The U.S. government sent a man to our door to pay $90 if one of us would answer a few questions and spit in a tube.

Me, I don't answer the doorbell unless I already know who is there, but Meade went to the door to find a man with a clipboard and a National Health and Alcohol Study badge. If somehow I'd gone to the door, I'd have seen through the window that it was a man with a clipboard and given my no-none-of-that-here hand gesture and never opened the door. And if somehow I'd started talking to the guy and he'd said the first thing — that he was doing a government health survey — I'd have abruptly refused. No way! And if he'd reached the part about giving a saliva sample, I'd have laughed in his face.

But Meade — a Hoosier, much friendlier than I am — talked to the man for what was, to me, a puzzling length of time. Of course, Meade refused to do the survey or part with the saliva, but he did receive these papers:



"Questions like age and education, drinking, medicine and drug use, mood, anxiety, behavior and medical conditions and personality." No way! Yet over 100,000 people have participated. $90 is an impressive amount of money, perhaps especially to people with alcohol problems. As Meade said later, you could buy a lot of gin for $90. I'm irked as a taxpayer. Is this a federal jobs program to tide over erstwhile census workers?

Above, you see the little brochure, and Meade was also given this copy of a letter that was previously sent in the mail to soften us up for government interrogation. I vaguely remember tossing it right in the trash recycling bin:



Interestingly, the softening-up letter doesn't mention the part where the government's independent contractor makes you spit in a tube. It also refers only to alcohol and alcohol-related mental issues. Unlike the brochure, it doesn't mention drug use. It does, however, boldface the $90. You get $45 to sit for the interview, but $45 is withheld until you get to "the end."

But "It's okay to skip questions you don't want to answer for any reason." So, you're answering questions and then there's one you don't want to answer? Speaking of anxiety! And then they want the saliva sample. By the way, one of the mood/behavior issues around drug and alcohol use is lying. Presumably, they will detect that.

But don't worry, this is for "research purposes only." We're assured our personal information will be stripped away. What? Are you paranoid? How does that paranoia relate to your drug/alcohol use?

The government simply wants to "decide how best to use money and staff to solve national health problems." How about not handing out hundreds of thousands of pairs of $45 checks to collect data from the kind of people who don't know how to say no to a government that manipulates them into surrendering their freedom for a handout?

ADDED: Meade tells me the man said the saliva was for DNA, something about checking one's ancestry for alcohol (and drug?) related problems.

A "balding, blunt, unprepossessing, listed-at-5-foot-7 policy wonk would be a strong contender to take on President Barack Obama....."

"[H]e’s the un-Obama. If the country has soured on a charismatic orator who brought glamour but little executive experience to the presidency, the thinking goes, then [Mitch] Daniels could provide the antidote.... He’s a Princeton-educated former Senate chief of staff-turned political operative-turned think tank chief-turned Fortune 500 executive-turned White House budget director-turned two-term governor."

The Hoosier is willing.

Ravenous hunger for Sarah is making even Hoosiers nasty.

Hoosiers!

What's going on? Things move from good to bad so quickly, like Woodstock to Altamont. This could be the most beautiful evening...

Hoosiers line up early in the morning for a chance to see Sarah Palin at a Borders in the small city of Noblesville.

Here are the first 2 of the 1000 who got wristbands to allow them in this evening:

The line started last night at 9 PM.

More pictures like that, by Sam Riche, at the link.

Meanwhile, Fox News screws up by showing video from last year to illustrate a story about the crowds at her current book tour.

I throw some movie-related red meat to the lefties, and then to the righties.

I've got to tell you, I laughed like mad at the trailer for the new Michael Moore movie "Capitalism: A Love Story":



I will definitely see this movie. Annoying as I've found Michael Moore at times in the past, I love the light but stinging touch. Quite charming, if the trailer is accurate.

Okay, see? Sometimes I throw out red meat for the liberals.

Now, here's red meat for you righties. In the trailer at 1:40, we hear and then see George W. Bush and — even though I was in a theater in the lefty hotbed of Madison, Wisconsin — I leaned over to my seatmate (the estimable Meade) and said (loud enough to be heard): "I miss that guy."

