ONLY IN PHILLY...

I love Philadelphia and would rather complain here than almost any place else in the world...

But occasionally, even a hometown cheerleader like myself is amazed at some of the goings on in the City of Brotherly Love:

* A one-year-old baby survived a fall from the third floor window of a residence in a Philly neighborhood. How was this child so lucky? The baby fell smack dab into a big old pile of trash, which prevented more serious injury. The next time you're strolling by a three-story building, look up and see just how far that is. Then try to imagine just how much trash you'd need to cushion a plunge from that distance. (And while you're at, try to imagine who was watching that one-year-old when it tumbled out the window...) Who says litter is a nasty plague? Here's a new motto: Let your garbage pile-up, save a life!

* North Philadelphia community activists were miffed because SEPTA, the city's transportation system, was going to put "C.B.Moore Ave." on signs for a bus route instead of "Cecil B. Moore Ave." Cecil B. Moore was a well-known lawyer and civil rights activist in the 1960s who had a major street in North Philadelphia named in his honor. Some people thought it was disrespectful to have a shortened version of his name on a bus. Perhaps I am an insensitive brute, but in a city where the F-word is loudly heard as a frequent verb, adverb and adjective; houses are literally falling down; kids can't get an education; and people are murdering one another on a daily basis, I hardly think that a bus abbreviation is THE most disrespectful occurrence of the day.

* After a rash of bank robberies and a murder were committed by men dressed as Muslim women, one disgusted local Muslim cleric questioned: "Whatever happened to the mask?" in reference to the ski mask that any proud criminal would wear back in the good old days. I don't know, sir, some lowlifes just ain't got no respect for tradition...

* OK, this one is from Ocean City, NJ, a full 90 minutes from Philly, but it involves a true Philadelphia numskull. When this guy lost his cell phone on the beach at night, he had the bright idea to drive his car on the boardwalk so that he could use the vehicle's headlights to help him locate his needle in a sandy haystack. Did I mention he was drunk? Surprise, surprise! Unfortunately, he lost control of his car while exiting the boardwalk, damaging a railing, part of the decking and his reputation as a self-respecting citizen. Not sure if he ever found his phone, which would have come in very handy when they allowed him one call after throwing his sorry butt in the pokey.

WE'LL HAVE NUN OF THAT, MISTER...

Bold, Brazen Articles.

That's what nuns used to call kids when they misbehaved.

But that phrase could apply to Catholic Church leaders who reprimanded the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, the largest umbrella group of nuns in America, for taking positions that "undermine church teachings on the priesthood and homosexuality, while promoting certain radical feminist themes incompatible with the Catholic faith."

The Philadelphia Inquirer reported that "Conservative Catholics have long complained that the majority of sisters in the United States have grown too liberal..."

Yeah, because if there is one quality automatically associated with nuns, it's liberalism.

And exactly who are these super conservative Catholics who think that nuns have gotten too radical? As a lifelong Catholic (if not a very good one), I'm fairly certain that, like Rick Santorum, Catholicism doesn't need to become more conservative. It's like the time my sister and I drove through a Kentucky Fried Chicken takeout window and the KFC employee asked us if we wanted our chicken EXTRA crispy. "Dang," we wanted to say to the lady, "Have you seen this chicken? Just how much crisper can it get?" Some things just don't need to become any crisper - or more conservative. I long to tell the conservatives and the Vatican to leave the damn nuns alone, for God's sake.

Of course, like many Catholic school alums, I have mixed feelings about nuns. True, they did occasionally beat their students, but then again, back in the day, they'd put a 24-year-old nun in front of a classroom packed with 80 third graders and expect her to maintain order.

But I also remember many kind sisters and one of the first points I learned from a nun was this simple gem: "God is love."

Today's nuns are out of the classroom and working in the trenches. I volunteer at an AIDS hospice/residence that was founded by nuns and is still staffed by a nun (or two). While the ranks of nuns are dwindling, those that are left seem to be working with the poor, the disadvantaged, the ill, the forgotten and the homeless in America and abroad. If you want an example of a nun who is a modern day saint, just Google Sister Mary Scullion from Philadelphia.

Perhaps some of today's nuns' "liberal" views come from the fact that they are in the front lines of humanity, ministering to actual people, not pontificating from an office decorated with priceless antiques and artwork.

Need I mention that the Church is awash in a priest pedophile scandal that makes even the most devout Catholic cringe in disgust and shame?

Of course, that is what makes the nun scolding so maddening. Is the Church trying to deflect attention from their wayward sons by berating their hard-working daughters for having an opinion? Haven't they been treated like second-class handmaidens of the Church for long enough?

Maybe the Church higher-ups should stop acting like Bold Brazen Articles.

If I recall correctly, the Sisters definitely don't take too kindly to that kind of behavior.

KILLER LOGIC

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Why do we give mass murderers an international platform and celebrity status?

The monster who killed 77 people in Norway is now on trial and boy oh boy, does he have a starring role in this televised mayhem. Seated in a little dais in the courtroom, this creep is allowed to provide minute details of the bloodbath, including how he perfected his sharpshooter skills by playing violent video games such as Call of Duty: Modern Warfare while living in his mommy's house and taking steroids to build the physical strength needed to slaughter a large number of human beings.

Despite these confessions, he claims no guilt, swearing that he massacred the masses to keep his country from "Islamic colonization." Since he has already pled guilty, the point of the trial is to determine if he is criminally insane. I thought it would be terrific to save the Norwegians a ton of money and angst by sending them a unanimous global message: YES, HE IS DEFINITELY WACKADO - LOCK THAT SUCKER UP IMMEDIATELY SO WE DON'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO HIS BLATHER ANYMORE.

