Chinese Alligators Charged as Spies

Cape Sable, FL -- Two "undocumented immigrants" taken into federal custody have been charged with espionage, in what appears to be the latest development in the ongoing conflict between North and South Korea.
According to FBI officials, the two suspects appear to be "no ordinary spies," mostly because they aren't human -- they're alligators.
"The difficulty we're having right now is determining their country of origin," said FBI Director Mark Harrow, "which is proving to be very difficult. They speak no English. In fact, they appear to speak no known language at all. They just growl a lot."
The pair of alien alligators were taken into custody last week after they were discovered by an Everglades National Park ranger, who turned them over to the Everglades Biological Survey, a federally-funded team of biologists who work closely with park officials to maintain the integrity of the Everglades' ecosystem.
After determining that the alligators were not Americans, park animal scientist Milton Livingston contacted the FBI.
"These alligators are not from around here," said Livingston. "For starters, they're albinos. There is only one place in the world where albino alligators have ever been found -- and that's China. These things are rare, and they didn't wander into the swamp out of nowhere." 
The arrests come on the heels of reports that North Korea has been whispering in the ear of Chinese President HU Jinao, following the buildup of U.S. and Japanese naval forces in the Yellow Sea.
Tensions have been on the rise around the Korean Peninsula since South Korea's Yeonpyeong Island was shelled by it's neighbor to the north on Nov. 23., killing four people.
The two suspected alligators were discovered roughly three miles north of Florida Bay by park ranger Mario Santos, who said he initially thought they were dead.
"I came up on 'em and they were white as milk," he explains. "One was in the water, and the other one was about ten yards away, up on the shore. They weren't moving, so I slowed the boat. I thought I was gonna have to dig 'em out and haul 'em in. Then the one in the water got spooked and started thrashing around. I didn't know what the hell to do, so I just put him down with a dart."
Santos went on to explain that in the commotion he lost sight of the other alligator, who scurried off into the marsh. He said it took five other rangers to track it down and tranquilize it. As soon as the two alligators were restrained they were transported to a park medical facility, where they were examined by Everglades Biological Survey scientists.
Government officials are remaining relatively mum about the arrests, which has led to much speculation in the scientific community.
"What most people assume is that Native Americans first settled this land, which couldn't be further from the truth," said Florida State University biology professor Muriel Fanning. "The buffalo and the alligator were roaming well before the American Indians arrived. Fortunately for the alligator population, the buffalo were much easier to hunt. Most species of alligator have managed to survive -- but they're still pretty pissed that their swamplands have been invaded humans."
She goes on to explain that the Everglades' alligator population has also grown disgruntled over a recent phenomenon known as "Hispanic flight," referring to the overcrowding of Miami, which has forced many Colombian and Dominican immigrants into the outlying communities bordering the Everglades.
Many of these Hispanic families either cannot find homes or cannot afford them, so they squat in the swamp.
"It makes perfect sense that the North Koreans would plant spies in the Everglades," said Fanning. "The alligators are probably the easiest segment of the U.S. population to infiltrate. They hate all humans, and pretty much already want to kill us. Steve Irwin knew it. That's why he dedicated himself the the taming of the alligator population. But what most people didn't know is that he was also on the FBI payroll. He was a federal Agent; He knew this was coming. Unfortunately, his cover was blown before he could prove it -- and the alligators took him out."

What's on Tap in Man Land

The debate among guys over what constitutes a "chick" drink has raged for eons. Everyone has an opinion on the matter. Even women. Some have a rather rigid set of standards that define what makes a drink "manly," while others are more forgiving, allowing for a more broad set of criteria.
I've heard just about every argument, and as a one-time bartender have been a spectator to many a dispute on the matter. Some guys don't consider beer manly enough (they're just plain wrong), though most others agree beers are just fine -- as long as you don't "fruit" them. 
Whiskey is most commonly accepted as a tough guy's spirit. Vodka ranks up there too, as long as it isn't mixed with a fruit juice (or flavored with one). The guy who likes tequila won't typically get any gruff -- or take it. You start drowning tequila in mixers, on the other hand, and people tend to look at you sideways.
Rum is disgusting. Unless it is snuck into something frozen or blended, though a lot of guys do like spiced rums (Dr. Pepper and Captain Morgan were made for each other). And the only people who actually like gin spend their Saturday nights playing backgammon or bridge with their old college buddies.
Then there's scotch. Scotch is a man's man's drink. It always has been (and always will be). Period. It's the preferred spirit of myriad guys: Construction workers and high-powered CEOs alike, regardless of age. But you will never see a "man" mix a scotch with anything (with the exception of a few ice cubes).

