Handshakes fast and furious--Where the Politicos Meet for Tampa RNC

Marriage to a human encyclopedia like Michael Medved is eminently convenient, as I found out last night when Sen. Norm Coleman (MN) and his charming wife Laurie invited us to join them where the Republican National Convention elite meet, an unusual Tampa institution, a restaurant called Bern's Steak House. Michael's identification of important party players let me appreciate them as they passed close enough to touch.

We're not accustomed to entering such venues, given we're pescatarian and kosher, but accepted for the famed fresh vegetables from the private garden, and mainly, the camaraderie. Despite being unable to avail ourselves of the specially-aged beef, we had a wildly memorable evening.

Outside, you see a monolithic square edifice with an awning marking the entrance. But inside, it's Halloween, a haunted mansion with darkened two-story foyer, clawed chandeliers emitting orange light, and medieval style portraits in ornate frames climbing the walls around a grand curved staircase, complete with gilt gargoyles and maroon velvet-topped banister.

Sen. Coleman and Michael immediately hailed congresspeople, GOP shakers and convention mavens. Among those moving through the entry with a large entourage was Speaker John Boehner, who stopped to shake the hand of everyone in his path (me, too!), delivering each a smile and kind word.

We finally settled in The Rhone Room, one wall of which is a backlit series of photos forming a panorama of the French river. The full restaurant produced a powerful noise level. At our table rested a thick, leather-bound wine list; touted as the largest private collection in the world. We found out later that among the thousands of selections are kosher offerings from Israel.

Staying parked at a table seemed a brief experience amid a parade of exclaiming people so glad to see everyone; a chorus of syncopated shrieks, a cascade of grasped hands and hair-kiss hugs. It'd had been so long since some saw the other; it was so delightful for each to meet. Seconds-long met glances, smiles, what a great occasion, faces with laugh lines melding to a blur.

I'm a political outsider, an observer amused and interested in a process that whirls through Tampa as a reward, really, for the people who have put in time to bring it to this point. Delegates give up weekends months before to rally their neighbors, to endure meetings and speeches and phone trees and organizing for the payoff of the convention. This event is a formality for them, since Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan's selection is set. It's also for the American public to see the enthusiasm and energy behind the Republican effort to reset and reinvigorate the economy.

After dinner we--and other groups of diners--enjoyed a tour of the Bern's kitchen, wine cellar and then something I'd never seen:  "dessert rooms." Guides took us though various stations in the meandering kitchen--salad-making, bakery, meat-aging, sprout-growing, plating. Then wine specialists led us into the cellars, where millions of dollars' worth of bottles lay in narrow numbered sections, stewards rushing by locating orders. Finally we climbed a stairway to a warren of barrel-shaped enclosures, each containing only a table set for six, eight or ten. Each quiet, separated space was dark, intimate, cocoonish. And its purpose was ordering and consuming dessert.

Conservative youth rep Danny Medved, on TV at the RNC

Today at the Convention Center, the pace jumped a notch. Folk who yesterday set up electronics wearing polo shirts returned in suit-and-tie. The aisles are thick with publicists, their charges and camera crews, senators and congressmen and candidates. My husband, yellow highlighter and newspaper in hand, this morning attempted show-prep, as Dennis Prager spoke into a microphone a few feet away. Our son Danny, 20, busy as on-site producer, has lined up a full schedule of guests, as well as appearances for Michael on other outlets. Today Danny's in sharp black suit and red tie, gaining the instant respect of others on The Row--enough so that he's already appeared in two TV segments representing the Republican youth view. As I post, Michael's interviewing anti-tax expert Grover Norquist. He's talking now during a commercial break about Michael's chapter in his new book The Odds Against Obama (download it!) that "Demography is Destiny," as Grover cited a study showing Republican legislators have twice as many children as their Democratic counterparts.

Downstairs is the Google-sponsored media room, free coffee drinks and lots of tables with outlets for the bloggers--young, serious and focused--to file their stories. The Row booths host media veterans; the downstairs media center wrinkle-less up-and-comers.

Grover Norquist on the Medved Show, Radio Row, RNC

Tonight's the first of the major convention programs, Ann Romney rescheduled from last night is the grand finale, preceded by Gov. Chris Christie. Rick Santorum is up first, with Speaker Boehner, Cathy McMorris Rodgers and a raft of others. Afterward are scattered parties that run til 2 am. The RNC is a world unto itself; time seems an endless series of hellos, interviews, speeches and applause, hermetically sealed in air conditioned halls. All this creates history and determines the future of the nation. Much more to come.

