Much Ado About Susan

Forgive me, for I have sinned. It's been seven months since my last blog entry.

Sins aside, I recently saw something so remarkable that I feel compelled to comment.

No doubt everyone has now heard about Susan Boyle, the rather ordinary-looking singer with the extraordinary voice who was recently "discovered" on Britain's Got Talent. She was so unexpectedly wonderful that, according to Wikipedia (the true source of all knowledge)"...the most popular YouTube video submission of her audition (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8QZY&feature=related) garnered nearly 2.5 million views in the first 72 hours" and "100 million video views on 20 different websites was reached within nine days."

So, why all the hullabaloo? Good question. Was it because we just couldn't believe someone with that kind of talent had gone largely unnoticed for so long? Or perhaps it was because what we saw did not necessarily prepare us for what we would hear. (Which, if true, is mighty sad commentary on all of us.) Or maybe (and I think this is probably somewhat closer to the truth) it was because we love a good "rags to riches" tale--whatever its form--and opportunities to actually watch something like this unfold are, unfortunately, all too rare.

Apparently, folks in the U.S. were particularly taken with Susan Boyle. Again from Wikipedia, "Writing in The Scotsman, Craig Brown quoted a U.S. entertainment correspondent who compared Boyle's story to the American Dream, in that it represented talent overcoming adversity and poverty. The Associated Press described this as Boyle's "hardscrabble story", dwelling on her modest lifestyle and what they saw as urban deprivation in her home town. Similarly, The Independent New York correspondent David Usborne wrote that America is a country that will always respond to "the fairy tale where the apparently unprepossessing suddenly becomes pretty, from Shrek to My Fair Lady." Piers Morgan, one of the show's judges, also commented on the unusual power this story seemed to have in the US, noting that "Americans can be very moved by this sort of thing", and likening Boyle's rise to fame from poverty and obscurity to that of the fictional boxer Rocky Balboa."

I think there's some truth to that, and here's why: Because, on a macro level, it's our history and, much closer to home, we hope--or even expect--it to be our future in some form or fashion. And to watch someone else achieve greatness in the face of seemingly unbeatable odds, I believe, actually fuels the dreams we have for ourselves.

Whatever the reason(s), I am thrilled for this lady.

Racing Toward Mediocrity

Good grief. It this really what it’s come to?

I’m referring, of course, to a story I heard on the radio the other night about a little boy in New Haven, CT, named Jericho Scott. According to ESPN, “The right-hander has a fastball that tops out at about 40 mph. He throws so hard that the Youth Baseball League of New Haven told his coach that the boy could not pitch any more. When Jericho took the mound anyway last week, the opposing team forfeited the game, packed its gear and left, his coach said.”


What? Are you kidding me? They just ditched? What a bunch of Marys!!! Oh, but it gets better.

“Officials for the three-year-old league, which has eight teams and about 100 players, said they will disband Jericho's team, redistributing its players among other squads, and offered to refund $50 sign-up fees to anyone who asks for it.”

Please, someone stop the world…I want to get off.

Since when did excellence become an offense? Have we, as a society, become so ego-filled that we cannot accept (or even tolerate) the notion that someone, somewhere, MIGHT be better than us in some particular respect?

Why not just compete with the kid? Clearly, he’s gifted and I daresay that facing his 40 MPH pitch might just provide the motivation some kids need to inspire them to excellence.

I guess some of the coaches (and league officials) claim it is “impossible” for other teams to get a hit, and thus (according to their reasoning) the game isn’t worth playing. In addition to this being a massive load of crap, it’s also a bad philosophy. Recall, please, that a ‘four minute mile’ was once thought by some to be impossible, but, lo and behold, 1954 rolls around and Roger Bannister, a Brit, makes it happen. Just 46 days later, Bannister’s time was bested by Australia’s John Landy. According to the always-accurate Wikipedia, “The 'four minute barrier' has since been broken by many male athletes, and is now the standard of all professional middle distance runners. In the last 50 years the mile record has been lowered by almost 17 seconds.”

I reckon it’s a good thing that neither Bannister or Landy used the same approach these milquetoast New Haven Little League coaches do! Clearly, for these folks, a false sense of “human equality” has completely eclipsed a true quest for “human excellence.”


You know what this whole story reminds me of? Did any of you (aka EITHER of you) ever read Kurt Vonnegut’s Harrison Bergeron? No? Well I did—several years ago. At the time I thought it was an outlandishly impossible notion. Sadly, it seems it has, in fact, become a reality. Though I realize it’s a little lengthy, I’m going to include it in this post—I think it’s worth another look. Enjoy…or not.



Harrison Bergeron

by Kurt Vonnegut (1961)


THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren’t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.


Some things about living still weren’t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.


It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.


George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel’s cheeks, but she’d forgotten for the moment what they were about.


On the television screen were ballerinas.


A buzzer sounded in George’s head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.


“That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,” said Hazel.


“Huh?” said George.


“That dance – it was nice,” said Hazel.


“Yup,” said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren’t really very good – no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn’t be handicapped. But he didn’t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.


George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.


Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself she had to ask George what the latest sound had been.


“Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,” said George.


“I’d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,” said Hazel, a little envious. “All the things they think up.”


“Um,” said George.


“Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?” said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. “If I was Diana Moon Glampers,” said Hazel, “I’d have chimes on Sunday – just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.”


“I could think, if it was just chimes,” said George.


“Well – maybe make ‘em real loud,” said Hazel. “I think I’d make a good Handicapper General.”


“Good as anybody else,” said George.


“Who knows better’n I do what normal is?” said Hazel.


“Right,” said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.


“Boy!” said Hazel, “that was a doozy, wasn’t it?”


It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.


“All of a sudden you look so tired,” said Hazel. “Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa, so’s you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.” She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in canvas bag, which was padlocked around George’s neck. “Go on and rest the bag for a little while,” she said. “I don’t care if you’re not equal to me for a while.”


George weighed the bag with his hands. “I don’t mind it,” he said. “I don’t notice it any more. It’s just a part of me.


“You been so tired lately – kind of wore out,” said Hazel. “If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.”


“Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,” said George. “I don’t call that a bargain.”


“If you could just take a few out when you came home from work,” said Hazel. “I mean – you don’t compete with anybody around here. You just set around.”


“If I tried to get away with it,” said George, “then other people’d get away with it and pretty soon we’d be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”


“I’d hate it,” said Hazel.


“There you are,” said George. “The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?”


If Hazel hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn’t have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.


