SARAH'S CRIB NOTES

The last time Cranky saw someone do such an obvious job of checking the crib notes on her hand was back in high school, many decades ago. Even the teacher—a nun actually; it was a Catholic school to which the young Cranky, who was not a Catholic, had been banished to get straightened out; didn’t work—saw the infraction. The teacher just rolled her eyes. The school year was almost over, the class had been a trying time for both teacher and students, and no amount of unauthorized help was going to improve the abysmal record of the crib-noter.

What was wrong with Sarah’s crib notes? Few are the politicians who don’t need a little help: teleprompters, note cards, written speeches. So help itself wasn’t the problem. It was just the medium by which it was delivered. The palm of the hand in the Information Age? It was a throwback to a simpler time, a bit of nostalgia in a world of blackberries, ipods, and gadgets run amuck.

So here’s to Sarah Barracuda for reminding us of days long ago, of nuns in full habit, of pretty girls bending the rules, of boys wondering what other rules the girls might bend. And as for claiming to see Russia from her house, writing words on your hand is one thing; drawing a map is quite something else. Wonder what she got in geography?