Fishing With Fredo

'Attack of the Wiener Man' - there's no substitute for a little luck and great timing

2011-06-08T07:30:00.004-04:00

Here Come the Mummies are not only dead, they're apparently psychic. Their song, "Attack of the Wiener Man" puts the "i" before the "e," but the timing couldn't be better. The song was recorded long before U.S. Rep. Anthony Weiner, D-NY, decided to launch his own attack of the "e" before "i" Weiner Man.

Are the Mummies letting this opportunity pass them by? Of course not. They're marketing, with help from PhotoShop, their "Attack of the Wiener Man" t-shirt for $15 on their website:

"He is gonna get you ... and when he does, you are going to look sexy in this classic ringer shirt. As part of a public service announcement (in conjunction with the term's of Spaz's parole) we are putting this one on sale for a limited time. A portion of proceeds will go towards making society a little more accepting of grab-ass congressmen."

The video captures them playing the tune on the nationally syndicated Bob and Tom radio show. It has nothing whatsoever to do with a New York congressman. Not when it was recorded, that is. Here's our story about the band's April gig in Punta Gorda.

Here's the recorded studio version minus the Bob and Tom happy talk. Caution: It's loud, and the lyrics might not be entirely safe for work. But that kind of depends on where you work. Just plug in the headphones or turn down the speakers.

Bank learns a lesson: Next time rent your stuff

2011-06-07T12:52:00.008-04:00

Todd Allen with client
Maureen Nyerges outside the
Naples BofA branch.

Naples attorney Todd Allen lived the dream last week. Allen is the lawyer who made news when he turned up at a local Bank of America branch with a court order, a rental truck, a sheriff's deputy and an ultimatum.

Pay up or you'll never see your furniture again.

He was there to collect the $5,772.88 BOA owed his clients Warren and Maureen Nyerges for court costs and legal fees tied to the bank's unrelenting efforts to foreclose on the house the couple owned free and clear.

And he was prepared to be paid in furniture. The bank's furniture. Everything from the institutional sofas in the lobby to the mahogany veneer in the branch manager's office.

Warren and Maureen spent 18 months of their lives trying to convince Bank of America that they weren't delinquent on their house payments. They had no house payments. They had purchased their 2,700 sq. ft. home with $165,000 in cash.

There was once a time when an actual mortgage - preferably a delinquent mortgage - was considered a relatively important element in the foreclosure process.

Those were the days before "rocket dockets" and "robo-signers" replaced due process and competent lawyering. When foreclosure mills had yet to outnumber personal injury firms. Before the system had transformed judges into assembly line workers.

When Warren and Maureen would have received an apology and a free toaster instead of a court date.

How Warren and Maureen found themselves in this mess, and how Bank of America and its lawyers created it, isn't all that vital to the story. That Bank of America didn't bother to conjure an excuse until the moving van and the media turned up at the door shouldn't surprise anybody.

What's chilling is that the bank's explanation for this goof of monumental proportions - one that took BOA 18 months to admit - has become so routine it's temptingly understandable. The paperwork got screwed up.

In Warren and Maureen's case it was the bank that nearly wound up on the street. But in the wake of BOA's well-deserved humiliation over this table-turning photo op, there are questions.

How many other Warren and Maureens are out there? How many Warren and Maureens couldn't find a Todd Allen willing to go to the mattresses on their behalf? How many Warren and Maureens have been unlawfully and unjustly kicked to the curb due to a similar paperwork snafu and a dysfunctional justice system?

Warren and Maureen said they were turned down by roughly 25 lawyers before Allen agreed to take their case. It's no secret that when an attorney hears the word "foreclosure," the phone lines tend to go dead. If you can't make your mortgage payments, they reckon you likely don't have the money to pay a lawyer.

And in fairness to the profession, a prospective client whose story initially sounds pretty good often has the story wrong. Getting to the truth can chew up a lot of billable hours that will likely become involuntary charity work.

Aside from the prospect of not getting paid, most attorneys know that mounting a defense in a foreclosure case often does little more than delay the inevitable. The money these prospective clients spend on legal fees could be better used to jump start a new life.

Attorneys don't have the resources to winnow through hundreds of foreclosure cases to find the handful that have a hint of merit. Even the worst paperwork atrocity can be fixed. The foreclosure simply rewinds and moves on. It's the way the system works. And, tragically, we've come to accept and expect it.

When Allen's rental truck pulled up to the front door of that Bank of America branch in Naples last week, we shared in the group hug-style satisfaction of knowing that justice had, in some strange way, been served. There was little sympathy for the bank manager who nearly soiled himself as Allen explained that he was about to do to Bank of America what Bank of America had tried to do to his clients.

"The branch manager was visibly shaken," Allen said. "At that point I was willing to take the desk and the chair he was sitting in."

Unfortunately, we never got to see it. And only our collective imaginations can put us on the other end of the panicked phone calls that likely followed. Or the expression on the manager's face an hour later as he handed over $5,772.88 to keep Allen from legally heisting the bank's stuff. The $5,772.88 a judge and a deputy sheriff said Warren and Maureen were due.

This story works for us because we can understand - or suppose we can understand - the trauma of a family forced to helplessly watch as their lives are carried to the curb. Or the pain of packing up and walking away from a house that had once been a home. Can they really do this? Is this actually happening?

There's something warm and fuzzy about a financial giant getting a small taste of that same court-ordered pain, trauma, bewilderment and helplessness. There's a feel-good moment in knowing the branch manager likely, at some point, uttered the words "you can't do this" only to be bluntly told "oh yeah? Watch us!" Or the confusion in his eyes as he silently asked "Is this actually happening?" And yes, you kind of hope he cried.

The month before Warren and Maureen came within a whisker of turning their living room into a bank lobby replica, thousands of foreclosures were filed in Florida's courts. Somewhere in those numbers you'll likely find another Warren and Maureen whose story won't have the same heart-warming, the good guy wins ending.

There's a lesson to be learned in the story of Warren and Maureen. Unfortunately, the lesson that was learned has nothing to do with paybacks and hell, reaping and sewing, geese and ganders, foreclosures and due process, and dishes best served cold.

In the wake of Warren and Maureen, it's likely the banks have learned that if you rent your desks and chairs, your sofas and credenzas, the lawyers and deputies can't legally haul the stuff away.

Yes, Sarah, you did 'mess up about Paul Revere'

2011-06-06T10:35:00.006-04:00

"You know what, I didn't mess up about Paul Revere," former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin said on "Fox News Sunday."

'We're coming! We're coming!'

And she just might have something of an argument. Not much, but something. If you squint real hard and pretend. And you're on Sarah's payroll.

Palin raised a few squinted eyebrows when she claimed the purpose of Revere's famous "midnight ride" of 1775 was to send a warning of some sort to the British.

"Part of his ride was to warn the British that we were already there ..." the 2008 GOP vice presidential nominee told Fox News anchor Chris Wallace.

And, technically, she was right. Confused, but right. If only she had stopped there. She didn't, of course. We're talking Sarah Palin.

On April 14, 1775, Gen. Thomas Gage, the military governor of Massachusetts, issued orders to Lt. Col. Francis Smith to secretly march a detachment of troops - known as "regulars" - to seize and destroy "all military stores" kept by the Massachusetts militia - known as "irregulars" - in the village of Concord. Within hours the secret was out. The only question was when?

Smith's 800 troops and the militia had something in common. Both were, at least on paper, under Gage's command. They were technically on the same side. Smith's mission was more repo than it was maneuver.

Concord's "military stores" belonged to the crown. As did Gage, Smith and the militia. And just about everything and everyone else.

In April, 1775, Massachusetts was still a British colony, and would remain that way for the next 14 months until the Declaration of Independence prompted a disputed change of ownership.

Colonists were British subjects. And most viewed themselves as exactly that. British. Which is why when Revere "spread the alarm through every Middlesex village and farm" on the night of April 18, he didn't shout "the British are coming!" The good citizens of those villages and farms were, themselves, British. And would have likely become quite confused.

Who's coming? Us? You been drinking again, Paul?

"Part of his ride was to warn the British that we were already there," said Palin. Well, Sarah, the British (us) already had that one figured out. But Revere, unless he was on a monumental bender, probably didn't shout "We're here!" to his fellow British subjects as he rode through the night.

The warning Revere and others spread wasn't the nonsensical "British are coming," it was that the "regulars" were now on their way. And it likely wasn't shouted. It would have been passed from mouth to ear in whispers.

Shouting would have been a very bad idea. The route from Boston to Concord was swarming with patrols of army regulars. Further, the whole point of Revere's ride was to alert the militia in Concord that the Boston regulars were on the march - without Gage and Smith figuring out the militia already knew they were on the march.

Gage wasn't looking to provoke a fight. Quite the opposite. Smith's orders dictated he move quickly and secretly. Grab and go. Search and destroy. Hit and run. Eighteenth Century special operations. If the mission went as planned, the militia wouldn't know their stuff - the king's stuff - was missing until sometime the following day.

Gage even told Smith to "take care that the soldiers do not plunder the inhabitants or hurt private property." He also countermanded orders from London to arrest any rebel leaders Smith happened upon during his raid. He didn't want an incident that might trigger "an uprising."

Gage wanted Smith to get in and get out. Quickly.

At the same time, Revere's need for secrecy rivaled that of Gage. Just as Gage didn't want the militia to know anything was up, Revere didn't want Gage to know they'd been tipped off.

Gage, who had correctly concluded the militia would try to haul away the weapons cache if they knew Smith was en route, already had enough manpower in the area to guard the stockpile until Smith's 800 troops arrived. If these patrols could buy Smith enough time, the militia could forget about carting away the remaining goods.

Unknown to Revere, however, most of the arms had already been hauled off, hidden or buried at a farm just outside the village. Yet the need for secrecy remained.

Which is where Palin's "warn the British" interpretation of the events of April 18, 1775 disintegrates.

In the mind of Sarah Palin, Revere set out to tell "the British" that "you're not gonna take American arms. You are not going to beat our own well-armed persons, individual private militia that we have. He did warn the British."

Sorry Sarah.

They weren't American arms. They were British arms. And we're not talking hunting rifles here. The arsenal the regulars were targeting contained cannon (including three massive 24-pounders), muskets, kegs of powder and 550 pounds of shot. The Brits just wanted their stuff back. Or destroyed. And they partially succeeded.
Our "well-armed persons" weren't ours. They were the king's colonial militia. This arrangement abruptly ended on April 19.
Palin's "individual private militia that we have" - we simply didn't have. First, "we" didn't exist. Not yet. And the militia was anything but "private." It was established, "well-regulated" and funded by the Crown Colony of Massachusetts and the British Parliament. It reported, at least in theory, to Gage, the guy George III appointed to run the place. Palin apparently hears "militia" and gets a mental picture of Todd and his hunting pals drinking beer, talking secession and playing soldier in the woods outside of Wasilla. Not the way it was.
"He did warn the British." True. Sort of. Everyone who Revere and the 40 others in his network warned that night were, technically, British. Each soul whose path he crossed that night was a subject of the king. Even the horse he rode was British. Revere was British.

Let's not give the woman too much credit, however. When Palin says "British," it's pretty likely she's talking about Gage, Smith and his 800 regulars.

For Palin's explanation to make any sense, we'd have to imagine Revere riding past a detachment of the king's finest and shouting "hey, we know you're coming but you ain't violating our Second Amendment rights by takin' our guns."

Which is pretty much what Palin is suggesting happened. It didn't. And wouldn't.

The whole "one if by land" thing was part of a well-orchestrated operation that hinged on secrecy. While Revere would later go on to prove he wasn't a military genius, nobody has ever suggested the man was a complete fool.

Gage's plan was to repossess the militia's weapons before the militia could figure out what happened. Revere's plan was to repossess the crown's weapons before Gage figured out Revere had figured out Gage's plan.

Or, "we don't want you to know that we know." And it worked. By the time Smith's regulars turned up in Concord, the bulk of the cache had been carted away, even though much of it was later uncovered. And Gage's hope to avoid an "uprising" didn't go quite as he envisioned. He started a war instead.

"Warning the British," as Palin insists, was clearly the last thing Revere had on his mind as he rode through every Middlesex village and farm in April of 1775.

If it were Revere's intent to make some baffling political point about gun control, he could have stayed at home, written Gage a long letter, fixed himself a nice warm mug of rum and called it a night. No Lexington. No Concord. No Yorktown. No "We the People." No Fox News, just the Beeb. And, most likely, no Sarah Palin.

No Sarah Palin? Maybe the letter wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all.

Local legislator's political grandstanding just cost us $781,000 - and climbing

2011-06-02T16:00:00.002-04:00

Roberson

The Florida House and Senate will spend more than $50 million for "legislative support services" in the coming fiscal year. Perhaps our lawmakers should consider actually listening to the people they're paying to do this work.

There were 64 bills that made it through the House and Senate this past session. The tab for getting this legislation to the governor's desk works out to about $781,000 per bill. And that’s in support services alone.

This price tag includes a legion of analysts hired to write and translate legislation into language our elected lawmakers can understand. Among other things, they figure out what each bill will cost the taxpayers, how each bill will affect you and me, and the potential impact the legislation will have on state agencies.

They also point out problems. Sometimes big problems. Like constitutionality. If you're going to spend nearly $800,000 of the taxpayers' money to create new law, it's a pretty good idea to make sure that your new law is, in fact, legal.

When House Bill 353 was introduced on January 24, the talented people in legislative services knew there was a problem. A big problem. They sent up the first red flag on March 25. It was ignored. Another was raised on April 4. Again, ignored. The analysts put out a final warning on April 22. Same result.