Then last week in Norway, his countrymen did it for themselves. But instead of just ranting about the defendant's illogical beliefs, the Norwegians decided to fight fire with unity, peace and power: Despite a heavy rain, they simultaneously gathered in public squares across the country to sing "Children of the Rainbow," a version of a song by folk singer Pete Seegar. The deranged right-wing gunman claims that this very song made immigration acceptable in Norway and generally weakened the moral fiber of the entire nation. (He must have watched tapes of Adolf Hitler speeches for inspiration.)

Yes, the trial is maddening because it provides a madman with a pulpit to spout his venom. We have seen this public airing of maniacal views with other killers and we will no doubt witness it again, even though it is positively infuriating.

But this time, the descendents of the Vikings responded admirably and uniquely to such outrage. I like their style and hope it inspires people around the world. They sang together for tolerance, a method of thoughtful and intelligent protest that the miniscule-minded defendant could never possibly grasp.

Although he probably considers himself a Big Man with an international spotlight on him now, soon he will be wasting away in a dank jail cell with no one to hear him. Perhaps then he will finally realize that ambushing innocent people is no video game and terrorizing a nation of peace keepers is certainly no one's call of duty.   

Ha det ("goodbye" in Norwegian) and good riddance.

WISH I HAD THE GUTS TO SPEAK UP

It's been five years since my Dad died, but every time I read a headline about a drug he was taking during his last months of life, I feel sick.

The drug is Risperdal.

It's back in the news again because its manufacturer was fined a billion dollars in Arkansas for marketing the drug in "misleading ways" through that state's Medicaid system.

Though originally billed as an anti psychotic to treat schizophrenia and bipolar mania, it was also used for a very lucrative "side job" - as a sedative for elderly patients.

My Dad fit into that category. He was acting-up while he was in assisted living, got demoted to the nursing home, and needed to behave. So he was promptly prescribed Risperdal and from then on in, he moved and comprehended in slow motion, like a film reel being shown at marmalade speed. Noticing that he seemed distant and almost "frozen," we asked the nursing home staff about his meds, but they assured us he was status quo and I never inquired about it again.

Truthfully, my sisters and I were barely managing to keep all of the nursing home balls in the air at one time, so drugs doses and side effects were just one of the fish we had to learn to fry. 

Now, years later, when I learn that the makers of Risperdal have been levied a behemoth fine, I'm glad that they received a financial smackdown, but sad that they profited by drugging-up my Dad and many other older adults.

If this blatant drug misuse had never made the papers, I wouldn't have been any the wiser.

But learning that it was deliberately misrepresented has taught me a lesson: If my gut tells me something seems amiss - especially if I'm someone's caretaker - I should ask questions. And if my gut isn't satisfied with the answers, I should politely but firmly speak up and ask again.

And I believe that a bright, alert and sympathetic Daddy Bones would readily agree. 

HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU...

YA THINK? A federal judge ordered a psychiatric exam for the JetBlue pilot who, in the middle of a flight, abandoned the cockpit and ran down the aisle screaming about terrorists and religion. Do you mean to tell me that they didn't order a psych workup for him immediately after the aircraft landed? And instead they just locked up the guy and waited a week to check if he was legally insane when he melted down and had to be wrestled to the floor thousands of feet in the air with a planeload of terrified passengers? Those of us who are neither mental health experts nor lawyers could have figured that one out. Good luck, Captain, with that type of expert response to your breakdown, you are gonna need it.

NEIGH NEIGH. A high diving-horse act that was booked to return to the Steel Pier in Atlantic City this summer as part of the beach resort's overhaul has been cancelled. Horses around the world clapped their hooves in robust approval. Making a beautiful animal climb high in the air and jump down into a miniscule container of water seems barbarian for both horse and rider, although at least the latter has a choice in the matter. Surely the powers that be can create another form of innovative entertainment for the masses. Hey, how about opening another casino so retirees, high school kids with fake IDs and minimum wage earners can blow all of their savings in a single afternoon? Yeah, yeah, that's the ticket.

UGLY HOMES WANTED. That's the headline from a recent newspaper ad. They were looking for houses for a makeover TV show and wanted to feature residences with ugly kitchens, bathrooms, siding and windows. Well, Mr. Producers, come with me on my morning walk - youse could have the pick of the litter (literally) in my Philly neighborhood, with enough "unique" homes to keep your program going for a good year or so. Hey, I might even let you take a peek at my basement in the event you're considering a new handyman show, "Tales from a Really Scary-Looking Cellar." Hollywood, here we come!

HOWDY, STRANGER! In a travel article about Amsterdam, the author noted that the natives "say hello to random strangers...so overt friendliness is not only acceptable, it's encouraged." That's fine advice to keep in mind when you're in the Netherlands, but don't try that type of Tomfoolery when you're in the Big City, fellah. Eyes straight ahead and don't even glance at someone unless they're your grandmother (and only then with a strong persona of urban reservation).

SHADES OF GRAY. Yes, I have been merciless, picking on former Governor and current inmate Rod Blagojevich, but this latest news item really got to me: Rod, who used to have his hair colored by his barber, will have to go gray because dyes are banned in prison. (Officials put the nix on hair coloring out of fear that prisoners would try to alter their appearance during an escape.) Bad enough that he'll have to age ungracefully in the clink, let alone alerting the whole world about his upcoming silver transformation. However, the news will help keep many of us on the straight and narrow because who knows what else they prohibit in jail: makeup, nail scissors, tweezers, hair gel? It would be a real crime if we were incarcerated and our fellow humans had to view us without some of those vital accouterments...