Baby faces are cute by design.

Think of human babies you've seen, or even photos of babies, in ads or a scrapbook. They all have round faces and big eyes, almost no nose and only the hint of lips, drawn up in a bow. Because they're so adorable and absolutely vulnerable, we bond with them and tacitly promise to take care of them until they are grown and ready to be out on their own.

[It's good for sales, too: Look at any baby doll from any era and you'll see the resemblance to a real human baby. Not so for dolls of older girls and boys: think Barbie and G.I. Joe.]

Same thing, if you think of it, with animals. What is cuter than a fuzzy kitten or a frisky puppy? Not even a human baby in some cases! You can't think that nature made those baby animals so irresistable to please us humans, can you? Of course not. They're cute for their parents so that those parents will accept them, bond with them, not kill them. The mother almost always bonds, and sometimes the father, too -- but the mother has been known to fend off the irrational and violent father bent on destroying his own progeny. Hmmm . . . sounds familiar, no?

But here's a funny thing: We humans find animal babies cuter than cute, but I'm not sure if animals find OUR babies cute. Would you leave your one-year-old by herself in the backyard with a mother Rottweiler? I hope not. So what's the diff? I'd have to guess it's consciousness -- of who you are and what humans are, etc. -- and, in the case of animals, lack of it. They recognize their own babies as special and worthy of nurturing, but they don't understand the universal concept of "cute babies": i.e., all the young of any species is cute compared to its adult self and should be protected. And that it's intended by nature to be sure that each new generation is cared for and encouraged by the more powerful older generation that will sooner or later die off.

But think of species in which the infant looks nothing like the parent. I mean, a baby snake looks a lot like a mother snake, but a baby frog is not just a smaller version of a frog. How does the mom frog recognize that creature that looks more like spermatazoa than it does a frog? And how does an adult butterfly know its progeny who, last time anyone looked, were worms in cocoons?
Do some species somehow recognize their children even though there's no resemblance? Or do some species -- butterflies, e.g. -- just not take care of their young?

Are the only attentive animal parents those, like us, who recognize our kids as looking like us? I seem to recall a film about baby turtles making a mad dash -- relatively speaking -- for the sea soon after they were born, hoping to make the water before some seabird or other predator snatched them up. Where were THOSE parents? Nowhere to be seen. Useless.

I'm tempted to say that the facial recognition part of parental bonding is, if not purely human, at least mammalian. The cute kitties and pups. It's true that a baby alligator looks just like a full-grown one, but does momma gator -- maybe dad, too -- take some pride in a "little me" and vow to care for it? I don't know. I'm not sure where the cut-off is. Come to think of it, baby chicks are about as cute as cute can be, so we have to include birds, probably even the wild ones. Where does it end?

Do insects acknowledge and care for their young? I mean, don't all crickets look alike? Hmm . . .

Remember that nature, which underlies all we are and all we do, wants only one thing: to make more of itself, in the form of its innumerable species of animals and plants. As set up by Whoever/Whatever, nature is programmed only to reproduce. But it has clever means of getting its way, one of which is to make baby animals cute.

I'm always amazed at how well the world works. Not the world we humans have created but the one that existed before us and may exist after, the one we were born into and will exit. It's way too brutal for my taste -- kill or be killed, eat or be eaten -- but that's what we have to deal with and try to figure out. But nature has a kinder side, too, and thinking about cute animal faces, including ours, is just one example. Think of the pleasures nature -- our natural state and the natural beings we are -- gives us, from those darling kittens to views of mountains to sex to love to giving birth to and raising that special next generation to baseball to dessert to whatever.

Nature, our nature, giveth and taketh away. And after all we're put through in this life, we deserve those precious baby faces, no? And did I show you the latest shots of my new granddaughter? I've got them right here. Hey, wait, it'll only take a sec!

Don't be intimidated by wine snobs.

Admit it: when it comes to choosing wines, most of us don't have a clue.

Why is that?

Two reasons (at least).

First, we've all been led to believe that we can't trust our own senses and tastes. We try a wine and think it's fine only to be told by some "expert"-- either in print or online or just a friend --that our new favorite is not suitable for human consumption.

Second, there are more wines than there are languages spoken in the world. Lots more. A stroll down the aisles of any big liquor store will bear this out. Not just whites and reds but different countries all jockeying for shelf space. Even Australia has wines, with kangaroos on the label!

Picking a good wine, if you don't know much about them, is almost like buying a lottery ticket. Pay your money and cross your fingers. What's a novice wine buyer to do?