With Michael Medved at the Republican National Convention--Conventional thinking

Flying into Tampa gives an excellent view of the mansions lining the coastline, each with an elaborate dock--none of which, peculiarly, had a boat nearby. No watercraft floated anywhere on the vast surface of the bay, as residents prepared for then Tropical Storm Isaac to batter their town, just in time for the Republican National Convention. Is it a message from God?

Michael Medved interviews Cathy McMorris Rodgers

If so, God likes Republicans, as Isaac switched trajectory, and the RNC was left readjusting the schedule to make up for the precautionary cancelling of first-day ceremonies. Tampa had vied for a convention for years, and now we saw why they’d been hitherto denied. Threats of hurricanes trump politics, and headlines here ponder: Will Isaac rain on Mitt’s parade? The heavy cloud cover often gives way to pelting rain and fierce wind, swaying the palm trees like hula dancers.

Sunday night events included hail-fellow-well-met reunions, notably the big welcoming bash at St. Petersburg’s Tampa Rays’ sports arena, Tropicana Field. It was sponsored by Bicardi and Grey Goose, perhaps a little incongruent with the nominee’s religiously-dictated tee totaling. Also a bit inconsistent with traditional Mormon modesty were some of the entertainers, scantily clad and wiggling to loud rock music, more expected at a Democratic event. Some participants longed for a few pep talks and inspirational words.

As proud carnivores after consuming scads of Chik Fil-A in support of free speech, RNC’ers grazed at buffets loaded with meat, most with a centerpiece of a whole pig. Not so kosher, perhaps, but the non-Jews chowed down on a dozen fleshy dishes and shellfish galore. Non-Mormons consumed free booze, especially three concoctions loaded with rum in red, white and blue. Many in the crowd were costumed in Revolutionary gear, proclaiming their Tea Party support.  The noise was loud, the ambiance celebratory, the music pumping.

We ran into friends who were definitely in the mood.  One reveler leaned toward me and, oops, the content of her class dribbled over my foot and into my shoe. Hey, folks were having a good time.

Today’s the first official day of the convention, though hurricane fears led to cancelling tonight’s ceremonies, replaced by a quick official opening with dismissal 10 minutes later.  Michael shared a panel dais at a noon Republican Jewish Coalition luncheon, with coalition head Matt Brooks, GOP political consultant Mike Murphy, and former Gov. Haley Barbour (MS). Michael joined the call to include immigrants—Asians as well as Hispanics--in the Republican fold, given that their values tend to be so in sync.  My man also reviewed efforts by Pres. Bush to pass legislation benefiting illegals that was blocked by Harry Reid and Nancy Pelsosi’s refusal to allow a vote—despite a majority of Republicans supporting it. Overcoming Obama’s dour negative campaigning to focus on the economy, and worries  war with Iran also drew discussion. Michael cited polls showing the public favorable on the prez’ likability, and impressed with Romney’s competence to tackle economic woes. The task is to emphasize, especially to key groups like Hispanics and women, that their lot relies on economic recovery. Gov. Barbour offered  a great line: The difference between the left and right on health care is that the left wants to make private health care more like government health care, and the right wants to make government health care more like private health care.

I write this while sitting two feet from my husband, who’s broadcasting today’s show on Radio Row in the Tampa Convention Center. A parade of guests, some scheduled, some aspiring, hovers around the Salem Radio Network booth, where our son, Danny, is acting as show producer, collaring dignitaries, fending off lesser-knowns seeking national exposure, keeping track of the hour. Our entourage contains two Seattle politicos, attorney Rob and his cousin Dan Dixon, who have excellently provided transportation, organization and every kind of support. What an exciting adventure.

Radio show producer Danny Medved and me on Radio Row, RNC

   Guests can drop in for a single segment on the show, and the array is ad hoc and always changing. We saw Newt Gingrich strolling by, followed by reporters and sound-boom carriers. This morning Herman Cain was surrounded by reporters a few feet away. Anyone seeking visibility trolls our aisle. I’ve shaken dozens of famous hands. Some who have visited Michael’s microphone are Washington state congresswoman Cathy McMorris Rodgers, who had been on Romney’s short list for VP, Utah junior senator Mike Lee, Al Cardenas, chairman of CPAC, Randy Forbes, congressman from Virginia’s 4^th district, and Wisconsin junior senator Ron Johnson.