***

The movie we were seeing was — as the previous post hints — "Inglourious Basterds." In "Chapter 2" of that film, when Brad Pitt first appeared, Meade now says — if he hadn't needed to maintain Hoosierly etiquette — he wanted to lean over to me and whisper "George W."

And it's true. Brad Pitt is kind of doing a George Bush impersonation. (Meade points to 0:30 in this trailer, when the character says "killin' Nazis.") Now, it's an awful accent, really. And I don't think it's a Tennessee accent, which is what we're told it is. Oddly, later in the movie, there's a whole thing about speaking Italian with a bad accent, and Pitt's is the worst of the bad accents, so maybe there — and throughout the movie — Quentin Tarantino intended to treat us to layer upon layer of joking.

"That's fried mush, baby! You're a Hoosier now."

1. Meade makes mush ... apropos of all that grits talk in the Whole Foods threads (1 & 2). And yes, we bought the corn meal mush at Whole Foods.

2. Enlarge for details — but don't think you'll be able read the papers. I've blurred out all the text.

3. To answer the question I'm sure is coming first: Yes, the bacon is Nueskes. And you can't buy that at Whole Foods.

4. Answer to that other question: Ate Berries in the Canaries.

5. Note the hinge defect. Unpropped, the thing lies flat. I've heard of the much-rumored Apple tablet, but the Air should not pretend to be one.

6. That stool is a Swopper. (Buy one: here.)

7. Popcorn.

Meade, talking to Texans.

Sitting in the outdoor café of our Ouray, Colorado hotel this morning, my husband Meade — who's very friendly (I call it "Hoosierly") with strangers — got into a conversation with a couple at the next table, and, naturally, one item of information exchanged was where we all are from. They were from Texas.

When we got up to leave, Meade leaned over to the man and said: "When you go back home, say hi to my favorite Texan."

"Who?"

"George W.!"

You should have seen the man's reaction. It was as if someone had suddenly sprayed water in his face.

ADDED: Later in the day, we got into a tour vehicle (a 4x4) for a ride up into the San Juan Mountains, and the lady in the seat in front of us started up a conversation, immediately volunteering that she was from Texas. Meade said, "That's great, but I need to be careful. I'm afraid I offended some Texans earlier this morning when I told them who my favorite Texan is." And she said, "Oh? And who is that?" And Meade, "Well, I like President Bush." "He's my favorite too!" she said, giving him a high five and getting her whole family to turn around and meet him.

Lunch at the Butterhorn Bakery & Cafe in Frisco.

Frisco, Colorado. Where I was seated under a picture of a fox and back-to-back with a tattooed lady.



We overheard the waitress talking about her birthday, and my not-quite-yet-husband subsequently wished her a happy birthday and said other Hoosierly things to her, leading her to advise me "He's a keeper." Indeed!

ADDED: Chip Ahoy animates not the tattoo, nor the batik of my shirt but...



... the fox.

When Chief Justice John Roberts was a vox clamans in terris... about Michael Jackson.

"I recognize that I am something of a vox clamans in terris in this area, but enough is enough. The Office of Presidential Correspondence is not yet an adjunct of Michael Jackson’s PR firm. 'Billboard' can quite adequately cover the event by reproducing the award citation and/or reporting the President’s remarks. (As you know, there is very little to report about Mr. Jackson’s remarks.) There is absolutely no need for an additional presidential message. A memorandum for Presidential Correspondence objecting to the letter is attached for your review and signature."

Ha ha ha. What a character! The wise Latin! The voice of a terrified clam!

And later:

I hate to sound like one of Mr. Jackson’s records, constantly repeating the same refrain, but I recommend that we not approve this letter. Sometimes people need to be reminded of the obvious: whatever its status as a cultural phenomenon, the Jackson concert tour is a massive commercial undertaking. The tour will do quite well financially by coming to Washington, and there is no need for the President to applaud such enlightened self-interest. Frankly, I find the obsequious attitude of some members of the White House staff toward Mr. Jackson’s attendants, and the fawning posture they would have the President of the United States adopt, more than a little embarrassing.

