Choose and navigate down the page from here or, if you have a half hour, just begin scrolling. Archival morsels are: "The Grabby Awards" grab ... "No News Is Good News" baroque... " SL 2000" jog the tooth fairy ... "The Compleat Masochist" fishing ... "Harry Potter and the Ordeal of the Greygreen Bookbogeys" pottermouth ... "Trickster's Box" Viagra ....
A few years ago Dr. Schrapnel helped to judge a fiction contest which honored short story writers who penned the best opening lines (grabbers) for tales published during the previous calendar year. He began his report on the contest with an etymology of the word grab. Below are some of his concluding observations. from "The Grabby Awards"
The most specialized and nostalgic of Grabby genres was Grateful Dead Fiction. The winner here was a fifty-five years old boat detailer from Martha's Vineyard, Hobie Katz. However, Mr. Katz was not in attendance, having mistakenly driven to Rosemont, CA's Quality Inn for the awards dinner instead of the designated and cozy Comfort Inn of Roswell, NM. Criteria for this category was the most specific of all, though shortest. The grabber had to be the "most immediately incoherent and Bill Burroughsish." Hobie Katz grabbed us all with, "I know Sheeba said three parts Barbados rum and two parts chicken broth, but I wondered, if one train leaves Moline for Albany at 8:53 a.m. traveling at 42 mph, and the other leaves Albany for Urbana at 9:07a.m. traveling 33mph, rilly, how many lines must the respective conductors of equal body mass inhale before each obtains oblivion to the fact that Clinton won twice with less than half the votes and the pale green Gore (not Leslie's party) to boot?" Finally, in the category of Literary Mainstream Romance Tragedy, there was Colin and Collette Westerly's intriguing grabber, "When I began to suspect Leontine of swabbing Rogaine in my ears while I slept for the sudden and subsequent growth of hair there fueled my mid-life crises irreparably we likewise had to face the arid verity that divorce loomed like a hungry kite circling nestling woodcocks." The Westerly's masterpiece, which has been nominated for Best American Short Stories, a Pushcart Prize, and a Sherwin-Williams Medal, appeared in the old New England tabloid The Lost Victorian. There were, of course, a dozen more writers who received a Grabby (a pewter, arthritic hand with long fingernails, clutching a plum) but that is all I care to recall today. Oh! Yes, there was the Lifetime Achievement Award given to Robert James Waller, no doubt in hope that maybe now he will just stop writing, period. --- letters --- It is more than important that the great William Shakespeare never used the word grab in his writing. It is because the word and its variants do not appear in English until the early 1800s. You overlooked some additional aspects of the word, such as the children's card game called Grab, the grab bag, and the word for a rapacious person, grab-all. Also, since about 1865, grabby was a service (Naval) term for a foot soldier. You really can be a careless commentator, always in a hurry, out to just grab little the bits of information it takes to piece together an essay. That's why it's hard to believe you some times, I think. Leona Shortbread, Oddville, KY It's always a pleasure to read how successful writers work. Today, so many magazines that are supposed to help beginning writers mostly print interviews with supposedly successful writers that I've never heard of, and then fill up back pages with ads for writers workshops and programs and conferences and retreats and places to order manuscript boxes, along with classifieds where more successful writers I've never heard of offer to edit your manuscript and help you to get it published or looked at by someone else who, for a fee, will make it more publishable. Because of this I have stopped writing poems and now just write letters to writers magazines telling them what I think of their big business approach to a delicate profession and why all the advice in the world cannot make a real writer of the people (probably thousands and thousands) out there who are encouraged to be a writer by unscrupulous, money-grubbing crackpots just out to make some fast bucks by feeding on the distorted egos of so many wannabees. It's a crime. But I must say that your Grabby column was some help. Carmine Degress, Wheeling, WV The decadent, sensationalist nature of television news programing prompted Dr. Schrapnel to suggest we use the word baroque to describe the tenor of such reporting. To verify, he collected the leads and headlines that follow, although this is a very small percentage of the entire collection. Also enlightening are the definitions of baroque. from "No News Is Good News" Use of the plural, news, to designate information, dates from the 15th century, deriving from some Old English words that root with the Germanic neuja. There is the Greek, newos. In Latin we have noverca, stepmother, or ‘she who is new.' This ancient connection with the Latin for stepmother is oddly appropriate (not ironic) given the stereotypical stepmother who is thought to be wicked, grotesque, and interruptive, much like a lot of TV news. Coincidence? Fate? Who cares? To revisit baroque, Milizia writes in the 1797 Dicionario delle belle arti, "Baroque is the ultimate in the bizarre; it is the ridiculous carried to extremes ... a diseased taste ...." The news is baroque, I say, to say the least. But such an argument in the circles I puncture still requires some proof, evidence, facts ... or, as one famous debate coach puts it, "... a little $#!