“Reckon it’d fall all apart,” said Hazel.


“What would?” said George blankly.


“Society,” said Hazel uncertainly. “Wasn’t that what you just said?”


“Who knows?” said George.


The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn’t clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, “Ladies and gentlemen – ”


He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.


“That’s all right –” Hazel said of the announcer, “he tried. That’s the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.”


“Ladies and gentlemen” said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred-pound men.


And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. “Excuse me – ” she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.


“Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen,” she said in a grackle squawk, “has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under–handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.”


A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen – upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.


The rest of Harrison’s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever worn heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H–G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.


Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.


And to offset his good looks, the H–G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle–tooth random.


“If you see this boy,” said the ballerina, “do not – I repeat, do not – try to reason with him.”


There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.


Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.


George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have – for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. “My God –” said George, “that must be Harrison!”


The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head.


When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.


Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.


“I am the Emperor!” cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!” He stamped his foot and the studio shook.


“Even as I stand here –” he bellowed, “crippled, hobbled, sickened – I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!”


Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.


Harrison’s scrap–iron handicaps crashed to the floor.


Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.


He flung away his rubber–ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.


“I shall now select my Empress!” he said, looking down on the cowering people. “Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!”


A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.


Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all, he removed her mask.


She was blindingly beautiful.


“Now” said Harrison, taking her hand, “shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!” he commanded.


The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. “Play your best,” he told them, “and I’ll make you barons and dukes and earls.”


The music began. It was normal at first – cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs.


The music began again and was much improved.


Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while – listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.


They shifted their weights to their toes.


Harrison placed his big hands on the girl’s tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.


And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!


Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.


They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.


They leaped like deer on the moon.


The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it. It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling.


They kissed it.


And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.


It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.


Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.


It was then that the Bergerons’ television tube burned out.


Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George.


But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.


George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. “You been crying?” he said to Hazel.


“Yup,” she said,


“What about?” he said.


“I forget,” she said. “Something real sad on television.”


“What was it?” he said.


“It’s all kind of mixed up in my mind,” said Hazel.


“Forget sad things,” said George.


“I always do,” said Hazel.


“That’s my girl,” said George. He winced. There was the sound of a riveting gun in his head.


“Gee – I could tell that one was a doozy,” said Hazel.


“You can say that again,” said George.


“Gee –” said Hazel, “I could tell that one was a doozy

It's like waiting FOUR YEARS for Christmas to come around again

Well, the Olympics are officially over…though I still can’t get that song out of my head…not that I’d want to.

It was a great two weeks, wasn’t it? Made all the better, of course, because I was able to enjoy the events with my buddy Eric, who is (to say the least) as crazed as I am about Olympic competition. In fact, we recorded all the televised events and then watched EVERTHING sans commercials! (The guy who invented DVR ought to get a gold medal!!) Oh, but it gets better! For two solid weeks we staked out our spots in the basement—he got the easy chair and ottoman and I unfolded the sofa bed—and cheered on our favorite athletes.


We couldn’t help notice that this year was “The year of the…” fill in the blank—because it seemed to be “the year” for a lot of folks. Among my observations:

1) It was the year of MICHAEL PHELPS: If you don’t know about this guy, you’ve been living under a ROCK!
2) It was the year of the AMERICAN FEMALE: Gold and silver in the gymnastics all-round competition, gold in beach volleyball, gold in indoor volleyball, silver in softball, gold in basketball, among many, many others. Estrogen rules!
3) It was the year of the THIRTY and FORTY SOMETHINGS: From Dara Torres to Jason Lezak to that 33-year-old gymnast (who medaled in the vault, for pete’s sake!!!) these folks proved to everyone that sometimes it pays to not peak too early!

4) It was the year of the PRE-PUBESENT TEENAGER: C’mon, China—really? I have underwear older than those gymnasts!
5) It was the year of THE REDEEM TEAM: Now I’m not generally a pro basketball fan. (College football—the SEC is where it’s at, you know!) In addition, I’m not really a Kobe Bryant fan. It’s not that I hate him, it’s just that I generally can’t stand people who love him. But this year I saw Kobe in a new light…and I LOVED HIM!!! I also loved LeBron James! And Jason Kidd, and…take your pick. Look, the approach these guys took with respect to representing the US as a basketball team (a three year commitment to practice together) as well as the approach they took to being US Olympians in general (man, it was good to see them in the stands cheering on Phelps, Walsh & May-Treanor, etc.!!) was RIGHT ON! They charmed America, they enchanted China, they played like world-class athletes, and in every way they lived up to their moniker.

6) It was the year of STUPID EVENTS THE IOC SHOULD DROP AS OLYMPIC SPORTS: The list is long, but I have to say TRAMPOLINE and RHYTHMIC GYMNASTICS tops it! In my never-to-be-humble opinion, it shouldn’t be an Olympic sport if: a) you can see it performed to that high a level in numerous backyards across America, or b) if you can see it performed to that level in any number of Cirque du Soleil shows.

And on a different note...

Okay, so Aryn reminded me what a slacker I have been for not blogging sooner. Aryn, please accept my deepest apologies. Now, shall we?

Anybody out there ever heard of the "brown note" (aka the crap cannon)? No? Well I did, earlier today, for the first time in my life. (Thanks to Norm.) According to Wikipedia (aka The Source of All Knowledge) "The brown note (also known as a crap cannon), according to an urban legend, is an infrasound frequency that causes humans to lose control of their bowels due to resonance. There is no scientific evidence to support the claim that a "brown note" (transmitted through sound waves in air) exists."

How gross is that, right? Oh, but it gets better. The whole reason co-worker/mentor Norm told me about it today was because he saw an article in the Denver Post regarding claims by people planing to gather for the purposes of the Democratic National Convention. The police, they claim, are already planning on using this so-called "brown note" against them.

Ummm, really?

If you ask me, it's just another excuse to poop your pants and blame the cops!

Enough with the Snuff Already!

When I read the recent headlines about protesters trying to snuff out the Olympic torch, I couldn't help but think, "What the HELL is wrong with you people? It's the Olympics, for pete's sake! THE OLYMPICS!!!" I'll tell you what's happening here, groupthink and self-absorption are rearing their ugly heads once again.

Don't get me wrong, I am absolutely against the Chinese occupation of Tibet. I believe China stands in gross violation of a number of accepted human rights policies, I firmly feel they should officially recognize Taiwan, and I was opposed to Hong Kong's 1997 transfer of sovereignty from the British to the Chinese, preferring, instead, a policy of H.K. self-rule on matters foreign and domestic.