It is also important to consider the precedent that would be set by such a letter. In today’s Post there were already reports that some youngsters were turning away from Mr. Jackson in favor of a newcomer who goes by the name “Prince,” and is apparently planning a Washington concert. Will he receive a Presidential letter? How will we decide which performers do and which do not?

A newcomer who goes by the name "Prince." Yeah, don't want the Prez bowing down to bogus royalty.

And I love the resistance to ad hoc decisionmaking and the demand for neutral rules of general applicability. Put that man on the Supreme Court!

Equal justice under law.

And still more Roberts vox clamans in the White House:

I recommend that no such letter be sent. The Jackson tour, whatever stature it may have attained as a cultural phenomenon, is a massive commercial undertaking. The visit of the tour to Washington was not an eleemosynary gesture; it was a calculated commercial decision that does not warrant gratitude from our Nation’s Chief Executive. Such a letter would also create a bad precedent, as other popular performers would either expect or demand similar treatment. Why, for example, was no letter sent to Mr. Bruce Springsteen, whose patriotic tour recently visited the area? Finally, the President, in my view, has done quite enough in the way of thanking and congratulating the Jacksons, and anything more would begin to look like unbecoming fawning.

Patriotic? I see the dawn's early light of a non-neutral rule.

Undoubtedly, Roberts was thinking of the song "Born in the U.S.A.," which was popular at the time. Yet a close reading of the text — as opposed to an empathetic response to the sound of the repetitious refrain — would show that it's not at all patriotic, something conservatives seem to have had a hell of a time figuring out:

[T]he widely-read conservative columnist George Will, after attending a show, published on September 13, 1984 a piece entitled "A Yankee Doodle Springsteen" in which he praised Springsteen as an exemplar of classic American values. He wrote: "I have not got a clue about Springsteen's politics, if any, but flags get waved at his concerts while he sings songs about hard times. He is no whiner, and the recitation of closed factories and other problems always seems punctuated by a grand, cheerful affirmation: 'Born in the U.S.A.!'" The 1984 presidential campaign was in full stride at the time, and Will had connections to President Ronald Reagan's re-election organization. Will thought that Springsteen might endorse Reagan, and got the notion pushed up to high-level Reagan advisor Michael Deaver's office. Those staffers made inquiries to Springsteen's management which were politely rebuffed.

Nevertheless, on September 19, 1984, at a campaign stop in Hammonton, New Jersey, Reagan added the following to his usual stump speech:

"America's future rests in a thousand dreams inside your hearts; it rests in the message of hope in songs so many young Americans admire: New Jersey's own Bruce Springsteen. And helping you make those dreams come true is what this job of mine is all about."

The campaign press immediately expressed skepticism that Reagan knew anything about Springsteen, and asked what his favorite Springsteen song was; "Born to Run" was the tardy response from staffers.

Just picture Ronnie and Nancy out riding through mansions of glory in suicide machines, chrome-wheeled, fuel injected and stepping out over the line. Did you know Washington, D.C. rips the bones from your back? Well, I guess it does!

***

By the way, Michael Jackson and John Roberts were/are both Hoosiers. I love Hoosiers. Nobody has to be ashamed of being a Hoosier:

"Hoosiers do all right. Lowe and I have been around the world twice, and everywhere we went we found Hoosiers in charge of everything.... Lincoln was a Hoosier, too. He grew up in Spencer County.... I don't know what it is about Hoosiers... but they've sure got something. If somebody was to make a list, they'd be amazed... We Hoosiers got to stick together... Whenever I meet a young Hoosier, I tell them, 'You call me Mom.'"

Let's parse Obama's Cairo speech.

Full text.

I'm on the road. Somewhere in Indiana. Obama's with the Egyptians, and I'm with the Hoosiers. Start the parsing without me.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single blogger in possession of a good vortex, must be in want of a husband."

From the comments on last night's post with Bob & Mickey commenting on Ann & Meade.