The message the analysts were trying to send the House and Senate was crystal clear. House Bill 353 was, beyond question, unconstitutional.

"The bill raises important constitutional questions related to the permissibility of suspicion-less drug testing as a condition of public assistance," they wrote.

For the benefit of those legislators who might be slow learners, the analysts went on to point out that a nearly-identical program in Michigan was struck down by a U.S. district court of appeals in 2004.

The court, the analysts tried to explain, "found that the law was an unconstitutional violation of an individual’s right to privacy under the Fourth Amendment. The court specifically ruled that drug testing was unconstitutional when applied universally or randomly without reasonable suspicion of drug use."

"Struck down" is an understatement. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit didn't bother attempting to hide its outrage or mince words. The policy, the court held, was not only blatantly unconstitutional, it was "absurd" and "defied common sense."

Cashing a welfare check, the court concluded, didn't come anywhere close to creating "reasonable suspicion" somebody was on drugs.

Michigan didn't bother appealing. And in the wake of the decision, 21 other states that were flirting with the notion of drug testing welfare recipients gave up on the idea.

The analysts were, in their own way, desperately trying to send a message that this train-wreck piece of legislation should never see the light of day.

On April 26, four days after legislative services made one last attempt to warn them off the bill, HB 353 was passed by a party-line vote of 78-38 by the Florida House and sent to the governor's desk. It was signed into law last week.

Preventing welfare recipients from spending the taxpayer's money on drugs is, obviously, a popular notion. And a good one. It plays well in conservative enclaves like Charlotte County. Lawmakers like Rep. Kenneth Roberson, R-Port Charlotte, aren't eager to see themselves branded as being soft on drugs. Especially drugs you and I are paying for in the form of welfare checks.

Roberson was among the 78 House members who ignored the warnings and lined up behind their party leadership to vote for the measure. By my reckoning, Roberson now owes us $10,016 - his share of the $781,000 of our money he just wasted. A check will be fine.

Six-figure political grandstanding isn't fiscal conservatism. It's reckless squandering of money we simply don't have. Money you don't have.

Money that could have been used to put teachers back into our classrooms. Money for cops on the streets. Money for economic development, highway improvements, parks, libraries, public health and ... just about everything our local governments are cutting back or cutting out.

But Roberson and 77 of his pals in the House apparently decided that scoring political brownie points with the voters back home was a far better use of that $781,000.

Roberson was warned three times - and in language that left no room for debate - that HB 353 was a waste of time and money. He was warned three times that the law was constitutionally DOA. He knew, or should have known, that not a single Florida welfare mother was going to piddle into a little plastic cup as a result of his vote.

On second thought, let's have that $10,016 in cash.

Lawmakers like Roberson are paid $30,000 per year and $113 for every day they're in Tallahassee. Plus tips, of course. You don't get rich - not legally, that is - but it's not a hobby. It's a job.

And we expect those we elect to do that job. This sometimes means putting common sense ahead of politics when doing the people's business. And doing your homework on the issues.

It took fewer than 30 seconds to track down the staff analysis for HB 353. Another two or three minutes to read the thing. A few more to research the Michigan case. That would have left even the most dyslexic lawmaker plenty of time for lunch with lobbyists and an afternoon nap.

Roberson apparently didn't bother. With the homework, that is. Or he did the research, read the warnings, but decided he didn't care. Not sure which is worse.

Why pick on Roberson? Simple. He's my state representative, the guy who is supposed to be looking out for my interests in Tallahassee. And piddling away nearly $800,000 on garbage legislation simply to pad your resume and score points with leadership isn't in my interest - or anybody's interest.

I want a representative who's paying attention. One who earns that $30,000 - plus per diems. One with the guts to stand up in caucus or on the floor of the House and speak truth to ideology regardless of the political consequences. And keep speaking until the message is heard.

In the case of HB 353 that message was simple. This is bad law. And it’s about to get worse. That $781,000 is just a down payment. Civil liberties attorneys are already jostling for a place in line at the courthouse door. Gov. Rick Scott is pledging to fight a similar drug testing provision all the way to the United States Supreme Court, if necessary. .

This one won‘t be far behind.

By the time the legal bills and damages are totaled, the $781,000 spent to get HB 353 through the legislature will look like pocket change. Further, the legislature’s own lawyers and analysts have admitted - three times, all on the public record - that the bill was a constitutional loser coming out of the gate. They’ve already made the other side’s case.

On second thought, maybe Roberson should take that $10,016 he owes us and put it someplace where it will earn a little interest down the road. It’s a good bet we’re going to need it.

Scott treats himself to a $50 million windfall as he signs constitutionally DOA drug-testing law

2011-06-01T11:57:00.011-04:00

Gov. Rick Scott said Tuesday that "it is unfair for Florida taxpayers to subsidize drug addiction." What he neglected to say, however, is that it's apparently not unfair for Florida taxpayers to unwittingly subsidize his family's business interests.

Scott's comments came as he signed into law legislation requiring the 60,000 or so Floridians receiving benefits through the federal Temporary Assistance for Needy Families program to line up and pee into little plastic cups.

“This new law will encourage personal accountability and will help to prevent the misuse of tax dollars,” Scott said in a statement issued following the signing. Prevent the misuse of tax dollars?

At an average $42 a pop, the law effectively triggers a $2.5 million annual windfall for the state's drug testing industry. And 90 percent of that money - probably more - will ultimately come out of your pocket.

Rick Scott shows
himself the money.

This is on top of the more than $3.5 million the drug testers are expecting to come their way in the wake of Scott's surprise February executive order requiring all state employees to line up and pee into little plastic cups four times a year. Every penny of this particular windfall is being lifted from your wallet.

And, some might argue, into Scott's.

The Florida governor is the co-founder of Solantic, an urgent care chain with 32 clinics scattered around the state. Karen Bowling, the company's chief executive officer, readily admits drug testing is a major part of Solantic's business.

Scott's people say the governor no longer has a financial stake in the company. They say he signed over his share of Solantic to his wife to avoid any appearance of impropriety. And they say this with a perfectly straight face.

It's pure coincidence, of course, that in his five months as governor, Scott has created more than $6 million annually in new business for Solantic and the rest of the state's drug testing firms. He's become a one-man ATM machine for the industry.

There's just one small problem. The governor and his lawyers are likely going to have to convince the courts that cashing a welfare check creates a "reasonable suspicion" you're a drug addict.

And we already know how this story ends.

The idea of drug testing welfare recipients isn't new. And it wasn't invented by Scott. The governor apparently borrowed it from Michigan, which gave it a shot more than a decade ago. That state's law was struck down in 2003.

"Struck down" is a relatively civil way of putting it. The U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit didn't bother attempting to hide its outrage. The policy, the court held, was not only blatantly unconstitutional, it was "absurd" and "defied common sense."

Maybe Scott's lawyers see some wiggle room hidden in this one. Michigan didn't. Either did 21 other states that were flirting with the notion of drug testing. They agreed with the court's constitutional reasoning and wisely gave up on the idea rather than risk further humiliation.

But before the brakes were judicially slammed on Michigan's law, the state was able to gather nearly eight years of data from the welfare recipients it tested during the life of the program.

Ten percent of those receiving public assistance initially tested positive for drugs. This figure included those taking certain "scheduled" medications prescribed by a physician. When these and certain non-addictive drugs were factored out, the data showed just three percent of the welfare population testing positive for the kind of habit-forming hard drugs Scott is targeting. Drugs such as cocaine, heroin and amphetamines.

Those rates were, it turned out, slightly lower than drug use among those not on welfare. In fact, studies have shown the majority of drug users between the ages of 18 and 49 hold down full-time jobs. Like, for instance, governor.

In signing the new law, Scott went out of his way to note that those getting public assistance will be required to pay up front to have themselves tested. He didn't go out of his way to explain that those who come up clean will then be reimbursed by the state. This, of course, means you.

If Michigan's numbers hold true, you'll be picking up 90 percent of the tab - and probably more - for Scott's mini-stimulus program for his family business and the state's drug testing industry.

It took eight years for the courts to strike down Michigan's law. And while Florida's drug-testing scheme faces the same eventual fate, the glacial pace of the appeals process could translate into nearly $50 million in windfall revenue for Solantic and its clones.

Just about what Scott needs to repay himself for the personal fortune he plowed into his Republican gubernatorial campaign. And a nice way to jack up the value of the company he now claims he wants to sell. Make that his wife's company he now wants to sell. Wonder if she knows? And if Scott's no longer involved, how does he know he wants to sell?

The governor's lawyers, of course, will have to use every trick, throw up every legal roadblock, leave no tax dollar unspent in their efforts to stall the case until Scott recoups his investment. Or leaves office. Or the country. Or all of the`above.

But so what? It's not as if Scott's going to be spending his own money. That's how he got elected. Now, apparently, it's our turn to pay.

Scott's drug-testing scheme is nothing more than a solution in search of a problem. Scott has yet to find the problem. But he's clearly zeroed in on the solution. The only welfare that seems to matter in this one appears to be his own. And in politics, as Scott has been very slow to learn, appearances are everything.

Let's do lunch! But not with you, Mitt ...

2011-05-31T11:27:00.004-04:00

No lunch for Mitt.

Given a choice, more Americans say they would rather eat alone than do lunch with reputed GOP presidential front-runner Mitt Romney.

That's the conclusion drawn by a recent Sachs/Mason-Dixon survey of 625 adults who mustered the courage to answer their phones sometime between May 23 and May 24.

Bad news for Mitt. But for the GOP elite, the results simply add to the ritual vein opening that has come to define the party's crumbling inner circle. And if the poll is to be believed, the run on razor blades appears likely to continue.

The question: "Among these announced or rumored contenders for President in 2012, which one would you most like to have a one-on-one conversation with over lunch?"

Nine percent of those responding chose Romney, the former Massachusetts governor. Ten percent said they would either bribe the guy in the tux to get a table for one or they just didn't know - or care.

Romney is the temporary Great non-Right Hope of the GOP establishment, a guy who speaks in coherent sentences, looks good on camera and isn't Newt Gingrich.

His campaign machine is already grinding away in Iowa and New Hampshire. He's raising money. His body and mind have yet to be fully assimilated into the tea party collective. And he's one Presbyterian conversion away from becoming their kind of people.

Problem is, he just finished second to "none of the above."

The GOP power brokers are still de-mavericking in the aftermath of the 2008 carnival sideshow that shifted the center of the Republican universe from Yale and the Hamptons to Wasilla-something, Alaska.

The same freak exhibit that gave rise to the renegade tea party movement - also known as grass-roots group therapy for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses and the wretched refuse of the GOP's teeming right-wing shores.

As the polo players covertly beseeched the Almighty for a 2010 Republican election disaster, a 2008 replay that would crawl the party knees-first back to the front gate, the usurpers managed to take proxy over the House and quiet title to nearly every governors mansion on the market.

There is some good news in the poll, however. Good news if your name doesn't contain the words Karl and Rove, that is. When it comes to doing lunch, more than three times as many Americans would rather have President Obama ordering the wine than any of the GOP presidential pretenders. He would, as they say, eat the other candidates' lunch.

The poll showed that 53 percent would choose the president for a culinary nooner. Among Democrats, he's the favorite among 85 percent. He also gets the nod from 25 percent of Republicans and 48 percent of independents.

The lunch leader among Republicans is (cue drum roll) Sarah Palin. The former Alaska governor was picked by 16 percent. That's nearly double the combined invites headed Romney's way. But even as the favorite among Republicans at 28 percent, she was ranked just two points ahead of Obama by those in her own party. Only five percent of Democrats say they would do Sarah. For lunch.

“Overwhelmingly, Americans find President Barack Obama to be the most likable and lunch-worthy date compared to any of those hoping take his job in the 2012 election,” said Ron Sachs, president of Ron Sachs Communications.

“There is no baloney in this simple truth: The ‘lunch pal’ poll very likely reflects the significant advantage President Obama enjoys heading into his re-election against a party that has no candidate du jour.”

Baloney? Lunch pal poll? Lunch-worthy? Candidate du jour? And who says pollsters are a bunch of humorless twits?

Palin isn't likely to win the GOP nomination via the primary route no matter how many species she slaughters to the edge of extinction between now and the real reality show the Republicans will be hosting in Tampa just over a year from now.

And the lunch bunch poll seems to suggest it's possible nobody in the current pack of nobodies will march into the South's city by the bay with the nomination in the bag. Not Palin. Not Michelle Bachman. Not Newt. Not Ron Paul. Not Tim Pawlenty. Not even "none of the above." And certainly not Romney - not if a midday meal is involved.

A deadlocked first-ballot convention? It's the opium of political junkies and the improbable return ticket for the GOP elite who aren't exactly pikers when it comes to "orchestrating" primary and general elections. And if the Sachs/Mason-Dixon survey tells us anything, the current crop of non-starters makes today's improbable look increasingly more like tomorrow's possible. If you squint real hard and pretend.

Just don't bet the lunch money on it. Not yet, at least.

Latest polls show 'Money Can't Buy Me Love' for Florida's Rick Scott

2011-05-26T10:35:00.008-04:00

Rick Scott's disapprovals are about 'this high.' And climbing.

The Beatles were right. Money "can't buy me love." Votes? Yes. Elections? Of course. Just not love.

Ask Florida Gov. Rick Scott, R-WtF. The man who spent $78 million out of his own pocket to purchase the governor's mansion in 2010.

He's now the nation's most unpopular state chief executive, according to a recently released Quinnipiac University poll. And it took him just five months.

Roughly 57 percent of Floridians say they disapprove of the job Scott isn't doing, according to a phone survey of 1,196 voters taken between May 17 and May 23.

