Breaking the News by Breaking the Rules

Imagine if you will that you are a journalist, covering the story of
the century, an event of such magnitude that the fate of the world
lies in the balance.

Now imagine that you become privy to information of such profound
importance that publishing it will alter the course of human events
and allow you to “scoop” every news outlet worldwide.

Despite efforts of censors to prevent it, you write your story, your
employer publishes it and it becomes the most legendary piece of
breaking news in history.

Your reward? You’re fired.

The above account is true. The reporter was Edward Kennedy, a war
correspondent for the Associated Press wire service. The story he
covered was World War II. And the news that he broke was the
unconditional surrender of Nazi Germany in April of 1945.

For his efforts, he was threatened with court marshal by the
military, stripped of his correspondence credentials, rebuked and
terminated by the AP and ostracized by many of his colleagues.

Now, 67 years later, Kennedy is being recognized for what he was: a
journalist of resourcefulness, impeccable judgment and considerable
intestinal fortitude.

The Associated Press recently apologized for its treatment of him and
efforts are being made to award him a posthumous Pulitzer Prize.

How did this strange turn of events come about?

Kennedy was the AP’s Paris bureau chief and was among a small group
of reporters quickly assembled by the military to witness the
surrender. After the ceremony, they were asked by General Dwight
Eisenhower not to publish the news for 36 hours so that Soviet leader
Josef Stalin could hold a ceremony in occupied Berlin.

But after a German radio station in Allied-controlled Flensburg
broadcast the news, Kennedy knew that military censors must have
allowed it. Evading wartime censorship, he phoned the AP bureau in
London and reported the surrender. The story moved on the AP wire at
9:36 a.m. EST on May 7, 1945, according to Associated Press accounts.

Historical documents say that the official announcements of the
surrender varied from German foreign minister Lutz Graf Schwerin von
Krosigk early May 7, to Winston Churchill on May 8, and Joseph Stalin
on May 9 (accounting for the Soviet Victory Day). The formal
cessation of hostilities was at 23:01 hours on May 8.

As for Kennedy, he was the target of much professional indignation.
The New York Times wrote an editorial saying he had committed “a
grave disservice to the newspaper profession...and strengthened the
censor’s hand.”

Several years later he wrote an essay for the Atlantic Monthly
entitled “I’d Do It Again.”

He went on the become managing editor of the Santa Barbara News
Press, then publisher of the Monterey Peninsula Herald. He died in an
auto accident in 1963 at the age of 58.

So did Kennedy do the right thing? He had cooperated with military
censors in the past. But this time it was clear that the censors were
politically motivated, attempting to mollify the Soviets. In the
meantime, troops were still fighting and dying. There was no good
reason for him to cooperate, especially with the news of the
surrender already being leaked.

His own organization finally agreed after six decades. In spring of
this year, AP apologized, saying “It was a terrible day for the AP.
It was handled in the worst possible way. ” AP President and Chief
Executive Tom Curley praised Kennedy as a reporter who “did
everything just right.”

“Once the war is over, you can't hold back information like that. The
world needed to know,” Curley said in an interview with his
organization.

What is Kennedy’s legacy? Do news organizations defiantly publish
every bit of information they discover? Of course not. No reporter is
his right mind, for example, would divulge in advance that a
President was going to visit soldiers at a certain base in
Afghanistan. That’s an easy call.

The case involving the Pentagon Papers was much more difficult. The
top secret study of the U.S. political/military involvement in
Vietnam was leaked to the New York Times and Washington Post. The
Times justified its publication because it "demonstrated, among other
things, that the Johnson Administration had systematically lied, not
only to the public but also to Congress, about a subject of
transcendent national interest and significance."

Kennedy’s call was the most difficult of all. He had the whole world
looking over his shoulder as he wrote his story. To his credit, he
got it right.

The Best of the Worst

It has been several years since we have visited the Bulwer-Lytton
contest, an event that annually salutes bad writing.

The time certainly seems right. It’s the dog days of summer when the
only news comes from presidential candidates who spend their days
accusing each of other of outrageous lapses in character that no one
will remember in November.

The contest is named after one of the most visible bad writers of all
time, Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, who in 1830 penned the immortal
opening line, "It was a dark and stormy night."

Actually, he wrote: "It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in
torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a
violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London
that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely
agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the
darkness."

It is the kind of prose that usually stopped readers from turning the
page.

This exercise is conducted by the members of the English department
at San Jose State University, who obviously never worked for a
newspaper where bad writing usually results in a sudden career change.

Here, however, entrants are encouraged to "compose the opening
sentence to the worst of all possible novels." In other words, write
something truly, deliberately bad.

What follows, then, is a selection of winning entrants from the 2012
competition.


“As he told her that he loved her she gazed into his eyes, wondering,
as she noted the infestation of eyelash mites, the tiny deodicids
burrowing into his follicles to eat the greasy sebum therein, each
female laying up to 25 eggs in a single follicle, causing
inflammation, whether the eyes are truly the windows of the soul;
and, if so, his soul needed regrouting.” — Cathy Bryant, Manchester,
England.

“The stifling atmosphere inside the Pink Dolphin Bar in the upper
Amazon Basin carried barely enough oxygen for a man to survive –
humid and thick the air was and full of little flying bugs, making
the simple act of breathing like trying to suck hot Campbell’s Bean
with Bacon soup through a paper straw”. — Greg Homer, Placerville,
Calif.

“She slinked through my door wearing a dress that looked like it had
been painted on … not with good paint, like Behr or Sherwin-Williams,
but with that watered-down stuff that bubbles up right away if you
don’t prime the surface before you slap it on, and – just like that
cheap paint – the dress needed two more coats to cover her.” — Sue
Fondrie, Appleton, Wisc.

“The blood seeped out of the body like bad peach juice from a peach
that had been left on one side so long the bottom became rotten while
it still looked fine on the top but had started to attract fruit
flies, and this had the same effect, but with regular flies, that is
not say there weren’t some fruit flies around because, after all,
this was Miami. “— Howard Eugene Whitright, Seal Beach, Calif.

“Primum non nocere, from the Latin for “first, do no harm,” one of
the principal tenets of the Hippocratic oath taken by physicians, was
far from David’s mind (as he strode, sling in hand, to face Goliath)
in part because Hippocrates was born about 100 years after David, in
part because David wasn’t even a physician, but mainly because David
wanted to kill the sucker.” — David Larson, San Francisco.

“Corinne considered the colors (palest green, gray and lavender) and
texture (downy as the finest velvet) and wondered, “How long have
these cold cuts been in my refrigerator?” — Linda Boatright, Omaha,
Neb.

“Your eyes are like deep blue pools that I would like to drown in,”
he had told Kimberly when she had asked him what he was thinking; but
what he was actually thinking was that sometimes when he recharges
his phone he forgets to put the little plug back in but he wasn’t
going to tell her that.” — Dan Leyde, Edmonds, Wash.

“The two power-hungry, 20-something biographers met with me incognito
and settled on penning my memoirs, one on a percentage of future
sales and one on upfront remuneration; so there is one yuppie I pay,
one yuppie I owe, ghostwriters in disguise.” — Peter Bjorkman,
Rocklin, Calif.

“Ronald left this world as he entered it: on a frigid winter night,
amid frantic screams and blood-soaked linens, while relatives stood
nearby and muttered furious promises to find and punish the man
responsible.”— Rebecca Oas, Atlanta, Ga.

“Her fixed gaze at dinner reminded him so much of an owl that he
found himself wondering when she would regurgitate her meal into a
pellet and told the waitress they didn’t need a dessert menu.” — Leah
Sitkoff, New York, New York

“Her skin was like flocked wallpaper and her eyes had seen better
days, but when her bloodless lips murmured “Hi, Sailor,” my heart
melted from the inside out like one of those chocolate-covered ice
cream bars on a summer day that runs down your arm and gets all over
your new shirt.” — James Macdonald, Vancouver, B.C.

The Mitt and Paul Show

Mitt Romney has always struck me as a decent human being, one who
believes deeply in his God, his country and his money, not
necessarily in that order.

I also believe he is a bit of an empty suit, a robotic politician
whose only real brush with notoriety came when he inadvertently laid
the foundation for Obamacare.

He is the Republican nominee because his primary opponents were a
bunch of bungling gunslingers who couldn’t sell their slash-and-burn
vision of governance and misguided moral engineering to their own
voters.

At least Romney was smart enough to pick Congressman Paul Ryan as his
running mate, a man who also wants to slash the size of the federal
government but who, unlike a lot of Republicans, actually has a
specific plan to do it. He has read the spread sheets. He has
crunched the numbers.

How much of the Ryan plan Romney buys into remains to be seen. But at
least it just might elevate the campaign rhetoric from personal
attack mode to a real debate on how this country should manage
itself. That’s a lot to hope for but we can dream, can’t we?

For now, the pundits are putting the cart before the horse,
speculating on whether the choice of Ryan is brilliant or boneheaded.
Of course, we won’t know the answer to that until election day.

It got me to thinking, however, about who were the best and worse
vice presidential picks in history. So I mixed a bit of Internet
research with my own views and came up with a list. Take it for what
it’s worth.

Some in the best category are easy. Teddy Roosevelt, Harry Truman and
Lyndon Johnson, all thrust into the Oval Office as the result of the
death of a president, rose to the occasion.