Sara said:

When Ann & Meade marry, that will make 9 couples I know or that I've had some online contact with who met online and got married.

Ann, if it helps with all the naysayers, the other 8 are all happy and three have been married more than 10 years now....

Theobromophile said:

Ditto to Sara. People meet online all the time. I know a bunch of eHarmony folks, and my mum met my stepdad on Match.com back in the '90s. At least a comment section of a blog presumes a common interest.

Yes, we need to make a big distinction between the on-line version of what was once the personal ads in the newspaper. I think what is getting attention in my case isn't that we "met on line," because that's not unusual at all. In fact, I don't even think it would get a reaction if 2 commenters got together. (Why not email a commenter you like? You might end up in love in real life.) What is stirring people up is that a blogger is marrying one of her commenters, perhaps especially where the blogger is the woman and the commenter is the man.

Hoosier Daddy said:

I met Mrs. Hoosier in a bar while we were in college. We did a couple of tequila shots together, danced to The Fine Young Cannibals got engaged and married two years later. It's been 18 years of wedded blitz ever since.

AJ Lynch said:

80-90% of married couples met in a bar. Many have trouble admitting it.

Hoosier Daddy said:

Not only do I admit it, I wear it as a badge of honor and distinction. We had a rockin good time, made out in the parking lot and 20 years later we're still together.

All those fairy tales about romantic hookups is bullshit. Two years later she's telling the judge what a cocksucker he is and she ends up with the house, car and is banging the pool boy.

Yeah, how are you supposed to meet somebody? What is the officially approved-of way?

Michael Hasenstab said:

Gosh, you youngsters and your interwebs, meeting online and all.

I'm so old school that I met my wife inline. We were lined up (in person, not via computer queue), waiting to get into the same place early one Saturday morning. We talked (in person, not via some electronic thingie, this was pre-email), exchanged names (using pen and paper, this was pre-PDA) and telephone numbers (to our home phones, this was pre-cellular).

One of us called the other, then the other called one of us a few days later. Then we met once and both explained why we had no, zero, nada, bupkus, zip, nunca intentions of marrying because we both greatly preferred the single life.

We met a second time and part way through that date fell in love and decided to marry as soon as practical. And we did. And decades later remain blissfully married.

When the sparks are ignited, the method or media doesn't matter. A great match is a great match, no matter how it was achieved.

And a few friends and relatives did ask "Does he/she know the guy/girl?" Their questions didn't matter. We already had the answer.

Ha ha. By the way, from my experience, I'd say that the conviction that singlehood is best and I'm never getting married is, oddly enough, breaks through to the shortest path to a decision to marry.

Peter hoh said:

I like the way that "commenter" sounds a bit like "commoner."

It sounds like something out of a Victorian comedy of manners. "She's marrying a commoner? Oh my!"

Paul Zrimsek said:

"She's marrying a commoner? Oh my!"

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single blogger in possession of a good vortex, must be in want of a husband.

What if I did a summer trip, going to U.S. cities where I could do meet-ups with readers...

What would be the top cities? Help me devise a travel route. I have this idea of a big summer road trip, made sociable with reader meet-ups. What cities should mark the way? I also want bloggable, photographable landscapes in between, but at this point, what I'm looking for are the rest spots, the nights, the local cafés and taverns. Throw some suggestions at me.

IN THE COMMENTS: chickenlittle said:

Althouse needs a US map with little pins stuck in it showing the locations of commenters. That might help her visualize her trip.

Aren't such maps easy to create in Google?

Thanks for the idea. Here's the map.


View Larger Map

Add a pin if you think you might be interested in meeting in a group of readers at a bar or café. I need to see places where there are clusters of readers. [ADDED: The way to add a pin is to get the left sidebar open, find the "edit," button, and then click on the button that looks like the pins that are already on the map. Thanks to Portly Pirate for helping me figure that out.]

Meade said:

Speaking of Cincinnati, just outside Cincinnati, to the east, by a river called the Little Miami, is a rest spot called Meade's Rest Spot. It's also where you will find Meade's Café and a tavern called Tavern Meade where you can order a plate of barbequed short ribs, a draft Guinness, quaff a fermented honey wine called "mead," and then, as they say, get a room.

