IF you think a pescatarian is a member of a Protestant church or that prosecco is thinly sliced Italian ham, you, my friend, are engaging in mondegreen.
Or so we're told in the latest edition of the Merriam Webster Collegiate Dictionary which contains 100 new entries including "pescatarian" (a vegetarian who eats fish), "prosecco" (a sparkling Italian wine) and "mondegreen" which describes words mistaken for other words.
The folks at Merriam Webster have picked the new entries after monitoring their use for several years in a job that must be long on patience and short on stress.
"As soon as we see the word used without explanation or translation or gloss, we consider it a naturalized citizen of the English language," Peter Sokolowski, an editor-at-large for Merriam-Webster, told the Associated Press. "If somebody is using it to convey a specific idea and that idea is successfully conveyed in that word, it's ready to go in the dictionary."
Among the other terms that have recently found their way into print are soju (a Korean vodka distilled from rice), air quotes (a gesture made by raising and flexing the index and middle fingers of both hands, used to call attention to a word or expression), edamame (immature green soybeans), malware (software designed to interfere with a computer's normal functioning) and netroots (grassroots political activists who communicate via the Internet).
We also find racino (a racetrack at which slot machines are available for gamblers), webinar (a live online presentation during which viewers can submit questions and comments) and subprime, a term that unfortunately needs no explanation.
"Pescatarian" recalls a couple I once knew who refused to eat anything with a face. They bickered all through a dinner one evening while trying to decide if scallops fell into that category.
But "mondegreen" is my favorite. I'm surprised someone didn't coin a phrase for misunderstood phrases or lyrics centuries ago.
Instead, it was left to writer Sylvia Wright who coined the term in an essay called "The Death of Lady Mondegreen," which was published in Harper's Magazine. Wright described how, as a young girl, she misheard the final line of the first stanza from the 17th century ballad "The Bonnie Earl O' Murray."
She wrote: "When I was a child, my mother used to read aloud to me from Percy's Reliques, and one of my favorite poems began, as I remember: Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands, Oh, where hae ye been? They hae slain the Earl Amurray, (sic) And Lady Mondegreen.
"The actual fourth line is `And laid him on the green.' The point about what I shall hereafter call mondegreens, since no one else has thought up a word for them, is that they are better than the original," Wright explained.
She cited as an example, "Surely Good Mrs. Murphy shall follow me all the days of my life ("Surely goodness and mercy ..." from Psalm 23).
Perhaps the most famous modern example was the lyric from Credence Clearwater Revival that went "There's a a bad moon on the rise" which was heard by many as "There's a bathroom on the right."
Then there was "`Scuse me while I kiss the sky" from a lyric in the song "Purple Haze" by Jimi Hendrix, which somehow became "`Scuse me while I kiss this guy."
In an episode of the television sitcom "Friends," Phoebe believes the lyric from Elton John's "Tiny Dancer," "Hold me closer, tiny dancer" is actually "Hold me close, young Tony Danza."
In the CBS sitcom "The Nanny," "The girl with kaleidoscope eyes," from the song "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" by the Beatles, is misheard as "The girl with colitis goes by."
A Macy Gray song contains the "My world crumbles when you are not there." It was heard both as "I walk on gum balls when you're not there," and "I wear goggles for you on my rear."
Jon Carroll of the San Francisco Chronicle reported that "A social worker ... was dictating a report in which she mentioned that her client was living with her paramour. It came back from the typist that she was living with her power mower."
Carroll also wrote that a TV weatherman somehow became a "meaty urologist."
Who said the study of language was dull.
robert.rector@sgvn.com
Monday, July 21, 2008
Bush League
IF any of these things happen to you, run, don't walk, to the nearest metaphoric exit:
A guy on a street corner tries to sell you a gold watch.
A "financial adviser" promises you double-digit returns on your investment.
A lame duck president pulls a major policy change out of his hat, the consequences of which will extend far beyond his term of office.
Let's assume you're smart enough to avoid the first two pitfalls and instead focus on No. 3.
President Bush, a half-year short of concluding what might be charitably called a controversial two terms in office, this past week lifted a presidential ban on offshore drilling, saying it would ease pressure on oil prices by increasing domestic production.
"With this action, the executive branch's restrictions on this exploration have been cleared away," Bush said. "This means that the only thing standing between the American people and these vast oil resources is action from the U.S. Congress."
At issue are about 19 billion barrels that, the Interior Department says, lie in federal waters in the Gulf of Mexico and off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. Nothing can happen, however, unless Congress chooses not to extend its moratorium, first enacted in 1981.
Bush's plan is brilliant in its simplicity. But for all the wrong reasons.
To call this move political would be an understatement. In one deft sound bite, the president kicked the entire energy crisis/gas price mess into the laps of the Democrats who currently control Congress. At the same time, he gave hope, however false, to Americans chafing under the yoke of soaring gas prices that the solution is just a drilling rig or two away.
There are, however, a few conclusions we can draw from Mr. Bush's actions:
First, we apparently have a president who decries our addiction to oil (See State of the Union message, 2006), then suggests that the way to deal with that addiction is to find more.
Second, it would take at least seven years to even begin drilling in areas currently under the moratorium, and the resulting effect on gas prices could be a decade or more away. According to the Energy Department, a barrel of oil now costs approximately $140. Increased supply would cut that price to an estimated $138.60 to $139.60 a barrel. No one knows how this would affect the price of a gallon of gas for consumers at the pump.
Third, the president fails to acknowledge that the environmental danger in offshore drilling is substantial.
Californians ought to know. They need to look no farther than Santa Barbara. There, on the afternoon of Jan. 29, 1969, a Union Oil Co. platform stationed six miles off the coast of Summerland suffered a blowout.
For 11 days, oil workers struggled to cap the rupture. During that time, 200,000 gallons of crude oil bubbled to the surface and were spread into an 800-square-
mile slick by winds and swells. Incoming tides brought the thick tar to beaches from Rincon Point to Goleta, marring 35 miles of coastline.
Incoming tides brought the corpses of dead seals and dolphins. Oil had clogged the blowholes of the dolphins, causing massive lung hemorrhages.
Animals that ingested the oil were poisoned. In the months that followed, gray whales migrating to their calving and breeding grounds in Baja California avoided the channel, their main route south.
Shorebirds, which feed on sand creatures, fled the area. But diving birds, which must get their nourishment from the waters themselves, became soaked with tar.
"I don't like to call it a disaster," Fred L. Hartley, president of Union Oil Co., said at the time, "because there has been no loss of human life. I am amazed at the publicity for the loss of a few birds."
But the worst thing about the Bush plan is that an unrestricted quest for new oil reserves would prematurely halt a revolution in automobile manufacturing that has been too long in coming.
In the next several years, a new generation of cars, from hybrids to electrics, will be hitting the market. A new Prius. A new Honda. A new VW. Cars driven by ethanol, hydrogen, biofuel, clean diesel. Many are scheduled to arrive on the market starting in 2010.
We are on the verge of the greatest revolution in automotive technology since the advent of the internal combustion engine. It's one that will not only change the way we drive, but will be cleaner as well. In the long term, it could even break the undeniable link between oil and terrorism.
But if you want to stop it dead in its tracks, make it the policy of this country to dig for oil no matter what the cost or consequence.
A guy on a street corner tries to sell you a gold watch.
A "financial adviser" promises you double-digit returns on your investment.
A lame duck president pulls a major policy change out of his hat, the consequences of which will extend far beyond his term of office.
Let's assume you're smart enough to avoid the first two pitfalls and instead focus on No. 3.
President Bush, a half-year short of concluding what might be charitably called a controversial two terms in office, this past week lifted a presidential ban on offshore drilling, saying it would ease pressure on oil prices by increasing domestic production.
"With this action, the executive branch's restrictions on this exploration have been cleared away," Bush said. "This means that the only thing standing between the American people and these vast oil resources is action from the U.S. Congress."
At issue are about 19 billion barrels that, the Interior Department says, lie in federal waters in the Gulf of Mexico and off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. Nothing can happen, however, unless Congress chooses not to extend its moratorium, first enacted in 1981.
Bush's plan is brilliant in its simplicity. But for all the wrong reasons.
To call this move political would be an understatement. In one deft sound bite, the president kicked the entire energy crisis/gas price mess into the laps of the Democrats who currently control Congress. At the same time, he gave hope, however false, to Americans chafing under the yoke of soaring gas prices that the solution is just a drilling rig or two away.
There are, however, a few conclusions we can draw from Mr. Bush's actions:
First, we apparently have a president who decries our addiction to oil (See State of the Union message, 2006), then suggests that the way to deal with that addiction is to find more.
Second, it would take at least seven years to even begin drilling in areas currently under the moratorium, and the resulting effect on gas prices could be a decade or more away. According to the Energy Department, a barrel of oil now costs approximately $140. Increased supply would cut that price to an estimated $138.60 to $139.60 a barrel. No one knows how this would affect the price of a gallon of gas for consumers at the pump.
Third, the president fails to acknowledge that the environmental danger in offshore drilling is substantial.
Californians ought to know. They need to look no farther than Santa Barbara. There, on the afternoon of Jan. 29, 1969, a Union Oil Co. platform stationed six miles off the coast of Summerland suffered a blowout.
For 11 days, oil workers struggled to cap the rupture. During that time, 200,000 gallons of crude oil bubbled to the surface and were spread into an 800-square-
mile slick by winds and swells. Incoming tides brought the thick tar to beaches from Rincon Point to Goleta, marring 35 miles of coastline.
Incoming tides brought the corpses of dead seals and dolphins. Oil had clogged the blowholes of the dolphins, causing massive lung hemorrhages.
Animals that ingested the oil were poisoned. In the months that followed, gray whales migrating to their calving and breeding grounds in Baja California avoided the channel, their main route south.
Shorebirds, which feed on sand creatures, fled the area. But diving birds, which must get their nourishment from the waters themselves, became soaked with tar.
"I don't like to call it a disaster," Fred L. Hartley, president of Union Oil Co., said at the time, "because there has been no loss of human life. I am amazed at the publicity for the loss of a few birds."
But the worst thing about the Bush plan is that an unrestricted quest for new oil reserves would prematurely halt a revolution in automobile manufacturing that has been too long in coming.
In the next several years, a new generation of cars, from hybrids to electrics, will be hitting the market. A new Prius. A new Honda. A new VW. Cars driven by ethanol, hydrogen, biofuel, clean diesel. Many are scheduled to arrive on the market starting in 2010.
We are on the verge of the greatest revolution in automotive technology since the advent of the internal combustion engine. It's one that will not only change the way we drive, but will be cleaner as well. In the long term, it could even break the undeniable link between oil and terrorism.
But if you want to stop it dead in its tracks, make it the policy of this country to dig for oil no matter what the cost or consequence.
Monday, June 30, 2008
The Sky Isn't Falling
COURTESY of the Associated Press, here's the latest missive from the Chicken Little school of journalism:
"Midwestern levees are bursting. Polar bears are adrift. Gas prices are skyrocketing. Home values are abysmal. Air fares, college tuition and health care border on unaffordable. Wars without end rage in Iraq, Afghanistan and against terrorism ...
"... a battered public seems discouraged by the onslaught of dispiriting things. An Associated Press-Ipsos poll says a barrel-scraping 17 percent of people surveyed believe the country is moving in the right direction. That is the lowest reading since the survey began in 2003.
"An ABC News-Washington Post survey put that figure at 14 percent, tying the low in more than three decades of taking soundings on the national mood."
Let's not bury our heads in the sand. Nobody is going to mistake this particular moment in time as America's golden era.
And while many are quick to blame George Bush, the Saudis, global warming or Kobe Bryant for the miserable state of things, let's get real for a moment.
While it's not the best of times, it's not the worst of times either.
Consider this era as described in an online history:
"What was once the land of opportunity was now the land of desperation. What was once the land of hope and optimism had become the land of despair.
"The American people were questioning all the maxims on which they had based their lives: democracy, capitalism, individualism ... the income of the average American family was reduced by 40 percent, from $2,300 to $1,500. Instead of advancement, survival became the keyword."
That, folks, was the Great Depression.
Unemployment rose from 5 million in 1930 to 13 million by the end of 1932. Unemployed fathers saw children hired for sub-standard wages. In 1930, 2.25 million boys and girls ages 10-18 worked in factories, canneries, mines and on farms. Children left school to support their families.
Kids in Appalachia were so hungry they chewed on their hands. The nation's suicide rate was at an all-time high.
Families split up or migrated from their homes in search of work. Shanty towns - constructed of packing crates, abandoned cars and other scraps - sprung up across the nation. Gangs of youths, whose families could no longer support them, rode the rails in box cars hoping to find a job. Victims of the drought and dust storms in the Great Plains left their farms and headed for California, the new land of "milk and honey," where some were stopped at the border.
And at the outset of the misery, Secretary of the Treasury Andrew Mellon advised President Hoover that shock treatment would be the best response:
"Liquidate labor, liquidate stocks, liquidate the farmers, liquidate real estate. ... That will purge the rottenness out of the system. High costs of living and high living will come down. People will work harder, live a more moral life. Values will be adjusted, and enterprising people will pick up the wrecks from less competent people."
Tough times? The toughest.
Then there was 1942. Hitler and Mussolini occupied most of continental Europe and many Americans believed England would soon fall. The Japanese were sweeping across the Pacific toward Australia. People on the West Coast feared an invasion, or at the least another Pearl Harbor. Nazi leaders were coordinating the "final solution to the Jewish question."
Fear? You bet.
The year 1968 was no walk in the park either:
Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy were murdered in the prime of their lives. The North Vietnamese launched the Tet offensive, changing the course of the war in Southeast Asia. American casualties mounted. Anti-war protests paralyzed college campuses. President Lyndon Johnson announced he would not stand for reelection. The Democratic National Convention in Chicago was marred by violent clashes between protesters and Mayor Daley's police force. Richard Nixon is elected president.
Chaos? Absolutely.
And now, polar bears are adrift? Costly gas? We've seen a lot worse. And survived quite nicely. I'm not prepared to write off America yet.
Or as George Easterbrook of the Brookings Institute put it, "Would you rather live as an average person in the United States of the present day or in this or any other nation at any time in the past? That question answers itself, and is a reason for fundamental optimism."
I am not a sportswriter. This is not a sports column. But I am a golfer. And as such, a word about Tiger Woods.
Let me get this straight. Young Eldrick wins the U.S. Open, arguably the toughest tournament of the year, contested on a course the length of the 405 Freeway with Brazilian-rain-forest rough, while playing on a broken leg with a torn ACL. In sudden death. After a 18-hole playoff.
They say Tiger is out for the year with knee surgery. Don't believe it. He's out for a lube and an oil change.
Because he's more machine than man.
"Midwestern levees are bursting. Polar bears are adrift. Gas prices are skyrocketing. Home values are abysmal. Air fares, college tuition and health care border on unaffordable. Wars without end rage in Iraq, Afghanistan and against terrorism ...
"... a battered public seems discouraged by the onslaught of dispiriting things. An Associated Press-Ipsos poll says a barrel-scraping 17 percent of people surveyed believe the country is moving in the right direction. That is the lowest reading since the survey began in 2003.
"An ABC News-Washington Post survey put that figure at 14 percent, tying the low in more than three decades of taking soundings on the national mood."
Let's not bury our heads in the sand. Nobody is going to mistake this particular moment in time as America's golden era.
And while many are quick to blame George Bush, the Saudis, global warming or Kobe Bryant for the miserable state of things, let's get real for a moment.
While it's not the best of times, it's not the worst of times either.
Consider this era as described in an online history:
"What was once the land of opportunity was now the land of desperation. What was once the land of hope and optimism had become the land of despair.
"The American people were questioning all the maxims on which they had based their lives: democracy, capitalism, individualism ... the income of the average American family was reduced by 40 percent, from $2,300 to $1,500. Instead of advancement, survival became the keyword."
That, folks, was the Great Depression.
Unemployment rose from 5 million in 1930 to 13 million by the end of 1932. Unemployed fathers saw children hired for sub-standard wages. In 1930, 2.25 million boys and girls ages 10-18 worked in factories, canneries, mines and on farms. Children left school to support their families.
Kids in Appalachia were so hungry they chewed on their hands. The nation's suicide rate was at an all-time high.
Families split up or migrated from their homes in search of work. Shanty towns - constructed of packing crates, abandoned cars and other scraps - sprung up across the nation. Gangs of youths, whose families could no longer support them, rode the rails in box cars hoping to find a job. Victims of the drought and dust storms in the Great Plains left their farms and headed for California, the new land of "milk and honey," where some were stopped at the border.
And at the outset of the misery, Secretary of the Treasury Andrew Mellon advised President Hoover that shock treatment would be the best response:
"Liquidate labor, liquidate stocks, liquidate the farmers, liquidate real estate. ... That will purge the rottenness out of the system. High costs of living and high living will come down. People will work harder, live a more moral life. Values will be adjusted, and enterprising people will pick up the wrecks from less competent people."
Tough times? The toughest.
Then there was 1942. Hitler and Mussolini occupied most of continental Europe and many Americans believed England would soon fall. The Japanese were sweeping across the Pacific toward Australia. People on the West Coast feared an invasion, or at the least another Pearl Harbor. Nazi leaders were coordinating the "final solution to the Jewish question."
Fear? You bet.
The year 1968 was no walk in the park either:
Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy were murdered in the prime of their lives. The North Vietnamese launched the Tet offensive, changing the course of the war in Southeast Asia. American casualties mounted. Anti-war protests paralyzed college campuses. President Lyndon Johnson announced he would not stand for reelection. The Democratic National Convention in Chicago was marred by violent clashes between protesters and Mayor Daley's police force. Richard Nixon is elected president.
Chaos? Absolutely.
And now, polar bears are adrift? Costly gas? We've seen a lot worse. And survived quite nicely. I'm not prepared to write off America yet.
Or as George Easterbrook of the Brookings Institute put it, "Would you rather live as an average person in the United States of the present day or in this or any other nation at any time in the past? That question answers itself, and is a reason for fundamental optimism."
I am not a sportswriter. This is not a sports column. But I am a golfer. And as such, a word about Tiger Woods.
Let me get this straight. Young Eldrick wins the U.S. Open, arguably the toughest tournament of the year, contested on a course the length of the 405 Freeway with Brazilian-rain-forest rough, while playing on a broken leg with a torn ACL. In sudden death. After a 18-hole playoff.
They say Tiger is out for the year with knee surgery. Don't believe it. He's out for a lube and an oil change.
Because he's more machine than man.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The NFL and Other Fairy Tales
Hey diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
And a guy with dough
Says believe it, it's so
The NFL will he here soon
- A fairy tale
BILLIONAIRE developer Ed Roski has unveiled plans to build a stadium right here in our very own San Gabriel Valley aimed at luring the National Football League back to Los Angeles, where it has been absent since 1994.