So What's The Answer?

Whatever your opinion on the matter, the distinction is simple. The second you introduce a sweetener to a drink it loses it's status as a man's drink (this includes , but is not limited to, juices, fruits, sour mixes, and sodas).
In many cases, a spirit mixed with a soda falls into a category that is neither "girly" nor "manly," essentially somewhere in between the two. Examples include Jack and Cokes, vodka and sodas, gin and tonics, or Crown and ginger ales. The exception (again, for me) is a spirit (usually a whiskey or a scotch) with a splash of water. Yes, the operative word here is "splash." It does not sweeten the drink. That's the key.
Triple secs are another no-no. Yes, Grand Marnier is delicious, but it is totally a chick-drink component. Same goes for Cointreau. I drink it in many things, but I am not manly when I do so. Whiskey sour? Nope. Sour mix is not served on planet Man. Margarita? Again, not a chance (and don't even bother asking, because neither are Daiquiris, Pina Coladas, or Bloody Marys).   
So, what about a Long Island, you ask? That's okay. But just barely. Another strict rule governing the virility of a drink is that as long as it contains at least four liquors it is automatically exempt from "girly" status -- provided none of the liquors are fruit-flavored, such as Cointreau, Malibu, Blue Curacao (pronounced: Cure-Uh-Sow) or any "Pucker."
Light beers are not manly. In fact, the only real "tough-guy" brews are stouts (Guinness), porters, bocks, or dark lagers (Sam Adams is a perfect man's beer  -- and it's American!). Wheat beers are not manly. In most cases, they contain fruit (orange or lemon peels, or even honey). Summer and Spring brews are often the same. Winter brews can tend to lift more weight, but be wary of their additives. And pilsners -- no way. Amstel Light (an obviously "light" lager, brewed in Amsterdam) does not pass the test, nor does Heineken (a Danish pilsner) or Corona.
So, the next time you're in a social situation (or even alone) and you're not quite sure about the manliness of the drink in your hand, chances are it's not manly. Like I mentioned, there is a vast landscape between the chick drink and man drink designations (where most liquor and soda drinks reside). But unless your about to douse your taste buds with a warm glass of Glenlivet, a Crown on the rocks, or a frosty pint of Bass Ale, you are probably going to commit a serious crime in man land. Cheers!

Struggling with the Seinfeld Short-List

I casually mentioned the idea of creating a top-five list of Seinfeld episodes the other day to my brother, who insisted it was an unlikely feat. "That's not possible," he insisted. "There's no way." So, obviously at that point, the once fleeting notion solidified in my mind, and over the next few days I went about sifting through my mental television library, categorizing  and ranking the shows that, to me, were the strongest, with the most potential to make the short list.
Three jumped to the top immediately, and then a fourth. The fifth, however, proved to be my undoing. I was astounded that among all of the great and immortal Seinfeld episodes I could easily produce my final four but found it so difficult to come up with a fifth. I am not going to divulge which those were, or the episodes that were in contention for the fifth spot on the list. Instead, I am going to leave you with my top-ten favorite ones, which I feel are the best in the shows extensive catalog.
Before I do so, though, I am going to qualify my choices by explaining that, like the top-five list would have been, the top-ten list is compiled in no particular order, which is to say that they are not my first through tenth favorites: The list is merely the ten best episodes of Seinfeld, as I see it.

