Jim's Thoughts on Things

Maria's Message

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 00:33:00 +0000

As I recall it, we were at a graduation party for my niece July 17, 2004 when I retrieved the cell phone message from my excited daughter:

“I just wanted to tell you my water broke and we’re going to the hospital.

“I don’t know what will happen, but we’re going there.”

In the background, I could hear Jason, my son-in-law, saying in his calm voice “Yeah, Chris’ water broke so we’re . . .”

Chris continued, “I don’t know what they’ll do, but we’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m going to call Ben, and see if I can get a message to him.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t remember if I told you, but my water broke, so we’re going to the hospital.

“Love you. Bye.”

I didn’t check for the cell message until after Ben answered his cell, and allowed Cecilia and I to talk to Chris. She was excited, a new mother on her way to meet her first child.

After Ben had alerted me, I checked my cell, and saved the message I’d missed.

It marked the start of an adventure for our daughter and her husband which she had started for Cecilia and me more than 29 years before that call.

It was early the next morning when Jason called to say our first grandchild, Maria Christina, had arrived in Grand Rapids.

When he called, I remembered Cecilia trying to stint the flow of water marking that her first pregnancy was ending, precipitating the journey to the hospital, and the eventual arrival of little Christina in a crib the nurse allowed me to view, but not touch, many hours later.

My first call was to my mother. The next was to Cecilia's.

Christina and Jason were going through that at the same time I was reviewing, and saving, the cell phone message she had left because I didn't answer.

There was a nexus associated with Maria’s birth beyond the continuation of what Cecilia and I started those 29 years ago.

Our niece was not only celebrating her graduation, but the eve of her 18th birthday . . . a birthday she gladly shared with her second cousin, the first in the family, my little granddaughter Maria.

I can’t count the number of times I’d reviewed that saved message, being careful each time to save it again for the 21-days my cell provider allowed.

Each time I listened, it meant much to me as a father and grandfather, because it marked the positive progression of Cecilia’s and my family.

Then, on Maria’s birthday in 2011 – an important one because it denoted an occasion when her friends were allowed to stay overnight at her house for a special sleepover – I checked for another message.

As was my habit, I started to wait for the stored message from 2004 to play before I got the new message.

But, being impatient, and almost knowing what it said, I figured that I could speed the time to get my new message by re-saving Maria’s for later by pressing “7.” Unfortunately, “save” was number 9, and erase was number “7.”

In my impatience, I’d guessed wrong.

Maria had just turned seven the day I lost the message announcing her arrival.

At first, it was sad, because I wanted to recall when my daughter and her husband were going to be new parents, and my wife and I could share in the excitement of a new member in the family.

But, then, Maria is beyond being a “new” member in the family, and regardless of whether the birth marked a transition for Cecilia and I, it had passed.

In the seven years since I’d saved that message, Maria, in her own way, had instructed me on what was important in life, be it her concerns, or the concerns for her welfare that she inspired as she matured.

And, though recalling that her arrival had provided some nostalgic memories, the fact the message announced she might arrive isn’t as important as the fact that she had arrived. She is in need of the same nurturing and counseling I offered Chris before she moved from the house, married, and started a family of her own, only from the perspective of a grandfather as opposed to a father.

The memory of that responsibility is important, but not as important as exercising it in Maria’s behalf.

So, instead of listening to history, it has become happy birthday.

Maria; here’s hoping there are many more for you to share with Grandma, Chris, Jason, Ben, Aunt Kara, your brothers, and me.

The Myth of the Public Option

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 00:25:00 +0000

Since I have a little time, I thought I’d share my personal experience to counterbalance some of what I am reading / hearing regarding politicians’ concerns on passage of a “public option” by some politicians.

When I was first hired by the Federal Government I was bewildered by the list of carriers from whom I could choose an insurance carrier for my family. It included as many as 20 local carriers and 10 to 15 national carriers who were obligated to insure me so long as I paid my premiums. The information included data and limitations on benefits, and costs for coverage defined in terms of both monthly and by-paycheck premium I would pay in return for that coverage.

Every year, in October, I received a new prospectus, which listed benefits, out of pocket expenses, and paycheck deductions, allowing me to choose among carriers, if I wished to change.

I have stayed with one carrier, not so much because the cost is the best, but because I am familiar and comfortable with the doctors available, and the doctors who provide the care are familiar with me.

This is the equivalent of the “public option” being discussed as part of the national health care reform legislation before Congress.

Now, it’s amusing to hear some elected officials (including my congressman) talk about the “evils” of having a public option, or “health care reform” because what is being proposed as a “public option” for ALL AMERICANS is the SAME CARE those elected officials receive as part of their “employee benefits” we cover with our income taxes.

So, if you hear about concepts such as “creeping socialism” or “diminishing the free market” being tossed about by YOUR politicians as a reason they vote against a “public option,” keep in mind that THEY are denying you the SAME CARE they receive, because THEY don’t believe YOU are as IMPORTANT as THEY in the whole scheme of things.

And, just in case you “know” someone who disagrees with my experience, please put them in touch with me so I can refute their lore with reality of how a “public option” works.

Novel New Book Titles

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 11:39:00 +0000

Taking some time to observe people around me, I believe I’ve discovered a lot of research in the literary genre providing self-help, personal discovery, and tourism information to us common folk.

I’m talking about books with titles like: “My Guide to Bed and Breakfasts”, “100 Reasons to Visit (Insert City Name Here)”, “Everyday Guide to Washing Dogs”, “1000 Things to See before You Die”, and the like.

Of course, with many popular subjects already copyrighted by the “For Dummies-”, “Fodor’s Guide-”, series and the like, the budding authors are searching for different topics to offer their unique spin within the type.

Though the specifics of the title may vary, here are a few of the emerging ones I’d anticipate based on my observation:

America’s Most Beloved Stoplights

This book must be aimed at readers who have an interest in the architectural styles, traffic management techniques, and motion sequencing options provided by to most of us is the common traffic light. Research consists of driving along major thoroughfares at a pace akin to a walk assuring that the researcher gets a full 30-90-second opportunity to observe and record details about each stoplight along their route.

My wife, who has sometimes joined me in this research, says one dead giveaway of a budding author is a man wearing some form of boater, beret, bowler (except chauffeurs), deerstalker, fedora, fez, flat, Gatsby, Kepi, Panama, peaked (except chauffeurs), pork pie, top (except chauffeurs), trilby, turban, or ushanka (See).

Another of her triggers is a female driver whose head does not project above the seat rest but whose bonnet projects horizontally or vertically outside the outline of the seat.

Building from her observations, those I would exclude from being authors are maybe 25-percent of the men wearing baseball caps with the peak facing forward, 50-percent of those whose peak slants over their right shoulder, and definitely any man whose peak faces the rear.

I turn off the street when I see a man driving with the peak over his left shoulder.

Adding to the hat trigger, I figure I’m observing research when I encounter any driver who appears to be hooking one finger in their ear while steering their vehicle with the off side hand.