That's great news. It was also great news when similar plans were announced for the Rose Bowl, Hollywood Park, Dodger Stadium, the city of Commerce and various other schemes.
"I think this is important for Los Angeles, for the fabric of the city," said Roski, who along with Philip Anschutz built Staples Center. "The city has done real well without the NFL, and the NFL has done real well without the city. But I think it's important to have a professional football team in Los Angeles."
Roski controls the land necessary to build the stadium and already has a certified environmental impact report for the site, according to published reports.
The price tag: $800 million or so, which is cheap compared with other stadia being built these days.
Of course, Ed isn't going to pay the entire bill. He wants the NFL to cough up a $150-million loan and the promise of at least one Super Bowl.
And, typical of these exercises, he's already suffered a setback when opponents led by Los Angeles County supervisors managed to block an effort by the city of Industry to get millions of dollars in tax subsidies that could help lure a team to the area.
But Ed is soldiering on. Sort of.
After announcing his stadium plans, he told the editorial board of the San Gabriel Valley Tribune that it hinges on his ability to lure a team to town. If not, the stadium becomes a shopping center. Did you hear that, Rick Caruso?
For its part, the NFL has said in no uncertain terms that they find the proposal "an interesting possibility" which is what you'd tell a door-to-door salesman to get him off your stoop.
At the moment, the league is focused on working out its differences with the players union, improving its revenue-sharing system between clubs, and trying to get someone to watch the league-owned NFL Network.
I'm betting Roski is unwilling to wait in that line for very long.
In the meantime, I bet the folks at the Rose Bowl, which is short on tenants and cash, aren't particularly enthusiastic about a state-of-the art stadium a few off-ramps away.
Stay tuned.
Tim Russert would be embarrassed by the amount of print and air time his death has consumed.
A blue-collar guy from Buffalo, N.Y., who rose to become Washington bureau chief for NBC and the host of "Meet the Press," he earned a reputation as a tenacious but fair interviewer, one who earned respect and admiration from all sides of the political spectrum.
But four days after his death at the age of 58, Russert was still the lead story on NBC and some of its affiliates, even as much of Iowa reeled from flooding so severe that the damage is being counted in the billions of dollars.
As influential as Russert was, he remained a self-effacing guy who loved his family, his job and the Buffalo Bills in no particular order.
Now, he is being elevated by some to the pantheon of American heroes. One tribute characterized his passing as "the most noteworthy and untimely `public' death in the past 20 years."
Tim Russert was a newsman. He was not the story. He was not the president nor the pope. As a journalist, he was not Edward R. Murrow. He was not Ernie Pyle nor even Walter Cronkite.
And being "tough but fair" isn't a unique talent. It's required of anyone who enters the journalism profession, although some sadly fall woefully short.
The outpouring of emotion over Russert's death will undoubtedly exceed anything Bill O'Reilly or Keith Olbermann will receive.
But if you want to trivialize the man, continue covering his passing like the death of Anna Nicole Smith.
May Tim Russert rest in peace.
The cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
And a guy with dough
Says believe it, it's so
The NFL will he here soon
- A fairy tale
BILLIONAIRE developer Ed Roski has unveiled plans to build a stadium right here in our very own San Gabriel Valley aimed at luring the National Football League back to Los Angeles, where it has been absent since 1994.
That's great news. It was also great news when similar plans were announced for the Rose Bowl, Hollywood Park, Dodger Stadium, the city of Commerce and various other schemes.
"I think this is important for Los Angeles, for the fabric of the city," said Roski, who along with Philip Anschutz built Staples Center. "The city has done real well without the NFL, and the NFL has done real well without the city. But I think it's important to have a professional football team in Los Angeles."
Roski controls the land necessary to build the stadium and already has a certified environmental impact report for the site, according to published reports.
The price tag: $800 million or so, which is cheap compared with other stadia being built these days.
Of course, Ed isn't going to pay the entire bill. He wants the NFL to cough up a $150-million loan and the promise of at least one Super Bowl.
And, typical of these exercises, he's already suffered a setback when opponents led by Los Angeles County supervisors managed to block an effort by the city of Industry to get millions of dollars in tax subsidies that could help lure a team to the area.
But Ed is soldiering on. Sort of.
After announcing his stadium plans, he told the editorial board of the San Gabriel Valley Tribune that it hinges on his ability to lure a team to town. If not, the stadium becomes a shopping center. Did you hear that, Rick Caruso?
For its part, the NFL has said in no uncertain terms that they find the proposal "an interesting possibility" which is what you'd tell a door-to-door salesman to get him off your stoop.
At the moment, the league is focused on working out its differences with the players union, improving its revenue-sharing system between clubs, and trying to get someone to watch the league-owned NFL Network.
I'm betting Roski is unwilling to wait in that line for very long.
In the meantime, I bet the folks at the Rose Bowl, which is short on tenants and cash, aren't particularly enthusiastic about a state-of-the art stadium a few off-ramps away.
Stay tuned.
Tim Russert would be embarrassed by the amount of print and air time his death has consumed.
A blue-collar guy from Buffalo, N.Y., who rose to become Washington bureau chief for NBC and the host of "Meet the Press," he earned a reputation as a tenacious but fair interviewer, one who earned respect and admiration from all sides of the political spectrum.
But four days after his death at the age of 58, Russert was still the lead story on NBC and some of its affiliates, even as much of Iowa reeled from flooding so severe that the damage is being counted in the billions of dollars.
As influential as Russert was, he remained a self-effacing guy who loved his family, his job and the Buffalo Bills in no particular order.
Now, he is being elevated by some to the pantheon of American heroes. One tribute characterized his passing as "the most noteworthy and untimely `public' death in the past 20 years."
Tim Russert was a newsman. He was not the story. He was not the president nor the pope. As a journalist, he was not Edward R. Murrow. He was not Ernie Pyle nor even Walter Cronkite.
And being "tough but fair" isn't a unique talent. It's required of anyone who enters the journalism profession, although some sadly fall woefully short.
The outpouring of emotion over Russert's death will undoubtedly exceed anything Bill O'Reilly or Keith Olbermann will receive.
But if you want to trivialize the man, continue covering his passing like the death of Anna Nicole Smith.
May Tim Russert rest in peace.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Put Up or Shut Up
SEVERAL years back, I had to go to a hospital for a procedure called an MRI.
If you're not familiar with it, MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging, a process that uses a powerful magnetic field, radio waves and a computer to produce detailed pictures of organs, soft tissues, bone and virtually all other internal body structures.
It's space-age stuff.
That's the good news. The bad news is that it requires you to be entombed for a lengthy period of time in a tube that provides scant inches of clearance. And while you're immobilized, the device in full operational mode sounds like someone is pounding on it with a sledge hammer.
This is no place for claustrophobes.
To ease the anxiety, technicians offer a set of earphones tuned to your favorite music style. I chose classical music for its soothing qualities.
Unknown to me and the technician, the classical station was conducting a pledge break about the time I was being squeezed into the tube. So I had to lie there like a canned sardine for an hour listening to a Greek chorus of pitchmen begging for money. Over and over and over.
I was reduced to babbling incoherence when they finally pulled me out.
I thought about this the other evening when I tuned into KCET, the local PBS television station, to check out a special featuring Frank Sinatra captured in his prime.
Advertised at two hours, it consisted of one hour of Frank interspersed with an hour of
pledge breaks.
Old Blue Eyes would have been Seeing Red.
Look, I'm a longtime fan and financial supporter of public television. While it's not what it used to be, it is still a refreshing change from commercial television, with its steady diet of mind-numbing reality shows and stupor inducing sitcoms.
I know money for public television is tight. Back in the 1990s, Newt Gingrich threatened to end government subsidies to public television which led to major funding cutbacks. Not to be outdone, the Bush administration has taken several runs at funding cuts as well.
But there's got to be a better way to raise money than these tin-cup begathons. The Sinatra concert at one point was interrupted after two songs by a radio "personality" and his wife, who carried on a stream of incoherent blather for 20 minutes.
Four songs after the pledge break, the happy couple are back, carrying on like carnival barkers for another 10 or 15 minutes.
It didn't make me take out my checkbook. It made me take out my remote.
I'm not alone. "The Simpsons" TV show once had an episode where Homer pledged $10,000 to end the pledge break just to get his favorite show resumed. Moments later, the PBS "Pledge Enforcement Van" arrives to collect the money causing Homer to flee.
Exaggerated. But not by much.
Sinatra is not the only victim of performance interruptus. It seems that nearly every prime-time show on KCET recently has been chopped up by pledge breaks.
Over the years, a parade of Grade B (or worse) celebrities have been brought in to hawk the benefits of membership. They work cheap. And it shows.
So what to do? One exasperated blogger suggested that they have the pledge break at the top of the show, then warn viewers that show won't be aired unless the fundraising goal is met. At least it would create some dramatic tension.
Why not a Jerry Lewis-style telethon? How about shorter, commercial-length pledge breaks? Why not just sell more commercial time?
As for me, I came up with my own solution. Tape or TiVo it, then watch it, fast-forwarding through the pledge breaks.
That's easier on the eyes and ears. But not on the conscience. You'll sleep better if you send your local PBS station a hefty check once a year.
If you're not familiar with it, MRI stands for magnetic resonance imaging, a process that uses a powerful magnetic field, radio waves and a computer to produce detailed pictures of organs, soft tissues, bone and virtually all other internal body structures.
It's space-age stuff.
That's the good news. The bad news is that it requires you to be entombed for a lengthy period of time in a tube that provides scant inches of clearance. And while you're immobilized, the device in full operational mode sounds like someone is pounding on it with a sledge hammer.
This is no place for claustrophobes.
To ease the anxiety, technicians offer a set of earphones tuned to your favorite music style. I chose classical music for its soothing qualities.
Unknown to me and the technician, the classical station was conducting a pledge break about the time I was being squeezed into the tube. So I had to lie there like a canned sardine for an hour listening to a Greek chorus of pitchmen begging for money. Over and over and over.
I was reduced to babbling incoherence when they finally pulled me out.
I thought about this the other evening when I tuned into KCET, the local PBS television station, to check out a special featuring Frank Sinatra captured in his prime.
Advertised at two hours, it consisted of one hour of Frank interspersed with an hour of
pledge breaks.
Old Blue Eyes would have been Seeing Red.
Look, I'm a longtime fan and financial supporter of public television. While it's not what it used to be, it is still a refreshing change from commercial television, with its steady diet of mind-numbing reality shows and stupor inducing sitcoms.
I know money for public television is tight. Back in the 1990s, Newt Gingrich threatened to end government subsidies to public television which led to major funding cutbacks. Not to be outdone, the Bush administration has taken several runs at funding cuts as well.
But there's got to be a better way to raise money than these tin-cup begathons. The Sinatra concert at one point was interrupted after two songs by a radio "personality" and his wife, who carried on a stream of incoherent blather for 20 minutes.
Four songs after the pledge break, the happy couple are back, carrying on like carnival barkers for another 10 or 15 minutes.
It didn't make me take out my checkbook. It made me take out my remote.
I'm not alone. "The Simpsons" TV show once had an episode where Homer pledged $10,000 to end the pledge break just to get his favorite show resumed. Moments later, the PBS "Pledge Enforcement Van" arrives to collect the money causing Homer to flee.
Exaggerated. But not by much.
Sinatra is not the only victim of performance interruptus. It seems that nearly every prime-time show on KCET recently has been chopped up by pledge breaks.
Over the years, a parade of Grade B (or worse) celebrities have been brought in to hawk the benefits of membership. They work cheap. And it shows.
So what to do? One exasperated blogger suggested that they have the pledge break at the top of the show, then warn viewers that show won't be aired unless the fundraising goal is met. At least it would create some dramatic tension.
Why not a Jerry Lewis-style telethon? How about shorter, commercial-length pledge breaks? Why not just sell more commercial time?
As for me, I came up with my own solution. Tape or TiVo it, then watch it, fast-forwarding through the pledge breaks.
That's easier on the eyes and ears. But not on the conscience. You'll sleep better if you send your local PBS station a hefty check once a year.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Give Me a Break
ONCE around the news cycle:
I'm declaring a moratorium.
After witnessing the most protracted presidential primary in recent history, a race largely characterized by which candidate had the goofiest pastor, I'm suffering from political fatigue.
I'm tired of John McCain, the presumptive anti-Bush. I'm tired of Barack Obama, whose campaign seems to have a flat tire. Or two. I'm tired of Hillary Clinton's ego. And I'm really tired of Bill Clinton.
I will attempt for two weeks not to listen to any political news, read any bloggers, watch any talk shows, discuss any candidate while waiting for my head to clear.
To do this, however, I will need Hillary Clinton's cooperation. That seems like a stretch right now. Rather than concede, Hillary is showing all the grace and dignity of a 2-year-old who, being told it's bedtime, reacts by holding her breath and flailing her arms and legs in an attempt to postpone the inevitable.
In mid-snit, she has reportedly told Democratic Party officials that she is "absolutely ready" to discuss the vice presidency.
I'm sure those are just the kind of character traits Barack Obama is seeking in a running mate.
Let's face it, her offer seems disingenuous. The Clintons are drawn to power like flies to a ribroast.
While Hillary brings unity to the Democratic Party, vice presidential candidates seldom decide the outcome of an election. How many votes did Joe Lieberman, John
Edwards or even Dick Cheney contribute?
Wake me when the campaign focuses on the real issues.
Meanwhile, back at the airport, we learn from Bloomberg News that airline executives are thinking "out of the box" in an attempt to stop the bleeding caused by high fuel costs. One of their bright ideas: treat passengers like freight.
Imagine this scenario: You arrive at the counter ready to board your flight and you are confronted by two scales.
One is for your bags, the other is for you. The price of your ticket will depend upon the weight of both. This would be great news for jockeys, fashion models and small children. Not so good for offensive linemen, women pregnant with twins and beer lovers.
While the scale proposal is still in the development stage, airlines are aggressively looking for ways to cut costs.
US Airways is replacing meal carts with models that are 12 pounds lighter. They've also eliminated glassware in first class in favor of lighter plastic cups.
American Airlines is pulling in-seat phones and investing in lighter silverware for business class passengers. I read that the airline is even considering eliminating in-flight magazines to lighten the load.
American, whose former CEO Bob Crandall once bragged that he saved the airline $40,000 by removing olives from first class dinner salads, has formed "Fuel Smart Teams" charged with continually searching for ways to save energy.
I can only imagine where this will end. Subway straps instead of seats? Charging by the mile like a taxi?
Stay tuned. Airline travel isn't going to get any better.
I couldn't let the week pass without raising a toast to Bo Diddley, the legendary rock figure who died this week at the age of 79.
When I was a youth, one of my first jobs was delivering newspapers in north Glendale. It was what we charitably called a throwaway paper. That means it was tossed on your lawn or doorstep, whether you wanted it nor not.
My route was in an area called College Hills, which is just as daunting as it sounds. With two large bags packed with newspapers strapped to the handlebars of my bike, I tried to cover a territory that would have taxed Lance Armstrong.
After delivering the paper twice a week, I would then visit every house on the route and try to collect a subscription fee for a product my customers never asked for.
The pay: $1.25 a week.
When the boss handed me my five quarters, I took off on my bike to the record store downtown. There, I purchased a record for the first time in my life. It was "Bo Diddley" by Bo Diddley.
I don't remember where I had heard it, but I had to have it. Its "shave and a haircut, two bits" beat struck a chord somewhere deep in my soul.
I raced home and played it so many times that my parents threatened to exile me to a tent in the back yard.
But when I played the flip side, "I'm a Man," a song of astounding raw sexual energy disguised as four-bar blues, my mother raced into my room and told me never to play it again.
I knew I was onto something good.
Here's to you, Bo. Thanks for the beat.
robert.rector@sgvn.com
I'm declaring a moratorium.
After witnessing the most protracted presidential primary in recent history, a race largely characterized by which candidate had the goofiest pastor, I'm suffering from political fatigue.
I'm tired of John McCain, the presumptive anti-Bush. I'm tired of Barack Obama, whose campaign seems to have a flat tire. Or two. I'm tired of Hillary Clinton's ego. And I'm really tired of Bill Clinton.
I will attempt for two weeks not to listen to any political news, read any bloggers, watch any talk shows, discuss any candidate while waiting for my head to clear.
To do this, however, I will need Hillary Clinton's cooperation. That seems like a stretch right now. Rather than concede, Hillary is showing all the grace and dignity of a 2-year-old who, being told it's bedtime, reacts by holding her breath and flailing her arms and legs in an attempt to postpone the inevitable.
In mid-snit, she has reportedly told Democratic Party officials that she is "absolutely ready" to discuss the vice presidency.
I'm sure those are just the kind of character traits Barack Obama is seeking in a running mate.
Let's face it, her offer seems disingenuous. The Clintons are drawn to power like flies to a ribroast.
While Hillary brings unity to the Democratic Party, vice presidential candidates seldom decide the outcome of an election. How many votes did Joe Lieberman, John
Edwards or even Dick Cheney contribute?
Wake me when the campaign focuses on the real issues.
Meanwhile, back at the airport, we learn from Bloomberg News that airline executives are thinking "out of the box" in an attempt to stop the bleeding caused by high fuel costs. One of their bright ideas: treat passengers like freight.
Imagine this scenario: You arrive at the counter ready to board your flight and you are confronted by two scales.
One is for your bags, the other is for you. The price of your ticket will depend upon the weight of both. This would be great news for jockeys, fashion models and small children. Not so good for offensive linemen, women pregnant with twins and beer lovers.
While the scale proposal is still in the development stage, airlines are aggressively looking for ways to cut costs.
US Airways is replacing meal carts with models that are 12 pounds lighter. They've also eliminated glassware in first class in favor of lighter plastic cups.
American Airlines is pulling in-seat phones and investing in lighter silverware for business class passengers. I read that the airline is even considering eliminating in-flight magazines to lighten the load.
American, whose former CEO Bob Crandall once bragged that he saved the airline $40,000 by removing olives from first class dinner salads, has formed "Fuel Smart Teams" charged with continually searching for ways to save energy.
I can only imagine where this will end. Subway straps instead of seats? Charging by the mile like a taxi?
Stay tuned. Airline travel isn't going to get any better.
I couldn't let the week pass without raising a toast to Bo Diddley, the legendary rock figure who died this week at the age of 79.
When I was a youth, one of my first jobs was delivering newspapers in north Glendale. It was what we charitably called a throwaway paper. That means it was tossed on your lawn or doorstep, whether you wanted it nor not.
My route was in an area called College Hills, which is just as daunting as it sounds. With two large bags packed with newspapers strapped to the handlebars of my bike, I tried to cover a territory that would have taxed Lance Armstrong.
After delivering the paper twice a week, I would then visit every house on the route and try to collect a subscription fee for a product my customers never asked for.
The pay: $1.25 a week.
