People Who Are No More

For the past 10 years or so, I’ve provided a recap of famous or semi-famous people who had expired in the year just ended.  Before February gets here, I guess it’s time to review the 2011 cohort.  There are too many to include, so as always, I’ll pick and choose from the list, starting with last January.

Gerry Rafferty was a rock musician who performed the iconic “Baker’s Street,” and “Stuck in the Middle With You.”  Don Kirshner was also a rock music icon, but as a record publisher and producer.  He hosted “Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert” on TV, and helped form The Monkees.

Dick King-Smith was a writer/farmer who wrote the book “The Sheep Pig” which became the movie “Babe.”  For those ancient ones among us, David Nelson, Ricky’s brother on “Ozzie and Harriett” died this year.  His brother died in a plane crash on New Year’s Eve 1985.

Pete Postlethwaite was an actor, appearing in “Inception” and “The Town” in 2011. I include him because it’s the most interesting name of the year.   Susannah York was in “Superman” and “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?”  Charlie Callas was a frenetic comedian who made funny faces and noises for a living.

In February Maria Schneider died.  I had an enormous crush on her from her role in the movie “The Passenger” with Jack Nicholson.  She appeared nude in sex scenes with Marlon Brando in the infamous “Last Tango in Paris” which I’ve never seen.   Jane Russell was also an actress, but sadly best known for advertising Playtex bras.

George Shearing was a great easy-listening jazz pianist and composer.  Three interesting things about George: He was blind, he was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, and my dad had several of his records.

William Christopher was Bill Clinton’s secretary of state.  I don’t often quote Bill Clinton, but I liked what he said about Christopher: “He has the lowest ego-to-accomplishment ratio of any public servant I’ve ever worked with.”  Christopher died last March.

Michael Gough was Alfred in some of the “Batman” movies.  Elizabeth Taylor was probably the only person ever to have spent time with Richard Burton, Eddie Fisher, and Michael Jackson.

Hugh Martin wrote “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”  Thanks to him for that.

In April Sidney Lumet the director passed away.  He directed “Twelve Angry Men” and “The Verdict.”  He was once married to Gloria Vanderbilt.  Michael Sarrazin acted in “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They” with Susannah York.  Bad year for that cast!

Phoebe Snow was a great talent.  “Poetry Man” was her best known song, but there were many others.  She died in April after having suffered from the results of a stroke for more than a year.  Something I hadn’t known about her: She gave birth to a severely disabled child in 1975, and cared for her until her death in 2007.  She chose not to institutionalize her daughter, and her career was greatly limited because of that decision.  I am in awe of that level of devotion.

Jackie Cooper died in May.  He had been a child star, and ultimately a director, including 14 M.A.S.H. episodes.  Jeff Conaway of “Taxi,” “Grease,” and “Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew” fame was also a child star on stage, and succumbed to pneumonia after struggling with drug abuse for over 40 years.

Golfer Seve (not Steve) Ballesteros of Spain passed away in May, having won many major championships in his career.  Clarice Taylor probably didn’t win any golf titles, but had the distinction of playing Cliff Huxtable’s mother on “The Cosby Show.”

“Now, let me see if I have this straight.”  Peter Falk, as Columbo” seemed to say that in every episode.  He died last June.  So did Marshall Dillon, played by Peter Arness.  Jack Kevorkian, a vilified advocate for assisted suicide, needed no help in dying.  Clarence Clemons played sax for Bruce Springsteen for many years.  He was 69 when he was taken down by a stroke.

Hey; do you mind if I finish this next week?  Good.  See you then.

A Fresh Start

Hey, guess what?  It’s a new year, fresh start, a do-over, or whatever you want to call it.  Even the weather seemed to know that it was time to make a change, as the gusty and cold winds stirred up on the night of January first.  Though it’s been more like spring since then.

It’s traditional for people to do reassessments as the new year starts, even making resolutions to make changes.  Of course, there’s nothing magic about making changes at the beginning of a year.  A person could pick August 15^th or next Wednesday at 3:15pm to make changes.  But, a fresh start on the 1^st is a good tradition.

We visited two parties on New Year’s Eve, and both were very pleasant.  For some reason it’s especially nice to spend time with people on a winter evening.  After having a full house for more than a week, it was good to be off visiting than missing our family’s presence.

I have a lot of suggestions for other people’s fresh starts.  But, I don’t get to do that.  It’s only our own imperfections we’re allowed to work on.

In 2012 I’d like to make better use of my time.  I know that everybody needs some down time, but it’s too easy to sit down at 7pm and just exist until 10:30 without accomplishing anything.

As a corollary to that, I need to schedule time to write every day.  To make room for one or two hours a day, I’ll need to minimize my time on Facebook, Linked-in, and Twitter and stay away from some of the sites I use to stay informed.  In an election year, seeing less news and other media can help lead to sanity and lower stress.

I’m also going to try to refrain from calling people idiots.  I never actually calling people idiots when they are in ear-shot, but over the years I’ve come to make my idiot pronouncement when I see bumper stickers or yard signs that support something I don’t.  The people may actually be idiots, or perhaps they’re smart people who are wrong on one issue.  Or, maybe I’m wrong.  Probably not.

I’ve got a lot of things to clean up.  My “work room” in the basement would make any normal person shake their head and turn around to leave.  My stuff in our bedroom needs to be put away and winnowed through for Good Will.  My office at work isn’t too awfully bad, but it needs a few hours too.

I’m not going to mention losing weight since it hasn’t done any good in past years.  I will resolve to get back into being more physically active, and perhaps the weight will take care of itself.

The world has a fresh start with this new year.  The only person I can control in all these improvements is myself, and you can control your own changes.  The state, national and international condition isn’t something we can influence much, other than keeping an open mind for facts — an endangered species in election years.

So yes, let’s saddle up and try it again in 2012.  A lot of crazy, stupid, terrifying, and tragic things will undoubtedly happen in 2012, but let’s all resolve to notice the good stuff, and to do what we can to make things better with our time, talent, and treasure.

TSA To The Rescue

I think I had my first airplane flight when I was in 10^th grade.  It was great, and I loved everything about it, except for the rapid descent into Atlanta as we dodged a thunderhead.

One thing I don’t remember anything about is any security there may have been.  If memory serves, the main type of airline terror back then involved people wanting to get to Cuba, for which there was no commercial flight schedule available.  So, now and then, somebody with a gun would hijack a plane and demand that it be flown to Cuba.  I’m guessing that once in Cuba these folks had second thoughts about the whole thing, but that’s another matter.

Over the years airport security improved, and not only did we have to go through magnetometers to make sure we weren’t made of, or carrying metal, but our stuff started to get x-rayed as well.  It wasn’t a perfect system, as we found out on September 11^th, 2001.  Box cutters either weren’t spotted by the

Since then, the Transportation Security Administration was formed, and the sluggish, low-performing individuals who previously had been contracted for by the airports were replaced by sluggish, low-performing individuals who are now Federal employees.

That’s actually funny, but not a fair characterization.  On average, the new TSA agents do seem to be more professional, better trained, and interested in doing a good job.  Of course there are exceptions, such as the agents who have stolen things, groped people, and just generally behaved in an irritating fashion.

As I went through the lines in Madison on Tuesday I noticed something.  The activities being performed by these well-compensated federal employees range from very high skilled to menial.  Reviewing the validity of driver licenses and passports, or analyzing the video display of the x-ray machine are important jobs which need a lot of training.  Moving the empty trays from the end of the conveyer back to the beginning strikes me as something even I could do.

So, on the morning in question, instead of 30 or so government employees dealing with potential passengers at one of the two security stations at the Madison airport, there could, perhaps, have been 10, with another 10 or 20 people doing the less-skilled jobs.

I realize this is lunacy, of course, but it did occur to me. 

For what it’s worth, I would say that a high majority of the TSA people I’ve encountered when I fly have been doing a very good job – more so than the pre-9-11 days of private security services.  It could be that the same improvement could have resulted from increasing government oversight of those companies and setting higher standards, but I’ve always thought, why fix a problem when you can start a new government agency? 

Goodbye 2011

A lot of things happened in 2011, and I wouldn’t pretend to do a year in review type column, because frankly, it would take a lot of work to do it well.  I’m more comfortable picking and choosing a topic here and there.

For starters, two weeks ago I ended up on an elevator at the Seattle airport with Danny Glover.  It was an odd experience for several reasons.  First, it took me a minute to figure out who he was.  Second, he looked as wiped out from his flight as I was from mine.  Third, he was wearing these silly shoes with all the toes in different colors.

I think he’s a good actor, and while I disagree with much of what he’s said and done over the years (saying the Haiti earthquake was caused by global warming), I think he is a true humanitarian who works very hard for the causes that are important to him.

We got a granddaughter this year.  Not Mr. Glover and I, just to be clear.  That was a new experience, and so far a very nice one, though she isn’t yet old enough to try to borrow money, so maybe these are the easy times.

Around the world some bad guys were killed, died, or removed from power.  Only time will tell whether who and what replaces them will be better or worse, but even though it feels wrong to be happy about someone’s death, we can be happy that they won’t hurt anyone anymore.

My appendix gave out in 2011.  I don’t miss it much, though I think I’ve grown closer to my gall bladder, since it’s my only useless organ left.  I also had some atypical moles removed – not the kind that burrow into the ground – and some plumbing done on some veins in one leg.  Aging is just one exciting adventure after another!

Wall Street was occupied by some people who believed very strongly in something, but didn’t provide a statement as to exactly what it was until the second day of the occupation.  A wonderful photo which appeared to show a man pooping on a police car made two parents very proud indeed.

A number of people were electrocuted this year while attempting to steal copper wire from various buildings and streetlights.  At least they weren’t charged with anything.  Oh wait… I guess they WERE charged.

The U.S. Office of Personnel Management learned that it had sent $120 million in benefits to dead retired employees last year, and for each of the five years previous.  One son of a deceased employee kept cashing checks for 37 years, and was only discovered when he died.

It was surprising that the Packers made it to the Super Bowl in 2011, and terrific that they won!  This year they seem like a shoe-in, so I guess they probably won’t make it.  Life is ironic like that sometimes.

But, before you can know about the Super Bowl, you have to survive New Year’s Eve, so party prudently!  I need all the readers I can get!

December 15

It’s funny how certain dates stick in a person’s mind.  Birthdays and holidays are among those dates, though I am ashamed to say I could only estimate when my sisters’ birthdays fall.

We don’t so much celebrate the days people pass away.  We don’t call them “deathdays” as a counter to “birthdays.”  Those days are just regular days with perhaps some quiet moments of reflection.  Some people visit gravesites, and while I understand the sentiment of doing so, it’s not something I think to do.

My dad died on December 15^th, 1990.  It was a surreal day for all of us, as my family had to make the decision to turn off the machines that were keeping him going.  He never regained consciousness after heroic surgery to save him wasn’t successful.

It’s hard not to think about that day, but it’s more important to consider all that came before it.  To focus on the end of someone’s life is like staring at the period at the end of a sentence at the end of a book.

So, thanks for understanding when I again share a few thoughts about my dad.

He was a big guy at 6’3,” but he never thought of himself as an imposing figure.  He was a staunch conservative when Ronald Reagan was still just an actor, but he was also what we now call an environmentalist.  His biggest love was planting trees in the 160 acres of woodland he bought.

He was also what we now call a social conservative, and yet he welcomed a black son-in-law, a Catholic daughter-in-law, and a super-liberal, long-haired son-in-law who openly despised him early on.

My dad was rooted in tradition and the status quo, and yet he was among the first in his university department to embrace computers in education.  His first personal computer came so early in the evolution of home computing that there is one just like it in the Smithsonian.

He believed strongly in individual responsibility and personal liberty.  He wasn’t a libertarian, but had leanings in that direction.  For example, he was against the mandate for seatbelts in cars because he thought manufacturers would provide them for intelligent drivers who demanded them without the federal government stepping in.

He was incurably friendly to people.  He was a member of the Optimists Club, and was truly an optimist.  He took the long view on things, and believed that people are basically good, and that the marketplace would eventually weed out the companies who didn’t act in good faith.

If my dad wasn’t working in his woods, chances are he was reading or writing.  He produced a small magazine of political and philosophical writing six times a year or so.  He produced it on a hand cranked mimeograph machine, so every eight weeks or so he had black ink stains on his hands.  He had hundreds of subscribers, and I guess it’s accurate to say that he was a blogger 40 years or more before blogging was invented.

Mostly, though, I remember that he was a really good guy.  Every kid’s parents can be embarrassing, and he probably more than most.  But, his default attitude was kindness, and despite his deep intellect, he was not even a little snobbish.

My girls’ best memories of him were when he took them fishing, and when he read kids’ books to them.  Come to think of it, I remember when he read books to us when we were kids.

So, happy December 15^th.  It’s not a day that will live in infamy, but it is a day that will live on in my memory as the punctuation at the end of a good life of a good guy.

Surprise! (Arizona)

While in Arizona last week on business I spent one night in a hotel in Surprise.  Surprise, Arizona is in the northwest corner of suburban Phoenix.  I guess I wanted to stay there because I wanted to know what made it surprising.

You may be surprised to know that Surprise is only 50 years old.  It feels odd to be older than a city.  Of course, before it was a city people lived there, going back to the pre-historic (to us, not to them) Hohokam Indians.

A lot of cotton was grown in the Surprise area at one time.  Now houses and strip malls sprout out of the desert sand, along with an amazing baseball complex (spring training home to the Texas Rangers and Kansas City Royals).  Even though it was 50 degrees and windy, the deep green grass of the numerous ball fields made me want to grab my glove and field some grounders – that is, if I could actually bend enough to reach the ground.

What I liked most about Surprise was the element of surprise as I drove down the streets.  For example, try to get your head around the concept of Surprise Urgent Care.  I picture someone grabbing me unexpectedly to give me stitches.  There is a Surprise Funeral Home.  I guess that’s what happens if the Surprise Urgent Care doesn’t work.

The Surprise Fire Department apparently shows up at any time for no reason.  The Surprise Water Utility likes to create geysers in your kitchen sink.  I sure wouldn’t buy mixed nuts at the Surprise Grocery Store, since there’s likely to be one of those spring-loaded snakes in it.

I happened to be in Surprise on the day they were setting up for their annual “Surprise Party,” which looked a lot like a county fair without the farm animals.  The poster shows Santa, a hot air balloon, and elephant rides.  Interesting trio of attractions.

One thing about Surprise, Arizona is how unsurprising life must be there.  It’s really flat, doesn’t get snowstorms (or hardly ever), and everything is neat and clean.  I’m sure a lot of people like to retire to a place with no surprises.  The things that make life interesting at 25 can be pretty scary at 85, I guess.

I like town names that evoke images or stories.  Embarrass, Minnesota or Truth or Consequences, New Mexico or Hell, Michigan.  There’s also Larry Bird’s famous hometown of French Lick, Indiana, along with Sweet Lips, Tennessee, and Fanny, West Virginia.  There are others not suitable for a family newspaper.

In addition to Surprise, Arizona also has a town called “Carefree.”  Gordon Lightfoot wrote a song called, “Carefree Highway” about the road that goes from Interstate 17 to the town of Carefree.  Of course, Arizona also has a town called “Tombstone.”  I think of the two I’d pick Carefree, but ultimately, I guess we all end up in Tombstone.

That is, if we first visit the Surprise Funeral Home.

Scandals Everywhere

It seems like there is a new scandal to wrestle our attention from other pressing issues almost every day.  Penn State’s athletic program seems to be in shambles, and now Syracuse has their own sex crime alleged in their basketball program.  Schools like Ohio State and USC are probably thankful that they were only found guilty of cheating, and not sexually charged scandals.

Then Monday morning I heard that a Green Bay Packer linebacker spent some time in the hooskow for some sort of physical assault.  Various Badger football and hockey players have been accused in the past, and I honestly didn’t follow those cases to their conclusions to see what was true and what was simply accusations.

Back during the years when the Packers weren’t winning championships, both James Lofton and Eddie Lee Ivory were accused of sexual assault.  Lofton is doing television for some network now, and I think he’s in the hall of fame.  Marv Albert, a famous sports announcer, got caught in his own sexual scandal years ago, but he’s still on the air.

We hear the news on these things, but not always the end of the story.  Scandals are usually on page one, but charges being dropped end up on page 24, if they’re printed at all.  That’s part of the problem with these things.  Did Justin Bieber father a child, or did someone accuse him of it for financial benefit?  How will we know?  And, is it any of our business?

Sadly, some scandals, true or not, take on a life of their own.  The infamous story of Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich asking his wife for a divorce on her death bed sounds pretty heartless.  But, in reality Mrs. Gingrich asked for the meeting to discuss their relationship, and not only that, she hasn’t been in her deathbed yet, since she has recovered from that sickness and is still alive and kicking.

Herman Cain has been the target of many accusations recently, and some or all of them may be real.  But what if they aren’t?  Black conservatives have pretty consistently been the subject of such accusations.  John Edwards, on the other hand, was given a pass on his indiscretion until after the primary was over.  And his wife really was dying.  Jessie Jackson not only had a child from an affair, but was paying off the woman with funds raised under the guise of helping those less fortunate.  Likewise Arnold Schwartzenager, who is off to star in movies now that he’s not governor any more, impregnated his housekeeper, and bought her her own little house.

President Clinton lied under oath about one of his scandals, but was given a pass on the others including an accusation of rape which many believe to be true to this day.  And yet we view him as a charming elder statesman now.  Justice Thomas was accused of transgressions that he denied, and 20 years later he still carries the burden with him.  Teddy and Jack Kennedy were both serial womanizers throughout their marriages, but they are revered.

I guess the truth of the matter is that nobody is perfect, and people who have the makeup to excel at sports or politics or business at a high level sometimes have the unsavory characteristics that lead them to scandalous behavior.

But in addition to that, people who are in the public eye might as well wear bulls eyes on their backs, because charges – true of false – can do a lot to slow down someone’s career.  A radio commentator once said that guilt or innocence are less important to some people than the seriousness of the charge.  And, there’s little risk to making those charges against a public figure, which is why I think I’ll live the rest of my life as a very non-public figure.

Olde Tyme TV

When I was a kid, my family got cable TV. Thinking back, it’s kind of hard to believe. We weren’t poor, but we sure weren’t rich, and it seems like the kind of frivolous expense my parents wouldn’t have allowed. It seems odd that we would watch cable TV on a black and white TV, but that’s just what we did.

Cable back then was not what it is now. Living in Oshkosh we gained the Milwaukee channels, WGN out of Chicago and a few other channels. No Weather Channel or CNN or C-Span were available then.

One channel I watched a lot was channel 18 from Milwaukee. They played a lot of old situation comedies like “I Love Lucy,” “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” and “Dragnet.” Even better, they played really old sitcoms like “Our Miss Brooks” with Eve Arden and the teen-aged Richard Crenna, “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet,” and “The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show.”

Those old programs were great, partly because most of them originated on radio, where writing and character development were essential qualities of a good show. “Our Miss Brooks” was very funny, very dry, and sometimes very sexy, in a subtle way. Miss Brooks was an underpaid high school teacher who tried very hard to become romantic with a fellow teacher named Mr. Boynton, who was too thick-headed to comprehend her desires. Along with them, the squeaky-voiced student played by Richard Crenna, Walter, and principal Gale Gordon, who later starred with Lucille Ball, were also thorns in her side.

Many of those old programs had this in common: a person could really relax and enjoy the travails of the characters, knowing that nothing offensive would happen, including overt references to genitals, and that at the end of each show, everything would turn out okay. Whatever impending disaster the episode had in store was averted, and life went on.

Another odd thing about those programs is that many of them had traditional nuclear families. While there’s surely nothing wrong with non-traditional families, the mother/father/son/daughter families have been an endangered species on television for many years.

We don’t have cable at our house, or satellite. Thanks to digital TV, we have more channels than before, including a few that play old programs. Many evenings I choose to watch “M.A.S.H.,” or “Bob Newhart,” or “Taxi” instead of “Dancing With The Surviving Idol Losers,” or “Miami CSI, NCIS, SVU.” That way, I don’t have to watch anybody get killed or autopsied, and the only people who get humiliated are actors playing characters.

I don’t think modern television is bad. Some of it is pretty well written, and many of the characters portrayed are very entertaining. I guess there’s enough worrisome and offensive news these days that I like to enjoy some shows that are neither worrisome nor offensive.

I guess my process of turning into an old geezer is well under way.

Right to Remain Silent

Ron White is one of the guys who toured as part of the Blue Collar Comedy group, and performed in their very popular concert videos.  He always seems to have a drink in his hand, and smokes like a chimney.  So, he’s not exactly a role model for America’s youth, but despite his bad language and joyous political incorrectness, I think he’s a funny guy.

