HOW TO BE ANNOYING
1. Insist on informing your neighbors of your plans every time you leave the house. Demand that they do the same -- "For safety."
2. In addition to using your turn signal, honk your honk steadily until you have completed the turn.
3. Stand on your front porch and guess the weight of passersby with a bullhorn.
4. At the gym, ask complete strangers to "spot" you while you are walking on the treadmill. Offer to do the same for them.
5. Wear a parka to work during July. Leave it on all day. Refuse to explain why.
6. Forward all e-mails about urban legends, conspiracy theories or investmemt scams to everyone in your address book with "We need to talk" in the subject line.
7. Bring a box of doughnuts to work. When one of your overweight co-workers grabs one, take him/her aside and suggest they have a bowl of oatmeal instead.
8. Go to a non-Starbucks coffeehouse but insist on referring to drink sizes as "vente" and "grande."
9. Attend a baseball game. Complain loudly that the game was "purer" before they let blacks and Mexicans play.
10. Start a blog.

LESSER-KNOWN HYMNS
"What's In It For Me, Jesus?"
"O Come, O Come Emmanuel Lewis"
"Be Not Afraid, Although It’s Okay to Be Kind of Nervous"
"I Am Your Servant, O Lord, Except for the Part About Pre-Marital Sex"
"Bringing In The Mail"
"Go, Tell It On Your Blog"
"Amazing Will & Grace"
"My Jesus, I Love Thee (But I’m Just Not Ready to Commit)"

NINE MYTHS ABOUT NASCAR
1. NASCAR promotes family values: In 2002, the wife of racing legend Jeff Gordon filed for divorce, citing “marital misconduct.” When the alleged “other woman” began speaking publicly about her affair with Gordon, the four-time NASCAR champion never specifically denied the allegations.
2. It values fair play: In 1990, driver Mark Martin was poised to win the Winston Cup championship, only to be hit with a 46-point penalty for using illegal equipment on his car in the last race of the season. It has become an accepted part of racing lore that NASCAR officials trumped up the infraction in order to hand the title to Dale Earnhardt Sr., whose growing notoriety was putting NASCAR on the map.
3. Its drivers are just a bunch of “Average Joes”: NASCAR drivers used to haul their battered cars from one dirt track to another on the backs of flatbed trucks. Now they fly from one venue to another in private jets. The practice is so commonplace that the teams have formed as association to deal with the airport congestion on race weekends caused by dozens of NASCAR jets.
4. It reflects America: As of the 2000 census, black people make up 12 percent of the U.S. population, while women comprise 51 percent of the population. As of this writing, there are no black or women drivers currently racing in the Nextel Cup Series, NASCAR’s premier division. NASCAR driver Robby Gordon has even gone so far as to suggest that a lighter female driver would enjoy an unfair advantage over heavier male drivers.
5. More on that “family values” thing: It is openly debated in NASCAR circles that marriage is a distraction that can cost a young driver a shot at the championship. While it would be impolitic to come out and say it explicitly, some veteran drivers have implied that it would have been better for younger drivers like Matt Kenseth and Jimmie Johnson to have postponed their marriages for the sake of their budding careers.
6. NASCAR takes care of its own: In 1988, the NASCAR world was rocked by the news that winning driver Tim Richmond had contracted AIDS. Even though the circumstances of how Richmond contracted the virus are still in dispute, he was immediately shunned by the homophobic racing establishment. He died in seclusion in 1989.
7. NASCAR is family friendly: A sampling of prominent NASCAR sponsors: Budweiser, Miller Lite, Jim Beam, Viagra, Bud Lite, Hooter’s, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Busch, Smirnoff Ice.
8. NASCAR drivers are solid family men: NASCAR widely promotes the notion that its drivers are a bunch of red state squares, but anecdotal evidence suggests they are just as fallible as the rest of us. Legendary driver Dale Earnhardt Sr., for example, was twice divorced. Tim Richmond was (see No. 6) was famous for his hard partying lifestyle. NASCAR champion Tony Stewart will not hesitate to punch you if you get in his way. See also Jeff Gordon (No. 1)
9. NASCAR drivers settle their differences on the track: Among the major professional sports, few have cultivated a culture as whiny as that of NASCAR. When they aren’t jumping out of their cars and throwing their helmets at each other, NASCAR drivers are bitching to anyone who will listen about some perceived slight. In a well-publicized catfight straight out of the film “Beauty Shop,” for example, drivers Kurt Busch and Jimmie Spencer went at it after a bumping incident at the Brickyard 400, culminating in Spencer calling Busch “a jerk” and the younger Busch dubbing Spencer “a decrepit old has been.”