   The weather is ominous. Moments ago, torrential rain slammed at angles and again the palms swooped and bowed, Isaac’s reminder. And so Republicans are conscious that God plays a role in men’s affairs.  Will the hurricane upstage Mitt? Natural disasters rightfully command attention, and we pray for those who might be in Isaac’s path. But politics continues on. By the way, speakers here at the Convention often mention themes in Michael’s e-book, The Odds Against Obama,  though Michael’s got the unique historical analysis to really inspire optimism among Republicans. It’s an upbeat feel here in Tampa, and I look forward to more of this positive excitement tomorrow and in the coming days.

It's Isaac, not Akin: Legitimate Rape and the Republican Convention

Republicans are now stuck with the bad timing of Todd Akin's offensive comments that "legitimate rape" rarely causes pregnancy because the victim's body fends it off. That he could choose to remain a candidate while watching the national pile-on proves him to be selfish as well as stupid.

With Akin's comments reeking like a smelly bus passenger, I just want to get as far away from them as possible. But now the web-sphere is jumping with response that doesn't lay blame on Todd Akin, but on "Republicans." A clever song by Taylor Ferrera that's already earned more than 70,000 YouTube views lists all the scenarios that count as "illegitimate rape," just so you know--because, as her lyric notes, "Republicans have never experienced ra-aaaa-ape."

YouTube is filled with angry replies to Akin; Facebook is jumping with ire toward the right. Media outlets from bloggers, Huffington and Beast to every cable and print news source suddenly have risen from their summer torpor in righteous indignation. And of course, Republicans are just as shocked and disgusted by Akins' words as Democrats, and equally embarrassed that despite his apology, he won't just withdraw and go away.

This must make Obama strategists smile. They've been trying to distract from the sour economy and polls showing the populace less well-off than when he took office by suggesting Romney is anti-woman. Romney, too, decried Akins' statements and urged him to withdraw, but no matter what, Democrats are going to stretch this out as far as they can, and eager reporters are going to resuscitate the story, because it causes such wonderfully photogenic emotional reactions.

In this context, I'll be off with my husband and son, to cover the Republican National Convention in Tampa this coming week. I'll be blogging daily, reporting on the large and small events that the GOP hopes will redirect the conversation to economic issues, the strengths of Romney and Ryan. Party distinctions are sure to emerge consistently in the surge of energy created by this large, enthusiastic group.

So the Akin flap is effectively over, despite efforts by Democrats to maintain the story. He's one guy, and the economy is of much greater importance than his obnoxious gaffe. Plus, there's no controversy--nobody supports him, nobody defends him and given his dead-in-the-water campaign, nobody cares about him.

Already, Akin's replaced in the news by Isaac. Tropical Storm Isaac, that is, which may ramp up and become a hurricane in time to provide a different kind of wind for the Republicans. Even if not a hurricane, the weather forecast includes some powerful displays by Nature to accompany discourse on power by men. Should be fascinating and memorable. On to Tampa!

Summer in Seattle

The summer has teased us in the Northwest. We've enjoyed perhaps five days of truly sunny and warm weather, though that has not slowed the parade of tourists who cheerfully pay to ride "The Ducks" amphibious vehicle past landmarks and splash into Lake Union, duck-billed quack noise-makers to mouth. It clogs sidewalks with shorts-clad, shivering clusters pointing cameras at gliding ferry boats, Pike Place Market fish-throwers and now, my birthday delight this Monday, the new "Seattle Great Wheel," a Ferris wheel of climate-controlled glass gondolas that allows views from the Cascades to the Olympics.

I was given a choice of activities for my birthday, but our avid patronage of civic attractions and especially, arboreal retreats, left little in town to serve my yen for "N and D" ("new and different"). And then, I remembered the Wheel.

Open since only June 29, the 175-foot ride has changed the silhouette of the city, visible from the West Seattle Bridge, ferries in The Sound, the Space Needle and anywhere on the waterfront. It's a white metal frame by day, but for special events at night glows with spiral-moving colored lights--on July 4th, red, white and blue, reflected to sparkly effect in Elliott Bay.

