Table of Contents
Title Page
Preface
PART ONE - Daily Life
WE’RE WASTING AWAY
JUST ANOTHER DAY
STATES BY THE NUMBERS
WEATHERING THE STORM
FORGET THE BIRTHDAY GREETINGS
THE JUNK BUILDING BOOM
LIFE BECOMES LESS NEIGHBORLY
THE RETRACTABLE WEDDING
BETTER BY FAR
WEDDING DUMBBELLS
A JOB EASILY DONE
SOME THOUGHTS ON VACATIONS
THE SMELL OF A NEW CAR
EXPENSIVE BED, BAD BREAKFAST
THE RAIN IN SPAIN AND HERE
RING A DING DING
EASY PASS FOR AIRLINES
THE AGONY OF FLIGHT
GOING NOWHERE FAST
TAKE A STAY HOME VACATION
THE PERFECT PAT DOWN PERSON
TECHNOLOGICALLY ILLITERATE
NO-SHOW REPAIR PEOPLE
A NAME IS A BRAND WE’RE GIVEN
SNOWY THOUGHTS IN SUMMER
SIZING THINGS UP
MERRY CHRISTMAS FOR ALL
SORTING WELL-AGED FROM OLD
THE SOUND OF SILENCE
DON’T MESS WITH MY GRASS
NOTES ON THE NEWS
PART TWO - Feeling Philosophical
THE EVIL THAT MEN DO
THE TERROR GOBLIN
PRO- AND ANTI-SEMITISM
ANTI-ISRAEL, NOT ANTI-SEMITIC
WHO? ME WORRY?
NOT A LOVERS’ QUARREL
THE HISTORY OF HISTORY
FAITH IN SCIENCE
VOUCHERS FOR ATHEISTS, TOO
WAR IS HEAVEN
HUMAN AND INHUMAN NATURE
NO WOMEN ALLOWED
ARCHITECTURE AS ART
IS IT MUSIC OR NOISE?
TOO TRUE TO BE GOOD
FOR IT AND AGAINST IT
WHAT GOETH BEFORE FALLING
LEAVE NO WAR BEHIND
TO CATCH A THIEF
USING THE FLAG
BROKAW: ANCHOR AWAY
NOT ABOUT THE POPE
TOO MANY CHURCHES
THE KORAN IS THEIR BIBLE
MURDER MOST VILE
PART THREE - On Food and Drink
WAR ON A FULL STOMACH
VIVE LA FRENCH FOOD
FOOD FOR THOUGHTLESS
BETRAYED BY AN APPETITE
COOKING’ S THE THING WHEN VACATION COMES AROUND
THE KITCHEN SINK IN COOKIES
SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT DRINKING
WE AREN’T WHAT WE EAT
THE MORE YOU EAT
PART FOUR - At Work and in the Newsroom
IT’S TIME TO REARRANGE TIME
READING TIME
MY NAME’S BEEN STOLEN
ON LIKING YOUR WORK
FREE SPEECH
NO NEWS IS BAD NEWS
A REPORT ON REPORTING
DON’T STOP THE PRESSES!
LIFE IS GOOD . . . OR AT LEAST FAIRLY GOOD
NOT THE RETIRING KIND
PART FIVE - The Nation at War
THOUGHTS ON A PEACETIME WAR
DIPLOMACY: LYING POLITELY
UNINFORMED AND MISINFORMED
THE ASHCROFT ISSUE
A WAR OF WORDS
A GEOGRAPHY LESSON
A PREEMPTIVE STRIKE
TO WAR OR NOT TO WAR
OUR UN-UNITED NATION
THE PRESIDENT AND HISTORY
MUSLIMS AND DEMOCRACY
THE LOOTER MENTALITY
A VOTE AGAINST DEMOCRACY
WORDS DON’T DO IT
ELECTING A DICTATOR
TALK TO US, GEORGE
APOLOGIZING FOR APOLOGIZING
HEROES DON’T COME WHOLESALE
GOOD DAYS, BAD DAYS
WE SHOULD LEAVE WHILE WE’RE BEHIND
NEVER MIND WHO WON
TORTURE, AMERICAN STYLE
NO EASY ANSWERS
PART SIX - On Politics
LIBERAL IS A DIRTY WORD
ELECTION DAY
JUDGING THE JUDGES
NO UNCONVENTIONAL CONVENTIONS
BEATING AROUND BUSH
WE NEED SMARTER LEADERS
CLINTON AND BUSH
YOU DO, I THINK
THE POWER OF A PRESIDENT
SCHWARZENEGGER FOR PRESIDENT
THE PERSON YOU ELECTED
WHICH SIDE ARE YOU ON?