Some are more difficult to categorize:

Dick Cheney brought a wealth of Washington experience with him when
he joined George Bush and was heavily involved in decision making.
Indeed, he became known as the “shadow president.” Unfortunately, he
was perceived as a real life Darth Vader, with some justification.
The architect of the war on Iraq, he eventually became to most
unpopular member of an unpopular administration.

Al Gore was indispensable to Bill Clinton when he arrived in
Washington. Gore knew Washington inside out, while the new President
was fresh out of Arkansas. But Gore suffered from a personality
disorder --- he didn’t have one –-- and managed to lose the
presidential election to George Bush which is astounding to this day.

Richard Nixon delivered California to Eisenhower but more importantly
did the behind-the-scenes dirty work while Ike basked in the glow of
an adoring public. Nixon liked his job too well and his affinity for
dirty deeds would be his undoing.

Nominees for the worst of the lot:

Sprio Agnew. Nixon’s White House was filled with shady characters but
Agnew was the shadiest. An investigation by the U.S. Attorney for
Baltimore revealed that he had accepted $100,000 in bribes during his
tenure as Baltimore County Executive, Governor of Maryland and Vice
President of the United States. He resigned his office and pleaded no
contest and received no jail time but was disbarred and fined.

Aaron Burr. While serving under Thomas Jefferson, he killed Founding
Father Alexander Hamilton in a duel. What else do you need to know?

Thomas Eagleton. Democratic nominee George McGovern was in trouble
from the get-go running again incumbent Richard Nixon. He didn’t help
his chances by choosing Eagleton who, as it turns out, was once
treated by electro-shock therapy for depression. McGovern dumped
Eagleton, brought in Sargent Shriver and went on to win only one
state in the election. Eagleton went on to be reelected to the Senate
twice, then served as a professor of public affairs at Washington
University in St. Louis.

Sarah Palin. She was young, vibrant and attractive, just the thing
John McCain needed to revitalize his sagging campaign against Barack
Obama. Unfortunately, the governor of Alaska also possessed a
backwoods level of political sophistication, that was exploited by
the Democrats and the media. If that wasn’t bad enough, she was
criticized by McCain staffers for “going rogue” when speaking her
mind on issues. It clearly wasn’t a marriage made in heaven.


Dan Quayle: Selected by George Bush the Elder as his running mate, he
is remembered mostly for saying really stupid things. Such as
“"Republicans understand the importance of bondage between a mother
and child" and "If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure" and
"What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is
being very wasteful. How true that is." Enough said.

A Monumental Mistake

Move over Washington. You too Dr. King. Step aside Lincoln. Out of
the way Jefferson.

There’s a new monument coming to Washington, D.C., a city where we
reverently honor our sacred democratic institutions and salute our
heroes.

This particular edifice will carry the name of a man who has gazed
longingly at the White House from afar on many occasions.

He considers himself presidential timbre even though his approval
ratings among voters equals Frank McCourt’s among baseball fans.

He’s a man who commands serious media coverage ever though few take
him seriously.

We speak, of course, of Donald Trump.

Yes, that Donald Trump. The man with a bad haircut who stars in
really bad reality shows.

Sure, he wields a fair amount of influence in the Republican Party,
despite the fact that publicly most GOP bigwigs treat him like the
crazy uncle who spoils Christmas each year.

That’s because he’s rich. As someone said at a roast recently,
“What's the difference between Donald Trump's hair and a wet raccoon?
A wet raccoon doesn't have seven billion dollars in the bank."

But let’s face it, Trump would never be a candidate for a monument
based on his record as an American statesman.

So he’s done what rich guys do. He’s buying one.

He has purchased the historic Old Post Office pavilion on
Pennsylvania Avenue, an architectural masterpiece and one of the
tallest buildings in the district.

It occupies a prestigious location between the White House and the
Capitol and is topped by a distinctive clock tower.

Built in 1890, it is home to a handful of federal offices,
tourist-oriented shops and restaurants. It has, by all accounts,
fallen into a state of disrepair and loses more than $6 million a
year.

Trump and his colleagues plan to spend $200 million to convert the
building into a hotel, which they modestly say will be “…the finest
luxury hotel in the world.” Tour groups need not apply.

I get the feeling Washington residents are nervous about Trump’s
definition of “luxury.” This is a button down city, not long on
flash. This is a city that shows CNN in its bars, not “Celebrity
Apprentice.”

This is a city that embraces power but frowns on gaudy displays of
it.

This is a city that fears that Trump’s hotel may end up looking like
one of Saddam Hussein’s palaces, topped with a gigantic neon sign
resplendent with the Donald’s name that will be visible from
Arlington Cemetery to Camp David. After all, his ego is at least that
large.

Not to worry, said the Government Services Administration, which
engineered the sale.

“The Trump Organization plan will preserve the historic nature of the
building and improve the vitality of Pennsylvania Avenue,” a GSA
bureaucrat told the Washington Post.

“This redevelopment represents good business sense on behalf of the
American taxpayer, the Federal Government and the District of
Columbia.”

This is the same GSA, it should be noted, that was caught spending
$820,000 for a training conference in Las Vegas and $268,732 on a
one-day performance awards ceremony. It’s assessment of “good business sense” seems questionable.

The good news is that the building is an official historic landmark
and all plans will fall under heavy scrutiny by the U.S. Commission
of Fine Arts, according to the Post. But for $200 million, they just might allow him to put his name in lights.

The bad news, according to Post columnist Steven Pearlstein, is that
Trump and his partners “are high-risk gamblers who play all the
angles and have a habit of overpaying and overleveraging. When
projects get into trouble, as this one surely will, they think
nothing of handing the keys over to the lenders and moving on to the
next deal.”

The best we can hope for is that the Donald will decide not to move into a neighborhood whose most famous resident, in his view, is a citizen of a foreign country.

An Olympian Event

"The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not winning but
taking part; the essential thing in life is not conquering but
fighting well.” --- Pierre de Coubertin, founder of modern Olympic
Games.

“If you don't try to win you might as well hold the Olympics in
somebody's back yard.” --- Olympic track and field champion Jesse
Owens.

That telling exchange nicely summarizes how different people view the world. In this case French versus Americans or possibly blacks and whites.

But we're not going to plumb the depths of the human psyche here. We just threw it out there in celebration of the summer Olympics,
starting this week in a 17-day extravaganza that will be watched by
billions.

That the Olympics are once again upon us is good news on several
levels.

--- It provides a spectacular stage on which the athletes of the
world can compete.

--- In this town, at this time of year, it saves us from the
mind-numbing effects of bad baseball and endless TV reruns.

The games this year are brought to you from London, which is spending
$14.5 billion for the pleasure. The least you can do is watch.

After all, it’s the event that, once every four years, displays the
noble side of human nature, of love and camaraderie amid the
heartbreak and triumph.

No matter how awe-inspiring the Olympics may be, however, it will
still have its good, bad and ugly moments. We guess it will break
down something like this:


The good: 3500 hours of coverage spread over NBC’s various outlets.
The bad: The time difference between Los Angeles and London is eight
hours, meaning you may have to settle for kayaking during prime time.
The ugly: The Romney and Obama campaigns bought more than $12 million
of air time for political ads during the Olympics. Said one stupidly
optimistic Democratic media consultant, “ It’s great context, too.
People are already primed to think about their country.”

The good: The opening ceremony is always a tour de force. The Brits
will present a cast of 10,000 performers, 12 horses, three cows, two
goats and 10 chickens.

The bad: The cost of the Olympic opening ceremonies often exceeds the
gross national product of some of the participating nations which in a
few cases is sometimes less than 12 horses, three cows, two goats and
10 chickens.

The ugly: With the Royal Family in in attendance, announcers will
spend so much time fawning over them that you may begin to wonder who
won the Revolutionary War.

The good: thrilling competition between the world’s elite athletes.

The bad: Some judge, smarting from the fact that his country lost a
minor border dispute some 500 years ago to an athlete’s homeland,
will adjust his scoring accordingly. The result will be declared a
scandal and cast a pall over the proceedings.

The ugly: The weather. The forecast for London is mostly soggy.

The good: The U.S. team looks like a winner.

The bad: Our heroes will parade into the stadium wearing uniforms
made in China while there are 600,000 vacant manufacturing jobs in
the U.S.

The ugly: What’s next? Outsourcing the athletes?

The good: The British have deployed a massive security force to
protect spectators and participants from harm including deploying
missiles atop of buildings.

The bad: Britain may have to call up more soldiers to guard the Games
after a failed private sector recruitment drive left an embarrassing
gap in security.

The ugly: Agents from the U.S. Transportation Security Administration
will take up positions at British airports where they will grope
regardless of race, creed or national origin.

The good: The Brits will stage a major Olympics concert in Hyde Park.

The bad: The headliners will be Duran Duran, a band that reached its
zenith in the 1980s.

The ugly: As one wag said, “What’s next? Leg warmers and Rubik Cubes?”

The good: For the first time, women's boxing is included in the
program, with 36 athletes competing in three different weight
classes.

The bad: Women’s softball, along with baseball, have been dumped as
Olympic sports. They are the first venues to be removed since polo in
1936.

The ugly: A special dispensation was needed to allow the various
shooting events to go ahead, which would otherwise be illegal under
Britain’s gun laws.

Good, bad or ugly, it ought to be one hell of a show. Stay tuned.

Through a Glass Darkly

There was a time when Stephen Glass was the toast of American
journalism. Writing for the New Republic and other high-profile
publications such as Rolling Stone and Harper’s, he produced stories
of such astounding originality and insight that he became a media
star while still in his early 20s.