Now, having established myself as NOT in favor of China’s afore mentioned policies, let me just say this: Given the opportunity to come face to face with some of these silly protesters, I’d have a few questions. (See 1st paragraph of this post for one such example.) I understand the need to raise awareness regarding such circumstances as we see now in various disputed regions of the world, but is snuffing the Olympic flame really the best way to accomplish this?
Often, those running with the flame are regional or local dignitaries or even ordinary people who, for a host of reasons, are noteworthy individuals. Thus, I’m not certain how disrespecting torch relayers on their own turf will do anything but offend locals. Furthermore, why the zeal to destroy? I mean, watch the news—there are lots of people in various cities around the globe who are just chomping at the bit to douse this flame. Were all these like-minded people incapable of putting their heads together and coming up with a less destructive alternative? Clearly they all knew the routes the flame will take and were organized enough to know the general “snuff” strategy—why didn’t they organize a tandem event? How about a parallel relay in which loosely organized groups of people in cities all over the globe come together in a display of solidarity to voice their support for Tibet? No?
I’ll tell you why that didn’t happen—because, truth be told, they probably don’t give a rip about Tibet. Chances are most of them couldn’t locate Tibet on a map! (Note to any protesters who may be reading this: It's the striped one.)

I’m willing to bet they aren’t nearly so interested in the plight of Tibetans as they are in getting on camera and/or making a name for themselves. If you doubt me, ask yourself this question: “How many Tibetans are better off because some jackass in Paris accosted Jin Jing, a wheelchair-bound, amputee athlete, in an effort to snuff the Olympic flame?” (Read ABC News’ account, “Disabled Torchbearer Become Chinese Hero: China Rages Over Attack on Disabled Torchbearer in Paris” at: http://abcnews.go.com/International/story?id=4634434&page=1)

That’s right. In attempting to express their outrage at China’s bully approach to poor, defenseless Tibet, protesters in Paris assaulted a one-legged Chinese girl. But it gets better! Her wheelchair was being pushed by a Chinese teammate...who is blind. Oh, the irony is almost too great to bear.

Honestly, the Chinese Communist leaders themselves couldn’t have scripted such a brilliant PR moment had they attempted it. And I’m almost certain the sight of this young, beautiful, paralympian fencer (now a veritable national heroine), accompanied by her visually impaired teammate, struggling to protect the Olympic flame while being harassed by rabid protesters will soften the hearts of a billion Chinese and inspire them to rally to the defense of their Tibetan brothers and sisters. PUH-HUH! (Anybody out there know how to say "We got screwed on this deal" in Tibetan?)

Finally, I think it’s worth noting that, particularly with respect to China, policies of neglect or containment have never, ever been as effective as policies of engagement in terms of greater openness and increased awareness. In fact, you could reasonably make the argument that the 2008 Summer Games will be a good thing, perhaps even the best thing, to happen to Tibet in a long time. First of all, more countries participate in the Olympics than belong to the United Nations—it’s ping pong diplomacy. Second, it is estimated that roughly 16,000 media personnel attended the 2004 summer games in Sydney.

So do the math: 200 countries + 16,000 reporters = a lot of exposure. Inevitably, that means Tibet’s story will be told again and again. And this time, maybe for the first time, the Chinese people themselves will get a more accurate account of what's happening in the rest of the world, including Tibet. And in the mean time, let's all pray authorities can manage to keep protesters from accosting small children or senior citizens.

Kids, and Plygs, and Tilda Swinton

Of course you’ve all heard about it by now:
From CBS News via AP:
“More than 400 children, mostly girls in pioneer dresses, were swept into state custody from a polygamist sect in what authorities described Monday as the largest child-welfare operation in Texas history.

The days-long raid on the sprawling compound built by now-jailed polygamist leader Warren Jeffs was sparked by a 16-year-old girl's call to authorities that she was being abused and that girls as young as 14 and 15 were being forced into marriages with much older men… Still uncertain is the location of the girl whose call initiated the raid. She allegedly had a child at 15, and authorities were looking for documents, family photos or even a family Bible with lists of marriages and children to demonstrate the girl was married to Dale Barlow, 50.”

Let me say at the onset that I have a policy of zero tolerance when it comes to child abuse—particularly sexual abuse of a child. If these children were being married off at such young ages (and no, I don’t believe any of it can be considered “consensual”) then that absolutely constitutes child abuse in my mind. I don’t believe the law should allow any kid to be married before age 18—regardless of parental consent. I mean, what good could come of it? If, indeed, that’s what was happening, then by all means, get those kids out of there. (And, while you're at it, can we charge these folks with erecting an eyesore? I didn't think west Texas could look any worse...but I'll be damned!)

But there’s another issue at hand here—are these folks being unfairly targeted because they’re polygamists? No, I don’t subscribe to the same doctrine at the core of FLDS beliefs. (In fact, every time I hear them referred to as “fundamentalist Mormons,” I cringe a little…only moments after waking from my stress-induced coma.) But there are multitudes of lifestyle choices to which I do not subscribe, yet I do not believe differences between us gives the government a free pass to raid at will.

For example, anyone recognize the name Tilda Swinton? Well, let me introduce you. Tilda Swinton is an Academy Award-winning actress (2008, Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role, “Michael Clayton”.) She lives in Scotland, with Scottish painter John Byrne, the father of her twins, Xavier and Honor. However, she maintains a relationship with Sandro Kopp, a New Zealand painter, while continuing her live-in relationship with Byrne. She has been with Kopp since 2004 and the relationship has Byrne's blessing.

I do not agree with Tilda Swinton’s lifestyle. I think she’s a weirdo of monumental proportion and I think her living arrangements demonstrate a gross degree of selfishness. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that what she’s doing is by far worse than what the polygamists are doing. (After all, when plygs sleep around, at least they publicly vow binding, life-long commitments to those with whom they make babies, right?) But I would not support a raid on Tilda Swinton’s home based on an unsubstantiated allegation, nor do I think anything of the sort would ever take place, simply because, in our culture, infidelity is a more acceptable lifestyle choice than is polygamy.

Now, my guess is there’s something we don’t know—maybe the raid was based on more than the phone call, maybe the phone call was the last straw—who knows? In addition to that, we have to consider location—after the Branch Davidian episode, you can’t expect Texans to suffer residents of “compounds” of any sort.