* on the shingles." Here's the scoop: Potency of new illegal drugs at an all-time high, says famous rock group working undercover — Blacks lynch 20 whites in Selma's annual ‘For the Hell of It Days" celebration — Library of Congress latest target in Republican's proposal to trim government agencies — NBC anchor man receives Hitler Medal over anchors from rival networks — Boeing delays addressing several thousand defects in planes, mechanics — Professor who married a dozen of his undergraduate students in nine years turns gay — Survey shows that 70% of Americans are overweight and own video cameras — New cancer drug that causes penis growth in lab rats gets go ahead — Alzheimer's control group missing — Books suck, claims new survey by TV networks — New evidence links variety of inks to cancer, blindness — Is your mechanic charging you too much? — Old Seminole chief shares delicious recipes for manatee — Widower suspected of cannibalizing wife, children, and in-laws gets Montana Democratic nomination — LaChoy buys Purina, Science Diet, and southern California's largest iguana farm — Microsoft purchases US House of Representatives, several Rembrandts. Perhaps I should pull the old rest-my-case trick now, but what the hell is going on out there? Is this the best that broadcast journalism (GERMalism a friend calls it) can do? Are violent crimes, perversions, catastrophes, man's inhumanity to everything, and general weirdness ...are these all that constitute news now? Huh? Huh? Huh! --- letters --- If you don't like the news, and reality makes you squirm and worry, then why didn't you just take that trip with the Heaven's Gate nutsos a while back? It's not too late to catch up, you whiney, half-baked poor excuse for a critic -- literary, cultural, or whatever. The world we live in is fast- paced and sometimes dangerous, and even crackpots like you are entitled to know that. The news is there to keep you informed and on guard. And even you have said yourself in writing that a lot of the human race is terribly flawed and dangerous ... I mean, if you don't like what's going on out there, then just ignore it like the rest of your airhead college prof friends and stay in the library or your office. Let the real teachers, the reporters, alone to do their jobs. -- Prizzy Canyon, Hollywood Correspondent, ABC News Few anchors or reporters on today's TV news venues have reputable degrees or serious expertise in true journalism, although most have pretty faces and trained voices, an agent, and a sponsor who is a major player in the upscale clothing industry. In short, TV journalism is primarily showbiz. I expect that in the future schools of journalism by necessity will no longer be affiliated with college English departments (and thus kooks like you), since their logical and proper domain now lies somewhere between the departments of business and theater. -- Edgar R. Burrows, Emeritus Professor of Religion, Jesus Christ State College, MD In 1994, Dr. Schrapnel began his annual bombast, "Schrapnel's List," where he singles out words and phrases that he thinks deserve more widespread usage to prevent said language gems from slipping out of communication circulation. Here is an excerpt from the most current of the lists. from "SL 2000" Another snippet of informal, yet clever, usage that I heard and witnessed last month on campus is jog the tooth fairy. It is used in the sense of prodding someone out of speechlessness by sudden physical intervention, like the flick of a finger against the cheek or jaw of the tongue-tied one, or, if the non-speaker is especially adamant, the out-and-out clobbering of the pseudo-dumb with a loaded book bag: "Kapogk!" [that's the onomatopoeic sound of one book bag meeting the side of someone's head]. Results are occasionally dramatic, sometimes requiring the intervention of paramedics. However, do not confuse jogging the tooth fairy with the earlier list item arnold friendly fire. AFF is verbal, although it may contain veiled bodily threats. JTF is a purely physical method of jump starting conversation. It can produce minor cuts or abrasions, or a token concussion, while AFF just intimidates, only sometimes stimulating glands or organs whose sudden discharges will be humiliating. Also, jog the tooth fairy conjures great visual and folkloristic associations, albeit the associations are severely twisted in its context. Jog can mean to stimulate or produce a reminder, as in to jog one's memory. And jogging is an activity of upwardly mobile young adults (and a few swinging old drones) that requires rapidly placing one foot in front of the other to the end that one achieves a motion, or locomotion, that resembles running. It is