DO A FAVOR FOR MADAME SMARTYPANTS "There are only five results on Google for "inflatable sandwich." I find this very disappointing. Please write something online about an inflatable sandwich and help me rectify this situation."

JUNE CARTER CASH News and statements on the death of June Carter Cash from the official Johnny Cash website.

A VICTORY MAP? The Democratic Leadership Council -- the sometimes centrist, sometimes groundbreaking cluster of Democrats who gave birth to the Clinton Presidency a decade ago -- heard from the former president this week. Clinton laid out a simple strategy that he said could win back the White House in 2004, but warned that time is running out to fashion a winning agenda.

The former president acknowledged "some parallels" between 1992 and the current election cycle; in both cases, an incumbent named Bush could claim victory over Iraq, but found himself dogged by a sluggish economy. In that election, Clinton championed the "New Democrat" agenda of the DLC -- including such ideas as welfare reform, free trade and community policing -- to appeal to moderate voters...

The former president urged the nine Democratic presidential candidates to "battle-test" winning issues during their primary fight.

Clinton told an audience that included Virginia Gov. Mark R. Warner (D) and Sen. Evan Bayh (D-Ind.) that the Democratic nominee -- whoever it is -- will have to match what Americans like about Bush, mainly in the realm of national security and the war on terrorism.

Second, the nominee needs to tell the voters "something they wouldn't like about the other guys if they knew it." That could be the long-term fiscal implications of Bush's tax cuts, Reed said.

And third: "We need to give them something they won't get from the other guys," Clinton advised. On that question, the party is unsure.

THE OTHER WHITE MEAT The best thing about humans is our amazing ability to ignore facts and invent new realities. One reality we invented for ourselves over the past several decades is that the world's oceans are a constantly replenishing source of food for our hungry selves. Thank Dalhousie University in Canada for laying that myth low.

Every single species of large wild fish from the tropics to the poles has been fished so systematically over the past 50 years that just 10 per cent of each type remains, according to the first scientific study to assess the fish left in the global ocean.

And those left in the sea are roughly half the size they were before industrialized fishing began in about 1950, says the study which appears on the cover of Thursday's issue of the scientific journal Nature.

TRASH FISH If the world's oceans are being raped and pillaged, and fish stocks are being seriously depleted, why is a can of tuna at the supermarket so damn cheap? Brendan Koerner explains in Slate:

Because the species that end up in your tuna casserole aren't the ones being severely depleted. The Dalhousie University report focuses on bluefin tuna, particularly the southern bluefin, considered a great delicacy by sashimi connoisseurs. Southern bluefin tuna can exceed 400 pounds, though the average weight per catch is closer to 20; that catch weight has declined over the years as commercial vessels glean younger and younger fish from the oceans. The species does not reach reproductive maturity until the age of 8 (bluefin may live to 40), so overfishing has seriously curtailed the replenishment of fishing stocks.

As visitors to Tokyo's Tsukiji fish market can attest, a choice southern bluefin can fetch upward of $40,000—a price that makes it an uneconomical choice for, say, Starkist's Chunk Light tuna. That's why big-time canners instead prefer smaller, less flavorful species. Albacore, the so-called chicken of the sea, is what you'll get if the tin says "white meat." Also popular are skipjack and yellowfin.

ANOTHER DISASTER IN THE WORKS? As the United Nations bolsters its forces in northeastern Congo and tens of thousands of people flee regional fighting, as many as 30,000 tribal fighters are sweeping through the region. While events are nowhere near as dramatic or as orchestrated as they were in Rwanda a decade ago when 800,000 people were slaughtered in a violent campaign of ethnic cleansing as U.N. troops looked on helplessly, the pattern seems sadly familiar.

A COUNTRY GENERATION, FADING June Carter Cash was the glue that held together three generations of country music -- her own family, the Carters, created the mold in the 1920s, her husband helped expand it in the 1960s and beyond, and their peers broke new ground in their wake. She died at the age of 73 yesterday.

She was co-writer of her husband's 1963 hit "Ring of Fire," which was about falling in love with Cash. In his 1997 autobiography, Johnny Cash described how his wife stuck with him through his years of amphetamine abuse.

