Learning From the Past

At this point, all of my pants have elastic waistbands. My wardrobe is that of an old man or a small child, with just a hint of the Unabomber.

Even with a minimum of buttons, snaps, and zippers, it's become increasingly challenging to pull my pants up and keep them there.

Lying on my bed the other day, catching my breath after one such struggle, an epiphany surfaced from some dark recess of memory: Maybe it would be easier in this position. I gave it a try, and indeed it was. Gravity was no longer working against me.

I did not invent this technique. It was widely practiced by girls during my early teen years, when skintight jeans were de rigueur. The names Jordache and Sasson probably don't mean much to other generations, but they meant everything at the time. Girls would yank them on and totter around triumphantly, laughing off the dark rumors about fainting, blood clots, and sterility. Who knew back then that these brave young heroines would reach far into the future one day to lend me a hand?

Thanks, girls!

(Wind-) Breaking News

Dec. 6, 4:12 PM EST

Flatulence Forces Plane to Land

NASHVILLE, Tenn. (AP) -- An American Airlines flight was forced to make an emergency landing Monday morning after a passenger lit a match to disguise the scent of flatulence, authorities said.

The Dallas-bound flight was diverted to Nashville after several passengers reported smelling burning sulfur from the matches, said Lynne Lowrance, spokeswoman for the Nashville International Airport Authority. All 99 passengers and five crew members were taken off and screened while the plane was searched and luggage was screened.

The FBI questioned a passenger who admitted she struck the matches in an attempt to conceal a "body odor," Lowrance said. She had an unspecified medical condition, authorities said.

"It's humorous in a way but you feel sorry for the individual, as well," she said. "It's unusual that someone would go to those measures to cover it up."

The flight took off again, but the woman was not allowed back on the plane. The woman, who was not identified, was not charged in the incident.

And You Thought Your Family Was Weird

Richard Pryor's daughter Rain has written a memoir. Considering the circumstances, it's bound to be an interesting read.

Truth be told, I'm a little jealous that the following will never be said of me:

[A] lot of the time, she says, the money went to the hookers hanging out at his house -- "Daddy, the whores need to be paid"-- and not to paying child support to his many ex-wives raising kids far from the Hollywood Hills. So hers was a childhood of abundance and of lack, of private jets and welfare checks, of elaborate vacations in Hawaii and a gig selling hot dogs on the beach when she was 13.

She is the daughter of an exceedingly complicated African American icon who famously set himself on fire, and an equally complicated blond, blue-eyed Jewish woman who fervently believed that she was black. In a new autobiography, Pryor writes of lighting candles for Shabbat with one set of grandparents and also listening attentively to her great-grandmother, a onetime bordello owner, breaking down racial realities as she shuffled a tarot deck: "You black, Rainy. The world's gonna see Rain as a [black person] no matter what her mother is."

The book describes her mother as a jive-talking dancer with a fondness for wearing Afro wigs -- it was the '60s -- and quoting Malcolm X.

When she was 4, her mother introduced Rain to her father. The book recounts that he took one look at her and said, "Ain't denying this one's mine!" That night, during a sleepover at Pryor's home, she wandered into her father's bedroom. She'd heard noises and she was afraid. She saw her father on top of a blond woman and ran out of the room.

More here.

New Title on the Fiction Shelf

At long last, someone has explored the uncanny links between two of the most distinguished figures in modern history.

Greatness: Reagan, Churchill, and the Making of Extraordinary Leaders
Steven F. Hayward

Ronald Reagan and Winston Churchill were true giants of the twentieth century, but somehow historians have failed to notice the many similarities between these extraordinary leaders. Until now.

Among the "extensive and profound" parallels the author uncovered:

• "[M]any of Churchill’s friends would say to him — 'Winston, you missed your calling in life. You should have been an actor.'" And Ronald Reagan was an actor!
• "They both had a fondness for vigorous outdoor labor. Churchill spent years building a large brick wall by himself at his country home, Chartwell, while Reagan built long fences out of telephone poles at his ranch, as well as endlessly cutting brush."*
• "And of course they both loved horses."**

Well, that cinches it. The two giants were obviously separated at birth. It's eerie, I tell you. Just think of all the coinkydinks Hayward didn't mention: Both men were white, married, spoke English ...

