As I recall it, we were at a graduation party for my niece July 17, 2004 when I retrieved the cell phone message from my excited daughter:
“I just wanted to tell you my water broke and we’re going to the hospital.
“I don’t know what will happen, but we’re going there.”
In the background, I could hear Jason, my son-in-law, saying in his calm voice “Yeah, Chris’ water broke so we’re . . .”
Chris continued, “I don’t know what they’ll do, but we’re going to the hospital.”
“I’m going to call Ben, and see if I can get a message to him.
“Oh, yeah, I don’t remember if I told you, but my water broke, so we’re going to the hospital.
“Love you. Bye.”
I didn’t check for the cell message until after Ben answered his cell, and allowed Cecilia and I to talk to Chris. She was excited, a new mother on her way to meet her first child.
After Ben had alerted me, I checked my cell, and saved the message I’d missed.
It marked the start of an adventure for our daughter and her husband which she had started for Cecilia and me more than 29 years before that call.
It was early the next morning when Jason called to say our first grandchild, Maria Christina, had arrived in Grand Rapids.
When he called, I remembered Cecilia trying to stint the flow of water marking that her first pregnancy was ending, precipitating the journey to the hospital, and the eventual arrival of little Christina in a crib the nurse allowed me to view, but not touch, many hours later.
My first call was to my mother. The next was to Cecilia's.
Christina and Jason were going through that at the same time I was reviewing, and saving, the cell phone message she had left because I didn't answer.
There was a nexus associated with Maria’s birth beyond the continuation of what Cecilia and I started those 29 years ago.
Our niece was not only celebrating her graduation, but the eve of her 18th birthday . . . a birthday she gladly shared with her second cousin, the first in the family, my little granddaughter Maria.
I can’t count the number of times I’d reviewed that saved message, being careful each time to save it again for the 21-days my cell provider allowed.
Each time I listened, it meant much to me as a father and grandfather, because it marked the positive progression of Cecilia’s and my family.
Then, on Maria’s birthday in 2011 – an important one because it denoted an occasion when her friends were allowed to stay overnight at her house for a special sleepover – I checked for another message.
As was my habit, I started to wait for the stored message from 2004 to play before I got the new message.
But, being impatient, and almost knowing what it said, I figured that I could speed the time to get my new message by re-saving Maria’s for later by pressing “7.” Unfortunately, “save” was number 9, and erase was number “7.”
In my impatience, I’d guessed wrong.
Maria had just turned seven the day I lost the message announcing her arrival.
At first, it was sad, because I wanted to recall when my daughter and her husband were going to be new parents, and my wife and I could share in the excitement of a new member in the family.
But, then, Maria is beyond being a “new” member in the family, and regardless of whether the birth marked a transition for Cecilia and I, it had passed.
In the seven years since I’d saved that message, Maria, in her own way, had instructed me on what was important in life, be it her concerns, or the concerns for her welfare that she inspired as she matured.
And, though recalling that her arrival had provided some nostalgic memories, the fact the message announced she might arrive isn’t as important as the fact that she had arrived. She is in need of the same nurturing and counseling I offered Chris before she moved from the house, married, and started a family of her own, only from the perspective of a grandfather as opposed to a father.
The memory of that responsibility is important, but not as important as exercising it in Maria’s behalf.
So, instead of listening to history, it has become happy birthday.
Maria; here’s hoping there are many more for you to share with Grandma, Chris, Jason, Ben, Aunt Kara, your brothers, and me.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monday, March 15, 2010
The Myth of the Public Option
Since I have a little time, I thought I’d share my personal experience to counterbalance some of what I am reading / hearing regarding politicians’ concerns on passage of a “public option” by some politicians.
When I was first hired by the Federal Government I was bewildered by the list of carriers from whom I could choose an insurance carrier for my family. It included as many as 20 local carriers and 10 to 15 national carriers who were obligated to insure me so long as I paid my premiums. The information included data and limitations on benefits, and costs for coverage defined in terms of both monthly and by-paycheck premium I would pay in return for that coverage.
Every year, in October, I received a new prospectus, which listed benefits, out of pocket expenses, and paycheck deductions, allowing me to choose among carriers, if I wished to change.
I have stayed with one carrier, not so much because the cost is the best, but because I am familiar and comfortable with the doctors available, and the doctors who provide the care are familiar with me.
This is the equivalent of the “public option” being discussed as part of the national health care reform legislation before Congress.
Now, it’s amusing to hear some elected officials (including my congressman) talk about the “evils” of having a public option, or “health care reform” because what is being proposed as a “public option” for ALL AMERICANS is the SAME CARE those elected officials receive as part of their “employee benefits” we cover with our income taxes.
So, if you hear about concepts such as “creeping socialism” or “diminishing the free market” being tossed about by YOUR politicians as a reason they vote against a “public option,” keep in mind that THEY are denying you the SAME CARE they receive, because THEY don’t believe YOU are as IMPORTANT as THEY in the whole scheme of things.
And, just in case you “know” someone who disagrees with my experience, please put them in touch with me so I can refute their lore with reality of how a “public option” works.
When I was first hired by the Federal Government I was bewildered by the list of carriers from whom I could choose an insurance carrier for my family. It included as many as 20 local carriers and 10 to 15 national carriers who were obligated to insure me so long as I paid my premiums. The information included data and limitations on benefits, and costs for coverage defined in terms of both monthly and by-paycheck premium I would pay in return for that coverage.
