Today’s weather reminds me of a story I’ve been telling for years. It involves the legendary football coach O.A. “Bum” Phillips and it’s gotten great laughs from those who have heard it.

Some things are just plain funny even when they aren’t intended to be.

This caption appeared under a photograph of Gov. Rick Perry in the Dec. 2 edition of the New York Times: “Rick Perry is painting himself as the authentic, don’t-mess-with-Texas conservative.”

Why is that funny? “Don’t Mess With Texas” was born many years ago as an anti-littering slogan. I think it was during the time that Garry Mauro was Texas land commissioner — which seems like an eternity by now.

But over the years, the phrase has morphed into some kind of super-macho state slogan. I don’t know if it’s because others outside of Texas have misinterpreted its meaning, or whether political opportunists within our state borders have seen it as a kind of “branding” device for the Lone Star State.

Maybe we ought to retire the old anti-litter slogan and trot out a new one that is less prone to being corrupted.

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.

Former Alaska Gov.-turned-best-selling author Sarah Palin has jumped into the birther cesspool. She was asked today by a talk-radio jock whether the issue of President Obama’s citizenship is a legitimate issue.

Her answer was evasive and clumsy at the same time. The voters, she said, have made it an issue, so therefore it is “fair game.” She didn’t say precisely that she believes the nut cases who keep fanning the flames that question President Obama’s citizenship. She has hitched herself to the others’ bandwagon. In other words, if they believe that nonsense, then it’s OK with her.

It doesn’t matter to these goofballs that the state of Hawaii, where the president was born, has produced a birth certificate. Nor does it matter that two Honolulu newspapers published announcements of his birth — in Hawaii — back in 1961; the doubters thus have implied that the newspapers’ editors concocted a plot that makes the JFK conspiracy cultists look like rank amateurs.

These nut jobs have glommed onto the lies promoted by Obama-haters who just cannot stand the thought of this guy being elected president.

Now they can count a former governor — and current political superstar — as one of their own.

Mac Thornberry is going to run for re-election to a ninth term in Congress. He announced his intention to seek re-election today, saying that “this is a critical time for our nation.”

It’s a little after 1 p.m. I have returned from lunch with my wife — and I have just enjoyed a remarkable driving experience.

I traveled north from Affiliated Foods, where my wife works, all the way into downtown and didn’t hit a single red light on the way. That’s what, about six miles?

Some months ago, I put a post on this blog about having to wait for red lights.

http://johnkanelis.blogspot.com/2009/02/waiting-for-no-one.html

Today, I must proclaim this minor motor vehicle victory.

I dropped my wife off at her office and turned left from Farmers Road onto Washington Street. Past 58th Avenue I went; then I zipped through 46th; then came the light at the Canyon E-Way, which was green; on to 34th, where I found green again; 24th and 22nd in front of Amarillo College were green; same for Wolfin Avenue; I arrived at I-40 and sailed through the green light; the intersections at 16th and 15th were as green as green gets; I made the small curve in front of Ellwood Park and breezed through the lights at 11th and 10th and Adams; I made the turn onto Ninth and wheeled into the parking lot at the Globe-News. I’ll admit that I was sweating it.

About two-thirds of the way back to work, I began to feel like a pitcher who realizes in the sixth inning he’s throwing a no-hitter. I didn’t dare say anything out loud, even to myself, about what I was about to experience. I didn’t want to jinx it.

This is a red-letter day, given the interminable delays at intersections all over the city.

Now, if I can find a way to navigate my way east along Ninth without hitting every single one of those red lights …

A sheriff in Oregon once disabused me of the notion that police traffic stops were “routine.”

There’s no such thing as a “routine traffic stop,” the sheriff told me. I wrote the phrase in a police-related story I wrote for the paper I worked for back then. I was new to daily journalism. I have stayed away from the phrase ever since when writing about the work that police officers do every day. In the three decades since then, I’ve heard that refrain from other officers throughout Texas, in Beaumont (where I once lived and worked) and here in Amarillo.

The admonition came to mind this week as news came out about the ambush in Lakewood, Wash., in which four police officers were slain by a gunman who shot them dead in a coffee shop. The officers were typing reports on their laptops, getting ready for their shifts to begin.

Then tragedy struck without warning.

The officers were doing duties that should have been “routine,” but weren’t.

I’ll have more to say on this issue in the days ahead. The tragedy in Lakewood needs to be revisited as a reminder of the potential sacrifice that police officers face every single time they report to work.

I cannot imagine the dread their loved ones must endure.