That's up from the politically vein-opening 48 percent disapprovals Scott registered in Quinnipiac's April 6 poll. If the trend continues, Scott is on course to top the 100 percent mark midway through the Super Bowl halftime show.

Shortly after debit-carding his way into the state's top job in November, Scott prophetically boasted that as governor he "wasn't out to win any popularity contests." It's the one goal he's clearly achieved.

The poll released Wednesday, May 25 shows only 29 percent of the Sunshine State's voters were willing to admit they like Scott's five-month record of public non-service.

To put this another way, nearly one-third of Florida's adult population apparently either stopped paying attention midway through Jeb Bush's second term or they're not taking the medicine as directed.

Scott will make yet another political Hajj today to the sprawling mid-state Tea Party compound known as "The Villages." It's where he'll sign the fiscal death warrant otherwise known as Florida's next budget. Scott remains popular in The Villages. So do the Andrews Sisters and the Harmonicats.

The gated community in Northeast Sumter County began life in the 1970s as a low-rent but fragrant-sounding trailer park known as "Orange Blossom Gardens."

Forty years later the double-wides are gone, replaced by cookie-cutter condos and ranks of cloned McMansions inhabited by an estimated 75,000 fervent disciples of Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh.

The average age of a Villages resident is 66. And 98.4 percent of them are white. For those who still remember how, it's not a bad place for a guy to get lucky. There are 10 women for every nine men. And as of the 2000 census, those men boasted an average yearly income of around $60,000.

It has 38 golf courses and its own Fox News radio station. It's the GOP's version of the afterlife - without the inheritance taxes. And it's clearly Rick Scott's kind of place.

It's also where you'll likely find Quinnipiac's Scott-loving 29 percent. Why not? Just one-third of one percent of Villages residents - that's 0.3 for those doing the math - have school-age kids. Obliterate education funding? Sure, we don't care.

Scott garnered 2.6 million votes in November to defeat Democrat Alex Sink by a landslide 1.29 percent. The Naples hospital magnate shelled out roughly $30 per vote. Scott's spending spree was third in the nation, making him look like a piker compared to Republicans Linda McMahon ($95) and Meg Whitman ($57). Both lost.

Sink couldn't begin to keep pace. Her 2,557,785 votes carried a Super Wal-Mart price of just $11.20 each.

For those keeping score, just three statewide candidates managed 2010 victories by spending less than $5 per vote: Sen. Richard Blumenthal, D-CT ($4), Sen. Michael Bennet, D-CO ($1) and Sen. Rand Paul, R-KY (less than $1).

But Scott can find some good news in the numbers. The poll suggests the state legislature's job approval rating is nearly identical to that of the governor, as voters disapprove 56 to 27 percent, compared to a 47 to 35 percent disapproval in April.

The bad news? The legislature doesn't like him either.

"It probably doesn't make him feel any better that the state legislature is sharing the basement suite in the eyes of the electorate," says Quinnipiac's Peter A. Brown.

Of course, they didn't shell out $78 million each to get there.

A lesson learned: Florida's Tea Party GOP nips hostile college voting bloc in the 'Bud'

2011-05-25T23:11:00.003-04:00

R. Budd Dwyer

Florida recently passed a batch of election law "reforms" aimed at making it nearly impossible, if not outright illegal, for college students to vote in the Sunshine State.

While the GOP-dominated legislature apparently has no problem with third grade dropouts massing at the trailer park polling station next to the Dairy Queen on the bypass, Tallahassee Republicans rightly reckoned that those in pursuit of higher education tend to vote Democrat. Makes you ponder why.

They also understand that election year paybacks can be hell if you're going to raise tuition, cut financial aid and plunder the state's public school system in the cause of "fiscal responsibility" and placating the Tea Party.

A hundred thousand highly motivated post-secondary Democratic voters - pissed off post-secondary Democratic voters - can easily turn an election. Why take chances?

GOP lawmakers, as a rule, ain't all that bright. But they ain't stupid. The solution? Don't let a bunch of angry, young, energetic voters anywhere near a ballot. Gov. Rick Scott, R-WTF?, is expected to sign the measure.

While the university crowd seldom musters enough votes to properly rodger an election, it happens. All it takes is an issue. And the wrong politician in the wrong place at exactly the right time.

Like Stanford "Bud" Lehr.

Lehr was a Republican who represented the 95th District of Pennsylvania in the state House for nearly two decades.

His nickname was confusingly similar to one R. Budd Dwyer, the portly politician who was Pennsylvania's GOP treasurer until one snowy morning in 1987 when he abruptly ended his career by publicly shooting himself in the head - on live TV. Took just one squeeze of the trigger.

Lehr, on the other hand, essentially ended his political career by publicly shooting himself in the foot. Repeatedly.

In the years following his retirement, people would often ask Lehr if he was the guy who killed himself on television. To paraphrase Mark Twain, Lehr's constituents were proof nobody ever lost an election by underestimating the intelligence of the voters. Lehr had it figured.

Both were, by consensus, weasels. Dwyer was a corrupt weasel. Lehr was more the generic type.

Bud - he of the single "d" - was a popular butcher from the small hamlet of West York, a Republican-leaning working class community on the forgotten fringe of a district dominated by York City and its blue collar FDR Democrats.

In the days when attorney advertising was still taboo, bright young lawyers would commonly run for office as a way of making their names known without bucking the bar association and its status quo rulebook.

The drill was well established. You would register as a Democrat, litter the district with your face and name, then pray you didn't get elected. Once the votes were counted and you lost, you cashed in on your new-found fame by renting an office and hanging out a shingle.

By the time the butcher from West York decided to give politics a toss, the voters of both parties were beginning to weary of the revolving-door lawyer politicians. The meat cutter won. He romped. His win was so stunning, the incumbent learned the results while vacationing at a Miami Beach hotel where he had spent the final weeks of the campaign savoring umbrella drinks and tropical hookers.

And so began a career of political toadying that would be remarkable even by today's exacting standards.

Lehr learned that his talent for catering to his customers' every need translated easily into catering to nearly every political special interest need and cause that crossed his path. Lehr, like the French revolutionary Marat, was the master of leading from the rear.

As a member, and later chairman, of the House Liquor Control Committee, Lehr learned to toady to the booze interests and their big bucks while appeasing the less affluent but politically effective temperance lobby.

Pennsylvania's nonsensical system of retailing alcoholic beverages remains a monument to stupidity and the consequences of corrupt compromise. The Keystone State can thank Stanford "Bud" Lehr for creating this mess.

His downfall came slowly, prompted by his opposition to lowering the state's drinking age to 18. The majority of lawmakers in those Vietnam draft days rightfully reckoned that if you could fight and die for your country, you ought to be able to toast it with a few cold ones.

Lehr wasn't among them. His liquor control committee was where drinking age bills went off to die at the hands of a chairman who refused to bring this nonsense to a vote. His logic was simple. Take the drinking age trophy off the election year table, and the liquor industry's contributions to him and his GOP pals would drop to a trickle.

When the constitution was amended to grant 18-year-olds the right to go to the polls, the alcohol interests finally saw a chance to push Lehr out of the way and end the extortion. His re-election margins had been narrowing - even against the sacrificial losers thrown in his path by the Democrats. This newly-minted bloc of voters, the booze lobbyists reckoned, might just tip the scales.

Especially college students. College students who were increasingly tired of fleeing to surrounding states like Maryland, New Jersey and New York for a legal cold one - or 20. College students who were shelling out more money for fake IDs than they spent on textbooks and meals.

Lehr knew his district included a small private college with roughly 3,500 resident students. He also knew that even though they could now vote, they didn't bother. Most weren't even registered.

That was about to change. And it had everything, and nothing, to do with drinking.

Lehr happily waltzed into the punch that would ultimately flatten him like a blinded boxer in a mismatched undercard. His downfall began when the upscale residents of the upscale neighborhood surrounding the college decided the students in their midst had to go - and take their bad behavior and frat-style houses with them. Lehr, naturally, sided with the neighbors.

It wasn't a matter of principle, it was a matter of math. The neighbors voted. The students didn't. No brainer. Or so the butcher thought. He actually flaunted it. Even when it became clear that the residents were open to compromise, Lehr had hitched himself to their cause and was in no mood to talk truce. There were votes at stake.

With Bud flogging the horse, it became obvious to a handful of students that unless Lehr could be driven off, the days of frat partying were nearing an end. And since Lehr had openly boasted that students were essentially powerless because they didn't vote ...

Stanford "Bud" Lehr opened his morning paper a few weeks later to learn the registration drive organized by the college crowd had produced nearly 2,000 new voters. And the booze industry was lining up the dollars. The undergrads knew about the off-campus housing thing, of course. But the anti-Lehr effort had focused on his opposition to lowering the state's drinking age: Toss the old "Bud" out and bring the cold "Bud" in.

The deal was effectively sealed when the county's supervisor of elections responded to the geographic shift in voter registration and relocated the precinct polling place from the fire station down the street to the student-friendly college campus.

Stanford "Bud" Lehr immediately slinked into the shadows. The residents, now leaderless, quickly followed. The off-campus housing controversy went with them. He won re-election. It was close, however. Too close. And the media credited the student vote with making it that way. Their voice was clearly heard.

Gov. Scott and the state legislature are about to strip Florida's students of their voice - along with their financial aid and access to what was once among the best public university systems in the nation.

Bud's gone. But wherever he is, it's a fair bet he's looking down (or up) at the Sunshine State and giving Florida's politicians one of his sleazy weaselly smiles for a hand well-played and a lesson well-learned.

So, for all you do, Florida - and for what you're about to do - this Bud's for you.

In the words of Gen. William T. Sherman - and in the haunting music of Crosby, Stills and Nash

2011-05-25T15:54:00.003-04:00

Memorial Day is a time for remembering. It was 150 years ago, April of 1861, that hostilities erupted between the Confederate States of America and the United States of America. When it was over in April, 1865, more than 610,000 American soldiers had given their lives.

In 1982, Crosby, Stills and Nash released "Daylight Again," a song about war written about the Civil War. The song evolved out of Stills' guitar-picking to accompany on-stage stories regarding the south in the Civil War, seguing into "Find the Cost of Freedom," which had been the b-side of the "Ohio" single in 1970

Daylight Again

Daylight again

Following me to bed

I think about a hundred years ago

How my Fathers bled

I think I see a valley

Covered with bones in blue

All the brave soldiers

that cannot get older

Been asking after you

Hear the past a' calling

From Armageddon's side

When everyone's talking and no one

Is listening

How can we decide

Do we find the cost of freedom

Buried in the ground

Mother Earth will swallow you

Lay your body down.

The five costliest battles of the war:
Battle of Gettysburg
Date: July 1-3, 1863
Location: Pennsylvania
Confederate Commander: Robert E. Lee
Union Commander: George G. Meade
Confederate Forces Engaged: 75,000
Union Forces Engaged: 82,289
Winner: Union
Casualties: 51,112 (23,049 Union and 28,063 Confederate)

Battle of Chickamauga
Date: September 19-20, 1863
Location: Georgia
Confederate Commander: Braxton Bragg
Union Commander: William Rosecrans
Confederate Forces Engaged: 66,326
Union Forces Engaged: 58,222
Winner: Confederacy
Casualties: 34,624 (16,170 Union and 18,454 Confederate)

Battle of Chancellorsville
Date: May 1-4, 1863
Location: Virginia
Confederate Commander: Robert E. Lee
Union Commander: Joseph Hooker
Confederate Forces Engaged: 60,892
Union Forces Engaged: 133,868
Winner: Confederacy
Casualties: 30,099 (17,278 Union and 12,821 Confederate)

Battle of Spotsylvania Date: May 8-19, 1864
Location: Virginia
Confederate Commander: Robert E. Lee
Union Commander: Ulysses S. Grant
Confederate Forces Engaged: 50,000
Union Forces Engaged: 83,000
Winner: Confederacy
Casualties: 27,399 (18,399 Union and 9)000 Confederate)

Battle of Antietam
Date: September 17, 1862
Location: Maryland
Confederate Commander: Robert E. Lee
Union Commander: George B. McClellan
Confederate Forces Engaged: 51,844
Union Forces Engaged: 75,316
Winner: Inconclusive (Strategic Union Victory)
Casualties: 26,134 (12,410 Union and 13,724 Confederate)

It's proper to remember.

So, who gets your stuff? A post-apocalyptic guide to thriving and surviving the next wave of Rapture hysteria

2011-05-24T11:01:00.009-04:00

Admit it. You were sort of hoping your pious Aunt Sally and her equally righteous big screen would be among the 200 million or so destined to float skyward on Saturday, May 21 as part of the Rapture Day extravaganza.

Not the big screen, of course. Just Sally. Her coveted earthly 60-inch plasma was all but out the door the moment your favorite widowed aunt began roosting on that cumulus cloud she was fixing to call home for eternity. Or, at least, until well after the warranty on the set expired.

But not so fast. Put down the remote. There are, of course, a host of unanswered questions surrounding this rapture thing. Among them: "So, who gets your stuff?" Or, in this case, Aunt Sally's stuff.

When the trumpet sounds - assuming it's not the kid next door tuning up for band practice - personal injury attorneys will likely liquidate their foam collar inventories to make room for the post-rapture walk-ins eager to claim dibs on the real estate and personal property of an estimated 200 million newly-airborne evangelicals.

Considering only the righteous get to make the big vertical leap, finding a lawyer shouldn't be a problem. Finding post-rapture law is an entirely different matter.

There isn't any.

