It's another past memory, shopping for groceries with my mother, who had brought her own canvas shopping bag, a common practice back in the day. The clerk told her that she was no longer permitted to put the groceries into the bag from home as it was unsanitary to do so. My mother argued, but the check-out personnel ran the grocery store. Once adjusted to paper bags that were reused and recycled a thousand ways in our home, one day my mother's groceries were packed into plastic bags. She strenuously objected, but again lost the argument, this time in favor of the trees that were cut down to provide the paper to make the (recyclable) paper grocery bags.
It did not matter that an entire industry was devoted to growing the trees, harvesting the wood for use in a thousand different businesses: we were no longer going to cut down trees to make paper grocery bags. Our family had a challenging time finding other things to use for all the ways we recycled paper bags, including textbook covers, cookie sheets, adjusting sewing patterns to fit 2 different sized children, wastebasket liners, gathering the table scraps to feed the animals, containing the dog poop until trash pick-up, bagging up the daily newspaper for recycling, and on and on and on.
Our life without paper bags was drastically changed, and our life with plastic bags slowly evolved into figuring out what the heck to do with the plastic bags once we no longer needed them to carry groceries from the store to the car, from the car to our home. More often than not, after filling an empty plastic bag with more empty plastic bags, we took them back to the store and donated them to the reuse bin, but I never once saw anyone take a bag out of the reuse plastic bag bin! My thinking: I didn't know where those plastic bags had been or what might be hiding within, so no way was I going to take a bag out of the reuse bin.
Today, an article appeared in the local paper advising all consumers that the State of CA is legislatively shutting down the use of both plastic and paper bags. ALL citizens must provide their own shopping bags -- or purchase approved "green" products at the check-out counter. It there's a dime or a dollar to be made, enterprising entrepreneurs figure out how to put it into their own pockets.
CA politicians won't raise taxes because they won't be re-elected, but it won't be long before a "bag fee" automatically appears on every purchase in the state, in part to pay for bags for those consumers who cannot afford to pay for them out of their own pocket. There will be no use arguing against the fee because there's always a logical reason to pay the bag fee, even though you bring your bag to the store, such as the sanitation argument used back in the day. Someone has to pay the salary of the person who checks your bag to ensure that you don't bring something into the store that should not be there, nor walk out with something that does not belong in your bag, and it isn't going to come out of the business's till.
Yes, plastic is today's urban tumbleweed, but what about all the other uses of plastics? Are all the thousands of products regularly manufactured from plastic going to be discontinued or replaced with green products or heavily taxed for the failure to do so? Plastic in the desert lasts about one full year before it is weathered beyond safe use. It splinters and breaks, leaving sharp shards that injure both the children whose playthings are made from it and the adults who have to pick up the pieces. It is not cost effective for the consumer as anything made from plastic has to be purchased again and again and again, but for the manufacturer, it has been a godsend. Little red wagons went from generational metal family equipment to plastic junk in the landfill. Wooden pull and push toys today are expensive collectibles, while the plastic toys from the big box store seldom last more than a month before they, too, are in the landfill. The Hot Wheels of my son's generation are still being used by the g'children, while the molded plastic cars sold today cannot be removed from the plastic packaging with the wheels still attached.
The legislature ensuring that all shopping bags will now be either fabric or "green" products, such as paper bags made from recycled materials, is a much bigger step than just retraining consumers to be responsible for bringing their own shopping bags to retail establishments. Once the politicians have their foot through the bad plastic doorway, the days of common plastic manufacturing are limited.
Remember the sales philosophy of planned obsolescene? Manufacturers retooled to make products from plastic as goods made from metals simply outlasted the first generation of use and were not cost effective because they were made to last, not to toss in the trash. We all accepted that philosophy because we needed our jobs, and that's where we're headed again. Plastic is beginning to fade from the forefront of our lives as more Americans are rethinking "made to last." Are the plastics manufacturing plants going to retool and again make products that last? Where are the workers employed in the plastic bag industry going to go to work? The metal factories have been shut down and dark for decades, so who has the first-hand knowledge to reopen those doors and restart the manufacturing processes necessary to replace plastic?
Not everything we did in the past should be laughed off and done differently in the present, nor should we discard everything done in the present to return to the past. And, most importantly, who is going to stand at the entrance to the businesses to enforce the sure-to-come legislation that guarantees the fabric bags and/or the green bags made from recycled products are sanitary?? Maybe someone can come up with a misting system to be installed at all doorways next to the shop lifting alarms, through which both consumer and bags will pass -- and be sanitized!