My photo of Seattle Great Wheel from ferry

We got to Pier 57 about noon, to minimal line for the $13 tix, though finding parking underneath the soon-to-be-demolished Viaduct (Highway 99, a double-decker noisy blight ruining the entire length of the downtown Seattle shoreline) was time-consuming and ultimately, expensive. But the line to board moved well, and soon we entered our glass-walled, roomy car, equipped with its own air conditioning.

The 20-minute ride was glorious, as before our eyes a low-hung, overcast morning cleared to blue skies and expanded views. Inside, we scrambled positions snapping videos, Instagrams and panoramas, a set of exclaimers brandishing iPhones, zoom cameras and point-and-shoots.

After our memorable ride, we joined the throngs sauntering along the water, and entered Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe, where famous oddities hang from the rafters and offer their hand-lettered placards in old-fashioned glass cases. My son, who had just discovered that Narwhals are real (rather than mythical) was stunned to see a double-tusked representative on the wall. My souvenirs were stills of the formaldehyded 8-legged pig, taxidermed Siamese twin calves and Sylvia the mummy.

Of course, all this came immediately after SeaFair, the month-long air-and-water races and displays that culminate each summer with a window-rattling visit by the Navy's six exhibition F/A-18 Blue Angels jets, who cause happy gridlock by closing off the busy I-90 floating bridge during two days of practice and two of aerial daredeviling. I'm among those who thrill at their wing-grazing flight expertise, gaining skeleton-vibrating ecstasy from the sounds of sheer power and energy that their overhead passes and maneuvers create.

My best SeaFair pic ever! An eagle with the Blue Angels!

This year, I watched Friday's practice with hundreds of others seated on the sunny (that day) shore of Lake Washington. It's nearly the same show every year, but never a "been there-done that" moment as the sky-scratching force engages the region. Love those guys; love that they remind us of the strength of our military, and acknowledge their beneficiaries seated below them, cheering and gasping with wonder and joy.

Though so far, Seattle's summer is a weather dud, almost always too chilly to swim or cultivate a tan, to the rest of the nation, sweltering and suffering in unbearable heat and humidity, our drizzly cloud-cover looks pretty alluring. You know the joke: "Seattle has two seasons--August and the rainy season." Did you notice that every outdoor scene in "Sleepless in Seattle" featured drenching downpour?

Those of us who live here treasure our sunny days, and even the phenomenon known as "sun breaks." When one occurs--a momentary glint through temporarily parted clouds--we stop what we're doing and turn our pasty countenances to the window, or leap up and run outside to gain fleeting doses of Vitamin D before pregnant gray nimbuses crowd together again.

Or, we ignore the forecast and embrace the day. Seattleites are runners, climbers, hikers, skiers, boaters and bikers. None of us carries an umbrella, ever, though there are three or four in the car trunk, and a dozen more in the closet. You know a tourist not by his street map, but by his umbrella.

We're an optimistic bunch, scheduling Shakespeare in the Park, outdoor farmers' markets, even car washes, seldom cancelled due to inclement weather. Summer is a season of assumptions that our vivifying lengths of daylight will overcome any obstacles from the sky.

Photo by me at the Bellevue Botanical Garden

And so the Seattle Great Wheel is an appropriate celebration. It is certainly uplifting, gratifying, vision-expanding and reminding of the circular nature of all experience. Just as the summer comes to its warm and caressing pinnacle, it, like gawking tourists in gondolas, begins its descent. I notice already a tinge of orange in the maple leaves by our front door; the dawn comes a little later and the sunset a little sooner. The hydrangeas fade and echinacea blooms, and soon the tourists will thin on the waterfront as the Wheel continues circling round and round.

Tired of this 'Politics of Envy' campaigning

The politically correct among us will stoop to anything to distract from our nation's pit of debt and unemployment, and so they redirect discussion to Mitt Romney's wealth.

It's a plausible strategy to foment resentment of the rich, given how many people are suffering financially. The Occupy Movement is but a sorry asterisk in recent history, but the hatred it engendered for "the 1%," a group that the rest of us wouldn't refuse if offered, is being carefully managed toward saving Obama's presidency.

Trainer Jan Ebeling on Rafalca 

In May, a front-page New York Times story detailed Ann Romney's interest in dressage, formal horse-riding, an expensive sport that she began in order to combat physical weakness when diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Mrs. Romney's interest led to part-ownership of a few steeds, and one of those, Rafalca, will compete in the London Olympics August 2. The Guardian snarker Hadley Freeman wrote, "...the only sport the Romneys could be involved in that would make them look wealthier than dressage would be gold-coin diving in their family safe (previous winner: Scrooge McDuck)."