When the boss handed me my five quarters, I took off on my bike to the record store downtown. There, I purchased a record for the first time in my life. It was "Bo Diddley" by Bo Diddley.
I don't remember where I had heard it, but I had to have it. Its "shave and a haircut, two bits" beat struck a chord somewhere deep in my soul.
I raced home and played it so many times that my parents threatened to exile me to a tent in the back yard.
But when I played the flip side, "I'm a Man," a song of astounding raw sexual energy disguised as four-bar blues, my mother raced into my room and told me never to play it again.
I knew I was onto something good.
Here's to you, Bo. Thanks for the beat.
robert.rector@sgvn.com
Monday, May 26, 2008
This Column Is a Dramatization
I got waylaid by the flu over the weekend, which gave me the opportunity to do two things: complain loudly to no one in particular about how lousy I felt and watch more TV than I normally would.
The complaining was futile. It didn't make me feel any better and my wife, who is a saint, was properly sympathetic but correctly determined the best thing to do was to keep a bit of distance from me.
I guess I was hoping for the Florence Nightingale approach, having my head cradled in her arms while she stroked my fevered brow until a deep if fitful sleep swept over me.
Instead, I was forced to turn to television for some comfort.
One thing becomes very apparent when you watch TV in earnest.
Most commercials carry more disclaimers than an astronaut's life insurance policy.
Take a Quiznos commercial, for example, in which a woman wads up a five dollar bill, shoves it in her mouth and chews away. The point being, a voice intones, that if you're going to eat five dollars, spend it on something tasty. Flashing across the bottom of the screen almost to the point of distraction were the admonishments, "Dramatization. Do not attempt."
I guess the Quiznos legal team decided to cover their collective rear ends just in case some viewer out there decided to wolf down a couple of fives after watching the ad. Not that there's much likelihood of that. After all, five bucks would buy you a gallon of gasoline these days.
On the other hand, Kodak used to make a disposable camera called "The Weekender" and actually got calls from people asking if it was OK to use it during the week.
Then there was a commercial - I'm not even sure what it was for - showing a guy using his small fluffy dog to sweep up what appeared to be spilled breakfast cereal.
Kind of funny, actually, until the disclaimer hit the screen: "Do not attempt. No dog was hurt in the filming of this commercial."
Thank God for that.
At this point, watching for the disclaimers became a lot more fun than watching the shows.
There was an ad for Chevrolet, for example. Chevy, despite being an American icon, has suffered declining sales over the years in great part by designing cars with all the flair and reliability of a Pakistani taxi cab.
While the new Chevys are an improvement, they still have miles to go.
This particular ad, however, ends with the announcement, "Look Out Camry," implying that Chevy is about to overtake Toyota, the world's best-selling automobile. The disclaimer? The quote is from a magazine article that is nearly three years old.
Hasn't anyone said anything nice about Chevy in three years?
There have been other classic examples.
Tide-to-Go ran a commercial during the Super Bowl featuring a guy interviewing for a job with a large stain on his shirt. The stain sprouts a mouth and begins talking gibberish, the point being that stains send an unintended message. A very clever and effective ad until the disclaimer kicks in: "Coffee stain depicted."
I personally loved the Lexus commercial where one car is dropped from a helicopter while another races underneath it on what appears to be a runway. Of course, this was followed by the words, "Do not attempt."
In fact, almost any car commercial theses days states "professional driver on a closed course," even when the car is shown driving down the street.
I also enjoy the Bowflex commercial that promises you a Greek god body if you would only use their product three times a week. After showing well-chiseled men and women using the product, it adds, "results not typical." Oh.
Pharmaceutical advertising is a disclaimer gold mine.
I once saw an ad, I think it was for a psoriasis medication, in which one of the possible side effects was death.
I saw a sleeping pill ad in which it warned, "may cause drowsiness."
Then there was Mirapex, which is used to treat something called restless leg syndrome. It warns: "Tell your doctor ... if you experience increased gambling, sexual or other intense urges."
Better yet, just go to Las Vegas.
Those E.D. commercials that intone, "ask your doctor if you are healthy enough for sexual activity" are always good for a laugh. I would guess that 99.9 percent of males between the ages of 16 and 96 - including those in ICU following quadruple bypass surgery - would consider themselves healthy enough for sex.
The complaining was futile. It didn't make me feel any better and my wife, who is a saint, was properly sympathetic but correctly determined the best thing to do was to keep a bit of distance from me.
I guess I was hoping for the Florence Nightingale approach, having my head cradled in her arms while she stroked my fevered brow until a deep if fitful sleep swept over me.
Instead, I was forced to turn to television for some comfort.
One thing becomes very apparent when you watch TV in earnest.
Most commercials carry more disclaimers than an astronaut's life insurance policy.
Take a Quiznos commercial, for example, in which a woman wads up a five dollar bill, shoves it in her mouth and chews away. The point being, a voice intones, that if you're going to eat five dollars, spend it on something tasty. Flashing across the bottom of the screen almost to the point of distraction were the admonishments, "Dramatization. Do not attempt."
I guess the Quiznos legal team decided to cover their collective rear ends just in case some viewer out there decided to wolf down a couple of fives after watching the ad. Not that there's much likelihood of that. After all, five bucks would buy you a gallon of gasoline these days.
On the other hand, Kodak used to make a disposable camera called "The Weekender" and actually got calls from people asking if it was OK to use it during the week.
Then there was a commercial - I'm not even sure what it was for - showing a guy using his small fluffy dog to sweep up what appeared to be spilled breakfast cereal.
Kind of funny, actually, until the disclaimer hit the screen: "Do not attempt. No dog was hurt in the filming of this commercial."
Thank God for that.
At this point, watching for the disclaimers became a lot more fun than watching the shows.
There was an ad for Chevrolet, for example. Chevy, despite being an American icon, has suffered declining sales over the years in great part by designing cars with all the flair and reliability of a Pakistani taxi cab.
While the new Chevys are an improvement, they still have miles to go.
This particular ad, however, ends with the announcement, "Look Out Camry," implying that Chevy is about to overtake Toyota, the world's best-selling automobile. The disclaimer? The quote is from a magazine article that is nearly three years old.
Hasn't anyone said anything nice about Chevy in three years?
There have been other classic examples.
Tide-to-Go ran a commercial during the Super Bowl featuring a guy interviewing for a job with a large stain on his shirt. The stain sprouts a mouth and begins talking gibberish, the point being that stains send an unintended message. A very clever and effective ad until the disclaimer kicks in: "Coffee stain depicted."
I personally loved the Lexus commercial where one car is dropped from a helicopter while another races underneath it on what appears to be a runway. Of course, this was followed by the words, "Do not attempt."
In fact, almost any car commercial theses days states "professional driver on a closed course," even when the car is shown driving down the street.
I also enjoy the Bowflex commercial that promises you a Greek god body if you would only use their product three times a week. After showing well-chiseled men and women using the product, it adds, "results not typical." Oh.
Pharmaceutical advertising is a disclaimer gold mine.
I once saw an ad, I think it was for a psoriasis medication, in which one of the possible side effects was death.
I saw a sleeping pill ad in which it warned, "may cause drowsiness."
Then there was Mirapex, which is used to treat something called restless leg syndrome. It warns: "Tell your doctor ... if you experience increased gambling, sexual or other intense urges."
Better yet, just go to Las Vegas.
Those E.D. commercials that intone, "ask your doctor if you are healthy enough for sexual activity" are always good for a laugh. I would guess that 99.9 percent of males between the ages of 16 and 96 - including those in ICU following quadruple bypass surgery - would consider themselves healthy enough for sex.
Glitz Comes to Glendale
I am not the kind of guy who builds his plans for the day around a trip to the mall.
But there are malls. Then there's a Rick Caruso mall.
So I found myself the other day wandering through the $400 million open-air mix of retail and residential glitz known as the Americana, a monument to conspicuous consumption rising along a seedy stretch of Brand Boulevard in Glendale.
If you live in the San Gabriel Valley, none of this would impact your life greatly except for the fact that developer Caruso is coming soon to a town near you.
His Shops at Santa Anita, scheduled to open in 2010, will feature nearly 830,000 square feet of commercial, retail and office development on the southern parking lot of the racetrack, with about nine acres of open space.
He already has The Grove at Farmer's Market on his resume, a wildly popular venture featuring 50 upscale shops, restaurants and movie theaters created in various architectural styles ranging from Art Deco to Italian Renaissance.
Think of the Vegas strip populated with boutiques.
But it wasn't Vegas that came to mind when I set foot in the Americana. It was Disneyland.
Like the Grove, the Americana is a mishmash of architectural styles, featuring an array of high end boutiques centered on a massive "dancing" fountain and what might be described as a village green, a rolling lawn surrounded by paved pathways.
The only transportation inside the Americana is by trolly car, a nice touch that makes us believe that Caruso is yearning for a simpler time. That feeling is underscored by the music of Frank Sinatra piped throughout the development.
At first glance, it looked all the world like Disney's Main Street U.S.A. All that was missing was a barbershop quartet. And Goofy.
I wondered how long it would be until someone staged an Americana on Parade down the mall's main street.
But on closer inspection, this is is no Disneyland. Or if it is, it's a Fantasyland for folks with lots of disposable income.
This is shopping for the European Greens and Chardonnay set.
This is a mall with a concierge desk that provides valet service, wardrobe consultation and styling, dry cleaning, tailoring, even a yoga instructor.
There's Barneys New York, Tiffany and Co., Kate Spade. There are a lot places with names like Custo Barcelona, Lululemon Athletica, Marciano, Rachel Ashwell Shabby Chic, and a boutique called Peek, Aren't You Curious.
There's Calvin Klein, Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters, Lacoste, Martin+Osa, Free People, H&M, Juicy Couture, XXI from Forever 21.
Caruso calls it a "return to glamour."
I call it a mall aimed at young women with lots of time and money on their hands. Or the guys who love them.
Oh, there's a movie complex, a Barnes and Noble, a couple of restaurants. But this is no country for old men.
There are 100 condos and 238 apartments that sit atop the retail stores. There's nothing new about this. Paseo Colorado in Pasadena had the same configuration years ago.
But Paseo Colorado sits on the edge of the charming Old Pasadena area. The Americana, with condos ranging from the low $700,000s to $2 million and rents from $2,000 to $5,500 a month, sits in south Glendale.
One wonders, especially in today's economic environment, just how high the Americana will fly. While there's not a lot of high-end shopping in the Glendale area, maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe it's the law of the marketplace.
Not that I'd bet against Caruso.
He battled the neighboring Glendale Galleria over his development plans and eventually won the right to proceed from the city's voters.
His plans for Santa Anita had been opposed by Arcadia First!, a group backed in part by the Westfield Group, which owns nearby Westfield Santa Anita mall.
He won both those battles. Whether or not he has won the war - will his vision of a Southern California populated with high-end boutiques, dancing fountains and "a return to glamour" prevail? - remains to be seen.
But there are malls. Then there's a Rick Caruso mall.
So I found myself the other day wandering through the $400 million open-air mix of retail and residential glitz known as the Americana, a monument to conspicuous consumption rising along a seedy stretch of Brand Boulevard in Glendale.
If you live in the San Gabriel Valley, none of this would impact your life greatly except for the fact that developer Caruso is coming soon to a town near you.
His Shops at Santa Anita, scheduled to open in 2010, will feature nearly 830,000 square feet of commercial, retail and office development on the southern parking lot of the racetrack, with about nine acres of open space.
He already has The Grove at Farmer's Market on his resume, a wildly popular venture featuring 50 upscale shops, restaurants and movie theaters created in various architectural styles ranging from Art Deco to Italian Renaissance.
Think of the Vegas strip populated with boutiques.
But it wasn't Vegas that came to mind when I set foot in the Americana. It was Disneyland.
Like the Grove, the Americana is a mishmash of architectural styles, featuring an array of high end boutiques centered on a massive "dancing" fountain and what might be described as a village green, a rolling lawn surrounded by paved pathways.
The only transportation inside the Americana is by trolly car, a nice touch that makes us believe that Caruso is yearning for a simpler time. That feeling is underscored by the music of Frank Sinatra piped throughout the development.
At first glance, it looked all the world like Disney's Main Street U.S.A. All that was missing was a barbershop quartet. And Goofy.
I wondered how long it would be until someone staged an Americana on Parade down the mall's main street.
But on closer inspection, this is is no Disneyland. Or if it is, it's a Fantasyland for folks with lots of disposable income.
This is shopping for the European Greens and Chardonnay set.
This is a mall with a concierge desk that provides valet service, wardrobe consultation and styling, dry cleaning, tailoring, even a yoga instructor.
There's Barneys New York, Tiffany and Co., Kate Spade. There are a lot places with names like Custo Barcelona, Lululemon Athletica, Marciano, Rachel Ashwell Shabby Chic, and a boutique called Peek, Aren't You Curious.
There's Calvin Klein, Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters, Lacoste, Martin+Osa, Free People, H&M, Juicy Couture, XXI from Forever 21.
Caruso calls it a "return to glamour."
I call it a mall aimed at young women with lots of time and money on their hands. Or the guys who love them.
Oh, there's a movie complex, a Barnes and Noble, a couple of restaurants. But this is no country for old men.
There are 100 condos and 238 apartments that sit atop the retail stores. There's nothing new about this. Paseo Colorado in Pasadena had the same configuration years ago.
But Paseo Colorado sits on the edge of the charming Old Pasadena area. The Americana, with condos ranging from the low $700,000s to $2 million and rents from $2,000 to $5,500 a month, sits in south Glendale.
One wonders, especially in today's economic environment, just how high the Americana will fly. While there's not a lot of high-end shopping in the Glendale area, maybe there's a reason for that. Maybe it's the law of the marketplace.
Not that I'd bet against Caruso.
He battled the neighboring Glendale Galleria over his development plans and eventually won the right to proceed from the city's voters.
His plans for Santa Anita had been opposed by Arcadia First!, a group backed in part by the Westfield Group, which owns nearby Westfield Santa Anita mall.
He won both those battles. Whether or not he has won the war - will his vision of a Southern California populated with high-end boutiques, dancing fountains and "a return to glamour" prevail? - remains to be seen.
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Pope and the Press
I have recently returned from Washington, D.C., where in the space of five days I experienced glorious religious pageantry, unholy gridlock and journalism at its most mediocre and very best.
What more can you ask for in a vacation?
It began when I, quite by accident, touched down at almost the very moment the Pope was arriving for his visit to the United States, an experience that led me to devise Rector's First Rule of Historic Events: no matter where or when they occur, historic events create massive traffic jams.
On a normal day, Washington is no walk in the park when it comes to traffic.
Take one 18th century city, designed for travel by horseback. Add tens of thousands of bureaucrats, diplomats, members of the military, elected officials and tourists by the busload.
Then top with the most visible religious leader in the world and stir in thousands of his followers. Voila: You have a city at standstill.
Amid the gridlock, souvenir hawkers sold Pope-on-a-rope soap, bobble head dolls, T-shirts, key chains, tote bags, coffee mugs, all adorned with either a likeness of Benedict XVI or the papal seal.
The streets were jammed with adoring clergy and lay people along with protesting atheists, zealots of dubious beliefs, even scalpers hawking tickets to a Mass at the local baseball stadium ("Who needs two down by the altar?")
The local media interviewed them all. Breathlessly. TV became all Pope, all the time.
After the Mass, viewers were subjected to more seat-of-the-pants analysis than a Super Bowl. We heard interviews with people who saw the Pope, people who hoped to see the Pope, people who saw the Virgin Mary on a pancake. Nobody escaped the dreaded roving reporters.
A procession of priests and theologians spoke endlessly and glowingly of the Pope's visit. Of course, asking a priest about the Pope is like asking Laura Bush her opinion of the president.
What did it all mean? What lasting effect will the visit have? Did it defuse the pedophile priest controversy? Did it boost the image of the Catholic Church in America? Alas, these were questions that were never asked. The pageantry trumped the purpose.
On the other side of the coin, I visited the newly opened Newseum, a massive, $450 million, six-story edifice that in the words of the Washington Post's Howard Kurtz is "an overpriced monument to journalistic self-glorification."
Perhaps it is. But given the mistrust of the media, plummeting newspaper readership and declining TV news ratings, who else but the profession is going to honor the profession? Passing the hat would not have got the place built.
Aside from quirky touches like an interactive ethics gallery, a video game in which you play an editor making decisions about a developing story (I passed: been there, done that) and a 4-D movie that combines the best of the First Amendment with "House of Wax," the place is not so much a monument as a museum.
Eight giant sections of the Berlin Wall, complete with East German guard tower, provide mute testimony to a brutal totalitarian regime.
The spire of twisted steel that had been the communications tower of the World Trade Center along with a chunk of limestone from the Pentagon is accompanied by a wrenching documentary about the media who were at Ground Zero that day.
The Watergate hotel door that led to the burglar's capture is on display. So is the bomb-damaged Datsun in which Arizona reporter Don Bolles was killed while exposing mob activity in Arizona.
There's a page from a Gutenberg Bible. There's Thomas Paine's writing desk. There's a news helicopter hanging in the atrium. A massive gallery houses historic newspaper front pages and magazines from declarations of war to presidential assassinations. The front page of an edition of the Neosho (Mo.) Times declares "JESSE JAMES Assassinated!"
The front page of the San Francisco Examiner from 9/11 has a picture of the massive fireball created when United flight 175 hit the south tower of the World Trade Center with a single word headline, "BASTARDS!"
This is a warts and all presentation. Janet Cooke, Jayson Blair, Stephen Glass and others who disgraced the profession are represented. So is the "Dewey Defeats Truman" front page from the Chicago Tribune and various newspapers that prematurely awarded the 2000 election to George W. Bush.
There is the "Headless Body in Topless Bar" headline from the New York Post and a lot of "Saturday Night Live" media sendups displayed on TV monitors.
There is a gallery of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs, most of which chronicle our failures rather than our successes.
Ultimately, the Newseum is a monument to the First Amendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." And it is noble in its execution.
But there's a certain irony in the fact that it is opening at a time the news business faces declining revenues, massive layoffs, desperate searches for a new business model.
Even though you won't see any mention of these problems within its walls, you can't help but wonder if the Newseum soon enough will become like the Louvre, a repository of ancient ideas and artifacts.
We will be poorer if it does.
What more can you ask for in a vacation?
It began when I, quite by accident, touched down at almost the very moment the Pope was arriving for his visit to the United States, an experience that led me to devise Rector's First Rule of Historic Events: no matter where or when they occur, historic events create massive traffic jams.
On a normal day, Washington is no walk in the park when it comes to traffic.
Take one 18th century city, designed for travel by horseback. Add tens of thousands of bureaucrats, diplomats, members of the military, elected officials and tourists by the busload.
Then top with the most visible religious leader in the world and stir in thousands of his followers. Voila: You have a city at standstill.