He wrote of a church that worshipped George H. W. Bush. He portrayed
Vernon Jordan, former head of the National Urban League and an
adviser to Bill Clinton, as a boorish and lecherous incompetent.
He penned hostile stories on the Center for Science in the Public
Interest and D.A.R.E., the anti-drug education group.

He reported on a 15-year-old who was hired as a computer security
consultant by a tech firm whose system he had hacked. He vividly told
of drinking, drugs and debauchery at the Conservative Political
Action conference.

His stories seemed almost too good to be true. As it turned out, they
weren’t.

The New Republic determined that 27 of 41 stories written by Glass
contained fabricated material. Other publications also discovered
issues. He invented events, locales, dialogue and the characters who
spoke it and devised elaborate cover-up schemes in an attempt to hide
his deceit.

Glass was ultimately banished from the profession where he joined
such other disgraced journalists as Washington Post reporter Janet
Cook (whose Pulitzer Prize-winning account of an 8-year-old heroin
addict turned out to be fiction), Jayson Blair (who engaged in a long
history of misdeeds including plagiarism while working for the New
York Times) and Rupert Murdoch (who presides over a media empire
crippled by a phone hacking scandal).

But Glass never entirely went away. When the scandal surrounding his
career broke, he became the subject of a well-received movie called
“Shattered Glass.” He appeared on “60 Minutes.” He wrote a
“biographical novel” called “The Fabulist ” which his publisher
described as “a rollicking, riveting tour de force…”

Now that he has rung every last dime from his infamy, he has emerged
from the shadows because he wants to practice law in California.

It turns out that while be was engaged in ethical sleight of hand as
a writer, he was attending law school at Georgetown. He graduated
magna cum laude and passed the New York state bar exam but was
refused certification on moral grounds. He withdrew his application
when it became clear he wouldn’t be admitted to practice.

He applied to practice in California, was denied by Bar Examiners,
appealed, and was subsequently found to be of “good moral character”
by the state Bar’s hearing department. The matter is now before the
state Supreme Court which will decide his professional fate.

So has Glass rehabilitated himself? He blames a bad upbringing for
his misdeeds and says years of therapy have helped him to become a
better person. We’ll have to take his word for it and his word hasn’t
always been golden.

Should he now be allowed to engage in a profession where the
manipulation of facts can have life or death consequences?

I think not. For one thing, Glass’s old habits seem to surface again and again. He stated to the New York Bar that he “worked with all three magazines and other publications … to identify which facts were true and which were false in all of his stories so they could publish clarifications,” according to a story by Reuters
reporter Jack Shafer.

This statement was false, the committee wrote, because Glass didn’t
work with all the magazines. Glass later testified that he should
have said that he “offered” to work with the publications, and “by
‘offered’ to work, he meant through counsel.”

Shafer writes that the committee found this Glass explanation
“disingenuous.” The committee also damned Glass for providing the New
York Bar in 2003 with an incomplete list of articles that he
fabricated, identifying only 23, and waiting until August 2009, when
in the crosshairs of the California bar, to concede that the complete
list contained at least 42 fabricated pieces.

To be sure, Glass has his supporters. During one hearing in 2010,
they included two psychiatrists, four law professors, two judges, 10
attorneys and even Martin Peretz, sole owner of the New Republic at
the time the fabricated stories were published, according to
published reports.

Glass even has supporters at the New York Times and Los Angeles
Times.

The Los Angeles Times, in an editorial, admonished the California
state Supreme Court justices to “be guided by a principle that should
infuse the law in general: that redemption is possible and that those
who have changed their ways are entitled to a second chance. Because
Glass shattered one career doesn't mean that he can't aspire to
another.”

Joe Nocera, writing in the New York Times, said that “The California
Bar should be so lucky as to have him as a member.”

I’m frankly surprised that these two publications would play warm and
fuzzy with an individual who delivered a near death-blow to the
credibility of American journalism which was already losing the
respect of its public when he came upon the scene.

Would either publication hire an allegedly rehabilitated Glass as a
reporter? You bet they would not.

But it’s OK to foist him off on the legal profession which can use
all the ethics, honesty and truth it can muster.

I do not wish to see Stephen Glass on a street corner begging for
spare change. It is absurd to think, however, that denying him a
license to practice law would force him to eat out of dumpsters. He
is brilliant, well educated and still young enough at 39 to make a
positive contribution to society.

We would all be better off if that contribution came from somewhere
besides a newsroom or a courthouse.

A Rose by Any Other Name

If you spend a lot of time cruising the Internet and absorbing all
information therein as absolute gospel, than you believe the
following:

(1) The world will end in December of 2012 when the polar poles
reverse and we all are launched into outer space. We know this
because someone found a calendar that says so made by the Mayans some
1300 years ago.

(2) Big city sewer systems are populated by giant alligators who were
flushed down when they were young. Fortunately, most of them dwell
beneath the streets of New York, just another reason while they call
it Fun City.

(3) Famous children’s television star Mr. Rodgers was in fact a Navy
seal/sniper who wore cardigan sweaters to cover up the tattoos that
commemorated his numerous kills.

(4) The Rose Bowl has been rendered irrelevant by the new college
football playoff system and will lose its luster as a premiere game.

If you believe (1), you are dismissed from this conversation. After
all, it’s irrelevant.

If you buy (2) and (3), your imagination exceeds your good sense.

Which brings us to (4).

There are more than a few bloggers, pundits and self-styled experts
who have decided that the new college football championship
arrangement will reduce the Rose Bowl to a shadow of its former self.

Under the new plan, the championship will be decided between the
winners of two semi-final games in an arrangement that will last 12
years. Call it the football version of the Final Four. Six bowls,
including the Rose, Sugar, Fiesta and Orange, will be used to rotate
annually the two national semifinal games. The national title game
will be awarded to the highest bidder.

That means the Rose Bowl will be in line to host a semi-final game
once every four years. In between, the Rose Bowl will continue as
usual featuring a matchup between the Pac 12 and Big 10.

That was assured when Rose Bowl and conference officials signed an
extension with ESPN to continue televising the game through 2028.
Same date (Jan. 1), same time (2 p.m.), same station. If there’s a
semi-final game scheduled at the Rose Bowl, it will be played on Jan.
1, 2 p.m., ESPN.

To summarize: there will be football every New Year’s Day at Rose
Bowl for several decades down the road. Unless, of course, the Mayans
are correct.

So what’s the gripe? It goes something like this: All attention now
will be focused on the Final Four football games. If in fact the Rose
Bowl hosts the Pac 12 and Big 10 champions, those teams will not have
been good enough to make the Big Dance and interest will wane. And if
a Pac 12 or Big 10 team does get into the playoffs, the Rose Bowl
will feature a game between conference also-rans.

Anything is possible when predicting the future. But a lot of this
speculation doesn’t fly. For one thing, it dismisses out of hand the
stature and significance of a game that’s been played since 1902. The
Rose Bowl is college football.

There’s no question that the football Final Four will be the subject
of non-stop hype and hoopla. But never equate hoopla with fact.
Last year’s BCS championship game between LSU and Alabama was a
snoozefest won by Bama. The crashing noise you heard in the
background were TV ratings plummeting.

Meanwhile, Oregon and Wisconsin were engaged in classic shootout at a
sold-out Rose Bowl with the Ducks winning 45-38 in the second most
watched college game in cable TV history.

It featured the No. 4 and No. 10 teams in the country which clearly
didn’t diminish its viewership.

In addition, the level of fan loyalty in college football is off the
charts. Most fans would watch and root for their team if it was
playing in the Baghdad Bowl. Now, put your favorite teams in the Rose
Bowl in prime time on New Year’s Day. Do you seriously think nobody
would watch? ESPN obviously thinks they will at least for the next 16
years.

The college football championship game will undoubtedly be played in
some sterile NFL stadium that offers all the warmth and tradition of
a hospital waiting room. The Rose Bowl game is a pageant, a parade, a
party. It’s also a cash cow, one with an estimated economic impact of
more than $50 million.

It has survived two world wars and a depression. Put who you will in
Pasadena, and they will come.

In order to buy into the Rose Bowl doomsday scenario, one needs to
assume that Rose Bowl officials along with the leaders of the Pac-12
and Big-10 conferences are so inept that, confronted with a new
reality, they fumbled the ball.

Instead, they are sitting pretty.

Ask Darryl Dunn, general manager of the Rose Bowl about it, and he’ll
tell you the Tournament of Roses officials get a lion’s share of
credit for keeping their game front and center. They weren’t about to
let their golden goose become a side order of hot wings.

There are still a host of details to be worked out in the new
championship scenario. Some of them could alter the arrangement as we
understand it now.

But I’m betting that if you turn on your TV on, say, New Year’s Day
of 2022, you’ll see a hell of a game in Pasadena.

Coming to Your Town, Quiety

To hear the folks at retail giant Wal-Mart tell it, they simply want
to help customers save money so they can live better. And when they
arrive to set up shop in your town, they promise they will be good
neighbors and work with the locals in developing their plans.

Well, now, who could take issue with a philosophy like that? A whole
lot of people as it turns out, including a group of citizens in
Altadena who recently were stunned to learn that Wal-Mart is opening
for business in their neighborhood.

There are a lot of reasons to object to Wal-Mart, which we will
discuss shortly. But if you know nothing else about the world’s
largest retailer, the fact that it feels a need to conduct its
business in secret would be enough to give you pause.

