“Drivers who talk on cell phones may be just as dangerous as those who drink.”

The above is the lead in for an article at philly.com. As someone old enough to remember when drunk driving was a misdemeanor I consider the statement loaded. Incredible sounding now, but drunk driving was a sport into the early 80’s, and the police let the offenders who did not cause accidents sleep off the effects instead of breaking out the night stick.

Stiff penalties for drunk driving make sense, since the person at the wheel is no longer in control of their actions and may not be for hours. Anything might happen. The cellphone user, however, is in charge. They can terminate the call anytime, or ignore calls completely. Some do not; most drivers exercise some common sense, and limit or even avoid cell use in the car. But even if the consequence of driving drunk and dialing while driving are the same: they cause accidents, comparing the acts is a reach.

I wonder if the anti-cellphone crowd will borrow pages from the anti-drunk driving advocacy groups. When MADD started, the penalty for vehicular manslaughter while under the influence equaled a slap on the wrist. Jail time was unlikely. Each year, though, legislatures passed more stringent laws. Today the punishment fits the crime. Or at least better reflects public attitude towards the offense.

If history recycles, in time — maybe 20 years, maybe more — drivers caught on the phone even if they do not cause an accident could face license revocation, car seizure and jail. For now the punishment is a small fine.

Dial and drive it while you can, I guess. And please, don’t drink and call your friends at 3am. Or the last three exes. It’s not illegal, just pathetic.

Jack Black is funny. Very funny. Nacho Libre proves he has the stuff of champions.

In a follow effort from Jared Hess — the genius behind Napolean Dynamite — comes a tale of a man with one dream, one vision, one true religion. He may be a friar, but when he wears tight pants and a mask, and steps in the wrestling ring, this man of God will rock you. Actually he gets his butt kicked quite a bit, in a humorous way.

Stuck serving meals to orphans, Nacho yearns for a chance to be important and dish up something besides beans and chips. Wrestling might be his ticket to a better life for himself and food that does not give the boss diarrhea.

The humor is off beat, the timing left of center, and the plot unconventional. Just perfect. Loved it.

What works about this movie:
1) The premise is both ridiculous and semi-serious.
2) Casting. Besides Jack Black, everyone is average looking. Ugly monkeys perform as well as overpaid Botoxed ones. Yes!
3) Direction. Jared Hess: the funniest man in Utah. Maybe the entire Lower 48.

Verdict: Theater, DVD purchase. Both if you can handle the laughter.

Incidents like a fist fight in the cabin seconds after take off make me leery of flying. When did airplanes turn into flying Greyhound buses? With less room, fewer amenities and stuff em till they riot seating policies, I’ll stick to trains, cars and boats.

Not writing – or writing in a half-assed way – is harder than doing so on a schedule. I relearned this lesson when circumstances at work compelled longer days this past week. By the time I got home my mind had jellied. At best I could edit existing pieces like a chicken picks at feed, bobbing for little bits at a time, lacking real focus. Some weeks go like that, I guess.

So far, next week promises a much smoother ride.

During the business day, there are situations best left for a later hour, say after lunch, but unfortunately the most demanding of critters whelp for attention at 8AM. Why yes, I fed the cats at 5,6 and 7AM. These distractions have human origins.

For example, a vendor whom I assured on six prior calls that I have no — and no one at the premises does, maybe even the planet — interest in his wares. Or the staff who eats jelly sandwiches over their laptop, then cries about a non responsive machine, and a keyboard short half its letters. Actually, they were OK about the blank keys and jelly in the vents; it was Apple spinning wheel of doom they found irksome.

Why do I mention this? Because I’m of the opinion that for every workplace, a horde — and they may be quite beautiful or charming, others bald and fat, but no matter the packaging they are still attention suckers — lurks, watches, and waits for their victims. Like a snake in the desert they strike without warning. They live to distract someone. Possibly you. And definitely me.

I wonder though, do I play the role of sinkhole to a fellow coworker? Could I be the dullard in someone else’s office? Perhaps I too am cursed behind closed doors, in a low tones. Nah. My weekend tales around the water cooler are all aces…

The colder the temperature, the easier it is to think, the easier my work is. I can not communicate effectively — send me to re-re school — in hot, muggy climates. Writing in the summer, therefore, can be one rough ticket, a struggle which verges on Sisyphusean. Often when I read what I produced during a hot spell, the pages can look foreign, as if someone else wrote them. In a way, somebody else did. A madman. Or at least a not-very-happy-man.

As a preventive strike against the heat wave this weekend, I cranked the AC in my little office to maximum this morning. It is now 11:15AM and the sweater, jeans and long sleeve shirt are not cutting it. God, it just doesn’t get any better than this.

The Swiss appreciate the offbeat side of life. For instance, they tolerated my two dollar ties – ah, those zany NYC street vendors – Sears and Roebuck crew cuts, and refusal to learn French. God bless Switzerland.

And in terms of cuisine they have even more interesting tastes, especially in condiments. The McDonald’s in Geneva charges for ketchup, but one condiment is free to all takers: mayonnaise. At the foothills of the Alps, mayo works overtime. Like French Fries and mayonnaise. Mayonnaise and mustard makes a tangy sauce. And for breakfast: cold cuts, eggs, champagne and tub of mayonnaise on the side. The urge to dip could strike at any time.

So in the spirit of the Swiss, I thought why not mash up some movie reviews?

The Break Up meets The Omen.

Omen Up. 2006 and Jennifer Aniston wants her half of the condominium back. She’s tired of your video games, dogs with sharp teeth, and disregard for her feelings. Well too bad for her, you are the son of the Devil. Grab hold of that landing, Ms. Aniston!

Verdict: Breakup, Omen — DVD rental.

X-Men meets Mission Impossible 3.

X-Impossible. Part of an elite team of mutants, Tom Cruise races against time to save a girl we never believe he loves. Unfortunately, Ms. Right is insane and whenever she kisses him, buildings explode and he becomes more heterosexual. And we all believe that. To keep us awake, every thirty-two minutes a major character dies.

Verdict: X-Men DVD Purchase. Mission Impossible 3: Cable. Better with malt liquor and Primus.