But, there was a report yesterday of a “standoff” at the FLDS temple wherein members would not grant access to law enforcement officials who were, ostensibly, in search of the girl who’d made the initial phone call. This was as disturbing to me as the entire rest of the story. How would I feel, how would I respond, given the same situation? Would I grant government access to a building I believed to be holy simply because the government had demanded it? It’s a hard call.

I’m wanting some feedback here, people!

Scene it?

Short post today, but I thought I'd clue you all in on what has quickly become one of my very favorite movies EVER. If you haven't seen The Painted Veil, I would highly recommend doing so...very soon...immediately, if possible.

There are several reasons to love the film based on the Somerset Maugham novel by the same name--the beautiful setting (interior China, circa 1925) being chief among them. (Seriously, it made me want to go to China!) But also, I think the acting (Edward Norton and Naomi Watts) is impeccable. I love it when I watch a film and I can feel what the character is feeling. (With the noted exceptions of pain and fear, of course, in which case I'm fine with mediocre acting.) At any rate, the actors are superb. Finally, the story itself contains important, timeless messages about love, hurt, betrayal, compassion, selflessness, decency, and forgiveness. If you'd care to see a trailer, please do so at
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1oevR8c35Qk

Oh yes, one last thing--the music is phenomenal. River Waltz and Gnossiennes No. 1 are beautiful pieces, but one song in particular, A La Claire Fontaine, is, quite possibly, he loveliest thing I've heard in a long time. (Unfortunately, they didn't include A la Claire Fontaine on the soundtrack, but the Laure Shang version, available on iTunes, is beautiful, nonetheless.)

If you happen to watch it, I'd love to hear what you thought about it.

Cheers!

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

So, I figured I'd better post somethin' up here since it's been nearly three months since anyone's heard from me. (Plus, a FULL three months since my last post?? Now THAT would be embarrassing!)

I had an experience at school today which has, unfortunately, become all too commonplace. Two friends (both females) and I were waiting to take the elevator from the 8th floor of the building where our grad student offices are located, down to the ground level (2nd floor). They were apparently working on the elevators because it took forever. At 7 we pick up a few more passengers (including my least favorite professor ever--lucky me) and at this point we're pretty much filled to capacity (especially when you consider backpacks and other bags.) Nevertheless, we get to 6, the doors open up and, in spite of the fact we are jammed in there like lemmings, two guys and a girl decide they just cannot wait, and they hop on.

As the doors close we heard (and felt) a "snap." Now, I don't know what it was, but it was real and there were witnesses. At this point I begin to get a little nervous. I mean, we are stuffed to the rafters in this thing--the kind where I was getting claustrophobic and taking in gulps of air. We stop at 4, and, again, we hear/feel the "snap." The doors open and there stood a woman; it was clear, by her face, she fully intended on getting on that thing. (Really, lady? You find going DOWN two floors so taxing that you're willing to rub belly, butt, and thighs up against nine strangers just to hitch a ride?)

This is where my friends and I simultaneously decided taking the stairs might be wise. We each politely announced our intention, "Hey, we're going to just get off here," as a way of signaling to the guys at the front, "Move it--we're blowing this popsicle stand." But to no avail. We say it a second time, "'Scuse us--can we get off here?" And then, no joke, the guys at the front, rather than stepping outside the elevator to let us off, merely TURNED TO THE SIDE, BACKPACKS AND ALL, thus further blocking our way. Still, somehow we managed to get off. As we walked toward the stairs, I said, "No problem fellas. By all means, y'all stay there and the women will take the stairs."

Once in the stairwell, we start heading down and begin commenting on how ridiculous that girl and two boys were for getting on in the first place. We also gripe about how we couldn't believe NOT ONE of those men offered to take the stairs even though 1) we were there first, and 2) we were girls. It was about this time that a male student, headed upstairs, cut my friend off and nearly hit her in the face with a door as he entered the 3rd floor hallway! IN THE FACE!! WITH A DOOR!!!

I thought to myself, "For crying out loud, who are these people?" I was utterly embarrassed for them? How had they gotten that old without learning basic manners? And here's the kicker, the professor who was on the elevator with us (Did I mention he was my least favorite, EVER?) is an ethics professor! He understands ethics but not common courtesy? I find that quite curious especially since, as an undergraduate, I had to sit through hours and hours of this guy rambling on and on about "the magnanimous man." Puh! What did he know about any of it?

I guess I'm just so disappointed. I'm sure part of this has to do with the fact I was raised in the South (moment of silence) where, by and large, men still take pride in being men. And if Southern gentlemen were to take up residence in the Rocky Mountain west, then I think logically we could assume they'd be cowboys, right? Or at least cowboy-esque--you know, manly men who, typically speaking, exhibit gentlemanly behavior...with the noted exception of shooting folks in the middle of town. But I've been here four years and I don't mind telling ya', many of these guys are scant on manners--especially when it comes to women! In my opinion, this represents an utter waste of boy parts. Oh, if only they'd institute a "use-it-or-lose-it" policy THEN maybe I'd get to ride the dang elevator all the way to the ground level!

Is this heaven? No, it’s Iowa.

Wow, it’s been more than a month since my last blog post. Sorry for the delay, but I was busy…with…er…feeding the hungry and clothing the naked. Really, take my word for it.

Well, Christmas is over, New Years has passed, and we are well into election season. That said, I think we, as friends, should spend a little time together analyzing the recent Iowa caucus and making a few predictions about New Hampshire and South Carolina. Let’s begin, shall we?

In the interest of full disclosure, let me first go on record as stating I am an avid Romney supporter. I like him a lot. I think he’s smart, successful, conservative, and utterly elect-able. I’m not unhappy with Romney’s finish in Iowa. Sure, he spent a lot of money and he came in second, but I don’t view this as a problem. It’s difficult (if not impossible) to say what would have happened if Romney hadn’t spent the money—perhaps he wouldn’t have even come in second—who knows?


I see his second place finish going into New Hampshire as a good thing because it lowers the media’s expectations a bit. He doesn’t even have to finish first in New Hampshire (though I believe he will) he just has to beat Huckabee. I’m wondering how he will fare against McCain and Giuliani, however. And, speaking of those guys…

Was it wise of Rudy to not campaign in Iowa? I don’t know—all the other guys got free press—absolutely invaluable. Rudy seems to have faded from the spotlight in recent weeks. In fact, has anyone seen him lately? Rudy? Oh, Rudy?

