Pluto, We Hardly Knew Ye

I’m feeling just a little sad right now. I know. I know. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions which I ought not...to jump to, that is. Maybe I’ve come to expect the worst, when indeed, the end result is not always the worst. Although most of the time in my life, even when I was expecting the second or third thing from the worst, I ended up with the worst. (I'm not talking about my wife here)
Whatever my particular emotions may be or from whence they spring, the truth is I feel like I’m losing an old friend. I, of course, am referring to my dear friend, the planet Pluto. Yes, for the time being I’ll still call Pluto a planet, although it appears that might not be the case.
Very soon a handful of scientists will make a final decision. And, if my worst fears come to fruition, it’s bye bye Pluto.
Now, admittedly, that solar body named Pluto will still exist, but once you take it away from the other planets, the real planets, if you will, it’ll never be the same. I’ve grown up saying (not constantly, but on occasion) “My Very Elderly Mother Just Stood Up Near Pluto.” What do I say now? “My Very Elderly Mother Just Stood Up Near”? It just doesn’t have the same ring.
Taking Pluto out of the planet group is the beginning of breaking up a set we’ve all come to love...as a set. It’s kinda like when the Mary Tyler Moore show ended. Sure, in the show the characters were going on to other things, but it never was the same. We saw Mr. Grant, but where were Mary and Murray, and, before we knew it Ted was dead. And he wasn’t just acting.
That’s what’s going to happen on a planetary level. First they take Pluto away and then the next thing you know, Paul Harvey will be concluding his news and opinion radio program with that last story, the cute little story about the Pluto formerly known as planet that had disintegrated. It won’t hardly be noticed, because our little friend Pluto had become so insignificant that no one cared. Sure, we’d care if a planet blew up, but Pluto, hey, who cares. It’s a nothing. A ball of ice. That’s all.
I don’t think planets should be treated that way. Who are these upstart scientists to come along and say a planet can’t be a planet?. Suppose I came along and said they couldn’t be scientists. I guess that would show ‘em a thing or two. To say Pluto can’t be a planet because it’s so insignificant compared to the other planets, would be like saying that John Rocker can’t be called a ballplayer because, hey, Babe Ruth...now that was a ballplayer.
Even if they finish up this big-wig scientists meeting and say, “Okay, we’ll still consider Pluto a planet,” the damage will have already been done. It’s already too late to un-ring this bell. From now on when you think of Pluto, you know you’ll feel differently towards him. Maybe he’s a she, because we do call earth Mother Earth. But Pluto could be the younger brother. Anyway, poor Pluto. He has a stain on his name that will never be erased.
Scientists will be whispering about him whenever scientists get together and do the things they do when they get together. “Ha ha,” they’ll laugh. “Come here, fellow scientists,” they’ll say. “Look through the telescope and look at this teeney-weeney little thing we used to call a planet.” Scientists are known for their sick sense of humor. It’s all very sad.
I, for one, will go on calling Pluto a planet, but, I know, in all reality, every time I look up in the sky and don’t see Pluto, I’ll know I’ll be not seeing what’s probably not a planet. And, somehow, I think I’ll be a little less a person for not knowing and not seeing. And that makes me sad.

Plenty of Nothing

My mind is like a blank screen, a notebook with nary a single letter entered on a page. That might be nice if I didn't have to write a column. See, the truth is, nothing is coming to mind. I'm drawing blanks this morning. I'm not particularly upset about anything. Or the things that I am upset about are subjects I will never try to get a laugh out of.
So, I'm in somewhat of a quandry. I guess I could complain about cell phone voice messages. You know, when the automated voice starts giving you options. "If you want to leave a phone number, press star. If you want to send a fax, push pound. If you don't really have anything important to say, press pound and star together. If you want to send an email, press 1, and think about why you didn't just do that in the first place." Finally, after about three minutes of options, you get a beep to leave a message. But, complaints about voice messaging have been over done. I won't even bring it up.
I could mention that I bought some shampoo in one of those dollar stores. It said right on the bottle, "Great for dandruff." And boy were they right. I have more dandruff than ever. But, that's too disgusting a topic, so let's leave that alone.
Oh yeah, there is one little matter I've been wanting to bring up. It has to do with the comments I get on these little daily pieces. I like the comments. Admittedly, some of you out there have some serious mental issues. But, I think you already recognize that. I'm hoping you'll get the help you need. Regardless, don't stop commenting. The only thing that I don't like is that most of you just use "anonymous." Hey, you don't have to give me your name, address, phone number, and social security information, but can't you at least make up a name that let's me get to know you a little better?
For instance, if you're a dog lover, you could sign yourself "Mentally unbalanced." That's just a little inside joke. I don't mean it. But use a nickname of some sort.
I heard something on the radio yesterday about nicknames. According to some new book on names, people who use nicknames are viewed by others as being friendlier, more approachable. Maybe that's why no one likes me. I don't have a really cool nickname. Some people say "Steve" is a nickname. To that I reply, that's stupid. "Steve" is a shortened version of my name, Herbert. But it's not a nickname.
I need a good nickname. From now on, could you refer to me by my new nickname - Buster. Or, should it be Sluggo. I always liked Sluggo in the Nancy comic strip. No, wait, how about Steve-arino? That kind of says my name, but also says "Steve is a friendly approachable guy" at the same time.
Maybe I should have a nickname that tells you a little about myself. What do you think of Big Boy? No, that reminds me of that freakish statue that used to be outside Shoney's. That kid really let himself go.
Speaking of kids letting themselves go, whatever happened to Jared on Subway. Now they have John Lovitz. He's really one over-the-hill has been. I bet Jared let himself go. I bet he went off the Subway wagon and is now blimping out. Or else, the Subway diet finally killed him. But that's just my guess.
Anyway, I still haven't come up with anything to write about. So until I do, this is Buster Cook saying, "Good Day!"