Sunday, April 29, 2012
Shock Without Awe
Get ready for a spectacle like no other.
It won’t be long before you will be witness to more political advertising, much of the negative, than a human being can be expected to tolerate.
Think that's an exaggeration? According to some estimates, $9.8 billion will be spend on political ads just this year.
It's sort of a legitimized form of electronic brainwashing. Or, if you wish shock without the awe.
The fact is, most people really don’t like political advertising.
It’s a steady diet of claims and counterclaims, appeals, distortions,
attacks and just plain dirt repeated over and over.
But while you can cover your eyes, plug your ears and try to look away, you
can’t hide.
In fact, according to a story in the New York Times, Mitt Romney’s
campaign thinks it has found a way to get its ads in front of the
increasing number of voters who are not watching traditional
television: Find these people online, and show them the ads there.
“The Romney campaign and a team of online behavior analysts have
spent 18 months…sifting through data on the browsing habits of tens
of millions of computer users as the campaign builds a richly
detailed cache of potential supporters,” the Times reported.
Not to be outdone, the Obama campaign is even most aggressive in trying to reach voters
online, so far spending more on Internet advertising than on
television, radio and telemarketing combined, according to the
Washington Post. Click on an Obama for President ad and it will
follow wherever your Internet search will carry you.
It is indeed a brave new world. But while the method might be
different, the madness remains the same. He who slings the most mud
usually wins.
So I got to wondering recently: Does this stuff really work? Do
Americans really cast their ballot on who has the slickest
commercials or nastiest attack ads?
Isn’t the media covering the presidential contest 24/7? Won’t there
be presidential candidate debates? Isn’t it essentially the same
message we had four years ago? And four years before that? Tax and
spend nanny state liberals versus government slashing conservatives
who coddle the rich and impose their moral views on others?
We’re not idiots. Why do we need to be inundated with billions of
dollars in attack ads that play fast and lose with the facts? A valid
question. Also, depending on whom you ask, an overly simplistic one.
According to academics, it simply comes down to this: negative
information is more memorable than positive.
Ruthann Weaver Laiscy, a University of Georgia professor, writing for CNN, put it this way:
“I often use an analogy of running water from my garden hose. If I
stand at the top of a smooth concrete driveway and turn on the water,
it flows quickly, directly, and fairly seamlessly to the bottom. This
is much how a positive message goes through the brain.
“If I take my same hose and stand at the top of a grassy hill and
turn it on, the water travels more slowly than on the concrete hill,
it picks up some loose dirt, and inevitably some of it gets "stuck"
in grass along the way.
“Negative information, too, travels more slowly because of its
enhanced complexity. It benefits from the negativity bias, and
inevitably some of that negative information gets "stuck" in our
minds, even if we don't like the ad or agree with its contents.”
Let’s see if I understand. So when I see my wife, instead of saying
,“you look nice tonight,” I say, “you look like you’ve put on a few
pounds,” I can expect that message to remain with her for a long,
long, time?
You bet. Apply that to political hit pieces and you get the picture.
But it doesn’t always work that way.
In the 2008 U.S. Senate race in North Carolina, Republican incumbent
Elizabeth Dole attempted an attack ad on Democratic challenger Kay
Hagan by tying her to atheists.
Dole's campaign released an ad questioning Hagan's religion and it
included a voice saying "There is no God!" over a picture of Kay
Hagan's face. The voice was not Hagan's but the ad implied that it
was.
Initially, it was thought the ad would work as that old time religion
has historically been a very important issue to voters in South.
But Hagan responded forcefully with an ad saying that she was a
Sunday school teacher and was a deeply religious person.
Hagan's small lead in polls doubled and she won the race by a nine
point margin.
The lesson? Be careful who and how you smear.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Ted in the Weeds
Years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to get down into the
conversational mud with those who occupy the fringes of political
punditry.
I clashed with Coulter, lambasted Limbaugh, berated Beck. I bashed
Bill O’Reilly and knocked Keith Olbermann.
Although it made splendid copy, I stopped. You can’t reason with
unreasonable people and all I was doing was pouring jet fuel onto the
inferno that is political discourse in this country.
More importantly, I was calling for civility while being uncivil
myself.
Today, I am a new man.
However…
I am making an exception this week to dwell on the deeds and actions
of one Ted Nugent, a burned out rock star who spends his time these
days lying in the weeds while hunting deer with a crossbow.
You remember Ted. He had a hit record in 1977 called “Cat Scratch
Fever” about a man chronicling his long history of promiscuous sex.
It had a good beat and was easy to dance to.
Since then, he has emerged from his hunter/gatherer life style to
play mediocre rock ‘n’ roll and mouth audacious political statements,
most based on his fanatical belief in the right to brandish automatic
weapons and kill animals.
Nugent doesn’t just bear arms. He carries more weaponry than the
National Guard.
This endearing trait landed him on the dais of the National Rifle
Association’s annual convention recently where he whipped the already
paranoid crowd into a frenzy.
"I will either be dead or in jail by this time next year" if
President Obama is re-elected, Nugent declared to a gathering that
roared its approval. That line prompted a visit by the Secret Service
which doesn’t take threats against the President lightly.
In milder tones, Nugent said that the President is "vile," "evil" and
"America-hating.”
A few years back, Nugent exercised his First Amendment rights by
publicly declaring, “Obama, he’s a piece of s---, and I told him to
suck on my machine gun … Hey Hillary, you might want to ride one of
these into the sunset, you worthless b---- … Any questions?
Freeeeeeeeeeeedom!!!!!”
Which frames the level of discourse we can expect from a guy whose
testosterone level exceeds his IQ.
Why should we care?
Well, for one thing, Mr. Nugent is a board member of the NRA which I
presume means he speaks for its myriad members. For another, Mitt
Romney addressed the very same gun-totting conventioneers in an
attempt to garner their support.
Is Romney reaching out to the likes of Ted Nugent? Apparently so.
In his speech, Romney promised to defend the Second Amendment and
attacked President Obama for “employing every imaginable ruse and
ploy” to restrict gun rights, which Romney pledged not to do if
elected in November.
For the record, Obama has barely mentioned gun control in his four
years in office. In fact, his supporters are critical of him for not
taking a stronger anti-gun stance. He has said that he supports the Second Amendment but also backs
local gun control ordinances such as the one that exists --- for good
reason --- in Washington, D.C.
For his part, Romney, campaigning for the Senate in 1994, said he
favored strong gun laws and did not “line up with the NRA.” He then
signed up for “lifetime membership” of the NRA in August 2006 while
pondering a presidential run, praising the group for “doing good
things” and “supporting the right to bear arms.”
That’s Mitt. He has more positions than a yoga master.
But it makes little difference. The NRA wouldn’t support Obama if he
appeared before them dressed like Rambo and shot out the lights with
a Glock 19.
It demonstrates the lengths the Romney campaign will go to in an
effort to attract conservatives to their cause. He needs them to win
and from here on out, his campaign will embrace them in a bear hug.
The NRA? Hell, yes, pass me some ammo.
There is some irony here. I doubt if Nugent has ever been invited
over to the Romney mansion to swap life stories with Mitt, Ann and
the boys.
I suspect if the Romneys ever saw Nugent coming up their driveway, a
Bowie knife clinched in his teeth, an AK-47 at the ready and froth
forming on his mouth, they’d call security.
Right after they secured his endorsement.
conversational mud with those who occupy the fringes of political
punditry.
I clashed with Coulter, lambasted Limbaugh, berated Beck. I bashed
Bill O’Reilly and knocked Keith Olbermann.
Although it made splendid copy, I stopped. You can’t reason with
unreasonable people and all I was doing was pouring jet fuel onto the
inferno that is political discourse in this country.
More importantly, I was calling for civility while being uncivil
myself.
Today, I am a new man.
However…
I am making an exception this week to dwell on the deeds and actions
of one Ted Nugent, a burned out rock star who spends his time these
days lying in the weeds while hunting deer with a crossbow.
You remember Ted. He had a hit record in 1977 called “Cat Scratch
Fever” about a man chronicling his long history of promiscuous sex.
It had a good beat and was easy to dance to.
Since then, he has emerged from his hunter/gatherer life style to
play mediocre rock ‘n’ roll and mouth audacious political statements,
most based on his fanatical belief in the right to brandish automatic
weapons and kill animals.
Nugent doesn’t just bear arms. He carries more weaponry than the
National Guard.
This endearing trait landed him on the dais of the National Rifle
Association’s annual convention recently where he whipped the already
paranoid crowd into a frenzy.
"I will either be dead or in jail by this time next year" if
President Obama is re-elected, Nugent declared to a gathering that
roared its approval. That line prompted a visit by the Secret Service
which doesn’t take threats against the President lightly.
In milder tones, Nugent said that the President is "vile," "evil" and
"America-hating.”
A few years back, Nugent exercised his First Amendment rights by
publicly declaring, “Obama, he’s a piece of s---, and I told him to
suck on my machine gun … Hey Hillary, you might want to ride one of
these into the sunset, you worthless b---- … Any questions?
Freeeeeeeeeeeedom!!!!!”
Which frames the level of discourse we can expect from a guy whose
testosterone level exceeds his IQ.
Why should we care?
Well, for one thing, Mr. Nugent is a board member of the NRA which I
presume means he speaks for its myriad members. For another, Mitt
Romney addressed the very same gun-totting conventioneers in an
attempt to garner their support.
Is Romney reaching out to the likes of Ted Nugent? Apparently so.
In his speech, Romney promised to defend the Second Amendment and
attacked President Obama for “employing every imaginable ruse and
ploy” to restrict gun rights, which Romney pledged not to do if
elected in November.
For the record, Obama has barely mentioned gun control in his four
years in office. In fact, his supporters are critical of him for not
taking a stronger anti-gun stance. He has said that he supports the Second Amendment but also backs
local gun control ordinances such as the one that exists --- for good
reason --- in Washington, D.C.
For his part, Romney, campaigning for the Senate in 1994, said he
favored strong gun laws and did not “line up with the NRA.” He then
signed up for “lifetime membership” of the NRA in August 2006 while
pondering a presidential run, praising the group for “doing good
things” and “supporting the right to bear arms.”
That’s Mitt. He has more positions than a yoga master.
But it makes little difference. The NRA wouldn’t support Obama if he
appeared before them dressed like Rambo and shot out the lights with
a Glock 19.
It demonstrates the lengths the Romney campaign will go to in an
effort to attract conservatives to their cause. He needs them to win
and from here on out, his campaign will embrace them in a bear hug.
The NRA? Hell, yes, pass me some ammo.
There is some irony here. I doubt if Nugent has ever been invited
over to the Romney mansion to swap life stories with Mitt, Ann and
the boys.
I suspect if the Romneys ever saw Nugent coming up their driveway, a
Bowie knife clinched in his teeth, an AK-47 at the ready and froth
forming on his mouth, they’d call security.
Right after they secured his endorsement.
Monday, April 09, 2012
Red Meat
It’s been a bad couple of weeks for carnivores.
First, researchers at the Harvard School of Public Health released a
study they said showed red meat consumption could lead to an early
death.
In fact, they contended, adding just one 3-ounce serving of red meat
daily (picture a steak the size of a smart phone) was associated with
a 13 per cent greater chance of dying during the 20-year course of
the study.
Wolf down a hot dog or two slices of bacon daily and it rises to a 20
per cent higher risk of death.
About the same time, scientists in Spain determined that fast food
consumers, compared to those who eat little or none, are 51 per cent
more likely to develop depression.
And in the midst of all this, ABC News revealed that that 70 percent
of ground beef sold in U.S. supermarkets contained an additive called
“pink slime.”
It’s actually been around for a dozen years. But you’ve never heard
of it because the meat industry prefers to call it “boneless lean
beef trimmings” which sounds like it should be served with a good
Bordeaux.
All this news hit America right in its paunchy solar plexus.
We love our steaks, our brisket, our burgers so big that the juices
run down our forearms and drip off our elbows.
Along with gun ownership, red meat and fast food consumption is as
American as apple pie (411 calories, 19 grams of fat per serving).
So what has the reaction been?
--- The California Angels baseball team unveiled an assortment of new
food items for the upcoming season including a deep-fried hot dog, a
bacon-wrapped hot dog and a hot dog topped with barbecued beef.
--- A billboard on River Highway in North Carolina not only shows a
gigantic piece of steak on an even more giant fork, but it actually
pumps out the smell of steak for passing drivers to sniff.
--- The Jack in the Box folks have insulted our collective
intelligence with a TV commercial in which a geek tells his mother he
is getting married. “Who’s the girl?” she asks. He replies, “ It’s
not a girl, it’s bacon.” This is all by way of promoting the chains’
BLT cheeseburger (649 calories, 36 grams of fat).
The conclusion of the ad takes place at the altar where a minister
proclaims “You may eat the bride.” Pretty funny if you’re in the
third grade.
(An aside: if you do an Internet search for marry bacon, you come up
with a fitness expert named Mary Bacon in Australia who must be less
than amused with the ad campaign).
--- Burger King is experimenting with home delivery. Right now, you
can get a Whopper sped to your front door in certain areas of the
Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Don’t forget the 20 per cent tip.
--- Burger King is also going public, offering shares for trade on
the New York Stock Exchange. Before you dump your 401k savings into
this stock, consider its very name connotes dubious eating habits.
---Sonic Drive-in is offering a bacon double cheeseburger that weighs
in at 1280 calories and 92 grams of fat.
The Harvard study will undoubtedly cause great glee among cows,
vegans and the National Chicken Council.
But while many of us are eating smarter, it’s not easy to go cold
turkey. Red meat and fast food may be bad for us but we consume it
anyway, driven in part by a constant barrage of advertising that
shows happy, healthy, slim Americans gleefully engaged in a
cholesterol orgy. They look like members of the Future Heart Attack
Victims of America.
Besides, eating almost anything can be dangerous to your health.
Consider: 300,000 pounds of Colorado cantaloupes were recalled
recently because of listeria; a salmonella outbreak in 19 states is
being traced to sushi; 36 million pounds of ground turkey were
recalled last year in a salmonella outbreak.
So what to do? You can live in a cave and make your own jerky. Or you
can shop smart and avoid excess in all things.
If that doesn’t appeal, consider this: A company named J&D Foods in
Seattle, puveryors of things like bacon lip balm, is offering a bacon
coffin for $2,999.99 plus shipping.
The coffin is not actually made of coffin but painted to look like
it. Inside, is a bacon air freshener.
Bon apetite.
First, researchers at the Harvard School of Public Health released a
study they said showed red meat consumption could lead to an early
death.
In fact, they contended, adding just one 3-ounce serving of red meat
daily (picture a steak the size of a smart phone) was associated with
a 13 per cent greater chance of dying during the 20-year course of
the study.
Wolf down a hot dog or two slices of bacon daily and it rises to a 20
per cent higher risk of death.
About the same time, scientists in Spain determined that fast food
consumers, compared to those who eat little or none, are 51 per cent
more likely to develop depression.
And in the midst of all this, ABC News revealed that that 70 percent
of ground beef sold in U.S. supermarkets contained an additive called
“pink slime.”
It’s actually been around for a dozen years. But you’ve never heard
of it because the meat industry prefers to call it “boneless lean
beef trimmings” which sounds like it should be served with a good
Bordeaux.
All this news hit America right in its paunchy solar plexus.
We love our steaks, our brisket, our burgers so big that the juices
run down our forearms and drip off our elbows.
Along with gun ownership, red meat and fast food consumption is as
American as apple pie (411 calories, 19 grams of fat per serving).
So what has the reaction been?
--- The California Angels baseball team unveiled an assortment of new
food items for the upcoming season including a deep-fried hot dog, a
bacon-wrapped hot dog and a hot dog topped with barbecued beef.
--- A billboard on River Highway in North Carolina not only shows a
gigantic piece of steak on an even more giant fork, but it actually
pumps out the smell of steak for passing drivers to sniff.
--- The Jack in the Box folks have insulted our collective
intelligence with a TV commercial in which a geek tells his mother he
is getting married. “Who’s the girl?” she asks. He replies, “ It’s
not a girl, it’s bacon.” This is all by way of promoting the chains’
BLT cheeseburger (649 calories, 36 grams of fat).
The conclusion of the ad takes place at the altar where a minister
proclaims “You may eat the bride.” Pretty funny if you’re in the
third grade.
(An aside: if you do an Internet search for marry bacon, you come up
with a fitness expert named Mary Bacon in Australia who must be less
than amused with the ad campaign).
--- Burger King is experimenting with home delivery. Right now, you
can get a Whopper sped to your front door in certain areas of the
Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Don’t forget the 20 per cent tip.
--- Burger King is also going public, offering shares for trade on
the New York Stock Exchange. Before you dump your 401k savings into
this stock, consider its very name connotes dubious eating habits.
---Sonic Drive-in is offering a bacon double cheeseburger that weighs
in at 1280 calories and 92 grams of fat.
The Harvard study will undoubtedly cause great glee among cows,
vegans and the National Chicken Council.
But while many of us are eating smarter, it’s not easy to go cold
turkey. Red meat and fast food may be bad for us but we consume it
anyway, driven in part by a constant barrage of advertising that
shows happy, healthy, slim Americans gleefully engaged in a
cholesterol orgy. They look like members of the Future Heart Attack
Victims of America.
Besides, eating almost anything can be dangerous to your health.
Consider: 300,000 pounds of Colorado cantaloupes were recalled
recently because of listeria; a salmonella outbreak in 19 states is
being traced to sushi; 36 million pounds of ground turkey were
recalled last year in a salmonella outbreak.