1. The Dealership (episode 11, season 9) Jerry attempts to procure a new Saab 900-S (in black) from David Puddy, who keeps insisting every one give him a "high five." Meanwhile, George is starving and Kramer takes a test drive.
2. The English Patient (episode 17, season 8) Elaine is forced to sit through "The English Patient" with Peterman, While Kramer has Jerry bring back some Cubans from Florida (are we talking about people?). In the interim, Jerry goes head-to-head with Izzy Mandelbaum, putting him, his son, and his father in the hospital (It's Go Time!).
3. The Fussilli Jerry (episode 21, season 6) Frank gets a likeness of Jerry, made of fusilli pasta, lodged in his ass. 
4. The Nap (episode 18, season 8) George constructs a place to take naps under his desk, which leads to Jerry having to call in a bomb threat to Yankee Stadium. Kramer takes to swimming laps in the East River (Over there is Brooklyn. That's where Spike Lee lives). And Jerry has his kitchen redone.
5. The Merv Griffin Show (episode 6, season 9) Kramer discovers the old set of the Merv Griffin Show in a dumpster, and decides to haul it up to his apartment. Jerry drugs his girlfriend to play with her toys, and George develops a vendetta against pigeons.
6. The Betrayal (episode 8, season 9) Jerry, George, his girlfriend, Nina, and Elaine go to India for a wedding. Chaos ensues. (episode note: This story unfolds entirely in reverse order, from end to beginning. Hands down, one of the most ingenious -- and side-splitting -- half-hours of television ever produced.)
7. The Andrea Doria (episode 10, season 8) George goes "bummer-to-bummer" with a shipwreck survivor to win a new apartment.
8. The Butter Shave (episode 1, season 9) Kramer gets fried (technically, sauteed) while  tanning up on the roof of the apartment building. Somehow George manages to get handicapped treatment at Play Now, and Jerry battles with Kenny Bania (yet again), while Elaine and Puddy are overseas.
9. The Reverse Peephole (episode 12, season 9) Kramer installs a reverse peephole in his apartment door, while Jerry, George, Elaine and Puddy go to a housewarming party at Joe Mayo's.
10. The Wizard (episode 15, season 9) Jerry buys his father a $200 Wizard organizer, which he claims is "hot," while Kramer runs for condo board president of Del Boca Vista. Elaine may be in an interracial relationship.

Amber Alerts and Manic Mergers

I was lounging around in a cozy armchair the other day at a local bookseller, browsing through a copy of Tom Vanderbilt's "Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What It Says About Us)," which is ostensibly an examination of driving personalities, and the implications of our good, bad, and ugly driving habits. I only read through the first chapter, before deciding to instead take home a copy of  "Panic: The Story of Modern Financial Insanity" (written by Michael Lewis, who is probably best known for either "Moneyball" or "The Blind Side," which was recently screen-adapted for the film of the same name), and while it didn't quite impress me enough that day to purchase it I did come away from my short time with the book thinking quite determinedly about what it is that most irks me about traffic -- and what my faults as a driver must say about me.
The book is good. The writing is sharp and the content is highly entertaining. Vanderbilt certainly knows the subject matter well, and has a keen understanding of the human psyche under duress. More importantly, his discussions, whatever the topic, seem to be well balanced, presumably because he knows that while most driving codes are pretty clear-cut there are gray areas of the law (areas that many people disagree over on a daily basis -- often at high speeds). Personally, just thinking about traffic -- which most of us can easily empathize with -- makes my blood boil. People on the road tend to be either careless or reckless, self-important drivers who feel it's their duty to police others, or just plain catatonic (those who act -- and appear to be -- comatose behind the wheel). And none of these personality types bodes well, in my opinion, for any of us.
Vanderbilt agrees, though he gives each of these different drivers the benefit of the doubt. The prologue opens the book with a comic yet enlightening explanation of the art of merging traffic, specifically the difference between those of us who merge rightward in a safe and timely fashion and those who refuse to do so -- barreling down the highway in the far left lane until the last possible minute (muscling their way into the line of cars beside them as the pavement they are on disappears into the shoulder). For the record, I tend to fall into the former category. I am generally a rather conservative (read: careful) driver, which is to say that I usually opt for the safer spot in traffic, as opposed to the one which may or may not get me somewhere quicker, but mostly when the arterial I'm traversing is at or near a congested state.
When the road is clear, however, I can be found cruising around, at speeds upward of nine-over the speed limit (which is commonly known as the "safe zone," in which cops usually leave you alone), passing those drivers who insist on maintaining the precise speed limit (wherever they may be on the road). But when it comes to intersections, I am a fervent abider of the law. Many of my traffic pet peeves have to do with infractions of intersection codes. For example, nothing infuriates me more than people who slam on the gas 15 feet from an amber light and gun it through the intersection. I don't know for absolute certainty, but am relatively sure that (collisions involving drunk drivers notwithstanding) a good majority of traffic accidents result when one or both parties involved (assuming there are only two) have run an amber (yellow, in lay terms) or red light.
The law is clear on the matter: "If the signal exhibits a steady yellow indication, vehicular traffic facing the signal shall stop before entering the crosswalk at the intersection or at a limit line when marked, but if the stop cannot be made in safety, a vehicle may be driven with caution through the intersection" (per Michigan state Legislature). Now, there are two operative words in this law, and, yes, I have highlighted them for you. They both, by definition, have to do with roughly the same concept -- which basically asks that we all move about in our daily travels carefully, taking into full consideration those around us. When a driver wantonly disregards those measures that have been designed to protect us from one another he or she is basically living on borrowed time (hence, forcing everyone else to do so too). And we all know the downside of borrowing: At some point, usually when we are least prepared, we are going to have to somehow repay those debts.

