Door Ding Ding-A-Lings

I don't ask much when I drop off my kids at school. The following situations are unacceptable: 1. Open gunfire on the sidewalk between renegade teachers. 2. Signs that read, "All parents will be strip-searched before entering building." 3. Other signs that read, "It is strongly recommended that you get a rabies shot when you leave this place." 4. Fourth graders in a booth advertising nipple piercings. 5. The principal waving goodbye to her parole officer. 6. Random hugs from a troupe of clowns and mimes.

And, of course, door dings.

It's a close call between the clowns and mimes and the door dings.

Up until a few months ago I didn't worry about door dings because I drove a Saturn. It was plastic and aluminum and nearly indestructible, plus at 215,000 miles I could have traded it straight-up for a three-ringed binder and a packet of #2 pencils and come out ahead on the deal.

Now, however, I drive a 2006 Toyota Corolla and I worry more. I worry because of cars like the silver Taurus that pulled in next to me this morning in the school parking lot. The boy in the back, probably 10 years old or so, quickly shot his door open.

Wham! It smashed into the side of my car, driver's side rear door.

I got out to have a look. And there it was, a good ol' ding with a scratch to boot. I looked at the boy reproachfully as he and his mother approached to get a closer look. I rubbed on the scratch with my thumb and waited for them to say something.

And she did. She said, "Well, that's not as bad as people usually give me."

I looked up in astonishment as they turned to walk toward the school entrance. That was it. No "Sorry about that, my son has an inner ear infection and his coordination is way off." No "We apologize, we just heard on the radio that our house was on fire." No "Oops, I was distracted because my mom was telling me that she's entering alcohol rehab this afternoon."

Nothing. Just a view of their backsides as they walked into the school.

My kids and I followed soon after. I was in a grouchy mood, and I railed against bad children, and worse parents, and how with an upbringing like that there was no doubt in my mind that the kid would end up no good. By the time we got to their classrooms, I had that kid wallowing in the seedy underbelly of society - behind bars, dealing meth, pimping, robbing girl scouts, beating up old ladies, etc. That kid, I was convinced, was Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer and the Unabomber all rolled into one foul package.

My son went down the hallway to put his backpack away while I got my daughter settled in. When he came back he said, "Dad, I saw that kid who hit your car. He told me to tell you that he was really sorry."

Oh.

I guess I overreacted. And I guess that restored my faith in the basic goodness of people.

But I still have that door ding. And I still hate clowns and mimes.

Reading McCain's mind

Thanks to some fantastic new technology, we were able to actually read John McCain's mind backstage as he listened to and watched Sarah Palin's speech last night.

The following are some samples:

"All right...hmmm...what's on TV tonight? ...Golden Girls - that's a fun show...hmmm...hey, M*A*S*H - that Hotlips was quite a tasty little number, wasn't she?...Seinfeld? Never heard of it...well, wait a minute...what's this? What's all this commotion? Look at all those people doing...Oh! Oh! Now I remember!"

"Wow! They really like that lady speaking. I wish I knew who she was. Haven't I met her somewhere before?"

"My lord, is she hot."

"Alaska? She's from Alaska? I thought the sheet said Arizona!"

"I wonder why she wears her hair like that. She looks like a school teacher. Or a librarian. Or a school librarian."

"...must...take...nap...zzz...zzz."

"Please mention that I was a prisoner of war. Please mention that I was a prisoner of war. Please mention that I was a prisoner of war. Please mention that I was a prisoner of war. YES! YES! YES!"

"My lord, is she hot."

"Boy, oh boy, is she taking shots at Barack Obama. That's really funny. I mean, she is really giving Barack Obama some sharp zings. Ha Ha!...Ha Ha!...wait a minute. I can't remember. Who the heck is Barack Obama?"

"This is really cutting into my Wheel of Fortune time."

"I love when the crowd screams 'USA! USA! USA!' at the top of their lungs during every break in her speech. That means Republicans are really patriotic. And look at that lady in the front row with the funny red, white and blue hat. That means Republicans are really patriotic. And I love how they just hauled away a protester just now. That means Republicans are really patriotic. God, I love being patriotic."

"Aw, man...she's a hunter? That's not good. I was always afraid Dick Cheney was going to blast me in the face."

"Note to self: move her desk into the Oval Office, right next to mine. Or maybe we could share desks. And share chairs. And brush each other's hair."

"Why do they keep showing Cindy so much on the television? Hey...she's here? Right here in St. Paul? Who's taking care of our houses?"

"Holy cow, this Palin chick's got a lot of kids! Let's see...one, two, three, four...ahhh...ahhh...must...take...nap...zzz...zzz."

"Has anyone got a blanket? I'm way chilly here."

"Damn straight I was a prisoner of war."

"Boy, her daughter is a little chunky...What? What the...? She's pregnant? Pregnant? First I've heard of it! Why didn't anybody tell me?"

"I wonder who the father is. I bet it's Edwards."

"I don't know why I ate that onion blossom for dinner. It's given me the winds something awful."

"My lord, is she hot."

"Taxes, values, family, blah, blah, blah. Why isn't she saying anything more about me being a prisoner of war? Doesn't she know I was a prisoner of war? Not everybody is a prisoner of war, you know. That guy over there wasn't a prisoner of war. And that guy over there wasn't a prisoner of war. Hey, you...usher...let me tell you about me being a prisoner of war."

"I hope there aren't any gays in her family."

"They really cheered when she mentioned God just now. Someone find my speechwriter and make sure he puts the word God in my speech. At least half a dozen times. No...make that a clean dozen."

"When I go out on stage when she's done am I allowed to hug her? I really want to hug her. I really want to...no. That would be creepy. Really creepy...I don't care. I'm totally going to hug her."

"My bottom really itches. It itches bad. Dang onion blossom. Is anyone looking at me? Anyone? Can I move in for a quick scratch?...I'm doing it...there...oh yeah...all better."

"That can't be right. She's been governor for how long? How long?"

"I wonder where she lives in Arizona?"

"Hey...where is that Lawrence Welk music coming from? Now that's a beat I can get down to!"

"At least she hasn't said...NO! NO! Why did she mention George Bush? Abort! Abort!"

"I have bunions older than her."

"Boy I REALLY hope she doesn't have any gays in the family. That would be awkward. Well, if she does, I'll just tell people the guy fell off the beam because his high school refused to teach creationism in science class. That's why he turned gay. They'll buy it."

"Why couldn't we have our convention at an outdoor stadium like that other guy did?...What was his name again?"

"I wonder why they call that fella an 'African-American.' I always learned it as 'colored.'"

"Troop surge...troop surge...troop surge...troop surge...troop surge...Maybe I can make a song out of it. What rhymes with troop surge? Loop dirge? Croup urge? Group merge? Soup barge? I'll sing it to the tune of 'Climb Every Mountain.'"

"My lord, she's hot."

"Thank goodness she hasn't mentioned that other war that's not going very well. Let's see, where was that war again? Pakistan? Turkmenistan? Uzbekistan? Ah...it probably doesn't matter."

"When is she going to be done? I'm feeling...I'm feeling...ahh...ahhh...zzz..zzz."