With the announcement that he intends to run for reelection,
President Obama has kicked off what pundits call the race for the
White House but I like to think of as the quadrennial political
circus.
Step right up folks and see daring politicians walk the tightrope of
truth. Be amazed by the hundreds of millions of dollars spent. Hear
astounding campaign promises. Witness daring feats of character
assassination.
Like most circuses, this show features plenty of clowns.
Few Democrats will appear in the center ring, however. The President
will be the nominee of his party and we will be spared the usual
parade of hopefuls and has-beens who engage in buffoonery this time
of year.
Who would challenge him? Hillary Clinton might be interested if it
appeared Sarah Palin might become the first female president.
Jerry Brown has been a perennial candidate. Indeed, if he straightens
out the California fiscal disaster he should be made Emperor for
Life. He won’t, of course, so put away the scepter and crown.
Which brings us to the Republicans who have no shortage of bewigged,
bulbous nosed, floppy footed, seltzer-down-the-pants characters.
It is not our purpose today to list them all because one stands above
all others. He is the clown of clowns, a man whose campaign to become
President of the United States is a pie in the face of voters
everywhere.
Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, I give you Donald Trump.
Cue the calliope music.
OK, I know we’ve heard this one before. He’s been talking about the
presidency for the last decade but always stayed on the sideline.
This time, however, he has caught the eye of the conservatives who
are very big this year in Republican circles. Trump wowed them at the
Conservative Political Action Conference meeting in Washington
recently by saying that “the United States has become a whipping post
for the rest of the world.”
The Fox network has given him his own show. Rush Limbaugh praised
him. And he’s willing to spend hundreds of millions of his own
dollars (he ought to check with Meg Whitman and Ross Perot before
he starts writing checks).
Is this the year the Executive Mansion becomes the House of Trump?
Is the world ready for a President who combs his hair with a
Cuisinart and isn’t acting in his role as a snarling boss/jerk on a
reality show?.
Will the American public embrace a candidate who, in a blatant
attempt to court the Tea Party fringe, has made the centerpiece of
his campaign the Obama birth certificate nonsense which has been
discredited by the likes of former President George Bush, Karl Rove
and John McCain?
The answers, in no particular order, are no, no and no.
Donald Trump, if he were to become a serious candidate, would have
one primary motive and it isn’t service to his country. Donald Trump
is interested in promoting Donald Trump.
His political ambitions have always coincided with hawking of the
Trump brand.
He traveled to New Hampshire to test the waters in 1987 just ahead of
the presidential primaries and just in time for the release of his
book, “The Art of the Deal,” according to the New York Times.
In 1999, he flirted with a presidential campaign just as his book,
“The America We Deserve,” was released.
This time his decision to run or not will coincide with the finale of
his TV show “Celebrity Apprentice.” Just a coincidence, I guess.
And the media buys into it each and every time.
“Trump and the press have a symbiotic relationship, not unlike bees
and flowers,” William Grueskin, dean of academic affairs for the
Columbia Journalism School said in a recently published interview.
“At least in the natural world, you get honey out of it. Out of this
campaign coverage, all you get are a lot of empty media moments about
someone who is unlikely to run, more unlikely to be nominated, and
utterly unlikely to win.”
There are few other problems with the Trumpster as well. He has
donated liberally to the Democratic Party in New York as recently as
2009.
He considers China not only a foe but a rude one at that. “These are
not our friends. These are our enemies. These are not people that
understand niceness,” he said on CNN.
He has gone from “pro-choice” to “pro-life.”
In fact, he has quickly transformed himself from what one pundit
several years ago described as a “liberal leaning populist” to a
steely eyed hawk.
Stripped away of the trappings of wealth and fame, Donald Trump is
just a salesman.
And I’m betting the American public ain’t buying.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Monday, April 04, 2011
LOL at the King's English
Think of the Oxford Dictionary and you think of a rock-ribbed,
tradition-hugging defender of the King’s English.
Or so we were led to believe.
The Oxford wordsmiths, however, recently announced that they were
adding LOL and OMG to their dictionary because words "like these are
strongly associated with the language of electronic communications,"
and have entered the mainstream because of how easy they are to use.
Welcome to the post-literate society, the era of the three-second
attention span, the world of techno-babble. All brought to you by the
Oxford English Dictionary.
Or to put it another way, OMG, I’d LOL if it wasn’t so tragic, IMHO.
(For those who need a translation, it reads “Oh My God, I’d Laugh Out
Loud if it wasn’t so tragic In My Humble Opinion..”)
Look, I’m no wizened grammarian whose last whose last slang utterance
was “23 Skidoo.”
I’m not suggesting we draw the line at anything written or spoken
this side of the Elizabethan era. I certainly understand that words
and phrases reflecting popular culture enter into the lexicon by the
truckload.
But there’s something cold and sterile about using acronyms or geek
speak in place of words. Words, in whatever language, paint pictures,
convey ideas, excite the imagination, conjure up visions both dark
and beautiful.
I am not swept away on the wings of language when I read
thumb-generated gossip in abbreviated form understood primarily by
13-year-old girls who are BFF (best friends forever).
I’d like to think that if the Hemmingways and Fitzgeralds and
Steinbecks were still with us, they’d shun expressing themselves in
140 characters or less on their Twitter account.
The Oxford bunch, after succumbing to what they call “initialism,”
for good measure throw in “wag,” “notable for the extremely fast
journey from its introduction to the language to its use as usual
English vocabulary. In 2002, the Sunday Telegraph reported that the
staff at the England footballers’ pre-World Cup training camp
referred to the players’ partners collectively as ‘Wags’, from the
initial letters of ‘wives and girlfriends’.
“Such was the exposure the term received in this period that it
became a byword for the female partners of male professionals (in
football and in other spheres).”
I’m not sure but I think if I referred to my wife as a “wag” I’d be
SOTC (sleeping on the couch).
And if all the above isn’t distressing enough, the Oxfordians also
added “la-la land which can refer either to Los Angeles(in which case
its etymology is influenced by the common initialism for that city),
or to a state of being out of touch with reality—and sometimes to
both simultaneously.”
La-La-Land is a place where you can eat a “taquito” or a “California
roll,” two other words the Brits have just discovered and added to
their dictionary.
Is that any way to treat a city that just bestowed its highest honor
on a movie called “The King’s Speech”?
To be sure, the Oxford folks have anointed some words and phrases
that are clever such as dot-bomb (a failed internet company) and
couch surfing (the practice of spending the night on other people’s
couches in lieu of permanent housing).
There’s also ego surf (to surf the World Wide Web looking for
references to one's name, via search engines) and godbotherer, in
England a person who insists on promoting his or her religious
beliefs on others, whether they want it or not.
And our Oxford friends, who, by the way, refer to their publication
as the OED, point out that many of these terms aren’t really new.
“As such usage indicates, many people would consider these recent
coinages, from the last 10 or 20 years, and associate them with a
younger generation conversant with all forms of digital
communications. As is often the case, OED’s research has revealed
some unexpected historical perspectives: our first quotation for OMG
is from a personal letter from 1917; the letters LOL had a previous
life, starting in 1960, denoting an elderly woman (or ‘little old
lady’)...
Not that a little history justifies dumbing down the language.
Samuel Johnson must be TOIHG (turning over in his grave) in MNSHO (my
not so humble opinion).
tradition-hugging defender of the King’s English.
Or so we were led to believe.
The Oxford wordsmiths, however, recently announced that they were
adding LOL and OMG to their dictionary because words "like these are
strongly associated with the language of electronic communications,"
and have entered the mainstream because of how easy they are to use.
Welcome to the post-literate society, the era of the three-second
attention span, the world of techno-babble. All brought to you by the
Oxford English Dictionary.
Or to put it another way, OMG, I’d LOL if it wasn’t so tragic, IMHO.
(For those who need a translation, it reads “Oh My God, I’d Laugh Out
Loud if it wasn’t so tragic In My Humble Opinion..”)
Look, I’m no wizened grammarian whose last whose last slang utterance
was “23 Skidoo.”
I’m not suggesting we draw the line at anything written or spoken
this side of the Elizabethan era. I certainly understand that words
and phrases reflecting popular culture enter into the lexicon by the
truckload.
But there’s something cold and sterile about using acronyms or geek
speak in place of words. Words, in whatever language, paint pictures,
convey ideas, excite the imagination, conjure up visions both dark
and beautiful.
I am not swept away on the wings of language when I read
thumb-generated gossip in abbreviated form understood primarily by
13-year-old girls who are BFF (best friends forever).
I’d like to think that if the Hemmingways and Fitzgeralds and
Steinbecks were still with us, they’d shun expressing themselves in
140 characters or less on their Twitter account.
The Oxford bunch, after succumbing to what they call “initialism,”
for good measure throw in “wag,” “notable for the extremely fast
journey from its introduction to the language to its use as usual
English vocabulary. In 2002, the Sunday Telegraph reported that the
staff at the England footballers’ pre-World Cup training camp
referred to the players’ partners collectively as ‘Wags’, from the
initial letters of ‘wives and girlfriends’.
“Such was the exposure the term received in this period that it
became a byword for the female partners of male professionals (in
football and in other spheres).”
I’m not sure but I think if I referred to my wife as a “wag” I’d be
SOTC (sleeping on the couch).
And if all the above isn’t distressing enough, the Oxfordians also
added “la-la land which can refer either to Los Angeles(in which case
its etymology is influenced by the common initialism for that city),
or to a state of being out of touch with reality—and sometimes to
both simultaneously.”
La-La-Land is a place where you can eat a “taquito” or a “California
roll,” two other words the Brits have just discovered and added to
their dictionary.
Is that any way to treat a city that just bestowed its highest honor
on a movie called “The King’s Speech”?
To be sure, the Oxford folks have anointed some words and phrases
that are clever such as dot-bomb (a failed internet company) and
couch surfing (the practice of spending the night on other people’s
couches in lieu of permanent housing).
There’s also ego surf (to surf the World Wide Web looking for
references to one's name, via search engines) and godbotherer, in
England a person who insists on promoting his or her religious
beliefs on others, whether they want it or not.
And our Oxford friends, who, by the way, refer to their publication
as the OED, point out that many of these terms aren’t really new.
“As such usage indicates, many people would consider these recent
coinages, from the last 10 or 20 years, and associate them with a
younger generation conversant with all forms of digital
communications. As is often the case, OED’s research has revealed
some unexpected historical perspectives: our first quotation for OMG
is from a personal letter from 1917; the letters LOL had a previous
life, starting in 1960, denoting an elderly woman (or ‘little old
lady’)...
Not that a little history justifies dumbing down the language.
Samuel Johnson must be TOIHG (turning over in his grave) in MNSHO (my
not so humble opinion).
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Disasters and Dollars
It's not always easy, but most journalists try to keep an emotional arms' length distance from a story.
Emotional involvement can cloud one's judgment. So we set aside personal feelings when the need arises.
But we're not soulless automatons. When I witnessed the apocalyptic disaster that is Japan this past week, I reached for my checkbook and contacted the Red Cross.
I've done it before. After Katrina. After Haiti.
But this time I felt a twinge of donor's remorse. Primarily, I wondered how much of my donation would get to the people in need.
I remembered an Associated Press report from Haiti on the first anniversary of the devastating earthquake reporting that "a year after the quake, workers are still finding bodies in the rubble. About a million people remain homeless. ... A cholera epidemic that erupted outside the quake zone has killed more than 3,600 people. Less than 5 percent of the debris has been cleared."
And this was after donations that by some estimates exceeded a billion dollars. Then there was something else.
Katrina struck my country. It hurt my people. My family lived in New Orleans for a number of years so the feelings ran deep.
I didn't hesitate on Haiti, a nation so dirt poor that it needed humanitarian relief on an unprecedented scale. Hundreds of thousands died. Some 250,000 residences and 30,000 commercial structures collapsed.
But Japan is a wealthy nation. It's a highly developed and educated country whose GDP is similar to the United States. And like the U.S., it's not a place one thinks of as needing international aid.
Did they really need my donation?
Apparently I wasn't alone in asking that question. Through midweek, charities raised more than $47 million in the first four days after the disaster struck in Japan. By contrast, four days after the earthquake struck in Haiti last year, more than $150million had been raised.
Some organizations aren't event asking for money. Nicole Wallace, a senior writer for the Chronicle of Philanthropy, told MSNBC that 14 relief organizations her publication spoke with were not actively raising funds, either because they focus only on developing countries or because they were holding off to see if they were needed.
And while U.S. corporations have promised $50 million in donations, it's largely because many have close business ties to Japan and have employees there. But the money has to come from somewhere and the cost will probably be passed on to you.
Finally, Japan rejected most international offers of help following the Kobe earthquake in 1995 that killed more than 6,000 people.
So are we foolish to donate to Japan earthquake/tsunami relief?
No.
First of all, it fulfills an emotional need. We cannot watch the innocent victims of a disaster without the feeling that we need to do something, anything to help. It's what makes us human. That applies globally as well. Foreign countries offered the U.S. $854 million following Katrina.
Second, donations to a reputable charity do some good. The American Red Cross is channeling donations to the Japanese Red Cross which, in the first 24 hours, dispatched 62 response teams. These medical relief teams - made up of about 400 doctors, nurses and support staff - are already providing assistance in affected areas through mobile medical clinics.
And if your donation isn't put to work in Japan, it will be used for the next disaster whenever and wherever that will occur.
Finally, the nuclear component of this disaster makes it unparalleled in recent history.
A massive earthquake followed by a killer tsunami that may trigger a nuclear meltdown would be rejected as unrealistic for a movie script.
And yet it happened. Real people suffer and die. Entire cities are demolished. Hundreds of thousands are displaced.
It will take all of us to put Japan back together again.
Emotional involvement can cloud one's judgment. So we set aside personal feelings when the need arises.
But we're not soulless automatons. When I witnessed the apocalyptic disaster that is Japan this past week, I reached for my checkbook and contacted the Red Cross.
I've done it before. After Katrina. After Haiti.
But this time I felt a twinge of donor's remorse. Primarily, I wondered how much of my donation would get to the people in need.
I remembered an Associated Press report from Haiti on the first anniversary of the devastating earthquake reporting that "a year after the quake, workers are still finding bodies in the rubble. About a million people remain homeless. ... A cholera epidemic that erupted outside the quake zone has killed more than 3,600 people. Less than 5 percent of the debris has been cleared."
And this was after donations that by some estimates exceeded a billion dollars. Then there was something else.
Katrina struck my country. It hurt my people. My family lived in New Orleans for a number of years so the feelings ran deep.
I didn't hesitate on Haiti, a nation so dirt poor that it needed humanitarian relief on an unprecedented scale. Hundreds of thousands died. Some 250,000 residences and 30,000 commercial structures collapsed.
But Japan is a wealthy nation. It's a highly developed and educated country whose GDP is similar to the United States. And like the U.S., it's not a place one thinks of as needing international aid.
Did they really need my donation?
Apparently I wasn't alone in asking that question. Through midweek, charities raised more than $47 million in the first four days after the disaster struck in Japan. By contrast, four days after the earthquake struck in Haiti last year, more than $150million had been raised.
Some organizations aren't event asking for money. Nicole Wallace, a senior writer for the Chronicle of Philanthropy, told MSNBC that 14 relief organizations her publication spoke with were not actively raising funds, either because they focus only on developing countries or because they were holding off to see if they were needed.
And while U.S. corporations have promised $50 million in donations, it's largely because many have close business ties to Japan and have employees there. But the money has to come from somewhere and the cost will probably be passed on to you.
Finally, Japan rejected most international offers of help following the Kobe earthquake in 1995 that killed more than 6,000 people.
So are we foolish to donate to Japan earthquake/tsunami relief?
No.
First of all, it fulfills an emotional need. We cannot watch the innocent victims of a disaster without the feeling that we need to do something, anything to help. It's what makes us human. That applies globally as well. Foreign countries offered the U.S. $854 million following Katrina.
Second, donations to a reputable charity do some good. The American Red Cross is channeling donations to the Japanese Red Cross which, in the first 24 hours, dispatched 62 response teams. These medical relief teams - made up of about 400 doctors, nurses and support staff - are already providing assistance in affected areas through mobile medical clinics.
And if your donation isn't put to work in Japan, it will be used for the next disaster whenever and wherever that will occur.
Finally, the nuclear component of this disaster makes it unparalleled in recent history.
A massive earthquake followed by a killer tsunami that may trigger a nuclear meltdown would be rejected as unrealistic for a movie script.
And yet it happened. Real people suffer and die. Entire cities are demolished. Hundreds of thousands are displaced.
It will take all of us to put Japan back together again.
Friday, March 18, 2011
The Dating game
My wife and I met the old-fashioned way. We were introduced by
friends, a chance encounter than led to love and marriage.
We were lucky. Had computer dating existed in those days, we would
never have met.
She was raised prim and proper in a small town in western
Pennsylvania that resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. I was from
Los Angeles, had been a rock musician, a frat boy, a cop reporter.
She had gone to work for the federal government after graduating from
college. I worked for the federal government, too, but not by choice.
I had been drafted into the Army and spent my days as a soldier.
Clearly, some computer program would have declared us incompatible.
Yet, without the assistance of algorithms to make sure our tolerances
and preferences interfaced, we have been wed for 44 years.
I’m not knocking computer dating. If I was single, I might give it a
try, especially if they had a category for aging journalists with a
skeptical world view.
After all, thousands participate and revenues
for online dating services reach into the hundreds of millions of
dollars.
You can always tell when Valentine’s Day is approaching. Commercials
for computer dating services flood the airways, battling jewelry ads
for prime TV exposure.
And it’s often a hard sell. One popular website apparently has taken
to sending out e-mails on a person’s birthday to remind him or her
that another year has gone by without a significant other.
They call it marketing. I call it emotional waterboarding.
The dating game has become as complex as the society we live in. But
the electronic lonely hearts club business has made it easy. There
are websites now that promise to link up couples from every ethnic,
religious, life-style and sexual preference subgroup imaginable.
Among the unique: Women Behind Bars, which offers to link
incarcerated women with interested men. Moto Date offers a solution to an age-old problem. You see a hottie next to you in traffic and have no way to make contact short of a fender bender. Members of this site receive a four-digit sticker to
put on their car, and if someone finds them attractive while behind
the wheel, all they have to do is go online, type in that code, and
make contact.
Trek Passions is for, you guessed it, those who desire to live long
and prosper with another Star Trek obsessed earthling. Or Klingon. Or
Romulan or Borg or whatever.
Since I’ve never come across many female Trekkies, I’m thinking the romance rate on this site is something less than warp speed.
Diaper Mates is the premiere destination for adult interested in
people who enjoy wearing diapers or looking at others who like to
wear them. We’ll leave this one without comment other than to note
the site has 11,000 members.