A Decade of Distress

One of the benefits of man-made instruments of time, specifically the yearly calendar, is that we are provided with innumerable opportunities (daily, weekly, monthly) to start anew, to click the refresh button on ourselves, so to speak, and proceed with a more emboldened sense of purpose and direction. One of the easiest ways to forget about a bad day at work, for example, is to find a way home, enjoy a decent meal, veg-out for a couple hours, and get a good night's rest. Our problems won't usually disappear, but these measures can at least help us to mentally file them away for a short while, if for no other reason than it gives us the chance to recharge and (sometimes) reevaluate what has gone awry in our lives. On a much larger scale, the month of January is one of those moments. It is typically used as a kind of springboard to a better, more healthy and organized way of living, a time in our lives when we resolve that "this will be the year" we actually make an effort to purge all of our unruly demons and habits -- and believe it possible.
Now, the skeptic will tell us that we are merely kidding ourselves, that this is just the procrastinator in us viewing the advent of "a new year" as an opportunity to put off addressing what is most pressing in our lives (usually when we instead opt to take a break and, often, go back to the drawing board, as it were). For many of us, this is true. For most of us, it's a thought which more than casually crosses our minds. But that doesn't necessarily mean that we shouldn't take advantage of any opportunity available to realign whatever it is that has gone wobbly in our lives. To be sure, 2009 was a rough year for most of us, and for many it capped-off a turbulent decade in which a whole lot of excess and ignorance and malfeasance came back to bite them in the ass. It was a decade marred by corporate and political greed and corruption, widespread downsizing and bankruptcies (not to mention that the housing market got swallowed by the earth), and -- oh, yes -- one of the worst decades for entertainment in recent memory.
The average price of a beer in restaurants and bars across the nation rose from $2.50 to $12.75, the cost per average pair of tickets to a professional sporting event went from $48 to a first born child, and the country's biggest television networks and movie production companies yearly shoved nothing but recycled crap down our throats (The Departed notwithstanding), while the prices of cable and satellite television skyrocketed, forcing most of us to repeatedly remortgage our homes (which is probably largely to blame for the foreclosure crisis). The price of gas per gallon eclipsed the price of gold per ounce (but eventually dropped to something more commensurate with that of titanium) while the price of cars hit all time lows -- some dealerships even offered two-for-one deals (it actually happened!). Furniture retailers were forced to bundle couches, tables, and rugs with High-Def televisions and gaming consoles (at a low, low price). Heck, the Hot-N-Ready Little Caesers pizza even ushered in an era of $5 fast-food meal wars.
But 2010 is going to be different. It is going to be the year we all rebound and get that much-needed foothold we have been grasping for. It is going to be the year that marks the decline of over-weight and under-medicated Americans, a year that is remembered as one of the first to close the gap in the pay rate between teachers and corporate figureheads, and it will some day come to be viewed as a turning point in our dependence on fossil fuels. It will halt urban sprawl, turning people back toward the cities where businesses are alive and thriving, homelessness and crime has been snuffed out, and competent leaders prevail upon the masses. And it will be a year in which Major League baseball finally exercises it's steroid demons, the NBA sheds its thugs-in-sneakers image, the NFL becomes a picture of parity, and the NHL becomes watchable again. That is, if those imbeciles who have since fallen from grace don't grab us by our ankles and drag us back into the mire (yes, Mark McGuire, I am talking about you).

