After my explorations into the world of "rods," I've gained an appreciation for the depth of research and discussion going on concerning some of these more esoteric topics. Sure, there is the usual cadre of tinfoil-hatted drooling mumblers, but a lot of the folks at the center of the debates have pretty impressive collections of letters (M.S., PhD, etc.) after their names.

Columns By J. Scott Wilson Diary Of A Fat Man Ask The Cook Short Orders The Weird Chronicles

Granted, I could hop on the Net this evening and hold two or three doctorates by morning, but I can't believe ALL of these folks did that.

By once again diving into the depths of a night-long Googlefest, I think I've gotten a bit of a handle on another issue near and dear to the hearts of those in the esoteric community: chemtrails.

There are multiple definitions of chemtrails, from the dryly scientific to the downright Orwellian. To cull them together into one "unified field theory" of chemtrails is a job for one of those fellows with all the letters after his name, so I'll just do the best I can to cook up my own definition: chemtrails are, supposedly, exhaust trails from jet engines which contain chemicals reputed to do everything from suppressing human evolution to altering our genetic codes to tranquilizing us to inducing droughts.

That's a pretty tall order, indeed, but the sheer volume of Web-based information out there could make a believer out of just about anyone. Why would anyone devote this much work to a topic, the rational mind insists, if there wasn't something to it?

Journey back in time with me just over a year, to that dark and shaky time after Sept. 11, 2001, when threats seemed to loom from every corner. Shortly before Halloween, a rumor surfaced and quickly shot to front-page status that unnamed terrorists were going to attack the nation's shopping malls on Halloween night. We were all warned in the direst of language to avoid the malls, to stay home and hunker down.

I'm going to blow my own horn just tiny bit here: The Weird Chronicles was one of the first venues in which this rumor was fingered as the hoax it eventually proved to be.

My mailbox fairly exploded. People had become deeply invested in the idea of this hoax being true, and took very unkindly to the notion that they might have been duped. I was told I'd have "blood on my hands" on Halloween night, called names I haven't heard since my bar-hopping days, and generally cast in that particular light reserved for tot snatchers and nun abusers.

Now, before you fire up the Hotmail and start flaming, I am NOT for a moment saying that chemtrails are a hoax on the order of the Halloween one. However, the hyperbole one encounters when trying to make an objective assessment can send even the most open mind scurrying for shelter.

Now ponder this little concept: you're in an argument, and you know full well that the other side has all the facts they need to prove their point. What's your best move? Render your opponent unbelievable. Destroy his credibility in the eyes of the judges and it doesn't matter if he resurrects Einstein, he'll not be believed.

It strikes me that the "monster shouters" (to crib from Stephen King) here are doing just that: destroying the credibility of their own side's argument. That leaves the naysayers sounding calm and well-reasoned, like the nice man leading you away from the raving nutcase who's cornered you in the bus station.

And now, in that infuriating way we journalist types have, I'm not going to offer a solution. This banner is not mine to carry. You're welcome to it, though. Drop me a line and let me know what you think.

'Happy' Valentine's Day

Guys, is your lady tired of the usual Whitman Samplers? Girls, will your man break down and cry if he gets one more Dove chocolate?

OK, actually, he won't. Men think pork rinds and buffalo wings are haute cuisine. By and large we don't differentiate much when it comes to chocolate. But work with me here.

What you need to do is get your hands on some of these little lovelies. The "magic" candies, containing a drug distilled from hallucinogenic mushrooms, were confiscated by Texas cops during a traffic stop.

One has to wonder what it was about the driver that got the cops sniffing around the sweets. Was he cuddling the chocolates? Talking to them? Perhaps re-enacting the Monty Python "Crunchy Frog" skit?

"You can't confiscate that! It's made with lark's vomit!"

Technology Is Our Friend

The next time you get exasperated with your slow dial-up modem, don't go as far as a fellow in Janesville, Wis., did.

Janesville police responded to a smoke complaint in the wee hours and found a man with a dial-up modem smoking merrily away on his barbecue grill. He told the officers that he'd grown tired of waiting for it to do its thing, and decided that a session on the grill might induce it to work a little faster.

Come to think of it, I've been getting more and more furious with my old VCR. It just won't rewind fast enough.

See you next week, folks. I've got to go light the grill.