Touching the Wet Paint

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"Tell people there's an invisible man in the sky who created the universe, and the vast majority will believe you. Tell them the paint is wet, and they have to touch it to be sure."

George Carlin

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Yesterday was my birthday.

I spent the afternoon and evening at my father's house, doing what I prefer to do on my birthday — watch football on TV.

But I started the day with an early trip to the nearby clinic. The folks there needed to take a blood sample to make sure that the right dosage is prescribed for a medicine I have been taking for several years. It should come as no surprise to anyone reading this that one's body changes with the passage of time. People who wear glasses need to have their prescriptions adjusted for changes in their vision. And, if you take a medicine on a daily basis, as many people do, sometimes the dosage needs to be adjusted.

Anyway, with my work schedule and the necessary commute time, it simply isn't possible for me to plan to go in during the week. Fortunately, the clinic is open for abbreviated hours on Saturdays, and no appointment is necessary for blood work. You just need to get there before everyone else does if you want to avoid the wait.

The clinic opens at 8 a.m. so I got up early on a Saturday morning and got there right at 8 a.m. (OK, it was really 8:07, but that's close enough.) I walked in, told the receptionist I was there to do blood work and was whisked right in to the room where they do that stuff.

I had to wait there for a little while, then a young man walked in to take my blood. I told him that, in the past, people who have taken blood samples have found it easier to get it from the veins in my hands than the veins in my arms. I'm like my father in that regard. For some reason (genetic, I suppose) the veins in our arms are not conducive to the procedure for taking blood samples.

Now, I have been me all my life so I know things about me that people who have never met me before — like this young man — do not know. In the case of having blood drawn, I always try to save us all a little time, and I tell whoever is taking my blood that it tends to work best when it is taken from my hands.

But they always remind me of that George Carlin quote at the top of this post. They may take many things on faith, but they always have to touch the paint to make sure it is wet.

So I have learned to let 'em touch the paint. I tend to feel like a pin cushion by the time they are finished because, once they have failed to find a vein they can use in one arm, they always want to try the other, but — with rare exceptions, and there have been one or two — they are forced to conclude that I was right, and they proceed to my hands.

That is how it was yesterday. When the young man finally had to concede — after about half an hour of probing my arms for veins — that he would be successful using my hands instead, I watched as vial after vial filled up. It was like he had hit a gusher. And I pointed out that I had tried to save us some time.

But he had to touch the wet paint. They always do.

Twisting Slowly in the Wind

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There have been many tragic stories coming from Egypt in recent weeks, but the most tragic may well have been the report of the sexual assault and barbaric beating of CBS correspondent Lara Logan.

Reports of attacks on foreign journalists have been fairly common, but Caroline Glick writes, in the Jerusalem Post, that "the most egregious attack ... took place ... when ... Lara Logan was sexually assaulted and brutally beaten by a mob of Egyptian men."

I can't argue with that.

CBS, Glick goes on to say, "took several days to even report the story, and when it did, it left out important information. The fact that Logan was brutalized for 20 to 30 minutes and that her attackers screamed out 'Jew, Jew, Jew' as they ravaged her was absent from the CBS report."

Glick tells a tale of journalistic cowardice and misogyny that makes the attack on Logan seem virtually inevitable, and she begins her column with the bewildered questions that many people no doubt were asking after word of the attack began to spread:

"The Western media have been unanimous in their sympathetic coverage of the demonstrators in Egypt," Glick writes. "Why would the demonstrators want to brutalize them? And why have Western media outlets been so reticent in discussing the significance of their own reporters' brutalization at the hands of the Egyptian demonstrators?"

Such questions distract from the facts. This wasn't some kind of uncontrolled response to persecution. The mob wasn't angry about unfavorable representation in the media. What happened to Logan was a crime, and the people who were responsible should be treated like criminals. No one should justify their acts because their acts cannot be justified.

I am reminded of a scene from the Jack Lemmon–Sissy Spacek film "Missing," in which an American has disappeared during a coup in Chile and his father, played by Lemmon, and his wife, played by Spacek, try to find him.

Lemmon believes his son must have done something to lead to his arrest, and he keeps asking people to tell him what it was. Then a native scoffs at the idea. "You Americans," he says, "you always assume you must do something before you can be arrested."

"Isn't that the way it usually works?" Lemmon asks.

"Not here," the man replies.