Ayn Rand Dating is for those whose lives have been forever altered
after reading “The Fountainhead” or “Atlas Shrugged.” First dates
include discussions of the morality of rational self-interest and
laissez-faire capitalism. Sample user profile: “ I am rational,
integrated, and efficacious. So far, I’ve never met a person who
lives up to the standard I hold for myself...I only kiss those who
deserve it, and so far I have only encountered one who did. I would
love to find someone I can learn something from; someone who
challenges me to think; someone I can feel like I’ve won, rather than
lowered myself to.”
With all these choices, you’d think computer dating would be an
unqualified success. But there’s a fly in the ointment, a flaw as old
as the mating ritual itself.
People lie.
According to an exhaustive study conducted by an online dating site,
the biggest fibs are, in no particular order: Height - people, mostly
guys, are two inches shorter in real life.
Income, people exaggerate it by about 20 per cent.
Pictures - The more attractive the picture, the more likely it is out of date.
If that’s not bad enough, there’s datetalk, in which words take on
new meanings: 40-ish means 49. Athletic: small breasted. Emotionally secure: on
medication. Fun: annoying. New Age: doesn’t shave her legs. Open
Minded: desperate. Outgoing: loud and embarrassing. Voluptuous:
overweight. Needs soul mate: a stalker.
Which reminds me of the Dorthy Parker ditty, written long before the
age of computers:
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying. -
friends, a chance encounter than led to love and marriage.
We were lucky. Had computer dating existed in those days, we would
never have met.
She was raised prim and proper in a small town in western
Pennsylvania that resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. I was from
Los Angeles, had been a rock musician, a frat boy, a cop reporter.
She had gone to work for the federal government after graduating from
college. I worked for the federal government, too, but not by choice.
I had been drafted into the Army and spent my days as a soldier.
Clearly, some computer program would have declared us incompatible.
Yet, without the assistance of algorithms to make sure our tolerances
and preferences interfaced, we have been wed for 44 years.
I’m not knocking computer dating. If I was single, I might give it a
try, especially if they had a category for aging journalists with a
skeptical world view.
After all, thousands participate and revenues
for online dating services reach into the hundreds of millions of
dollars.
You can always tell when Valentine’s Day is approaching. Commercials
for computer dating services flood the airways, battling jewelry ads
for prime TV exposure.
And it’s often a hard sell. One popular website apparently has taken
to sending out e-mails on a person’s birthday to remind him or her
that another year has gone by without a significant other.
They call it marketing. I call it emotional waterboarding.
The dating game has become as complex as the society we live in. But
the electronic lonely hearts club business has made it easy. There
are websites now that promise to link up couples from every ethnic,
religious, life-style and sexual preference subgroup imaginable.
Among the unique: Women Behind Bars, which offers to link
incarcerated women with interested men. Moto Date offers a solution to an age-old problem. You see a hottie next to you in traffic and have no way to make contact short of a fender bender. Members of this site receive a four-digit sticker to
put on their car, and if someone finds them attractive while behind
the wheel, all they have to do is go online, type in that code, and
make contact.
Trek Passions is for, you guessed it, those who desire to live long
and prosper with another Star Trek obsessed earthling. Or Klingon. Or
Romulan or Borg or whatever.
Since I’ve never come across many female Trekkies, I’m thinking the romance rate on this site is something less than warp speed.
Diaper Mates is the premiere destination for adult interested in
people who enjoy wearing diapers or looking at others who like to
wear them. We’ll leave this one without comment other than to note
the site has 11,000 members.
Ayn Rand Dating is for those whose lives have been forever altered
after reading “The Fountainhead” or “Atlas Shrugged.” First dates
include discussions of the morality of rational self-interest and
laissez-faire capitalism. Sample user profile: “ I am rational,
integrated, and efficacious. So far, I’ve never met a person who
lives up to the standard I hold for myself...I only kiss those who
deserve it, and so far I have only encountered one who did. I would
love to find someone I can learn something from; someone who
challenges me to think; someone I can feel like I’ve won, rather than
lowered myself to.”
With all these choices, you’d think computer dating would be an
unqualified success. But there’s a fly in the ointment, a flaw as old
as the mating ritual itself.
People lie.
According to an exhaustive study conducted by an online dating site,
the biggest fibs are, in no particular order: Height - people, mostly
guys, are two inches shorter in real life.
Income, people exaggerate it by about 20 per cent.
Pictures - The more attractive the picture, the more likely it is out of date.
If that’s not bad enough, there’s datetalk, in which words take on
new meanings: 40-ish means 49. Athletic: small breasted. Emotionally secure: on
medication. Fun: annoying. New Age: doesn’t shave her legs. Open
Minded: desperate. Outgoing: loud and embarrassing. Voluptuous:
overweight. Needs soul mate: a stalker.
Which reminds me of the Dorthy Parker ditty, written long before the
age of computers:
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying. -
Hold the Phone
I was playing golf recently when my attention was drawn to four young
men on an adjacent fairway.
They walked toward the green in a single file, heads bowed, silent,
as though they were initiates in some sort of Druid ceremony.
Upon closer inspection I realized they were absorbed in their
smartphones, either texting or reading e-mails or surfing the web.
In the middle of a match. On a beautiful course dotted with all manner
of flora and fauna.
The incident underscored my belief that we may very soon evolve into
a race of people with bowed necks and downturned gazes, the result of
continuous smart phone use.
I offer as evidence a recent YouTube video of a young woman at a
shopping mall who was so intent on her phone that walked straight
into fountain where she splashed like a turtle on its back for
several minutes before pulling herself to dry land.
Well, I vowed, they won’t get me. I will remain head held high and
eyes forward for the rest of my days.
Alas, fate intervened. I lost my cellphone, a simple model that
merely made and received phone calls, and allowed myself to be sold a
new model that records videos, has movie, TV, magazine, newspaper and
social network access, offers games, displays your e-mail, functions
as a calendar and alarm clock, gives you directions to your
destination, plays music, even finds your car if it’s lost. Among
other things.
And while they call them smart phones. I’m not sure I was so smart in
buying one. Because once you’ve become adept in operating them,
you’re addicted.
Like the unsuspecting citizenry in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,”
I have become one of Them, a member of the mesmerized cell phone
zombies to whom all life outside of their hand-held devices is
irrelevant if not nonexistent.
That’s not exactly true. I have maintained enough humanity to lead a
somewhat normal life. Just because I’ve skipped a few meals so I can
afford to pay for all the extra goodies my phone has to offer doesn’t
mean I’m a bad person.
These extra goodies are called “apps,” short for applications. The
lovely young salesthing at the phone store told me there are 100,000
of them available through the phone. Some are free, most charge extra.
To be sure, many of these apps have some legitimate value, offering
books and reference, business and education downloads, health and
fitness advice.
Then there are these culled from my smartphone and the Internet:
The iNap@Work app plays a series of recorded typing, clicking,
stapling or pencil sharpening sound effects to fool your coworkers
into thinking you're being productive. Meanwhile, you're fast asleep
at your desk enjoying a post-lunch nap.
One app keeps track of how many beers you drink. You have to pay for
it but it’s probably a lot cheaper than getting a DUI after
forgetting how many beers you’ve had throughout the course of the
night.
Health officials in New York have released an app to help its
citizens find free condoms. It’s designed to locate the five nearest
venues that distribute official NYC Condoms in jazzy wrappers printed
with colorful subway maps or other city themes.
It could be used in concert with the Roman Catholic App, designed to
be used as a confessional, with a personalized examination of
conscience for each user.
The Taxi Hold em application makes a loud whistling sound and
displays a bright taxi sign to get the attention of nearby cabbies.
It also alerts muggers that you are near.
iMouse is a call alert application. Whenever you have an incoming
call, a little naughty mouse appears, knocks at the screen and shouts
“Hey! Haaaay!! ‘knock knock’ Please answer your phone.”
Then, for those who just can’t get their fill of Fascism, there’s the
iMussolini app that includes audio, video and transcripts of 120
speeches by the wartime Italian leader.
And for those who can’t be separated from their smartphones even
momentarily, there is the LM Technologies Bluetooth bracelet. It
vibrates if the user moves more than five feet away from the phone.
Ain’t technology grand.
men on an adjacent fairway.
They walked toward the green in a single file, heads bowed, silent,
as though they were initiates in some sort of Druid ceremony.
Upon closer inspection I realized they were absorbed in their
smartphones, either texting or reading e-mails or surfing the web.
In the middle of a match. On a beautiful course dotted with all manner
of flora and fauna.
The incident underscored my belief that we may very soon evolve into
a race of people with bowed necks and downturned gazes, the result of
continuous smart phone use.
I offer as evidence a recent YouTube video of a young woman at a
shopping mall who was so intent on her phone that walked straight
into fountain where she splashed like a turtle on its back for
several minutes before pulling herself to dry land.
Well, I vowed, they won’t get me. I will remain head held high and
eyes forward for the rest of my days.
Alas, fate intervened. I lost my cellphone, a simple model that
merely made and received phone calls, and allowed myself to be sold a
new model that records videos, has movie, TV, magazine, newspaper and
social network access, offers games, displays your e-mail, functions
as a calendar and alarm clock, gives you directions to your
destination, plays music, even finds your car if it’s lost. Among
other things.
And while they call them smart phones. I’m not sure I was so smart in
buying one. Because once you’ve become adept in operating them,
you’re addicted.
Like the unsuspecting citizenry in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,”
I have become one of Them, a member of the mesmerized cell phone
zombies to whom all life outside of their hand-held devices is
irrelevant if not nonexistent.
That’s not exactly true. I have maintained enough humanity to lead a
somewhat normal life. Just because I’ve skipped a few meals so I can
afford to pay for all the extra goodies my phone has to offer doesn’t
mean I’m a bad person.
These extra goodies are called “apps,” short for applications. The
lovely young salesthing at the phone store told me there are 100,000
of them available through the phone. Some are free, most charge extra.
To be sure, many of these apps have some legitimate value, offering
books and reference, business and education downloads, health and
fitness advice.
Then there are these culled from my smartphone and the Internet:
The iNap@Work app plays a series of recorded typing, clicking,
stapling or pencil sharpening sound effects to fool your coworkers
into thinking you're being productive. Meanwhile, you're fast asleep
at your desk enjoying a post-lunch nap.
One app keeps track of how many beers you drink. You have to pay for
it but it’s probably a lot cheaper than getting a DUI after
forgetting how many beers you’ve had throughout the course of the
night.
Health officials in New York have released an app to help its
citizens find free condoms. It’s designed to locate the five nearest
venues that distribute official NYC Condoms in jazzy wrappers printed
with colorful subway maps or other city themes.
It could be used in concert with the Roman Catholic App, designed to
be used as a confessional, with a personalized examination of
conscience for each user.
The Taxi Hold em application makes a loud whistling sound and
displays a bright taxi sign to get the attention of nearby cabbies.
It also alerts muggers that you are near.
iMouse is a call alert application. Whenever you have an incoming
call, a little naughty mouse appears, knocks at the screen and shouts
“Hey! Haaaay!! ‘knock knock’ Please answer your phone.”
Then, for those who just can’t get their fill of Fascism, there’s the
iMussolini app that includes audio, video and transcripts of 120
speeches by the wartime Italian leader.
And for those who can’t be separated from their smartphones even
momentarily, there is the LM Technologies Bluetooth bracelet. It
vibrates if the user moves more than five feet away from the phone.
Ain’t technology grand.
The New Poll Tax
What happens in New Hampshire should stay in New Hampshire.
One might reasonably come to that conclusion based on the antics of
the state’s politicians in recent weeks.
Last week, we reported that two New Hampshire pols advocated charging
TSA agents with sexual assault for doing their jobs.
Specifically, random airport security pat-downs and body scans would
make "the touching or viewing with a technological device of a
person's breasts or genitals by a government security agent without
probable cause a sexual assault."
"Let's put their name on the sex offender registry, and maybe that
will tell them New Hampshire means business," huffed bill co-sponsor
Rep. Andrew Manuse, R-Derry.
OK, that’s just plain goofy. Among other things, it’s in all
likelihood a federal matter and the state’s jurisdiction is
questionable. Nothing to see here, move on.
But now New Hampshire House Republicans are pushing for new laws that
would prohibit many college students from voting in the state - or
maybe even voting at all.
They are rallying behind House speaker William O’Brien who, in a
speech to a Tea Party group, said college kids are “foolish. Voting
as a liberal. That's what kids do," he added. Students lack "life
experience," and "they just vote their feelings."
Just as an aside, I’m betting Mr. O’Brien voted with his feelings
when he marked his ballot for John McCain and Sarah Palin. And I’m
willing to bet that those in his tea bagger audience would loudly
voice their feelings at the drop of a three-cornered hat.
But back to the issue at hand. To weed out these “foolish” voters,
especially those who might vote Democratic, two bills were
introduced. One would permit students to vote in their college towns
only if they or their parents had previously established permanent
residency there - requiring all others to vote in the states or other
New Hampshire towns they come from.
Another bill would end Election Day registration, which O'Brien said
unleashes swarms of students on polling places, creating
opportunities for fraud.
What’s next, a poll tax? That kept African-Americans out of the
political process for a hundred years or more. It just might work on
a bunch of college kids.
In a unique burst of rational thinking, the New Hampshire legislature
temporarily sidetracked the bills this week, perhaps realizing they
were unconstitutional.
But the issue isn’t dead. A hearing will be held this summer on the
measures in plenty of time to change the laws before the 2012
election.
We could chalk this up to a handful of misguided zealots tucked away
in the deep northeastern woods. Except, as an article in the
Washington Post points out, the measures in New Hampshire are among
dozens of voting-related bills being pushed by newly empowered
Republican state lawmakers across the country - prompting partisan
clashes akin to those already roiling in some states over GOP moves
to curb union power.
I’ve always believed a party that comes to power does so because it
appeals to the greatest proportion of voters. Sure, there’s been
fraud in the past but for the most part democracy works just as our
forefathers designed it to do.
But apparently, there’s a new strategy at work. If you want to win,
disenfranchise those who oppose you. Simply raise the specter of
fraud and cut them out of the political process.
"It's a war on voting," said Thomas Bates, vice president of Rock the
Vote, a youth voter- registration group mounting a campaign to fight
the array of state measures. "We'd like to be advocating for a
21st-century voting system, but here we are fighting against efforts
to turn it back to the 19th century."
We could also presume that if the Republicans succeeded in this
Draconian exercise, the Democrats might try to play the same game,
say banning people over 65, who tend to vote Republican, on the
grounds that age has diminished their judgment.
Insanity begets insanity.
Here’s the bottom line: In the last three general elections - 2004,
2006, and 2008 -- young voters have given the Democratic Party a
majority of their votes, and for all three cycles they have been the
party's most supportive age group.
In 2008, according to a Pew survey, 66% of those under age 30 voted for Barack Obama making the disparity between young voters and other age groups larger than in
any presidential election since exit polling began in 1972.
The GOP is clearly running second in a two-person race and has a lot
of work to do to win the hearts and minds of young voters.
They can start by reaching out to them. But treating the young as
political lepers which will only further alienate them.
One might reasonably come to that conclusion based on the antics of
the state’s politicians in recent weeks.
Last week, we reported that two New Hampshire pols advocated charging
TSA agents with sexual assault for doing their jobs.
Specifically, random airport security pat-downs and body scans would
make "the touching or viewing with a technological device of a
person's breasts or genitals by a government security agent without
probable cause a sexual assault."
"Let's put their name on the sex offender registry, and maybe that
will tell them New Hampshire means business," huffed bill co-sponsor
Rep. Andrew Manuse, R-Derry.
OK, that’s just plain goofy. Among other things, it’s in all
likelihood a federal matter and the state’s jurisdiction is
questionable. Nothing to see here, move on.
But now New Hampshire House Republicans are pushing for new laws that
would prohibit many college students from voting in the state - or
maybe even voting at all.
They are rallying behind House speaker William O’Brien who, in a
speech to a Tea Party group, said college kids are “foolish. Voting
as a liberal. That's what kids do," he added. Students lack "life
experience," and "they just vote their feelings."
Just as an aside, I’m betting Mr. O’Brien voted with his feelings
when he marked his ballot for John McCain and Sarah Palin. And I’m
willing to bet that those in his tea bagger audience would loudly
voice their feelings at the drop of a three-cornered hat.
But back to the issue at hand. To weed out these “foolish” voters,
especially those who might vote Democratic, two bills were
introduced. One would permit students to vote in their college towns
only if they or their parents had previously established permanent
residency there - requiring all others to vote in the states or other
New Hampshire towns they come from.
Another bill would end Election Day registration, which O'Brien said
unleashes swarms of students on polling places, creating
opportunities for fraud.
What’s next, a poll tax? That kept African-Americans out of the
political process for a hundred years or more. It just might work on
a bunch of college kids.
In a unique burst of rational thinking, the New Hampshire legislature
temporarily sidetracked the bills this week, perhaps realizing they
were unconstitutional.
But the issue isn’t dead. A hearing will be held this summer on the
measures in plenty of time to change the laws before the 2012
election.
We could chalk this up to a handful of misguided zealots tucked away
in the deep northeastern woods. Except, as an article in the
Washington Post points out, the measures in New Hampshire are among
dozens of voting-related bills being pushed by newly empowered
Republican state lawmakers across the country - prompting partisan
clashes akin to those already roiling in some states over GOP moves
to curb union power.
I’ve always believed a party that comes to power does so because it
appeals to the greatest proportion of voters. Sure, there’s been
fraud in the past but for the most part democracy works just as our
forefathers designed it to do.
But apparently, there’s a new strategy at work. If you want to win,
disenfranchise those who oppose you. Simply raise the specter of
fraud and cut them out of the political process.
"It's a war on voting," said Thomas Bates, vice president of Rock the
Vote, a youth voter- registration group mounting a campaign to fight
the array of state measures. "We'd like to be advocating for a
21st-century voting system, but here we are fighting against efforts
to turn it back to the 19th century."
We could also presume that if the Republicans succeeded in this
Draconian exercise, the Democrats might try to play the same game,
say banning people over 65, who tend to vote Republican, on the
grounds that age has diminished their judgment.
Insanity begets insanity.
Here’s the bottom line: In the last three general elections - 2004,
2006, and 2008 -- young voters have given the Democratic Party a
majority of their votes, and for all three cycles they have been the
party's most supportive age group.
In 2008, according to a Pew survey, 66% of those under age 30 voted for Barack Obama making the disparity between young voters and other age groups larger than in
any presidential election since exit polling began in 1972.
The GOP is clearly running second in a two-person race and has a lot
of work to do to win the hearts and minds of young voters.
