n the lighter side of the news, in dark days where most of the news consists of political scandals and terrorist strikes on the domestic front, a national story about a couple's blazing love has captured America's attention.

The couple in question is U.S. Forest Service worker Terry Barton and her husband, whose identity has yet to be released by police. Barton and her husband came to the attention of the nation after Barton was recently named the prime suspect who started the fire that currently ravages through Colorado forest land.

Since the fire started June 8, it has destroyed many homes, required the evacuation of nearly 9,000 residents, and spread to 136,000 acres. The extent of the devastation is so vast it is the leading reason to doubt Barton's assertion that she started the fire by accident after burning a letter from her estranged husband. It's a new level of destruction caused by a postal delivery, especially for a letter containing no anthrax.

Upon Barton's Thursday indictment, prosecutors in the case would detail no clear motive or Barton's reasoning in setting the fire that has caused so much damage, but they did state Barton's account of the fire accidentally escaping her control did not match forensic facts recovered at the scene.

FBI and other police agencies, however, have stated that they have re-opened previous wildfire files as arson cases. In particular, neighbors and acquaintances of Barton are being interviewed to discover the welfare of her lovelife around 1871, and if she was around Chicago at the time.

Police and media are working to put a negative spin on Barton's actions, focusing on the damage to property and endangerment of innocent lives, but it's hard to deny the romantic side of the story. Already, nationwide, fires are being set in the name of love, following Barton's original response to her break-up.

"It sounds real cool to say, you know," said 20-year-old college student Naomi Blooger. "I burned down half of Colorado because I love you so much. I mean, I key-scratched a guy's car once, but I've never loved anybody enough to kill wildlife and clear major acreage."

Others agreed with Blooger's reaction.

"Who wouldn't be impressed?" said Penelope Fitzsimmons. "I wish I had someone who loved me enough to torch miles and miles of forestry. I've got a new definition of true love."

Despite the charm of the felony, prosecutors fail to see the human side of the crime and are instead focusing on displaced people and animals, as well as the countless numbers of both placed in jeopardy by Barton's actions. Even worse, at the time of press, her actions had failed to woo back her husband. No telling at this time if Barton planned further vandalism or arson.

80s music and personalities have come back to the spotlight in recent years; '80s catchphrases, '80s TV shows have had highly-rated reunion specials. Now the ultimate '80s calling card is back in a big way: Nuclear annihilation.

Nothing quite summed up the '80s to those who remember it like L.A. Law, Richard Marx songs on the radio, the ever-looming threat of atomic destruction. With the fall of the Soviet Union and the end of the Reagan administration, however, the Cold War and the madness of nuclear annihilation passed into history, like razor-thin ties and Nia Peeples. Until now!

War on Terror, Sept. 11th, Al Qaeda, Terror Alert, India, Pakistan—all words that add up to a big return for atomic Armageddon. A whole new generation is experiencing the icy fear that, at any moment, the sky could turn red and rain death from above. A feeling most baby-boomers thought they would never live to feel again.

"I knew all the Reagan kids were communists or homos," said '80s nostalgia-lover and General Foods employee Ruby Tuesday. "Who knew there were more Bushes out there, even dumber and more terrifying than Reagan himself?"

But giving all the credit to one man for the resurgence in possible nuclear retaliation might be morally satisfying, but would be overlooking the heightened animosity throughout the world. Religious-based hate, intolerance, imagine or assumed grievances by the dozens, and we can't forget the re-emergence of decades-old historical-based conflicts.

The current heated debate between India and Pakistan over the disputed territory of Kashmir provides the biggest potential for nuclear destruction since the Bay of Pigs. Perhaps encouraged by the paranoia in the air following the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks, old territorial arguments over which country has claim to Kashmir sparked talk of nuclear war with the newly-nuclear capable countries.

But nuclear destruction fans aren't pinning their hopes on that bad blood alone; Osama bin Laden and his Al Qaeda group are possibly still out there, very active, and possibly capable of a nuclear assault of their own, and the likely target is on the continental United States.

"It's a fantastic new century for us '80s buffs," said '80s Preservation Society President Rold Hansard. "First there was that Laverne and Shirley reunion movie, then that Facts of Life reunion movie. Alf is back, even if it's just for commercials, but now that ultimate hallmark of the '80s—the threat of nuclear Armageddon—is back, and I couldn't be more pleased, as well as terrified."