And that isn't the way it works in Egypt, either. I've read many reports on the attack on Logan, and I have found not a single word that suggests that she was doing anything other than her job when she was attacked. Meanwhile, the men who did this to her have been protected, their faces blurred to hide their identities in broadcasts of videos showing Logan with her assailants just before the assault.

Here in America, there are still people who think a woman brings such an assault on herself, usually by dressing and/or behaving provocatively. But even if Logan was wearing a short, tight skirt and a low–cut blouse and grinning suggestively at the men who attacked her, that would not make what was done to her all right — by any stretch of the imagination.

Logan's attack presents an ugly picture, and it tells a twisted and shameful tale of media coverage in foreign lands. Many foreign journalists have been intimidated by their treatment in the Middle East, and they have been eager to avoid rocking the boat.

The absence of courage among Western journalists has been, to use the most charitable term possible, disappointing.

But what this says about the treatment of women is, if anything, even worse, because it isn't the kind of thing that is confined to Egypt or other places teetering precariously between freedom and repression. The subjugation of women is often tolerated in supposedly free nations.

In essence, journalists (who have always been willing to risk their lives to bring the news to their readers and listeners — but who could usually count on a certain amount of support and protection from their employers and governments in return) are being left to, in the words of Nixon aide John Ehrlichman, "twist slowly in the wind."

That may be an unfamiliar sensation for many journalists. But the women in their ranks have long felt that way in Egypt and elsewhere.

What happened to Logan may yet yield some good things because it shines the spotlight on the appalling treatment of women in Egypt. As Jeff Jacoby writes in the Boston Globe, "Perhaps the most shocking thing about the despicable sexual attack on CBS correspondent Lara Logan ... is that to those who know Egypt, it wasn't shocking at all."

Nearly three years ago, the BBC reported that 83% of Egyptian women — and nearly all foreign visitors — had been subjected to some form of sexual harassment. The BBC called it "Egypt's cancer."

Mary Rogers wrote about sexual harassment at CNN.com nearly four months ago.

While I'm on the subject, a good place to begin moving past the "socially acceptable bigotry" (in Glick's words) that is permitted to exist would be to start calling that attack what it was.

I don't mean to insert a note that is too frivolous for the subject, but I have long been a fan of the late George Carlin — and I particularly enjoyed his observations about language.

Carlin didn't care for euphemistic language. He said Americans had invented a "soft language" to help them avoid dealing with reality, and he was right. Sometimes, as he pointed out, the euphemisms were fairly innocuous — like saying "bathroom tissue" instead of "toilet paper." No harm, no foul, right?

But sometimes euphemisms are used to hide really ugly truths, and this case seems to be loaded with euphemisms like that.

If Logan was sexually assaulted (by approximately 200 men, I have heard) and the attack went on for 20 or 30 minutes, she was raped.

I know the Wall Street Journal disagrees with that. The Wall Street Journal, quoting an unnamed source, insists that she was not raped. But could such a thing really be possible?

"Sexual assault" sounds like it was not as bad as it almost certainly was. It makes it sound like it involved everything but penetration (which wouldn't be particularly good, either, but some people could use that distinction to minimize what happened).

It sounds to me like the attackers were in a frenzy. How many blows would have been required to render Logan unconscious and then strip the clothes from her body? Are we supposed to believe that her attackers suddenly stopped after fondling Logan and said to each other, "Stop! We can go no farther. We are already guilty of sexual assault. If we go past this point, it will be rape."

Let's call it what it was — rape.

Even if, technically, only one of Logan's attackers committed the rape. Or two. Or three.

Wouldn't anyone who stood by while someone else committed a rape be guilty of, at the very least, being an accessory?

I'm not a lawyer, and I don't know the fine points of the law so I could be wrong. But it would be consistent.

See, "sexual assault" is rather broadly defined and is often used interchangeably with "rape." But "sexual assault" could mean a lot of things.

"Not all sexual harassment is physical," Jacoby writes. "[B]esides groping women's bodies, grabbing at their clothing, and indecent exposure, it can also include blatant ogling, sexual catcalls, and stalking."

And, for the "I'm–too–sexy–for–my–shirt" naysayers, Jacoby has this: "More than half the Egyptian women reported being molested every day. And contrary to popular belief, most of the victims were wearing modest Islamic dress."

Different jurisdictions have different definitions for rape — or statutory rape. And they don't necessarily have to include intercourse. Even if Logan was not violated (which I still find doubtful), her assailant(s) could be charged with rape.

