John’s never been asked to perform halftime duties? He’s only the most popular and beloved performer on the planet. I’m loving him as much for being so provocative and honest as for all his indelible music. When asked what he thought Madonna should do on Sunday, he advised, “Try not to lip-synch too badly.” A few years ago he described Keith Richards as resembling an “arthritic monkey.” The bitch is back? The bitch never left.

• The only reason I’m happy Pittsburgh got bounced from the playoffs was because it spars us from seeing our idiot mayor participating in those ridiculous inter-city bets the media for some reason feel obliged to cover.

• I’m surprised Bundchen’s note didn’t reveal she spells her husband’s name “Tawmmi” with a little smiley heart dotting the i.

• Other great future hologram performers: Sinatra, Tina Turner, Chuck Berry, James Brown and one day, yes, The Beatles. Mark my words, if there’s a rock ‘n’ roll heaven, one day they’ll reunite on stage at the Bridgestone Super Bowl Halftime Show. It’s bound to happen.

• I hope the Giants so relentlessly and fiercely pursue Tawmmi that he visibly wets his pants and the stain reveals he pees pink.

• My prediction: Giants 27, Patriots 17. Wake me when it’s over.

The wrong kind of neckin'

I hate to inflict the following on you because I know already have enough on your mind.

But this chronic problem is about what’s just below your mind.

Your neck.

You’re misusing it.

I noticed this because I started to discern my neck’s begun making a slight little click every time I turned my head to the left about 45 degrees.

It’s not painful. It’s not dangerous. Just annoying, like the realization I’ll be watching Madonna perform Sunday.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the human body. Mine and yours. I wonder why we’re shaped the way we are, why some of our bodies appear durable and others start going to hell immediately after we extinguish the candles on our 40th birthday cakes.

It’s important that I keep my body in shape. Not because I’m a fitness fanatic, certainly. I just don’t like to shop. I have all the clothes I need in all the sizes that fit me. If my body starts changing shape or parts of it begin falling off then I need to find time and money to go to the mall and that deducts from essential drinking time.

So when I start to feel a little click in the knees or neck I try to address it.

For instance, I was doing as many as 10 pull-ups a day for the last year or so. There’s a pull-up bar in my office so I use it. If the last guy had left behind a blender, I’d be making milkshakes.

But then my right forearm began to hurt so I stopped doing pull-ups and now use the bar to hang my shirts.

Nothing goes to waste -- except, now, my upper body.

But when I learned what’s causing the neck click, I realized I was doomed to a life of neck clicks.

It’s either that or just drive my car forever in a straight line.

See, our neck use is chronically disproportional. Here’s how:

A cautious driver will pull up to a stop sign and come to a complete stop. Then he or she will turn his or her neck 45 degrees to see if any traffic is coming from the left. Then he or she will turn his or her neck 45 degrees to the right to see if any traffic is coming from the right.

Then -- and here’s the trouble -- he or she will turn his or her neck 45 degrees to the left again before safely proceeding.

We turn our necks to the left twice as much as we do to the right!

Click. Click. Click.

One solution is to alter the sides of the road we drive on every other day, but that could lead to other health problems, notably blunt force trauma from the inevitable multi-car pileups at every single intersection across America.

So now I’m trying to right the ship by spending more non-vehicular time looking anywhere but left.

See, I believe a healthy body is all about balance.

As noted in this April post about my attempts to become left-handed, I’ve long advocated those of us who are right handed use the left hand to do things like brush our teeth, pick up a fork or drink a glass of water.

We need our dominant hands to do things like sign checks and toss darts, but we shouldn’t allow the left to loaf through life. It needs to contribute.

It’s all about the yin and and the yang.

I try and follow up a funny movie with a drama. One night I’ll enjoy chocolate ice cream, the next vanilla. If we vacation in the mountains one summer, the next we’re bound for the beach.

It’s the way life ought to be.

I guess that means tomorrow I’ll have to try and write something intelligent.

Shocking development: my blog is ethically pure

It may be indicative of this blog’s growing influence that in recent weeks three different promoters have contacted me about making content alterations to include mention of their product or cause.

And it surely is indicative of my boneheadedness that I will mention only two of three -- one of which involves a toilet -- while disdaining the one that offered a $100 quid pro quo.

I name drop the two here not because I endorse the products or because they offered any incentives. I’m just doing so because they asked me so nicely.

The first is Jooble, a Cyprus-based job search website. I was contacted by someone who says he is Serge Lavange.

“I just want to thank you for your wonderful blog www.EightDaysToAmish! I read the post ‘The Great American Beer Fridge’ and then spent another hour reading your posts with great pleasure. Every article is interesting and easy to read! I really like ‘Of Humdingers and Sockdolagers.’”

I read on expecting him to compare my profile picture to Brad Pitt’s.

He said his job is to persuade bloggers to link to Jooble job-finding service. He said, “I really love my job. We have a friendly team and good management, but unfortunately I have no idea how to convince a blogger to link to us, I'm afraid I might lose my job because of it :( ...”

The only way he could have been more appealing was if he or she said he or she was Katarina and her cruel bosses have strapped her to the railroad tracks and wouldn’t free her until I agreed to comply.

“Our site is really cool. It can greatly help hundreds of people to find jobs. I wish you to have a good day and excellent mood! Thanks again for your nice blog. Write more! Thanks!”

The correspondence is rich with irony. He gets paid to read my blog and kindly ask if I, a man who gets paid nothing to produce it, will mention a site that helps other unemployed folks find work.

But I’d get great satisfaction if anyone did get a job from this post or if at least poor Serge could avoid being sent to the gulag so . . .

Jooble! Jooble! Jooble! And thank you, Serge. I hope it all works out for you.

Next freebie mention goes to Mary Beth Duehr and the luxury INAX SATIS Toilet. Her note was brief, straightforward and informative. She said the eco-friendly tankless design delivers on comfort, performance and style.

She didn’t try to flatter me, hint she’d ever even looked at my blog, or offer me a free toilet.

But I read her note and thought of her as a young girl. I’m sure she didn’t grow up dreaming of hawking commodes for a living.

Her job is as thankless as the INAX SATIS is tankless. But it is essential and can help save the planet. So I’m happy to mention it here and do so without ethical ambivalence.

Toilets are an interesting place for a guy like me to draw the line.

You’d think I’d have snapped up the $100 offer to alter this whiny September post about America’s penchant for over-education.

The assigned links led to articles bashing for-profit colleges in favor of colleges that feature things like buildings and cheerleaders. Payment would also require me to include four lines of copy. A snippet:

“These for-profit degrees have the double bonus of being frowned on by potential employers and being tied to an disproportionally high level of student debt. The problem is that everyone is told growing up that graduating college is one of the essential parts of a successful life.”

My post was non-specific. It bashed all education. I must have been striving to be controversial that morning.

“If you agree with these edits, I can promptly send you a $100 payment via PayPal. You can either post the link now or after I’ve sent the payment. Hope this sounds good to you!”

It sounds great. Honest.

It just doesn’t sound honest.

So be wary, ye consumers of web content. They’re trying to influence you in the most insidious ways.

I assure you it won’t happen here.

I can write my own crap. If this blog ever goes down the toilet, I promise you I’ll be the one doing the flushing.

And if it goes down the toilet, you can bet it’ll be down a shiny new INAX SATIS!

Tell ‘em www.EightDaysToAmish.com sent ya!

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