So what to do? You can live in a cave and make your own jerky. Or you
can shop smart and avoid excess in all things.
If that doesn’t appeal, consider this: A company named J&D Foods in
Seattle, puveryors of things like bacon lip balm, is offering a bacon
coffin for $2,999.99 plus shipping.
The coffin is not actually made of coffin but painted to look like
it. Inside, is a bacon air freshener.
Bon apetite.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
Six Months to Go
A political snapshot, Spring 2012:
It’s six months until we elect a President of the United States.
It appears the brawl that is the Republican primary
has resulted in so many body blows that the last candidate standing
has been permanently damaged.
But not so. It’s like pro wrestling. Nobody really gets hurt.
Political memory is too short. No one will remember the nasty things
Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum said to and about each other this fall
when the presidential race gets down to the bell lap.
And who will the GOP candidate be? The drama here is almost at an
end. Romney has a large delegate lead, a well-oiled machine, money,
endorsements and the backing of the party establishment.
It is also apparent that nothing he says or does will mollify the
conservative wing of the party. Conservatives don’t like him and he
spends three times as much money as Santorum to win a vote, not
exactly an endearing statistic.
Santorum soldiers on, perhaps to influence party philosophy, perhaps
in hopes of becoming Romney’s running mate.
Don’t laugh. Romney needs a social conservative to unite a splintered
party if he wants to win in November.
If it’s not Santorum, it will be another representative of the GOP’s
right flank.
But it won’t be Newt Gingrich. You would have thought by now that
Gingrich would have retired from the race, saving what’s left of his
dignity.
Instead, he has dumped a third of his staff and is now
charging his supporters $50 to have their pictures taken with him.
It’s political panhandling. All you can do is avert your eyes and
walk away.
The Associated Press reported that Gingrich plans to spend much less
time in primary states and instead personally call delegates to try
to persuade them to back him at the Republican National Convention in
August.
“We are not going to cede to Mitt Romney’s strategy to take the party
down,” said a Gingrich spokesman. Ultimately, Gingrich would take the
fight to the convention floor, he said.
GOP unity seems to be a work in progress.
So it looks like clear sailing for President Obama, right? All he
has to do is remain presidential, appear above the fray, and watch
the Republican Party collapse in on itself, like a black hole in deep
space.
Wrong. An incumbent president can find himself on thin political ice.
Just ask George H.W. Bush, Jimmy Carter or Gerald Ford. Any upheaval
foreign or domestic can seriously hinder reelection chances.
Right now, Upheaval No. 1 for the Obama Administration is health
care. The Supreme Court is determining the constitutionality of the
Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare if you will.
Whether the Court dumps the whole thing, parts of it or returns the
whole package to Congress for a rewrite, there is no good solution
for the Democrats.
Having a major legislative initiative declared unconstitutional is
not a plus in the political playbook.
Indeed, the Court’s conservative justices just might declare the
entire act invalid and since they make up the majority, it seems a
real possibility.
All of which raises an interesting issue. A majority of Americans have
indicated in polls that they don’t much care for Obamacare, even
though they voted for Mr. Obama and health care reform was a major
plank in his platform.
So the American voter is fickle. What else is new?
But a Bloomberg poll conducted earlier this month found that “an
overwhelming majority of Americans think that the Supreme Court
justices’ political views will influence how they vote on the Obama
health care reform” challenge.
So a Constitutional issue becomes a political one. If health care
reform is rejected by the justices, the President could choose to be
portrayed as a martyr, a man whose vision for America has been
trampled under the boot heel of a politicized Supreme Court.
Sound extreme? Nothing is out of play when the White House is at
stake.
Would the death of Obamacare be a cause for GOP celebration?
Sure. But not a very raucous one. If Romney is indeed the Republican
candidate, voters will be reminded that he passed a health care
reform measure while governor of Massachusetts that was almost
identical to the Affordable Care Act.
Thus, any criticism of Obamacare could be turned back against him.
It will be an interesting six months.
It’s six months until we elect a President of the United States.
It appears the brawl that is the Republican primary
has resulted in so many body blows that the last candidate standing
has been permanently damaged.
But not so. It’s like pro wrestling. Nobody really gets hurt.
Political memory is too short. No one will remember the nasty things
Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum said to and about each other this fall
when the presidential race gets down to the bell lap.
And who will the GOP candidate be? The drama here is almost at an
end. Romney has a large delegate lead, a well-oiled machine, money,
endorsements and the backing of the party establishment.
It is also apparent that nothing he says or does will mollify the
conservative wing of the party. Conservatives don’t like him and he
spends three times as much money as Santorum to win a vote, not
exactly an endearing statistic.
Santorum soldiers on, perhaps to influence party philosophy, perhaps
in hopes of becoming Romney’s running mate.
Don’t laugh. Romney needs a social conservative to unite a splintered
party if he wants to win in November.
If it’s not Santorum, it will be another representative of the GOP’s
right flank.
But it won’t be Newt Gingrich. You would have thought by now that
Gingrich would have retired from the race, saving what’s left of his
dignity.
Instead, he has dumped a third of his staff and is now
charging his supporters $50 to have their pictures taken with him.
It’s political panhandling. All you can do is avert your eyes and
walk away.
The Associated Press reported that Gingrich plans to spend much less
time in primary states and instead personally call delegates to try
to persuade them to back him at the Republican National Convention in
August.
“We are not going to cede to Mitt Romney’s strategy to take the party
down,” said a Gingrich spokesman. Ultimately, Gingrich would take the
fight to the convention floor, he said.
GOP unity seems to be a work in progress.
So it looks like clear sailing for President Obama, right? All he
has to do is remain presidential, appear above the fray, and watch
the Republican Party collapse in on itself, like a black hole in deep
space.
Wrong. An incumbent president can find himself on thin political ice.
Just ask George H.W. Bush, Jimmy Carter or Gerald Ford. Any upheaval
foreign or domestic can seriously hinder reelection chances.
Right now, Upheaval No. 1 for the Obama Administration is health
care. The Supreme Court is determining the constitutionality of the
Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare if you will.
Whether the Court dumps the whole thing, parts of it or returns the
whole package to Congress for a rewrite, there is no good solution
for the Democrats.
Having a major legislative initiative declared unconstitutional is
not a plus in the political playbook.
Indeed, the Court’s conservative justices just might declare the
entire act invalid and since they make up the majority, it seems a
real possibility.
All of which raises an interesting issue. A majority of Americans have
indicated in polls that they don’t much care for Obamacare, even
though they voted for Mr. Obama and health care reform was a major
plank in his platform.
So the American voter is fickle. What else is new?
But a Bloomberg poll conducted earlier this month found that “an
overwhelming majority of Americans think that the Supreme Court
justices’ political views will influence how they vote on the Obama
health care reform” challenge.
So a Constitutional issue becomes a political one. If health care
reform is rejected by the justices, the President could choose to be
portrayed as a martyr, a man whose vision for America has been
trampled under the boot heel of a politicized Supreme Court.
Sound extreme? Nothing is out of play when the White House is at
stake.
Would the death of Obamacare be a cause for GOP celebration?
Sure. But not a very raucous one. If Romney is indeed the Republican
candidate, voters will be reminded that he passed a health care
reform measure while governor of Massachusetts that was almost
identical to the Affordable Care Act.
Thus, any criticism of Obamacare could be turned back against him.
It will be an interesting six months.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Fowl Play
No one will ever mistake me for a mechanical engineer.
I have been left bruised and fatigued after many an encounter with
“easy to assemble” products from toys to barbecues to furniture.
I have suffered injuries to my fingers, knuckles and ego.
Just for the record, I am not a complete klutz. I have a reasonably
well stocked tool box and a basic grasp of How Things Work.
So it was that I set out on a project one recent weekend that was
simplicity itself. We’re not talking about building a computer from
scratch or creating a cello from a block of wood.
Nope, we’re taking about patio furniture. A couple of screws here, a
couple of bolts there, no problem.
It’s guy stuff. We’re genetically disposed to nail things together.
I assembled a small table in 10 minutes flat. Attach legs to table
top, secure them, turn upright, place cold beer on surface.
Then came the chairs.
The concept of a chair isn’t difficult to comprehend. A flat place
for your rear end supported by four legs and a back.
But it appears I purchased the chairs from hell, ones that require
elite dexterity and knowledge of thermodynamics and structural
analysis for assembly.
These wrought iron monstrosities came in three parts and required me
to insert bolts through holes that appeared to be machined by a
political prisoner from a far-flung province in China. Who is blind.
The instructions were incomprehensible and the schematics looked like
an ink blot. It was like taking a SAT test in Welch. “Dw i ddim yn
deall.”
The bolts would hold the two portions of the chair in place along
with a u-shaped bracket which would allow the chair’s user to
slightly recline, sort of like a rocking chair.
Because of that feature, none of the parts fit flush. You had to tilt
one part to align with the other while threading a screw, some
washers and bolts through holes of varying sizes at the same time you
held the bracket in place.
It didn’t work with the chair upright, or on its side. However,
turning it upside down and holding the parts together with one hand
while threading the screws with the other hand seemed to work. All it
took was a maneuver that would test Houdini. In chains.
I finally got the chairs assembled, after exhausting my patience, my
sanity and every cuss world I could muster. Estimated time: about and
hour and 45 minutes.
That’s only part of the story, however. I had the garage door open
while I worked and at some point I had the feeling someone was
watching.
When I turned around, there were two ducks standing at the entrance
to my garage, watching intently. The stayed about five minutes and
even approached within six feet or so.
Now I know this sounds like a joke that begins, “So these two ducks
walk into a bar…”
But it isn’t. I wasn’t drinking and I’m not given to embellishing a
story. It really happened.
There are ponds in the area so it’s not surprising to see a duck or
two in the neighborhood.
These two seem to be enjoying my plight. Or maybe I thought so
because of my, ahem, fowl mood. Have you every seen a duck laugh? I’m
pretty sure I did.
Clearly, this was a sign. Some higher power was sending me a message,
cryptic as it may have been.
Celtic legend holds that ducks symbolize transition due to their
migratory nature.
That’s good enough for me. I will soon be transiting from handyman to
purchaser of fully assembled goods.
The toolbox is being put away to appear on “Antiques Roadshow”
sometime in the distant future.
And I am at peace.
Rolling around on the floor with furniture is one thing. But being
mocked by ducks is quite another.
I have been left bruised and fatigued after many an encounter with
“easy to assemble” products from toys to barbecues to furniture.
I have suffered injuries to my fingers, knuckles and ego.
Just for the record, I am not a complete klutz. I have a reasonably
well stocked tool box and a basic grasp of How Things Work.
So it was that I set out on a project one recent weekend that was
simplicity itself. We’re not talking about building a computer from
scratch or creating a cello from a block of wood.
Nope, we’re taking about patio furniture. A couple of screws here, a
couple of bolts there, no problem.
It’s guy stuff. We’re genetically disposed to nail things together.
I assembled a small table in 10 minutes flat. Attach legs to table
top, secure them, turn upright, place cold beer on surface.
Then came the chairs.
The concept of a chair isn’t difficult to comprehend. A flat place
for your rear end supported by four legs and a back.
But it appears I purchased the chairs from hell, ones that require
elite dexterity and knowledge of thermodynamics and structural
analysis for assembly.
These wrought iron monstrosities came in three parts and required me
to insert bolts through holes that appeared to be machined by a
political prisoner from a far-flung province in China. Who is blind.
The instructions were incomprehensible and the schematics looked like
an ink blot. It was like taking a SAT test in Welch. “Dw i ddim yn
deall.”
The bolts would hold the two portions of the chair in place along
with a u-shaped bracket which would allow the chair’s user to
slightly recline, sort of like a rocking chair.
Because of that feature, none of the parts fit flush. You had to tilt
one part to align with the other while threading a screw, some
washers and bolts through holes of varying sizes at the same time you
held the bracket in place.
It didn’t work with the chair upright, or on its side. However,
turning it upside down and holding the parts together with one hand
while threading the screws with the other hand seemed to work. All it
took was a maneuver that would test Houdini. In chains.
I finally got the chairs assembled, after exhausting my patience, my
sanity and every cuss world I could muster. Estimated time: about and
hour and 45 minutes.
That’s only part of the story, however. I had the garage door open
while I worked and at some point I had the feeling someone was
watching.
When I turned around, there were two ducks standing at the entrance
to my garage, watching intently. The stayed about five minutes and
even approached within six feet or so.
Now I know this sounds like a joke that begins, “So these two ducks
walk into a bar…”
But it isn’t. I wasn’t drinking and I’m not given to embellishing a
story. It really happened.
There are ponds in the area so it’s not surprising to see a duck or
two in the neighborhood.
These two seem to be enjoying my plight. Or maybe I thought so
because of my, ahem, fowl mood. Have you every seen a duck laugh? I’m
pretty sure I did.
Clearly, this was a sign. Some higher power was sending me a message,
cryptic as it may have been.
Celtic legend holds that ducks symbolize transition due to their
migratory nature.
That’s good enough for me. I will soon be transiting from handyman to
purchaser of fully assembled goods.
The toolbox is being put away to appear on “Antiques Roadshow”
sometime in the distant future.
And I am at peace.
Rolling around on the floor with furniture is one thing. But being
mocked by ducks is quite another.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Cookies and Commies
I ran into a gaggle of Girl Scouts in front of the market the other
day, enthusiastically selling their famous cookies that seem to
appear like clockwork each year at precisely this time.
I respectfully declined. I’m still at war with my post-holiday diet
and while my mind whispers yes, my waistline screams no.
Besides, I’ve been through my Girl Scout cookie phase. With two
daughters, four nieces and dozens of friends with female children, I
was awash in a sea of thin mints, lemon chalet creams and samoas for
years, primarily as a consumer.
And a willing one. The Girls Scouts were a positive experience for my
kids. This year, the Girl Scouts celebrate 100 years and remain a
tradition well worth admiring and encouraging.
Or so I thought.
Then I read where an Indiana lawmaker has labeled the Girls Scouts a
radical organization that promotes homosexuality and abortion and is
out to destroy American values.
That opinion was offered by a Indiana GOP state representative named
Bob Morris who believes the Girl Scouts encourage sexual activity,
are a front for Planned Parenthood, and that scouts are encouraged to
study role models who endorse feminist, lesbian and Communist
agendas.
It would be easy to dismiss Mr. Morris as a rogue whacko except that
this same sort of garbage has been making its way around the Internet
for some time, promoted by people who from time to time emerge from
under a rock to proclaim themselves protectors of the American way of
life.
Morris said he made his startling discoveries after talking to some
“knowledgeable constituents” and conducting "a small amount of
Web-based research.”
I did some research as well and found the following: The national
Girl Scouts organization has no relationship with Planned Parenthood.
Local chapters are autonomous and can partner with anyone they
choose, be it Planned Parenthood or the Republican National
Committee. There is no evidence they very many have done either.
What Morris’ research should have shown is that the Girl Scouts are
dedicated to empowering girls and helping to teach honesty, fairness,
courage, compassion, character, sisterhood, confidence and
citizenship through activities including camping and community
service.
Which sound like admirable values, at least in the part of America I
occupy.
Mr. Morris reveals his real agenda when he proclaims, “The fact that
the honorary president of the Girl Scouts is Michelle Obama and the
Obamas are radically pro-abortion and vigorously support the agenda
of Planned Parenthood should give each of us reason to pause before
or individual or collective endorsement of the organization.”
He fails to note than other honorary presidents of the Girl Scouts
include such radical feminists as Mamie Eisenhower, Nancy Reagan,
Barbara and Laura Bush.
As to that communist/feminist/lesbian stuff, a group called Family
Watch International complains on its web site that Girl Scout
literature offers as role models Frances Perkins, America’s first
female Cabinet secretary; Rigoberta Menchu, the Guatemalan activist
and Nobel Peace Prize winner; and Bette Midler, the singer and
actress, according to a story in the Washington Post.
The site sends readers to a page that identifies Perkins as
“lesbian,” Menchu as “Marxist” and Midler as “advocate for homosexual
rights.”
Missing in this rant is that the Girl Scouts also offer as role
models Mother Theresa and Clara Barton. They do not promote Snooki,
Lady GaGa or Lindsay Lohan.
Planned Parenthood has released a statement denying any connection to
the scouting group. National Girl Scouts officers say the group “does
not take a position or develop materials on issues related to human
sexuality and we do not have a national relationship with Planned
Parenthood.”
Asked why he thinks the Girl Scouts support abortion, Morris
said,"They're not against it. If you're not against it, you're for
it."
Which wins him a merit badge for stupidity.
In the meantime, I’m headed back to the market to buy a couple of
cases of cookies. I’m betting the money I spend will make a great
country greater.
day, enthusiastically selling their famous cookies that seem to
appear like clockwork each year at precisely this time.
I respectfully declined. I’m still at war with my post-holiday diet
and while my mind whispers yes, my waistline screams no.
Besides, I’ve been through my Girl Scout cookie phase. With two
daughters, four nieces and dozens of friends with female children, I
was awash in a sea of thin mints, lemon chalet creams and samoas for
years, primarily as a consumer.
And a willing one. The Girls Scouts were a positive experience for my
kids. This year, the Girl Scouts celebrate 100 years and remain a
tradition well worth admiring and encouraging.
Or so I thought.
Then I read where an Indiana lawmaker has labeled the Girls Scouts a
radical organization that promotes homosexuality and abortion and is
out to destroy American values.
That opinion was offered by a Indiana GOP state representative named
Bob Morris who believes the Girl Scouts encourage sexual activity,
are a front for Planned Parenthood, and that scouts are encouraged to
study role models who endorse feminist, lesbian and Communist
agendas.