One of his more endearing stories revolves around him being physically thrown out of a bar in New York City.  In this story, he is in the process of being arrested, and he says, “I had the right to remain silent… but not the ability.”

Boy!  How many times has that happened to you?  Not the being arrested part, but the inability to keep quiet about something when it makes much more sense to do so.

I think I suffer from that affliction more than most people.  My mouth has gotten me into trouble many times over the years, and the funny thing is I realize my mistake before I’ve even finished the sentence.  The classic error, which every man makes once in his life, is asking a woman who appears to be pregnant when she’s due.  If she’s not pregnant, that’s a mistake from which you cannot recover.

Lately I’ve been much better about keeping quiet about things.  Many people who are “friends” of mine on Facebook have not been as reticent about expressing their views in very clear and insistent terms.  Part of the reason is that our world and our state are both experiencing traumatic changes, and people are very emotional about what’s going on.  That emotion translates to strong language, which can be insulting to people who might disagree with the point of view expressed.

I’ve always believed that there can be disagreement without attacking people who see things differently than I do, or wishing them harm.  Civil discourse is occasionally held up as an essential virtue, but then those same people launch into an attack if their interests are challenged.

The thing is, I don’t want to communicate only with people who agree with me, because a person doesn’t grow that way.  And yet, intemperate comments that insult my intelligence just make me disrespect the people who make them.  And, it doesn’t help my normally cheerful demeanor.

This paragraph should say something like, “Let’s all be kind to each other,” but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.  Instead, maybe people could think for a moment between writing their emails or Tweets or Facebook posts and sending them.  A couple of seconds to ponder might result in better communication in the long run.

The Good-time Club

A good situation comedy succeeds because it takes real life and caricatures it a little to make it silly so that we’ll laugh at it.  But, it’s “this close” to real life, which makes us all relate to it at some level.

For example, in “Everybody Loves Raymond,” all the adult characters were absurd, but each had an element of truth about them.  Ray was self-centered and prone to fibbing to make up for his shortcomings.  His mother, Marie, was controlling and manipulative, and his father was insensitive and crude.  They were all funny because everything they did was something we could imagine someone we’ve known doing, plus 5%.

The program “The Office” is sometimes hard to watch because the characters – usually the boss, Michael – do something that is so inappropriate that it makes us shudder.  Inappropriate, but not beyond what people in our own work experiences are capable of.

One recurring theme in “The Office” is the ubiquitous office party or birthday celebration.  The planning committee generally settles on the lowest common denominator, since any new, good idea is voted down by one or more negative employees.

At a former job of mine, there used to be an informal tradition of people in one’s department bringing in doughnuts or cupcakes to celebrate birthdays.  One employee had his feelings hurt one day when his birthday came and went without being noticed, and he actually complained to the boss.

The next day, the “Goodtime Club” was formed.  It was a committee that took care of getting baked goods for all birthdays, no matter what.  Not only did it take the fun out of the previous departmental gatherings, but we all had to pay $5 per year, whether we wanted to or not.

Someone I know has just been assigned to co-chair a company committee to cause fun to happen.  So far, some of the good ideas have been discarded because negative “half-empty” committee members don’t want to do anything creative or interesting.

I suggested that she find video of a number of episodes of “The Office” that deal with party committee planning, edit them together, and show them to the committee.  After viewing the clips, she could then ask for a show of hands to see who found the Dunder Mifflin committee’s behavior to be normal.  Then she should kick those people off the committee, and make some fun happen with colleagues who still believe in it.  Fun, that is.

Unfortunately, there are people who seem to feed on negativity and unhappiness.  Their biggest pleasure in life is to get other people to buy-in to their sour attitude.  Misery loves company, you know.  Their best lines are, “That won’t work,” “We tried that once,” and, “Why can’t we just leave things the way they are?”

The nice thing about watching “The Office” is that, unlike our real jobs, after 30 minutes it’s over.  Maybe the trick is to enjoy the absurdity of the people we work with, and pretend we’re living in a TV show.  Although, it’s probably best not to laugh out loud if one of those absurd people is your boss.

Goodbye to Pumpkin

The cycle of life and death for cats usually runs its course pretty quickly.  Feral cats and a lot of farm cats have a rough life, battling weather, predators, and diseases.  The only reason they live as long as they do is their remarkable hunting prowess and great survival skills.

Indoor cats face challenges too.  Being in a safe environment can be stressful to cats because their natural state of being is to be constantly on alert – either to hunt or survive being hunted.

We’ve owned and lost a number of cats over the years.  Dickens was a shelter cat who made the trip with us from Duluth when we moved.  She was a Siamese, and had some attitude problems, but she was mostly a very nice cat.

Shadow #1 was an outdoor cat who came with our place, and one day she was just gone.  We suspect it was an owl that got her.  Bob was a six-toed cat who really did look like a bobcat.  He survived one car/cat battle, but not the second.  We adopted him from a friend, and we were glad to have him as long as we did.

Kitty adopted us.  She lived in our barn and sheep shed.  She was very friendly, but thought it was fun to bite now and then.  She gave birth to a bunch of kittens one spring.  We have away all but two.  Shadow #2 was a soft and gentle female.  Pumpkin was a big cat – both big boned and heavy.

They were very nice cats, all in all.  Early on they both had health problems, and we spent thousands of dollars to get them mended.  Shadow had swallowed a long thread that was choking her intestines.  Pumpkin had a urinary system that needed a total re-plumbing.

Shadow lived to be six years old, or so.  I found her in the bathtub one night.  There was no water in the tub and no sign of any injury, but we wonder if she was running around and hit her head on the faucet or something.  It was tough to see her go.

After our two newest cats adopted us a few years ago, Pumpkin seemed to get a new lease on life.  He became more active and interested.  There is no question that he disliked the new cats, mostly because they enjoyed sneaking up on him to have a play fight.  With his failing eyesight, he didn’t see it as playing.

In the past year good old Pumpkin has had a harder time controlling his bodily functions, and he’s become more bold at stealing food from the counter or the stove when he gets the chance.  Mostly he has seemed to be doing okay, though he is probably less than half his previous weight.

Recently he had his last vet visit, and the prognosis was not good at all.  His many accidents were likely the fault of a tumor in his belly, and the odds of a successful surgery on a failing 16 year old cat aren’t good, so we made the decision to end his life calmly and quietly.

It’s never an easy decision, but we feel that allowing an animal to feel pain and fear unnecessarily is not being a good pet owner.

It’s funny, but since we got the two younger cats – and even before – Pumpkin had taken up residence on a small table that sits next to our front door.  He could look out the window and stay up above the sneak attacks of the other cats from his perch.  Now that he’s gone, I think we’ll have to move that table somewhere else.  We won’t be able to walk by and skritch behind his ears or under his chin.  He always seemed grateful for those little gestures.

Over those 16 years Pumpkin gave us a lot of entertainment, a lot of comforting cuddling, and even caught some mice.  I hope we’ve done the right thing by him, and I think we have.  He certainly did have a good life, and he gave us many good memories to help him live on in the story of our family.

Don’t Mind Me

I try not to think about it, but the truth is that I’m closer to 60 years old than I am to 55.  It seems impossible, but I guess it must be true.  Now, I can claim that I’m very young for my age, but that sounds pretty self-delusional – not that I’m above that.

Mostly I feel the same as I’ve always felt.  I still wear jeans as often as possible, and I don’t wear them up around my armpits.  I still like a lot of rock and pop music, though I’ve added more country to my listening.  And, I listen to a lot of talk radio, which
puts me into the older Americans category I guess.

I’ve been messing things up more often lately.  I don’t know if that’s a sign of impending old age, or just a problem of focus, or maybe just a series of coincidental incidents.  That would be a good name for a band: “The Coincidental Incidents.”

For example, during my many travels I’ve left my calendar someplace – probably a hotel room or rental car.  Dementia?  Or perhaps leaving a hotel room after having turned out the lights in order to save the earth, thereby making my black calendar impossible to see?  Or maybe it slid under the seat of a rental car?

Another dark hotel room moment resulted in leaving my computer and briefcase in a hotel room.  I got it back, but that was a
pain.  I now have a check-out checklist before I shut the door one last time.

I’ve scheduled meetings and then written them down on the wrong date.  I left my credit card in the payment folio at
a restaurant, resulting in its theft, and $1,500 in fraudulent charges being made in 12 hours’ time.

When I think about these episodes, it occurs to me that none of them are really unusual for me over the course of my life. I left a credit card at a restaurant in 1978.  I’ve been leaving clothes in hotel room drawers and closets for 30 years or more.  The lost calendar was the third of my career, to the best of my memory, which may not be that good.

The truth is that I am, and always have been, a goof-up.  I think I make up for it with other favorable qualities, but messing up isn’t something new for me.

I think it may run in my family.  At age 40 my dad would walk around the house looking for his glasses, which he was wearing
at the time.  Thirty years later, he was doing the same thing.  He was the epitome of the absent minded professor.  I do
teach part time, but I’m no professor.

And, my mind isn’t absent.  It’s just busy doing something else when it should be taking care of business.  But, it’s one quality I seemed to have inherited from my dad.

A certain song keeps going through my head.  It’s by the band “Chumbawamba.”  The lyric goes like this: “Do you suffer from long term memory loss?  I can’t remember.”   How apt.

So, if you see me on Main Street, standing there looking puzzled, I’m probably experiencing what the Urban Dictionary calls “Destinesia: When you get to where you are going and forget why you went there.”  Don’t mind me: I’m just approaching 60.

Amish Sophistication

A while ago we took a long car trip to and from Upstate New York.  It was a nice trip, and part of the reason it was so nice is that we took a number of detours off the Interstate.  It’s hard to beat the Interstate system for getting places quickly, but that speed comes at the price of not getting to see the local scenery and the sense of history in America’s small towns.

One of our diversions, as the British call detours, took us through Amish Country in northern Indiana.  As with most Amish communities, there were plenty of buggies, pastured horses, and homes with no electrical wires connecting them to “the grid.”

We didn’t get the chance to speak with any Amish folks in Indiana, but in an earlier escape from the Interstate in New York State, we stopped at an Amish family’s roadside stand to buy some cookies and a peach pie, and the young children who waited on us were smart and articulate, and – this may be shocking to you – were able to make correct change without a calculator!

Back to Indiana, we noticed that this particular Amish region had a different look about it.  The farms seemed to be doing very well.  The homes were larger than usual, the yards and gardens were beautifully kept up, and several places had multiple buggies, including some really nice ones.  As with most Amish communities, there was plenty of free enterprise going on, with woodworking shops, bakeries, harness shops, and many other businesses in operation.

In a brochure we noted that some Amish gave four hour buggy tours, some culminating in a family dinner at an Amish house.  I imagine that is quite an experience.  While I believe most Amish communities are wary of becoming too cozy with “The English,” they also realize that we have a real curiosity about them, and are not afraid to pay money to experience at least a hint of their lifestyle.

As we drove along the country roads (looking for a particular shop which turned out to be closed for the day by the time we found it) I thought about why people in modern society are drawn to elements of the Amish world.

I don’t know much about the Amish religion, but I gather that technological progress isn’t seen as a good thing, and that followers are discouraged from being flashy dressers, or otherwise drawing attention to themselves.

As non-Amish folks, I think many of us admire their tenacity in avoiding the shallowness of our reality show culture while living their lives in what would ironically be considered by many as good fodder for a reality show.

Some Amish communities are less inward looking than others.  During our drive we went past a Pizza Hut in a small town, and outside were two horses and buggies tethered to a hitching post.  I know pizza isn’t in the Bible per se, but it is pretty much unleavened…

Other than avoiding the horse apples in the road, it was a very pleasant side trip.  I don’t think we fall into the trap of over-romanticizing the Amish culture.  Everything is not sweetness and light in their communities, and many Amish can’t wait to escape to our world.

It is interesting, though, to step back in time for a few hours to see how our great-grandparents lived, but also to see that entrepreneurism in our country is still possible; even for those without cars or electricity or a MBA.

Social Media Mediocre

Some changes happen slowly, like losing one’s hair, trees growing, or children getting toilet trained.  Other changes happen fast – so fast that we have a hard time adjusting to them.  Weather can change that fast, as can the price of gold, stocks, and Beany Babies.

The last ten years has spawned an immense change in our lives, even if we haven’t participated.  That change is in the form of the electronification, if that’s even a word, of communication.

Ten years ago the term “social media” may have existed, but only among a fairly small group of people.  “Myspace.com” and “facebook.com” existed, but were both in the very early stages of acceptance.  Blogging – in essence, electronic newsletters—were coming into vogue.  Websites that gather news from many sources, like drudgereport.com, started in the mid 1990’s, but really took off during the Monica Lewinski scandal, which was first exposed by Matt Drudge.

Now, newspapers, magazines, and even radio and TV stations are putting a lot of resources into on-line identities.  Books are becoming a fading commodity as the Kindle and other forms of electronic publishing surge forward.  The closing of Borders bookstores is the most recent evidence of that change.

The social media, starting with myspace.com, facebook.com, and then twitter.com  seem to have shoved a lot of other media to the side.  The timeframe for dissemination of news and information – factual or not – has gone from days to hours to minutes to seconds, as tweeters send messages while news happens.

Thanks to Facebook, I get a little reminder every day about my “friends’” birthdays.  If someone is my real-life
friend, I should know their birthday – though I probably don’t, because I’m a guy.  Wishing a virtual friend happy
birthday seems disingenuous.  Although, it was nice last December when so many people sent those wishes to me.

To be honest, I am feeling left behind by a lot of this.  I don’t have a “smart” phone or an I-pad, and the thought of adding that technology to my electronic arsenal seems daunting.  I have a Twitter account, but wonder who cares about what I write, or how it could possibly matter.

I feel like an old man in 1910, shaking my fist at those darn automobiles, or shunning the telephone.  I’m sitting here in 2011 hearing myself use strange phrases like, “Would you like to Skype?”

I’m not a Luddite, but I wait with both enthusiasm and trepidation for whatever is coming next, and what the next thing is that will go away.

If you find out, send me an email, okay?

I’m Back!

Hello.

Sometimes in life you just know when it’s time to take a break from something.  As you may, or may not have noticed, I haven’t posted anything on this blog for a long time now.  I think I needed a break.

I didn’t intentionally stop posting things, but one day I realized it had been a few months.  At first I felt guilty.  I don’t know why.  It’s not like anything bad happened due to my inaction.  My ego would have loved to hear a hew and cry from the legions of readers who so looked forward to my posts.  But, my logical mind is not surprised that no such things happened.

But, now that autumn is here, I’m back, and will be posting much more regularly.  In fact, I’ll be posting a number of pieces this week, and then aiming for at least one per week going forward.

So, if you’re a reader of my posts, thanks for being patient!

Peter

Columnists’ Party I

A while back I once again attended the annual conference of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists.  It is an annual opportunity to spend several days learning, socializing, and feeling like an imposter.  The requirement for belonging to the NSNC is sending in $50 each year.

Even though there are nationally known and semi-famous people in attendance, there are plenty of small town folks like me who come to learn and get motivated.

This year’s conference was held in Detroit.  I have visited Detroit several times in the past, and I could have lived a full
life without going back.  However, the agenda and itinerary sounded interesting, so I decided to go.  I wasn’t disappointed.

For the next couple of weeks I’d like to share my journal of what all took place.

Sunday Afternoon:

I arrived at the Weston Book-Cadillac Hotel mid-afternoon.  It’s a beautifully restored showplace of a hotel.  From my room’s window I saw a mixture of revitalized buildings and parks, and vacant shells of once useful edifices.  The building right outside my window had trees growing out of the roof.  Not on purpose.

When I logged on my computer, the list of wireless networks within range included “FBI surveillance van2.”  I wondered who was being surveilled.  Maybe it was me.  Right.

After registering, we were bussed (buses courtesy of the Detroit Convention and Visitors’  Bureau) to a hole-in-the-wall bar for a reception.  A former columnist was playing lead guitar in a blues band.  It was loud, but fun.  I took the early bus back.

Monday Morning:

After breakfast (sponsored by Chrysler Group) we heard a panel discussion on “Crusading Columnists.”  One of them crusaded against using the microphone, so he wasn’t heard well.  That was followed by a workshop on free-lancing.  A lot of columnists have lost their jobs in the past five years, so any source of income is important.

A couple more sessions went on, followed by another Tourism sponsored bus ride to the building that houses Compuware and Quicken Loans.  It’s quite a building.  Water rains down into an indoor pond from 100 feet up.  There are 12 elevators. Thousands of people work there, instead of the suburbs because of the commitment these two companies have for the future of Detroit.

Next we visited a tech start-up incubator.  In aplace with so many unemployed, learning to start one’s own business is a good idea.

Then we went to the Motown Museum.  With the exception of the few people who were a little too old or a little too young, everyone seemed to really like it.  It was really something to stand in the first Motown studio where the likes of Stevie Wonder, the Supremes, and Michael Jackson first recorded.   Very cool.

After a few minutes to re-gather ourselves back at the hotel, we then got back on the buses to a tour and reception at the “Heidelberg Project.”  It is no secret that Detroit has some horrible neighborhoods and some serious crime problems.  One street, in what was the first black neighborhood in Detroit, has become a tourist attraction despite its
location.  It’s called the Heidelberg Project, and it consists of multiple works of art that are mostly created of “found” objects displayed in unusual ways.   It is an oasis of energy and pride in a pretty bleak community.

There is a house with several hundred stuffed animals stuck to it.  There is a partial tree with shopping carts strewn in its branches.  One house is totally surrounded by miscellaneous junk.  Ostensibly, each work of art is meaningful and symbolizes something.  I wondered what would happen if a hurricane were to hit Detroit, but then it occurred to me that it kind-of looks like maybe a hurricane already hit.  I found it interesting, to be sure, and elements of it were artistic, in my opinion.  Not everybody would see it that way.  But, that’s common to all modern art.

For more about this interesting conference, ncluding my time with Roger Ebert… kind of… check out this spot in a few days.

Stormy Night Letter

Dear Family,

Interesting night.  Huge storm came over Dane County.  We didn’t get the worst of it.  Tennis ball size hail hit a lot of areas.  We went to the neighbor’s house to ride out the storm.  Power went out just as we hit their basement, after a huge wind gust came through.  I don’t know what the speed of the wind was, but they were talking about 60-80 MPH winds in the county.

After things subsided, we headed for home, which wasn’t easy since the big tree on the corner of our yard lost two big branches, (a spruce tree lost its top also) and took down the electrical wires.  We tried to go around the block to get home, but other roads were blocked too.  We finally made it home going through Rockdale, but had to park the car across the street and walk along the corn field, around the horse’s pasture, and through the sheep shed to avoid the down wires.

As we were in the sheep shed, I was surprised to see that the sheep were looking at us from outside their enclosure.  They had been in the yard and garden, enjoying broccoli, cabbage, and some other delicacies.  History repeats itself — as you’ll recall, they got out two years ago and ate and stomped on a lot.

A number of large branches had blown off the tree behind the gray shed (no, I’m sorry.  I mean the grey shed) and one of them took out a big chunk of the fence between the sheep and the garden.  Further inspection (once the sheep were put into the big pasture) showed that one of the hay wagons had been flipped up on its side, and both hay bunks had been destroyed.  Several big branches were in the vegetable and flower gardens, one of them at least 30 yards from the tree it came from.

Numerous large branches were in the horse’s area, but she didn’t’ seem to be hurt at all.

The only damage to the house was a piece of fascia that appears to have been hit by something, and peeled back.

Due to the blocked road and downed wires, there was a Dane County cop car at the top of the hill until the power company guys showed up.  It’s odd to hear chain saws at 3:30am.  The power came back on around 5am, I think.  Mom got up to watch the action in the middle of the night, and was outside by 4am.  I was not.

All in all, a stressful night, made better by being with neighbors.  Have you ever been so tired that you could feel your cells crying?  I’m about there.

But, nobody was hurt, and the damage was very minimal by comparison to what many have experienced this year in Joplin, Tuscaloosa, and other places.  It makes you think.  Sometimes good luck comes to us in disguise.

Love, Dad

Good Morning!

I was up just after 6:30 this morning, and I’d like to say that it was my usual time to get up.  Sadly, I often have a hard
time getting out of bed in the morning.  It’s not so bad this time of year because of the early sunlight and the enthusiastic birds outside, but sometimes it’s just nice to stay in bed and get a little more sleep.

Most days it doesn’t matter when I get up, since my job is pretty flexible.  I may be working at 9pm, so being at work by
8:30am is not really required.  That’s both a great advantage and a disincentive for getting up promptly in the morning.

When I need to get up especially early to get an airplane flight or something, I set multiple alarms, and usually stay awake most of the night anyway, because the stakes of oversleeping are so high.  Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t make more sense just to drive the airport and sleep in the parking lot, but a person might still oversleep if they did that.