Well, we could start by reading the magazines devoted to this age-old art. And when I say age-old, I'm not exaggerating: wine is in the Bible! Apparently even Jesus drank it at The Last Supper! (He has a famous line about his wine being his blood, etc.) Growing grapes to be pressed into wine goes back further than most of us can imagine. (And I'm sure there were wine snobs in B.C.!) But most of us have enough to do and read already and are not likely to engage in any research or even consult the wine magazines.

That said, we can ask our friends about which wines to buy, but only if we've been to their houses and drunk wines that they picked and liked and that we did, too. If, on the other hand, we've had wines at their houses that -- despite how much they cost -- we didn't like, our friends' opinions may not matter that much.

Apparently taste in wines is as individual and unpredictable as taste in men/women. What? You chose him? Are you nuts? Oh my God, you drink that? What are you thinking, girl? Etc.

But let's suppose you have a social gathering coming up, and you want to serve wines that you hope won't offend anyone and, at best, will have everyone asking you where you bought them. And, like most of us, you don't know much about wines. (And you're not going to read all those wine magazines.)

What to do? How to choose?

Start at the liquor store where all those wines are shelved. Their staff, at least in the bigger ones and maybe some of the smaller ones, too -- are sort of schooled about wines, although "experts" would rightly say that such clerks know way too little about the origin of the wine being recommended, etc., etc. But -- and here's the big but -- they know which wines have been recommended by those magazines you aren't going to read and which ones their regular customers like, and they may actually have tasted some of them. They know more than you, so start there.

If you're feeling especially confident -- not in wines but in yourself -- you might tell the manager of the liquor store that you're planning a party featuring wine but don't know anything about it and ask him/her for recommendations. Mention how much you're budgeted to spend -- a few hundred -- and I'm betting that he/she will personally escort you through the aisles, picking what he/she would choose to put into your basket if he/she were hosting your upcoming event. (Hey, think about it: he/she gets a chance to get out of the office and put his/her mind to the very thing he/she loves most: selecting wines.) A win-win.

In the end, though, trust your taste and keep an eye on your purse. There are very good wines that don't cost an arm and a leg. You might find, by accident (eenie-meenie in the aisles), a red from Chile that tastes great and only costs a toe! Or a white (keep it chilled) from Canada that's half the price of something that's no better from Germany.

The wonderful world of wine is a wilderness but one that's fun to explore. Start from the bottom and work your way up: begin cheap and see how a particular wine tastes before spending more money. Consult sources but make yourself your own expert. Trust your taste. (After all, you're the one who's going to be drinking most of what you buy, right?)

However you choose to launch your wine stock at home, you should always have a few good reds and a few good whites. If you want to be kind of cool, also have a port on hand; it's heavier and may cost more, but a few of your guests will be impressed. (Serve it after dinner.) Always keep a bottle of Champagne on hand for quick chilling for special occasions, but don't think you have to choose the pricey French brands: really, it's just bubbly wine, and homegrown brands (called "sparkling wine") are, for most of us, pretty much indistinguishable from those brewed in the French region that bears its name. Think of Perrier bottled water versus other, cheaper, brands. Is there really that much of a difference? Well, come to think of it, Perrier does taste sparklier, deeper, saltier . . . Okay, spend more and get the French Champagne.

Also consider your audience. If you're very rich and are hosting some kind of fund-raising event that will result in big checks to your favorite cause, then by all means go with the very best, according to the magazines and experts -- your own taste be damned! There are always wine snobs in a crowd like that, and they'll give you serious demerits if you don't have just this or that label on your counter. If, on the other hand, you're having a wine-tasting party, or just any party, for friends, go out on a limb and pick some unknown wines with cool labels from countries like Argentina or New Zealand that fall within your budget, and set them out with good cheeses and crackers. Tell your guests that you're trying them out and get their opinions. They will likely jump at the chance of sharing with you the discovery of a brand and a vintage they all love and can afford -- or all hate. Either way, you'll be a hero!

Most of us, however smart we are, can't tell the difference between a really expensive wine and a not-so-expensive wine and we're all reluctant to admit it. I don't deny that there really are wine "experts" whose palates detect the least traces of oak or cherry or you-name-it in a wine.
But you and I can't taste those differences. (Any more than we can tell the difference between a piece of classical music done by the Vienna or Denver or Pittsburgh symphony.) And neither, in most cases, can any of our guests.

Here's an idea: hire someone from your favorite booze store to do a presentation for your guests at your house, a host or hostess for the wine-tasting. (Consult the manager to get an employee who knows wines.) Offer him or her $100 for two hours. Most guys and gals working in a liquor store would jump on that gig! You provide the wine, based on his/her recommendations, along with those from the manager. Good for him/her and good for you, too, no?