It would be easy to dismiss Mr. Morris as a rogue whacko except that
this same sort of garbage has been making its way around the Internet
for some time, promoted by people who from time to time emerge from
under a rock to proclaim themselves protectors of the American way of
life.
Morris said he made his startling discoveries after talking to some
“knowledgeable constituents” and conducting "a small amount of
Web-based research.”
I did some research as well and found the following: The national
Girl Scouts organization has no relationship with Planned Parenthood.
Local chapters are autonomous and can partner with anyone they
choose, be it Planned Parenthood or the Republican National
Committee. There is no evidence they very many have done either.
What Morris’ research should have shown is that the Girl Scouts are
dedicated to empowering girls and helping to teach honesty, fairness,
courage, compassion, character, sisterhood, confidence and
citizenship through activities including camping and community
service.
Which sound like admirable values, at least in the part of America I
occupy.
Mr. Morris reveals his real agenda when he proclaims, “The fact that
the honorary president of the Girl Scouts is Michelle Obama and the
Obamas are radically pro-abortion and vigorously support the agenda
of Planned Parenthood should give each of us reason to pause before
or individual or collective endorsement of the organization.”
He fails to note than other honorary presidents of the Girl Scouts
include such radical feminists as Mamie Eisenhower, Nancy Reagan,
Barbara and Laura Bush.
As to that communist/feminist/lesbian stuff, a group called Family
Watch International complains on its web site that Girl Scout
literature offers as role models Frances Perkins, America’s first
female Cabinet secretary; Rigoberta Menchu, the Guatemalan activist
and Nobel Peace Prize winner; and Bette Midler, the singer and
actress, according to a story in the Washington Post.
The site sends readers to a page that identifies Perkins as
“lesbian,” Menchu as “Marxist” and Midler as “advocate for homosexual
rights.”
Missing in this rant is that the Girl Scouts also offer as role
models Mother Theresa and Clara Barton. They do not promote Snooki,
Lady GaGa or Lindsay Lohan.
Planned Parenthood has released a statement denying any connection to
the scouting group. National Girl Scouts officers say the group “does
not take a position or develop materials on issues related to human
sexuality and we do not have a national relationship with Planned
Parenthood.”
Asked why he thinks the Girl Scouts support abortion, Morris
said,"They're not against it. If you're not against it, you're for
it."
Which wins him a merit badge for stupidity.
In the meantime, I’m headed back to the market to buy a couple of
cases of cookies. I’m betting the money I spend will make a great
country greater.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Lose Angeles
With apologies to Karl Marx, sports, not religion, is the real opiate
of the masses, an escape from the tensions of travails of everyday
life.
Except in this town.
Here, the gods of sports mock us. Consider:
The Lakers are fading like a distant memory. It’s Kobe Bryant and a
bunch of other guys who will never see their jerseys hanging from the
rafters unless it’s at the hands of an angry mob.
Then Kobe gets his nose smashed and his bell rung in an all-star
game. An all star game? Nobody gets hurt in an all-star game.
But our guy does. My advice: don’t refinance to buy playoff tickets.
The Clippers? They have risen from the ashes. But one key injury or
some other bizarre twist of fate and they’re beloved losers again. We
wish them success, however, if for no other reason than to see those
cheesy ads that Donald Sterling buys in the Times saluting himself as
a great humanitarian.
College basketball in this town is a disaster. USC is painfully inept
and UCLA is dysfunctional. The Bruins are lucky they played all their
game at the Sports Arena this year because nobody saw them.
Hockey is your game? The Kings are crashing faster than space junk.
That’s what happens when you average one goal a month. But be
patient. It’s only been 45 years. They’ll start their Stanley Cup
drive any day now.
The Ducks? Who cares? They’re from Orange County. Besides, how can
you get behind a team that shares a name with Daffy.
Wait, it gets worse.
Football in Los Angeles is personified by USC. Last year, they were
an exciting and powerful team. The problem with the Trojans is that
they rack up NCAA infractions as quickly as they score touchdowns.
Even their women’s tennis team was recently sanctioned.
Now they’re facing serious football scholarship limitations because
of their misdeeds. It could prove damaging. Why don’t they just turn
pro and avoid all these hassles?
UCLA plays football, too. But mostly they spend their time acquiring
bad coaches. Their latest hire has no college coaching experience.
This is either innovation or insanity.
Professional football seems tantalizingly close at times. Both Ed
Roski and Phillip Anschutz stand ready to build billion dollar
stadiums.
There’s just one stumbling block: NFL Commissioner Roger
Goodell says there hasn't been any discussion about adding to the
league's 32 teams and he's not interested in shifting a franchise.
It almost makes you wish the Raiders were back in town.
Which brings us to baseball.
I don’t have to remind you of what has befallen our beloved Dodgers.
Under the direction of owner Frank McCourt, they have achieved the
difficult but dubious distinction of failure on the field and in the
front office.
The good news: McCourt is being forced to sell his bankrupt team. The
bad news: he wants to hold on to the parking lots.
McCourt is like a bad flu bug. Just when you think you’ve got it
licked, it comes back to make you miserable again.
His parking lot gambit is either a device to jack up the selling
price or --- our worst nightmare --- an indication that we’ll have to
tolerate him for years to come.
There will be plenty of good seats available at Dodger Stadium this
year.
Then there’s the Angels, a team so insecure they’ve taken to calling
themselves the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.
They don’t represent Los Angeles. They’re from Orange County, dammit.
And no matter how many expensive free agents they sign, no matter how
many games they win, they will always be the other team in town.
Besides, how can you root for a team with a waterfall in center field?
ESPN once characterized Atlanta as the worst sports town in America.
But that was because of a lack of fan support.
In our case, it’s as though the country titled to the west and all
the bad karma rolled into Los Angeles County.
So do good deeds. Love your neighbor. Be kind to dogs and kids.
Maybe it will bring us a few winners.
of the masses, an escape from the tensions of travails of everyday
life.
Except in this town.
Here, the gods of sports mock us. Consider:
The Lakers are fading like a distant memory. It’s Kobe Bryant and a
bunch of other guys who will never see their jerseys hanging from the
rafters unless it’s at the hands of an angry mob.
Then Kobe gets his nose smashed and his bell rung in an all-star
game. An all star game? Nobody gets hurt in an all-star game.
But our guy does. My advice: don’t refinance to buy playoff tickets.
The Clippers? They have risen from the ashes. But one key injury or
some other bizarre twist of fate and they’re beloved losers again. We
wish them success, however, if for no other reason than to see those
cheesy ads that Donald Sterling buys in the Times saluting himself as
a great humanitarian.
College basketball in this town is a disaster. USC is painfully inept
and UCLA is dysfunctional. The Bruins are lucky they played all their
game at the Sports Arena this year because nobody saw them.
Hockey is your game? The Kings are crashing faster than space junk.
That’s what happens when you average one goal a month. But be
patient. It’s only been 45 years. They’ll start their Stanley Cup
drive any day now.
The Ducks? Who cares? They’re from Orange County. Besides, how can
you get behind a team that shares a name with Daffy.
Wait, it gets worse.
Football in Los Angeles is personified by USC. Last year, they were
an exciting and powerful team. The problem with the Trojans is that
they rack up NCAA infractions as quickly as they score touchdowns.
Even their women’s tennis team was recently sanctioned.
Now they’re facing serious football scholarship limitations because
of their misdeeds. It could prove damaging. Why don’t they just turn
pro and avoid all these hassles?
UCLA plays football, too. But mostly they spend their time acquiring
bad coaches. Their latest hire has no college coaching experience.
This is either innovation or insanity.
Professional football seems tantalizingly close at times. Both Ed
Roski and Phillip Anschutz stand ready to build billion dollar
stadiums.
There’s just one stumbling block: NFL Commissioner Roger
Goodell says there hasn't been any discussion about adding to the
league's 32 teams and he's not interested in shifting a franchise.
It almost makes you wish the Raiders were back in town.
Which brings us to baseball.
I don’t have to remind you of what has befallen our beloved Dodgers.
Under the direction of owner Frank McCourt, they have achieved the
difficult but dubious distinction of failure on the field and in the
front office.
The good news: McCourt is being forced to sell his bankrupt team. The
bad news: he wants to hold on to the parking lots.
McCourt is like a bad flu bug. Just when you think you’ve got it
licked, it comes back to make you miserable again.
His parking lot gambit is either a device to jack up the selling
price or --- our worst nightmare --- an indication that we’ll have to
tolerate him for years to come.
There will be plenty of good seats available at Dodger Stadium this
year.
Then there’s the Angels, a team so insecure they’ve taken to calling
themselves the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.
They don’t represent Los Angeles. They’re from Orange County, dammit.
And no matter how many expensive free agents they sign, no matter how
many games they win, they will always be the other team in town.
Besides, how can you root for a team with a waterfall in center field?
ESPN once characterized Atlanta as the worst sports town in America.
But that was because of a lack of fan support.
In our case, it’s as though the country titled to the west and all
the bad karma rolled into Los Angeles County.
So do good deeds. Love your neighbor. Be kind to dogs and kids.
Maybe it will bring us a few winners.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Hollywood in Black and White
A hush will fall over this teeming megalopolis this afternoon, traffic will cease, streets will empty.
It's Oscar day and no matter where you live, on this day you live in Hollywood.
And when Hollywood struts its stuff, we all watch.
I'm betting the ratings will be unaffected by the recent disclosure in the Los Angeles Times that the majority of Academy voters are 94 percent Caucasian and 77 percent male with a median age of 62.
In other words, old white guys.
It was a nice bit of reporting by the Times. The Academy is more secretive than the Tournament of Roses which is more secretive that the CIA. It took a major effort to unearth that data.
But the revelation is hardly shocking. Just look at the best movie nominations this year: "Moneyball," "The Artist," "The Descendants," "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close," "War Horse," "Hugo," "Midnight in Paris," "The Tree of Life." All movies that deal with lives and loves of white folks.
Only "The Help," nominated for Best Picture contains much in the way of ethnic diversity.
Consider the top grossing films of 2011.
"Harry Potter and the Deadly Hallows," "Transformers: Dark of the Moon," "The Twilight Saga," "The Hangover Part II," "Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol" "Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides." You can fill out the list with a bunch of animated features.
Again, hardly a diverse selection unless you count cartoon characters
as minorities.
And again, hardly breaking news. The Times article pointed out that Jesse Jackson protested the lack of diversity in the Academy some 16 years ago.
Progress? Last year there wasn't one black presenter.
Hollywood has historically been run by white males, for the most part. So is the American auto industry but film shapes people's perceptions and attitudes a lot more than SUVs do.
Which is why we should care.
The industry has paid lip service to diversification for years, but ultimately it amounts to very little.
Sydney Poitier is not the only black actor in town anymore and a woman actually won a Best Director Oscar last year. Those are baby steps in an industry that should be making giant strides.
Indeed, the most successful minority in the movie business is Tyler Perry, whose film and television productions have earned more than $500 million worldwide.
He did it on his own, running his own studios in Atlanta. He personally made $130 million last year, according to Forbes magazine.
That's a lot of money for Hollywood to ignore.
Diversification is made even more problematic because Hollywood is a closed society.
Want a job as a carpenter, or grip, or lighting technician? You had better know someone who knows someone if you want work.
Want to succeed as an actor or director? You have a better chance of winning the lottery.
Still, changes are necessary if movies are to truly reflect the society in which we live.
Blacks are about 2 percent of the Academy, and Latinos are less than 2 percent.
That's just wrong.
It's Oscar day and no matter where you live, on this day you live in Hollywood.
And when Hollywood struts its stuff, we all watch.
I'm betting the ratings will be unaffected by the recent disclosure in the Los Angeles Times that the majority of Academy voters are 94 percent Caucasian and 77 percent male with a median age of 62.
In other words, old white guys.
It was a nice bit of reporting by the Times. The Academy is more secretive than the Tournament of Roses which is more secretive that the CIA. It took a major effort to unearth that data.
But the revelation is hardly shocking. Just look at the best movie nominations this year: "Moneyball," "The Artist," "The Descendants," "Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close," "War Horse," "Hugo," "Midnight in Paris," "The Tree of Life." All movies that deal with lives and loves of white folks.
Only "The Help," nominated for Best Picture contains much in the way of ethnic diversity.
Consider the top grossing films of 2011.
"Harry Potter and the Deadly Hallows," "Transformers: Dark of the Moon," "The Twilight Saga," "The Hangover Part II," "Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol" "Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides." You can fill out the list with a bunch of animated features.
Again, hardly a diverse selection unless you count cartoon characters
as minorities.
And again, hardly breaking news. The Times article pointed out that Jesse Jackson protested the lack of diversity in the Academy some 16 years ago.
Progress? Last year there wasn't one black presenter.
Hollywood has historically been run by white males, for the most part. So is the American auto industry but film shapes people's perceptions and attitudes a lot more than SUVs do.
Which is why we should care.
The industry has paid lip service to diversification for years, but ultimately it amounts to very little.
Sydney Poitier is not the only black actor in town anymore and a woman actually won a Best Director Oscar last year. Those are baby steps in an industry that should be making giant strides.
Indeed, the most successful minority in the movie business is Tyler Perry, whose film and television productions have earned more than $500 million worldwide.
He did it on his own, running his own studios in Atlanta. He personally made $130 million last year, according to Forbes magazine.
That's a lot of money for Hollywood to ignore.
Diversification is made even more problematic because Hollywood is a closed society.
Want a job as a carpenter, or grip, or lighting technician? You had better know someone who knows someone if you want work.
Want to succeed as an actor or director? You have a better chance of winning the lottery.
Still, changes are necessary if movies are to truly reflect the society in which we live.
Blacks are about 2 percent of the Academy, and Latinos are less than 2 percent.
That's just wrong.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The High Price of Grandiosity
The rich are not like you and me, F. Scott Fitzgerald once opined,
and he should know. He spent a fair amount of time observing and
writing about the foibles and the follies of the monied set.
And while I’d like to have a vault full of cash to assure the comfort
of my family now and for a few generations forward, I’m glad I’m not
subject to the narcissistic instincts that afflict the wealthy.
Example A is David Siegel, a time share tycoon who runs his company,
Westgate Resorts, out of Orlando, Fla. Fitzgerald would have loved
him.
Mr. Siegel and his wife several years ago thought it would be swell
to build the biggest house in the United States. So they embarked on
an ostentatious monstrosity they called “Versailles” after the royal
chateau outside of Paris that was once housed the kings of France.
This Americanized version is located in Windermere, a gated enclave
for the well-to-do that had managed to escape notoriety until a
couple of residents, Mr. and Mrs. Tiger Woods by name, had a very
loud and public spat several years ago.
The Siegel’s dream home is a tidy 90,000 square feet. It features 13
bedrooms, 23 full bathrooms, a 6,000-square-foot master suite (with
plans for a bed on a rotating platform), a banquet kitchen plus 10
satellite kitchens, a 20-car garage, three pools, a two-story wine
cellar and a grand hall with a 30-foot stained glass dome and a
ballroom that will accommodate 1,000.
That’s just the basics. It also features a boat house, formal
gardens, a baseball field, two tennis courts and a rock grotto with a
waterfall, a fitness center, a two-lane bowling alley, a roller rink,
a video arcade and a theater.
And I thought I had trouble finding my glasses and keys in my
2,500-square-foot corner of the world.
The cost: In the neighborhood of $100 million which is not bad
considering the Brazilian mahogany French doors cost $4 million alone.
The good news, especially if you’re a billionaire Russian arms dealer
or a member of the House of Saud, is that it’s for sale.
Asking price is $75 million, a real steal.
By comparison, the mansion once owned by Aaron Spelling in Holmby
Hills recently sold for $85 million and it’s only 56,500 square feet,
larger than the White House but a mere tract home compared to
Versailles.
The difference is that the Siegel pad isn’t finished. Seems like the
recession kicked Mr. Siegel right in his assets and it was au revoir
Versailles.
Completing it will set you back another $25 million, assuming you
want to follow Siegel’s plans. If you want changes --- say, another
10 or 15 bathrooms for instance ---- well, that will up the price.
And you have to live in Florida which is no bargain at all.
In the meantime, Siegel will have to make do with his current
26,000-square-foot home where he and his wife were recently profiled
in a documentary entitled “The Queen of Versailles” which was shown
at the Sundance Festival.
The Siegels didn’t much care for the film. They’re suing for
defamation.
While Siegel sits, brooding, he is probably discovering that this
grandiosity game is tough to win.
For example, the real Versaille in France checks in at 721,206 square
feet. So Siegel’s dream, had he completed it, was in reality a faux
Versailles, a pretend version kind of like the Matterhorn at
Disneyland. Nobody takes it seriously.
And when it comes to sheer unmitigated spending, Segal would have
been hard pressed to top the 27-story floor personal home of
businessman Mukesh Ambani, the billionaire chairman of Reliance
Industries.
It takes a staff of 600 to maintain the residence,located in Mumbai,
India, which was built to accommodate Ambani, wife Nita, their three
children and Ambani's mother.
It features 400,000 square feet of living space, parking space for
168 cars, nine elevators in the lobby, three helipads and an air
traffic control facility.
Also included is a health spa, yoga studio, small theater with a
seating capacity for 50 on the eighth floor, a swimming pool, three
floors of hanging gardens, a ballroom and an ice room infused with
man-made snow flurries.
Forbes Magazine estimated the cost of the residence at nearly $2
billion.
It remains empty, however, because the owner believes it would be bad
luck to move in, according to the Daily Mail.
