Crystal Gayle's Tour Bus

Am I just a very strange man, or did anyone else find the "Fugitive Steals Crystal Gayle's Tour Bus" story hilarious? While I laugh for several reasons, and one is the fact that it's Crystal Gayle, the country singer from the late 70s and early 80s who refused to cut her floor-length hair, a name that I haven't heard in years, and she's in the news for having her tour bus stolen by an escapee from prison. However, I find it even more amusing in a tragic way, as CNN and many other news organizations with websites posted this as one of their lead stories. Meanwhile, we have genocide happening in Darfur, polar ice caps melting, and innocent children dying in Iraq, yet not one of these stories made the headlines. Why? Because no one wants to hear the truth. We do it best here in America, denial. If we don't see it, read it, or hear it, then it's not happening. If we do see it, read it, or hear it, then we either turn on the TV to some lame reality show, go see a mindless movie, buy a new car, have an affair with the neighbor, get a bigger set of titties, drink, take a cocktail of Xanax, Celexa and Ambien, or subscribe to an item of personal choice from a never-ending list of distractions.

Trust me when I say that I am very aware of our celebrity obsessed culture, and I am not above celebrity worship at times. Angelina Jolie comes to mind, along with Madonna and the Dixie Chicks. Yes, I love these ladies, but I also love and worship Muhummad Yunus, the Banker to the Poor, Dr. Paul Farmer, Julia Butterfly Hill, Nelson Mandela, and others who are in the trenches with the mammoth problems facing our world. And I read People Magazine. Though that's not all I read, as The New Yorker, The New York Times, Atlantic Monthly, and The Economist get equal time from me when I'm engaging in one of my favorite activities, the rejuvenating release of digested food. (Ever wonder why cats rush through the house after visiting the litterbox?) Sure I love a silly flick from time to time, nothing much funnier than the dinner table scene in Eddie Murphy's The Nutty Professor, though I rush to the theater to see films like Water and Brokeback Mountain, films that challenge and provoke me.

No, I'm far from perfect, but I do try to find a balance in my life, one where I am aware and informed of world events and actively trying to do my part to make change, but one where I say when I've had enough of hearing about wars, famine, global warming, etc. Yes, I looked at Britney's bald, bumpy and disfigured crotch several times. And I also looked at the online photos of the horrors and devastation of the Indonesian earthquake. I was repulsed by the visuals in both scenarios, and if I'm being honest, Britney's cooter gave me worse nightmares than the flattened villages and distended bodies of the dead Indonesian babies.

Do we care whether or not they find Crystal Gayle's tour bus? It depends on the circumstances. If the fugitive kidnapped Paris Hilton and had sex with her while her pet lemur watched, then yes. If the fugitive ran over Young Jeezy and shot P Diddy in a drive by, then yes. If the fugitive donated the bus to a group of orphans from the Christian home and the bus flipped over and killed twenty of the homeless waifs, then yes, but only until American Idol comes on at 8 p.m. The answer is no, if as the events really happened, the cops located the bus and subsequently the fugitive and there was no gun-fire and Crystal Gayle didn't lose her mane.

Dazed and desensitized, muchlike a heroin addict, we numb ourselves. To get our adrenaline rushing and to keep from feeling our bodies, our thoughts, and our emotions, we constantly have to shoot up with Justin and Cameron's break-up or BMW's or Monday Night Football. We sure as hell don't want downers to ruin our highs, and a weakened and "cut" hit like the placid ending to the Crystal Gayle Tour Bus saga doesn't even phase us, and we rush out looking for a new dealer.

Increase Penis Size - Try Kowtowing! ACT NOW!!!

In an attempt to stay abreast of the confusing actions of our flailing government, I decided to tune into last night's Presidential address. Irritating as it was, my face contorting into all sorts of ugly shapes at the sight of President, and I use this term loosely, Bush, I forced myself to watch. "He ain't got no lips" kept running through my head. "But that lost 'tween the eyes look that he usually has isn't as bad tonight, so he must have lowered his Klonopin dosage" I thought. "I bet Nancy Pelosi wants to take her gavel and beat him to death." "Why are they all clapping for him?" "Oh, maybe I need to turn up my volume, so I can actually hear." Standing erect and not leaning forward in a definitive stance, speaking in a softer tone and with a hint of sincerity, President Bush proclaimed that Nancy Pelosi's father would be so proud to see her as Speaker of the House. "That haughty son-of-a-bitch is kowtowing!" I screamed, jarring my elderly lap cat from her sleep, sending her back claws into my upper thigh, barely and thankfully missing my scrotum. Humility that was bought with our tax dollars I'm sure. Yet whatever the coach/media relations expert/kindergarten teacher was paid was money well earned. Immediately, I began to think that he was more digestible and more tolerable, and I thought that maybe he was actually 3.5 inches fully erect, instead of the 2.1 that I've thought for as long as he's been in power, too many depressing years to count.

What is it with men, particularly straight white men, and the need to overcompensate for having a modest lot? How many wars, killings, maimings and other heinous acts have been carried out in a desperate bid to attain more length? Why doesn't the myth that trophy wives and mounted deer heads and bear skin rugs from the last hunting adventure add girth cease to exist? And standing far back from the urinal does not mean that you're related to Seabiscuit. All it means is that you piss on the floor. Some may falsely view this as marking their territory, but what they fail to realize is that the fellow in stall one is laying claim to the same area as he releases a few noxious log babies.

I do think things are looking up (pun intended). To see the most arrogant man whom I have ever witnessed humbled (wanting to write brought down to size but that contradicts my point) excites me. Maybe the world will see that civility, respect, cooperation, compassion, empathy, and passivity do not emasculate men. Maybe they'll see that the opposite is true. In fact, maybe President Bush's forced realization will lead to a form of redemption in an infomercial, a late-night ad that'll have more of an audience than any Presidential address. In the spot, Laura will sit next to President Bush, and he'll stare lovingly into her face, which is filtered and back lit to make her appear iridescent. He'll state, "All those times when I acted with an "it's my way or the highway" attitude and with assertivity (I know this isn't a word but remember who is speaking) and when I was controlling, just to prove that I was a man. It wasn't until you, my Dolly-Boo Laura, kicked me square in the ass, knocking me down to size, that I realized what a real man was. Now my confidence has soared, along with other parts of me. (He he he he...that annoying laugh of his). And for all you men out there who don't feel adequate enough in the old tool department, I recommend that you try kowtowing. It works. Why it even helped my old buddy, Karl Rove. He's never been happier with himself. (Cut to shot of Karl Rove inside a prison cell, smiling, as he sits at the feet of a very large bald man). As the scene cuts back to President Bush, he turns toward the camera. "For a free DVD on how to be a real kowtower, with scenes of Laura making me act like a chicken and peck around the ranch for food, call 1-800-GRO-DICK. And this is "Dick" as in ding-dong, peter, brother boy, little man George, Laura's tickle tater. And not my old buddy Dick Cheney. (He he he he). So go on and call now, if you're ready to be all the man you can be. (He he he he).