Amid the gridlock, souvenir hawkers sold Pope-on-a-rope soap, bobble head dolls, T-shirts, key chains, tote bags, coffee mugs, all adorned with either a likeness of Benedict XVI or the papal seal.
The streets were jammed with adoring clergy and lay people along with protesting atheists, zealots of dubious beliefs, even scalpers hawking tickets to a Mass at the local baseball stadium ("Who needs two down by the altar?")
The local media interviewed them all. Breathlessly. TV became all Pope, all the time.
After the Mass, viewers were subjected to more seat-of-the-pants analysis than a Super Bowl. We heard interviews with people who saw the Pope, people who hoped to see the Pope, people who saw the Virgin Mary on a pancake. Nobody escaped the dreaded roving reporters.
A procession of priests and theologians spoke endlessly and glowingly of the Pope's visit. Of course, asking a priest about the Pope is like asking Laura Bush her opinion of the president.
What did it all mean? What lasting effect will the visit have? Did it defuse the pedophile priest controversy? Did it boost the image of the Catholic Church in America? Alas, these were questions that were never asked. The pageantry trumped the purpose.
On the other side of the coin, I visited the newly opened Newseum, a massive, $450 million, six-story edifice that in the words of the Washington Post's Howard Kurtz is "an overpriced monument to journalistic self-glorification."
Perhaps it is. But given the mistrust of the media, plummeting newspaper readership and declining TV news ratings, who else but the profession is going to honor the profession? Passing the hat would not have got the place built.
Aside from quirky touches like an interactive ethics gallery, a video game in which you play an editor making decisions about a developing story (I passed: been there, done that) and a 4-D movie that combines the best of the First Amendment with "House of Wax," the place is not so much a monument as a museum.
Eight giant sections of the Berlin Wall, complete with East German guard tower, provide mute testimony to a brutal totalitarian regime.
The spire of twisted steel that had been the communications tower of the World Trade Center along with a chunk of limestone from the Pentagon is accompanied by a wrenching documentary about the media who were at Ground Zero that day.
The Watergate hotel door that led to the burglar's capture is on display. So is the bomb-damaged Datsun in which Arizona reporter Don Bolles was killed while exposing mob activity in Arizona.
There's a page from a Gutenberg Bible. There's Thomas Paine's writing desk. There's a news helicopter hanging in the atrium. A massive gallery houses historic newspaper front pages and magazines from declarations of war to presidential assassinations. The front page of an edition of the Neosho (Mo.) Times declares "JESSE JAMES Assassinated!"
The front page of the San Francisco Examiner from 9/11 has a picture of the massive fireball created when United flight 175 hit the south tower of the World Trade Center with a single word headline, "BASTARDS!"
This is a warts and all presentation. Janet Cooke, Jayson Blair, Stephen Glass and others who disgraced the profession are represented. So is the "Dewey Defeats Truman" front page from the Chicago Tribune and various newspapers that prematurely awarded the 2000 election to George W. Bush.
There is the "Headless Body in Topless Bar" headline from the New York Post and a lot of "Saturday Night Live" media sendups displayed on TV monitors.
There is a gallery of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs, most of which chronicle our failures rather than our successes.
Ultimately, the Newseum is a monument to the First Amendment: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." And it is noble in its execution.
But there's a certain irony in the fact that it is opening at a time the news business faces declining revenues, massive layoffs, desperate searches for a new business model.
Even though you won't see any mention of these problems within its walls, you can't help but wonder if the Newseum soon enough will become like the Louvre, a repository of ancient ideas and artifacts.
We will be poorer if it does.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Cell Mates
A friend and I were driving the other day when we came upon a car whose driver was doing a pretty fair imitation of the proverbial drunken sailor.
She sped up, slowed down, weaved in and out of lanes. And that was all in the span of one block.
This wasn't the aftermath of a three-martini lunch, however. Instead, she was busy talking on her cell phone while piloting an SUV the size of a dirigible.
It could have been worse. She could have been multi-tasking. She could have been applying lipstick, drinking coffee, changing CDs and reading the newspaper at the same time. It happens.
"I thought talking on a cell phone while driving was illegal," my friend remarked, hopefully.
Well, almost.
The California ban won't go into effect until July 1 of this year and, while well-intentioned, the bill was softened up by a bevy of body blows delivered by the telecommunications lobby. In fact, it took five years to pass.
The law will allow for cell phone use with hands-free devices such as Bluetooth headsets. Fines for breaking the new law will be $20 for the first offense and $50 every time after, but none of the tickets will impact the driver's insurance. Hardly the stuff of an episode of "Cops."
Aside from the fact that Bluetooth headsets make you look like a Cyborg from a sci-fi flick, there is evidence that suggests requiring drivers to use hands-free devices with their cell phones will do little to reduce crashes.
Research shows being a distracted driver is not necessarily about having both hands on the wheel, it's more about focusing attention on the road.
That should come as no surprise.
Even with both hands on the wheel, learning via cell phone that you've been dumped by your significant other, that someone unknown to you just ran up $5,000 on your credit card at a topless joint or discovering that fixing that leaky faucet will require replumbing your entire house is not going to do a lot to sharpen up your driving skills.
"There's a common misperception that hands-free phones are safer when the research clearly suggests that they're both equally risky," Arthur Goodwin, a researcher at the University of North Carolina Highway Safety Research Center, told the Associated Press.
Among other reasons cited was the fact that the reaction time of cell phone users slows dramatically, increasing the risk of accidents and tying up traffic in general, and when young adults use cell phones while driving, they're as bad as sleepy septuagenarians.
"If you put a 20-year-old driver behind the wheel with a cell phone, their reaction times are the same as a 70-year-old driver who is not using a cell phone," said University of Utah psychology professor David Strayer. "It's like instantly aging a large number of drivers."
Another Utah study showed that motorists who talk on hand-held or hands-free cellular phones are as impaired as drunken drivers.
"We found that people are as impaired when they drive and talk on a cell phone as they are when they drive intoxicated at the legal blood-alcohol limit" of 0.08 percent, which is the minimum level that defines illegal drunken driving in most U.S. states, said study co-author Frank Drews, an assistant professor of psychology.
"If legislators really want to address driver distraction, then they should consider outlawing cell phone use while driving."
Good idea. Except most Americans consider cell phones a God-given right, along with handguns and cheap mortgages.
One city tried a total ban to mostly bad reviews.
Lawrence, Kansas, proposed outlawing all cell phone use in vehicles several years ago.
Before they could hold a hearing, the telecommunications truth squad hit town like an invading army.
Jamie Hastings, director of government affairs for T-Mobile USA, said that her company opposed a complete ban, and that city officials should consider a ban on "McDonald's coffee and kids in the back seat, which can be just as distracting."
John Taylor, a spokesman for Sprint Nextel Corp., said it would be appropriate public policy if all distractions were included in the ordinance. "But since that's not the case, I imagine we would not be supportive of it."
One citizen likened prohibiting cell phone use in the car to a ban on listening to the radio. Another predicted economic doom for the community.
And city officials conceded enforcing such a ban would stretch police resources.
The effort failed.
In the meantime, a ban on hand-held cell phones in Washington, D.C., has resulted in 28,600 citations since 2004.
Which means people are mostly ignoring the law.
Worse, the state of Washington had to pass a law banning text messaging while driving. OMG, who in the world texts while driving? Apparently they do in the land of clouds and caffeine. It makes cell phone use seem downright safe.
Meanwhile, back in California, the bill's sponsor, Sen. Joe Simitian, D-Palo Alto, said he's sure the new law will save lives.
"There isn't a study in the world that says you're safer driving with a cell phone clutched to your ear than when you are driving with both hands on the wheel," he said.
Time will tell.
But next time, Joe, how about a bill banning cell phone use in restaurants.
She sped up, slowed down, weaved in and out of lanes. And that was all in the span of one block.
This wasn't the aftermath of a three-martini lunch, however. Instead, she was busy talking on her cell phone while piloting an SUV the size of a dirigible.
It could have been worse. She could have been multi-tasking. She could have been applying lipstick, drinking coffee, changing CDs and reading the newspaper at the same time. It happens.
"I thought talking on a cell phone while driving was illegal," my friend remarked, hopefully.
Well, almost.
The California ban won't go into effect until July 1 of this year and, while well-intentioned, the bill was softened up by a bevy of body blows delivered by the telecommunications lobby. In fact, it took five years to pass.
The law will allow for cell phone use with hands-free devices such as Bluetooth headsets. Fines for breaking the new law will be $20 for the first offense and $50 every time after, but none of the tickets will impact the driver's insurance. Hardly the stuff of an episode of "Cops."
Aside from the fact that Bluetooth headsets make you look like a Cyborg from a sci-fi flick, there is evidence that suggests requiring drivers to use hands-free devices with their cell phones will do little to reduce crashes.
Research shows being a distracted driver is not necessarily about having both hands on the wheel, it's more about focusing attention on the road.
That should come as no surprise.
Even with both hands on the wheel, learning via cell phone that you've been dumped by your significant other, that someone unknown to you just ran up $5,000 on your credit card at a topless joint or discovering that fixing that leaky faucet will require replumbing your entire house is not going to do a lot to sharpen up your driving skills.
"There's a common misperception that hands-free phones are safer when the research clearly suggests that they're both equally risky," Arthur Goodwin, a researcher at the University of North Carolina Highway Safety Research Center, told the Associated Press.
Among other reasons cited was the fact that the reaction time of cell phone users slows dramatically, increasing the risk of accidents and tying up traffic in general, and when young adults use cell phones while driving, they're as bad as sleepy septuagenarians.
"If you put a 20-year-old driver behind the wheel with a cell phone, their reaction times are the same as a 70-year-old driver who is not using a cell phone," said University of Utah psychology professor David Strayer. "It's like instantly aging a large number of drivers."
Another Utah study showed that motorists who talk on hand-held or hands-free cellular phones are as impaired as drunken drivers.
"We found that people are as impaired when they drive and talk on a cell phone as they are when they drive intoxicated at the legal blood-alcohol limit" of 0.08 percent, which is the minimum level that defines illegal drunken driving in most U.S. states, said study co-author Frank Drews, an assistant professor of psychology.
"If legislators really want to address driver distraction, then they should consider outlawing cell phone use while driving."
Good idea. Except most Americans consider cell phones a God-given right, along with handguns and cheap mortgages.
One city tried a total ban to mostly bad reviews.
Lawrence, Kansas, proposed outlawing all cell phone use in vehicles several years ago.
Before they could hold a hearing, the telecommunications truth squad hit town like an invading army.
Jamie Hastings, director of government affairs for T-Mobile USA, said that her company opposed a complete ban, and that city officials should consider a ban on "McDonald's coffee and kids in the back seat, which can be just as distracting."
John Taylor, a spokesman for Sprint Nextel Corp., said it would be appropriate public policy if all distractions were included in the ordinance. "But since that's not the case, I imagine we would not be supportive of it."
One citizen likened prohibiting cell phone use in the car to a ban on listening to the radio. Another predicted economic doom for the community.
And city officials conceded enforcing such a ban would stretch police resources.
The effort failed.
In the meantime, a ban on hand-held cell phones in Washington, D.C., has resulted in 28,600 citations since 2004.
Which means people are mostly ignoring the law.
Worse, the state of Washington had to pass a law banning text messaging while driving. OMG, who in the world texts while driving? Apparently they do in the land of clouds and caffeine. It makes cell phone use seem downright safe.
Meanwhile, back in California, the bill's sponsor, Sen. Joe Simitian, D-Palo Alto, said he's sure the new law will save lives.
"There isn't a study in the world that says you're safer driving with a cell phone clutched to your ear than when you are driving with both hands on the wheel," he said.
Time will tell.
But next time, Joe, how about a bill banning cell phone use in restaurants.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Politics and Other Sex Games
I don't know about you, but I'm tired of politicians who behave like frat boys on a panty raid.
Not a week after Eliot Spitzer went from being the governor of New York to the punchline of a joke because of a weakness for high-priced hookers, his replacement, Lt. Gov. David A. Paterson, described as "a class act," admitted that he had an extramarital affair. Several, in fact.
Not to be outdone, his wife confided that she had, too.
This follows reports that former New Jersey Gov. Jim McGreevey, who resigned his position after he announced he was gay and confessed to adultery with a male lover, was involved in multiple sexual trysts with an aide and his wife Dina Matos, according to stories in the Newark Star Ledger. His wife denied the charges.
McGreevy, since his resignation, teaches ethics, law and leadership at Kean University in New Jersey. He has been accepted to General Theological Seminary, where he will pursue a Master of Divinity degree, required to become an Episcopal priest, according to published reports.
Which follows the arrest of U.S. Senator Larry Craig, R-Idaho, for lewd conduct in the men's bathroom at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport last June. Craig pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of disorderly conduct and has stated that he will not run for re-election.
All of which follows the granddaddy of all political sex scandals involving Bill Clinton and intern Monica Lewinsky getting up close and personal in the Oval Office. Not that it was much of a surprise. Watching Clinton was like following a trash truck on the freeway, throwing off bits of scrap and garbage while it rolls along.
And then there was Gary Hart and Wilbur Mills and Bob Packwood and Wayne Hays.
Look, I'm no prude.
We live in an era of child-molesting priests, morally compromised celebrities and chemical gobbling athletes. Any reasonable person would assume that these same lapses in personal conduct would taint elected officials as well.
We live amid changing sexual mores. Is a dalliance that big a deal anymore? If we are indeed becoming more liberal about these things, shouldn't there be fewer "scandals"?
We live in a country where shamelessness is the order of the day. Watch Dr. Phil if you don't believe it. Or consider this: a New York City securities trader recently filed suit because he claims he was injured when a stripper giving him a lap dance swiveled and smacked him in the face with the heel of her shoe. Poor guy probably worked at Bear Stearns as well.
We live at a time when public confidence in elected officials is at an all-time low. Having Pete the Politician caught with a blonde named Boom Boom exiting the Tickled Pink Motel doesn't help any.
On the other hand, it's nothing new.
Thomas Jefferson fathered a child with Sally Hemmings, a 17-year-old slave. Alexander Hamilton had a long-term extramarital affair with a woman named Maria Reynolds whose husband blackmailed him.
Besides, Americans love nothing more than a fall-from-grace story, the more rich and powerful and the farther the fall, the better. Which explains why the Spitzer story was the most talked-about event since 9/11.
With the explosion in cable TV and Internet media, there are more and more reporters than ever sniffing the air for scandal. And they're finding it.
Politicians have always misbehaved. We're just hearing about it more now.
That doesn't excuse behavior that is reckless and shameful. It sends a terrible message to our young. And there is little joy in watching the wreckage of a career and/or a family.
Unfortunately, it will never end.
Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, according to no less an authority than Henry Kissinger.
Dr. Frank Farley, a Temple University psychologist, quoted in the New York Times, put it this way:
"Politics is a risky business. You're at the whim of the electorate ... it inspires a risk-taking person to go into that line of work."
Added Dr. Judy Kuriansky, of Columbia University, talking about Eliot Spitzer: "You project wrong onto others that is symptomatic of your own behavior. It's called a defense mechanism. Basically, it's unconscious."
Moreover, she said, "when you get into a position of power, you think you're above the law."
None of which explains why these people never seem to consider the consequences.
This might help:
Every office seeker, every elected politician, should keep one scene in mind if he is tempted to stray from the straight and narrow.
Imagine what it must have been like for Eliot Spitzer to sit at the kitchen table, face to face with his wife and three teenage daughters, and tell them what he had done.
Not a week after Eliot Spitzer went from being the governor of New York to the punchline of a joke because of a weakness for high-priced hookers, his replacement, Lt. Gov. David A. Paterson, described as "a class act," admitted that he had an extramarital affair. Several, in fact.
Not to be outdone, his wife confided that she had, too.
This follows reports that former New Jersey Gov. Jim McGreevey, who resigned his position after he announced he was gay and confessed to adultery with a male lover, was involved in multiple sexual trysts with an aide and his wife Dina Matos, according to stories in the Newark Star Ledger. His wife denied the charges.
McGreevy, since his resignation, teaches ethics, law and leadership at Kean University in New Jersey. He has been accepted to General Theological Seminary, where he will pursue a Master of Divinity degree, required to become an Episcopal priest, according to published reports.
Which follows the arrest of U.S. Senator Larry Craig, R-Idaho, for lewd conduct in the men's bathroom at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport last June. Craig pleaded guilty to a lesser charge of disorderly conduct and has stated that he will not run for re-election.
All of which follows the granddaddy of all political sex scandals involving Bill Clinton and intern Monica Lewinsky getting up close and personal in the Oval Office. Not that it was much of a surprise. Watching Clinton was like following a trash truck on the freeway, throwing off bits of scrap and garbage while it rolls along.
And then there was Gary Hart and Wilbur Mills and Bob Packwood and Wayne Hays.
Look, I'm no prude.
We live in an era of child-molesting priests, morally compromised celebrities and chemical gobbling athletes. Any reasonable person would assume that these same lapses in personal conduct would taint elected officials as well.
We live amid changing sexual mores. Is a dalliance that big a deal anymore? If we are indeed becoming more liberal about these things, shouldn't there be fewer "scandals"?
We live in a country where shamelessness is the order of the day. Watch Dr. Phil if you don't believe it. Or consider this: a New York City securities trader recently filed suit because he claims he was injured when a stripper giving him a lap dance swiveled and smacked him in the face with the heel of her shoe. Poor guy probably worked at Bear Stearns as well.
We live at a time when public confidence in elected officials is at an all-time low. Having Pete the Politician caught with a blonde named Boom Boom exiting the Tickled Pink Motel doesn't help any.
On the other hand, it's nothing new.
Thomas Jefferson fathered a child with Sally Hemmings, a 17-year-old slave. Alexander Hamilton had a long-term extramarital affair with a woman named Maria Reynolds whose husband blackmailed him.
Besides, Americans love nothing more than a fall-from-grace story, the more rich and powerful and the farther the fall, the better. Which explains why the Spitzer story was the most talked-about event since 9/11.
With the explosion in cable TV and Internet media, there are more and more reporters than ever sniffing the air for scandal. And they're finding it.
Politicians have always misbehaved. We're just hearing about it more now.
That doesn't excuse behavior that is reckless and shameful. It sends a terrible message to our young. And there is little joy in watching the wreckage of a career and/or a family.
Unfortunately, it will never end.
Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac, according to no less an authority than Henry Kissinger.
Dr. Frank Farley, a Temple University psychologist, quoted in the New York Times, put it this way:
"Politics is a risky business. You're at the whim of the electorate ... it inspires a risk-taking person to go into that line of work."
Added Dr. Judy Kuriansky, of Columbia University, talking about Eliot Spitzer: "You project wrong onto others that is symptomatic of your own behavior. It's called a defense mechanism. Basically, it's unconscious."
Moreover, she said, "when you get into a position of power, you think you're above the law."
