Is it just me or does the term "pink slime" sound like anything but a meat product you'd want made into a sandwich for human consumption? I know the folks in the advertising and promotion fraternity are developing ulcers over the fact that somebody didn't throw a body slam into the knuckle-headed word spinner who coined the term on that fateful day.
If you took a bite of an apple that was, by far, the most beautiful looking pome you ever saw but it tasted like the best steak you ever ate, you would still spit it into the nearest napkin, or on the floor depending on your puke or squarehead predilection. When it comes to food, what you taste and what you think you are eating cannot be paradoxical or Mr. Diaphragm will engage and provide you with what the internists call projectile vomiting.
We have seven senses that are so neurologically, physically and psychologically intertwined, they function as one if there is a short in the wiring somehow. You can get a really queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach of you're sitting at a stop light and the car beside yours starts to inch backwards while you have your foot firmly on the brake. You feel as though you are easing forward but even if your intellectual self knows you are not moving, your gut will still do a back flip. I remember hearing people say the same thing happened when they experienced an earthquake,
When we were sixth-graders, we boys would make it a project to find out which of our fellow students, preferably one of the girls, could be made up-chucky by a well-turned phrase, which, at the same time, had no gustatory effect whatever on the guys, no matter how hard they had to work to hide their involuntary internal vis-à-vis outward functions. In fact, certain of such functions served as a point of pride when displayed by and for the most obnoxious of the species.
It seems boys between the ages of 6 and 16 become a study in the art of using the human system to disgust as many people as possible. They sometimes act as though they are auditioning for a starring role in "Animal House."
To those of us who think we have evolved away from acting like John Belushi in the aforementioned flick, all we have to do is consider how many of those people are still acting even though they are grown and move to Sacramento to spend time in the hallowed halls of the Legislature.
Millions of dollars are spent in the concerted effort to find, through the use of polls, what the average person believes, thinks or wants. Lately such pollsters are coming to the unhappy conclusion that the elected few don't really give a rat's patootie what people, by and large, think or want.
I was going to call the pols "squareheads," but that would be an incredible insult to my people.
"Fat heads" fits better, and since kids sometimes read the paper, my other appellations for the people we overpay and otherwise over-indulge for no good reason except they won an election would best be left to the sixth-graders' classmates. (I did mention that I learned all the four-letter words extant in the sixth grade so I ain't learned nothin' new in that department since. I sure as hell didn't learn it from my Sunday school teacher mother!)
I heard on the radio today that Jerry Brown signed a piece of legislation penned by Mark Leno that will make it law to teach gay history in the grammar schools. It's a good thing, too. I thought I knew all I would ever have to know on that subject in the sixth grade. If Miss Allen ever found out how incredible earthily informative her grammar school class turned out to be, she would spin at mach speed in her grave.
I know I'm an old stick in the mud when it comes to not being more enlightened in my thinking, but what do you expect from an 80-year-old with a traditional Lodi education, with nothing racier than National Geographic in the high school library with Miss Berry in charge?
Bob Bader can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.