The legal profession can handle death. It can handle missing persons. It can't handle rapture. Aunt Sally, according to scripture, isn't dead. And she's not missing. She's - well, we aren't entirely sure what she is.

The best (and only) source on this thing is Paul of Tarsus, whose 1 Thessalonians 4:15–7 got this whole rapture business going. "Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds ..."

Not dead. Alive. Not missing. In the clouds. Waving to us. And, in Aunt Sally's case, looking down on that big honking Sony she no longer wants or needs.

You might be tempted to think "abandoned" when it comes to Aunt Sally's stuff. Think again. There's a legal term for taking possession of abandoned goods absent a finding by a court of competent jurisdiction. It's called looting. It's also called getting shot.

A few things to consider

Did Aunt Sally leave a will? A will, to be executed, requires a corpse. Or a court order. A beneficiary's claim on the departed's worldly goods would, under non-rapture law, require a finding that those "in the air" and "in the clouds" are, in fact, dead.But if they are visibly up there taunting us from the stratosphere, this would be rather hard to show. The fact that Aunt Sally has willed you all her earthly possessions upon her death doesn't matter. She ain't dead. But it's an argument the legitimate next-of-kin will likely raise.

Is her stuff really abandoned? As far as she's concerned, yep. But what does the law say?

Property is generally deemed to have been abandoned if it is found in a place where the true owner likely intended to leave it, but is in such a condition that it is apparent that he or she has no intention of returning to claim it. Abandoned property generally becomes the property of whoever should find it and take possession of it first.

Whoa! Yeah, Aunt Sally likely intended to leave the big screen behind. And it's pretty clear she has no intention of returning to claim it. The problem here is that she abandoned it inside her house. Which she also apparently abandoned. But not really. Read on.

Staking your claim

Did Aunt Sally give you a key to said house? This gets you through the front door without taking a bullet. It also makes you a keyholder, someone the owner intended to allow into the residence in the owner's absence.

Having that key in your hand implies a degree of authority and an element of control over the property and the stuff inside. Like the big screen. But it's not as good as ...

Power of Attorney. If you hold Aunt Sally's power of attorney (and this likely involved getting the poor woman drunk), you're one step closer to her stuff. A POA allows you to stand in Aunt Sally's shoes (and, if so inclined, try on her clothes). You essentially become Aunt Sally in the eyes of the law. You handle her affairs in her absence.

A POA only works if the grantor is alive. Aunt Sally, remember, is alive - or so we're told. And she's clearly absent. She's also in no apparent position to revoke the thing. Yeah, that big screen is going to look real good in your man cave. Except ...

Did Aunt Sally own her earthly residence free and clear, or is there a mortgage? If she was making monthly payments prior to the rapture, most folks grant the lender the right to take steps to protect their collateral.

Further, most mortgages (check the microscopic print on page 138) also create a lien against personal property – which is also known as collateral. In the eyes of the law, this clause - if enforced - would trump both your key and your POA.

The big screen is the bank's collateral. If a lender senses Aunt Sally's rapture has endangered its collateral, it can jump through a few hoops and haul away the Sony. And just about everything else that isn't bolted to the floor.

And if Aunt Sally stops paying the mortgage (a pretty good bet), the bank gets to take the stuff bolted to the floor, plus the floor and the house connected to the floor. You could, of course, assume the payments. Yeah. Right.

Then there's the state. Not even going there.

Plan ahead

Before the next Rapture Day makes its inevitable approach, those who don't anticipate being "caught up" might consider a bit of advance planning prior to pillaging from the pious.

Collect keys. This gets you inside, and reduces the chances that "halt or I'll shoot!" will be the last words you'll ever hear. Collect as many as possible.

Get a POA. Get lots of these, too. A quick search shows that aside from a few pet care scams, nobody is offering post-rapture POAs. Not online, at least. Just make sure your name is on most of them.

Get Aunt Sally to pay down the mortgage. This, of course, eliminates that pesky collateral thing. Considering the financial industry's recent history of crimes against man, God and the FDIC, it's a slam dunk there will be no post-rapture shortage of bankers left behind, all armed with final judgments and a fleet of rental trucks. We already have the lawyer thing covered.

And finally ...

Don't get raptured! You want a cloud or a big screen? If a five-foot diagonal 3-D plasma is looking pretty tasty compared to an eternity spent treading water vapor, start sinning. Vegas usually works. And remember, you can always repent after the Super Bowl.

Maybe.

PS: This just in! "Judgment Day Forecaster Points to New Doomsday Date." Never saw that one coming.

DISCLAIMER

Nothing, absolutely nothing, in this article should be confused with sound legal advice. Prior to undertaking anything you have read in this article, consult an attorney. Better yet, consult a therapist. Or just ring the little bell that summons the day room attendants.

Gasparilla Island Kids Classic tarpon tournament video

2011-05-22T15:50:00.012-04:00

View the video here.

How Skip and I spent our Saturday afternoon. I shot the video, Skip did the stills and shot the pre-tourney video. I guess I get the editing credit. Or blame. The event is a tarpon tournament for kids held Saturday, May 21, 2011 in Boca Grande Pass. The tournament is sponsored by Gasparilla Outfitters.

The music is "Hey Now" by Red Garland. The piano thing at the end is canned something.

For those who have asked, the water droplets on the lens at the beginning of the fishing footage aren't a computer-generated effect. They're real. The Boca Grande Fire Department filled the air with spray and our boat cruised straight into it. It was a fine mist, but with thousands of dollars in camera equipment on the line, hilarity ensued. And panic. In the end, no harm was done. But it came out looking sort of cool - so we kept it.

To check out the YouTube version of the tournament video, and other original Fishing With Fredo vids, give it a click here.

Florida court: 'Turn Up the Radio!'

2011-05-21T07:03:00.006-04:00

Autograph

In 1984, one-hit wonders Autograph urged us to "Turn Up the Radio." Earlier this month, a Florida appeals court signaled that the glam rock band likely had the right idea.

In a ruling that impacts a 14-county area in the Sunshine State, the Second District Court of Appeals decided that a state law designed to muffle car radios is unconstitutional.

And while head bangers are rejoicing, other Floridians are simply banging their heads.

Catalano

The issue found its way into the courts when police made the mistake of ticketing Richard Catalano for blasting a Justin Timberlake tune from the radio of his Infiniti G35.

Their mistake? Catalano is a St. Petersburg attorney who had no problem devoting 42 months of his life fighting the $73.50 citation in county court, circuit court and the court of appeals. And, he says, he's ready to take his case to the Florida Supreme Court if the appeals court ruling is challenged.

His taste in music aside, Catalano's chances of winning the next round are a lot better than Autograph cracking the Billboard Top 40 again any time soon.

The devil in this one, as always, is in the details. The Florida law - which is modeled after statutes in use throughout the country - contains two landmines.

First, the law says car stereo systems that are "plainly audible" from 25 feet away are illegal. Too vague, the appeals court ruled.

But the fatal flaw in the statute is contained in the exemptions written into the law by the legislature. Advertising messages don't count. And lawmakers reckoned they should give themselves an out by allowing political propaganda to be blared from sound trucks.

It was on this second point, the court ruled, that the statute and the U.S. Constitution collided head-on with the First Amendment. The justices, relying on a 1993 U.S. Supreme Court opinion, said the law must be "content-neutral." If advertising and political messages were okay regardless of how many decibels they consumed, everything else gets the green light.

Loud, the court said, is loud. What's contained in that loud doesn't matter.

If Florida's attorney general decides to appeal the ruling, she'll be up against City of Cincinnati v. Discovery Network, Inc. In that 19-year-old case, the nation's high court determined that a "prohibition against the use of sound trucks emitting 'loud and raucous' noise is permissible if it applies equally to music, political speech and advertising."

In other words, "Turn Up the Radio." If you live in Florida, that is.

Catalano says he's ready to rumble. "If they want to go to Tallahassee, I say let's go," he recently told the St. Petersburg Times. Until then, however, anti-noise activists admit they have no choice but to hold their ears. The issue has even gone political.

Punta Gorda resident Joseph Sikora recently noted that "if Tallahassee lawyer Richard Catalano and his liberal friends have their way it will change the noise law for car audio systems." Catalano isn't a Tallahassee lawyer. And, for the moment, he's getting his way. "That's right," the Charlotte County resident continued. "These disrespectful people will be able to blare their music or whatever else they listen too (sic) without getting a ticket."

In St. Pete, where the court ruling has prompted police to stop writing car radio tickets (and where Catalano actually practices law), noise control proponent Judy Ellis looked on the bright side. The ruling, she says, gives the legislature an opportunity to fix the law.

"I'm confident we'll eventually come up with something we can all live with," she was recently quoted. "My concern is that it's going to take a while. And in the meantime, it's like we're out there naked. We have nothing to protect us from the noisemakers."

Florida lawmakers legalize sex with vegetables while ... Huh? We did what!!!

2011-05-15T09:15:00.006-04:00

Animal.

Sen. Nan Rich, animal.

Florida recently legalized plant sex. In a 115-0 vote, the state House sent a measure to Gov. Rick Scott's desk earlier this month that protects the ability of vegetables and other supermarket produce to procreate.

But the rest of us are, apparently, out of luck when it comes to getting lucky. At least after October 1.

On that date, sex between humans and just about anything else that doesn't make its own chlorophyll becomes illegal - a first degree misdemeanor - in the Sunshine State.

Maybe animal. Consult lawyer.

The measure, authored by Senate Minority Leader Nan H. Rich, D-Sunrise, and forwarded to the House on a 38-0 vote in March, was originally designed to curb the practice of bestiality (or zoophilia) - something that likely does require a degree of practice.

But, aside from wrecking the singles scene in the more rural parts of the state, it inadvertantly went way beyond its initial intent.

It also proved that:

1. Nobody in Tallahasee bothers to read anything they vote on, and;
2. Cutting the state's education budget might not have been the wisest choice, and;
3. Somebody needs to buy these people a dictionary.

In its rush to rid the state of this dark side of animal husbandry - and the Internet of some of its more acrobatic adult content - both chambers wound up banning sex between consenting homo sapiens. Humans. Us. You.

Definitely not animal.

"An act relating to sexual activities involving animals; providing definitions; prohibiting knowing sexual conduct or sexual contact with an animal; prohibiting specified related activities; providing penalties ..."

The bill's "providing definitions" section is the problem. While it defines "sex" in the kind of anatomical detail that would likely make a $7.95-a-minute, 1-900 "telephone actress" blush, something apparently got lost in all of the excitement. The definition of "animal."

From the bill - "A person may not: Knowingly engage in any sexual conduct or sexual contact with an animal ..."

Knowingly? As if this can be done accidentally?

Anyway, as any 10th-grade Intro to Biology student knows, humans are animals. Or, as Merriam-Webster tells us, "a bipedal primate mammal." The same source goes on to explain that we mammals are: "A warm-blooded vertebrate animal ..." The rest of the definition talks about hair, secretion of milk by females and birthing our young.

If Scott signs the legislation, we can pretty much put that last part on hold.

Human = Mammal.
Mammal = Animal.
Human = Animal.
You = Sleeping on Couch.

Legislative junkies understand that proposed statutes usually go overboard when it comes to talking about whatever it is they are talking about. The definitions stapled to bills are often longer than the bill's actual text.

A measure regulating stop signs, for instance, can lay waste to entire hardwood forests defining "stop" and "sign" in the kind of obsessive-compulsive detail normally reserved for bicycle assembly instructions and prescription medicine disclaimers.

It's a fair guess that the boys and girls in the Legislative Reference Bureau - the anonymous cave dwellers who actually do the bill writing - became so aroused over the "what," they completely forgot about the "who."

In this case, the "what" focused on language explicitly describing and defining various body parts touching or penetrating other parts. Pretty exciting stuff for people more accustomed to writing erosion control legislation.

With no actual definition of "who" in the bill, the proposed statute would apparently leave it to the courts to decide. That's always a good idea.

Those who argue that the bill's language defaults to common sense haven't spent much time hanging out with judges - especially judges with dictionaries, an appetite for strict interpretation and a fundamental distaste for the mechanics of human reproduction.

A jurist who brings to the bench the basic notion that: "If I ain't getting any, you ain't getting any." A judge whose rulings typically end with the words "bailiff, take 'em away." One with absolutely no interest in "legislative intent," just what's in the statute and his copy of Merriam-Webster.

And for those with more curiosity than the Florida Legislature, the definition of "animal" is:

Any of a kingdom (Animalia) of living things including many-celled organisms and often many of the single-celled ones (as protozoans) that typically differ from plants in having cells without cellulose walls, in lacking chlorophyll and the capacity for photosynthesis, in requiring more complex food materials (as proteins), in being organized to a greater degree of complexity, and in having the capacity for spontaneous movement and rapid motor responses to stimulation.

Translation: Floridians are animals. Floridians are also, it would seem, doomed to cold showers and thinking about baseball.

Unless, that is, they figure out how to do photosynthesis prior to October 1.

Florida governor's poll plummet spells relief for the GOP, trouble for Tea Party movement

2011-05-12T10:20:00.000-04:00

Gov. Rick Scott

This clearly wasn’t the way Florida Gov. Rick Scott, R-Distant Galaxy, reckoned it would be.

Scott, who hitched his political circus wagon to the Tea Party agenda on his way to buying the GOP nomination and the governor‘s mansion, awakened this week to news his approval ratings were fast approaching Nixon train wreck territory.

It was the same week polls showed President Obama’s approvals at 60 percent.

Less than five months after taking office, Scott has accomplished something that was once considered impossible. Since February, the governor has managed to double the number of Florida voters who disapprove of his job performance. Nearly 50 percent. Political odds makers were figuring it would take Scott at least a year to tick off roughly half the state‘s adult population. They obviously underestimated the guy.

