A couple days ago I mentioned that the whole family visited the amazing World War One Museum over Spring Break. Well, after that inspiring walk through history, we took the short ride to Browne's Irish Market. I talked about this cool slice of The Emerald Isle a couple weeks back when I did a few live segments from that spot for FirstNews on KCWE. It is a terrific place. This trip, Samantha bought a book about a girl in the Irish Civil War, Taylor got a Curly-Wurly (It's a candy that looks like the DNA of the old Slo-Poke Caramel sucker.), Alexander chose a small rugby ball and Harrison picked out a rugby ball plus TWO Curly-Wurlys. My wife and I bought a small Irish cottage. Really.

It is white with a traditional thatch roof...fireplace...already furnished. Okay, you can hold it in the palm of your hand and it's made of cardboard. But, IRISH CARDBOARD! Inside the box: a small stone (of the non-Blarney variety) and six pads of peat. We're big on candles and incense around our house. It has nothing to do with achieving transcendental tranquility. It has everything to do with having teenagers, a dog and the occasionally lactose-intolerant diner. Researchers say that the sense of smell triggers memories more readily than any other way. Having grown up surrounded by cow manure, I go back in time fairly often. Anyway, Ireland travelled home with us, last summer, in our nostrils. I don't mean someone did something unpleasant with a shillelagh. I mean the smell of burning peat stayed with us.

So, now, we can light one of those little peat pads and our house becomes, well, a peat pad. Peat is organic material...mostly decaying vegetation, not unlike some of the stuff I've found under our childrens' beds. It comes out of the bogs and marshes. Bogs and marshes are lyrical ways of saying swamps. You could also say fens but that word always struck me as incomplete...like Webster's pen ran out of ink before he could finish.

One little etymological detour: Back in 1560, the word peat could also mean "merry young girl" as in "Oh, aren't you a sweet peat!" Somehow, the combination of the peat you set to glowing and the kind of peat that would set a young boy to glowing seems incongruous. Maybe it was this confusion that caused all those problems in Salem back in 1692! "Burn the peat?! What are you talking about?"

By the way, the title of this peat-treat is probably familiar to you, if you watch Seinfeld. It was The Limo episode. Jerry and George were pretending to be Irish and Jerry began to wax eloquent on the peat. Now, whenever we light up, someone in the family will say "The peat...aaahhh, the peat." Smart-alecky leprechauns. Still, the calming aroma keeps me from getting too worked up. Now, if I can just convince the neighborhood association to allow us a few sheep grazing in the front yard and a rock people can kiss for nine bucks...Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra!

According to a story on FirstNews, yesterday, it is okay to haggle just about anywhere nowadays. At first I thought that meant "You put your right foot in...you put your right foot out...you put your right foot in and then you shake it all about" but that's the Hokey-Pokey, not The Haggle! Then I figured it had something to do with standing trial in the Netherlands. Actually, that would be Hague-ling, not Haggling. On the other hand, which would be a third hand if you're keeping track, if you walk into a store and Hegel, it probably won't get you very far unless the person waiting on you is interested in concepts of freedom and power. No, this Haggle means to barter, bargain, dicker, horse-trade! It actually comes from Middle English, haggen...meaning "to cut or chop." The idea is that it is okay to make an offer on just about anything rather than just accept the listed price.

This is not good news for me. I am a lousy negotiator. One day my wonderful wife, Jessica, and I decided we should get a microwave oven. We had one little squirt of a baby at the time so, after consulting the Sunday paper circulars, we drove to the store offering the best deal and, while wife and child stayed in the car (cave) and I (caveman) went out to purchase the oven (slay the T-Rex.) I think the male of the species is supposed to be good at making deals. It is yet another part of the manly job where I fall short. This would be okay if it meant I was really in touch with the sensitive element of my nature but, honestly, I think both the Alan Alda side of my brain and the Hulk Hogan side have jumped into a mental kayak and paddled away. At least I'm consistently incompetent. (That's better than being consistently incontinent but those days are ever closer.) Well, the salesperson told me they were all sold out of the oven advertised in the paper but he could let me have a display model. They didn't have a box or instruction booklet. I took it. As I walked out to the car, with the electrical cord trailing behind me, my wife's face told the story. I opened the trunk and set the appliance down. As I slid behind the wheel, Jessica asked "So, what was that you were dragging out of the store?"

