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One of my greatest regrets is that I am not frequently mistaken for Errol Flynn. People seem to deliberately ignore my dash, charm and God-like looks. Yesterday, however, Turner Classic Movies paid a vicarious tribute to me by having an Errol Flynn festival. While I watch “The Adventures of Robin Hood” about as often as it is on, I had not seen “Captain Blood” in probably forty years; so I decided to see it again.

In just the first three minutes of the film, the audience is subjected to an immersion in English history. “Duke of Monmouth”, “James II”, Papists, etc. are casually mentioned;you could be eavedropping on a history colloquium or me talking to myself. I had to wonder: confronted with this rapid discourse on Stuart politics, was the audience of 1936 more erudite than today’s? I doubt it.

My grandparents would not have known that the Duke of Monmouth was the illegitimate child of Charles II . (Yes, so was one- third of England’s population; the other two-thirds being the impregnated wenches and their cuckolded husbands.) As Charles’ oldest spawn, the Duke thought that he–a good Protestant–should inherit the throne rather than his legitimate but annoying Catholic Uncle James. Monmouth attempted to seize the throne and ended up yet another statistic in the Tower of London. This was the historical prologue for “Captain Blood”, the story of a doctor who becomes a pirate–although the two professions are often synonymous.

No, my grandfathers, Patrick and Swen, (all right, Nate and Simon) would not have known the intricacies of the Stuart intrigues. However, I think that people then had a greater appreciation and respect for history. Today’s audience has an adolescent attention span and would respond to history with a yawn of self-satisfied ignorance. Furthermore, Hollywood today would want to be politically-correct. It would never suggest that the relationship between Catholics and Protestants was ever less than cordial, let alone take a side in the conflict–even if history did.

No, if “Captain Blood” were made today, the prologue would explain that the English throne had been seized by a gang of Scottish terrorists (non-denominational, of course). The special effects would certainly be better than the 1936 version. What more could we want. The eyes are entertained even as the brain atrophies.

We know that the Louisiana Purchase cost $15 million, that in “Deadwood” you could buy an alcoholic refreshment for $.15 (of course, that could be a loss-leader for the $7 prostitutes,) and that Mr. Darcy had an annual income of 50,000 pounds.

But what are those sums worth in today’s money? Are Louisiana and Deadwood real bargains, and would Mr. Darcy’s fortune justify selling your sister or mother (or both)?

This website has the answers:

http://www.measuringworth.com

I know Professor Officer and vouch for his erudition. (His sense of humor is another matter).

By the way, Louisiana and Deadwood are still bargains. And Mr. Darcy’s fortune might justify transsexual surgery.

Jenna Bush was in her customary pool of vomit when awakened to the announcement of her engagement.

“Oh, mommy, can’t I just get an abortion?”

“Not this time, dear. And please don’t let Uncle Neil do that again. By the way, if anyone asks, your fiance is named Henry Hager.”

“Who?”

“You remember Karl’s flunky. He is very accommodating. He was available to be Mary Cheney’s fiance, but Mary wouldn’t cooperate.”

“Why should I?”

“Daddy needs the good publicity. Karl says so. The media will be preoccupied with your choice of China patterns, so it won’t notice any distractions like…well, mentioning them only makes them real. Let’s not. And the Democrats will be afraid to say anything because we can accuse them of trying to spoil your wedding.”

“But, Mommy, I don’t want to. Why not Barbie?”

“Mr. Cheney and Alburrito think that she might be a Democrat. She may actually have learned something at Yale. We know that you can be trusted. And I am afraid that our only other choice would be killing your grandfather…and making it look like a liberal did it.”

“But what about Grandmommy?”

“Believe me, if she could be killed, I would have done it years ago.”

“No, Mommy, I meant that Grandmommy would be upset if we killed Pappy?

“Actually, she did object when Karl proposed the idea. She’ll only permit it if Jeb is running for president.”

BEIJING BANS CARS TO CLEAR AIR FOR GAMES

Associated Press

August 17,2007 | BEIJING — City officials yanked hundreds of thousands of cars off Beijing’s streets Friday to test whether a partial car ban could clear health-threatening smog and ease gridlock during next year’s Olympic Games.