They can start by reaching out to them. But treating the young as
political lepers which will only further alienate them.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Hola, Oscar
Did you know that Oscar is a Latino?
While movie fans may think the coveted statuette which will be
presented at the Academy Award ceremonies tonight is as American as
apple pie, it’s actually closer to carne asada.
It turns out that when MGM's art director Cedric Gibbons, an original
Academy member, was selected to supervise the design of the trophy,
he found himself in need of a model.
Gibbons was introduced by his then wife Dolores del RÃo to Mexican
film director and actor Emilio "El Indio" Fernández. Although
initially reluctant, Fernández was finally convinced to pose nude to
create the statue. He thus became the first film buff.
This bit of trivia is by way of introducing the subject of the day:
The Academy Awards, a subject about which I know not so much.
I know this, however. On Academy Awards day, the womenfolk of my
family descend on my den like seagulls on a landfill to watch the
entire broadcast, from the first anorexic actress slinking down the
red carpet to the last endless thank-you speech. I stand dutifully by
with wine (which I pour) and food (which I serve), silently efficient
like a bit player in “The King’s Speech.”
I’ve always been a bit blasé about the Oscars. Maybe it’s because I
was born in Hollywood and have spent most of my life nearby.
Familiarity breeds indifference over time. Let’s face it, not
everyone in Pasadena goes ga-ga over the Rose Parade every year.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve met many people who possess Oscars, Emmys,
Grammys, Tonys and the like. Some are larger than life. But most are
talented people who simply work hard and do their jobs well. The
difference between us and them is that while we may get a raise, they
are rewarded with thunderous applause dressed in tuxedos and gowns
on worldwide television.
Then there’s the overkill factor. By the time we are subjected to the
Golden Globes, the Peoples’ Choice Awards, the MTV Awards, the
Critics’ Choice Awards, the Writers’ Guild Awards the Directors’
Guild awards and the Screen Actors Guild Awards, among others, the
results become predictable. The Academy Awards becomes a spectacle,
not a drama.
What I really dislike about awards shows, and the Academy Awards in
particular, are the acceptance speeches. Sure, there have been some
genuine moments over the years. But put an actor on live TV without a
script and chaos lurks. They often end up embarrassing themselves,
the Academy and on occasion the human race.
Let’s dump the thank-yous entirely. That means we would miss a lot of
tearful tributes to parents and spouses and children and agents along
with the occasional political rant which mostly serves to alienate
rather than educate.
The only acceptance speech I ever enjoyed came from Roberto Benigni
(Best Actor for “La Vita e bella” in 1999) who said, “I feel like now
really to dive in this ocean of generosity. This is too much . . . I
would like to be Jupiter and kidnap everybody and lie down in the
firmament making love to everybody."
Unfortunately, most fail to rise to this standard.
While were at it, let’s quit fooling around with the Ellen
DeGenereses and Hugh Jackmans and return Billy Crystal to his
rightful position as permanent host. He’s done it eight times and
each one was a gem.
And let’s dump the Best Song category, which officially died in 2005
when a happy little ditty called "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp” won
the Oscar. Can you name the last three award winners? Neither can I.
Jettison a few categories like the Best Foreign Documentary Under 30
Minutes That No One Will Ever See and we’re getting somewhere.
The whole show could be wrapped up in two hours or less.
And I’d get my den back.
While movie fans may think the coveted statuette which will be
presented at the Academy Award ceremonies tonight is as American as
apple pie, it’s actually closer to carne asada.
It turns out that when MGM's art director Cedric Gibbons, an original
Academy member, was selected to supervise the design of the trophy,
he found himself in need of a model.
Gibbons was introduced by his then wife Dolores del RÃo to Mexican
film director and actor Emilio "El Indio" Fernández. Although
initially reluctant, Fernández was finally convinced to pose nude to
create the statue. He thus became the first film buff.
This bit of trivia is by way of introducing the subject of the day:
The Academy Awards, a subject about which I know not so much.
I know this, however. On Academy Awards day, the womenfolk of my
family descend on my den like seagulls on a landfill to watch the
entire broadcast, from the first anorexic actress slinking down the
red carpet to the last endless thank-you speech. I stand dutifully by
with wine (which I pour) and food (which I serve), silently efficient
like a bit player in “The King’s Speech.”
I’ve always been a bit blasé about the Oscars. Maybe it’s because I
was born in Hollywood and have spent most of my life nearby.
Familiarity breeds indifference over time. Let’s face it, not
everyone in Pasadena goes ga-ga over the Rose Parade every year.
Or maybe it’s because I’ve met many people who possess Oscars, Emmys,
Grammys, Tonys and the like. Some are larger than life. But most are
talented people who simply work hard and do their jobs well. The
difference between us and them is that while we may get a raise, they
are rewarded with thunderous applause dressed in tuxedos and gowns
on worldwide television.
Then there’s the overkill factor. By the time we are subjected to the
Golden Globes, the Peoples’ Choice Awards, the MTV Awards, the
Critics’ Choice Awards, the Writers’ Guild Awards the Directors’
Guild awards and the Screen Actors Guild Awards, among others, the
results become predictable. The Academy Awards becomes a spectacle,
not a drama.
What I really dislike about awards shows, and the Academy Awards in
particular, are the acceptance speeches. Sure, there have been some
genuine moments over the years. But put an actor on live TV without a
script and chaos lurks. They often end up embarrassing themselves,
the Academy and on occasion the human race.
Let’s dump the thank-yous entirely. That means we would miss a lot of
tearful tributes to parents and spouses and children and agents along
with the occasional political rant which mostly serves to alienate
rather than educate.
The only acceptance speech I ever enjoyed came from Roberto Benigni
(Best Actor for “La Vita e bella” in 1999) who said, “I feel like now
really to dive in this ocean of generosity. This is too much . . . I
would like to be Jupiter and kidnap everybody and lie down in the
firmament making love to everybody."
Unfortunately, most fail to rise to this standard.
While were at it, let’s quit fooling around with the Ellen
DeGenereses and Hugh Jackmans and return Billy Crystal to his
rightful position as permanent host. He’s done it eight times and
each one was a gem.
And let’s dump the Best Song category, which officially died in 2005
when a happy little ditty called "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp” won
the Oscar. Can you name the last three award winners? Neither can I.
Jettison a few categories like the Best Foreign Documentary Under 30
Minutes That No One Will Ever See and we’re getting somewhere.
The whole show could be wrapped up in two hours or less.
And I’d get my den back.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Smart Guy
I was playing golf recently when my attention was drawn to four young men on an adjacent fairway.
They walked toward the green in a single file, heads bowed, silent, as though they were initiates in some sort of Druid ceremony.
Upon closer inspection I realized they were absorbed in their smartphones, either texting or reading e-mails or surfing the web. In the middle of a match. On a beautiful course dotted with all manner of flora and fauna.
The incident underscored my belief that we may very soon evolve into a race of people with bowed necks and downturned gazes, the result of continuous smartphone use.
I offer as evidence a recent YouTube video of a young woman at a shopping mall who was so intent on her phone she walked straight into a fountain where she splashed like a turtle on its back for several minutes before pulling herself to dry land.
Well, I vowed, they won't get me. I will remain head held high and eyes forward for the rest of my days.
Alas, fate intervened. I lost my cellphone, a simple model that merely made and received phone calls, and allowed myself to be sold a new model that records videos, has movie, TV, magazine, newspaper and social-network access, offers games, displays your e-mail, functions as a calendar and alarm clock, gives you directions to your destination, plays music, even finds your car if it's lost. Among other things.
And while they call them smartphones, I'm not sure I was so smart in buying one. Because once you've become adept in operating them, you're addicted.
Like the unsuspecting citizenry in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," I have become one of "them," a member of the mesmerized cellphone zombies to whom all life outside of their handheld devices is irrelevant if not nonexistent. I, for one, welcome our new technological overlords.
That's not exactly true. I have maintained enough humanity to lead a somewhat normal life. Just because I've skipped a few meals so I can afford to pay for all the extra goodies my phone has to offer doesn't mean I'm a bad person.
These extra goodies are called "apps," short for applications. The lovely young salesthing at the phone store told me there are 100,000 of them available through the phone. Some are free, most charge extra.
To be sure, many of these apps have some legitimate value, offering books and reference, business and education downloads, health and fitness advice.
Then there are these culled from my smartphone and the Internet:
The iNap@Work app plays a series of recorded typing, clicking, stapling or pencil sharpening sound effects to fool your coworkers into thinking you're being productive. Meanwhile, you're enjoying a post-lunch nap.
One app keeps track of how many beers you drink. You have to pay for it but it's probably a lot cheaper than getting a DUI after forgetting how many beers you've had throughout the course of the night.
Health officials in New York have released an app to help its citizens find free condoms. It's designed to locate the five nearest venues that distribute official NYC Condoms in jazzy wrappers printed with colorful subway maps or other city themes.
It could be used in concert with the Roman Catholic App, designed to be used as a confessional, with a personalized examination of conscience for each user.
The Taxi Hold Em application makes a loud whistling sound and displays a bright taxi sign to get the attention of nearby cabbies. It also alerts muggers that you are near.
iMouse is a call alert application. Whenever you have an incoming call, a little naughty mouse appears, knocks at the screen and shouts "Hey! Haaaay!! Knock. Knock. Please answer your phone."
Then, for those who just can't get their fill of fascism, there's the iMussolini app that includes audio, video and transcripts of 120 speeches by the wartime Italian leader.
And for those who can't be separated from their smartphones even momentarily, there is the LM Technologies Bluetooth bracelet. It vibrates if the user moves more than five feet away from the phone.
Ain't technology grand.
They walked toward the green in a single file, heads bowed, silent, as though they were initiates in some sort of Druid ceremony.
Upon closer inspection I realized they were absorbed in their smartphones, either texting or reading e-mails or surfing the web. In the middle of a match. On a beautiful course dotted with all manner of flora and fauna.
The incident underscored my belief that we may very soon evolve into a race of people with bowed necks and downturned gazes, the result of continuous smartphone use.
I offer as evidence a recent YouTube video of a young woman at a shopping mall who was so intent on her phone she walked straight into a fountain where she splashed like a turtle on its back for several minutes before pulling herself to dry land.
Well, I vowed, they won't get me. I will remain head held high and eyes forward for the rest of my days.
Alas, fate intervened. I lost my cellphone, a simple model that merely made and received phone calls, and allowed myself to be sold a new model that records videos, has movie, TV, magazine, newspaper and social-network access, offers games, displays your e-mail, functions as a calendar and alarm clock, gives you directions to your destination, plays music, even finds your car if it's lost. Among other things.
And while they call them smartphones, I'm not sure I was so smart in buying one. Because once you've become adept in operating them, you're addicted.
Like the unsuspecting citizenry in "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," I have become one of "them," a member of the mesmerized cellphone zombies to whom all life outside of their handheld devices is irrelevant if not nonexistent. I, for one, welcome our new technological overlords.
That's not exactly true. I have maintained enough humanity to lead a somewhat normal life. Just because I've skipped a few meals so I can afford to pay for all the extra goodies my phone has to offer doesn't mean I'm a bad person.
These extra goodies are called "apps," short for applications. The lovely young salesthing at the phone store told me there are 100,000 of them available through the phone. Some are free, most charge extra.
To be sure, many of these apps have some legitimate value, offering books and reference, business and education downloads, health and fitness advice.
Then there are these culled from my smartphone and the Internet:
The iNap@Work app plays a series of recorded typing, clicking, stapling or pencil sharpening sound effects to fool your coworkers into thinking you're being productive. Meanwhile, you're enjoying a post-lunch nap.
One app keeps track of how many beers you drink. You have to pay for it but it's probably a lot cheaper than getting a DUI after forgetting how many beers you've had throughout the course of the night.
Health officials in New York have released an app to help its citizens find free condoms. It's designed to locate the five nearest venues that distribute official NYC Condoms in jazzy wrappers printed with colorful subway maps or other city themes.
It could be used in concert with the Roman Catholic App, designed to be used as a confessional, with a personalized examination of conscience for each user.
The Taxi Hold Em application makes a loud whistling sound and displays a bright taxi sign to get the attention of nearby cabbies. It also alerts muggers that you are near.
iMouse is a call alert application. Whenever you have an incoming call, a little naughty mouse appears, knocks at the screen and shouts "Hey! Haaaay!! Knock. Knock. Please answer your phone."
Then, for those who just can't get their fill of fascism, there's the iMussolini app that includes audio, video and transcripts of 120 speeches by the wartime Italian leader.
And for those who can't be separated from their smartphones even momentarily, there is the LM Technologies Bluetooth bracelet. It vibrates if the user moves more than five feet away from the phone.
Ain't technology grand.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Love in the Time of Cyberspace
My wife and I met the old-fashioned way. We were introduced by
friends, a chance encounter than led to love and marriage.
We were lucky. Had computer dating existed in those days, we would
never have met.
She was raised prim and proper in a small town in western
Pennsylvania that resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. I was from
Los Angeles, had been a rock musician, a frat boy, a cop reporter.
She had gone to work for the federal government after graduating from
college. I worked for the federal government, too, but not by choice.
I had been drafted into the Army and spent my days as a soldier.
Clearly, some computer program would have declared us incompatible.
Yet, without the assistance of algorithms to make sure our tolerances
and preferences interfaced, we have been wed for 44 years.
I’m not knocking computer dating. If I was single, I might give it a
try, especially if they had a category for aging journalists with a
skeptical world view. After all, thousands participate and revenues
for online dating services reach into the hundreds of millions of
dollars.
You can always tell when Valentine’s Day is approaching. Commercials
for computer dating services flood the airways, battling jewelry ads
for prime TV exposure.
And it’s often a hard sell. One popular website apparently has taken
to sending out e-mails on a person’s birthday to remind him or her
that another year has gone by without a significant other.
They call it marketing. I call it emotional waterboarding.
The dating game has become as complex as the society we live in. But
the electronic lonely hearts club business has made it easy. There
are websites now that promise to link up couples from every ethnic,
religious, life-style and sexual preference subgroup imaginable.
Among the unique: Women Behind Bars, which offers to link
incarcerated women with interested men.
Moto Date offers a solution to an age-old problem. You see a hottie
next to you in traffic and have no way to make contact short of a
fender bender. Members of this site receive a four-digit sticker to
put on their car, and if someone finds them attractive while behind
the wheel, all they have to do is go online, type in that code, and
make contact.
Trek Passions is for, you guessed it, those who desire to live long
and prosper with another Star Trek obsessed earthling. Or Klingon. Or
Romulan or Borg or whatever. Since I’ve never come across many female
Trekkies, I’m thinking the romance rate on this site is something
less than warp speed.
Diaper Mates is the premiere destination for adult interested in
people who enjoy wearing diapers or looking at others who like to
wear them. We’ll leave this one without comment other than to note
the site has 11,000 members.
Ayn Rand Dating is for those whose lives have been forever altered
after reading “The Fountainhead” or “Atlas Shrugged.” First dates
include discussions of the morality of rational self-interest and
laissez-faire capitalism. Sample user profile: “ I am rational,
integrated, and efficacious. So far, I’ve never met a person who
lives up to the standard I hold for myself...I only kiss those who
deserve it, and so far I have only encountered one who did. I would
love to find someone I can learn something from; someone who
challenges me to think; someone I can feel like I’ve won, rather than
lowered myself to.”
With all these choices, you’d think computer dating would be an
unqualified success. But there’s a fly in the ointment, a flaw as old
as the mating ritual itself.
People lie.
According to an exhaustive study conducted by an online dating site,
the biggest fibs are, in no particular order: Height - people, mostly
guys, are two inches shorter in real life. Income, people exaggerate
it by about 20 per cent. Pictures - The more attractive the picture,
the more likely it is out of date.
If that’s not bad enough, there’s datespeak, in which words take on
new meanings:
40-ish means 49. Athletic: small breasted. Emotionally secure: on
medication. Fun: annoying. New Age: doesn’t shave her legs. Open
Minded: desperate. Outgoing: loud and embarrassing. Voluptuous:
overweight. Needs soul mate: a stalker.
Which reminds me of the Dorthy Parker ditty, written long before the
age of computers:
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
friends, a chance encounter than led to love and marriage.
We were lucky. Had computer dating existed in those days, we would
never have met.
She was raised prim and proper in a small town in western
Pennsylvania that resembled a Norman Rockwell painting. I was from
Los Angeles, had been a rock musician, a frat boy, a cop reporter.
She had gone to work for the federal government after graduating from
college. I worked for the federal government, too, but not by choice.
I had been drafted into the Army and spent my days as a soldier.
Clearly, some computer program would have declared us incompatible.
Yet, without the assistance of algorithms to make sure our tolerances
and preferences interfaced, we have been wed for 44 years.
I’m not knocking computer dating. If I was single, I might give it a
try, especially if they had a category for aging journalists with a
skeptical world view. After all, thousands participate and revenues
for online dating services reach into the hundreds of millions of
dollars.
You can always tell when Valentine’s Day is approaching. Commercials
for computer dating services flood the airways, battling jewelry ads
for prime TV exposure.
And it’s often a hard sell. One popular website apparently has taken
to sending out e-mails on a person’s birthday to remind him or her
that another year has gone by without a significant other.
They call it marketing. I call it emotional waterboarding.
The dating game has become as complex as the society we live in. But
the electronic lonely hearts club business has made it easy. There
are websites now that promise to link up couples from every ethnic,
religious, life-style and sexual preference subgroup imaginable.
Among the unique: Women Behind Bars, which offers to link
incarcerated women with interested men.
Moto Date offers a solution to an age-old problem. You see a hottie
next to you in traffic and have no way to make contact short of a
fender bender. Members of this site receive a four-digit sticker to
put on their car, and if someone finds them attractive while behind
the wheel, all they have to do is go online, type in that code, and
make contact.
Trek Passions is for, you guessed it, those who desire to live long
and prosper with another Star Trek obsessed earthling. Or Klingon. Or
Romulan or Borg or whatever. Since I’ve never come across many female
Trekkies, I’m thinking the romance rate on this site is something
less than warp speed.
Diaper Mates is the premiere destination for adult interested in
people who enjoy wearing diapers or looking at others who like to
wear them. We’ll leave this one without comment other than to note
the site has 11,000 members.
Ayn Rand Dating is for those whose lives have been forever altered
after reading “The Fountainhead” or “Atlas Shrugged.” First dates
include discussions of the morality of rational self-interest and
laissez-faire capitalism. Sample user profile: “ I am rational,
integrated, and efficacious. So far, I’ve never met a person who
lives up to the standard I hold for myself...I only kiss those who
deserve it, and so far I have only encountered one who did. I would
love to find someone I can learn something from; someone who
challenges me to think; someone I can feel like I’ve won, rather than
lowered myself to.”