Maybe he and Siegel can find a nice condo somewhere.
and he should know. He spent a fair amount of time observing and
writing about the foibles and the follies of the monied set.
And while I’d like to have a vault full of cash to assure the comfort
of my family now and for a few generations forward, I’m glad I’m not
subject to the narcissistic instincts that afflict the wealthy.
Example A is David Siegel, a time share tycoon who runs his company,
Westgate Resorts, out of Orlando, Fla. Fitzgerald would have loved
him.
Mr. Siegel and his wife several years ago thought it would be swell
to build the biggest house in the United States. So they embarked on
an ostentatious monstrosity they called “Versailles” after the royal
chateau outside of Paris that was once housed the kings of France.
This Americanized version is located in Windermere, a gated enclave
for the well-to-do that had managed to escape notoriety until a
couple of residents, Mr. and Mrs. Tiger Woods by name, had a very
loud and public spat several years ago.
The Siegel’s dream home is a tidy 90,000 square feet. It features 13
bedrooms, 23 full bathrooms, a 6,000-square-foot master suite (with
plans for a bed on a rotating platform), a banquet kitchen plus 10
satellite kitchens, a 20-car garage, three pools, a two-story wine
cellar and a grand hall with a 30-foot stained glass dome and a
ballroom that will accommodate 1,000.
That’s just the basics. It also features a boat house, formal
gardens, a baseball field, two tennis courts and a rock grotto with a
waterfall, a fitness center, a two-lane bowling alley, a roller rink,
a video arcade and a theater.
And I thought I had trouble finding my glasses and keys in my
2,500-square-foot corner of the world.
The cost: In the neighborhood of $100 million which is not bad
considering the Brazilian mahogany French doors cost $4 million alone.
The good news, especially if you’re a billionaire Russian arms dealer
or a member of the House of Saud, is that it’s for sale.
Asking price is $75 million, a real steal.
By comparison, the mansion once owned by Aaron Spelling in Holmby
Hills recently sold for $85 million and it’s only 56,500 square feet,
larger than the White House but a mere tract home compared to
Versailles.
The difference is that the Siegel pad isn’t finished. Seems like the
recession kicked Mr. Siegel right in his assets and it was au revoir
Versailles.
Completing it will set you back another $25 million, assuming you
want to follow Siegel’s plans. If you want changes --- say, another
10 or 15 bathrooms for instance ---- well, that will up the price.
And you have to live in Florida which is no bargain at all.
In the meantime, Siegel will have to make do with his current
26,000-square-foot home where he and his wife were recently profiled
in a documentary entitled “The Queen of Versailles” which was shown
at the Sundance Festival.
The Siegels didn’t much care for the film. They’re suing for
defamation.
While Siegel sits, brooding, he is probably discovering that this
grandiosity game is tough to win.
For example, the real Versaille in France checks in at 721,206 square
feet. So Siegel’s dream, had he completed it, was in reality a faux
Versailles, a pretend version kind of like the Matterhorn at
Disneyland. Nobody takes it seriously.
And when it comes to sheer unmitigated spending, Segal would have
been hard pressed to top the 27-story floor personal home of
businessman Mukesh Ambani, the billionaire chairman of Reliance
Industries.
It takes a staff of 600 to maintain the residence,located in Mumbai,
India, which was built to accommodate Ambani, wife Nita, their three
children and Ambani's mother.
It features 400,000 square feet of living space, parking space for
168 cars, nine elevators in the lobby, three helipads and an air
traffic control facility.
Also included is a health spa, yoga studio, small theater with a
seating capacity for 50 on the eighth floor, a swimming pool, three
floors of hanging gardens, a ballroom and an ice room infused with
man-made snow flurries.
Forbes Magazine estimated the cost of the residence at nearly $2
billion.
It remains empty, however, because the owner believes it would be bad
luck to move in, according to the Daily Mail.
Maybe he and Siegel can find a nice condo somewhere.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Be My Valentine
Gentlemen, don’t be this guy:
She: “It’s Valentine’s Day. You forgot.”
He: (stammering) “ Well, I can explain. I did a little research on
the holiday and this is what I found.
“Valentine’s Day honors a couple of Christian martyrs named, what
else, Valentine. One was put to death for attempting to convert a
Roman emperor to Christianity.
“The other was a priest who refused a law attributed to Roman Emperor
Claudius II, allegedly ordering that young men remain single. The
Emperor supposedly did this to grow his army, believing that married
men did not make for good soldiers. The priest, however, secretly
performed marriage ceremonies for young men. When Claudius found out
about this, he had Valentine arrested and jailed.
“He fell in love with the jailer’s daughter and on the day of his
execution, Feb.14, sent her a love letter signed, ‘Your Valentine.’
“Nice stories, both. But they are legends with little or no
historical evidence to support them. The celebration most likely was
an attempt by the Catholic Church to Christianize a Roman fertility
festival held in mid-February.
“In fact, the Catholic Church deleted Valentine’s Day as an official
feast day in 1969 apparently believing that neither of these
gentlemen had anything to do with love and courtship.
“So I didn’t forget. I just decided not to celebrate a holiday that
has no basis in fact.”
She: Icy stare. Silent treatment for at least a week, maybe longer.
And so our protagonist learns the hard way that it’s easier to buy
candy or dinner or flowers than to apply steely eyed logic to affairs
of the heart.
The fact is, we’ve been celebrating Valentine’s Day for a very long
time.
Doing a bit of research from such diverse Internet sites as CNN, the
Census Bureau, the History Channel and Wikipedia we discover the
following:
The first recorded association of Valentine's Day with romantic love
is in “Parlement of Foules” (1382) by Geoffrey Chaucer. Chaucer
wrote: "For this was Saint Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh
there to choose his mate."
It seems odd that birds would be mating in February but let’s allow
old Geoffrey a little literary license.
Doing it as only the French can do, a “High Court of Love” was
established in Paris on Valentine's Day in 1400. The court dealt with
love contracts, betrayals, and violence against women. Judges were
selected by women on the basis of a poetry reading.
Also in the Middle Ages, legend has it that young men and women drew
names from a bowl to see who their valentines would be. They would
wear these names on their sleeves for one week. Now, to wear your
heart on your sleeve means being transparent with your affections.
Today, Valentine’s Day continues to be a big deal. According to the
Greeting Card Association, an estimated 1 billion Valentine’s Day
cards are sent each year, making Valentine's Day the second largest
card-sending holiday of the year. (An estimated 2.6 billion cards are
sent for Christmas.)
Not surprisingly, women buy 85 per cent of all Valentines. On the
other hand, men spend almost twice as much on Valentine’s Day as
women do.
Candy sales account for $448 million the week before Feb. 14 and $8.6
million is spent on sparkling wine.
Other Valentine facts:
More than one-third of men would prefer not receiving a gift. Less
than 20 percent of women feel the same way.
Fifteen per cent of U.S. women send themselves flowers on Valentine’s
Day.
More than 9 million pet owners will buy gifts for their pets.
More at-home pregnancy tests are sold in March than in any other
month.
Finally, the most used (and abused) poem in recent history began life
as a bit of Valentine’s Day doggerel first noted in a 1784 collection
of English nursery rhymes:
The rose is red, the violet's blue,
The honey's sweet, and so are you.
Thou are my love and I am thine;
I drew thee to my Valentine:
The lot was cast and then I drew,
And Fortune said it shou'd be you.
She: “It’s Valentine’s Day. You forgot.”
He: (stammering) “ Well, I can explain. I did a little research on
the holiday and this is what I found.
“Valentine’s Day honors a couple of Christian martyrs named, what
else, Valentine. One was put to death for attempting to convert a
Roman emperor to Christianity.
“The other was a priest who refused a law attributed to Roman Emperor
Claudius II, allegedly ordering that young men remain single. The
Emperor supposedly did this to grow his army, believing that married
men did not make for good soldiers. The priest, however, secretly
performed marriage ceremonies for young men. When Claudius found out
about this, he had Valentine arrested and jailed.
“He fell in love with the jailer’s daughter and on the day of his
execution, Feb.14, sent her a love letter signed, ‘Your Valentine.’
“Nice stories, both. But they are legends with little or no
historical evidence to support them. The celebration most likely was
an attempt by the Catholic Church to Christianize a Roman fertility
festival held in mid-February.
“In fact, the Catholic Church deleted Valentine’s Day as an official
feast day in 1969 apparently believing that neither of these
gentlemen had anything to do with love and courtship.
“So I didn’t forget. I just decided not to celebrate a holiday that
has no basis in fact.”
She: Icy stare. Silent treatment for at least a week, maybe longer.
And so our protagonist learns the hard way that it’s easier to buy
candy or dinner or flowers than to apply steely eyed logic to affairs
of the heart.
The fact is, we’ve been celebrating Valentine’s Day for a very long
time.
Doing a bit of research from such diverse Internet sites as CNN, the
Census Bureau, the History Channel and Wikipedia we discover the
following:
The first recorded association of Valentine's Day with romantic love
is in “Parlement of Foules” (1382) by Geoffrey Chaucer. Chaucer
wrote: "For this was Saint Valentine's Day, when every bird cometh
there to choose his mate."
It seems odd that birds would be mating in February but let’s allow
old Geoffrey a little literary license.
Doing it as only the French can do, a “High Court of Love” was
established in Paris on Valentine's Day in 1400. The court dealt with
love contracts, betrayals, and violence against women. Judges were
selected by women on the basis of a poetry reading.
Also in the Middle Ages, legend has it that young men and women drew
names from a bowl to see who their valentines would be. They would
wear these names on their sleeves for one week. Now, to wear your
heart on your sleeve means being transparent with your affections.
Today, Valentine’s Day continues to be a big deal. According to the
Greeting Card Association, an estimated 1 billion Valentine’s Day
cards are sent each year, making Valentine's Day the second largest
card-sending holiday of the year. (An estimated 2.6 billion cards are
sent for Christmas.)
Not surprisingly, women buy 85 per cent of all Valentines. On the
other hand, men spend almost twice as much on Valentine’s Day as
women do.
Candy sales account for $448 million the week before Feb. 14 and $8.6
million is spent on sparkling wine.
Other Valentine facts:
More than one-third of men would prefer not receiving a gift. Less
than 20 percent of women feel the same way.
Fifteen per cent of U.S. women send themselves flowers on Valentine’s
Day.
More than 9 million pet owners will buy gifts for their pets.
More at-home pregnancy tests are sold in March than in any other
month.
Finally, the most used (and abused) poem in recent history began life
as a bit of Valentine’s Day doggerel first noted in a 1784 collection
of English nursery rhymes:
The rose is red, the violet's blue,
The honey's sweet, and so are you.
Thou are my love and I am thine;
I drew thee to my Valentine:
The lot was cast and then I drew,
And Fortune said it shou'd be you.
Sunday, February 05, 2012
The Crooner-in-Chief
Americans in the past have chosen their presidents based on party, on
stature, on appearance, on rhetoric, on popularity, even on critical
issues from time to time.
But this may be the first presidential race decided on singing
ability. Call it “Campaign 2012” meets “American Idol.”
This all started when President Obama, appearing at a recent
fund-raiser at the Apollo Theater in New York, crooned a couple of
bars from “Let’s Stay Together,” a hit a few years back by renown
R&B/gospel singer Al Green.
And while it’s hard to judge talent on a couple of bars of music, his
performance, in falsetto no less, sounded pretty good. So good, in
fact, it went viral on You Tube (more than 4 million views) and
became available as a smart phone ringtone.
While the President may be struggling to right the economic Ship of
State, he certainly did right by Mr. Green.
Sales of the song rose 490 per cent after Obama’s rendition,
according the Hollywood Reporter.
With than kind of juice, Obama could record an album and pay down the
national debt with the proceeds.
Not to be outdone, Mitt Romney launched into an entire chorus of
“America the Beautiful” at a recent campaign stop in Florida.
The song was surely selected to warm the hearts of conservatives
everywhere. I mean, you couldn’t have Romney singing “Jumpin’ Jack
Flash’’ to a crowd of people who thought the last great American
songwriter was Stephen Foster.
It was the worst idea since Dukakis drove a tank. To put it kindly,
it was soul-less and embarrassing.
Historians may look back and declare Romney was revealed on that day
to be tone deaf both musically and politically.
Yet, some found both performances inspiring. A former colleague
suggested we incorporate singing into a new kind of presidential
contest.
Rather than just debating, candidates would compete in singing,
dancing, cooking (have them de-bone a chicken or bake a soufflé),
bartending (have them produce a mai-tai from scratch), free-throw
shooting, a round of golf and a few hands of Texas hold-em.
That would tell us something about their character.
Obama is not the first president or potential president to make music
a part of his persona.
Richard Nixon played “God Bless America” on the piano at one point
during his administration and accompanied Pearl Baily in the East
Room during a social function.
Bill Clinton, before he was president, showed up on the Arsinio Hall
show on night with his saxophone and dark glasses in tow and launched
into a version of “Heartbreak Hotel.” After becoming president,
Clinton jammed with E Street Band saxophonist Clarence Clemons at an
inaugural ball.
Other presidents played although not publicly. John Quincy Adams
played the flute, Chester Arthur the banjo, Woodrow Wilson the
violin. Franklin Roosevelt liked to sing. And John Tyler organized
his 15 children in a White House minstrel band, according to
historical accounts.
But perhaps the most famous of all was Harry Truman who never met a
piano he didn’t like.
Truman once conducted a nationally televised tour of the renovated
White House and played on a 1938 Steinway. The building was
condemned, one account says, when a leg of a piano played by his
daughter Margaret crashed through the floor of the decrepit mansion.
Truman once famously said: "My choice early in life was either to be
a piano-player in a whorehouse or a politician. And to tell the
truth, there's hardly any difference."
stature, on appearance, on rhetoric, on popularity, even on critical
issues from time to time.
But this may be the first presidential race decided on singing
ability. Call it “Campaign 2012” meets “American Idol.”
This all started when President Obama, appearing at a recent
fund-raiser at the Apollo Theater in New York, crooned a couple of
bars from “Let’s Stay Together,” a hit a few years back by renown
R&B/gospel singer Al Green.
And while it’s hard to judge talent on a couple of bars of music, his
performance, in falsetto no less, sounded pretty good. So good, in
fact, it went viral on You Tube (more than 4 million views) and
became available as a smart phone ringtone.
While the President may be struggling to right the economic Ship of
State, he certainly did right by Mr. Green.
Sales of the song rose 490 per cent after Obama’s rendition,
according the Hollywood Reporter.
With than kind of juice, Obama could record an album and pay down the
national debt with the proceeds.
Not to be outdone, Mitt Romney launched into an entire chorus of
“America the Beautiful” at a recent campaign stop in Florida.
The song was surely selected to warm the hearts of conservatives
everywhere. I mean, you couldn’t have Romney singing “Jumpin’ Jack
Flash’’ to a crowd of people who thought the last great American
songwriter was Stephen Foster.
It was the worst idea since Dukakis drove a tank. To put it kindly,
it was soul-less and embarrassing.
Historians may look back and declare Romney was revealed on that day
to be tone deaf both musically and politically.
Yet, some found both performances inspiring. A former colleague
suggested we incorporate singing into a new kind of presidential
contest.
Rather than just debating, candidates would compete in singing,
dancing, cooking (have them de-bone a chicken or bake a soufflé),
bartending (have them produce a mai-tai from scratch), free-throw
shooting, a round of golf and a few hands of Texas hold-em.
That would tell us something about their character.
Obama is not the first president or potential president to make music
a part of his persona.
Richard Nixon played “God Bless America” on the piano at one point
during his administration and accompanied Pearl Baily in the East
Room during a social function.
Bill Clinton, before he was president, showed up on the Arsinio Hall
show on night with his saxophone and dark glasses in tow and launched
into a version of “Heartbreak Hotel.” After becoming president,
Clinton jammed with E Street Band saxophonist Clarence Clemons at an
inaugural ball.
Other presidents played although not publicly. John Quincy Adams
played the flute, Chester Arthur the banjo, Woodrow Wilson the
violin. Franklin Roosevelt liked to sing. And John Tyler organized
his 15 children in a White House minstrel band, according to
historical accounts.
But perhaps the most famous of all was Harry Truman who never met a
piano he didn’t like.
Truman once conducted a nationally televised tour of the renovated
White House and played on a 1938 Steinway. The building was
condemned, one account says, when a leg of a piano played by his
daughter Margaret crashed through the floor of the decrepit mansion.
Truman once famously said: "My choice early in life was either to be
a piano-player in a whorehouse or a politician. And to tell the
truth, there's hardly any difference."
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
What So Proudly We Screeched
Ah, yes. Super Bowl week. That seven-day period when the hype reaches
warp speed, when the media swarm descends on everyone from tackles
and tailbacks to towel boys, ankle tapers and under assistant
equipment managers.
It’s the only time when you’ll hear the complete life story of the
back-up long snapper. Everybody’s fair game during Super Bowl week.
The steady drumbeat of analysis and adulation is followed by a game
which, more often than not, becomes a yawn inducing play-not-to-lose
contest.
Go easy on the beer and bean dip. You might sleep through the whole
thing.
For me, the real edge-of-seat excitement comes during the singing of
the national anthem. Will it be a moving tribute to the land of the
free or an embarrassing flop by a performer whose marquee value
exceeds his or her talent?
Just this past week, for example, we saw both extremes.
Before the Baltimore-New England Game, the anthem was attempted by
Steven Tyler, the legendary rock singer who fronted Aerosmith. He
sounded like a screech owl in heat.