Hey, this could be a great idea ... and a start for new business opportunities.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Seeing Green (fly out of my wallet)
Today my new glasses came in, which means I owed the other half of the total $720!!! Because I need transitions lenses, and bifocals, and prism correction for a bit of crossed eyes -- and prefer to wear rimless glasses -- it costs me far too much to get new glasses. This time, however, I ordered all new as my prescription was 3 years old and everything has been blurry. Driving to PS to pick up the glasses, even my farsight was blurry, and that has not been happening nearly as much as my nearsight. Forget about reading any writing on the TV screen.
However, when I put on the new pair today, everything immediately became crystal clear. Hurrah. But, and there's always a but, they are sitting crooked on my face! I may have to stop by tomorrow and see if the technician can figure out how to tweak them a bit so they rest comfortably on my ears and nose, but straight enough across the top that things are not wavy.
Then, I drove to the Toyota dealership to purchase a replacement antenna for my SAT radio. The carwash broke off the antenna when I had the RAV cleaned last Friday. I called and asked if they have any liability and the answer is, predictably, "no." If I don't want to risk the antenna breaking during the carwash, I should unscrew it before I release the car for cleaning. At a total of $62 for the replacement, that's a good idea!
I had a pork chili verde burrito in YV with my friend today and will go see Knight and Day tomorrow with another friend. The days are whizzing by, but I'm really not doing a darned thing except reading. Thursday, I drive to LaJolla, always a pleasure, and Fri is the appointment with the cosmetician re: the proper products to use on my face to keep the rosacea at bay.
With the arrival of July, it's time to start working on cleaning up last year's files and prepping for new classes in August. I still want to have at least a short vacation, but have not been able to make it happen yet. Crazy Dazy and I drove up to Idyllwild to visit with a friend who said she'd watch Dazy for a couple of days if she got along with her dog, but that so didn't happen. Crazy Dazy is too jealous to let anyone get too close to me, including Mia much of the time. Whatever.
Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to finish a book I go.
However, when I put on the new pair today, everything immediately became crystal clear. Hurrah. But, and there's always a but, they are sitting crooked on my face! I may have to stop by tomorrow and see if the technician can figure out how to tweak them a bit so they rest comfortably on my ears and nose, but straight enough across the top that things are not wavy.
Then, I drove to the Toyota dealership to purchase a replacement antenna for my SAT radio. The carwash broke off the antenna when I had the RAV cleaned last Friday. I called and asked if they have any liability and the answer is, predictably, "no." If I don't want to risk the antenna breaking during the carwash, I should unscrew it before I release the car for cleaning. At a total of $62 for the replacement, that's a good idea!
I had a pork chili verde burrito in YV with my friend today and will go see Knight and Day tomorrow with another friend. The days are whizzing by, but I'm really not doing a darned thing except reading. Thursday, I drive to LaJolla, always a pleasure, and Fri is the appointment with the cosmetician re: the proper products to use on my face to keep the rosacea at bay.
With the arrival of July, it's time to start working on cleaning up last year's files and prepping for new classes in August. I still want to have at least a short vacation, but have not been able to make it happen yet. Crazy Dazy and I drove up to Idyllwild to visit with a friend who said she'd watch Dazy for a couple of days if she got along with her dog, but that so didn't happen. Crazy Dazy is too jealous to let anyone get too close to me, including Mia much of the time. Whatever.
Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to finish a book I go.
Blast from the Past
Mary, Buddy’s brother at Carlo’s Bakery, wanted a birthday cake for her fraternal twins, specifying pirates and princess. Buddy, the Cake Boss, was up to his alligators with paying projects and simply did not have the time to indulge Mary's egocentric tirade about her wants/needs, so he tuned her out. Mary, who will not be ignored, picked up a finished cake and slammed it to the floor. Buddy told her to get the hell out of his sight, but, by the end of the show, apologies are made and all is forgiven.
Why? Why is Mary forgiven? This is not the first awful thing Mary has done, but a pattern of bad behavior that has escalated with the popularity of both the show and the public recognition Buddy has earned. Buddy says family is family, but there are things that family do that are not forgiven, much less forgotten. When I saw what Mary did, my mind flashed back to an incident that happened when my mom was dying.