"June said she knew me -- knew the kernel of me, deep inside, beneath the drugs and deceit and despair and anger and selfishness, and knew my loneliness," he wrote.

Longtime friend Kris Kristofferson, who wrote the Cash hit "Sunday Morning Coming Down," said Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash have "been partners in life for as long as I've known them -- always in love, and always there for each other... I know how much she means to him. It's the hardest thing he'll ever have to face."

June Carter was born June 23, 1929, in Maces Spring, Va. Her mother, Maybelle Carter, was in the Carter Family music act with her cousin Sara Carter and Sara's husband, A.P. Carter. In 1927, they made what are among the first country music recordings.

The family act broke up, but mother and daughters June, Helen and Anita continued on as Mother Maybelle & the Carter Sisters, with little June playing autoharp... The Carters went on to become staples of the Grand Ole Opry country music show in Nashville.

STRANGER THAN FICTION Aaron McGruder deserves a Pulitzer Prize for his consistently amusing, frequently on-target "Boondocks."

SOAK UP THE SUN The Post's annual guide to the Atlantic beaches -- from the family focused strips littered with t-shirt shops and pancake houses to the hidden gems populated by oddballs and rejects. It's all here.

RESTORING ORDER David Petraeus, the commander of the U.S. Army's 101st Airborne Division and defacto military ruler of northern Iraq, has his hands full. The potential for more than mild conflict between Kurds and Arabs, Baathists and reformers, Shiites and Sunnis, and Iraqis and the U.S. military runs high. Fuel costs, wheat prices, closed border crossings, forced evictions -- these are just a few of the issues he's dealing with in Mosul. But the interesting thing about Petraeus is that by combining a heavy hand with persuasion and relationship building, he and his troops are creating conditions in northern Iraq that are as close to stable and free as that nation has seen in years.

JUST WHOSE SIDE IS HE ON, ANYWAY You want to know about the State of the Union? I want to know which Union he's talking about.

"We ended the rule of one of history's worst tyrants, and in so doing, we not only freed the American people, we made our own people more secure."—Crawford, Texas, May 3, 2003

PLAYING WITH A HALF DECK Ah, playing cards. Late nights of poker and whisky. Before I introduce the new Republican Chickenhawk Cards, it's important (to me) to point out that Woody Holton was so ahead of the times in the 90s when he led an effort to keep Colonel Oliver North out of the U.S. Senate -- Holton's group developed a "Pack of Lies," a deck of playing cards, each one displaying a lie or falsehood uttered by North in his congressional testimony about Iran-Contra. Sitting on the scratchy carpet sorting the cards into decks, it didn't strike me as brilliant at the time. Anyhoo, about those Republicans:

The Deck of Republican Chickenhawks, depicting the 54 Republican officials, congressmen, politicians and pundits who avoided serving their country through connections, deferments, or other excuses... "The United Republican Chickenhawks." Even though there are 54 cards, after reviewing them we think you'll agree none of them are really playing with a full deck!

DEFENSE POET LAUREATE When I let my guard down, I admit that I find Donald Rumsfeld to be wry, amusing, too clever by far. Now I discover that he's more poetic, by far, than any member of Bush's Cabinet. Slate provides an insightful look into the free verse of a man who's grown more trippy in his seasoned years. Here's a sample of one of Rumsfeld's briefing statements gone mad:

The Unknown
As we know,
There are known knowns.
There are things we know we know.
We also know
There are known unknowns.
That is to say
We know there are some things
We do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns,
The ones we don't know
We don't know.

—Feb. 12, 2002, Department of Defense news briefing

TRANSFORMATIONS Beth Corrie tells the Atlanta Journal-Constitution in this interview that the death of her cousin, Rachel, changed her life. Rachel Corrie was 23 years old when she was crushed to death by an Israeli bulldozer during a protest in the Gaza Strip. I haven't seen Beth in years -- she drove me to vote for the first time, introduced me to the Beastie Boys, explained the conflict in Northern Ireland to me -- but I think her cousin's tragic death gave focus to changes Beth already had made in her life. I always feel blessed when people I have known and loved feel moved to change the world.

WALKING A MILE Mark Holmberg finally gets his due. Long after the clean-cut, polished J-school reporters bailed on the Richmond Times-Dispatch for greener pastures, Holmberg remains. Tall, casual and focused, Holmberg has hung onto the weekend police beat and in the process he's educated his readers on the nuances of human behavior. It almost got him a Pulitzer Prize.