The sight of Egyptians protesting against their corrupt government certainly was stirring for many pro–democracy types, including those who aren't especially worried about whether freedom really is inclusive.

But, as Miranda Devine writes in Australia's Herald Sun newspaper, a free Egypt will mean nothing to its women ...

... And it will mean even less to its foreign visitors.

Surely, there must be some way for justice to be served — and for Egypt's newfound freedom to have real meaning.

Let's stop hiding behind words. Let's say what we mean and mean what we say.

And let's take a resolute stand against this kind of behavior, wherever we find it.

Declaring War on Poverty

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If you look at an American history book today, you're likely to see Lyndon Johnson's name prominently linked with the Vietnam War.

There is certainly good reason for that. Like the mutually dependent tales of the Nixon presidency and the Watergate scandal, you can't tell the story of the Johnson presidency without telling the story of the Vietnam War — and vice versa.

Dig a little deeper in history's account of that administration, and you're likely to see Johnson's name mentioned in connection with the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act. Indeed, Johnson was a major figure in those legislative acts as well, and it would be wrong for the history books not to mention his contributions to them.

It's interesting, isn't it, the things a president is remembered for — as opposed to what that president wanted to do when he took office? But the truth — as unpleasant as it often can be — is that the times define the president, not the other way around.

It's pretty well known that Johnson was an admirer of Franklin D. Roosevelt's "New Deal," which should come as no real surprise since Johnson served in the U.S. House for the last two–thirds of FDR's presidency. But when LBJ became president, he had to lead a nation that was embroiled in a Cold War that never existed in Roosevelt's day. And the economy of the 1960s was in much better shape than the economy of the 1930s had been.

Johnson wanted to leave his mark on American daily life in a way that went beyond what FDR's presidency had achieved. When he left the White House, he wanted to leave behind a government that would offer to people not a handout but a hand up. He was ensnared by a war in a tiny Asian land few Americans knew existed, but he still had many domestic accomplishments, and he might well be remembered as one of America's 10 greatest presidents if not for that war in southeast Asia.

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Sometimes, I'm inclined to believe that LBJ may have felt more pressure to build on FDR's legacy than he felt to be worthy of being Kennedy's successor.

Nevertheless, on this day in 1964 — exactly six months after the assassination of John F. Kennedy — Johnson fired the first shot in the war on poverty.

He came to Ann Arbor, Mich., to address the graduates of the University of Michigan, and he took the opportunity to call upon them — and the rest of America's citizens — "to move not only toward the rich society and the powerful society, but upward to the Great Society."

The "Great Society." That, Johnson apparently believed, would be the phrase that would conjure up memories of his presidency for future generations. The way "New Deal" summoned memories of FDR and the way "New Frontier" reminded listeners of JFK.

He pursued that goal because he had been personally touched by poverty when he was young in central Texas, touched by it in ways that patricians like Roosevelt and Kennedy never could have been.

He did not pursue it because powerful lobbyists encouraged him to do so. There are no lobbyists for the poor, the homeless, the uneducated. Nor were there many votes to be gained from legislation aimed at helping the needy.

He felt called upon to urge his countrymen "to lead America toward a new age." He genuinely wanted to help what the Bible called "the least of these."

Perhaps LBJ believed what Gandhi believed, that "[p]overty is the worst kind of violence." I don't know if he did or did not, but wouldn't it be ironic if Lyndon Johnson, whose name is cursed in the annals of history for America's long and bloody involvement in Vietnam, was driven in his quest for the Great Society by his revulsion to the violence of poverty?

"We have the power," he said, "to shape the civilization that we want. But we need your will and your labor and your hearts, if we are to build that kind of society."

And, in the days ahead, Johnson promoted — and pushed through Congress — enough domestic legislative accomplishments — among them, acts that created Head Start, food stamps, Work Study, Medicare, public broadcasting and Medicaid; acts that provided funds to support the arts and the beautification and conservation of the nation's natural wonders; acts that encouraged a higher standard of living for all — to make half a dozen administrations successful in the assessment of history.

Eradicating poverty was a worthy goal, but Johnson was not naive enough to think that it could be achieved in a few years. He warned his listeners that "the Great Society is not a safe harbor, a resting place, a final objective, a finished work. It is a challenge constantly renewed, beckoning us toward a destiny where the meaning of our lives matches the marvelous products of our labor."