Meaning no disrespect. Mr. Tyler made his name singing the likes of
“Dude Looks Like a Lady” and “Janie’s Got a Gun.” Nobody every
mistook him for Pavarotti. Asking him to tackle the National Anthem,
a work that could bring an Irish tenor to tears, is an invitation to
disaster. Which is exactly what we got.
For a guy who judges talent on “American Idol,” he should know better
and offer to recite the Pledge of Allegiance instead. Judge not lest
ye be judged, as the good book says.
On the other side of the country, actress and Broadway performer
Kristin Chenoweth offered a stirring and heartfelt version of the
National Anthem before the 49ers-Giants game while singing in the
pouring rain. It was grace under pressure.
The next person or persons who hire Steven Tyler to sing the anthem
should be arrested on charges of felony bad taste. Because this is
not his first foray into failure.
He famously butchered it in 2001 at the Indy 500, first by kicking it
off with a blues harmonica solo, then forgetting some of the lyrics
and concluding by changing “home of the brave” to “home of the
Indianapolis 500.” I’m surprised he got out of town alive.
Later, an Indiana state legislator proposed a bill that would set
specific "performance standards" for singing and playing “The
Star-Spangled Banner” and fine those who fail to meet the standards.
So who started this whole free-form interpretation of the anthem? Why
are subjected to versions that sound like they were conceived in a
blues bar at 2 a.m.?
Do a little research on the Internet and the blame seems to fall
squarely at the feet of popular singer/guitarist Jose Feliciano. His
version before Game 5 of the 1968 World Series between Detroit and
St. Louis shocked the crowd. Worse, it started a trend.
It was the 60s, after all, not a good time for traditionalism.
That begat Jimi Hendrix who did an instrumental version in 1968 that
actually got air play. Which begat Marvin Gaye whose soul version
before the 1983 NBA All-Star game became popular.
Then, there were the lowlights. Olympic gold medalist Carl Lewis in
1993 performed a version that was so bad, he apologized in the middle
of the song. Christina Aguilera’s version at a Super Bowl was
pretentious and bizarre ("What so proudly we watched at the
twilight's last reaming." ) Michael Bolton forgot the lyrics half way
through his version even though he had them written on his hand. Kat
DeLuna got booed out of Texas stadium after her rendition.
But the hands-down worst version ever was by Roseanne Barr before a
San Diego Padres baseball game. After screeching and grunting through
the song, she finished by grabbing her crotch and spitting as the
boos rained down on her. Who in the world thought this would be a
good idea?
(For the record, I listened and watched each and every one of these
performances on You Tube. It was a four aspirin experience).
The gold standard is Whitney Houston’s flawless and mostly
traditional anthem before a Super Bowl game in 1991 that became so
popular it was released as a single and made the Billboard Top 100.
Once you’ve heard it, you’ll want to enlist.
Next Sunday, the anthem will be sung by Kelly Clarkson, an “American
Idol” winner who had a recent hit entitled “My Life Would Suck
Without You.”
Stay tuned.
warp speed, when the media swarm descends on everyone from tackles
and tailbacks to towel boys, ankle tapers and under assistant
equipment managers.
It’s the only time when you’ll hear the complete life story of the
back-up long snapper. Everybody’s fair game during Super Bowl week.
The steady drumbeat of analysis and adulation is followed by a game
which, more often than not, becomes a yawn inducing play-not-to-lose
contest.
Go easy on the beer and bean dip. You might sleep through the whole
thing.
For me, the real edge-of-seat excitement comes during the singing of
the national anthem. Will it be a moving tribute to the land of the
free or an embarrassing flop by a performer whose marquee value
exceeds his or her talent?
Just this past week, for example, we saw both extremes.
Before the Baltimore-New England Game, the anthem was attempted by
Steven Tyler, the legendary rock singer who fronted Aerosmith. He
sounded like a screech owl in heat.
Meaning no disrespect. Mr. Tyler made his name singing the likes of
“Dude Looks Like a Lady” and “Janie’s Got a Gun.” Nobody every
mistook him for Pavarotti. Asking him to tackle the National Anthem,
a work that could bring an Irish tenor to tears, is an invitation to
disaster. Which is exactly what we got.
For a guy who judges talent on “American Idol,” he should know better
and offer to recite the Pledge of Allegiance instead. Judge not lest
ye be judged, as the good book says.
On the other side of the country, actress and Broadway performer
Kristin Chenoweth offered a stirring and heartfelt version of the
National Anthem before the 49ers-Giants game while singing in the
pouring rain. It was grace under pressure.
The next person or persons who hire Steven Tyler to sing the anthem
should be arrested on charges of felony bad taste. Because this is
not his first foray into failure.
He famously butchered it in 2001 at the Indy 500, first by kicking it
off with a blues harmonica solo, then forgetting some of the lyrics
and concluding by changing “home of the brave” to “home of the
Indianapolis 500.” I’m surprised he got out of town alive.
Later, an Indiana state legislator proposed a bill that would set
specific "performance standards" for singing and playing “The
Star-Spangled Banner” and fine those who fail to meet the standards.
So who started this whole free-form interpretation of the anthem? Why
are subjected to versions that sound like they were conceived in a
blues bar at 2 a.m.?
Do a little research on the Internet and the blame seems to fall
squarely at the feet of popular singer/guitarist Jose Feliciano. His
version before Game 5 of the 1968 World Series between Detroit and
St. Louis shocked the crowd. Worse, it started a trend.
It was the 60s, after all, not a good time for traditionalism.
That begat Jimi Hendrix who did an instrumental version in 1968 that
actually got air play. Which begat Marvin Gaye whose soul version
before the 1983 NBA All-Star game became popular.
Then, there were the lowlights. Olympic gold medalist Carl Lewis in
1993 performed a version that was so bad, he apologized in the middle
of the song. Christina Aguilera’s version at a Super Bowl was
pretentious and bizarre ("What so proudly we watched at the
twilight's last reaming." ) Michael Bolton forgot the lyrics half way
through his version even though he had them written on his hand. Kat
DeLuna got booed out of Texas stadium after her rendition.
But the hands-down worst version ever was by Roseanne Barr before a
San Diego Padres baseball game. After screeching and grunting through
the song, she finished by grabbing her crotch and spitting as the
boos rained down on her. Who in the world thought this would be a
good idea?
(For the record, I listened and watched each and every one of these
performances on You Tube. It was a four aspirin experience).
The gold standard is Whitney Houston’s flawless and mostly
traditional anthem before a Super Bowl game in 1991 that became so
popular it was released as a single and made the Billboard Top 100.
Once you’ve heard it, you’ll want to enlist.
Next Sunday, the anthem will be sung by Kelly Clarkson, an “American
Idol” winner who had a recent hit entitled “My Life Would Suck
Without You.”
Stay tuned.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A Captain Not So Courageous
It was a bad week for the travel industry.
First, Captain Francesco Schettino steered his massive cruise ship,
Costa Concordia, on to the rocks just off the Italian coast, creating
a near Titanic-like disaster. As of this writing, 11 people have died
and 21 are still missing.
To make matters worse, the Captain was one of the first to abandon
ship, ahead of most of the 4,000 passengers and crew, defying
maritime tradition that the master is the last to leave.
He later explained he “tripped” and fell into a lifeboat.
With that, Capt. Schettino instantly did three things: He did for
cruises what “Jaws” did for summers at the beach; he came up with the
worst excuse since “the dog ate my homework;” he perpetuated the myth
of Italian cowardice that was had its roots in World War II (“Did you
hear about the new Italian tank? It has six gears: one forward and
five reverse.”)
On points one and two, there is no debate. As to the last point, one
vain and spineless idiot does not represent an entire country and its
people. For every Capt. Schettino, there were hundreds of brave and
dedicated rescue workers who risked their lives to save passengers.
Most historians agree that in World War II, the Italians lacked
weapons, leadership and a desire to die for Benito Mussolini, an
inept egomaniac who made Hitler look brilliant. So they surrendered.
You want to talk Italians and military prowess? Make sure you make
the Roman legions part of the discussion.
In the meantime, the crew of a British Airlines passenger jet flying
35,000 feet over the Atlantic accidentally played a recording over the
intercom announcing the plane was about to make a crash landing in
the ocean.
Then, according to one passenger, “"About 30 seconds later, one of
the cabin crew told us to ignore the announcement. ... Imagining
yourself plunging towards a cold, watery grave in the middle of the
Atlantic is a pretty horrific thought, but they seemed very blasé
about it."
One wonders if the announcement was preceded by, “This is Captain
Schettino speaking…”
One also wonders what other recordings they have cued up on the
flight deck. “Due to a mechanical problem, we will return to the gate
where you will sit on the tarmac for seven hours. Thank you for your
patience.” “Your luggage is mistakenly on its way to New Zealand.”
“We will be charging an exit fee for you to depart the airplane.”
“Please remain calm….we forgot to fill the plane’s liquor cabinet.”
Better yet, how about a recording accompanied by cheery music that
says, “Please disregard the previous recording that said we are all
about to die.”
The airline has apologized for the miscue. One hopes they passed out
clean underwear for the passengers upon landing.
It’s also been a bad week for Republicans. The South Carolina
Republican primary has morphed from a frank but cordial exchange of
views into biker bar brawl. This isn’t a campaign; it’s hand-to-hand
combat.
There’s already been one fatality. Rick Perry has announced he is
saddling up and riding back to Texas after performing so bad in the
debates, he must have been channeling former Perot running mate
Admiral Stockdale.
Then, 16 days after the fact, Rick Santorum was declared the winner
of the Iowa caucuses, beating Mitt Romney by 34 votes.
This would normally not be a game changer. As one observer said of
the archaic way Iowa votes, “It should be a Swiss watch. Instead it’s
a sundial.”
But for Romney, loosing to Santorum anywhere at anything can’t be a
good thing.
While this was going on, Newt Gingrich’s ex-wife said in an interview
he was giving speeches on family values at the same time he was
advocating an “open marriage” for the couple.
Finally, a Pew Research Center poll found that 53 percent of those
surveyed Dec. 7-11 said Republicans were more extreme than Democrats
and 51 percent said Democrats were more willing to compromise.
Here’s to competent captains, less pre-recorded messages and an
absence of mud in Republican politics.
First, Captain Francesco Schettino steered his massive cruise ship,
Costa Concordia, on to the rocks just off the Italian coast, creating
a near Titanic-like disaster. As of this writing, 11 people have died
and 21 are still missing.
To make matters worse, the Captain was one of the first to abandon
ship, ahead of most of the 4,000 passengers and crew, defying
maritime tradition that the master is the last to leave.
He later explained he “tripped” and fell into a lifeboat.
With that, Capt. Schettino instantly did three things: He did for
cruises what “Jaws” did for summers at the beach; he came up with the
worst excuse since “the dog ate my homework;” he perpetuated the myth
of Italian cowardice that was had its roots in World War II (“Did you
hear about the new Italian tank? It has six gears: one forward and
five reverse.”)
On points one and two, there is no debate. As to the last point, one
vain and spineless idiot does not represent an entire country and its
people. For every Capt. Schettino, there were hundreds of brave and
dedicated rescue workers who risked their lives to save passengers.
Most historians agree that in World War II, the Italians lacked
weapons, leadership and a desire to die for Benito Mussolini, an
inept egomaniac who made Hitler look brilliant. So they surrendered.
You want to talk Italians and military prowess? Make sure you make
the Roman legions part of the discussion.
In the meantime, the crew of a British Airlines passenger jet flying
35,000 feet over the Atlantic accidentally played a recording over the
intercom announcing the plane was about to make a crash landing in
the ocean.
Then, according to one passenger, “"About 30 seconds later, one of
the cabin crew told us to ignore the announcement. ... Imagining
yourself plunging towards a cold, watery grave in the middle of the
Atlantic is a pretty horrific thought, but they seemed very blasé
about it."
One wonders if the announcement was preceded by, “This is Captain
Schettino speaking…”
One also wonders what other recordings they have cued up on the
flight deck. “Due to a mechanical problem, we will return to the gate
where you will sit on the tarmac for seven hours. Thank you for your
patience.” “Your luggage is mistakenly on its way to New Zealand.”
“We will be charging an exit fee for you to depart the airplane.”
“Please remain calm….we forgot to fill the plane’s liquor cabinet.”
Better yet, how about a recording accompanied by cheery music that
says, “Please disregard the previous recording that said we are all
about to die.”
The airline has apologized for the miscue. One hopes they passed out
clean underwear for the passengers upon landing.
It’s also been a bad week for Republicans. The South Carolina
Republican primary has morphed from a frank but cordial exchange of
views into biker bar brawl. This isn’t a campaign; it’s hand-to-hand
combat.
There’s already been one fatality. Rick Perry has announced he is
saddling up and riding back to Texas after performing so bad in the
debates, he must have been channeling former Perot running mate
Admiral Stockdale.
Then, 16 days after the fact, Rick Santorum was declared the winner
of the Iowa caucuses, beating Mitt Romney by 34 votes.
This would normally not be a game changer. As one observer said of
the archaic way Iowa votes, “It should be a Swiss watch. Instead it’s
a sundial.”
But for Romney, loosing to Santorum anywhere at anything can’t be a
good thing.
While this was going on, Newt Gingrich’s ex-wife said in an interview
he was giving speeches on family values at the same time he was
advocating an “open marriage” for the couple.
Finally, a Pew Research Center poll found that 53 percent of those
surveyed Dec. 7-11 said Republicans were more extreme than Democrats
and 51 percent said Democrats were more willing to compromise.
Here’s to competent captains, less pre-recorded messages and an
absence of mud in Republican politics.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
True Blue
Good news, Dodgers fans. In an attempt to lift the dark clouds that
have recently enveloped the franchise I have a plan that will bring about a new golden age for the storied team.
I intend to buy the Los Angeles Dodgers.
I reached this decision after noting that almost everyone but me wants to own the team which is currently for sale. Being no dummy, I decided if a whole bunch of really rich people think it’s a good idea to own the Dodgers, maybe I should join
the fun.
I have a plan.
I promise an end to cold hot dogs and warm beer. I promise to reduce the number of advertisements that currently tattoo every inch of the stadium. I will also eliminate kiss cams, dance cams and obnoxious kid cams. This is a ball game, not You Tube.
I will build enough concession stands and hire enough people to run
them so that fans won’t miss three innings of a game trying to get an
order of nachos.
I won’t charge more for parking than your car is worth.
I will obtain a third baseman, a left fielder, a catcher and relief
pitchers, none of whom are at the beginning or end of their careers.
I will build a statue of Vin Scully at the entrance to the stadium.
This I swear. But first, there are several obstacles I need to
overcome.
First, I'm a bit short on experience. Actually, my only experience is
managing a T-ball team for 6-year-olds and playing in a few softball
leagues . But, hey, a hit is a hit and a run is a run. How complicated can it be?
In addition, I understand that a Dodger owner is the curator of a
civic treasure which immediately lifts me head and shoulders above the
buffoons who have mishandled the franchise since 1998 when Peter
O'Malley cashed out.
Second, it appears that I will need somewhere in the vicinity of a
billion dollars. First I thought I might ask for donations from my
readers. But that would probably fall short of the price for a Happy
Meal.
Then it occurred to me: You don't need a billion dollars to buy a
franchise. In fact, you don't need any money at all. The only
requirement is cunning and guile. And maybe a little larceny in your
heart.
Frank McCourt's purchase of the Dodgers was mostly a no-money down
transaction, financed with debt. An IOU if you will. After running
the franchise into the ground by using its assets to gild his personal lily, he
filed for bankruptcy. Major League Baseball accused McCourt of “looting” the team of $189 million.
Now, he has the team up for sale for north of a billion dollars. Most
people think he’ll get it.
Even after paying off his loans, his ex-wife and a few hundred
lawyers, he'll pocket a nice chunk of change. And you were worried
that Frank would be reduced to be selling bags of oranges on freeway
offramps.
Third, I’ll have to overcome the competition.
There are some noble and good men involved in the bidding: Peter
O’Malley, Fred Claire, Magic Johnson, Joe Torre. All would restore
the good name of the Dodgers.
There are a few sketchy ones as well.
For example, Mark Cuban, whose boorish behavior as an NBA franchise
owner, has cost him hundreds of thousands in fines. I can’t wait to
see the first time he comes charging out of the stands to argue a
third-strike call with the umps. It would be like having Milton
Bradley in charge. Let’s go for an owner with a little dignity for a
change.
Then there’s Thomas J. Barrack, a billionaire real estate investor
and founder of Colony Capital, located in Santa Monica. There are a
few things on his resume that set off alarm bells. He once worked
for Herbert W. Kalmbach, President Richard Nixon's personal lawyer
(ring!). He also once worked for Saudi princes and helped open
diplomatic relations between Saudi Arabia and Haiti, then ruled by
Jean-Claude Duvalier (ring!). He owns the Neverland Ranch (ring!).
In the summer, he lives in a castle in the South of France. (ring!).
Bill Burke, a businessman who founded the L.A. Marathon, allegedly offered McCourt $1.2 billion last August. According to a story in the L.A. Times, the bid was largely bankrolled by Chinese investors. The Dodgers in the hands of Communists? Really?
Also bidding is Steven Cohen, a hedge fund billionaire who in an act
of supreme confidence, has already hired an architect to redesign
Dodger Stadium. The Securities and Exchange Commission is
investigating his firm, SAC Capital Advisors, as part of the
government’s broad crackdown on insider trading. Although Cohen
himself has not been targeted, Major League Baseball remains leery of
Wall Street after Bernie Madoff fleeced the owners of the Mets.