"Well, " I answered "that was the display model. It's all they had left."

"No box? No instructions? No warranty card?"

"Uh. No."

"Did they lower the price?""

"Uh. No."

Next thing I know, my wife is walking back into the store with the microwave in one hand and my male ego in the other. She came back out with an oven in a box...brand new...sale's price.

My wife has gotten us free nights at hotels by mentioning certain laxities in housekeeping. I said "laxities" not "laxatives." What are you thinking? Jessica has also gotten coupons and complimentary this & that just by asking. Forget Marvelous Marvin Hagler, we've got Joyful Jessica the Haggler! When it comes to haggling for our family, she wears the pants...for which she probably paid half price.

Part of our family's spring break was spent putting our NCAA March Madness Brackets together. (Do I have to pay somebody, like Jim Nantz, for saying "NCAA March Madness?" Oops. Now I owe even more.) We also watched a lot of basketball and ate lots of treats. I'm not so hot on picking the winners but I do excel in the treat department. I started down the lane with Cheezits...hit the chocolate egg jumper...charged through the ice cream with gusto. Cheezits...chocolate...ice cream: my kind of three-pointer. Anyway, here's how things break down around our place...I break down around our place on a regular basis...but, in this case, I mean the choices:

Alexander: He has always been a huge sports fan. When he was just learning to talk, he could tell you the stats of almost any big name player in almost any big time sport. He even created his own imaginary football league and star-player: Chris Jetts! It was all good fun until the imaginary loan-sharks showed up to collect on all the bad bets Alex had made. Alex based his picks on information gleaned throughout the season...hours of reading on-line sports columns and watching ESPN. It explains why most of his college Blue Books are filled with x's and o's and the answer to every multiple choice question has been James Naismith. So far, I think his final four picks are still intact but, other than KU, I can't tell you what they are. I do know, based on his time home from college, that the only creature that sleeps more is our dog...and, at least the dog takes a walk outside when he eventually gets up. Alex would make it from the basement to a chair in the living room, with a brief stop in the kitchen.

Taylor: This young man has no interest in basketball. When asked for his picks, he responded: Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton.

Samantha: Born and raised in Kansas, she's a cheesehead at heart...or is that cheeseheart at head? Anyway, she will always go for any Wisconsin team. Therefore, she started with UW-Madison as the overall champ and worked backwards. Many years ago, when Samantha was not quite in school, the family would make our NFL picks. Samantha made her choices based on what kind of animal she liked most or, if no creatures were involved, which color she favored. She had a great season! In fact, this was back when Len Dawson was the co-host of Inside The NFL. (Just between us, I quit watching the show when Len quit hosting.) Well, I gave Mr. Dawson a copy of Samantha's picks. He was quite impressed and made a veiled reference to it on that week's show. Very veiled. I may have been the only one to pick up on it. I believe he said something like "Well, I know a few folks who had a very good week..." I just know he meant Samantha. All you really need to know about Samantha's bracket is that, in the end, the Badgers cut down the net.

Harrison: Unfortunately, Harrison's chosen champ is already out. It was a logical pick but that didn't matter. He overcame the disappointment in the same way his father would: Oreos, Cheese Curds and Chocolate Milk. Then, our methods diverged. He went outside to play. I would've stretched out on the sofa and watched The Andy Griffith Show.