thought to be a sign of the physically, spiritually, and financially fit. Indeed jogging has Freudian undercurrents of Neanderthaloid dimensions. The Tooth Fairy, of course, is that mythological sprite who swaps money (usually shiny coins) for the lost baby teeth that youngsters place under their pillows before falling off to sleep in the night. Consequently, Tooth Fairy can no longer be found on the NASDAQ or New York exchanges, but she still holds a warm seat in our archetypal and childhood memories. --- letters --- You're so wrong. There's nothing mythy about the Tooth Fairy. She even comes in the daytime when you pretend you're napping and you put a tooth under your pillow. Because I caught her in my guppie net and put her in with Zilla, my iguana, who knocked three teeth out running around trying to catch her. She's really fast. But I finally let her go. I found six quarters under Zilla's water dish. But I only got one for my front tooth. But I think maybe she learned her lesson because when Shawn knocked out my other front tooth yesterday with his hockey stick I put it under my pillow and woke up and found seven shiny dimes. And I think she makes necklaces out of all us kid's tooths and sells them to Trolls. --- Birch Marx, Orlando, FL This most recent list of yours is too top heavy in phrases that raise visions of violence. There's enough violence in our society without critical etymologists like yourself fueling fires by trying to get people to use terms like "jog the tooth fairy," and "arnold friendly fire." I hope you get sued by Joyce Carol Oates, you sick creep. Or, I wish someone would come along and cut off your hands and rip out your tongue so you can't spread any more of your incendiary baloney. --- Violet Grey, Berkeley, CA The word origins of fishing and angling laid bare, Dr. Schrapnel questions the logic of calling fishing fishing, then wanders into an analogy between fishing and loving that is reinforced by a pair of frustrated readers. Do you remember that sappy Piña Colada song? from "The Compleat Masochist" To move on then, to call fishing fishing smacks terribly optimistic, because rarely do you catch a fish during said endeavor. More often than a piscatorial prizes the angler hooks a turtle, weeds, rocks, fallen trees or branches, a hellbender, a screen window or door, discarded plastic six-pack carriers, pants, shirts, a vest, a rusty anchor or chain, a corpse, a power cable or phone line, lost fishing line with/without lures attached, nets, snorkelers, bread wrappers, the traditional rubber tire or boot. You don't. Neither does the hunter always kill his sought prey. But, does the deer hunter call his pursuance deering, the elk hunter elking, the bear hunter bearing, the duck hunter ducking? Gosh no. Yet, they are all hunters, as fishermen are. So why not cast away the term fishing and employ hunting to include the quest for fish as well? Can you not see the logic of the nomenclature suggestion here, as well as the illogic that prompts it? Hasn't anyone already thought of this? Or, why not call fishing bait casting (as a few do), or lure slinging, or bank posing, or boat sitting, or wife dodging, or fish fooling, although much of the fish-fooler's time is spent being fooled and foiled by creatures whose IQs are significantly lower than the water temperature of any body of water on the planet. Scratch fish fooling. On the other foot, what is it about fishing that frequently moved my grandfather, G.R.E. Schrapnel, to romantic allegories? Granschrap once declared, "Life is a lake and love is the lunkers." (Lunker is fishing jargon for a very formidable example of a species, what grandpa also called a "big-ass bass" when appropriate.) Granschrap was a true angler/philosopher -- an Ichtheologist he called himself -- who never quite got his post-Santiago Romanticism into remission, thanks partly to the evil Viagra. But I recall one particular campfire digression during this last year of his life ... we were near Chautauqua and probably lost ... but comfortable and warm ... and although we were theoretically on a fishing trip, we had not seen water for days, save what remained in our canteens .... --- letters --- ... I must confess that I do see sometimes a valid parallel between fishing, and finding a good mate. When I return home from a fishing trip, especially when it has been a fruitless outing, my first impulse is to make love to my wife. She usually insists that I shower first. But she doesn't seem to care whether I've brought home some wild delicacy for dinner. She is a sterling human being, and I love her. Thus I think that fishing is a way for men to come to appreciate women more fully. -- Wick Moronski, New Prague, NY My husband is an avid angler, and when he returns from a fishing trip (usually one where he caught nothing) he always wants to make love. His desire is intense, even after I make him take a shower. But the foreplay he insists on usually wears him out. He has me impale his bare back and shoulders with two or three lures whose hooks he has made barbless for this ritual by compressing them with pliers, so the hooks don't tear the flesh too