A few years ago, a dead whale washed ashore at Ocean Beach. As authorities tried to figure out how to remove the behemoth, it began to rot in the sun, creating quite a fetid spectacle. Hundreds of people visited the ghastly sight. A reporter was looking for reactions. He accosted a 12-year-old girl and asked her what she thought.

“It’s big and it’s gross,” she said succinctly. 

You can’t top that for getting to the point. I consider the worsening economy and what can be done about it.

The girl’s description comes to mind: It’s big and it’s gross. ...

The British are noted for their civility, a word that was tossed around a lot after the shooting in Tucson. But when someone is dismissed from his or her job, the Brits say the employee was “made redundant.” It means “no longer needed, superfluous,” and though demeaning, I guess it’s to the point. But in America, people are “laid off.” That’s so much more palatable. Though jobless, we may say we’re civilized. Feel better now? ... Norm Goldblatt, the gifted funnyman, is back from Las Vegas. He says he visited the popular “Bodies … the Exhibition” at the Luxor. “I call it extreme stripping,” says Norm. “It takes ‘all the way’ to new depths. It’s the perfect example of too much of a good thing. But some guys just can’t stomach subcutaneous stripping.”  Yes, I thought beauty was skin deep. Need to go no further. ...

Reader discretion advised: Actress Maria Schneider died last month in Paris from cancer. She was only 58. Many will always remember how she, at 19, and Marlon Brando, 48, brought sodomy to mainstream cinema in Last Tango in Paris in 1972. The use of butter in the scene became luridly legendary. For months, the film ran at the old Royal Theater on Polk Street. You have to recall there was no Castro District in those days. “Polkstrasse” was the center of gay activity. The boys at the Gramophone record shop across the street from the Royal gleefully filled their front window with Gato Barbieri’s soundtrack album of Last Tango ... and empty boxes of Challenge butter. It’s still an outrageous image. The movie brought Maria Schneider nothing but misery. Typecast as a sex kitten, her career never got anywhere. She later made dreary films such as Mamma Dracula. ...

Once in a while I wonder, “How’s Ed Jew doing?” ... “How’s Bernie Ward doing?” ... and “How’s O.J. Simpson?” O.J.’s not too happy, I imagine. The Nevada Supreme Court would not rehear his appeal for his conviction in a Vegas casino heist. He’s serving nine to 33 years. “I know,” exclaims Diane Weissmuller, “let’s send O.J. some chili chicken.” Diane wrote a memoir with her late husband, Johnny Weissmuller Jr., Tarzan, My Father. But many years before that, Diane and I worked at the Gazebo Cafe, a charming little bistro on Polk at Green. Yes, another ’70s story. “Don’t you remember?” asks Diane. “You used to cook chili chicken for O.J. and Nicole when they lived on Russian Hill. He loved the stuff.” Happier days, for sure. I did not remember cooking for O.J. The other day, I thought of getting some chili chicken to O.J. in the slammer. Then it occurred to me: that’s one of the dumbest ideas I’ve had in at least a couple of days. ...

Zigzagging onward: Barnaby Conrad’s new novel, his 35th, shot up the Amazon charts recently, then after two weeks, dropped dramatically. But it’s holding its own. “That’s the power of The New York Times,” says Barnaby Conrad III, Conrad’s son, who edited and co-published The Second Life of John Wilkes Booth (Council Oak Books, Kanbar/Conrad, $25). The Times ran a terrific piece by Adam Nagourney about the book, a literary saga unto itself. Sinclair Lewis, the elder Conrad’s mentor, first suggested that he write the book 60 years ago. Barnaby III finally got his dad to write it. The younger Conrad is a renowned writer himself. His publishing partner is the indefatigable Maurice Kanbar, the Pacific Heights inventor and philanthropist. “My dad’s mind is still incredibly sharp at age 88,” says Barnaby. ...

Michael McCourt, S.F.’s famed Irish barman and storyteller, returns to Pier 23 on Saturday, March 19 to sing some of his favorites songs. Garry Graham will be at the piano. ... Speaking of Polk Street, I noticed that the perpetually popular Swan Oyster Depot is across the street from a branch of Chase bank. I wonder who has more money. ... “Everybody seem to be complaining these days,” complains Nob Hill’s Parker Ralph. “I say it’s time we put an end to global whining.” ... Bruce Bellingham also writes a column for the Marina Times. He likes to complain. He finds that wringing his hands is a good form of exercise. Reassure him: bruce@northsidesf.com.