The test is a challenge for Beijing Olympic organizers and city authorities to see if they can balance the need to dampen severe pollution without angering a growing middle class. “

To improve the environment of Beijing, city officials will ban bodily functions two months before the Olympics. The ban is to be applied within one hundred miles of the city. Health Commissar Toc Sun explained the “no emissions policy” which is being promoted in a cheerful advertising campaign “Life in the Fasting Lane.” “We already have The Yellow River, and that is what it is there for.” Reporters noting that the River was 300 miles away were promptly executed.

Do you know the meaning of your name? It could refer to your mother’s favorite actor at the time of your birth, or the prevailing political blocs in your family (maternal vs. paternal factions are usually the most vicious). However, I am intrigued by the actual etymology of a name. What does it mean and where did it originate?

The name Eugene is Greek and means “well-born”. It originated in the late classical period, when a new theology stimulated suitably virtuous names for baptisms. The old pagans would never have been so sanctimonious as to call themselves Justin, Boniface, Placidia or Eugenius. (And certainly not Theodosius; until the fourth century, the name would have had to specify which theos?)

In its earliest form, Eugene was the Greek Eygenios. The Romans were always plagiarizing the Hellenes, so the name became Eugenius along the Tiber. The Roman missionaries conveyed Eugenius to the British isles, where it evolved into the Welsh Owen, the Scottish Ewan and the Irish Euan. (The Angle-Saxons apparently rejected Aeugenebert.)

The Byzantine missionaries introduced the name to Russia, where it became very popular: Yevgeny. In fact, it was through a Russian ancestor that I acquired my name.

I am Eugene because of a pretentious, social-climbing grandmother. She was the type who would write the Tsar a thank-you note for a pogrom. Her real name was Shifra but the affectatious dragon thought that her Yiddish moniker was beneath her. She assumed the more elegant Russian name of Yevgenia. “Yevgenia” died before I was born, and left me the name Eugene. From what I have heard, it may be the only thing that she ever did for anyone.

May 27, 1541:  Margaret Pole Almost Revives the Olympics

Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury.   Born in 1473, the poor woman had a miserable sense of timing from the start.  By the time she was four, she had been declared a traitor by her uncle King Edward IV–who executed his own brother and stripped the ensuing orphans of their property.  Her nicer uncle was Richard III, who restored young Margaret’s and her brother’s legitimacy and estates.   Margaret’s luck lasted two years–the same length as Richard’s reign.  Being a Yorkist heiress and a legitimate Plantagenet did not improve her prospects with the new king  Henry VII–who was not a legitimate anything.  Her brother Edward would spend the rest of his short life in prison; although mentally-retarded, that was a minor handicap for royalty and his pedigree made him a threat to the Tudors.  Edward was executed in 1499 at the age of 24.  Margaret was kept under a more comfortable confinement until Henry decided her fate–specifically which of his lackeys deserved a rich, young wife.

The lucky–and unctuously loyal–groom was Henry’s cousin Richard Pole.  Pole married Margaret in 1494, and apparently he did not mind at all.  There were five children within ten years, and I would like to tell you that the Poole family lived happily ever after.  Well, Richard did; he had the prudence to die in 1505.  But Margaret and her children did not.  They  lived on into the reign of Henry VIII.

He was Margaret’s first cousin, once removed, and he took the removal quite seriously.  The Poles were staunch Catholics, and they would be providing executioners with steady work for the next two generations.  Margaret was never implicated in any plots, but her decapitation in 1541 was Henry’s way of congratulating her son Reginald for becoming a Cardinal.

In Tudor England beheading was considered a privilege. It was performed before a select audience in a upper class setting. In return, the victims were expected to behave with stoic dignity. Most did.  The Countess of Salisbury definitely was the exception. The frail 67 year-old woman did not want to be executed and would not cooperate. She had to be dragged to the scaffold and would not passively place her head on the block. The executioner required assistance to hold down the struggling lady. She writhed and wiggled so effectively that the axeman missed her neck, slashing instead her shoulder. In the confusion, the Countess tried to make a run for it. She only managed to dodge around the scaffold and she was just one wounded old lady against an armed killer and his staff. The outcome was inevitable but she gave an unprecedented resistance.

The Church beatified her in 1886.  Given her surprising dexterity, you’d think that a Catholic school would have named a gym for her.

I am in Merv Griffin’s debt. But for his creation “Jeopardy!”, I probably now would be some self-loathing corporate drone in public relations. (I am a self-loathing free-lancer, so I have saved a fortune in dry cleaning.) Unfortunately I never had the chance to thank my emancipator. I did see from a distance once in the studio, but at the time I was preoccupied with suffocation. Let me recount my adventure on “Super Jeopardy.!”