Of course, McCain ran as the renegade, the Dark Horse candidate—this in spite of the fact that he votes the party line about 90% of the time. Don’t get me wrong, I actually like the guy, but I’m not sure his message will resonate with primary voters. These are the party faithful—I think McCain should be running as more of a GOP loyalist—he should save the “wild, independent” card for the general election…if he makes it.

And then there’s the guy who won the Iowa GOP caucus—Mike Huckabee. I don’t dislike Huckabee…but I detest his name. It sounds too much like Huck Finn, Hick-abee, Shucks-abee, etc.—too many weird things you can do with it to make it sound as though he’s a hillbilly governor from a backwoods state. Oh…wait…

At any rate, I’m willing to bet his days as the front-runner are numbered. Sure, he was the flavor of the month on Iowa, but I seriously doubt his folksy humor will hold much appeal in New Hampshire—he’s all about quasi-Southern charm, they’re all about Northern efficiency.

I reckon the big story out of Iowa is Hillary’s third place finish among Democrats. Apparently NPR called this earlier in the day (according to a reliable source—I didn’t hear it myself) but CNN and the Big 3 all expected Clinton to jockey with Obama for first place.

In attempting to best Obama, she initially ran as the logical choice among women. Obama, on the other hand, ran as the candidate of hope and inspiration. According to entrance polls, Obama garnered a larger share of the female vote in Iowa. So where does this leave Hill? Clearly she has to evaluate and rework her message…but what that message should be is anyone’s guess—I mean, how do you do counter that? WOMEN+HOPE+INSPIRATION= the Democrat SuperTrifecta. Yikes! (I’m waiting her to offer kisses from her husband in exchange for votes. But hey, just another day at the office for ol’ Billy, huh?)


Edwards managed to edge out Hillary. (Could it have anything to do with the fact he has a better haircut? Who knows?) No doubt this represented a crushing blow to the Clinton campaign. However, I found it remarkably interesting that exit polls indicate Edwards was not victorious among his base—union members. Surprising, since he’s running as a champion of those that don the blue collar. Remember, according to him, he’s the one who’s been marching, picketing, etc. with his union brethren more than any other candidate. (Never mind that the closest this guy has come to union membership is the Trial Lawyers Association.) In spite of Edwards’ best “Norma Rae” impersonation, labor came out strong for Obama first, and Hillary second. Maybe Edwards should start looking for a new base…hair stylists, perhaps? (I’m sorry—that story is just TOO GOOD to let go!)

Finally, as a good, conservative Republican, I can’t decide whom I want to win the Democratic nomination. For me, it’s a question of who is most “defeatable.” Recent polls indicate Hillary is “the candidate most likely to be hated,” thus, in my GOP mind, that makes her somewhat appealing as a political adversary. However, I think when it comes down to it, a lot of fence-sitters will have a hard time with Obama for a host of reasons, not the least of which is his inexperience.



I know failed to mention Ron Paul, Fred Thompson, Duncan Hunter and a few other guys we know won’t win, but I figured I’d leave that up to y’all. I’m interested to hear from you, my loyal readers (yes, BOTH of you.) I’d like your comments, thoughts, impressions, predictions, etc. on Iowa, NH, SC, the GOP, the Dems, campaigns, candidates, and elections in general, etc. By all means, don’t hold back—in fact, LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!!!!

Biscuits and Pork Chops...it's NOT what's for dinner

A friend had a great post today about a AAA baseball affiliate team in Allentown, PA. The team, the Iron Pigs, have as their mascot a large pig, affectionately named “Pork Chop.” Clever, right? Not so, say some local Hispanics, who apparently feel slighted by the mascot’s name, claiming it is (I'm not making this up) an ethnic slur. Under pressure from the group, the team changed the mascot's name to Ferrous. The name change, while actually quite clever, nevertheless, ticks me off.

When I read things like this I'm infuriated. It kind of makes me want to scream,"HEY! They're slaughtering Christians in the Sudan, yet somehow THIS PIG'S NAME has become your personal front burner issue. I can't believe THIS is the hill you want to die on!" I daresay silly, symbolic gestures such as this must constitute an insult for people of Hispanic origin who are reasonable, productive members of society.

First of all, I seriously doubt naming the mascot "Pork Chop" was intended to be any sort of an ethnic slur. Let's face it, the name made more sense than "Chicken Little," right? And, according to industry insiders, pork is officially "the other white meat." (NOW, who's the focus of the "racial slur"?)

Second, I find wisdom in these words: "He who takes offense when none was intended is a fool. He who take offense when offense WAS intended, is a BIGGER fool." (Emphasis added) If, indeed, the name of the mascot was chosen solely in hopes of offending Hispanics, then mission accomplished...thanks to the small cadre of complaining Hispanics.

You know, sometimes it's best to just embrace the "tag" you're given. I'm originally from Alabama and occasionally (and by "occasionally" I mean "unceasingly") people across the US think people from the South are, well, less than bright. In fact, sometimes, in referring to an idiot, they will call that person a "Bama." My response? It was likely meant as a compliment! Ain't no shame in 'Bama, baby!

You know, sometimes non-Southerners refer to Southerners as "biscuits." Again, I say, "Ain't no shame in biscuits!" Apparently lots of people agree with me because when the capital city of Montgomery held a contest in order to decide the name for it's new AA baseball affiliate team, the "Montgomery Biscuits" got the winning vote.

And I tell you what, those loyal fans in Montgomery LOVE their Biscuits! When the opposing team is up to bat, the chatter begins and all over Riverwalk Stadium you hear, "Hey, Butter, Butter...Hey Butter, Butter...SWING Butter!" And during the games they actually use air cannons to shoot biscuits into the crowd! Um, um, um! Nothin' beats fresh biscuits...except, maybe, fresh biscuits and a cold Coke-Cola! (Don't you just love the pat of butter in the little cartoon biscuit's mouth?)

At any rate, the point is it's not necessary to take offense over every little issue. Reserve indignant responses for stuff that really matters. In the mean time, put a biscuit in it.

Headline: That Which Doesn't Kill You May Not Make You Stronger...Though It's Probably Safe To Ingest

Tonight my friend/classmate Rich launched his new blog. (Can I get a “Whoop!”) His topic of choice was nutrition, toxins, pesticides, organic foods, etc. It was a great post, as evidenced by the fact it 1) made me think, and 2) compelled me to comment. Once I formulated my thoughts, I figured as long as I was actually typing more than a paragraph, I’d slap it on here and call it a post. (See below.)