Jessica: She chose two 16 seeds to make the finals. Now, truth be told, we have lots of schools to root for at The Big Dance. We both graduated from UW-Madison. (Well, Jessica graduated...I sneaked through while nobody was looking.) So, we can root for the Badgers. When we were in school, the Badgers weren't exactly a basketball powerhouse. They did well in hockey and track and cross-country. Football and basketball...not so much. We have a child at KU, so that's another team in our sights. A couple of the other kids have attended camps at K-State. We even get excited for schools that have sent letters to our college-age kids. At the moment, Jessica's chances of winning the family bracket competition, aren't good...those 16th seeds, you know. However, if she didn't like underdogs, she never would've married me. (I prefer "underdog" to "loser," thank you very much.)

Me: As soon as it was explained to me that "seeds" had nothing to do with gardening, I made some pretty good picks. Well, I don't know if I've made some good guesses or not, to be honest. I have trouble keeping track of who's winning and losing. The last time I really knew a basketball team's record, Oscar Robertson was playing for the Milwaukee Bucks. He was The Big O! We had another Big O in our town. His name was Orlie and he sold cars. What are the odds of a kid knowing two Big O's? Who says I've led a sheltered life? When I first look at the empty bracket I do experience some anxiety. It looks like something from the "Diagram-A-Sentence" portion of my middle school English class. By the time I get it all filled out, I'm exhausted and require fluids and bed-rest. You've seen my guesses on TV about the weather so you can probably figure out my success rate for this competition.

We still have to decide what the winner of our family Bracket-Mania will receive. I'm hoping for Cheezits, chocolate and ice cream.

Here's hoping you all had a wonderful Easter weekend. And, if your kids were out of school last week, a great Spring Break. By the way, on this past Saturday, I saw a row of Easter Bunnies all marching backwards. Yes, it was a Receding Hare-Line! I can only use that joke once a year and there it is.

While much of the week, in our household, was spent watching basketball and eating, we did have one day when we actually got the teenagers out of bed before noon. Last Wednesday, everyone piled into the van, bound for one of the great historical resources in the nation which just happens to call Kansas City home: The National World War One Museum.

This was a very belated trip. Our youngest son, Harrison, has been wanting to go there since it opened. For those of you who have yet to visit, here's a friendly suggestion: GO! The opening film puts the pre-war world into perspective in a matter of minutes. From there, the exhibits and stories really make you feel a part of the drama and danger. Perhaps the most poignant display is the walk-way over the poppies representing those who died in the conflict. Our second oldest son, Taylor, discovered the poetry of Alan Seeger in one of the booths. Being a Bob Dylan fan, he immediately made the connection from Alan Seeger to nephew Pete Seeger making a lyrical link to that other time.

After walking through the museum, we went to the top of the tower. For many of the years we've lived in KC, that tower was crumbling. Not anymore! Now, my family was completely fine with the view. I was fine with the view. I was not so fine with the height! As I get older, being up too high bothers me. Frankly, being 5'10" is too high. I'm actually looking forward to the shrinkage that comes with age. After a quick walk around the tower, back-to-the-wall, like I was hiding from Peter Lorre in some old 30s movie, I settled into the stair-well. Naturally, our daughter took a picture of me huddled nervously away from the edge. The wall at the top of the tower is chest high so it is really not likely that someone could accidentally tumble. Maybe I'm just not confident in the whole "center-of-gravity" idea.

There are more tales of spring break to share, but, for now, just this idea: Take a trip back in time at the World War One Museum. It is a present present from our past that just may help us in the future.

First, the HELLO! to the Cougars of Central Elementary in Olathe. We had a terrific visit on Wednesday. Central, which opened in 1883, is the oldest school in Olathe. No, I did not do a weather assembly on that first day. Smart aleck. They are rightly proud of their illustrious history but are always moving forward! The students had great questions and the staff was full of fun. My only complaint: Did the teacher escorting me around the building, Brandie Carlson, really have to point out to everyone we met: "I remember watching Joel when I was a kid."? Anyway, thanks for the great time and cool Cougar T-shirt. Have a terrific Spring break.