* I see room for another cowboy-president in a future edition.
** Hayward notes that "[b]oth were in the cavalry," but I believe he's confusing Reagan's film roles with actual military experience -- just as the Gipper himself did on occasion.

Beyond Immaculate Conception

Obviously I spend more time perusing the obituaries than is generally considered healthy. I concede the point. But they're so interesting.

This one, for instance:

CHARLES MacLEOD PLUNKETT
On October 25, 2006. Father of Charles Hendrix Plunkett of Maryland and the late Ernest MacLeod Plunkett; grandfather of Charles F. Plunkett; great-grandfather of Charles C.K. and R.I. Plunkett; great-grandson of the late Lt. Col. William Henry Plunkett; grandson of the late Rear Adm. Charles Peshall Plunkett; and son of the late Lt. Charles Tuck Plunkett, USN.

Some families have more boys than girls, and vice versa. And then there are the Plunketts, who apparently managed to produce seven generations of males without the assistance of a single woman. Remarkable. I guess theirs truly is a man's world.

Be Fruitful and Multiply*

I just read a death notice for a man who left 16 children, 60 grandchildren, 80 great-grandchildren, and 3 great-great-grandchildren.

Pardon my French, but holy fucking shit!

I finally saw An Inconvenient Truth last week, so I already knew the planet is doomed. Still, must we hasten it so wantonly?

* In moderation. In moderation, damn it!

Burning Bushes

Much of the Outlook section in today's Post was given to predictions of Bush's legacy -- i.e., the worst president in history, or merely one of the worst? Five historians weighed in:

• Douglas Brinkley: "Move Over, Hoover"
• Eric Foner: "He's the Worst Ever"
• Vincent J. Cannato: "Time's on His Side"
• David Greenberg: "At Least He's Not Nixon"
• Michael Lind: "He's Only Fifth Worst"

And the magazine reprinted a brief excerpt in which Bush pere et fils share their views on class and privilege, revealing far more about themselves than they realize. The full article, from 1986, can be read here.

Livin' (and Dyin') Large

Big news in this morning's paper:

Rosalie Bradford
Once Weighed Over 1,000 Pounds

Rosalie Bradford, 63, who held records for being the world's heaviest woman and for losing the most weight, died Nov. 30 at a hospital in Lakeland, Fla.

Publicist Stephen Nortier said the cause of death won't be known until a medical examiner's report, but Ms. Bradford had spent the past year bedridden with complications from having her lymph nodes severed years ago. She weighed about 400 pounds just before dying.

Ms. Bradford weighed 1,050 pounds in January 1987, according to the 1994 Guinness Book of Records. She lost 736 pounds, to weigh 314 pounds, in September 1992, according to the record book. At her largest, Bradford was 8 feet wide.

She credited Richard Simmons, the fitness guru, with helping her lose weight. The two began corresponding after a friend of hers wrote Simmons when she tried to commit suicide.

Ms. Bradford blamed her lifelong battle with obesity on abandonment, which bred a food addiction. Her Web site claims her peak weight was more than 1,200 pounds.

Among all those big figures, the one that really struck me was the eight-foot width. She was as big across as a standard ceiling height.

If, like me, you are riveted and want to learn more, check out her site.

Off the Beaten Path

Why stay at the Radisson when you can rent a Forgotten House?

The agency looks like a small, private version of Britain's venerable National Trust, which offers hundreds of quirky properties. We rented a cottage in rural Devon three years ago, and it was one of my best vacations ever.

Great browsing at both sites.

Why I Don't Watch Daytime TV

A friend saw fit to forward this clip of Rosie O'Donnell and her milkshake. Now I'm sharing the love, because that's the kind of person I am.