THE GOOD LOSERS
EINSTEIN FOR PRESIDENT
HOORAY FOR POLITICIANS
CRAB GRASSROOTS CAMPAIGNING
A PHONE CALL TO REMEMBER
IN BED WITH BUSINESS
TIME—BOTH OFF AND ON
A NOTHING-NOTHING TIE IN D.C.
GOOD PRESIDENT, BAD PRESIDENT
DIVIDED WE STAND
NO MORE GAS GUZZLING
NOT AN INTERVIEW WITH BUSH
EX-PRESIDENTIAL PERKS
TALKING HEADS
WORKING FOR BUSH
THE KYOTO DECISION
PART SEVEN - My Life
HOPELESSLY COPELESS
ON BEING A COLLEGE PRESIDENT
CARS I HAVE KNOWN
ANOTHER LOST WEEKEND
REUNION: TO GO OR NOT TO GO?
THE KASHMIR EXPERT
MAN IS DOGS’ BEST FRIEND
YOU’VE PROBABLY HAD IT
A LESS THAN MERRY CHRISTMAS
TALKING THE TALK
MISSING FIVE HOURS
THINGS I LOVE TO HATE
PURSUIT OF TRUTH, NOT FICTION
A SHIP AT SEA
A STAR-SPANGLED TRIP
THINGS TO DO TODAY
HOW TO SLEEP
A FULL HOUSE
THE V-E DAY I KNOW
FUGEDDABOUTIT
FOOD FOR HOLIDAY THOUGHTS
PART EIGHT - On Money
OUR POOR ARE RICH
IT CALLS FOR A REVOLUTION
FREE ENTERPRISE ANARCHY
ALL HAIL THE RICH!
THE BILLION-DOLLAR POOH
NAME LOTTERY LOSERS
THE HORSE RACE ECONOMY
IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID
RICH MAN, POORMAN, BEGGAR MAN
THE SAVING GRACE
ALL PLAY AND NO WORK
FREE ENTERPRISE IS EXPENSIVE
WRITE TAX LAWS IN ENGLISH
RAISING MY BLOOD PRESSURE
WHAT GOES UP NEVER COMES DOWN
THE GAS BILL
DON’T BE GREEDY
THE BUSINESS OF WAR
PART NINE - The English Language
ENGLISH FOREIGN TO TOO MANY
ENGLISH AS SHE IS SPOKE
DOWN WITH THE SEMICOLON
THE SOPRANOS, A BASE VOICE
LAW AMONG THE SORRY LOTT
ENGLISH ISN’T EASY
THE COMPLEXITIES OF LANGUAGE
A FEW WORDS ON WORDS
THE HANDWRITTEN WORD
PART TEN - The Sports Fan
THE GOOD-BAD WORLD OF SPORTS
THE TROUBLE WITH BASEBALL
EAT YOUR HEART OUT
WHY I LOVE THE GIANTS
PITCH AWAY FROM BALLGAME
NOT WATCHING TELEVISION
BEFORE JOINING THE HUDDLE . . .
TOO MANY GAMES
IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN SUPER
Copyright Page
PREFACE
I thought to myself, lying in bed one night, in an uncharacteristic moment of modesty, “How much do I have to say that anyone cares about reading?”
If you write for a living, you have to put modesty out of your mind. It is a great privilege to have something you have written preserved in type and printed as a book.
One thing I know is, you can make an essay out of anyth
ing. There are times when I’ve written on subjects about which I know very little. A writer can do that. He has the advantage of being able to look things up, to ask questions of other people more knowledgeable than he. He can sit back and think before putting anything down on paper. This puts the writer one up on readers and often makes him sound smarter than he is. I try to do that. It doesn’t seem dishonest. I comb my hair and try to wear decent clothes so I’ll look better than I would naked, so why shouldn’t I try to write in a style that makes me sound smarter and more interesting than I am?