Speaking of Spring break, that brings the GOODBYE...for awhile. (Sorry to get your hopes up.) Over the years, I've always tried to take the week my kids have off for Spring break as a vacation. We don't usually do anything too spectacular. Yesterday I asked the kids where their friends were going for break. Here are just a few of the mentioned destinations: Jordan. Jerusalem. New York City. Florida. California. Branson. Dominican Republic. Pluto. Okay, not Pluto. Tourism on Pluto really took a hit when they were demoted from full planet status. Anyway, a lot of folks go a lot of places. So, if you are among them, have safe travels.

You are also getting a break from this bloggerania for the next several days. It is going on holiday...getting a breather...being granted a furlough...at liberty. AWOL! Absent Without Lowdown.

Have a great St. Patrick's Day and a wonderful Easter.

Being from Wisconsin, the title of this e-lit masterpiece could be about the furry kind of bucks fighting over territory or the state's basketball team having internal difficulties. But, in this case, it has to do with greenbacks...moolah...beans...boodle...bread...cabbage....gravy...The Almighty Dollar! A few days back we had a story on FirstNews about Warren Buffett inching ahead of Bill Gates in the billionaire bake-off. Both have fortunes somewhere in the $50 billion-plus range. That's a lot of dough...scratch...coin...long green...Benjamins...jack....loot. (As a teenager, I had a poster of Peter Mark Roget on my wall at home. Right next to the one with Farrah Fawcett in the red swimming suit. I was a geek...with hopes and dreams.)

There are lots of billionaires nowadays. When I was little, we really only had two that I was aware of: Howard Hughes and J. Paul Getty. In fact, at my grade school, there was a Hughes Camp and a Getty Camp. If there had been trading cards for these two guys, we would've bought them. I rooted for Howard Hughes. I thought of him as the regular American guy. I mean, Getty's first name was Jean! Jean lived in England! He looked like an extra in a Hitchcock movie! Imagine my surprise when I found out that J. Paul Getty had been born in Minneapolis. (Also, it turns out that Mr. Hughes was a couple of bricks short of a load. One of his wagon wheels was in the sand. He had all his marbles but his shooter was chipped.) I ended up kind of liking Getty when he refused to pay ransom for a kidnapped grandson. The kidnappers sent a part of the young man's ear to Getty as a threat. Remember, I was a kid and all that macabre stuff was ultra-cool. Anyway, as a rule, I was rooting for Hughes over Getty.

In our town, I never thought of the doctors, lawyers and bankers as the moneyed class. It seemed to me, the rich folks owned the hardware store. They had all that stuff, after all. Also, I learned early on, that there's money in bodily functions. The only in-ground swimming pool in town, that I was aware of, was at the home of the local plumbing mogul. Apparently, the money kept coming as long as people kept going. If someone was doing really well, you'd hear "Oh, yeah, she's makin' big bucks." Still, how much someone was making or had was off-limits for public discussion. Spending money, especially on luxuries, was frowned upon. If someone got an air conditioner, they'd explain it by saying "Well, you know, my grandmother is living with us now and she has trouble breathing if the window is open." That was just for a window unit. If anyone had ever gotten central air, we'd have assumed the whole family was sickly and feel pity rather than envy. If someone bought a new car, you'd hear "They made me such a good deal it would have been sinful not to buy the thing. I really didn't want it but...." As a kid, it irked me a little that people were always apologizing for getting something new. Today, as a father with a wallet that is really just a faux leather moth container, I like and admire that old-fashioned economic attitude.