They did it in Altadena where the deal was done out of the public eye
with no airing of citizen concerns. They did it recently in Los
Angeles Chinatown where a new market will open over the objections of
the City Council who learned too late about the project to prevent
it. They did it in Simi Valley where they took over a vacant Mervyn’s
department store site with no public input.

No press releases, no confetti, no ribbon cuttings. Also, no
discussion nor dissent.

It’s all very legal. They take over an existing Conditional Use
Permit and move right in.

But what is there to hide? I’m guessing it’s their reputation.

On the surface, Wal-Mart’s plans to build a neighborhood market in
Altadena doesn’t seem like a big deal. It will cater to what Wal-Mart
likes to call “underserved communities” (read: no competition) and
will occupy the site of a former thrift store.

But invite Wal-Mart into your community, and a lot of baggage comes
with it.

Critics over the years have lashed out at Wal-Mart for mistreating
its employees, forcing them to endure poor working conditions while
paying low wages and offering inadequate health care.
Some of those views are supported by some startling statistics:

--- According to a report aired on PBS, approximately 70% of Wal-Mart
employees leave within the first year.

--- In 2000, Wal-Mart paid $50 million to settle a class-action suit
that asserted that 69,000 current and former Walmart employees in
Colorado had been forced to work off-the-clock.

--- Wal-Mart founder Sam Walton once famously said, "I pay low wages.
I can take advantage of that. We're going to be successful, but the
basis is a very low-wage, low-benefit model of employment."

--- The retailer has steadfastly resisted any attempts to unionize
its workers.

That’s only part of the picture. Wal-Mart also has been accused of
predatory pricing practices intended to drive competition out of
business. There’s more: gender discrimination lawsuits, violations of
child labor laws, use of undocumented workers, exploitation of
sweatshop labor used by overseas suppliers.

You get the picture. These are not nice people.

Stung by the criticism, Wal-Mart over the years has launched major
public relations efforts in an attempt to spruce up its image as a
money-mad behemoth.

Sustainability initiatives, environmentalism, fighting hunger,
efforts to do more business with women-owned contractors and
suppliers. They would have us believe they are the embodiment of
benevolence and generosity.

For the sake of discussion, let’s take them at their word and assume
there has been an epiphany at Wal-Mart and that they have decided at
long last to become responsible corporate citizens.

We Americans are a forgiving lot. Do we now welcome them with open
arms?

Before you answer yes, consider the following. In April, the New York
Times disclosed that Wal-Mart had found credible evidence that its
Mexican subsidiary — the retailer’s biggest foreign operation, which
opened 431 stores last year — had paid more than $20 million in
bribes and that an internal inquiry into the matter had been
suppressed at corporate headquarters in Arkansas.

In addition to being morally reprehensible, Wal-Mart’s actions could
be a violation of the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act.

Shortly thereafter, the Los Angeles Times reported that a senior
associate at a lobbying firm hired to help bring the Wal-Mart grocery
store to Chinatown abruptly left the firm after it was revealed that
she had infiltrated a news conference held by a group critical of
Wal-Mart and posed as a reporter.

Steven Restivo, a Wal-Mart spokesman, told the Times that her actions
were "unacceptable, misleading and wrong."

"Our culture of integrity is a constant at Wal-Mart, and by not
properly identifying herself, this individual’s behavior was contrary
to our values and the way we do business," he said.

With a straight face.

It would seem little has changed in the Wal-Mart saga. In the meantime, Wal-Mart is not going away. They have major plans to move into urban areas throughout the country and set up shop wherever they can.

Let’s hope next time someone is watching the store.

The Winters or Our Discontent

The Los Angeles Kings win the Stanley Cup. My heart pounds in my
chest. Tears fill my eyes. I hug perfect strangers. I order
commemorative apparel. I am a man who has just been freed from the
sporting equivalent of Death Row after more than four decades.

The bitter taste is washed away with a quaff of champagne. Well,
almost.

Amid the celebration, I couldn’t help but recall that I followed this
often ragtag crew for 45 years of frustration, fury, depression and
despair.

Hopes were raised, only to be dashed. Star players would emerge, only
to be traded or surrounded by mediocrity.

I can state without hesitation that the Kings for the first 20 years
or so of their existence was the worst managed professional sports
team I had ever seen.

Even more, a dark cloud seemed to hang over the franchise.
Owners came and went. One group went bankrupt. One went to prison.
Two of their top scouts died aboard a plane that crashed into the
World Trade Center on 9/11.

The Kings erected a statue of Wayne Gretzky, “the Great One,” in
front of Staples Center even though he failed to lead the team to a
championship. With the Kings, close was good enough.

The ultimate insult? A team called the Ducks in Anaheim won the
Stanley Cup in 2007, after 14 years of existence.

Was there a curse? Was the Fabulous Forum or Staples Center built on
the site of an Indian burial ground? But no. Other tenants of those
buildings won.

Perhaps it was some insidious brainwashing plot concocted by Canadian scientists to hook us on their national sport and force us to spend big bucks. Maybe. I'm just saying....

Governments seized power and were then overthrown. Wars were fought,
won and lost. Markets rose and fell. Children were born, grew to
adulthood, then middle age.

The Kings stumbled on. No matter. We waited until next year.

And now, next year has come. Old, gray and stooped, I watch in
disbelief as they win the Cup. Not just win it but do it by crushing
the opposition. They are the champions, my friend.

I feel the same way I did when I watched Neil Armstrong step onto the
moon: I’m not sure how they did it and I never thought I would see
the day.

What a curious journey it’s been. I didn’t grow up with hockey, didn't lace up the old skates every winter.

Indeed, I was only vaguely aware of it. Living in Southern
California, the only ice I ever saw was in a glass.

But while I was still in high school, somebody slipped me a couple of
tickets to a game featuring the L.A. Blades, a minor league team that
played in the Sports Arena. Five minutes into the game, I was hooked.

It was fast, it was physical and, best of all, when a player scored,
he and his teammates would raise their sticks in the air in
jubilation. Such displays were frowned upon in most sports back in
those days.

In short order, I learned the rules, the players’ names and the words
to the Canadian National Anthem.

And now came the Kings. I would finally get to see the legendary
teams I had only read about: The Toronto Maple Leafs, the Montreal
Canadiens, the Boston Bruins, the Detroit Red Wings, the Chicago
Black Hawks, the New York Rangers.

Like many who went to the Kings games in the early days we came to
see those storied visitors. But in their first year, the Kings
surprised us. They made the playoffs. They did it again in their
second year.

Then the bottom fell out, thanks in part to owner Jack Kent Cooke’s
insistence that they trade draft picks for washed-up veterans that he
remembered growing up in Canada.

The league general managers fleeced Cooke like pickpockets in a
crowd. From 1968 to 1978, the Kings had one first-round pick in the
amateur draft. And he was traded.

In 1969, a year I had purchased season tickets, they won 14 games and
lost 52.

Attendance was abysmal. Someone asked Cooke one time why he decided
to open a franchise in Los Angeles. He remarked that some 200,000
Canadians lived in the area. Remarked one grizzled sports writer,
“Yeah, and they all moved here because they hated hockey.”

From 1994 to 1999 they made the playoffs once. From 2002 to 2009,
they missed the playoffs entirely.

In one brief, shining moment, they advanced to the Stanley Cup finals
in the spring of 1993 led by Gretzky. But Montreal swatted them away
after one of our boys was found using an illegal stick. It was so Los
Angeles Kings.

The current ownership, after being asleep at the wheel for the first
few years, finally woke up. They hired a really good general manager
who made some really good draft picks and trades.

They hired a good coach. Then they fired him in mid-season and got an ever better one.

And now, after 45 years of pain, hockey immortality.

That eternal optimist, Dale Carnegie, once said, “Most of the
important things in the world have been accomplished by people who
have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all.” Don’t
we just know it.

Go Kings Go.

Empty Calories, Empty Gestures

The truck slipped over the Canada-U.S. border unnoticed, then crept
down rural roads on its way to New York City.

It arrived in pre-dawn darkness, and quietly pulled into a warehouse
where a crew waited to unload it.

But before they could begin, a van carrying eight men crashed through
the warehouse door and, armed with axes, began to attack the cargo.

When they were done, gallons of Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper and assorted
other soft drinks, stored in 32-ounce containers, washed down the
gutters and into the drains.

One again, New Yorkers were safe against the scourge of large-portion
sugary drinks.

This, of course, is a bit of a fantasy with apologies to Eliot Ness.

But if New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg has his way, sugary drinks
more than 16 ounces in size will be banned at the city’s restaurants,
delis, food trucks, movie theaters and sporting arenas. This includes
energy drinks and pre-sweetened ice tea.

His motive? To help combat obesity.

If this sounds meddlesome, intrusive and a bit like Prohibition,
well, it is.

A bunch of politicians get on their moral high horse and set out to
eliminate the scourge of (fill in the blank) thus saving humanity and
ensuring reelection.

The reaction of New Yorkers has been, “Whaddaya, sumkinda wise guy?”
More than 50 per cent of them think it’s a bad idea, according to a
NY1-Marist poll.

And, like Prohibition, it won’t solve the problem that it is intended
to solve.