When a politician’s negatives hit 40 percent, it’s time to break out the HAZMAT suits to keep the toxins from spreading. Scott, according to a recently released Quinnipiac University poll, is at 48 percent and is bordering on becoming a political Superfund site.

The only good news for Scott: His negatives will likely begin to flatten once they reach 100.

This week, Sarasota Herald Tribune political writer Jeremy Wallace noted in his blog “Political Insider” that Scott’s negatives effectively crippled him in the eyes of the state legislature. It’s hard to get much done when the folks in your own party are crossing the street to avoid eye contact.

“When you have an approval rating of 60 percent during a legislative session, you’ve got the bully pulpit,” state Sen. Mike Fasano, R-New Port Richey, said in an interview last week. “You’ve got the people on your side.”

But in Scott’s case, Fasano said legislators had little fear of crossing him during his first session. “There’s no impact there,” Fasano said. “There’s no influence.”

That’s just part of the story. Scott’s political free-fall will likely echo beyond the Sunshine State. In a May 9 editorial, the New York Times suggested Scott began self-destructing in the eyes of Florida voters when he “thoughtlessly rejected $2.4 billion in federal aid for a high-speed rail line.”

Scott, the Times suggested, thought he “was doing a huge favor for the national treasury, which he expected would give away the money in tax cuts. That was nonsense, of course; Mr. Scott was really doing a favor for train passengers in the Northeast, Midwest and California, which were given $2 billion of his money on Monday for better service.”

Florida’s voters, the newspaper said, “might want to think about that decision as they sit in traffic jams, burning up $4-a-gallon gasoline. In fact, some of them clearly have thought about it because Mr. Scott now has some of the worst approval ratings of a Florida official in the last decade.”

Other Republican governors, the Times wrote, are beginning to notice. And they’ve put Scott's number on political call blocking.

Further, Scott’s joined-at-the-hip relationship with Tea Party ideology (instead of unveiling his proposed budget in a traditional address to the legislature, Scott did the deed at a county fair-style Tea Party rally) is likely to give GOP politicians across the nation cause to pause as they begin spooling up for the 2012 elections.

The same Republicans who risked crippling themselves to win the Tea Party’s blessing less than a year ago, can now use Scott’s misfortune as an alibi to ease away from the slash and burn ideology espoused - or, more accurately, shrieked - by the tea baggers during the 2010 campaign. Post-Scott, Tea Party types probably shouldn’t count on a whole lot of grip and grin photo ops with GOP hopefuls as election season kicks in.

Slow learners aside, Scott’s adaptation of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride has an upside for Republicans desperate to shed the “party of crazy” Tea Party baggage by selecting a nominee with a fighting chance of actually winning in 2012. This means moving the GOP away from the fringe underworld of the tea partiers, and its potential to screw up Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina for any Republican they suspect might be leaning to the left of Glenn Beck.

Scott can now be rolled out as a GOP poster child, a two-word response to Tea Party organizers who would otherwise be demanding a kingmaker role when Republicans gather in Tampa for their national convention.

"We want you to ..."
Rick. Scott.
"But … "
Rick. Scott.
"Our members … "
Rick. Scott.

Florida’s voters have watched Scott lay waste to their education system, bankrupt local government and disembowel the few state agencies that were marginally functional - all in the name of God, country and the Tea Party Patriots. And, of course, he gave away their train. They have, in just five short months, figured out that the only thing worse than a candidate who breaks campaign promises is one who actually keeps them.

When Rick Scott took office, some Sunshine State Republicans hysterically heralded him as the new conservative messiah, one who was destined to play a vital and immediate role in national GOP politics. Scott was, of course, one of them. Turns out they might wind up being right - but for all the wrong reasons.

If Scott’s poll numbers continue to crater, that role will still be vital - just not the one they once so enthusiastically envisioned.

Famed skip-tracer: The 'fluke' mistake that cost bin Laden his life

2011-05-11T11:34:00.003-04:00

Frank M. Ahearn

For the past two decades, Frank M. Ahearn's life has been devoted to helping people disappear. And finding those who don't want to be found.

The famed skip-tracer is the author of the best-selling "How to Disappear: Erase Your Digital Footprint, Leave False Trails, and Vanish Without a Trace." Osama bin Laden probably should have read his book.

The man behind the September 11 attacks, who was killed by an elite Navy SEAL unit in Pakistan, did many things right - but his blunders ultimately lead to his death, Ahearn said.
"He was hiding in plain sight, They always thought he was hiding in a cave, which makes more sense. He was such a huge target the government never thought to look in a busy residential neighborhood," Ahearn said.

"At the same time you can't build a compound of that size without attracting attention. I'm surprised someone in the neighborhood didn't ask questions. It was overkill."

Over the years, the expert in the art of vanishing has learned that even the best plan eventually unravels. And, as the saying goes, the devil is ultimately in the details.

In bin Laden's case, that devil was his courier, Ahearn says. Bin Laden lived in a world of electronic white noise - no Internet, no cell phones. "The courier turned out to be his vulnerability," Ahearn said. "Bin Laden stayed away from technology. His courier didn't. And that's what brought him down."

Bin Laden was tracked to the compound 25 miles outside the Pakistani capital after the Central Intelligence Agency followed a series of leads that allowed them to identify the courier, then trace his cell phone calls and movements.

"You are always looking for that fluke, the one thing someone leaves behind. It usually happens. In bin Laden's case, the courier happened. Once he let that courier come into his house, that was his vulnerability. The CIA showed up and saw that whoever was living there was obviously more important than the courier."

About nine years ago Ahearn's business began to shift from tracking to protecting. The advent of Google, social networking and sites like ZabaSearch created a demand among those who don't want to be Facebook friends with the world.

Ahearn's client portfolio includes victims of stalkers, celebrities and international travelers interested in controlling their privacy and combating the digital information known about them. He recently began work on a second book, "How to Deceive," with co-author Kyle Dowling.

"I've come to learn that the only way to combat online information is to deceive," he says. "Those services that offer to clean up your online history for $9.95 don't get it done."

Ahearn says he has watched with interest over the years as the hunt for bin Laden unfolded. And, he said, it played out pretty much as expected based on his experience.

What did bin Laden do right?

"He was living in a place with families, a regular neighborhood setting. He got that part of it right. It was the exact opposite of a cave. You would assume he would be in a place with more protection. And that's where he was being hunted."

Ahearn calls it "disinformation" or misdirection. Doing the opposite of what everyone might suspect.

"That theory of him living in a cave somewhere was disinformation. Whether he did it on purpose, we don't know. It's like the murderer on the run who winds up being a teacher or president of the PTA. Nobody ever questions him. You set up shop in a regular neighborhood and go about business as usual."

And what did he do wrong?

Aside from the courier, Ahearn says bin Laden's self-imposed technology blackout was a mistake.

"Technology is your enemy, but it is also your friend," he says. In Pakistan, for instance, pre-paid cellular phones are the norm. They are difficult, if not impossible, to trace. "Especially if you use dozens of them at the same time and then throw them away."

And connecting with your network over these phones can be as simple as a classified advertisement buried among thousands in an online service like Craigslist.

"You run an ad for a certain make and model of car, for instance. Your people know to look for the ad. Then they just call the number. The courier was the weak link, one that wasn't really needed."

But, he said, it ultimately comes down to what Ahearn calls "the fluke factor." The one break that breaks the case.

Ahearn recalls a case of his own that was at a dead end. "A total dead end," he says. The man on the run owed money, lots of it. But he had vanished into the night.

"I went back to my client who mentioned the guy was a total muscle car fan," Ahearn says. Figuring that motorheads like to read about their hobby, Ahearn began calling magazines. Posing as the "skip," he hit the jackpot on the fourth or fifth call. The circulation department verified the fugitive's mailing address and Ahearn had his man.

"He should have cut that tie to his past life," Ahearn says. "Just like bin Laden should have cut his tie to the courier. That was his fatal mistake."

While it took nearly 10 years to find bin Laden, Ahearn says that the CIA's assets - which include "gobs of money" - made the outcome inevitable.

"There is no perfect way of going on the run, no perfect way of hiding," he says. "We all make mistakes. Bin Laden made his. And it was costly."

The man who has spent most of his adult life tracking those who don't want to be found is quick to praise the CIA for its work in the bin Laden case.

"They know how to use information and how to manipulate," he says. "These guys are the greatest of the greatest."

Ekki-ekki-ekki-pitang-zoom-boing - It's Python Day!

2011-05-10T06:33:00.006-04:00

Today (May 10) is International Monty Python Facebook Status Day. More than 188,000 people have signed up to "attend" the annual event to honor the Pythons.

The Pythons, of course, are the Brits who gave us Monty Python's Flying Circus and a string of movies including Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979) and Monty Python's The Meaning of Life (1983).

Participating in this year's Python-athon is easier than bringing out your dead. Just post something Python into your Facebook status. Like a quote.

And while there may not be a "punch line scheduled," the date for next year's observance is. More info here.

Selecting just one Python quote can be tough. But here are a few standards to get the circus started:

“Tis but a scratch'' A scratch?" "Your arm's off!'' No, it isn't.

“I don't think there's a punch-line scheduled, is there?”

“'What? Ridden on a horse?'' Yes. ''You're using coconuts!'' What? ''You've got two empty halves of coconuts and you're banging them together!'' So?

“Tonight, instead of discussing the existence or non- existence of God, they have decided to fight for it”

“First you must find... another shrubbery! (dramatic chord) Then, when you have found the shrubbery, you must place it here, beside this shrubbery, only slightly higher so you get a two layer effect with a little path running down the middle. ("A path! A path!") Then, you must cut down the mightiest tree in the forrest... with... a herring!”

“Your highness, when I said that you are like a stream of bat's piss, I only mean that you shine out like a shaft of gold when all around it is dark”

“My philosophy, like color television, is all there in black and white”

“Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government!”

“She turned me into a newt!" "A newt?""I got better...”

“It's funny, isn't it? How your best friend can just blow up like that?”

“We are no longer the knights who say ni! We are now the knights who say ekki-ekki-ekki-pitang-zoom-boing!”

Is Obama Jimi's love child? Cutting through the Purple Haze of another crazed 'Birther' theory

2011-05-08T12:24:00.011-04:00

Like son ...

In Deconstructing Obama: The Life, Loves, and Letters of America’s First Postmodern President, Jack Cashill lays out an Obama "birther" conspiracy that, unfortunately, is way too good to be true.

According to Cashill:

President Obama is the secret love child of rock immortal Jimi Hendrix.

The evidence for this one is pretty solid. Both are African-American. Both are left handed. Both are ... did we mention African-American and left handed?

This conspiracy theory is stitched together from a reference to Hendrix and the Monterey International Pop Music Festival that Obama wrote about in Dreams From My Father. We presume the book is about Barack Hussein Obama Sr. and not Jimi's acid flashes. Within these pages, the president lets it slip that he recalls 1967 as the year Hendrix played the iconic California gig.

...like father?

Next best thing to a confession.

Cashill also calculated that Hendrix and Ann Dunham, Obama's mother, were in the Seattle area at exactly the same time. Well, not exactly. There's not enough exactly in this one for Jimi and Ann to have hooked up and produced a normally gestated future president. But Cashill is correct. They both were there.

Dunham was a senior at Mercer Island High School in suburban Seattle. Hendrix, known in 1960 as Johnny Hendricks, was building a rep for himself in the city's club scene. In the summer of 1960, Dunham moved with her family to Honolulu. Hendrix apparently missed the flight and continued to hang in Seattle playing with his band, the Rocking Kings.

Did they get together? Who knows. But if they did, Obama likely wasn't the result. Let's cut through the Purple Haze on this one.

On August 4, 1961, after meeting and wedding the 23-year-old Obama Sr., Ann gave birth to the future president. She was three months pregnant when the couple married. She likely conceived in late November or early December, 1960 - six months after arriving in the 50th state.

The record for the longest human pregnancy belongs to one Beulah Hunter who reportedly carried daughter Penny Diana for 12 months and 10 days before finally giving birth in 1945. Penny tipped the scales at a modest 6 pounds, 15 ounces. For Hendrix to have fathered Obama, Ann needed to best Beulah's historic pregnancy by a good three months.

But maybe this is why Obama's birth weight wasn't listed on the long form birth certificate released last month by the administration? Obama may not become a two-term president. But at 15 months, he would have been just a trimester shy of becoming a two-term baby - with a birth weight roughly equal to a Shetland pony.

In September, 2010 a reference to Hendrix popped up again, this time in an off the cuff remark made by the president.

"Some powerful interests who had been dominating the agenda in Washington for a very long time -- and they're not always happy with me - they talk about me like a dog. That's not in my prepared remarks, but it's true," Obama said.

It might not have been in his prepared remarks, but it was in "Stone Free," the first song Hendrix wrote after moving to England in 1966. "They talk about me like a dog," the song says.

Coincidence or conspiracy? Or was Hendrix simply on the president's iPod playlist that morning? Now if he had quoted "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)," who knows?

We can credit Hendrix with making rock music much of what it is today. But absent a medical miracle, Cashill can't seriously credit him with the making of a president. Not this one, at least.

O'Reilly to Obama: 'If you're president, you're not going to invade Pakistan, senator!'

2011-05-08T07:01:00.002-04:00

In an interview with then-candidate Obama, Bill O'Reilly accuses the Illinois senator of "bloviating" on the issue of terror. He then notes:

"If you're president, you're not going to invade Pakistan, Senator. You're not going to send ground troops in there. You know it!"