I learned the term “passive aggressive” from my mom and my sister, who perfected the art form of smiling to my face while sharpening the knife behind my back. The horrible things they both said, as well as did, will always be part of who I am and how I live my life. However, as Buddy says, family is family, so after listening to one of my sister’s wah-wah-wah tirades, I decided to do something nice for her, all the while knowing that nothing I did could ever match the sacrifices she made, including putting her own marriage at risk to provide care for our mother (her whine) so our brother and his family could have a few days off. I drove to my sister's home, shooed her and her husband off for a day of doing whatever they wanted, while I cleaned, cooked, did laundry, etc., all the chores my sister usually did.
Of course, my sister came back early, uncomfortable with me inside her home because I seldom (if ever) did anything the way she did it, which meant, of course, that once I left she would redo everything I had done. However, she remained pleasant and complimented me on both helping her and the meal I cooked before I cleaned up the kitchen and left for home.
Weeks later, my sister and I were sitting in our family home, with my youngest brother and his wife. My mother was dying in her bedroom, and every week I drove from my home in PS to my sister’s home in LA, picked her up, then continued the drive to SB to be with mom, while I continued to work a full-time job. Before her cancer became so invasive that she was bedridden, mom used to come stay with me, even though it meant that I had to pay for in-home care while I was at work. When my sister and I went to SB, I also paid for hotels and meals, as well as the gas, as my sister could never afford anything, another litany of poor me she learned from our mother. In the course of our family conversation, my sister brought up the day that I had driven to her home and did chores so she could have a day off, which was, on the surface, nice of her to share. Imagine the punch to my gut when she didn’t just remind everyone that I didn’t know how to clean or do laundry, but when she told me that I drove her crazy as I prepared the meal because … I didn’t wash up the dirty dishes, dry them, and put them back in the cupboard as I cooked, I was stunned into silence!!
It didn’t matter what I did because all that mattered was what I had not done … her way. I should have seen it coming, but she had let enough time pass that I thought I had dodged the bullet and she had, finally, accepted a kindness from me. After an entire lifetime of being the victim of her passive-aggressive attacks, I should have known another one was lurking just beyond the present, but I always thought that, this time, she would just let it go. Buddy told his sister to get the hell out of the bakery, but I had to suck it up because this time, it was about my mom, not about my sister.
Since mom died, my sister is no longer a part of my life: my choice. The memories remain, and when they blast out of the past and ambush me, they are painful. It no longer matters in the grand scheme of things, but it will always matter to me.
PS: Happy birthday, sister. The last time I shared a birthday with you, you screamed at me to leave you alone because you were grieving your mother's death. You told me that it didn't matter that I never loved her because you did -- and you would never forgive me for calling you to say happy birthday. Got what you wanted!
Why? Why is Mary forgiven? This is not the first awful thing Mary has done, but a pattern of bad behavior that has escalated with the popularity of both the show and the public recognition Buddy has earned. Buddy says family is family, but there are things that family do that are not forgiven, much less forgotten. When I saw what Mary did, my mind flashed back to an incident that happened when my mom was dying.
I learned the term “passive aggressive” from my mom and my sister, who perfected the art form of smiling to my face while sharpening the knife behind my back. The horrible things they both said, as well as did, will always be part of who I am and how I live my life. However, as Buddy says, family is family, so after listening to one of my sister’s wah-wah-wah tirades, I decided to do something nice for her, all the while knowing that nothing I did could ever match the sacrifices she made, including putting her own marriage at risk to provide care for our mother (her whine) so our brother and his family could have a few days off. I drove to my sister's home, shooed her and her husband off for a day of doing whatever they wanted, while I cleaned, cooked, did laundry, etc., all the chores my sister usually did.
Of course, my sister came back early, uncomfortable with me inside her home because I seldom (if ever) did anything the way she did it, which meant, of course, that once I left she would redo everything I had done. However, she remained pleasant and complimented me on both helping her and the meal I cooked before I cleaned up the kitchen and left for home.
Weeks later, my sister and I were sitting in our family home, with my youngest brother and his wife. My mother was dying in her bedroom, and every week I drove from my home in PS to my sister’s home in LA, picked her up, then continued the drive to SB to be with mom, while I continued to work a full-time job. Before her cancer became so invasive that she was bedridden, mom used to come stay with me, even though it meant that I had to pay for in-home care while I was at work. When my sister and I went to SB, I also paid for hotels and meals, as well as the gas, as my sister could never afford anything, another litany of poor me she learned from our mother. In the course of our family conversation, my sister brought up the day that I had driven to her home and did chores so she could have a day off, which was, on the surface, nice of her to share. Imagine the punch to my gut when she didn’t just remind everyone that I didn’t know how to clean or do laundry, but when she told me that I drove her crazy as I prepared the meal because … I didn’t wash up the dirty dishes, dry them, and put them back in the cupboard as I cooked, I was stunned into silence!!