One of my favorite Prohibition stories told of a popular product
called “wine bricks” -- dehydrated slabs of pressed grapes and a
packet of yeast. Once purchased, you learned from the mockingly
worded label that you should “never mix contents in two gallons of
warm water to which you have added a pinch of yeast, and one pound of
sugar. If this mixture is left to stand in a cloth covered container
for two weeks, an alcoholic beverage will result, which is illegal.”

The point is that, like our Prohibition era forefathers, thirsty
citizens will find myriad ways to circumvent the law.
That won’t be difficult in New York. Grocery stores and many
convenience stores are regulated by the state and wouldn’t be
impacted.

So New Yorkers will have to settle for two sixteen-ounce sodas. And
free refills.

Interestingly enough, Bloomberg appears to have the weight of the law
behind him. "There are so many examples where states impose standards
on consumer products sold within their borders," Michelle Mello, a
professor of law and public health at Harvard University told
Reuters. "It seems hard to believe that this would be singled out as
unreasonable by a court."

To give the Mayor his due, there is no question soft drinks can
contribute to health problems. The consumption of sugar-sweetened
soft drinks is associated with obesity, type 2 diabetes, dental
problems and low nutrient levels, according to a study in the
American Journal of Public Health.

In New York, Dr. Thomas Farley, the health commissioner, blames
sweetened drinks for up to half of the increase in city obesity rates
over the last 30 years.

But Bloomberg’s plan is hardly the road to a lean, fit and healthy
populace. It is, instead, paternalistic, misguided and essentially an
empty gesture.

Who’s going to enforce this ordinance? Will New York have soda pop
cops? Will this set the table for even more Draconian laws,
regulating portion sizes or ingredients?

The real answer lies is education. School districts in California
banned the sale of soft drinks on campus in 2003. And that’s how the
problem should be attacked. Teach your children well and the problem
diminishes over generations.

The other solution is to tax the hell out of sugary soft drinks. But
Bloomberg has too many political ambitions to play that card.

Disney understands the value of early education. This past week, it
became the first major media company to ban ads for junk food on its
television channels, radio stations and websites, hoping to stop kids
from eating badly by taking the temptation away.

I’ll drink to that.

In Search of the Real Gloria

The first press conference in recorded history was held by Moses.

Descending from the mountain, he said "Do I have news for you. From God's lips to your ears."

Scribes at the scene wrote it all down and headlined it "The Ten Commandments." The rest is history.

These days press conferences burst forth like weeds every day, conducted by paupers and presidents, jocks and jurists, and a lot of folks in between.

Some of it is important. But much of it is orchestrated by self-aggrandizing media freaks whose sole purpose is to stroke their egos by hoarding the spotlight.

Take, for example, Donald Trump. And Gloria Allred.

Trump is like a human infomercial run amok. Under the guise of having something important to say, he is usually found peddling a book or promoting a TV show. He likes to pose as a political kingmaker. In fact, he is a liability.

Allred is more difficult to figure. A tenacious lawyer, she has been involved in important and meaningful litigation during her long career.

But she seems hell-bent to make a fool of herself by elbowing her way into every celebrity sex scandal and gender bias dispute that comes down the chute.

She is now referred to as "celebrity attorney Gloria Allred." Perhaps "notorious" would be a better choice of words.

Worse, she has been described as the only celebrity who stalks the paparazzi.

When we last heard from Allred, just this past week, she was orchestrating a press conference for a New Jersey women who was dismissed from a temporary job at a New York lingerie warehouse because her male employers felt she was too busty and dressed too provocatively for the workplace.

It was a temporary job, she only worked a couple of days and her bosses were Orthodox Jews. Nonetheless, maybe there's a case here.

But the woman in question, Lauren Odes, 29, shows up at the press conference wearing, according to media reports, a form-fitting sequined black dress and black leather, sequin-studded boots. She then proceeds to pose like a Miss Budweiser contestant.

The case of a woman wronged is no longer a press conference, it's a circus. And when it is over, ringmaster Allred and her traveling media show moves on.

This is not new territory. Two years ago, Allred represented Debrahlee Lorenzana, allegedly fired by Citibank for being too sexy.

Lorenzana told the New York Daily News recently, "If I could turn back time, I would have not chosen Gloria Allred as my lawyer I thought because she was a woman that she would really fight for me (But) the only times I saw her was when the media was there."

Allred swings from significant to silly. She represented the woman who accused GOP presidential candidate Herman Cain of sexual harassment, a case which ended Cain's political aspirations. Then she represented Mandi Hamlin who claims she was humiliated when TSA agents forced her to remove her nipple rings in order to board an airplane.

She represented former adult film star Ginger Lee who allegedly exchanged e-mails with Rep.Anthony Weiner. Weiner resigned amidst revelations that he had been "sexting" with a variety of women outside of his marriage.

But she also waged a publicity campaign against Madonna, demanding she record a pro-choice song to make amends for what Allred had determined was the anti-abortion message of the hit "Papa Don't Preach."

Sex scandals? Tiger Woods, Charlie Sheen, John Travolta. She's ended up in the middle of all of them.

But Allred also forced the Sheriff's Department to stop shackling female prisoners who were in labor, advocated for AIDS victims who had lost their jobs, battled the Archdiocese of Los Angeles on behalf of a victim of sexual abuse and got the California Supreme Court to rule in favor of same-sex marriage before it was overturned by Prop. 8.

She got newspapers to print the names of "deadbeat dads" many of whom were subsequently located. She represented actress Hunter Tylo who claimed she was fired from her role in "Melrose Place" because she was pregnant. Tylo won $5 million.

So is she a warrior doing battle for gender equality? Or a brazen opportunist who never met a camera she didn't like.

She's clearly an enigma. But love her or loathe her, rest assured we'll see her again soon.

Paradise and Other Matters

How I spent my spring vacation:

When I turned in my column three weeks ago, I decided it was time for
a break.

It was, after all, my 300th column for this paper. Not what you would
call prolific but still a hefty body of work.

Writing at times is a contact sport, one that can leave your bruised
and battered. As Dorothy Parker once said, “I hate writing, I love
having written.”

So it was time to lick my wounds, real and imagined.

Mrs. Columnist and I fled to Hawaii where I would rise with the sun
each day and cast my nets into the sea to gather sustenance while she
deftly shimmied up trees to harvest coconuts and breadfruit.

Well, not really. We actually ate our share of cheeseburgers washed
down with mai-tais. But we did find a quiet corner of Maui where the
rest of the world seemed very far away. And it was good.

Hawaii is called paradise. That’s partly hype but mostly true. It has
become a family joke that whenever we travel there, wherever we may
go, the temperature is always 83 degrees. And you don’t have to look
hard to find beauty and serenity.

It seems that even in paradise, however, the inhabitants are always
at war with themselves. Tourism is the major industry here and
accommodating the visitors without spoiling the islands is a delicate
dance.

Some 7 million folks visited in 2011 and they spent north of $12
billion, according to tourism figures. Aloha, friends.

On the west shores of Maui, the Kaanapali area is beginning to look
like midtown Manhattan, jammed with massive hotels, time shares and
condos.

Just south, the town of Lahaina, once the royal capital of the
Kingdom of Hawaii, is now jammed with cheap jewelry and T-shirt
joints interspersed with lousy restaurants. It is what Hawaii does
worse.

A few miles north, the area is pristine, untouched by development,
with coves of crystal blue water and views that extend from the green
majestic mountains deep into the Pacific. It’s what Hawaii does best.

When it came time to leave, we departed from Kahului Airport in Maui
known for its scenic ocean views which exist at the end of a really
short runway. Takeoff is more like being catapulted from an aircraft
carrier, or worse, lifting off at Burbank Airport.

The idea at Kahului is to crank up the engines to maximum RPMs, then
simply remove your foot from the brake. If you don’t see assorted
crustaceans and other sea life on the windshield, you’ve made it.

Shortly after becoming airborne, the captain came on the intercom to
welcome us aboard and fill us in on flight time and weather
conditions. I expected the usual: a gravely, slightly Southern tinged
voice of a ex-military fighter jock with several thousand missions
under his belt.

Instead, the cool and reassuring voice of a female filled the
airplane. My captain was a lady.

OK, I know I’m probably violating Section 8, subparagraph (d) of the
Political Correctness Code. So the pilot was a female. Who cares? This is America, land of
unrestricted opportunity, where we are all free to pursue our dreams
unless you’re gay and want to marry or a Latino living in Arizona.

But like an ethical banker or black president, a woman captain is
rare enough to command attention.

And pique my interest.

Apparently, my captain was not one of a kind nor was she one of many.
Statistics are varied but as far I could tell, there were
approximately 13,755 women who held for-hire pilot certificates in
2010. That means they were qualified, not necessarily employed.

In 1960, that number stood at 763. But according to one study, women in the for-hire category represent
only 5.15% of the pilots holding a for-hire pilot certificate.
Furthermore, the U.S. Department of Labor reports that only 4.3% of
the population that reports making a living as a pilot or flight
engineer is female.

The flight deck appears to remain a man cave.

And that’s too bad. My captain safely maneuvered us across half the
Pacific Ocean through bouts of turbulence and landed the giant craft
at LAX like a feather caressing a down comforter. She was clearly the
best man for the job.

You go, girl.

We've Got a Ticket to Ride

In a scene from a wonderful movie called “L.A. Story” which probed
the foibles of life in our merry megalopolis, Steve Martin emerges
from his house, gets in his car and drives to his neighbor’s home
next door.

Funny? Sure. True? Exaggerated, perhaps, but not far from reality.