Here's a true story. When I was a waiter, many years ago, in a fancy restaurant, one of our customers ordered the most expensive wine we had -- three bottles, at $100+ a bottle -- to entertain his special friends. (He was a rich rancher, looking to impress.) When they were done with the meal, I picked up the bottles, all with something left in them, and the waiters gathered in the kitchen to try them. We had all been schooled by the snob owner of the restaurant to know a great wine from a good one, and a good one from a loser, but not one of us could tell why that wine should have cost that much more than many others we'd sampled before. We all thought it tasted kind of sour, like it had been left in the bottle too long. All three bottles.

A recent segment on NPR -- National Public Radio -- featured a wine expert who pretty much said the same thing: Trust your own taste. Some years ago, there was an international wine-tasting competition that pitted the best new California wines against the venerable French brands, and the California wines won. The French were, as they should be, mortified. How could this have happened? The judges picked those that tasted the best, period.

I'm not a sophisticated wine drinker, but I've drunk my share and think most of us would be better off starting with the least expensive varieties and working our way up to pricier kinds, stopping when we feel comfortable with the taste and the price. Your price point might be $20 for a bottle of wine that you love, and there are many to be had for that. Or you may just have $10 to spend on a bottle. If it tastes good, go with it. If you're much below that, you're probably a grad student or a transient just looking to get drunk -- and more power to you!

Wine is a classic drink that accommodates all of us. It's been drunk by kings and derelicts alike from the earliest times, the very beginnings of civilization. And it's still available to all of us, in many forms, from rotgut to valuable. Pick the most expensive if your job or your marriage depends on it and if you think your target will know the brand; otherwise, go cheap at first and set out on an exploration.

Personally, I don't understand wine. (Like I don't understand opera.) But I trust the tastes of all those smart people who go nuts over it. They -- like the opera people -- must know something I don't. Something I can't get. I defer to them.

If, in the end, you are totally baffled --if you experience wine-buying paralysis -- just buy a six-pack of beer, for God's sake. There are lots of great beers -- and fewer snobs.

Cheers!

There are five drugs you need to know about.

There are many drugs available nowadays, but there are five that you absolutely need to know about, for yourself and especially for your kids. (I'm not including here the "downers" that most kids don't have any interest in, Valium and all that: those are for us adults who want to slow things down; hence the name.)

The first, and most dangerous, is meth, the shorthand name for methamphetamine. It's commonly called speed for its tendency to speed everything up. You feel like you have more energy: you can run faster, talk faster, do more work, etc. The problem, of course, is that once it wears off, you feel much worse than before you took it. I haven't done it myself, so I'm not sure how it's ingested. (I do remember diet pills from a few decades ago that contained it -- yes, the women lost weight, since it makes you not want to eat -- without any warnings.) The worst way to get it into your system is to shoot it into your arm, which, of course, is the worst way to take any drug: once you're injecting yourself, you're all but dead. Meth is, unfortunately, easy to cook up in a lab in your own home, using ingredients bought at a local pharmacy.

I hope you don't plan to try making it yourself, but if you do, be warned: the fumes, and maybe an explosion, make it very dangerous, especially if you have kids. Meth is strong stuff and kills people, at any age, stops their hearts just like that. One second you're seventeen and dancing with your date at the prom, and the next second you're dead, and your parents are beside themselves. In fact, they'll never be the same again. Don't do it to yourself or them.

A second drug to be aware of is cocaine, which does much the same as meth but also makes you feel great about yourself. Again, it can stop your heart, without warning, so be careful. (A first round draft choice in the NBA a few years ago dropped dead because of coke, barely twenty.) Unlike meth, though, it can be ingested just by snorting it up your nostrils -- doing lines, it's called, where you lay it all out on a surface and snort it using a straw (really!). The old comic Rodney Dangerfield had a good bit about coke: "I never liked it, but I liked the way it smelled." And then he would simulate snorting it up a nostril. If enjoyed in a controlled environment, among smart friends, it can be a real trip, but it's very addictive, and the tendency to do too much, and too often, is always there.

Cocaine is the long-time favorite drug of movie stars, who, if you've noticed, sometime die too young. Crack -- cocaine condensed into crystals -- is an offshoot, even stronger, more addictive. If you're on it, or if your kid is, God help you. It's most often smoked, but not for long. You can do cocaine and enjoy it, and survive it, if you're disciplined. But I don't think anyone survives crack, the crystalized/condensed version, for very long. It's just too much for the human nervous system to process.