The interview aired in September, 2008.

To cue up the video at the good part, go to this link.

Obama replied: "What I will do, if we have bin Laden in our sights, we target him and we knock him out."

O'Reilly's response: "You can't send ground troops in or all hell breaks loose."

I wonder what the over/under is on O'Reilly sharing this little gem with his viewers now?

Or on how long this stays online before it, too, is buried at sea. Or wherever it is Fox buries this stuff.

Y388J2WU2D4S

Beck, bin Laden and a 55-gallon drum of grape-flavored crazy

2011-05-07T10:34:00.004-04:00

Glenn Beck

Glenn Beck's residual mental health took another two to the head as President Obama commandeered the airwaves last week to announce the death of Osama bin Laden. Beck's Sunday night was about to become only marginally better than the slain Al Qaeda leader's quiet evening at home with the wife and kids.

In recent months, Beck has suffered through the loss of his advertisers, his audience and the impending demise of his Fox News Channel television show.

And on Sunday night, Obama and a few dozen Navy SEALs needed just 40 minutes to strip Beck's propaganda portfolio of yet another asset: The most wanted and hated man in the world.

For the soon-to-be former-Fox hand puppet, the sum of all fears had come to pass. Only a few days before, Obama had masterfully played the birth certificate card. He then moved on to demolish the Birther movement's chief apostle in a humiliating hail of punch lines that knee-capped the presidential delusions of one Donald Trump.

Beck could only helplessly watch as his Fox colleagues comically scattered to escape becoming collateral damage by invoking a collective case of birth certificate amnesia. He was soon to discover his friends had left him standing alone on the ledge.

We can, however, imagine Beck taking solace in the notion that it couldn't possibly get much worse.

"Good evening. Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world ..."

It was about to get worse.

"... that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden."

When demands arose to release photos of the corpse, it wasn't clear whether they were talking bin Laden or Beck. Bin Laden saw his career brought to an end with two bullets. Beck saw his career brought to an end with 27 words. Bin Laden has, by now, likely figured out he's dead. It's taking Beck a bit longer.

While most of us heralded the news of bin Laden's demise, Beck donned the Reynold's Wrap and whipped up a 55-gallon drum of grape-flavored crazy.

Bin Laden, Beck explained to his AM radio audience, wasn't dead. Beck initially argued that bin Laden's demise was as phony as a long form Hawaiian birth certificate. Beck then questioned why Obama had bin Laden killed. The same bin Laden who was the picture of health just minutes earlier.

"Dead bin Laden" was whacked, Beck suggested, to keep him from revealing that Al Qaeda had secretly developed its own nuclear arsenal right under the noses of the hapless and tragically inept Obama administration.

Bin Laden's credibility never went beyond 12-year-old Palestinian suicide bombers and guys with explosives taped to their testicles. But it's possible that a revelation of this sort would, if you squinted really hard, prove to be politically uncomfortable. And if Beck had stopped there ...

Of course, Beck never stops there. Beck went on to claim Obama wanted bin Laden to use his nuclear menagerie in a 2012 October Surprise, a 9-11 style attack on God-fearing, tea party, red state Americans. Bin Lade was about to squeal. Beck didn't say whether bin Laden's body was tossed from the Carl Vinson with a canary clamped between its teeth.

Moments later, however, Beck had fished bin Laden's corpse from the sea and restored it to its pre-post-mortem health. Bin Laden was once again alive, secretly held in the White House basement. Or something. Why? Obama is protecting him. Come on, Glenn. The least you can do is put the guy in the Lincoln Bedroom with Michelle and the kids fiddling with the dials on the dialysis machine.

Beck avoids explaining why Obama is protecting the same guy Beck says Obama wants dead. The same guy Beck tells us Obama already made dead. The guy who refuses to stay dead. Probably best.

There are just a handful of low-wattage radio stations that, once his Fox gig fades away, will be the only thing keeping Beck from becoming a 2012 trivia question. He'll continue to have a pulpit, even if it's one sandwiched between crop reports and the static at the bottom of the dial.

The major markets, weary of advertiser boycotts and cratering ratings, are already pulling the plug. Glenn Beck's Bad Week may rapidly morph into Glenn Beck's Really Bad Year.

Just as the Republican National Committee high-fived as Obama gave The Donald a political Brazilian, the GOP wants and needs to wrestle the microphone from Beck's hands as the 2012 vote approaches. But with the "Mission Accomplished" banner now flying over the Obama White House, Beck is a clear bet to become even more unhinged.

Not good. Republicans are desperate to shed the Party of Crazy label as it searches for a moderate nominee who can actually win. A tea bagger-backlash third party candidacy with Beck as the celebrity poster child turns 2012 into a bye year for the Democrats.

It took a squad of SEALs to dispatch bin Laden. It's taking Glenn Beck, to the GOP's quiet delight, to dispatch Glenn Beck. But unlike last Sunday night, this time we all get to watch.

Hollywood's 'inside joke' is a real scream

2011-05-03T12:09:00.000-04:00

Click the play button above to savor the "Wilhelm Scream." It takes a second or so.

Odds are you've heard it. But the odds are even better you've never heard of it. It's called the "Wilhelm Scream." And over the years it's become a standing joke in Hollywood. On Hollywood. By Hollywood.

The "Wilhelm Scream" began life as a sound effect, an audio archive with the catchy title "Man Being Eaten by Alligator." In the 1951 film "Distant Drums," soldiers find themselves wading through a swamp in the Everglades (always a really good idea) when one of them is, appropriately, eaten by an alligator.

We don't see him actually being eaten by an alligator. We see him being dragged under water by an alligator where, it follows, he is eaten by an alligator. Cue scream.

The unfortunate soldier's character was a Private Wilhelm. And the "Wilhelm Scream," as it has since become known in the world of motion picture sound effects, was born.

When John F. Kennedy's boat is rammed in "PT 109," the "Wilhelm Scream" is the last thing the crew and the audience hear before the future president's plywood craft is cut in half by a Japanese destroyer.

The "Wilhelm Scream" has turned up in movies ranging from "A Star is Born" to "Star Wars Episode IV" to all of the Indiana Jones films - as well as the animated feature "Up." If either Steven Spielberg or George Lucas lend their names to a movie, odds are Private Wilhelm will be lending his scream.

It's more than just an inside joke between two movie producers. The "Wilhelm Scream" has become an institution. Need a little vocal something to accompany an agonizing death? Private Wilhelm reporting for duty.

Sheb Wooley

One mystery surrounding the scream was solved in 2005 when it was confirmed that Sheb Wooley, the man behind the song "Flying Purple People Eater," was also the voice behind the "Wilhelm Scream."

Wooley had an uncredited role in "Distant Drums." Wooley often bragged about his special talent for screaming and dying in films. That ability landed him a few days of additional work recording effects for the movie - including Private Wilhelm's wet and noisy demise.

In 2010 the "Wilhelm Scream" finally received the recognition that was nearly 60 years overdue. Nope, not an Academy Award. Not a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Even better. Apple released the scream as an iPhone download.

It's called the "Wilhelm Scream." And yes, there's an App for that.

Here's a very partial list of movies where you can catch the "Wilhelm Scream." Or, you can watch the video.

One less shadow to be chased

2011-05-02T06:47:00.003-04:00

Today stands as a victory for the thousands of men and women, both civilian and military, who worked seven-day weeks and 18 hour shifts in places not likely to be found on any map. Their job was to ultimately tell us where bin Laden was. But their job was also to tell us where he wasn't.

It was more often their role to choke off the adrenaline pump, to stand back and to stand down when a flag proved false. To say no. Not today. Not this time. Not on this watch.

This is the covert culture of the special operations underworld, a place where the grind of the machinery goes unheard and unheralded. In this place, success is frequently paced off in negatives proven, shadows chased and young lives not needlessly spent. This is not him. He is not here. Abort. Repeat. Abort.

We have been told bin Laden's death was brought about by a small team of operators. CIA, SOCOM, JSOC. SEALs. They were the heroes at the tip of the alphabet spear.

Within the next few weeks we can expect a short notice presidential trip to publicly rally the troops back home. Maybe Langley or Pope or McDill or Offutt. Amid the bands playing, the crowds cheering and the flags waving, the Leader of the Free World will quietly slip to the side.

His absence will go unnoticed. The private gathering will be brief. A few words of thanks and praise for those whose names and faces are strictly Need to Know, an elite few who destroyed a national bogeyman and gave new life to a presidency. One shot to the back of the head. One less shadow to be chased.

In a remote Forward Operating Base east of Kandahar another anonymous face will sort through the electronic clutter comprising the day's traffic. The chatter this morning will be about bands and generals and Air Force One. Mission accomplished. Again.

But there will be no medals here today. No commendations. Just dust, sand, heat and war. There are shadows to be chased.

How I spent the last two weeks beach bar hopping on the company's dime

2011-04-30T10:28:00.002-04:00

(This appeared in the April 28, 2011 edition of "Ticket." It ran with Sarasota County’s best waterfront bars. Yes, we checked out every Waterfront Watering Hole. Yes, we did quality control. Yes, I got paid to do it. No, you can't have my job.)

Ruth Metzler at Zeke's.

There were more than enough decorative life rings scattered throughout the place to float the passengers and crew of the Titanic. You could harvest the tiki hut grass and build yourself a lawn. Jimmy Buffett was telling us it was five o’clock somewhere.

But the only water in sight was puddled in the parking lot. Memo: To be a Charlotte County Waterside Watering Hole you need water. Real water. A bay or a gulf will work. Even a river. Runoff from the car wash down the street doesn’t count.

For the past two weeks we traveled the length of Charlotte County and beyond, searching out Waterside Watering Holes from the Peace River to the Myakka, from Lemon Bay to Boca Grande Pass. We interviewed bartenders and patrons. We did quality control. We probably did a little too much quality control.

We gave up on the idea of ranking our Waterside Watering Holes top 10-style after the third or fourth stop. Do enough quality control and your favorite Waterside Watering Hole tends to be the one where your posterior is presently parked.

Our requirements were demanding: Water? Check. Bar? Check. Beer? Check. Lots of beer? You get the idea.

If your favorite missed the list — and remember, we’re only talking Charlotte County — it’s either an oversight, it’s more eatery than watering hole, or there’s a reason it missed the list. Like no water. Still, you can add your own favorites in the comments below.

So here it is. The order is random, except where intentional.

Harpoon Harry’s
1200 W. Retta Esplanade, Suite D6, Punta Gorda. 637-1177;harpoonharrys.com

Overlooking the Peace River at Fisherman’s Village in Punta Gorda, this Waterside Watering Hole whispers “tourist trap” at first blush. Tourist? Sure. Trap? We discovered we were in for a surprise.

Once you conquer the suspicion that Harry’s is a place trying way too hard to look like a place that’s not trying way too hard, you can actually settle back and enjoy the panoramic view of the Peace River without having to raise the limit on your platinum card.

While only slightly smaller than the Space Shuttle Assembly Building, Harry’s does a good job of subdividing the real estate. It features multiple bars. Our favorite was tucked away in a far corner so close to the water you might want to call ahead for a Coast Guard incident number.

A generous pitcher of draft – among the largest we encountered – is $8. The beer selection is ample. Our bartender kept the show running like a machine. The patrons are a friendly mix of locals and Up North ex-pats. There’s live entertainment Friday and Saturday nights.

General Manager Tammy Beck says Harry’s strives to be more than a snowbird magnet. “We’ve worked very hard to update our menu with economically priced items to meet what the locals need price-wise and quality-wise,” she says.

Becky Goss makes the trip from Grand Rapids, Mich., to Punta Gorda at least once a year. And Harpoon Harry’s has become a tradition. Especially the Margaritas.

“They’re refreshing, sweet, salty and delicious,” she says. “I like to sit here, watch the water and enjoy the sun. Good food, good drink and good people.”

Attire: Casual.
Ambiance: It grows on you.
Price: Reasonable.
Quality: Excellent.
Bar Crowd: Tourists and locals.
Negatives: A little sparse on parking. But worth the walk.
Docking: Yes.
Smoking: At the outside bars.
Comments: Add it to your bucket list.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Five flip flops.

Zeke’s Bayside Bar & Grill
779 W. Wentworth, Englewood. 475-6882; royalpalmmarina.com

Zeke’s is one of those places that if you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t know it was there. Located off Old Englewood Road at the Royal Palm Marina, this waterside watering hole has managed to fly below the radar while becoming a favorite among locals for its comfort food and ample selection of domestic and imported beers.

The place will never be confused with a tourista tiki bar. It’s more like your corner tavern with a view of Lemon Bay. All that’s missing is the five-quart jar of pickled pigs ears. The locals are friendly and will make you feel at home.

Tables are located waterside, great for an informal lunch or a pitcher of Ultra while soaking up the sun. The three-sided bar is cozy and familiar.

Beth Perkins of Boca Grande is a Zeke’s regular. “I’ve been coming here for seven years. It’s way out of the way and I like the ambiance,” she says. “It’s kind of laid back, Old Florida style – and it’s on the water. What more do you need?”

Johnna Wentzel bought Zeke’s in 2009 and has worked next to her husband Dale to turn this Waterside Watering Hole around.

“It’s Old Florida,” she echoes. “We want to keep it that way, just like it is. We love the area and the people.” Look for live entertainment Wednesday through Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. You’ll find a DJ on Tuesdays. Open daily at 11 a.m.

Attire: Anything goes. Almost.
Ambiance: Did anyone mention Old Florida?
Price: Very reasonable.
Quality: No complaints.
Bar crowd: Mostly locals.
Negatives: Parking can be an issue in season. A sign or two would be nice.
Docking: Yes.
Smoking: Throughout.
Comments: Another one for the bucket list.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Five flip flops.