Let’s face it, we have always been in love with our cars and are
loath to abandon them in favor of public transportation.

There are reasons for that. First, we were blessed with the best
freeway system in the world which, on a good day, could whisk us
anywhere in Southern California with a minimum of fuss.

Second, we live in a place that defines the word sprawl. It forces us
to go great lengths to go great lengths. People here measure distance
in time, not mileage. Mileage is irrelevant on the eastbound 210 at 5
p.m.

Third, for years the alternative to the auto was a fleet of dirty,
diesel-belching buses overseen by uncaring bureaucrats whose real
purpose seemed to be to alienate the public.

Now, we are on the cusp of change. Our torrid affair with the
automobile may be turning cold. And alternatives abound.

To illustrate: I was sitting in an endless traffic jam on the 101 one
day when I looked to my right and saw a guy in slick,turbo-powered,
six-figure Porsche. He was wearing racing gloves, the kind you’d don
to drive in the German Grand Prix at the Nurburgring. It looked
particularly goofy since this guy never got out of first gear.

The point is that it’s hard to love your car, even a sleek and sexy
one, when you spend your days awash in a sea of red taillights. No
matter how posh the ride, you’re just wasting a sizable chunk of your
life and mental health while sucking up five dollar gas.

Now, however, we have a bustling, thriving downtown that is home to a
state-of-the-art subway/lite rail/bus system which will seamlessly
and cheaply transport people to where they live or work or play.
Witness the new Expo Line which runs from downtown past Staples
Center, L.A. Live and USC to Culver City and eventually to Santa
Monica.

And there’s more to come.

Within the next decade, our very own Gold Line will expand eastward
to Azusa. A new subway route through downtown Los Angeles will link
the Metro Blue Line, Gold Line and Expo Line. The Purple Line will
run from Union Station through MacArthur Park along Wilshire
Boulevard to Westwood.

Voila! Access to sporting events, major universities, museums,
nightlife, even the beach, without backing your car out of the
driveway.

We’re becoming just like New York, London and Paris. We’re just a
century late.

Will people use it? The answer appears to be yes. Metro bus and rail
ridership has jumped during the first two months of this year thanks
in part to soaring gas prices, according to a story in the Los
Angeles Times. The Metro Gold Line from downtown to Pasadena saw the
biggest spike: up nearly 22% over boardings from a year earlier.
Orange Line commuter traffic also carried significantly more
passengers than a year ago, up by 18%, and the Blue and Green lines
also drew more commuters.

From which we can extrapolate that a new generation of commuters are
beginning to shun Sig Alerts and budget-busting gas prices in favor
of clean, sophisticated public transit.

For those of us of a certain age who have lived in and loved Los
Angeles for decades, it is a development both astounding and
bittersweet.

Astounding in that a subway/lite rail system was talked about for
decades and seemed as remote as time travel. Now, it is actually up
and running.

Bittersweet in that we once had a great rail system that served every
corner of Southern California. We’ve spent billions just to get us
back to where we were almost a century ago.

Back then, we had the Pacific Electric Railroad, the largest electric
railroad in the world connecting Los Angeles County with San
Bernardino County, Riverside County and Orange County with 1,000
miles of track. We also had the Yellow Cars which serviced central
Los Angeles and surrounding communities.

It didn’t last. It was felled by corporate skullduggery, poor
planning and a region that grew so fast it couldn’t keep up with
itself.

--- General Motors and a number of other companies bought and
dismantled our streetcars and electric trains, then sold local
governments buses which they manufactured.

--- Following World War II, politicians decided to construct a web of
freeways across the region because it was seen as a better solution
than a new mass transit system or an upgrade of the Pacific Electric.

--- Ironically, congestion also helped spell the end to commuter
rail. Most of the Red and Yellow cars ran on city streets and the
region was becoming so congested because of the post-war population
boom, the trains found it impossible to run on time.

It was a sad and costly chapter in our history. Let’s hope we grab on
to the future while it is there for the taking.

Shock Without Awe

Get ready for a spectacle like no other.

It won’t be long before you will be witness to more political advertising, much of the negative, than a human being can be expected to tolerate.

Think that's an exaggeration? According to some estimates, $9.8 billion will be spend on political ads just this year.

It's sort of a legitimized form of electronic brainwashing. Or, if you wish shock without the awe.


The fact is, most people really don’t like political advertising.

It’s a steady diet of claims and counterclaims, appeals, distortions,
attacks and just plain dirt repeated over and over.

But while you can cover your eyes, plug your ears and try to look away, you
can’t hide.

In fact, according to a story in the New York Times, Mitt Romney’s
campaign thinks it has found a way to get its ads in front of the
increasing number of voters who are not watching traditional
television: Find these people online, and show them the ads there.

“The Romney campaign and a team of online behavior analysts have
spent 18 months…sifting through data on the browsing habits of tens
of millions of computer users as the campaign builds a richly
detailed cache of potential supporters,” the Times reported.

Not to be outdone, the Obama campaign is even most aggressive in trying to reach voters
online, so far spending more on Internet advertising than on
television, radio and telemarketing combined, according to the
Washington Post. Click on an Obama for President ad and it will
follow wherever your Internet search will carry you.

It is indeed a brave new world. But while the method might be
different, the madness remains the same. He who slings the most mud
usually wins.

So I got to wondering recently: Does this stuff really work? Do
Americans really cast their ballot on who has the slickest
commercials or nastiest attack ads?

Isn’t the media covering the presidential contest 24/7? Won’t there
be presidential candidate debates? Isn’t it essentially the same
message we had four years ago? And four years before that? Tax and
spend nanny state liberals versus government slashing conservatives
who coddle the rich and impose their moral views on others?

We’re not idiots. Why do we need to be inundated with billions of
dollars in attack ads that play fast and lose with the facts? A valid
question. Also, depending on whom you ask, an overly simplistic one.

According to academics, it simply comes down to this: negative
information is more memorable than positive.

Ruthann Weaver Laiscy, a University of Georgia professor, writing for CNN, put it this way:

“I often use an analogy of running water from my garden hose. If I
stand at the top of a smooth concrete driveway and turn on the water,
it flows quickly, directly, and fairly seamlessly to the bottom. This
is much how a positive message goes through the brain.
“If I take my same hose and stand at the top of a grassy hill and
turn it on, the water travels more slowly than on the concrete hill,
it picks up some loose dirt, and inevitably some of it gets "stuck"
in grass along the way.

“Negative information, too, travels more slowly because of its
enhanced complexity. It benefits from the negativity bias, and
inevitably some of that negative information gets "stuck" in our
minds, even if we don't like the ad or agree with its contents.”

Let’s see if I understand. So when I see my wife, instead of saying
,“you look nice tonight,” I say, “you look like you’ve put on a few
pounds,” I can expect that message to remain with her for a long,
long, time?

You bet. Apply that to political hit pieces and you get the picture.

But it doesn’t always work that way.

In the 2008 U.S. Senate race in North Carolina, Republican incumbent
Elizabeth Dole attempted an attack ad on Democratic challenger Kay
Hagan by tying her to atheists.

Dole's campaign released an ad questioning Hagan's religion and it
included a voice saying "There is no God!" over a picture of Kay
Hagan's face. The voice was not Hagan's but the ad implied that it
was.

Initially, it was thought the ad would work as that old time religion
has historically been a very important issue to voters in South.
But Hagan responded forcefully with an ad saying that she was a
Sunday school teacher and was a deeply religious person.

Hagan's small lead in polls doubled and she won the race by a nine
point margin.

The lesson? Be careful who and how you smear.

Ted in the Weeds

Years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to get down into the
conversational mud with those who occupy the fringes of political
punditry.

I clashed with Coulter, lambasted Limbaugh, berated Beck. I bashed
Bill O’Reilly and knocked Keith Olbermann.

Although it made splendid copy, I stopped. You can’t reason with
unreasonable people and all I was doing was pouring jet fuel onto the
inferno that is political discourse in this country.

More importantly, I was calling for civility while being uncivil
myself.

Today, I am a new man.

However…

I am making an exception this week to dwell on the deeds and actions
of one Ted Nugent, a burned out rock star who spends his time these
days lying in the weeds while hunting deer with a crossbow.

You remember Ted. He had a hit record in 1977 called “Cat Scratch
Fever” about a man chronicling his long history of promiscuous sex.
It had a good beat and was easy to dance to.

Since then, he has emerged from his hunter/gatherer life style to
play mediocre rock ‘n’ roll and mouth audacious political statements,
most based on his fanatical belief in the right to brandish automatic
weapons and kill animals.

Nugent doesn’t just bear arms. He carries more weaponry than the
National Guard.

This endearing trait landed him on the dais of the National Rifle
Association’s annual convention recently where he whipped the already
paranoid crowd into a frenzy.

"I will either be dead or in jail by this time next year" if
President Obama is re-elected, Nugent declared to a gathering that
roared its approval. That line prompted a visit by the Secret Service
which doesn’t take threats against the President lightly.

In milder tones, Nugent said that the President is "vile," "evil" and
"America-hating.”

A few years back, Nugent exercised his First Amendment rights by
publicly declaring, “Obama, he’s a piece of s---, and I told him to
suck on my machine gun … Hey Hillary, you might want to ride one of
these into the sunset, you worthless b---- … Any questions?
Freeeeeeeeeeeedom!!!!!”

Which frames the level of discourse we can expect from a guy whose
testosterone level exceeds his IQ.