None of which explains why these people never seem to consider the consequences.
This might help:
Every office seeker, every elected politician, should keep one scene in mind if he is tempted to stray from the straight and narrow.
Imagine what it must have been like for Eliot Spitzer to sit at the kitchen table, face to face with his wife and three teenage daughters, and tell them what he had done.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Oldies But Goodies
I consider myself the very model of a modern mature citizen.
I can text with the best of them, I own an I Pod and a flat screen LCD TV complete with Tivo system. I even know how to use it.
I embrace the future and look askance at those who dwell too much inthe past.
Except when it comes to music.
I used to tell my kids that there hadn't been a decent song written since they stopped making 45s. That was a slight exaggeration. But only slight.
Thus it was that I found myself on a recent Saturday night at aDoo-Wop concert at the Kodak Theater in Hollywood, listening to the greatest hits of the 50s performed by many of the original artists.
It's been a long time since I've been to concert where those on stage were my age.
The setting was a bit surreal. Doo wop emerged from America's urban centers, a sort of modern-day barbershop quartet music but with a bit of grit and grime as befitting its origins.
It was raucous, it was sweet, it was sexual, it was innocent. It was born on the corners under a street light.
It was also small in the best since of the word, often done a capalla style.
Here it was being presented at a venue erected to house the Academy Awards, a towering edifice with a main floor and three balconies that looked like it could host the Rose Bowl game.
Like the Hollywood it was built to honor, it was massive in scale but somehow superficial.
On the other hand, the place was sold out, packed with people whose bedtimes were approaching as the curtain rose.
There was a lot of conversation in the audience about "the good old days" and "simpler times." Much as I loved the when and where of my childhood, there clearly were some dark moments in the 50s. Some personal recollections:
The smog in most areas of Los Angeles was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Contributing to the problem was the fact that most families had an incinerator in the backyard where they would burn their trash. That was my job as a kid, to take the residue from a family of five out back and torch it every morning. Talk about a carbon footprint.
We practiced dropping under our desks in the case of nuclear attack.This was the time of the Cold War and the threat of the Ruskies engaging us in atomic ping-pong was never far from our minds. (We were bombarded by "public service messages" that portrayed Soviet citizens as shifty-eyed Bolsheviks who hated God and dined on puppies).
Even at a young age, it struck me as a futile gesture to hide beneath a desk when a multiple-headed ICBM was falling out of the sky. But we dutifully hit the floor when the teacher would yell, "Drop down!"
We had an air raid siren on a utility pole just outside the backyard fence at our house, built to be heard for miles around. The authorities would test it monthly and on those days, we would freeze in our tracks for three minutes, paralyzed by the noise and wondering if this it.
In the event of an actual nuclear attack, however, we would have had a head start in dropping under a desk.
We lived in mortal fear of contracting polio.
We lived in mortal fear of the Draft.
I avoided one but not the other.
The Cold War begat McCarthyism and the arms race complete with nuclear testing, much of done down the road in Nevada.
Racial segregation was a fact of life. I didn’t meet an African-American until I was in high school. On the other hand, I am convinced that pop music, such as Doo Wop, did as much to boost integration in American society as sports did.
To give the 50s their due, it was a safer time and we had great personal freedom. As soon as I could ride a bike competently, I could go anywhere with my friends as long as I was back by dinnertime. And we roamed far and wide.
Soft drinks were a nickel, gas was 25 cents a gallon.
It was Friday night football and proms and drive-ins.
It was a lot like "American Graffiti." It was not at all like"Grease."
It was a time of discovery. Of friends and first cars and first loves.
It was the time of my youth.
Or as the Earls so succinctly put it in their classic song, "RememberThen,":
"Wop, wop, patta patta pop-pop, shoo-wop-dah bop bop..."
I can text with the best of them, I own an I Pod and a flat screen LCD TV complete with Tivo system. I even know how to use it.
I embrace the future and look askance at those who dwell too much inthe past.
Except when it comes to music.
I used to tell my kids that there hadn't been a decent song written since they stopped making 45s. That was a slight exaggeration. But only slight.
Thus it was that I found myself on a recent Saturday night at aDoo-Wop concert at the Kodak Theater in Hollywood, listening to the greatest hits of the 50s performed by many of the original artists.
It's been a long time since I've been to concert where those on stage were my age.
The setting was a bit surreal. Doo wop emerged from America's urban centers, a sort of modern-day barbershop quartet music but with a bit of grit and grime as befitting its origins.
It was raucous, it was sweet, it was sexual, it was innocent. It was born on the corners under a street light.
It was also small in the best since of the word, often done a capalla style.
Here it was being presented at a venue erected to house the Academy Awards, a towering edifice with a main floor and three balconies that looked like it could host the Rose Bowl game.
Like the Hollywood it was built to honor, it was massive in scale but somehow superficial.
On the other hand, the place was sold out, packed with people whose bedtimes were approaching as the curtain rose.
There was a lot of conversation in the audience about "the good old days" and "simpler times." Much as I loved the when and where of my childhood, there clearly were some dark moments in the 50s. Some personal recollections:
The smog in most areas of Los Angeles was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Contributing to the problem was the fact that most families had an incinerator in the backyard where they would burn their trash. That was my job as a kid, to take the residue from a family of five out back and torch it every morning. Talk about a carbon footprint.
We practiced dropping under our desks in the case of nuclear attack.This was the time of the Cold War and the threat of the Ruskies engaging us in atomic ping-pong was never far from our minds. (We were bombarded by "public service messages" that portrayed Soviet citizens as shifty-eyed Bolsheviks who hated God and dined on puppies).
Even at a young age, it struck me as a futile gesture to hide beneath a desk when a multiple-headed ICBM was falling out of the sky. But we dutifully hit the floor when the teacher would yell, "Drop down!"
We had an air raid siren on a utility pole just outside the backyard fence at our house, built to be heard for miles around. The authorities would test it monthly and on those days, we would freeze in our tracks for three minutes, paralyzed by the noise and wondering if this it.
In the event of an actual nuclear attack, however, we would have had a head start in dropping under a desk.
We lived in mortal fear of contracting polio.
We lived in mortal fear of the Draft.
I avoided one but not the other.
The Cold War begat McCarthyism and the arms race complete with nuclear testing, much of done down the road in Nevada.
Racial segregation was a fact of life. I didn’t meet an African-American until I was in high school. On the other hand, I am convinced that pop music, such as Doo Wop, did as much to boost integration in American society as sports did.
To give the 50s their due, it was a safer time and we had great personal freedom. As soon as I could ride a bike competently, I could go anywhere with my friends as long as I was back by dinnertime. And we roamed far and wide.
Soft drinks were a nickel, gas was 25 cents a gallon.
It was Friday night football and proms and drive-ins.
It was a lot like "American Graffiti." It was not at all like"Grease."
It was a time of discovery. Of friends and first cars and first loves.
It was the time of my youth.
Or as the Earls so succinctly put it in their classic song, "RememberThen,":
"Wop, wop, patta patta pop-pop, shoo-wop-dah bop bop..."
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
A Leap of Faith
I remarked to family and friends the other day that I was miffed the month of February is being extended by a day.
It's that Leap Year thing again.
I've never been a big fan of February. In my mind, it's a bleak period of time between the joy of the holidays and the promise of Spring.
Oh, sure, we celebrate the birthdays of Lincoln and Washington. Without them, we might be whistling "Dixie" or singing "God Save the Queen."
But it's also the month that gave us Alice Cooper, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Gary Coleman.
We celebrate Mardi Gras and Groundhog Day. It's also Canned Food Month and Creative Romance Month (and includes International Flirting Week).
It was the month Pluto was discovered and Marx and Engels published the "Communist Manifesto." Both turned out to be abysmal failures.
It was about this time in my ruminations that my wife, in a tone that could be generously described as icy, reminded me that it was also when we celebrate Valentine's Day and the birth of our youngest daughter.
Of course, I stammered, it goes without saying.
An African-American friend pointed out it was Black History Month. Naturally, they gave us the shortest month of the year, he added.
All of which encouraged me to retreat to Leap Year as a safe topic for discussion.
Here's simple rule of thumb to determine when we have Leap Year.
Every year that is divisible by four is a leap year; of those years, if it can be divided by 100, it is not a leap year, unless the year is divisible by 400. Then it is a leap year.
OK, so it's not so simple. Rector's Rule: Open the calendar to February and see if there's an extra day listed.
We need to do this so we can keep our calendar in alignment with the earth's revolutions around the sun.
There's a lot more astronomical data available but if you're really that interested, call Caltech.
In the English speaking world, it is a tradition that women may propose marriage only on leap years, according to Internet research. While it has been argued that the tradition was initiated by Saint Patrick or Brigid of Kildare in 5th century Ireland, there is little to substantiate this version of history.
Supposedly, a 1288 law by Queen Margaret of Scotland required that fines be levied if a marriage proposal was refused by the man; compensation ranged from a kiss to a silk gown to a 100 pound fine.
That same Internet research indicated that Queen Margaret was age 5 and living in Norway at the time but, what the heck, it makes a good story.
It was also said that if the woman who did the asking failed to wear a scarlet flanel petticoat or if a corner of said petticoat was not partly visible under her dress, the man who declined would be spared the bad luck that came with his cold shoulder.
American culture, as is its custom, took these traditions and ran roughshod with them.
It was turned into Sadie Hawkins day, named after a character in Al Capp's Li'l Abner comic strip. On this day, spinsters in Dogpatch chased the single men in town and if the woman caught a man and dragged him back to the starting line by sundown, he had to marry her.
These days, women chase men 365 days a year thanks to Internet dating services.
There's nothing unique about this. For example, Hillary Clinton is chasing Barack Obama all over the United States. And sundown is coming fast.
In a totally unrelated development, Republicans in Sacramento has historically derided "nanny government," one that excessively attempts to regulate peoples' lives.
Imagine my surprise when I learned that a Republican lawmaker from the Central Valley has introduced legislation that would allow big government to reach into your car and make it illegal for motorists to keep pets on their laps.
"If you have an animal that gets in your face or gets tangled up in your steering wheel while you're driving, you can't properly control (the car),' said Assemblyman Bill Maze, R-Visalia, who introduced the bill.
Assembly Bill 2233 does not say how drivers would keep pets -- defined in the bill as "live animals" -- in their place. Maze suggested using a cage or having another passenger hold them.
The irony is that Maze voted against the bill that bans the use of hand-held cell phones in cars that goes into effect this summer, according to the Fresno Bee. He said the difference between that bill and his bill is that you can turn off a cell phone, but not a dog or cat.
Unless you had a Great Dane sitting on your lap, I'm not sure how this particular law would enforced.
But I'm sure Maze will be ironing out the details at the same time he's dealing with the state budget's $16 billion budget shortfall.
It's that Leap Year thing again.
I've never been a big fan of February. In my mind, it's a bleak period of time between the joy of the holidays and the promise of Spring.
Oh, sure, we celebrate the birthdays of Lincoln and Washington. Without them, we might be whistling "Dixie" or singing "God Save the Queen."
But it's also the month that gave us Alice Cooper, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Gary Coleman.
We celebrate Mardi Gras and Groundhog Day. It's also Canned Food Month and Creative Romance Month (and includes International Flirting Week).
It was the month Pluto was discovered and Marx and Engels published the "Communist Manifesto." Both turned out to be abysmal failures.
It was about this time in my ruminations that my wife, in a tone that could be generously described as icy, reminded me that it was also when we celebrate Valentine's Day and the birth of our youngest daughter.
Of course, I stammered, it goes without saying.
An African-American friend pointed out it was Black History Month. Naturally, they gave us the shortest month of the year, he added.
All of which encouraged me to retreat to Leap Year as a safe topic for discussion.
Here's simple rule of thumb to determine when we have Leap Year.
Every year that is divisible by four is a leap year; of those years, if it can be divided by 100, it is not a leap year, unless the year is divisible by 400. Then it is a leap year.
OK, so it's not so simple. Rector's Rule: Open the calendar to February and see if there's an extra day listed.
We need to do this so we can keep our calendar in alignment with the earth's revolutions around the sun.
There's a lot more astronomical data available but if you're really that interested, call Caltech.
In the English speaking world, it is a tradition that women may propose marriage only on leap years, according to Internet research. While it has been argued that the tradition was initiated by Saint Patrick or Brigid of Kildare in 5th century Ireland, there is little to substantiate this version of history.
Supposedly, a 1288 law by Queen Margaret of Scotland required that fines be levied if a marriage proposal was refused by the man; compensation ranged from a kiss to a silk gown to a 100 pound fine.
That same Internet research indicated that Queen Margaret was age 5 and living in Norway at the time but, what the heck, it makes a good story.
It was also said that if the woman who did the asking failed to wear a scarlet flanel petticoat or if a corner of said petticoat was not partly visible under her dress, the man who declined would be spared the bad luck that came with his cold shoulder.
American culture, as is its custom, took these traditions and ran roughshod with them.
It was turned into Sadie Hawkins day, named after a character in Al Capp's Li'l Abner comic strip. On this day, spinsters in Dogpatch chased the single men in town and if the woman caught a man and dragged him back to the starting line by sundown, he had to marry her.
These days, women chase men 365 days a year thanks to Internet dating services.
There's nothing unique about this. For example, Hillary Clinton is chasing Barack Obama all over the United States. And sundown is coming fast.
In a totally unrelated development, Republicans in Sacramento has historically derided "nanny government," one that excessively attempts to regulate peoples' lives.
Imagine my surprise when I learned that a Republican lawmaker from the Central Valley has introduced legislation that would allow big government to reach into your car and make it illegal for motorists to keep pets on their laps.
"If you have an animal that gets in your face or gets tangled up in your steering wheel while you're driving, you can't properly control (the car),' said Assemblyman Bill Maze, R-Visalia, who introduced the bill.
Assembly Bill 2233 does not say how drivers would keep pets -- defined in the bill as "live animals" -- in their place. Maze suggested using a cage or having another passenger hold them.
The irony is that Maze voted against the bill that bans the use of hand-held cell phones in cars that goes into effect this summer, according to the Fresno Bee. He said the difference between that bill and his bill is that you can turn off a cell phone, but not a dog or cat.
Unless you had a Great Dane sitting on your lap, I'm not sure how this particular law would enforced.
But I'm sure Maze will be ironing out the details at the same time he's dealing with the state budget's $16 billion budget shortfall.
The Pot Calls the Kettle Black
THIS journalism business can be humbling at times.
Last week, I wrote about Trader Joe's banning single ingredient food items imported from China due to consumer concerns.
And rightfully so, I concluded. Since last year, when contaminated Chinese pet food killed or sickened thousands of animals in the U.S., some food imports were being stopped at the port and lead-tainted toys made in China were being yanked from store shelves, Chinese imports have come under increasing scrutiny, not without some justification.
As it turns out, this was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black.
That's because several days later, the U.S. Department of Agriculture ordered the recall of 143 million pounds of frozen beef from Hallmark/Westland Meat Co. of Chino, the subject of an animal-abuse investigation.
It's the biggest recall in history from a company that supplies meat for - can this get any worse? - school lunches and other public nutrition programs.
Hallmark/Westland also produces the makings for some of those goodies you wolf down at Jack-in-the-Box and In-N-Out.
The USDA, looking to put a positive spin on this fiasco, said the vast majority of the meat involved in the recall probably has been eaten already. And the danger to consumers was minimal.
It all goes to remind us that we should put our own house in order before pointing a finger at someone else.
The recall came after the Humane Society released a video showing workers at the Chino plant using prods, water hoses and even fork lifts to raise "downer cattle," those too weak to walk, so that they could be slaughtered.
Downer cattle are not supposed to be used as meat until a veterinarian determines whether an animal is injured or sick. Cows that cannot walk pose an added risk of mad cow disease.
The video was disturbing, to say the least. So disturbing that the San Bernardino County officials filed felony and misdemeanor charges alleging animal cruelty against two Hallmark employees.
There are no nice videos of slaughterhouses. It's a place where big animals become bite-sized. It's a violent and dehumanizing process.
But we are a nation of meat eaters so we look the other way.
Yet the never-pretty picture is getting uglier:
In 1999, 35 million pounds of hot dogs and pork and poultry projects were recalled from the Thorn Apple Valley's Forest City, Ark., processing plant because of possible contamination with the bacteria that causes listeriosis.
In September 2007, Topps Meat Co. recalled 21 million pounds of ground beef that may have been contaminated with E. coli bacteria.
In June 2007, a California meat supplier expanded a beef recall to include a total of 5.7 million pounds of both fresh and frozen products because they might have been contaminated with E. coli. United Food Group, LLC, already had announced two recalls. But a positive test for E. coli in a patient in Arizona pushed the company to expand the recall.
In November 2007, Cargill Meat Solutions recalled more than 1 million pounds of ground beef products because they may have been contaminated with E. coli bacteria.
There were 21 recalls of beef related to E. coli last year, compared with eight in 2006 and five in 2005, according to the New York Times. No one is quite sure what caused the increase, although theories include the cyclical nature of pathogens and changes in cattle-feeding practices caused by the ethanol boom.
None of that makes sense to Michael R. Taylor, who headed the USDA's Food Safety and Inspection Service during the Clinton administration.
The current inspection scheme is obsolete and wasteful, Taylor told the AP. Much as they did 100 years ago, USDA inspectors check hundreds of millions of beef and pork carcasses and some 8 billion chickens annually devoting about 2 seconds to each bird, he said.
Instead, the focus should be on checking for E. coli bacteria in beef, and other microscopic dangers in poultry, he said.
In the meantime, there is little likelihood that the buying public will change its eating habits.
Consumers kept eating beef after the first U.S. case of mad cow disease in December 2003. While U.S. beef exports dropped sharply then, domestic demand was largely unchanged.
The good news is that they're taking notice in Washington.
Senate Agriculture Committee Chairman Tom Harkin said in a statement that USDA must toughen its inspection measures before animals are slaughtered to prevent future occurrences.
"How much longer will we continue to test our luck with weak enforcement of federal food safety regulations?" said the Iowa Democrat. "Federal regulations exist for a reason - to protect public health."
Last week, I wrote about Trader Joe's banning single ingredient food items imported from China due to consumer concerns.
And rightfully so, I concluded. Since last year, when contaminated Chinese pet food killed or sickened thousands of animals in the U.S., some food imports were being stopped at the port and lead-tainted toys made in China were being yanked from store shelves, Chinese imports have come under increasing scrutiny, not without some justification.
As it turns out, this was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black.
That's because several days later, the U.S. Department of Agriculture ordered the recall of 143 million pounds of frozen beef from Hallmark/Westland Meat Co. of Chino, the subject of an animal-abuse investigation.
It's the biggest recall in history from a company that supplies meat for - can this get any worse? - school lunches and other public nutrition programs.
Hallmark/Westland also produces the makings for some of those goodies you wolf down at Jack-in-the-Box and In-N-Out.