Every year, in October, I received a new prospectus, which listed benefits, out of pocket expenses, and paycheck deductions, allowing me to choose among carriers, if I wished to change.
I have stayed with one carrier, not so much because the cost is the best, but because I am familiar and comfortable with the doctors available, and the doctors who provide the care are familiar with me.
This is the equivalent of the “public option” being discussed as part of the national health care reform legislation before Congress.
Now, it’s amusing to hear some elected officials (including my congressman) talk about the “evils” of having a public option, or “health care reform” because what is being proposed as a “public option” for ALL AMERICANS is the SAME CARE those elected officials receive as part of their “employee benefits” we cover with our income taxes.
So, if you hear about concepts such as “creeping socialism” or “diminishing the free market” being tossed about by YOUR politicians as a reason they vote against a “public option,” keep in mind that THEY are denying you the SAME CARE they receive, because THEY don’t believe YOU are as IMPORTANT as THEY in the whole scheme of things.
And, just in case you “know” someone who disagrees with my experience, please put them in touch with me so I can refute their lore with reality of how a “public option” works.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Novel New Book Titles
Taking some time to observe people around me, I believe I’ve discovered a lot of research in the literary genre providing self-help, personal discovery, and tourism information to us common folk.
I’m talking about books with titles like: “My Guide to Bed and Breakfasts”, “100 Reasons to Visit (Insert City Name Here)”, “Everyday Guide to Washing Dogs”, “1000 Things to See before You Die”, and the like.
Of course, with many popular subjects already copyrighted by the “For Dummies-”, “Fodor’s Guide-”, series and the like, the budding authors are searching for different topics to offer their unique spin within the type.
Though the specifics of the title may vary, here are a few of the emerging ones I’d anticipate based on my observation:
America’s Most Beloved Stoplights
This book must be aimed at readers who have an interest in the architectural styles, traffic management techniques, and motion sequencing options provided by to most of us is the common traffic light. Research consists of driving along major thoroughfares at a pace akin to a walk assuring that the researcher gets a full 30-90-second opportunity to observe and record details about each stoplight along their route.
My wife, who has sometimes joined me in this research, says one dead giveaway of a budding author is a man wearing some form of boater, beret, bowler (except chauffeurs), deerstalker, fedora, fez, flat, Gatsby, Kepi, Panama, peaked (except chauffeurs), pork pie, top (except chauffeurs), trilby, turban, or ushanka (See).
Another of her triggers is a female driver whose head does not project above the seat rest but whose bonnet projects horizontally or vertically outside the outline of the seat.
Building from her observations, those I would exclude from being authors are maybe 25-percent of the men wearing baseball caps with the peak facing forward, 50-percent of those whose peak slants over their right shoulder, and definitely any man whose peak faces the rear.
I turn off the street when I see a man driving with the peak over his left shoulder.
Adding to the hat trigger, I figure I’m observing research when I encounter any driver who appears to be hooking one finger in their ear while steering their vehicle with the off side hand.
Though from the rear the activity looks like a subliminal message I observed in Mad cartoons portraying dolts, if I get to the side of the ear hooker, I discover most times they aren't resting their off hand in a convenient cradle, but instead are using a cell phone.
I have to be careful in labeling the research, however.
There is one ambiguous activity by drivers coasting along the right border of the left turn lane. They slow to catch the main intersection light, but fool me by slipping into the left turn lane just in time to take their turn on the left turn green arrow.
I’ve noted a variation on the research, apparently aimed at studying yield right of way signs at round abouts. The driver comes to a dead stop at the place where traffic is to merge whether there is oncoming traffic from their left or not.
Based on the many stopping opportunities these people have offered me by foiling my attempts to move with traffic at a steady gas-saving pace which precludes 30-90 seconds of idling (and gas guzzling) time at each intersection, I’m pretty curious who will write the first of their tomes, and how those who missed out on being the first will react.
Street Bazaar Shopping Techniques
I have a kind of uncanny biological radar which places me in lines to observe firsthand the haggling techniques portrayed in old movies documenting travels in foreign lands, quests based on Greek or Arabian mythical heroes, early Jewish and Christian histories, treks across trackless expanses in the days of camel caravans and sailing ships, .and the barbarian sagas. Most of these have a scene in a town square bordered by multi-colored fabric awnings from which merchants hawk their wares.
If not part of the story, at least the backdrop to the scene involves characters loudly arguing prices for goods.
The biological radar comes into play because regardless of how many lanes in a store are open for our more modern 21st century exchange of goods for money, I pick the one where this scene unfolds in real time.
Walking about with two items in my hands, I scan the lines, and choose the one behind a cart with 40-items, because all the others have multiple customers or carts even more overflowing with goods.
I should note here I’m amazed at the speed the researcher explores the topic, as the sweeping of goods across the laser table and the flash of the price on the screen is so quick for me that I don’t react until I get a final price.
These technicians are aware of every detail of the bazaar providing an opening to haggling.
Scanner: “Tweet!”
Researcher (stopping the Check-out Assistant from grabbing the next item): “I thought the circular said XXX Super Prunes were 79-cents a can.”
Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant: “That was last week’s circular.”
Researcher: “But, I could swear it was in this week’s too!”
Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant (pulling circular from shelf beneath cash drawer): “Let’s look.”
