The Consumer Reports study found that the chemical, which some believe causes behavioral problems as well as breast and prostrate prostate cancers in animals, was present in cans labeled “BPA-free” and “organic.”

The American Chemistry Council, which is in part funded by BPA makers, rejects the study as faulty.

This caught my attention in a blog post from Consumer Reports (the main article is behind the pay wall):

(Eden Foods President and Chairman Michael) Potter says that finding a supplier of cans that weren’t lined with BPA-containing epoxy resin was a difficult and frustrating process. “I made hundreds of calls to can manufacturers trying to find out what was in their can linings and I always ended up talking to an attorney in the Beltway who informed me to my amazement that it was a trade secret and I had no right to know,” says Potter.

Ah, good old trade secrets. Another way to say, “We’re poisoning you, folk. Just move right along.”

Who would have though there was real peanut butter in any of the Jelly Belly products? I thought they were 100 percent artificial!

The recall, by the way, is for the 49 Flavors of Jelly Belly jelly beans, which comes in a cylindrical 7.5-ounce package. Details:

The Jelly Belly 49 Flavors cylinder packages were shipped to approximately 200 independent stores nationwide from September 29 to October 30, 2009. Product was packaged in a clear 7.5-ounce acetate cylinder with white label on the bottom of the package with lot codes 090925, 090928, 090929 or 091001. UPC code 07156798939.

As many parents know, peanut allergies can kill kids, so be careful out there.

To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I knew very little about the process – what to put in a cover letter or resume or what to say in an interview. I tried to avail myself of the college’s resources, but the placement director at the time repeatedly, and in insulting ways, blew me off.

Because my spring break would take me to the Phoenix area, I applied to every paper I could find in the Editor & Publisher Yearbook. The huge tome lists everything from circulation figures to how many computer screens were in the newsroom. Only paperclips weren’t counted.

One paper I applied to was called The Mesa Tribune. It had two sister newspapers, then known as The Chandler Arizonan and The Tempe Daily News.

I also applied to the Scottsdale Progress, which was looking for a reporter. (It was posted on a job board in the school hallway.) Before leaving on the trip, only the Progress returned my query, inviting me for a job interview.

When I arrived in Arizona, the Progress changed its mind, canceling the interview. Nervous and feeling desperate, I called up the other papers. The Arizona Republic and now defunct Phoenix Gazette had no idea why I was calling. I presume, my resume and cover letter were promptly discarded after delivery.

After leaving a message with an operator at the Tribune, I lost hope of having any job interviews. Later that day, my family came back to the hotel to find a message for me: Call the Tribune news editor after 3 p.m.

Because this is before most of us had iPhones, I had to make the call from a barely functioning pay phone on a busy street. The news editor told me that there were no reporting positions, but to come in for a copy editing test. I also was asked to perform a post mortem on the three newspapers.

I survived my first interview, then went home to finish up college and apply to more local jobs. No word at all from the Tribune. I didn’t know I was supposed to send a thank you note.

Because I had my apartment until the end of summer – that’s how Bloomington, Indiana, leases worked – I figured I’d hang around town before heading back home to the Chicago suburbs.

Instead, I received a call from the editor I interviewed with. “Do you want a job?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not a reporting job. Are you okay with that?”

“Um, sure.” I’d take anything at that point.

“Be out here in two weeks.”

That was about it. The editor told me I could stay at his house for a day or two until I found a place to live.

Before leaving town, I talked to my journalism placement director. She was mad at me. “How did you get that job?”

I told her my story.

“You have no right. That job could have gone to someone who deserved it.”

Apparently, the placement director had never heard of Mesa either.

I drove up to the Chicago suburbs to get my childhood bed and a few things, like an ancient 100-pound, tube-based “portable” TV.

The drive itself was quite the adventure when you consider that the gas gauge didn’t work in my pimpmobile. I mean my red Monte Carlo. But that’s another story.

During my 11 years in Mesa, I loved The Tribune. The deadline panic. The incredibly funny crew. The deteriorating facilities. The constantly changing politics and corporate-induced headaches.

Sometimes, the paper struggled. In the late 80s, both my immediate supervisors were let go the same day. By the next morning, I found myself unofficially sharing management roles with a colleague.