It’s interesting to me that former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin has decided to skip a visit to the Panhandle on her “Going Rogue” book tour.

I know exactly what would happen if I cracked up my car at 2 in the morning outside my little ol’ house in southwest Amarillo: The EMTs would come, patch me up a little bit, take me to the hospital, release me to the care of my wife — and no one other than my loved ones and me would give a rip.

Not so with Tiger Woods. He is paying the price of the fame he has accrued by being the greatest golfer in the universe this side of Jack Nicklaus.

He banged up his car in front of his zillion-dollar house; reports said at first he was in “serious condition”; we learned later he was treated and released. Now there are reports about an affair, which Woods denies.

He says the matter is private and he wants it “to stay that way.” I don’t blame him..

But this is what happens in this celebrity-crazed society. The media glom onto stories like this because some people actually care about these things.

You’ve heard it said that “Nothing good happens after midnight”? That’s especially true if you’re the most famous athlete on the planet.

Everyone in Washington is aghast that two party crashers elbowed their way this week into the White House state dinner.

Even more astonishing would be if someone isn’t canned — or perhaps prosecuted — over this monumental mess-up.

Tariq and Michaele Salahi weren’t invited to the state dinner, which President and Mrs. Obama hosted for the prime minister of India and his wife. But they got in. The word now is that a Secret Service employee let them enter without asking them for proper identification.

The Salahis apparently are reality-TV stars. So, perhaps this was a plot line that they would develop on their show — although I don’t know who’s watching it.

This is far worse than the Balloon Boy episode involving the parents who staged the fake drama a few weeks ago involving their son’s purported flight in a balloon over Colorado.

No, this one would could have turned out badly if the Salahis intended to do harm to someone — such as the president of the United States of America.

I don’t want to hear about the Secret Service employee being put on “administrative leave.” The Secret Service, the arm of the Treasury Department with duties that include protecting the Leader of the Free World, needs to get to the bottom of this matter in a New York minute and fire the individual who let the party crashers into a state dinner. And if there are grounds for a criminal prosecution, then pursue that option, too.

Get it done!

I cannot believe it’s been 20 years.

Two decades ago, I ate one of the more memorable Thanksgiving dinners of my life. It wasn’t that the food was all that great. It wasn’t. It was the place. And it was the big-hearted spirit of the people serving it that made it so special.

In November 1989, some journalist colleagues and I boarded vehicles in Phnom Penh, Cambodia for what would be a grueling daylong road trip to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. It was Thanksgiving Day. We were touring Southeast Asia on a factfinding trip that began in Bangkok, Thailand; it took us to Hanoi, then to Ho Chi Minh City, then to Phnom Penh and then back to Ho Chi Minh City (which used to be called Saigon). It was thrilling beyond belief to be there at that time.

Cambodia had just come out of a decade-long war with Vietnam, which had invaded Cambodia to rid that nation of Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge butchers who eradicated a fourth of that country’s population. Cambodia’s infrastructure had been destroyed during the Khmer Rouge reign of terror — and the war that followed — and we were among the first foreigners to see it up close.

That Thanksgiving morning, we headed back to Saigon. Our caravan stopped at the Mekong River, where we rode a rickety raft/ferry across — along with villagers traveling with goats and pigs. I actually feared the ferry would capsize and that headlines around the world would announce the deaths of this traveling group of Americans. It didn’t, so our trip continued.

We eventually crossed the Cambodia-Vietnam border after a considerable delay.

We arrived that evening in Ho Chi Minh City, and checked into our hotel.

And then we gathered for dinner.

The hotel staff had prepared a Thanksgiving meal for their American visitors, knowing that we were celebrating this uniquely American holiday. It consisted of what my dear friend — and former Amarillo resident — Tommy Denton describes to this day as “road kill duck,” mashed potatoes, peas (that had a kind of rubbery texture), and a kind of cobbler for dessert.

It wasn’t a gourmet meal. But we all were moved by the wonderful intentions of our hosts. The United States didn’t yet have diplomatic relations with Vietnam; that would come years later. But our hosts rolled out the red carpet for us and showed us an amazing bit of sensitivity and compassion, serving up a meal to mark a holiday that only we celebrate.

My personal journey to Vietnam would reach its climax a couple of days later, when Tommy and I ventured to Da Nang, where we each re-traced paths we had traveled two decades earlier as young soldiers.

But that particular Thanksgiving holiday, half a world away from my wife and sons, remains one of the highlights of my life.

The people who served us that meal have my everlasting gratitude.