America, he knew, would always be a work in progress, and there are many challenges today that Johnson could not have anticipated 46 years ago. But, because of his efforts, when Johnson left office, the playing field had been leveled dramatically. In less than six years, Johnson brought the nation's poverty rate down from 22% to 13%.

In his speech at Ann Arbor, wrote historian Theodore H. White in "The Making of the President 1964," Johnson "was describing ... all the uplands of the new civilization to which America could be guided."

And, yes, there was a clear upside to it for LBJ when compared to his predecessor. "Kennedy had demanded sacrifice," wrote White. "Johnson promised happiness."

I recall once hearing George Carlin making fun of the tendency in America to "declare war" on anything we don't like, and then he recited a list of such wars — the wars on cancer, crime, poverty, drugs, etc.

It was a funny bit, but I wonder, when I think of what Johnson achieved, whether it isn't necessary to call for an effort that is the moral equivalent of war on some things in order to bring the kind of serious attention and focus that is needed to make them realities?

Maybe it will take that kind of approach to finally rid the world of cancer. Maybe things like cancer can't be stopped until they are treated like the deadly adversaries they are.

And, perhaps, that brings us to another lesson from the Johnson/Vietnam years that can be applied to almost anything from the war on drugs to the prospect of a nuclear war:

Some wars cannot be won and must never be fought.

And some wars, like the war on poverty and the war on terrorism, are going to take a lot of commitment and sacrifice.

Some Werds

When I was a boy, George Carlin was building a reputation as — in my opinion — the best comedian alive.

Much of his reputation was established by his routines about words, language, clichés. That wasn't how his career began. If you go back and listen to his earliest albums, you'll hear routines in which he plays characters that were inspired by broadcasting personalities like TV newscasters, weathermen, disc jockeys. Other routines were his musings about issues of the day like the drug culture and birth control.

But when he was in his mid–30s, he made an album called "Class Clown," in which he performed what may have been his most famous and most requested (but probably the least frequently played on radio) routine called "Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television," a seven–minute monologue that earned his album a parental warning label many, many years before such a thing became standard in the recording industry.

From that moment on, every Carlin performance, every Carlin album included at least one discussion on language, often more. His very next album, in fact, had an 11–minute routine called "Filthy Words," which was an extension of his "Seven Words ..." routine. That album also had routines on childhood clichés, how certain words (in this case, "fart") were used as personal descriptions and thoughts about "raisin rhetoric" (which was inspired by a popular Raisin Bran commercial from the '70s in which the actors wore raisin outfits, complete with dark shirts labeled "RAISIN," and sang a commercial jingle while sitting in a bowl filled with a milk–like liquid and surrounded by bran flakes).

The album that followed that one had a routine called "Some Werds." It was actually a rant about phrases like "calm, cool and collected," "kit and kaboodle," "odds and ends" and other aspects of language that made no sense to him. He wrapped up the routine with a fictionalized statement from an "anti–pornography dude, kind of an anti–smut man ... (the words) you select tell a lot about you." That led into the statement: "Our thrust is to prick holes in the stiff front erected by the smut dealers. We must keep mounting an offensive to penetrate any crack in his defenses ..." Well, I'm sure you get the general idea.

Anyway, that is why I have been inspired to give this post the title "Some Werds." For a long time, I have had some thoughts relating to language and popular usage, and I feel like I will explode if I don't express them.

When I was in school, I always did well in English. I almost never missed a word on a spelling test. I always got an A when I wrote an essay. When I took my college entrance exam, I scored in the top 5% in the nation in English.

I'm not sure how I developed this talent. It probably goes back to my childhood. In addition to the things I was taught in school, many things were reinforced in my home life. I come from a family of teachers. My father was a college professor. Before my brother and I were born — and then again after we reached our teen years — my mother taught in elementary school. My father's father also was a college professor.

And my father's mother was an English teacher.

By the time of my earliest memory of her, she had retired from teaching, but while you might be able to take the girl out of the English class, I don't think you could ever take the English class out of that girl. In fact, I have memories of sending her thank–you notes for birthday and Christmas gifts I received from her when I was only 6 or 7 years old, and she mailed them back to me with my spelling and grammar mistakes circled.

Now, I never doubted that she loved me. But I guess my ego took a bit of a beating when my thank–you notes came back to me with my mistakes corrected. And it became my mission to write a letter to her that would meet her standards.