When I go to bed early I just toss and turn.  No, it’s more of a turn, followed by another turn, and THEN a toss.  Staying up late helps me get to sleep quickly, but doesn’t leave enough time before morning.

With all that in mind, I read a headline today that made me think: “Alarm Clocks Blow up at Ikea Stores in Belgium, France and The Netherlands.”  I was compelled to read on, only to find that this isn’t a feature of these alarm clocks, but that the three devices in question had been sabotaged by some Ikea hating individual or individuals.  Fortunately, nobody was hurt, except for one guy who had a ringing in his ears.  I’ll bet!

Overlooking, for a moment, the criminal intent of those responsible, I think you’d agree that an alarm clock that might explode would probably cure a person from lingering in bed too long.   I’m afraid, though, that I’d just stay awake,
listening for any tell-tale signs of the impending “BOOM!”

In fact, sleeping between the mattress and the box spring would offer some pretty good protection, though it wouldn’t be very comfortable.

Maybe it would be better to have a non-lethal alarm clock – perhaps one that activates a fire hose pointed at the sleeper who hits the snooze button one too many times?  I’m sure that it would be refreshing, and probably make a morning shower redundant, but the shock might just be too much.

I hope they catch the person or people who intended harm with the rigged-up alarm clocks at Ikea.  But, I also hope that some enterprising individual will consider what I’ve laid out here for fool-proof wake-up devices.

If reading this column has made you drowsy, I apologize.  I also admonish you not to let those heavy eyelids drop until you’re done with the paper.  If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure I hear a very soft “tick, tick, tick” sound.  It could be my imagination, of course.  But, do you want to take that chance?  I didn’t think so.

Know When to Fold ‘Em

I have a confession to make: I’m not much of a card player.  Unless the game is really easy, like Uno or Crazy Eights, I find that by the time the rules have been explained my attention span has lapsed, and I’ve lost interest.

Many of my relations play a game called Pinochle, pronounced “pee – knuckle.”  How nice.  It’s a game that was invented by people who were mentally disturbed, and anyone who masters the game becomes a little bit off center as well.

Poker is a game I understand, and have played in the past, though the Texas Hold-em version is new to me, and seems unnecessarily complicated, which makes it more fun for people who like cards, and less fun for me.

I was just thinking about somebody playing poker.  Maybe it’s me.  I don’t know.  The person has a pair of twos, and thinks it would be fun to bluff, with the hope that the other players will fold.

I bid $100.  The other players raise me another $100.  So, not to be out bluffed, I raise them $500.   It goes on like this for some time.   I realize I’m in over my head and should have quit at $100, but it’s too late to pull back.  Hours go by, and the pot gets bigger and bigger.  And, by “pot” I’m referring to the pile of money, not the size of my belly.

When the dust settles (it’s a dusty poker room) the pot is up to, say, $14 trillion and change.

I think that’s kind-of what we’ve been doing in our country.  We want to “fix” the economy, so we ante up a couple hundred billion dollars or so, and when that doesn’t work, we try putting in another hundred billion until, as the late Illinois Senator and pop star Everett Dirksen once famously said, “pretty soon we’re talking about real money.”

Unlike the typical poker player, though, our government has printing presses, and keeps making more money.  That sounds like the poker player’s dream, except that for every dollar they print, the value of every other dollar goes down, giving us inflation and, indirectly, higher oil prices, since the people who speculate on oil do so in dollars, and the dollars are worth less, so the price goes higher.  Worth less; not worthless, at least so far.

I picture myself at the poker table, realizing I have only a few chips, and I hope I would have the good sense not to “invest” any more of them in what is a losing cause.  And I certainly hope I would not borrow more money to keep in the game.  Would you?

Fortunately for all of us I’m not in the position of making any of these big decisions.  I do believe, though, that “throwing money” at our problems hasn’t been the right approach.  I think it’s time for us to know when to fold-‘em when it comes to spending more money.

Spending money when you’re broke usually doesn’t end well.

Lose Your Lunch

Something came up in the news the other day that got me remembering lunch time at school.  Not college or high school, but way back in elementary and junior high school, as it was called in the middle ages.

I admit that what made school worthwhile for me was gym class, recess, and lunch.  Any learning that took place was strictly the result of being in the classroom between those other activities.  Lunch was a wonderful oasis of food and hilarity in the desert of fractions and the state soil (Antigo silt loam, if I remember correctly).

Once excused for lunch, we would line up at the door of the classroom, and “walk” to our respective bathrooms where we were required to wash our hands, which we did with the utmost speed, in order to get to the stairway down to the lunchroom before the other classes.

Most days we didn’t know what was being served until we got to the stairwell.  The exception to that was tuna noodle casserole day.  That smell spread throughout the three story building, and possibly to surrounding towns.  In deference to Catholic pupils, Fridays were always meat-free, and we always hoped for the fish sticks option.

I remember that I brought my lunch sometimes.  I didn’t like it, because what I brought from home was less interesting, and probably more healthy than what the cooks came up with.  Or, maybe I just didn’t like being seen as
different.  I’m not sure.  It was a long time ago.

The lunch ladies, if I remember correctly, were all heavyset older women with hairnets, dresses and aprons.  They seemed nice.  Lunch was 35 cents, plus 3 cents for milk.  Two or three times a year there would be chocolate milk.

We could go up for seconds if there was food left over.  One thing there was always plenty of was white
bread, slathered with butter.  The butter was about a half-inch thick.  It’s surprising that our arteries didn’t just clog up right there on the spot.

Kids being kids, some food ended up in the trash, but not too much.  There were grown-ups there to make sure we ate, and to minimize the waste.  There were no vending machines, so it was either lunch – what you brought or what you got in the lunch line – or nothing.

I have a lot of good memories of school lunch.

I was surprised to read the other day that a school in Chicago is banning children from bringing lunch from home, unless there are specific dietary needs that the parent can prove.  The people who run that school say that, basically, they know better what the children should eat than the children’s parents.  While that may be true in some cases, I thought that parents have the right to raise their children as they see fit.

An article in the Chicago Tribune notes that since the school has been serving a healthy menu, the amount of food thrown away by students has increased considerably.  You can lead a horse to water…

Maybe my notion of parenthood is outmoded, like white bread with too much butter.  Or, maybe there is a conflict here between good intentions and individual liberty.  I’ll have to give it some thought over lunch.

Quirky, but Brilliant

I’ve been watching more television than usual lately.  As I recovered from surgery, I still had plenty of energy to operate the remote.  And, mostly the weather has been either too wet or too cold to do much yard work. 

I’m a fan of good situation comedy shows, of which there are not many.  I also don’t mind a good drama, though it seems that a third of the evening television schedule is comprised of shows where we’re likely to see a corpse being sliced and diced with the objective of solving its murder.  

I’m not a reality show fan, which puts me in the minority of TV viewers.  And, without cable, there are not many sports shows or cable news networks to watch.  So, I’ll sometimes sit with cats on my lap and the remote in my hand, scanning the free TV channels for something good.

I’ve noticed a trend lately, and I guess it’s not really new.  I call it the “Quirky but brilliant” TV hero.  Chief among them these days is Dr. House.  The tormented genius thing wears pretty thin on me.  It almost feels like each week’s “House” episode is verging on a parody of itself, even though the show wins awards every year.  So, I guess it’s just me.

Kathy Bates is starring in a new program about a rebel lawyer who doesn’t play by the rules. It’s called “Harry’s Law.”  She is Harry.  I think she’s a great actress, but I wonder how she can speak her lines without snickering.  I find the writing to be preachy and unlike anything anyone would say in real life.  And yet, it’s a big hit.

Dana Delaney is in a new program called “Body of Proof.”  She plays a female “House” – type character who is so disagreeable and annoying that she no longer deals with living patients.  She’s a forensic pathologist.  Actually, she has several deep dark secrets as to why she is so horrible to everyone, and why she’s no longer a brain surgeon.  Of course, she’s brilliant and keeps from being fired because she solves everything. 

Jimmy Smits plays a fellow who retires from the Supreme Court so he can work for the “little guy.”  He maybe isn’t brilliant and quirky on “Outlaw,” but the thought of someone quitting the Supreme Court is a pretty big stretch.

I guess it’s important in television for the audience to have some idea what to expect when they tune in a program.  The caricatured characters in the programs above need to be true to who they are, I guess, just as Horatio does on CSI Miami when he puts on his sunglasses and says something comically serious at least once per episode.

Quirky and brilliant characters have been around before.  My favorite: Mr. Peabody, the brilliant and quirky dog who, with his boy, “Sherman,” traveled by means of the way-back machine to visit historical places and times.  Of course, that was a cartoon – part of Jay Ward’s brilliant and quirky “Rocky and Bullwinkle” show.  Even though he was animated, Mr. Peabody was as plausible a character as House, in my book.

I should just face the fact that I’m turning into a cranky old man who is irritable and overly critical of everyone and everything, but who can solve virtually any problem with the sparsest of information.  Hmmm… I sound quirky and brilliant.  I need a TV show.  Call it, “Recliner Guy.”

Table of Contents Intact

As we said our goodbyes two weeks ago, after a very nice visit with our brand-new granddaughter, I had a heavy heart.  Actually, the pain was a bit lower.  I had a really sore belly.

The drive from Kansas City seemed longer than usual.  I unbuckled my pants, loosened my belt, and tried to get comfortable, but never really did.  I often have discomfort in that region of my belly, which I attribute to refusing to up-size my pants to match the reality that is my larger body.

I remember getting home that night.  I remember that I didn’t go to work the next day, but pretty much stayed in the fetal position on the couch – and this time, not because of the geopolitical situation.

I put on a heat pad that night, and the next day I felt a little better.  But, I consulted by phone with my favorite soon-to-be doctor, who advised a trip to urgent care.

The urgent care doctor was very good.  He pressed a certain spot on my abdomen, and asked if it hurt.  I said it did, and he suggested that I lay down again, since I was apparently clinging to the ceiling.

Then he did another test.  I think this is something they teach in medical school the same day as hitting you under the knee with the little hammer.  I think doctors never get tired of this, because they can’t believe how predictable it is in making a diagnosis.

Here’s what he did: he pressed his finger into my belly at a specific place very slowly.  It didn’t hurt a bit.  Then, once his finger was pushed in about an inch, he pulled it out quickly, and I thought he had stabbed me.  Once again he talked me down from the ceiling, and sent me over to the ER. 

Once there, I was quickly tended to, and the doctor there did the exact same poking tests with the same results.  Then they took blood, and I offered a meager amount of urine, and an hour later an energetic resident bounded up to say that my lab results had bought me the chance to have a CT scan.  Once those results were looked at, he bounded up again and said my CT scan had bought me the chance to have an appendectomy.  I felt as if I had won.

By that time it was mid-evening, and surprisingly, the operating room was hopping.  So, we hung around for a few hours as more life-threatening cases were slotted in in front of me.  One doctor was concerned that I wasn’t in more pain.  If I didn’t move, I was a “4,” which, on the pain chart, is the man’s face looking pretty annoyed.  The doctor thought I ought to feel much worse.  I thanked him.

After a trip down the corridor which was called off due to a late entry into the surgical sweepstakes, I finally made it down to pre-op around midnight or so.  After a while they wheeled me in to the operating room, where my only memory is two people looking to make sure they had enough of the “red ones.”  Twist ties?

I eventually woke up in the recovery area.  They said my appendix was ugly, and came out in pieces.  Nice.  It was surely infected.  They had me on an antibiotic that would kill anything.  That’s disconcerting.

Apparently there were several other appendectomy’s done that night, so it’s not something unique or exciting, unless it’s happening to you. 

The thing I’m proudest about is that with so many opportunities, I never once said to a medical professional that they could take my appendix, but not my table of contents.  It’s such a good joke, but given the circumstances, it was just too easy.

Freedom of Speech

Ron White is one of the guys who toured as part of the Blue Collar Comedy group, and performed in their very popular concert videos.  He always seems to have a drink in his hand, and smokes like a chimney.  So, he’s not exactly a role model for America’s youth, but despite his bad language and joyous political incorrectness, I think he’s a funny guy.

One of his more endearing stories revolves around him being physically thrown out of a bar in New York City.  In this story, he is in the process of being arrested, and he says, “I had the right to remain silent… but not the ability.”

Boy!  How many times has that happened to you?  Not the being arrested part, but the inability to keep quiet about something when it makes much more sense to do so.

I think I suffer from that affliction more than most people.  My mouth has gotten me into trouble many times over the years, and the funny thing is I realize my mistake before I’ve even finished the sentence.  The classic error, which every man makes once in his life, is asking a woman who appears to be pregnant when she’s due.  If she’s not pregnant, that’s a mistake from which you cannot recover.

Lately I’ve been much better about keeping quiet about things.  Many people who are “friends” of mine on Facebook have not been as reticent about expressing their views in very clear and insistent terms.  Part of the reason is that our world and my state of Wisconsin are both experiencing traumatic changes, and people are very emotional about what’s going on.  That emotion translates to strong language, which can be insulting to people who might disagree with the point of view expressed.

I’ve always believed that there can be disagreement without attacking people who see things differently than I do, or wishing them harm.  Civil discourse was a hot topic a month ago, but it seems to have been moved to the back burner in the past few weeks.

The thing is, I don’t want to communicate only with people who agree with me, because a person doesn’t grow that way.  And yet, intemperate comments that insult my intelligence just make me disrespect the people who make them.  And, it doesn’t help my normally cheerful demeanor. 

This paragraph should say something like, “Let’s all be kind to each other,” but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.  Instead, maybe people could think for a moment between writing their emails or Tweets or Facebook posts and sending them.  A couple of seconds to ponder might result in better communication in the long run.

Television Choices

We don’t have access to cable TV where we live.  And, while we could get satellite TV, we’ve chosen not to.  Thanks to the digital conversion, we now have a lot more channels of free television to watch, but nothing like cable and satellite offer.

As a consequence of not having so many choices at home, when I travel for work I find myself mesmerized by the array of lights and colors that confront me on the hotel room television sets.

There is truly something for everyone, as long as by “everyone” you mean people with various personality flaws or psychological disorders.

Just the other day I was scanning through the offerings available, and I saw what appeared to be a sweet love story.  A couple was kissing passionately, that is until the gentleman (a term I use quite loosely) decided to squeeze the life out of his romantic partner by wringing her neck.  I clicked a few channels further to find a show called “Obese and Pregnant.”  Now, I’m not saying there could be some educational value to such a show, but why would I want to watch it?  After all, I’m not pregnant.

A few more clicks and there was a thriller movie with music so sinister that I knew someone was going to be killing someone any second, so I kept clicking.

The worst time to find something to watch is early in the morning.  The array of infomercials and Home Shopping Network type channels is amazing.  Fortunately, I’m able to return most of the stuff.

To be fair, there are channels available on cable and satellite that I wish we could see at home.  The news channels, History, Discovery, and even TV Land would be nice to have.  C-Span is almost as terrifying as some of the psycho movies sometimes, depending on who is talking, but one can learn a lot about politics by watching it.  And, there are some sporting events unavailable to us common folk on free TV that it would be fun to watch, but then again, if NASCAR or the NFL or the University of Wisconsin decide that making more money from limiting broadcast of their games to pay TV is more important than keeping me as a fan, so be it.

The sad thing is that while television sometimes does a good job of depicting real life, it isn’t real life.  Reality shows are a sham, in that they are as produced as any scripted show.  So, any time I spend scanning the dial looking for entertainment is time I’m not spending engaged in real life with real people.  While it’s true that some TV during down time isn’t a bad thing, being transfixed by the pixels on the screen is really the definition of a waste of time.

So, maybe having only a few channels to choose from at home is a good thing.  And, maybe when I’m traveling I should just shut off the idiot box and open up a book.  And I will.  Right after “I Dream of Jeanie.”

Someone Else

Have you ever noticed that certain things are very funny when they happen to other people, but not nearly as hilarious if they happen to us?   Programs like America’s Funniest Videos are very successful because they show people falling from roofs, getting hit in the nether regions with anything from footballs to baseball bats, and best men and grooms fainting at weddings.  All of these things are very funny, but only if they happen to someone else.

So, when I bumped a 32 ounce cup of Diet Mountain Dew (which, of course, had no lid) and it toppled onto my computer Saturday morning, I’m sure it was very, very funny, but not to me.

I lunged into action, picking up the notebook computer and trying to drain it as best I could.  I got lots of napkins and blotted like crazy.  I even took it out into the sun to dry, shaking it gently to coax the hidden drops out.

When all seemed to be well, I brought it back in, set it up on the table, and heard an odd sound coming from the machine.  It sounded like someone was making bacon, but I’m afraid the only thing that was frying was my hard drive.

Here’s where it gets into the good news/bad news battle.  The good news is that having had some problems with my computer a few weeks ago, I was planning to get a new one before long.  The bad news is that it died when I was many hundreds of miles from home, staying in a hotel, without a car.  The good news is that there was a Best Buy about ¾ of a mile away that had a pretty good computer on sale.  The bad news is that they couldn’t salvage anything from my hard drive, and it took them all day to come to that determination.

The worst thing is that I couldn’t – despite tremendous effort – figure out a way to blame someone else for this debacle.  It was all me.  If the toppling cup of fizz had been captured on video, you probably would have laughed.  I know I would have.

It seems like a lot of little things have been happening lately.  Broken eyeglasses, two computer meltdowns, and a cracked crown – the mouth kind, not the head kind.  The trick is, of course, to remember that in none of those incidents has anyone been hurt, and I’m fortunate enough to have the resources to deal with each problem and all the others that came before and will come after.  When things are mostly good the little things really take on more importance than they should.

What have I learned?  You’d think I’d learn that it is a bad idea to have a beverage near a computer, but some quick calculations tell me I’ve gotten away with it approximately 10,000 times during my career so far, and other than some wet papers in the pre-computer days, it has never before been a problem.

Instead I’ve learned that eventually every computer dies, so it pays to make arrangements before it happens.  Come to think of it, eventually we all die too.  But, that’s a much bigger discussion for another day.

Some Notes

I’ve been pretty distracted this last few days, so rather than do a thorough job talking about any one thing, I’m afraid I’ll have to settle for a few words on several topics.  Think of it as the Reader’s Digest condensed version.

First: the awful shootings in Tucson.  The tragedy is overwhelming, and we’re all hopeful that the congresswoman recovers fully.  It would be a miracle, but they do happen now and then.  The days when any three people could have someone temporarily committed to a mental health facility (at least in Wisconsin) were rife with potential for abuse of civil liberties, but we can hardly help but wonder if the pendulum has swung too far in the other direction.  The junior college the shooter attended and the police were aware that he was dangerous, but couldn’t do anything until he did something illegal. 

I’m disappointed in the people who are trying so hard to make the actions of an unbalanced person political fodder.  There is plenty of intemperate language emanating from both sides of the political world, and thinking back to the previous presidency, I have no doubt which side has been the most vitriolic.  Yes, people should be more civil, but no, the First Amendment isn’t pretend.  People who thought President Bush was ruining the country had a right to say so in as strong language as they wished.  The same is true for people who question the current policies.

Second, the reason I’ve been distracted is that my computer decided to go on strike.  I won’t bore you with all the details, but I’ve had to reinstall the operating system, which in automotive lingo means that I had to put in a new engine.

Sadly, that resulted in the loss of everything on the computer.  Fortunately, I had recently backed up my documents, except for my email, which is really where most of the information I need resided.  And, being disorganized, I misplaced my registration numbers for the programs I use, so the people at Microsoft will be wanting me to pay them again pretty soon. 

These services that back everything up on-line may seem expensive, but I’m beginning to think they’re probably a very good value.

Third on my list is our new fridge.  We bought a new one just before Christmas, even though it seemed that the one we had was pretty new.  But, upon thinking about it, we realized it was probably somewhere between 15 and 20 years old. 

It worked perfectly well, except for occasionally freezing everything.  Carrots and milk are especially bad when they’ve been frozen.  It also ran almost all the time, commencing each cycle with a loud “POP!” 

                The new one worries us because it is so quiet.  It hardly ever goes on, and when it does, it’s like a whisper.  We can still have a conversation in the kitchen when it is running.  Cool! 

                Forth, and last, both of our daughters have been hit by other drivers in the last several months.  One driver took off – possibly because of his immigration status – and the other stepped up by taking full responsibility.  Both of our kids will be fine, but it’s a reminder that the many distractions that modern society gives us should really be put aside while we’re driving.  I don’t know if either of the two offenders noted above were texting, talking on the phone, putting on make-up, or whatever, but the point stands. 

Those are my notes on the news.  With Microsoft’s blessings, a more coherent column next week!

New Year of Courage

 How would you react?  That’s the question I ask myself when I read or hear about acts of heroism by regular people.  I don’t think of myself as being particularly brave, but many people who display tremendous courage say, after the fact, that they’re surprised at how they acted.  They didn’t think of themselves as courageous individuals.

