Hmm. Is Alberto Gonzales Funny?

I like to set challenges for myself like that. In the past I have tried to find funny things to say about such ordinarily non-funny subjects as agony, Beacon Hill, bumvertising, and contusions, to name a few. People wonder why I push myself so hard to find humor where it doesn't stick. I point to Catch-22's Orr.

Yossarian, the main character of Catch-22, says of bomber-pilot Orr that he hasn't got brains enough to be unhappy. Orr's planes get shot down more than any other pilot's, but he never minds and greets each new assignment with cheerful enthusiasm. Why? He must be crazy! Doesn't he know he's going to die?

Well, it turns out, he was practicing, so he could get himself shot down in the Baltic Sea close enough to swim to Sweden. Likewise I'm practicing so when the Grim Reaper comes to get me I can laugh at his ass and go out giggling. Alberto Gonzales is just a stand-in for Death.

Here's something funny-ironic. Gonzales grew up in Humble, Texas! Ha! I guess he's trying to get as far from his roots as he possibly can.

In 1996, Alberto Gonzales helped get the Governor of Texas George W. Bush out of jury duty in a drunk-driving case. Among other things he said Bush couldn't serve on the case because he might later be called upon to pardon the accused. An argument so broad it would pretty much excuse all governors and presidents from all jury duty, even where there's no exemption in law. An argument that neglected to mention that Bush had been convicted of drunk-driving. The defense attorney in the case called Gonzales' arguments "laughable!" So we're on the right track! We need to find more stuff Gonzales has done for W!

Speaking of Death, Gonzales was in charge of reviewing death row cases subject to clemency by Governor Bush. Thanks in part to his diligent disregard of most of those cases, the Bush & Gonzales term in Texas is credited with overseeing more executions than in any state ever, in any equal period of time. That's a record you can go to the White House on. I do think, though, they should have taken more care not to execute so many of the feeble of mind, because that could come back to haunt them later.

I'm specifically thinking of Alberto's prize observations this January on the legal theory and practice concerning the writ of habeas corpus. He said, to Congress, that "there is no express grant of habeas in the Constitution. There is [only] a prohibition against taking it away." Now, I don't really believe that Gonzales is so feeble-minded. I think he was just dishing out scraps of offal to our Representatives just to watch them have to eat it. But not everyone would give him the benefit of the doubt as I would. They might think, "Alberto Gonzales isn't shining us on; that would mean he was showing contempt for Congress; that cannot be. Therefore he must be dumb as a rock."

Now Gonzales has exploited a recent amendment to the PATRIOT Act to fire a bunch of US attorneys, more and more of whom we are finding out happened to have resisted Republican pressures to prosecute Democrats. This is funnier than it first appears. It's like when some character in a farce methodically places a banana peel on the floor in the middle of the stage just before another character is due to make his entry. This is called comedic irony, wherein the audience knows someone is going to slip and fall and gets to tittering over the comedic suspense. It's really hilarious when it's the jerk who set the banana peel who finally slips on it.

Of course the fall shouldn't happen too soon, you want to draw it out. Bush & Gonzales should work on their timing.

Nightmare of Elm Street

This is my last chance to yap about the 2004 presidential election before it happens. Also, I have no idea as of this writing how the World Series has developed, either. So let's talk about a metaphor!

The metaphor I have in mind has to do with the fact that I learned at an early age to dislike sports. I have told a part of this tragedy before. How I wore glasses in grade school. How, when it came time for us kids to play baseball for gym class, my teacher realized the threat that my glasses posed if I were hit in the face with a baseball. As she herself put it, my glasses would break into deadly razor sharp shards and pierce my eyes on their way to my brain, where doctors would be helpless to remove them, and I would either die in violent throes of agony, or I would be a vegetable for the rest of my life.

Therefore she made me go out and play right-field blind. Therefore I was hit on the head with a ball which I could not see coming. Therefore I did not die or become a vegetable, thank you teacher. Instead, I became traumatized for life.

Actually, I had already been traumatized for life three years earlier. That was when my father took me to a Red Sox game. I was six, and I had never seen a baseball game before. At the time we lived at Fort Devens, an army base about 35 or 40 miles from Fenway Park, so seeing the Red Sox was well within reach. It's also relevant that we were living on a street named after a Civil War battle, Chancellorsville Street. It has since been renamed Elm Street -- this is absolutely true -- to make it easier to spell.

You see, when I went to that Red Sox game, I thought the idea was to watch a baseball game, yell on behalf of the good guys, eat some hotdogs, see them win, and go home happy. My father had neglected to tell me that the good guys don't always win.

All he had to do to prepare me was to explain to me what our street name was about. Namely, what did transpire at Chancellorsville, Virginia in early May 1863, when they had the aforementioned battle? He could have said, "Son, we live on Chancellorsville Street. Have I ever told you what happened in the Battle of Chancellorsville?" And I could have said, "No, Dad, you suck. You're always watching Lawrence Welk. You never tell me anything." And he could have smacked me.

Or, he could have told me that when the Battle of Chancellorsville was over, General Robert E. Lee was generally considered the winner, since he had got the higher score. And this would have taught me that the other side (we, my father and I, being Northerners) sometimes wins.

Or, he could have really bored me to tears. He could have told me that, actually, General Lee went into the battle with only about half as many men as his opponent General Hooker, so the higher casualties on Hooker's side in fact represented a smaller percentage of losses for his total forces, and he was thus left with the larger force at the end, so you could very well say that the Union side won after all, so there.

Or, my father could have said that it was exactly during the Battle of Chancellorsville that Stonewall Jackson was fatally shot. Who knows, but maybe that particular casualty by itself cost the Confederates the whole War.

Or, he could have said, go read about it in a book, I'm too busy watching Lawrence Welk to talk to you now.

In any case, I could have learned that winning and losing isn't always what it looks like. I could have learned that the Red Sox could lose that game in 1955 but might still have a chance to win the World Series in 2004, or 2005, or someday after I'm dead. I could have been prepared for the 2000 presidential election, when the guy with the best score lost.

So what is the moral of our story? The moral is, don't demand that street names have to be easy to spell. What do elm trees have to do with presidential elections and baseball games? Nothing. So leave the names of streets alone.