Researcher (leafing through dog eared circular): “Well, I don’t find it here.” (Looking at date in bottom corner) “It says it’s for this week. OK, I don’t want that can of prunes. Are you sure you want to put a dented can back on the shelf?”
Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant (talking into phone at cash register): “Manager to aisle seven!”
Suffice it to say that while the lines I’d avoided because four and five people with big loads of food in their baskets passed along at a pace I had desired by driving discretely in the “Beloved Stoplights” topic, I get to observe the drama.
Manager: “How can I help?”
Researcher: “I apparently misread one of your circulars – maybe the mailman delivered it late. But, this can of prunes was advertised at 79-cents, and the scan rang it at 89-cents.”
Manager: “I’m sorry. We always update every item price in the store Sunday morning to coincide with the circular distributed in the Sunday papers. The scanned price is accurate!”
I cheered for the manager in my mind, while peering at the ceiling to indicate I wasn’t involved.
Researcher: “The can’s dented!”
Manager (spying my three items tightly jammed behind the “place between orders” bar behind the 40-items the Researcher had unloaded from the cart and the end of the conveyor): “OK, we’ll sell t for 79-cents.”
The manager places a card in the scanner’s reader, types in some information, waits, and types in again.
Manager: “It’s been corrected.”
The manager walks away.
Scanner: “Tweet!”
Researcher: “I thought . . .”
As the people behind me start pushing their carts to other lanes, I continue my observation without regard to what may be taxing my already overworked blood pressure.
Guide to Sharing Knowledge
Being an observer of nature, I spend a lot of time along trails in open lands. Trying to get in tune with my surroundings, I try to be non intrusive, carefully watching where my steps fall along trails to avoid cracking twigs or rustling leaves, scanning the area around me for movement, or contrast in an attempt to spot interesting life forms, and listening for changes in the wind rustling the leaves or animals calling.
In heavily wooded areas, the first evidence of the researcher comes as caws from birds high in trees in enclosed areas, first at a distance and if the research is approaching me, closer in. The acid test whether it’s coming is when I stop, and while I listen, the noise radiates in a sequence from left to right or worse from farther to nearer. In open areas, it shows itself by birds rising to the air, first at a distance and gradually nearer to me.
As the birds or rise closer to my location, I’ll hear first a deep drone, and later distinct human sounds. It’s more difficult to determine whether the research is taking place when the human sounds are intermittent, but is certain when they are at a constant cadence and echoing across the expanse.
By the time all the life around me has moved I make out the subject:
“Over there is a Tufted Plover Grouse,” says the researcher to his audience. It’s a dead giveaway when he’s wearing boots suited for an ascent of Everest, carrying a pack with 3-days of provisions on his back, and has binoculars suitable for spotting targets for naval warfare around his neck in a 200-acre nature preserve.
“But, a Tufted Plover Grouse is a Gulf Coast bird which has migrates there from the Amazon jungle,” responds one from the audience.
“Well, then it’s transient here in Maine. I’ll have to point that out when I find the ranger!”
Since I generally wear khaki, and have my own naval-quality binoculars around my neck, I’m sometimes mistaken for a park official.
Not wanting to intrude on the research, I’ll often look for a side trail or begin back tracking from the way I was approaching the encounter.
Although I’m most sensitive to it in natural areas, I often encounter evidence of this research in many venues. Engineering research is conducted in stores specializing in electronics, culinary research in specialty food stores, financial research near banking institutions, and a general studies research in the walkways of enclosed shopping malls.
An Art of Romance
This research is performed as couples, most often male female encounters among Generation X or Y or Z types. I’ve most often noted it in restaurants among more mature couples either on a date or out for a quiet dinner.
It’s most obvious in surroundings designed to emphasize intimacy, lights toned down, candles on the table, cleverly tented napkins at each place setting, and soft music in the background.
The researcher and his partner arrive together, and he often seats her with a flourish, maybe even holding her chair if the waiter doesn’t. Once the waiter has conducted the preliminaries, maybe unfurling the napkin and placing it in each diner’s lap, presenting the menus, explaining the selections, and taking a drink order, the research begins.
While the woman peruses the menu, the researcher will pull a cell phone from a hidden pocket and begin peering at the light. As she reads, he’ll punch furiously at the display, maybe using one thumb to dial a number or two to type a message.
I admire multi-tasking skills when the punching is done in the right hand while the menu is held in the left.
As the waiter approaches with the drinks, he’ll clap the phone shut, and toss it in a breast pocket.
Right after the drinks are served, and the waiter takes each diner’s order, the man’s pocket will buzz.
Researcher: “Yeah! (30-second pause)
“Well, why didn’t they deliver it on time? (2-minute pause)
“That’s not acceptable. (90-second pause)
“You call Jones and put him on it! (10-second pause)
“OK. (interminable pause)
“Hmmm (interminable pause)
“Uhuh (interminable pause)
“Oh!” (interminable pause)
“No! You tell Mike . . .”
The grunting and orders continues through the drink, past the salad, picked through with a fork in the left hand, and well into the main course, sampled in the same manner. After clapping the phone shut and returning it to his pocket, he then relates the other side of the conversation he just had to his partner.
About the time he finishes, the waiter arrives with a check, and the phone rings again.
Because the region in which I research is limited, and time available at a premium, I don’t believe these are the only topics the inquisitive reader should anticipate on the shelves at their favorite bookstore. But, because they occur most frequently, I’d expect these, or similar titles to be available sooner than later.
