ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FIT TO MOCK

- LET'S SEE IF WE CAN SCREW THIS UP EVEN MORE. The Archdiocese of Philadelphia ended a 2006 program in which they provided parochial school tuition to the children of clergy sex-abuse victims. What, were they vying to win first prize for THE worst public relations move of the 21st century? Only six victims' families have benefited from the tuition assistance and some of those who were abused say that they weren't even aware of the program. The real story? The victims would probably rather send their kids to clown school. Your Eminence, think of another way to say "We're sorry" and do it FAST.

- YOU SAID IT, SISTER. The world's oldest person, Missao Ohkawa, recently turned 116. When asked if she was happy to have lived so long, the birthday gal replied, "Kind of." Ya gotta love that answer! "Yes, I'm ecstatic that I haven't died, but darn it, even my grandkids are starting to kick the bucket - it's getting weird." 

- KEEP THAT DASHING SCARF AT HOME, PAL. Organizers of the Boston St. Patrick's Day Parade allowed gay military veterans to march a few weeks ago, but they would not let them hold signs or wear clothes that referred to their sexual orientation. Wow, imagine the poor guy who had to monitor those strict fashion restrictions during the parade - I can just hear him on his official walkie-talkie: "Uh, this is O'Connell, over and out, we have a situation here, a vet wearing kitten heels, can you send some backup, pronto? Over and very much out."

- IF THE BOOK FITS. Sarah Palin read a parody based on the Dr. Suess book, "Green Eggs and Ham" to express her thoughts to an audience at a Conservative Political Action Conference. Glad to know that the former VP candidate has buckled down and decided to graduate from the newspapers and magazines that Katie Couric quizzed her about to an actual book. Progress, Sarah! 

 - HAIR YE, HAIR YE. There were news reports that North Korean leader Kim Jong-un was forcing male university students to cut their hair like his weirdly buzzed do, but it was just a rumor. Good news, because "Dear Leader," as Kim is called, is not exactly a GQ cover boy. Back in 2005, however, the government did make a proclamation about hair, saying that long locks on men affected brain activity by taking oxygen away from nerves in the head. (They did allow exemptions for longer hair on men who favored the internationally loathed comb-over style.) So Dennis Rodman, make sure your head is appropriately coiffed before you make another buddy visit to your dear friend and style icon, Dear Leader.  

Buck Up, Comrades!

Recently, I saw a news photo of 52 passengers from a Russian research ship that was marooned by a humongous iceberg in Antarctica.

Amazingly, these voyagers were linking arms and gleefully marching across a stretch of ice next to their immobile vessel, and I thought: "Why can't I be more like those happy-go-lucky castaways?"

The group looked like a bundled-up Broadway chorus line or the Von Trapp family, climbing every mountain, except that they were in one of the coldest spots on earth. They had been stranded for more than a week because the ice had looked at them, laughed, and said: "You ain't going nowhere, suckers."  

Of course, turns out that this bunch of stalwarts weren't just taking a brisk walk in frigid temps, they were smoothing out snow with their feet so that a helicopter could land on even ground to rescue them.

But the fact that they performed their task with a smile was amazing. Not even specially-designed ice breaking ships could reach them - thus the need for their eventual escape by aircraft – but the passengers seemed to make the best of their sorry situation. Me, I would have been asking for the manager, a hot toddy and a refund.

You see, here in Philly, we are not exactly hardy when it comes to weather emergencies. In fact, we're exhausted after enduring about a dozen snowstorms this winter.

Back in December, when an unexpected blizzard swept through town, we were elated at the beauty the sudden, pristine snow.

Since that event, not to mention another 70-plus inches of snow, the polar vortex honeymoon is over.

Last Saturday morning, I almost threw in the snow shovel. I was headed out for an overnight winter adventure at the Jersey shore, only to find that my car was being devoured by an ice and snow shelf. Almost on cue, a snow squall started to fall as my arthritic hands made a minimal dent in the gargantuan snow mound and I salted the perimeter of the vehicle with my tears.

