Here’s the concept: Put a model airplane motor on roller skates and wear them to Wal-Mart. Rising costs and lowering expectations are dating, and it could end in a marriage of inconvenience. The no-car vehicle is on the horizon. Squatty little lumps of metal, vinyl, and rubber. Car manufacturers have sent so many engineers home it’s now up to the custodial crew to provide the concept cars. It looks like the crew went home before they finished the design. They stopped with the headlights. What’s left is a fuel efficient replica of the low beams in a 1955 Buick.

Me drive a tiny, two-seat Ford Ka? I don’t think so. By the time I’m squeezed and strapped for an autumn tour the leaves will be in a bail-out. Now I understand all the fuss and flurry of the financials, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be wearing a turtle shell in public. Like you I’m on a “wait-loss” diet and my four-oh-one-K is mostly “Oh!” But I’m not settling for a “Ka.” If someone can’t pronounce “C-A-R” they‘re not getting any “Czechs” from me!

Just so you don’t forget, there won’t be any takeover of heaven’s bank. The CFO of eternity’s economy isn’t afraid of blips on a Wall Street monitor. The Lord of heaven and earth has more in escrow than the sum total of earth’s wealth. And He can use whatever pleases Him to get our attention, without dropping a decimal. It may be political-speak, but the fact is, we really do have nothing to fear but fear itself. Psalm 23:1, “The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.”

Okay, I’ll admit that tapping the funny bone these days is tougher than practicing chiropractic on an alligator farm. In fact, the gaping wounds of Wall Street have all but silenced the silly. Refusing surrender to the somber, I grabbed my boogie board and dove into the surf of the Internet. Soon I breathlessly surfaced through no-food diets and no-frills tooth extractions ads; past online auctions and in-line skating lessons; around non-fact news reports and non-tact political opinions; under sagging skin cream and lagging hair follicle promises. Nothing. Zeroinski. “Alas,” I thought. “Nothing is left to the imaginations.” Then I found the lost music score. Well, not I, but someone in France. According to Reuters News, a small music manuscript noted by someone named Mozart was found in a public library. I can just imagine the accompanying smiles.

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“Pale in comparison” is an idiom, like, “if you put a Volkswagen by a Hummer the ‘bug’ will take less gas to drive to Denver.” While that has nothing to do with politics, Sarah Palin has everything to do with it. No, this isn’t a paid political announcement, it’s just an observation. The Wasilla Wonder has invaded the national news like a Boeing 747 through a barn full of Biplanes. The Palin comparison is refreshing, no matter which aisle-side you occupy.

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Finally, a VP has been chosen by one of the presidential hopefuls. Soon, we’ll go through the agony of another sleepless night with our cell phones in hand waiting on a text message from the other candidate. The senator-once-removed from Illinois has hitched his political wagon to a star from lesser known reaches of the galaxy. I read that the combination of names, “Obama-Biden,” was factored into the choice. Concise bumper stickers. One glance at mine and you’ll know my vice-presidential chances are about as high as Michael Vick becoming director of the SPCA.

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The Internet is a Wal-Mart of widely known facts. But when it comes to the Olympics there was obviously a clean-up on aisle three. In looking for the gold I almost missed it in the honey. It seems that gymnasts use Winnie the Pooh’s favorite as a way to get a grip. Yep, you can fly through the air with the greatest of ease but if you want a good landing, you’ll put a little honey on your fingertips.

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Some say it’s the depth of the pool. Others say it’s the fit of the Speedo. But most would say these Olympics are a swimming success. World records are dropping like stock options in a Hummer factory. The swim is in! Pity those who didn’t make it into the gene pool. Some Olympians have spent a decade learning how to shoot a pistol at 10 meters and their crowds are second cousins who couldn’t get tickets to the swim finals.

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Who knew that by the time all the serenity prayers had been memorized someone would opt for a hug?  Singapore was recently invaded by a serial hugger.  Known as “Amma” because not everyone has time to say her given name, “Mata Amritanandamyi,” the queen of cuddle from southern India supposedly hugs over a million people a year. The hug-ees border on the euphoric from their three-second embrace. Many say they gain energy.  Others temporarily cast away their chosen faith for this Mid-Eastern manhandling. Amma, translated “mother,” doesn’t seem to tire from her thirty-fifth year of missionary work, even though one news report said the Singapore event saw nearly 2,000 wait in line.

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There’s been a baby boom in Hollywood.  Have you noticed?  Husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends—and so forths—have welcomed new arrivals.  For some, moral traditions are obviously as important as goggles on a stork.  And even the legits have posed and profited (or profited and posed) with their celebrity babies.  Now few babies are celebrities, but who knows what the future holds for infants who say “cheese” before they say “Da-da.”

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Imagine my surprise when I opened the carton of baby back ribs at Hog Heaven Bar-B-Q.  They were ribs, all right.  Baby ones . . . looked like they had been harvested from a frog with an organ donor card that lost a fistfight with a Mack truck.  Portion size is just another odyssey facing those of us with fortune deficit. So when I saw that someone paid $2 million to have lunch with Warren Buffet I had a spell of indignant indigestion.

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News reports say NASA scientist had a celebration this week.  Their Mars Lander stirred up some dust.  Dust-stirring is a science for most government agencies, but seldom is there an extra-terrestrial dusting.  I’ll admit the whole Mars thing is a bit astronomical for someone like me.  I’ve always viewed the galaxies as simply yard lights for the Man in the Moon.

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