A few weeks ago, when the man walked into the Panama City, Florida school board meeting and waved a gun around, the superintendent of schools asked him to let the others go, saying that the guy’s beef was with him.  In other words, he was willing to risk his life in exchange for safety for his colleagues.  The shooter didn’t relent, but fortunately he wasn’t a very good shot, and ended up killing himself after a security officer shot him. 

But just think about the selflessness he demonstrated.  Can you see yourself reacting in the same way?

Most of us aren’t faced with situations like that in our lives, fortunately.  For most people, our courage is shown in less spectacular ways.  Telling the truth when it is difficult, taking responsibility for a error, or making an apology to a loved one can all require a surprising amount of courage.  It’s so much easier to tell a lie, blame someone else, or avoid the person you’ve wronged rather than apologize.

Sometimes it’s especially difficult to have the courage to be honest with ourselves.  If things aren’t going well, it’s much more comfortable to find a thousand reasons that free us from taking personal responsibility.  And, there are often lots of good reasons things aren’t going well, but the only variable we can control is ourselves.

Are we in debt because of credit card companies, or because we bought too much on credit?  Are we overweight because of McDonald’s advertising, or because we go there too often?  Was the test unfair, or didn’t we prepare well enough?

Stages of life bring with them different challenges to our courage.  Students, new parents, and the elderly all need bravery as they face what life throws at them.  Facing cancer must be as frightening as facing an armed gunman, in some ways.  Losing a loved one requires the courage to go on with our lives, and I’m sure that’s not always courage that’s easy to come by.

This new year that’s ahead will provide each of us with many opportunities to display courage.  Most of them will happen when nobody is watching.  Those are the tough ones. 

My New Year’s wish to you is that you face what life hands out with courage, and that doing so will make you happy and successful in all that you do, and proud to have been the one to stand up and do the right thing when it would have been easier not to.

Twenty Years Ago

Twenty years and two weeks ago, December 15^th, my father died.  No matter how many times I look at that sentence, it still doesn’t seem possible.  I wouldn’t say it seems like just yesterday, but it’s hard to believe it has been 20 years.  I don’t feel 20 years older.

On December 11^th he was in good health, but by the 15^th he was gone.  It didn’t seem real then, and I guess it still doesn’t. 

I have been thinking, since that anniversary, about how much I learned from my dad when he was around, but even more, what I’ve learned since his passing.

Back then, I was the father of two little kids.  Now my kids are grown, and I can appreciate how much he enjoyed visits from his grown-up children, and to see how the empty vessels they once were had grown into good, interesting people.  I also now have an understanding of how gratifying it was for him to see his children’s children growing into their own personalities. 

I hadn’t really thought of him as a role model back 20 years ago, but as I have aged, and as my place in life has evolved, I realize what a strong, solid person he was.  When someone compliments me on stepping up to do what’s needed, they are really complimenting him, since he made doing so the only option.  He never talked about it, but he lived it.

My dad always had lots of pursuits outside of his “day job.”  One of them was a quarterly newsletter he put out called, not coincidentally, “Pursuit.”  In the days before personal computers and the Internet, he used a mimeograph machine to print out hundreds of copies, and mailed them to subscribers around the country.  Now, here I am with a weekly newspaper column and a blog.  I never even made the connection between his Pursuit and my pursuits until a year ago.

Perhaps the biggest influence he had on me – another one that I didn’t really attribute to him until fairly recently – was the absolute respect he showed my mother.  I am hopeful that the role modeling he did for me will continue on, and that my daughters demand that same level of respect and loyalty. 

Twenty years is a long time.  The pain of losing my dad has subsided, and it has been replaced by a wistfulness, for the lack of a better word.  I wonder what he would have thought of me as I matured, and I feel bad that he didn’t get to know our children as adults.  I think – no – I know he would be very proud, and very impressed.

With both parents gone now, I do feel a sense of emptiness, and a sense of regret for not having called as often as I should, or being as understanding and accepting of my parents’ foibles as I should have.  But, that’s another lesson they gifted me with, I guess.

Christmas is always a time for memories of those who aren’t with us anymore.  My wish for you is that you join me in appreciating the things in us that came from those loved ones.  They are still here.  They are in us, just as, years from now, we will be present in the people we have influenced.

A person could make the connection between the Christmas story, and the Easter story, and how we live on through others.  But, I’m no theologian, so I’ll just leave it at this: Thanks Dad.

Christmas Shorts

No, this isn’t about boxers with elves and reindeer on them.  Sorry.  Instead, I’d like to share a few stories and thoughts related to this season.

What do we call it?

After years of businesses telling their employees to wish customers “Happy Holidays” in an effort to avoid offending any non-Christians, it seems that the pendulum is swinging in the other direction this year, according to a radio news story I heard last week.

I have to say that I’m comfortable with either “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays.”  There are so many more important things to get worked up about.  It is ironic, though, that Christmas in America is largely a non-religious event, while the word “Holiday” has as its root, the word Holy.   I’m just saying…

Best and Worst Day

On Monday I had to drive to Janesville to get a new headlight bulb for our two year old car.  NAPA didn’t have it on their computer, and since the service department where we bought the car isn’t open on Saturday, I had to take the time on Monday.  Turns out, the bulb was $26, with about that much labor to have it put in.  I was not happy.

But, to counter that, my trip into Madison on Monday to renew my driver’s license was like a wonderful dream come true.  In and out in ten minutes.  I brought a book that I never had the chance to open.  I almost cried tears of joy.

That night, I started to feel a little iffy in the stomach region, but didn’t want to make a big deal of it.  As luck would have it, Monday was a night with an actual meal – not that common at our house – and I was presented with a huge plate of pasta, which looked delicious, but not in my marginal condition.  I had two noodles.  Maybe three.  Then I sat in the recliner until bed time, waiting for my body to settle down.  But, it was Monday, after all.

Helping Hooves

We got a catalog in the mail last week from an organization called Heifer International (www.heifer.org).  It’s a non-profit that helps people in impoverished regions of the world by giving them a sheep, a cow, a goat, a water buffalo, or even tree seedlings, along with training on how to take care of them, and use them for their own subsistence, and to sell the excess to help them escape from poverty.  The catalog is their way of offering people the chance to give a gift of an animal and training to someone in need in lieu of presents under the tree for people who have everything they want already.  I liked what I read, and maybe you will too.

Those are my Christmas shorts.  I hope yours don’t get in a bundle as you make your holiday preparations.

They’re Back!

I believe it was the movie “The Poltergeist,” where a little kid looked at the TV set and announced to her family, “They’re back!”  She is referencing some ghosts who have taken over the family home.  I’ve never seen the movie.  Real life scares me plenty without having to add scary movies to the mix.

Now that the holiday shopping season is here, I find myself looking at our television set and saying the same thing.  “They’re back!”  But, I’m not referring to ghosts – of Christmas past or any other variety.  I’m talking about the TV ads that appear each Christmas season, and then disappear for ten months before reappearing again.

For example, have you ever seen an advertisement for a Norelco shaver at any time other than the pre-Christmas season?  I don’t think so.  Jewelers are another group that really work hard to get our money this time of year.  The message on those ads isn’t very subtle.  There is a definite correlation between giving diamonds and getting, well, (how should I say this in a family-oriented column?) attention of a romantic and physical nature.  Meaning, if a man wants the holidays to be “happy,” he’ll buy the old gal something shiny and expensive.

Speaking of shiny and expensive, do people really give other people cars for Christmas?  If that’s the case, I’ll put a Mercedes on my list.  I guess some people must give and receive new cars, or why else would the car companies make a big deal with ads showing vehicles with giant bows on them every year at this time?  I think $45,000 is a bit much for a Christmas gift. 

Some people are very concerned about the commercialization of Christmas, but it doesn’t really bother me.  I think it’s possible to celebrate the Christian origins of Christmas genuinely and still enjoy buying presents for people – and getting them!  And, I think it’s fine for people who don’t buy the religious underpinnings of the season to get just as carried away with gifts, good will, and warm feelings. 

That being said, I’m glad to be in a family where being together trumps the material gifts we give each other.  I don’t think there will be any diamonds under the tree this year, and I’d feel silly driving a car with a bow on it.  Last year, though, we needed a new TV, so that was my gift for Christmas, my birthday, and our anniversary – all of which fall within a week of each other.  It’s a gift I’ve appreciated all year.

I think advertising plays an important role in our society, showing us products that might be useful for us to have, and helping us compare one product with another in order to make good purchasing decisions. 

But, I do feel a little peeved when Christmas ads set up a paradigm where husbands who don’t buy diamonds, or wives who don’t buy cars, just aren’t up to snuff.  Maybe I’m just cheap.  Come to think of it, that’s a real possibility.

Our Boy Brent

Remember two years ago when some young entrepreneurs started selling t-shirts that said, “We’ll miss you, Brent.”  They were, of course, referring sarcastically to the then just-departed (from the Green Bay Packers, not the planet) Brett Favre.  Since then, Brett has played one season for the New York Jets, and is in his second season with the Minnesota Vikings.

His departure from the Packers was unpleasant.  He retired, decided to come back, then decided not to come back, and eventually was not invited to come back.  Accusations and hard feelings ensued, and perhaps the most popular guy in Wisconsin history became seen by some as a whining ingrate.

Then he retired again, only to irk even more Wisconsinites by signing with the Vikings the next season.  And, he had a great season last year, throwing fewer interceptions than his long-time fans were used to seeing.  Then he didn’t retire, but thought he might. 

As this season has gone for him and the Vikings, he may be wishing he had retired.  Last year’s magic hasn’t been there, and while they aren’t a horrible team, they won’t likely make the playoffs. 

Not only that, but he has admitted writing some sexually oriented text messages to a female staffer when he was with the Jets.  It has been suggested that he also sent her photos of certain parts of his body, but he has denied that.

A lot of Wisconsin fans still support Favre.  Some have sympathy for him.  He looks pretty dejected most of the time, and not like the fun-loving character we came to know and love.  America’s hero has lost some of his sparkle due to the texting accusations, and for arguing with his coaches on the sidelines. 

My take on old Brett is mixed.  I admire the fact that he really likes to compete at the game of football, despite the fact that he has more money than he could ever possibly spend.  But, I also wonder if even he realizes that he would have been much better off staying retired, and earning millions more as a TV analyst.

Michael Jordan went back to basketball after retiring, and trying baseball.  He wasn’t the same player in his last years, and his second retirement was pretty anti-climactic.  I think maybe Favre missed learning a lesson from Jordan’s experience.

Again this year we all think it’s going to be Brett’s last.  Even he seems to know that people are tired of the drama that each training camp brings.  I don’t really care what he does, but I do, in this post-Thanksgiving season, want to remember with appreciation the many years of exciting football he gave us Packer fans while he was in Green Bay.  Short of committing a murder, nothing can take away those fond memories.

Happy Holidays, Brent.

Litter Bugs Me

Sometimes I feel like a significant portion of my life is spent buying and preparing food to go into our three cats, and then dealing with the results of having fed them, if you know what I mean.

All three cats are inside cats, since we live close to a road with cars that go faster than a cat can react.  We know that from the sad experience of having buried two cats over the years. 

So, unlike indoor/outdoor cats, ours are limited in their bathroom choices to using a litter box.  And use it they do.  It might be my imagination, but I get the feeling that they are having an on-going (no pun intended) competition to see who among them can produce the most.

Our old cat is older than 15.  We’re not sure how much older.  He’s afraid of being ambushed by the two younger cats, and sometimes he is afraid to go through the cat-door to the basement where the cat boxes are.  We try to be very attentive and proactive to avoid accidents.  But, even when he makes it down to the cat boxes he sometimes lacks the intelligence to properly aim.  “Thinking outside the box” is sometimes a good thing, but not if you’re a cat.

You may note that I said “cat boxes.”  Plural.  We actually have two big ones and two normal sized ones.  And yet, they always seem to need to be cleaned. 

The input portion of the cycle is less odious, but not that much.  After having some issues with dehydration, we were encouraged to provide some “wet” food with the dry food we had been feeding.  You haven’t lived until you’ve opened a can of cat food.  You can put the fanciest name in the world on a can of cat food, but it still smells like a cross between old fish and sweat socks.

Of course the old cat needs a different kind of food than the new cats, so we have to separate them.  And, not surprisingly, each wants what the other gets.  The grass is greener, as they say. 

Since we live in an old house in the country, the cats also catch a mouse now and then.  They don’t usually eat it.  They just play with it until it wears out.  When we can, we intervene and catch the mouse and take it away from the house and give it another chance at life, though I think most don’t survive long. 

When they do actually eat a mouse, they seem to be inclined to leave a little bit uneaten.  There’s nothing like waking up in the morning to some unknown bit of mouse on the kitchen floor.  We buy paper towels and disinfectant spray by the pallet load. 

So, when I’m not earning a living or trying to keep up the yard, I’m working for our cats.  As someone once said, dogs have masters; cats have “staff.”

But, even though I know that all cats are mostly very self-interested, it is nice, now that the colder days are here, to have a purring cat share a recliner with you while you’re, say, writing a newspaper column or a blog post.

110 Percent

I love to hear coaches and athletes talking about how they have given “110%.”  I understand what they’re trying to say.  Rather than give a normal amount of effort, which would be 100 per cent, they claim that they have put forth so much more effort than normal that they have exceeded 100 percent.  But, I promise you that, despite their statements to the contrary, there effort isn’t more than 100%.  Because, as we know, 100% percent of anything is as much of that thing as there can be.

Speaking of doing more than is possible, last week in an airport I heard an announcer come over the public address system to say that her airline’s flight to London would be taking off 30 minutes later than scheduled, she explained, because of strong tail winds.  She went on to say that they could leave late and still get there on time.  In fact, she claimed they would be flying “faster than possible.”  In other words, they were going to do something impossible.

Fortunately, she herself heard what she said, and quickly corrected it by saying that the speed of the flight would be faster than would possible if the wind conditions had been normal.  Good save.

Exaggerating is a natural thing to do, I think.  I’ve said that a million times.  Or… maybe less than that.  But, what’s interesting about doing ten of something?  We all want to be interesting, and express ourselves with passion.  Living life within normal parameters can’t compare with extreme sports and hyper-caffeinated beverages that are both extreme and awesome.

There are many ways to overstate things.  Somebody might say that they literally turned their house inside out looking for their keys.  I don’t think that’s possible, unless the person lives in a tent.  If they do live in a tent, they may also tell you that they were eaten alive by mosquitoes.  They may have been alive when the mosquitoes bit them, but it’s a bit of a stretch to say the tiny insects actually ate them, since people who have been eaten can’t really tell the story, since they are dead.

One of my favorite things to do is to ask a little kid what the biggest number is, and once they’re responded, I ask what would happen if you added one to that number.  Then that becomes the new biggest number.  As far as I know, that game could go on forever – another overstated word – but the biggest number would never be reached, since there is no biggest number – or at least, not that I know of.

The funny thing is that we keep trying to claim that we can do impossible things, like giving 110 per cent, while at the same time we determine that it would be impossible for us to run a marathon, spend more time with our families, or save up to buy something instead of buying it on credit.

Ironically, if you are paying interest on purchases, you really are paying 110 percent or more than if you paid cash. 

All that aside, I’ve decided that someday I want to fly a plane to London, and get there faster than possible.  Maybe I’ll even arrive before I’ve left.  That would be both extreme and awesome.

Aptly Named State Park

I’m sure there was a gentle breeze floating amongst the falling and fallen leaves, making a wonderfully wistful sound, but unfortunately, I was only able to hear my labored breathing and pounding heart.  The steps… they just kept coming.  Step after craggy stone step.  From up ahead I heard a voice asking if I was all right.  “Yes,” I cheerfully answered.  I lied.

It all started with the innocent suggestion, last Sunday, that we drive over to Devil’s Lake State Park.  It was a beautiful day, and the activity we had planned to undertake had to be scrubbed, so rather than sitting in the recliner watching the Packers, I thought we might take a leisurely stroll in nature.

The drive there was pleasant.  I especially like the ferry ride at Merimack.  Although, I always keep my eyes peeled for the Monitor.  (That was a Civil War navel battle joke, for those keeping score.)  We arrived to find the park office closed, so we headed off in what seemed to be a likely direction for a walk.

The air was cool, but we were dressed for it.  We passed some fisher-persons who were spending their afternoons watching bobbers and catching fish.  We kept walking.  We met some hikers who advised us of a trail up through the wooded hill overlooking the lake.  They were our age or so, and seemed to have survived it okay, so we started up the path, which, if my memory is correct, included around 8,000 steps upward.

I knew I was out of shape.  I didn’t know how badly.  The first thousand or so steps weren’t bad, but somehow the gentle slope we viewed from ground level had become Pike’s Peak.  Finally, we reached a plateau of sorts, and once I regained my ability to breathe normally and stand up straight, I could see that the view was breathtaking.  A perfect fall day in a very nice park.  Large quartzite boulders tinged with pinkish-purple, a very blue sky, and hillsides splashed with browns and yellows and reds of the remaining leaves.

I was thinking of calling Medflight, but instead we carefully worked our way back down the hill.  The steps and rocks were quite slippery due to the dry leaves and the dust they left.  Plus, by that time my legs felt pretty rubbery, and going down a hill works a whole different set of muscles than walking up.  Thanks to gravity, breathing wasn’t a problem, and my heart mostly regained its composure.

The walk back was close to the shore on a semi-paved path through giant boulders.  It’s very impressive, and makes a person think of the power of the glacier that moved those huge stones around. 

All told we probably covered less than five miles.  I’m pleased to say that I didn’t have a heart attack, and if I am smart, it will have served as a good start on an exercise program. 

I’m not sure why that body of water is called Devil’s Lake, but after having taken that leisurely Sunday afternoon hike, I think I might have a pretty good idea.

Garden Post-mortum

I have a piece of paper on the wall near my desk at work on which I printed photographs showing four views of our flower garden from last year.  (See a portion of one of them above.)  The pictures were taken at the peak of color, and nary a weed can be found.  The pictures were taken late afternoon on a beautiful sunny day.  The brick walkway looks great and the wooden bench looks very inviting.

Fast forward to, well, now.  The wood chip walkways have both weeds and volunteer flowers and plants growing in them.  Since the frosts, most of the flowers are dead or in the process of dying.  The brick walkway has weeds growing out of it, and the raspberries that are supposed to be outside of the flower garden have found their way into several of the beds.

 It’s a little frustrating to look at the flower beds now.  You see, last summer’s gardening work was mostly what kept me sane during a difficult time.  When last fall came, I was sad that the gardening season was over, but optimistic about the coming year.

Now the season I looked forward to is virtually done, and in some ways the garden has taken several steps backwards.  There are several reasons it didn’t turn out as well, but none of them are really important.  Well, maybe one: mosquitoes the size of crows.

As I look at the pictures by my desk, I have mixed feelings.  First, I’m pleased at how good the garden looked back when they were taken.  I’m also encouraged that next year can bring a Renaissance

I also realize that photographs aren’t always a true portrayal of reality.  I’m pretty sure that these pictures I see every day intentionally exclude some spots that were far from perfect, and focus in on areas that looked especially good.  It’s only human nature to do that, unless you’re an insurance adjuster or something.

Assuming more weeks of warmish weather, I’m looking forward to putting the flower garden and the vegetable garden to bed for the winter.  Sometime in a few months when the snow blankets over the yard, I’ll start thinking about the new season and things I want to change or improve.

Gardening is such an apt metaphor for so many things in life, including life itself, because it can be measured in seasons, and each one gives us the opportunity to make changes for the better.  And, like the rest of life, there are so many things a gardener can’t control, like heat, cold, rain, drought, and various insects and plant diseases.  Even if you do your best, things don’t always work out well.

I’m not sad that winter is coming, if only because it is a necessary step in the progression to another spring, and the first intoxicating scent of warm, moist soil.  Then the cycle of planting seeds, buying bedding plants, and pulling weeds will begin again.  With hard work and some luck, it will again be a photogenic garden like last year’s was.

Politics as Unusual

I voted last week.  My schedule takes me away from home on election day, so I went down to the town office and cast an absentee ballot right on the spot.  I know it’s hard to imagine, but the political ads become even more annoying once a person’s vote has been cast.

The election of 2008 was very interesting in many ways.  A person of color and a woman battled it out for one nomination, while an elder statesman picked a mostly unknown woman as his running mate in the other party.

And yet, somehow this off-year election is even more interesting in some ways.  The past two years saw one party in complete control of the executive and legislative branch in Washington.  It has happened before in recent years, with Bill Clinton’s first two years and George W. Bush’s first two years.  The difference between the recent two year period and those others is that rather than arguing amongst themselves, the party in power this time took advantage of their power and made many changes in laws.  Even more changes have been made administratively, without the input of the legislators.