Most of the time, the paper grew: we started the Gilbert Tribune and bought the Scottsdale Progress, sweet revenge for not getting that job interview.

Always, the paper strove hard against The Arizona Republic. We took wild chances. We busted our butts to break news first.

But times change. I left when the paper was sold to another chain. I was interested in new opportunities and challenges.

Soon, the newspaper was renamed the East Valley Tribune. Earlier this year, the paper laid off a huge chunk of its staff – many my former colleagues – cut circulation days and shrunk the once proud paper into a tabloid. The Scottsdale edition was shuttered. The Tribune also won a Pulitzer this year.

This week I learned that the East Valley Tribune will be closed at year’s end. Freedom Communications, which bought the newspaper a few years back, is in bankruptcy these days and was unable to find a suitable buyer.

I salute those who still work and formerly worked at the Tribune. An amazing amount of energy and hard work went on in that red brick building. I learned so much there.

The East Valley Tribune will be missed. For those who understand: I toast the Trib with a plastic cup of Jägermeister in the front driveway.

So far, two deaths and 28 illnesses have been linked to a recall of 545,699 pounds of Fairbank Farms beef. The recalled ground beef and beef patties were packaged from Sept. 14 to Sept. 16 and had “EST 492” stamped on the packages, reports The New York Times.

The products were sold in Northeastern states at grocery stores such as Trader Joe’s, Giant, Price Chopper, Wild Harvest and Shaw’s. (I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a bit nervous as to the number of times TJ’s shows up in recalls.)

While this meat dates back to September, it could still be in the freezer. For specific recall information, go here.

After chatting for a few moments, Seth zooms ahead, then waits at the street corner for me to catch up. I remind Seth to look all ways before crossing.

Seth again rolls ahead while my mind wanders to the issues of the day: wife home sick, early release day, technical problems at work, messages I need to send.

I hear metal slap against asphalt. I know even before I hear Seth wail that he’s crashed. I look up to find him crumpled on the street, his head and back pressing against the high, concrete curb.

Although I am about 200 yards away, three worries hit me at once: 1. that a car might hit him 2. that he broke an arm and 3. that he might have hit his head on the curb.

When I get to Seth, I can hear him moaning, but at least his helmet looks intact. For a split second, I debate whether I should pick him up, then, despite protestations, lift his lanky body into a sitting position. He’s holding one arm, but it doesn’t look broken.

At about that time, two or three drivers stop to see if Seth is okay. “I don’t know yet,” I call out.

“Does he need a Band-Aid?” one mother calls out.

“Yes.”

The driver says something about looking for them, but I can’t make out the garbled words from across the street.

Another woman, with young girl in tow, is suddenly crouching next to us. “Does your boy need Band-Aids?”

I inspect Seth further, finding several scratches under his pants and shirt sleeves. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be just a minute,” and she walks into a nearby house.

I tell the driver, who drives off to school.

Impatient, Seth licks the wound – black asphalt stains obscuring the red scrapes – on the back of his hand.

“Don’t do that, you’ll infect it.”

I pull a bottle of water out of the backpack and wash off one of the four scrapes. Both wrists, an elbow and a knee. Warm weather clothes protected Seth’s skin from more severe injuries.

“Where is the lady bringing Band-Aids?” Seth complains.

She arrives moments later. As I use baby wipes to clean the injuries and then apply antibiotics, I ask what happened.

“I closed my eyes and crashed,” Seth says.

“Why would you do that?”

“To stay warm.”

“Seth, you can’t close your eyes when you’re riding a scooter.”

“It was only for a second.”

“A second too long. Please, never close your eyes when riding a scooter or bike.”

Seth shakes his head in acknowledgement.

I talk to the woman helping us out. Turns out her oldest daughter is at the same preschool as Lael.

I marvel at how nice the people in our neighborhood are. I’ve not always been this fortunate.

I fold up Seth’s scooter while thanking the young mom. Seth complains Arizona is too cold as we walk the remaining distance to school. I deliver Seth, who seems okay now, to class just in time.

On my way home, I talk to a husband and wife with two boys, telling them what happened. “Maybe his eyes were cold,” the mom says.

It’s then I remember: Seth complained about cold eyes last year. Talk about sensitive; the temperature is a relatively warm, 55 degrees.