terribly when they are yanked out. Then he rolls naked on the bedroom shag as I whip him with a fiberglass fishing rod. Within two or three minutes he experiences premature ejaculation and falls asleep. I swab his cuts with Bactine, then curl up with the latest issue of House Beautiful. After many years of this, my hatred of maleness seems to be subsiding and taking the form of piteous bewilderment. --Muffinetta Moronski, New Prague, NY Just in time for Halloween . . . amazed with the tenor of popular and critical reception for J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books, and a little embarrassed by some of the remarks of reviewers and critics (peers and colleagues) concerning the literary merits of Ms. Rowling's work, Dr. Schrapnel is goaded to add his proverbial two cents (actually more in the neighborhood of a quarter) to the controversy. In the process he coins pottermouth, a noun and a verb. Much of the excerpt here first appeared last winter in The Journal of Cultural Calamity, and recently in Oasis as part of "SL 2000." "Harry Potter and the Ordeal of the Greygreen Bookbogeys" But like it or not book buffs, reviewers, critics . . . Harry Potter Rules! Yes, so terribly popular is the J.K. Rowling fantasy series that the New York Times was pressured by several major, mortified American publishing houses to reclassify the works as children's books to make room at the top of "their" bestseller list for more $#!% by . . . oh, you know. They rilly did. Meanwhile, reviewers and critics continue to debate the strengths and weaknesses of Rowling's writing, while some dip so low as to chastise and demean the millions of adults who plunge into this world of wizardom as eagerly as their kids. Certainly the awesome vogue of Harry Potter can leave no doubts about Ms. Rowling's prowess as a first-rate storyteller. And narrative savy is one of the primary attributes of great writers. However, it should take years to sort out and enumerate in writing the "literary merits." But that doesn't stop some reviewers and their ilk from cranking out pompous declarations and denouncements about the author's over-use of clichés, her naive choice of good vs. evil (and the conflicting nature of power) as her dominant theme, and her generally outrageous good fortune at becoming popular and wealthy almost overnight. Plus, she's a blonde, and fairly attractive. That really ticks off some of the hard-working intellectuals who have devoted their lives to writing about supposedly real literature, and who secretly lust to score/write something like a blockbuster bestseller so they can tell their college prez to "take this job and shove it." You know, the old Johnny Paycheck trick. So, we need a word for those short-changed literary experts; those nay-saying, scholarly perusers of the printed pages; the lofty, ad hominem snorting, sorry sorts who earned a few hundred dollars over the past thirty years from their three or four books published by university presses. Curmudgeon won't do. And cretin is too cruel. Crackpot ain't bad, but . . . . So, what DO you call a person who badmouths the saga of Harry Potter? How about pottermouth? Reminiscent of potty mouth -- someone who uses obscene or inappropriate language excessively -- a pottermouth (n.) is one who puts down and/or trash talks anything or anyone that becomes too quickly popular or successful, in particular the Harry Potter novels. One may also pottermouth (v.) things like Who Wants to be a Millionaire?, Titanic, The Sopranos, Pepsi One, cellular phones, the PT Cruiser . . . or The Puppy Channel. A pottermouth might have a potty mouth too. And recall that potty, in British slang, means something of little importance, trivial; slightly intoxicated; crazy, addlebrained, or eccentric. Too often those book mavens writing in the popular presses simply spew out a bunch of wisecracks and insults about the novel or author under review. No analysis takes place, and therefore it is not genuine literary criticism. Or they will blow the whole thing for you by rehashing the plot and its closure; again, not literary criticism (rilly) but a few columns of addlebrained crap banged off by someone who is either crippled with self-importance, or literaryily challenged, or both. Thus the association of pottermouth with potty mouth seems distantly appropriate. A pottermouth is the pop culture equivalent of the iconoclast so full of passionate intensity that the center of his/her declaration will not hold. For there are things archetypal, patterns universal and therefore important, in Ms. Rowling's books. But now I begin to ooze, to slide toward debatable topics and extended definitions as to the nature of true literature and criticism. Any of you adventurous ones out there know that I've already settled that in past essays. So just buy my damn book (Flapdragon), and wish me luck finding a publisher for the next one (The Professor's New Clothes). Meanwhile, Joanne, go on busting their gourds. I love it. --- letters --- Schrapnel, you are indeed a dim-wit whose capacity for understanding and appreciating canonical literature is dubious at best. The Harry Potter series is