Heroin is a third drug to be very careful of. Distilled from the poppy, i can be smoked but is more often injected into a vein and goes straight to the brain and the heart. Like cocaine, it makes you feel wonderful for a while, but, again, when it wears off, your first thought is how to get more. I'm pretty sure heroin killed Janis Joplin -- not the Southern Comfort she swigged onstage -- and probably lots of other rock stars who died too young. Avoid it, unless you're in the last days of your life when it doesn't matter what you're on.

At that point, of course, you can also take morphine, which the medics in Viet Nam gave to boys like my radio operator who'd stepped on a mine that took off half his foot, to totally dull the pain and let the brain relax, for a while. Talk to your hospice people about it, okay?

A fourth class of drugs are the hallucinogens, so named because they produce weird and wild visual and bodily sensations. The most famous, of course, is LSD, but I'm sure there are others I don't know about. Magic Mushrooms, as they used to be called -- real mushrooms with this bizarre quality -- can produce the same kind of mind-altering experiences. For the record, LSD is taken orally; the one time I did it, I licked it from a sheet someone had put it on. Mushrooms are usually eaten, like ordinary mushrooms. Hallucinogens aren't inherently dangerous as they usually transfix the user into a sort of catatonic state: because of the amazing effects they produce in the mind, the user is often semi-comatose, perfectly fine just sitting somewhere, totally in his or her own private zone. Once in a while, someone on one of these drugs freaks out and does something crazy -- Art Linkletter's daughter supposedly jumped out of a window to her death on LSD -- but, for the most part, users of hallucinogens sit and enjoy the show.

The fifth drug to be aware of, marijuana (also known as pot or weed), is the least harmful of the drugs just discussed. (For the record, they are all classified by the U.S. government as illegal and dangerous.) The Obama administration, to their credit, have made marijuana a low priority as far as arrests are concerned. It's legal for "medicinal" purposes in a number of states, and the Obama people smartly are deferring to the states on this issue. Marijuana is almost always smoked and produces a "high" that is characterized by heightened sensory experiences -- music sounds better, food tastes better, sex might be enhanced -- but, so far as I know, no one under the influence of it feels the need to commit violence or even get into much of an argument.

Marijuana is a calming drug, but -- unlike some prescription substances like Valium -- almost never becomes addictive. The old dictum is that when you're out of crack, you knock over a 7-11 hoping to get enough money to buy more crack -- and maybe shoot the clerk; when you're out of marijuana, you say what a bummer that is and hope you get some more someday. And then you go on about your life. If your kid has smoked marijuana, don't freak out. It's eye-opening, to be sure, but, compared to the other drugs, it's pretty mild stuff.

I guess it's only fair to include one more drug, alchohol, as it's the only mind-altering substance that is currently sanctioned by federal law. And, of course, it is, in some ways, the most dangerous of all. Whereas most of the drugs mentioned here enhance your senses, alcohol dulls them -- and your judgment. When you're drunk, you're much more likely to drive crazy and get into arguments and even fights. You're like yourself on a more primitive level, yourself racheted down a notch. You're like who you would be if you were twenty or so I.Q. points dumber.

Sometimes it works out okay, but other times it doesn't, and you get called on it and have to own up: yes, I was drunk and don't remember anything but I'm really sorry, etc. If you notice this happening often -- or happening to your kid -- it's time to step in and have a talk. Just the fact that alcohol is available to almost anyone makes it dangerous. Alcohol, as we all know, is ingested orally, in drinks -- often very sweet to mask the danger -- and comes on slow. Unlike the drugs already discussed, alcohol takes its time and is on you before you know it.

If I were a parent -- which I am -- I would caution my kids about alcohol, warn them away from meth and coke, advise them to try hallucinogens only later in life (and only if they're in a good place mentally), and tell them that marijuana can be a nice way to relax -- by yourself or among friends -- but only if you're just trying to relax. If you're trying to escape from reality -- your own reality -- you shouldn't be doing ANY drugs. You need to see a therapist. Or talk to someone you love and/or trust. Or just think about your life. I would advise my own children to use any drug prudently and only when they DON'T need it.

Humans have always had a desire to change their consciousnesses, at least for a while. Drugs do it for us right away -- we don't have to master the art of the yoga master, which may take years.
But some of those drugs snatch us up without warning and won't let us go. Avoid those.

Use the others in moderation and have a good time.

Our most basic right -- the right to be left alone -- is not guaranteed.

