Such was the question posed in the Wall Street Journal, …Politician's sin goes beyond the affair.

Surprisingly, the answer is probably not. With the proliferation of elected officials, ahem, having dalliances, it appears that the electorate is prepared to "forgive the sin of adultery."

However, says the article, what the electorate is not prepared to forgive "is hypocrisy and the abuse of the office in pursuit of the sexual escapade."

South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford is guilty on both counts. Talking openly about values, voting to impeach then President Clinton, he has scored fairly high on the hypocrisy scale. He seems to be off the charts in the "abuse of the office" category, having conducted his affair in a state vehicle, allowed for deceit as to his whereabouts, did not inform his own lieutenant governor where he was to be found in case of an emergency. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

He's not alone in this hypocrisy and abuse of the office column. Eliot Spitzer, crossed state lines to indulge his fancy, Sen. Larry Craig played footsie in Minneapolis, Sen. John Edwards, the consummate family man, erred on the campaign trail.

So, if the abuse of office and hypocrisy supersede the abuse of a marriage that explains, perhaps, why Bill Clinton has not been lumped with this other group. They couldn't pin an abuse of power on him, nor did they hold him up as a hypocrite since he wasn't "exactly a family-value icon."

Indeed, he didn't have to leave his office, didn't use taxpayer money, he just stood up and aahed.

Not everyone has a passion for travel. Packing, unpacking, driving in unfamiliar territory, eating potentially strange and exotic foods, these are among some, of the many, expressed concerns I have heard from some folk. 

The latest escapade of a friend of mine who does the "on line" dating thing, reminded me of a most delicious story that I read years and years ago.

This particular story is excerpted from a wonderful book entitled "Don T Get 'Perconel' With A Chicken" that is an aggregate of children's musings, edited by the humorist H. Allen Smith. Unedited, verbatim, enjoy.

Don T Get Perconel With A Chicken
by Eloise Coleman

On my vacation I visited with my gran parents in Iowa and my gran father learned me dont get perconel with a chicken. My gran father has a few chickens and one was a chicken I got perconel with and gave the name Gene Autry. One day my gran mother deside to have stood chicken for dinner and says Orf you go out and kill a hen meening my gran father. I went with him and low and behole he took a poke with a wire on the end and reeched in the pen and got Gene Autry by the leg and pulled him out and before I ccood say a werd he rung his neck wich pulls off his hed and he flops around on the grond back and forth without no hed on and I cryed. He was a brown one. Then he scalted him in hot water and picket the feathers of and saw me crying and says dont ever get preconel with a chicken. When we are at the dinner table he says it again so I ate some, a drumb stick. I dident say anything but it was like eating my own
rellatives. So dont get perconel with a chicken, also a cow if you going to eat it later on. Also a caff.

And the on line dating escapade, you ask??

Well, she told me, there was this initial contact. An immediate get together, a "real time" date, couldn't happen for a few weeks. Undaunted, they commenced a fast and furious relationship. There were emails, long long phone chats, dreaming, scheming, sharing, daily conversations. Terms of endearment were exchanged, Honey, Baby, Sweetie.

All of which, she said, without so much as a hint as to why, the relationship came to a screeching, tire leaving treadmarks, halt. Poof, he disappeared.

What? Huh?

Too much sharing, I suppose. I told her Eloise's story. Yup, she said, got it. Must not get too perconel with a chicken.

Observed a major, major, huge, oops recently.

If you've been to India and had the chance to gaze, no doubt in awe, at the site of the Taj Mahal (or perhaps you saw  Slumdog Millionaire, which really shouldn't count in the gazing upon category) then you would know that Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan  built it in memory of his favorite wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Okay, I didn't know the names of either of them, either.

And so it goes that, since time immemorial, man has erected (is there a pun here?) monuments to themselves, think The Donald, or to their beloved. Or, perhaps to both.

Such was my reaction when I saw this article For God and Susan in the home section of the Times.
Did you open the link? Do so, I'll wait.

Most of my friends who are in relationships are delirious where their partner hangs a picture, shelf or
curtain rod.

Now the catch, as I read this article, was the seemingly banal mention of two things.
One was that this was his second marriage. The other was a quote from the Dr. himself…  "the heart of what I'm trying to say with my decorative art is that morality is accepting the consequences of your action, which no one is willing to do these days."  Repentance and resisting temptations, says the article are constant themes.

So then, if you think that your loved one seems to be feeling the pull of infidelity,  get thee to a Home Depot for the paint chips, moldings and decorative hardware. Couldn't hurt.

After I receive an email from an on line hopeful, I do three things.

Lot's of reasons to pay homage to Carly Simon. After all, she bared her heart and soul to us in her music.

This particular nod to her is for "Coming Around Again." I think that this could become an anthem for some of us who are on the on-line dating circuit.

Here's why.

Admittedly, I have trouble, sometimes, remembering what I ate for dinner last night. However, I seem to have a prescient memory of whom I have written to, responded to, or actually had a real time encounter with.

Therefore, I am always quite amused when I receive a note from someone whose, ahem, acquaintance I have made….

Their note to me doesn't begin with any disclaimer about previous encounters. It is, apparently, written to  introduce themselves. Not reintroducing themselves, a first time, never knew you before, introduction.

So I wonder, how to respond? Clearly, had we connected the first time around we wouldn't be having a second go around.

So, for the moment I file the correspondence in the "Carly Simon folder." I figure, knowing that this prescient memory I have will, sooner than later, decrease. It is then that I can respond to them as if I never heard, wrote or saw them before.

What caught my attention was the headline. "Smile! It could predict success of your marriage."

Was that the directive given as you walked down the aisle, I wondered? No, it seems that the predictor of the success quotient happens much much earlier.

There's this fellow I know who has proffered up some opinions about the on-line dating experience that I would like to share.

First, he said, "time after time we go through the pages and pages of smiling humans, some so seemingly happy it makes us want to weep for our own lost dream of The Land of Later Years Bliss."

Ouch, I thought. Is he right?

Digging deeper into his psyche about his on-line experience, I learned that he has developed an acronym to describe how he experiences the mating game. It's called PCM. Not standing for Personal Computer Magazine or Please Call Me, two wild stabs I made attempting to figure out what he was talking about, "no" said he, "Perfect Conceptual Mate." And he's right. Those of us doing the on-line thing do it.

Here's what happens. There is the initial contact,  the emails, the phone chats, the going back to read and reread the  profile, the date is made, where to go, what to wear, hearts beat and pulses quicken, the encounter occurs and then…oh dear, oh my, oh shit. The PCM that was conjured up, didn't show up.

"And thus," he said, "explains why the just wait and see is my new mantra." He continued saying "it's not likely that I will get excited again about the prospect of meeting, for the first time, a lovely intelligent, available woman that I've evaluated and processed and maximized through an on-line dating meeting-place thingy. And, I think that's a good thing. It's more realistic, and I'm not as likely to get caught in one of those whirlwind romances; intense and exciting and memorable as they can be…short-lived is more likely the result."

Ouch, again, I thought. Such temperance. Dreams of the Land of Later Years Bliss going up in smoke.

So I suggested to him a new acronym.  "Let's set your sights a tad more realistically" I said. "How's this" I suggested, "to keep hope alive?  PPPPPPCM."

Perhaps, Perhaps, Potentially, Promising, Palatable, Perfect Conceptual Mate.