Somewhere in between are the likes of:
Orel Hershiser and Steve Garvey, two former Dodger stars;
A group headed by former agent and current Chicago White Sox special
assistant Dennis Gilbert, talk show host Larry King and Jason Reese
of Imperial Capital;
The family of the late Roy Disney partnered with Stanley Gold, who
runs the family investment firm.
Probably a dozen other potential buyers who are keeping it quiet.
As for me, I’ll approach the Dodger sweepstakes as though I was
buying a used car. I’ll walk around a bit, kick the tires then make
a low-ball offer.
If I succeed, you’re all invited to sit in the owner’s box with me.
If not, see you in the bleachers.
have recently enveloped the franchise I have a plan that will bring about a new golden age for the storied team.
I intend to buy the Los Angeles Dodgers.
I reached this decision after noting that almost everyone but me wants to own the team which is currently for sale. Being no dummy, I decided if a whole bunch of really rich people think it’s a good idea to own the Dodgers, maybe I should join
the fun.
I have a plan.
I promise an end to cold hot dogs and warm beer. I promise to reduce the number of advertisements that currently tattoo every inch of the stadium. I will also eliminate kiss cams, dance cams and obnoxious kid cams. This is a ball game, not You Tube.
I will build enough concession stands and hire enough people to run
them so that fans won’t miss three innings of a game trying to get an
order of nachos.
I won’t charge more for parking than your car is worth.
I will obtain a third baseman, a left fielder, a catcher and relief
pitchers, none of whom are at the beginning or end of their careers.
I will build a statue of Vin Scully at the entrance to the stadium.
This I swear. But first, there are several obstacles I need to
overcome.
First, I'm a bit short on experience. Actually, my only experience is
managing a T-ball team for 6-year-olds and playing in a few softball
leagues . But, hey, a hit is a hit and a run is a run. How complicated can it be?
In addition, I understand that a Dodger owner is the curator of a
civic treasure which immediately lifts me head and shoulders above the
buffoons who have mishandled the franchise since 1998 when Peter
O'Malley cashed out.
Second, it appears that I will need somewhere in the vicinity of a
billion dollars. First I thought I might ask for donations from my
readers. But that would probably fall short of the price for a Happy
Meal.
Then it occurred to me: You don't need a billion dollars to buy a
franchise. In fact, you don't need any money at all. The only
requirement is cunning and guile. And maybe a little larceny in your
heart.
Frank McCourt's purchase of the Dodgers was mostly a no-money down
transaction, financed with debt. An IOU if you will. After running
the franchise into the ground by using its assets to gild his personal lily, he
filed for bankruptcy. Major League Baseball accused McCourt of “looting” the team of $189 million.
Now, he has the team up for sale for north of a billion dollars. Most
people think he’ll get it.
Even after paying off his loans, his ex-wife and a few hundred
lawyers, he'll pocket a nice chunk of change. And you were worried
that Frank would be reduced to be selling bags of oranges on freeway
offramps.
Third, I’ll have to overcome the competition.
There are some noble and good men involved in the bidding: Peter
O’Malley, Fred Claire, Magic Johnson, Joe Torre. All would restore
the good name of the Dodgers.
There are a few sketchy ones as well.
For example, Mark Cuban, whose boorish behavior as an NBA franchise
owner, has cost him hundreds of thousands in fines. I can’t wait to
see the first time he comes charging out of the stands to argue a
third-strike call with the umps. It would be like having Milton
Bradley in charge. Let’s go for an owner with a little dignity for a
change.
Then there’s Thomas J. Barrack, a billionaire real estate investor
and founder of Colony Capital, located in Santa Monica. There are a
few things on his resume that set off alarm bells. He once worked
for Herbert W. Kalmbach, President Richard Nixon's personal lawyer
(ring!). He also once worked for Saudi princes and helped open
diplomatic relations between Saudi Arabia and Haiti, then ruled by
Jean-Claude Duvalier (ring!). He owns the Neverland Ranch (ring!).
In the summer, he lives in a castle in the South of France. (ring!).
Bill Burke, a businessman who founded the L.A. Marathon, allegedly offered McCourt $1.2 billion last August. According to a story in the L.A. Times, the bid was largely bankrolled by Chinese investors. The Dodgers in the hands of Communists? Really?
Also bidding is Steven Cohen, a hedge fund billionaire who in an act
of supreme confidence, has already hired an architect to redesign
Dodger Stadium. The Securities and Exchange Commission is
investigating his firm, SAC Capital Advisors, as part of the
government’s broad crackdown on insider trading. Although Cohen
himself has not been targeted, Major League Baseball remains leery of
Wall Street after Bernie Madoff fleeced the owners of the Mets.
Somewhere in between are the likes of:
Orel Hershiser and Steve Garvey, two former Dodger stars;
A group headed by former agent and current Chicago White Sox special
assistant Dennis Gilbert, talk show host Larry King and Jason Reese
of Imperial Capital;
The family of the late Roy Disney partnered with Stanley Gold, who
runs the family investment firm.
Probably a dozen other potential buyers who are keeping it quiet.
As for me, I’ll approach the Dodger sweepstakes as though I was
buying a used car. I’ll walk around a bit, kick the tires then make
a low-ball offer.
If I succeed, you’re all invited to sit in the owner’s box with me.
If not, see you in the bleachers.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
For the Record
As is the habit of this column at this time of year, we pause to take
a look back, not at world events or notable deaths or achievement in
sport, but at newspaper corrections.
It’s certainly not an attempt to mock the field of journalism. After
all, the profession has kept a roof over the head and food on the
table of this column’s author for a good many years.
Rather, it’s a reminder that in the act of producing hundreds of
millions of words each year, sometimes an error slips through. It
keeps us vigilant but humble.
More importantly, it’s often downright funny.
What follows, then, are the coveted Mea Culpa Awards for 2011, based
on data culled from Internet sources and our own personal collection.
You Say Obama, I Say Osama
It was natural that when troops commanded by Barack Obama killed
Osama bin Laden, confusion would result. But the Sacramento Bee
managed to mangle the names twice. Their correction: “A Washington
Post story on Page A12 on May 2 and a McClatchy Newspapers Washington
Bureau story on Page A13 on May 6 mistakenly used the name Obama
instead of Osama in references to Osama bin Laden.”
Food for Thought
A recipe for honey nut banana muffins included a comment that “you
may want to add a little fried fruit to the mix … to make the flavor
more interesting”. Dried fruit, that should be. The Guardian, U.K.
In a recipe for courgette risotto, one ingredient was “200ml white
wine vinegar”. The result was not ideal. It should have been white
wine. The Guardian.
Chile's Supreme Court has ordered a newspaper to pay $125,000 to 13
people who suffered burns while trying out a published recipe for
churros, a popular Latin American snack of dough fried in hot oil.
Judges determined that the newspaper failed to fully test it before
publication, and that if readers followed the recipe exactly, the
churros had a good chance of exploding once the oil reached the
suggested temperature.
On a page of news briefs, a small photo purported to show “Lady Gaga,
wearing a jewel-encrusted lobster on her head”. A reader notes: “She
is wearing a crayfish.” Of course. The Guardian.
Words, Words, Words
A clue in yesterday’s Quick crossword was “small mollusk”. The answer
sought was shrimp, which is not a mollusk but a crustacean. The
Guardian.
An item in the Extra Bases baseball notebook last Sunday
misidentified, in some editions, the origin of the name Orcrist the
Goblin Cleaver, which Mets pitcher R. A. Dickey gave one of his bats.
Orcrist was not, as Dickey had said, the name of the sword used by
Bilbo Baggins in the Misty Mountains in “The Hobbit”; Orcrist was the
sword used by the dwarf Thorin Oakenshield in the book. (Bilbo
Baggins’s sword was called Sting.) New York Times
Camper Killed By Fumes was corrected because the original referred to
Ysbyty Gwynedd hospital. This is tautologous; “Ysbyty” means hospital
in Welsh. The Guardian.
Confusion Reigns
Last week’s column revealed that I was the third born of the four
Abraham children, which was news to my brothers and sister. For the
record, I was the second born. Eastern Courrier.
Quotations in a story about the Istrouma High School-Broadmoor High
School football game that appeared in The Advocate on Saturday, Oct.
29, were wrongly attributed to Broadmoor coach Rusty Price. The
reporter who wrote the story thought he was interviewing coach Price
after the game. Because the interview subject was not Price, the
reporter is unsure whom he spoke with. Baton Rouge Advocate.
In yesterday’s Western Daily Press we carried a photograph with a
caption referring to the Welsh mezzo-soprano Katharine Jenkins.
Unfortunately a technical error failed to update the picture on the
page before it was printed. We would like to apologize to Miss
Jenkins for any embarrassment caused. The printed picture showed
Conservative MP for Hendon Matthew Offord and his dog Maximus taking
part in the Westminster Dog of the Year event at Victoria. Western
Daily Press, Australia.
Bad Ideas, Badly Executed
A story in Saturday’s Real Deal section suggested that a fun thing to
do for Halloween is to write “poison” on a plastic jar or bottle and
fill it with candy for the kids to eat. A picture that accompanied
the story showed a skull and crossbones image similar to the symbol
used to indicate something is poisonous. The Citizen understands the
need to train children not to touch and never to eat or drink from
bottles or jars with that symbol on it, and it was a lapse in
judgment for us to have suggested otherwise. Ottawa Citizen.
The Skeney Says column in Saturday’s Townsville Bulletin described
her state after receiving surgery at a dental practice on Kings Road.
The line “my cotton-wool-stuffed face squished against the window,
eyes rolled back at them and slack jaw drooling blood down my chin”
was an exaggeration for the purpose of humor and was not intended to
reflect on the services of the surgery. On the contrary, Skene was
treated exceptionally well by the practice through the whole process,
and is sorry for any misunderstanding her piece may have caused.
Townsville Bulletin.
No Typos, Just Bad Reporting
A Comment piece about voting rights for prisoners said that even if
all the inmates of Durham prison turned out and voted in the same way
they could not put a dent in MP Pat Glass’s majority. Indeed they
could not: the prison is not in Glass’s North West Durham
constituency. The Guardian.
On Aug. 3 this year the Daily Mirror published an article regarding
the death of Miss Catherine Zaks, aged 21, in Krakow, Poland. The
article contained claims that Miss Zaks, from Robertsbridge, East
Sussex, abused drugs and had engaged in casual sex following the
break-up of a long-term relationship. Miss Zaks’ parents have pointed
out that these claims are entirely false and that their daughter was
much loved, and of good character. We are happy to set the record
straight and apologize for any distress caused. Daily Mirror, U.K.
An item published in The Australian on Nov.15 (Strewth, “Losing the
threads”, page 13) referred to a report in The Zimbabwe Guardian that
Jacqueline Zwambila, the Zimbabwean ambassador to Australia, stripped
to her underwear in front of three male embassy officials. Ms.
Zwambila denies the allegations, and a governmental investigation in
Zimbabwe has cleared her of any misconduct charges. The Australian
apologizes to Ms Zwambila. The Australian.
There was an error printed in the story titled “Pigs Float Down the
Dawson”…The story, by reporter Daniel Burdon, said “more than 30,000
pigs were floating down the Dawson River.” What…piggery owner Sid
Everingham actually said was “30 sows and pigs,” not “30,000 pigs.
The Morning Bulletin, Australia.
In an article published on The Sun website we incorrectly stated that
Julian Brooker, 23, of Brighton, was blown 15ft into the air after
accidentally touching a live railway line. His parents have asked us
to make clear he was not turned into a fireball, was not obsessed
with the number 23 and didn’t go drinking on that date every month.
Julian’s mother did not say, during or after the inquest, her son
often got on all fours creeping around their house pretending to be
Gollum. The Sun, U.K.
…And This Column’s Personal Favorites
Our panel listing the expected highlights at Glastonbury this summer
catapulted into the festival’s headliners a band not so much obscure
as unknown, even to those expert in Judaic contributions to rock. The
group Frightened Rabbi should have been the Scottish band Frightened
Rabbit. The Guardian.
a look back, not at world events or notable deaths or achievement in
sport, but at newspaper corrections.
It’s certainly not an attempt to mock the field of journalism. After
all, the profession has kept a roof over the head and food on the
table of this column’s author for a good many years.
Rather, it’s a reminder that in the act of producing hundreds of
millions of words each year, sometimes an error slips through. It
keeps us vigilant but humble.
More importantly, it’s often downright funny.
What follows, then, are the coveted Mea Culpa Awards for 2011, based
on data culled from Internet sources and our own personal collection.
You Say Obama, I Say Osama
It was natural that when troops commanded by Barack Obama killed
Osama bin Laden, confusion would result. But the Sacramento Bee
managed to mangle the names twice. Their correction: “A Washington
Post story on Page A12 on May 2 and a McClatchy Newspapers Washington
Bureau story on Page A13 on May 6 mistakenly used the name Obama
instead of Osama in references to Osama bin Laden.”
Food for Thought
A recipe for honey nut banana muffins included a comment that “you
may want to add a little fried fruit to the mix … to make the flavor
more interesting”. Dried fruit, that should be. The Guardian, U.K.
In a recipe for courgette risotto, one ingredient was “200ml white
wine vinegar”. The result was not ideal. It should have been white
wine. The Guardian.
Chile's Supreme Court has ordered a newspaper to pay $125,000 to 13
people who suffered burns while trying out a published recipe for
churros, a popular Latin American snack of dough fried in hot oil.
Judges determined that the newspaper failed to fully test it before
publication, and that if readers followed the recipe exactly, the
churros had a good chance of exploding once the oil reached the
suggested temperature.
On a page of news briefs, a small photo purported to show “Lady Gaga,
wearing a jewel-encrusted lobster on her head”. A reader notes: “She
is wearing a crayfish.” Of course. The Guardian.
Words, Words, Words
A clue in yesterday’s Quick crossword was “small mollusk”. The answer
sought was shrimp, which is not a mollusk but a crustacean. The
Guardian.
An item in the Extra Bases baseball notebook last Sunday
misidentified, in some editions, the origin of the name Orcrist the
Goblin Cleaver, which Mets pitcher R. A. Dickey gave one of his bats.
Orcrist was not, as Dickey had said, the name of the sword used by
Bilbo Baggins in the Misty Mountains in “The Hobbit”; Orcrist was the
sword used by the dwarf Thorin Oakenshield in the book. (Bilbo
Baggins’s sword was called Sting.) New York Times
Camper Killed By Fumes was corrected because the original referred to
Ysbyty Gwynedd hospital. This is tautologous; “Ysbyty” means hospital
in Welsh. The Guardian.
Confusion Reigns
Last week’s column revealed that I was the third born of the four
Abraham children, which was news to my brothers and sister. For the
record, I was the second born. Eastern Courrier.
Quotations in a story about the Istrouma High School-Broadmoor High
School football game that appeared in The Advocate on Saturday, Oct.
29, were wrongly attributed to Broadmoor coach Rusty Price. The
reporter who wrote the story thought he was interviewing coach Price
after the game. Because the interview subject was not Price, the
reporter is unsure whom he spoke with. Baton Rouge Advocate.
In yesterday’s Western Daily Press we carried a photograph with a
caption referring to the Welsh mezzo-soprano Katharine Jenkins.
Unfortunately a technical error failed to update the picture on the
page before it was printed. We would like to apologize to Miss
Jenkins for any embarrassment caused. The printed picture showed
Conservative MP for Hendon Matthew Offord and his dog Maximus taking
part in the Westminster Dog of the Year event at Victoria. Western
Daily Press, Australia.
Bad Ideas, Badly Executed
A story in Saturday’s Real Deal section suggested that a fun thing to
do for Halloween is to write “poison” on a plastic jar or bottle and
fill it with candy for the kids to eat. A picture that accompanied
the story showed a skull and crossbones image similar to the symbol
used to indicate something is poisonous. The Citizen understands the
need to train children not to touch and never to eat or drink from
bottles or jars with that symbol on it, and it was a lapse in
judgment for us to have suggested otherwise. Ottawa Citizen.
The Skeney Says column in Saturday’s Townsville Bulletin described
her state after receiving surgery at a dental practice on Kings Road.
The line “my cotton-wool-stuffed face squished against the window,
eyes rolled back at them and slack jaw drooling blood down my chin”
was an exaggeration for the purpose of humor and was not intended to
reflect on the services of the surgery. On the contrary, Skene was
treated exceptionally well by the practice through the whole process,
and is sorry for any misunderstanding her piece may have caused.
Townsville Bulletin.
No Typos, Just Bad Reporting
A Comment piece about voting rights for prisoners said that even if
all the inmates of Durham prison turned out and voted in the same way
they could not put a dent in MP Pat Glass’s majority. Indeed they
could not: the prison is not in Glass’s North West Durham
constituency. The Guardian.
On Aug. 3 this year the Daily Mirror published an article regarding
the death of Miss Catherine Zaks, aged 21, in Krakow, Poland. The
article contained claims that Miss Zaks, from Robertsbridge, East
Sussex, abused drugs and had engaged in casual sex following the
break-up of a long-term relationship. Miss Zaks’ parents have pointed
out that these claims are entirely false and that their daughter was
much loved, and of good character. We are happy to set the record
straight and apologize for any distress caused. Daily Mirror, U.K.
An item published in The Australian on Nov.15 (Strewth, “Losing the
threads”, page 13) referred to a report in The Zimbabwe Guardian that
Jacqueline Zwambila, the Zimbabwean ambassador to Australia, stripped
to her underwear in front of three male embassy officials. Ms.