Saturday nights are the bread and wine of Holmberg’s existence. They’re the bread, because he works the night police beat on Fridays and Saturdays, so he’s always got a news piece or three to write. They’re the wine, because he finds plenty of grist for his weekly columns as he cruises across Richmond from street corner to train trestle.

On his police beat, Holmberg wheels around the city until early morning, tethered to two portable police scanners the size of 1950s walkie-talkies. It’s a great gig for a young reporter looking to learn some chops and get a crash course in life at the same time. By 46, though, most reporters have lost their taste for this kind of adventure, at least to the extent that they’d rather spend their weekends with family, on vacation or anything other than roamin’ with the homies.

But Holmberg thrives on the human detritus that most people with a full-time job and a decent income have long ago weeded out of their lives. Holmberg doesn’t just embrace it; he soaks it up, swills it around and regurgitates it weekly for his legion of readers. He could be writing a light feature on an animal handler who had an eye pecked out, or a commentary criticizing City Hall. But Holmberg approaches every story as if a simple newspaper piece could change a city that has achieved a national reputation for being mired in backward tradition. Noble aspirations aside, Holmberg has softened some of the edges that keep the sides from coming together. And he’s done it with straight talk and a fair view of both sides, tempered with common sense.

In a little less than 20 years, Holmberg has gone from full-time bricklayer to freelance rock critic to a finalist for this year’s Pulitzer Prize in the commentary category. The last time the Times-Dispatch won a Pulitzer was when the venerable Virginius Dabney landed one 55 years ago. Most reporters are fulfilled if they’ve made an impact on someone’s life or shaken up the status quo. Holmberg has made a career of doing both in a way that slices somewhere up the middle of most issues. Typically, he does so with sympathy and compassion, usually for the kinds of people who are easy targets for contempt.

THANK YOU, BILL BENNET Compulsive gamblers dancing on pinheads with angels, that's the state of morality in America these days. David Rees returns with a new bundle of "Get Your War On" strips celebrating the decline of virtues in these United States. A few swipes at Henry "That's Not Blood on My Hands; I was Pitting Cherries" Kissinger always makes for a fun cartoon.

MAYBE HE'LL RELEASE IT BEFORE THE ELECTIONS This could be an interesting little documentary. Especially if it's in theatres by October of 2004.

A film by Oscar-winner Michael Moore about the 11 September terrorist attacks has won backing from movie giant Miramax, according to reports...

Fahrenheit 911 will look at the US in the aftermath of 11 September, 2001 as well as alleged links between the families of President George W Bush and Osama bin Laden.

The title comes from Ray Bradbury's novel Fahrenheit 451, about a future where books are burned and trivial information is prized above knowledge and wisdom.

Moore used the Fahrenheit 911 title in February 2002, when he e-mailed fans to claim publisher HarperCollins had delayed issuing his book Stupid White Men because of its criticism of Mr Bush.

BAUHAUS, PERFECT FOR A SUNNY, SPRING DAY ["If you can't stand Bauhaus, then I suggest you sit down." - Peter Murphy] Here's the rub: I never listened to Bauhaus. So, when the Internet DJ said, "What could be better on a beautiful day than a little Bauhaus?," he won me over. Then I did a random web search and found Andrew Burden's too-clever-by-far review of the 1983 cult flop "The Hunger," which combines a Bauhaus song ("Bela Lugosi Is Dead") with David Bowie and the fledgling directoral talents (slim, apparently) of Ridley Scott's brother. It has C-U-L-T stamped all over it, doesn't it?

MOTHERS, SONS, DEATH Marguerite Kelly lost her only son, Michael, last month as he reported from Iraq. Mike Kelly, a journalist working for the Atlantic Monthly and the Washington Post, was killed when his humvee flipped into a canal.

I feel no denial. No anger. No bargaining. No depression. And this makes me wonder if I'll ever get to peace and acceptance. These five classic stages of grief, cited so authoritatively by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, aren't working for me.