It didn’t matter what I did because all that mattered was what I had not done … her way. I should have seen it coming, but she had let enough time pass that I thought I had dodged the bullet and she had, finally, accepted a kindness from me. After an entire lifetime of being the victim of her passive-aggressive attacks, I should have known another one was lurking just beyond the present, but I always thought that, this time, she would just let it go. Buddy told his sister to get the hell out of the bakery, but I had to suck it up because this time, it was about my mom, not about my sister.
Since mom died, my sister is no longer a part of my life: my choice. The memories remain, and when they blast out of the past and ambush me, they are painful. It no longer matters in the grand scheme of things, but it will always matter to me.
PS: Happy birthday, sister. The last time I shared a birthday with you, you screamed at me to leave you alone because you were grieving your mother's death. You told me that it didn't matter that I never loved her because you did -- and you would never forgive me for calling you to say happy birthday. Got what you wanted!
Friday, June 25, 2010
Time Warner, I Accept!
My DVR flaked out last night, so I didn't get to see my shows. The menu also showed me weird stuff that carried over today, so I called the help desk to see how to reboot the system.
Sam answered the phone and it was a wonderful experience. He not only fixed the problem, but he offered me the loyal customer reward to upgrade my servies to the top of the line -- and decreased my monthly payment -- all with a smile in his voice! It seems that T-W has received the message for its captive audience: we have to pay because we don't have options other than "the dish," which won't provide me with the phone and internet as one package. I questioned ... really? ... and Sam assured me ... really! The only catch is a 2-year commitment, but unless I am willing to go to the dish, I'd have no option, so 2 years it is.
Sign me up, dude.
So now I have it all: the channels, including Showtime and HBO, which I have NEVER watched, and a sports package. As I said to Sam, you never know when Mr. He'll Do will ring the bell, become part of my life, and get his jollies watching golf on the TV. I'd rather watch paint dry, but whatever floats the boat.
Sam answered the phone and it was a wonderful experience. He not only fixed the problem, but he offered me the loyal customer reward to upgrade my servies to the top of the line -- and decreased my monthly payment -- all with a smile in his voice! It seems that T-W has received the message for its captive audience: we have to pay because we don't have options other than "the dish," which won't provide me with the phone and internet as one package. I questioned ... really? ... and Sam assured me ... really! The only catch is a 2-year commitment, but unless I am willing to go to the dish, I'd have no option, so 2 years it is.
Sign me up, dude.
So now I have it all: the channels, including Showtime and HBO, which I have NEVER watched, and a sports package. As I said to Sam, you never know when Mr. He'll Do will ring the bell, become part of my life, and get his jollies watching golf on the TV. I'd rather watch paint dry, but whatever floats the boat.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Boys Should Be Boys
With huge hoopla, there was a massive gang task force joint exercise in my community more than a year ago, big enough that it made the national news and resulted in commendations for law enforcement. It is hard to imagine how many enforcement personnel were on the streets, along with vehicles and air support. The community leaders and the media crowed about getting the upper hand in the war against gangs, with several follow-up incursions here and there to keep the public awareness focused on the gang issue since the big event. Lots of gang leadership and gang members were sentenced to jail, as well as returned to Mexico, leading to a collective sigh of relief that maybe, just maybe, "we" could get "our" town back. Although the main police action actually only lasted about 18 hours, many politicians traded on the event for political cache in the recent election. Ironically, however, the DA whose plan it was failed in his bid for re-election in the primaries the first of June.
Two weeks ago, there was a huge gang fight in town that resulted in a young man's death: a 23-year-old father was stabbed to death during the melee at a home where an end-of-the-school-year party was in progress. What makes this event poignant is the release of the names and ages of the combatants:
Ruben Alexander Chavez, 14; Steven Ray Arellano, who just turned 14; Omar Hernandez, 16; Angel David Romero, 15; and David Larios, 17, are being prosecuted in adult court on a first-degree murder charge in the stabbing death of 23-year-old Jose Alvarez Villalobos. In addition, police announced that a sixth teen, a 17-year-old boy, was arrested for his alleged involvement in this case (mydesert.com)
The recent gang fight was the next tier of the future of gangs: the gangs don't go away just because the adult leadership is put away. The children of the gang leadership stepped into their father's, their brother's, their uncle's shoes, running the gangs in the streets and literally risking their own lives to keep alive the family business. These are young boys barely a year older than my grandson, children who have assumed the roles of their violent adult role models! Rather than learning how to read, to write, to compute math problems, these boys are plotting murder and mayhem!