Zwambila denies the allegations, and a governmental investigation in
Zimbabwe has cleared her of any misconduct charges. The Australian
apologizes to Ms Zwambila. The Australian.
There was an error printed in the story titled “Pigs Float Down the
Dawson”…The story, by reporter Daniel Burdon, said “more than 30,000
pigs were floating down the Dawson River.” What…piggery owner Sid
Everingham actually said was “30 sows and pigs,” not “30,000 pigs.
The Morning Bulletin, Australia.
In an article published on The Sun website we incorrectly stated that
Julian Brooker, 23, of Brighton, was blown 15ft into the air after
accidentally touching a live railway line. His parents have asked us
to make clear he was not turned into a fireball, was not obsessed
with the number 23 and didn’t go drinking on that date every month.
Julian’s mother did not say, during or after the inquest, her son
often got on all fours creeping around their house pretending to be
Gollum. The Sun, U.K.
…And This Column’s Personal Favorites
Our panel listing the expected highlights at Glastonbury this summer
catapulted into the festival’s headliners a band not so much obscure
as unknown, even to those expert in Judaic contributions to rock. The
group Frightened Rabbi should have been the Scottish band Frightened
Rabbit. The Guardian.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Otherwise Occupied
Responding to a plan by the Occupy movement to demonstrate at the
Rose Parade on Jan. 2, the local Tea Party folks decided to join in
the fun, setting up a riveting contest to determine which fringe
group could be the most obnoxious.
It looks, however, that we’ll be spared this ideological pillow fight
on Colorado Boulevard. The Tea Party has opted out.
Maybe they realized that when the other guy looks stupid, there’s
nothing to be gained in looking stupid as well.
Look, I’m in sympathy with some of the aims of the Occupy crowd.
For whatever else they have done, they have made income inequality,
the widening gap between the haves and have-nots and the corrupting
influence of money on politics a part of the national dialogue.
They have made it clear that this nation’s inability to create jobs,
to prevent the wholesale evictions of economic victims from their
homes, to protect citizens from predatory corporate practices is
intolerable.
And they are willing to risk a face full of pepper spray and arrest
to protest it.
Unfortunately, they have failed to move their arguments beyond the
street. And many of their good intentions have been hijacked by
anarchists, aged hippies, druggies, off-the-beaten-path religious
zealots and other assorted chest beaters. The result is a message so
muddled that it has become unclear.
They are at risk of becoming irrelevant. The absolute wrong way to
regroup, however, is to attempt to politicize a hundred thousand
people who show up once a year to smell the roses, listen to the
bands, root for their football teams and enjoy a slice of Americana.
It would be like teaching the catechism to the Taliban.
The plan as of now is to have the Occupy protestors march behind the
rest of the parade as it winds its way through Pasadena. That will
put them smack dab behind a phalanx of police and a line of
mechanized street sweepers whose job it is to clear the streets of
refuse.
The Occupy forces, if history repeats itself, will be joined by a
gaggle of Jesus freaks, Hare Krishnas, animal rights activists,
anti-war protestors and other rebels with a cause who have
traditionally followed the parade, much to the interest of
practically no one.
Oh, sure, the Occupy people will be waving signs along the parade
route. But their main thrust is to carry a “Octupy Octopus,” a puppet
crafted from recycled plastic bags and bamboo that takes 40 people to
operate. According to organizers, it represents Wall Street’s
stranglehold on American politics.
I saw a picture of it on their web site. It looks like a third-grade
art project.
Is this any way to win hearts and minds? It isn’t.
I suspect they are hoping for some TV exposure but I doubt they will
get much unless some militant faction decides to storm the parade
route. And that’s not the kind of exposure this movement needs.
The Occupy movement must define who they are, join with labor unions
and other sympathizers throughout the country to raise money and
support candidates that believe in their values.
It’s called working within the system and it often works. The Tea
Party did it. So can they.
But that can’t do it from a tent on some street corner. And they
can’t do it by embracing disruption as a political tool.
Rose Parade on Jan. 2, the local Tea Party folks decided to join in
the fun, setting up a riveting contest to determine which fringe
group could be the most obnoxious.
It looks, however, that we’ll be spared this ideological pillow fight
on Colorado Boulevard. The Tea Party has opted out.
Maybe they realized that when the other guy looks stupid, there’s
nothing to be gained in looking stupid as well.
Look, I’m in sympathy with some of the aims of the Occupy crowd.
For whatever else they have done, they have made income inequality,
the widening gap between the haves and have-nots and the corrupting
influence of money on politics a part of the national dialogue.
They have made it clear that this nation’s inability to create jobs,
to prevent the wholesale evictions of economic victims from their
homes, to protect citizens from predatory corporate practices is
intolerable.
And they are willing to risk a face full of pepper spray and arrest
to protest it.
Unfortunately, they have failed to move their arguments beyond the
street. And many of their good intentions have been hijacked by
anarchists, aged hippies, druggies, off-the-beaten-path religious
zealots and other assorted chest beaters. The result is a message so
muddled that it has become unclear.
They are at risk of becoming irrelevant. The absolute wrong way to
regroup, however, is to attempt to politicize a hundred thousand
people who show up once a year to smell the roses, listen to the
bands, root for their football teams and enjoy a slice of Americana.
It would be like teaching the catechism to the Taliban.
The plan as of now is to have the Occupy protestors march behind the
rest of the parade as it winds its way through Pasadena. That will
put them smack dab behind a phalanx of police and a line of
mechanized street sweepers whose job it is to clear the streets of
refuse.
The Occupy forces, if history repeats itself, will be joined by a
gaggle of Jesus freaks, Hare Krishnas, animal rights activists,
anti-war protestors and other rebels with a cause who have
traditionally followed the parade, much to the interest of
practically no one.
Oh, sure, the Occupy people will be waving signs along the parade
route. But their main thrust is to carry a “Octupy Octopus,” a puppet
crafted from recycled plastic bags and bamboo that takes 40 people to
operate. According to organizers, it represents Wall Street’s
stranglehold on American politics.
I saw a picture of it on their web site. It looks like a third-grade
art project.
Is this any way to win hearts and minds? It isn’t.
I suspect they are hoping for some TV exposure but I doubt they will
get much unless some militant faction decides to storm the parade
route. And that’s not the kind of exposure this movement needs.
The Occupy movement must define who they are, join with labor unions
and other sympathizers throughout the country to raise money and
support candidates that believe in their values.
It’s called working within the system and it often works. The Tea
Party did it. So can they.
But that can’t do it from a tent on some street corner. And they
can’t do it by embracing disruption as a political tool.
Monday, December 19, 2011
On Turning 70
"When I was One I had just begun.
When I was Two I was nearly new.
When I was Three I was hardly me.
When I was Four I was not much more.
When I was Five I was just alive.
But now I am Six I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever."
- A.A. Milne, "Now We Are Six"
WHEN I was a child, my bedtime literature of choice was anything by A.A. Milne. I enjoyed the adventures of Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin but for reasons lost in the mists of memory, his "Now We Are Six" was my favorite.
I suspect I was impatient to reach that magical age, when you left babyhood behind and began to venture out into the world on voyages of discovery and adventure.
And being 6 was wonderful. It would be another five years before television made an appearance in our house so we spent our waking hours playing outdoors and building elaborate dream worlds. Without TV to render us physically and intellectually immobile, we traveled as far and wide as our imaginations would carry us.
Sure, there were skinned knees and hurt feelings from time to time but we were sheltered by our innocence from the harsh realities of life.
I mention all this because in one more week, I reach another milestone. I will be 70. I am frankly astounded. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was 6 and playing cowboys with the boy down the street. The important things in my life were bikes, baseball gloves and comic books.
I don't feel 70. Friends say I don't look 70. If they did, of course, they would no longer be my friends.
Come to think of it, however, I seem to have a lot more doctor appointments than I used to. I have lost a good 10 yards off my tee shot, gained a few inches around my waist and seemed to forget where I put my keys. So it must be true.
There are no books called "Now We Are 70" that romanticize the path that lies ahead, and no one to read them to you at bedtime. No one wants to remain 70 for ever and ever.
At this age, you try to live each day to its fullest and look back on the journey, trying to make some sense of it all.
On reflection, it's been a wonderful trip.
I was born 18 days after Pearl Harbor. I often wonder how my parents must have felt about bringing a child into a word engaged in a massive war. Were they worried? Were they scared? I never heard them speak of it. But they were made of stern stuff. My mother was abandoned in an orphanage at age 2. My dad never knew his real father. They were married just as the Depression hit.
My life wasn't nearly as tough. My world was living the lyrics of a Beach Boy's song. We surfed, hung out at Bob's Big Boy and took our girlfriends to proms. We were true to our school.
The worst thing that happened to me in high school was flunking out of geometry. Since it was mid-term, I had to find a course to finish out the year. I chose journalism. The rest is history.
Going to college was a slap in the face. I came to realize I had lived my life in a place that kept the rest of the world at arm's length. It wasn't until college that I made friends who were African American or Jewish or Hispanic.
I learned about injustice. I was exposed to cynicism, much of it directed at the middle class from which I came.
It made for a quick transition. Two years after I had been surfing in Newport Beach, I was arrested in a civil rights demonstration on Market Street in San Francisco.
Indeed, to be 70 is to be a part of a generation that fought to bring about the end to racial segregation in this country. It's difficult to imagine now but it wasn't long ago that many American citizens were relegated to second class status, and worse, by law and social attitudes.
Putting those impediments to equality to rest was an epic moment in this country's history. Those of us who took part did so because, simply, it was the right thing to do.
My generation was the first to embrace rock `n' roll. Whatever else you might think about it, rock was exciting and liberating, the pulsating background music to an era of change in this country. Nobody was going to march for justice to the sounds of Bing Crosby.
We weren't the greatest generation, not by a long shot. But we can look back and see that we made a difference.
So here we stand poised on the banks of the River Jordan or the River Styx, depending on how things work out. The sun is still above the horizon but not by much.
But I'm not ready to say goodbye quite yet. Like a 6 year old, I'm still searching for worlds to explore and adventures to be had.
After all, as George Bernard Shaw said, "We don't stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing."
When I was Two I was nearly new.
When I was Three I was hardly me.
When I was Four I was not much more.
When I was Five I was just alive.
But now I am Six I'm as clever as clever,
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever."
- A.A. Milne, "Now We Are Six"
WHEN I was a child, my bedtime literature of choice was anything by A.A. Milne. I enjoyed the adventures of Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin but for reasons lost in the mists of memory, his "Now We Are Six" was my favorite.
I suspect I was impatient to reach that magical age, when you left babyhood behind and began to venture out into the world on voyages of discovery and adventure.
And being 6 was wonderful. It would be another five years before television made an appearance in our house so we spent our waking hours playing outdoors and building elaborate dream worlds. Without TV to render us physically and intellectually immobile, we traveled as far and wide as our imaginations would carry us.
Sure, there were skinned knees and hurt feelings from time to time but we were sheltered by our innocence from the harsh realities of life.
I mention all this because in one more week, I reach another milestone. I will be 70. I am frankly astounded. It doesn't seem that long ago that I was 6 and playing cowboys with the boy down the street. The important things in my life were bikes, baseball gloves and comic books.
I don't feel 70. Friends say I don't look 70. If they did, of course, they would no longer be my friends.
Come to think of it, however, I seem to have a lot more doctor appointments than I used to. I have lost a good 10 yards off my tee shot, gained a few inches around my waist and seemed to forget where I put my keys. So it must be true.
There are no books called "Now We Are 70" that romanticize the path that lies ahead, and no one to read them to you at bedtime. No one wants to remain 70 for ever and ever.
At this age, you try to live each day to its fullest and look back on the journey, trying to make some sense of it all.
On reflection, it's been a wonderful trip.
I was born 18 days after Pearl Harbor. I often wonder how my parents must have felt about bringing a child into a word engaged in a massive war. Were they worried? Were they scared? I never heard them speak of it. But they were made of stern stuff. My mother was abandoned in an orphanage at age 2. My dad never knew his real father. They were married just as the Depression hit.
My life wasn't nearly as tough. My world was living the lyrics of a Beach Boy's song. We surfed, hung out at Bob's Big Boy and took our girlfriends to proms. We were true to our school.
The worst thing that happened to me in high school was flunking out of geometry. Since it was mid-term, I had to find a course to finish out the year. I chose journalism. The rest is history.
Going to college was a slap in the face. I came to realize I had lived my life in a place that kept the rest of the world at arm's length. It wasn't until college that I made friends who were African American or Jewish or Hispanic.
I learned about injustice. I was exposed to cynicism, much of it directed at the middle class from which I came.
It made for a quick transition. Two years after I had been surfing in Newport Beach, I was arrested in a civil rights demonstration on Market Street in San Francisco.
Indeed, to be 70 is to be a part of a generation that fought to bring about the end to racial segregation in this country. It's difficult to imagine now but it wasn't long ago that many American citizens were relegated to second class status, and worse, by law and social attitudes.
Putting those impediments to equality to rest was an epic moment in this country's history. Those of us who took part did so because, simply, it was the right thing to do.
My generation was the first to embrace rock `n' roll. Whatever else you might think about it, rock was exciting and liberating, the pulsating background music to an era of change in this country. Nobody was going to march for justice to the sounds of Bing Crosby.
We weren't the greatest generation, not by a long shot. But we can look back and see that we made a difference.
So here we stand poised on the banks of the River Jordan or the River Styx, depending on how things work out. The sun is still above the horizon but not by much.
But I'm not ready to say goodbye quite yet. Like a 6 year old, I'm still searching for worlds to explore and adventures to be had.
After all, as George Bernard Shaw said, "We don't stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing."
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Primary Problem
I’m not sure what the Republican National Committee is up to these
days.
But I’m betting that if they don’t get their game face on fairly
soon, they will be on the outside looking in on Election Day, 2012.
So far, the Republican presidential primary looks like it was
scripted by Mel Brooks. Take this week for example.
Newt Gingrich, suddenly breathing the rarefied air of a contender,
does what any serious presidential candidate would do: He travels to
New York to kiss the ring of Donald Trump and seek his blessings.
Are you kidding me? Donald Trump, a political kingmaker? The snarling
billionaire with the bad comb over who stars in really awful reality
shows? Yeah, that’s the guy.
It would be funny except for the scary fact that he may somehow
influence the choice of the next leader of the free world, should
that person be a Republican.
Newt’s not the first candidate to make the pilgrimage to Trump Tower.
Michele Bachmann made an appearance, so did Mitt Romney (although he
refused to be photographed). Herman Cain dropped by as did Rick
Perry. Remember them?
But the wily Donald is withholding his endorsement for the time
being. In fact, he says if he doesn’t see a winner in this bunch he
will run for the presidency himself as an independent.
This is so much hot air, of course. It’s important to remember that
when Trump starts making noises about being president, he usually has
a TV program debuting or a new book out. In this case, his tome,
“Time to Get Tough,” is hitting the stores. Self-promotion is his thing.
Ultimately, this is all about money. Trump has it, the others want
it. Besides, Trump is going to orchestrate a candidate debate at the
end of the month. It would be wise to stay on the good side of a guy
who enjoys yelling, “You’re fired!”
Newt, in the meantime, is having a bad endorsement week. Trump came
down with lockjaw. Cain who has literally and figuratively kissed his
chances goodbye, was going to throw his support to Gingrich but
pulled back at the last moment. Gingrich has had to settle for the
support of Dan Quayle, the former vice president best known as the
man who couldn’t speak straight.
All of this raises some disturbing questions:
Why would Newt want the backing of Cain, an alleged serial womanizer?
Gingrich doesn’t need voters to remember that, in an act of unbridled
hypocrisy, he once carried on an admitted extra-marital affair with a
young staffer while decrying Bill Clinton’s moral shortcomings.
Why would Newt allow Bob Livingston, who resigned as Speaker of the
House when his marital infidelities were exposed, to throw a
fund-raiser for him in Washington, D.C. this week?
What kind of message is the Gingrich-Cain-Livingston team sending to
the country? How about “lock up your wives and daughters.”
Why would Newt want the backing of Trump? As a candidate in the
spring, the Donald experienced one of the quickest falls in recent
political history when he dropped from leading the Republican field
with 26% to 8% in the space of four weeks.
If that’s not enough, a new poll from NBC and Marist College shows
more voters in Iowa and New Hampshire would be turned off by a Trump
endorsement than positively influenced by one.
A story in the Washington Post explains a lot. “Gingrich is
struggling to get out from under a mountain of debt from luxury jets
and other pricey expenses racked up in the early weeks of his
campaign. Creditors say Gingrich has begun paying back nearly $1.2
million in bills he owed at the end of September, and his spokesman
says most will be taken care of by the end of the year...”
In the meantime, Romney has raised $32.6 million while Gingrich has
accumulated $4 milllion. Donald can you spare a dime?
And what about this debate that Trump is staging in Iowa? So far,
four candidates, Romney, Ron Paul, Perry and Jon Huntsman, have sent
their regrets, probably figuring that this particular forum will end
up being A Salute to Donald Trump’s Ego.
So far the participants consist of Newt and Rick Santorum.
Even Republican strategist Karl Rove is appalled. “We've got a guy
who is not only saying 'I'm going to make a decision about who I'm
gonna endorse shortly after this debate and I'm already leaning
someway -- and I may run myself,' and we expect him to be the
impartial moderator of the debate?" he said on Fox News.
All of this has a good chance of being the biggest bust since Geraldo
Rivera opened Al Capone’s vault.
The RNC had better bring order to this chaos if they want their
candidate to have a fighting chance.
days.