I’m talking about books with titles like: “My Guide to Bed and Breakfasts”, “100 Reasons to Visit (Insert City Name Here)”, “Everyday Guide to Washing Dogs”, “1000 Things to See before You Die”, and the like.
Of course, with many popular subjects already copyrighted by the “For Dummies-”, “Fodor’s Guide-”, series and the like, the budding authors are searching for different topics to offer their unique spin within the type.
Though the specifics of the title may vary, here are a few of the emerging ones I’d anticipate based on my observation:
America’s Most Beloved Stoplights
This book must be aimed at readers who have an interest in the architectural styles, traffic management techniques, and motion sequencing options provided by to most of us is the common traffic light. Research consists of driving along major thoroughfares at a pace akin to a walk assuring that the researcher gets a full 30-90-second opportunity to observe and record details about each stoplight along their route.
My wife, who has sometimes joined me in this research, says one dead giveaway of a budding author is a man wearing some form of boater, beret, bowler (except chauffeurs), deerstalker, fedora, fez, flat, Gatsby, Kepi, Panama, peaked (except chauffeurs), pork pie, top (except chauffeurs), trilby, turban, or ushanka (See).
Another of her triggers is a female driver whose head does not project above the seat rest but whose bonnet projects horizontally or vertically outside the outline of the seat.
Building from her observations, those I would exclude from being authors are maybe 25-percent of the men wearing baseball caps with the peak facing forward, 50-percent of those whose peak slants over their right shoulder, and definitely any man whose peak faces the rear.
I turn off the street when I see a man driving with the peak over his left shoulder.
Adding to the hat trigger, I figure I’m observing research when I encounter any driver who appears to be hooking one finger in their ear while steering their vehicle with the off side hand.
Though from the rear the activity looks like a subliminal message I observed in Mad cartoons portraying dolts, if I get to the side of the ear hooker, I discover most times they aren't resting their off hand in a convenient cradle, but instead are using a cell phone.
I have to be careful in labeling the research, however.
There is one ambiguous activity by drivers coasting along the right border of the left turn lane. They slow to catch the main intersection light, but fool me by slipping into the left turn lane just in time to take their turn on the left turn green arrow.
I’ve noted a variation on the research, apparently aimed at studying yield right of way signs at round abouts. The driver comes to a dead stop at the place where traffic is to merge whether there is oncoming traffic from their left or not.
Based on the many stopping opportunities these people have offered me by foiling my attempts to move with traffic at a steady gas-saving pace which precludes 30-90 seconds of idling (and gas guzzling) time at each intersection, I’m pretty curious who will write the first of their tomes, and how those who missed out on being the first will react.
Street Bazaar Shopping Techniques
I have a kind of uncanny biological radar which places me in lines to observe firsthand the haggling techniques portrayed in old movies documenting travels in foreign lands, quests based on Greek or Arabian mythical heroes, early Jewish and Christian histories, treks across trackless expanses in the days of camel caravans and sailing ships, .and the barbarian sagas. Most of these have a scene in a town square bordered by multi-colored fabric awnings from which merchants hawk their wares.
If not part of the story, at least the backdrop to the scene involves characters loudly arguing prices for goods.
The biological radar comes into play because regardless of how many lanes in a store are open for our more modern 21st century exchange of goods for money, I pick the one where this scene unfolds in real time.
Walking about with two items in my hands, I scan the lines, and choose the one behind a cart with 40-items, because all the others have multiple customers or carts even more overflowing with goods.
I should note here I’m amazed at the speed the researcher explores the topic, as the sweeping of goods across the laser table and the flash of the price on the screen is so quick for me that I don’t react until I get a final price.
These technicians are aware of every detail of the bazaar providing an opening to haggling.
Scanner: “Tweet!”
Researcher (stopping the Check-out Assistant from grabbing the next item): “I thought the circular said XXX Super Prunes were 79-cents a can.”
Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant: “That was last week’s circular.”
Researcher: “But, I could swear it was in this week’s too!”
Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant (pulling circular from shelf beneath cash drawer): “Let’s look.”
Researcher (leafing through dog eared circular): “Well, I don’t find it here.” (Looking at date in bottom corner) “It says it’s for this week. OK, I don’t want that can of prunes. Are you sure you want to put a dented can back on the shelf?”
Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant (talking into phone at cash register): “Manager to aisle seven!”
Suffice it to say that while the lines I’d avoided because four and five people with big loads of food in their baskets passed along at a pace I had desired by driving discretely in the “Beloved Stoplights” topic, I get to observe the drama.
Manager: “How can I help?”
Researcher: “I apparently misread one of your circulars – maybe the mailman delivered it late. But, this can of prunes was advertised at 79-cents, and the scan rang it at 89-cents.”
Manager: “I’m sorry. We always update every item price in the store Sunday morning to coincide with the circular distributed in the Sunday papers. The scanned price is accurate!”
I cheered for the manager in my mind, while peering at the ceiling to indicate I wasn’t involved.
Researcher: “The can’s dented!”
Manager (spying my three items tightly jammed behind the “place between orders” bar behind the 40-items the Researcher had unloaded from the cart and the end of the conveyor): “OK, we’ll sell t for 79-cents.”
The manager places a card in the scanner’s reader, types in some information, waits, and types in again.