Six young kids are now in jail, being tried as adults: they did the crime and they will do the time because a message has to be sent to the gangs that no matter how young the criminal, their actions will be judged by adult standards. It's hard to imagine that a child who is willing to put his life on the line in a gang fight to the death, at age 14-15, will be rehabilitated in prison to a more traditional lifestyle if he is ever paroled. Prisons teach prisoners how to be better criminals, and these kids are going to have a long time to learn those lessons.
Today, the judge ruled that their mothers can come to the jail and visit their boys, mothers who should have been tucking their sons in the night of the gang fight, but probably had no idea where the boys were, much less what they were doing. I don't see a future for these boys because there is nowhere for them to go but to another gang, in prison or back home, but I am certain that other local boys will see an opportunity to step in and fill the void created by these arrests.
Two weeks ago, there was a huge gang fight in town that resulted in a young man's death: a 23-year-old father was stabbed to death during the melee at a home where an end-of-the-school-year party was in progress. What makes this event poignant is the release of the names and ages of the combatants:
Ruben Alexander Chavez, 14; Steven Ray Arellano, who just turned 14; Omar Hernandez, 16; Angel David Romero, 15; and David Larios, 17, are being prosecuted in adult court on a first-degree murder charge in the stabbing death of 23-year-old Jose Alvarez Villalobos. In addition, police announced that a sixth teen, a 17-year-old boy, was arrested for his alleged involvement in this case (mydesert.com)
The recent gang fight was the next tier of the future of gangs: the gangs don't go away just because the adult leadership is put away. The children of the gang leadership stepped into their father's, their brother's, their uncle's shoes, running the gangs in the streets and literally risking their own lives to keep alive the family business. These are young boys barely a year older than my grandson, children who have assumed the roles of their violent adult role models! Rather than learning how to read, to write, to compute math problems, these boys are plotting murder and mayhem!
Six young kids are now in jail, being tried as adults: they did the crime and they will do the time because a message has to be sent to the gangs that no matter how young the criminal, their actions will be judged by adult standards. It's hard to imagine that a child who is willing to put his life on the line in a gang fight to the death, at age 14-15, will be rehabilitated in prison to a more traditional lifestyle if he is ever paroled. Prisons teach prisoners how to be better criminals, and these kids are going to have a long time to learn those lessons.
Today, the judge ruled that their mothers can come to the jail and visit their boys, mothers who should have been tucking their sons in the night of the gang fight, but probably had no idea where the boys were, much less what they were doing. I don't see a future for these boys because there is nowhere for them to go but to another gang, in prison or back home, but I am certain that other local boys will see an opportunity to step in and fill the void created by these arrests.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Mia's Nemesis is BACK!!
A couple of years back, Black Cat moved into the garage and caused chaos at Chez Chores! All hours of the day and night Mia growled, barked, scratched at the door to the garage, trying to rid our lives of the evil invader. After the garage was cleaned, we were rid of Black Cat and the mess she left behind, but she's back, and this time she's brought a litter with her. 
The dogs have been barking endlessly, threatening to break through the living room windows, as Black Cat has invaded our front yard. She's been hiding the litter under the lush desert shrubbery that is thriving in our unusually temperate summer season. We've watched the vegetation moving, but the kittens were too small until this week for us to see.
Black Cat has not just brought the kittens out into the yard, but, as you can see, she's installed them on a bench in plain view of both Mia and Daisy. Daisy, a loyal sister, has taken on Mia's hatred of Black Cat, barking, growling, and pacing the windowsill, just waiting for her chance to break through the glass and rid the yard of Black Cat and all the kittens. Black Cat lazes on the bench, cleaning her kittens, feeding her litter, and teaching them how to torment the dogs.
I did call Animal Control. They will bring me a cage so I can trap the cats and will come back and pick it up and take the cats to the shelter after I trap them. I asked, silly me, why I have to do this process, but I should have known that it's my problem -- and my solution. The city doesn't have personnel who can trap the cats: you know, budget cuts.
Perhaps the part of this reveal that irritates me the most is that this may not be the original Black Cat, as she's had numerous litters over the past several years. This litter seems to have 4 kittens, 3 of whom are black, so Mia can be tormented by black cats for many seasons to come.
Great. Just great.