THE SUM OF ALL FEARS
Current anxieties, catalogued:
· Terrorism
· Global warming
· Creeping religious fascism
· Corporate control of the media
· I've gained too much weight to wear these pants
· I don’t get to the gym as much as I should
· The war in Iraq
· Unemployment
· Meeting women
· Hurricanes
· We’re running out of oil
· That people will think I’m dumb
· That people will think I’m too smart
· A fire in my apartment building
· That they'll never get that damned bridge painted
· Auto accident
· I’ll never finish my novel
· Having to work weekends
· Drought
· That the bank will misplace all my money
· India-Pakistan
· Asian bird flu pandemic
· Insect infestation
· Sudden, debilitating allergies
· A crack house moves in next door
· Inflation
· That the cable will go out
· Recession
· Depression (both economic and psychological)
· Death in the family
· Car trouble
· That there really is a Hell
· That I’ll die a lonely bachelor
· Turmoil in Africa
· That I paid too much for something
· Racial strife
· Wal-Mart
· Suburban sprawl
· That my heroes will be exposed as scoundrels
· That I will be wrongly convicted of a heinous crime
· Losing my wallet
· That the Yankees will win the World Series
· Finding a spider in the bed
· That my computer hard drive will crash
· Those kids are playing awfully close to that busy street
· Falling into an open manhole
· Menacing people hanging out on my street
· Pipes bursting and flooding my apartment
· Outrageously high winter heating bills
· That my life has become predictable and routine
· Oversleeping
· That women don’t find me attractive
· Food poisoning
· Cancer
· That people hate me because I’m American
· The insidious spread of anti-intellectualism
· The New Madrid fault
· Computer viruses
· The woman in the coffeehouse who won’t stop talking about the sci-fi/fantasy novel she is writing
· That I will go blind or deaf
· Walking around unaware that my fly is open
· Spilling soup on my pants during a big date
· Losing my keys
· Spilling bleach on my favorite pants or shirt
· Getting stuck in an elevator with my boss
· Suffering severe burns
· That I will drink too much and accidentally say something hurtful to someone I love
· Heart disease
· Boredom
· Iran's nuclear ambitions
· That I wasted an expensive college education
· My inability to keep up with popular music
· The economic dislocation caused by globalism
· Vermin
· That my favorite bar/restaurant/coffeehouse will close
· Losing my cell phone
· Paralysis (both physical and mental)
· Being exposed as a fraud

A TRUCKSTOP RESTROOM
AIR FRESHENER RESPONDS
TO HIS CRITICS
Lately, the public has been starting to question my effectiveness as a restroom air freshener. Last night, for example, a man with "Denise 4 Ever" tattooed on his upper arm and (apparently) a serious gastro-intestinal disorder beat on my plastic casing and cursed at my inability to make the restroom here at Sally's I-40 Super Gas 'n' More smell like freshly laundered linens. I would like to address a few points:

1. I am not responsible for the replacement of, nor the quality of, my scent pouches. If I could replace my scent pouches, I wouldn't be an air-freshener, would I? No, I'd be Carlos the janitor or Paula the gift shop clerk, both of whom are supposed to check my scent level on a weekly basis. You would sooner expect your car to change its own oil. I do one thing -- freshen the air. Give me the tools to do that.

2. The American diet is changing, severely testing my outdated air-freshening technology. Since I was installed in 1986, fast-food consumption in this country has increased 10-fold, especially among the truck-stop restroom frequenting demographic. There are consequences from this, from an epidemic of adult-onset diabetes to, yes, an increased strain on the entire truckstop restroom infrastructure.

3. Fresh air is a team effort. I am fighting an insurgency here, if you will, and like our beleagured troops in Iraq, I need help. When Paula and Carlos check off the hourly "restroom cleaning checklist" on the door without actually running a mop across this filthy floor, they are leaving me to fight this war alone. I don't care what Rumsfeld says; troop strength does matter.