Though from the rear the activity looks like a subliminal message I observed in Mad cartoons portraying dolts, if I get to the side of the ear hooker, I discover most times they aren't resting their off hand in a convenient cradle, but instead are using a cell phone.

I have to be careful in labeling the research, however.

There is one ambiguous activity by drivers coasting along the right border of the left turn lane. They slow to catch the main intersection light, but fool me by slipping into the left turn lane just in time to take their turn on the left turn green arrow.

I’ve noted a variation on the research, apparently aimed at studying yield right of way signs at round abouts. The driver comes to a dead stop at the place where traffic is to merge whether there is oncoming traffic from their left or not.

Based on the many stopping opportunities these people have offered me by foiling my attempts to move with traffic at a steady gas-saving pace which precludes 30-90 seconds of idling (and gas guzzling) time at each intersection, I’m pretty curious who will write the first of their tomes, and how those who missed out on being the first will react.

Street Bazaar Shopping Techniques

I have a kind of uncanny biological radar which places me in lines to observe firsthand the haggling techniques portrayed in old movies documenting travels in foreign lands, quests based on Greek or Arabian mythical heroes, early Jewish and Christian histories, treks across trackless expanses in the days of camel caravans and sailing ships, .and the barbarian sagas. Most of these have a scene in a town square bordered by multi-colored fabric awnings from which merchants hawk their wares.

If not part of the story, at least the backdrop to the scene involves characters loudly arguing prices for goods.

The biological radar comes into play because regardless of how many lanes in a store are open for our more modern 21st century exchange of goods for money, I pick the one where this scene unfolds in real time.

Walking about with two items in my hands, I scan the lines, and choose the one behind a cart with 40-items, because all the others have multiple customers or carts even more overflowing with goods.

I should note here I’m amazed at the speed the researcher explores the topic, as the sweeping of goods across the laser table and the flash of the price on the screen is so quick for me that I don’t react until I get a final price.

These technicians are aware of every detail of the bazaar providing an opening to haggling.

Scanner: “Tweet!”

Researcher (stopping the Check-out Assistant from grabbing the next item): “I thought the circular said XXX Super Prunes were 79-cents a can.”

Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant: “That was last week’s circular.”

Researcher: “But, I could swear it was in this week’s too!”

Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant (pulling circular from shelf beneath cash drawer): “Let’s look.”

Researcher (leafing through dog eared circular): “Well, I don’t find it here.” (Looking at date in bottom corner) “It says it’s for this week. OK, I don’t want that can of prunes. Are you sure you want to put a dented can back on the shelf?”

Knowledgeable Check-out Assistant (talking into phone at cash register): “Manager to aisle seven!”

Suffice it to say that while the lines I’d avoided because four and five people with big loads of food in their baskets passed along at a pace I had desired by driving discretely in the “Beloved Stoplights” topic, I get to observe the drama.

Manager: “How can I help?”

Researcher: “I apparently misread one of your circulars – maybe the mailman delivered it late. But, this can of prunes was advertised at 79-cents, and the scan rang it at 89-cents.”

Manager: “I’m sorry. We always update every item price in the store Sunday morning to coincide with the circular distributed in the Sunday papers. The scanned price is accurate!”

I cheered for the manager in my mind, while peering at the ceiling to indicate I wasn’t involved.

Researcher: “The can’s dented!”

Manager (spying my three items tightly jammed behind the “place between orders” bar behind the 40-items the Researcher had unloaded from the cart and the end of the conveyor): “OK, we’ll sell t for 79-cents.”

The manager places a card in the scanner’s reader, types in some information, waits, and types in again.

Manager: “It’s been corrected.”

The manager walks away.

Scanner: “Tweet!”

Researcher: “I thought . . .”

As the people behind me start pushing their carts to other lanes, I continue my observation without regard to what may be taxing my already overworked blood pressure.

Guide to Sharing Knowledge

Being an observer of nature, I spend a lot of time along trails in open lands. Trying to get in tune with my surroundings, I try to be non intrusive, carefully watching where my steps fall along trails to avoid cracking twigs or rustling leaves, scanning the area around me for movement, or contrast in an attempt to spot interesting life forms, and listening for changes in the wind rustling the leaves or animals calling.

In heavily wooded areas, the first evidence of the researcher comes as caws from birds high in trees in enclosed areas, first at a distance and if the research is approaching me, closer in. The acid test whether it’s coming is when I stop, and while I listen, the noise radiates in a sequence from left to right or worse from farther to nearer. In open areas, it shows itself by birds rising to the air, first at a distance and gradually nearer to me.

As the birds or rise closer to my location, I’ll hear first a deep drone, and later distinct human sounds. It’s more difficult to determine whether the research is taking place when the human sounds are intermittent, but is certain when they are at a constant cadence and echoing across the expanse.

By the time all the life around me has moved I make out the subject:

“Over there is a Tufted Plover Grouse,” says the researcher to his audience. It’s a dead giveaway when he’s wearing boots suited for an ascent of Everest, carrying a pack with 3-days of provisions on his back, and has binoculars suitable for spotting targets for naval warfare around his neck in a 200-acre nature preserve.

“But, a Tufted Plover Grouse is a Gulf Coast bird which has migrates there from the Amazon jungle,” responds one from the audience.

“Well, then it’s transient here in Maine. I’ll have to point that out when I find the ranger!”

Since I generally wear khaki, and have my own naval-quality binoculars around my neck, I’m sometimes mistaken for a park official.

Not wanting to intrude on the research, I’ll often look for a side trail or begin back tracking from the way I was approaching the encounter.

Although I’m most sensitive to it in natural areas, I often encounter evidence of this research in many venues. Engineering research is conducted in stores specializing in electronics, culinary research in specialty food stores, financial research near banking institutions, and a general studies research in the walkways of enclosed shopping malls.

An Art of Romance

This research is performed as couples, most often male female encounters among Generation X or Y or Z types. I’ve most often noted it in restaurants among more mature couples either on a date or out for a quiet dinner.

It’s most obvious in surroundings designed to emphasize intimacy, lights toned down, candles on the table, cleverly tented napkins at each place setting, and soft music in the background.

The researcher and his partner arrive together, and he often seats her with a flourish, maybe even holding her chair if the waiter doesn’t. Once the waiter has conducted the preliminaries, maybe unfurling the napkin and placing it in each diner’s lap, presenting the menus, explaining the selections, and taking a drink order, the research begins.

While the woman peruses the menu, the researcher will pull a cell phone from a hidden pocket and begin peering at the light. As she reads, he’ll punch furiously at the display, maybe using one thumb to dial a number or two to type a message.

I admire multi-tasking skills when the punching is done in the right hand while the menu is held in the left.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, he’ll clap the phone shut, and toss it in a breast pocket.

Right after the drinks are served, and the waiter takes each diner’s order, the man’s pocket will buzz.