Let's suppose you're living in whatever country and the police knock at your door at 2 a.m., when they know you'll be there and most likely in your pajamas. They're looking for your husband or son or even you. They haul you out to a police van and whisk you away to some interrogation center, where you may be beaten or shocked with electric probes or otherwise abused. Raped, if you're a woman. And all this while you're half-asleep!

You're likely to admit to anything, right? Just let me go home!

It happens all over the world, at every hour of every day. Take right now. Is someone being tortured in some hidden cell somewhere in the world? Of course!

Why? Because they don't have the right of privacy. The right to be left alone if they're minding their own business and otherwise being good citizens.

We take a right to privacy for granted in America -- and probably in Europe and Australia and all the other countries we consider First World and civilized -- but there really isn't such a right guaranteed in the Constitution or The Bill of Rights. It's just something we all assume. Why would anyone bother us if we aren't bothering anyone else?

Leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone. Common sense, no?

So what if the authorities mistake your house for another, or have bad information? They break down your door, terrifying everyone inside with their big guns and riot gear. And then they leave, saying they're sorry. Your family is likely up all night, trying to process the intrusion.

Where do you go to protest? City Hall? The cop station? All you'll get is an official apology.

You have no right not to be accosted by the police, if they have an order from a judge. Your house is no refuge from early-morning break-ins.

You don't have the right to be left alone.

What's wrong with that? Well, in the first place, most of us live lives that are kind of predictable, getting the kids up in the morning and off to school, getting ourselves to work, etc. We come home expecting an orderly flow of things -- homework, household chores, a little TV, etc. The last thing we're expecting is someone knocking down our front door to arrest someone we've never heard of who is allegedly living in our house or apartment.

Cops at the door is not just an intrusion but is traumatic, the kind of thing little kids don't easily get over and that they always remember and that might make it hard for them to sleep the rest of their lives.

It doesn't happen to most of us who live the middle-class lives of working parents with kids. But it does happen all the time to those of us living under the radar, poor working parents with the same kids in school but who can't afford to live where things are nice. The cops are always at our door, or so it seems.

I'm thinking that our un-scripted right to be left alone is among our most sacred and should only be violated -- by the authorities or by anyone else -- in extreme situations, when lives are in danger, not when someone is suspected of growing marijuana in a closet or when an illegal immigrant might be harbored in a basement or when a kid is truant from school or a dilenquent husband hasn't paid his child support. You only burst into someone's home when someone is in danger of being killed. Otherwise, butt out!

In America, right now, if I'm not mistaken (and I hope I am), you have no right to be left alone. You can be doing your best to bring up up your kids in trying circumstances, but if you live in certain neighborhoods, in certain cities, the cops are likely to show up at your door, any time of day or night. No warning.

Where's cousin Julio? Do you have any guns in the house?

I say stop it!

Pay attention to crime in the street, the really dangerous guys, for sure. But don't forget the upscale thugs. Arrest the street hustlers, but remember to track down the ones of your own color who wear expensive suits and show up to charity events with their wives while all the time thinking of ways to get richer -- at our expense!

If you want to find out who's taking all that money from innocent people, look to the thieves and burglars and bankers and insurance people. Leave the rest of us alone.

But it's so much easier to break down the doors of poor people than it is to break down the doors of multi-millionaires, no?

They have the right to be left alone. Why don't the rest of us?

I do realize that there's no way to write this without seeming to be over-sensitive. Of course the government has a right to know if I'm up to no good and has a right to snoop on me that way. But if I've never shown any propensity to that kind of ill-doing, then leave me the f*ck alone!

In other countries, and in other times -- and in some to this day -- the government keeps a close eye on its citizens. Many were, and still are, arrested and jailed -- maye even executed -- for offenses that we consider trivial at best and not even crimes: publishing offensive materials, giving offensive speeches, meeting with other like-minded free-thinkers.

We think it couldn't possibly happen in our own country, where freedom of the press still rules, but we must always be on the lookout.

The price of democracy, someone once said, is constant vigilance. Never assume that you have a right that isn't written down somewhere. Never believe that all your elected leaders will do their best to keep you out of jail if you speak out against them. Never think that your home is your castle. Cops with search orders can cross your moats and haul you away on any given night.

This all sounds like doom-and-gloom but isn't meant to. Most of us Americans live lives free of police intrusion or harrassment. But not all. There are parts of this free country where you are not safe in your home or anywhere else if you fit a certain profile, and your family isn't, either. You're just a judge's easy-to-get order away from having your front door knocked down. And the newspaper won't say anything about it. Just another drug bust. Ho hum.

