Why?

A very oft used word. When something happens and we're at a loss to come to terms with whatever the it is we ask why. Annie Lennox made a lot of money singing about why. Tonya Harding* didn't want to lose her spot on the Olympic Women's figure skating team, so in 1994, she hired some goon to whack Nancy Kerrigan, her rival in the knee with some sort of metal pipe. Instead of Harding being ridiculed for this loutish behavior, Kerrigan got all the raspberries for being on the ground and screaming why; in that now famous manner.

So it's late and one of my favorite commercials comes on for Humira, an oft prescribed medication used in the treatment of psoriasis, rheumatoid arthritis and other maladies. In this one, it opens in a haircutting facility and the woman is embarrassed by her psoriasis. Big Pharma pays a lot of money to advertise on television and if they hit you with the cure to your ills long enough, they hope you will take their advice and ask your doctor if their medication is right for you.

But the drug companies have to mention what side effects their miracles may wreak upon the taker. So as the woman is smiling serenely as she lays back in the bowl, getting her hair washed-- which by the way is brilliant because if you know anything about cranio sacral therapies (of which I think a wash is one) you know what the memory of that sensation is when you get your hair washed. Really good, right? Unless your washer pulls your hair, that's not good.

But as she smiles because she's gotten over her insecurities about a visible rash that other people see, the announcer is soothingly saying three of the possibilities of taking this drug are tuberculosis, lymphoma and death. Are you fucking kidding me? This would be a moment that if I could, I would blubber my lips like Lewis Black does in his comedy. Some things are best left to our imaginations, but plug Mr. Black's hysterical cadences into this simple commercial. And write your congressman and ask him to investigate. You can tell I am older. When I was growing up, if something pissed me off and I asked why, my mother would would brush me off and tell me to write my congressman and ask him. There were an average of 14 women in the House of Representatives in the 1950's but I was not too aware of whom they were. If they weren't from my state, they probably were not too excited that I was pissed off about anything. I do remember Margaret Chase Smith from Maine.

So, today's humstle pays tribute to the 1950's elegy written by Eddie Cochran and his manager, Jerry Capehart- the best line in it was, " Oh well I wrote my congressman and he said quote: I'd like to help you son, but you're too young to vote." Summertime Blues. Does anyone remember the heavy metal version by BLUE CHEER? Yes, I have Vincebus Eruptis.

*Tonya Harding's Doppelganger???? Liz Cheney. Can I get an AMEN?

See you tomorrow.