But I’m betting that if they don’t get their game face on fairly
soon, they will be on the outside looking in on Election Day, 2012.
So far, the Republican presidential primary looks like it was
scripted by Mel Brooks. Take this week for example.
Newt Gingrich, suddenly breathing the rarefied air of a contender,
does what any serious presidential candidate would do: He travels to
New York to kiss the ring of Donald Trump and seek his blessings.
Are you kidding me? Donald Trump, a political kingmaker? The snarling
billionaire with the bad comb over who stars in really awful reality
shows? Yeah, that’s the guy.
It would be funny except for the scary fact that he may somehow
influence the choice of the next leader of the free world, should
that person be a Republican.
Newt’s not the first candidate to make the pilgrimage to Trump Tower.
Michele Bachmann made an appearance, so did Mitt Romney (although he
refused to be photographed). Herman Cain dropped by as did Rick
Perry. Remember them?
But the wily Donald is withholding his endorsement for the time
being. In fact, he says if he doesn’t see a winner in this bunch he
will run for the presidency himself as an independent.
This is so much hot air, of course. It’s important to remember that
when Trump starts making noises about being president, he usually has
a TV program debuting or a new book out. In this case, his tome,
“Time to Get Tough,” is hitting the stores. Self-promotion is his thing.
Ultimately, this is all about money. Trump has it, the others want
it. Besides, Trump is going to orchestrate a candidate debate at the
end of the month. It would be wise to stay on the good side of a guy
who enjoys yelling, “You’re fired!”
Newt, in the meantime, is having a bad endorsement week. Trump came
down with lockjaw. Cain who has literally and figuratively kissed his
chances goodbye, was going to throw his support to Gingrich but
pulled back at the last moment. Gingrich has had to settle for the
support of Dan Quayle, the former vice president best known as the
man who couldn’t speak straight.
All of this raises some disturbing questions:
Why would Newt want the backing of Cain, an alleged serial womanizer?
Gingrich doesn’t need voters to remember that, in an act of unbridled
hypocrisy, he once carried on an admitted extra-marital affair with a
young staffer while decrying Bill Clinton’s moral shortcomings.
Why would Newt allow Bob Livingston, who resigned as Speaker of the
House when his marital infidelities were exposed, to throw a
fund-raiser for him in Washington, D.C. this week?
What kind of message is the Gingrich-Cain-Livingston team sending to
the country? How about “lock up your wives and daughters.”
Why would Newt want the backing of Trump? As a candidate in the
spring, the Donald experienced one of the quickest falls in recent
political history when he dropped from leading the Republican field
with 26% to 8% in the space of four weeks.
If that’s not enough, a new poll from NBC and Marist College shows
more voters in Iowa and New Hampshire would be turned off by a Trump
endorsement than positively influenced by one.
A story in the Washington Post explains a lot. “Gingrich is
struggling to get out from under a mountain of debt from luxury jets
and other pricey expenses racked up in the early weeks of his
campaign. Creditors say Gingrich has begun paying back nearly $1.2
million in bills he owed at the end of September, and his spokesman
says most will be taken care of by the end of the year...”
In the meantime, Romney has raised $32.6 million while Gingrich has
accumulated $4 milllion. Donald can you spare a dime?
And what about this debate that Trump is staging in Iowa? So far,
four candidates, Romney, Ron Paul, Perry and Jon Huntsman, have sent
their regrets, probably figuring that this particular forum will end
up being A Salute to Donald Trump’s Ego.
So far the participants consist of Newt and Rick Santorum.
Even Republican strategist Karl Rove is appalled. “We've got a guy
who is not only saying 'I'm going to make a decision about who I'm
gonna endorse shortly after this debate and I'm already leaning
someway -- and I may run myself,' and we expect him to be the
impartial moderator of the debate?" he said on Fox News.
All of this has a good chance of being the biggest bust since Geraldo
Rivera opened Al Capone’s vault.
The RNC had better bring order to this chaos if they want their
candidate to have a fighting chance.
Monday, December 05, 2011
A Thorn in the Side of the Rose Bowl
Peace has returned to the Arroyo Seco. Songbirds are singing, their
voices carried on breezes wafting through the giant oaks, the sun
beams down on happy upturned faces while serenity abounds.
Yes, folks, football season is almost over and the Rose Bowl is
returning to its somnambulant state.
It’s been a great season for the nearby residents of the bowl. The
UCLA Bruins, principal occupants of the stadium, have been so bad
that attendance is dropping by the tens of thousands.
This is just fine with the homeowners who rarely emerge during
football season for fear of being struck by falling property values.
Football games draw crowds and crowds make them unhappy. Many would
be pleased if football was prohibited and the Rose Bowl was turned
into a museum.
Oh sure, they tolerate the Rose Bowl game on New Years. It’s all pomp
and pageantry and princesses, the kind of thing that makes you proud
to be a Pasadenan.
Beyond that? Couldn’t they just go and play somewhere else?
I guess these good people didn’t notice the 100,000-seat stadium when
they moved into the neighborhood.
But all is not happy in Arroyoland. The Rose Bowl, as it has for
years, needs money. They need it for maintenance of a nearly
90-year-old facility, they need it to modernize and stay competitive,
they need it because the stadium actually operates at a loss.
They need money because the stadium by ordinance is limited to 12
events a year that would attract more than 20,000 attendees. And that
impacts the stadium’s revenue stream.
Now, the National Football League is being wooed by Los Angeles city
officials and if the NFL decides to locate a team here, it would need
a place to play while a new stadium is being built to house the pro
team.
Rose Bowl officials would like to see their stadium as that temporary
home. The money such an arrangement would generate could help pay off
a $16 million revenue shortfall in a $150 million renovation project
currently underway.
The neighbors are, predictably, upset despite the fact that the NFL
in L.A. is a long way from reality. This paper reported that the
Linda Vista/Annandale Association's 18-member board "voted
unanimously to oppose any occupancy of the Rose Bowl stadium by the
NFL," citing crowds and the negative impact on the Arroyo’s
recreational activities.
The city sees it a bit differently. “There obviously will be
potential impacts associated with the neighborhood; there will also
be significant economic impacts to the businesses in the community,
to the city's General Fund and to the stadium," City Manager Michael
Beck told this paper. "We have to take into consideration all of
those."
This particular flap highlights the hurdles the Rose Bowl faces to
remain viable.
I did some freelance work for the Rose Bowl several years ago,
writing press releases and consulting as stadium officials launched a
fundraising drive for their renovation project.
That experience left me with two impressions:
(1) Rose Bowl officials bend over backwards to be good neighbors.
Despite the bluster from local homeowners associations, complaints
from residents are taken very seriously and steps are taken to
resolve them to the satisfaction of all concerned. When the
renovation project was launched, Rose Bowl officials reached out to
residents to make them part of the planning process.
(2) Money is always an issue. People think the stadium is rolling in money. It
isn’t. Rose Bowl officials rely on revenue from the Brookside golf
courses to help pay the bills.
Is this any way to treat an icon? If any institution in Pasadena
deserves some love, the Rose Bowl is it.
The stadium’s importance to Pasadena can’t be overstated. The New
Years game itself contributes $58.6 million to the city’s economy,
according to a study by the USC Marshall School of Business.
The Rose Bowl is one of the most recognizable sports facilities in
the world. It’s very existence has elevated Pasadena from just
another Los Angeles suburb to the special status it enjoys now.
Homeowners have every right to protect their property. But there’s a
thin line between self-interest and obstructionism.
If local homeowners fear the NFL, they should help in the
fund-raising efforts to complete the renovation project. Supporting
the Rose Bowl will pay enormous dividends to the city they call home.
And peace will reign in the Arroyo.
voices carried on breezes wafting through the giant oaks, the sun
beams down on happy upturned faces while serenity abounds.
Yes, folks, football season is almost over and the Rose Bowl is
returning to its somnambulant state.
It’s been a great season for the nearby residents of the bowl. The
UCLA Bruins, principal occupants of the stadium, have been so bad
that attendance is dropping by the tens of thousands.
This is just fine with the homeowners who rarely emerge during
football season for fear of being struck by falling property values.
Football games draw crowds and crowds make them unhappy. Many would
be pleased if football was prohibited and the Rose Bowl was turned
into a museum.
Oh sure, they tolerate the Rose Bowl game on New Years. It’s all pomp
and pageantry and princesses, the kind of thing that makes you proud
to be a Pasadenan.
Beyond that? Couldn’t they just go and play somewhere else?
I guess these good people didn’t notice the 100,000-seat stadium when
they moved into the neighborhood.
But all is not happy in Arroyoland. The Rose Bowl, as it has for
years, needs money. They need it for maintenance of a nearly
90-year-old facility, they need it to modernize and stay competitive,
they need it because the stadium actually operates at a loss.
They need money because the stadium by ordinance is limited to 12
events a year that would attract more than 20,000 attendees. And that
impacts the stadium’s revenue stream.
Now, the National Football League is being wooed by Los Angeles city
officials and if the NFL decides to locate a team here, it would need
a place to play while a new stadium is being built to house the pro
team.
Rose Bowl officials would like to see their stadium as that temporary
home. The money such an arrangement would generate could help pay off
a $16 million revenue shortfall in a $150 million renovation project
currently underway.
The neighbors are, predictably, upset despite the fact that the NFL
in L.A. is a long way from reality. This paper reported that the
Linda Vista/Annandale Association's 18-member board "voted
unanimously to oppose any occupancy of the Rose Bowl stadium by the
NFL," citing crowds and the negative impact on the Arroyo’s
recreational activities.
The city sees it a bit differently. “There obviously will be
potential impacts associated with the neighborhood; there will also
be significant economic impacts to the businesses in the community,
to the city's General Fund and to the stadium," City Manager Michael
Beck told this paper. "We have to take into consideration all of
those."
This particular flap highlights the hurdles the Rose Bowl faces to
remain viable.
I did some freelance work for the Rose Bowl several years ago,
writing press releases and consulting as stadium officials launched a
fundraising drive for their renovation project.
That experience left me with two impressions:
(1) Rose Bowl officials bend over backwards to be good neighbors.
Despite the bluster from local homeowners associations, complaints
from residents are taken very seriously and steps are taken to
resolve them to the satisfaction of all concerned. When the
renovation project was launched, Rose Bowl officials reached out to
residents to make them part of the planning process.
(2) Money is always an issue. People think the stadium is rolling in money. It
isn’t. Rose Bowl officials rely on revenue from the Brookside golf
courses to help pay the bills.
Is this any way to treat an icon? If any institution in Pasadena
deserves some love, the Rose Bowl is it.
The stadium’s importance to Pasadena can’t be overstated. The New
Years game itself contributes $58.6 million to the city’s economy,
according to a study by the USC Marshall School of Business.
The Rose Bowl is one of the most recognizable sports facilities in
the world. It’s very existence has elevated Pasadena from just
another Los Angeles suburb to the special status it enjoys now.
Homeowners have every right to protect their property. But there’s a
thin line between self-interest and obstructionism.
If local homeowners fear the NFL, they should help in the
fund-raising efforts to complete the renovation project. Supporting
the Rose Bowl will pay enormous dividends to the city they call home.
And peace will reign in the Arroyo.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
The Impossible Dream
LAST spring, in an attempt to be prophetic and pundit-like, I boldly stated that Republican presidential wanna-be Newt Gingrich had stepped on a political banana peel and fallen flat on his aspirations.
He had, I wrote, "struck out" with the voters.
Why? He kicked off his campaign by apologizing to the religious right for his dubious personal life. He followed that up by denouncing a plan offered by House GOP budget guru Paul Ryan of Wisconsin that would reduce the deficit by $4.4 trillion over 10 years by repealing the Democrat's health care bill and reforming entitlements like Medicare and Medicaid.
Republicans embraced the plan as holy writ. Gingrich called it "right-wing social engineering."
He then engaged in a number of verbal blunders and other assorted personal embarrassments, all within a couple of weeks of his announced candidacy.
He was, it seemed to me, toast.
Now, to my astonishment, I find that a new USA Today/Gallup Poll shows Newt leading the pack of Republican presidential aspirants.
I guess I should retire to the Home for Bewildered Columnists. Except for this:
It's not exactly a runaway. Gingrich is the favorite of 22 percent of the Republicans while Mitt Romney nips at his heels with 21 percent. Herman Cain is still on the leader board with 16 percent. Rick Perry polls at 8 percent.
His numbers appear to be fueled by a large infusion of cash. According to CNN, Gingrich raised more than $3 million since Oct. 1, with most of the money coming from online donations.
That's more than three times the amount Gingrich raised in the entire third fundraising quarter of 2011, when he pulled in just over $800,000. But it's pocket change compared to Romney's war chest of $32 million.
Nonetheless, I'll admit it's quite a comeback.
And what has Newt done to celebrate his return to celebrity status?
At a recent event at Harvard University, Gingrich offered a unique plan to fight poverty: fire school janitors (at least those who belong to a union) and hire children to clean the schools. He then proceeded to explain that child labor laws are "truly stupid" and blamed "the core policies of protecting unionization and bureaucratization" for "crippling" children. He did not announce a plan to reemploy the fired janitors.
This past week he advocated allowing younger workers still decades away from retirement to bypass Social Security and instead choose private investment accounts. His announcement came on a day the stock market plunged nearly 250 points.
He characterized the Congressional Budget Office, a non-partisan entity that provides Congress with information on budgets and the impact that legislation will have on government finances, as a "reactionary socialist institution." Douglas Holtz-Eakin, a former CBO director and Republican, called the Gingrich allegation "ludicrous."
And just this past week, Gingrich said he thinks the collapse of the Congressional super committee "is good for America," and that the country's debt problem can be solved through the regular work of Congress.
He was apparently unaware of a new Quinnipiac University poll that found voters would blame the Republicans more than the Democrats for the committee impasse.
So Newt is doing it again, shooting himself in the foot with goofy political talk. But don't do what I did. Don't write him off quite so fast.
Gingrich could very well find himself as the Republican who challenges President Obama next year simply because his opponents are proving themselves unworthy and falling like so many autumn leaves.
Michele Bachman, Rick Perry and Herman Cain, at one time darlings of the GOP, are fast becoming yesterday's news. Newt, with his congressional experience and tenure as speaker of the House, appears downright statesmanlike compared to the rest of the GOP contenders, who sound like a pack of angry birds.
It's still too early to declare a winner in the GOP selection process.
But if Gingrich can crank up the cash machine and cool the inflammatory and often bizarre rhetoric, he could make the improbable come true.
He had, I wrote, "struck out" with the voters.
Why? He kicked off his campaign by apologizing to the religious right for his dubious personal life. He followed that up by denouncing a plan offered by House GOP budget guru Paul Ryan of Wisconsin that would reduce the deficit by $4.4 trillion over 10 years by repealing the Democrat's health care bill and reforming entitlements like Medicare and Medicaid.
Republicans embraced the plan as holy writ. Gingrich called it "right-wing social engineering."
He then engaged in a number of verbal blunders and other assorted personal embarrassments, all within a couple of weeks of his announced candidacy.
He was, it seemed to me, toast.
Now, to my astonishment, I find that a new USA Today/Gallup Poll shows Newt leading the pack of Republican presidential aspirants.
I guess I should retire to the Home for Bewildered Columnists. Except for this:
It's not exactly a runaway. Gingrich is the favorite of 22 percent of the Republicans while Mitt Romney nips at his heels with 21 percent. Herman Cain is still on the leader board with 16 percent. Rick Perry polls at 8 percent.
His numbers appear to be fueled by a large infusion of cash. According to CNN, Gingrich raised more than $3 million since Oct. 1, with most of the money coming from online donations.
That's more than three times the amount Gingrich raised in the entire third fundraising quarter of 2011, when he pulled in just over $800,000. But it's pocket change compared to Romney's war chest of $32 million.
Nonetheless, I'll admit it's quite a comeback.
And what has Newt done to celebrate his return to celebrity status?
At a recent event at Harvard University, Gingrich offered a unique plan to fight poverty: fire school janitors (at least those who belong to a union) and hire children to clean the schools. He then proceeded to explain that child labor laws are "truly stupid" and blamed "the core policies of protecting unionization and bureaucratization" for "crippling" children. He did not announce a plan to reemploy the fired janitors.
This past week he advocated allowing younger workers still decades away from retirement to bypass Social Security and instead choose private investment accounts. His announcement came on a day the stock market plunged nearly 250 points.
He characterized the Congressional Budget Office, a non-partisan entity that provides Congress with information on budgets and the impact that legislation will have on government finances, as a "reactionary socialist institution." Douglas Holtz-Eakin, a former CBO director and Republican, called the Gingrich allegation "ludicrous."
And just this past week, Gingrich said he thinks the collapse of the Congressional super committee "is good for America," and that the country's debt problem can be solved through the regular work of Congress.
He was apparently unaware of a new Quinnipiac University poll that found voters would blame the Republicans more than the Democrats for the committee impasse.
So Newt is doing it again, shooting himself in the foot with goofy political talk. But don't do what I did. Don't write him off quite so fast.
Gingrich could very well find himself as the Republican who challenges President Obama next year simply because his opponents are proving themselves unworthy and falling like so many autumn leaves.
Michele Bachman, Rick Perry and Herman Cain, at one time darlings of the GOP, are fast becoming yesterday's news. Newt, with his congressional experience and tenure as speaker of the House, appears downright statesmanlike compared to the rest of the GOP contenders, who sound like a pack of angry birds.
It's still too early to declare a winner in the GOP selection process.
But if Gingrich can crank up the cash machine and cool the inflammatory and often bizarre rhetoric, he could make the improbable come true.
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