I don't remember how old I was when I sent her a letter she didn't send back to me. Perhaps she reached a point where she decided she had fought the good fight. Or maybe she concluded that it had become a mountain too high. She had three other grandchildren from my aunt, and they were all older than I was. By the time my brother learned to write, she may have stopped grading thank–you letters entirely.

But, as I say, it became my mission to submit the flawless thank–you note. She never announced that she had stopped grading them so I may never have passed her test.

But that experience, and the lessons I learned from it, have remained with me all my life. My penmanship has never been much to, ahem, write home about, but I didn't have to worry about that much after I learned to type. And nowadays, most written communication is done by computer, anyway. Even note–taking seems to be done more and more on computer laptops.

But I get the feeling that, for some reason, most people take computers as a license to be sloppy ... in all kinds of ways.

One way is just plain old–fashioned laziness.

I was reminded of that this morning when I was looking at a blog that is written by North Carolina journalism professor Andy Bechtel. The blog, "The Editor's Desk," made the point that the phrase "15 minutes of fame," artist Andy Warhol's often cited statement from 1968, is worn out but "lives on even though the artist himself has been dead for more than 20 years."

In my opinion, it lives on because some people are too lazy to come up with an original observation that suggests the same thing — a one–hit wonder, a flash in the pan, that kind of thing.

It's like saying "friendly confines" as a reference to the home crowd at a sporting event. It isn't an indication of how literate you are or how clever you are. It says you are lazy. Too lazy to find an original way to say which team is the home team.

By the way, I think "friendly confines" should be outlawed by most copy desks at most newspapers — but copy desks seem to be expendable at newspapers these days and, consequently, copy editors are fighting bigger battles. To use another cliché that probably should be retired, they've got bigger fish to fry.

I'm sorry to see copy desks in this sort of fix because I parlayed my training from my grandmother (not to mention my college education) into a profession for many years, but now I feel like I'm caught betwixt and between. I'm out of work, and I haven't found much of a need for people who can write and spell. Journalism majors who didn't study public relations or advertising aren't in great demand.

But I still think it's important to be able to write. And I still think it's important to spell words — and spell them out, not use abbreviations like BTW or IMO — or even more obscure abbreviations, like BFF.

I still have to stop and think about that one when I see it. It always reminds me of a scene from the original movie "The Odd Couple." Oscar was complaining to Felix about the fact that he left notes for Oscar on Oscar's pillow. Then he quoted one: "We are all out of corn flakes. FU." He glared at Felix. "It took me three hours to figure out 'FU' was 'Felix Ungar.' "

Actually, I get irritated by just about all the internet acronyms that I see everywhere around me. When someone writes "LOL," that is supposed to imply that the person is "laughing out loud." Some people punctuate every sentence with it. If that is a statement of fact, some folks must be downright mirthful, judging from all that nonstop laughing.

The ones that give me pause are the ones who write "ROFL," which means "rolling on the floor laughing." I always try to picture that in my mind, but I just can't quite manage it. And I also find it difficult to picture the ones who write "LMAO," which means "laughing my ass off." And I refuse to even think about "ROFLMAO."

Boy, talk about mirthful.

Now, some of these acronyms predate e–mail and text messaging and computer chatting — like "ASAP" and "FYI." I think they're pretty commonly accepted, even in spoken conversation.

But be honest: Before you started reading this post, did you know what "CMIIW" means? It means "Correct Me If I'm Wrong." Do you know what "IANAL" means? It means "I Am Not A Lawyer."

Apparently, they have entire books now — called "Wiktionaries" — that give extensive internet acronym listings. People who are well–versed in this kind of language could carry on entire conversations by e–mail or text messaging and never write a single legible word.

But I think it is wrong for people to assume that everyone is familiar with all these acronyms. A good rule of thumb is to ask yourself if you know for a fact that the person for whom the e–mail or text message is intended knows what the acronym stands for. If he/she doesn't, he/she might spend three hours puzzling over it like Oscar did.

For that matter, if you are sending a message to several recipients at once, I would suggest tailoring it for the lowest common denominator. There may be recipients among them who are fluent in today's acronyms, but if you know that there is a codger or two in there, resist the temptation.

Sending out a message that you know probably would not be understood by everyone would violate what I presume is still the objective of communication — to get a message from Point A to Point B as quickly and efficiently as possible.

I also have an issue with the so–called "emoticons." I've always felt that every key on the typewriter (and now, every key on the computer keypad) has a purpose. Colons and semicolons and parentheses have purposes, and those purposes do not include indicating to the reader if the writer was smiling as he/she wrote a sentence.

