I know my brother sometimes reads my site, so I hope he’s reading today, to learn the influence he is having upon the next generation. The scene: The final session of Kate’s “hip-hop dance” class, yet another effort to break up the tedium of Michigan’s endless winter. All the parents are watching. One move is called “your tall uncle” — it’s the one where you point to the upper corner of the room. “Point at your tall uncle!” the instructor hollered, then called for a break.
“My uncle is short,” one kid observed.
“My uncle is tall,” said another.
And then, in the clear, piping voice that has made my small daughter identifiable in crowds her whole life, I hear:
“MY UNCLE GAMBLES!”
One of the nearby fathers cracked up. It made me recall the last bit of avuncular advice Kate was offered by my brother:
Never bet on baseball.
I don’t know why everyone’s getting all het up about Dick Cheney’s buttertriggerfinger. Hunting accidents like his are pretty common, although I always heard the leading cause of hunting deaths and injuries around here was falling from your tree stand. Bob Knight winged a friend a few years back. Far more interesting is the oh that aspect of the information release, and, of course, the “it’s just a flesh wound” angle, when it turns out the victim stayed in ICU overnight.
Paul Begala has a few thoughts, fairly cogent ones.