 
I was just about to give up, when along came a young man who volunteered to help. He shoveled, salted and pushed my car for 15 minutes. Then another young guy walked by and offered to pitch in. Before long, my two snow angels had rocked my tiny auto back and forth until the wheels stopped spinning and it broke free of its frozen enclave.  

The kindness of the two young strangers gave me hope that perhaps the winter of our discontent had not completely hardened everyone.

Of course, I don't think I'll ever be as upbeat as the passengers on the frozen Russian ship. Grabbing my neighbors and walking cheerfully arm-in-arm down our street, pounding on the accumulated flurries with our tootsies to make the roadway safer for kids, dogs and the elderly just ain't in our Philly future.  

But I promise this: I’ll try to stop complaining about the !*#! weather and toast to my pair of unexpected Knights in Puffy-Coated Armor... at least until that first God-awful heat wave hits.  

REQUIEM FOR A PRINTER

DENIAL: OK, all I have to do is push "print" and I can finally wrap up this nightmare of a writing project - it was a doozy. But why don't I hear the whirl of the document being printed? What the #!*! is wrong with this thing - it can't possibly be broken, I just printed something two minutes ago. A machine cannot work fine one second and magically break down the next. Can it? Did some mysteriously destructive molecule invade the plastic edges of the device while I sat, unsuspecting, at my desk? Maybe if I just turn off the printer and then switch it on again it will kick back up - that seems to work just dandy with my Yugo. Or better yet, I'll shut-off the electricity to the whole house - yeah, that should shock this darn printer back into action, although those steaks in the refrig might take a beating...   

ANGER: Still no luck. I just know some evil genius specifically programs these printers to go on the fritz knowing that I can't possibly work without one and will be forced to replace it, even though this month's MasterCard has a mammoth vet bill for overpriced dog meds, not to mention a brunch or three. And this piece-of-crap machine is only about a year old, which I can absolutely prove once I find the receipt, which I can't because I'm too busy shutting my office windows so I can crazy curse without alarming the neighbors.     

BARGAINING: Ok, girl, compose yourself and Google some info about how to fix a printer. See, you are not alone, there are 2754 postings about easy repairs for broken printers, albeit most of them written in a language that only Ph.D.s in information technology could possibly comprehend. Do I know anything about a system restore, browsers or serial numbers? I do not. So I call my niece, who is besties with a computer guy. After describing my printer dilemma to him, he finally offers some advice in plain English: "Get a shotgun." I'm not sure if he means for me or the printer, but either way, it doesn't look good.  

DEPRESSION: My life sucks and so does this freakin' machine. I may as well give up my job and become a full-fledged recluse because nothing technological ever runs smoothly for poor me.  

ACCEPTANCE: Hello, Giant Office Supply store, I'm here to purchase a new printer and would like to speak with your most knowledgeable expert. Oh, um, hi Brody. Wow, you sure look youthful - how's your sophomore year in high school going? I'm in the market for a reliable printer that's reasonably priced. Oh, you have one on sale for only $49.99? That's certainly affordable. But the printer cartridges are how much? For black and color, $127.50? Looks like the pup won't be getting her cholesterol medication this month. Oh well, what can I do? Time to take this new model home and power her up. But oh dear sweet Lord, is that my laptop screen blinking erratically? Nooooooooooooo! Honestly, that damned thing is practically brand new and it was working PERFECTLY when I left an hour ago ...

A THOUGHT FOR THE AGEISTS...

Ronnie Spector, often referred to as the original bad girl of rock and roll, was scheduled to perform in Cape May, so my sister Re and I decided to buy tickets to see her in concert. She had been married to producer Phil Spector, the whack job who is now in jail for fatally shooting an actress, and was the lead singer of the Ronettes, one of the most popular girl groups from back in the day, which added to her intrigue.