Instead my grief is amorphous, deceitful, unpredictable. Sometimes it hides behind distractions; sometimes it covers my spirits like the pall on Mike's coffin, and sometimes it knocks me flat, particularly when I think of Mike's beloved wife, Max, and their little boys, Tom, 7, and Jack, 3, who must live their lives without him.

I tell myself to get grief counseling or to go to the excellent, free support meetings of the Compassionate Friends, for parents who have lost a child at any age; to see sad movies so I can get rid of my tears; to read "The Lively Shadow" by Donald M. Murray, a wonderfully understated, cathartic book about the death of his grown daughter; and, of course, I tell myself to pray. But mostly I remember my son as he really was. Not perfect, of course, but he was mine and he suited us so well.

THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A MOON OVER MARIN Thursday night, the world will go dark. At about 11:15 Eastern time, the Earth's shadow will block the sun's reflection from the surface of the moon, creating a lunar eclipse.

12 ANGRY MEN Well, 52 to be exact. Texas Democrats left the State House this week to prevent the House from meeting on a congressional redistricting bill. The House Republicans sent the state police after them (it's against the law to deliberately prevent a quorum in Texas), but the Dems had fled across state lines to Oklahoma. Now that's politics!

TOO SEXY FOR MY KAFTAH Iranian President Mohammad Khatami, the moderate reformist who shouldn't be confused with the Ayatollah Khomeini, visited Lebanon and was greeted by young women throwing rose petals, which is to say like a rock star.

BOOK BOY Richmond.com introduces you hep cats to Ward Tefft and his amazing wurlitzer. Actually, Ward runs a used bookstore.

FIRE ISLAND AS YOU'VE NEVER EXPERIENCED IT If you're not keen on summering on Fire Island, you'll probably still enjoy the choose-your-own-adventure book, Escape from Fire Island!"

This hilarious sci-fi parody chronicles one man’s weekend vacation on Fire Island, where—amid all the cocktails, Speedos, and circuit parties—he’s hoping to find true love. But these amorous plans are foiled when a vat of toxic waste washes ashore—and it’s up to him to save Fire Island from a plague of zombie drag queens!

TOONS FOR A NEW GENERATION "Death to the Extremist" is a twice-weekly comic strip featuring two amorphous blobs.

WELL, I GUESS THAT'S ONE APPROACH After the shooting deaths of two British citizens, and the death of an American peace activist, new rules have been put in place by the Israeli government.

Foreigners to the Gaza Strip are being obliged to sign a waiver absolving Israeli forces from responsibility if they shoot them. They also have to sign a declaration that they are not peace activists.

FLIGHT RISK DETAILS Isabella gets as close to a FAQ as I've seen in this summary of why a young girl from an old money family would clean out the family coffer and flee. And then maintain a web journal about it all.

YOUR ROCK AND ROLL LIFESTYLE Michael Wolff pens another smart piece for New York Magazine, this time on the Al Jazeera lovefest that took place in Doha last month.

They were very laid-back, very sit-down-have-a-beer (or a Sprite). They were obviously not very riled by all the shocked, shocked stuff about what their network was showing—the corpses, the sea of blood, the POWs’ faces (“Since when is a television network governed by the Geneva Conventions?” was the line they all delivered). They were cool. They were enjoying it. They were bright, didactic philosophy students who, pleased with themselves, were confidently turning the free-press argument on the free press itself.

What’s more, Al Jazeera, being another of the weird creations of the weird state of Qatar, had the home-court advantage. So while the U.S. media was here in this U.S. military establishment, with everybody’s first reaction being Why are they here?—nearly the enemy, like Vichy practically—it soon became obvious that in many ways Al Jazeera was the host. It was their media nation we were invading (Al Jazeera correspondents and technicians were gracious translators and pronunciation tutors for the non-Arabic-speaking media).

Al Jazeerians didn’t really seem like Arabs, even—at least not like the Qatarians in white dishdashas. The Al Jazeera guys (and even sometimes women) were polyglot, urbane, sexy in a radical-chic sort of way. Omar al-Issawi, the smoldering Lebanese correspondent, was the most-sought-after figure at CENTCOM, with reporters filing dispatches about his wardrobe. (“Omar, Omar . . .” were among each day’s frequently heard words.)

But most of all, of course, the media was in love with Al Jazeera because it was the hit station of the war.