I’ve added Rich’s blog to my list of favorites (Deep Thoughts By Rich) and I invite all my loyal readers (and again, by “all” I mean “both”) to visit. He’s a smart fellow and, were I a betting woman, I’d wager I'll be asking him for a job or voting him into public office one day in the not-too-distant future. Good luck, Rich!

------------------------------------

I was recently reading about "intuitive toxicology"—the mental shortcut ordinary people use to think about the risks associated with chemicals. One of the beliefs that underlie intuitive toxicology is that nature is benevolent—that human products and activities are more likely to be dangerous than the products of natural process.

As Rich pointed out, EVERYTHING is made of chemicals and, thus, EVERYTHING can be poisonous. What frightens me (typically on a daily basis) is the ability of alarmists to force broad policy change simply by playing on the fears and ignorance of members of society.

Anybody remember Alar? No? Well, I do. It was a pesticide used on apples—until the National Resources Defense Council released a study asserting that about 1 in every 4000 children exposed to Alar would develop cancer. Then, like clockwork, the media latched on and the real chaos ensued. The CBS "news" (and I use the term loosely) show 60 Minutes implied Alar was outright poison—I mean the kind Snow White's wicked stepmother/queen would use, you know? People were in a state of panic. Grocery stores refused to sell Alar apples and eventually the EPA declared it a human carcinogen—but only after Uniroyal (the maker of Alar) had already voluntarily halted all US sales of the stuff.

But here's the rub: NRDC's research was crap. They extrapolated from research conducted on mice in order to make their determinations. In order for their assertions to be true, all children consuming apples would have had to eat something like a "truckload" of apples or several thousand gallons of apple juice EVERY DAY. And even at that rate of consumption we could only expect 1 in 4000 of those children to develop cancer.

As it turns out, the real risk was something like 1 in 250,000—of course, those figures never got the same media exposure the NRDC study enjoyed. (Who cares about the truth, right?) In the mean time, Uniroyal and apple growers across America were...well, S.O.L. Their combined losses totaled somewhere in the hundreds of millions of dollars. And, in what can only be described as a cruel twist of fate, in the absence of Alar, some growers were forced to use substitute pesticides which were found to be less safe than Alar. Go figure!

The lesson here, children, is this: Resist the urge to heed the emotional call to arms on such matters. Do not add to the deintellectualization of America by buying in to any ol’ thing emitting from your television set. The world is full of people whose sole purpose is to foist off on you a load of kooky crap and all the while try to convince you it is science.

And that's all I have to say about the matter. For now.

The Myth Behind Women’s Lib OR Why I See Hillary Clinton’s Face and Think “Birth Control”

Personally, I think of Hillary Clinton the same way I think of the birth control pill—as something ostensibly representing the liberation of womanhood but which, in actuality, does just the opposite. Just bear with me for a moment, will you?



To begin, I’d like to employ the assistance of my friends Merriam and Webster:

Word: irony
Pronunciation: \ˈī-rə-nē also ˈī(-ə)r-nē\
(1): the use of words to express something other than and especially the opposite of the literal meaning (2): incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result (3): an event or result marked by such incongruity


When The Pill was introduced, it was revolutionary and revered…I mean, there were country-western songs written about this thing. All of a sudden, women everywhere were like “Yea! FINALLY we don’t have to be pregnant any more!” True enough, but at what price? Look how many health problems (including weight gain, atherosclerosis, and possible links to cervical cancer) have now been associated with use of b/c pills. (After 12 years in pharmacy, I’ve heard all the sad tales.) So now, in this day and age when we demand hormone-free milk and free range chicken, we STILL have a bunch of hormone-infused women reveling in the false notion they are liberated and free from outside influence? Puh!

I guess I never understood why women didn’t demand more. Why, when the Pill was introduced, didn’t women say, “Ummm, no thanks. I’m not willing to shove chemicals down my throat on a daily basis, month after month, year after year. I’ll wait until you come up with some pharmaceutical concoction that renders men temporarily infertile, and THEN I’ll resume giving out the good stuff.” Had that indeed been the case (and had all women been serious and willing to hold out), you can bet your sweet you-know-what the pharmaceutical industry would have answered that demand!



Alas, women (thinking they were oh, so clever) single-handedly shouldered the entire medical responsibility for family planning, in fact, they acquiesced in droves. I’d argue the Pill did more to liberate men and make women more dependent. (Note to my fellow females: The only thing worse than going along with a bad idea like a bunch of sheep, is going along with a bad idea like a bunch of super-enthusiastic sheep, insisting the idea was yours!)

And in what way does Hillary Clinton resemble the Pill? I’ll tell ya’: Women (for whatever reason) look at her and think she is the picture of feminism. Newsflash, girlies: It ain’t the case.

First of all, she’s obviously suffering a serious identity crisis—what’s with the schizophrenic nomenclature? Senator Hillary Clinton was formerly known as Arkansas First Lady Hillary Rodham until husband Bill’s first national election, at which time she became Hillary Clinton. She remained Hillary Clinton until such time as husband Bill assumed the Presidency, when she became Hillary Rodham Clinton. Again, she stayed HRC until such time as she herself sought a Senate seat and, seeking to bank on her husband’s success, once again, re-monikered as Hillary Clinton. (I’m betting money that some time within the next year we will see Hillary Washington Lincoln Roosevelt Susan B. Anthony Sacagawea Jane Roe Rodham Clinton as the Democratic front runner. Anybody giving odds on that?)

Second, the Clinton formerly known as Rodham was also formerly known as a Republican…and not just “a” Republican—she was a Goldwater girl—a diehard right-winger. So what was the impetus for the big change? Opportunity knocked! That’s right, she met Bill (a Dem) and (to her credit) recognized he was going places generally considered off limits for a girl like her. (And by “like her” I mean “generally unimpressive and annoying to the nth degree.”)



No, no, Hillary Clinton is not a feminist—in fact, she is quite the opposite. She is a prime example of a woman who couldn’t succeed on her own merits, and instead rode her husband’s coattails and claimed it as her personal victory. She is what we in the biz call an “opportunist.”

So, there you have it, folks. THAT is why I see Hillary and I am instantly reminded of The Pill. They share several characteristics—both appeal to women, neither represent the true best interest of women, and most especially, they resemble one another in method, as they both employ the mechanism of farce.

Whew! NOW who feels liberated?

Feeling a little misunderstood

This post is dedicated to my good friend Aryn.

