I Apologize.

After apologizing to BP for a White House "shakedown," and then (after some pressure from his own party) apologizing for his apology, Joe Barton, Republican representative of Texas was feeling much better about himself. Clearly on a roll, he picked up a phone and apologized to his wife for forgetting their anniversary. Then he called his son and asked forgiveness for missing all of those baseball games. He was feeling distinctly lighter, and didn't want this feeling to end.

On his way out of the committee hearing he stopped to apologize to the oil-smeared protester who was now sitting in handcuffs being questioned by a police officer. Suddenly, she began feeling bad for having interrupted the hearing. Tears welled up in her eyes and she sincerely apologized to the police officer. She reminded the officer of his mother, and he began thinking he should probably call his mother and come clean about the broken vase he blamed on his sister all those years ago. He hoped a good old-fashioned "I apologize" would do. Consequently, he let the protester go with a warning, and handed her a paper towel to wipe off the oil.

Barton saw the growing effect of his apology and realized he couldn't stop there. He immediately called a press conference and apologized to Joe Biden for having offended him. This inspired Biden to apologize to Barak Obama about all of the gaffs he has made over the course of their term of office. The President was deeply touched and decided to call the Tea Party and select members of the Republican Party to apologize for having scared the $&*# out of them with his more socialistic policies. The parties responded by saying sorry for all of the times they had called him "Adolf Stalin" in private, and vowed to take down all of the "Obamanation" posters they had put up.

This overwhelming feeling of reconciliation and love spread throughout the country. It became so powerful that all of the oil in the Gulf of Mexico voluntarily gathered itself together and retreated back into the ground. Expert oil translators reported a gurgled apology right before the last of the oil disappeared. Then, in an unprecedented move, Greenhouse gasses sent an email to Al Gore saying they were sorry for all of the trouble, and that they knew when they weren't wanted. Baffled scientists have not been able to find any in the atmosphere since and Al Gore finally said sorry for flying in private jets. The French apologized for their snobbery, and then they apologized again for being skinnier than us even while eating better food. And Texas even vowed to be a little more humble.

Don't underestimate the power of an apology.

Bizarre dreams and fighting off old age.

I have been having really bizarre dreams lately. I can't say that this is anything new. If you know me you have heard the one about the kittens attacking the poor toothless baby alligators. I'm not sure why my dreams are so often violent, and just down-right strange. I really don't take any drugs, I promise, unless you count Breyers Butter Pecan ice cream. I have heard that ice cream can give you strange dreams, but I thought it was merely folklore--maybe not.

So the other night was in a concentration camp with my wife, at least one of my children, and a few friends. It was a small camp and we were planning our escape by staging a violent coup. For some reason there was a lot of junk in all of the barracks. We scoured the place for weapons, and I suddenly remembered that one room had, at the bottom of a pile of junk, a sword and a battle axe. So I went to go dig them out, but our captors came looking for us, just as I got into the room with the junk. There were about five of them after me and they all had billy clubs. I decided to try and hide under the junk. They were poking around in the pile trying to find me when I found the sword. The only trouble with the sword was that it had a rat-tail tang, so I knew it was good for about one hit.

Now, in retrospect, I know that what I am about to describe might sound slightly humorous, but it was terrifying at the time. I had to make the decision to fight for my life and potentially kill other human beings. This was not something that my dream mind came to lightly. The decision to kill was further complicated by the fact that the longer the people looked for me the older they became. Within seconds they were all between the ages of 65-85, and wearing retirement garb--complete with cardigans and baseball caps. But I knew that it was either them or me, so I finally lashed out with my sword, and instead of breaking immediately at the thin tang, it sort of deflated. That first hit was good, and it drew blood in my pursuer, but right then my sword became as limp as a ribbon (please no Freudian interpretation of my dreams, if you chose to comment).

As the elderly guards/retirees, closed in, I managed to run to a near-by closet and grab my battle-axe. I started hacking away at my foes, and the feeling of the blade lacerating their flesh was a truly horrible. Amidst the gore, they started cracking jokes and growing very cavalier about death. Then I woke up.