Why should we care?

Well, for one thing, Mr. Nugent is a board member of the NRA which I
presume means he speaks for its myriad members. For another, Mitt
Romney addressed the very same gun-totting conventioneers in an
attempt to garner their support.

Is Romney reaching out to the likes of Ted Nugent? Apparently so.

In his speech, Romney promised to defend the Second Amendment and
attacked President Obama for “employing every imaginable ruse and
ploy” to restrict gun rights, which Romney pledged not to do if
elected in November.

For the record, Obama has barely mentioned gun control in his four
years in office. In fact, his supporters are critical of him for not
taking a stronger anti-gun stance. He has said that he supports the Second Amendment but also backs
local gun control ordinances such as the one that exists --- for good
reason --- in Washington, D.C.

For his part, Romney, campaigning for the Senate in 1994, said he
favored strong gun laws and did not “line up with the NRA.” He then
signed up for “lifetime membership” of the NRA in August 2006 while
pondering a presidential run, praising the group for “doing good
things” and “supporting the right to bear arms.”

That’s Mitt. He has more positions than a yoga master.

But it makes little difference. The NRA wouldn’t support Obama if he
appeared before them dressed like Rambo and shot out the lights with
a Glock 19.

It demonstrates the lengths the Romney campaign will go to in an
effort to attract conservatives to their cause. He needs them to win
and from here on out, his campaign will embrace them in a bear hug.

The NRA? Hell, yes, pass me some ammo.

There is some irony here. I doubt if Nugent has ever been invited
over to the Romney mansion to swap life stories with Mitt, Ann and
the boys.

I suspect if the Romneys ever saw Nugent coming up their driveway, a
Bowie knife clinched in his teeth, an AK-47 at the ready and froth
forming on his mouth, they’d call security.

Right after they secured his endorsement.

Red Meat

It’s been a bad couple of weeks for carnivores.

First, researchers at the Harvard School of Public Health released a
study they said showed red meat consumption could lead to an early
death.

In fact, they contended, adding just one 3-ounce serving of red meat
daily (picture a steak the size of a smart phone) was associated with
a 13 per cent greater chance of dying during the 20-year course of
the study.

Wolf down a hot dog or two slices of bacon daily and it rises to a 20
per cent higher risk of death.

About the same time, scientists in Spain determined that fast food
consumers, compared to those who eat little or none, are 51 per cent
more likely to develop depression.

And in the midst of all this, ABC News revealed that that 70 percent
of ground beef sold in U.S. supermarkets contained an additive called
“pink slime.”

It’s actually been around for a dozen years. But you’ve never heard
of it because the meat industry prefers to call it “boneless lean
beef trimmings” which sounds like it should be served with a good
Bordeaux.

All this news hit America right in its paunchy solar plexus.

We love our steaks, our brisket, our burgers so big that the juices
run down our forearms and drip off our elbows.

Along with gun ownership, red meat and fast food consumption is as
American as apple pie (411 calories, 19 grams of fat per serving).

So what has the reaction been?

--- The California Angels baseball team unveiled an assortment of new
food items for the upcoming season including a deep-fried hot dog, a
bacon-wrapped hot dog and a hot dog topped with barbecued beef.

--- A billboard on River Highway in North Carolina not only shows a
gigantic piece of steak on an even more giant fork, but it actually
pumps out the smell of steak for passing drivers to sniff.

--- The Jack in the Box folks have insulted our collective
intelligence with a TV commercial in which a geek tells his mother he
is getting married. “Who’s the girl?” she asks. He replies, “ It’s
not a girl, it’s bacon.” This is all by way of promoting the chains’
BLT cheeseburger (649 calories, 36 grams of fat).

The conclusion of the ad takes place at the altar where a minister
proclaims “You may eat the bride.” Pretty funny if you’re in the
third grade.

(An aside: if you do an Internet search for marry bacon, you come up
with a fitness expert named Mary Bacon in Australia who must be less
than amused with the ad campaign).

--- Burger King is experimenting with home delivery. Right now, you
can get a Whopper sped to your front door in certain areas of the
Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Don’t forget the 20 per cent tip.

--- Burger King is also going public, offering shares for trade on
the New York Stock Exchange. Before you dump your 401k savings into
this stock, consider its very name connotes dubious eating habits.

---Sonic Drive-in is offering a bacon double cheeseburger that weighs
in at 1280 calories and 92 grams of fat.

The Harvard study will undoubtedly cause great glee among cows,
vegans and the National Chicken Council.

But while many of us are eating smarter, it’s not easy to go cold
turkey. Red meat and fast food may be bad for us but we consume it
anyway, driven in part by a constant barrage of advertising that
shows happy, healthy, slim Americans gleefully engaged in a
cholesterol orgy. They look like members of the Future Heart Attack
Victims of America.

Besides, eating almost anything can be dangerous to your health.
Consider: 300,000 pounds of Colorado cantaloupes were recalled
recently because of listeria; a salmonella outbreak in 19 states is
being traced to sushi; 36 million pounds of ground turkey were
recalled last year in a salmonella outbreak.

So what to do? You can live in a cave and make your own jerky. Or you
can shop smart and avoid excess in all things.

If that doesn’t appeal, consider this: A company named J&D Foods in
Seattle, puveryors of things like bacon lip balm, is offering a bacon
coffin for $2,999.99 plus shipping.

The coffin is not actually made of coffin but painted to look like
it. Inside, is a bacon air freshener.

Bon apetite.

Six Months to Go

A political snapshot, Spring 2012:

It’s six months until we elect a President of the United States.

It appears the brawl that is the Republican primary
has resulted in so many body blows that the last candidate standing
has been permanently damaged.

But not so. It’s like pro wrestling. Nobody really gets hurt.

Political memory is too short. No one will remember the nasty things
Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum said to and about each other this fall
when the presidential race gets down to the bell lap.

And who will the GOP candidate be? The drama here is almost at an
end. Romney has a large delegate lead, a well-oiled machine, money,
endorsements and the backing of the party establishment.

It is also apparent that nothing he says or does will mollify the
conservative wing of the party. Conservatives don’t like him and he
spends three times as much money as Santorum to win a vote, not
exactly an endearing statistic.

Santorum soldiers on, perhaps to influence party philosophy, perhaps
in hopes of becoming Romney’s running mate.

Don’t laugh. Romney needs a social conservative to unite a splintered
party if he wants to win in November.

If it’s not Santorum, it will be another representative of the GOP’s
right flank.

But it won’t be Newt Gingrich. You would have thought by now that
Gingrich would have retired from the race, saving what’s left of his
dignity.

Instead, he has dumped a third of his staff and is now
charging his supporters $50 to have their pictures taken with him.

It’s political panhandling. All you can do is avert your eyes and
walk away.

The Associated Press reported that Gingrich plans to spend much less
time in primary states and instead personally call delegates to try
to persuade them to back him at the Republican National Convention in
August.

“We are not going to cede to Mitt Romney’s strategy to take the party
down,” said a Gingrich spokesman. Ultimately, Gingrich would take the
fight to the convention floor, he said.

GOP unity seems to be a work in progress.

So it looks like clear sailing for President Obama, right? All he
has to do is remain presidential, appear above the fray, and watch
the Republican Party collapse in on itself, like a black hole in deep
space.

Wrong. An incumbent president can find himself on thin political ice.
Just ask George H.W. Bush, Jimmy Carter or Gerald Ford. Any upheaval
foreign or domestic can seriously hinder reelection chances.

Right now, Upheaval No. 1 for the Obama Administration is health
care. The Supreme Court is determining the constitutionality of the
Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare if you will.

Whether the Court dumps the whole thing, parts of it or returns the
whole package to Congress for a rewrite, there is no good solution
for the Democrats.

Having a major legislative initiative declared unconstitutional is
not a plus in the political playbook.

Indeed, the Court’s conservative justices just might declare the
entire act invalid and since they make up the majority, it seems a
real possibility.

All of which raises an interesting issue. A majority of Americans have
indicated in polls that they don’t much care for Obamacare, even
though they voted for Mr. Obama and health care reform was a major
plank in his platform.

So the American voter is fickle. What else is new?

But a Bloomberg poll conducted earlier this month found that “an
overwhelming majority of Americans think that the Supreme Court
justices’ political views will influence how they vote on the Obama
health care reform” challenge.

So a Constitutional issue becomes a political one. If health care
reform is rejected by the justices, the President could choose to be
portrayed as a martyr, a man whose vision for America has been
trampled under the boot heel of a politicized Supreme Court.

Sound extreme? Nothing is out of play when the White House is at
stake.

Would the death of Obamacare be a cause for GOP celebration?

Sure. But not a very raucous one. If Romney is indeed the Republican
candidate, voters will be reminded that he passed a health care
reform measure while governor of Massachusetts that was almost
identical to the Affordable Care Act.

Thus, any criticism of Obamacare could be turned back against him.

It will be an interesting six months.

Fowl Play

No one will ever mistake me for a mechanical engineer.

I have been left bruised and fatigued after many an encounter with
“easy to assemble” products from toys to barbecues to furniture.

I have suffered injuries to my fingers, knuckles and ego.

Just for the record, I am not a complete klutz. I have a reasonably
well stocked tool box and a basic grasp of How Things Work.

So it was that I set out on a project one recent weekend that was
simplicity itself. We’re not talking about building a computer from
scratch or creating a cello from a block of wood.