The USDA, looking to put a positive spin on this fiasco, said the vast majority of the meat involved in the recall probably has been eaten already. And the danger to consumers was minimal.
It all goes to remind us that we should put our own house in order before pointing a finger at someone else.
The recall came after the Humane Society released a video showing workers at the Chino plant using prods, water hoses and even fork lifts to raise "downer cattle," those too weak to walk, so that they could be slaughtered.
Downer cattle are not supposed to be used as meat until a veterinarian determines whether an animal is injured or sick. Cows that cannot walk pose an added risk of mad cow disease.
The video was disturbing, to say the least. So disturbing that the San Bernardino County officials filed felony and misdemeanor charges alleging animal cruelty against two Hallmark employees.
There are no nice videos of slaughterhouses. It's a place where big animals become bite-sized. It's a violent and dehumanizing process.
But we are a nation of meat eaters so we look the other way.
Yet the never-pretty picture is getting uglier:
In 1999, 35 million pounds of hot dogs and pork and poultry projects were recalled from the Thorn Apple Valley's Forest City, Ark., processing plant because of possible contamination with the bacteria that causes listeriosis.
In September 2007, Topps Meat Co. recalled 21 million pounds of ground beef that may have been contaminated with E. coli bacteria.
In June 2007, a California meat supplier expanded a beef recall to include a total of 5.7 million pounds of both fresh and frozen products because they might have been contaminated with E. coli. United Food Group, LLC, already had announced two recalls. But a positive test for E. coli in a patient in Arizona pushed the company to expand the recall.
In November 2007, Cargill Meat Solutions recalled more than 1 million pounds of ground beef products because they may have been contaminated with E. coli bacteria.
There were 21 recalls of beef related to E. coli last year, compared with eight in 2006 and five in 2005, according to the New York Times. No one is quite sure what caused the increase, although theories include the cyclical nature of pathogens and changes in cattle-feeding practices caused by the ethanol boom.
None of that makes sense to Michael R. Taylor, who headed the USDA's Food Safety and Inspection Service during the Clinton administration.
The current inspection scheme is obsolete and wasteful, Taylor told the AP. Much as they did 100 years ago, USDA inspectors check hundreds of millions of beef and pork carcasses and some 8 billion chickens annually devoting about 2 seconds to each bird, he said.
Instead, the focus should be on checking for E. coli bacteria in beef, and other microscopic dangers in poultry, he said.
In the meantime, there is little likelihood that the buying public will change its eating habits.
Consumers kept eating beef after the first U.S. case of mad cow disease in December 2003. While U.S. beef exports dropped sharply then, domestic demand was largely unchanged.
The good news is that they're taking notice in Washington.
Senate Agriculture Committee Chairman Tom Harkin said in a statement that USDA must toughen its inspection measures before animals are slaughtered to prevent future occurrences.
"How much longer will we continue to test our luck with weak enforcement of federal food safety regulations?" said the Iowa Democrat. "Federal regulations exist for a reason - to protect public health."
The China Syndrome
TRADER Joe's, the quirky grocery store chain that crams its narrow aisles with bargain gourmet and ethnic foods and $2 wine, is drawing a line in the gastronomical sand.
No more, they announced this week, would they carry single ingredient items that are imported from China. These would include imports such as garlic, frozen organic spinach, ginger and edamame, a green soybean, according to a spokesperson for the chain.
The ban is the result of unspecified "consumer concerns" about "products from this region."
But the Monrovia-based chain said they would continue to stock products that include Chinese ingredients.
This might seem an odd stance for a company that routinely entices its customers with Peanut Satay Noodles, fresh grilled tofu spring rolls, asparagus risotto or Mango Ginger Chutney.
But in view of recent events, it should come as no great surprise that there are "consumer concerns" about all things Chinese.
Since last year, when contaminated Chinese pet food killed or sickened thousands of animals in the U.S. and lead-tainted toys made in China were being yanked from toy store shelves, Chinese imports have become about as welcome as mad cow disease in this country.
A recent USA Today/Gallup poll found 46 percent of those polled are "very concerned" about the safety of food imported from China; another 28 percent said they were "somewhat concerned" about Chinese food products.
In the past year, the Food and Drug Administration has detained at U.S. ports such Chinese delicacies as:
Dried apples preserved with a cancer-causing chemical.
Frozen catfish laden with banned antibiotics.
Scallops and sardines coated with putrefying bacteria.
Mushrooms laced with illegal pesticides.
Not to mention thousands of shipments of tainted Chinese dietary supplements, toxic Chinese cosmetics and counterfeit Chinese medicines.
It is only fair to point out that the danger from contaminated Chinese food imports remains small. According to the U.S. Agriculture Department, less than one percent of America's food supply comes from China.
"Generally speaking, American consumers should not worry too much," reassured Luo Yunbo, head of the Food Science and Nutrition Engineering Institute at China's Agricultural University in Beijing. "We select the best products for the international markets."
Reassuring? Perhaps. But who among us wants to take a chance and wolf down a plate of sardines with a side of bacteria? Apparently, not the people who shop at Trader Joe's, and the market chain has, wisely, responded.
What is surprising is that, according to several media reports, other market chains aren't following Trader Joe's lead.
Whole Foods Market told the Los Angeles Times that it was "in a different situation" when it came to products from China.
"We don't carry them in our fresh meat, seafood or produce departments and we offer a very, very small amount in our grocery department," the Austin, Texas-based seller of natural and organic groceries said. Whole Foods added that it didn't make sense "to stop the progress we have made with sourcing select high-quality products for our private-label brands that come from China and other global partners."
El Segundo-based Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market, the Trader Joe's competitor owned by British grocer Tesco, said it would continue to sell food imported from China.
In the meantime, the New York Times reported recently that the U.S. Olympic team is planning to take its own food to China for the Summer Games.
When a caterer working for the U.S. Olympic Committee went to a supermarket in China last year, he encountered a piece of chicken-half of a breast-that measured 14 inches, enough to feed a family of eight.
"We had it tested and it was so full of steroids that we never could have given it to athletes. They all would have tested positive," said one official.
No more, they announced this week, would they carry single ingredient items that are imported from China. These would include imports such as garlic, frozen organic spinach, ginger and edamame, a green soybean, according to a spokesperson for the chain.
The ban is the result of unspecified "consumer concerns" about "products from this region."
But the Monrovia-based chain said they would continue to stock products that include Chinese ingredients.
This might seem an odd stance for a company that routinely entices its customers with Peanut Satay Noodles, fresh grilled tofu spring rolls, asparagus risotto or Mango Ginger Chutney.
But in view of recent events, it should come as no great surprise that there are "consumer concerns" about all things Chinese.
Since last year, when contaminated Chinese pet food killed or sickened thousands of animals in the U.S. and lead-tainted toys made in China were being yanked from toy store shelves, Chinese imports have become about as welcome as mad cow disease in this country.
A recent USA Today/Gallup poll found 46 percent of those polled are "very concerned" about the safety of food imported from China; another 28 percent said they were "somewhat concerned" about Chinese food products.
In the past year, the Food and Drug Administration has detained at U.S. ports such Chinese delicacies as:
Dried apples preserved with a cancer-causing chemical.
Frozen catfish laden with banned antibiotics.
Scallops and sardines coated with putrefying bacteria.
Mushrooms laced with illegal pesticides.
Not to mention thousands of shipments of tainted Chinese dietary supplements, toxic Chinese cosmetics and counterfeit Chinese medicines.
It is only fair to point out that the danger from contaminated Chinese food imports remains small. According to the U.S. Agriculture Department, less than one percent of America's food supply comes from China.
"Generally speaking, American consumers should not worry too much," reassured Luo Yunbo, head of the Food Science and Nutrition Engineering Institute at China's Agricultural University in Beijing. "We select the best products for the international markets."
Reassuring? Perhaps. But who among us wants to take a chance and wolf down a plate of sardines with a side of bacteria? Apparently, not the people who shop at Trader Joe's, and the market chain has, wisely, responded.
What is surprising is that, according to several media reports, other market chains aren't following Trader Joe's lead.
Whole Foods Market told the Los Angeles Times that it was "in a different situation" when it came to products from China.
"We don't carry them in our fresh meat, seafood or produce departments and we offer a very, very small amount in our grocery department," the Austin, Texas-based seller of natural and organic groceries said. Whole Foods added that it didn't make sense "to stop the progress we have made with sourcing select high-quality products for our private-label brands that come from China and other global partners."
El Segundo-based Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market, the Trader Joe's competitor owned by British grocer Tesco, said it would continue to sell food imported from China.
In the meantime, the New York Times reported recently that the U.S. Olympic team is planning to take its own food to China for the Summer Games.
When a caterer working for the U.S. Olympic Committee went to a supermarket in China last year, he encountered a piece of chicken-half of a breast-that measured 14 inches, enough to feed a family of eight.
"We had it tested and it was so full of steroids that we never could have given it to athletes. They all would have tested positive," said one official.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
You Can Bet On It
Super Tuesday is coming, the day when the smoke clears from the political battleground and the leading presidential candidates emerge bloodied but mostly unbowed.
It is on this day that Americans will come face to face with the reality that, once again, they will be choosing between the lesser of two evils.
Every pundit who can hunt and peck will engage in endless analysis and prognostication even though, as the Wall Street Journal points out, their conclusions "are about as accurate as a chimp throwing darts."
Even though this column is as good as the next guy at reaching vague conclusions that can be applied to almost any result, we have decided to pass on politics. For now.
Besides, we are betting our rebate check that Hillary Clinton willbeat John McCain in November.
Instead, we will turn our attention to more pressing matters. Like the Super Bowl.
Yes, it's that time again for the most hyped but often least interesting game of the year. This year's contest on Sunday features the New England Patriots and the New York Giants, two teams of interest mostly to snow-bound residents in the northeastern United States.
For them, it's about civic pride. For the rest of us, it's about picking the best beer commercial.
The Patriots are undefeated, devouring their opponents like so many fire ants on the march and led by a dour coach who displays all the warmth and grace of Joseph Stalin.
The Giants actually play in New Jersey. Enough said.
I'll rip open a bag of torilla chips and watch it but without much emotion.
Indeed, the last time I got really enthused about a Super Bowl was when Justin Timberlake ripped off Janet Jackson's top during a half time show.
There is one sure-fire way of making the game interesting, however. Bet on it.
You don't need to be a football fan to put a few bucks down on the game. In fact, you don't need to know a quarterback from a quiche.
According to some betting websites, you can bet on who the most valuable player will thank first: teammates, God, family, coach, or no one.
You can bet on what song Tom Petty will sing to end his half time show.
You can get a few bucks down on how long it take Jordin Sparks to sing the National anthem. Over 1 minute 42 seconds, or under 1 minutes 42.
You can bet on whether Brittany Spears will show up, and whether she will streak the field.
You can also wager on who will win the coin toss, who will call the first time out, who will be the first player called for holding, whether the first player to score will have an odd or even number jersey, whether the first missed field goal will be wide left or right.
Of course, you can develop your own bets right at home. Who will be the first to take a bathroom break, who will be the first to dump a plate of nachos cheese-side down on your new couch, who willbe the first to say "I don't get it" after a multimillion dollar commercials creens, who will be the first to doze off in the middle of the game after consuming hot wings, chili, pizza and beer.
But whatever it takes, try to enjoy the game. It will be over in three hours. The presidential campaign will last another 10 months.
It is on this day that Americans will come face to face with the reality that, once again, they will be choosing between the lesser of two evils.
Every pundit who can hunt and peck will engage in endless analysis and prognostication even though, as the Wall Street Journal points out, their conclusions "are about as accurate as a chimp throwing darts."
Even though this column is as good as the next guy at reaching vague conclusions that can be applied to almost any result, we have decided to pass on politics. For now.
Besides, we are betting our rebate check that Hillary Clinton willbeat John McCain in November.
Instead, we will turn our attention to more pressing matters. Like the Super Bowl.
Yes, it's that time again for the most hyped but often least interesting game of the year. This year's contest on Sunday features the New England Patriots and the New York Giants, two teams of interest mostly to snow-bound residents in the northeastern United States.
For them, it's about civic pride. For the rest of us, it's about picking the best beer commercial.
The Patriots are undefeated, devouring their opponents like so many fire ants on the march and led by a dour coach who displays all the warmth and grace of Joseph Stalin.
The Giants actually play in New Jersey. Enough said.
I'll rip open a bag of torilla chips and watch it but without much emotion.
Indeed, the last time I got really enthused about a Super Bowl was when Justin Timberlake ripped off Janet Jackson's top during a half time show.
There is one sure-fire way of making the game interesting, however. Bet on it.
You don't need to be a football fan to put a few bucks down on the game. In fact, you don't need to know a quarterback from a quiche.
According to some betting websites, you can bet on who the most valuable player will thank first: teammates, God, family, coach, or no one.
You can bet on what song Tom Petty will sing to end his half time show.
You can get a few bucks down on how long it take Jordin Sparks to sing the National anthem. Over 1 minute 42 seconds, or under 1 minutes 42.
You can bet on whether Brittany Spears will show up, and whether she will streak the field.
You can also wager on who will win the coin toss, who will call the first time out, who will be the first player called for holding, whether the first player to score will have an odd or even number jersey, whether the first missed field goal will be wide left or right.
Of course, you can develop your own bets right at home. Who will be the first to take a bathroom break, who will be the first to dump a plate of nachos cheese-side down on your new couch, who willbe the first to say "I don't get it" after a multimillion dollar commercials creens, who will be the first to doze off in the middle of the game after consuming hot wings, chili, pizza and beer.
But whatever it takes, try to enjoy the game. It will be over in three hours. The presidential campaign will last another 10 months.
A Campaign Trail of Tears
The Democratic presidential candidate debate Monday night in South Carllina at times assumed all the trappings of a finger-pointing feud between opposing football fans.
Hillary was a coporate shill for Wal Mart. Barack worked for a slumlord. Hillary twists facts. Barrack won't take responsibility for his actions. And what about that pesky Bill?
In the middle of this spat sat John Edwards, looking for all theworld like a guy trying to mediate a rancorous divorce proceeding.
The media laps this up, of course. It's great political theater and it gives the assembled reporters something different to write about after hearing the same stump speech five times a day. But if you're interested in positions and issues, well, that gets lost in the sound and fury.
I liken it to making a choice from a ring full of boxers. The one with the biggest roundhouse right wins.
All of this took place on a day when the nation payed homage to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who embraced nonviolence as a political strategy. On more than one occasion, the candidates speculated that Dr. King would have been proud to see a woman and an Afican American contesting for the highest office in the land.
Perhaps. But I suspect Dr. King would also have been saddened by the level of personal attacks that have surfaced in the race. Not only is the tone of the race divisive, but race, gender,religion and age have become issues, issues you would have thought we were past inthis country.
Hillary Clinton is both a victim of and an advocate of gender politics. She has lashed out at the "old boys network" and accused fellow candidates, all male, of ganging up on her.
And when her eyes welled up and she became emotional while campaigning in New Hampshire, intended or not, it may have won her that state's primary by capturing the female vote.(Interestingly enough, when Ed Muskie got teary eyed in NewHampshire in 1972 over attacks on his candidacy, it was largely seen as costing him the election).
On the other hand, Clinton has been called a "bitch," rumored tobe a lesbian and criticized because when she displays leadership, she is somehow seen as less feminine.
Barack Obama has his own mountians to climb. He's not only African American, he's criticized for not being black enough, not even as black as Bill Clinton who is white. On top of that, he has been accused in anonymous Internet postings of being a Muslim who took his oath of office on aQur'an and refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
For the record, hehas been a member of a large Christian church in Chicago for more than 20 years and has led the U.S. Senate in the pledge.
Mitt Romney is a Mormon who has been forced to defend his faith, much as John F. Kennedy spoke about his Catholicism in 1962. One Internet report described Mormonism as some kind of devil worship. During the holidays, some South Carolina voters got a Christmas card, purportedly from Romney. Inside were references to his Mormon faith, including a defense of thechurch's former practice of polygamy.
A flier distributed in South Carolina accused John McCain offathering a "Negro child" (McCain's wife adopted an orphan in Bangladesh years earlier) and has been accused of selling out his fellow POWs when he was held prisoner in North Vietnam. McCain, 71, is also too old to run for the presidency, according to Chuck Norris, a Mike Huckabee supporter and Grade B actor whose thespian abilities apparently exceed his IQ.
Speaking of Huckabee, a Southern Baptist preacher, two evangelical pastors in Iowa who are personally supporting the candidate received anonymous mailings warning that their churches risk sanction by the Internal Revenue Service if they become too involved in politics.
If Dr. King returned, he would probably believe we would have grown and matured since he last walked this earth.He would be wrong.
Hillary was a coporate shill for Wal Mart. Barack worked for a slumlord. Hillary twists facts. Barrack won't take responsibility for his actions. And what about that pesky Bill?
In the middle of this spat sat John Edwards, looking for all theworld like a guy trying to mediate a rancorous divorce proceeding.
The media laps this up, of course. It's great political theater and it gives the assembled reporters something different to write about after hearing the same stump speech five times a day. But if you're interested in positions and issues, well, that gets lost in the sound and fury.
I liken it to making a choice from a ring full of boxers. The one with the biggest roundhouse right wins.
All of this took place on a day when the nation payed homage to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who embraced nonviolence as a political strategy. On more than one occasion, the candidates speculated that Dr. King would have been proud to see a woman and an Afican American contesting for the highest office in the land.
Perhaps. But I suspect Dr. King would also have been saddened by the level of personal attacks that have surfaced in the race. Not only is the tone of the race divisive, but race, gender,religion and age have become issues, issues you would have thought we were past inthis country.
Hillary Clinton is both a victim of and an advocate of gender politics. She has lashed out at the "old boys network" and accused fellow candidates, all male, of ganging up on her.
And when her eyes welled up and she became emotional while campaigning in New Hampshire, intended or not, it may have won her that state's primary by capturing the female vote.(Interestingly enough, when Ed Muskie got teary eyed in NewHampshire in 1972 over attacks on his candidacy, it was largely seen as costing him the election).
On the other hand, Clinton has been called a "bitch," rumored tobe a lesbian and criticized because when she displays leadership, she is somehow seen as less feminine.
Barack Obama has his own mountians to climb. He's not only African American, he's criticized for not being black enough, not even as black as Bill Clinton who is white. On top of that, he has been accused in anonymous Internet postings of being a Muslim who took his oath of office on aQur'an and refused to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
For the record, hehas been a member of a large Christian church in Chicago for more than 20 years and has led the U.S. Senate in the pledge.
Mitt Romney is a Mormon who has been forced to defend his faith, much as John F. Kennedy spoke about his Catholicism in 1962. One Internet report described Mormonism as some kind of devil worship. During the holidays, some South Carolina voters got a Christmas card, purportedly from Romney. Inside were references to his Mormon faith, including a defense of thechurch's former practice of polygamy.
