“If all else fails, immortality can always be assured by spectacular error.” — John Kenneth Galbraith

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Last Thursday an opportunity was missed to rid the tri-cities of an insidious menace as K’port Times-News publisher Keith Wilson and editor Ted Como hosted a mixer for all their columnists at Skoby’s in Kingsport.

There we were...all in one room with no exits. A season of editorial peace could have been purchased at the expense of one platter of bad oysters but the opportunity was squandered and the food delicious. So we will continue our annual assault on grammar and syntax while desecrating yet another acre of wood pulp in our dedicated attempt to test the wisdom of the first amendment and the sobriety of the fifth estate.

Nobody but me thought it curious that we were all corralled into an upper chamber of the establishment, a private room that featured carpeted walls. I checked the buffet table and confirmed that no sharp eating implements had been laid out either. I did not attend last year’s soiree but the clues that it had gone awry and its participants come to grief were unmistakable. There was nothing left in the room that we could hurt ourselves on.

The shrimp, however, was excellent and the scotch was smooth and we all succeeded in congratulating each other profusely on how swell we all were.

The closest thing to official business that we conducted was a spontaneous censure of Jim Welch suggesting that he was much too tall for his own good. This vigilante disposition might have prevailed long enough for some form of corporal punishment to be inflicted but before we could galvanize ourselves into any particular course of action it was discovered that nobody had a pencil. This meant that in a roomful of 15 writers there was no means by which to reduce the whole affair by means of documentation. Since there were several bright, shiny objects in the room we all soon became distracted anyway.

Outside of this ugly incident, personal observations and movements toward insurrection were kept to a blessed minimum.

Publisher Wilson did make a short speech in which he said he wished we could all get what we deserved. Nobody pointed out to him that there was scarcely enough rope in the county to achieve his laudable purpose.

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Is anybody but me growing weary of the faint hearts on Wall Street?

Lord.

The picture conjured from the headlines is that of a herd of Chicken Littles in 3 piece suits standing in the middle of the stock exchange all aquiver waiting for the next economic indicator to send them squawking at each other to either buy or sell with equal shares of reckless abandon. I wish they’d get a grip.

One day the market plunges because someone reports they will not make their profit projections for the quarter. Next day their spirits (and the market) soar because the National Hangnail Index comes in at .003% higher than anticipated by an international consortium of banjo players.

It’s particularly frustrating for me because I have all these empty pop bottles in the garage and remain undecided whether to cash them in now and stockpile the 1427 copper pieces I have calculated they will bring on today’s market or look to future uptrends and continue to hoard them in gunny sacks.

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I found out some interesting things about Tennessee law while surfing the internet last week. At a site called “Dumb Laws” I discovered that it is illegal to do the following in the Volunteer State:

• You can't shoot any game other than whales from a moving automobile.
• Hollow logs may not be sold.
• More than 8 women may not live in the same house because that would constitute a brothel.
• It is illegal to use a lasso to catch a fish.
• Stealing a horse is still punishable by hanging.
• Driving is not to be done while asleep.

Just thought you should all know.

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Menu Pick of the Week: Half rack of baby back ribs served with sweet potatoes from The Texas Roadhouse. There should be laws.