To reiterate: We all have, or should have, the un-written, un-spoken right to be left alone. If we're not suspected of doing wrong, we should not be bothered by the authorities. Period.

It didn't work that way in Nazi Germany, and it doesn't work that way in lots of lawless parts of the world, but it should work that way here in the United States of America.

Okay, here I get political: You know as well as I do that if Rove and Cheney and others had had absolute power in this country -- I mean Nazi-like power -- they would have made short order of liberals and gays and anyone who disagreed with them. It didn't happen because of our way of government wouldn't let it. But that way of government is only as solid as the people we elect, who can change the government if they have the votes. Bush and Rove and Cheney et al didn't have the votes last time around. But maybe they will in the future, or maybe someone even more dangerous will. Vote and then hope for the best.

In the meantime, mind your own business, and I'll mind mine. Fair enough?

Good. We understand each other, right? Right.

Married couples should pick a new last name.

Let's suppose you're a young woman whose last name is Fjerderberg. It may have been a respectable name in some ancestor's home country, but it doesn't roll off the tongue in Denver. You meet a prospective mate whose last name is Mason. All else being equal, you say yes and live happily ever after.

And your last name is now Mason. Whew!

When you have kids together, you're fine naming them all Mason. But what about all those Fjerderbergs in your family who see their age-old family name disappearing? Don't they get some say-so in what happens to that name? So do you compromise and give your kids the old world name Fjerderberg as a middle name? Oh please, don't! Many of us are embarrassed by our middle names, with all due respects to our ancestors, and wish we could expunge them from the official record.

Or let's suppose you're a guy named Messerschmidt who marries a staunch feminist who insists on keeping her own maiden name. You agree to hyphenate. Her name is Jones. Your children will henceforth be called Julie/Jack/Joni/Josh Jones-Messerschmidt. (Or, as in the previous example, Fjerderberg-Mason.) Would you really do that to your first-grader, who has to spell it for a teacher?

People have been changing their names almost from the moment they had them. Lord Byron, the great English Romantic poet, was actually born George Noel Gordon. George? Marilyn Monroe was Norma Jean Baker. Cary Grant wasn't born Cary Grant. John Denver, the singer, was born John Dussendorf. Do you wonder why he changed his name? Our names are given to us, but they're not permanent, not etched in stone (unless we die young and they're on our tombstones). We can change them any time we want. (More on that later.)

Of course women have traditionally taken their husbands' names, in the old days because that was how it was done but also, even now, because it's just easier. When your kids start pre-school or first grade or whatever, they have to write their names and the names of their parents. It's easier for a kid to write one last name. It's also easier for a woman -- unless she's adopted a hyphenated name -- just to enroll the kids under the husband's name, since his is the first listed on most official forms. That may mean, though, that she, with a different last name, always has to introduce herself with the hyphenated form of their names (while her hubby, who likely isn't going to many of these school functions, gets to be known only by the last name he's always had.) Not fair, of course, but that's how it's always been done.

Why not think outside the box?

Why shouldn't married couples should come up with a brand new last name?

They would both agree on it, obviously after much (heated) discussion, and all their children would have that same last name, which they could choose to pass on or not. The middle name could, if you wanted, be something historic, some family last name. Like John Quincey Jones, named after Grandpa John but also honoring the maternal name Quincey, although young John would probably never say his middle name in public.

I can hear the complaints already: We've always done it this way, so why muck it up now? For one simple reason: We're given our names, and not all of us like them. Period. Who were you, my parents and grandparents, to give me such a name? Did you like it? Maybe not, but you didn't know you could change it.

Well, guess what? I'm changing it, for me and my spouse and our kids. I will preserve your name in old family documents and photos -- and even in our kids' middle names -- but I won't be using it in my daily transactions, and my kids won't either. We'll pack it away with the albums and journals of your lives. I hope you can deal with my choice, as we're going to be having family reunions, but this is the way things are. Sorry if I've offended you, but my kids are growing up in a different place and a different reality and need to fit in. They need all new names.

So here's my suggestion. Newlyweds should pick a new last name you both agree on. It could be a family name or not, maybe something special you both share. Yoga or Pilates or Wordsworth.
(I would advise against all those.) And, as I've said, you can include family monikers as middle names to pacify the old ones, the tribal elders, the aunts and uncles and grandparents, who should be paid some deference, if just because of their age, and maybe because of their influence. (Note: Some of those old family names may have to be scrapped just because they aren't pronounceable in English. Sorry about that.)