With all these choices, you’d think computer dating would be an
unqualified success. But there’s a fly in the ointment, a flaw as old
as the mating ritual itself.
People lie.
According to an exhaustive study conducted by an online dating site,
the biggest fibs are, in no particular order: Height - people, mostly
guys, are two inches shorter in real life. Income, people exaggerate
it by about 20 per cent. Pictures - The more attractive the picture,
the more likely it is out of date.
If that’s not bad enough, there’s datespeak, in which words take on
new meanings:
40-ish means 49. Athletic: small breasted. Emotionally secure: on
medication. Fun: annoying. New Age: doesn’t shave her legs. Open
Minded: desperate. Outgoing: loud and embarrassing. Voluptuous:
overweight. Needs soul mate: a stalker.
Which reminds me of the Dorthy Parker ditty, written long before the
age of computers:
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying -
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
Football, Los Angeles Style
When the first Super Bowl was played in Los Angeles in 1967, it
didn’t exactly play to rave reviews.
“The Super Bowl yesterday was a representative example of most
television dramas coming out of Los Angeles,” Jack Gould wrote in the
New York Times. “The advance buildup was more impressive than the
show, and the script fell apart in the second half.”
But like a Broadway play that survives the slings and arrows of the
critics, the Super Bowl thrived, thanks in part to large doses of
hype and hysteria.
Not so professional football in Southern California. It was sacked by
a couple of blitzing linebackers named Greed and Incompetence.
The last NFL game was played in 1994. Shortly thereafter, both the
Rams and the Raiders packed up and left, settling in the garden spots
of St. Louis and Oakland.
The last Super Bowl contested here was at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena
in 1993. In the ensuing years, such must-see destinations as Detroit
and Houston have hosted the game. And we have been left, our noses
pressed against the window pane.
That’s all about to change, if you believe the boys down at AEG.
They are proposing a billion dollar, state-of-the art stadium hard by
Staples Center, which they also own.
Indeed, they hosted the biggest love fest this town has seen since
the Golden Globes to announce last week that Farmers Insurance will
pay a cool $700 million over 30 years for the naming rights. There
goes your homeowners insurance rates.
Naturally, the place would be called Farmers Field, just the kind of
name you associate with the power elite and glitterati of Los Angeles.
At the press conference, Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, former Mayor
James Hahn, business tycoon Eli Broad and sports icon Magic Johnson
were joined by other members of the city’s rich and famous to lead
the cheerleading for the project. All that was missing was Santa
Claus and the Easter Bunny.
So does that mean NFL football in L.A. is about to become a reality?
Forget for the moment that the name of the stadium sounds like an
organic turnip co-op. Forget for the moment that there’s no team to
play in this proposed stadium. Forget that in the past teams have
used Los Angeles as leverage to get new stadia in their home towns.
If this project doesn’t work, nothing will.
That doesn’t mean it’s not without problems. Like many a farmer’s
field, something doesn’t smell right here.
It looks good on paper. AEG guarantees that not a nickel of public
money will be necessary to build the stadium. Well, sort of. The plan
involves tearing down and rebuilding a section of the existing
convention center – a project that might require $350 million in
bonds. AEG says that ticket tax revenue from the new stadium would be
enough to pay off that debt, and the company would cover any
shortfalls.
But, according to longtime City Hall watcher and author Bill
Boyarsky, the $350 million bond issue for the football facility would
probably be added to the convention center authority’s existing $445
million debt, bringing total indebtedness to $795 million. This would
boost debt repayment, or service, payments by $25 million or possibly
$30 million a year.
In other words, Boyarsky wrote, more than $70 million a year would
come from the city treasury to repay the combined debt of the
convention center and the football stadium.
That’s a hefty load for a city that’s playing footsie with
bankruptcy. And, as we learned from the Rose Bowl renovation,
sometimes bonds don’t sell, subject as they are to the fluctuations
of the market.
Then there are the traffic issues. Imagine, if you will, a Monday
night game downtown. With a Lakers game at Staples.
Now, some members of the Los Angeles City Council have blinked. They
have formed a working group to study the AEG proposal lest they get
accused of funding a River City Boys Band.
Certainly, they will find, this kind of money could be spent for
other purposes. They may even find the city is going to be on the
hook for more cash than they think.
But I’m betting the AEG project has the kind of support and momentum
behind it that will roll over any opposition.
Combine that with the opiate that is NFL football and a city hungry
for jobs and revenue and you have a juggernaut.
Left in the dust will be the Ed Roski stadium plan for the city of
Industry, which is already becoming an afterthought.
I’m guessing the Los Angeles Chargers open their season at Farmers
Field in 2015.
didn’t exactly play to rave reviews.
“The Super Bowl yesterday was a representative example of most
television dramas coming out of Los Angeles,” Jack Gould wrote in the
New York Times. “The advance buildup was more impressive than the
show, and the script fell apart in the second half.”
But like a Broadway play that survives the slings and arrows of the
critics, the Super Bowl thrived, thanks in part to large doses of
hype and hysteria.
Not so professional football in Southern California. It was sacked by
a couple of blitzing linebackers named Greed and Incompetence.
The last NFL game was played in 1994. Shortly thereafter, both the
Rams and the Raiders packed up and left, settling in the garden spots
of St. Louis and Oakland.
The last Super Bowl contested here was at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena
in 1993. In the ensuing years, such must-see destinations as Detroit
and Houston have hosted the game. And we have been left, our noses
pressed against the window pane.
That’s all about to change, if you believe the boys down at AEG.
They are proposing a billion dollar, state-of-the art stadium hard by
Staples Center, which they also own.
Indeed, they hosted the biggest love fest this town has seen since
the Golden Globes to announce last week that Farmers Insurance will
pay a cool $700 million over 30 years for the naming rights. There
goes your homeowners insurance rates.
Naturally, the place would be called Farmers Field, just the kind of
name you associate with the power elite and glitterati of Los Angeles.
At the press conference, Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, former Mayor
James Hahn, business tycoon Eli Broad and sports icon Magic Johnson
were joined by other members of the city’s rich and famous to lead
the cheerleading for the project. All that was missing was Santa
Claus and the Easter Bunny.
So does that mean NFL football in L.A. is about to become a reality?
Forget for the moment that the name of the stadium sounds like an
organic turnip co-op. Forget for the moment that there’s no team to
play in this proposed stadium. Forget that in the past teams have
used Los Angeles as leverage to get new stadia in their home towns.
If this project doesn’t work, nothing will.
That doesn’t mean it’s not without problems. Like many a farmer’s
field, something doesn’t smell right here.
It looks good on paper. AEG guarantees that not a nickel of public
money will be necessary to build the stadium. Well, sort of. The plan
involves tearing down and rebuilding a section of the existing
convention center – a project that might require $350 million in
bonds. AEG says that ticket tax revenue from the new stadium would be
enough to pay off that debt, and the company would cover any
shortfalls.
But, according to longtime City Hall watcher and author Bill
Boyarsky, the $350 million bond issue for the football facility would
probably be added to the convention center authority’s existing $445
million debt, bringing total indebtedness to $795 million. This would
boost debt repayment, or service, payments by $25 million or possibly
$30 million a year.
In other words, Boyarsky wrote, more than $70 million a year would
come from the city treasury to repay the combined debt of the
convention center and the football stadium.
That’s a hefty load for a city that’s playing footsie with
bankruptcy. And, as we learned from the Rose Bowl renovation,
sometimes bonds don’t sell, subject as they are to the fluctuations
of the market.
Then there are the traffic issues. Imagine, if you will, a Monday
night game downtown. With a Lakers game at Staples.
Now, some members of the Los Angeles City Council have blinked. They
have formed a working group to study the AEG proposal lest they get
accused of funding a River City Boys Band.
Certainly, they will find, this kind of money could be spent for
other purposes. They may even find the city is going to be on the
hook for more cash than they think.
But I’m betting the AEG project has the kind of support and momentum
behind it that will roll over any opposition.
Combine that with the opiate that is NFL football and a city hungry
for jobs and revenue and you have a juggernaut.
Left in the dust will be the Ed Roski stadium plan for the city of
Industry, which is already becoming an afterthought.
I’m guessing the Los Angeles Chargers open their season at Farmers
Field in 2015.
Put These Words on Ice
I had never heard of Lake Superior State University before. Using my
incredible, almost Holmesian powers of perception, I deduced it was
somewhere in the vicinity of Lake Superior, which sits atop the state
of Michigan.
I was correct. In fact, it’s in Sault St.Marie, Mich., a town I
imagine remains encased in ice half of the year and where the
inhabitants still pay for their groceries in beaver pelts.
It turns out that the good people at Lake Superior State while away
those long winter months putting together a document they call the
“Annual List of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse,
Over-use and General Uselessness.” They’ve been doing it for 36 years.
And I’m glad they do. It’s clever, thought-provoking and pretty much
spot on.
I’m also glad because I needed something to write about this week and
the State of the Union Address turned out to be as exciting as the
treasurer’s report at a PTA meeting. On the “You Lie!” scale, 10
representing shouted insults directed at the President by
scarlet-faced morons, and 0 indicating deep sleep, this year’s SOTU
speech rated about a 2.
But enough about that. Lake Superior State’s banished words and
phrases this year include such worthy entries as “epic,” “fail,”
“viral” and the ever popular “mama grizzlies.”
Some highlights:
“Epic” to me signified something Cecil B. DeMille committed to film.
But recently, it has come to mean anything above average. Therefore,
your Chinese take out last night was an “epic meal” and your
8-year-old Suburu is an “epic” automobile. As one contributor noted,
“epic” needs to be banished until people recognize that echoing
trite, hyperbolic Internet phrases in an effort to look witty or
intelligent actually achieves the opposite.
Same with “fail” which now signifies anything that is a mistake.
Watch any You Tube clip of a skateboarder falling on his head and it
will be labeled “fail.” As if we needed to be told. Those who use it
endlessly fail Basic Language 101.
“Viral” has come to mean something that spreads on the Internet, for
example, “that skateboarder falling on his head video went viral.”
Where I come from, it means “of, pertaining to, or caused by a
virus.” I vote we quarantine this new, diseased meaning.
“Wow factor.” It was an instant cliche the first time it was uttered.
“A-Ha moment.” It signifies the moment you understand something.
Can’t we just say that?
“BFF.” It means “best friends forever” in text talk. But now there’s
BFFA for Best Friends for Awhile. Stop it before it spreads.
“Man Up.” “A stupid phrase when directed at men,” a contributor
observed. “Even more stupid when directed at a woman, as in 'Alexis,
you need to man up and join that Pilates class!'" Which raises the
question: Do the ladies “woman up”?
Back story: “"This should be on the list of words that don'at need to
exist because a perfectly good word has been used for years,” wrote
one contributor. “In this case, the word is 'history,' or, for those
who must be weaned, 'story.'"
Courtesy of Sarah Palin we have “mama grizzlies” and “refudiate.” I
actually thought her use of “mama grizzlies” was kind of cute,
especially as a way to frame her hunter/gatherer political views. As
for “refudiate,” all of us butcher the language from time to time.
Her sin was comparing herself to Shakespeare as a wordsmith.
“I’m just saying.” A phrase used to diffuse any ill feelings caused
by a preceded remark, according to the Urban Dictionary. As in,
“Sarah Palin is a Shakespearean wordsmith. I’m just saying.” Or, He:
“That dress doesn’t fit you right.” She: “Are you saying I’m fat?”
He: “I’m just saying.”
Back in 1976, when this exercise started, the list included
“scenario. It can be roughly translated as ‘I don't know what had
happened (or will happen) but this is a scenario.’ Means: ‘I'm making
this up.’”) and “Implement and Viable - Gobbledygook disguised as
intelligence: as in ‘that is not a viable alternative which we can
implement.’ which means ‘We don't want to do it and think you have a
crazy idea here.’”
incredible, almost Holmesian powers of perception, I deduced it was
somewhere in the vicinity of Lake Superior, which sits atop the state
of Michigan.
I was correct. In fact, it’s in Sault St.Marie, Mich., a town I
imagine remains encased in ice half of the year and where the
inhabitants still pay for their groceries in beaver pelts.
It turns out that the good people at Lake Superior State while away
those long winter months putting together a document they call the
“Annual List of Words Banished from the Queen's English for Misuse,
Over-use and General Uselessness.” They’ve been doing it for 36 years.
And I’m glad they do. It’s clever, thought-provoking and pretty much
spot on.
I’m also glad because I needed something to write about this week and
the State of the Union Address turned out to be as exciting as the
treasurer’s report at a PTA meeting. On the “You Lie!” scale, 10
representing shouted insults directed at the President by
scarlet-faced morons, and 0 indicating deep sleep, this year’s SOTU
speech rated about a 2.
But enough about that. Lake Superior State’s banished words and
phrases this year include such worthy entries as “epic,” “fail,”
“viral” and the ever popular “mama grizzlies.”
Some highlights:
“Epic” to me signified something Cecil B. DeMille committed to film.
But recently, it has come to mean anything above average. Therefore,
your Chinese take out last night was an “epic meal” and your
8-year-old Suburu is an “epic” automobile. As one contributor noted,
“epic” needs to be banished until people recognize that echoing
trite, hyperbolic Internet phrases in an effort to look witty or
intelligent actually achieves the opposite.
Same with “fail” which now signifies anything that is a mistake.
Watch any You Tube clip of a skateboarder falling on his head and it
will be labeled “fail.” As if we needed to be told. Those who use it
endlessly fail Basic Language 101.
“Viral” has come to mean something that spreads on the Internet, for
example, “that skateboarder falling on his head video went viral.”
Where I come from, it means “of, pertaining to, or caused by a
virus.” I vote we quarantine this new, diseased meaning.
“Wow factor.” It was an instant cliche the first time it was uttered.
“A-Ha moment.” It signifies the moment you understand something.
Can’t we just say that?
“BFF.” It means “best friends forever” in text talk. But now there’s
BFFA for Best Friends for Awhile. Stop it before it spreads.
“Man Up.” “A stupid phrase when directed at men,” a contributor
observed. “Even more stupid when directed at a woman, as in 'Alexis,
you need to man up and join that Pilates class!'" Which raises the
question: Do the ladies “woman up”?
Back story: “"This should be on the list of words that don'at need to
exist because a perfectly good word has been used for years,” wrote
one contributor. “In this case, the word is 'history,' or, for those
who must be weaned, 'story.'"
Courtesy of Sarah Palin we have “mama grizzlies” and “refudiate.” I
actually thought her use of “mama grizzlies” was kind of cute,
especially as a way to frame her hunter/gatherer political views. As
for “refudiate,” all of us butcher the language from time to time.
Her sin was comparing herself to Shakespeare as a wordsmith.
“I’m just saying.” A phrase used to diffuse any ill feelings caused
by a preceded remark, according to the Urban Dictionary. As in,
“Sarah Palin is a Shakespearean wordsmith. I’m just saying.” Or, He:
“That dress doesn’t fit you right.” She: “Are you saying I’m fat?”
He: “I’m just saying.”
Back in 1976, when this exercise started, the list included
“scenario. It can be roughly translated as ‘I don't know what had
happened (or will happen) but this is a scenario.’ Means: ‘I'm making
this up.’”) and “Implement and Viable - Gobbledygook disguised as
intelligence: as in ‘that is not a viable alternative which we can
implement.’ which means ‘We don't want to do it and think you have a
crazy idea here.’”
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Civility and Other Myths
In the wake of the Tucson shootings, people of good will have decided to tone down the political rhetoric in this country.
OK, I'm on board. I will no longer call you a fear-mongering wingnut if you refrain from referring to me as a dupe of the Marxist conspiracy.
Anything that cools the atmosphere of verbal extremism is to be embraced.
It will take a little restraint and discipline and it may make it harder for the Limbaughs and Olbermanns of the world to make a living. But that's a bonus.
Civility, it's what's for dinner.
Unfortunately, not everyone has received the message.
A spokesperson for the Governors Highway Safety Association, recently noting an uptick in pedestrian deaths in 2010, laid the blame at the feet of First Lady Michelle Obama.
In a bit of logic as tortured as any you will find, the spokesperson pointed out that the increase coincided with the First Lady's anti-obesity campaign, which encouraged people to get out and walk.
Michelle Obama is "trying to get us to walk to work and exercise a little bit more. While that's good, it also increases our exposure to risk," said GHSA's Jonathan Adkins.
Someone from the GHSA later said the agency was "misquoted." Of course. It's difficult to understand someone who has his foot in their mouth.
At least Mrs. Obama didn't get blamed for global warming. Yet.
In a related development, a story in the New York Post disclosed
that ratings for the Food Network, once one of the hottest destinations for cable TV watchers, have taken a major hit.
The network posted a 10.3 percent drop among viewers ages 25 to 54, considered a key category for advertisers. What's more, the network's quarterly declines worsened throughout the year, falling 3.3 percent in the second quarter and 4.5 percent in the third quarter, according to Nielsen figures
The blame here can clearly be laid at the feet of the Tournament of Roses. After all, the Rose Parade folks have been trolling the Food Network the last few years in search of grand marshals.
First, there was Emeril Legase, whose show was canceled faster than you can say "bam" even as he rode down Colorado Boulevard.
Next was Paula Deen, whose Southern-style fare can best be described as deep-fried cardiac arrest. Her recipes were once described as demonstrably more dangerous to America than a nuclear-armed North Korea.
Apparently, riding at the head of a parade whose television ratings are also declining is the career equivalent of a flat souffle.
Maybe next year the Tournament can solicit from a show with better ratings, like "America's Biggest Loser."
Unrelated to any of the above, the Chicago Bears and the Green Pay Packers will meet in the NFC championship game today in what is a special treat for lovers of old-time football. Really old-time football.
The two teams first met in 1921 and have butted heads and other body parts 181 times over the years.
Just to set the proper tone for the rivalry, the Bears and Packers are credited for the first-ever ejection of players for fighting during a game in 1924. The Bears' Frank Hanny and the Packers' Walter Voss were ejected before the end of the first half as verbal exchanges led to punches being thrown.
The teams will be dressed in their traditional uniforms, none of this fancified Nike stuff, which sometimes looks like it was designed by Jackson Pollock.
They will play on a rock-hard field in the bitter cold. No domed stadium for these guys.
And just for the record, President Obama likes Chicago by three points. Bet accordingly.
OK, I'm on board. I will no longer call you a fear-mongering wingnut if you refrain from referring to me as a dupe of the Marxist conspiracy.
Anything that cools the atmosphere of verbal extremism is to be embraced.
It will take a little restraint and discipline and it may make it harder for the Limbaughs and Olbermanns of the world to make a living. But that's a bonus.
Civility, it's what's for dinner.
Unfortunately, not everyone has received the message.