juvenile, intended for a young, moderately educated audience. You are at home there. So don't try to tell readers (hopefully you have very few) that Ms. Rowling's work deserves the attention of serious literary scholars. They're kiddy tripe, and not even scary. The possibility that someone may read you and believe you is far more terrifying than anything Rowling has created, except possibly the Dementors of book three, The Prisoner of Azkaban. The creatures are reminiscent of the graduate English department faculty at Duke, and possibly Georgetown, both from which I fled in the early eighties to avoid deconstruction and become a junior copyeditor at the New York Review of Books. -- Lars Borden, New York, NY By supporting Harry Potter you are jumping a ride on the Diablerie Bandwagon. Like so many people have rightly observed, Rowling's books are an endorsement of black magic, sorcery, and the workings of the devil himself. They are an evil influence on those who would read them. You'll see. So when Governor Bush is elected the next president of these United States, and they build a bonfire and burn such evil books and those who write them, I hope they also include those "literary critics" who had the deranged, misguided nerve to say anything good about them. Burn critic, burn! -- Flobelle Pales, Armadillo, TX J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books actually wrestle with numerous spiritual and psychological issues, and tackle some noble themes, that have been surprisingly overlooked by many readers and reviewers. They are good reading for young people and adults, and not a collection of devilish clap-trap. I believe Joan Acocella sets the Quidditch balls rolling in the right direction with her insightful critique in the July 31, 2000 issue of The New Yorker. It's a piece that ought to be read by all who love (or hate) Rowling's work, or who can't decide whether to start reading it. Those high-roller scholars and academics who have panned Rowling because they don't think she's another Shakespeare, or written another Moby-Dick, or can't pen elegant sentences ripe with flowing syntax and rich, original metaphors ought to read Ms. Acocella as well. Maybe they should read you too sometimes, but only in the bathroom. -- Jane Potter, Key West, FL "Pressure," Dr. Schrapnel once noted, "comes in bewildering flavors." And appalled by his elderly father's behavior after a few weeks of taking potency drugs ... well, see for yourself. At last report, BMWS was still writing on this subject, and the senior Schrapnel (a widower) was still getting arrested on misdemeanors, like loitering you-know-where, and wallowing around in the shallow end of the gene pool. from "Trickster's Box" Just when you think it's safe to behave maturely ... after your testosterone levels peak and wane and begin to cut you a break, and you proceed to enjoy and appreciate the usual focus and tranquility of middle age and beyond . . . gaggles of perverts masquerading as doctors and scientists invent and market Viagra, and its ilk. You know, those erection tablets reputed to restore the phallus and testicles to the glories of youthdom, ever ready to take on an equally re-hornied female population invested in lyposuction, breast implants, even both-sexes miracle herbals that mock and rival Viagra. What is it with this you[th] culture [sic] we are said to inhabit here in Uhmerika (with apologies to Earl Pitts)? Whose idea is it that men and/or women ought to go all the way through life with a closet boner, or lots of non-grey hair, or no fat/cellulite (remember that?) bodies, a bubbly vagina, or a killer bosom? Who sets these eternal standards of behavior, appearances, expectations? Why? From where spring the Carpé Diem Fairies who push and peddle those pseudo eternal youth chemicals and rituals that tempt one of our most valuable resources (those who survived with some honor their decades of lust and carousing, and now pursue wisdom) the 45+ generation, to slide back and embrace once more the chaos of emergence and uncontrollable sexual urges? I have an idea. But you must be more interested in where the name Viagra comes from, or you wouldn't be here. Right? And as usual, etymology harbors more than a few clues and cautions about this evil phenomenon. Viagra is a poorly disguised compound noun with roots in the Bubonic dialect Keeponploogin, a complex language of the Bubon holy men known for their love charms and potions. Viag, the Bubonic god of fertility and fornication in this pre-Sumerian civilization, late in his reign becomes the husband of Ra, the nymphomaniacal goddess of spherical fruits and vegetables. But during the first several centuries of their existence in the polytheistic Over- world of the Bubons, Viag and Ra are ancient ‘swingin' singles' who openly despise each other. It is written in cuneiform texts that the energy from their mutual contempt is what enables them to outlive all of the other gods of their domain. For in Bubonic mythology the gods are not exactly immortal, but manage to live a hell of a lot longer than humans. Thus when Viag and Ra are the only gods left in Bubonic heaven, their