I went to a pro football game recently, an experience so alien to
most Southern California residents that I might as well just
announced that I lunched with the Pope or purchased a yacht.
You did what?
It wasn’t something on my bucket list. Rather, I had traveled to
Denver to visit an old friend who just happened to have two tickers
to the Broncos-Raiders game on a recent Sunday. It’s good to have old
friends.
I tried to remember the last time I attended a NFL game. I watched
the Steelers in Pittsburgh with my brother-in-law a decade or so ago.
I went to a few Raider games when they occupied the Coliseum but
found the atmosphere about as cordial as a prison yard. So I never
returned. I went to a lot of Rams games but that was a long, long
time ago.
The Denver experience was an eye-opener. The Broncos play in a
relatively new stadium that has no equal here. It is modern,
aesthetically pleasing, clean and spacious with comfortable seating
and great sightlines. For those of us who have been kicking around
the Rose Bowl and Coliseum, it’s like stepping out of Model A Ford
into a Ferrari.
The fans are very loud and very intense, fueled in part by copious
amounts of Coors. And when we traveled across town to a pub following
the game, almost every street on our route was filled with people
adorned in Bronco jerseys and shirts celebrating a win.
Call it civic pride. Or mass hysteria. Probably a little of both. It
must have been the same way when the legions returned in triumph to
Rome.
I couldn’t help but wonder: If the NFL returned to Los Angeles, would
the fans here demonstrate the same unabashed energy and loyalty?
Would they sell out the stadium for decades on end as they have in
Denver? Would they parade throughout the city in team colors?
Would the NFL own this town?
The simple answer is “no.” And it’s not, as myth would have it,
because we are too laid back or too distracted by myriad other
attractions.
First, people here have grown weary of the “NFL to L.A.” fiasco, a
tale that contains more twists and turns than an Alfred Hitchcock
movie.
We rightly believe that we have been jerked around for decades by a
league whose attitude has been a combination of pomposity and benign
neglect.
So don’t expect us to swoon at the rumored sighting of a NFL team.
And don’t expect us to fall head-over-heels in love if one lands in
our midst.
Second, it wasn’t our fault the NFL abandoned Los Angeles. The Rams
left first for Orange County then St. Louis at the behest of their
owner/showgirl who yearned for the luxury and riches that only a
sweltering outpost on the Mississippi River could provide.
The Raiders moved here then returned to Oakland, a city best known
for holding up the other end of the Bay Bridge.
Now, we are not a destination, we are a threat. NFL owners play
footsie with L.A. as a way to browbeat their own fans and politicians
into building new venues. Does that make you feel like you’re being
used? Me too.
Third, the most vocal support for pro football in Los Angeles is
exhibited by wealthy business people who hope to become wealthier.
Call it trickle-down enthusiasm.
In order for the NFL to own this town, the Lakers and Dodgers would
have to move to Canada. Or beyond.
These two franchises have been continually successful and in the
process have won the hearts and minds of the fans. Even the Kings, by
winning the Stanley Cup, have secured themselves a seat on the Los
Angeles bandwagon.
Football? Put UCLA and USC at home on the same day and 150,000 fans
will show up. No NFL city can make that claim.
A pro team would push us perilously close to, if not beyond, the saturation point. And there is talk of adding two teams? I can see the empty seats already.
We have survived a long time without the NFL. And it has survived
quite well without us.
But Los Angeles is the second largest TV market in the U.S. and the NFL is essentially a made-for-TV product. Connect the dots to see why the league is interested.
We may very well have professional football in Los Angeles some day.
As for the fans, the reaction could very well be resignation, not
celebration.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Heroic Acts
Just this past week, I performed a number of death-defying acts, each one so profoundly heroic that strong men trembled and weak men cried.
I left the house.
I withdrew money from an ATM machine.
I ate at a Mexican restaurant.
I attended a baseball game at Dodger Stadium.
I shook hands with people. And even hugged a few.
And I did it all without a mask.
Welcome to Life in the Time of Swine Flu.
I knew we were entering uncharted territory the other day when I spotted a woman in the supermarket with at least two dozen bottles of hand sanitizer in her cart, enough to wipe down the Rose Bowl.
Other than that, the only public signs of panic I've seen is on the part of the media.
What we have had is an outbreak of out-of-control coverage.
"Swine flu-HIV could devastate human race" screamed a headline on a UPI story.
"Flu Fears Spur Global Triage," pronounced the Wall Street Journal.
NBC's Robert Bazell said the government didn't "want people to panic," but then panicked viewers saying "it appears to be an outbreak unlike anything we've seen in our lifetimes."
Not to be outdone, Fox anchor Shepard Smith hinted the flu story might be "just a distraction from more serious issues," according to the Los Angeles Times. Another Fox host darkly repeated Internet reports that "the government knows a lot more than they are telling us."
Taking it one
Meanwhile in Great Britain, the London Independent thundered "Prepared for the Apocalypse," describing Mexico as a "quasi-apocalyptic vision of anonymous faces shrouded in government-issued surgical masks."
"Sore throat at breakfast dead by tea time how the last flu pandemic killed 40 million," intoned the Express.