I know "Money can't buy happiness" but shouldn't it, at least, make your sadness a little more tolerable? Would I rather be blue and watching a TV with rabbit ears or blue watching a high-def, wide-screen plasma gizmo? Getty and Hughes didn't seem very happy when they died within months of each other in 1976. Hughes was a very rich man with few if any true friends and no home. Getty had been married five times and always looked like he'd just swallowed a whole lemon. Still, I'm willing to take the chance on successfully combining contentment and cash. That's why I put the dollar in our FirstNews Powerball fund. Then, again, the Bible talks about it being harder for a rich person to get into heaven than for a camel to make it through the eye of a needle. I always wondered just what kind of tailor shop the Apostles were frequenting but, beyond that, could I just get a little rich...maybe not a camels-worth...how about a malnourished llama?

Folks in TV hear it quite often: "Why don't you pinheads ever give some of the good news that happens around town?" In fact, I hear that around my own house. Especially, the "pinhead" part. Well, here is some good news:

Blue Valley High School is celebrating a championship! The Debate Team, under the guidance of Coach Chris Riffer, won the 6A State Championship for Kansas. By the way, Mr. Riffer earned Kansas Debate Coach of the Year honors, too. He was a great leader for our oldest son Alex, now Taylor and Samantha are on the team. That leaves Harrison, who is still in middle school. I asked Harrison the other day if he thought he'd be on Mr. Riffer's team in high school Harrison's response: "I don't think I have a choice." Tuesday, the team will be recognized on the floor of the Kansas State Senate. The team members include a couple of talented Seniors, known as The Megans: Megan Adams and Megan Ritter and Juniors, Josh Dean and a punk named Taylor Nichols. Okay, Taylor is our second oldest son.

These four spent many long hours researching, practicing and competing all through the semester. This year's topic concerned U.S financial aid to Africa. Trust me, they knew their stuff. Once, as I was leaving for work at two in the morning, I sneaked into Taylor's room and just whispered "Africa." He sat right up and started spouting statistics about food procurement and something called Public Law 480. (I check on all the kids before I leave in the morning. It's not an easy thing to do, frankly. Taylor's room is usually pretty passable but the raspy voice of Bob Dylan emanating from the cd player can be a little disconcerting in the middle of the night. Harrison's room looks okay at first but is booby-trapped. Legos...Matchbox Cars...pencils...marbles...by themselves, none seem dangerous for an adult male. But, in the dark, in stocking feet, any of these things can bring one to his knees, speaking in tongues...which, for a Lutheran, is pretty impressive. But, it is our daughter's room that is the most treacherous. A person should really be dressed like those guys that went after ET in the old movie. I generally put on my bee-keeper's mask and carry a nine-iron...just in case. Why we have the portable fire-ladder under Samantha's bed is beyond me. We would have enough trouble just getting the door open let alone finding the bed and, then, by the time we drew straws to see who would have to crawl under there...well, it would be over. To her credit, the glasses, cups, half-empty plates do provide enough penicillin for some small African countries....which leads us back to the original topic.)

Taylor has always been ready for a verbal tussle. When he was born, he gave the doctor some lip about the delivery process. "Come on! That's the best you could do? Look at me! I'm a mess." He has always been able to turn on a dime. When he was about two, he went by the name of Tootie and his older brother was Altie. "Tootie" had drawn a very colorful picture on the wall of our hallway. "LOOK! LOOK! LOOK WHAT TOOTIE DID!" he exclaimed proudly and in upper-case letters. (Although our kids never read Dick and Jane, they did all talk like it for a while. We considered changing the dog's name to Spot, just to be helpful but the dog refused. ) When my wife, told him "No. That's not a good thing to do." Tootie, AKA Taylor, pivoted immediately: "ALTIE DID IT."

As parents, we want to thank Coach Riffer for helping our son become even more logical and aggressive in arguing with us. Thanks! There are times when I preface my discussions with Taylor by saying "Just so you know, this is not a debate round and, even if it were, I win." It still works as long as I am standing on a chair.

Congratulations to Mr. Riffer, Megan Adams, Megan Ritter, Josh Dean, Taylor Nichols and the whole team. Enjoy your time on the Senate floor...and, Taylor, just remember, you're not there to argue about the bills being presented.