Stephen Colbert is all over dressage, noting on his show, "There is basically no better way to dispel the myth that Romney is detached, patrician, elite than competitive horse prancing--I mean, it's basically Nascar in a velvet top hat." He then dons what appears to be a donkey head and hoofs, dances around, and adds, "by the way, I'm available to stud." LOL.

Of course Colbert's TV competition, Jon Stewart, had his own jabs, especially when Donald Trump endorsed Romney: "If two ivy-league-educated business tycoons from wealthy families can find common ground, even when one is a billionaire and one only a multi, multi, multi-millionaire, maybe there's hope our country isn't so divided after all."

Then, yesterday's New York Times Travel section featured a half-page photo with vantage from the bow of an expensive, vintage boat on Lake Winnipesaukee, "where Mitt Romney has a house." The reporter, seeking to "vacation like Mitt Romney," tried boating on the lake, renting a jet ski, and dining at Mis en Place: "I smiled deeply," Henry Alford writes, "Romney-impersonating can be so broadening." Snicker, snicker.

Romneys at their vacation house

While touring on "a handsome, 1928-style mahogany runabout," he viewed "the 13-acre Romney estate with its $630,000 boathouse and its 768 feet of shoreline." By the way, a brief sidebar to the story laments that the Obamas' skipping their usual Martha's Vineyard vacation this year means a quarter-million-dollar loss from the 70 hotel rooms that would have housed secret servicemen. I get it: their expensive vacation creates jobs.

And of course anti-Romneyites love vilifying Bain Capital, as if turning around companies from debt to profit is greedy rather than helpful. So far, I've seen lots of ink about how conniving Bain attracted and disbursed funds, and heartlessly laid off workers while restructuring. But no one suggests Bain acted illegally, and even critics concede its efforts resulted in a net gain in jobs.

Why is Bain Capital so despised? Because its partners earned what every American wants--wealth. And what do they do with that wealth? Well, Mitt Romney, for one, gives a whole lot of it to charity. Yes, he gives the largest chunk of his donations to his church--as any religious person would--and its university. But the Romneys also give to a range of other causes, many of them devoted to children.

Stirring up voters' envy encourages anger directed to others, rather than gratitude for the many privileges our citizens share. And how does that feel? Envy adds to stress and feelings of incompetence and frustration. Not good for personal psyches.

Envy relies on the notion that wealth is a zero-sum game, where rich people steal from a limited pot, thereby depriving everyone else of that amount. The issue caused a fuss four years ago with then-candidate Obama's suggestion to Joe the Plumber that wealth, a static, finite bunch of money, ought be "spread around" out of fairness.

The fact of Romney's success, however, speaks to an uplifting and inspiring possibility--that wealth can be expanded by industrious entrepreneurs, and, being unlimited, is available to all. No need to snatch away a well-off person's profit when you can amass your own. You can give the 1% a tax break with the rest of the nation if you believe you can become one of them.

It might be a convenient distraction for Obama's campaign to criticize the Romneys for their lifestyle expenditures, but in so doing the strategy disheartens constituents and suppresses economic recovery. The message that "the rich" are selfish, greedy and uncaring makes normal folk want to distance from them, rather than emulate them.

And I'm tired of reading about it. Since when is the president supposed to be "the little guy" or struggle financially? I'd rather have a leader who's demonstrated competencies, and received rewards for his efforts. I want an emblem of success, a brilliant thinker whose educational accomplishments demonstrate that. I want the president to be better than me; better than the general populace; I want him (or her) to have emerged as the best and the brightest, ideally an exemplar of the finest behavior, which includes humility and fidelity.

I want a president to model the opposite of envy. Sometimes I wonder why the last of the Ten Commandments tells adherents to repress an emotion. I can understand the other commandments--God would want to establish His authority to give orders, and then express rules for civil behavior. But coveting? Why should a thought, or even an urge, be a problem? No harm, no foul if, as former President Carter confessed, you "lust in your heart," right?

True, once you permit internal lust, then it's easier to to justify enacting your fantasies.