Researcher: “Yeah! (30-second pause)

“Well, why didn’t they deliver it on time? (2-minute pause)

“That’s not acceptable. (90-second pause)

“You call Jones and put him on it! (10-second pause)

“OK. (interminable pause)

“Hmmm (interminable pause)

“Uhuh (interminable pause)

“Oh!” (interminable pause)

“No! You tell Mike . . .”

The grunting and orders continues through the drink, past the salad, picked through with a fork in the left hand, and well into the main course, sampled in the same manner. After clapping the phone shut and returning it to his pocket, he then relates the other side of the conversation he just had to his partner.

About the time he finishes, the waiter arrives with a check, and the phone rings again.

Because the region in which I research is limited, and time available at a premium, I don’t believe these are the only topics the inquisitive reader should anticipate on the shelves at their favorite bookstore. But, because they occur most frequently, I’d expect these, or similar titles to be available sooner than later.

Vacuum Cleaner (Redux)

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 20:32:00 +0000

It’s not often one gets a second chance, but today I got a second chance on the vacuum cleaner gig.

Today around 3 p.m. the doorbell rang. Taking a break from preparing some roast stuffed brook trout, I went to the door, and again, found another not quite so lithe dancing teddy bear standing there, this time holding out a box of Kleenex (real Kleenex!) and telling me that I had no obligation for accepting it.

“I’m from “Buzzy-scheme” (name changed to protect any consumers who may read this)
and we don’t expect you to buy Buzzy Scheme, but we get credit from the boss if we show it to you.

I was a little disappointed as the last time the boss showed up to get Flopsy (or was it Mopsy?) in the door, and peering past this guy’s shoulder, I didn’t see Flopsy (or was it Mopsy?) waiting to enter my home.

“We don’t want you to buy anything . . .” (a circumstance which may explain the current economic demise more than the Imbecile President George W. Bush dumping the economy in the drink) “ . . . but . . . ”

I looked to the north and spotted the station wagon.
“ . . . we’d like to show you the product.”

Thinking I could use a box of REAL Kleenex, I paused for about five seconds, but thinking about the trout, and the time I’d take looking at something I wouldn’t be expected to buy anyway, I said, “I’m not interested.”

My hand shook, but to put the exclamation point on the “not interested” statement, I held the Kleenex out to him.

He looked over his shoulder at the car, and took the box in his hand. Before he could argue, I was back in the house, closing the main door, letting him hold the storm open.

He didn’t slam it shut, but thankfully disappeared (presumably heading south).
My conscience clear, and juices running, I returned to the trout and began salting and peppering the cuisine prior to roasting it (375-degrees for 30-minutes).

Can’t say old dogs don’t learn new tricks.

Poetry as Politics

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 22:30:00 +0000

It was more than 30 years ago that I took a course in “modern poetry” which featured music and lyrics from among others, my hero, Jim Morrison.

The course treated the lyric as stand alone poetry – akin to the early English poems sung to facilitate their distribution at a time when writing materials, and the ability to read or write were rare.

The college course borrowed reviewed those songs distributed on vinyl for posterity by muses offering their commentary on society.

Not exactly Beowulf, Canterbury Tales, or Shakespeare -- all of which ended up verbal literary traditions -- but when balanced against the old literature to reflect that time's concern for how the world should be shaped, the class made sense.

The course's featured lyrics came from people such Bob Dylan and Jim Morrison, both among my album purchases, but not the only artists whose music I sought to reflect a mood I held regarding society while cruising around town.

Getting into the flow, I lobbied in class for review of lyrics from Cream and Jimi Hendrix.

As their instrumental music were personal favorites.

But, argue as I might, and to my disappointment I couldn’t earn a place in the discussion for the words surrounding the Cream / Hendrix "inspirational" music like "White Room," "I'm So Glad," "Politician," "Purple Haze," "Voodoo Child" and others.

I later learned that the lyric both groups adapted either came from tradition which already existed (like Hendrix' "All Along the Watchtower"), or centered on the meter and cadence of spoken words which supported the beat as opposed to the emotion I read into it.

The lyrics had difficulty standing alone.

My arguments to recognize Hendrix and Cream were more suited to a “music” class than a “poetry” class – probably reflecting my overall average grades in “Liberal Arts” for those studies not directly associated with printed literature.

To allay my disappointment, I took “modern poetry” courses which explored such writers as William Carlos Williams, e. e. cummings, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, Robert Graves, Gerard Manley Hopkins, TS Elliot, Wilfred Owen, and William Butler Years among others. It taught me that absent the music, the thoughts I wanted reviewed in the current lyric were recorded in the written word not by people who played instruments, but by craftsmen who knew how to use the written word.

Dylan and Morrison were the rare combination of verbal artists who had their literature distributed by leverage the more popular musical medium.

Fortunately for me, losing the argument to include Cream in that combination started to build a foundation in poetic literature which I’ve enjoyed to this day.

Today I was listening to my favorite National Public Radio (NPR) broadcast, and discovered that certain “hip hop” artists shared the concern for their society I attempted to adapt into my post-modern-literature studies.

Despite my disappointment at not making Cream and Hendrix part of my “modern poetry” course, I may explore today's artists concerned about such issues as social justice, environmental protection, anti-imperialist perspectives, and pro-worker agendas among others.

The music isn't to my taste, but if I tone down the bass, and control the trebel, there may be a parallel between those “modern English” authors I explored and the subject line for the “hip hop” / “rap” poets favored today.

Now my job is to convince those lost in the past like me to see what's in the now and understand we share a concern roaming across the generations worth leveraging into the power my peers and I had enjoyed those many years ago.

Flipping and Flopping

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 10:42:00 +0000

Sarah Palin is touted as a bureaucracy buster who once said "thanks but no thanks" to the Alaska Senator Ted Stevens (see: Anchorage Daily News) "Bridge to Nowhere" connecting a 50-resident island to Ketchikan, AK, at a cost of nearly $400-million, including Stevens' $223-million earmark.

But, like the salmon her husband catches during fishing season, Palin is bouncing around on her governmental philosophy according to the Detroit Free Press. The newspaper reports that Palin is quoted by the Ketchikan Daily News the project was necessary to "help this community prosper" during a campaign visit to the community October 22, 2006.

Her flip flop during her first visit with the public after being selected the vice presidential candidate has even eaten at the Alaskan backing (see: Reuters).

The Stevens bridge was initiated as an earmark against the 2005 highway spending package under the Republican Senate (see: Salon) before Imbecile in Chief became a foe of such spending when the Democrats took over the house in the 2006 election.

Palin altered the plan by changing Alaska's spending priority for its share of the project (see: CNN). However, the earmarked Federal funding remains in the Alaska budget though not allocated to the bridge (see Wikipedia).

Take care,

jim

Saved by Gustav

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 20:16:00 +0000

While the Republican's debated whether the imbecile in chief, George W. Bush, should attend their convention, Gustav intervened.