This election is an opportunity for people who are pleased with those changes to show their approval, while those unhappy with the changes can let their views be known.  That’s always the case with elections, but the level of support and opposition seems greater for this election than it’s been for years.

Some candidates are denigrating their own party’s leaders in their campaigns.  Others, from both parties, are telling us that they’ve learned their lesson, and will behave differently in the future. 

Negative attack ads by the candidates themselves and groups which support them are filled with insinuations and accusations.  Some are true, some have a grain of truth – but don’t really fairly tell the story – and some are just lies.  Negative ads aren’t new, of course, but are getting more sophisticated.

I heard a political expert say that negative ads aren’t designed to get you to vote for anyone, but rather to encourage you to stay home.  They’d like you to think that all politicians are crooks and liars.  They have so little confidence in their candidates that they want to win by suppressing voter turnout.  So, no matter who you vote for, it will be a vote against negative ads.

When I hear people say that they aren’t going to vote because all politicians are the same, and that it won’t make any difference, I say that they’re being intellectually lazy.  I’ve never known a political leader who did everything I wanted her or him to do, but we have lots of evidence that the people and party in power do make a huge difference.

A week from now the talking heads on TV will all be hoarse from taking excitedly about how the pre-election predictions were right, or weren’t, and what it all means.  I hope you’re not sitting in your recliner at that time thinking, “Gee: maybe I should have voted after all.”

Upon Further Review

Now that the football season is here, we’re once again hearing referees in striped shirts say, “Upon further review, the ruling on the field stands,” or “is overruled.”  The advent of super slow motion instant replay has brought these reviews to the NFL, to college football, NBA basketball, and soon to major league baseball.

The review of plays is seen as necessary because (unlike players, coaches, and fans), referees are not perfect, and sometimes get things wrong.  Of course, refs always have gotten some things wrong.  When I was a kid, a ref getting a call wrong was just part of the game.  It could break your heart sometimes, but we were all taught to respect authority, and people in striped shirts were just that.  In the long run, anybody’s favorite team is likely to benefit from as many bad calls as there are calls that cost them.  But, we tend not to remember the good breaks that go our way.

Most of the time an error by an official doesn’t impact the result of a game, but sometimes it does.  In those cases, it seems like a good idea to review the call.  Honestly, I don’t object to the idea of coaches or an official in a booth having the ability to review questionable calls.  I wonder sometimes if the reason people are seeking perfection from refs is the amount of money that rides on the outcome of games, due to the huge amount of illegal and legal gambling. 

The idea of taking a second look at something is an appealing one.  After all, if you get a traffic ticket, you can challenge that ruling in court.  If you think about it, divorce is a way to take a second look at a marriage.  A husband or wife can challenge that they should be married, and upon further review, the ruling in the church can be overruled.

Every election is an opportunity to review the actions of the people we elected the last time, and to possibly overturn the results of that election.  Incumbents historically have a big advantage over challengers, I guess because people are more comfortable with the familiar.  If enough people are unhappy, though, the “further review” can mean a lot of changes.

In the NFL, though, only 39% of the challenges are upheld, meaning that officials tend to get things right more often than we think.  People who study such things say that people who challenge their marriages and get divorced aren’t necessarily right either.  Over time, people who consider divorce, but don’t get one, report being generally happier than those who do.  That doesn’t mean that most every marriage doesn’t deserve the occasional critical evaluation.  It’s what people do with the results of that evaluation that makes the difference.

The same can be said about elections.  Voting yea or nay based on TV commercials doesn’t’make sense.  We have to critically evaluate the actions of the candidates in order to overrule or confirm.  It’s not often that people spend as much time and energy analyzing the performance of their elected officials as they do evaluating the refs on TV on Sunday afternoons.  Upon further review, maybe we should.

Judging Covers of Books

I know we’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover, and yet, publishers pay thousands of dollars to designers to come up with a cover that we can’t resist.  Go figure.

As someone who is in the process of trying to get some books published (perhaps a never-ending process) I’ve been paying more attention to authors.  A lot of female authors’ photos on the jackets of the books they’ve written, seem to show someone who is very much in control.  There is usually a smile, but it is measured.

Photos of male authors often show someone who seems a little bored with the whole thing.  And, the proportion of published male authors with beards is MUCH higher than males in the general population.  I think it’s the influence of Ernest Hemmingway. 

I’ve had a beard several times in my life, including one 14 year stint.  I’m thinking that it’s time to grow one again, in the event that a publisher is looking for a photo for the liner notes on my book.  It may be wishful thinking, but it takes me a while to grow a beard, so I should plan ahead.

My father was not big on beards.  Maybe it was because Lenin had one, or because beards were popular with beat-nicks, and later hippies.  He didn’t say he hated the beard I had, but was glad I kept it trimmed neatly.

It’s funny, but making the conscious decision to grow a beard or a moustache, or to get a piercing in an eyebrow, or a tattoo on one’s neck – well, they are all things people do on purpose.  It would seem that people do these things in order to be noticed, and because those things make a statement about who they are and what they stand for.

And yet, someone with a full beard – let’s say it is braided – 50 facial piercings and a tattoo of Che on his forehead will be the first to say, “Hey, man: don’t judge me by how I look!”

The thing is, we can’t help it.  If I see a guy in a $2,000 suit, manicured nails and a perfect hair cut, I’m likely to draw some conclusions from that guy too.  And, a woman who is showing the maximum possible cleavage has also made a conscious decision to do that, and while my primitive brain responds to that in a happy way, it’s impossible not to draw some conclusions about that person.

It must be said, though, that all of the above are surface indications, and while it’s hard not to make some judgments, it’s also true that the porcupined guy with the big beard and tattoo might be a very reasonable, businesslike individual with a 401-K and sensible shoes.  In fact, he may be politically conservative.  Likewise, the guy in the business suit may be in debt up to his eyeballs, partly due to an out-of-control cocaine habit.

Maybe the thing to do is alter the saying:  “Judge a book by its cover, but then open it up to see if you were right.”  That doesn’t seem quite right either.  It’s hard to be open minded when our experiences want to make us jump to conclusions.  And yet, we owe it to books and people to do just that.  We may be surprised on both counts.

Electric Light Out

“LONDON (Reuters) – A giant bale of hay has killed a founding member of the Electric Light Orchestra (ELO) band after it tumbled down a hill and crashed into his van.  Cellist Mike Edwards, 62, died after the 600 kg (1,323 lb) bale rolled down a steep field in Devon, southern England, smashed through a hedge and careered on to the road.”

The above news story is from September 7^th, and is just too interesting to let pass without some sort of discussion.  I mean, really!  What are the chances of being killed by a rogue hay bale while driving through scenic southern England?

The band – Electric Light Orchestra – was unlikely in and of itself.  In the guitar-heavy world of rock music, they merged guitars and synthesizers with violins, violas, cellos, and basses.  Inspired by some of the orchestrations of later Beatles’ music, they did pretty well for themselves with hits like, “Evil Woman,” “Can’t Get it Out of My Head,” “Strange Magic,” and many others. 

Mike Edwards himself played cello for ELO for only two years.  In later life he changed his name to Pramada, which, according to the sometimes reliable Wikipedia web site means, “divine contentment.” 

I remember reading years ago about a guy who had won the California lottery twice.  A statistician was quoted as saying the odds of winning twice were about the same as being hit by a piece of space debris.  I think being hit by a wayward hay bale is more likely than being hit by space debris, but not by much.

It makes you think, though.  I didn’t know Pramada/Mike, but the orchestral string players I’ve known weren’t crazy, risk-taking types.  I’ll bet he flossed daily, minded his cholesterol, locked his doors at night, and drove his car at a safe speed – ironic, if you figure that hay bale would have missed him if he had been going a few miles per hour faster.

Just as a baseball manager will usually walk a batter if there are runners on second and third base and less than two outs, we all play the odds every day.  We take small risks without hesitation, and big ones if we think the payoff will be worth the potentially bad outcomes.

We can improve our chances of living longer if we take fewer risks with our health and our behavior, but if there’s a big, round hay bale out there with your name on it, it’s going to find you. 

As with many things in life, the trick is to find the balance between taking good care of yourself and enjoying a full and rich life.  Some people are so careful that they stay at home all the time, and don’t risk the hay bale cause of death.  Those people are called agoraphobics, and their fear of the outside world might lead them to live a long time, but at what cost?

There seem to be more questions than definitive answers spawned by this man’s unusual death.  In case you missed it, I wanted to shine some (electric) light on it.  Now that we’ve done that, keep your eyes peeled for hay bales.

A Close Shave

I had a close shave related to an airplane trip last week.  It wasn’t a “near miss” as some people call it when two planes are dangerously close together.  If you think about it, the term should be “near hit,” not near miss.  A crash would be a near miss.

Anyway, the close shave I had resulted from a repair to the airliner we were to take out of Detroit.  By the time the plane was fixed, we ended getting in to Salt Lake City too late to make connections.  So, I had to stay in Salt Lake City for the night, and then caught the first flight out the next morning.

Honestly, it wasn’t too bad.  Delta even provided a small over-night kit with a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, a brush, and – here’s where it gets scary – a disposable razor.

Over my lifetime the art of shaving has changed a lot.  When I started shaving in high school, I used what was called a “safety razor.”  The blades were two-sided, and you slipped them into the razor itself and could make closeness adjustments.

Since then, the twin blade shaver was invented.  My dad, who was not easily impressed by such thing, thought the twin blade units were great.  Well, as these things play out, soon the double blade was replaced by the triple blade, then the quadruple blade, and I think there may even be a quintuple bladed razor.  They’ve added various anti-friction stuff to them, and one even vibrates as a result of coming battery powered.

At home I use a relic three-blade unit.  When I travel, I buy disposables, which really work pretty well.  I can’t say the same thing about the razor I got in my Delta packet.  I started to shave and realized two things were happening.  First, I noticed that the blades were leaving about half a day’s growth.  Fortunately, I’m not one of those black bearded sorts, so it didn’t look good, but it didn’t look horrible either.  The second thing I noticed was that ever millimeter of shaving that I did hurt like crazy.  Tear started to stream out of my eyes as I shaved.  I wasn’t sad, but just in pain.

To add injury to insult, when I took a quick swipe with the razor blade to the spot on my ear where old-guy hair is starting to grow, I ended up taking out a small chuck of skin, so I had to shove some tissue in my ear to soak up the blood. 

So, the headline above should have been something about a not-very-close shave that was very painful, but who would want to read that?

Personally, I never complain when there’s a delay due to fixing a plane.  I don’t want to be at 33,000 feet in a plane that is broken.  Call me crazy.  And, it was nice that they gave us those kits with supplies.  It even included a big t-shirt for use as a nightgown. 

From now on, I’m going to carry a disposable razor in my briefcase, along with a tightly folded pair of briefs and a toothbrush.  Then I’ll be ready for almost anything that requires a smooth face, clean teeth, and underwear.

The Garden of Weedin’

One of my favorite sayings is, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”  According to Wikipedia, a sometimes reliable source, the saying is attributed to ”Saint Bernard of Clairvaux who wrote, “L’enfer est plein de bonnes volontés et désirs” (hell is full of good wishes and desires).”

I think the reason I like that saying so much is that it applies to much in my life.  My intentions are always heart-felt, and yet often not acted upon.  I’ve paved more roads than Democrat counties after the stimulus bill.

One good intention for the summer was to keep up with the weeds in the gardens.  And, for quite a while I was successful.  Then it got really hot, and I got frustrated with not being able to see, due to the steady stream of sweat that smeared over my glasses.

Then the invasion of mosquitoes began, and, well, you know.  I don’t hate many things in life, but mosquitoes rise to that level of dislike. 

I have to admit, though, that my general laziness was a factor too.  There is always other work to do, trips to take, movies to see, email to read…  In a weak defense, however, I’d have to say that if we lived in San Diego, where there are no mosquitoes, and where it rarely gets hot, our gardens would be weed free at this point.  At least that’s what I’m claiming.

I did spend a couple of hours weeding on Saturday, since it was just breezy enough to make the spraying of Off I applied effective.  I pulled enough weeds to make a pile the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.  Not really, but I liked the imagery.  It was a big pile, though.  Another 12 hours and the vegetable garden will be weeded.  Then: the flower garden.  I heard those weeds mocking me Saturday, so I averted my gaze so as not to provoke them any further.

Frankly, I don’t even want to talk about the thistles in the pastures.  As beautiful as “thistledown” is floating on the summer breeze, each seed means more thistles next year. 

Paving the road to Hell is something I’m good at, but in my own defense I should point out that not all my good intentions go undone.  It’s just that the garden is so visible, and the weeds so big!

Eventually the mosquitoes will die, and guilt and the threat of winter will get me out there to clean things up to get ready for next spring.  In the meantime, I think the answer is to leave home each morning before sun up, and return each evening after dark. 

Another great saying: “Out of sight, out of mind.”

One Day in the News

I usually start my day at work by looking at a few news sources online.  Some days it strikes me that the world is a wonderful place, and other days I want to crawl under my desk and assume the fetal position.

On one particular Monday I looked at the yahoo.com news.  I thought I’d share a few of the stories that caught my interest, along with my thoughts on each of them.

L.A. Unveils $578 Million School: Costliest in Nation

This story was almost breathtaking, given what we all know about California’s budget situation.  The article quoted one person who was delighted with the architecture, the marble statue, and the groomed park at the school.  Another person wondered why the taxpayers should invest so much in a school system with a 50% graduation rate.  Good question.   Also, the story noted that 3,000 teachers have been laid off in the past year.

China’s Nine-Day Traffic Jam Stretches 100KM

“The Beijing-Tibet expressway slowed to a crawl on August 14 due to a spike in traffic by cargo-bearing heavy trucks heading to the capital, and compounded by road maintenance work that began five days later, the Global Times said.”  Boy!  That’s some traffic jam.  Apparently a mini-economy has sprung up as locals started selling food and water at inflated prices to those stuck in the traffic jam.  I guess we’re spoiled, but if I have to wait 30 seconds to make a left turn onto Main Street, I get a little impatient.

Holiday Over for French President Sarkozy

This story highlights the struggles of that Country’s president, and his effort to get re-elected.  He recently started an initiative to break up camps of Gypsies in France, calling the camps sources of trafficking, exploitation, and prostitution.   Although what he said is most likely true, Western Europeans are understandably sensitive about rounding up groups of people based on their ethnicity.

Also in the article it is explained that he’s getting a lot of opposition for his plan to try to save the French government from going broke by raising the retirement age to – are you sitting down? – 62.  That monster!

U.K. Reality TV Show Branded “Freak Show”

I’ve never been a fan of reality shows, but this one takes the cake.  Two people – one disfigured, and the other attractive – live together in a house filled with mirrors as the cameras roll.  Two observations: 1. This only proves that people will do almost anything for money and fame.  2. Since most of our U.S. reality shows started in England or Japan, look for something similar to hit our airwaves soon. 

Brad Pitt Willing To Look At Death Penalty In Bizarre Rant Against BP

This story comes from the London Daily Mail, so that may explain why they seem unhappy about an American actor voicing an opinion about killing British corporate executives.  I’m sure there are some people who agree with Mr. Pitt, except for the likelihood that people of that opinion would be violently opposed to the death penalty.

Anyway, that’s our tour of the news for one Monday.  By the time you read this I’m sure there will be many more interesting stories that have emerged.  I plan to check the news every day until I retire.  I suspect our retirement age will soon be moved to 68, so maybe I’ll move to France.

It’s Complicated

Those using Facebook to network with friends are asked to provide some information about themselves, if they want to.  One category is “relationship status.”  Along with “single,” “married,” and “in a relationship,” there is a choice called, “It’s complicated.”

Every time I see that choice, I realize that very few relationships are uncomplicated, including the relationship we have with the United States constitution and the other founding documents.

Most recently we’ve had the dispute about the mosque that a Muslim group wants to build near the site of the World Trade Center attacks of September 11^th, 2001.  Most people think it’s a bad idea, but as President Obama said, our freedom of religion protects their right to build it. 

I think that’s true, but it is also complicated.  A lot of religious freedom issues are complicated.  There is an ongoing debate about whether there should be a separation of church and state.  Some say that’s what the founders intended, while others point out that a number of the original states had state religions.  Pennsylvania isn’t called the “Quaker State” because of the oil, you know.

The courts are often put in the position of deciding what is, or isn’t a valid religion.  If you or I decide to start a religion tomorrow, for tax benefit or in order to use otherwise illegal drugs, we probably won’t be given status as a church.  And yet, churches like The Church of Scientology are seen by some as cults, and not churches.  At the same time, some atheists might see mainstream religions as cult-like.

Native American religions are given the freedom to use hallucinogenic mushrooms as part of their rites, and some Christian-based sects use poisonous snakes.  Things that don’t make sense in society as a whole are sometimes allowed under the protections of freedom of religion.

Elements of many churches have embraced hatred and violence, but their religious status doesn’t protect them from laws that they break.  Hating people isn’t illegal, unless people act on their hatred.

That brings us back to the Mosque in Manhattan.  And, once again, it’s complicated.  My thinking is that the civilized world isn’t at war with Islam, but rather with a radicalized sub-sect of Islam.  So, just as the Ku Klux Klan saw themselves as Christian based, radical Islam uses Muslim teachings as justification for their actions. 

So, who is it that wants to build the Mosque?  Where is the money coming from?  Is it a peace-loving Muslim group, or are they more in synch with the radical elements who attacked us on 9-11 and continue to attack us at every opportunity?  I’m sure we wouldn’t approve of a Klan “church” near the sight of a fire-bombed black community center.

I understand why some people want the Mosque not to be built near the site of the attack, and I understand why the argument is being made that it’s their right to do so.  I also understand that it is much more complicated than either side will admit.

Down a Quart

Summer is a wonderful time of year to be outside.  It’s warm, breezy, and the days are long.  Of course, there is one little tiny thing.  Actually, lots of little tiny things.  Mosquitoes.

Thanks to the oversupply of rain this summer, we’ve been cursed with more mosquitoes than most people can remember.  Although, it’s hard to remember anything while you’re itching and scratching from head to toe.  Especially between your toes. 

The authorities make the brilliant suggestion to avoid getting mosquito bites, due to the potential of acquiring various diseases.  Among the worst are encephalitis, West Nile virus, malaria, yellow fever, and dengue fever.  We only have the first two around here, but the point is, mosquitoes are very good at sucking diseased blood out of someone or something and injecting it into someone else.

The problem is, avoiding getting mosquito bites is more easily said than done.  The chemical that goes by the name of “deet” does a pretty good job of keeping mosquitoes away, but it also does a good job of getting into our eyes and lungs.  There’s nothing like a cocktail of mosquito repellant, sunscreen and sweat to make your eyes sting.

Some people say that taking vitamin B1 causes us to be unappetizing to mosquitoes.  I’ve never tried it, but somehow I have my doubt that the solution could be that simple.  I may buy some, though, because if it works, it would be a great discovery.

The other option is to avoid mosquitoes.  The easiest way to do that is to move to San Diego.  Other than that, you can stay inside, assuming that nobody ever comes or goes from your house, since the most temporary opening of a door will let in a dozen of the little buggers. 

Since mosquitoes are attracted by vapors we emit (I won’t go into detail), you can also remain motionless at all times.  Frankly, I think they’d figure it out eventually, and you’d be a casualty of their little proboscises, poking through your epidermis (translation: pointy things poking into your skin).

Fortunately for us, we live in a part of the world where malaria and dengue fever are not a worry, though a couple of cases of dengue fever have been reported in Key West this year.  From what people say, people who survive dengue fever report it as being extraordinarily painful.  It makes a few days of itching seem pretty minor.

If we have a few dry weeks, perhaps the mosquito problem will become less of one.  If not, the only hope for us is an early, hard frost, which will also mean the end to our vegetable gardens and flowers, so that’s not something we want to wish for.

I’ve found that it’s helpful to try to put a good spin on things that don’t seem to have an up-side.  To that end, I’d like to suggest that we look at the mosquito infestation as the newest diet plan.  An hour outside may result in the loss of a pound’s worth of blood.  And, not only that, but you’ll also feel too weak to eat when you crawl back into the house in search of calamine and Benydryl.

Non-trivial Pursuit

I know a little about a lot of things.  That’s not bragging, but it’s the truth.  The reason it isn’t bragging is that I don’t know a lot about most things.  For example, I know that there is a quadratic equation in math, but I have no idea what it is.  I know that Iceland is more green than Greenland, but I’m not sure I could identify each properly on a map.

So, games like Trivial Pursuit are fun for me, even though I get some easy questions wrong.  Mainly, I like the question about Lake Titicaca which is on the border between Bolivia and Peru.  I just like saying the name.