Then there was Vice President Joe Biden, saying he was advising his family to stay off public transportation which prompted the Wall Street Journal to observe, "Who knew Mr. Biden was talking about himself when he warned last year that Barack Obama would be tested by crisis early in his presidency?"
To be fair, not every media outlet went into hysteria mode. Many approached the topic with healthy skepticism, reporting that more people die per year from ordinary flu viruses than from the swine variety.
And comedic commentator John Stewart put things into proper perspective: "Swine flu ranks last on the list of things that can kill you in Mexico."
Truth be told, this was a tough call for a lot of editors.
Scientists and public health officials have been warning for years about a deadly pandemic. The swine flu scared us in the 1970s, so much so that a massive inoculation program was initiated which did more harm than good.
Bird flu is still lurking out there somewhere. We've been through the Asian flu, the Hong Kong flu and SARS.
Add to that a climbing death rate in Mexico and outbreaks in the United States. The president of the United States holds a press conference in which he expresses "cause for concern, not cause for alarm."
On the other hand, previous pandemic scares have been overblown.
This is not a story you assign to an intern.
The trouble comes when much of the coverage begins when anchors on the 24-hour-a-day cable news channels pick up the beat. They have a lot of air time to fill and pretty soon begin to overreact to every development while feeding on each other's excesses.
Besides, the media loves doomsday scenarios. Remember Y2K and Mad Cow Disease? Then when this hype gets spread on myriad social networking networks, you have an information pandemic. As of Wednesday, Google listed 19,100,000 hits for the topic "Swine Flu."
The trick for the media is to balance restraint with the need to inform the public of an important story. It's a difficult act that sometimes gets lost in the emotion of the moment. The result is that the public loses faith in the media. In Texas, when Fort Worth closed down every single school sending 80,000 students home, the governor blamed "media hype."
We know that this particular chapter may not be at an end. Some public health officials warn that the virus could mutate and that a real global outbreak could occur.
If that happens, will the public view the media as the boy who cried wolf?
That would make a bad situation worse.
At a time the media is expanding to include any and all voices, which voice to listen to will become increasingly important.
Sunday, October 07, 2012
Jimmy and Charlie
Just call us Boneheads.
We Americans seem to be obsessed with finding the earthly remains of
Jimmy Hoffa, a labor leader/crook who presided over the Teamsters
Union for 13 years and who vanished in 1975 without a trace.
What fuels this frenzied skeletal scavenger hunt is as mysterious as
his disappearance. Hoffa was nobody’s idea of a warm and fuzzy guy.
He ran with a rough crowd and apparently suffered a rough fate. End
of chapter. Close the book.
But every half-baked tip sends the cops and the FBI out with a
shovel-wielding, back hoe churning platoon of searchers.
Can’t we just let Jimmy go?
Sure, the Teamsters became the largest single union in the United
States under Hoffa’s leadership, boasting 1.5 million members. And he
was once a powerful presence on the national stage.
While he was playing strongman, however, he was engaged in jury
tampering, bribery and fraud for which he was convicted and
imprisoned in 1967 for a term of 13 years.
It was enough to give the labor movement a bad name.
This is a man of whom Attorney General Robert Kennedy once said, “If
James R. Hoffa is acquitted, I will jump from the top of the Capital
Dome.”
Yet five years into his sentence, he was released from prison by
President Richard Nixon. The Teamsters then endorsed Nixon in his
reelection bid in 1972, a coincidence that raised many an eyebrow and
dropped many a jaw.
When last seen in the parking lot of a suburban Detroit restaurant,
Hoffa was on his way to meet Anthony Giacalone and Anthony
Provenzano, two reputed Mafia figures who had also been Teamster
officials.
Maybe they just took a wrong turn into Lake St. Claire. But if you
believe that, you probably believe in the Easter Bunny.
Indeed, the Detroit Free Press in 2006 cited a FBI report concluding
Hoffa was killed by organized crime members because he was attempting
to regain control of the Teamsters whose pension fund they controlled.
So in mob parlance, he was “taken for a ride.” Or perhaps he “sleeps
with the fishes.”
It’s been 37 years. He has been declared legally dead. The hunt,
however, continues.
Just this past week, police acting on a tip from someone who might
have seen something nearly four decades ago, dug up the yard of a
suburban Detroit house. But no Jimmy.
Previous tips have led police and the FBI to excavate land at a
mid-Michigan horse farm, pull up floorboards of a Detroit house and
search beneath a backyard pool.
Then there’s the theory that Hoffa was entombed in concrete at Giants
Stadium in New Jersey, ground up and thrown in a Florida swamp or
obliterated in a mob-owned fat-rendering plant. None of which have
produced a single hair.
If we want to get serious about finding a body, we should take a
lesson from our cousins the Brits.
In what must be the ultimate cold case file, they have been hunting
for the bones of King Richard III for nearly 600 years. And now they
appear to have found them.
Richard was one of the most reviled of the English kings. He was
depicted by Shakespeare as a scheming, evil hunchback, the last of
the Plantagenets whose death in battle paved the way for the triumphs
of the Tudors and Elizabethans.
He died in the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485, then was bound naked
to a horse for two days of public display in Leicester, about 100
miles north of London, according to historical accounts. He was
buried in a priority which over the centuries had become a parking
lot for a bank in Leicester under which the bones were found.