Manager: “It’s been corrected.”
The manager walks away.
Scanner: “Tweet!”
Researcher: “I thought . . .”
As the people behind me start pushing their carts to other lanes, I continue my observation without regard to what may be taxing my already overworked blood pressure.
Guide to Sharing Knowledge
Being an observer of nature, I spend a lot of time along trails in open lands. Trying to get in tune with my surroundings, I try to be non intrusive, carefully watching where my steps fall along trails to avoid cracking twigs or rustling leaves, scanning the area around me for movement, or contrast in an attempt to spot interesting life forms, and listening for changes in the wind rustling the leaves or animals calling.
In heavily wooded areas, the first evidence of the researcher comes as caws from birds high in trees in enclosed areas, first at a distance and if the research is approaching me, closer in. The acid test whether it’s coming is when I stop, and while I listen, the noise radiates in a sequence from left to right or worse from farther to nearer. In open areas, it shows itself by birds rising to the air, first at a distance and gradually nearer to me.
As the birds or rise closer to my location, I’ll hear first a deep drone, and later distinct human sounds. It’s more difficult to determine whether the research is taking place when the human sounds are intermittent, but is certain when they are at a constant cadence and echoing across the expanse.
By the time all the life around me has moved I make out the subject:
“Over there is a Tufted Plover Grouse,” says the researcher to his audience. It’s a dead giveaway when he’s wearing boots suited for an ascent of Everest, carrying a pack with 3-days of provisions on his back, and has binoculars suitable for spotting targets for naval warfare around his neck in a 200-acre nature preserve.
“But, a Tufted Plover Grouse is a Gulf Coast bird which has migrates there from the Amazon jungle,” responds one from the audience.
“Well, then it’s transient here in Maine. I’ll have to point that out when I find the ranger!”
Since I generally wear khaki, and have my own naval-quality binoculars around my neck, I’m sometimes mistaken for a park official.
Not wanting to intrude on the research, I’ll often look for a side trail or begin back tracking from the way I was approaching the encounter.
Although I’m most sensitive to it in natural areas, I often encounter evidence of this research in many venues. Engineering research is conducted in stores specializing in electronics, culinary research in specialty food stores, financial research near banking institutions, and a general studies research in the walkways of enclosed shopping malls.
An Art of Romance
This research is performed as couples, most often male female encounters among Generation X or Y or Z types. I’ve most often noted it in restaurants among more mature couples either on a date or out for a quiet dinner.
It’s most obvious in surroundings designed to emphasize intimacy, lights toned down, candles on the table, cleverly tented napkins at each place setting, and soft music in the background.
The researcher and his partner arrive together, and he often seats her with a flourish, maybe even holding her chair if the waiter doesn’t. Once the waiter has conducted the preliminaries, maybe unfurling the napkin and placing it in each diner’s lap, presenting the menus, explaining the selections, and taking a drink order, the research begins.
While the woman peruses the menu, the researcher will pull a cell phone from a hidden pocket and begin peering at the light. As she reads, he’ll punch furiously at the display, maybe using one thumb to dial a number or two to type a message.
I admire multi-tasking skills when the punching is done in the right hand while the menu is held in the left.
As the waiter approaches with the drinks, he’ll clap the phone shut, and toss it in a breast pocket.
Right after the drinks are served, and the waiter takes each diner’s order, the man’s pocket will buzz.
Researcher: “Yeah! (30-second pause)
“Well, why didn’t they deliver it on time? (2-minute pause)
“That’s not acceptable. (90-second pause)
“You call Jones and put him on it! (10-second pause)
“OK. (interminable pause)
“Hmmm (interminable pause)
“Uhuh (interminable pause)
“Oh!” (interminable pause)
“No! You tell Mike . . .”
The grunting and orders continues through the drink, past the salad, picked through with a fork in the left hand, and well into the main course, sampled in the same manner. After clapping the phone shut and returning it to his pocket, he then relates the other side of the conversation he just had to his partner.
About the time he finishes, the waiter arrives with a check, and the phone rings again.
Because the region in which I research is limited, and time available at a premium, I don’t believe these are the only topics the inquisitive reader should anticipate on the shelves at their favorite bookstore. But, because they occur most frequently, I’d expect these, or similar titles to be available sooner than later.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Vacuum Cleaner (Redux)
It’s not often one gets a second chance, but today I got a second chance on the vacuum cleaner gig.
Today around 3 p.m. the doorbell rang. Taking a break from preparing some roast stuffed brook trout, I went to the door, and again, found another not quite so lithe dancing teddy bear standing there, this time holding out a box of Kleenex (real Kleenex!) and telling me that I had no obligation for accepting it.
“I’m from “Buzzy-scheme” (name changed to protect any consumers who may read this)
and we don’t expect you to buy Buzzy Scheme, but we get credit from the boss if we show it to you.
I was a little disappointed as the last time the boss showed up to get Flopsy (or was it Mopsy?) in the door, and peering past this guy’s shoulder, I didn’t see Flopsy (or was it Mopsy?) waiting to enter my home.
“We don’t want you to buy anything . . .” (a circumstance which may explain the current economic demise more than the Imbecile President George W. Bush dumping the economy in the drink) “ . . . but . . . ”
I looked to the north and spotted the station wagon.
“ . . . we’d like to show you the product.”