So, as I was saying last Friday during FirstNews, we could get some decent snow! What? You don't remember it that way? Well, who are you going to believe? Me or your own ears!? The fact of the matter is that I mentioned flakes and flurries. Then, around 7:45 a.m. until 8:15 a.m., some parts of the area got an old-fashioned snow burst. It came down fast and furious at the worst time...complicating the last part of the morning rush. When it was all said and done, other than up around Maryville where they picked up around three or four inches, most folks ended up with little of the white stuff. It reminded me of a day when I was driving up to the airport with my wife and daughter, Samantha. She was about three at the time. My daughter not my wife. Anyway, snowflakes the size of flapjacks started to slap the windshield. Samantha leaned forward and said "Did you say it would snow, today, daddy?" Well, no. Everyone's a critic!

Now, I could mention that I did say it only takes a little snow at the wrong time...and, with the gusty winds, visibility could be a concern....and, that it would be cold and blustery all day. But, that would just sound like overly-defensive whining. I'm not above that but, instead, on Friday I chose to flee the scene and head from the weather center to Browne's Irish Market at 3300 Pennsylvania.

During FirstNews on KCWE, I got a chance to visit with Blarney O'Breccan, the new St. Patrick's Day leprechaun and lots of Irish lasses. Last Friday was the kick-off luncheon. Saturday was the first day of the Go For The Green food drive, to benefit Harvester's. Of course, on March 17, there is the parade! My great-grandmother had the last name of Hennigan and, since our trip to Ireland last year, I have to admit, I am feeling a little more Irish than usual this time of the year. If you want to experience some of Ireland without leaving town, head to Browne's for an Irish breakfast. They have all kinds of Emerald Isle goodies on the shelves...including an incense burner that looks like a little thatched-roof cottage and smells like peat! (They say you can also get the "Barry Fitzgerald" aroma...but I passed. He was a great actor but do I really want to smell him? Now, the "Pat O'Brien" is great!)

I know that Larry Moore has a number of green sweaters for this time of the year. Most of you know that Larry is quite tall...almost structurally unsound. When he wears his Irish sweaters he looks a little bit like a leprechaun on steroids. Well, this year, I had a special sweater to wear, as well. I actually bought one at the Blarney Castle. It seems only right for a weatherman to hang out around the Blarney Stone. The stone didn't seem too pleased. After I kissed it, I heard the stone spit "Phwwwwt!" and wipe his mouth. At least, I think it was his mouth.

As a kid, I dyed my hair green a couple of times for the holiday but, back then, with such dark hair, you could only really see the hue in the brightest of sunshine. Maybe I should try to do that dye-job again...with so much white hair and increasing scalp showing, the green would really be alarming. However, now that we have a green weather board, it would mean my green hair would disappear. Of course, most viewers understand I'm not all there, anyway.

So, will it be the Luck of the Irish in the weather department this week? So far, yes. Looking for 60s over the next couple of days which leads me to share the following e-mail:

"I was able to grill our first hamburgers of the 2008! They were so good. The best part is not having any pans to wash after dinner. Are we going to have snow in March or can I skip the pans until next November?

Tina
CEO of a domestic based operation handling wildlife

Wildlife species include
Nicholas (18), Dahlby (10), Jackson (8), Luke & Seth (7)."

Who needs Marlin Perkins and Jim Fowler? Tina has it in hand!

Now, see, with all that information you've totally forgotten about what happened last Friday morning. Right?