While testing continues to verify that the bones are indeed that of
the king, the Brits have gone one step farther. They found a cabinet
maker living in London whose mother was a 16th-generation niece of
King Richard’s and whose DNA may seal the deal.
Interestingly enough, the discovery has spurned discussion that
perhaps Richard wasn’t such a bad sort after all and should be
reburied in Westminster Abbey along with the other kings of England.
It just shows you how 500 years or so can repair your reputation.
Maybe if they dig up Hoffa in 2512, he’ll be hailed as a hero.
But I have grave doubts.
We Americans seem to be obsessed with finding the earthly remains of
Jimmy Hoffa, a labor leader/crook who presided over the Teamsters
Union for 13 years and who vanished in 1975 without a trace.
What fuels this frenzied skeletal scavenger hunt is as mysterious as
his disappearance. Hoffa was nobody’s idea of a warm and fuzzy guy.
He ran with a rough crowd and apparently suffered a rough fate. End
of chapter. Close the book.
But every half-baked tip sends the cops and the FBI out with a
shovel-wielding, back hoe churning platoon of searchers.
Can’t we just let Jimmy go?
Sure, the Teamsters became the largest single union in the United
States under Hoffa’s leadership, boasting 1.5 million members. And he
was once a powerful presence on the national stage.
While he was playing strongman, however, he was engaged in jury
tampering, bribery and fraud for which he was convicted and
imprisoned in 1967 for a term of 13 years.
It was enough to give the labor movement a bad name.
This is a man of whom Attorney General Robert Kennedy once said, “If
James R. Hoffa is acquitted, I will jump from the top of the Capital
Dome.”
Yet five years into his sentence, he was released from prison by
President Richard Nixon. The Teamsters then endorsed Nixon in his
reelection bid in 1972, a coincidence that raised many an eyebrow and
dropped many a jaw.
When last seen in the parking lot of a suburban Detroit restaurant,
Hoffa was on his way to meet Anthony Giacalone and Anthony
Provenzano, two reputed Mafia figures who had also been Teamster
officials.
Maybe they just took a wrong turn into Lake St. Claire. But if you
believe that, you probably believe in the Easter Bunny.
Indeed, the Detroit Free Press in 2006 cited a FBI report concluding
Hoffa was killed by organized crime members because he was attempting
to regain control of the Teamsters whose pension fund they controlled.
So in mob parlance, he was “taken for a ride.” Or perhaps he “sleeps
with the fishes.”
It’s been 37 years. He has been declared legally dead. The hunt,
however, continues.
Just this past week, police acting on a tip from someone who might
have seen something nearly four decades ago, dug up the yard of a
suburban Detroit house. But no Jimmy.
Previous tips have led police and the FBI to excavate land at a
mid-Michigan horse farm, pull up floorboards of a Detroit house and
search beneath a backyard pool.
Then there’s the theory that Hoffa was entombed in concrete at Giants
Stadium in New Jersey, ground up and thrown in a Florida swamp or
obliterated in a mob-owned fat-rendering plant. None of which have
produced a single hair.
If we want to get serious about finding a body, we should take a
lesson from our cousins the Brits.
In what must be the ultimate cold case file, they have been hunting
for the bones of King Richard III for nearly 600 years. And now they
appear to have found them.
Richard was one of the most reviled of the English kings. He was
depicted by Shakespeare as a scheming, evil hunchback, the last of
the Plantagenets whose death in battle paved the way for the triumphs
of the Tudors and Elizabethans.
He died in the Battle of Bosworth Field in 1485, then was bound naked
to a horse for two days of public display in Leicester, about 100
miles north of London, according to historical accounts. He was
buried in a priority which over the centuries had become a parking
lot for a bank in Leicester under which the bones were found.
While testing continues to verify that the bones are indeed that of
the king, the Brits have gone one step farther. They found a cabinet
maker living in London whose mother was a 16th-generation niece of
King Richard’s and whose DNA may seal the deal.
Interestingly enough, the discovery has spurned discussion that
perhaps Richard wasn’t such a bad sort after all and should be
reburied in Westminster Abbey along with the other kings of England.
It just shows you how 500 years or so can repair your reputation.
Maybe if they dig up Hoffa in 2512, he’ll be hailed as a hero.
But I have grave doubts.
Monday, October 01, 2012
Science With a Snicker
It's awards season once again, a fact that is of keen interest mainly to the tuxedo rental business and fawning TV field reporters.
This column will let others wallow in the self-congratulatory excesses of the Oscars, the Emmys, the Tonys, the Golden Globes and all the rest. We haven't enjoyed an awards show since Donald Duck hosted the Academy Awards in 1958.
Still, there is one awards presentation that draws our rapt attention. That would be the Ig Noble Prizes, staged at this time each year at Harvard University by the editors of a not-to-be-taken-too-seriously group known as the Annals of Improbable Research.
They are awarded for "research that makes people laugh, and then think" and are often presented by actual Nobel laureates.