Recently she was in the grocery store where she was approached by someone asking for donations for a charitable organization. The girl asked, "Would you like to donate a dollar to breast cancer?" Aryn, being the funny, clever girl she is, responded, "No, thank you. I'm actually opposed to breast cancer." Funny, right? Apparently not to the volunteer. According to Aryn, "She sort of cocked her head, squinted her eyes and said, 'Well, aren't we all?!'"

Oh, the futility of wasted humor.....

I had a moment sort of similar to that a few years back--where I said something I thought was hilarious and the person to whom I directed my comment JUST DIDN'T get it.

I was ordering lunch at Sensuous Sandwich in Salt Lake. The guy taking my order subjected me to the usual battery of questions, given the circumstances:
HIM: Tomaoes, lettuce, pickles, onions?
ME: Yes, please.
HIM: Mayo, mustard?
ME: Yes.
HIM: Horsey?
ME: Neigh (whinnying and shaking my head slightly...like a horse refusing a bit of apple)
HIM: (.....silence.....)
ME: Hahahaha!
HIM: (...prolonged silence...)
ME: Ummm, no thank you.

It was weird...I felt as though I had to apologize for being funny....AND CLEVER!!!

It was wrong.

It's Law School Made Easy!

As some of you (more correctly speaking, BOTH of you) may know, I am currently looking for an institution of higher education from which I may purchase a law degree. I don't want to spend more time in a classroom, I don't want to take more tests, I never, EVER want to litigate. Heck, I don't even want to take the bar! I just want the J.D. after my name so I can command a better salary in my field. (Wow, clearly I'm so shallow you could fly fish in me, but hey...)

Anyhoo, I just went to PBS.org and found a great little game called Talking About My Constitution. I urge each of you (and again, by "each" I mean "both") to go to the PBS Website (http://www.pbs.org/wnet/supremecourt/capitalism/constitution.html) and take the quiz. Be sure to come back and tell me how you did.

I scored highest in First Amendment Rights, but only got half the Civil Rights questions correct. Hmmm...maybe I should study more before I continue in my quest to purchase a law degree. Better yet, anyone know a scalper?

We live in a Diet Coke world

I vigorously urge everyone to read Mark Steyn's piece "General Stark's War" from the NY Sun yesterday. (http://www.nysun.com/article/65002 ) In it Steyn addresses Rep. Pete Stark's (D-CA) House floor speech last week in which he lobbed nonsensical, biting, personal attacks at Pres. Bush in an attempt to garner votes to override the SCHIP veto. (Really, can somebody PLEASE put a fork in this thing? It's DONE already!)

For those of you who don't have time to read the article in its entirety, I have taken the liberty of cutting and pasting two of the most relevant parts.

It all started when Rep. Stark adroitly (puh!) mumbled the following in his floor speech: "The Republicans are worried that they can't pay for insuring an additional 10 million children. They sure don't care about finding $200 billion to fight the illegal war in Iraq. Where are you going to get that money? Are you going to tell us lies like you're telling us today? Is that how you're going to fund the war? You don't have money to fund the war on children, but you're going to spend it to blow up innocent people? If he can get enough kids to grow old enough for you to send to Iraq to get their heads blown off for the President's amusement."

Okay, first of all, what the hell does that even mean? Was he sauced? Isn't being lit up during a Congressional debate against the law, Ted Kennedy notwithstanding?

Referencing the good congressman's slurred utterance, Mark Steyn noted: "Congressman Stark hit all the buzz words – "children", "illegal war", "$200 billion", "lies", etc – and these days they're pretty much like modular furniture: you can say 'em in any order and you'll still get a cheer from the crowd."

Aaaahahahahahaha!!! Modular furniture? 'Scuse me while I wet my pants! He then goes on to point out:

"A couple of weeks ago, the Democrats put up a 12-year old S-CHIP beneficiary from Baltimore called Graeme Frost to deliver their official response to the President's Saturday-morning radio address. And immediately afterwards Rush Limbaugh, Michelle Malkin and I jumped the sick kid in a dark alley and beat him to a pulp. Or so you'd have thought from the press coverage: The Washington Post called us "meanies". Well, no doubt it's true we hard-hearted conservatives can't muster the civilized level of discourse of Pete Stark. But we were trying to make a point – not about the kid, but about the family, and their relevance as a poster child for expanded government healthcare. Mr and Mrs Frost say their income's about $45,000 a year – she works "part-time" as a medical receptionist and he works "intermittently" as a self-employed woodworker. They have a 3,000 square foot home plus a second commercial property with a combined value of over $400,000, and three vehicles – a new Suburban, a Volvo SUV, and a Ford F250 pick-up....How they make that arithmetic add up is between them and their accountant. But here's the point: The Frosts are not emblematic of the health care needs of America so much as they are of the delusion of the broader western world. They expect to be able to work "part-time" and "intermittently" but own two properties and three premium vehicles and have the state pick up healthcare costs."

Exactly! Who are these people? How are they disadvantaged in any sense of the word? How many of us wish we could work "intermittently" and still be able to afford a Volvo SUV? As it is, most of us work full-time and we are perfectly grateful for the ability and opportunity to pay off our 2000 Nissan sedan! The Dems could have paraded around any number of children, but they chose THIS kid to be their poster boy, THIS kid to be the face of America's poor.

Steyn is right--we want all of the pleasure, and none of the guilt. We want all the benefits, but wish to bear none of the cost. In short, we are a society of expectations. We live in a Diet Coke world.

Pucker up, Sioux City!

As seen recently on YahooNews:

“SIOUX CITY, Iowa - City leaders have scrapped plans to do away with the Sioux Gateway Airport's unflattering three-letter identifier — SUX — and instead have made it the centerpiece of the airport's new marketing campaign. The code, used by pilots and airports worldwide and printed on tickets and luggage tags, will be used on T-shirts and caps sporting the airport's new slogan, "FLY SUX." It also forms the address of the airport's redesigned Web site — http://www.flysux.com.”

Bravo, Sioux City, Iowa! I mean, who hasn’t been faced with a similar dilemma? Let’s face it, we live in a fallen world and sometimes life just deals you a crappy hand. As I see it, at that point you have two choices: You can either sit around and gripe and moan and paint yourself as a victim—insisting the world understand and acknowledge you’ve been short shrifted OR you can enthusiastically embrace your circumstance, own it—I mean, hell, go ahead and put it on t-shirts, ball caps and luggage tags, right?! Why not?

At any rate, there’s a lesson to be learned here. There is something to be said for making the best of a bad situation and it is this: When the FAA gives you lemons, why not SUX?