A spokesperson for the Governors Highway Safety Association, recently noting an uptick in pedestrian deaths in 2010, laid the blame at the feet of First Lady Michelle Obama.
In a bit of logic as tortured as any you will find, the spokesperson pointed out that the increase coincided with the First Lady's anti-obesity campaign, which encouraged people to get out and walk.
Michelle Obama is "trying to get us to walk to work and exercise a little bit more. While that's good, it also increases our exposure to risk," said GHSA's Jonathan Adkins.
Someone from the GHSA later said the agency was "misquoted." Of course. It's difficult to understand someone who has his foot in their mouth.
At least Mrs. Obama didn't get blamed for global warming. Yet.
In a related development, a story in the New York Post disclosed
that ratings for the Food Network, once one of the hottest destinations for cable TV watchers, have taken a major hit.
The network posted a 10.3 percent drop among viewers ages 25 to 54, considered a key category for advertisers. What's more, the network's quarterly declines worsened throughout the year, falling 3.3 percent in the second quarter and 4.5 percent in the third quarter, according to Nielsen figures
The blame here can clearly be laid at the feet of the Tournament of Roses. After all, the Rose Parade folks have been trolling the Food Network the last few years in search of grand marshals.
First, there was Emeril Legase, whose show was canceled faster than you can say "bam" even as he rode down Colorado Boulevard.
Next was Paula Deen, whose Southern-style fare can best be described as deep-fried cardiac arrest. Her recipes were once described as demonstrably more dangerous to America than a nuclear-armed North Korea.
Apparently, riding at the head of a parade whose television ratings are also declining is the career equivalent of a flat souffle.
Maybe next year the Tournament can solicit from a show with better ratings, like "America's Biggest Loser."
Unrelated to any of the above, the Chicago Bears and the Green Pay Packers will meet in the NFC championship game today in what is a special treat for lovers of old-time football. Really old-time football.
The two teams first met in 1921 and have butted heads and other body parts 181 times over the years.
Just to set the proper tone for the rivalry, the Bears and Packers are credited for the first-ever ejection of players for fighting during a game in 1924. The Bears' Frank Hanny and the Packers' Walter Voss were ejected before the end of the first half as verbal exchanges led to punches being thrown.
The teams will be dressed in their traditional uniforms, none of this fancified Nike stuff, which sometimes looks like it was designed by Jackson Pollock.
They will play on a rock-hard field in the bitter cold. No domed stadium for these guys.
And just for the record, President Obama likes Chicago by three points. Bet accordingly.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Recipe for Disaster
Here's a recipe for disaster:
Take a mentally unhinged young man.
Put him in a state with some of the most lenient gun laws in the country.
Then place him in a county that has had more than 45 percent of its mental health service recipients forced off the public rolls in the name of a leaner government.
Allow him to buy a semi-automatic handgun after passing an instant background check. And let him conceal and carry his firearm, no permit necessary.
Mix in some highly charged political rhetoric which suggests "Second Amendment remedies" as a solution to the nation's real and imagined problems.
Bring it to a boil at a town hall session for a local congresswoman in front of a supermarket.
The result: An atrocious shooting rampage in Tucson that killed six people, including a federal judge and a 9-year-old girl, and wounded 14, including U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords who took a bullet in her brain. A troubled loner named Jared Lee Loughner, who apparently targeted Giffords, was arrested and charged in the attack.
In the aftermath, proposed solutions are met with a shrug of the shoulders. And then there's this:
One-day sales of handguns in Arizona jumped 60 percent the following Monday compared with the corresponding Monday a year ago, the second-biggest increase of any state in the country, according to FBI data.
Many of those sold were the Glock 9mm, used in this assault and also the weapon
of choice for Seung-Hui Cho, who killed 32 people in a shooting spree at Virginia Tech. Handgun sales rose 65 percent in Ohio; 16 percent in California; 38 percent in Illinois; and 33 percent in New York, the FBI data show.
And this: Two House of Representatives lawmakers - Republican Jason Chaffetz of Utah and Heath Shuler, a North Carolina Democrat - are pledging to carry firearms to guard against potential copycat attacks.
And also this: Legislation is being proposed in Arizona that would require the state to train and arm all elected officials and their staffs.
You read that right: the solution to gun violence is to arm even more people. If there's a problem, let them shoot it out.
Who needs due process? Why have a justice system? Just fire away and let the bodies fall where they may.
This surely is the road to insanity.
Let me establish something right here. The Second Amendment is a reality. We have the right to keep and bear arms and I do not wish it repealed. Second, I am no pacifist. I served in the U.S. Army Infantry and fired everything from carbines to mortars with great gusto.
I do not believe, however, we can blindly sell semi-automatic, concealed handguns with high-capacity magazines to anyone with the asking price, then react with shock and horror when an act of carnage takes place.
I do not believe, like a lot of yahoos, that the Second Amendment means we have a responsibility to bear arms.
I do believe we need to reinstitute the federal assault weapons ban, signed into law by President Clinton and allowed to expire under President Bush. It would, among other things, have prohibited the magazine which allowed the shooter to fire 33 rounds before he was stopped.
Are these manufactured for target practice? Get serious.
I believe we need to expand the National Instant Criminal Background Check System. It's unclear if the suspect would have been flagged in this system. But he should have been. He was well known to police and had been tossed out of his community college because of mental health issues.
I believe we need effective gun control. The right to bear arms doesn't allow you to own nuclear weapons, surface-to-air missiles or flame-throwers. We should add to that list semi-automatic handguns, super-sized ammo magazines and concealed weapons of any kind.
There are enough high-powered rifles, shotguns, target pistols and ammo available to keep the most ardent gun enthusiast happily occupied until his trigger finger bleeds.
If we do nothing, we have learned nothing from our bloody past. And we are doomed to repeat it.
Take a mentally unhinged young man.
Put him in a state with some of the most lenient gun laws in the country.
Then place him in a county that has had more than 45 percent of its mental health service recipients forced off the public rolls in the name of a leaner government.
Allow him to buy a semi-automatic handgun after passing an instant background check. And let him conceal and carry his firearm, no permit necessary.
Mix in some highly charged political rhetoric which suggests "Second Amendment remedies" as a solution to the nation's real and imagined problems.
Bring it to a boil at a town hall session for a local congresswoman in front of a supermarket.
The result: An atrocious shooting rampage in Tucson that killed six people, including a federal judge and a 9-year-old girl, and wounded 14, including U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords who took a bullet in her brain. A troubled loner named Jared Lee Loughner, who apparently targeted Giffords, was arrested and charged in the attack.
In the aftermath, proposed solutions are met with a shrug of the shoulders. And then there's this:
One-day sales of handguns in Arizona jumped 60 percent the following Monday compared with the corresponding Monday a year ago, the second-biggest increase of any state in the country, according to FBI data.
Many of those sold were the Glock 9mm, used in this assault and also the weapon
of choice for Seung-Hui Cho, who killed 32 people in a shooting spree at Virginia Tech. Handgun sales rose 65 percent in Ohio; 16 percent in California; 38 percent in Illinois; and 33 percent in New York, the FBI data show.
And this: Two House of Representatives lawmakers - Republican Jason Chaffetz of Utah and Heath Shuler, a North Carolina Democrat - are pledging to carry firearms to guard against potential copycat attacks.
And also this: Legislation is being proposed in Arizona that would require the state to train and arm all elected officials and their staffs.
You read that right: the solution to gun violence is to arm even more people. If there's a problem, let them shoot it out.
Who needs due process? Why have a justice system? Just fire away and let the bodies fall where they may.
This surely is the road to insanity.
Let me establish something right here. The Second Amendment is a reality. We have the right to keep and bear arms and I do not wish it repealed. Second, I am no pacifist. I served in the U.S. Army Infantry and fired everything from carbines to mortars with great gusto.
I do not believe, however, we can blindly sell semi-automatic, concealed handguns with high-capacity magazines to anyone with the asking price, then react with shock and horror when an act of carnage takes place.
I do not believe, like a lot of yahoos, that the Second Amendment means we have a responsibility to bear arms.
I do believe we need to reinstitute the federal assault weapons ban, signed into law by President Clinton and allowed to expire under President Bush. It would, among other things, have prohibited the magazine which allowed the shooter to fire 33 rounds before he was stopped.
Are these manufactured for target practice? Get serious.
I believe we need to expand the National Instant Criminal Background Check System. It's unclear if the suspect would have been flagged in this system. But he should have been. He was well known to police and had been tossed out of his community college because of mental health issues.
I believe we need effective gun control. The right to bear arms doesn't allow you to own nuclear weapons, surface-to-air missiles or flame-throwers. We should add to that list semi-automatic handguns, super-sized ammo magazines and concealed weapons of any kind.
There are enough high-powered rifles, shotguns, target pistols and ammo available to keep the most ardent gun enthusiast happily occupied until his trigger finger bleeds.
If we do nothing, we have learned nothing from our bloody past. And we are doomed to repeat it.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Transfixed by TV
I was 10 years old when the Old Man finally broke down and bought the
family its first TV set.
We wheeled it into the living room, hooked up the rabbit ears,
plugged it in and proceeded to gaze, slack jawed and wide eyed, at
anything and everything that appeared on the screen.
From “Time for Beanie” and “Space Patrol” to Jackie Gleason and Steve
Allen, from Alfred Hitchcock to “Playhouse 90,” from Ed Sullivan to
“Your Hit Parade”, we were transfixed.
Harry Owens and His Royal Hawaiians?. We watched it. Spike Jones?.
Absolutely. “I’ve Got a Secret” and “What’s My Line?” We were there.
Sports? I was in heaven. There was major league baseball, never seen
before in these parts. College and professional football, and, for
comic relief, roller derby and wrestling. The Gillette Cavalcade of
Sports, a fancy name for boxing, was a Friday night tradition.
Even then, the staples were doctors (“Dr. Kildare,” “Ben Casey”),
lawyers (“Perry Mason,” “The Defenders”) and cops (“Dragnet,” “Naked
City”).
American Idol? We had “Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts” which was the
same show without the voting. We weren’t very interactive in those
days.
Reality shows? We had the mother of them all: “Candid Camera.”
I thought about all this the other day when I read the latest data on
American viewing habits as measured by the Nielsen Company, which has
been mapping the vast wasteland for more than a half century.
How much, I wondered, have things really changed since the 1950s?
Oh sure, we watch our shows on whiz-bang high def technical marvels
that gobble up wall space while doubling our utility bill.
And TV’s portrayal of America no longer consists of suburb dwelling
white people whose families are headed by kindly all-knowing fathers
with unlimited amounts of good advice and disposable income.
But some things remain the same. The Nielsen folks found that our
addiction to TV remains just as strong as it was in the early days.
In fact, Americans watched more television than ever in 2010. Total
viewing of broadcast networks and basic cable channels rose about 1
percent for the year, to an average of 34 hours per person per week.
Interestingly enough, Nielsen said that the most popular new offering
on television this year was “Hawaii Five-O,”) a remake of a
40-year-old cop show. Homicides and hulas, it seems, never get old.
Over the years, TV has seen more evolution than innovation.
Drama was a staple of early television. But whereas early offerings
were basically theatrical productions staged in a TV studio, today’s
presentations have broken old structural and narrative rules by
becoming serialized.
It isn’t “Death of a Salesman” but it isn’t bad.
Reality TV, born of economic necessity, evolved from simple game
shows to today’s endless parade of mind numbing silliness that has a
lock on prime time while filling the ranks of valet parking
attendants and waiters with unemployed actors.
As the New York Times reported recently, “Historians may someday note
with wonder that by the end of 2010, at least six cable television
shows were about auctioneers and pawnbrokers. And all were considered
successes by their respective channels.”
By far the biggest change in the television landscape is sports.
While it began as a weekend diversion (early TV execs believed
weekday viewers were mostly women so they began broadcasting sports
on weekends to attract male viewers), it has grown to a billion
dollar monster that dominates the landscape.
There’s not a minute in the day when there isn’t a sporting event
being broadcast. And the viewers lap it up.
Of the top 10 most viewed programs in 2010 as measured by Nielsen, 8
were football games. Even the best-liked commercial was a Snickers
spot featuring Betty White being tackled in a football game.
Who would have predicted it?
In the future, we may be getting our television broadcasts fed over
the Internet. And probably in 3-D.
But I’m betting there will still large helpings of sports and reality
shows. And lots of cops, lawyers and doctors.
family its first TV set.
We wheeled it into the living room, hooked up the rabbit ears,
plugged it in and proceeded to gaze, slack jawed and wide eyed, at
anything and everything that appeared on the screen.
From “Time for Beanie” and “Space Patrol” to Jackie Gleason and Steve
Allen, from Alfred Hitchcock to “Playhouse 90,” from Ed Sullivan to
“Your Hit Parade”, we were transfixed.
Harry Owens and His Royal Hawaiians?. We watched it. Spike Jones?.
Absolutely. “I’ve Got a Secret” and “What’s My Line?” We were there.
Sports? I was in heaven. There was major league baseball, never seen
before in these parts. College and professional football, and, for
comic relief, roller derby and wrestling. The Gillette Cavalcade of
Sports, a fancy name for boxing, was a Friday night tradition.
Even then, the staples were doctors (“Dr. Kildare,” “Ben Casey”),
lawyers (“Perry Mason,” “The Defenders”) and cops (“Dragnet,” “Naked
City”).
American Idol? We had “Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts” which was the
same show without the voting. We weren’t very interactive in those
days.
Reality shows? We had the mother of them all: “Candid Camera.”
I thought about all this the other day when I read the latest data on
American viewing habits as measured by the Nielsen Company, which has
been mapping the vast wasteland for more than a half century.
How much, I wondered, have things really changed since the 1950s?
Oh sure, we watch our shows on whiz-bang high def technical marvels
that gobble up wall space while doubling our utility bill.
And TV’s portrayal of America no longer consists of suburb dwelling
white people whose families are headed by kindly all-knowing fathers
with unlimited amounts of good advice and disposable income.
But some things remain the same. The Nielsen folks found that our
addiction to TV remains just as strong as it was in the early days.
In fact, Americans watched more television than ever in 2010. Total
viewing of broadcast networks and basic cable channels rose about 1
percent for the year, to an average of 34 hours per person per week.
Interestingly enough, Nielsen said that the most popular new offering
on television this year was “Hawaii Five-O,”) a remake of a
40-year-old cop show. Homicides and hulas, it seems, never get old.
Over the years, TV has seen more evolution than innovation.
Drama was a staple of early television. But whereas early offerings
were basically theatrical productions staged in a TV studio, today’s
presentations have broken old structural and narrative rules by
becoming serialized.
It isn’t “Death of a Salesman” but it isn’t bad.
Reality TV, born of economic necessity, evolved from simple game
shows to today’s endless parade of mind numbing silliness that has a
lock on prime time while filling the ranks of valet parking
attendants and waiters with unemployed actors.
As the New York Times reported recently, “Historians may someday note
with wonder that by the end of 2010, at least six cable television
shows were about auctioneers and pawnbrokers. And all were considered
successes by their respective channels.”
By far the biggest change in the television landscape is sports.
While it began as a weekend diversion (early TV execs believed
weekday viewers were mostly women so they began broadcasting sports
on weekends to attract male viewers), it has grown to a billion
dollar monster that dominates the landscape.
There’s not a minute in the day when there isn’t a sporting event
being broadcast. And the viewers lap it up.
Of the top 10 most viewed programs in 2010 as measured by Nielsen, 8
were football games. Even the best-liked commercial was a Snickers
spot featuring Betty White being tackled in a football game.
Who would have predicted it?
In the future, we may be getting our television broadcasts fed over
the Internet. And probably in 3-D.
But I’m betting there will still large helpings of sports and reality
shows. And lots of cops, lawyers and doctors.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Fat of the Land
The month of January is largely characterized by the shocking
realization that our caloric intake over the holidays approximated
that of Sherpas ascending Mt. Everest.
And just to reinforce that notion, most TV commercials this month
will be hawking diet plans, gym memberships or weight loss surgery.
Shamed into submission, we vow to shape up. Assuming we listen to our
inner skinny person, we should all look like citizens of Sparta by
the time spring rolls around.
But there’s trouble up ahead. You can bet your broccoli floweret that
the fast food industry will attempt to lure us back into bad habits.
Indeed, just in time for the diet season, Burger King is offering the
Ultimate Breakfast Platter. That would be scrambled eggs, hash
browns, sausage, a flaky biscuit and three pancakes with syrup. If
you’re counting, it’s 1,310 calories and 72 grams of fat.
Not to be outdone, Dunkin' Donuts is launching Pancake Bites, with
bite-sized sausage links wrapped in a maple-flavored pancake.
Burger King counters with Funnel Cake Sticks, covered in powdered
sugar with a cup of icing sauce for dipping.
Jack in the Box has the breakfast pita pocket stuffed with scrambled
eggs, sliced ham, bacon, and melted American cheese. According to one
report, the breakfast pita has 438 milligrams of Cholesterol. That’s
146% of the USDA recommended daily amount.
That’s a great breakfast if you’re going to plow the back 40. If you
work at a desk, you’re in trouble.
There’s no letup for lunch or dinner.
Papa John’s is presenting a “gourmet” double bacon pizza with six
kinds of cheese.
KFC’s double down sandwich features two thick boneless Kentucky Fried
Chicken filets, two pieces of bacon, two melted slices of Monterey
Jack and pepper jack cheese and the Colonel's Sauce whatever that is.
That checks in at 1430 milligrams of sodium, just about your average
daily allowance.
The heavyweight champ is the Burger King pizza burger featuring four
quarter-pound Whopper patties on top of a nine-and-a-half inch sesame
seed bun. The burgers are then covered in pepperoni, mozzarella
cheese, marinara and Tuscan pesto sauce. Figure on consuming 2520
calories, and 144 grams of fat when you push away from the table
assuming you can.
If that isn’t bad enough, a new study shows that
toxicperfluoroalkyls, which are used in surface protection treatments
and coatings to keep grease from leaking through fast food wrappers,
are being ingested by people through their food and showing up as
contaminants in blood.
That’s right, the wrapper could make you ill.
The above is not an attempt to whet your appetite. Instead, it’s a
declaration of war.
As we did with tobacco, it’s time we do battle with an industry that
makes us ill.
You can argue that as an American, it’s your God-given right to pack
on the pounds. But consider this: As your waistline expands, so do my
health care costs.
More than half of Americans will have diabetes or be prediabetic by
2020 at a cost to the U.S. health care system of $3.35 trillion if
current trends go on unabated, according to analysis of a report
released by health insurer UnitedHealth Group Inc.
There’s good news from the front. A state law which went into effect
Jan. 1 requires that calorie counts have to be included on the menus
of restaurants with 20 or more locations in the state.