4. Lastly, I turn the hot glare of the spotlight onto to you, the public. Standards in this country have declined tragically over the past century, from our schools to our elected officials to our expectations of restroom cleanliness. There was a time not so long ago when a feces-stained mirror would have had you people demanding to speak to the truckstop manager. Now, you simply shrug it off, or, worse, have simply abandoned the notion of using a truckstop restroom altogether. Like the American inner-city of the 1960s, you have written off my colleagues -- the sink, the toilet, the condom machine and the towel dispenser -- and me. Shame. Shame.

But even if I did have fingers to point, I would not be pointing them right now. We don't play the "blame game" here at Sally's I-40 Super Gas 'n' More (except for you, Paula and Carlos; I do blame you a little bit). I just want you to understand that even the best maintained air freshener in the cleanest truckstop restroom can only do so much when a 300-pound trucker who consumes nothing but hot wings, Funyuns and coffee comes in and unpacks his suitcases, if you know what I mean. This is a war without end. I do not take nights, weekends and holidays off. You may have given up, but I have not. I think it was the philosopher Epictetus who said "The greater the difficulty the more glory in surmounting it." I'm sure he probably wasn't talking about truckstop restroom air fresheners, but does that matter? Do not scorn me, but do not pity me, either. I come to you seeking only one thing -- understanding. If you cannot give me that, then our society has problems far worse than I, a truckstop restroom air freshener, ever imagined.

UNCOMFORTABLE QUESTIONS ABOUT
"THIS OLD HOUSE"
06: It is appropriate, when children are dying of hunger in Darfur, to pay $25,000 for a stove?
05: Do any of those roofers have their green cards? Seriously. Do any of them?
04: Is it really historic preservation when you turn an old horse barn into a 21st-century multi-media entertainment center?
03: When Norm Abram and Bob Vila see each other at Le Cirque, do they say hello, or do they just ignore each other?
02: When was the last time they restored a house that someone who, you know, wasn't a frickin' billionaire could afford to live in?
01: Will someone besides me please acknowledge the intense sexual tension between master plumber Rich Trethewey and contractor Tom Silva?

ASK THE GREAT EMANCIPATOR
Our 16th president, Abraham Lincoln, offers advice on matters both grave and frivolous. (Note: While he is an attorney, President Lincoln is not a licensed therapist.)

Dear Mr. Lincoln,
There's a guy at work who has terrible B.O., but we're too embarrassed to say anything to him. What should we do?
During my first term in the legislature, there was a fella there whose odor suggested that he had some sort of falling out with the soap and the water, if you get my meaning. Granted, baths were pretty infrequent in those days, let alone clothes washing. But to put it bluntly, he smelled as though he had misplaced a dead skunk somewhere on his person and could not seem to find it. We tried subtle tactics, such as secreting sachets of coriander and sage into his jacket pockets when he was not looking. Then we encircled his desk with crushed lime powder in hopes of containing the stench. He never took the hint. We became so fed up that we wrestled him into a sack coated with lye soap and dunked him into the Sangamon River until his effluvium no longer offended. So, you can always try that.

Mr. President,
what's your recipe for summer fun?
Growing up, summer was a wondrous time spent frolicking down in Hobson's Creek, attending ice-cream socials and taking long lazy naps under the shady elm tree.... Boy, oh boy, you people are something else. You have no idea what summer was like in the 1820s, do you? I'll tell you: It was like living in Satan's jockstrap. Every morning I would awake, drenched in sweat and covered with mosquito bites, and curse the Lord for not taking me in my sleep. Sometimes a bear would wander into the cabin and walk off with one of the little ones. So it wasn't exactly like a Beach Boys song, okay? What's my recipe for summer fun? How about you just sit back in your air-conditioned, bear-free home of the 21st century and shut your stupid piehole.

Dear President Lincoln,
I'm thinking about quitting my $150,000-a-year job at the law firm and going to art school. I figure I can move back in with my parents. What do you think?
Oh, joyous day! Another productive member of the work force has decided to forgo all that and indulge in her desire to paint fancy pictures of sailboats. Thank goodness my people tamed the savage wilderness so you could throw an $80,000 college education down the crapper. So, yeah, I'm just crazy about the idea. Because if the world needs anything, it's another unemployed artist. Someone's gotta sit in the coffeehouse all day pontificating about the death of culture and the latest Internet conspiracy theories. It might as well be you.

