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The week that's still here
With all due respect to the court-appointed leader of the land, it sure is a good thing that Macs aren't marketed like military agreements with our allies. What a comedy of errors. I don't care where you stand on turning Iraq into New Vermont, but look at how well we're selling the notion that Turkey should roll out the magic carpet: 96 percent of the people don't want us and don't want war, partly because the last one trashed their economy for a decade. 96 percent!

What do you think, has the State Department privatized diplomacy and out-sourced Asia Minor to Microsoft? 96 percent or no, the Turkish cabinet says sure, the deal's a cinch. Parliament says otherwise, and people are dancing in the streets. Really dancing. Then I read where the Turks will put the question to the parliament again. Whoa, too bad Gore couldn't do that with the Supremes. (Say uncle! "Saaaammmm.") Might work, of course.

But don't forget, a parliamentary system can toss the government out on any given afternoon. If those Turkish legislators aren't dragooned into doing what the voters never would forgive, that could be the perfect time for opposition leaders to call for a no-confidence vote. Just imagine: regime change in a NATO nation, even before we go to war. And if the agreement sticks, the Kurds have promised to shoot any Turks who step over the line. Is somebody taking all this down? At least we finally have some levity, of a sort.

Hilarity abounding
I could write a whole damn GRACK! about the way this thing's devolving, but everyone would whine. I hope it continues to raise some laughs along the way, though, because we sure do need some. But when things get heavy, I hope the military's run with better sense than foreign policy. Did you know there's a plan afoot to take out North Korea's a-bomb Wal-Mart? The betting is, they won't retaliate, this from the same guys poised to sponsor Young Republicans in Teheran. Oh man.

On the actual computer front, we have the possibility of summer Power Macs fast enough to take our minds off commie warheads landing in Sonoma, at least until they do. (Boy, talk about your shipping delays.) And no wonder Apple just extended its recycling program to anyone with 30 bucks to spare: if the Macs of July come flying in at 2.5 GHz, we'll push our aunties down the stairs to inherit enough to buy a few, now won't we? Since such a thing (the new IMB chips going iinto Macs, not the aunties in a heap), were it to be about to happen and the news get out, could kill Apple's fiscal quarter deader than three-dollar gas, you can expect the Rumor Police out in force, no rubber bullets this time.

Frankly, I don't think it's going to happen. Or maybe I do, and I just said that to make you mad or send the jackboots down the hall instead of bashing in my door. The thing is, until someone figures out that praying doesn't pay the bills, the economy won't have a lot of oomph to make us buy another Mac, no matter how many milliseconds it shaves off loading VoyeurWeb.com. I mean, the feds are gonna have to go back out with guns and stick up all the zillionaires, either that or just shake down the current Cabinet. That won't sit well with furloughed Portland pupils, but their parents might appreciate the gesture.

Cluck-cluck (help!)
Finally, or almost so, I found a St. Louis Post-Dispatch item in the Albuquerque Journal this a.m. that's intended to be humorous but leaves me looking over my shoulder. Supposedly the Marines in Living Support Area 7 in Kuwait had brought in 43 live chickens to hang in cages on their tanks -- I am not making this up -- to serve as early warning signals if Saddam was using nasty chemicals. The only problem is, all but two are already dead. This is how the nuclear, biological, chemical officer for the 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines explains it:

"Chickens normally pick the dirt. But here, we've got only sand. They were pecking the sand and getting it all clogged up in the giblets or nostrils or whatever you call it. So the first thing we did was to get them off the sand."

Understand now, these were local chickens, purchased from Kuwaitis. Kuwait is rather abundantly supplied with sand. So for that matter is a considerable portion of New Mexico, where anyone who can't find chickens happily committing suicide in sandy pens from here to Silver City just hasn't gotten out of bed. Oh well. What I really want to know is, what would you do if your chicken croaked, put on your gas mask? And wouldn't it be too late? Besides, it sounds to me like there's already something ugly in Area 7! I don't think I'd want to play much volleyball or hang around outdoors. Bad for your giblets, absolutely.

So to escape from thoughts of deadly dirt, Macs for millionaires, megatonic North Koreans, and getting what you want by yelling till you get it, I decided to finish Part Two of YELLOWHAMMER FARM, my serialized autobiographical journey from the '60s to the Ozarks. Here's hoping no one ever has to die before their time, especially me, so think of signing up for a Yellowhammer subscription at $10 a pop while you've still got the credit. You can find out all about the book and more by going to Zoo Pilot Publishing, but to save you the trouble I've included a brief synopsis of Part Two (chapters 7 through 12) below. Remember now, this is history. (No implied endorsement of nothin', punk!)

Have a great week, watch the skies, and let me know if I need more sex in Part Three. See ya,

Senior Applelinks editor and columnist John H. Farr thinks this looks like one helluva great book and that all of you should whip out your Visas and read it.

• Chapter 7: Solo City -- Final chapter to a doomed marriage: I buy a VW bus to celebrate and get ready to rock & roll.
• Chapter 8: Live Free or Drive -- Semi-avoiding a dangerous woman, the remarkable "Green Hammer," and heading for the hills of New Hampshire take up most of a summer.
• Chapter 9: New Hampshire of the Mind -- My friends and I try 19th-century loggiing just for fun: draft horses and insanity, but there's a reason for the madness.
• Chapter 10: Back in Austin, Holy God! -- How to make incredible music and get really high at the same time. The stimulating story of Suzie B., naked on the rocks, and more.
• Chapter 11: Trouble in the Sticks -- Back in Wharton and into the frying pan. Everyone has a different way to kill a maverick and some almost succeed.
• Chapter 12: Visions of the Promised Land -- Ballet-dancer tipi lady, raw milk, and an all-night drive to Arkansas! Someone steals a mountain, too.

Salon Weblog: Anything goes!

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Other stuff by John H. Farr:

And don't forget this photo-essay: "What It Is About El Rito," There's also info about some property for sale (not mine! :-) ...

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