The Script for the Ken Burns’ Documentary

David McCullough voiceover: It was the summer of 1990. George W.Bush had finally found steady work. In the Middle East, Iran was being contained by our ally Saddam Hussein. Movie audiences were wondering what Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson saw in each other. And Merv Griffin had a big idea for a game show! Yes, he was going to produce a television version of Monopoly. As a lead-in for this obvious hit, he came-up with “Super Jeopardy.”

By inviting back past champions and the wittiest, most charismatic writers who had appeared on Jeopardy, Merv envisioned an Armaggedon of the Nerds. So 27 game show veterans and has-beens received an invitation to duel with each other for a greed-inducing $250,000. Their expenses would be covered and the show guaranteed a minimum consolation prize of $5000.

Then, there was a change in plans. Merv discovered that he had to have Frank Spangenberg. (However, we’ll ignore the rumors.) To add Frank to the tournament meant also adding eight other contestants. So, the first game in the series would now feature four players instead of the traditional trinity.

The tournament might have ended on the first day with the asphyxiation of the contestants. In an attempt to make the end more exciting for prime time, smoke props were supposed to be ignited during the Final Jeopardy. The mist was supposed to be mystic. However, during the rehearsal, it simply was smothering. The normally meek contestants protested about the horrid smell and their sensation of nausea. Merv probably considered whether contestant deaths would be good for ratings; unfortunately, the show was not scheduled for a sweeps period. In a humanitarian gesture, he allowed the contestants to breathe.

The first game pitted Frank Spangenberg against three presumed martyrs: Brian of Utah, Kate of New York and Eugene of Western Literature. Since this was the first day of taping, everything was entitled to go wrong: short circuits, jammed mechanisms and miscalculating scoreboards. The contestants endured three hours of delays. The game finally began but it was not the expected Spangenberg juggernaut.

Eugene Finerman interview: I played with embarrassing recklessness, often trying to answer questions before I had read them. My enthusiastic inaccuracies about Burundi, Escoffier and the state fish of Alaska left me in second place going into Final Jeopardy! There had been problems with the scoreboard; a corrected mistake increased my total after Double Jeopardy had ended. After placing his Final Jeopardy wager, Frank Spangenberg had doubts as to whether he had calculated his wager on my erroneous or correct score. He asked to see how much he had bet and, if necessary, correct the amount. The producers and the staff conferred and finally denied Frank’s request.

With Frank brooding and my feeling guilty (how liberal of me) we were confronted with the Final Jeopardy clue. The category was U.S. Presidents and the clue was “At the time of this president’s inauguration, there were five former presidents still alive, more than at any other time.” In 1990, there was only one correct answer: Abraham Lincoln. And I was the only one who knew it. Seeing Frank’s incorrect response, Alex sniped “So, it really didn’t matter what you bet.”

The winners of the remaining quarter-final games were a phenomenal 18 year-old Eric Newhouse and my old nemesis from 1987 TOC Bob Verini. I would play against them in the semi-final match. The game began as an exercise in frustration. Despite my earnest ringing of the buzzer, in the first third of the game I was consistently slower than my two opponents. I felt particularly galled that Eric was answering questions that I knew before he was born. Fortunately, as the game progressed, I finally acquired some coordination and made a serious comeback. The match’s outcome largely was determined by those damn daily doubles.

Bob Verini was an actor from New York, and he found a daily double in the category of Broadway musicals. He couldn’t resist the opportunity of betting everything, and he was not obliging enough to be wrong. That gave Bob a lead of 10,000 points. Eric stumbled upon the second daily double in Double Jeopardy. I knew the answer, but he didn’t use me as his phone-a-friend. His gallant wager consigned him to third place; I was in second and Lucky Bob was in the first place as we entered Final Jeopardy. The category was geography, and we were challenged to name the second largest country on the second largest continent-and they both begin with the same letter. Unfortunately, Bob resisted the temptation to answer Argentina. He responded Algeria, as did Eric and I.

Bob went on the Finals where he competed against Dave Traini (another veteran of the ’87 Tournament of Champions) and Bruce Seymour, who decisively won the tournament and $250,000.

Bush Treated for Lyme Disease Last Year

Tick Treated for Catatonia.