President Abraham Lincoln's column is published in more than 300 newspapers. Send your questions to motownnord@hotmail.com.

GIGANTIC
I have fond memories of the Pixies song "Gigantic," which is unusual, I think, given that the song is, as best I can tell, about two strangers f--king in a public park. But I didn't know that at the time these fond memories were being brewed. It was the summer of 1992, and my brother, Andrew, as he was wont to do at the time, had sent me a cassette tape containing songs that he felt I should be listening to. I was living in Saginaw, Michigan, then, which, in those pre-Internet times, might as well have been in the outer rings of Saturn.

Still in college and still "cool," Andrew sent me these musical care packages so I would not fall hopelessly out of touch. I didn't know much about the Pixies beyond the fact that they had a pasty lead singer named Black Francis who wrote barbed songs about mutilation and debasement that he sang in an urgent, whiny voice. But "Gigantic" was not like most Pixies songs. It was bassy and low and sung by a woman whose voice had been scarred by whiskey and cigarettes. I immediately took to it.

I used to pop the casssette in my bulky '80s-vintage Walkman and queue up "Gigantic." It was an eerie, sinister song that opened with a simple bass line -- DuDuDuDuDuDah DuDuDuDuDuDah -- and a woman's ethereal wail -- aaaaaaaaaaah aaaaaaaah aaaaaaaah -- that was the perfect accompaniment for a solitary walk on a summer evening.

What was it about? I've never had an ear for lyrics. I can make out the first few words of a stanza, but then I fall hopelessly behind. "And this I know/His teeth were white as snow/What a gas it was to see him/Walk her every day/Into a shady place..." Then I was lost. Then the song picks up again. "A big big ..." Dog? A dog? Is this about a dog? It's about a dog. He's walking his dog. I guess.

It didn't really matter. I just liked the way the song played out as I sauntered through the neighborhood, the summer sun slowly fading to the west, the sky turning from red to deep blue to black. The summer days were incredibly long in central Michigan, the horizon still showing signs of light as the clock crept toward 10 p.m.

"Gigantic" was my anthem for that summer, when I was still struggling to succeed in my first job out of college, still in love with my first serious girlfriend, still looking ahead to a bright future rather than looking back on a mediocre past. Years later -- four more jobs, three more apartments, five more failed relationships later -- I learned what "Gigantic" is actually about. And I didn't really care.

HOW I CAN TELL THAT MY FATHER,
BOB, IS NOT THE FAMOUS INVENTOR
AND STATESMAN BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
06: Perhaps most obvious, my father does not respond when I shout "Ben!" or "Hey, Mr. Franklin!"
05: Ben Franklin was born in 1706 and died in 1790; Bob was born in 1928 and is still very much alive.
04: Franklin's expertise was in electric conduction and metallurgy. Bob is more of a structural engineer.
03: Bob's favorite TV programs are "The Rockford Files" and "Becker," while Franklin was not known to be a television enthusiast.
02: Famous quotes:
Franklin -- "Wish not so much to live long as to live well."
Bob -- "Has someone been fooling with the thermostat?"
01: Franklin negotiated a key alliance with France and was massively popular in the salons of Paris; Bob finds the French "lazy" and "only in it for themselves."

HE'S GOT TROUBLES: SEVERAL
WAYS THAT TIGER WOODS IS
JUST LIKE YOU AND ME
06: A paid spokesman for Buick, Tiger receives an unlimited supply of the automaker’s cars. But he is conflicted, as his car of preference is a Mercedes-Benz.
05: Like many Americans, Tiger has trouble learning foreign languages. This has frustrated his efforts to learn Swedish, the native tongue of his wife, lingerie model Elin Nordegren.
04: Because, with tournament winnings, endorsements, appearance fees and merchandising contracts, he earns more than $2 million a week, Tiger constantly worries that his income is fully accounted for tax purposes.
03: As the owner of a private jet, Tiger has been absolutely murdered by the sharp rise in fuel prices over the past year.
02: Never good with names, Tiger often embarrasses himself when he mistakes the CEO of General Motors for the CEO of American Express during parties on Bill Gates’ private island in the South Pacific.
01: Tiger is wracked by feelings of guilt when he dons one of his signature red shirts – part of his $250,000,000 contract with Nike – for his favorite color is actually yellow, thus forcing him to live a lie.