Past winners include a team from UC Davis for exploring why woodpeckers don't get headaches; the mayor of Vilnius, Lithuania, for demonstrating that the problem of illegally parked luxury cars can be solved by running them over with a tank; researchers who calculated the number of photographs you must take to (almost) ensure that nobody in a group photo will have their eyes closed; a study that determined that lap dancers get higher tips when they are ovulating; and a woman from MIT who invented an alarm clock that runs away and hides, repeatedly, thus ensuring that people do get out of bed, and thus theoretically adding many productive hours to the workday.
The awards know no bounds. The prize for mathematics was once awarded to to the Southern Baptist Church of Alabama for their county-by-county estimate of how many Alabama citizens will go to hell if they don't repent.
This year's honorees carried on the lofty traditions established by past winners.
In the field of psychology, Anita Eerland and Rolf Zwaan and Tulio Guadalupe, all from the Netherlands, won for their study "Leaning to the Left Makes the Eiffel Tower Seem Smaller."
Just in time for the elections, Kazutaka Kurihara and Koji Tsukada of Japan won the acoustics award for creating the Speech Jammer, a machine that disrupts a person's speech by making them hear their own spoken words at a very slight delay.
In neuroscience, Craig Bennett, Abigail Baird, Michael Miller, and George Wolford of the U.S.A. demonstrated that brain researchers, by using complicated instruments and simple statistics, can see meaningful brain activity anywhere - even in a dead salmon.
The prize for literature went to U.S. Government General Accountability Office, for issuing a report about reports about reports that recommend the preparation of a report about the report about reports about reports.
Joseph Keller (U.S.A.) and Raymond Goldstein (U.S.A. and U.K.), Patrick Warren, and Robin Ball (U.K.) won the physics prize for calculating the balance of forces that shape and move the hair in a human ponytail.
Rouslan Krechetnikov (U.S.A., Russia, Canada) and Hans Mayer (U.S.A.) studied the dynamics of liquid-sloshing, to learn what happens when a person walks while carrying a cup of coffee (it spills), thereby securing the fluid dynamics honors.
Frans de Waal (the Netherlands and U.S.A.) and Jennifer Pokorny (U.S.A.) secured the anatomy award for discovering that chimpanzees can identify other chimpanzees individually from seeing photographs of their rear ends.
In medicine, Emmanuel Ben-Soussan and Michel Antonietti (France) won for advising doctors who perform colonoscopies how to minimize the chance that their patients will explode. For which we can all be eternally grateful.
So what muse inspires this kind of research?
Joseph Keller, the soft-spoken, white-haired mathematician behind the pony tail research, explained, "I used to jog around the Stanford campus and saw many young ladies running," Keller said. "Their ponytails swayed side to side . . . even though the head was only going up and down. Why did the ponytail go side to side?"
"It turns out that it could go up and down," Keller, a professor of applied mathematics at Stanford, explained. "But that's unstable if the jogging frequency is twice the pendulum frequency of the ponytail," which is usually the case for humans. "Because runners all tend to pound the pavement at roughly the same frequency and their hair is roughly the same length, all ponytails sway from side to side."
Another great riddle solved.
As they say at the conclusion of the ceremonies, "If you didn't win a prize - and especially if you did - better luck next year!"
This column will let others wallow in the self-congratulatory excesses of the Oscars, the Emmys, the Tonys, the Golden Globes and all the rest. We haven't enjoyed an awards show since Donald Duck hosted the Academy Awards in 1958.
Still, there is one awards presentation that draws our rapt attention. That would be the Ig Noble Prizes, staged at this time each year at Harvard University by the editors of a not-to-be-taken-too-seriously group known as the Annals of Improbable Research.
They are awarded for "research that makes people laugh, and then think" and are often presented by actual Nobel laureates.
Past winners include a team from UC Davis for exploring why woodpeckers don't get headaches; the mayor of Vilnius, Lithuania, for demonstrating that the problem of illegally parked luxury cars can be solved by running them over with a tank; researchers who calculated the number of photographs you must take to (almost) ensure that nobody in a group photo will have their eyes closed; a study that determined that lap dancers get higher tips when they are ovulating; and a woman from MIT who invented an alarm clock that runs away and hides, repeatedly, thus ensuring that people do get out of bed, and thus theoretically adding many productive hours to the workday.
The awards know no bounds. The prize for mathematics was once awarded to to the Southern Baptist Church of Alabama for their county-by-county estimate of how many Alabama citizens will go to hell if they don't repent.
This year's honorees carried on the lofty traditions established by past winners.
In the field of psychology, Anita Eerland and Rolf Zwaan and Tulio Guadalupe, all from the Netherlands, won for their study "Leaning to the Left Makes the Eiffel Tower Seem Smaller."
Just in time for the elections, Kazutaka Kurihara and Koji Tsukada of Japan won the acoustics award for creating the Speech Jammer, a machine that disrupts a person's speech by making them hear their own spoken words at a very slight delay.
In neuroscience, Craig Bennett, Abigail Baird, Michael Miller, and George Wolford of the U.S.A. demonstrated that brain researchers, by using complicated instruments and simple statistics, can see meaningful brain activity anywhere - even in a dead salmon.
The prize for literature went to U.S. Government General Accountability Office, for issuing a report about reports about reports that recommend the preparation of a report about the report about reports about reports.
Joseph Keller (U.S.A.) and Raymond Goldstein (U.S.A. and U.K.), Patrick Warren, and Robin Ball (U.K.) won the physics prize for calculating the balance of forces that shape and move the hair in a human ponytail.