The dogs have been barking endlessly, threatening to break through the living room windows, as Black Cat has invaded our front yard. She's been hiding the litter under the lush desert shrubbery that is thriving in our unusually temperate summer season. We've watched the vegetation moving, but the kittens were too small until this week for us to see.
Black Cat has not just brought the kittens out into the yard, but, as you can see, she's installed them on a bench in plain view of both Mia and Daisy. Daisy, a loyal sister, has taken on Mia's hatred of Black Cat, barking, growling, and pacing the windowsill, just waiting for her chance to break through the glass and rid the yard of Black Cat and all the kittens. Black Cat lazes on the bench, cleaning her kittens, feeding her litter, and teaching them how to torment the dogs.
I did call Animal Control. They will bring me a cage so I can trap the cats and will come back and pick it up and take the cats to the shelter after I trap them. I asked, silly me, why I have to do this process, but I should have known that it's my problem -- and my solution. The city doesn't have personnel who can trap the cats: you know, budget cuts.
Perhaps the part of this reveal that irritates me the most is that this may not be the original Black Cat, as she's had numerous litters over the past several years. This litter seems to have 4 kittens, 3 of whom are black, so Mia can be tormented by black cats for many seasons to come.
Great. Just great.
Public Image v Personal Reality
When we stand in front of the mirror in the morning, we see our own personal perspective of who we are, what we look like, and how we present ourselves to people. We gird our loins each morning to be whatever it is that we need to be to make it through another day the best we know how to accomplish that challenge. Some days it goes well; others days, not so much. For General McChrystal, today is not going so well as Rolling Stone magazine published an article that allegedly puts the Commander-in-Chief in a less-than-favorable light presumably based on comments that General McChrystal made to officers in his chain of command.
General McChrystal is being hammered by the media for forgetting for a moment that he’s not allowed to have an authentic self: his entire career depends on his presenting self. He may have opinions, but may not express them; he may disagree, but must keep it to himself; he may think his fellow officers fall short of the mark, but he must never make that information public. Silence is the best policy all the time, everywhere, and with everyone. Breaking silence is risky and often comes back to bite military personnel in the butt. When it’s the general in charge of the Afghan military theatre, it is potentially a career-ender.
However, the old wisdom, “There, but for the Grace of God, goeth I,” seems applicable.
McChrystal may have made an off-the-cuff comment that was allegedly passed on in one form or another by a subordinate: we all have done that; it is ill-advised, but not inexcusable unless/until the subordinate shares the comment. Did he say something? Probably. Was it a good decision? Probably not. Are the comments in Rolling Stone accurate? Maybe. Did anyone ever think that a reporter would “go there” with comments that would have been modified had the article been approved before publishing? Maybe not. Can he go back and erase the tape and pretend it didn’t happen? Nope: he’s stuck with it, regardless of what he actually did or did not say because once it’s reported, that truth exists for eternity.
President Obama can crucify McChrystal for his ill-advised, off-hand remarks allegedly passed on at least second-, if not third-hand – or he can understand that it was the guys “shooting the shit” in an environment created by the reporter to lull them into a false sense of camaraderie that would be cherry picked to present a finished product based on the editorial agenda of the publication. Rather than relieving McChrystal of his command, the president may want to remind himself of his first two high profile presidential years, commiserate with the general for being burned by the media, and suggest that they both benefit from a hard-learned lesson – and get on with the job of fighting the war against the terrorists, rather than going to war with each other.
NOTE McChrystal has been relieved of his command, which pretty much means he's also ended his career. His job was to stand at attention and say, "Yes, sir," for as long as it took, then salute and depart. Obama had to dress him down and fire him. Unfortunately, that won't be the end of it, just another beginning.
General McChrystal is being hammered by the media for forgetting for a moment that he’s not allowed to have an authentic self: his entire career depends on his presenting self. He may have opinions, but may not express them; he may disagree, but must keep it to himself; he may think his fellow officers fall short of the mark, but he must never make that information public. Silence is the best policy all the time, everywhere, and with everyone. Breaking silence is risky and often comes back to bite military personnel in the butt. When it’s the general in charge of the Afghan military theatre, it is potentially a career-ender.
However, the old wisdom, “There, but for the Grace of God, goeth I,” seems applicable.
McChrystal may have made an off-the-cuff comment that was allegedly passed on in one form or another by a subordinate: we all have done that; it is ill-advised, but not inexcusable unless/until the subordinate shares the comment. Did he say something? Probably. Was it a good decision? Probably not. Are the comments in Rolling Stone accurate? Maybe. Did anyone ever think that a reporter would “go there” with comments that would have been modified had the article been approved before publishing? Maybe not. Can he go back and erase the tape and pretend it didn’t happen? Nope: he’s stuck with it, regardless of what he actually did or did not say because once it’s reported, that truth exists for eternity.