From David Letterman

“Top Messages on Al Gore’s Answering Machine”:
-- Hi, Mandy from The Cheesecake Factory. You left your credit card
-- George W. Bush here. Congratulations on your Latin Grammy
-- It’s Larry from Toyota. This global warming paranoia is great for business
-- Put on Letterman. Some idiot is going to jump over interns
-- This is Hillary. If you run for President, I’ll snap your neck
-- I’m calling from the EPA. Turns out there is no global warming
-- You’re just sweating because you’re getting fat;
-- This is Jimmy Carter. Want to use our medals to score some babes?

“Top Questions President Bush Asked the Dalai Lama”:
-- What is that, some kind of Halloween get up?
-- I got one for you—why do we drive on a parkway and park on a driveway?
-- Where’s Mrs. Lama?
-- Are you that Japanese guy my dad threw up on?
-- How’s business in Dollywood?
--I know your cousin Barack O’Lama.

"The People Is A Great Beast!"

Okay, that settles it--people are morons! Did anyone else see this article in yesterday’s USA Today?

http://www.usatoday.com/printedition/news/20071016/a_chippoll16.art.htm

The lead statement reads: “A majority of Americans trust Democrats to handle the issue of children's health insurance more than President Bush, but they agree with the president that government aid should be targeted to low-income families, a USA TODAY/Gallup Poll shows. Two days before the Democratic-controlled House attempts to override Bush's veto of a five-year, $35 billion expansion of the State Children's Health Insurance Program, the poll shows that opinions on the issue are mixed.”
Okay, fair enough, polls are split. No surprise there. But the way USA Today characterizes the results of the poll kinda burns my butt! No, make that it REALLY burns my butt! From the article:

“Fifty-two percent of respondents say they have more confidence in Democrats to deal with the issue, compared with 32% for Bush. Slim majorities back two positions at the core of the president's opposition to the expansion:

--52% agree with Bush that most benefits should go to children in families earning less than 200% of the federal poverty level — about $41,000 for a family of four. Only 40% say benefits should go to such families earning up to $62,000, as the bill written by Democrats and some Republicans would allow.

--55% are very or somewhat concerned that the program would create an incentive for families to drop private insurance. Bush and Republican opponents have called that a step toward government-run health care.

Taken together, the results show that while Bush may be losing the political battle with Democrats, he may be doing better on policy.”
How come when 52% say they have more confidence in Democrats, it's simply reported as a figure? But when 52% and/or 55% AGREE with Bush's central points of contention, it's reported as "slim majorities" backing his position???? Couldn't they have just as easily said "A recent Gallup poll indicates the number of people who agree with Bush is equal to or greater than the number of people who trust Democrats with health care?”

So what should we glean from this story? The majority of public sentiment toward President Bush on the SCHIP battle tends to vacillate somewhere between distrust (at best) and hatred (at worst.) At the same time, the majority of public sentiment toward Bush’s core SCHIP policies tends to lie somewhere between hearty agreement (at best) and mere acceptance (at worst.) And why the obvious dichotomy? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say the vigorous and unrelenting public trashing of Bush by an obvious (and don’t forget admittedly) left-leaning media for the last seven or so years has taken its toll. And the people being “a great beast” (a characterization most often attributed to Alexander Hamilton) lumber about, subjecting themselves to all manner of drivel, never challenging the pied pipers of media, refusing to engage in spirited discourse based in logic and intellectualism; instead, they passively accept, and then embrace, what is so eagerly spoon fed to them…and thus, tragically, they become unrecognizable, even to themselves.

Warning from the Emergency Weather Service: Global Warming Rant Ahead

This will come as no surprise, but recently I was infuriated beyond belief. It all started when I read an article in the NY Times about global warming. I'll just say it--I think the unconditional belief in global warming is to many Americans what African kids are to Hollywood celebs--an accessory you just gotta have.

Please see the following article before you continue reading:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/09/21/science/21arctic.html?_r=2&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&adxnnlx=11904124263vyyBHMetwWZB6Ts/UZ7fg&oref=slogin


This New York Times story quotes scientists who note that “Arctic Ocean ice shrank far more than usual this summer, and global warming, due to the buildup of greenhouse gases, likely played a role.” Okay, fine. However, the last paragraph of the story notes “Sea ice around Antarctica has seen usual winter expansions recently, and this week is near a record high.” Period. Nothing more.

Hold the phone there, Gomer! So global warming is causing ice to melt more rapidly than usual in the Arctic, but what is causing ice to expand and thicken more rapidly than usual in the Antarctic?

And why didn’t the press pursue THAT part of the story? Can we please just concede there is still a lot we don’t know about the earth’s climate past OR future? Why are we trying to explain the ice reduction by citing global warming but not even bothering to attempt to address the ice expansion?

The Times story goes on to note: “Still, he and other scientists acknowledged that both poles were extraordinarily complicated systems of ice, water, and land and that the mix of human and natural influences was not easy to clarify.” To this profound declaration I had to respond, “Really, Al Roker? You don’t say.”

Is THIS the level to which science has been reduced??? Of course, those of us who question findings (aka drivel) such as these are accused of being anti-science. I believe in reality it is just the opposite--I revere quality scientific study, robust with meaning and integrity—this stuff doesn't qualify. Frankly, I'm offended for and in behalf of real science.



Just to set the record straight—do I believe we are undergoing a climate change? Sure, why not? However,
1) by their own admission we don't have enough data over time to make any firm conclusions. When you consider the long history of the earth, 70 or 80 years worth of data can hardly be considered a reasonable or significant sample, so why are we attempting to craft national and global policy based on such fleeting, insufficient data? And,
2) we know from geological, anthropological, and ecological study that the earth used to be much wetter than it currently is, after all, Lebanon and Israel were densely forested areas and much of France and India were under water, so I guess my question is:

HOW DO WE KNOW FOR CERTAIN THIS CHANGE (assuming there is one) ISN'T A GOOD THING? WHAT KEEPS US FROM CONCLUDING WE ARE NOW RETURNING TO A MORE STABLE, BENEFICIAL CLIMATE AND MORE INHABITABLE STATE? BETTER STILL, WHY AREN'T WE EVEN ASKING THE QUESTION??

Am I the only one who feels this way? Do I live in a world full of mindless sheep who, in spite of possessing perfectly good frontal lobes, refuse to ask critical questions?

Thoughts??? Questions?? Comments?? Emotional outbursts??