This book is made up of all essays. The essay is a grand and classic writing format. Igor Stravinsky, the musician, tried to write at one point in his career. He said, “I experience a sort of terror if I sit down to work and find an infinity of possibilities open to me. No effort is conceivable.”
Stravinsky said he conquered that terror by turning his creative urge to the seven notes of the scale and writing music. “For then I have something solid and concrete,” he said. “I am saved from the anguish of unconditional liberty.”
I turn not to the piano, but to the essay form. The essay offers a writer a great deal of freedom but falls short of offering the “unconditional liberty” that stopped Stravinsky. The essay provides a writer boundaries within which he can go to work. Confinement is conducive to creativity.
I am not a great writer, but I don’t write badly very often. This passes for good writing. As a matter of fact, there’s just so much good writing anyone can take. To some extent, it’s like acting. If you notice the acting, it probably isn’t good. Good writing shouldn’t call a lot of attention to itself, either.
Something happens to a lot of people when they write. Their voice changes—even on paper. They tighten up and are not themselves. One thing of which I am certain is that no one writes as he speaks and no one speaks as he writes. When a writer is faced with the choice of styles, it is always better if he writes more like he speaks. If you know the writer, you should be able to hear his voice as you read the words.
You can’t take the idea too far because when we talk we are hesitant, discursive and repetitive. If you make a verbatim transcript of a conversation, it invariably needs to be heavily edited before being printed.
The writer gets a good break in newspapers. His or her name is right there up front, available for credit or blame on whatever has been written. In the arts, it has always bothered me that the writer takes last place. The credits on a movie or a play almost always list the writer in small type where it’s hard to find. I never knew why this was because actors are a dime a dozen and good writers are hard to find. The production of a play or a movie or the publication of a book stands still until the writer gets the words down on paper. No one can do anything until the manuscript appears. There are a dozen editors, publishers, directors, producers and investors waiting for one writer to get something down on paper. Then they change it.
Writing an essay is, for me, always a pleasure because people tend to leave it alone. An essay isn’t important enough to change.
The essays in this book were written over the past four years. Some of them show their age. I have rewritten small parts of some of them for that reason. Margie, my wife of sixty years, died in 2004 and her name does not appear as often as it originally did because it hurts too much to write it.
—ANDY ROONEY
PART ONE
Daily Life
We all look for that perfect day when we have enough to do but not too much.
WE’RE WASTING AWAY
Last Saturday, I filled the trunk of my car and the passenger seats behind me with junk and headed for the dump. There were newspapers, empty cardboard boxes, bags of junk mail, advertising flyers, empty bottles, cans and garbage. I enjoy the trip. Next to buying something new, throwing away something old is the most satisfying experience I know.
The garbage men come twice a week but they’re very fussy. If the garbage is not packaged the way they like it, they won’t take it. That’s why I make a trip to the dump every Saturday. It’s two miles from our house and I often think big thoughts about throwing things away while I’m driving there.
How much, I got wondering last week, does the whole Earth weigh? New York City alone throws away 24 million pounds of garbage a day. A day! How long will it take us to turn the whole Planet Earth into garbage, throw it away and leave us standing on nothing?
Oil, coal and metal ore are the most obvious extractions, but any place there’s a valuable mineral, we dig beneath the surface, take it out and make it into something else. We never put anything back. We disfigure one part of our land by digging something out and another after we use it and throw it away. I say “away,” but there’s really no such place as “away.”
After my visit to the dump, I headed for the supermarket, where I bought $34 worth of groceries. Everything was in something—a can, a box, a bottle, a carton or a bag. When I got to the checkout counter, the cashier separated my cans, boxes, cartons, bottles and bags and put three or four at a time into other bags, boxes or cartons. Whatever came to her hand on the conveyor belt in a bag, she put in another bag. Sometimes she put my paper bags into plastic bags. One bag never seemed to do. If something was in plastic, she put that into paper.
