The world according to me

I’m a curious sort.

It’s probably why I got into this business in the first place — this ridiculous urge I’ve always had to ask “why” one last time, when everyone else is satisfied with the answer given. The truth be told, I get on Sam Harvey all the time for asking “why” too many times, when I probably would have gone ahead and asked “why” one more time if I was in his position.

It’s a great and powerful word, this “why.” As adults, we find ourselves getting frustrated when children or teenagers continually pepper us with the all-powerful word, but it is only through “why” we ever learn anything at all. In homage to my favorite three-letter word, I present this following column — as well as an oft-frightening peek into the workings of my troubled brain.

Why is almost every man I meet named Harry losing his hair? Harry Steele, the esteemed Bethany Beach council member who chooses not to be part of the American workforce anymore, is a significant exception, but he has a whole host of other items I could pick on if I so chose. Maybe that will be in a later column.

Why does the state see the bottleneck at Christiana Mall as more important than the situations on Routes 54 and 26? Is some senator having a hard time picking up his daughter from Rave?

Why isn’t there just some committee that picks Supreme Court nominees and gives them to the president for final say? No matter which direction President Bush went with his nominee on Tuesday night, there were bound to be people lining up to try and tear down someone who has done nothing but build an illustrious career. Seems counter-productive to me.

Why haven’t I ever seen cats getting, well, their feline grooves on? This might explain why I’ve always been a dog person.

Why are we spending all this money on doing studies regarding affordable housing in the area? Wouldn’t that money be better spent going to ... oh, I don’t know, affordable housing?

Why are insurgents attacking our troops under religous pretenses and claims of American occupation when our troops are trying to give them religious freedom and get things safe so they can come home?

Why does my first taste of an Irish whiskey on a Friday night make me want to go skipping through meadows with show tunes blaring in my head ...

But I digress.

Why is it so easy to build a 1,000-home development around here, but so hard to get a fence put up at your home?

Why does the national media spend so much time covering some freak teacher who went to jail for having relations with one of her students, but so little time covering the teacher who volunteers 20 hours of personal time a week to help struggling students?

Why do I feel like a doofus when walking along the boardwalk in Bethany Beach anymore? There used to be a time I would take off my shirt and John Travolta myself down the boardwalk. Now I throw on my baggiest sweatshirt and hope the wind doesn’t kick up to make it form-fitting.

Why did Cinderella Man fare so poorly in the box office? Could it really just be chalked up to a summer release date? That was a great movie, even if I always feel like Screech from Saved By the Bell after I watch a Russell Crowe performance.

Why do people get so worked up about the traffic and the crowds around here in the summer? Don’t they know it’s coming?

Why can’t the Orioles get a hit with a runner in scoring position? They’re killing me.

Why do we consistently look for reasons the terrorists are doing what they’re doing around the world? We say it’s because of American and British policies, or involvement in Iraq, or because it is their only recourse against those who oppress them. Can’t we all just say they’re a bunch of sick puppies who use killing and fear to control others?

Why is this “Into the West” series only six episodes long? I feel like I could sit through about another 12 hours of this thing — no problem.

Why do I feel like this “global warming” thing might actually be happening? I’ve kind of chalked it up to fear and scientific hoo-ha until the last week or so, but since I started sweating more than an intern picking up a pencil in Bill Clinton’s private office, I’ve changed my tune. Man, it’s been hot.

Why does Sussex County Council behave like they’re untouchable. Oh, that’s right, they apparently are.

Why do I get paid to sit around and write this garbage? You just have to love this country.