Rouslan Krechetnikov (U.S.A., Russia, Canada) and Hans Mayer (U.S.A.) studied the dynamics of liquid-sloshing, to learn what happens when a person walks while carrying a cup of coffee (it spills), thereby securing the fluid dynamics honors.
Frans de Waal (the Netherlands and U.S.A.) and Jennifer Pokorny (U.S.A.) secured the anatomy award for discovering that chimpanzees can identify other chimpanzees individually from seeing photographs of their rear ends.
In medicine, Emmanuel Ben-Soussan and Michel Antonietti (France) won for advising doctors who perform colonoscopies how to minimize the chance that their patients will explode. For which we can all be eternally grateful.
So what muse inspires this kind of research?
Joseph Keller, the soft-spoken, white-haired mathematician behind the pony tail research, explained, "I used to jog around the Stanford campus and saw many young ladies running," Keller said. "Their ponytails swayed side to side . . . even though the head was only going up and down. Why did the ponytail go side to side?"
"It turns out that it could go up and down," Keller, a professor of applied mathematics at Stanford, explained. "But that's unstable if the jogging frequency is twice the pendulum frequency of the ponytail," which is usually the case for humans. "Because runners all tend to pound the pavement at roughly the same frequency and their hair is roughly the same length, all ponytails sway from side to side."
Another great riddle solved.
As they say at the conclusion of the ceremonies, "If you didn't win a prize - and especially if you did - better luck next year!"
Monday, September 24, 2012
I Rib You Not
As if Americans don’t pack on enough extra inches during the
holidays, the folks at McDonalds have decided to loosen our
collective belts a notch or two in December by bringing back the
McRib sandwhich.
Merry Christmas from the Purveyors of Pounds.
For the uninitiated, the McRib is a faux barbecue product which
appears periodically on the McDonald’s menu and consists of a “pork
patty,” slathered in barbecue sauce, topped with onions and pickles
and served on a roll.
They say the McRib has a cult following, sort of like Scientology for
the sandwich set.
People drive hundreds of miles, we are told, to wrap their pudgy
fingers around this concoction while licking the sauce off their
foreheads. There are blogs and a Facebook page for the devotees.
It even made a thinly disguised appearance in an episode of “The
Simpsons.” In it, Homer becomes addicted to Krusty Burger’s new
“Ribwich,” which is made from a mysterious animal Krusty refuses to
identify. Homer abandons his family to tour the country with other
rib addicts. The gorging stops only after Krusty announces that
they’ve eaten the mysterious animal into extinction.
Satire, yes, but satire is reality with a laugh track.
Absent in all this love is that if you pig out on a McRib and an
order of fries, you’re playing footsie with 1000 calories. That’s
OK is you’re a Navy Seal. Not so good if you sit at a desk all day.
Fine dining, it ain’t. Food critic Jeff Overley, writing in the
Orange County Register, said , “The pork patty has the spongy texture
of a Dr. Scholl’s gel insert. I imagine you could take a hammer to it
and it would just regain its original shape in a couple seconds, like
memory foam.”
This is a product that, when originally introduced in 1981, was
pulled from the menu because nobody would eat it.
But never underestimate the power of marketing. It continued to be
reintroduced for short periods of time until 2005 when McDonald’s
announced it was being pulled permanently from the menu. But not
before launching a “McRib Farewell Tour.” Which was followed by a
“Save the McRib” campaign. All of which jacked up sales.
Its fans are so numerous that McDonald’s is bringing it out during
the holidays in hopes of offsetting a downturn in revenues due to
rising ingredient prices.
Speaking of ingredients, just what is in a McRib? We know there’s
no rib. So are the ingredients delivered by hose from a tanker
truck? Well, almost.
The McDonald’s people would have you believe it is primarily pork
shoulder meat. Many nutritionists claim, however, that the McRib in
fact contains “restructured” meat products like heart, tripe and
scalded stomach blended with salt and water to hold it all together.
The resulting mixture is shaped into a “meat log” and sliced to order.
While “meat log” sounds like a great name for a rock group, it
doesn’t have a lot of epicurean appeal.
If that’s not enough, the buns contain azodicarbonamide, a
flour-bleaching agent that is most commonly used in the manufacture
of foamed plastics such as gym mats and the soles of shoes.
You were expecting an organic feast at Chez Panisse?
Now,like an ancient single-cell sea creature, the McRib is evolving.
In Austria, they have taken our simple sandwich to the next level.
There, you can feast on “The McRibster,” which is essentially a McRib
that has been deep fried and topped with bacon and pepper jack cheese
slices and covered in a spicy sweet chili sauce, all served on wheat
bread sprinkled with corn meal.
Hold the barbecue sauce. Austrians wouldn’t know barbecue from
Beethoven. In essence, what they’re eating is Weiner schnitzel on a
bun.
The McRibster checks in at 640 calories. Wash it down with a stein
of Schloss Enggenberg Samichlaus Bier, finish with a slice if
Viennese chocolate cake.
Then call the paramedics.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Not Fit to Print
I am loathe to condemn the editorial positions of other newspapers.
For one thing, every paper should have a voice, even it isn’t singing
the same song as me.