Thinking I could use a box of REAL Kleenex, I paused for about five seconds, but thinking about the trout, and the time I’d take looking at something I wouldn’t be expected to buy anyway, I said, “I’m not interested.”
My hand shook, but to put the exclamation point on the “not interested” statement, I held the Kleenex out to him.
He looked over his shoulder at the car, and took the box in his hand. Before he could argue, I was back in the house, closing the main door, letting him hold the storm open.
He didn’t slam it shut, but thankfully disappeared (presumably heading south).
My conscience clear, and juices running, I returned to the trout and began salting and peppering the cuisine prior to roasting it (375-degrees for 30-minutes).
Can’t say old dogs don’t learn new tricks.
Today around 3 p.m. the doorbell rang. Taking a break from preparing some roast stuffed brook trout, I went to the door, and again, found another not quite so lithe dancing teddy bear standing there, this time holding out a box of Kleenex (real Kleenex!) and telling me that I had no obligation for accepting it.
“I’m from “Buzzy-scheme” (name changed to protect any consumers who may read this)
and we don’t expect you to buy Buzzy Scheme, but we get credit from the boss if we show it to you.
I was a little disappointed as the last time the boss showed up to get Flopsy (or was it Mopsy?) in the door, and peering past this guy’s shoulder, I didn’t see Flopsy (or was it Mopsy?) waiting to enter my home.
“We don’t want you to buy anything . . .” (a circumstance which may explain the current economic demise more than the Imbecile President George W. Bush dumping the economy in the drink) “ . . . but . . . ”
I looked to the north and spotted the station wagon.
“ . . . we’d like to show you the product.”
Thinking I could use a box of REAL Kleenex, I paused for about five seconds, but thinking about the trout, and the time I’d take looking at something I wouldn’t be expected to buy anyway, I said, “I’m not interested.”
My hand shook, but to put the exclamation point on the “not interested” statement, I held the Kleenex out to him.
He looked over his shoulder at the car, and took the box in his hand. Before he could argue, I was back in the house, closing the main door, letting him hold the storm open.
He didn’t slam it shut, but thankfully disappeared (presumably heading south).
My conscience clear, and juices running, I returned to the trout and began salting and peppering the cuisine prior to roasting it (375-degrees for 30-minutes).
Can’t say old dogs don’t learn new tricks.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Poetry as Politics
It was more than 30 years ago that I took a course in “modern poetry” which featured music and lyrics from among others, my hero, Jim Morrison.
The course treated the lyric as stand alone poetry – akin to the early English poems sung to facilitate their distribution at a time when writing materials, and the ability to read or write were rare.
The college course borrowed reviewed those songs distributed on vinyl for posterity by muses offering their commentary on society.
Not exactly Beowulf, Canterbury Tales, or Shakespeare -- all of which ended up verbal literary traditions -- but when balanced against the old literature to reflect that time's concern for how the world should be shaped, the class made sense.
The course's featured lyrics came from people such Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison, both among my album purchases, but not the only artists whose music I sought to reflect a mood I held regarding society while cruising around town.
Getting into the flow, I lobbied in class for review of lyrics from Cream and Jimi Hendrix.
As their instrumental music were personal favorites.
But, argue as I might, and to my disappointment I couldn’t earn a place in the discussion for the words surrounding the Cream / Hendrix "inspirational" music like "White Room," "I'm So Glad," "Politician," "Purple Haze," "Voodoo Child" and others.
I later learned that the lyric both groups adapted either came from tradition which already existed (like Hendrix' "All Along the Watchtower"), or centered on the meter and cadence of spoken words which supported the beat as opposed to the emotion I read into it.
The lyrics had difficulty standing alone.
My arguments to recognize Hendrix and Cream were more suited to a “music” class than a “poetry” class – probably reflecting my overall average grades in “Liberal Arts” for those studies not directly associated with printed literature.
To allay my disappointment, I took “modern poetry” courses which explored such writers as William Carlos Williams, e. e. cummings, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, Robert Graves, Gerard Manley Hopkins, TS Elliot, Wilfred Owen, and William Butler Years among others. It taught me that absent the music, the thoughts I wanted reviewed in the current lyric were recorded in the written word not by people who played instruments, but by craftsmen who knew how to use the written word.
Dylan and Morrison were the rare combination of verbal artists who had their literature distributed by leverage the more popular musical medium.
Fortunately for me, losing the argument to include Cream in that combination started to build a foundation in poetic literature which I’ve enjoyed to this day.
Today I was listening to my favorite National Public Radio (NPR) broadcast, and discovered that certain “hip hop” artists shared the concern for their society I attempted to adapt into my post-modern-literature studies.
Despite my disappointment at not making Cream and Hendrix part of my “modern poetry” course, I may explore today's artists concerned about such issues as social justice, environmental protection, anti-imperialist perspectives, and pro-worker agendas among others.
The music isn't to my taste, but if I tone down the bass, and control the trebel, there may be a parallel between those “modern English” authors I explored and the subject line for the “hip hop” / “rap” poets favored today.
Now my job is to convince those lost in the past like me to see what's in the now and understand we share a concern roaming across the generations worth leveraging into the power my peers and I had enjoyed those many years ago.
The course treated the lyric as stand alone poetry – akin to the early English poems sung to facilitate their distribution at a time when writing materials, and the ability to read or write were rare.
The college course borrowed reviewed those songs distributed on vinyl for posterity by muses offering their commentary on society.
