And now for something completely different.

Last month my mother decided to take our household to a Minnesota Twins game which happened to be scheduled the same day as a gathering of her own natal household's (now-aged) siblings and family. Since the H. H. Humphrey Metrodome (the Humpty-Dumpty Dome, as we sometimes call it) had sold out the lower deck, we'd acquired more expensive terrace-suite seats, a first for us. We all thought they were great--but that's not my point here.

For once we were using metropolitan mass transit, in this case the new light-rail system whose Hiawatha line runs from downtown Minneapolis to the mega-mall in Bloomington, near our lodgings (and, coincidentally, on the site of the Twins' old stadium). A convenient downpour started just before we had to make it to one of the train stations. Cars were crowded with Chicago Cubs fans. After the game, which the visitors soon lost, we took a hint from a brother who'd done it before and rode a less-crowded train the short distance to where it reversed course back out toward the suburbs.

Well, someone else had evidently had the same idea. The particular someone I refer to was a disappointed, admittedly drunk and obnoxiously loud Cubs fan who happened to be situated right in front of where my mom and I were seated--and to be on the train for the whole distance--holding a little boy, whose head he'd shaved, as he explained, for "luck". At one point he mentioned that his son here was two years old and weighed "only 20 lbs." My mom figured he didn't weigh more because his dad (unintentionally, we presumed) kept him too upset. My brother remarked that the kid would likely grow to become a criminal or otherwise screwed up. (Belonging to an official racial minority no doubt would render this outcome more acceptable in some pop-culture sense.) Meanwhile Daddy showed himself a bigger loser than the Cubs, arguing with other passengers about sports, then other less-advisable topics. More than once he ranted about his plan for the next game, which was to bring a broom, break it, throw it at a certain player, and run onto the field to get arrested. Genghis freaking Khan, what a self-hating jerk!

It may be too late for him, but I hope it's not for his offspring. Ladies and gentlemen, do not be like this pathological parent. He's an example of something we need less of.

This is a belated complaint about one of the Evil Eye's hit forensic shows, which earlier this year ran an episode involving a dead US Marine corporal. When the heroes finally piece together his demise, it turns out he intervened in a crud's smacking his wife/girlfriend around. When the bad guy came at him with a folding knife (at least it wasn't the traditional stiletto beloved of on-screen punks, though this weapon has its champions--and I've even carried one myself), the corporal naturally incapacitated him--upon which the jerk's deluded woman picked up the knife and stabbed the good guy once in the front--after which he immediately & dutifully fell down.

Come on! An untrained female suddenly decides to rescue her violent pal by stabbing a serviceman, proving strong enough to drive in the blade and lucky enough to hit a vital spot--and he's out of it within five seconds! That's hardly enough time for what they'd call fatal exsanguination, or even unconsciousness from shock. Bah! (Full disclosure: I've never knifed anybody and can't speak from experience.)

My criticism may appear strange, and this example probably wasn't timed so well; but I had to get it out before proceeding to the next subject....