STRANGER THAN FICTION: PARTIES, SELECTED READINGS AND VERY, VERY BAD KNEES

The key to a great party is putting those little white lights on your plants.

Throwing a party is always nerve-racking. Throwing one for a guy who has alienated half the women in town is a nightmare.

Enter Al, who's leaving the office for greener pastures in Omaha. He's trying to convince himself that it's a good move.

"Omaha is just like Pensacola, only twice the size and without the beach," he keeps saying.

So, in other words, it stinks. Pensacola without the beach is like Mount Rushmore without the carvings -- who gives a flip about a big piece of rock?

But that's Al, rushing headfirst from one disaster to another. He's happiness impaired.

Take his love life. There was the Catholic girl determined that Protestant Al should convert. Then the waitress who mysteriously disappeared to the bathroom immediately after every meal. Then the string of co-workers, including the girl who left him for a married man she met on the Internet, the girl who had constant panic attacks and the girl who he's moving to get away from -- we'll call her The Stalker.

Anyway, it's tough to throw a party for a man who has screwed up so many office romances, but I like Al and was determined to do it.

The key to any great party is stringing white Christmas lights on your houseplants. Trust me. People go absolutely nuts over those little white lights. Or maybe the key is setting out several bottles of hard liquor and many shot glasses. On second thought, forget the white lights. I don't think they had a thing to do with the success of Al's party.

In fact, while two of the ex-girlfriends showed up and attempted to argue with Al over various issues, nobody noticed because of the WWF-type wrestling, the M&M fight and the Mardi Gras re-enactment -- what do you expect when you've got a balcony and some leftover beads sitting around?

So, long story short, I'm available for party planning. Give me a call. I can guarantee a good time -- no matter who the guest of honor -- with only $100 or so worth of damage.

CENSORSHIP IN AMERICA

It was flattered to be named a "Celebrity Reader" and asked to participate in Tuesday's Read Across America event celebrating Dr. Seuss' birthday.

Sure, I'm no Kathy Lee Gifford, but my name is in the newspaper, dammit! That makes me a celebrity! (Work with me here.)

Actually, all the real celebrities went to big schools. I was invited to a 150-student high school in a one-stoplight town about 40 miles from here to read to remedial high school students.

"Just bring your favorite book and plan to read for about five to seven minutes," the coordinator said.

My favorite book is "Watership Down" by Richard Adams, but let's face it. A book with a guide to understanding the special language spoken by rabbits doesn't hold a lot of appeal for most teen-agers. Sure, there are a few who could appreciate it, but they aren't in the remedial reading course. They're like I was in high school -- sitting in my room with the door closed reading fantasy books and eating two-pound bags of M&Ms.

My next choice was "Midnight in the Garden of the Good and Evil" by John Berendt.

"Um, doesn't that have sex of some sort in it?" the coordinator asked.

Actually, it has three kinds, plus a murder. But show me what popular book doesn't these days?

I went with "Elvis Don't Like Football" by retired NFL coach Jerry Glanville.

BAD KNEES

Did you ever own a jointed-knee Barbie doll? Some of them had to sit down with their legs sticking straight out, but the newer ones have joints in the knees that click when you bend them.

My knees make the same sounds as theirs.

They're killing me right now. I'm sure part of the problem is my height-to-weight ratio, which would only be proportionate if I grew another two feet. But they've been bothering me since my thin days, when Mom called them "growing pains."

"Eat some bananas," she'd say. "That will stop the pain."

Of course, this is the same nature woman who gave me herbal tea to alleviate menstrual cramps -- that doesn't work either. We'll all laugh about this when she's in a home.

Anyway, I've had all kinds of suggested cures, from sleeping with leg braces full of magnets on my knees ("It pulls all the positive, healing energy to your knees," my friend said.) to doing strength-building exercises at the gym. The second option sounds logical, but ends up it only works if you actually GO to the gym.

I'm going to the doctor this week. My plan is to beg him for surgery. A month off work, short-term disability payments and The Other Half does all the housework.

What's not to like?