Is it my imagination, or is parenting like living in an inexplicable, illogical adventure novel?

I am fortunate that my kids not only think camping is fun, they can’t wait to go again. Sure, it’s a lot of work, but to me, the rewards are worth the hassle.

In the top photo, the kids wrestle on our air mattress in the tent. Our kids play with a dog on the beach trail in the second (on the jump.) In the third, the kids explore a sandstone wall. In the bottom photo, my wife Anne hugs the kids in front of the campfire as the sun sets behind them.

These vines grow wild all over Southern California.

During our camping trip, experts from universities and oil companies explained to students how to read the sandstone. Apparently, the stone reveals clues to where oil or natural gas might be. I just liked how the formations look.

We played the usual games of being chased by the surf, trying to grab rocks when the tide pulled back and building sand forts. The larger fort, which was decorated with our hard-earned rocks, lasted a long time before the tide came in.

On the last full day, I went on a long walk past Trestles, the famous surf beach. When I came back, Seth had figured out how to find sand crabs. Before long we had a large group of kids playing catch and release.

I was so impressed with the result, I took the last three eggs out of the cooler and took a few photos. I’m also glad the kids are learning how to crack a yolk. (By the way, the kids say the egg came before the chicken.)

The trees also kept the campground cool in the heat and the ground dry in the rain.

Well, I’m still married. That’s what I tell friends when they ask how went our big camping trip at San Clemente State Beach. You see, it’s the first time my wife ever slept outdoors in a tent with me (and the kids.)

Of course, I worked hard to make sure everything was in my favor:

• Running toilets
• Reasonably warm showers
• Big, new tent
• Cozy king-sized sleeping bag
• Ocean view
• Nearby city
• Lots and lots of good camp food
• Chocolate for all
• Lots and lots of marshmallows
• Lots to do

Perhaps my biggest failing? I forgot the wine. But, that’s why we had the city nearby. Trader Joe’s was about 3 miles away. Wine problem solved.

Actually, the biggest threat was two and a half days of nighttime rain. My wife was ready to bag it at one point, but I said, “It will clear up.”

Fortunately, it did and we ended the trip with two gorgeous days.

There are too many photos to show at once, so I’m going to spread them out over a couple days.

Hope you like.

Disney bought the company after the videos became popular in the late 1990s and early days of this century. Indeed, Seth watched a review copy a couple of times while he was an infant.

The spinning shapes and colorful hand puppets didn’t seem to interest Seth that much. Instead, our son just liked the music. (Both of my kids are huge fans of The Little Einstein DVDs.)

Disney may be reacting to the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood’s threatened class-action lawsuit. The group has been demanding a full-price refund to anyone who bought the videos since 2004.

Clearly, Baby Einstein is not happy with Commercial-Free Childhood, as a letter from company General Manager, Susan McClain makes clear:

For the past several years, Baby Einstein has been under attack by propaganda groups taking extreme positions that try to dictate what parents should do, say and buy. Our philosophy has always been to focus on creating products that parents and babies love, and to not get sidetracked and pulled down into their street fight.

Unfortunately, with (Campaign Director) Susan Linn’s latest stunt, we cannot be silent any longer. Linn’s obvious dislike for Baby Einstein has now turned into a sensational, headline-grabbing publicity campaign that seeks to twist and spin a simple, customer satisfaction action into a false admission of guilt. This is clearly not the case.

Adds McLain:

We strongly believe that, unlike Linn, our consumers find value in our product, and rather than continue to fight with her, we decided it to leave it up to those consumers. That is why we extended a refund policy that was already in place. Although she would like to claim otherwise, there is nothing extraordinary about a company’s willingness to stand behind its product. To the contrary, it is the strongest possible show of confidence in it.

While the Times reports that Disney is offering $15.99 for up to four Baby Einstein DVDs per household – purchased between June 5, 2004 and Sept. 5, 2009 – links to the refund do not work as of this writing. I did find a link to an older refund offer here. Presumably the company has not had time yet to work out the refund details.

Smart Choices is a voluntary food labeling system in which a green checkmark can be put on products that qualify as “healthy.” I use quote marks because Froot Loops and other high-sugar products won the right to use the green checkmark.

