by Jerry Burke
At six drinks, I am Jerry Brunson, freelance Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter. Once I hit 10 drinks, I am Jerry "Captain Caveman" Brock, a career minor league knuckleballer who went 14-5 last season for the Binghamton Mets. After 12 drinks, I am asleep on a bench in Central Park, being nudged in the gut by Officer Steve.
Lying is wrong. I know that. Everyone knows that. But I'll be darned if I can't stop doing it. And apparently, I'm not alone.
When President Bush visited the troops over Thanksgiving, it was a nice gesture that really helped morale for those soldiers far away from home during the holidays. If they had left it at that, I would have been fine with it.
But no! The trip was already fraught with danger and mystery, but someone in the White House had to try to make it an even better story. A report that a British Airways pilot spotted Air Force One en route to Iraq and thereby came
that close to blowing the president's cover and making him scrap the whole mission has, for all intents and purposes, been proven false.
Ah, the ancient art of embellishment! Helping poor men get dates since Adam told Eve he was studying to become a doctor. It also is supposed to help politicians get elected ("I want to be the education candidate"). But as Internet inventor and "Love Story" inspiration Al Gore can attest, it doesn't always work.
When I was studying the dogma of Catholicism as a youth, we were told there were two kinds of sins: mortal and venial. Venial sins were those that racked up time in purgatory, which I always imagined to be Pittsburgh. Mortal sins won you the prize of eternal damnation, always a treat to discover while in Sunday school.
"Little white lies" were considered pretty venial, and considering the rate at which they fly out of our mouths, thank goodness. The truth may set you free, but if you've been watching Court TV lately, it more likely will get you 50,000 volts.
Case in point: last week, WBAB talk show host John Parise was raked over the coals by parents for, let's just say, dispelling a favorite holiday myth. (I am so not going to go down the same road.) Apparently a few kids were listening in and, lo and behold, people were angry. At the truth. Go figure.
First off, to all the parents out there, most of us figure it out by age 7. You ain't foolin' anyone with your handwriting on the gift tags. Get a neighbor to do it and maybe you can squeeze out another year or two.
Second, relax. Open your mind to the possibility that you and everyone around you is full of it. Be honest with yourself and, chances are, you'll be that way with others. Just remember: He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness' sake. (For extra holiday fun, read the lyrics to that song without any music. Creepy, ain't it?)