Let's say you were born Eliza Beth Hugenott, and your husband is Janis Josef Landewicsz, but you choose the new last name Jordan and name your kids that way. If they decide later they don't like it, they can pay their money and change it. In the meantime, all your kids will be Jordans, and the old people will get used to it because they love you despite your New World ways. (But they will never forgive you for giving up those odd-sounding last names, so get ready to live with their disapproval.)

Our names are, unlike our parentage, maleable. We can shape them any way we want.

I never liked my last name all that much -- very plain, kind of a yawn -- and my wife doesn't care for hers -- hard to spell -- so we would have been a perfect couple to test out my proposal. Our kids all have my last name -- ho hum -- but my wife has often had to go by the hyphenated version of our name, which is a big pain and not fair. We should have, but didn't, come up with a brand new last name (because I just thought of it, long after the fact).

I always thought I'd like the last name of Diamond. It doesn't matter what your first name is: it goes with Diamond. Jack Diamond. Jenny Diamond. Frankie Diamond. Judy Diamond. Francesca Diamond. Albert Diamond. In my case, Dave Diamond. (Get outa my way, punk!)

And the kids would have a cool last name.

So far as I know, all you have to do to change your name -- both your names and your kids' names -- is go to some county or state department and pay a fee. I believe they approve almost anything, as long as you're not applying for something that sounds naughty or controversial or sacriligious. Can you suddenly be Charles Manson The Rincarnation? Probably not. But you already knew that (I hope).

A caution: be careful about the last name you choose for yourselves and your children as well as any middle name drawn from your family pool. After all, your kids are going to have to not just live with your choices but also be able to spell them. Pick something simple but that expresses both of you. Be creative, but show restraint. We're all adults here, right?

And no matter what the old folks in your family think of your choice, stick by it -- especially if you include some family names in there somewhere -- and they'll get used to it. They have to.

Hey, we're in a new time in a new country, and anything goes. And you know that the two of you can pick a better last name than what you were both born with, right?

Go for it. Have fun. But be ready to defend your choice. Personally, I kind of wish I'd named one of my daughters Lily Rose Diamond, but that's water under a bridge long washed out.

You don't have a right to privacy.

I've heard more than one politician refer to our "right of/to privacy," one or the other, not sure which wording is actually in the Constitution. Well, to tell the truth, neither is. There is no right of or to privacy in the Constitution.

You'd think there would be, right? We should be left alone as long as we're not doing something we shouldn't be doing. It's kind of a fundamental human right that means no helmeted cops can burst into our houses in the middle of the night without a really good cause. Right?

And shouldn't we be able to sue the city or state or nation if it turns out that the cops had the wrong address?

Shouldn't all this be included in that "right to privacy."

Alas, no. We do have a Constitutional right that outlaws unlawful search and seizure, but all cops have to do to get around that is to get a judge to sign a form -- and then there they are at your door in the middle of the night, in full SWAT gear, scaring the shit out of you and our kids.

I'm not a panaroid right-winger. In fact I'm more liberal than Ted Kennedy. But I think we should all understand that we are not guaranteed the right to be left alone. It's one of those pieces of folk wisdom, something we just take for granted: no one can mess with me if I haven't done anything to deserve governmental surveillance.

Not true.

You can be messed with at any time. Any government agency can surveil you -- spy on you -- without much reason to do so. If you've lived a pristine life -- no drugs, no husbands with iffy real estate deals, etc. -- you probably have nothing to worry about. But what if something on one of your tax returns raises red flags with the IRS? Can they come after you?

Of course they can. First you get a letter, then maybe a visit.

We assume that in the U.S.A., that won't be an issue. But those of us who were young in the 1960s remember government camera crews filming protests, honing in on individuals, their faces, used later to indict them. Whoa! This is America? Well, it was then.

Is it now? If you take part in a Gay Pride parade or a protest of one of our wars, either Iraq or that other other one I can never spell, will your long-lens close-up photo be part of some CIA file? Who knows? The real workings of a democracy are Top Secret.

What you and I should assume is that nothing, in this age of instant video, is private. It's not necessarily bad -- governments do have to guard their secrets, after all -- but it's certainly worth thinking about. Do you join this cause or that one, rallying for this group's rights or that one's? Are you comfortable being filmed doing what you think is right?

People in other countries have long had to make these decisions, and often it's cost them their freedom and, too many times, their lives. Think China and Iran and too many countries to name. We in America live in a kind of Disneyland. We aren't imprisoned and tortured for our beliefs, but lots of people are, all over the world, for exactly the rights we take for granted.

Back the homeland, we have no right of privacy. It's a myth. We can be investigated at any time by the government, even without our knowledge.