But beyond that, coveting--envy--is the segue to every negative emotion, and ultimately, continuing unhappiness.  "Who is rich?" asks Ben Zoma in the Jewish "Ethics of the Fathers."
The answer: "He who is content with his lot, as it is said, 'When you eat of the toil of your hands, happy shall you be, and it shall be well with you." Similarly, later in the "Ethics," Rabbi Elazar ha-Kappar says, "Envy, lust and vainglory take a person out of this world (shorten a person's life)."

That's the issue--"the politics of envy" causes emotional distress and makes a less-than-perfect situation infinitely worse. If Mitt Romney has lots of cash, great; there's still enough for the rest of us, especially if we engage "the toil of our hands" and create our own wealth.

I don't share political views with Zappos' CEO Tony Hsieh, but he named his autobiography "Delivering Happiness" because expanding his workers' pleasure increased benefits to his customers, which in turn paid off in greater profits. In other words, the opposite of envy--giving with an open hand and celebrating others' success--increases our own well-being.

I hope the Romneys--and the Obamas--enjoy all they've earned, and that this jealous wealth-bashing stops. Please. Let's talk about the condition of the nation, and proposals for the future. Focus like a laser beam on the economy and foreign affairs. Everyone wants to be rich; and our nation will fare better if citizens feel they just might get there.

Competition for a Heart Attack

Heart Attack Grill, Las Vegas

As I write a book on why all the warnings about the "obesity epidemic" are such a crock, a news item reminds me that, refreshingly, some people just don't care. In fact, establishments in Manhattan and Las Vegas are fiercely competing over whose cholesterol-saturated fare is entitled to be labeled "heart attack."

This week, US District Judge Paul A. Engelmayer adjudicated Las Vegas restaurant Heart Attack Grill's suit to bar Manhattan's Second Avenue Deli--which is kosher--from calling its blatantly fatty offerings names the Grill feels belong solely within its own trademarked cardiac domain.

It's a battle that touches the corpulent hearts of America, where two thirds of the population are overweight or obese. And many of those people resent the constant barrage of well-meaning admonishment that they must become lean or risk a raft of debilitations and death.

Second Avenue Deli can now advertise its "Instant Heart Attack" (two potato pancakes filled with corned beef, pastrami, turkey or salami for $24.95) but only in Manhattan, because Heart Attack Grill's trademarked monikers, such as the "Quadruple Bypass Burger" (four half-pound beef patties, eight slices of American cheese, a whole tomato and half onion, for $12.94, unless you add the 20 extra bacon slices for an additional $3.69) prevail.

If you ask me, the whole thing is a (successful) publicity gimmick for Heart Attack Grill, who clearly is peddling a message with its reasonably-priced valve-cloggers. Now sandwich aficionados in New York and nationally are aware of its thumb-your-nose-at-authority menu, which brags about its lethality, and feeds the politically incorrect on many fronts.

Women's fronts, for one. Their waitresses wear low-cut nurse's 'uniforms' with red cross on their jaunty nurse-like caps. The website features a drawing of one reclining in a martini glass, with the line, "alcohol is good for you!" Clicking on the "nurse's schedule" takes you to a page festooned with drawings that will give any feminist cardiac arrest long before consuming the Flatliner Fries ("deep fried in pure lard!") for $1.84. Also on the menu are "no-filter cigs" (Lucky Strike and Candy Cigs "just like Dad's!"), three varieties of Fat Bastard wine, and the Butter Fat Shake ("literally pure cream!") for $4.62, with the option of adding 4 oz. of whipped cream-flavored vodka (another $4.62).

The beer menu revels in offense, showing a 'nurse' with a first aid kit saying "I like it in the can!" Other selections' captions: "Feeling ghetto?" and, for hard lemonade, "Get her to try new positions!" All purchases are "Cash only, plus 8.1% for our wasteful government to squander."

Blair River touts Heart Attack Grill

It almost seems the establishment is proud that in the past few months, two patrons suffered heart attacks while eating at the Grill counter. Both survived, though diners thought a February incident was a stunt and started taking photos before determining the slumping customer needed 911. In 2010, the Grill uploaded a YouTube of their "diet" whose side effects include "mild death." Indeed, the star of that video, 6-foot-8, 572-pound restaurant spokesman Blair River died suddenly last year, at age 29.

Despite the grisly associations, Second Avenue Deli, strictly kosher, doesn't skimp on caloric or fatty offerings. Its chicken soups are listed as "Jewish penicillin" though not as an antidote to its soon-on-the-menu "Triple Bypass Sandwich" ($34.95) which Deli owner Jeremy Lebewohl says contains "everything but the kitchen sink." Which is also its menu description for the Royal Second Avenue triple-decker sandwich for $27.95.

