There's so much stuff to be anxious about. Sometimes it's relaxing to just kick back on the couch and turn on the television and... Uh-oh. Here's New York Mayor Bloomberg giving a droning speech on CNN at a press conference addressing our move to Terror Threat Level Orange: "Don't worry... The professionals are handling everything..." Yes, well, that's what scares me.

So what the hell is Level Orange, anyway? I can never keep these things straight. Is yellow higher than orange? Is blue higher than green? And if a color changes, should I alter my daily routine in some clever and defensive manner, like taking a different route to work?

I've said this before, but they should have stuck to the stoplight metaphor because we all know that one. But no, we've got this piece of garbage that was thought up on somebody's cocktail napkin after three martinis, so we'd better figure it out. Clearly, it isn't an informational paradigm in the common sense of the term. It's more like a meter of governmental irritability, meaning that you could use this cute li'l graphic to estimate the amount of hassle you'll encounter at the airport, f'rinstance. But it's insufficient in some way...Perhaps we need something else.

Terror Threat Levels We'd Like to See

Sooner or later, you realize that our government doesn't see itself as an expression of the will of the people. I hear some senator yapping about how much he's looking forward to "serving" the people of his state, I know I'm being had. But some lies are harder to detect than others, so what we need is the citizen's equivalent of Hemingway's "built-in, shock-proof, bullshit detector." Looks like this:

Level Inane. This is the standard operating level of the administration. Business as usual. If you have a budget, better spend it all. It's your basic level of bureaucratic crap, and you'll know it when you hear the key phrases, "Can I help you?" "Dear Taxpayer," "God Bless America," etc. It means you'll live.

Level Preposterous. The White House is going to mess with you a bit. They want something, and they'd prefer to keep you in the dark about it. In a company, you'd notice this when management is grouped over by the door and whispering over a floorplan chart. We move to Blue when you hear, "We're exploring the situation," "Our allies have assured us," "We're working with both sides of the aisle," etc. It means start worrying.

Level Inchoate. This isn't good. You're getting mixed signals. The government is acting on somebody's behalf, and it clearly isn't yours. We go to Yellow when you hear, "Manage our domestic resources," "Good for business," "Securing our interests." It means be paranoid.

Level Asinine. You are losing a sense of what is real. You are now the enemy and you're guilty until and unless you can prove otherwise. New agencies are forming without your knowledge and the administration is an out-of-control freight train of evil barreling down the tracks of insanity. Go to Orange at the mention of "Tactical nuclear devices," "France is no longer an ally," "Leave it to the professionals." It means turn off the TV.

Level Intolerable. You can't ignore what's happening because you're now in a state of total fear. Assume everything you do and say is monitored and recorded. All media return equivalent values. The people manning the checkpoints have uniforms and insignia you've never seen before. We move to Red when your neighbors are spying on you, and you know that because you're spying on them. It means stockpile weapons.

So today we moved from Inchoate to Asinine. Various members of our leadership took their turn at the microphones, making vague warnings about "unknown threats" that may be conventional, biological, or nuclear. This may be true, but we have no way of knowing—the Freedom of Information Act has been suspended for all inquiries relating to national security. We're three moves behind on the chessboard and nobody was looking at the cameras as they told us to "go about your business."

7:07:17 PM       

Today's lineup is all about "I want it," and "You can't have it." Either way, the Magic Bus got you through the week to Friday, and riding the wave of Time from your vantage point of an eternal Now, you gauge your progress by the changing scenery outside the windows. So where are you going?

I'm So Nervous

Salman Rushdie was sitting and smiling at an appearance he made Thursday night at the University of South Florida.

Turns out our favorite fatwa survivor is quite the comedian. This surprised everyone as he began to rattle off side-splitting quips on all sorts of subjects. For instance:

Rushdie on discretion: "I'm not going to talk about the Ayatollah Khomeini. I'd invite you to notice that one of us is dead."

Rushdie on sex and drugs at college: "There was all that stuff going on and I was studying for exams. Once I finished with exams, I caught up."

Rushdie on writing for the New York Times: "I got tired of having to have an opinion every month. I don't have 12 opinions a year."

Rushdie on evolution: "If (Charles) Darwin were able to visit Kansas in 1999, he would find living proof that natural selection doesn't always work."

Rushdie on education: "I think reading is good for you. Not only my books. But particularly my books."

On a more serious note, here's his response to a woman who asked him why he's a writer: "The reason I do it is that I love it," he said. "That's the only reason. I'd do it if nobody paid me. It's my way of understanding the world."

Her House Is Only Another Mile

That's what crazed stalker Paul Seidler knew about his ex-girlfriend, because he'd installed a GPS satellite tracking device behind the grill of her car. Milwaukee resident Connie Adams began to suspect something was odd when Seidler began showing up every place she went, as he'd promised he would.

"He told me no matter where I went or what I did, he would know where I was," Adams testified at a recent court hearing.

Every Day You'll See the Dust

This seems to be the message a group of New York Libertarians had for the children of East Harlem when they showed up to distribute free water pistols outside a grade school. As bad ideas go, you'd have to rank this one pretty high up the list. Here's local resident Regina Littles screaming at the Pistol Posse to "Get out of Harlem!" See, the Libertarians are upset that New York lawmakers are considering a ban on imitation guns that "substantially duplicate" real weapons. So they figured they'd head to the ghetto and arm up the youngsters in advance. Idiots.

The enraged crowd that quickly formed around the "seven guys in suits" prevented the kids from getting squirt guns and drove the loonies off in under 30 minutes. Guess that's because they've already seen enough guns in their neighborhood.

You Can't Have It!

That message was delivered last summer to Brian Bartley, owner of Bartley's Dockside restaurant in Kennebunk, Maine. He's back in the news because his lawsuit is coming up this month.

His troubles started when a town official got upset at Bartley's terrace umbrellas, specifically the ones advertising Hebrew National Beef Franks. As you can see in the picture, he was forced to cover the words up. The official, Paul A. Demers, who is the town's code enforcement officer, said the words "Hebrew National" were "personally offensive" to him, and "they have to go."

This isn't kosher in my book. We've got a petty panjandrum enforcing his bigoted vision of an anti-Semitic wonderland on his community, and that isn't how we do things in America.

Ronald R. Coles filed the federal civil rights suit on behalf of Bartley's, claiming the town violated the restaurant's right to free speech.

I Don't Care How Much I Pay

So says Munising High School junior Alex Johnson, who has amassed an incredible 3,500 bags of Cheetos in his locker.

I hate to be the one to tell him, but kid, you only need around a thousand bags to get you through to summer break. Take it easy on the snacks. Anyway, one of Johnson's teachers noticed the collection and notified Frito-Lay, who think that maybe they've got the next Jared on their hands. So they sent the product mascot—Chester Cheeto—to the school in order to personally deliver a scroll to Johnson that certifies him as an "honorary deputy of cheese."

"I think it's unusual and funny that this has actually happened," Johnson said. "It's kind of cheesy."

12:41:23 PM