I was once invited to appear on a radio trivia contest.  Twice, actually.  My colleague, Norman Gilliland, who hosts an old-time radio program on Wisconsin Public Radio at 8pm Sunday nights, had occasional trivia contests in the studio.  I wasn’t there because I was smart, but because he needed a few contestants, and I was just down the hall when he was looking for one.

The questions were on general topics, so I did pretty well.  I think I won both times, but I don’t remember.  I do remember not knowing how many feet there are in a mile, or how many teaspoons there are in a tablespoon.  To be honest with you, I still don’t know.

Recently I was invited to be on a trivia team at a bar in Arlington, Virginia.  My daughter and her friends have a team, and most of the team wasn’t available that night, so she invited me to play.  I was in town, so, once again, I was figuratively “just down the hall.”

Our team did pretty well.  I think I added some answers that the others didn’t know, and they knew some things I didn’t know.  The game progressed very slowly, in order to ensure that plenty of drinks were sold, I imagine.  When it was over, I remember thinking that I wished there were more questions.

Here are some: Who recorded the song “1432 Franklin Park Circle Hero?”  Bobby Douglas.  What is the northern-most portion of the contiguous United States?  The Angle Inlet in Minnesota.  What famous singer was an extra in the Beatles’ movie, “A Hard Day’s Night?”  Phil Collins.  Who was the switch-hitting shortstop for the 1972 Chicago Cubs?  Don Kessinger.  Which of his team mates was the son of a game show host (Hollywood Squares)?  Pete LaCock, who was the son of Peter Marshall.

I could go on and on with useless information, and yet, I am often stumped by the $5,000 question on “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?”  On “Jeopardy” I get maybe one question right out of five, but I don’t think I’d beat the other contestants at hitting the buzzer button.  Some of those people are scary smart.

In order to keep this column about trivia from being completely trivial, I must say that my best memories of playing Trivial Pursuit at home, and my recent trivia contest at the bar, are spending the time with the other players – mostly my family.  As time goes on, it’s more and more clear how un-trivial that time spent together turns out to be.  That’s something I know for sure.

No Idea

Sometimes when I sit down to write this column I’m excited by an idea that I can’t wait to put into words.  Other times I have a shred of an idea that I hope to be able to expand to 400 or so words.   Sometimes, I have many things on my mind that I could write about, but I don’t want to.

For example, some topics are too personal to share, either for me or for the other people who might be embarrassed by a story I’d tell.  Some topics are too political.  There’s nothing wrong with writing political columns, but I don’t see that as being what my column is about.

This week I find myself sitting and pondering what to write about, since all that is on my mind is either too personal or too political or something I’ve written about before.  I think I’m coming up on 15 years of doing these columns 52 times per year, so a lot of my ideas have been done once, or (gasp!) maybe even twice.

Before her retirement and subsequent death, Ann Landers got in trouble for re-running columns from the past.  I guess her advice to a young woman who wanted to have an affair with her boss didn’t really change from 1964 to 1994.  She apologized, and kept doing it, (Ann Landers, not the woman having the affair), but she referred to her re-runs as “The Best of Ann Landers” which made it okay. 

In Hollywood, an absence of new ideas results in re-making movies that were successful in the past.  Sometimes they take a cartoon and make it live action, or sometimes the other way around.  On television, a lack of new ideas results in most situation comedy plots being derivative of the “I Love Lucy” shows of the 1950’s and 1960’s.  In the program “Will and Grace” it seemed that the role of Lucy was shared by Jack and Grace, but Will was always Ricky.

A lot of rock and roll songs are “covers” of previous hits.  Some songs, like “You’ve Got A Friend” were hits for two different people at about the same time.  Some songs, like “Hooked on a Feelin’” shouldn’t have been remade.  Think “Ooga-chucka.”

Jon Davis, the guy who does the cartoon “Garfield” has a real problem.  He must have run out of ideas about 20 years ago, but they pay him a ton of money to keep doing the cartoon, so he just keeps turning them out.  An enterprising fan started putting Garfield strips on his web site, minus Garfield and Odie.  Jon is the only character you see.  You can see these at http://garfieldminusgarfield.net/.  It turns Garfield into an existential comic strip.  Apparently Jon Davis doesn’t mind what this guy is doing, which I think is very cool.

Anyway, I can’t think of an idea this week, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to write a column.  It’s really too bad, since I take a lot of pride in writing something for you every week.  With any luck at all, I’ll be able to come up with a fresh, new idea next week.  Or, maybe I’ll mow over my wallet again.  That was good for a lot of laughs.

Door County Fun

Last weekend we spent a couple of days in Door County, Wisconsin.  It should have been named “Thumb County,” due to its position on the mitten that is Wisconsin, but nobody asked me my thoughts on the matter, and it’s probably too late to make the change.

Not surprisingly, a lot of other people also ventured to Door County for the weekend.  In the main tourist towns there were tons of cars, bikes, and pedestrians trying to avoid coming into contact with each other.  Off the beaten path, though, the rural Door County roads were sparsely traveled and pleasant. 

Friday evening we were tired and hungry when we arrived, and it was late enough that our restaurant choices were limited.  We went to a place called the Post Office, which apparently once was one.  Their menu consisted of a Door County fish boil, or, if you were difficult to please, they’d find something else for you.

I’ve had a problem with fish boils.  First, it’s the name.  I know what a boil is, and if a fish has a boil, it should go to the doctor like anybody else.  It’s like cured ham: who wants ham that was sick in the first place?  The other thing about a fish boil is that sometimes the fish and potatoes and onions taste a little like a gas station, since the kerosene doesn’t always burn off all the way. 

But, this time it was very tasty, and the portions were really large.  I was still full at breakfast time the next day, but I had some anyway.  After breakfast we went to an art show/tractor show.  There were some great old tractors and some interesting art.  We spent some time by the water, which isn’t hard to do on a peninsula, and took a drive through Peninsula State Park, where we came upon someone wearing a gorilla suit waving at the cars going by.  I think it was Medium Foot, because he wasn’t that big.

We dropped in on some friends who moved up to Door County a couple of years ago.  They live on a small farm, and apparently they’re raising mosquitoes, and doing a very good job of it.  We went to dinner with them at a non-touristy place, and tried to replace the food and fluids that the little demon mosquitoes had sucked out of us.

On Sunday we hit some shops and managed not to buy much, and had lunch at Al Johnson’s restaurant – the place with the sod roof which is home to some goats.  They weren’t out, though, because they apparently don’t much care for the rain.

On the way out of the Door (couldn’t resist it) we made about 37 stops at roadside stands looking for a bucket of cherries to take home.  Life may be just a bowl of cherries, but not late on a Sunday afternoon in Door County.  After a wild goose chase down the wrong road we finally found a place that had some freshly picked cherries and headed south to the mainland of Wisconsin.

It’s really a beautiful place, that Door County.  I’m sure the autumn and spring weekdays are extremely pleasant there, since most tourists come on the weekends in those months.  I would think winters must be kind of rough, but then again, that’s the case anywhere in Wisconsin. 

You know, I think they really should change the name to Thumb County after all, and use their thumbs to squish the mosquitoes.

Ordinary Small People

Everybody who heard Carl-Henric Svanberg, chairman of BP, refer to some of those impacted by the oil spill as “small people” must have rolled their eyes.  I know I did.   They’re just now back in place, after getting stuck in the “up” position. 

I felt a little sorry for the guy.  Thinking in one language and speaking in another can’t be easy, and while I’m sure we all know what he meant, the way it came out was pretty elitist and condescending.

I was at a conference last week at which there was a very interesting speaker.  He was very articulate and intellectually stimulating.  For perspective, he referenced a chat he had in the oval office with President Obama the day before.  So, he is clearly someone with some significant status.

You may be wondering what the “small people” comment has to do with the speaker I heard.  Well, at one point, he said to those in attendance – people in the media business — that we need to do more to communicate with “ordinary people.” 

That struck a nerve with me.  The implication was that up until now, we’ve been communicating to extraordinary people, and that somehow the ordinary members of society just haven’t been able to understand or appreciate our extraordinary message.  We need to think of ways to make it more ordinary for them.

My immediate thought was that there is little difference between the use of the words “small” and “ordinary.”  In both cases, the speaker is making a value judgment about people – either in economic terms or intellectual terms.  In both cases that differentiation is condescending, and implies a gap of worth among people.

It’s obviously true that some people are smarter than others, some are wealthier than others, and as far as that goes, some are more athletically, musically, or artistically gifted than others.  Some people do more with the tools they’ve been given, and some have great potential that goes unrealized.  All that is true.  But, to refer to a segment of society as “small” or “ordinary” is, at best, insensitive.

I was thinking about all this, and a song by John Legend came to mind.  In that song, he is singing as someone who exhorts his wife or girlfriend to keep a cool head in their relationship because they’re “…just ordinary people” who don’t have all the answers, who aren’t perfect, and who need to work hard to make things last. 

In that context I guess we’re all ordinary people.  No matter what great skills or deficits we have, and no matter how wealthy or poor we are, we’re just people, with our share of shortcomings and positive attributes. 

There’s a little part of my brain that wonders if it’s small for someone to think they’re not ordinary, and somehow superior to the masses.  I think I’ll let some extraordinary person decide.

A Week in the News

A few weeks ago there were a number of interesting news items that were worthy of note.  Senator Robert Byrd expired that week.  At 92, he had served in the Senate longer than anybody.  He brought billions of tax dollars to his home state of West Virginia.  Despite that, West Virginia is still a poor state.  He was once a member of the Ku Klux Klan, though he expressed regret about that.  He seemed to be a very sincere man.

Alan Poindexter (That’s really his name.  I’m not kidding), a NASA commander, was quoted as saying that sexual relations are not allowed on the international space station.  Somehow I’m both relieved and disappointed at that news. 

In Wisconsin that week, Vice President Biden showed what a good guy he is by working for a few minutes at a frozen custard restaurant.  The owner commented that it would be good if Biden could help lower taxes.  Biden suggested that the owner shouldn’t be such a smart aleck, though he didn’t use the word “aleck.”  The exchange seemed to be mostly in fun, and the White House was probably relieved that Biden didn’t use the F-word, as he did on-mic when commenting to the president as the health care bill was about to be signed.  Joe is good for at least one news note per week.

A drunk driver in New Zealand crashed, and was trapped in his car.  So, he did the only reasonable thing: he opened another beer while waiting for help. 

A county board member in Milwaukee who, while speaking about the Arizona law that allows police to inquire about the immigration status of people who are stopped for an infraction of another law, said it would be understandable to have such a law if Arizona were actually located on the Mexican border.  I don’t know if she’s a product of the Milwaukee Public Schools or not.

A Portland massage therapist is accusing Al Gore of seeking warming below the equator.  Who knows if she’s just making it up or not, but I couldn’t resist the joke. 

Headline from www.people.com: “Susan Sarandon planning ping-pong reality show.”  God help us.

The umpire who blew the call that ruined a pitcher’s perfect game that week was very happy to see that, compared to the World Cup soccer referees, he is actually very good.  I predict that the United States will win the World Cup the same year that Argentina wins the World Series.

So, to summarize: the best gig for a massage therapist may be on the international space station, where one can clearly see through the port holes that Arizona is indeed right next to Mexico, and that the non-goal was in by a good two feet.  Come to think of it, a show about ping-pong in outer space might be interesting after all.  Have another beer, but don’t be a smart aleck.

Voting With Our Wallets

It’s getting hard to know where to buy our gas.  The BP company, by all accounts, was running a sub-standard operation in the gulf.  The other oil company executives who testified in front of Congress were quick to say that their firms would never have approved the procedures that were followed on the ill-fated BP rig.  The fact that their rigs haven’t had problems lends some credence to their testimony.

So, since we have the power to vote with our wallets, it’s tempting to avoid buying BP gas for our cars.  That’s where it gets tricky.

The Citgo company is the national oil company of Hugo Chavez, the totalitarian leader of Venezuela, who has eliminated his political opposition, nationalized companies, and does whatever he can to foment revolution in Central and South America.  I don’t feel good supporting him.

Exxon-Mobil was the culprit in the Exon-Valdez oil spill.  While much of the wildlife has recovered from that horrible disaster, some species have never returned, and may not.  Who wants to buy gas from them?  And, since Exxon-Mobil is the biggest, I believe, when times are good they make enormous amounts of money, (even though as a percentage of their sales their profits are pretty modest – under 10%).

I don’t know which company was responsible for the Santa Barbara oil spill back in 1969.  There was a big oil spill off the Mexican coast years ago.  I’ve heard it said that the Nigerian oil fields are poorly run and often leak large quantities of crude.  It would be difficult to find an oil company that hasn’t experienced multiple spills of greater or lesser extent.

Mostly, oil is a commodity, and I’m not so sure anybody could tell you what oil company explored for, drilled for, refined, or delivered the gasoline you buy at any gas station.  So, when we decide to punish an oil company by not buying oil at one of their name-brand gas stations, I suspect we’re mostly punishing the owner of the station, which is often a local business person who makes very little profit per gallon of gas.

I hear the sound of some readers saying, “well, that’s why we shouldn’t drive cars, heat our homes, generate electricity, or operate factories with oil or natural gas.”  That may be a noble objective, but despite efforts currently underway to promote non-fossil fuels, the world economy depends, and will depend for many years, on oil and natural gas.  And, during a continuing global financial crisis, abrupt increases in energy taxes or other regulations to contain use of fossil fuels will likely result in the loss of more jobs. 

We could also point out that deep-water drilling is done instead of safer shallow-water, or on-land drilling, because the government won’t issue permits for these types of drilling.  And, during the current shut-down of rigs in the gulf, our less-environmentally sensitive competitors, like Brazil and Viet Nam, of all places, will be happy to jump in and lease those rigs for their own drilling.

BP has promised to pay for the damage it has caused, and I hope they mean it, and that they aren’t driven into bankruptcy before every legitimate claim is paid.  Realistically, there is probably no way to un-do some of the damage they’ve done.  I know we all hope things come back to nearly normal soon in the gulf, and perhaps enough lessons will be learned from this disaster to help prevent future problems.

And, we can also hope the administration, and future administrations, will learn to better respond to debacles such as the oil spill, and how to better monitor their regulatory agencies to make sure they’re doing their jobs properly.  The government shouldn’t be an enemy of private enterprise, but it shouldn’t be negligent in its duty to regulate in industries where such horrible damage can occur if oversight isn’t sufficient.

So, in terms of what we can do, I guess we can vote with our wallets, or with our feet – walking where we’d normally drive.  Or, we can support organizations that are working to save the wildlife and habitat that’s being damaged.

Let It (Them) Be

Psychologists like to use word association exercises to break through our defenses and learn things about us that we wouldn’t otherwise divulge.  The idea is that by making us respond quickly to key words, our brains will respond without the filter we normally use in conversation.  The psychologist says “Dog,” you say, “Cat.”  She says “Up,” and you say, “Down.  She says “manipulative,” you say, “mother.”  Hmmm… it seems that we’ve discovered something.

Anyway, I’d bet that for most people if you said, “Bee,” they’d say, “Sting.”  Even though bees also do an amazing job of pollinating our crops and provide honey for us, we’re all a little wary of them.  Or at least most people are.  Bee keepers use a combination of knowledge and courage to help their bees flourish.

We know a few people that keep bees. Honey bees, to be exact.  For various reasons, bees have had a hard time of things since a certain mite emerged in the 1980’s.  That mite, plus pesticide and habitat issues have made being a bee challenging.  But, commercial breeders provide replacement bees for farmers and honey producers, so in addition to truly wild bees, there are semi-domesticated bees too.

Our apiarist friends (beekeepers) were talking with us about bees last year, and about how they had found a swarm of bees, and collected them in their own man-made hives.  It turns out that the word swarm is both a verb and a noun.  When a hive gets too crowded, a queen will leave that hive, causing a swarm of bees who follow her to a new location, which is found by “scout” bees. 

Last week I was mowing the lawn in our yard when I nearly came face to face with a swarm of honey bees on one of our bushes.  With the help of one of our friends, who we summoned by phone, they were soon gathered into a hive he brought over.  Before long, they seemed acclimated to their new home.  The next day, we discovered another swarm of bees who had made themselves at home in a hollow in one of our trees.

I was struck with the compelling desire to walk around under the tree with an umbrella and a honey jar.  But, I reconsidered when I remembered how that particular Winnie the Pooh story ended.  I don’t think I’d be a very good bee keeper, for the same reason I don’t juggle knives or get tattoos.  Sharp pain isn’t a preference of mine.

That being said, I’m glad to have all those bees up in the tree at our place.   They’ll pollinate our corn and apple trees and raspberries, not to mention the farm crops around us.  Besides, maybe their work ethic will rub off on me.

Party Time

There was quite a party at our place one night last week.  We weren’t invited, but judging from the clean-up the next day, the guests had a wonderful time.  In fact, they partied until after dawn.

The guests who enjoyed themselves so much were sheep – a dozen or so mothers and 20 or so lambs.  They escaped from their pasture sometime during that night, and helped themselves to what they wanted in the garden, frolicked on a pile of wood chips, at grass along the side of the road, and pooped all over the place. 

We learned some interesting things from the great escape.  First, we learned that sheep don’t seem to like potatoes, since they weren’t touched.  They do like peas, cabbage, and foot-high sweet corn, among other things. 

The hero of our story is our neighbor, Donna, who leaves for work very early in the morning, and noticed some sheep near the road, and after pulling into our driveway, saw that they were everywhere in the yard and garden.  Since she helps with chores sometimes when we’re gone, she knew where to find a bucket into which she put a little shell corn.  Using that, she was like the pied piper as she led them back into their pasture.  She then tied the gate shut and went off to work.

So, when we woke up that morning, the sheep were where they were supposed to be, but the damage they had caused was apparent.

It’s discouraging when the garden looks so nice, and literally overnight it because a war zone of munched down plants and a thousand hoof prints.  After a few days of rain, we set to work to replace what was missing, and generally get things straightened out.

All in all, the sheep party could have been a lot worse.  None of them were hit by a car, which would have been bad for both the car and the sheep.  Everything they ruined has been replaced, and it’s early enough in the summer that the seeds we planted will have plenty of time to grow into vegetables that humans can eat.

As for the sheep, while they have a pretty good life at our place, with plenty of lush pasture to enjoy all spring summer and fall, and a warm, dry place to go in the winter, it is nice that they had a little fling.  Everybody needs to blow off some steam now and then, or in the case of sheep, once in a while they need to poop in the yard and eat cabbage plants.

The Tipping Point

When I was a kid I was very involved in sports.  Rarely a summer day went by without a baseball game (or at least games of catch), tennis, or basketball.  The football season lasted into January, which obviously meant playing in the snow.

Running around and riding my bike were activities I didn’t even think about.  Being told not to run in the house, or in social situations, was evidence that running came more naturally than walking. 

Now, in my second half-century, it’s hard to remember how that felt.  Sitting with my feet up seems like a much better idea than running.  Watching boys playing around makes me tired by proxy, if that’s possible.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to remain somewhat athletic.  Up until a year ago I went to a gym to work out a few times a week, except in the summer where yard work took up that time.  I’ve played basketball with other older guys at least a few times each winter for the past dozen years.  I also try to get out to the high school track to run several times a week during the summer, though in past years there’s been more walking than running.

Normally, when I see someone running along the side of a country road, I think that it looks like fun and something I’d like to do.  The other day, though, I think I sensed my mind and body had hit a tipping point.  I saw a guy going for a run, and I thought to myself, “that looks like a horrible idea!”  At that point I realized that I had officially tipped over from being athletic to being sedentary.

Fortunately for me, a couple of days later I saw an acquaintance in town.  In the past year he has lost a lot of weight, and in fact was energetically riding a bicycle, looking ten years younger.  Seeing him made me realize that the tipping point away from being athletic has as much to do with our brains as it does our bodies. 

I have no expectation of running a marathon or climbing a mountain, but I sure can dust off my  bike, and get over to the track for some spirited walking, and maybe some running.  I have some dumbbells (no comments please), so I can work on my incredible shrinking arm muscles. 

I’m not so naïve as to think a person can somehow stave off old age.   But, a little effort can make me feel more physically capable of enjoying life.  They say that cardio vascular exercise helps brain function too.  Heaven knows I could use the help in that department.

I guess I’ve come to that tipping point towards giving up on being athletic, and I’ve decided to tip back the other way.  I’m sure the time will come that vigorous sports will be too much for my joints and such, but if the only thing making me feel old is laziness, that’s something I can deal with.

So, if you see me, and I smell like “Icy Hot,” you’ll know why.

A New Kind of Rude

When I was a kid, we had some rules at our house about the telephone.  If a friend called during dinner, we were to politely tell them that we’d call back later.  If we made or received a long distance call, we were told to “keep it short,” in deference to the cost of the call.  If we got a call after 10pm, we were told in no uncertain terms that calls that late were not acceptable.