Here's another "let's be honest" for you: Up to this very moment, did you know what :-& stands for? It is supposed to imply that the writer is tongue–tied. I learned that in an e–mail exchange. I'll spare you the details, but, again, I will recommend that you be sure the recipient is acquainted with the emoticon you want to use.

Back to the acronyms, for a minute. They might be preferable to some of the horrendous misspellings I see on the internet. Constantly. Everywhere. Sometimes it is sloppy. Sometimes it is plain ignorance.

But it really annoys me that people don't seem to understand (or don't seem to care) how to make a word a plural or how to make a word possessive. And don't even think of complicating things by introducing the concept of plural possessive into the discussion.

I used to have a manager who would send out e–mails all day. Several of those e–mails were guaranteed to require (at least in her limited written language) "there," "they're" or "their." I don't think she ever used the right spelling of the word in any of those e–mails.

My all–time favorite message from her said something like, "Their going to hold there meeting they're on Friday." She was always preaching the virtue of the spellchecker, but her e–mails were prime examples of how spellcheckers can be fooled. Context matters.

I run into the same thing with "your" and "you're." If the description is of something that belongs to a person, such as a car or a house or a book, "your" is the possessive form that needs to be used. But if the intention is to combine the words "you" and "are," forming a construction that can be used to say something like "you are correct," then "you're" is the appropriate choice.

I think it is important to use the right word to express yourself. When I taught journalism, I used to tell my editing students that they didn't need to use a sledgehammer to drive a nail.

Clearly, words can be overused. A couple of weeks ago, CNN.com wondered if the word "absolutely" is overused.

My answer would be "yes," but I have a whole list of words that I think are overused. For example, I think "awesome" is overused. It means to inspire awe. Does your mechanic inspire awe when he changes your oil? If he does, I want to meet him. He might change my life. Wouldn't that be awesome? Most definitely — which I also believe is overused.

And then there are redundancies, which is an entirely different category, but I just can't finish this rant until I mention the one that really annoys me — exact same. I read it all the time. I hear it all the time. If something is the same as something else, why do you need to add the word exact? You don't.

Well, I could go on and on. But the fact is that, most of the time, I don't say anything to anyone. Maybe I should let off some steam now and then.

There were times when I worked for that girl and I had to stop myself from replying to her e–mails and informing her why she should have used "there" or "their" or "they're." Maybe I would have felt better — at least, I would have felt as if I contributed to her knowledge — if I had pointed out what she did wrong.

And there are times when people throw an acronym at me that I am totally unfamiliar with. So, like Oscar, I have to ponder it for awhile — and, given the context of the conversation or the previous e–mail messages, I can usually come close.

And, please, let's not get started on the fact that most people don't seem to know when they should (or should not) capitalize words (the answer is to be found in the difference between common nouns and proper nouns). And many don't bother to use exclamation points or question marks appropriately.

But I guess the main reason why I feel many people are just sloppy is this: When I was growing up, my family had a set of World Books, and my brother and I had a subscription for several years to the children's monthly magazine from World Book.

There were a couple of cartoon kids who were featured in each issue — one month, it might be about weather; the next month, it might be about animals at the zoo; the next month, it would be about something else — and they asked questions that readers could answer by looking it up in World Book. Their signature phrase was, "We never guess. We look it up."

People today are too lazy to look it up. They're too lazy to confirm facts or spellings. And that, I believe, is part of the problem with journalism today.

There's more to it, of course. But that's another rant for another day.

The 'R-Word'

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"Are there any niggers here tonight? Could you turn on the house lights, please, and could the waiters and waitresses just stop serving, just for a second? And turn off this spot.
"Now what did he say? 'Are there any niggers here tonight?' I know there's one nigger, because I see him back there working. Let's see, there's two niggers. And between those two niggers sits a kike. And there's another kike — that's two kikes and three niggers. And there's a spic. Right? Hmm? There's another spic. Ooh, there's a wop; there's a polack; and, oh, a couple of greaseballs. And there's three lace–curtain Irish micks. And there's one, hip, thick, hunky, funky, boogie. Boogie boogie. Mm–hmm. I got three kikes here, do I hear five kikes? I got five kikes, do I hear six spics? I got six spics, do I hear seven niggers? I got seven niggers. Sold American. I pass with seven niggers, six spics, five micks, four kikes, three guineas, and one wop.
"Well, I was just trying to make a point, and that is that it's the suppression of the word that gives it the power, the violence, the viciousness. Dig: if President Kennedy would just go on television, and say, 'I would like to introduce you to all the niggers in my cabinet,' and if he'd just say 'nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger' to every nigger he saw, 'boogie boogie boogie boogie boogie,' 'nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger' 'til nigger didn't mean anything anymore, then you could never make some 6-year-old black kid cry because somebody called him a nigger at school."