The state law will be superseded my federal regulations this spring
which will cover more restaurant chains and more items, including
alcoholic beverages.
That’s a start. But we need to start putting warning labels on fast
food, just as we did with cigarettes.
And, just as we restricted where and when people could smoke, we need
to restrict the number of fast-food outlets in this country. There
are nearly 14,000 McDonald’s in the U.S. and nearly 32,500 worldwide.
By comparison, there are 5,759 hospitals in the U.S.
Just something to chew on next time you order.
realization that our caloric intake over the holidays approximated
that of Sherpas ascending Mt. Everest.
And just to reinforce that notion, most TV commercials this month
will be hawking diet plans, gym memberships or weight loss surgery.
Shamed into submission, we vow to shape up. Assuming we listen to our
inner skinny person, we should all look like citizens of Sparta by
the time spring rolls around.
But there’s trouble up ahead. You can bet your broccoli floweret that
the fast food industry will attempt to lure us back into bad habits.
Indeed, just in time for the diet season, Burger King is offering the
Ultimate Breakfast Platter. That would be scrambled eggs, hash
browns, sausage, a flaky biscuit and three pancakes with syrup. If
you’re counting, it’s 1,310 calories and 72 grams of fat.
Not to be outdone, Dunkin' Donuts is launching Pancake Bites, with
bite-sized sausage links wrapped in a maple-flavored pancake.
Burger King counters with Funnel Cake Sticks, covered in powdered
sugar with a cup of icing sauce for dipping.
Jack in the Box has the breakfast pita pocket stuffed with scrambled
eggs, sliced ham, bacon, and melted American cheese. According to one
report, the breakfast pita has 438 milligrams of Cholesterol. That’s
146% of the USDA recommended daily amount.
That’s a great breakfast if you’re going to plow the back 40. If you
work at a desk, you’re in trouble.
There’s no letup for lunch or dinner.
Papa John’s is presenting a “gourmet” double bacon pizza with six
kinds of cheese.
KFC’s double down sandwich features two thick boneless Kentucky Fried
Chicken filets, two pieces of bacon, two melted slices of Monterey
Jack and pepper jack cheese and the Colonel's Sauce whatever that is.
That checks in at 1430 milligrams of sodium, just about your average
daily allowance.
The heavyweight champ is the Burger King pizza burger featuring four
quarter-pound Whopper patties on top of a nine-and-a-half inch sesame
seed bun. The burgers are then covered in pepperoni, mozzarella
cheese, marinara and Tuscan pesto sauce. Figure on consuming 2520
calories, and 144 grams of fat when you push away from the table
assuming you can.
If that isn’t bad enough, a new study shows that
toxicperfluoroalkyls, which are used in surface protection treatments
and coatings to keep grease from leaking through fast food wrappers,
are being ingested by people through their food and showing up as
contaminants in blood.
That’s right, the wrapper could make you ill.
The above is not an attempt to whet your appetite. Instead, it’s a
declaration of war.
As we did with tobacco, it’s time we do battle with an industry that
makes us ill.
You can argue that as an American, it’s your God-given right to pack
on the pounds. But consider this: As your waistline expands, so do my
health care costs.
More than half of Americans will have diabetes or be prediabetic by
2020 at a cost to the U.S. health care system of $3.35 trillion if
current trends go on unabated, according to analysis of a report
released by health insurer UnitedHealth Group Inc.
There’s good news from the front. A state law which went into effect
Jan. 1 requires that calorie counts have to be included on the menus
of restaurants with 20 or more locations in the state.
The state law will be superseded my federal regulations this spring
which will cover more restaurant chains and more items, including
alcoholic beverages.
That’s a start. But we need to start putting warning labels on fast
food, just as we did with cigarettes.
And, just as we restricted where and when people could smoke, we need
to restrict the number of fast-food outlets in this country. There
are nearly 14,000 McDonald’s in the U.S. and nearly 32,500 worldwide.
By comparison, there are 5,759 hospitals in the U.S.
Just something to chew on next time you order.
Monday, December 27, 2010
They Made a Difference
We make it a point to try to look forward, not back, at year’s end.
We all know too well what transpired in the last 12 months. What’s
going to happen next is news.
Unfortunately, that puts us in the prediction business, which is
often a slippery slope. As Casey Stengal once said, “"Never make
predictions, especially about the future.”
So rather than put ourselves in the company of people who plan the
future --- or the lack of same --- using the Mayan calendar, we’ll
take this opportunity to simply salute some of those who passed from
the scene in 2010.
It’s a highly personal list containing some who were famous, others
who lived in anonymity. To all of them, we wish a fond farewell.
Lena Horne: A true American icon, she was not only a great singer but
a tireless advocate for civil rights. She was the first black
performer ever to sign a long-term contract with a major studio but
never got a leading role because at the time movies had to be
re-edited before they could play in states where theaters could not
show films with black actors.
John Shepherd-Baron: The next time you use a ATM, thank Mr.
Shepherd-Barron. He came up with the idea while soaking in the
bathtub in the early 1960's. The first ATM was installed in Barlclays
Bank north of London.
John Wooden: Perhaps the greatest coach in the history of collegiate
sports, he was much more than that. While winning 10 Division I NCAA
basketball championships at UCLA in 12 years and 88 straight
victories, he inspired his players to pursue success in life as well
as on the basketball court.
Fred Morrison: Fred became rich by giving the world the Frisbee, the
flying disk that was a favorite of adults, children and dogs
throughout the world.
Don Meredith: A star quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, he was a
part of the original broadcasting team that brought us, for better or
worse, Monday Night Football. He was folksy and light hearted, a
refreshing change from the fawning hero-worship school of
broadcasting. He was also the perfect foil for Howard Cossell, who
called game as though he was doing a reading of “MacBeth.”
Robert Culp: Just because “I Spy” with co-star Bill Cosby was great
television.
Peter Graves: Just because “Mission:Impossible” was great television.
Darryl Gates: The most revered and detested chief in LAPD history. He
instituted the SWAT team and the DARE anti-drug program, but failed
to keep pace with a city that underwent dramatic changes.
Art Clokey: A pioneer in the popularization of stop motion clay
animation, he invented Gumby.
Vernon Baker: Received the United States military's highest
decoration, the Medal of Honor, for his actions in World War II. He
was awarded the medal for his actions near Viareggio, Italy, when he
and his platoon killed 26 enemy soldiers and destroyed six machine
gun nests, two observer posts and four dugouts. But because he was
black, he waited until 1997 to receive his honor which was presented
to him by President Clinton.
Leslie Nielsen: Surely he can’t be gone. He is, and don’t called him
Shirley.
Merlin Olson: The Los Angeles Rams star brought class to the highly
unclassy position of defensive tackle.
Prince Chunk: A a domestic shorthair cat, who at one time was alleged
to weigh forty-four pounds.
Otto: A male dachshund-terrier cross who at 20 years and 8 months,
held the Guinness World Record as the world's oldest dog.
Donald Edward Goerke: An American business executive and food
developer, he invented SpaghettiOs.
David Wolper: The television and film producer was responsible for
such as “Roots”, “The Thorn Birds,” “North & South”, “L.A.
Confidential” and “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.” But perhaps
his most spectacular production was the opening and closing
ceremonies of the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984.
J.D. Salinger: Reclusive and enigmatic, he wrote “The Catcher in the
Rye,” in 1951, the ultimate tale of adolescent angst and loss if
innocence, which still sells 250,000 copies a year.
William "Bill" Otto Binder: He ran the landmark Phillipe’s restaurant
in downtown Los Angeles for decades. When the original eatery was
forced out of their Aliso Street location by the construction of the
101 Freeway, Binder moved it to its Alameda Street address location
and kept it successful.
Blake Edwards. The producer and director brought us the “Pink
Panther,” “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and “Days of Wine and Roses.”
Paul Conrad: The Los Angeles Times political cartoonist won three
Pulitzer Prizes. More important, he was a friend.
We all know too well what transpired in the last 12 months. What’s
going to happen next is news.
Unfortunately, that puts us in the prediction business, which is
often a slippery slope. As Casey Stengal once said, “"Never make
predictions, especially about the future.”
So rather than put ourselves in the company of people who plan the
future --- or the lack of same --- using the Mayan calendar, we’ll
take this opportunity to simply salute some of those who passed from
the scene in 2010.
It’s a highly personal list containing some who were famous, others
who lived in anonymity. To all of them, we wish a fond farewell.
Lena Horne: A true American icon, she was not only a great singer but
a tireless advocate for civil rights. She was the first black
performer ever to sign a long-term contract with a major studio but
never got a leading role because at the time movies had to be
re-edited before they could play in states where theaters could not
show films with black actors.
John Shepherd-Baron: The next time you use a ATM, thank Mr.
Shepherd-Barron. He came up with the idea while soaking in the
bathtub in the early 1960's. The first ATM was installed in Barlclays
Bank north of London.
John Wooden: Perhaps the greatest coach in the history of collegiate
sports, he was much more than that. While winning 10 Division I NCAA
basketball championships at UCLA in 12 years and 88 straight
victories, he inspired his players to pursue success in life as well
as on the basketball court.
Fred Morrison: Fred became rich by giving the world the Frisbee, the
flying disk that was a favorite of adults, children and dogs
throughout the world.
Don Meredith: A star quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, he was a
part of the original broadcasting team that brought us, for better or
worse, Monday Night Football. He was folksy and light hearted, a
refreshing change from the fawning hero-worship school of
broadcasting. He was also the perfect foil for Howard Cossell, who
called game as though he was doing a reading of “MacBeth.”
Robert Culp: Just because “I Spy” with co-star Bill Cosby was great
television.
Peter Graves: Just because “Mission:Impossible” was great television.
Darryl Gates: The most revered and detested chief in LAPD history. He
instituted the SWAT team and the DARE anti-drug program, but failed
to keep pace with a city that underwent dramatic changes.
Art Clokey: A pioneer in the popularization of stop motion clay
animation, he invented Gumby.
Vernon Baker: Received the United States military's highest
decoration, the Medal of Honor, for his actions in World War II. He
was awarded the medal for his actions near Viareggio, Italy, when he
and his platoon killed 26 enemy soldiers and destroyed six machine
gun nests, two observer posts and four dugouts. But because he was
black, he waited until 1997 to receive his honor which was presented
to him by President Clinton.
Leslie Nielsen: Surely he can’t be gone. He is, and don’t called him
Shirley.
Merlin Olson: The Los Angeles Rams star brought class to the highly
unclassy position of defensive tackle.
Prince Chunk: A a domestic shorthair cat, who at one time was alleged
to weigh forty-four pounds.
Otto: A male dachshund-terrier cross who at 20 years and 8 months,
held the Guinness World Record as the world's oldest dog.
Donald Edward Goerke: An American business executive and food
developer, he invented SpaghettiOs.
David Wolper: The television and film producer was responsible for
such as “Roots”, “The Thorn Birds,” “North & South”, “L.A.
Confidential” and “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.” But perhaps
his most spectacular production was the opening and closing
ceremonies of the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984.
J.D. Salinger: Reclusive and enigmatic, he wrote “The Catcher in the
Rye,” in 1951, the ultimate tale of adolescent angst and loss if
innocence, which still sells 250,000 copies a year.
William "Bill" Otto Binder: He ran the landmark Phillipe’s restaurant
in downtown Los Angeles for decades. When the original eatery was
forced out of their Aliso Street location by the construction of the
101 Freeway, Binder moved it to its Alameda Street address location
and kept it successful.
Blake Edwards. The producer and director brought us the “Pink
Panther,” “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and “Days of Wine and Roses.”
Paul Conrad: The Los Angeles Times political cartoonist won three
Pulitzer Prizes. More important, he was a friend.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Errorgance
Here comes another one of those year-end wrapup stories.
Let’s face it, this column knows no shame when it comes to blindly
following the crowd.
With one exception. Instead of collecting a list of newsworthy events
and people --- what more is there to say about Lindsey Lohan, Tiger
Woods, speeding Toyotas, full body scanners and berserk Jet Blue
flight attendants --- we choose another way to mark the end of the
year.
As we have done in past years, we salute the best media corrections
on which we bestow the coveted Mea Culpa awards.
We’re not making of fun the profession. Even though the industry is
perceived as circling the drain, there are a lot of hard-working
folks out there who produce the “daily miracle” and take great pride
in doing so.
Despite the fact that we strive of perfection, we come up short from
time to time. And sometimes the results amuse.
Here, then, is a sampling of the corrections that made us smile, if
not groan. They have been collected from the Internet, from
contributors and from a website called Regret the Error.
Do They Look Alike?: Last week’s column mistakenly misidentified a
source. The European Commission president is Romano Prodi, not Buffy
the Vampire Slayer. The Prague Post.
Fashion Note: Because of a reporting error, Dr. Arleigh Dygert
Richardson III, former teacher at Lawrence Academy in Groton, was
described in his obituary yesterday as favoring tacky pants with
tweed jackets and Oxford shirts. Dr. Richardson favored khaki pants.
The Boston Globe.
...And all Brits Are Druids Who Eat Blood Sausage: In an article on
February 3, we implied two thirds of Haitians drank goats’ blood
while practicing voodoo. We are happy to make clear this is not the
case. The Sun, United Kingdom.
Just Forget It: A story on Page 1 of Tuesday’s Telegraph quoted a
White House official explaining that a Q-and-A session with dozens of
teenagers in Nashua High School North on Monday was “off the record.”
However, the explanation about the talk being “off the record” was,
it turns out, also “off the record” and should not have been quoted.
Nashua Telegraph.
Just Forget It, Part II: At the very beginning of the process of
explaining what it all means, we incorrectly stated that today was
Tuesday. Today is Wednesday. We regret the error. Source unknown.
Star Crossed: Lilith’s astrology column for the week starting March 6
was wrongly published last weekend. We are republishing it today. The
Herald apologizes for any sense of deja vu readers experience this
week. Sydney Morning Herald.
Issues and Answers: Townsville City Council chief executive Ray
Burton was quoted in Saturday's edition saying the role of a new
strategic policy advisor had been created "to deal with some of the
issues your paper (the Townsville Bulletin) has created". This was
wrong. Mr. Burton said the position had been created "to deal with
some of the issues your paper (the Townsville Bulletin) has drawn to
our attention''. Townsville Bulletin, Australia.
Blue Bell: In the Oct. 13 Section A, a profile of Lorenzo Velez, the
only Bell City Council member not charged with a crime, described
Bell as "a city dominated by blue-color Mexican immigrants like
himself." It should have said "blue-collar." Los Angeles Times.
It’s All About Me: Reporter Amanda Hess, in a story published Monday,
acknowledges she wrongly wrote that "one in three black men who have
sex with me is HIV positive.” In fact, the statistic applies to black
men “who have sex with men.” Washington Citypaper.
Sole Man: A Tuesday Morning Quarterback story on ESPN.com indicated
that New England Patriots coach Bill Belichick did not wear anything
pink in observance of Breast Cancer Awareness Month during Monday
night's game against Miami. In fact, the soles of Belichick's shoes
were pink. ESPN.Com.
Bat Man: A June 22 article about G8 security measures in Huntsville
incorrectly said that resident Steve Groomes has a gun at the ready
should protestors get by the army of police and soldiers scouring the
brushes. In fact, what Groomes said in a jovial way was that “I’ve
got an Easton 32 in the house.” The Easton 32 is a baseball bat not a
gun. The Star.
Big Difference: I am sorry to disappoint all the readers who wished
to apply for the position, but New Orleans does not employ a “sex
assessor.” That was a misprint in Wednesday’s column. It should have
read “tax assessor.” New Orleans Times Picayune.
Location, Location, Location: The following corrects errors in the
July 17 geographical agent and broker listing: Aberdeen is in
Scotland, not Saudi Arabia; Antwerp is in Belgium, not Barbados;
Belfast is in Northern Ireland, not Nigeria; Cardiff is in Wales, not
Vietnam; Helsinki is in Finland, not Fiji; Moscow is in Russia, not
Qatar. Business Insurance magazine
Let’s face it, this column knows no shame when it comes to blindly
following the crowd.
With one exception. Instead of collecting a list of newsworthy events
and people --- what more is there to say about Lindsey Lohan, Tiger
Woods, speeding Toyotas, full body scanners and berserk Jet Blue
flight attendants --- we choose another way to mark the end of the
year.
As we have done in past years, we salute the best media corrections
on which we bestow the coveted Mea Culpa awards.
We’re not making of fun the profession. Even though the industry is
perceived as circling the drain, there are a lot of hard-working
folks out there who produce the “daily miracle” and take great pride
in doing so.
Despite the fact that we strive of perfection, we come up short from
time to time. And sometimes the results amuse.
Here, then, is a sampling of the corrections that made us smile, if
not groan. They have been collected from the Internet, from
contributors and from a website called Regret the Error.
Do They Look Alike?: Last week’s column mistakenly misidentified a
source. The European Commission president is Romano Prodi, not Buffy
the Vampire Slayer. The Prague Post.
Fashion Note: Because of a reporting error, Dr. Arleigh Dygert
Richardson III, former teacher at Lawrence Academy in Groton, was
described in his obituary yesterday as favoring tacky pants with
tweed jackets and Oxford shirts. Dr. Richardson favored khaki pants.
The Boston Globe.
...And all Brits Are Druids Who Eat Blood Sausage: In an article on
February 3, we implied two thirds of Haitians drank goats’ blood
while practicing voodoo. We are happy to make clear this is not the
case. The Sun, United Kingdom.
Just Forget It: A story on Page 1 of Tuesday’s Telegraph quoted a
White House official explaining that a Q-and-A session with dozens of
teenagers in Nashua High School North on Monday was “off the record.”
However, the explanation about the talk being “off the record” was,
it turns out, also “off the record” and should not have been quoted.
Nashua Telegraph.
Just Forget It, Part II: At the very beginning of the process of
explaining what it all means, we incorrectly stated that today was
Tuesday. Today is Wednesday. We regret the error. Source unknown.
Star Crossed: Lilith’s astrology column for the week starting March 6
was wrongly published last weekend. We are republishing it today. The
Herald apologizes for any sense of deja vu readers experience this
week. Sydney Morning Herald.
Issues and Answers: Townsville City Council chief executive Ray
Burton was quoted in Saturday's edition saying the role of a new
strategic policy advisor had been created "to deal with some of the
issues your paper (the Townsville Bulletin) has created". This was
wrong. Mr. Burton said the position had been created "to deal with
some of the issues your paper (the Townsville Bulletin) has drawn to
our attention''. Townsville Bulletin, Australia.
Blue Bell: In the Oct. 13 Section A, a profile of Lorenzo Velez, the
only Bell City Council member not charged with a crime, described
Bell as "a city dominated by blue-color Mexican immigrants like
himself." It should have said "blue-collar." Los Angeles Times.
