In your face, Amish!

Lately, it's been the habit of many to refer to the recent terror incidents as nine one one. I flinch every time I hear it. Nine one one is not a date; it's the number you call when a guy in Groucho Marx glasses is lurking outside your bathroom window.

Nine eleven I find perfectly acceptable. But, nobody pronounces a date by listing the digits. The coincidental similarity between the now-infamous date and the emergency telephone number seems to have spawned a term that I guarantee would not exist if the attacks had occurred a day later. I'm positive nobody would refer to anything as nine one two.

And the glasses I have to wear. Just the nose and mustache are fake.

I think I'll start calling it my nacho table.

The Ansel Adams Autobiography will be my nacho-table book.