All the smart road trippers, when traveling through the heartland, always stay at Meade's due to its reputation for a hospitality that darn near approaches a hoosier level of friendliness.

LOL. Yeah, I should quaff some mead.

In which of the states is it easiest to talk to strangers?

I haven't traveled to all the states, but I've been to most of them. And while there is a lot of variety among people in different places, you can tell that there is something of a local personality. You may not notice it when you live there, but it really stands out when you travel through. For example, a few years ago, I traveled back to Wilmington, Delaware, where I grew up (and my father grew up). I was struck by how taciturn the people were. I wanted to strike up conversations. I grew up here! I ate in this restaurant in the 1950s! But I couldn't get a response from anyone. Crazy lady from out of town thinks she can talk to me. At least it helped me understand my father better.

But what's the best state if you want to travel through and have some nice, random conversations with strangers — where they won't just be polite and pretend they like you because that's the right way to act or because they want your business, but where they truly openly and easily just go right ahead and roll right into a conversation about any number of things, not boring you with their life story or problems or anything like that, but laughing at your little observations and offering up little morsels of things they happen to know? I'm going to say: Indiana!

ADDED: All this talk of Indiana made me want to dig out this passage from Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle":

Crosby asked me what my name was and what my business was. I told him, and his wife Hazel recognized my name as an Indiana name. She was from Indiana, too.

"My God," she said, "are you a Hoosier?"

I admitted I was.

"I'm a Hoosier, too," she crowed. "Nobody has to be ashamed of being a Hoosier."

"I'm not," I said. "I never knew anybody who was."

"Hoosiers do all right. Lowe and I've been around the world twice, and everywhere we went we found Hoosiers in charge of everything.

"That's reassuring."

"You know the manager of that new hotel in Istanbul?"

"No."

"He's a Hoosier. And the military-whatever-he-is in Tokyo . . ."

"Attaché," said her husband.

"He's a Hoosier," said Hazel. "And the new Ambassador to Yugoslavia . . . "

"A Hoosier?" I asked.

"Not only him, but the Hollywood Editor of Life magazine, too, And that man in Chile . . ."

"A Hoosier, too?"

"You can't go anywhere a Hoosier hasn't made his mark," she said.

"The man who wrote Ben Hur was a Hoosier."

"And James Whitcomb Riley."

"Are you from Indiana, too?" I asked her husband.

"Nope. I'm a Prairie Stater. 'Land of Lincoln,' as they say."

"As far as that goes," said Hazel triumphantly, "Lincoln was a Hoosier, too. He grew up in Spencer County."

"Sure," I said.

"I don't know what it is about Hoosiers," said Hazel, "but they've sure got something. If somebody was to make a list, they'd be amazed."

"That's true," I said.

She grasped me firmly by the arm. "We Hoosiers got to stick together."

"Right"

"You call me 'Mom."'

"What?"

"Whenever I meet a young Hoosier, I tell them, 'You call me Mom."'

"Uh huh."

"Let me hear you say it," she urged.

"Mom?"

She smiled and let go of my arm. Some piece of clockwork had completed its cycle. My calling Hazel "Mom" had shut it off, and now Hazel was rewinding it for the next Hoosier to come along.

Hazel's obsession with Hoosiers around the world was a textbook example of a false karass, of a seeming team that was meaningless in terms of the ways God gets things done, a textbook example of what Bokonon calls a granfalloon. Other examples of granfalloons are the Communist party, the Daughters of the American Revolution, the General Electric Company, the International Order of Odd Fellows--and any nation, anytime, anywhere.

As Bokonon invites us to sing along with him:

If you wish to study a granfalloon,
Just remove the skin of a toy balloon.

IN THE COMMENTS: EDH says:

I'm from Massachusetts, and if you ask me, the people around here are too god damn friendly.

So, I don't know where all these bastids get the silly idea that people from Massachusetts aren't friendly.

What the fuck are you look'n at?

(A dramatization.)