It’s my guess that corporate pressure is also the reason Smart Choices is suspending most its operations until the Food and Drug Administration reveals its own front-of-the box labeling plan, as I mentioned in a recent post. “I regard it as a partial victory,” Connecticut Attorney General Richard Blumenthal tells the Times.

Indeed. Some brands, such as Kraft, plan to continue using the logo for the time being. But it’s nice to know that some companies, like PepsiCo have decided to stop insulting its customers when it comes to the Smart Choices logo.

Apparently so, but it seems the Food and Drug Administration is (sort 0f) running out of patience. The agency announced this week it will consider setting standards for front-of-the-package nutrition labels, reports The New York Times. One possible outcome: those labels will contain bad news about the food products instead of only happy half-truths.

Apparently, the FDA is interested in a British labeling system that mimics traffic symbols for fat, saturated fats, sugars and salt. The system has been successful in England and Australia according to Grist.

I’m going to guess that Cocoa Krispies and Froot Loops would receive a red light for sugar, but any system would be enhanced if unrefined starches and excessive chemical content were also rated.

One flagrant flaw in the FDA’s move is that such reporting would be voluntary. Only those companies wanting to use the FDA system, which could be in place by the end of the year, would have to follow the agency’s rules.

Under such a system, it’s likely that manufacturers will only sign up if they make healthy products, which will invalidate the entire worth of the stoplight system. The FDA giveth hope; the FDA taketh hope.

Good thing, too, because I missed the Food and Drug Administration’s unusually strong action to shut down one of the companies that provides ready-to-eat sandwiches, according to the San Francisco Business Times.

What was allegedly wrong with the 44,000 sandwiches made each week by Rel’s? Enough that the FDA asked the U.S. Department of Justice to stop the company from making and selling food products.

“The government’s complaint … alleges that Rel’s has an extensive history of operating under insanitary (sic) conditions,” reports an FDA press release. “The complaint states that Rel’s has produced and distributed ready-to-eat sandwiches contaminated with Listeria monocytogenes (L. mono). Listeriosis, the illness caused by L. mono, can cause fatal infections in young children, the elderly, and individuals with weakened immune systems, and pregnant women may suffer miscarriages or stillbirths as a result of the infection.”

Do you realize how stunning the complaint is? Basically, the government is alleging that Rel’s was making almost 2.3 million sandwiches every year – or nearly 16 million since 2002 (extrapolated) – in unsanitary conditions!

“Rel’s lack of effective measures to bring its food processing operations into compliance with the law poses a serious public health threat,” said Michael Chappell, the FDA’s acting associate commissioner for regulatory affairs. “The company’s failure to comply with good manufacturing practice also demonstrates the potential for the company to continue to manufacture contaminated products.”

Equally amazing: the FDA says no illnesses have been reported from Rel’s products, which illustrates just how problematic unsafe food is. Perhaps no one ever got sick. Or perhaps, consumers never figured out where a bout of “high fever, severe headache, stiffness, nausea, abdominal pain, and diarrhea” came from. Or perhaps victims just chalked up the symptoms to flu.

But while I applaud the FDA finally taking action, I have to wonder two things:

1. Why did it take so long?
2. How many more offenders are still out there?

I urge my former colleagues to look at TheJournalismShop as a way to find freelance work. The cost is minimal and it’s a great way to find out what your freelance options are.

Regardless if you join, my family wishes you the best of luck getting back on your feet. If you need help, don’t hesitate to contact me at Brettdl (at) dadtalk (dot) net.

Nothing special to say. Just playing around with my underused flickr account.

BEATING up on the wealthy seems to be the order of day. I suspected that. But a recent Wealth Matters column touched a particularly raw nerve. It looked at how even people with sizable fortunes were concerned about money in this recession and the impact that could have on the rest of us.

Readers rejected the attempt to understand the concerns of the rich. …

The vehemence in these e-mail messages made me wonder why so many people were furious at those who had more than they did. And why are the rich shouldering the blame for a collective run of bad decision-making? After all, many of the rich got there through hard work. And plenty of not-so-rich people bought homes, cars and electronics they could not afford and then defaulted on the debt, contributing to the crash last year.

Paul,

I think you fail to understand why Americans are upset in your article, All This Anger Against the Rich May Be Unhealthy.