When a similar hurricane named "Katrina" hit the Louisiana coast, John S. McCain, the equivalent of a cuckold from the tactics used to give Bush a victory in the North Carolina 2000 Republican primary ( see: Boston Globe ), was sitting on Air Force One enjoying his 69th birthday with the Cuckolder in Chief.

This year, the duo decided to separate for McCain's birthday celebration, allegedly to show concern for citizens of Louisiana, who meant little when Katrina hit in 2005 long after Bush was in office and before McCain gained the Republican nomination for the top office in the nation.

There had been talk during the campaign about what the Republican's could do with George -- titular head of the party who is enjoying the lowest public approval rating of any national figure, including Herbert Hoover who watched the nation sink into depression, over the last 100 years. It made bad TV if Bush raved about his "legacy" when a majority of the thinking public (the 27-or so percent who don't have the capacity to understand the damage he has done aside) know the nation is worse off today than it was in 2000 when Bush took office with a budget surplus paying down on a $4-trillion debt his daddy (George H. W.) and Ronald Reagan created to "trickle down" prosperity on ordinary American's by giving tax breaks to the top three percent of those receiving income in the country.

Part of the reason Bush isn't "persona grata" at the convention is to hide the legacy he established by undermining the US Constitution, leading the US into a war largely conceived in lie and fantasy, losing the world's recognition of the US as a leader in human rights, watching middle class jobs escape overseas to international corporations which pay no taxes to the nation, presided over the decay of the national infrastructure even as contractors bilked the government to restore Iraq's, and taking the nation another $4 trillion in deeper debt (in addition to the "emergency appropriations" he used to hide the costs of Iraq and after he threw the Clinton surplus at his corporate backers) over the past eight years.

It would be difficult for McCain to build on the Republican legacy if anyone looked at the facts surrounding Bush, but the sitting President deserved his honor in a manner that Hoover deserved the honor to speak at the 1932 Republican convention which marked the depths of the economic collapse he watched unroll as he said the government should do nothing to rescue the economy.

Another reason McCain may not have wanted Bush to attend is to avoid scrutiny of John McCain's campaign(review: Arizona Republic ), which markets him as an honest broker for the nation, when, in fact, he's the only one of five Senators accused of accepting the influence dollars from Charles Keating to call of Federal Regulators from investigating his savings and loan scam who remains in office.

George W. is under scrutiny for his manipulation of the rules starting with his alleged "service" in the Alabama Air National Guard; continuing with his title as the "compassionate conservative" (as those who suffered in Katrina); following with his assertion of McCain's "illegitimate child;" continuing with the statement that Saddam Hussein, a non-sympathetic figure, supported the attack on the World Trade Center; rolling through "signing statements" which recognize a law has been enacted, but declare the President won't recognize it; and continuing today as the economy collapses while he prates "the 'conomy is fundamentally sound" to avoid blame for the increase in costs caused by his borrowing while still in office.

McCain no doubt would have liked Bush to stand down at this year's convention.

Gustav gave him the excuse to excuse the Bush cement shoes from arriving at McCain's celebration.

Take care,

jim

The Vacuum Cleaner

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 00:37:00 +0000

I happened to be home early today, and while upstairs working on the computer, the door bell rang.

I’d already gathered the mail, so I assumed that someone from UPS or FedEx was ringing the bell to let me know that there was a package on the porch. Expecting to hear the roar of the engine while the delivery truck moved along, I was surprised to look out into my driveway, and spy what appeared to be a van that my brother or sister-in-law had driven to family events in the past.

Was there some problem in the family?

Did they need to go to the bathroom?

How did they know I was home?

I opened the door.

Dancing on my porch was a early-twenty something Chris Farley look alike hopping from right foot to left and left to right while waving a roll of Bounty towels at full left arm’s length and his open palm at full right arm’s length as though he was performing the “I’m a little teapot” ballet.

“A free gift for the house?” he shouted through his wide mouth smile.

As my thoughts ran through various stops -- “$3 towels,” “goofy dance,” “is he dangerous?” – the overwhelming desire for something free forced me to open the storm door.

“Thank-you sir. I only want a few minutes of your time to talk to you about some of our products. Let me tell to my boss.”

As he walked back toward the van, I suddenly realized what a trout which sucked in a tasty looking morsel to discover the food nabbed its lip as it tried to spit it out felt.

Like the trout shaking its head, I considered throwing the towels out on the porch and shutting the door, but couldn’t let go.

As he opened the driver’s side door of the van, a just post-high school girl climbed out of the rear seat and opened the hatch back. He lifted a large black box from the rear while she grabbed a smaller black box and some kind of shoulder pack before returning to the porch.

“Are you familiar with Kirby Vacuums?” he asked.

I was trying to run with the current while the stabbed lip was pulled back toward the man standing in the middle of the stream with the rod high above his head.

Towels in right hand, and left on the storm, I pushed the door open for him to hold while he let someone he introduced as his assistant “Tracy (or was it Stacy?) my quickest sweeper” into living room.

“We won’t take too much of your time. I know you won’t buy one, but she gets paid for doing a presentation,” he said as she held a limp hand out for me to shake. “She’s my quickest vacuumer and you’ll get the house cleaned as part of the demo.”

“If, by chance, you do want to buy one, she’s competing for a trip to Orlando, and will make you a real good deal to win it!”

Stacy / Tracy stopped just beyond the door and said, “Let me take off my shoes.”

In stocking feet, Tracy / Stacy reached for the big box and began spilling what appeared to be countless mechanical parts on the floor. I decided to put the towels on the dining room table and guarded the kitchen door with my arms folded.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said as he backed out the front door.

I could feel the net lift me from the stream as he got back into the van and backed down my driveway.

Stacy / Tracy assembled the vacuum in a couple of minutes chirping “I know you don’t want to buy one, but . . . “about once every twenty seconds. Each “I know . . . “would be followed by some platitude like “thanks for letting me get out of the rain” (it was wet, but not raining that I could tell), “this is the most beautiful house I’ve been in all day” (where have they been peddling these things?), “are you retired?” (I’d come home early), “how nice you can get off work early.”

Then, she asked, “Are you married?”

I hesitated to answer, wondering which would get me in the most trouble before opting for “yes.”

“Oh, it would have been so nice to show this to your wife too,” Tracy / Stacy chirped.

Looking through the hole in the creel, I could see the man in the stream begin the next cast.

“Is there a plug I can use?”

I pointed toward one on the wall next to the front door. “Is this your family?” she chirped as she looked at the pictures on top of the table. “What a beautiful picture! It’s so good to be out of the rain!” (no drops on the windows yet).

She pried at the childproof plastic cover we keep in the plugs to preclude curious two-year-old’s fingers from probing the depths of the socket. Her shirt lifted from the back of her pants as she leaned into the task.

As I gasped at what this would look like, she whined “This is too hard, do you have another plug?”