The idea was that our family used the phone as a tool, but we took control of that tool rather than having it run us. 

Times have changed, of course.  Now people feel the need to be totally connected all the time.  There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as it doesn’t cause people to behave badly.  Unfortunately, a lot of people do.  Some of that behavior is dangerous, and some of it is just plain rude.

When I see someone ordering at a fast food restaurant while talking on their cell phone, I want to take their phone from them and throw it in the deep fryer.  It is so disrespectful to the person behind the counter, in my opinion, that if I were the counter person, I’d be tempted to wait to take the order until the person was off the phone.  But, if you’re working the counter at a restaurant, you probably need the job, so that option is off the table.

People who are texting while walking drive me nuts.  As a non-texting pedestrian, I’ve had to get out of people’s way many times, since they are too involved in what they’re reading or writing to see where they’re going.  I think it’s really self-absorbed to think you can walk down the sidewalk or hallway and assume everyone will just get out of your way.  It would be funny to see one of these people walk into a post.

Texting while driving is probably going to be illegal everywhere before long, and I think that’s probably for the best.  Texting while driving is like texting while walking, except that the stakes are far higher if people don’t get out of your way.  To say that it is rude to cause a car accident is an understatement, but ultimately caring more about what you’re doing than the welfare of others is a high level of rudeness.

I’m not going to bring up people on their phones talking loudly on airplanes or on trains or buses, or people lighting up a dark movie theater while checking their messages – or worse, answering their phones during a movie.  I guess the idea of being out of touch for 90 minutes terrifies some people.           

A lot of things have changed since my childhood, and a lot of the changes have been good.  I think the enhanced communication tools have made our lives better in a lot of ways.  I do think, though, that we have become beholden to them.  Putting people first over our phones, PDA’s, etc., will go a long way towards putting us back in charge of our lives.  And, it will allow us to be the respectful, courteous people we want to be instead of the rude jerks some of us have become.

Great Expectations

A few weeks ago, a young woman in California went missing (a British phrase, which has apparently caught on here in the Colonies).   She went out for her morning run, and never came back.  Her family, and all of us, assumed the worst.  It seemed like another tragedy that would end with the discovery of her body.

As it turned out, her very-alive body was discovered 300 miles north of her house.  The college senior had run away from home, essentially, but had gotten cold feet about it, and reported herself to be un-missing.

Her family was thrilled that she was okay, of course.  There were many questions, and the answers to those questions were a little tragic, but not in the way we expected.

It turned out that, unbeknownst to her family, she had dropped out of UCLA two years prior.  She was apparently afraid to tell them.  The newspaper articles told the story that her family was very proud of her for being in college, and was preparing a big celebration for her graduation, inviting friends and family to a party after the ceremony. 

It made my blood run cold to think of that girl and how she must have felt.  Living a lie for two years was undoubtedly difficult enough, but to hear all the accolades and to participate in the planning for a graduation that wasn’t going to happen… well, she must have been overwhelmed by guilt and shame. 

I, myself, didn’t have much trouble with college classes, but high school was another story.  I barely passed geometry class, and had to drop out of another math class which I surely would have failed.  Being in high school, my parents were privy to that information immediately, and while they were disappointed, at least it was confronted there and then.

I know of young people who have melt-downs in college.  Some quit, which may be the right thing to do.  Others persevere, either because they want to, or because they don’t want to disappoint their families. 

As a parent, I found it really hard to know what to do when it came to decisions our kids faced on quitting a sport, a job, or dropping a class.  Being a quitter isn’t something anyone wants to be, but sometimes it really is the right thing to do. 

The run-away student in California clearly didn’t feel comfortable having that conversation with her family, which may have been because they were rigid and inflexible, or it may have been because she didn’t trust them enough to be empathetic and understanding.

I have to say that the interview I saw with her father showed him to be a very caring man who was so grateful to have his daughter back that nothing else mattered.  I’m sure they all have had some very long talks, and I hope she and they are going to be okay.  Who knows: maybe she’ll be back in school next fall.  Or, maybe they’ve all learned more valuable lessons than UCLA can teach.

Business As Usual

If you were charged with the task of emptying a bathtub full of water with a teaspoon, you’d probably say that it is impossible, even though your intellect would tell you it can be done.  It would take a long time, but you could empty that tub, one spoonful at a time.

Debt is like that, isn’t it?  We get ourselves into debt, and it looks insurmountable, but if we chip away at the little things, we can bail out our tub of debt.  Dave Ramsey, the radio and TV program host, deals daily with people who want to get out of debt.  He has a plan for how to do that, but only people with resolve can make the plan work.  All they need is that spoon.

The nation of Greece has been in the news for a while because of their debt.  The world community just “helped” them with another trillion dollars in debt.  We were responsible for a fair amount of that loan, even though we don’t have any money.  Greece is like a family that has been living on credit for decades, and living a fine lifestyle.  Retirement at 53, healthcare provided, one in five citizens working for the government.  It was nice, but they couldn’t afford it.  And, unless they grab that spoon, they’ll never repay their debts, but rather default, leaving the people and countries who loaned them the money holding the bag.

Spain, Portugal, France, and in fact, most Western European nations aren’t too far behind.  California is also on the precipice.  In fact, Wisconsin’s financial picture is pretty bad, too. 

The two approaches to solving debt crises are to cut expenses or raise income.  In a family, adding more income can happen by getting a part-time job or two.  Cutting expenses may start by downgrading to a more affordable car, living without cable or satellite TV, and staying away from restaurants.

Governments struggle with both strategies.  Raising taxes is not only politically difficult, but has been proven to reduce tax revenue.  Presidents Kennedy and Reagan proved that reducing taxes brings in more money to the treasury.  Even a profligate spender like the most recent President Bush reduced our budget deficit to 1% of GDP after his across the board tax rate cuts.  Raising taxes inhibits those who have the money to invest from taking risks with their money – risks like starting a business or, if they have one, adding employees.

Cutting budgets is also difficult.  Everyone who is getting money from a government entity will fight really hard to keep it.  It’s human nature.

While traveling through Wisconsin the other day, thinking about our state’s financial mess, I drove into a new rest stop on Interstate 90/94/39.  It replaces a smaller rest stop that seemed to be perfectly good.  The new rest stop – and its twin on the other side of the highway – is architecturally beautiful.  It is three stories high, though the second two levels are only for looks.  It is made of brick and stone, and it is clear no expense was spared.

These new rest stops may have been planned when the economy and our budget was better, but I wonder if anyone with a spoon thought that maybe delaying those building projects until we could afford them would be a good idea.  Some of the money probably came from the federal government.  But wait!  The federal government is way more broke that Wisconsin is.  Any money the feds spend is money they don’t have.  Picture a gigantic Visa card, and some poor schlub making the minimum payments each month.  That’s us!

Interestingly, in a state that is home to a number of paper companies who are struggling, the state also took out all the paper towel dispensers in favor of more politically correct electric dryers.  That might not cost any paper company jobs, but it sends a message that our state doesn’t support the use of paper.

Anyway, thinking about Greece at a rest stop in Wisconsin leads to thoughts like these.  I just hope we find some spoons before our tub overflows.

For the Bird(s)

In our yard we have a large vegetable garden and a not as large flower garden.  The flower garden has walkways covered in wood chips from tree branches that were taken down a few years ago and chipped for just this purpose.

Our early spring has given us the chance to get a head start on the gardens, including cleaning up the flower beds from last year, pulling weeds that have sprouted around the beds, and generally improving things.

Last week we discovered something that has altered our plans a bit.  We found a nest in the wood chips at the edge of the flower garden.  It belongs to Mrs. Killdeer.

The killdeer is a member of the plover family, and as such is technically a shore bird, like the sandpiper,  though they seem to prefer open areas like fields and pastures to the shore.  They have longish, spindly legs, and they run around like crazy in quick spurts.  They are named not for their ability to take down whitetail deer, but rather because their call is supposed to sound like “kill-deer.” 

Unlike some birds, they don’t really build a nest.  They find a spot on the ground that looks like a good place to lay eggs.  In our case, it was in wood chips.  Unless you know just where to look, you’d never see her.  She blends in really well, with the horizontal stripes on her neck blending in perfectly with the ground around her.

For 24 days, the mother sits on the eggs, with occasional help from the dad, I suppose, and then when the little ones are hatched, they walk away together as a family.

The most interesting thing about killdeers is how the mother protects the eggs.  The first strategy is to get off the nest and walk away, hoping the predator (in this case, me) will follow.  The second strategy is for her to nestle down somewhere away from the nest, pretending that she’s sitting on a nest.  The clever predator will then assume the eggs are over there, and not where they really are.

The third, and most interesting strategy, which seems to be a last resort, is for her to run away, pretending to have a broken wing.  In the world of predators (human or animal) going for the weak and injured is always a good bet.  So, the hunter pursues her, and ignores the nest.

Basically, all these strategies put the mother at risk in order to protect the un-hatched eggs.  They are diversionary tactics to get a predator to think about eating the mother instead of her babies.

I guess we humans often sacrifice for our kids, but the killdeer really takes it to a high level of self-sacrifice.  I can’t help but admire her dedication.

So, while we’re continuing to work on the garden, we’re trying to avoid getting too close to her nest.  She seems to have figured out that we’re not going to hurt her or her babies, and mostly stays on the nest, even if we get 10-15 feet away, but she watches us carefully. 

As much as I’d like to work on the flower beds near the nest, we’ve decided to give her her space.  We hope the eggs make it to 24 days, and that Mrs. and Mr. Killdeer will enjoy their new family throughout the summer.

Glamorous Travel

I’m writing this at 2:56 Eastern time on Monday.  I’m sitting at a table in a famous restaurant.  You may have heard of it.  It’s called “McDonald’s.”  This particular McDonald’s is in the Newark, New Jersey train station.  I started my day here, catching a New Jersey Transit train to Pennsylvania Station in New York City, walking to two appointments about two miles apart, and then catching a return train to Newark, where I’m waiting to catch a light rail train to Jersey City for a 5pm meeting, after which I’ll retreat to the elegant Hampton Inn in Harrison, New Jersey. 

Yes, it’s a glamorous life I lead. 

Every time I get to the famous “Tri-State Area,” I’m impressed – sometimes in a good way, sometimes not – with things I see.  For example, in the marshy area near the train tracks right before the trains going to Manhattan go in the tunnel under the river, I saw several snowy egrets – for those not into bird watching, that’s a beautiful, tall, white bird.  With millions of people, trains, cars, trucks, factories, and God knows what packed into a fairly small space, still nature finds a way to exist.

Another thing impressed me today.  In a three block area on Broadway near Times Square, there were, I’d estimate, 50 police officers hanging around.  They didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular, but they were just looking around.  I wondered if I should be nervous about the gathering of cops, but I think that’s just the way things are in that city.

I like to walk along Broadway, partly because the neighborhoods it cuts through are quite different.  My meeting was at New York University, which  is near 4^th Street.  Times Square is around 45^th St.  Between one and the other you go through a garment district, including several stores that sell nothing but bolts of silk cloth, and another that sells nothing but buttons.  Then there will be a very yuppified neighborhood with lots of people drinking coffee.  I think I saw Rachel and Ross, and maybe Jerry and Elaine.  Another neighborhood has mostly stores that sell lots of everything for not much money.  I think consumers would be wise to doubt the authenticity of many of the items.

There was a film crew on a side street, using roaring twenties era cars.  I think there is almost always at least one film crew working in Manhattan, complete with the large trailers, semi’s, and tons of Teamsters.  There were also the requisite number of people shouting about Jesus, and one person shouting about something that I couldn’t quite understand. 

I heard that they now have a law in New York that forbids the honking of car horns, with a $350 fine if you’re caught.  From what I heard today, the city could have balanced their seriously out-of-balance budget just on horn honks alone.  But, all the police were at Times Square, so nobody was left to write the tickets.

Our view of New York and New Jersey largely comes from television and movies.  We see the Sopranos, Law and Order on one hand, and Jerry Seinfeld and Friends on the other hand.  None of those portrayals are wrong, but none of them tell the whole story.

Mostly, what I saw today was a lot of people doing their best to get by – selling watches on the street, or serving customers in a restaurant.  I’m sure there is a very dark side, and a very fun side to this area, but mostly it’s just life being lived, for better or for worse.

Social Mediocrity

Ten years ago, a twitter was, as Dictionary.com says, “a succession of tremulous sounds.”  Now Twitter is a social media tool used by millions to communicate things that, somehow, we all lived without hearing up until now.  Ten years ago a face book would be a book with faces in it.  Now it is a means for people to keep up with each other’s lives from our computer or iphone screens.  My space used to be where we’d go to be alone.  Now, Myspace is a social media platform.

People have really embraced these forms of communication.  A few months ago we were talking to an adult friend who casually mentioned that our daughter was worried she’d miss her plane that morning.  How did she know?  Facebook.

I have a Twitter account.  Honestly, it’s like pulling teeth to get me to use it.  I have so many other things to occupy my time that I’m not sure what benefit it gives me to tell people, in 140 characters or less, what’ I’m doing throughout the day.  And, I’m even less sure what benefit other people would get from hearing about my lunch, the nice walk I took, or how bad my migraine is.

Last Friday I signed up for Facebook.  It was easy to do, and while it asks for more information than I wanted to give, you can choose not to divulge everything.  I know quite a few people who are “on” Facebook, and they mostly responded favorably to my request that they “friend” me.  People share comments, photos, and even videos with their friends, and it is admittedly interesting.

I don’t know much, yet, about how it works, or all the ramifications of sharing too much on Facebook.  For example, there are surely things I’d be happy to share with friend friends, that I’d be reluctant to share with professional friends. 

I was thinking that some new social media outlets might be needed.  Couples could communicate using “Myspouse.”  Ridiculous stories could be told on “Farcebook.”  Railroad engineers could communicate on “Tooter.”  Or, maybe not.

There are those who say that our fascination with communicating by electronic devices has had a negative effect on our time spent communicating in person.  A text message is much less personal than a phone call, for example.  I wonder if a bigger issue might be that tweeters, Facebook devotees, and Myspacers end up spending more time with the devices than with people, nature, books, or their own thoughts.  But, I’m not worried that social networking and social media are a danger to society.  There are worse habits to have.

I see that the world has changed, and while I don’t want to be left behind, I’m not sure I want to come along either.  Figuring out what has real value in life is really a life-long pursuit.  And, I guess each of us has to decide that on our own.

Garden Party

The unusually warm weather we’ve had recently has been a real treat.  Farmers who couldn’t do the field work they wanted to do last fall because of the rain that turned too quickly into snow were able to play catch-up, and a lot of fields are ready to plant ahead of schedule, and some planting has already been done.

Because we live in Wisconsin, most of us feel like there is a shoe left to drop, and that shoe will take the form of a blizzard, complete with a few feet of snow and below zero temperatures.  There is no meteorological basis for this expectation, just a feeling that something good is usually followed by something bad when it comes to weather.

I think people in the Midwest see the world that way more than other folks.  On a perfect day in June, you’ll hear people say, “we’re gonna pay for this later!”  I’ve never heard people in San Diego make the same prediction.

Well, I may pay for it later, but last weekend I got a start planting our garden.  Most years we don’t get the cold weather crops, like spinach and peas, planted in the early spring.  So, it was a personal victory of sorts to get some seeds in the ground the first week of April.

It seems like dates for planting certain vegetables are pretty vague.  The colder weather crops, it is said, should be planted on Good Friday.  The thing is, that can be any time after March 19^th, since Easter takes place the first Sunday after the first full moon after the first day of spring.  But it can be as late as April 21^st, if I’m not mistaken.  That’s quite a bit of latitude for planting your kohlrabi.

Most garden crops should be planted Memorial Day weekend, they say.  Even though we often have nice enough weather before that, we sometimes have one last frost in mid May.  I remember one year when there was a tiny patch of frost in the corner of a field near us the first week in June, so I guess there is no absolutely safe time to plant.

I think more people are planting gardens for various reasons. A gardener knows what chemicals have, or have not been put on their vegetables.  You can save money with a garden, though the argument can be made that it’s cheaper to buy vegetables in season and preserve them.

It’s possible there’s another reason.  A recent poll showed that 79% of voters, including 72% of Democrats, think it’s possible the U.S. economy could collapse.  That was a staggering figure to me, since our economy has always seemed to be rock solid.  I don’t know what a collapsed economy would look like, but it makes sense that being self-reliant couldn’t hurt.  Having shelves full of canned or dried produce would be a comfort.

Of course, a lot of people thought there would be chaos when the calendar clicked over to the year 2000 also, and that turned out to be unnecessary worry. 

For me, gardening is a hobby.  It isn’t about the economy or politics, but rather an escape from those things.  It is gratifying to enjoy meals that we’ve grown ourselves – especially in the dead of winter.  We’re far from being self reliant, though – unless somebody can tell us how to grow toilet paper.

Coming to Your Census

These days we’re in the midst of the once-per-decade count of human beings in our country, as prescribed by the constitution.  The founders wanted to know how many of us there are, so we can fairly distribute the 435 congressional districts proportionate to our population. 

Over the years the Department of Labor, Bureau of the Census has expanded their desire for information beyond what the constitution calls for.  All sorts of well intentioned people in Washington want to know what the nationality is of the people in our homes or how many toilets we have.  Some people take umbrage (yes, I said umbrage!) at the probing questions, while other dutifully fill in the survey as requested.  It does seem a bit Big Brother-ish, but then again, we’re way past 1984, and there are cameras everywhere.

Demographers have a great interest in large groups of people and what kinds of differences or similarities show up in certain areas.  My friend Chris sent me a link to a web site that had a map showing all counties in the United States.  The gold colored counties have more grocery stores than bars, and the red counties have more bars than grocery stores. 

Without reproducing the map for you here, just imagine that a great majority of the counties across the country are gold, but that almost all of Wisconsin’s 72 counties are red.  Many states have one or two red counties.  In other words, we in Wisconsin apparently like drinking.  I don’t believe I needed a map to show me that.  And, come to think of it, unlike many states, 90% of the grocery stores in Wisconsin also sell beer and wine.  Maybe they should have come up with a different color for Wisconsin.

It would be interesting to see some other maps like that.  For example, I’d like to see a map of counties that have more government employees than private sector employees.  Dane County may be one of those.  Or, a map showing counties that have more cows than people, or vice versa. 

On a more serious note, it would be interesting to see counties where more automobile deaths are caused by drinking versus cell phone use, or where more people have HBO than get the newspaper.  You could also compare counties with more dog people than cat people, and counties where more people watch Jerry Springer than go to church.

I’ll bet there are counties that have more trucks than cars, and others that have more NASCAR caps than baseball caps.  Or, how about a comparison of counties with more politicians than criminals – although, some people would be in both categories.

Anyway, those are my totally unimportant thoughts for the week.  Actually, if you made a chart of my important thoughts compared to the totally unimportant thoughts…

White Fronted

There is a large cornfield behind our house – except for the years it is a soybean field.  Every spring the middle of that cornfield becomes a lake.  As soon as the level of the creek that runs nearby drops, the lake goes away, except for a small area in the middle. 

So, this time of year, with the waterfowl migration taking place, it’s a good place to check out some birds we wouldn’t normally see.  The cranes started to return last Saturday, and while they’re not in the “lake,” they are in the marsh that’s a quarter mile away.  We can hear them making their pre-historic sounds from dawn to dusk.

In addition to the Canada geese that we all see plenty of year-round, we were treated to some snow geese and a type not often seen here called white-fronted geese.  I would know none of this, of course, except that I live with an ornithologist. 

There are also ducks.  Not an unlimited number, but enough to warrant some attention.  There are divers and dabblers.  Apparently those are the two types of duck.  So, when you say you dabble in the arts, what you’re saying is that you stick your bill in the water looking for algae and other vegetation.  Nice.

Closer to the house there are redwing blackbirds figuring out their territories and finding their mates.  We’ve seen bluebirds, and though I haven’t seen my first robin of the year, I did hear one the other morning.  It was nice.  In a month or so I’ll silently curse them for waking me up before I’m ready, but for now it’s nice to hear their songs.

It’s surprising what you can notice if you listen carefully to the world around you.  Even though we’re five miles from the Interstate, sometimes we can hear the traffic zooming past.  Once the races start at Jefferson Speedway in the spring, we can sometimes hear that traffic too.  Now and then, if the wind is just right, we’ll hear a train, and I’m not even sure where the tracks are.

With East Koshkonong Church nearby, we hear the bells most Sunday mornings.  If it’s very still, we can hear the warning siren that is, I think, in Rockdale.  Unfortunately, with a slight breeze, such as you’d normally expect before a tornado, we can’t hear the siren at all.  That’s why we have a couple of weather radios.