A flier distributed in South Carolina accused John McCain offathering a "Negro child" (McCain's wife adopted an orphan in Bangladesh years earlier) and has been accused of selling out his fellow POWs when he was held prisoner in North Vietnam. McCain, 71, is also too old to run for the presidency, according to Chuck Norris, a Mike Huckabee supporter and Grade B actor whose thespian abilities apparently exceed his IQ.
Speaking of Huckabee, a Southern Baptist preacher, two evangelical pastors in Iowa who are personally supporting the candidate received anonymous mailings warning that their churches risk sanction by the Internal Revenue Service if they become too involved in politics.
If Dr. King returned, he would probably believe we would have grown and matured since he last walked this earth.He would be wrong.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Food for Thought
THIS month, I join millions of my fellow Americans in what has become a mid-winter tradition that is as predictable as snowfall in Maine.
It may be football playoff season, it may be presidential primary season, but I'm willing to bet more people participate in this activity then all the punts and pundits rolled into one.
I speak, of course, of dieting.
This column has complained loudly in the past about people who gobble up double cheeseburgers by the bagful and then sue McDonald's because they packed on an extra 100 pounds.
And this column has insisted that personal responsibility is the true path to dietary health.
This column doesn't always practice what it preaches.
While I haven't fallen into the grotesquely obese category yet, it wouldn't hurt me to drop 20 pounds, to use a nice round figure which also describes my current body configuration.
I don't suppose it does much good to blame your weight gain on outside forces.
But what the hell, I'll do it anyway.
Reason No. 1: Tailgating. We have been UCLA football season ticket holders at the Rose Bowl for 25 years. It used to be a hot dog and a beer before a game. But tailgating has taken on all the trappings of a cordon bleu competition. Now, it's a salad course, a main course with side dishes, a dessert course all accompanied by three kinds of wine.
Then there's a post-game dinner, which, considering the performance of the UCLA football team
over the last few years, involves lots of comfort food.
Reason No. 2: Thanksgiving. Somebody told me that turkey is good for you. So I eat lots of it. So do most of my friends. Which brings up an interesting point.
According to a study by the New England Journal of Medicine, obesity can spread from person to person, much like a virus. When one person gains weight, close friends tend to gain weight, too.
The researchers reported that people were most likely to become obese when a friend became obese. That increased a person's chances of becoming obese by 57 percent. It did not even matter if the friend was hundreds of miles away, the influence remained. And the greatest influence of all was between close mutual friends. There, if one became obese, the other had a 171 percent increased chance of becoming obese, too.
Clearly, I need more skinny friends.
Reason No. 3: By the time we get to Christmas, we're in capitulation mode. Any thoughts of dietary sanity are postponed until after Jan. 1. After all, isn't that why we have New Year's resolutions?
I did read one helpful hint about how to survive holiday feasting:
Simply tie a piece of string around your waist before the meal - under your clothes. It shouldn't be too tight. You should be able to get a fist between it and you. When it starts to draw blood, you should probably stop eating.
Reason No. 4: I love to eat. I also believe that if you eat something and no one sees you eat it, it has no calories.
So how to drop a few pounds?
Well, there's the Evo Diet. As part of an experiment for BBC-TV, a group of volunteers set up a tent in a zoo - and ate like the apes for 12 days. A nutritionist devised a "three-day rotating menu of fruit, vegetables, nuts and honey."
The results were impressive: Cholesterol dropped an average of 23 percent. Blood pressure fell from a level of 140/83 to 122/76. An unintended side effect was weight loss: 9.7 pounds.
The bad news is that you have an unsaitable desire to live in a tee.
Then there's the cabbage soup diet, the chocolate diet, the lemonade diet, the chicken soup diet and the Russian air force diet (guaranteed to help you lose the Cold War), all of which can be found on the Internet.
You've got to be careful, however. Prolonged dieting can lead to depression, reduced sex drive, fatigue, irritability, sinus problems, muscle atrophy and bloodshot eyes. Come to think of it, you can develop those same symptoms with prolonged exposure to journalism.
On second thought, I think I'll just exercise more and eat less, secure in the knowledge that the National Institutes of Health says that the commonly recommended program of reduced caloric intake along with increased physical activity has a long-term failure rate of 90-95percent.
Or, as Jackie Gleason once said: "The second day of a diet is always easier than the first. By the second day, you're off it."
It may be football playoff season, it may be presidential primary season, but I'm willing to bet more people participate in this activity then all the punts and pundits rolled into one.
I speak, of course, of dieting.
This column has complained loudly in the past about people who gobble up double cheeseburgers by the bagful and then sue McDonald's because they packed on an extra 100 pounds.
And this column has insisted that personal responsibility is the true path to dietary health.
This column doesn't always practice what it preaches.
While I haven't fallen into the grotesquely obese category yet, it wouldn't hurt me to drop 20 pounds, to use a nice round figure which also describes my current body configuration.
I don't suppose it does much good to blame your weight gain on outside forces.
But what the hell, I'll do it anyway.
Reason No. 1: Tailgating. We have been UCLA football season ticket holders at the Rose Bowl for 25 years. It used to be a hot dog and a beer before a game. But tailgating has taken on all the trappings of a cordon bleu competition. Now, it's a salad course, a main course with side dishes, a dessert course all accompanied by three kinds of wine.
Then there's a post-game dinner, which, considering the performance of the UCLA football team
over the last few years, involves lots of comfort food.
Reason No. 2: Thanksgiving. Somebody told me that turkey is good for you. So I eat lots of it. So do most of my friends. Which brings up an interesting point.
According to a study by the New England Journal of Medicine, obesity can spread from person to person, much like a virus. When one person gains weight, close friends tend to gain weight, too.
The researchers reported that people were most likely to become obese when a friend became obese. That increased a person's chances of becoming obese by 57 percent. It did not even matter if the friend was hundreds of miles away, the influence remained. And the greatest influence of all was between close mutual friends. There, if one became obese, the other had a 171 percent increased chance of becoming obese, too.
Clearly, I need more skinny friends.
Reason No. 3: By the time we get to Christmas, we're in capitulation mode. Any thoughts of dietary sanity are postponed until after Jan. 1. After all, isn't that why we have New Year's resolutions?
I did read one helpful hint about how to survive holiday feasting:
Simply tie a piece of string around your waist before the meal - under your clothes. It shouldn't be too tight. You should be able to get a fist between it and you. When it starts to draw blood, you should probably stop eating.
Reason No. 4: I love to eat. I also believe that if you eat something and no one sees you eat it, it has no calories.
So how to drop a few pounds?
Well, there's the Evo Diet. As part of an experiment for BBC-TV, a group of volunteers set up a tent in a zoo - and ate like the apes for 12 days. A nutritionist devised a "three-day rotating menu of fruit, vegetables, nuts and honey."
The results were impressive: Cholesterol dropped an average of 23 percent. Blood pressure fell from a level of 140/83 to 122/76. An unintended side effect was weight loss: 9.7 pounds.
The bad news is that you have an unsaitable desire to live in a tee.
Then there's the cabbage soup diet, the chocolate diet, the lemonade diet, the chicken soup diet and the Russian air force diet (guaranteed to help you lose the Cold War), all of which can be found on the Internet.
You've got to be careful, however. Prolonged dieting can lead to depression, reduced sex drive, fatigue, irritability, sinus problems, muscle atrophy and bloodshot eyes. Come to think of it, you can develop those same symptoms with prolonged exposure to journalism.
On second thought, I think I'll just exercise more and eat less, secure in the knowledge that the National Institutes of Health says that the commonly recommended program of reduced caloric intake along with increased physical activity has a long-term failure rate of 90-95percent.
Or, as Jackie Gleason once said: "The second day of a diet is always easier than the first. By the second day, you're off it."
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
What We Meant to Say....
When you look back at the dubious achievements of 2007, it's like surveying a giant buffet table.
I mean, where do you start? Subprime loans? Paris Hilton and/or Brtiney Spears? Lead tainted toys from China? Don Imus? Airline travel? Michael Vick? Donald Trump? Major League Baseball? The Coliseum Commission? George Bush? Nancy Pelosi? Larry Craig? Rosie O'Donnel? Any of the presidential wannabes?
What a feast.
But when this column set out to say so long to 2007, we decided to view it through the prism of newspaper corrections.
There's no deep significance in it. Indeed, after more than 40 years in the profession, it still amazes me that a group of people can produce a lively record of the day's events, usually flawlessly, in 12 hours or less. And then do it all again the next day. It's not called the daily miracle for nothin'.
But mistakes do get made. More often than not, they let us laugh at ourselves. Maybe it's best to look back on the year with a smile.
So, culled from Internet sources (including a website called Regret the Error), here are my favorite corrections of the year:
Running Mates: "A front-page article yesterday about the role that Barack Obama's wife, Michelle, is playing in his presidential campaign rendered incorrectly a word in a quotation from Valerie Jarrett, a friend of the Obamas who commented on their decision that he would run. She said in a telephone interview, 'Barack and Michelle thought long and hard about this decision before they made it' ---not that they 'fought' long and hard. (The New York Times).
Was There Anything Correct in This Story?: "Following the portrait of Tony and Cherie Blair published on 21 April in the Independent Saturday magazine, Ms. Blair's representatives have told us that she was friendly with but never had a relationship with Carole Caplin of the type suggested in the article. They want to make it clear, which we are happy to do, that Ms. Blair has never shared a shower with Ms. Caplin, was not introduced to spirit guides or primal wrestling by Ms. Caplin (or anyone else), and did not have her diary masterminded by Ms. Caplin. (The Independent Saturday (UK) magazine.
Why We Fight: "In an article in Monday's newspaper, there may have been a misperception about why a Woodstock man is going to Afghanistan on a voluntary mission. Kevin DeClark is going to Afghanistan to gain life experience to become a police officer when he returns, not to shoot guns and blow things up. The Sentinel-Review apologizes for any embarrassment this may have caused. (The Sentinel-Review, Woodstock, Ontario).
Who's Sorry Now: "A headline in Monday's Daily News, 'He regrets his role in Postal Vid,' implied that Richard Marino, the subject of a YouTube video, was sorry for an incident in December at a Brooklyn post office. Marino, in fact, is not sorry. (The New York Daily News).
Flag It: "An article in Wednesday's Calendar section about an English-language newspaper in Mexico City referred to the many U.S. ex-patriots who live there. It should have said expatriates." (Los Angeles Times)
You Say Tomato..."Our story on the price of tomatoes last week misquoted Alistair Petrie, general manager of Turners and Growers. Discussing the price of tomatoes Petrie was talking about retail rate not retail rape. We apologise for the misunderstanding." (Sunday Star-Times, New Zealand).
Bird Brained: "In Friday's article on Liz Hurley's wedding it was wrongly stated that the actress is holding a pheasant shoot on the Sunday after the ceremony. Game shooting is of course illegal on Sundays and the pheasant season ended on Feb 1. We apologise for the error and accept that if any shooting is to be done it will be by the paparazzi, who have no season and do not observe the Sabbath. (Daily Telegraph, UK).
Who's Sari Now: "A report 'From Bombay to Rajasthan'... stated that actor Elizabeth Hurley will wear a 4,000-pound sari by designer Tarun Tahiliani during her wedding in March. While one reader wondered how she would be able to lift the 1,800 kg sari, another reader said there are possible fears about the bride being reduced to pulp by its weight. It was an error. The word 'pound' was used instead of the currency symbol for pound sterling. The Hindu
Par for the Course: "In a report about the Scottish elections, an editing error led to us wrongly suggesting that John Swinburne of the Scottish Senior Citizens' Unity Party had been accused of allegedly causing a breach of the peace by running amok in a polling station with a golf club. We apologise to Mr Swinburne for any embarrassment or distress caused." (The Guardian, UK).
How Many Words for Error? "An item in the Sunday Magazine referred to a popular but unfounded notion that Eskimos have dozens of words for snow, in this case 40. The item failed to note that the assertion has been debunked by linguists and others. " (Chicago Tribune).
Talk Show Hosts All Look Alike: "A Newsmakers item on Page A2 Sunday incorrectly attributed a quote to the Rev. Al Sharpton. The item should have said that nationally syndicated radio host Don Imus described Rutgers women's basketball players as 'nappy-headed hos' during a segment of his show Wednesday. Austin American-Statesmen.
It Sure Sounded Correct: "A Nov. 19 article about a new study indicating that Detroit is the most dangerous U.S. city incorrectly stated that Detroit has seen nearly one million people killed since 1950. In fact, that number represents the overall decline in Detroit's population since 1950, not the number of people killed." (Toronto Star).
Was There Anything Correct in This Story, Part II: "An article about Lord Lambton...falsely stated that his son Ned (now Lord Durham) and daughter Catherine held a party at Lord Lambton's villa, Cetinale, in 1997, which degenerated into such an orgy that Lord Lambton banned them from Cetinale for years. In fact, Lord Durham does not have a sister called Catherine (that is the name of his former wife), there has not been any orgiastic party of any kind and Lord Lambton did not ban him (or Catherine) from Cetinale at all. We apologise sincerely to Lord Durham for the hurt and embarrassment caused." (Sunday Times, UK).
Thanks for Clearing That Up: "No test samples were sent to Cork University Hospital. And that's all we're telling you." (Irish Times).
I mean, where do you start? Subprime loans? Paris Hilton and/or Brtiney Spears? Lead tainted toys from China? Don Imus? Airline travel? Michael Vick? Donald Trump? Major League Baseball? The Coliseum Commission? George Bush? Nancy Pelosi? Larry Craig? Rosie O'Donnel? Any of the presidential wannabes?
What a feast.
But when this column set out to say so long to 2007, we decided to view it through the prism of newspaper corrections.
There's no deep significance in it. Indeed, after more than 40 years in the profession, it still amazes me that a group of people can produce a lively record of the day's events, usually flawlessly, in 12 hours or less. And then do it all again the next day. It's not called the daily miracle for nothin'.
But mistakes do get made. More often than not, they let us laugh at ourselves. Maybe it's best to look back on the year with a smile.
So, culled from Internet sources (including a website called Regret the Error), here are my favorite corrections of the year:
Running Mates: "A front-page article yesterday about the role that Barack Obama's wife, Michelle, is playing in his presidential campaign rendered incorrectly a word in a quotation from Valerie Jarrett, a friend of the Obamas who commented on their decision that he would run. She said in a telephone interview, 'Barack and Michelle thought long and hard about this decision before they made it' ---not that they 'fought' long and hard. (The New York Times).
Was There Anything Correct in This Story?: "Following the portrait of Tony and Cherie Blair published on 21 April in the Independent Saturday magazine, Ms. Blair's representatives have told us that she was friendly with but never had a relationship with Carole Caplin of the type suggested in the article. They want to make it clear, which we are happy to do, that Ms. Blair has never shared a shower with Ms. Caplin, was not introduced to spirit guides or primal wrestling by Ms. Caplin (or anyone else), and did not have her diary masterminded by Ms. Caplin. (The Independent Saturday (UK) magazine.
Why We Fight: "In an article in Monday's newspaper, there may have been a misperception about why a Woodstock man is going to Afghanistan on a voluntary mission. Kevin DeClark is going to Afghanistan to gain life experience to become a police officer when he returns, not to shoot guns and blow things up. The Sentinel-Review apologizes for any embarrassment this may have caused. (The Sentinel-Review, Woodstock, Ontario).
Who's Sorry Now: "A headline in Monday's Daily News, 'He regrets his role in Postal Vid,' implied that Richard Marino, the subject of a YouTube video, was sorry for an incident in December at a Brooklyn post office. Marino, in fact, is not sorry. (The New York Daily News).
Flag It: "An article in Wednesday's Calendar section about an English-language newspaper in Mexico City referred to the many U.S. ex-patriots who live there. It should have said expatriates." (Los Angeles Times)
You Say Tomato..."Our story on the price of tomatoes last week misquoted Alistair Petrie, general manager of Turners and Growers. Discussing the price of tomatoes Petrie was talking about retail rate not retail rape. We apologise for the misunderstanding." (Sunday Star-Times, New Zealand).
Bird Brained: "In Friday's article on Liz Hurley's wedding it was wrongly stated that the actress is holding a pheasant shoot on the Sunday after the ceremony. Game shooting is of course illegal on Sundays and the pheasant season ended on Feb 1. We apologise for the error and accept that if any shooting is to be done it will be by the paparazzi, who have no season and do not observe the Sabbath. (Daily Telegraph, UK).
Who's Sari Now: "A report 'From Bombay to Rajasthan'... stated that actor Elizabeth Hurley will wear a 4,000-pound sari by designer Tarun Tahiliani during her wedding in March. While one reader wondered how she would be able to lift the 1,800 kg sari, another reader said there are possible fears about the bride being reduced to pulp by its weight. It was an error. The word 'pound' was used instead of the currency symbol for pound sterling. The Hindu
Par for the Course: "In a report about the Scottish elections, an editing error led to us wrongly suggesting that John Swinburne of the Scottish Senior Citizens' Unity Party had been accused of allegedly causing a breach of the peace by running amok in a polling station with a golf club. We apologise to Mr Swinburne for any embarrassment or distress caused." (The Guardian, UK).
How Many Words for Error? "An item in the Sunday Magazine referred to a popular but unfounded notion that Eskimos have dozens of words for snow, in this case 40. The item failed to note that the assertion has been debunked by linguists and others. " (Chicago Tribune).
Talk Show Hosts All Look Alike: "A Newsmakers item on Page A2 Sunday incorrectly attributed a quote to the Rev. Al Sharpton. The item should have said that nationally syndicated radio host Don Imus described Rutgers women's basketball players as 'nappy-headed hos' during a segment of his show Wednesday. Austin American-Statesmen.
It Sure Sounded Correct: "A Nov. 19 article about a new study indicating that Detroit is the most dangerous U.S. city incorrectly stated that Detroit has seen nearly one million people killed since 1950. In fact, that number represents the overall decline in Detroit's population since 1950, not the number of people killed." (Toronto Star).
Was There Anything Correct in This Story, Part II: "An article about Lord Lambton...falsely stated that his son Ned (now Lord Durham) and daughter Catherine held a party at Lord Lambton's villa, Cetinale, in 1997, which degenerated into such an orgy that Lord Lambton banned them from Cetinale for years. In fact, Lord Durham does not have a sister called Catherine (that is the name of his former wife), there has not been any orgiastic party of any kind and Lord Lambton did not ban him (or Catherine) from Cetinale at all. We apologise sincerely to Lord Durham for the hurt and embarrassment caused." (Sunday Times, UK).
Thanks for Clearing That Up: "No test samples were sent to Cork University Hospital. And that's all we're telling you." (Irish Times).
An Immigrant's Tale
There are stories of the immigrant experience in the United States that sometimes make me downright emotional about this country, its freedoms and the people who through grit and sacrifice have made it what it is.