Daylight Saving Time arrives this weekend. Yes, it is very early this year. The Congress decided it would be a good energy conservation measure. A new study indicates that it really doesn't help in the energy conservation department so, maybe, Congress should have conserved their own energy. In the olden days when farmers really needed the extra daylight to work in the fields, it may have made some sense. Oh, by the way, it is Daylight Saving Time, not Daylight Savings Time. It has to do with one word modifying another and, I believe, a dangling participle...which must be painful and make your pants not quite fit right. Maybe we should make it Daylight's Saving Time...personifying Daylight and adding some ownership! Then, again, there is probably some child, born in a commune in Vermont in 1968, who is actually named Daylight so that would get confusing.

It all comes down to it being darker in the morning and lighter in the evening. At 2:00 a.m. on Sunday March 9, the shift takes place. Of course, most folks set their clocks ahead before turning in on Saturday. I start changing the clocks first thing Saturday morning...just to confuse people. It also means you can gain an entire hour just by leaving one room and entering another. Or, if the hour wasn't so good...go the other way and get rid of it. Okay, I'm no H.G. Wells but it as close to time travel as I can get. Yes, it drives my wife crazy but we all need to make sacrifices for the sake of scientific discovery.

With my particular schedule, getting up in the overnight hours...the time changes in Spring and Fall really don't mean a lot. It is a different story for my mom. Ever since I was a little kid, I remember her saying, as the clocks were changed, "Well, I'm going to be tired for the next six months." If you are an early-riser, that new morning darkness is not helpful. If you go to bed early, the extra daylight at night is just annoying. If you have four sons...well, you're probably tired anyway. However, to be fair, I never noticed my mom acting tired, anytime during the year. She was, and is, always in motion. In fact, once, she was in such a hurry to get from the kitchen to the deck, she didn't bother to open the screen door. She just crashed through it. The little kids called her Super Grandma! I'm pretty sure she uses her x-ray vision when playing cards.

Here's the real kicker about this early time shift, it stays this way until the first weekend in November. We get back to normal just before the election. Wait a minute! That's why the politicians did this! They WANT us to be a little sleepy for the next eight months or so! That way we won't be paying alert attention all during the campaign season! AAH-HAA! Where's my time machine? I've got to fix this! Or, maybe, Super Grandma can just do one of those fly- around-the-world-backwards maneuvers and set things right! Wake Up, Super Grandma!

Everybody talks about the weather. Even Shakespeare. For example, in Twelfth Night, the jester keeps singing "For the rain, it raineth everyday." I may start wearing a multi-pointed hat with bells during my forecast. Let's face it. The jump from court jester to TV weatherman is a pretty short hop. Actually, I'm feeling like a bowl of yogurt...all cultured and everything...since watching that very play, Twelfth Night, this past Sunday at KU in Lawrence.

Our oldest son, Alex, played the part of Fabian. When I first heard, I was very excited. I'd always enjoyed Fabian back on American Bandstand. However, when I asked my son who was playing the part of Dick Clark, Alex set me straight. The basic storyline has to do with mistaken identity. A girl dresses like a boy. A boy dresses like a girl. Everyone gets confused. Late in the play, Mr. Furley comes in and starts to flirt with Viola or Sebastian or, maybe, Jack Tripper.

To say the least, I was confused. Let me make clear that my bewilderment had nothing to do with the performances. All the actors and actresses were great. My haziness was connected to my laziness. An attitude of lassitude. I had a terrific Shakespeare professor in college. Rich DuRocher. He was great about showing how contemporary Shakespeare really is. If Professor DuRocher had been seated next to me in the theatre, I may have been able to follow the plot. Of course, he probably would have asked me where that last paper was.

Meanwhile, back on stage, there was that guy named Sebastian. Now, when I hear the name Sebastian, I start looking around for Buffy, Jody and Uncle Bill. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that this Sebastian was NOT Sebastian Cabot! Also, back in 1601 when William first wrote this thing, it was set in a place called Illyria. I remember that distinctly because I'm sure we had a story about it on FirstNews. Anyway, this version was set in New Orleans in 1910. When I asked why, my son pointed me to a headline in the Onion Newspaper: Unconventional Director Set Shakespeare Play in Time, Place Shakespeare Intended. Hey! It's okay to be creative in your choices. That's how my wife's family continues to explain her willingness to marry me.