On the way home, I stopped at the dry cleaners. Five of my shirts, which had been laundered, were in a cardboard box. There was a piece of cardboard in the front of each shirt and another cardboard cutout to fit the collar to keep it from getting wrinkled. Clipped to the front of each shirt was a cloth tag that identified the shirt as mine. The suit I had cleaned was on a throwaway hanger, in a plastic bag with a formfitting piece of paper inside over the shoulders of my suit.
When I got home, I put the groceries where they belonged in various hiding places in the kitchen. With the wastebasket at hand, I threw out all the outer bags and wrappers. By the time I’d unwrapped and stored everything, I’d filled the kitchen wastebasket a second time, already getting ready for next Saturday.
It would be interesting to conduct a serious test to determine what percentage of everything we discard. It must be more than 25 percent. I drank the contents of a bottle of Coke and threw the bottle away. The Coca-Cola Company must pay more for the bottle than for what they put in it. Dozens of things we eat come in containers that weigh more and cost the manufacturer more than what they put in them.
We’ve gone overboard on packaging in the United States and part of the reason is that a bag, a can or a carton provides a place for the producer to display advertising. The average cereal box looks like a roadside billboard.
The Earth we inhabit could end up as one huge, uninhabitable dump.
You’d see me there Saturday mornings . . . throwing stuff away.
JUST ANOTHER DAY
“Days” don’t move me much. Memorial Day is not a day I remember friends who died during World War II any more than I remember them other days. Fragmentary memories of them often come to mind, evoked by something I see, hear or experience.
I enjoy thinking of them for a moment, wince at the thought they’re gone forever, then put them out of mind and go about my day. Tears come to my eyes unbidden ten times a year when I think of my boyhood friend Obie Slingerland, who died on the deck of the Saratoga when he landed his plane with a bomb hung up in its bay.
I don’t need a Memorial Day to remember friends like Obie or Bob O’Connor, Bob Post, Bob Taft, Charley Wood or Bede Irvin. They died in World War II having lived less than half the life I’ve enjoyed.
We have so many “Days.” Memorial Day used to be called Decoration Day when I was a kid. At some point, the name was changed to Memorial Day and set aside to honor all war dead. That seemed like a step in the right direction. Armistice Day, a federal holiday, was changed to Veterans Day in 1954.
It seems to me all these “Days” don’t really do much for those they’re intended to honor. When my mother was alive, I didn’t love her more on “Mother’s Day.” I got caught up with the �
��Mother’s Day” pitch by the card, flower and candy promoters but I always resented it. She would laugh if I bought her flowers or candy, dismissing it as silly and something I didn’t have to do. However, I always suspected she might have missed it just a little if I hadn’t done it. Margie doesn’t sit by the phone waiting for it to ring on Mother’s Day but when it did ring at 6 P.M. on May 12, she said, “There’s the last one.” She’d kept track.
If none of our four children ever called me again on Father’s Day or my birthday, it wouldn’t make me think they didn’t like me. I know them too well.
Columbus Day, St. Patrick’s Day and Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday are good rallying days for the Italians, the Irish and black Americans. It’s good for them to get together to indicate their pride in their heritage, but I don’t think Columbus Day or Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday should be federal holidays. The Irish, at least, have had the good sense to celebrate with their St. Patrick’s Day Parade on Sunday when drivers are not trying to get to work.
Washington’s Birthday is observed as a federal holiday on the third Monday of February. Twelve states have tried to make sense of honoring Lincoln and Washington by establishing “President’s Day” to honor both of them but it isn’t a federal holiday. The silly but good holidays are Halloween, Valentine’s Day and Thanksgiving. I don’t know how we let Thanksgiving in so close to Christmas. It’s good if you don’t mind having turkey on two occasions so close together.
The fastest-growing religion in the United States is Islam and you can bet the Muslims are going to demand holidays of their own before many moons.
I don’t like to see days off proliferate. There are five great American holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s Day, the Fourth of July and Labor Day. We need Labor Day because it’s the real New Year’s Day and a signal that summer vacation is over.
STATES BY THE NUMBERS
Minnesota is the best state to live in, according to a book of statistics called State Rankings, put together by Kathleen and Scott Morgan, who live in Kansas, the thirteenth best state to live in.
After Minnesota come Iowa, New Hampshire, Virginia and Massachusetts.