White Elephant Pub
1855 Gulf Blvd., Englewood. 475-6801

Like Harry’s, it’s big. Like Harry’s, it doesn’t matter. We never did find all the bars inside this meandering Waterside Watering Hole. Our favorite was the L-shaped thing right on the water. We were flanked on the inside and outside by tables.

As a Buffett clone smothered an acoustic version of “Son of a Son of a Sailor,” we dutifully began doing quality control. When the pitcher arrived, however, we wondered what it wanted to be when it grew up. Four beers? And while the ambiance was OK, it came at a price.

The Elephant is the anti-Zeke’s. Locals can find something to like, and they do, but you can’t swing a legal grouper over your head without hitting a tourist. Still, we liked the place.

The bartender was fast and friendly – but seemed a bit stressed for a place trying to do laid back – and you’re surrounded by people clearly having a good time. If you can handle the tab, it’s a great way to spend lunch hour – or a bunch of hours – soaking up the sun and the view.

Note: The Elephant’s parking lot is free. It blends into a county parking lot that isn’t. Confusing the two can be very costly.

Attire: Casual.
Ambiance: Pretty good, actually.
Price: Our only complaint. Food was reasonable. But this ain’t about food.
Quality: No complaints.
Bar Crowd: Tends towards touristy, but the locals were there.
Negatives: Parking, again. And what’s with the pitchers?
Docking: Yes.
Smoking: Here and there.
Comments: Pricey, but worth a look.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Three, maybe four, flip flops.

Waterside Grill15001 Gasparilla Road, Placida. 697-2280; gasparillamarina.com
Located at Gasparilla Marina on Gasparilla Road in Placida, the Waterside is one of those places you can’t help but like, even if you aren’t entirely sure why.

No plastic palms, no tiki fringe. Just a solid little saloon and restaurant overlooking Charlotte Harbor. The bar is inside, just dark enough to remind you that you’re in a bar. But wander through the doors to the large outside area and you’ve officially entered Waterfront Watering Hole territory.

Unlike the White Elephant, the pitchers here are big boy-sized. And they’re not going to bust the budget. You can also order wine by the carafe. Entertainment consists of watching folks try to launch their boats from the adjacent ramp. There are outdoor air conditioners sprinkled throughout for those days when the heat is homicidal.

Located just beyond the causeway, the Waterside has become a favorite among Boca Grande residents who once risked being subjected to public humiliation if spotted squandering their trust funds off-island. The economy’s been tough on everyone. The Waterside is the cure.

The nacho platter is a great value, and is a perfect prophylaxis for an afternoon of intense and extended quality control. The service couldn’t be friendlier and the ambiance is provided by the laughter of people just having a good time.

Maybe that’s why we like it.

Attire: Casual.
Ambiance: Kind of a mystery.
Price: Very reasonable.
Quality: Great.
Bar Crowd: Locals, peppered with a few tourists.
Negatives: An outside bar would be nice.
Docking: Yep.
Smoking: Outside.
Comments: Still not sure why we like this place so much.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Four flip flops.

Stump Pass Grille260 Maryland Ave., Englewood. 697-0859; stumppassgrille.com

Stump Pass Grille is located off Placida Road at Stump Pass Marina. Keep an eye posted for the sign. The best bet is to turn onto Maryland Avenue, but plan on a drive-by or two.

The locals are still complaining about the swimming pool. It’s gone. Beyond repair, it was paved over with concrete and tables. Regardless, Stump Pass is still a bonafide Waterside Watering Hole.

The bar is to your left as you enter the place, but the bar isn’t this watering hole’s focal point. The table seating at Stump Pass is the definition of waterside. Under cover in the summer, or under the sun during the low-UV months, a great place to do quality control while watching the boats buzz by on Lemon Bay.

While the place borders on semi-touristy, the locals don’t seem to care. And a large beer selection and fair prices keep them coming back. Getting to the restrooms, however, requires some advance planning, a GPS and a passport. But you can check out the catch of the day while waiting your turn next to the cleaning station.

Attire: Casual.
Ambiance: A chamber of commerce view.
Price: Very reasonable.
Quality: No complaints.
Bar Crowd: Mixed.
Negatives: That parking thing again. A second bar near the water would be an idea. Restrooms are a hassle, but …
Docking: Yes.
Smoking: Throughout.
Comments: Not on the bucket list, but give it a go.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Four flip flops.

Farlow’s on the Water
2080 S. McCall Road, Englewood. 474-5343; farlowsonthewater.com

Located on South McCall Road, Farlow’s is an enigma: Part Waterside Watering Hole, part restaurant, part something else.

At Farlow’s, it’s mostly about food. But there’s nothing stopping you from making the place a Waterside Watering Hole. Grab an outside table or a stool at the small tiki bar, especially after the dinner rush is over, and listen to live music under the stars. Unlike most of our Waterside Watering Holes, Farlow’s boasts a full bar.

It makes the list because it pretty much has to make the list, even if it’s not sure it wants to make the list. Or cares. But it’s a favorite with the locals. And, its name aside, you probably didn’t know there was water this far inland.

Farlow’s says its attire is “anything goes,” but not really. Casual gets you through the door. Anything less gets you a job in the kitchen. Prices are reasonable, the people are friendly, the view is great – but Farlow’s is in no real danger of ever being confused with a Harrys or a Zeke’s. And we reckon it doesn’t want to be.

Attire: On the dressy side of casual
Ambiance: Still deciding.
Price: Reasonable.
Quality: Excellent.
Bar Crowd: Mostly locals.
Negatives: Not a true watering hole, but close enough.
Docking: No.
Smoking: Nobody was.
Comments: Not on the Waterside Watering Hole bucket list.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Three flip flops, maybe four. Five for the food. But this ain’t about food.

Miller’s Dockside

220 Harbor Drive, Boca Grande. 964-8000, eaglegrille.com

A $5 trip across the Boca Grande Swing Bridge and Causeway takes you to Miller’s Dockside at the Boca Grande Marina on Harbor Drive. Like its neighbor South Beach, this Waterside Watering Hole is actually located in Lee County due to some Old Florida-style gerrymandering.

Miller’s has seen it all over the years. It burned down. It’s former owner was hauled off in ‘cuffs for alligator poaching. For a few weeks it carried the unfortunate name “Poon Saloon.” And it was the birthplace of tarpon snagging as an organized sport. Then there was Hurricane Charley. It has somehow managed to survive.

Miller’s Dockside is the marina’s Waterside Watering Hole. The first clue is the name. No outside bar, but the table next to you is likely bolted to a fishing boat. The Dockside stretches the length of the sprawling marina that roared back after taking a direct hit during the 2004 storm.

Fishing guides and millionaires rub shoulders on the deck as they watch the yachts and charter boats slide through the bayou that borders Charlotte Harbor. There’s a full bar inside, but pink paper parasols aren’t what the Dockside is about. And considering this is Boca Grande, prices are reasonable and local-friendly.

The Dockside hosts many of the post-tournament parties during tarpon season. Feel free to mingle.

This is a working marina, and the gurgling bait well a few feet away isn’t ornamental. Plus, there aren’t too many places around where you can watch dinner make the trip from boat to broiler. But this ain’t about food.

Attire: Casual.
Ambiance: Not pretentious.
Price: You’re in Boca Grande.
Quality: Great.
Bar Crowd: Trust fund babies and fishing guides.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Four flip flops.
Negatives: No outside bar.
Docking: All you could ever want.
Smoking: Not really.
Comments: It’s worth the trip.

Flounders
1975 Beach Road, Englewood. 460-8280; floundersonthebeach.com

Formerly a bunch of other places, Flounders is the latest Waterside Watering Hole to park itself on this stretch of revolving-door Englewood Beach real estate. But this one might just solve the identity crisis for good.

Set on a canal within earshot of the Beach Road roundabout and its inevitable fender-benders, Flounders boasts inside and outside bars. The outside main bar is tiny, but there are plenty of tables nearby. This includes the thatched umbrella numbers next to the trucked-in beach that boasts the only corn hole court to cross our path. Add one flip flop. There is also a microscopic tiki bar tucked under the palms next to the “beach.” It wasn’t open.

A trucked-in beach and cornhole.

You won’t find a hint of touristy at Flounders. There’s no hinting. Flounders is touristy. And it makes no apologies. But this chest-thumping doesn’t seem to discourage the locals who have made the place a regular stop simply because it’s fun and they like it.

Prices, however, aren’t touristy. And the list of specials makes Flounders even more local-friendly. This includes one stupor-inducing concoction consisting of a bunch of something mixed with a whole lot of something else served in a pitcher along with a note to your boss.

Whatever it is, it’s clearly Waterside Watering Hole material. We opted to pass on the quality control.

Lots of draft beer, but no pitchers. Full bar, no parasols. Happy hour is 2 to 6 p.m. Rum Runners are the most popular, according to barkeep Richard Garncarz.

Parking, of course, can be a challenge. But show us a place with lots of parking and we’ll show you a Wal-Mart.

Attire: Casual.
Ambiance: A little manufactured, but nobody seemed to mind.
Price: Surprisingly good. A mug sets you back $3, a buck and a half prior to 6 p.m.
Quality: No issues.
Bar Crowd: Après beach and locals.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Four flip flops. Five for the corn hole.
Negatives: Give the tiki bar some steroids.
Docking: Nearby.
Smoking: We think so.
Comments: Almost makes the bucket list.

South Beach Bar and Grille
777 Gulf Blvd., Boca Grande. 964-0765, southbeachbarandgrille.com

The former Laff-A-Lott on Gulf Boulevard has lost much of its local luster in recent years. But considering we already forked over the $5 toll (see Dockside, Millers), we decided to remind ourselves why South Beach remains a tourista hot spot.

Oh, yeah. The view. The bar and restaurant are on the beach, flanked by two state parks that provide isolation and parking. Beyond the beach is the Gulf of Mexico. The place was semi-immortalized by Jim Morris, the self-described Jimmy Buffett of Punta Gorda.

The bar is inside. But diners can distract themselves with the view from the patio and deck – especially the sunsets. There is no outside bar, almost a pre-requisite for a five flip flop Waterfront Watering Hole rating

Cuddling up to a Killian’s Red isn’t cheap. Nor is anything else. The price of a mug at Zeke’s wouldn’t cover the down payment on the same brew at South Beach. But did we mention the view?

Attire: Casual. Leave your bathing suit outside. No, wait
Ambiance: Nice view. The hand-painted tables rock. And there’s the view.
Price: The view is worth a million dollars. Everything else is slightly less expensive.
Quality: Nice view.
Bar Crowd: People who aren’t locals who really like views.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Two flip flops.
Negatives: No view once the sun sets.
Docking: Only if you run aground on the sandy part of the view.
Smoking: Leave table, stand in surf, light up, enjoy view.
Comments: Did we mention the view?

Nav-A-Gator9700 SW Riverview Circle, Lake Suzy, 627-3474, nav-a-gator.com

Named the nation’s top “trop rock” watering hole for the past three years, Nav-A-Gator is located two miles outside Charlotte County in Lake Suzy on the Peace River. It defies description. Walk into the bar and you’re immediately greeted with “welcome to the Nav-A-Gator” by a voice that actually seems glad you’re there. And they are.

Where else can you ride a fiberglass alligator while doing quality control on a hot April afternoon? You’re not going to confuse the place with a Harpoon Harry’s or anywhere else. The Nav-A-Gator is the Nav-A-Gator.

A pitcher of Ultra from the full bar is just $6.25. There is no outside bar (but there is a sign proclaiming “tiki bar”), but you and 50 of your closest friends can pitch in and rent the Chiki Hut a few hundred feet upstream. What you do next is up to you and local law enforcement. And the place has its own seaplane dock. And because it’s a marina, you can sit inside at the bar – barefoot.

You can get all kinds of cool Waterside Watering Hole things you can’t find at any other Waterside Watering Hole. You can rent canoes, take a boat tour, rent a cottage, go on a gator tour, get an airboat ride … and that’s just for starters. There’s live music every weekend with no cover. Just bring a canned food donation and you’re in.

Attire: Whatever.
Ambiance: Redneck Margaritaville, but extremely friendly.
Price: Cheap.
Bar Crowd: Whatever wanders through the door.
Negatives: Enough with the Jim Morris on the hi-fi, other than that we dare you to find one.
Docking: Yes.
Smoking: Outside.
Comments: Put it on the bucket list.
Waterside Watering Hole Rating: Four flip flops. No, make it five.

Confessions of a troll feeder

2011-04-30T10:11:00.001-04:00

Rick Perry prays for
federal funding. And rain.

One of life's more useless pleasures is dueling with feeble-minded conservative trolls who use the day room computers and Internet forums to reinforce the notion that keeping these people away from sharp objects was and still is a very good call.

Meet Chef. That's his forum name. He's a bat guano crazy right-winger who worships George W. Bush's testicles with the same passion he brings to his hatred of all things Obama. The testicle thing is more than a little hard to explain. And it's more than a little creepy.

He's one of the millions of Americans who awakened one November morning horrified to discover that a black man had somehow been elected president of the United States.

And, like the millions of Americans who keep Fox News in business, this realization apparently pushed him over the ledge. The one that separates polite society from those who should be spending their days making pot holders and ceramic ash trays under strict medical supervision.

The exchange that follows needs a bit of 'splaining. Chef took to the Internets after Gov. Rick Perry called on the good people of Texas to pray for rain and federal assistance to quench the wildfires that have destroyed more than 1.5 million acres of prime wasteland in the Lone Star State.