Pride and Promiscuity

An excerpt from Monday's Detroit News discussing the sexual promiscuity of actor Warren Beatty put the number of women he supoessedly slept with at 12,775. The article cited Peter Biskind's recently published biography of the actor, "Star: How Warren Beatty Seduced America," warning that the oddly random number of conquests was just a ballpark figure, that the actual count could be well north of it (if certain "casual" encounters were included). It took me by surprise, not merely because of the subject matter but mostly because of the placement of the piece in the day's paper: It was at the top of page 2A (which is located on the left hand side of the paper when you open the front-page  -- or "A" -- section, for those of you unfamiliar with the layout of a daily paper).
In the wake of the revelation that Tiger Woods -- priorly the world's greatest, most well-groomed and behaved athlete -- was a philandering hoax of a model citizen, infidelity seems to have become the world's new obsession. Folks whose beliefs fall in line with that of those on the far right of the political spectrum decry this behavior, typically citing fortune, fame, and a rusty moral compass as the impetus for sexual infidelity. And those whose lifestyles are more progressive -- whose beliefs are more endearing to that of those on the left end of the political spectrum -- tend to be somewhat more forgiving (usually attempting to diffuse an argument or discussion on the matter by claiming that the world's entertainers are not role models, and thus should not be held to such standards).
Fortunately, the majority of us reside in the gray matter between these two extremes, which is healthy because it means that we tend to be more dutifully open-minded (as opposed to recklessly so, or just plain closed-minded). It also means, though, that we tend to have more difficulty forming firm opinions about matters of morality and immorality. This can tend to grate on one's patience. But it too can be a healthy disposition, mainly because it helps us put everything we encounter into a proper context (as it should be, as opposed to being jammed into some predetermined moral peg slot). For example, I was lying in bed the other night and (accidentally) caught half an episode of Oprah. She had on Cookie Johnson (Magic's wife), hawking her new line of denim jeans, which apparently are designed for -- ahem -- women with disproportionately large backsides.
Now, despite how difficult it may be to understand how a woman could possibly find it within herself to remain faithful to a man (regardless of what he accomplished as an athlete) who spent a good portion of his adult life as a rampant philanderer (with untold scores of women, no pun intended),there she was on Oprah, standing next to her husband (his appearance was via taped video), he with his arm wrapped tightly around her, gushing with  pride in support of her endeavor to be a compassionate clothier. He even joked at one point (which should have made anyone in their right mind uncomfortable), grabbing his wife by her hips and turning her back to the camera, laughing about how much he was in love with her...curves. But who are we to judge, right?
It's at this point in the discussion (or argument as I earlier stipulated) that people tend to amble into the "Is man meant to marry?" realm of the topic, so let us do so too. For the record, I am married, and happily so. But that's not to say that my life isn't a challenge (it most certainly is) or that it is daily everything that both my wife and I expect it to be. Rarely is anything in life that self-fulfilling. Nor should it be. Especially in the case of marriage, where the idea of self is replaced (more accurately, transcended by) the idea of discovering thyself in another, which is -- I think -- a vital component in the evolution of man. I mean, we've all seen what forsaking others for personal gain can do in terms of setting us back as an evolutionary species (think: Columbine, Nazi Germany, The Vietnam war, the sad state of affairs the attacks on 9/11 have plunged us into, et. al.).
On a recent feature on MSNBC a reporter wrangled her way into the homes of several Mormon fundamentalist families to discuss with them the practice of plural marriage. Specifically, she was hoping to get some answers to some of the more vexing questions about how the Fundamentalist Church of Latter Day Saints (or FLDS), a fringe component of the mainstream Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (or LDS), operated. Now, the LDS church -- commonly known as the church of Mormons -- is not in any way affiliated with the FLDS, nor do they allow plural marriage (which is an antiquated Mormon practice that only a handful of renegade sects still embrace). These people live and practice their faith in small, tight-knit groups well out of sight in rural areas of Utah and Arizona.
At any rate, it has long been believed that the women in plural marriages are probably somehow brainwashed, or in some way trapped in these relationships. But to hear them tell it (albeit in front of a television camera) they wouldn't have it any other way. The ones that participated in the interview explained that their way of life -- sharing their husbands with multiple women, while raising not only the children each of them bore with their husbands but also those of numerous other women -- was a much more sophisticated way to live, one that most of us (in effect, the majority of the world) could not possibly understand. The basic premise of their argument is that men in their culture are "committed" to each of their wives, and children, which makes them (apparently) more evolved than what they believe to be most of the men in mainstream society who marry one woman and still get involved with others, committing in no real way to any of them.
I don't necessarily agree with that sentiment. But I do find it hard to believe that men like Warren Beatty, Tiger Woods, and Magic Johnson (among countless others, I'm sure) are fully committed to the women with whom they have entered into marriage -- especially when their infidelity counts are so astronomically high. So, are these men exceptions to the norm, or -- unfortunately -- representative of it? It's hard to say with any degree of certainty, especially when infidelity is so pervasive: We see it in Hollywood, in professional sports, and even in politics. That, certainly, doesn't mean that it inflicts only the rich, high-profile, and famous among us. No one, I suppose, is so infallible, nor are our convictions so impenetrable,  that we cannot be influenced by the seductive tongue of temptation. Which is to say, I suppose, that we are all human. As such, we are each responsible for our own actions, and for those people in our lives who are directly affected by them. And, like it or not, we all know better than to compromise what means most to us, even if we do it anyway.