The gaudiest fad of the 1950's had to be the 3D movie. The early 50's were a desperate time for Hollywood studios, as audiences were staying at home on their big fat asses in record numbers and movies were faring poorly in competition with television and communist witch hunts. Studio execs were willing to try anything to get more people into the theaters, even toying with the notion of making films that weren't big fetid balls of dung. But before they could go that far, the studio heads at Universal discovered that they'd accidentally made the same movie twice.

Universal had bankrolled The Hungry Jungle, which featured a young Charles Bronson running like hell away from man-eating tigers for two hours, and at the same time they had inadvertently financed D.A. Steuben's cannibal tiger picture Run Like Blood. Rather than shelling out promotional funds for both films to wastefully compete against each other, the studio decided to play both of them, simultaneously, on the same screen. That way they could cover up their gaffe while boasting twice as many stars running away from twice as many man-eating tigers in one movie. Like I said, these were desperate times and it should be noted that back then, guys couldn't hold their liquor.

Unfortunately the "movie" didn't make any sense when played this way, but this was only a minor setback. A young Universal intern soon discovered that thanks to poor quality control each of the films was tinted a slightly different color, and if you watched the composite film while wearing a pair of the red and blue "Wacky Glasses" given away free in boxes Oat Shmote kids' cereal, it came out kind of sort-of in 3D. The intern was thanked for his input, then immediately fired since he was obviously stealing from the studio to be able to afford drugs that good.

The idea stuck though, and the composite film Hung Like a Jungle was released in 3D as a promotional gimmick in 1952. The movie was a gigantic hit, with the 3D technology making audiences sicker than a dog on a Ferris wheel, an experience many filmgoers petrified by the boring 1950's seemed to enjoy. All summer long, audiences suffered through a kind of nausea they wouldn't experience again until The English Patient was released in 1996. The trend caught on like wildfire, and fifteen more films were released in 3D during the next three days, most of them soft-core pornos. Unfortunately for Hollywood, 3D movies were soon banned since public health officials couldn't be convinced that hundreds of moviegoers spending two hours drenched in their own vomit was just good clean fun.

Deprived of 3D cheesecake by The Man's uptight cronies, American youths in the 50's were eager for a new thing to come along and waste their time. Thanks to Australian DUI king Chuckie Dubing, they didn't have to wait long. Dubing discovered the boomerang while pulling the body of a dead aborigine off the hood of his car during a drunken one-man rally race through the outback one night in 1953. The strange crooked stick struck Dubing's fancy, and he extrapolated that it must be a hunting stick used to kill wild game birds in the bush. Dubing further extrapolated that its crooked design must allow the stick to curve in the air and return to its thrower, and this is the concept he sold to Wham-o later that year. In actuality, the aborigine was just carrying it because he wanted to show his family the funny crooked stick he had found under a tree.

Regardless, Wham-o mass-produced copies of the stick as a children's toy, and within a year millions of "boomerangs" (the name came from Dubing's approximation of the sound the aborigine made hitting his car) had been sold despite the fact that nobody anywhere had ever had one fly back to them after being thrown. Wham-o deserves a great deal of credit, however, for recognizing that few would risk appearing physically inept by claiming that the boomerang just flew kind of lopsided and herky-jerky into your neighbor's bay window every time you threw it.

Probably the only 1950's fad that ended up being worth three-quarters of a damn was the PEZ dispenser. The candies themselves had been around in Europe for twenty years, sold hilariously to American tourists who didn't know PEZ was the German word for piss. It wasn't until 1952, however, that Germany got revenge on America for kicking their evil little asses by marketing the PEZ candy in irresistible dispensers with the heads of popular political figures on top. Before long, Americans couldn't help themselves but eat candy out of Franklin Roosevelt's neck, making true Hitler's cryptic vow from 1941 that nobody had understood at the time. Eventually over the years, political bitterness died down and American children were eating candy out of Henry Winkler and Kermit the Frog's necks as well, continuing a bizarre tradition that rivals any of the crazy shit the Orient ever dreamt up.

That'll have to do for the 50's, although I wanted to go into how they pulled the first batch of Silly Putty out of a Yak's ass; there just isn't time. Keep an eye peeled for future columns, when we'll take a look at how other generations wasted their time between wars and the occasional worthwhile dance craze.

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