I'm surprised New York's mayor Bloomberg, whose obesity-fighting ban on sodas larger than 16 ounces may soon become law, didn't step in to restrict delis enticing customers with items as funny as..well, a heart attack. But obesity has a myriad of causes, and nanny-state legislators will likely tick-off their constituents when they meddle in both their wallets and their gullets.  It may be true that eating lots of fat (or lots of certain fats) is bad for you, or, as some experts insist, the opposite is true--that fat is our friend, and carbs are the real culprit.

Or, it could be that obesity is caused by something completely different, like a virus or a gene or environmental chemicals--in which case, the scolding about diet won't help, and will only alienate the sedentary and portly. And it's those folk the heart attack menu items serve.

I will confess--watch out, future Shabbat guests!--that when I cook, I go full-fat. And my lattes get the half-and-half treatment, no skinny stuff for me. Why? It tastes better. Heck, it tastes great. And when I put food in my mouth, I want it to be worthwhile. If it's not delicious, I won't eat it, sorry.

2nd Ave. Deli's "Heart Attack" is on latkes with pastrami

So I understand the desire to eat whatever you want, even if gorging on a lot of it might taunt an untimely end. And I also understand resisting the knows-better authorities who keep nagging us about what we should imbibe, and the attitudes we should  maintain. We eaters need most of all to be true to our bodies and our tastes, and relax a bit about the sustenance going into our mouths--while caring more diligently about what comes out.

Bizarre Accident Explodes Towns' Fireworks in Advance--But Show Went On

I thought it must be a hoax, but no--a freak accident exploded the boxcar-sized container full of the fireworks shows for two towns here in the Northwest, on the eve of Independence Day.

One of the shows is a favorite of ours, the July 3rd display in the Norwegian fjord community of Poulsbo. We go there every year by ferry, and stake out a viewing spot with the thousands who enjoy live bands, carnival food and booths on the shores of Liberty Bay. But this time, the much-anticipated festivities were weirdly placed in jeopardy.

Here's what happened: Poulsbo and neighboring Bainbridge Island contracted with fireworks aficionado (a mortgage specialist by trade) Robert Nitz to put on their shows. According to the Los Angeles Times, Nitz does the sideline because "I love fireworks," and last year even lost $1,366 on the displays. This year, he'd invested either $30,000 or $80,000 (news accounts differ) of the two towns' money in his cache, which was stored on a spare corner of a car-wrecking business in the town of Belfair. Depending on which accounts you read, either two male employees or the yard's owner and daughter, all of whom remain, curiously, unnamed, then did something bizarre.

The father and daughter (or two employees) decided at 1 am June 25 to go into the yard and try out a new rifle. Wee-hours target practice, you might say.

The story is that a bullet aimed toward a wreck ricocheted off into the room-sized metal fireworks storage container, setting off the entirety of both shows.

The fireworks container, after it had flipped over twice from exploding

It felt like an earthquake lasting a full minute to neighbors several miles surrounding. It "shook out of bed" the wife of Jeromy Hicks, the Mason County Fire District investigator immediately called to the scene. The explosion also burnt out cars and ignited a large pile of tires nearby. In fact, mortars were still going off when firefighters arrived, and they had to employ a huge claw to pull the still-erupting, flaming mess apart. Squelching the conflagration took them five hours.

Reporters can't say this, but I can: What kind of idiot shoots rifles next to a packed cache of fireworks? At 1 am, to boot? Could there have been some, uh, celebratory imbibing involved?

Show producer Nitz scrambled to put together replacement pyrotechnics, albeit without his showcase addition this year, called "water shells." He succeeded, and last night my family again enjoyed the brilliant display over Liberty Bay.

Poulsbo readies for its July 3 celebration, 2012

And the unidentified car-wrecking yard owner? Well, as far as known, while his insurance covers wrecking cars--and in this debacle some were indeed wrecked--it doesn't cover stray bullet-destruction of fireworks.  According to Poulsbo festival organizer Ron Krell, "He readily admits it. He knew the container was there, he knew the container contained fireworks, he accepts responsibility." But producer Nitz covered the extra cost, though viewers in the many boats gathered to watch the show were asked to contribute cash into fishing nets offered their way.

Happy Independence Day...