President Obama can crucify McChrystal for his ill-advised, off-hand remarks allegedly passed on at least second-, if not third-hand – or he can understand that it was the guys “shooting the shit” in an environment created by the reporter to lull them into a false sense of camaraderie that would be cherry picked to present a finished product based on the editorial agenda of the publication. Rather than relieving McChrystal of his command, the president may want to remind himself of his first two high profile presidential years, commiserate with the general for being burned by the media, and suggest that they both benefit from a hard-learned lesson – and get on with the job of fighting the war against the terrorists, rather than going to war with each other.
NOTE McChrystal has been relieved of his command, which pretty much means he's also ended his career. His job was to stand at attention and say, "Yes, sir," for as long as it took, then salute and depart. Obama had to dress him down and fire him. Unfortunately, that won't be the end of it, just another beginning.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Delusional
How absolutely delightful to learn that Joran is recanting his confession. He probably thought he'd just get good press again, be treated like island royalty as he was after his (perhaps) first murder in Aruba. He got away with it (at least) once, so why not get away with it again? Oh, that's right: his dad is dead, so there's no longer anyone who gives a flying fig about Joran or can afford to defend him, including his mother, who finally admits that there is "something wrong in his head." She's a bit late to the party, don't you think?
I knew when I saw the TV reporter touring Joran's cell that he was a victim of his own delusions of grandeur. That cell is a rat hole, completely in keeping with the rat occupying it. Toilet? Uh, that would be a hole in the ground with a wooden frame for comfort! Sink? Sort of, and maybe even a bit of water. Cot? Somewhat, but bed bugs provide what little padding there is. Favorable press coverage? None anywhere in this world -- or the next. Possibility of surviving each day he's incarcerated? No one believes that is going to happen, including Joran!
Better to claim that you were pressured into confessing and pray that your lawyer can negotiate a change of venue than stay in a cell and wait for your assassin's visit! Good luck with that, Joran! Tick-tock.
I knew when I saw the TV reporter touring Joran's cell that he was a victim of his own delusions of grandeur. That cell is a rat hole, completely in keeping with the rat occupying it. Toilet? Uh, that would be a hole in the ground with a wooden frame for comfort! Sink? Sort of, and maybe even a bit of water. Cot? Somewhat, but bed bugs provide what little padding there is. Favorable press coverage? None anywhere in this world -- or the next. Possibility of surviving each day he's incarcerated? No one believes that is going to happen, including Joran!
Better to claim that you were pressured into confessing and pray that your lawyer can negotiate a change of venue than stay in a cell and wait for your assassin's visit! Good luck with that, Joran! Tick-tock.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Toast and Tea
That awful feeling woke me up about 2:00 am, the sweat pouring down my face, my head pounding, and my abdominal region churning. What the heck was going on, I thought, before it suddenly hit me exactly what was going on and I ran for the toilet. By 4:00 am, the worst had passed, so I went back to sleep for a couple more hours.
The only new ingredient introduced to my system is the antibiotic for the rosacea, but I doubt that taking an antibiotic can cause vomiting and diarrhea. The face wash goes on and rinses off, and the topical cream is applied to my arms twice daily. I didn't eat anything untoward yesterday, although I was out and about and could have come in contact with someone with the flu and caught it inadvertently.
I'm a healthy person and don't often get sick without a reason, so it's perplexing to me that I can't think of a reason for me to wake up in the middle of the night and be violently ill for several hours. Whatever hit me has passed, so I'll keep quiet today and let my body regenerate -- but have to admit that I'm hesitant to take the antibiotic this morning.
The only new ingredient introduced to my system is the antibiotic for the rosacea, but I doubt that taking an antibiotic can cause vomiting and diarrhea. The face wash goes on and rinses off, and the topical cream is applied to my arms twice daily. I didn't eat anything untoward yesterday, although I was out and about and could have come in contact with someone with the flu and caught it inadvertently.
I'm a healthy person and don't often get sick without a reason, so it's perplexing to me that I can't think of a reason for me to wake up in the middle of the night and be violently ill for several hours. Whatever hit me has passed, so I'll keep quiet today and let my body regenerate -- but have to admit that I'm hesitant to take the antibiotic this morning.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Script Idea?