Gonzales Arrives In Baghdad To Advise On Iraq’s New Legal System

The catatonic tick would be more knowledgeable. Actually, the Attorney General should be given command of the army; he could be a better general than he is an attorney.

Karl Rove to Resign at End of August

Despite his denials of exorcism, Karl Rove is going to Hell. In what may be the only possible advancement for him, Mr. Rove will now work as the chief of staff of Satan. He will be replacing Beelzebub who is expected to become a lobbyist.

The speechwriter is a hostage to the speaker. In the best of circumstances, we might like our speakers and agree with their opinions. (Josef Goebbels was lucky that way.) Of course, most of us are never so consistently fortunate. We will be confronted with a speaker who is an ogre, a bore or an idiot. What can we do? Endure and write the damn speech. We must embellish the speaker’s thoughts, fulfill his whims and indulge his vanity. If the speaker is determined to make a fool of himself, then we must ghostwrite the suicide note.

Most of us have the consolation of obscurity. Our hare-brained speaker will do no worse than ruin a Rotarian lunch. Unfortunately, some speakers will command a national audience, and their rhetorical binge would be a public disaster. Yet, if that is the speaker’s intent, then we must resign ourselves to the ensuing notoriety. In the history of speechwriters, perhaps our most hapless martyrs were Theodore Joslin, French Strother and Gertrude Lane. During Prohibition, when this masochistic trio could have used a drink, they wrote speeches for President Hoover.

Herbert Hoover was a remarkable man, whose life proves that there is no correlation between intelligence and common sense. He was an accomplished engineer, a brilliant administrator and an incredible buffoon. History has blamed him for the Great Depression; that seems unfair since he barely noticed it. As a speaker, he was never content simply to be inane, callous and offensive. He instinctively chose the worst time to say the worst thing.

As the nation plunged into Depression, we had a President who expressed this heartfelt conviction: “If a man has not made a million dollars by the time he is forty, he is not worth much.”  When twenty-five percent of the workforce was unemployed, Hoover offered this distinctly optimistic view.   “Many people have left their jobs for the more profitable one of selling apples.”  By October 1932, President Hoover finally acknowledged a Depression: his own. He knew that he was about to be voted out of office, and in a speech at Ft. Wayne, Indiana, he upbraided the public for its ingratitude and insensitivity.

“I shall say now the only harsh word that I have uttered in public office. I hope that it will be the last I shall have to say. When you are told that the President of the United States, who by the most sacred trust of our nation is the President of all the people, a man of your own blood and upbringing, has sat in the White House for the last three years of your misfortune without troubling to know your burdens, without heartaches over your miseries and casualties, without summoning every avenue of skillful assistance irrespective of party or view, without using every ounce of his strength and straining his every nerve to protect and help, without putting aside personal ambition and humbling his pride of opinion, if that would serve–then I say to you that such statements are deliberate, intolerable falsehoods.”

One can only imagine his tantrum before his speechwriters polished it. Indeed, despite the writers’ efforts, the speech remains an embarrassment. It is petulant, pompous and oblivious to the public; but that might be a fitting description of the Hoover presidency. The speech certainly was an accurate representation of the speaker; and what more could his writers do? It is not the writer’s responsibility to save the speaker from himself; we can only guarantee that the self-destruction is grammatical.

There are times when speechwriters and mercenaries seem to have the same job description; and A.E. Houseman wrote an epitaph suitable for either profession.

These, in the day when heaven was falling,
The hour when earth’s foundations fled,
Followed their mercenary calling
And took their wages and are dead.
What God abandoned, these defended….

RED CROSS SUED FOR USE OF CROSS EMBLEM

NEW YORK – Johnson & Johnson, the health-products giant that uses a red cross as its trademark, sued the American Red Cross on Wednesday, demanding that the charity halt the use of the red cross symbol on products it sells to the public.

Johnson & Johnson said it has had exclusive rights to use the trademark on certain commercial products _ including bandages and first-aid cream _ for more than 100 years.

Vatican City: For the next hundred years, the Church will not accept responsibility for the Crusades.

As VP of Communications and Excommunications Eugenio Finermanni explained, “When Johnson & Johnson leased from us the marketing rights to the Red Cross, maybe they should have checked the fine print. Of course, that is why we wrote it in Latin. In any case, if people wearing the Red Cross wiped out half of Constantinople, Anatolia and Syria–and all of Jerusalem–it is a happy coincidence that Johnson & Johnson makes bandages.”