I grabbed the cord and plugged it into the wall plug behind me in the kitchen backing from the toxic bare back.

Stacy / Tracy began vacuuming, catching excessive dust in the fixture replacing the bag on the vacuum. “This is typical,” she said, as she handed me the two screens with what appeared to be a bushel of dust recovered from about two square feet of rug.

My mind flashed back 20 years when in the same circumstances, a brother in law brought over his best friend to run the same demonstration. I’d let that demo go on for an hour and a half to learn that the Kirby was expensive unless I compared it to what I’d already paid for my furnace, air conditioner, the washing machine (for the curtains which could be vacuumed), the dryer, and an air purifier.

Tracy / Stacy was taking the dirt revealer off and was starting to vacuum the front room saying, “This won’t take long” when I said, “I only have five minutes.”

“You’re home early from work!”

“I came home to get some work done where it’s quiet!”

“Well, I get paid for the demonstration. Can I show you one more thing before I call my boss?”

I’d figured out how to escape the creel. I don’t remember what she showed me except she asked, “When he gets here will you tell him I didn’t do anything to shorten the demonstration?”

I agreed.

Dancing bear came to the door, and as I opened it, said, “So, did Stacy (or was it Tracy) make you mad?”

I assured him she’d been good, while she somehow put the gear back into what now looked like too small of a package.

“One last thing,” he said as he went out the door. “Could we come back some time when your wife is home?”

I told him no, shut the door, and locked it.

Take care,

jim

Random thoughts on why I’m a liberal:

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sat, 26 Jan 2008 15:24:00 +0000

Crime -- A man who has never gone to school may steal from a freight car; but if he has a university education, he may steal the whole railroad.

Bush administration -- Behind the ostensible government sits enthroned an invisible government owing no allegiance and acknowledging no responsibility to the people.

Why the government should help the unemployed -- Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.

Why school taxes aren’t bad -- I am a part of everything that I have read.

Wall Street investors -- I don't pity any man who does hard work worth doing. I admire him. I pity the creature who does not work, at whichever end of the social scale he may regard himself as being.

Bush administration (2) -- I think there is only one quality worse than hardness of heart and that is softness of head.

Corporate tax breaks -- It is difficult to make our material condition better by the best law, but it is easy enough to ruin it by bad laws.

Unions -- It is essential that there should be organization of labor. This is an era of organization. Capital organizes and therefore labor must organize.

Bush’s background -- Never throughout history has a man who lived a life of ease left a name worth remembering.

Terrorists’ Constitutional rights -- No man is above the law and no man is below it: nor do we ask any man's permission when we ask him to obey it.

Terrorists’ Constitutional rights (2) -- No man is justified in doing evil on the ground of expedience.

On the 2000 and 2004 Presidential Elections -- No people is wholly civilized where a distinction is drawn between stealing an office and stealing a purse.

Bush administration (3) (Scooter Libby’s commutation) -- Obedience of the law is demanded; not asked as a favor.

Terrorists’ Constitutional rights (3) (Patriot Act) -- Order without liberty and liberty without order are equally destructive.

Bush administration (4) -- People ask the difference between a leader and a boss. The leader works in the open, and the boss in covert. The leader leads, and the boss drives.

Bush administration (5) -- Some men can live up to their loftiest ideals without ever going higher than a basement.

Bush accepting responsibility for mistakes -- The boy who is going to make a great man must not make up his mind merely to overcome a thousand obstacles, but to win in spite of a thousand repulses and defeats.

Terrorists’ Constitutional rights (4) -- The government is us; we are the government, you and I.

Bush administration (6) (Katrina relief failure) -- The most practical kind of politics is the politics of decency.

Terrorists’ Constitutional rights (5) -- The things that will destroy America are prosperity-at-any-price, peace-at-any-price, safety-first instead of duty-first, the love of soft living, and the get-rich-quick theory of life.

Bush administration (7) -- To announce that there must be no criticism of the president... is morally treasonable to the American public.

Now that I've got it down, I have to admit.

There's an irony to all this.

I stole the thoughts from a Republican leader:

Teddy Roosevelt!

Take care,

jim

Journalism

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 23:37:00 +0000

I am a journalist.

I was trained how to find information, how to balance that information when portraying it, and how to craft the message portrayed to get the “hard news” across to a reading public.

The foundation of every hard news story was answering “who,” “what,” “why,” “when,” “where,” and “how” – summarized the “5 Ws” (somehow that “H” in there wasn’t counted, but a part of those “Ws”).

My university studies involved exploring the principles of journalism and writing in search for style to make reading information more interesting.

The creative part of journalism was how to use language – creating “the style” which separated one writer from another -- not creating the facts.

Journalists dealt in “fair and balanced” presentations out of respect for the reader and “style” to catch the reader’s attention.

Balanced meant a person wanted to say someone thinks “black,” that someone was offered the chance to say why he thought “white.”

If someone responded the person had an ulterior motive for painting someone’s position black, the person was asked to comment on the statement.

That’s the minimum effort for “fair and balanced” -- at LEAST a binary “yin and yang” sought out on every new topic. The better journalist explored the space between the binary thinking – potentially finding the consensus position most readers accepted.

Looking for consensus was the interesting part of the work, because it addressed the core question print journalists addressed in behalf of their readers – “what does it mean?”

It dealt with Jefferson’s concept of a free press – the service the media provided the American citizenry the information they needed to understand and run their government. Government, by the way, is that thing theoretically owned by “We the People” in the United States.

Journalists didn’t dictate what readers should think – they offered a range of what others who had opinions were thinking.

Back when I practiced professionally, being proven “biased” by mistakes in handling the facts was a failing grade. It meant there wasn’t enough exploration of the range – at least the extremities – of facts before the information was printed.

But those who wanted to control opinion threw the term out at a reporter when their viewpoint wasn’t aired to the exclusion of all other opinion. “Fair and balanced” goes out the window when the ego, rather than logic and fact, controls thinking.

It’s something a journalist was trained to understand.

I was reasonably successful as a practicing journalist – able to raise some critical issues in the community where I reported, with sufficient skill that the community was able to reach some consensus decisions.

It was a happy, exciting time in my working life because I got paid for something I enjoyed.

Like most careers, however, the happiness perspective was changed as I learned more about the business end of earning a salary.

My pay wasn’t in exchange for service, but to address a necessary part of marketing a business.

It started with reporting on those seeking votes in elections – the ones among them who wanted to control opinion rather than explore it.

They used the “bias” accusation to get their story aired to the exclusion of their opponent’s story.

It was a shock the first time the advertising manager – a guy who was friendly with me because he’d occasionally ask for a story in the on one of his accounts for the business section of the newspaper– started talking to me about local politics.

He didn’t live in the community, and appeared to be apolitical based on not taking sides in discussions of national politics.

But somehow he had an interest in a new city council candidate who was running a loud campaign in behalf of a yin perspective to the greater community’s yang. The campaign made a “good” story because proposing yin resulted in more in depth discussion of yin, yang, and ranges in between.

