How can a black, er, uh, how can an African-American person be guilty of racism?, my late first wife, Em, once asked me. Oh, ye, of little imagination....

If you were to look at me, you wouldn't think I'm black. I'm about as pasty-white as you ever see. President Warren G. Harding (who, like me, was born in Ohio) was 1/64th black. Bart and Lisa Simpson, the cartoon characters, are 1/64th black. I don't know what tribe Harding or the Simpsons come from, but I'm four times as black as they are, being a hexadecaroon - 1/16 black.

Passing Ease

I didn't find out until I was in high school. My mother didn't think I was smart enough to keep my trap shut; life is probably easier for one who passes as white. She was an octoroon, and her in-laws only learned of that after she was married. They really looked down on her until she discovered my father's mother tried to hide the fact she was 25% Cherokee. When they called her a damn nigger, she held her head high and announced that the only good indian was a dead Indian. It wasn't a good solution; in a mud-slinging contest, the only thing that's sure is that everyone gets covered with mud.

Carbon taxes - including swaps - are a tired and discredited gimmick that's been proven in other countries to distort markets and thwart economic growth. Following Rahm Emanuel's dictum to "Let no crisis go to waste" is cheap, tawdry political gimmickry, and both we and the president deserve better.

It is necessary and it is sufficient to allow the full economic costs of using petroleum fall upon the users of petroleum, however. Personal responsibility is always a good idea, if you can figure out how to accomplish it, and in this case, it's fairly simple.

What We Need

In the US, a corporation traditionally is called Something Or Other, Inc. In certain other countries, a corporation is called Something Or Other, Ltd.

The "Ltd" refers to the fact that a corporation is a limited liability organization. If you buy stock in a corporation, your liability is limited to your investment.

Unlimited Liability

That's not the only way a large business enterprise can work. The underwriters at Lloyds of London, for instance, are fully committed, and if you join a syndicate, you are committing yourself to honoring your commitments, up to and including your personal bankruptcy.

And while the laws protect the shareholders of a corporation, the officers of a corporation are not so protected. One of the problems in protecting your assets, as the owner of a small business, is that lawyers may be able to pierce the corporate shield and attach the assets of the owner, not because he is the owner of the corporation, but the officer of the corporation who engages in misfeasance or malfeasance.

Hello. My name is Harl and I'm an alcoholic.

That's a lie. There have been times when I've wished I could hide in a bottle, and that includes some fairly recent times, but the fact is, I get no kick from champagne. Nor do I get much enjoyment from marijuana, or any other common recreational drug.

Well, Almost

I do like speed a little, but not a lot. I have remitting, relapsing clinical depression, and they've tried all the various anti-depressants on me. The tri-cyclics put me to sleep, and when you're unable to sleep, getting 18 hours of sleep for two weeks in a row will make you feel better. Otherwise, the only anti-depressants that have worked very well at all have been stimulants. Ritalin does a little bit. Dexadrine is better. When I take Ritalin, there's a "jolt" when it kicks in, and then kicks out again, and I hate that.

One of my neighbors, Jimmy, is a foul-mouthed rednecked bigot. Nobody's perfect, of course, and as foul-mouthed rednecked bigots go, he's fairly likeable.

Blondie was taking Marie for a walk when she heard a loud screech of someone's brakes. There was a car stopped somewhat diagonally in the road, and the driver had jumped out and grabbed Jimmy, who was in the process of entering his house, by the scruff of his neck.

Under such circumstances, nobody speaks quietly, do they? "The next time," the guy yelled, "that you call my wife a fucking wetbacked slut", he clenched even tighter on Jimmy's shirt, "I'm gonna come down here and kill you."

Jimmy wasn't flustered. "You got a picture of your wife?"

The guy was taken a little aback. "A picture?"

"Sure," Jimmy calmly said, "so I know which fucking wetback slut you're taking about." The guy just stood there and stared at Jimmy for a minute, then released his grip, turned and got back into his car.