Not exactly Beowulf, Canterbury Tales, or Shakespeare -- all of which ended up verbal literary traditions -- but when balanced against the old literature to reflect that time's concern for how the world should be shaped, the class made sense.
The course's featured lyrics came from people such Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison, both among my album purchases, but not the only artists whose music I sought to reflect a mood I held regarding society while cruising around town.
Getting into the flow, I lobbied in class for review of lyrics from Cream and Jimi Hendrix.
As their instrumental music were personal favorites.
But, argue as I might, and to my disappointment I couldn’t earn a place in the discussion for the words surrounding the Cream / Hendrix "inspirational" music like "White Room," "I'm So Glad," "Politician," "Purple Haze," "Voodoo Child" and others.
I later learned that the lyric both groups adapted either came from tradition which already existed (like Hendrix' "All Along the Watchtower"), or centered on the meter and cadence of spoken words which supported the beat as opposed to the emotion I read into it.
The lyrics had difficulty standing alone.
My arguments to recognize Hendrix and Cream were more suited to a “music” class than a “poetry” class – probably reflecting my overall average grades in “Liberal Arts” for those studies not directly associated with printed literature.
To allay my disappointment, I took “modern poetry” courses which explored such writers as William Carlos Williams, e. e. cummings, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, Robert Graves, Gerard Manley Hopkins, TS Elliot, Wilfred Owen, and William Butler Years among others. It taught me that absent the music, the thoughts I wanted reviewed in the current lyric were recorded in the written word not by people who played instruments, but by craftsmen who knew how to use the written word.
Dylan and Morrison were the rare combination of verbal artists who had their literature distributed by leverage the more popular musical medium.
Fortunately for me, losing the argument to include Cream in that combination started to build a foundation in poetic literature which I’ve enjoyed to this day.
Today I was listening to my favorite National Public Radio (NPR) broadcast, and discovered that certain “hip hop” artists shared the concern for their society I attempted to adapt into my post-modern-literature studies.
Despite my disappointment at not making Cream and Hendrix part of my “modern poetry” course, I may explore today's artists concerned about such issues as social justice, environmental protection, anti-imperialist perspectives, and pro-worker agendas among others.
The music isn't to my taste, but if I tone down the bass, and control the trebel, there may be a parallel between those “modern English” authors I explored and the subject line for the “hip hop” / “rap” poets favored today.
Now my job is to convince those lost in the past like me to see what's in the now and understand we share a concern roaming across the generations worth leveraging into the power my peers and I had enjoyed those many years ago.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Flipping and Flopping
Sarah Palin is touted as a bureaucracy buster who once said "thanks but no thanks" to the Alaska Senator Ted Stevens (see: Anchorage Daily News) "Bridge to Nowhere" connecting a 50-resident island to Ketchikan, AK, at a cost of nearly $400-million, including Stevens' $223-million earmark.
But, like the salmon her husband catches during fishing season, Palin is bouncing around on her governmental philosophy according to the Detroit Free Press. The newspaper reports that Palin is quoted by the Ketchikan Daily News the project was necessary to "help this community prosper" during a campaign visit to the community October 22, 2006.
Her flip flop during her first visit with the public after being selected the vice presidential candidate has even eaten at the Alaskan backing (see: Reuters).
The Stevens bridge was initiated as an earmark against the 2005 highway spending package under the Republican Senate (see: Salon) before Imbecile in Chief became a foe of such spending when the Democrats took over the house in the 2006 election.
Palin altered the plan by changing Alaska's spending priority for its share of the project (see: CNN). However, the earmarked Federal funding remains in the Alaska budget though not allocated to the bridge (see Wikipedia).
Take care,
jim
But, like the salmon her husband catches during fishing season, Palin is bouncing around on her governmental philosophy according to the Detroit Free Press. The newspaper reports that Palin is quoted by the Ketchikan Daily News the project was necessary to "help this community prosper" during a campaign visit to the community October 22, 2006.
Her flip flop during her first visit with the public after being selected the vice presidential candidate has even eaten at the Alaskan backing (see: Reuters).
The Stevens bridge was initiated as an earmark against the 2005 highway spending package under the Republican Senate (see: Salon) before Imbecile in Chief became a foe of such spending when the Democrats took over the house in the 2006 election.
Palin altered the plan by changing Alaska's spending priority for its share of the project (see: CNN). However, the earmarked Federal funding remains in the Alaska budget though not allocated to the bridge (see Wikipedia).
Take care,
jim
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saved by Gustav
While the Republican's debated whether the imbecile in chief, George W. Bush, should attend their convention, Gustav intervened.
When a similar hurricane named "Katrina" hit the Louisiana coast, John S. McCain, the equivalent of a cuckold from the tactics used to give Bush a victory in the North Carolina 2000 Republican primary ( see: Boston Globe ), was sitting on Air Force One enjoying his 69th birthday with the Cuckolder in Chief.
This year, the duo decided to separate for McCain's birthday celebration, allegedly to show concern for citizens of Louisiana, who meant little when Katrina hit in 2005 long after Bush was in office and before McCain gained the Republican nomination for the top office in the nation.