I didn’t realize the “yin” included some regular newspaper advertisers until inquiries about the loud candidate became more frequent and directive in nature.

“I don’t want to tell you what to do, but . . .”

Before too long, the question was asked by my editor -- an ambitious but introverted woman way in over her head in terms of managing what she perceived as discord. The advertising manager, while remaining friendly to my face (I suspect because of the business section bits) had raised the issue with the editor.

In time, the matter moved to the general manager’s office, where I was informed how the newspaper needed its business base, and the complaint was harming it.

My first response was to discuss “fair and balanced.”

My second was silence.

It became obvious that the news writers were viewed as people who filled the space between the ads – a space which grew as ads waned.

Ads waned because circulation dropped. Circulation dropped because stories were more and more truncated to avoid upsetting advertisers.

One which hurt was a ban on any about some workers picketing in front of a local dry cleaning establishment. A demonstration on the most travelled road in the community. The editor killed the stories on it because the dry cleaner advertised.

Acquaintances from the area would ask if I’d noticed the ruckus along the main drag. I couldn’t miss it, because it was on my way to and from work.

But, I could only tell them what I knew verbally – my stories didn’t make print.

In time, I found another career, and moved along. The adversiting manager left for a better commission, the news editor had resigned, and the general manager was fired.

I left between the time the editor resigned and the manager was fired.

I’d learned something about “the business of news.”

That lesson is reinforced by actions in the media today.

Take care,

jim

Ugly Americans

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 10:50:00 +0000

In case anyone wonders why Americans may end up hated throughout the world, here's a perspective:

Blackwater

In case anyone wonders why American's should care, here's a perspective:

Haliburton -- Kellogg, Brown, and Root

There is a solution, the United States has to make contractors operating in its behalf overseas responsible to some authority for action:

Corporate Immunity

If not, here's the result:

Post WWI Italy

United States citizens ought to think about it the next time they hear their President say he's supporting platitudes as "freedom" (except Iraqis under rule of United States contractors), security (except for employees working outside the country for those contractors), and a war against terrorism (wherever President Bush says it exists and needs contractors to support it).

Remember, terrorism lies in the eye of the beholder:

Britain's view of American Revolutionaries

Take care,

jim

Totalitarian State

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 15:31:00 +0000

The so-called “War on Terrorism” appears to be making more headway with its efforts to control ordinary citizens than it is with the ephemeral “terrorist groups” those citizens are supposed to fear.

Garry Kasparov has been sentenced to five days in jail to allow for “free elections” in Russia. Kasparov is charged with organizing a protest against the government of Vladimir Putin, the person who George W Bush “was able to get a sense of his soul.”

It follows the jailing of thousands of supporters of a political opponent of Pakistani President and Bush ally, President Pervez Musharraf. Musharraf has declared a state of emergency in his country to dismiss “independent-minded judges” and control dissent from his citizens prior to a “free” election. It was the second time a political opponent of Musharraf returned to the country from exile to find supporters jailed.

While formal arrests and police control of protesters seem extreme in what could be considered the backwaters of democracies, the activities are paralleled in this nation with the creation of the so-called “free speech zones” where dissent is handled at the end of a police baton and temporary prisons.

Criticized across the extremes of political perspective, the “zones” take on the air of benign legitimacy based on the name coined for them, while effectively preventing dissenters from airing their concerns directly to their leaders. In the United States it creates a "boy in the bubble" zone for the nation's leaders roughly outlined by the DC beltway.

The name of "free speech zones" continues the misdirection aimed at American people, where a “war on terror” to protect our freedom as a country is used as justification to eliminate defined civil liberties contained in the US Constitution’s Bill of Rights and common law values dating back to the Magna Carta which helped dissolve the divine right to rule and place control of a nation in the hands of the subjects.

What is lost on those who back “law and order” as it relates to controlling “terrorism” is the fact that “terrorism” is defined as anything that opposes a ruler, and worse, in a constitutionally-defined government, the rule is by law passed with the consent of the citizens rather than the decree of the leader.

In a society where citizens treat politics as sport and political information is gathered as though watching a play-by-play broadcast during that sporting event, the basis under which this nation has been founded is lost because fewer and fewer really understand the rules by which the game is supposed to be played.

Take care,

jim

Political Perspective Challenge

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 00:31:00 +0000

I'll make the assumption that whoever happens on this blog understands my perception of the capabilities of the person I lovingly call "The Imbecile in Chief" to handle the affairs of state in these United States.

Ignoring aspersions to the legality of the vote count which put him in office, I'm stuck with him, and assume, there are some who are content to follow him to the end of his term, and some who would like him removed, and some who are ambivalent for some pragmatic reason.

Since this blog is aimed at exchanging ideas, I'm interested in hearing why those who may read these notes either believe the current leader is worthy of continuing service, or as a contrary opinion, why he shouldn't remain in office.

Since I don't believe there is binary logic (the concept there is "only" yes-no; right-wrong; black-white; moral-immoral in all decisions), I'd be interested in hearing any pragmatic discussion on the nuances which may tilt the scale nearer one of the polar opposites I posit above, yet not to the opposite as a final solution (a "moderate" position for those who are in tune with the differences between polarity and gradual leanings toward decisions).

Please offer some logical ideas here!

Offer some!

Take care,

jim

A Veteran’s Day

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sun, 11 Nov 2007 13:23:00 +0000

The veteran I knew best was my father – a World War II era draftee who served from mid-1941 until late 1945, including more than three years overseas.

He served in the Army Air Corps as a medical technician at an Army Air Corps fighter base in England. Most of the action he saw was in post mission clean up, when he joined the crews which would rescue the injured or retrieve the bodies of pilots whose planes made it to England, but crashed before reaching the airfield.

His memorable brush with danger came late in the war, when the Germans were indiscriminately launching V-1 “buzz bombs” at the cities and bases along the English coast. He was riding a bicycle along an country road when he heard a noise to his side, and looked to see a bomb skimming the earth toward him. He dove from the bike into a ditch as the bomb stuttered overhead.

My father wasn’t a loud patriot, shouting his support for the government in the “my country right or wrong” tenor that many of today’s “patriots” support their government.

He showed his patriotism by example rather than by talk, offering his neighbors the dignity and respect of being equal citizens in an equal society. His most overt acts were standing at attention facing the flag with his hand over his heart during public ceremonies where the National Anthem played, flying a flag on holidays, and later in life, raising at dawn and lowering at dusk the banner of his country on a pole installed in his front yard. One of the more memorable pictures of him was raising the flag one morning with two of his grandchildren standing at attention and saluting as he performed the ceremony.

He would talk in general terms about the freedoms – upholding the principle of freedom of thought and freedom of expression even if he didn’t agree with the ideas expressed.

