Elizabeth

I recently attended a screening of the movie Elizabeth: The Golden Age and I must say it was a ripping yarn. In the film Her Majesty got rid of a Scottish usurper, beat up a pregnant rival in romance, and defeated the Spanish Armada.

All this action and bravery reminded me of another British hero.

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Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth I, gazed across the green blaze of the Baccarat table and slowly drew on the Galois that was poise between her royal fingers. She exhaled the bluish smoke through her nostrils and took a sip of the Haig & Haig that the waiter had conveniently placed in front of her substantial pile of casino markers. She gazed directly at the dealer, and then at the Spanish Ambassador who sat a bit to her left.

"Banco", she said.

"You will burn in Hell for this, Madame...." sputtered the the Ambassador.

"Elizabeth." she answered calmly. "Queen Elizabeth."

"Better known as Agent 00I," muttered a quiet voice behind her. She turned to see Pope Pius V staring at her darkly, the scar across his cheek glowing bright red.

"We meet again, Pius. How's the arm?"

The Pontiff stretched his right arm away from his body. "Well enough, double-oh-The-First. Well enough...to do this!" He tore the mitre from his head and flung it at Her Royal Highness with remarkable agility.

The Queen dove for the floor as the razor sharp edge of the starched cloth headgear sailed an inch and a half from her jugular. "Not bad, Your Eminence," she said as she shoulder-rolled onto her haunches. "Now have a taste of this." She smoothly drew the crown - custom made for her by Christie's in Bleak Street - from her auburn locks and cast it toward the man who had been her nemesis for so many years.

Clutching his throat where two of the seven prongs had penetrated his esophagus and windpipe, the Holy Father gurgled quietly while slumping to the floor. Elizabeth slowly walked over, retrieved the golden headpiece, wiped the blood on the prostrate potentate's chasuble, and re-set it on her head.

"Well, I guess you could say this was my Crowning Achievement," she said as she returned to her seat at the table.

"Now, Armando. Where were we? Ah,Yes". She withdrew another Galois from the bodice of her gown and lit it with the gunmetal Ronson she kept for such purposes. She stared at the Spanish Ambassador for a moment and then smiled.

"Banco".

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America's Mayor Seeks Understanding

Presidential Candidate and former New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani said in an interview that some people were being too judgmental about his personal life, especially the fact that he has been married three times. In seeking a more understanding attitude he cited the biblical story of the prostitute who was brought before Jesus to be stoned to death. “Let you who are without sin cast the first stone,” said Our Savior as the accusers slunk away.

Later, when polling showed that this position was costing him votes, Giuliani said his position on the stoning of prostitutes had evolved. “Since 9-11 I don’t think we can take any chances with prostitutes or other terrorists,” said Giuliani at the annual convention of the National Prostitute Stoners Association. “We’ve got to stone them, and stone them hard, before they start stoning us.”

Future Tense

The Department of Homeland Security has asked a group of science fiction writers to try to predict what steps terrorists might take in the future to attack our country. Some scoff at this idea, but I think past history has proven that science fiction has been remarkably accurate at predicting the future.

Who can forget the classic Twilight Zone story "City on the Edge of Whatever" which predicted a future in which America's youth become inarticulate grunters with a vocabulary of 5-7 words and who begin each sentence with "'sup?" and can only speak to each other using the single mantra "dude".

Or Robert Heinlein's beloved novel "Stranger in a Strange Job" about a dumb-but-lovable governor who wakes up one morning to find he has mysteriously become The President of the United States.

And the uncannily prescient Star Trek episode, The Trouble With Bloggers which posits a future where thousands of relentlessly replicating life forms continually spew forth meaningless verbiage on an unsuspecting populous.

Scary stuff. I just hope we can heed the warnings before it's too late.

Adieu, Marcel, Adieu

I was saddened to see that the great mime Marcel Marceau passed way over the weekend. Words cannot express the magnitude of his talent.

A sampling of some comment about his passing and his life:

From the New York Mimes:







And from the Wall Streetmime Journal:






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