For another, I’m not always in lock step with my own newspaper’s
positions. But I don’t burst into print every time I’m at odds with
my colleagues. A diversity of opinions is something to be embraced,
not shunned.
However.
I have worked on the editorial pages of three newspapers on my
resume. At each and every one of them, writers are expected to
provide the evidence on which they base their opinions, often before
they lay finger on keyboard.
These standards apparently don’t apply at the UT, however, a paper
which circulates in San Diego.
It used to be the Union Tribune, a Pulitzer Prize-winning publication
before it was bought by real estate investor Doug Manchester who has
dumbed down the name and content.
In a recent editorial entitled “Obama in 2016? A Choice for America!”
we are told by the UT that if the President is re-elected, “Israel
will be attacked by the surrounding Arab terror states as the U.S.
retreats from Israel’s defense. Israel’s very existence will be in
jeopardy.”
And that as far as taxes are concerned, “Californians will be paying
60 to 70 percent of their income. But 65 percent of Californians will
pay no tax at all. “
And that “ ...with Obamacare, if you are over 65, a ride to Mexico
will become commonplace, as there will be rationed care in the U.S.
Death panels and other rationing plans will limit care.”
And that “As Obama’s war on God and life continues, we predict an
effort to have late-term abortions paid for by taxpayers – even at a
time when more than 60 percent of America believes there should be
restrictions on abortion. We ask: Who stands for the life and rights
of the child?”
And that “We even predict an effort to get “In God we Trust” removed
from U.S. symbols, including our money.”
Israel under siege? Death panels? A war on God? Dollars without
deity? What, no plagues of frogs, locusts and boils?
This reminds me of the e-mails you get from your crazy uncle usually
entitled WAKE UP AMERICA! offering “proof” that Obama is a radical
Muslim, a non-citizen whose mother was a transvestite and who is in
fact the anti-Christ as described in the Book of Revelations (all of
which were actually in circulation on the Internet).
Except this isn’t the handiwork of a goofy zealot with a laptop. This
is the considered opinion of a major newspaper.
There is no supporting evidence to back up the UT’s claims other than
a vague reference to “several economists” who go unnamed. No one is
quoted. No research is cited.
The problem here is not that the UT dislikes Obama. Lots of people
do. The problem is that the UT’s editors have resorted to
fear-mongering to make the case against the President.
There are issues they could cite to make a case for change. Instead,
they have chosen to instill fear and loathing in their readers, using
a toxic mix of outrageous claims and political paranoia that Mitt
Romney himself wouldn’t touch.
It’s a throwback to the “yellow journalism” of William Randolph
Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer in which “facts” were invented to inflame
the public.
According to the New York Times, none of this should come as a
surprise.
“The UT San Diego often seems like a brochure for (Manchester's) various
interests,” it wrote.
“Mr. Manchester is anti-big government, anti-tax and anti-gay
marriage. And he’s in favor of a remade San Diego centered around a
new downtown waterfront stadium and arena.
“Public agencies that have not gotten the hint have found themselves
investigated in the news pages of The UT. A sports columnist who was
skeptical of the plans found himself out of a job, and the newspaper
has published front-page editorials and wraparound sections to
promote political allies who share its agenda.
“According to several employees at the paper, a feature called
‘Making a Difference’ has included flattering profiles of many of Mr.
Manchester’s associates.”
The Times wonders if the UT reflects the future of journalism, one in
which “moneyed interests buy papers and use them to prosecute a
political and commercial agenda.”
This is not a new business model. Many papers in the early to mid-20th Century
were run that way. Some still are.
But if indeed we stand on the threshold of a world where newspapers
once again engage in wholesale misrepresentation of the facts to
feather their owner’s nests, we have a lot more to fear than Barack
Obama.
We need to fear Doug Manchester.
For one thing, every paper should have a voice, even it isn’t singing
the same song as me.
For another, I’m not always in lock step with my own newspaper’s
positions. But I don’t burst into print every time I’m at odds with
my colleagues. A diversity of opinions is something to be embraced,
not shunned.
However.
I have worked on the editorial pages of three newspapers on my
resume. At each and every one of them, writers are expected to
provide the evidence on which they base their opinions, often before
they lay finger on keyboard.
These standards apparently don’t apply at the UT, however, a paper
which circulates in San Diego.
It used to be the Union Tribune, a Pulitzer Prize-winning publication
before it was bought by real estate investor Doug Manchester who has
dumbed down the name and content.
In a recent editorial entitled “Obama in 2016? A Choice for America!”
we are told by the UT that if the President is re-elected, “Israel
will be attacked by the surrounding Arab terror states as the U.S.
retreats from Israel’s defense. Israel’s very existence will be in
jeopardy.”
And that as far as taxes are concerned, “Californians will be paying
60 to 70 percent of their income. But 65 percent of Californians will
pay no tax at all. “
And that “ ...with Obamacare, if you are over 65, a ride to Mexico
will become commonplace, as there will be rationed care in the U.S.
Death panels and other rationing plans will limit care.”
And that “As Obama’s war on God and life continues, we predict an
effort to have late-term abortions paid for by taxpayers – even at a
time when more than 60 percent of America believes there should be
restrictions on abortion. We ask: Who stands for the life and rights
of the child?”