They remind us that we remain the land of opportunity, a beacon of light that shines brightly in the darkest corners of the world.
Such a story concerns a man named Tom Lantos who has spent his life overcoming overwhelming odds.
Unless you're a political junkie, you may not have heard of Lantos. He's a Congressman from the Bay Area who has served since 1981.
Lantos is low on flash but high on substance. He's chairman of the powerful House Foreign Affaris Committee and a Democrat who commands respect from both sides of the aisle as an expert in his field and a tireless advocate for human rights.
But it's the story of his journey to Capitol Hill that captivates us.
Lantos came to Congress by way of the Holocaust.
Born to a Jewish family in Budapest, Hungary, he was part of the resistance movement against the Nazis when they invaded his country. As a teenager, he was placed in a forced labor camp but escaped what was essentially a death sentence and was able to find shelter in a safe house in Budapest set up by Swedish humanitarian Raoul Wallenberg.
He survived but his family did not.
In 1947, Lantos was awarded an academic scholarship to study in the United States on the basis of an essay he wrote about U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
In August of that year, he arrived in New York City after a week-long boat trip to America on a converted World War II troop ship. His only possession was a Hungarian salami, which U.S. customs officials promptly confiscated when he arrived. Just a few weeks after he left Hungary, the Communist party seized control of the country.
In a documentary called "The Last Days," which chronicled the fate of Hungary's Jews at the end of the war, Lantos described his experienceaboard the ship.
As he lined up for his first meal, he was astonished to see wicker baskets filled with oranges and bananas. When he asked a seaman if he could have one, he was told, "Man you can eat all the damn bananas and all the damn oranges you want."
"It was then I knew I was in heaven," he said.
He attended the University of Washington in Seattle, where he received a B.A. and M.A. in economics. He moved to San Francisco in 1950 and began graduate studies at the UC Berkeley, where he later received his Ph.D. in economics. In 1953, he became an American citizen.
Lantos married his childhood sweetheart Annette and they settled in San Mateo County. He spent 30 years teaching economics at San Francisco State, served as a foreign affairs analyst on public television and won a seat on the Millbrae school board. When other Democrats passed on the chance to challenge GOP incumbent Rep. Bill Royer in 1980, he rose to the challenge and narrowly won.
Lantos and his wife had two daughters, both of whom promised a gift of grandchildren to their parents.
They now have 17.
"Because my wife and I were survivors of the Holocaust, because our own families were killed, the gift to us was to give us as many grandchildren as possible, to keep alive the names of those who were lost," he told the San Francisco Examiner.
"Our cup runneth over."
He is now face-to-face with cancer. Based on his past record, I wouldn't bet against him.
But he's 80 years old now with another tough obstacle to overcome. So he announced his retirement from Congress this past week. He received the cancer diagnosis from his doctors the week before Congress recessed in December, but spent two weeks consulting with doctors, his wife, Annette, and other family members before making his decision, aides said.
At a time when the economic, social and political aspects of immigration have caused controversy, Lantos' story underscores the fact that we are a nation of immigrants and they, or we, are our strength.
"It is only in the United States that a penniless survivor of the Holocaust and a fighter in the anti-Nazi underground could have received an education, raised a family, and had the privilege of serving the last three decades of his life as a Member of Congress," he said.
"I will never be able to express fully my profoundly felt gratitude to this great country."
That gratitute goes both ways.
They remind us that we remain the land of opportunity, a beacon of light that shines brightly in the darkest corners of the world.
Such a story concerns a man named Tom Lantos who has spent his life overcoming overwhelming odds.
Unless you're a political junkie, you may not have heard of Lantos. He's a Congressman from the Bay Area who has served since 1981.
Lantos is low on flash but high on substance. He's chairman of the powerful House Foreign Affaris Committee and a Democrat who commands respect from both sides of the aisle as an expert in his field and a tireless advocate for human rights.
But it's the story of his journey to Capitol Hill that captivates us.
Lantos came to Congress by way of the Holocaust.
Born to a Jewish family in Budapest, Hungary, he was part of the resistance movement against the Nazis when they invaded his country. As a teenager, he was placed in a forced labor camp but escaped what was essentially a death sentence and was able to find shelter in a safe house in Budapest set up by Swedish humanitarian Raoul Wallenberg.
He survived but his family did not.
In 1947, Lantos was awarded an academic scholarship to study in the United States on the basis of an essay he wrote about U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt.
In August of that year, he arrived in New York City after a week-long boat trip to America on a converted World War II troop ship. His only possession was a Hungarian salami, which U.S. customs officials promptly confiscated when he arrived. Just a few weeks after he left Hungary, the Communist party seized control of the country.
In a documentary called "The Last Days," which chronicled the fate of Hungary's Jews at the end of the war, Lantos described his experienceaboard the ship.
As he lined up for his first meal, he was astonished to see wicker baskets filled with oranges and bananas. When he asked a seaman if he could have one, he was told, "Man you can eat all the damn bananas and all the damn oranges you want."
"It was then I knew I was in heaven," he said.
He attended the University of Washington in Seattle, where he received a B.A. and M.A. in economics. He moved to San Francisco in 1950 and began graduate studies at the UC Berkeley, where he later received his Ph.D. in economics. In 1953, he became an American citizen.
Lantos married his childhood sweetheart Annette and they settled in San Mateo County. He spent 30 years teaching economics at San Francisco State, served as a foreign affairs analyst on public television and won a seat on the Millbrae school board. When other Democrats passed on the chance to challenge GOP incumbent Rep. Bill Royer in 1980, he rose to the challenge and narrowly won.
Lantos and his wife had two daughters, both of whom promised a gift of grandchildren to their parents.
They now have 17.
"Because my wife and I were survivors of the Holocaust, because our own families were killed, the gift to us was to give us as many grandchildren as possible, to keep alive the names of those who were lost," he told the San Francisco Examiner.
"Our cup runneth over."
He is now face-to-face with cancer. Based on his past record, I wouldn't bet against him.
But he's 80 years old now with another tough obstacle to overcome. So he announced his retirement from Congress this past week. He received the cancer diagnosis from his doctors the week before Congress recessed in December, but spent two weeks consulting with doctors, his wife, Annette, and other family members before making his decision, aides said.
At a time when the economic, social and political aspects of immigration have caused controversy, Lantos' story underscores the fact that we are a nation of immigrants and they, or we, are our strength.
"It is only in the United States that a penniless survivor of the Holocaust and a fighter in the anti-Nazi underground could have received an education, raised a family, and had the privilege of serving the last three decades of his life as a Member of Congress," he said.
"I will never be able to express fully my profoundly felt gratitude to this great country."
That gratitute goes both ways.
From Barack to Britney
Once around the news cycle:
It's January, when the nation's media converge on two places that usually fail to capture the undivided attention of most Americans: (1) New Hampshire; (2) a trade show in Las Vegas.
Once every four years, the state of New Hampshire becomes the scene of more political intrigue than the Roman Senate. That's become it's home to the nation's first primary which draws approximately one presidential aspirant for each five residents.
All you need to know about New Hampshire: It ranks 44th in total area and 41st in population in these United States. It's known as the Granite State because that term correctly reflects the facial expression of most of its residents.It has given us Horace Greely and Adam Sandler.
Its Mt. Washington claims to have "the worst weather on earth" due to hurricane force winds that buffet it on an average of every three days. Average annual snowfall ranges from 60 inches to more than 100 inches across the state.
You think the Clintons and Obamas and Huckabees and Romneys look forward to campaigning in California next month?
Then there's the consumer electronics show in Las Vegas which appears to draw every journalist in the country who is not in New Hampshire. Their job: discover a lot of quirky products with a high gee-whiz factor that most of us will never use.
This is the industry which has, over the years, given us Pong, Nintendo and voice activated car radios all of which have served to make the world a better place.
This year, for example, rap star Dr. Dre will be there to introduce an entire line of home and auto audio electronics sure to come equipped with woofers that will set off car alarms in the next county. He hopes to do for hip-hop what Emeril Legasse has done for frying pans.
But so far, the hit of the show is the world's largest plasma TV set, at 150 inches, or 12 1/2 feet, measured diagonally. It's 11 feet tall, and brought to you by Panasonic.
Just imagine watching "Dancing With the Stars," extreme fighting or the Cartoon Network larger than life in surround sound and high definition.
No price yet but the high rollers in Hollywood are already lining up to buy one. Too bad they won't be able to watch the Golden Globe awards on it.
That particular awards show has been canceled because of the writers strike. Instead of the usual self-congratulatory pap, NBC will broadcast a "news conference" in which the winners will be announced. Any resemblance to actual news will be purely coincidental.
Rarely does anything good come out of a protracted labor dispute but in this case, axing a manufactured egofest is a real plus. Who knew they needed writers for this drivel?
Speaking of show business, the AP bureau in Los Angeles has finally discovered Britney Spears, reports the website LA Observed. According to a memo to the staff from AP's assistant bureau chief, "Now and for the foreseeable future, virtually everything involving Britney is a big deal. That doesn't mean every rumor makes it on the wire. But it does mean that we want to pay attention to what others are reporting and seek to confirm those stories that WE feel warrant the wire. And when we determine that we'll write something, we must expedite it."
She's a big deal, to be sure, but not because of her boozy escapades. She's a story because she's a young woman in dire need of professional help who while in a fragile emotional state is being relentlessly pursued by a ravenous pack of paparazzi.
And who's there to offer her a hand? None other than the warm and fuzzy TV shrink Dr. Phil who, mindful of his own ratings, tried to engineer a show featuring Britney's parents.
He later canceled, because "the Spears situation is too intense at this time, and out of consideration to the family." "I've been working with this family behind the scenes for a long time, longer than you can imagine," he said.
If so, he's been something less than a great help. Britney has been married, divorced, lost custody of her children, been involved in a series of bizarre public episodes and has a 16-year-old sister who proudly announced her pregnancy recently.
While the family may not appear with Dr. Phil, they could pop up on the Jerry Springer show any day now.
It's January, when the nation's media converge on two places that usually fail to capture the undivided attention of most Americans: (1) New Hampshire; (2) a trade show in Las Vegas.
Once every four years, the state of New Hampshire becomes the scene of more political intrigue than the Roman Senate. That's become it's home to the nation's first primary which draws approximately one presidential aspirant for each five residents.
All you need to know about New Hampshire: It ranks 44th in total area and 41st in population in these United States. It's known as the Granite State because that term correctly reflects the facial expression of most of its residents.It has given us Horace Greely and Adam Sandler.
Its Mt. Washington claims to have "the worst weather on earth" due to hurricane force winds that buffet it on an average of every three days. Average annual snowfall ranges from 60 inches to more than 100 inches across the state.
You think the Clintons and Obamas and Huckabees and Romneys look forward to campaigning in California next month?
Then there's the consumer electronics show in Las Vegas which appears to draw every journalist in the country who is not in New Hampshire. Their job: discover a lot of quirky products with a high gee-whiz factor that most of us will never use.
This is the industry which has, over the years, given us Pong, Nintendo and voice activated car radios all of which have served to make the world a better place.
This year, for example, rap star Dr. Dre will be there to introduce an entire line of home and auto audio electronics sure to come equipped with woofers that will set off car alarms in the next county. He hopes to do for hip-hop what Emeril Legasse has done for frying pans.
But so far, the hit of the show is the world's largest plasma TV set, at 150 inches, or 12 1/2 feet, measured diagonally. It's 11 feet tall, and brought to you by Panasonic.
Just imagine watching "Dancing With the Stars," extreme fighting or the Cartoon Network larger than life in surround sound and high definition.
No price yet but the high rollers in Hollywood are already lining up to buy one. Too bad they won't be able to watch the Golden Globe awards on it.
That particular awards show has been canceled because of the writers strike. Instead of the usual self-congratulatory pap, NBC will broadcast a "news conference" in which the winners will be announced. Any resemblance to actual news will be purely coincidental.
Rarely does anything good come out of a protracted labor dispute but in this case, axing a manufactured egofest is a real plus. Who knew they needed writers for this drivel?
Speaking of show business, the AP bureau in Los Angeles has finally discovered Britney Spears, reports the website LA Observed. According to a memo to the staff from AP's assistant bureau chief, "Now and for the foreseeable future, virtually everything involving Britney is a big deal. That doesn't mean every rumor makes it on the wire. But it does mean that we want to pay attention to what others are reporting and seek to confirm those stories that WE feel warrant the wire. And when we determine that we'll write something, we must expedite it."
She's a big deal, to be sure, but not because of her boozy escapades. She's a story because she's a young woman in dire need of professional help who while in a fragile emotional state is being relentlessly pursued by a ravenous pack of paparazzi.
And who's there to offer her a hand? None other than the warm and fuzzy TV shrink Dr. Phil who, mindful of his own ratings, tried to engineer a show featuring Britney's parents.
He later canceled, because "the Spears situation is too intense at this time, and out of consideration to the family." "I've been working with this family behind the scenes for a long time, longer than you can imagine," he said.
If so, he's been something less than a great help. Britney has been married, divorced, lost custody of her children, been involved in a series of bizarre public episodes and has a 16-year-old sister who proudly announced her pregnancy recently.
While the family may not appear with Dr. Phil, they could pop up on the Jerry Springer show any day now.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A Bumper Crop
It used to be you could gauge the political mood of the country through the highly unscientific but remarkably accurate art of bumper sticker observation.
There were some rules you had to follow, of course.You had to drive through a cross section of Southern California to assure a accurate sample. Observing only in Newport Beach, for example, was a no-no. Ditto Hollywood with all those liberal actors. (Wait a minute, weren't Ronald Reagan and Arnold Schwarzenneger Republican actors? But I digress).
You also had to factor in that drivers of pickup trucks and SUVs tend to be more conservative, hybrid drivers more liberal. Did you ever see an peace symbol on a Chevy Silverado or a gun rack in a Prius?
These days, however, there seems to be a dearth of political bumper stickers. Mostly you see something like, "My Child Was Citizen of the Month at the Juvenile Detention Facility" or a war slogan such as "My God Can Beat Up Your God."
That's odd. It may be early but we're already beginning to separate the thoroughbreds from the Clydesdales in the presidential sweepstakes. I doubt if I'll ever see a Joe Biden bumper sticker or one supporting the candidacy of Tom Tancredo.
But we could reasonably expect to see a few Hillary Clinton examples, pro and con. Last year, a sticker that said "Run Hillary Run" was a hot seller in New York. Democrats put it on the rear bumper. Republicans put it on the front bumper.
I haven't seen a Hillary sticker locally so far.They're out there for sale, of course. Don't like her? Than stick a "No Way in Hellary" message on your bumper. Love her? Try "It Always Takes a Clinton to Clean Up After a Bush" on your car.
And Barrack Obama? I've actually seen a couple. That's doesn't represent a mandate but in my survey, he's the front runner among Democrats at this point.
As for the Republicans, I haven't seen so much as a lapel pin. Certainly there must be some people out there who revere Rudy, march for Mitt or are ravenous for Ron (Paul, that is).
But Republicans seem to be keeping to themselves a bit. The Bush administration hasn't quite worked out like they hoped and if you believe some media outlets, the Democratic siege of Washington is a mere formality.
On the other hand, Mrs. Dewey had picked out her White House china pattern before the final returns were in. Stay tuned.
While bumper politicking may seem silly, some slogans have been very effective in boosting a candidate's visibility."Nixon's the One" was a winner. As was John F. Kennedy's "the New Frontier," Franklin Roosevelt’s "A New Deal," Dwight Eisehnower's "I Like Ike" and Ronald Reagan's "Morning Again in America."
Then there was Barry Goldwater's 1964 slogan, "In Your Heart, You Know He's Right" which was twisted by his opponents into "In Your Guts, You Know He's Nuts."
The current crop of candidates haven't embraced a slogan yet. One wag suggested "Barrack to the Future" for Obama, "Hey, you'd run, too, if you were Bill Clinton's wife" for Hillary and "The Stormin' Mormon" for Mitt Romney.
I have a feeling none of them will make the cut.
In the meantime, keep your eyes open. The future of America may be appearing on the back of someone's car soon.
There were some rules you had to follow, of course.You had to drive through a cross section of Southern California to assure a accurate sample. Observing only in Newport Beach, for example, was a no-no. Ditto Hollywood with all those liberal actors. (Wait a minute, weren't Ronald Reagan and Arnold Schwarzenneger Republican actors? But I digress).
You also had to factor in that drivers of pickup trucks and SUVs tend to be more conservative, hybrid drivers more liberal. Did you ever see an peace symbol on a Chevy Silverado or a gun rack in a Prius?
These days, however, there seems to be a dearth of political bumper stickers. Mostly you see something like, "My Child Was Citizen of the Month at the Juvenile Detention Facility" or a war slogan such as "My God Can Beat Up Your God."
That's odd. It may be early but we're already beginning to separate the thoroughbreds from the Clydesdales in the presidential sweepstakes. I doubt if I'll ever see a Joe Biden bumper sticker or one supporting the candidacy of Tom Tancredo.
But we could reasonably expect to see a few Hillary Clinton examples, pro and con. Last year, a sticker that said "Run Hillary Run" was a hot seller in New York. Democrats put it on the rear bumper. Republicans put it on the front bumper.
I haven't seen a Hillary sticker locally so far.They're out there for sale, of course. Don't like her? Than stick a "No Way in Hellary" message on your bumper. Love her? Try "It Always Takes a Clinton to Clean Up After a Bush" on your car.
And Barrack Obama? I've actually seen a couple. That's doesn't represent a mandate but in my survey, he's the front runner among Democrats at this point.
As for the Republicans, I haven't seen so much as a lapel pin. Certainly there must be some people out there who revere Rudy, march for Mitt or are ravenous for Ron (Paul, that is).
But Republicans seem to be keeping to themselves a bit. The Bush administration hasn't quite worked out like they hoped and if you believe some media outlets, the Democratic siege of Washington is a mere formality.
On the other hand, Mrs. Dewey had picked out her White House china pattern before the final returns were in. Stay tuned.
While bumper politicking may seem silly, some slogans have been very effective in boosting a candidate's visibility."Nixon's the One" was a winner. As was John F. Kennedy's "the New Frontier," Franklin Roosevelt’s "A New Deal," Dwight Eisehnower's "I Like Ike" and Ronald Reagan's "Morning Again in America."
Then there was Barry Goldwater's 1964 slogan, "In Your Heart, You Know He's Right" which was twisted by his opponents into "In Your Guts, You Know He's Nuts."
The current crop of candidates haven't embraced a slogan yet. One wag suggested "Barrack to the Future" for Obama, "Hey, you'd run, too, if you were Bill Clinton's wife" for Hillary and "The Stormin' Mormon" for Mitt Romney.
I have a feeling none of them will make the cut.
In the meantime, keep your eyes open. The future of America may be appearing on the back of someone's car soon.
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