So where does that leave us?

Back where we started, of course. In a country where most of our rights are protected but not that one that we kind of invented and just took for granted. Privacy. Dream on, boys and girls.


If you talk or text on your I-phone or your Blackberry or any other device, you are surrendering your right not to be monitored or hacked into or otherwise compromised. Hey, welcome to the wonderful new world of full disclosure.

Your friends know everything about you, but so do lots of other computer-savvy people, including the government. So just do what you know you should do and don't worry about it, right? Live a good life and assume that if anyone is snooping on you, they won't discover anything you wouldn't want to share with the world.

Hey, you have nothing to hide.

Right?

Men and women don't shop alike -- duh.

Yes, I know it's well-known that women and men have different attitudes toward shopping. In a nutshell, women browse, looking for whatever might be useful and may be on sale, while men park the car and dart into a store, and if what we're trying to buy isn't available, dart back out again and drive away.

It recently came home to me -- again -- when we had a snow storm that made my wife reluctant to take her car out on the slippery city streets. I said I would take her to a nearby discount store not to be named -- okay, it was Target -- and would pick her up again in an hour.

My first tip-off should have been when she said, "It may take me more than an hour." I went home and did chores and wrote a first draft of my auto-biography, etc. After two hours, I called her cell phone. No, she wasn't done shopping yet. I re-arranged the garage and called her back another hour later: "No, not yet." I was thinking: You're not in New York or San Francisco -- you're at Target! Eventually she called to say she was done and came home with all kinds of things I wouldn't have thought to buy for us and for others.

I hate to fall back on cliches, but I do think men are hunters and women are gatherers. When men go out to hunt -- or shop -- they know what they're after. In modern times, it might be a down vest or a particular knife or a softball glove. If the store doesn't have it, we're gone. In more primitive times, it might be an elk or a moose or a seal or a big fish (if we're fishermen) or a mammoth. If we kill it, we bring it home and cut it up and live for another winter. If we don't kill anything, then we'd better hope the women we left behind with our offspring managed to gather some potatoes or something to get us by for a while. Men don't tend to have a Plan B.

Here's one apocalyptic scenario: the men go out to hunt for meat and all freeze to death in the snow of a new Ice Age, while the women and kids survive in their cave on a diet of root vegetables (that the men never liked) and maybe some weeds sauteed with wild garlic.

A new day dawns as the ice retreats, and what man is left to help re-populate? Not the macho man who froze in the snow but the new man -- the New Ice Age Man -- who was smart enough to plead some kind of disability and be left behind to learn the ways of the women.

They could probably teach him a few things about sex, too, if he was willing to listen.

Going back to how I started this essay, a man and a woman could walk through the same store, one they both agreed to go into, and the man would come away, within a half hour, saying that he was bored and would be waiting in a nearby pub, while the woman might say that she needed a few more hours.

When women go out to shop, it's to find whatever is on sale and what might serve the family, or herself, best. Men shop the same way they hunt in the wild: they will walk right past a squirrel or marmot that could make a good meal and that would be easy pickings for supper but that aren't what they went out to hunt. I think it's possible that men hunting elk have starved to death in the snows of Colorado because they passed up the chance to shoot small game who were skittering around their ankles all the time they were sighting through scopes at non-existent big animals.

Men, being single-minded, depend on women so much more than they realize.

The only reason women don't rule the world is that some perverse god made them weaker, on the whole. What kind of god would separate the brains from the brawn by gender? Ours, apparently. Some girls can kick my ass, granted, but most are created not quite as strong as men. And, besides, men have that testosterone, which drives them to great athletic achievements but also off cliffs and into oncoming traffic. It also makes them abuse women.

In our modern time, a woman might find that elusive place setting or a special gift for a child and buy it, thinking ahead to not just Chistmas but also birthdays, etc. A woman let loose in a big store like Target might find all kinds of bargains that wouldn't even register on a man's brain. Get that elk or don't; time to go home. Women linger behind, looking for bargains, small game.

And that's how the species survives. Men try to bring home the meat, while women do the heavy lifting of vegetables and kids' schedules and all that. But sometimes -- now, not then -- it shifts into reverse, and it's the women bringing home the meat, the men cooking it. In either case, one of us is the hunter, the other -- at home -- the gatherer, and no matter how we divvy up the roles, one of us is always one, the other is always the other, until we trade again.

Or we can try to work out that delicate balance of sharing the responsibilities. That's hardest of all. Good luck.

Men hunt. Women shop. It's a simple -- too simple, of course -- truism. But kind of true, too.