There had been talk during the campaign about what the Republican's could do with George -- titular head of the party who is enjoying the lowest public approval rating of any national figure, including Herbert Hoover who watched the nation sink into depression, over the last 100 years. It made bad TV if Bush raved about his "legacy" when a majority of the thinking public (the 27-or so percent who don't have the capacity to understand the damage he has done aside) know the nation is worse off today than it was in 2000 when Bush took office with a budget surplus paying down on a $4-trillion debt his daddy (George H. W.) and Ronald Reagan created to "trickle down" prosperity on ordinary American's by giving tax breaks to the top three percent of those receiving income in the country.
Part of the reason Bush isn't "persona grata" at the convention is to hide the legacy he established by undermining the US Constitution, leading the US into a war largely conceived in lie and fantasy, losing the world's recognition of the US as a leader in human rights, watching middle class jobs escape overseas to international corporations which pay no taxes to the nation, presided over the decay of the national infrastructure even as contractors bilked the government to restore Iraq's, and taking the nation another $4 trillion in deeper debt (in addition to the "emergency appropriations" he used to hide the costs of Iraq and after he threw the Clinton surplus at his corporate backers) over the past eight years.
It would be difficult for McCain to build on the Republican legacy if anyone looked at the facts surrounding Bush, but the sitting President deserved his honor in a manner that Hoover deserved the honor to speak at the 1932 Republican convention which marked the depths of the economic collapse he watched unroll as he said the government should do nothing to rescue the economy.
Another reason McCain may not have wanted Bush to attend is to avoid scrutiny of John McCain's campaign(review: Arizona Republic ), which markets him as an honest broker for the nation, when, in fact, he's the only one of five Senators accused of accepting the influence dollars from Charles Keating to call of Federal Regulators from investigating his savings and loan scam who remains in office.
George W. is under scrutiny for his manipulation of the rules starting with his alleged "service" in the Alabama Air National Guard; continuing with his title as the "compassionate conservative" (as those who suffered in Katrina); following with his assertion of McCain's "illegitimate child;" continuing with the statement that Saddam Hussein, a non-sympathetic figure, supported the attack on the World Trade Center; rolling through "signing statements" which recognize a law has been enacted, but declare the President won't recognize it; and continuing today as the economy collapses while he prates "the 'conomy is fundamentally sound" to avoid blame for the increase in costs caused by his borrowing while still in office.
McCain no doubt would have liked Bush to stand down at this year's convention.
Gustav gave him the excuse to excuse the Bush cement shoes from arriving at McCain's celebration.
Take care,
jim
When a similar hurricane named "Katrina" hit the Louisiana coast, John S. McCain, the equivalent of a cuckold from the tactics used to give Bush a victory in the North Carolina 2000 Republican primary ( see: Boston Globe ), was sitting on Air Force One enjoying his 69th birthday with the Cuckolder in Chief.
This year, the duo decided to separate for McCain's birthday celebration, allegedly to show concern for citizens of Louisiana, who meant little when Katrina hit in 2005 long after Bush was in office and before McCain gained the Republican nomination for the top office in the nation.
There had been talk during the campaign about what the Republican's could do with George -- titular head of the party who is enjoying the lowest public approval rating of any national figure, including Herbert Hoover who watched the nation sink into depression, over the last 100 years. It made bad TV if Bush raved about his "legacy" when a majority of the thinking public (the 27-or so percent who don't have the capacity to understand the damage he has done aside) know the nation is worse off today than it was in 2000 when Bush took office with a budget surplus paying down on a $4-trillion debt his daddy (George H. W.) and Ronald Reagan created to "trickle down" prosperity on ordinary American's by giving tax breaks to the top three percent of those receiving income in the country.
Part of the reason Bush isn't "persona grata" at the convention is to hide the legacy he established by undermining the US Constitution, leading the US into a war largely conceived in lie and fantasy, losing the world's recognition of the US as a leader in human rights, watching middle class jobs escape overseas to international corporations which pay no taxes to the nation, presided over the decay of the national infrastructure even as contractors bilked the government to restore Iraq's, and taking the nation another $4 trillion in deeper debt (in addition to the "emergency appropriations" he used to hide the costs of Iraq and after he threw the Clinton surplus at his corporate backers) over the past eight years.
It would be difficult for McCain to build on the Republican legacy if anyone looked at the facts surrounding Bush, but the sitting President deserved his honor in a manner that Hoover deserved the honor to speak at the 1932 Republican convention which marked the depths of the economic collapse he watched unroll as he said the government should do nothing to rescue the economy.
Another reason McCain may not have wanted Bush to attend is to avoid scrutiny of John McCain's campaign(review: Arizona Republic ), which markets him as an honest broker for the nation, when, in fact, he's the only one of five Senators accused of accepting the influence dollars from Charles Keating to call of Federal Regulators from investigating his savings and loan scam who remains in office.
George W. is under scrutiny for his manipulation of the rules starting with his alleged "service" in the Alabama Air National Guard; continuing with his title as the "compassionate conservative" (as those who suffered in Katrina); following with his assertion of McCain's "illegitimate child;" continuing with the statement that Saddam Hussein, a non-sympathetic figure, supported the attack on the World Trade Center; rolling through "signing statements" which recognize a law has been enacted, but declare the President won't recognize it; and continuing today as the economy collapses while he prates "the 'conomy is fundamentally sound" to avoid blame for the increase in costs caused by his borrowing while still in office.
McCain no doubt would have liked Bush to stand down at this year's convention.
Gustav gave him the excuse to excuse the Bush cement shoes from arriving at McCain's celebration.
Take care,
jim
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