loneliness drives them to marriage in order to create another mega-generation of gods to wreak mischief and occasional enlightenment upon the earth-bound Bubons. Unfortunately, their very old age initially curtails, if not prevents, them from copulating and reproducing. Thus the great flood motif so prominent in the later Gilgamesh epic, and much later in Genesis, also occurs in Bubonic myth, the cause being the great tears and saliva spawned by the disappointment and frustration of the god and goddess on their wedding night. In contrast to many comparable flood legends, many Bubons survive the deluge because they are by nature prolific boaters and world class swimmers. But if comparative religion teaches us nothing else, it at least demonstrates that gods will be gods. And after three hundred years of no poontang, Ra remembers a rare bush of the Crazian Woods that produces box-like pods full of berries which can be used to restore youthful sexual potency and desire. She can't recall the name of the plant, but she does find it. She makes a croissant-like pastry that indeed restores the couple to a performance level like that of young ferrets. Unfortunately again, however, and without explanation, the dozen offspring that Viag and Ra produce are all certifiable idiots, even by the loose human standards of the time. Before ever reaching their rites of initiation, the sons and daughters, one and all, perish in freaky, tragic accidents: falling off of a mountain, impaling themselves on a great cedar while chasing shepherds, drowning in a volcano, and even swallowing too much sand during the annual hour glass competition, thus suffocating, and so on. Finally, Viag and Ra are consumed in a great fire ignited by passionate, clumsy lovemaking during their second honeymoon in the Forest of Exxon. Sadly too, in the last book of Bubonic mythology, "The Noisy Morons," Viag and Ra come off as demented, aged sex maniacs, and heavy smokers. They are secretly reviled by the mortals bound to worship them, because rather than bestowing the lessons and wisdom of great experience traditionally acquired by godheads, Viag and Ra just seem to keep everyone awake at night with their orgasmic screams and groans that echo through the land of the Bubons both day and dark. Bubonic oral history also blames the defeat of the Bubon army (by invading tribes of nomadic dwarfs in the 18th century BC) on the development of a cultural insomnia (thanks to Viag and Ra) that makes their soldiers sluggish. For the Bubons by then had come to worship clandestinely Lobotomus, god of slowness and mindless cheer, who had in fact been dead for centuries and was not coming back. However . . . -- letters -- Hogwash, Schrapnel! Viagra (rhymes with Niagra) gets its name ironically from an ancient Grecain waterfall where the forest nymphs bathed. Also, I think you mis-imply that Viagra is a hormone, when in fact it is a perfectly legal aphrodisiac prescribed by doctors. If this isn't enough to get you sued and kicked off the internet, then at least it should bring on torrents of bad email that will clog and fry your server and computer and make your web host think twice about allowing you online. It's bad enough that your regular columns caused me to cancel my subscription to the Journal of Cultural Calamity (and even Oasis where they were reprinted); but now I don't even feel like buying a bigger screen for my PC. Drop dead, kill-joy. -- Mercutio "Brad" Peebles, Wulfteat, MN Oh Schrap thou art sick! I paraphrase here William Blake's "The Sick Rose." It's ironic because the poorly disguised revulsion that Blake had for sex is rampant in your sick piece, "Trickster's Box." And I know that the trickster character of Native American folklore kept his penis in a box and he could make it swim across a river to impregnate unsuspecting maidens and he didn't even have to be there. I won't speculate what you mean by such a title, except that it's something dirty. Bottom line is, though, you should let the old fogeys go on and enjoy life however they can with whatever it takes, and not write such alarmist crap. Maybe if older folks can keep having sex like us younger people (maybe even with us), we wouldn't have such disturbing generation gaps. -- Eustacia Marie Blonk, Cultural Studies Major, Princeton University You come off like some kind of reborn Calvinist with that piece on sildenafil citrate (Viagra). I'm not sure that potency drugs or aphrodisiacs in the hands of the wrong people are such a good idea either, especially when so many of the retired and the elderly live in inferior dwellings like trailer parks and cheap Florida condos that can hardly handle a good thunderstorm, let alone geriatric orgies. But I've noticed that the Viagra people do put warnings about side effects on their product. For instance-- "In the rare event of an erection lasting more than 4 hours, seek immediate medical help." Right. When I tried to call my doctor, my lady friend damn near broke my hand with one of those detachable bed posts. I guess I'm feeling mixed emotions about all of this stuff. So I still swear by vitamin E and oysters. -- ED, Cape Cod, MA