It’s All About Me: Reporter Amanda Hess, in a story published Monday,
acknowledges she wrongly wrote that "one in three black men who have
sex with me is HIV positive.” In fact, the statistic applies to black
men “who have sex with men.” Washington Citypaper.
Sole Man: A Tuesday Morning Quarterback story on ESPN.com indicated
that New England Patriots coach Bill Belichick did not wear anything
pink in observance of Breast Cancer Awareness Month during Monday
night's game against Miami. In fact, the soles of Belichick's shoes
were pink. ESPN.Com.
Bat Man: A June 22 article about G8 security measures in Huntsville
incorrectly said that resident Steve Groomes has a gun at the ready
should protestors get by the army of police and soldiers scouring the
brushes. In fact, what Groomes said in a jovial way was that “I’ve
got an Easton 32 in the house.” The Easton 32 is a baseball bat not a
gun. The Star.
Big Difference: I am sorry to disappoint all the readers who wished
to apply for the position, but New Orleans does not employ a “sex
assessor.” That was a misprint in Wednesday’s column. It should have
read “tax assessor.” New Orleans Times Picayune.
Location, Location, Location: The following corrects errors in the
July 17 geographical agent and broker listing: Aberdeen is in
Scotland, not Saudi Arabia; Antwerp is in Belgium, not Barbados;
Belfast is in Northern Ireland, not Nigeria; Cardiff is in Wales, not
Vietnam; Helsinki is in Finland, not Fiji; Moscow is in Russia, not
Qatar. Business Insurance magazine
Monday, December 13, 2010
A Royal Pain
I was in elementary school in 1953 when on a fine June day we were summoned from the playground and marched into the auditorium to gaze at a 21-inch Philco on the stage and watch the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II.
To a group of ragtag schoolkids, kings and queens, coronations and royal trappings was the stuff of fairy tales, no more real to us than gnomes and dragons.
But there it was, in stark black and white, brought to us courtesy of a new technology called television.
It was, as they say these days, a teachable moment. It was also our unwitting indoctrination into the cult of royal family worship that thrives to this day.
Witness the unbridled hysteria surrounding the recently announced nuptials between Prince William and Kate Middleton. The dashing prince is, of course, the son of Prince Charles and the late Lady Di who alive and deceased received more attention than the entire royal family and Elvis rolled into one.
The bride-to-be is a commoner, which seems a strange designation in an era when the monarchy is becoming irrelevant. But she is hardly the dust bin variety. She is educated, poised, stylish and tenacious, having hung around for eight years before getting a ring.
So good for them. They make a handsome couple and we wish them well. But you and I know the story will not end there.
The avalanche of coverage began with the wedding announcement that on many TV stations was the lead story, bumping into a secondary position the awarding of the Medal of Honor to the first living soldier since Vietnam.
The media is already speculating that the ceremony will be broadcast in 3-D courtesy of Rupert Murdoch. Think of it as a wedding, "Avatar" style.
The British tabloids are in a feeding frenzy. Social networking sites, Web pages, bloggers and cable news pundits will provide all-wedding, all-the-time coverage for the next six months. Don't be surprised if there's a William & Kate iPhone app soon.
We love the Brits, we really do, despite the Boston Massacre, the burning of the Capitol and Herman's Hermits. But do we really care that much?
Linda Waite, a professor of sociology at the University of Chicago, sees Kate and William as a compelling biological match. "They're slim, they're fit, they're tall, they have gorgeous shiny hair, all the things that connote health," she told the New York Times. "We're watching this prime couple socially and biologically do this mating ritual, which is satisfying and exciting. It feels good."
Which seems a bit clinical.
What really grabs us is a fairy tale in which the beautiful couple and their happy subjects live happily ever after. Unfortunately, the last fairy tale involving Prince Charles and Lady Di ended in divorce and death, which will not be lost on many who watch.
At the risk of sounding cynical and unromantic, the real driving force behind all the hoopla is money. Estimates for the ceremony's price tag range wildly - from around $20 million to $75 million.
William's father, Prince Charles, is expected to pick up most of the check for the wedding, including a possible donation from the queen. Security costs, which have been estimated well into the millions, will be paid by police and government agencies.
This at a time when the people of Great Britain are facing tax increases and austerity cuts that will whittle at benefits and slash half a million public-sector jobs. Even Queen Elizabeth II's budget got squeezed.
But the wedding will be a stimulus package for the British tourism industry. That is, after all, one of the main economic arguments in favor of maintaining the monarchy: It is a steady draw for tourists who visit the British capital to see the Windsors in their pomp.
According to the BBC, restaurateurs and hoteliers can now look forward to a two-year bulge in tourism numbers, with the 2011 wedding to be followed by the 2012 Olympics. Some economists think a feel-good event could help lift broader consumer spending out of the doldrums.
Then there is the merchandising. A reporter for the Guardian's blog said that she "just spoke to a woman from Asda," Wal-Mart's British arm, "who confirmed the supermarket is planning to flog as much memorabilia as possible, `because we all love a royal wedding, don't we?"'
To a group of ragtag schoolkids, kings and queens, coronations and royal trappings was the stuff of fairy tales, no more real to us than gnomes and dragons.
But there it was, in stark black and white, brought to us courtesy of a new technology called television.
It was, as they say these days, a teachable moment. It was also our unwitting indoctrination into the cult of royal family worship that thrives to this day.
Witness the unbridled hysteria surrounding the recently announced nuptials between Prince William and Kate Middleton. The dashing prince is, of course, the son of Prince Charles and the late Lady Di who alive and deceased received more attention than the entire royal family and Elvis rolled into one.
The bride-to-be is a commoner, which seems a strange designation in an era when the monarchy is becoming irrelevant. But she is hardly the dust bin variety. She is educated, poised, stylish and tenacious, having hung around for eight years before getting a ring.
So good for them. They make a handsome couple and we wish them well. But you and I know the story will not end there.
The avalanche of coverage began with the wedding announcement that on many TV stations was the lead story, bumping into a secondary position the awarding of the Medal of Honor to the first living soldier since Vietnam.
The media is already speculating that the ceremony will be broadcast in 3-D courtesy of Rupert Murdoch. Think of it as a wedding, "Avatar" style.
The British tabloids are in a feeding frenzy. Social networking sites, Web pages, bloggers and cable news pundits will provide all-wedding, all-the-time coverage for the next six months. Don't be surprised if there's a William & Kate iPhone app soon.
We love the Brits, we really do, despite the Boston Massacre, the burning of the Capitol and Herman's Hermits. But do we really care that much?
Linda Waite, a professor of sociology at the University of Chicago, sees Kate and William as a compelling biological match. "They're slim, they're fit, they're tall, they have gorgeous shiny hair, all the things that connote health," she told the New York Times. "We're watching this prime couple socially and biologically do this mating ritual, which is satisfying and exciting. It feels good."
Which seems a bit clinical.
What really grabs us is a fairy tale in which the beautiful couple and their happy subjects live happily ever after. Unfortunately, the last fairy tale involving Prince Charles and Lady Di ended in divorce and death, which will not be lost on many who watch.
At the risk of sounding cynical and unromantic, the real driving force behind all the hoopla is money. Estimates for the ceremony's price tag range wildly - from around $20 million to $75 million.
William's father, Prince Charles, is expected to pick up most of the check for the wedding, including a possible donation from the queen. Security costs, which have been estimated well into the millions, will be paid by police and government agencies.
This at a time when the people of Great Britain are facing tax increases and austerity cuts that will whittle at benefits and slash half a million public-sector jobs. Even Queen Elizabeth II's budget got squeezed.
But the wedding will be a stimulus package for the British tourism industry. That is, after all, one of the main economic arguments in favor of maintaining the monarchy: It is a steady draw for tourists who visit the British capital to see the Windsors in their pomp.
According to the BBC, restaurateurs and hoteliers can now look forward to a two-year bulge in tourism numbers, with the 2011 wedding to be followed by the 2012 Olympics. Some economists think a feel-good event could help lift broader consumer spending out of the doldrums.
Then there is the merchandising. A reporter for the Guardian's blog said that she "just spoke to a woman from Asda," Wal-Mart's British arm, "who confirmed the supermarket is planning to flog as much memorabilia as possible, `because we all love a royal wedding, don't we?"'
The Sap Is Running
I wonder if I could have been a writer of Christmas specials?
Probably not. I don’t have a high enough sap content.
After all, sappiness seems to be a staple of holiday fare. We can
thank Charles Dickens for that. He set the standard for mawkishness
in “A Christmas Carol” that resonates to this day.
Some do sap better than others. “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life” are lump in the throat, tear in the eye tales that are classics of the genre.
Sentimental? Sure. Socko, life-affirming happy endings? You bet.
Contrast them with the parade of offerings each year that shames even
a mediocre medium like television.
It’s the Dickens formula, 21 Century style. Take a tragic figure, mix
in the prospect for a cold and bleak holiday preferably involving
doe-eyed children, add a dash of morality and stir vigorously. Top
with a last-minute Christmas Miracle and pass out the handkerchiefs.
But it’s Dickens as imagined by a room full of monkeys banging on
typewriters.
Take, for instance, “Debbie Macomber's Call Me Mrs.
Miracle.” This Christmas, Emily Merkle (call her Mrs. Miracle!) is
working in the toy department at Finley's, the last family-owned
department store in New York City. And her boss is none other than
Jake Finley, the owner's son.
For Jake, holiday memories of brightly wrapped gifts, decorated trees
and family were destroyed in a Christmas Eve tragedy years before.
Now Christmas means just one thing to him—and to his father. Profit.
Because they need a Christmas miracle to keep the business afloat.
Holly Larson needs a miracle, too. She wants to give her
eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, the holiday he deserves. Holly's widowed
brother is in the army and won't be home for Christmas, but at least
she can get Gabe that toy robot from Finley's, the one gift he
desperately wants. If she can figure out how to afford it.
Fortunately, it's Mrs. Miracle to the rescue. Next to making children
happy, she likes nothing better than helping others—and that includes
doing a bit of matchmaking.
Sounds to me like Mrs. Miracle is a bit of a nosy busybody.
Or consider“Farewell, Mr. Kringle” (not to be confused with “Goodby,
Mr. Chips.”) Annabelle (Christine Taylor), a widowed journalist,
accepts an assignment on Kris Kringle, a Santa Claus impersonator who
lives in a small,Christmas-themed town. To her surprise, Anna is
enchanted by Kris and the townspeople who love him. As her
involvement with the town grows, Anna is able to put the past behind
her and open herself up to love again.
The biggest problem with this story is that any self-respecting
journalist assigned to do a story on a Santa Claus impersonator would
quickly resign and flee into the night.
As silly and schmaltzy as these storylines may be, they read like
“Gone With the Wind” compared to a TV offering entitled “Holiday in
Handcuffs.”
In it, Trudie is an aspiring painter working as a restaurant
waitress. With the pressure to please her parents building, a job
interview that goes poorly and getting dumped by her boyfriend, she
has a nervous breakdown.
Stressed about going home for the holidays, she kidnaps David, a
random restaurant customer at the restaurant in which she works and
introduces him to her parents as her boyfriend. Trudie's family is
vacationing at a isolated house so David is unable to escape. He
finally decides to play along until the police come, but he
ultimately falls in love with Trudie.
But this Christmas holiday comes to an abrupt end when her brother
announces that he is gay and her sister says that she has quit law
school and with the tuition her dad has been sending her bought a
pilates studio. Then the police show up and arrest the family during
dinner.
Later, Trudie is invited to show her art at a local gallery and is
stunned to see one of her pieces is sold during the show. As she is
leaving the show, she is kidnapped and taken to a nearby building.
Her kidnapper turns out to be David. He tells her he bought this
building and is making it into an architecture/art studio. He decided
to turn his life around and do something he really
loves...architecture.
He also wanted an art studio and shows her his
first art piece he just purchased, and it turns out to be hers.
David admits his love for Trudie and Trudie admits her feelings
towards him as well. They share a kiss as the credits start to roll.
But it’s not the worst holiday special ever made.
That distinction goes to cable network VH1 which some years ago
contracted zany hard rocker and weapon nut Ted Nugent to help create a
“reality” Christmas special.
Nugent responded with a special that features him bowhunting, and
then making jerky from four calling birds, three French hens, two
turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree.
In the second half of the hour-long special, Nugent heckles a
vegetarian into consuming three strips of dove jerky.
It was never aired.
Probably not. I don’t have a high enough sap content.
After all, sappiness seems to be a staple of holiday fare. We can
thank Charles Dickens for that. He set the standard for mawkishness
in “A Christmas Carol” that resonates to this day.
Some do sap better than others. “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life” are lump in the throat, tear in the eye tales that are classics of the genre.
Sentimental? Sure. Socko, life-affirming happy endings? You bet.
Contrast them with the parade of offerings each year that shames even
a mediocre medium like television.
It’s the Dickens formula, 21 Century style. Take a tragic figure, mix
in the prospect for a cold and bleak holiday preferably involving
doe-eyed children, add a dash of morality and stir vigorously. Top
with a last-minute Christmas Miracle and pass out the handkerchiefs.
But it’s Dickens as imagined by a room full of monkeys banging on
typewriters.
Take, for instance, “Debbie Macomber's Call Me Mrs.
Miracle.” This Christmas, Emily Merkle (call her Mrs. Miracle!) is
working in the toy department at Finley's, the last family-owned
department store in New York City. And her boss is none other than
Jake Finley, the owner's son.
For Jake, holiday memories of brightly wrapped gifts, decorated trees
and family were destroyed in a Christmas Eve tragedy years before.
Now Christmas means just one thing to him—and to his father. Profit.
Because they need a Christmas miracle to keep the business afloat.
Holly Larson needs a miracle, too. She wants to give her
eight-year-old nephew, Gabe, the holiday he deserves. Holly's widowed
brother is in the army and won't be home for Christmas, but at least
she can get Gabe that toy robot from Finley's, the one gift he
desperately wants. If she can figure out how to afford it.
Fortunately, it's Mrs. Miracle to the rescue. Next to making children
happy, she likes nothing better than helping others—and that includes
doing a bit of matchmaking.
Sounds to me like Mrs. Miracle is a bit of a nosy busybody.
Or consider“Farewell, Mr. Kringle” (not to be confused with “Goodby,
Mr. Chips.”) Annabelle (Christine Taylor), a widowed journalist,
accepts an assignment on Kris Kringle, a Santa Claus impersonator who
lives in a small,Christmas-themed town. To her surprise, Anna is
enchanted by Kris and the townspeople who love him. As her
involvement with the town grows, Anna is able to put the past behind
her and open herself up to love again.
The biggest problem with this story is that any self-respecting
journalist assigned to do a story on a Santa Claus impersonator would
quickly resign and flee into the night.
As silly and schmaltzy as these storylines may be, they read like
“Gone With the Wind” compared to a TV offering entitled “Holiday in
Handcuffs.”
In it, Trudie is an aspiring painter working as a restaurant
waitress. With the pressure to please her parents building, a job
interview that goes poorly and getting dumped by her boyfriend, she
has a nervous breakdown.
Stressed about going home for the holidays, she kidnaps David, a
random restaurant customer at the restaurant in which she works and
introduces him to her parents as her boyfriend. Trudie's family is
vacationing at a isolated house so David is unable to escape. He
finally decides to play along until the police come, but he
ultimately falls in love with Trudie.
But this Christmas holiday comes to an abrupt end when her brother
announces that he is gay and her sister says that she has quit law
school and with the tuition her dad has been sending her bought a
pilates studio. Then the police show up and arrest the family during
dinner.
Later, Trudie is invited to show her art at a local gallery and is
stunned to see one of her pieces is sold during the show. As she is
leaving the show, she is kidnapped and taken to a nearby building.
Her kidnapper turns out to be David. He tells her he bought this
building and is making it into an architecture/art studio. He decided
to turn his life around and do something he really
loves...architecture.
He also wanted an art studio and shows her his
first art piece he just purchased, and it turns out to be hers.
David admits his love for Trudie and Trudie admits her feelings
towards him as well. They share a kiss as the credits start to roll.
But it’s not the worst holiday special ever made.
That distinction goes to cable network VH1 which some years ago
contracted zany hard rocker and weapon nut Ted Nugent to help create a
“reality” Christmas special.
Nugent responded with a special that features him bowhunting, and
then making jerky from four calling birds, three French hens, two
turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree.
In the second half of the hour-long special, Nugent heckles a
vegetarian into consuming three strips of dove jerky.
It was never aired.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Ship of Fools
The recent engine fire aboard the cruise ship Carnival Splendor, which left its 4,500 passengers and crew temporarily adrift off the coast of Mexico, rapidly became the most overblown media event in recent memory.
To hear tell, it ranked somewhere between the Titanic and the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald for sheer unmitigated human suffering.
Except that it didn't. Sure, the poor souls had to subsist on Spam and Pop Tarts washed down by free booze while the ship was towed back to port.
And a fire at sea is no trifling matter. But it became quickly apparent the worst result of the incident was inconvenience for the passengers and a public relations disaster for the cruise line.
The most daunting challenge passengers faced was the onslaught of reporters and the morbidly curious who descended on them like seagulls on a garbage scow when they disembarked in San Diego.
One traveler grumbled that he hadn't had a hot cup of coffee in four days. Another had her honeymoon interrupted. This got translated into "Cruise From Hell" in headlinese.
Most of the passenger comments went like this:
"Considering the situation, everyone was pretty well behaved. I think we all made lemonade out of lemons. What are you going to do?"
Carnival said the passengers will be fully refunded, awarded a free future voyage and receive reimbursement for transportation costs back home.
Seems generous enough. But it was a lesson the industry learned the hard way.
In 2006, a passenger revolt forced the Cunard cruise line to offer 2,500 passengers aboard its flagship Queen Mary 2 full refunds after the ship missed three scheduled ports of call. Originally, the company said it was willing to give only 50 percent refunds.
The QM2 brushed the side of the channel as it rounded Florida. The resulting damage caused the captain to reduce the ship's speed for the rest of the voyage. To make up for the lost time, the cruise line announced the ship would not make scheduled stops in Barbados, St. Kitts and Salvador, Brazil.
But irate passengers reportedly demanded full refunds, notified the media and threatened a sit-in and a class action suit. The company relented and said full refunds would be made.
All of the above lends support to my decision to forgo cruising as a recreational outlet.
Look, I'm an adventurous guy. I've traveled to faraway places with strange sounding names. And I know that at any given moment, thousands of cruisers are enjoying themselves bobbing along on the oceans of the world.
To them, I wish bon voyage.
I love my fellow man. But the idea of being cooped up on a massive floating mall/playground/nightclub/disco with thousands of people to experience a week of long lines and orchestrated fun doesn't sound like my idea of a good time.