As we were driving to the event, we checked out her bio online, which was rich with tales of her psycho marriage and her connection with mega groups like the Rolling Stones and the Beach Boys.

But there was one cold stat that made both of us say "Uh, oh!" in unison: Ronnie was born in 1943, which made her 70 years old. 

Keep in mind that we are not exactly bathing in the fountain of youth ourselves, but if there is one thing that can make you an ageist, it's finding a performer who is even older than you - and wondering if they can still cut it. 

So we went to the Cape May Convention Center with trepidation...until Ronnie and her band came out on stage.

She was small, she was spunky and she was perpetually smiling. It only took one song for her to erase any prejudice we had about whether a 70-year-old can whoop it up.

Of course, she looked nothing like the promo pictures that advertised her appearance at the shore town. That glam shot was taken a good four decades ago and should be mercifully archived. Ronnie, there's a reason why the government makes you update your driver's license every four years... 

It's true, she didn't strut around or hit the high notes like Tina Turner, but she was engaging, friendly, energetic and eager to entertain. She sashayed across the stage with body language that proved that she could still move like a pro. She wore slim pants that showed off her tight figure and semi-sensible shoes (closed-toe two inch high heels, if you must know the details, ladies), plus a wig that probably weighed more than she did. The flamboyant fake hair gave her the appearance of a young hipster, but the damn thing made her sweat so bad that I wanted to run up on stage and hand her a popsicle or an ice cold washcloth for some relief.

But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to maintain her image as a music icon - and to shut-up those of us who were ready to judge her harshly.  

By the end of the performance, that old girl taught these old girls that you shouldn't judge a book by it's date of publication.

We were guilty of profiling and we got served.

Ronnie rocked.

And when we're 70 - if we're lucky - we naysayers can claim the same damn thing. 

MIGHTY WONDERFUL

I was waiting for a bus at Broad and Christian Streets in downtown Philly when a woman and her small granddaughter walked up to the transportation shelter, smiled, and asked if I was just at the garden party.

Yes, I was.

The garden party was an end-of-the-year celebration at Mighty Writers, a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping children to think and write clearly. 

It was a delightful outdoor event, held at a community garden across the street from Mighty Writers at 15th and Christian. Kids proudly read their stories and poems, siblings had their faces painted, and parents and volunteers munched on hoagies and drank from a keg of root beer. The skies were cloudy, but no raindrops fell on the parade and a fine time was had by all in a little corner of the world.

While the Grandmom and I chatted at the bus stop, I learned that her granddaughter had only attended Mighty Writers for a few weeks, so she did not have a poem or story to share with the audience. But there were free children's books at the party and the little girl seemed thrilled to bring home two of them, shyly clutching on to them like treasures. 

After the bus arrived, we three boarded and I settled into a back seat so I could read my newspaper. As we headed north on Broad Street, however, I was distracted. What was that lovely sound? It was the Mighty Writers girl, a few rows up, proudly reading one of her books aloud to her Grandmom. 

As the bus wound around City Hall, headed toward the Philadelphia Museum of Art and meandered through North Philly, I continued to hear her read and read and read. It was bliss.

I think her words resonated so strongly because it was the first time I ever heard a child reading on public transportation.

I often see little kids riding on buses, but most often, the youngsters sit stoically while Mommy or Daddy chat on their phone, listen to their music or check their Facebook page. I can't recall seeing a child reading, let alone proudly reciting words out loud to an interested adult. 

When the Grandmom gathered their belongings as their stop approached, I asked her if the child would be returning to Mighty Writers.

"She's moving soon, so, unfortunately, no," the Grandmother replied.

That's too bad, I thought, but hoped her brief Mighty Writers tenure made an impression on her.

On that June night, she certainly left an impression on me. 

And wherever she goes, I hope that wonderful child continues to read, write, learn and inspire with all her might.