About the only time I heard him talk publicly about his service was during one “father-son” baseball game where, following the national anthem, my brother-in-law, who had served in Vietnam, taunted the younger males of the family by saying loudly, “I note that I’m the only veteran standing during the national anthem.”

Dad quietly said that he believed four year’s service in World War II qualified him for the distinction as well. My brother-in-law admitted that World War II was indeed a war and apologized in his grudging way.

Ironically, it was during that Vietnam War that I learned my father’s dedication to the country.

I was a college student in the late 60s, and being strapped for funds, often used my father’s services as a barber at the times I chose to have my hair cut. It was one of those jobs he did to save money, investing in a barber kit when I was a pre-teen with three brothers to trim our hair. Eventually, when the sons were ranging in age from one to 18, he cut all seven sons' hair on a regular basis.

During my college days, when I was living at home and commuting to classes, I’d catch about every other session until I decided to let my hair grow after I’d moved out of the house.

During those sessions, he’d talk with his boys about what concerned them, and after awhile, the boys would bring their concerns to him for advice.

It was one session a couple of years after I’d graduated from high school that I brought my greatest problem to him.

I’d become engulfed in campus activism starting in late 1968, the year after I started my studies in communications arts with a focus on print journalism. After taking a few classes, I got the itch to write, and offered to become a reporter on the school newspaper.

The task was decentralized, in that, there was no strong “newsroom” focus. Assignments were casually offered out based on students calling for publicity and new journalism students seeking some advice on stories they could write. But, for the most part, with a volunteer writing staff and only a few who would work on every issue, the news editor and the managing editor used whatever stories the unpaid reporters brought back, focusing their time on insuring some fairness and double checking accuracy.

It meant that a reporter with some ambition, and an ability to write well was pretty free to pick his / her topics so long as they related back to the campus.

My hot topic was the war and what was going on with students at our campus to address it.

The war had seemed like game playing to me at first. In my pre-high school days, I thought it was “cool” that I could watch this war in the same manner I’d watched the Korean conflict play on my family’s black and white Motorola screen in my first memories.

As I got older, I'd found my father's "Time - Life Pictures of World War II" volume, and would regularly leaf through it looking at the soldiers and the mighty equipment which was used when my father served.

It wasn’t until 1967 that it hit me as “real” when I went with some ex-athletes from my high school to the funeral of the guy I’d known as a coach in my senior year, and the others had known as their quarterback in their earlier playing years.

He looked like the guy who had visited school in his uniform the spring following my first, and last, football season. He was proud of his graduation from infantry school then and happy to be with his friends. This time he wasn’t joking with the guys – he was resting in his casket.

I was in my first year in college when the call came that Carl had been killed.

Standing at the casket, it struck me that the scenes I watched on our family’s color TV weren’t the “games” I’d envisioned when I watched the conflict in Korea, and later played “war” with my friends using little rubber soldiers and off-sized military equipment to set up "battles" in neighborhood sandboxes, and still later with mimic guns running around “the woods” a half mile from my suburban home.

Unlike our games of “war” where the rubber soldiers were “dead” if knocked over by a tossed dirt clod, or "battles" were won in the woods based on how many times someone got the drop on you and “shot” you, Carl wasn’t going to play again.

So, I looked into what was the basis for the fighting, and then saw one friend join the Marines, and another get drafted into the Army after he’d dropped out of school to earn some cash to pay for tuition.

The first friend eventually was wounded, and, I learned later, deserted from the military rather than return. After he dropped from sight, I learned that his cousin was on the newspaper with me. I mentioned we were friends, but I hadn't talked to him in years. His cousin said, "Didn't you know he deserted? He's avoiding everyone!"

The second and I stayed in touch, and corresponded regularly – me offering him a view of “home” and he offering me a view of “war.”

I recall one letter which said, “Don’t come over here if you can avoid it. We’re only over here for Michelin rubber” after my writing changed from news of home to sharing (and seeking some common ground on) my observations of the dysfunction of the politics which got us into the war.

Wrestling with it, I decided that to honor my friend who was there, I wouldn’t avoid service, but I didn’t want to learn how to kill another man simply because some politician forced me to carry a gun.

It was during one of those haircuts when my father and I were talking about politics, and

Vietnam

. I was scared, but thought I should tell him what I was thinking about.

“Dad,” I said. “I know you are a veteran, but I’m checking into fighting the draft. I’m looking into being a conscientious objector. I’m not going to run away, but I’m not going to let them make me carry a gun and kill people.”

There was a long pause, which made me more nervous. Finally Dad said, “I brought you guys up to make your own decisions.

“I served, but it was to make sure that we had the freedom to make those decisions.

“I support whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Take care,

jim

"Liberal"; "Neocon"; "Right"; "Left"; "Democrat"; "Republican"; "Christian"; "Muslim"; "Jew"; "Commie"; "Islamo-Fascist" -- on Being Played for Saps

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 23:32:00 +0000

My first encounter with the talk radio phenomena was in 1996 while taking a cross country automobile trip with my favorite companion -- my wife.

Our idea was to merge a first visit to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for either of us with a search for the "real" America by staying away from the interstates on a trip to the Pacific Northwest.

Driving along US 2 in a family van equipped with an AM / FM receiver, it became tough to stay in touch with the outside world as the highway left the last “big” city in upper Michigan and wound toward Duluth.

As the population density shrank, the towns got farther and farther apart, and my wife’s search of the dial looking for any news from the path ahead, would catch the edge of a 1000-watt AM station offering a selection among a preachy woman's voice talking about morality and responsibility, or a loud man's lofty language expressing what was causing "the problems" in our society, or an atonal preacher urging us to follow the Bible, or country music.

Since I’m not fond of country music, and can only take the preacher until he tells me he's the only one who knows how Jesus wants me to live my life, the option was to hear out the preachy woman and the loud man while waiting for news and weather at the next time check or travel in silence without the outside information we sought.

It turned out to be a daily dose of Dr. Laura and then Rush, or Rush and then Dr. Laura marching one behind the other on a schedule between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. weekdays. The only variety was as one station faded and a new one encountered, we may get an instant rerun of the broadcast from the last zone.

It seemed as though every station manager used Rush and Dr. Laura interchangeably to fill those six hours regardless of the time zone.

As we focused more on the background sound while we drove across the sameness of North Dakota’s prairie farms and found fewer "new" things to point out to each other while we rode, I discovered that the tone of the message was "liberal influence is ruining our lives."

Fancying myself one during the Vietnam era, at first I was offended until I realized that what was purported to be "liberal" didn't match what beliefs I held.

"Liberal" was "duped by the media" (I could separate information from manipulation), pro-homosexual (I was ambivalent as long as I wasn't invited to participate), pro-government (not during Vietnam anyway), anti-gun (I'm not fond, but see a use in some instances particularly as we traversed the outback of Montana), anti-individual (I felt free and easy and didn't really care about another being such so long as they didn't interfere with my freeness and easiness), against religion (I thought myself religious), pro-abortion (I wasn't), anti-family (I was taking a trip with my wife because we enjoyed each other's company), unwilling to take responsibility for mistakes (well, I knew we were on our own if something went wrong during the trip), and generally anti-American (I was looking for a broader perspective of the real America!).