Nope, we’re taking about patio furniture. A couple of screws here, a
couple of bolts there, no problem.

It’s guy stuff. We’re genetically disposed to nail things together.

I assembled a small table in 10 minutes flat. Attach legs to table
top, secure them, turn upright, place cold beer on surface.

Then came the chairs.

The concept of a chair isn’t difficult to comprehend. A flat place
for your rear end supported by four legs and a back.

But it appears I purchased the chairs from hell, ones that require
elite dexterity and knowledge of thermodynamics and structural
analysis for assembly.

These wrought iron monstrosities came in three parts and required me
to insert bolts through holes that appeared to be machined by a
political prisoner from a far-flung province in China. Who is blind.

The instructions were incomprehensible and the schematics looked like
an ink blot. It was like taking a SAT test in Welch. “Dw i ddim yn
deall.”

The bolts would hold the two portions of the chair in place along
with a u-shaped bracket which would allow the chair’s user to
slightly recline, sort of like a rocking chair.

Because of that feature, none of the parts fit flush. You had to tilt
one part to align with the other while threading a screw, some
washers and bolts through holes of varying sizes at the same time you
held the bracket in place.

It didn’t work with the chair upright, or on its side. However,
turning it upside down and holding the parts together with one hand
while threading the screws with the other hand seemed to work. All it
took was a maneuver that would test Houdini. In chains.

I finally got the chairs assembled, after exhausting my patience, my
sanity and every cuss world I could muster. Estimated time: about and
hour and 45 minutes.

That’s only part of the story, however. I had the garage door open
while I worked and at some point I had the feeling someone was
watching.

When I turned around, there were two ducks standing at the entrance
to my garage, watching intently. The stayed about five minutes and
even approached within six feet or so.

Now I know this sounds like a joke that begins, “So these two ducks
walk into a bar…”

But it isn’t. I wasn’t drinking and I’m not given to embellishing a
story. It really happened.

There are ponds in the area so it’s not surprising to see a duck or
two in the neighborhood.

These two seem to be enjoying my plight. Or maybe I thought so
because of my, ahem, fowl mood. Have you every seen a duck laugh? I’m
pretty sure I did.

Clearly, this was a sign. Some higher power was sending me a message,
cryptic as it may have been.

Celtic legend holds that ducks symbolize transition due to their
migratory nature.

That’s good enough for me. I will soon be transiting from handyman to
purchaser of fully assembled goods.

The toolbox is being put away to appear on “Antiques Roadshow”
sometime in the distant future.

And I am at peace.

Rolling around on the floor with furniture is one thing. But being
mocked by ducks is quite another.

Cookies and Commies

I ran into a gaggle of Girl Scouts in front of the market the other
day, enthusiastically selling their famous cookies that seem to
appear like clockwork each year at precisely this time.

I respectfully declined. I’m still at war with my post-holiday diet
and while my mind whispers yes, my waistline screams no.

Besides, I’ve been through my Girl Scout cookie phase. With two
daughters, four nieces and dozens of friends with female children, I
was awash in a sea of thin mints, lemon chalet creams and samoas for
years, primarily as a consumer.

And a willing one. The Girls Scouts were a positive experience for my
kids. This year, the Girl Scouts celebrate 100 years and remain a
tradition well worth admiring and encouraging.

Or so I thought.

Then I read where an Indiana lawmaker has labeled the Girls Scouts a
radical organization that promotes homosexuality and abortion and is
out to destroy American values.

That opinion was offered by a Indiana GOP state representative named
Bob Morris who believes the Girl Scouts encourage sexual activity,
are a front for Planned Parenthood, and that scouts are encouraged to
study role models who endorse feminist, lesbian and Communist
agendas.

It would be easy to dismiss Mr. Morris as a rogue whacko except that
this same sort of garbage has been making its way around the Internet
for some time, promoted by people who from time to time emerge from
under a rock to proclaim themselves protectors of the American way of
life.

Morris said he made his startling discoveries after talking to some
“knowledgeable constituents” and conducting "a small amount of
Web-based research.”

I did some research as well and found the following: The national
Girl Scouts organization has no relationship with Planned Parenthood.
Local chapters are autonomous and can partner with anyone they
choose, be it Planned Parenthood or the Republican National
Committee. There is no evidence they very many have done either.

What Morris’ research should have shown is that the Girl Scouts are
dedicated to empowering girls and helping to teach honesty, fairness,
courage, compassion, character, sisterhood, confidence and
citizenship through activities including camping and community
service.

Which sound like admirable values, at least in the part of America I
occupy.

Mr. Morris reveals his real agenda when he proclaims, “The fact that
the honorary president of the Girl Scouts is Michelle Obama and the
Obamas are radically pro-abortion and vigorously support the agenda
of Planned Parenthood should give each of us reason to pause before
or individual or collective endorsement of the organization.”

He fails to note than other honorary presidents of the Girl Scouts
include such radical feminists as Mamie Eisenhower, Nancy Reagan,
Barbara and Laura Bush.

As to that communist/feminist/lesbian stuff, a group called Family
Watch International complains on its web site that Girl Scout
literature offers as role models Frances Perkins, America’s first
female Cabinet secretary; Rigoberta Menchu, the Guatemalan activist
and Nobel Peace Prize winner; and Bette Midler, the singer and
actress, according to a story in the Washington Post.

The site sends readers to a page that identifies Perkins as
“lesbian,” Menchu as “Marxist” and Midler as “advocate for homosexual
rights.”

Missing in this rant is that the Girl Scouts also offer as role
models Mother Theresa and Clara Barton. They do not promote Snooki,
Lady GaGa or Lindsay Lohan.

Planned Parenthood has released a statement denying any connection to
the scouting group. National Girl Scouts officers say the group “does
not take a position or develop materials on issues related to human
sexuality and we do not have a national relationship with Planned
Parenthood.”

Asked why he thinks the Girl Scouts support abortion, Morris
said,"They're not against it. If you're not against it, you're for
it."

Which wins him a merit badge for stupidity.

In the meantime, I’m headed back to the market to buy a couple of
cases of cookies. I’m betting the money I spend will make a great
country greater.

Lose Angeles

With apologies to Karl Marx, sports, not religion, is the real opiate
of the masses, an escape from the tensions of travails of everyday
life.

Except in this town.

Here, the gods of sports mock us. Consider:

The Lakers are fading like a distant memory. It’s Kobe Bryant and a
bunch of other guys who will never see their jerseys hanging from the
rafters unless it’s at the hands of an angry mob.

Then Kobe gets his nose smashed and his bell rung in an all-star
game. An all star game? Nobody gets hurt in an all-star game.
But our guy does. My advice: don’t refinance to buy playoff tickets.

The Clippers? They have risen from the ashes. But one key injury or
some other bizarre twist of fate and they’re beloved losers again. We
wish them success, however, if for no other reason than to see those
cheesy ads that Donald Sterling buys in the Times saluting himself as
a great humanitarian.

College basketball in this town is a disaster. USC is painfully inept
and UCLA is dysfunctional. The Bruins are lucky they played all their
game at the Sports Arena this year because nobody saw them.

Hockey is your game? The Kings are crashing faster than space junk.
That’s what happens when you average one goal a month. But be
patient. It’s only been 45 years. They’ll start their Stanley Cup
drive any day now.

The Ducks? Who cares? They’re from Orange County. Besides, how can
you get behind a team that shares a name with Daffy.

Wait, it gets worse.

Football in Los Angeles is personified by USC. Last year, they were
an exciting and powerful team. The problem with the Trojans is that
they rack up NCAA infractions as quickly as they score touchdowns.
Even their women’s tennis team was recently sanctioned.

Now they’re facing serious football scholarship limitations because
of their misdeeds. It could prove damaging. Why don’t they just turn
pro and avoid all these hassles?

UCLA plays football, too. But mostly they spend their time acquiring
bad coaches. Their latest hire has no college coaching experience.
This is either innovation or insanity.

Professional football seems tantalizingly close at times. Both Ed
Roski and Phillip Anschutz stand ready to build billion dollar
stadiums.

There’s just one stumbling block: NFL Commissioner Roger
Goodell says there hasn't been any discussion about adding to the
league's 32 teams and he's not interested in shifting a franchise.

It almost makes you wish the Raiders were back in town.

Which brings us to baseball.

I don’t have to remind you of what has befallen our beloved Dodgers.
Under the direction of owner Frank McCourt, they have achieved the
difficult but dubious distinction of failure on the field and in the
front office.

The good news: McCourt is being forced to sell his bankrupt team. The
bad news: he wants to hold on to the parking lots.

McCourt is like a bad flu bug. Just when you think you’ve got it
licked, it comes back to make you miserable again.

His parking lot gambit is either a device to jack up the selling
price or --- our worst nightmare --- an indication that we’ll have to
tolerate him for years to come.

There will be plenty of good seats available at Dodger Stadium this
year.

Then there’s the Angels, a team so insecure they’ve taken to calling
themselves the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.

They don’t represent Los Angeles. They’re from Orange County, dammit.
And no matter how many expensive free agents they sign, no matter how
many games they win, they will always be the other team in town.

Besides, how can you root for a team with a waterfall in center field?

ESPN once characterized Atlanta as the worst sports town in America.
But that was because of a lack of fan support.

In our case, it’s as though the country titled to the west and all
the bad karma rolled into Los Angeles County.

So do good deeds. Love your neighbor. Be kind to dogs and kids.
Maybe it will bring us a few winners.