And that “We even predict an effort to get “In God we Trust” removed
from U.S. symbols, including our money.”
Israel under siege? Death panels? A war on God? Dollars without
deity? What, no plagues of frogs, locusts and boils?
This reminds me of the e-mails you get from your crazy uncle usually
entitled WAKE UP AMERICA! offering “proof” that Obama is a radical
Muslim, a non-citizen whose mother was a transvestite and who is in
fact the anti-Christ as described in the Book of Revelations (all of
which were actually in circulation on the Internet).
Except this isn’t the handiwork of a goofy zealot with a laptop. This
is the considered opinion of a major newspaper.
There is no supporting evidence to back up the UT’s claims other than
a vague reference to “several economists” who go unnamed. No one is
quoted. No research is cited.
The problem here is not that the UT dislikes Obama. Lots of people
do. The problem is that the UT’s editors have resorted to
fear-mongering to make the case against the President.
There are issues they could cite to make a case for change. Instead,
they have chosen to instill fear and loathing in their readers, using
a toxic mix of outrageous claims and political paranoia that Mitt
Romney himself wouldn’t touch.
It’s a throwback to the “yellow journalism” of William Randolph
Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer in which “facts” were invented to inflame
the public.
According to the New York Times, none of this should come as a
surprise.
“The UT San Diego often seems like a brochure for (Manchester's) various
interests,” it wrote.
“Mr. Manchester is anti-big government, anti-tax and anti-gay
marriage. And he’s in favor of a remade San Diego centered around a
new downtown waterfront stadium and arena.
“Public agencies that have not gotten the hint have found themselves
investigated in the news pages of The UT. A sports columnist who was
skeptical of the plans found himself out of a job, and the newspaper
has published front-page editorials and wraparound sections to
promote political allies who share its agenda.
“According to several employees at the paper, a feature called
‘Making a Difference’ has included flattering profiles of many of Mr.
Manchester’s associates.”
The Times wonders if the UT reflects the future of journalism, one in
which “moneyed interests buy papers and use them to prosecute a
political and commercial agenda.”
This is not a new business model. Many papers in the early to mid-20th Century
were run that way. Some still are.
But if indeed we stand on the threshold of a world where newspapers
once again engage in wholesale misrepresentation of the facts to
feather their owner’s nests, we have a lot more to fear than Barack
Obama.
We need to fear Doug Manchester.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Is This Convention Necessary?
I’ve got those now-that-it’s-over, what-did-it-all-mean
post-convention blues:
Let’s have a show of hands from those who think political conventions
are must-see TV. Now, how many feel they lost their relevance when
cars lost fins?
Actually, we don’t need a show of hands. The public has already
decided. Nobody’s watching.
The TV ratings for conventions of either party have been in a nose
dive for decades. Example: 23 percent fewer people saw Mitt Romney
accept the Republican nomination last week than tuned in on John
McCain four years earlier.
Oh, sure, the Social Media numbers are on the rise. But that’s mostly
small talk. Nobody attempts an informed discussion on Social Security
funding in a 140-character tweet.
The fact is that conventions have been reduced to a three-day
cocktail party occasionally interrupted by explosive bursts of
political hot air. The real business of selecting a candidate is
being done where it should be: at the ballot box.
That’s a win for democracy but a loss for drama. It’s hard to hold an
audience when everyone knows the ending.
Meanwhile, it cost north of $130 million (much of which is provided
by taxpayers) to stage the conventions this year.
Why continue? Primarily, it seems, to rally the troops, to give TV
face time to promising candidates and to adopt a platform.
There’s also a chance that they might snare some voter who has
accidently channel-surfed his way on to CNN.
The Republicans tried everything to make it interesting this year by
staging a three-act comedy: Clint Eastwood grumbled at an empty
chair, mystifying and mortifying the audience in the process; New
Jersey Gov. Chris Christie by one count used the word "I" 37 times,
"Romney" seven times, and "jobs" one time; Paul Ryan, like Pinocchio,
watched his nose grow with each fib. Or maybe it was his ears.
The Democrats seemed to be enjoying themselves, seemingly unaware of
their tenuous hold on the White House. First Lady Michelle Obama was
a rock star. Bill Clinton conducted a master’s class in speech making
and did a better job of explaining President Obama’s policies than
Obama did.
But was anyone listening? More people watched the Dallas-New York
football game Wednesday night than the Democratic convention. And like the
Republicans, the Democrat’s ratings were lower than they were in 2008.
What both parties ought to do is have a one-day gala, a political
blow-out lasting, say, four hours in length. Play a little music,
toss a little confetti, wave a few signs, bring on the keynote
speaker and the candidates for the presidency then drop the balloons.
Want to spice it up a bit? Have both parties occupy the same
auditorium.
Speaking of change, one thing both parties could do to better capture
the hearts and minds of voters is to put a lid on celebrity
endorsements.
This applies doubly to the Republicans. What is it about the Grand
Old Party that brings out the whacko in people?
Take Chuck Norris for instance. Applying the same skill to political
forecasting that he does to acting, Chuck warned this past week that
America faces "1,000 years of darkness" if President Obama is
reelected.