How could the speakers get it so wrong?

Having been trained in communications and the media, I guessed the region’s demographics along the Canadian border was pretty much people seeking reinforcement of their isolated beliefs.

Logic didn't matter so long as they were convinced the speaker was "with" them.

It drew listeners to justify ad time on the prairies, the "business" behind commercial radio no matter where broadcast.

So, what became more interesting than the lecturing was the types of callers who would show up on the airwaves to be abused by the hosts. I couldn't figure whether they were seeing their 15-minutes of fame, or were so removed from reality that they didn't realize they were being used. The debate was authoritarian – you’re either with me or wrong.

And, for the most part, the callers left the impression they’d join up with the radio voiced “debater.”

It was then I began to question the crutch – the shortened description of the “problem” which always seemed to creep into the answer. Dr. Laura’s “liberal” was different from Rush’s, but in either instance, its application was ruining whatever semblance of order the microphone owners urged on their listeners between commercial breaks.

Were we children, the “logic” associated with using the term was the same which kept us from looking beneath the bed for fear of finding the “boogie man.”

Having been born and raised and largely oriented to a bigger metropolitan region than I encountered around Grand Forks, Glasgow, Kalispell, Sandpoint, Coeur d’ Alene and Spokane, I thought the phenomena unique to relatively small towns – until we hit Seattle, where we’d still encounter the voices while surfing through the (thankfully) broader variety of entertainment and information (KIRO -- 710 became the regional favorite).

The “boogie man” shtick was a staple no matter what the demographic.

But wait, before those who don’t like a Rush, or a Dr. Laura, or an O'Reilly begin nodding wisely about those talkers' flaccid logic, apply the same “boogie man” definition to the terms in the title used by lesser known radio harranguers who justify their ad time with a "different" perspective.

The single word philosophies are staples in discussion whether you live where the vote was red or blue or the philosophy tends toward right of left.

Many live in a sound bite society where taking the time to think about the ideas behind the terms isn’t as easy as latching on emotionally to a term and following where the pundits who throw it out lead us. We don’t have time to discuss, so, instead, we shout terms at each other in “debate.”

And, every time we shout one of those terms we’re asserting “my boogie man is scarier than your boogie man” and limiting debate to how frequently and loudly we can shout our selected boogie man name.

All it does is herd us behind the few who coin the terms – the one’s who we allow to play us for saps.

Take care,

jim

Ten Steps to Fascism

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 00:09:00 +0000

I took the time last winter to read William L. Shirer's classic: _The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich -- A History of Nazi Germany_.

It was sobering to learn how a single, and largely uneducated man, could take a dysfunctional view of society and influence an allegedly advanced society to become the number one outlaw nation on the planet.

News broadcast over that winter seemed to parallel some of the actions and concepts of characters like Hitler, Goebbels, Himmler, and Goering.

Recently Naomi Wolf has defined another concept for controlling an unwitting public with 10 steps taken by dictators in recent history.

They too seem familiar:

1. Invoke a terrifying internal and external enemy

2. Create a gulag

3. Develop a thug caste

4. Set up an internal surveillance system

5. Harass citizens' groups

6. Engage in arbitrary detention and release

7. Target key individuals

8. Control the press

9. Dissent equals treason

10. Suspend the rule of law

Read the full story here. (See: The Guardian)

Some added commentary. (See: Harpers)

Take care,

jim

My religious right?

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 23:46:00 +0000

I've read the bible, and follow few statements from Jesus which summarize its content. To paraphrase the statements:

Treat other people in a manner you'd like them to treat you.

Before you point a finger at another's failures, take a look at the face in the mirror to point at that reflection's failures.

Don't bother judging another's actions because at some point The One Who Matters will judge yours.

If you treat someone with few worldly goods in a kind manner, you're actually treating The One Who Matters in a kind manner.

It's easier for a camel to get through a one-person-sized gate in a Jerusalem's defensive wall than it is for a person with lots of worldly goods to pass into a happy afterlife with The One Who Matters.

Now, these may not be termed Jesus' ideas from the politically-leaning Christian spokespeople -- sometimes referred to as the Religious Right -- because they don't parrot the words in a bible (see http://www.biblegateway.com/versions/).

But that's the point.

They don't speak for me, and, if they bothered to understand what Jesus said, shouldn't speak in behalf of others.

Religion is personal. One is saved by one's actions rather than how the rest of the people in his society perceive those actions (See the quote about pointing fingers above.).

They lay down a foundation against which public expression of religious is "approved" (See the quote about judging others above.). And that's not their Right, at least as Jesus saw it (See Luke Chapter 18 Verses 9-14 in your favorite bible version.).

Society has a right to regulate itself. But not when it comes to how we address The One Who Matters. (See Matthew Chapter 22 Verse 21 in your favorite bible version.).

Take care,

jim

Stupidest President

noreply@blogger.com (jim) — Sat, 27 Oct 2007 00:25:00 +0000

I was dining with a number of work colleagues, who weren't discrete enough to mask their negative opinions of anyone who doesn't support George W. Bush.

It triggered the emotional statement:

"George W. Bush is the stupidest person I've ever encountered or heard about as a leader of this country. He's illiterate, illogical, and inept -- a guy who has ruined everything he touches, including the Texas Rangers. It's embarrassing to have him represent me on the world stage. Those who support him are simply sheep, unable to observe his actions, and repeating what his shills in the media tell them to recite in public."

As the dinner was allegedly among "professionals" there was a stunned silence, since "politics" which didn't go along with the majority trend is forbidden.

The leader of the pro-Bush discussion retorted, "Well, I guess we see who's the liberal here. Kerry was . . ."

I didn't respond because my observation wasn't "liberal" but instead an analysis of the President's public actions where he doesn't offer logical thoughts either by argument, or worse, by appropriate grammatical construct, and makes pundit like statements to adults on topics only preschoolers may find interesting ("refineries are the factories which produce gasoline").

It was based, in part, on feedback from friends in Australia who indicate that we American's are a public laughing stock whenever the President is featured in that country's news. This response from a strong "ally?"

On the way home from the dinner, wondering why I didn't fight back, I thought:

No one bothered to defend their "leader's" intelligence.

Like those who berate the "liberal media bias" to prate their own biases from a media pulpit, they demonize the speaker rather than address the logic or illogic of the statement.

They're more impressed with the trappings of the leader ("I respect the presidency") rather than the leader's actions (For what it's worth, I respect the Presidency too. I'm just embarrassed about who we put in it this time.).

The next day, I found it interesting to hear that something like 25 percent of the American people still defend the president. This was compared to 30-something percent who believe there are space aliens living among us.

Look here for some of the wit and wisdom of Bush (See: Slate).

Take care

jim