Spring Break is right around the corner and Alex promises to explain it all to me when he comes home. In the meantime, he pointed me to one particular line in the play that, he said, reminded him of me: "Stealing and giving odour!" He insists it is a compliment.

*TRUFFLES: Last Saturday morning, March came in like a little lamb! It was spectacular. Sunny and mild. Perfect for the 9th Annual Truffle Shuffle to benefit the Jana E. Pinker Foundation. Nearly 400 folks hit the streets around Johnson County Community College to help the foundation raise money which will then be used, primarily, for scholarships. I was lucky enough to help out with the awards ceremony. Being such a nice day, several folks approached me to say "Thanks for the nice weather." (Many more approached me and said "Please, get out of the way" but that happens everywhere I go.) Anyway, when those nice people complimented me on the weather, I'd say "Well, I'm in promotion not production." Or, I'd send them over to a terrific man, also in attendance, named Charles Maahs. He is Bishop Emeritus of the Evangelical Lutheran Church for this area. He is also one of the friendliest, warmest, and funniest people you could ever meet. By the way, Mrs. Maahs is extra-special, too. Well, on Saturday morning, I pointed people toward Rev. Maahs saying he had a better pipe-line when it comes to ordering perfect weather, than I do.

Thanks again to all the wonderful people who showed up on Saturday to help a bunch of other wonderful people.

*RUFFLES: I'm not talking about potato chips. But they do sound pretty good right now. I'm not talking about a drum roll. No, the ruffle I'm referring to happened with a flourish on Monday morning. FirstNews on KCWE kicked off at 7:00 a.m. The anchors of the expanded edition are Dion Lim and Jim Flink. They do a great job. However, I know your main question is "What does this all mean to Joel?" Right? That was your question, wasn't it? The problem for me is an increasing sense of inferiority. Mr. Ketz and, now, Mr. Flink, are both about my age. Yet, they both look young and vibrant and dress like something out of GQ. I look old and broken down and dress like something out of Field and Stream. Occasionally, Mr. Ketz even gets away with suspenders! Suspenders?! I wear those and people think I'm attending a Mork & Mindy retrospective. Then, there's the pocket-square.

Jim Flink is the Prince of the Pocket-Square. You know, that little burst of color that comes crawling out of a suit pocket...like a Technicolor salamander. Frankly, I don't see the reason for it. You aren't supposed to use it to blow your nose or anything, are you? When I sneezed into Flink's, sometime ago, he punched me. I remember, as a kid, I had a fake pocket square. It was a piece of cardboard on the bottom, imprinted with the words Robert Halls for Boys, and some imitation silk...harvested from phony silkworms...on top. This perfectly matched my clip-on tie. My brothers and I also wore dickeys...fake turtle-necks. There was something about fake clothes that made those years special. It actually is making my transition to fake hair much easier.

What it comes down to is this: Ketz and Flink are sartorial peacocks. I'm a sartorial platypus. So, forget about giving viewers more weather from our backyard and around the world. Forget about more traffic reports. Forget about the convenience of news at 7:00 a.m. Forget all that. The new, expanded FirstNews really just means my shortcomings are on display for an extra two hours. The new weather center is state-of-the-art. It looks snazzy. Still, working with Mr. Flink and Mr. Ketz will make it seem like the attic where they stick crazy old Uncle Joel in his funny clothes.

Just a quick thank you to all the great runners and walkers who showed up on a beautiful Saturday morning to benefit the Jana Pinker Foundation. It was a record turn-out! Thanks to your active legs, more students will receive scholarships to attend colleges all over the country. More about all of this on Tuesday.

Also, how the expanded edition of FirstNews did on the first day out of the box.

And, later this week, my explanation of Shakespeare.

To read or not to read...that is always the question!