The other day we heard some coyotes howling at daybreak.  That’s a chilling sound.  Or, they could have been wolves.  A friend in the area said he’d seen one recently.  Crows have been loudly gathering at a deer that was hit by a car a few weeks ago. 

I guess having the bedroom windows open a crack this time of year helps us hear more of what’s going on outside.  In a way, you could say that there is a benefit in us being a little more open too — hearing and seeing the world around us instead of focusing on the various electronic devices that hold us hostage most of our days.

Maybe there’s an “app” for that…

The Baa Baa Shop

Last Saturday was the one Saturday of the year when we could put a barber’s pole outside our little sheep barn.  It was shearing day, and our 17 sheep got a haircut, or more precisely, a wool cut.

A few weeks before they have their lambs every year our sheep are shorn.  The wool is carefully removed, bagged, and ready to be on its way to be sold for hand spinners, or saved for use in felting projects. 

The shearer we’ve hired for the past 10 years or so is one of a vanishing breed who treats sheep shearing as a craft and takes a great deal of pride in doing it right.  He’s as gentle as possible with the animals, and leaves them thinner, but untraumatized.  Thinner and colder, so it’s good when the temperature is as mild as it was this year.

Every year friends and family drop by to help, watch, take photographs, or all three.  It seems that on shearing day we either have sloppy muck in the yard or it’s windy and below zero.  On those colder shearing days the sheep stay in the barn once they lose their insulation.

It’s an interesting process.  We all buy clothes, but very few of us see the source of the fibers in those clothes.  We don’t often see flax stalks being beaten to produce linen, or cotton fields being harvested to produce, well, cotton.  Or, wool coming right off the sheep.  So much of what we wear is made from plastic, which has much less romance to it than natural fibers.  I’m not sure I know what an acrylic is, but I still don’t get the concept of virgin acrylic.

On shearing day we’re normally done by noon, and afterwards we gather around our not-quite-big-enough kitchen table and have a meal and great conversation together.  The shearer has lots of stories, and there are usually lots of questions from the helpers.  After lunch, the shearer packs up and goes to his next job, and I generally fall asleep from too much fresh air and too much food.

The tools have changed over the years, but it’s interesting to think that the process of raising sheep and harvesting their wool is many thousands of years old.  The connection between humans and livestock is as old as humankind, and even though man-made fabrics are cheap and plentiful, there is still an important place for natural fibers.  And, while most of the year the sheep are just out in the pasture eating food, shearing day is one instance where their purpose is clear.

The ewes who were bred last fall will have their lambs in a few weeks, and seeing the births and the bouncy little lambs that result is pretty amazing.  By comparison, shearing wool off the sheep is pretty mundane, but that connection with the past – with people from all over the world over thousands of years – makes shearing day something I’ll always ponder – once I wake up from my after lunch nap.

The Biggest Surviving American Idol Millionaire Bachelor Loser

Now that the Olympics are over, we Americans can turn our attention away from winning misshapen medals to following our favorite reality shows.  Never mind that our economy is in a shambles and our foreign enemies are poised to attack us whenever possible.  Those things are too complex and uncomfortable to ponder. 

For years now we’ve been subjected to… I mean, TREATED to an ever-expanding menu of realty television shows.  While each has their own special appeal, there is a definite formula that each follows.  Somebody always gets voted off, somebody always gets some sort of immunity, and there are plenty of dramatic close-up shots.  Also, there is usually somebody who is just plain crazy, along with somebody who is just plain evil.  Kind of like life.  Hence, the term “reality.”

As you may have gathered, I’m not a big fan of these shows.  I find them highly manipulative, as the raw footage is edited in such a way as to increase the drama to unbearable – and sometimes unbelievable levels.  For the most part, I find that the people involved aren’t people I particularly like, partly because they were interested in being on a reality show in the first place, I guess.

I have to say that one program I’ll sometimes watch with interest is “The Biggest Loser.”  I find parts of it to be borderline cruel to the contestants, and the pauses and tension-provoking music during the weigh-ins bug the heck out of me, but I have tremendous admiration for the contestants.  Anybody who has tried to lose five or 10 pounds has to be in awe of somebody who loses 50, 80, or 100 pounds through hard physical exercise and dieting. 

I sometimes ponder ideas for reality shows that would be as constructive as “Biggest Loser.”  Maybe there could be a show with politicians who would spend a month wearing a shock collar connected to a polygraph, so every time they lied they’d get a shock.  That would be very mean, of course, but the “graduates” would be people I’d vote for.

Or, how about a program where normal people get to tell fashion-istas how to dress comfortably and unpretentiously?  It would be a refreshing change from the shows where highly stylish people insult those with more pedestrian tastes in apparel. 

I know the networks love reality shows because they don’t have to pay writers or actors or build fancy sets.  I also understand why most people find these shows compelling.  For me, I’d rather see real dramas, written by talented writers, or comedies that make fun of human nature in a caricatured way.  Seeing real people at their worst doesn’t make me feel better about myself or society.

I guess there is another alternative: I could always read a book, get some things done around the house or have a nice conversation instead of watching TV.  Hey… if I bring in some cameras, maybe the networks could turn that into a reality show…

Fair is Fair

Everybody needs a helping hand from time to time.  I know I have, and when those times came, I was happy to have the help.  So, I feel a little petty about what I’m writing about this week.  But, it is a feeling that keeps rising in me, so maybe it will be therapeutic to write about it.

There are commercials on TV and radio from companies that offer people help with payments they owe to the IRS.  We hear people saying things like this: “We owed $200,000 to the IRS, but thanks to Taxerific, we settled for only $40,000!”

As somebody who thinks taxes are too high in general, since high taxes are well documented to hinder economic growth, I think people should pay as little as possible.  However, there is a certain amount each of us owes, and if one person pays only 20% of what they owe, it means that somebody else (me, for example) who pays everything they’re supposed to, is being treated unfairly.

It’s possible that from the government’s perspective it makes sense to settle for a lower payment, since litigation is expensive.  But, the unfairness still exists.

A more tangible example is the people who settle with credit card companies for half what they owe.  I don’t like credit card companies any more than I like the IRS, but I use credit cards, and the interest rates and fees I pay are higher than they would be if everyone else paid what they owed.  Most people wouldn’t think of stealing from a store, but what’s the difference between stealing and not paying something you agreed to pay?

Speaking of that, there are people who would never take anything from another person, but who will steal from a store because it’s a big, impersonal company.  And yet their stealing makes the prices of all the merchandise in the store higher, so you and I pay the price.

I guess the idea of everybody keeping their word, honoring contracts, not stealing, and generally being fair is not reasonable.  At our house we always stated the philosophy that life isn’t fair, but that each of us has the obligation to be fair, even though there is no guarantee that our fairness will be reciprocated.

I may get angry about it, but I’ll pay all the taxes I owe, and I’ll pay off my credit cards, because I’m the one who spent the money I didn’t yet have. 

Like I said at the beginning, things do happen that nobody can control, so it’s probably not very kind-hearted of me to begrudge people a break when they’re in trouble.  That being said, I guess I just wanted to make the observation that special treatment for some results in consequences for others. 

Having written this, I may find myself in the position someday of wanting some of that special treatment, and I promise you I’ll feel like a big hypocrite when that time comes!

Dumb Things We Do

Saturday morning I got out of bed before I was ready to be done sleeping.  I got dressed and started working on some household chores.  Later, I went to the McDonald’s in Newville to treat myself to breakfast and do some writing on my laptop computer.

I was a happy boy, first because of the food, and second because it was nice to have the uninterrupted time to do some writing.  But, my watch felt uncomfortable.  After adjusting it several times, I finally took it off, and realized there was another one on my wrist.  I bought a new watch last week that looks a lot like my old one which doesn’t work.  In my not-quite-awakeness that morning I managed to put on both watches without knowing it.

Now, a smart person wouldn’t share a story like this.  It’s like coming back from a lunch meeting and realizing there was a large piece of spinach covering up a front tooth, or feeling a surprising breeze, and realizing that one’s zipper is down.  These things happen to everyone – or at least I hope they do, because if it’s just me, it doesn’t seem fair.

You and I are really lucky, though.  We have these dumb moments with hardly anybody around to notice it.  That’s not the case with famous people.  A long line of presidents and especially vice presidents have done and said dumb things right in front of the cameras that follow them around constantly.  I’m not talking about the things that they mean to say that may seem dumb to some people, but the things that slip out, or come out wrong.  

I assume presidents have somebody responsible for making sure their zippers are up (no Clinton jokes, please) and that they are only wearing one watch.  President Ford took a tumble or two getting off of airplanes or onto stages, and Chevy Chase on Saturday Night Live started his career making fun of it.  I think President Obama hit his head getting into a plane or a helicopter.  I’d make fun of that, but just yesterday I hit my head twice – once in the basement and once in the shed.  It hurts too much to be funny.

We tend to be more forgiving of the dumb things politicians say if we’re supporters of them, so, for example, people who like Vice President Biden overlook his gaffs, and people who like Sara Palin do the same for hers. 

The teleprompter has become a modern tool to prevent politicians from saying anything in error.  A while back I saw a photo of President Obama speaking to elementary students while using a teleprompter.  Of course, behind the students there were news reporters, so while the kids would have been forgiving of a flub, the news media might not have been.  But, it seemed odd to me.

Part of what bothers me is that when someone is virtually always using a teleprompter when they speak publicly, they could theoretically never be speaking in their own words.  A speechwriter could ultimately be in control of the message – though I guess even without teleprompters that’s a possibility.

Part of me would rather have political leaders who forget to zip up their zippers, put on two watches, or get mixed up with the words they use and the things they say.  Leaders should be competent and intelligent, but they don’t need to be perfect, do they?  If they do, I’m definitely not going to be running for president anytime soon.  Or if I do, I’ll be having no more spinach for lunch.

Above The Fold

In the newspaper business, the most important and compelling news stories are to be found “above the fold,” meaning on the top half of the front page.  That way people passing a newspaper machine or a news stand would see the headline, and buy the paper.

Well, one news story that is metaphorically above the fold these days is that newspapers are in big trouble.  Circulations had been falling for many years before the emergence of the Internet and the thousands of news options it provides.  That technology was just one in a chain of events starting with radio news that made newspapers’ importance as a primary source for news decline.  The days of multiple newspapers in cities with many editions per day ended long, long ago.

In recent years, newspaper companies have cut staff and reduced the size of their publications in order to try to stay in business.  As an example, the Wisconsin State Journal has become a very narrow publication – and I don’t mean they’ve become more focused.  The paper itself has shrunk down to about 11 inches in width in an attempt to reduce printing costs.  If it shrinks much more, reading it will be like reviewing an adding machine tape.

I have plenty to complain about when it comes to newspapers, and I have for years.  I find that the reporting is often biased and inaccurate.  I’ve been interviewed a number of times over the years relating to previous jobs I had.  In every case there were factual errors and misquotes – not with any malice, but from pure carelessness on the part of the reporters.  Each time I shook my head and wondered about the accuracy of every other article that appeared.

The Associated Press is the primary source of state, national, and international news for most papers, and I find their reporting to be overtly ideological at times.  There’s plenty of room for points of view on the editorial page.  It shouldn’t be included in news stories.

But, when I think of a world without daily newspapers, I shudder.  I don’t see how the Internet can possibly replace local newspapers in their ability to report local and regional news with reasonably competent reporters whose writing is at least minimally edited.  Any yahoo (no pun intended) can put up a web site and make things up.  The democratization of communication is all well and good, but having an actual newspaper behind news reporting gives me more confidence in what’s written than what somebody writes in a blog post.

So, after not subscribing to the State Journal for a while, we’ve signed up again.  And, I think everybody should subscribe to a daily paper, if only so that they can survive into the future.  Weekly papers like the Cambridge News and Deerfield Independent have a great value to our communities too, though not as a source for timely news.  These papers are great for discussions of community issues and to celebrate community values and achievements.  It could be that daily newspapers will become more like weeklies in the years to come.

Despite all the flaws in daily newspapers, I hope they survive.  There are lots of high-brow reasons why, but I should confess one of the biggest reasons: I’d hate to eat my cereal in the morning without having the comics page to read.

A Quick Bite

If the last few years are any indicator, I predict that by next year at this time every single program on television will have something to do with vampires.  At one point last year, I think five of the top 10 bestselling books were about vampires, and the vampire movies have all been big hits.

The “Twilight” books and movies are all hugely successful.  The author, Stephanie Meyer, could write Twilight on the cover of a phonebook and people would buy it.

So, given the success of her books, and the others on bookstore shelves, along with the movies, HBO series, and TV shows about vampires, I can’t believe the TV industry won’t take it to their usual ridiculous extremes.

We can look forward to vampire comedies like, “My Uncle Bites,” or “Two Men and a Man Who is Half Man and Half Vampire.”  Reality shows would also feature vampires, I suppose.  “American Incisor,” “Trading Blood Types,” and “Survivor – Transylvania” are  probably pilot shows under consideration, along with “Extreme Neck Makeover.”

The only game show so far is, “Are You Smarter Than a Teen-aged Girl Who Invites A Vampire Into Her House?”   But, I’m sure there will be others.

NBC probably has “Law and Order: Plasma Squad” under production.  In the first episode, street wise detectives investigate a series of break-ins at a plasma center located near a large cave populated by bats with red capes. 

I haven’t read any of the “Twilight” books, and I’ve only seen a little of the “Vampire Diaries” TV show.  It was okay, but not something I’d ever feel bad about missing.  I saw a little of the HBO vampire program, but it was too grisly for me. 

People who like the whole vampire thing tell me that it’s not so much about the sucking of blood out of people’s necks, but rather it is the romantic aspects that they like.  Again, I haven’t read these books, but the preoccupation with draining people’s blood reminds me I should do a flush and fill of my car’s antifreeze, and that’s not romantic. 

I’ve given over 10 gallons of blood through Red Cross over the years, and frankly, I didn’t find it to be the least bit romantic.  Maybe the problem was that they used a needle instead of teeth.  Next time I’ll ask.

As somebody who pays attention to these things, I am not surprised that women like the idea of bad boys who need to be rehabilitated.  The idea that the right woman can change a man is one of the most common myths, and probably responsible for about a third of all divorces.

So, the statement, “Yes, he is a vampire, but I’m sure my love for him will change him into a perfect gentleman” makes perfect sense to some women.  And yet, the vampire in question probably won’t even learn to put the cap on the toothpaste tube or put his underwear in the hamper.  

But, these relationships aren’t all that great for the vampires either.  Picture our mixed couple in bed one evening.  She’s facing away from him.  He reaches over to nibble on her, only to hear her say, “Not tonight, Vlad.  I have a neck-ache.”

A Panel of Experts

I’m sure there was a time when people didn’t need experts, or at least not as much as we do these days.  In rural economies in a less technological age people learned what they needed to know from their parents, and then taught it to their children.  How to hitch up a team of horses, how to sharpen a plow blade, and when to cut the hay were all things people knew.  There was no Google to consult, and until 100 years ago or so, no university extension agents to talk to.

Things have changed.  Now we not only have experts in every possible area of life, but sub-experts as well.  The field of medicine holds the best examples.  Did you know that there is a type of doctor called an “intensivist?”  They manage patients in intensive care 100% of the time.  If you need care, don’t talk to them.  Wait until you need intensive care.

Economists and investment experts seem to be everyplace these days.  Since our economy seems to be in intensive care, maybe that’s a good thing.  The problem is, the financial experts don’t seem to agree.  This is nothing new.  FDR is credited by some for ending the Great Depression with his “Great Society” programs.  Other historians say that those programs didn’t end the Depression, but World War II did.  Still others say that his programs would have worked if he had spent even more government money.

 These days, people make predictions and projections that have a great impact on our lives as individuals and on the economic health of our country.  Should you buy gold?  My father bought gold in the 1970’s, and it quadrupled in price, and then dropped just as far as it had risen.  Today those coins are worth three times what they were worth at the height of their value in the 1980’s, but who knows if their value will continue to go up, or will plummet once again.

The same can be said for the stock market, which had a very good year last year after two very bad years.  Some experts say the corner has been turned, while others predict a second, even deeper recession.

The best example of financial experts in disagreement came back in 2006 when a guy named Peter Schiff of Euro Pacific Capital said repeatedly on numerous financial shows on television that the housing/credit crisis was coming.  He spelled out exactly what eventually happened.  He was consistently disagreed with, and even derided, by the other experts on those shows – some even laughing out loud at his outrageous ideas.

Of course, it turns out he was right.  He wasn’t the only one who saw it coming, just as many people saw the “dot com” balloon as something that would deflate. 

The problem is, if you listen to the minority view on things like this you may find that, like Peter Schilff, they’re right.  Or, they may be crackpots that are delusional and completely wrong.  In a way it’s like those religious sects that sell all their worldly belongings and meet on a mountain on a certain day because they’re sure it’s the end of the world.  It must be embarrassing when they’re wrong.

Maybe the best approach is to be optimistic, but prudent.  Invest as if you’re listening mostly to the optimists, but heed the pessimists as well.  Play the “what-if” game.  What if the pessimists are right?  Am I positioned to have a place to live and food to eat?  Is my indebtedness a problem?  Is my lifestyle one I can afford? 

I don’t think we’ll ever get back to the era of hitching up teams of horses to subsist, so experts will probably be a part of our lives forever.  But it wouldn’t hurt for us to take responsibility in being more self-reliant in case all those experts screw things up again.

Which Wolf?

Feeling the Earth Move

Taxation with Representation

A Fresh Start

Christmas Changes

Thunder Snow

Gifts Given

Eat At Joes

Ready, Set, Shop

Feeling It

Winding Down

Defrag My Head

Packer Perspective

For A Song

Balloon Boy and Us

The Right Word

How Insurance Works

Seasonings

No Regrets

Uncle George

Church Alfresco

A Barn-raising Experience

To Do List

Bus Rides to the Doctor

End of Goodbyes

A Cranky Day

Goodbye to Mom Part Two

Goodbye to My Mom

Corny Joke III

The Last Lecture

The Soloist Columnist

The Inadvertent Bath

Wow! What a Sham!

Summer of our Discontent

Judge Not…

Tweet.

Incredible Shrinking Frames

Marketing by Subtraction

Throwback

Legs From the Past

A Swine of the Times

Wanda, Wanda, Wanda…

Breakfast Conversation

Courage Socks

Many Hands

It’s April

Toll House Toll Cookies

Sleepless Nights

Earmarks and Pork — A connection!

Monumental Reflections

Hard to Believe

A Great Big Simile

Super

Last Year’s Departures

What A Difference Eight Years Makes

Change or die… or not

Customer Disservice

Snow Blows

Ups and Downs

Everybody Loves Thanksgiving

Brother, Can You Spare A Million?

Shopping Spree

Election Observations

We’re Really Not That Smart

Two Incidents

Election Fever is Sickening

The Right To Vote, Or Not To

Improve Yourself

Where Credit is Due

I Hurt My Finger

Tales From the Road

9/11 Seven

Political Convention Notes

Changing Time

Feast or Famine

Lower Drinking Age?

Walk On By

The Olympic Spirit

Jury of Your Peers Part II

Corny Joke II

Dark Knight

$weet Dream$

A Jury of Your Peers — Part I

What A Week!

Everybody Out of the Pool

Corny Joke

Let’s Go Parking!

How Much Is Enough?

Gas Not Too Expensive for Many

Last Post from New Orleans Trip

The Froth of July

Reunion Reluctance

Recovery and Looking Forward

Wisconsin Floods

by Peter Wallace, © 2008

Apparently, An Important Thing To Do

by Peter Wallace, © 2008

(This is my column from June 9th, 2008)

Drought Free

by Peter Wallace, © 2008

Mid Life Crisis Diary

by Peter Wallace, © 2008

Christmas Still Okay

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Good Commercials?

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Thanksgiving Giving

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

It’s Too Easy Being Green

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Loam Sweet Loam

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Personal Credit Crisis

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Down in the Dumps

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Credit Where Credit Wasn’t Due

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Shockingly Clever

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Barely Man Enough

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Okay, I admit it

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Many Questions

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

That Moment

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Life Must Be Good

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

For Whom it Tolls

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Childhood Vacations

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Hierarchy of Fears

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Harvey Porter

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Summer Things I Miss

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Kermit and Delores

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Log of Events

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Immigration Impasse

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Without a Hitch

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

You Can’t Swing One

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Pain in the Neck

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

These Things Happen

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

A Strange Series of Events

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

What Things Cost

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Distinguishing Qualities

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Lines of Misery

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Sprung

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Multi-tasking

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Something to Watch

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

The Fog

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Interesting Times

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

What Does It Cost?

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Winter Wonderland

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

My Desk is a Mess

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Qualities of Life

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

A Writer’s Life

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Too Much Technology?

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Christmas Past…

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Noting Passings of Note

by Peter Wallace, © 2007

Goodbye President Ford

by Peter Wallace, © 2007