From Julian Barry's screenplay for "Lenny"
can be seen/heard in Lenny Bruce: Swear to tell the truth 1998

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During his much publicized appearance on "The Tonight Show" this week, Barack Obama inadvertently brought attention to what is considered an offensive slur.

Obama didn't actually use the slur — that's my understanding, anyway, since I didn't watch the program — but he did, as I say, bring attention to it indirectly.

It began as a bit of self-deprecating humor.

As you may recall, during last year's presidential campaign, Obama bowled a 37 in a game — which is pathetic, by legitimate bowlers' standards.

Obama told "Tonight Show" host Jay Leno that he had been practicing in the White House bowling alley and observed that his bowling skills are "like Special Olympics or something."

The remark prompted Deputy Press Secretary Bill Burton to explain that Obama did not mean to make fun of Special Olympics.

"The president made an offhand remark making fun of his own bowling that was in no way intended to disparage the Special Olympics," Burton said. "He thinks that the Special Olympics are a wonderful program that gives an opportunity to shine to people with disabilities from around the world."

It seems to me that, at some point, every president in my memory has — unintentionally — offended someone with an offhand remark, so Obama is certainly not unique in that regard. And it definitely isn't unique for a White House to have to backpedal when something a president has said is not well received by a segment of the public.

But, as Jessica Ravitz of CNN reports, Special Olympics is taking advantage of the unanticipated publicity to promote its campaign against the "R–word" — retard. And that part is unique in my experience.

The "(blank)–word" designation has been in vogue for awhile now as a substitute for whichever offensive term is being discussed — but without actually saying it.

I've always thought that was kind of a cowardly way to handle it. I much prefer Lenny Bruce's solution, which was presented in the 1974 movie "Lenny" — a film I urge everyone to see, by the way. As the movie demonstrated, Bruce was never timid about taking on sensitive issues, whether they dealt with sex or race or religion or anything else.

Bruce died in 1966, but his pursuit of truth inspired many great comedians — among them Richard Pryor, George Carlin and Bill Cosby. And I have no doubt that, if Bruce was alive today, he would have some choice things to say about the flap over Special Olympics.

Personally, I think he made a good point when he suggested that the suppression of words is what gives them the power to hurt people. By making them commonplace, he reasoned, you could take away those words' power to hurt.

I also think Carlin was correct — to a certain degree — when he took it a step further, suggesting that "the same words that hurt can heal. It's a matter of how you use them."

But Carlin made a valid point when he observed, after making some humorous references about Irish Catholics, that they were his "gang" and it's permissible, as he put it, "to hit your own gang."

I suppose the same logic can be applied to black rappers who use the word "nigger" in their recordings. But — still using that logic here — is it permissible for the same black rapper who uses the word "nigger" to also use the word "bitch" in a recording? If the rapper happens to be female, perhaps it is.

But, while I'm not a fan of rap music, most of the rappers with whom I am familiar are male, not female. So that logic would suggest that it is offensive for them to use the word "bitch."

That reminds me of a song by one of my favorite songwriters, John Lennon, that made a similar point about language. The song was called, "Woman Is the Nigger of the World."

I suppose I digress here.

But it really isn't that simple, is it? Some people use offensive words as weapons, and I doubt that will ever change. The words that are being used may change, but not the intention to hurt others.

Some such words just seem silly now — "cracker" comes to mind. I think, if anyone called me a "cracker," I would probably laugh.

I should point out, though, that Special Olympics doesn't hesitate to identify the "R–word" in its campaign. And there is nothing funny about the use of the word "retard." Ravitz's article at CNN.com posts a visual element from the campaign that puts it bluntly:

---

"N–gg–r.
Sp–c.
F–g.
Retard.

And therein lies the problem."

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The real problem is that, like any offensive word, the "R–word" is just a word. Its origins may have been innocent enough, but it is used today to speak disparagingly of those who are now called "people with intellectual disabilities."