First, if I hear one more whine about how hard the super rich work, I’m gonna fall off my chair laughing until I cry.

You insult construction workers, truck drivers, school teachers and librarians to even IMPLY that those who are rich work any harder than the less rich. Perhaps the rich work smarter, or choose more profitable careers, but please get off that tired, self-righteous high horse.

Consider: I have a friend who worked in education for more than a decade, and her salary never exceeded $40,000. I know a high school teacher who sells real estate in the summer just to provide his family with a reasonable middle class existence. Because these people work incredibly hard raising our children, they should be America’s best-paid citizens, not the worst.

Americans are painfully aware how stupid our compensation system is, especially when they look at CEO and sports-hero pay. Heck, read this story to see how our taxes are helping to make bankers fabulously wealthy. Americans looked the other while they could buy a nice house and felt some upward mobility, but that time is gone.

Second, I don’t think Americans are as mad at the upper middle class, which is experiencing intense economic pain.

I think they’re mad at those who made millions and billions trading OUR money in a phony financial system. Then those rich Americans rubbed it in our face, by flaunting their wealth via 16,000-square foot houses, $100,000 cars, enormous boats, private jets and over-the-top vacations. Worse, those who profess tough individualism ran to the federal government hat-in-hand, begging for bailouts.

Americans are angry not just because of the Bernie Madoff-type scams, either. They’re angry because they were sold a cultural LIE: that we could own big houses with granite countertops and that housing values would go up forever. It’s not nice to promise a great life and then take it away.

And while many of the super rich earned their wealth, there are plenty who became rich through exploitation. Some real estate agents, mortgage company executives, subprime lending company owners and their ilk draw a lot of ire because they essentially mislead or outright screwed our siblings, aunts, cousins, friends, etc.

Third, you need to understand just how uneven the playing field is.

The most important factor is education. In the states I’ve lived, the only way to get a decent education for our kids was to live in a high-priced neighborhood. Consider the options of financially struggling parents:

1. Live in a tiny apartment, condo or house – if one can be found. (In some CA neighborhoods, even that is not possible.)
2. Live in a city or state that has open enrollment, wait in line in the cold, and then drive your kids across town twice a day.
3. Use whatever meager wealth you have to send your kids to private school.
4. Move out to the exurbs where the school facilities are new and the teachers still filled with hope.
5. “Shop” for better educational opportunities in different cities or states.

Health care is another example of our uneven system. Besides the difficulty and cost of obtaining insurance for our families, try going to a doctor or hospital in a crappy neighborhood. In North Scottsdale, you are treated like a guest at a fancy hotel; in Upland, California, you wait for more than two hours to get ANYONE to see your miscarrying wife. (Upland is a wealthy neighborhood, but the hospital also serves the less financially fortunate in the surrounding area.)

The same goes for road quality, available services, university access and of course, job availability and quality.

Fourth, keep in mind, the financial system exists to serve capitalism, not the other way around.

The system is supposed to provide liquidity for more real ventures, such as manufacturing and business formation. Instead, the markets have become a wealth-making tool for the sake of the already wealthy. We should ask ourselves: Is there a Capitalistic reason for all this financial activity or is it just a way to transfer wealth around while camouflaging exploitation?

Keep in mind, the markets also steal our best and brightest to make up phony “quant” formulas when they could be reinventing physics, solving the energy crisis or finding the cure to cancer.

Look, I could keep going on, but as you wrote, Paul, all this anger at the wealthy is “not healthy.” Neither is losing your home or health insurance, but hey, that’s a small price the super rich are willing to pay as long as it’s not them.

But being a dad blogger, I’m glad you eventually turned your column to focus on children:

(Financial psychologist Brad Klontz) is even more concerned that this obsession with money and blame will affect children. He said the risk is creating a generation that distrusts investing and associates wealth with greed.

That’s rich. Where was the concern before the economic crisis about kids associating wealth with self-worth? During those heady economic days, our kids learned that bigger homes were better, buying property we couldn’t afford made sense and that those who didn’t jump at foolish opportunities would be losers.

If you want to cry about Americans’ growing distrust of the wealthy, fine. But Paul, please don’t tell me you’re defending the rich for the benefit of our children. It’s a cheap parting shot.

Sincerely,

Brettdl
www.dadtalk.net