Visiting a port of call as a member of an invading horde doesn't appeal to me.
Neither does dining at the same place and time every night with the retired couple from Des Moines who regale you with tales of his 30 years in the cement business.
Neither does having your tiny cabin as your only resource if you don't like the entertainment.
Ditto for rogue waves. And a norovirus outbreak. One wag called a cruise ship a "petri dish on the open seas."
Neither does giving my money to an outfit like Royal Caribbean, which last year ferried passengers to a private beach on the island of Haiti for an outing of fun and sun at the same time the residents of that country were digging out of the rubble following a massive earthquake and burying more than 50,000 of their citizens.
That same Royal Caribbean has now given birth to two monsters lyrically named Oasis of the Seas and the Allure of the Seas.
The Oasis displacement - the actual mass of the vessel - is estimated at approximately 100,000 tons, about the same as an American Nimitz class aircraft carrier.
Arthur Frommer, perhaps the best known travel writer in the United States, called the Oasis a symbol for the end of Western civilization. The gargantuan ship is really America for Americans who don't want to travel, he says.
"The sole explanation for a 6,000-passenger ship is that it is able to offer more entertainment and thus cater to more of those people who are unable to entertain themselves, those arrested personalities who rely on constant, massive, outside distractions to ward off depression," he wrote. "I'm talking about people who get fidgety if they have no nearby television set, who never read a maga
To hear tell, it ranked somewhere between the Titanic and the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald for sheer unmitigated human suffering.
Except that it didn't. Sure, the poor souls had to subsist on Spam and Pop Tarts washed down by free booze while the ship was towed back to port.
And a fire at sea is no trifling matter. But it became quickly apparent the worst result of the incident was inconvenience for the passengers and a public relations disaster for the cruise line.
The most daunting challenge passengers faced was the onslaught of reporters and the morbidly curious who descended on them like seagulls on a garbage scow when they disembarked in San Diego.
One traveler grumbled that he hadn't had a hot cup of coffee in four days. Another had her honeymoon interrupted. This got translated into "Cruise From Hell" in headlinese.
Most of the passenger comments went like this:
"Considering the situation, everyone was pretty well behaved. I think we all made lemonade out of lemons. What are you going to do?"
Carnival said the passengers will be fully refunded, awarded a free future voyage and receive reimbursement for transportation costs back home.
Seems generous enough. But it was a lesson the industry learned the hard way.
In 2006, a passenger revolt forced the Cunard cruise line to offer 2,500 passengers aboard its flagship Queen Mary 2 full refunds after the ship missed three scheduled ports of call. Originally, the company said it was willing to give only 50 percent refunds.
The QM2 brushed the side of the channel as it rounded Florida. The resulting damage caused the captain to reduce the ship's speed for the rest of the voyage. To make up for the lost time, the cruise line announced the ship would not make scheduled stops in Barbados, St. Kitts and Salvador, Brazil.
But irate passengers reportedly demanded full refunds, notified the media and threatened a sit-in and a class action suit. The company relented and said full refunds would be made.
All of the above lends support to my decision to forgo cruising as a recreational outlet.
Look, I'm an adventurous guy. I've traveled to faraway places with strange sounding names. And I know that at any given moment, thousands of cruisers are enjoying themselves bobbing along on the oceans of the world.
To them, I wish bon voyage.
I love my fellow man. But the idea of being cooped up on a massive floating mall/playground/nightclub/disco with thousands of people to experience a week of long lines and orchestrated fun doesn't sound like my idea of a good time.
Visiting a port of call as a member of an invading horde doesn't appeal to me.
Neither does dining at the same place and time every night with the retired couple from Des Moines who regale you with tales of his 30 years in the cement business.
Neither does having your tiny cabin as your only resource if you don't like the entertainment.
Ditto for rogue waves. And a norovirus outbreak. One wag called a cruise ship a "petri dish on the open seas."
Neither does giving my money to an outfit like Royal Caribbean, which last year ferried passengers to a private beach on the island of Haiti for an outing of fun and sun at the same time the residents of that country were digging out of the rubble following a massive earthquake and burying more than 50,000 of their citizens.
That same Royal Caribbean has now given birth to two monsters lyrically named Oasis of the Seas and the Allure of the Seas.
The Oasis displacement - the actual mass of the vessel - is estimated at approximately 100,000 tons, about the same as an American Nimitz class aircraft carrier.
Arthur Frommer, perhaps the best known travel writer in the United States, called the Oasis a symbol for the end of Western civilization. The gargantuan ship is really America for Americans who don't want to travel, he says.
"The sole explanation for a 6,000-passenger ship is that it is able to offer more entertainment and thus cater to more of those people who are unable to entertain themselves, those arrested personalities who rely on constant, massive, outside distractions to ward off depression," he wrote. "I'm talking about people who get fidgety if they have no nearby television set, who never read a maga
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Tweed Effect
“As long as I get to count the votes, what are you going to do about
it?” --- William “Boss” Tweed.
Nothing validates the American Democratic experience like election
day. Be you a Tea Bagger or a Trotskyite, it’s your chance to make
your voice heard.
But truth be told, it’s a day that has seen enough snafus, fraud and
dirty tricks to make old Boss Tweed smile in approval. And this year
promises to be no exception.
According to a report by two nationwide voting rights groups, Demos
and Common Cause, administrative complexities or intentional
interference in the registration and voting process can result in
individuals not voting or casting ballots that count, as was the case
for 3 million eligible voters in 2008's presidential election.
In the past, I tended to take this alarmist view with a grain of
salt. The losing party always cries foul, the winners claim the
spoils. But it seems each year things get worse.
Now, Tea Party members have started challenging voter registration
applications and have announced plans to question individual voters
at the polls whom they suspect of being ineligible, according to
published reports.
In response, liberal groups and voting rights advocates claim that
such strategies are scare tactics intended to suppress minority and
poor voters.
That conflict is underscored in the Demos/Common Cause report, which
states that the current political climate is not conducive to an
orderly state of things. Health care reform, the tea party movement,
the party in power watching that power dissipate and the immigration
debate combine to make it a particularly volatile season.
"When the stakes are this high, the rules of the game -- and whether
or not they are enforced -- make all the difference," said Susannah
Goodman, director of election reform for Common Cause and co-author
of the report. "This report shows where we need better rules—and
better referees."
Eligible voters, especially first-time voters, could be asked to
present ID beyond legal requirements, be videotaped, or receive
misinformation about where and when to vote -- all before even
entering a polling place, according to the two groups. Once inside
polls, individuals could have their credentials as eligible voters
challenged by partisans.
According to one report, the ability to widely disseminate
misinformation --by Internet-based phone calls, fraudulent e-mails,
etc. – is growing faster than you can say tweet. One example cited by
Common Cause and Demos was from Ohio's Butler County, where a cyber
attack on the county Web site delayed the reporting of results during
the spring primary. The attack caused the county server to crash.
On a somewhat less Draconian note, a GOP operative in Arizona this
year enlisted homeless people to run for state office on the Green
Party ticket -- possibly in hopes of siphoning votes away from
Democrats.
In Michigan, Democrats are facing ongoing allegations that the 23
candidates filed to run under the tea party line are Democratic
plants. Almost 60,000 of the tea party's signatures were collected by
a political firm with ties to liberal groups, and a Democratic Party
official notarized the paperwork for some of the tea party candidates.
Two years ago, we were witness to a plethora of election day dirty
tricks:
In Virginia, bogus fliers with an authentic-looking commonwealth seal
said fears of high voter turnout had prompted election officials to
hold two elections — one on Tuesday for Republicans and another on
Wednesday for Democrats.
In Milwaukee, fliers went up advising people "if you've already voted
in any election this year, you can't vote in the presidential
election."
Latino voters in Nevada said they had received calls from people
describing themselves as Obama volunteers, urging them to cast their
ballot over the phone.
Also that year, Republican candidates Rudy Guliani, Fred Thompson and
Mitt Romney were targeted in fake Internet sites that featured
"quotes" from the candidates espousing support for extreme positions
they never endorsed.
What’s to be done? Our elected representatives seem reluctant to do
much of anything. While we have laws prohibiting such deceptive
practices, Congress clearly needs to toughen them.
It’s called preventive maintenance. As the stakes get higher, the
temptation to tamper with voter rights gets stronger.
We can ill afford a loss of confidence in the cornerstone of our
democratic process.
We would also be wise to listen to Allen Raymond, who knows
first-hand the pitfalls of voter fraud.
Raymond is a Republican political consultant who spent three months
in federal prison for his role in the 2002 New Hampshire Senate
election phone jamming scandal.
In his book, “How to Rig and Election,” Raymond warns:
“The electioneering tactics I write about it the book will only get
nastier and more brutal, because the tricks of the trade are known,
embellished upon, and passed forward by people like me to more people
like me (or, like the person I had been paid to be). The competition
is growing stiffer and the stakes are rising with every election.
"The only real solution is a savvy, committed electorate.”
it?” --- William “Boss” Tweed.
Nothing validates the American Democratic experience like election
day. Be you a Tea Bagger or a Trotskyite, it’s your chance to make
your voice heard.
But truth be told, it’s a day that has seen enough snafus, fraud and
dirty tricks to make old Boss Tweed smile in approval. And this year
promises to be no exception.
According to a report by two nationwide voting rights groups, Demos
and Common Cause, administrative complexities or intentional
interference in the registration and voting process can result in
individuals not voting or casting ballots that count, as was the case
for 3 million eligible voters in 2008's presidential election.
In the past, I tended to take this alarmist view with a grain of
salt. The losing party always cries foul, the winners claim the
spoils. But it seems each year things get worse.
Now, Tea Party members have started challenging voter registration
applications and have announced plans to question individual voters
at the polls whom they suspect of being ineligible, according to
published reports.
In response, liberal groups and voting rights advocates claim that
such strategies are scare tactics intended to suppress minority and
poor voters.
That conflict is underscored in the Demos/Common Cause report, which
states that the current political climate is not conducive to an
orderly state of things. Health care reform, the tea party movement,
the party in power watching that power dissipate and the immigration
debate combine to make it a particularly volatile season.
"When the stakes are this high, the rules of the game -- and whether
or not they are enforced -- make all the difference," said Susannah
Goodman, director of election reform for Common Cause and co-author
of the report. "This report shows where we need better rules—and
better referees."
Eligible voters, especially first-time voters, could be asked to
present ID beyond legal requirements, be videotaped, or receive
misinformation about where and when to vote -- all before even
entering a polling place, according to the two groups. Once inside
polls, individuals could have their credentials as eligible voters
challenged by partisans.
According to one report, the ability to widely disseminate
misinformation --by Internet-based phone calls, fraudulent e-mails,
etc. – is growing faster than you can say tweet. One example cited by
Common Cause and Demos was from Ohio's Butler County, where a cyber
attack on the county Web site delayed the reporting of results during
the spring primary. The attack caused the county server to crash.
On a somewhat less Draconian note, a GOP operative in Arizona this
year enlisted homeless people to run for state office on the Green
Party ticket -- possibly in hopes of siphoning votes away from
Democrats.
In Michigan, Democrats are facing ongoing allegations that the 23
candidates filed to run under the tea party line are Democratic
plants. Almost 60,000 of the tea party's signatures were collected by
a political firm with ties to liberal groups, and a Democratic Party
official notarized the paperwork for some of the tea party candidates.
Two years ago, we were witness to a plethora of election day dirty
tricks:
In Virginia, bogus fliers with an authentic-looking commonwealth seal
said fears of high voter turnout had prompted election officials to
hold two elections — one on Tuesday for Republicans and another on
Wednesday for Democrats.
In Milwaukee, fliers went up advising people "if you've already voted
in any election this year, you can't vote in the presidential
election."
Latino voters in Nevada said they had received calls from people
describing themselves as Obama volunteers, urging them to cast their
ballot over the phone.
Also that year, Republican candidates Rudy Guliani, Fred Thompson and
Mitt Romney were targeted in fake Internet sites that featured
"quotes" from the candidates espousing support for extreme positions
they never endorsed.
What’s to be done? Our elected representatives seem reluctant to do
much of anything. While we have laws prohibiting such deceptive
practices, Congress clearly needs to toughen them.
It’s called preventive maintenance. As the stakes get higher, the
temptation to tamper with voter rights gets stronger.
We can ill afford a loss of confidence in the cornerstone of our
democratic process.
We would also be wise to listen to Allen Raymond, who knows
first-hand the pitfalls of voter fraud.
Raymond is a Republican political consultant who spent three months
in federal prison for his role in the 2002 New Hampshire Senate
election phone jamming scandal.
In his book, “How to Rig and Election,” Raymond warns:
“The electioneering tactics I write about it the book will only get
nastier and more brutal, because the tricks of the trade are known,
embellished upon, and passed forward by people like me to more people
like me (or, like the person I had been paid to be). The competition
is growing stiffer and the stakes are rising with every election.
"The only real solution is a savvy, committed electorate.”
Scare Tactics
In my never-ending quest to provide you, the readers, with the latest in social trends, mores and manners, I offer the following tips on how to have a hip Halloween.
1. Imbibe. Responsibly, of course.
2. Wear a costume that will define you as witty and devil-may-care.
3. Mix well.
Dump the gorilla suit, get rid of the Michael Jackson outfit, forget the vampire get-up. They're so yesterday.
And don't do what I did several years ago when I wore all white with a piece of yellow felt on my stomach and told everyone I was a fried egg.
Today's Halloween superstar requires a little imagination and cutting-edge knowledge of current events.
There will be lots of Lady Gagas, for example, this year. "Jersey Shore" characters will be identifiable because they "tawk like dis."
A few Na'vis from the film "Avatar" may show up although being blue, 10-feet tall and keeping your tail out of the onion dip will take some doing.
Bedbugs are hot this year but since they are despicable blood suckers, the costume may not win a lot of friends.
One couple I heard about is going to a party as Mel Gibson and his estranged girlfriend Oksana Grigorieva, who participated in a rather vocal, public breakup.
This may be hard to bring off. If you are "Mel," you will be required to circulate among guests trashing every ethnic group and religious belief within earshot in expletive-filled rants. "Oksana" follows closely behind secretly recording his every utterance as lawsuit fodder.
Then there's a company that is selling oil-stained jumpsuits with the British Petroleum logo on the pocket. The downside: you run the risk of getting clocked by someone from the Gulf who fails to see the humor.
For the same reason, you may want to avoid dressing like Bernie Madoff. Ditto Arnold Schwarzenegger. And Reggie Bush.
The political arena is always good fodder for Halloween attire. With the elections just a few days away, it's a perfect time to make a statement about your favorite - or least favorite - politician.
President Obama is sure to be a favorite. There are lots of Obama masks (including a Barackula model). Just complete the look with a sharp suit, a great tie and a Teleprompter.
Where there is Barrack, there is Michelle. It's the perfect get-up for the woman who is statuesque, hates junk food and does bicep curls every day.
Sarah Palin attire is a hot seller. Many Palin masks now come with the lips sealed in order to preserve her presidential aspirations. For a special look, wear a Palin mask and a bear costume to capture that "Mama Grizzly" attitude. Accent with a moose pelt.
How about a Tea Party activist? Just wear a Glenn Beck T-shirt, an Uncle Sam hat and wave a placard that says "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants" or some other equally inspiring words. Then explain to guests why President Obama is a Muslim loving, socialistic, granny killing, anti-Christ while foaming at the mouth. Good conversation makes a lively party.
Too intense? The Joe Biden look is simplicity itself. Just wear a conservative suit, bright blue tie and make a lot of inappropriate and embarrassing comments. For an extra treat, have your wife/girlfriend dress as Nancy Pelosi.
Hillary Clinton: Just add an exaggerated laugh and barely controlled hostility and you'll be an exact copy.
Don't want to draw attention to yourself? Get nine friends together, don dark robes and go as the entire U.S. Supreme Court.
1. Imbibe. Responsibly, of course.
2. Wear a costume that will define you as witty and devil-may-care.
3. Mix well.
Dump the gorilla suit, get rid of the Michael Jackson outfit, forget the vampire get-up. They're so yesterday.
And don't do what I did several years ago when I wore all white with a piece of yellow felt on my stomach and told everyone I was a fried egg.
Today's Halloween superstar requires a little imagination and cutting-edge knowledge of current events.
There will be lots of Lady Gagas, for example, this year. "Jersey Shore" characters will be identifiable because they "tawk like dis."
A few Na'vis from the film "Avatar" may show up although being blue, 10-feet tall and keeping your tail out of the onion dip will take some doing.
Bedbugs are hot this year but since they are despicable blood suckers, the costume may not win a lot of friends.
One couple I heard about is going to a party as Mel Gibson and his estranged girlfriend Oksana Grigorieva, who participated in a rather vocal, public breakup.
This may be hard to bring off. If you are "Mel," you will be required to circulate among guests trashing every ethnic group and religious belief within earshot in expletive-filled rants. "Oksana" follows closely behind secretly recording his every utterance as lawsuit fodder.
Then there's a company that is selling oil-stained jumpsuits with the British Petroleum logo on the pocket. The downside: you run the risk of getting clocked by someone from the Gulf who fails to see the humor.
For the same reason, you may want to avoid dressing like Bernie Madoff. Ditto Arnold Schwarzenegger. And Reggie Bush.
The political arena is always good fodder for Halloween attire. With the elections just a few days away, it's a perfect time to make a statement about your favorite - or least favorite - politician.
President Obama is sure to be a favorite. There are lots of Obama masks (including a Barackula model). Just complete the look with a sharp suit, a great tie and a Teleprompter.
Where there is Barrack, there is Michelle. It's the perfect get-up for the woman who is statuesque, hates junk food and does bicep curls every day.
Sarah Palin attire is a hot seller. Many Palin masks now come with the lips sealed in order to preserve her presidential aspirations. For a special look, wear a Palin mask and a bear costume to capture that "Mama Grizzly" attitude. Accent with a moose pelt.
How about a Tea Party activist? Just wear a Glenn Beck T-shirt, an Uncle Sam hat and wave a placard that says "The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants" or some other equally inspiring words. Then explain to guests why President Obama is a Muslim loving, socialistic, granny killing, anti-Christ while foaming at the mouth. Good conversation makes a lively party.
Too intense? The Joe Biden look is simplicity itself. Just wear a conservative suit, bright blue tie and make a lot of inappropriate and embarrassing comments. For an extra treat, have your wife/girlfriend dress as Nancy Pelosi.
Hillary Clinton: Just add an exaggerated laugh and barely controlled hostility and you'll be an exact copy.
Don't want to draw attention to yourself? Get nine friends together, don dark robes and go as the entire U.S. Supreme Court.
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