Follow Up, Calvin Trillin and the Underpants Bomber

Liberated from the current New Yorker, Talk of the Town

Crystal Ball
by Calvin Trillin


So far, despite all the attention given to the wannabe terrorist from Nigeria widely known as the Underwear Bomber, nobody has mentioned that I predicted this turn of events. How many dead-on predictions does a person have to make to get a little credit around here? Am I implying that I’ve been similarly prescient in the past? Well, now that you mention it, yes. In a 1978 column about what was then being called the New Right, I said that I’d had some experience in the early sixties with the previous New Right, a movement most memorable for speeches that reached a level of boredom not witnessed in this country since members of the Communist Party droned their way through the thirties. Given the number of years between the two New Rights, I wrote, another New Right should be coming along around 1994. Sure enough, in 1994 a number of readers (three, if memory serves) wrote to remind me that my prediction had been uncannily correct: Newt Gingrich had led the Republicans in a historic takeover of Congress, and the press was full of stories about the power and vibrancy of the New Right.

A coincidence, you say? A lucky guess that I couldn’t repeat? Wrong. In a book I published in 2006 called “A Heckuva Job: More of the Bush Administration in Rhyme,” here is what I said, in one of the non-rhyming passages, about the so-called Shoe Bomber of 2001: “I’m convinced that the whole shoe-bomber business was a prank. What got me onto this theory was reading that the shoe bomber, a Muslim convert named Richard Reid, had been described by someone who knew him well in England as ‘very, very impressionable.’ I had already decided that the man was a complete bozo. He made such a goofy production of trying to light the fuses hanging off his shoe that he practically asked the flight attendant if she had a match. The way I figure it, the one terrorist in England with a sense of humor, a man known as Khalid the Droll, had said to the cell, ‘I bet I can get them all to take off their shoes in airports.’ So this prankster set up poor impressionable Reid and won his bet. Now Khalid is back there cackling at the thought of all those Americans exposing the holes in their socks on cold airport floors. If someone is arrested one of these days and is immediately, because of his M.O., referred to in the press as the underwear bomber, you’ll know I was onto something.”

That’s right: I predicted the Underwear Bomber in 2006. You could look it up. Around the same time, I repeated the prediction in public appearances and, as I remember, a couple of times on television. (I firmly believe that, in this world of ever-diminishing irreplaceable resources, using a line only once represents the sort of wastefulness our society can ill afford.) And what transpired on Christmas Day three years later? Another bozo tries to blow a hole in an airplane and succeeds only in setting his underpants aflame in a manner that might have rendered him ill equipped for the seventy-two heavenly virgins who were to be his reward if he succeeded. And how is this bozo described by friends and family? Naïve. And where was this bozo educated? University College London, within commuting distance of that diabolical trickster Khalid the Droll.

Has that name—Khalid the Droll— been mentioned even once in the endless press and television interviews with so-called security experts who prattle on about “connecting the dots” and “fostering interagency coöperation” and “eliminating stovepiping”? No, not once. Not once has anybody said, “Somebody should have followed up on Trillin’s underwear tip.” Not once has anybody considered the possibility that, after the shoe-bombing scheme worked to perfection, Khalid the Droll announced to his cell, “When they’ve had a few years of taking off their shoes, I bet I can make them expose their private parts to full-body scanners.” Not once has one of these after-the-fact analyzers considered the possibility that, just as the thirties Communists and the early-sixties New Right tried to bore us into submission, Khalid the Droll is engaged in an elaborate scheme to embarrass us to death.

And what will be the next step in this scheme? I’m working on my prediction now. I just hope somebody is paying attention this time. ♦



Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/talk/2010/01/18/100118ta_talk_trillin#ixzz0ctV3EnXy

Another KC boy ahead of the curve

A long walk to a short story

Twice in my life I have lived in Kansas City. Once as a child and later as an adult. Each time, coincidentally, in Mrs. Blanding's neighborhood. If you are unfamiliar with her blog, I insist you click on the link on the right, and make her a must read.

One of the neighborhood landmarks is Southwest High School, which as far as I know has only 3 claims to fame. It is the Alma Mater of Calvin Trillin, of New Yorker fame,and it is where I took early swimming lessons, on very cold Saturday mornings, and its where the local Y has its baseball and football fields, where I spent many a enjoyable hour.

I mention Calvin Trillin for two reasons. First, if you are unfamiliar with his writing, I must acquaint you with it. CT is one of the great food writers in America. A great introduction would be his " Tummy Trilogy" a collection of three books, "American Fried"," Alice, Let's Eat", and "Third Helpings". Each book is a collection of stories about Trillin and his friends looking for something good to eat.

The second is to introduce one of the foils in the Trillin trilogy, my alter ego," The man with the Naugahyde palette". Almost all food was too exotic for his tastes.

I am a man of many blessings, few of which I take for granted, none purposefully. One of my greatest blessings is that I have a wife who is an imaginative and creative cook. Trained in classic French and Italian technique, she can whip up a masterpiece in moments. Her specialties are sauces, pastas and cheese dishes.

However, my blessing is her curse. I too am a man with a Naugahyde palette. The list of things I will not eat is far longer than what I will. My no list includes such staples, as cheese, pasta, sauces, vegetables, spices. I think you get the point. I am driving her abso-positively insane.

It's not like she didn't know this when we married. She figured, as most women will, that once she had her fangs in she could fix me. It's been a struggle for her, but it hasn't happened yet.

Sometimes I think she is coming around, but deep down I know better.

If you have any ideas for either of us on how to surmount this hurdle let me know.

In the mean time, keep eating.

Toad