Personally, I don't think I have used the word "retard" since I was a child and knew no better. But many people do use the word, and I applaud Special Olympics' effort to "change the conversation."

As Carlin said, we do think in language. If we think of others in words that command our respect, perhaps we will treat them with respect, too.

Special Olympics is encouraging people to participate in a "day of awareness" on Tuesday, March 31. "[J]oin youth and actor John C. McGinley in a day of awareness for America[ns] to stop and think about their use of the R–word," the organization urges at its R–word website.

It's an appropriate occasion for people to think not only of the "R–word" but of the other words that people use that are hurtful. Perhaps it is a good starting point for changing all conversations.

Carlin's Last Laugh

The very last comedy album from George Carlin is due to be released today, CNN reports.

And the album apparently pokes fun at death. Carlin died of a heart attack on June 22.

The album is titled "It's Bad For Ya," and CNN reports that Carlin was "particularly pleased with the material."

Reportedly, his daughter Kelly calls it a return to Carlin's "playful goofiness."

If so, it's an appropriate farewell from one of the great comedians of all time to the adoring audience he left behind.

But we also get hints that this album — and Carlin's final HBO special that aired in March — only scratched the surface of Carlin's wit and wisdom that was never shared with the world — and, now, never will be.

"Definitely some people who are close to me who have seen this show, and have seen a lot of the others, feel this is my best stuff yet," Carlin told the Associated Press a few months before he died.

We are fortunate to have so much of Carlin's brilliance preserved in audio and video recordings.

But if you want to take flowers to his grave, you're out of luck. According to CNN, Carlin was cremated, and his daughter and brother scattered portions of his ashes in different places that were special to him.

Seinfeld's Tribute to Carlin

Last night, I was watching the tribute to George Carlin on Larry King's show on CNN.

One of his guests was Jerry Seinfeld, and it was during King's Q&A with Seinfeld that he revealed that he had written an article about Carlin that would appear in today's New York Times.

Now, I was never much of a Seinfeld fan. I guess I liked him better than some of King's guests last night — like Roseanne. But I like Lewis Black and Bill Maher, and they both shared some memories of Carlin and insights into his personality.

So, too, did Seinfeld. And I think his article has resonance for me, especially because of an observation he makes:

"I became obsessed with him in the '60s," Seinfeld writes. "As a kid it seemed like the whole world was funny because of George Carlin. His performing voice, even laced with profanity, always sounded as if he were trying to amuse a child. It was like the naughtiest, most fun grown-up you ever met was reading you a bedtime story."

Seinfeld also talks — as everyone else does — about Carlin's "cutting edge" comedy. That really goes without saying, considering the Lenny Bruce-like legal problems he had over his "Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television" routine.

(That routine, by the way, seems almost pedestrian by today's standards. And it's been more than 30 years since he recorded it. But you still can't say those words on TV!)

But, in both the article and the King show, Seinfeld was in awe of Carlin's "precision." He was always very precise, and he seemed to get better at that as he got older.

"To me, everything he did just had this gleaming wonderful precision and originality," Seinfeld says.

Read Seinfeld's article.

Read it if you admired Carlin.

Read it if you never watched one of Carlin's performances or listened to one of his records.

And if you missed him while he was alive, more's the pity.

George Carlin Dies

It's the kind of news I feel a need to confirm.

And, once I've confirmed it, I still find it hard to believe.

Comedian George Carlin died yesterday in Santa Monica, Calif., of heart failure.

He was 71.

No one lives forever, but it's hard for me to imagine a world without George Carlin in it.

He always gave me a laugh when I needed it, and my memories of listening to his recordings are intertwined with my memories of other people who were significant in my life.

Many of those people are, like Carlin, gone now.

It's hard for me to pinpoint the very first time I heard Carlin's routines or saw him on TV. He went from being one of the generation of young comedians influenced by the groundbreaking comedy of Lenny Bruce to being an inspiration for the next generation of comedians. I can't remember a time when his comedy wasn't part of my life.

So I guess things came full circle for Carlin.

And, as I reflect on the mark Carlin's comedy has left on my life, I'm reminded of one of his routines from one of his early records, "FM & AM," in which he reflected on the greatness of Ed Sullivan.

"No one got a chance to thank Ed," he said, pointing out that Sullivan's long-running variety show was canceled after it went into reruns so no one associated with the program knew that the last show that season truly was the last show.

In much the same way, no one got a chance to thank Carlin for all his years of making us laugh — and making us think.

Thanks, George. For everything.