Singer Hank Williams Jr. recently summed up his feelings this way:
“We’ve got a Muslim for a President who hates cowboys, hates
cowgirls, hates fishing, hates farming, loves gays, and we hate him!”
Last year, he compared the President to Hitler, a comment that cost
him his opening act gig on Monday Night Football. At this rate he’ll
be making a living playing bar mitzvahs in El Paso.
Rocker Ted Nugent said earlier this year that “If Barack Obama
becomes the president in November again, I will either be dead or in
jail by this time next year," We can only hope.
Add to the GOP boosters Gene Simmons of KISS fame, Kid Rock who
actually had Mitt Romney on stage with him in the ultimate strange
bedfellows pairing, and Vince McMahon of the World Wresting
Federation, who has brought us so many memorable moments.
Is this really the image the Republicans want to project?
Of course, the Democrats have Sean Penn and Jane Fonda. And don’t
forget the Dixie Chicks and Lady Gaga. Not to mention Jerry Springer
and Maury Povich (all of whom have endorsed President Obama).
There’s plenty of embarrassment to go around.
Meanwhile, we hold our breath awaiting the endorsements of Gary Busey
and Charlie Sheen.
post-convention blues:
Let’s have a show of hands from those who think political conventions
are must-see TV. Now, how many feel they lost their relevance when
cars lost fins?
Actually, we don’t need a show of hands. The public has already
decided. Nobody’s watching.
The TV ratings for conventions of either party have been in a nose
dive for decades. Example: 23 percent fewer people saw Mitt Romney
accept the Republican nomination last week than tuned in on John
McCain four years earlier.
Oh, sure, the Social Media numbers are on the rise. But that’s mostly
small talk. Nobody attempts an informed discussion on Social Security
funding in a 140-character tweet.
The fact is that conventions have been reduced to a three-day
cocktail party occasionally interrupted by explosive bursts of
political hot air. The real business of selecting a candidate is
being done where it should be: at the ballot box.
That’s a win for democracy but a loss for drama. It’s hard to hold an
audience when everyone knows the ending.
Meanwhile, it cost north of $130 million (much of which is provided
by taxpayers) to stage the conventions this year.
Why continue? Primarily, it seems, to rally the troops, to give TV
face time to promising candidates and to adopt a platform.
There’s also a chance that they might snare some voter who has
accidently channel-surfed his way on to CNN.
The Republicans tried everything to make it interesting this year by
staging a three-act comedy: Clint Eastwood grumbled at an empty
chair, mystifying and mortifying the audience in the process; New
Jersey Gov. Chris Christie by one count used the word "I" 37 times,
"Romney" seven times, and "jobs" one time; Paul Ryan, like Pinocchio,
watched his nose grow with each fib. Or maybe it was his ears.
The Democrats seemed to be enjoying themselves, seemingly unaware of
their tenuous hold on the White House. First Lady Michelle Obama was
a rock star. Bill Clinton conducted a master’s class in speech making
and did a better job of explaining President Obama’s policies than
Obama did.
But was anyone listening? More people watched the Dallas-New York
football game Wednesday night than the Democratic convention. And like the
Republicans, the Democrat’s ratings were lower than they were in 2008.
What both parties ought to do is have a one-day gala, a political
blow-out lasting, say, four hours in length. Play a little music,
toss a little confetti, wave a few signs, bring on the keynote
speaker and the candidates for the presidency then drop the balloons.
Want to spice it up a bit? Have both parties occupy the same
auditorium.
Speaking of change, one thing both parties could do to better capture
the hearts and minds of voters is to put a lid on celebrity
endorsements.
This applies doubly to the Republicans. What is it about the Grand
Old Party that brings out the whacko in people?
Take Chuck Norris for instance. Applying the same skill to political
forecasting that he does to acting, Chuck warned this past week that
America faces "1,000 years of darkness" if President Obama is
reelected.
Singer Hank Williams Jr. recently summed up his feelings this way:
“We’ve got a Muslim for a President who hates cowboys, hates
cowgirls, hates fishing, hates farming, loves gays, and we hate him!”
Last year, he compared the President to Hitler, a comment that cost
him his opening act gig on Monday Night Football. At this rate he’ll
be making a living playing bar mitzvahs in El Paso.
Rocker Ted Nugent said earlier this year that “If Barack Obama
becomes the president in November again, I will either be dead or in
jail by this time next year," We can only hope.
Add to the GOP boosters Gene Simmons of KISS fame, Kid Rock who
actually had Mitt Romney on stage with him in the ultimate strange
bedfellows pairing, and Vince McMahon of the World Wresting
Federation, who has brought us so many memorable moments.
Is this really the image the Republicans want to project?
Of course, the Democrats have Sean Penn and Jane Fonda. And don’t
forget the Dixie Chicks and Lady Gaga. Not to mention Jerry Springer
and Maury Povich (all of whom have endorsed President Obama).
There’s plenty of embarrassment to go around.
Meanwhile, we hold our breath awaiting the endorsements of Gary Busey
and Charlie Sheen.
Sunday, September 02, 2012
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 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.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
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.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
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.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
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.
Sunday, July 08, 2012
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.
Monday, July 02, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, June 18, 2012
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.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, June 03, 2012
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.
Monday, May 28, 2012
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.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)