The same Rick Perry who advocates secession. The same Rick Perry who attacked the Obama stimulus plan while accepting billions of dollars from the Obama stimulus plan. The same Rick Perry who has barely managed to stop short of suggesting that America is just one good lynching away from curing what ails it.

Obama, Chef suggested, was a "vindictive snot" for withholding federal aid to the state. Never happened, but Chef refuses to let facts clutter his thinking. I took the bait.

If Obama is a "vindictive snot" as you say, then Perry is an idiot for crossing the guy.

I reckon I still believe it's possible to enter into a reasonable debate with people who are no longer on speaking terms with reason or reality. Chef's reply was predictable:

LA Gov. Bobby Jindal knows it too well. It's not being an idiot to stand up to a smarmy spineless blowhard POTUS who doesn't mean what he says, or says what he means. It's what most Americans would like to do to Obama, cross him to political oblivion. There is a anger tsunami forming that will crash down on the DNC in 2012. Maybe the Mayans were Dems and that's why their calendar ended in the end of 2012? The Dems are in the end of days.

And so it began. Fifteen minutes later I had crafted a response. I will never see those 15 minutes again. So I reckoned I could put those 15 minutes to a marginally (and arguably) better use here. I invoked the call and response method popularized by Socrates - and, of course, George Burns and Gracie Allen.

Chef: "It's not being an idiot to stand up to a smarmy spineless blowhard POTUS"

Only if the idiot is certain he'll never need the smarmy spineless guy to cut him a check when his state catches fire. The butt you kick today could be the butt you have to kiss tomorrow. Perry's nothing more than a playground coward. He picks a fight to score political points, but then pushes the people of Texas into the ring to take the actual punches.

Chef: "LA Gov. Bobby Jindal knows it too well."

Translation: Perry is not only a gutless idiot, he's a slow learner.

Chef: "Maybe the Mayans were Dems ..."

Translation: Quick, change the subject. If only things in the real world were this easy. In 2012 the voters aren't going to let the GOP and their tea bagger hand puppets slither off the hook by tap dancing around the tough questions with Mayan prophecy or some other dodge.

Chef: "There is a anger tsunami forming ..."

You betcha. And the GOP is the clueless fool standing in the flood zone wearing a silly grin and an empty bathing suit.

Chef: "The Dems are in the end of days."

Then let the tribulation begin. It's my guess the voters are poised to Rapture the entire birther and tea bagger bunch you call the GOP.

(I continued. I have no honest idea why.)

Your party has been handed the best opportunity capture the White House since Jimmy Carter was sent back to Plains to pursue his carpentry hobby. But Reagan ain't available to serve the eviction papers. Who do ya got? Caribou Barbie? The guy with the perpetual bad hair day? A bunch of human trivia questions? Michele Marie Amble Bachmann, aka The Viking Vixen?

You don't have a field of candidates, you have the cast of a low-budget cable reality show. Unfortunately, "The Biggest Loser" is already taken.

While Obama is chilling in the Rose Garden raising enough money to wipe out the national debt, cure cancer and put an end to world hunger, these anemic GOP midgets are going to be turning the carving knives on each other in Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina. By the time the eventual survivor's gurney is wheeled into Tampa all you'll have left will be dental records and DNA. The GOP convention is going to look like a bad remake of "Night of the Living Dead."

Against this circular firing squad backdrop, your Mayan prophecy and "Oblama-bama-ding-dong" word games (a reference to his repeated inability to get the president's name right) are pretty much all you got going and all you're likely to have going.

(At this point the day room attendants surged forward, unplugged the computer, gave me a cookie and guided me back to the ward. Most posts have a point if you look hard enough. This shouldn't be confused with one of them.)

Life imitates art (or the Kingston Trio) at the Boca Grande Toll Plaza

2011-04-16T13:21:00.000-04:00

This one was never published. And the story about why it was never published is almost as strange as the story of Charlie and Don. This really happened. But I took out Don's last name for a variety of reasons that have nothing to do with why it wasn't published. As soon as I heard Don's story I thought of the song. I was, apparently, quite alone.

In 1959 the Kingston Trio revamped a revamp of a 100-year-old sea shanty and took it to the top of the charts. The "MTA Song" tells the improbable story of "a man named Charlie" who unwittingly boarded the Boston subway "one tragic and fateful day" not knowing the fare had been hiked to 15 cents.

With only a dime in his pocket, poor Charlie discovered "he may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston" unless he ponied up the additional five cents demanded by the conductor.

Charlie is best known as "the man who never returned." "No he'll never return (Everybody: No, he never returned and his fate will be unlearned ...) Oh yeah, THAT Charlie.

Charlie's story is fictional, of course. A cute story with a catchy melody. Couldn't really happen. Nope. No way. Not here, at least.

Charlie, meet Don. Don, meet Charlie.

The Boca Grande Toll Plaza.

Don had recently fled his snowy home in Vermont. where he sits on his town's school board, and decided to celebrate his first day in balmy Boca Grande with a bike ride to Punta Gorda and back. It was to become his Charlie-esque "tragic and fateful day."

In a classic case of life imitating art (or a 1950s folk song), Charlie, er Don, pedaled his bike up to the window of the Gasparilla Island Bridge Authority toll plaza and handed over the dollar bill he had stuffed in his pants, knowing it would be needed to return to the island and his home.

Just one problem.

Back in October the bridge authority had doubled the two-wheel toll to $2. And like Charlie, Don didn't know.

Somebody cue the banjo player.

Ten years before the Kingston Trio made Charlie a folk music folk hero, and a full 60 years prior to Don's toll plaza trip back to the future, Bostonians Jacqueline Steiner and Bess Lomax Hawes decided to pen new lyrics to Henry Clay Work's 1865 ditty "The Ship That Never Returned."

The women wrote poor Charlie's story for Boston mayorial candidate Walter A. O'Brien, an unrepentent and equally obscure Progressive, a term reserved for socialists in those pre-Fox News days. O'Brien's platform called for rolling back the five cent fare increase. Only two things stood between O'Brien and the mayor's office. Voters and money.

O'Brien lacked both.

O'Brien

His solution to the second problem was to have the song recorded on the cheap. He then blared it from a festooned sound truck as he drove it on (rather than 'neath) the streets of Boston. Not only was O'Brien shellacked at the polls, the city rung him up on charges of disturbing the peace. A $10 fine.

O'Brien didn't have the money. Either, coincidentally, did Don. Not on him, that is.

The nice toll-taker was perfectly understanding, however. Don, she said, could either pony up the additional dollar he repeatedly explained he didn't have or sit there until Charlotte Harbor froze over. Charlie, er Don, tried everything. An IOU. Nope. Go home, get dollar, come back. Nope. Extract a kidney and leave it as collateral. Okay, no kidney. But the answer likely would have been the same.

No, no and not gonna happen.

I can't help," said the conductor. "I'm just working for a living."

"I explained - again - that I didn't have $1 with me, but I had money at my house and would be happy to get the $1 and bring it back. No go. By then the cars were backed up, but nobody was moving until I paid the $1." You know, the one he still didn't have.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Frustrated, Don did the reasonable thing. He blew around the gate and pedaled in the direction of the swing bridge that stood between him, a crisp dollar bill and a home-cooked meal.

Just one problem. The span linking the island to the rest of Charlotte County was, as its name implies, swung. To let boat traffic pass. And to keep him right where he was.

No he'll never return, no he never returned.

Charlie, er Don, was now trapped. As he tells the story, three GIBA employees surrounded him "and yelled at me for mistreating the booth person and telling me, again, that I could not cross the bridge unless I paid another $1." And who says customer service is dead?

That same old dollar. The same dollar he still didn't have.

By now the bridge had reopened. But nothing was moving. Nobody, apparently, was going anywhere until he ponied up the dollar. Again, the same one he didn't have.

Charlie looked around and sighed: Well, I'm sore and disgusted And I'm absolutely busted; I guess this is my last long ride.

With traffic threatening to spill onto Placida Road, a sore and disgusted and, temporarily, absolutely busted Don was hustled off to the GIBA office (aka "customer service") where, ultimately, it was discovered he had a lot more than $1 in his government-issued toll card account. It was promptly docked one dollar. But they weren't through with him yet.

"After receiving another lecture ... I was able to finally cross the bridge."

One dollar. That's less than gum. And considering we're talking Boca Grande here, it's barely a down payment on gum.

A nickel was Charlie's price of freedom. For Don, it was a dollar.

But everything is more expensive these days. Even ransom.

Don wants a sign on the bridge warning cyclists of the fare increase. Otherwise, he says, "you may never see home again." Sound familiar?

Charlie has become a Boston icon today. His memory is even enshrined in the electronic fare cards the city's subway system issues. CharlieCard.

The Kingston Trio is no longer around to update their 1959 hit with a tribute to Florida's 2011 reincarnation of the man who never returned.

Shame. DonDollars kinda has a nice ring to it.

Felix Cavaliere, the Rascals - and guys with harmonicas and lawyers

2011-04-16T12:48:00.002-04:00

Felix Cavaliere

Felix Cavaliere never wanted the word “Young” stapled to the name of his iconic band, The Rascals. Blame it on a bunch of guys with harmonicas — yes, harmonicas — and a panic attack by the group’s manager.

Best known for their string of chart-topping signature hits “Good Lovin’”, “Groovin’”, and “People Got to Be Free”, Felix Cavaliere’s Rascals keep the band's music alive through an ambitious touring schedule. .

That’s “Rascals,” minus the “Young.”

“That was a silly choice,” he says with a hint of bitterness and frustration that lingers four decades later. “I still resent and regret that choice. A band should be able to play under its own name.”

Cavaliere and The Rascals were just beginning a career that would eventually take them to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, when Borrah Minnevitch and Johhy Puleo’s “Harmonica Rascals” came into their lives. As Felix tells the story, the other “Rascals” — brandishing harmonicas and lawyers — objected.

“They said they owned the name, that people would be confused,” he says. “Our manager panicked.” So did Atlanic Records. The Rascals, the blue-eyed soul version sans Hohners, awoke one morning to learn their debut album was going to be pressed as “The Young Rascals.”

A mix of originals and covers – including Bob Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone” and classics In the Midnight Hour and Mustang Sally – the 1966 release included two minutes and 28 seconds that would change Cavaliere’s life. And, once again, the name of his band.

The song, of course, was “Good Lovin’.” The album peaked at No. 15 on the Billboard charts. But those two minutes and 28 seconds went straight to the top – and took the Rascals with them. Borrah Minnevitch and Johnny Puleo, move over.

“As soon as we had our first hit record, the ‘Young’ went,” Cavaliere recalls. So did the gimmick knickers and matching Buster Brown suits the band adopted to get the industry’s attention. Cavaliere was even able to ditch the lollipop.

“The only plan I had was to take four strong musicians – four strong individuals – and put them in group,” he says. In a day when most white bands defined showmanship as a wink and a smile to the girls, Cavaliere went after musicians who had fronted their own bands and knew how to connect.“In those days you had to wear a tie,” he says.

“We were just looking for anything to get out of wearing coats and ties.” Didn’t work. “We still wound up wearing ties,” he says with a laugh. Bad ties. But it was a means to an end.

“Thats why that kind of happened,” he says. “Each of them was used to being focal point of a group. That made us unique. The forumla worked.”

More than 40 years later, Felix still remembers “the phone call.”

“We had a number one million-seller. We were just euphoric. We blasted into orbit. We couldn’t imagine anything like that happening that quickly. You dream about it all your life and then it happens. We had a fantastic song and we knew we had a winner.”

And the Harmonica Rascals? Borah and Johnny are still waiting for the phone to ring.

With the release of “People Got to Be Free” amid the turbulence of 1968, the band took up the civil rights struggle. The song was a musical plea for racial equality and tolerance, a stance that wasn’t universally popular in the year that saw Martin Luther King gunned down on the balcony of a Memphis motel.

Some white radio stations, especially in the deep South, banned the song from their play lists. Even so, “Free” climbed to the top spot on the Billboard charts. It was a clear departure for a band that began life in knickers and lollipops.

“When we toured, we always tried to add to the show an integrated act, it was important to our act,” he says. “I’ve always been that way. I grew up as an Italian kid in a Waspy neighborhood. To me, music is music and people are people. And we got a tremendous amount of play on black stations. The way shows were presented, it was something we decided to change.”

Fast forward to 2011. Although the original band re-united a year ago for a benefit concert in New York that closed with Bruce Springsteen (“He’s a force. It’s why people love him so much.It’s something you notice – this guy’s having a good time”) and fellow E-Streeter Steve Van Zandt gigging to “Good Lovin’,” the Rascals haven’t been immune to the internal conflicts that come with success at a young age.

“There’s that same kind of distance,” he says of his relationship with the founding Rascals. “It’s odd. There was no embezzlement, no band romances … none of that kind of stuff. Just stupidity, I guess.”

Cavaliere sings the praises of his current band. “The new guys are just excellent,” he says. “They’re all session guys from Nashville. They’re fantasic musicians who know how to put on a show.” And as a bonus, he now has a bass player. Back in the day, Felix was forced play the bottom end on the pedals of his Hammond B-3. “An organ just can’t reproduce the sound you get with a bass.”

Felix says he has resisted the urge to “overhaul” the band’s standards. This means no reggae version of “Groovin’.” No messin’ with success.

“The audience wants it their way,” he says. “We keep it fresh, but you’re going to hear a retrospective of our years together, and there’s a trememdous amount from those years that we weave into act. The band is great, people will have a good time.”

UPDATE: Here's the follow-up story. And here's the photo gallery.