Let's have a little bit of fun and weave a story to see if we can make the front page of the local newspaper. Start with a somewhat "who dat" actor, mid 30's, who claims that he had a flat tire on a major thoroughfare in Palm Springs -- that borders the "wrong part of town," a very popular neighborhood for its pharmacological interests. Now, the flat tire occurs at say, 2:00 in the afternoon, with a bright sun shining above, and some African American males offer to help the hapless "he looks familiar" actor change the tire. Of course, he accepts their assistance as it's just a bunch of guys offering to help out a former somewhat Hollywood star who's well out of his own kind of neighborhood and in a strange town. Nothing like accepting a little hometown hospitality from the local guys and absolutely no reason to call Triple A!
Sound the alarm: once the tire has been changed, the helpful tire guys allegedly kidnap the "I think he's ... someone" actor in his own car, force him to drive around Palm Springs, stopping here and there along the way, and then -- gasp!! -- force him to do drugs with them. He escapes after a harrowing 12 hours of captivity and calls the police at 2:30 AM. There are no details about the escape, but suffice it to say that it could have turned ugly, couldn't it? He's currently in seclusion with friends at an undisclosed location, recouperating from his ordeal (but may be available to talk to the media).
Our brave Hollywood hero endured this nightmare last week, but, alack, it didn't make the front page of the local paper, so, perhaps, a publicist had to bring it to the attention of the local media so our "publicity challenged" actor could have his front page fame.
However, what this dynamic duo may have overlooked in their haste to garner publicity for this harrowing event in the "isn't he?" actor's life is that the story seems, at first glance, to be total fiction! Looking at the holes in the fabric of the narrative, it was 2:00 in the afternoon on a very busy street in Palm Springs. He was in a "bad" neighborhood, clearly marked by the extensive street art that defines the area. He was not approached by one helpful citizen, but by several large males who offered to help him change the tire, and he decided that their help would be more appreciated than calling Triple A. At any time during the next 12 hours, the "is that?" actor could have pulled over, jumped out, or honked his horn and flashed his lights to draw attention to his plight as the group drove aimlessly around the resort community, stopping here and there along the way. Finally, this event began a bit too close to the drug dealers' territory and, again alas and alack, that's where it also ended, so it would appear at first blush that this was a drug deal with consequences.
If this script were to land on anyone's desk, even that of a second grader in the local school system, it would be tossed in the trash as too far-fetched, but because it's a slow news week, it did make the front page of the local paper. Once the euphoria of the smokin' dope part of the narrative has worn off, even the "once featured in" actor and his publicist must see that there is, indeed, some validity in the concept of BAD publicity after all.
Sound the alarm: once the tire has been changed, the helpful tire guys allegedly kidnap the "I think he's ... someone" actor in his own car, force him to drive around Palm Springs, stopping here and there along the way, and then -- gasp!! -- force him to do drugs with them. He escapes after a harrowing 12 hours of captivity and calls the police at 2:30 AM. There are no details about the escape, but suffice it to say that it could have turned ugly, couldn't it? He's currently in seclusion with friends at an undisclosed location, recouperating from his ordeal (but may be available to talk to the media).
Our brave Hollywood hero endured this nightmare last week, but, alack, it didn't make the front page of the local paper, so, perhaps, a publicist had to bring it to the attention of the local media so our "publicity challenged" actor could have his front page fame.
However, what this dynamic duo may have overlooked in their haste to garner publicity for this harrowing event in the "isn't he?" actor's life is that the story seems, at first glance, to be total fiction! Looking at the holes in the fabric of the narrative, it was 2:00 in the afternoon on a very busy street in Palm Springs. He was in a "bad" neighborhood, clearly marked by the extensive street art that defines the area. He was not approached by one helpful citizen, but by several large males who offered to help him change the tire, and he decided that their help would be more appreciated than calling Triple A. At any time during the next 12 hours, the "is that?" actor could have pulled over, jumped out, or honked his horn and flashed his lights to draw attention to his plight as the group drove aimlessly around the resort community, stopping here and there along the way. Finally, this event began a bit too close to the drug dealers' territory and, again alas and alack, that's where it also ended, so it would appear at first blush that this was a drug deal with consequences.
If this script were to land on anyone's desk, even that of a second grader in the local school system, it would be tossed in the trash as too far-fetched, but because it's a slow news week, it did make the front page of the local paper. Once the euphoria of the smokin' dope part of the narrative has worn off, even the "once featured in" actor and his publicist must see that there is, indeed, some validity in the concept of BAD publicity after all.
Let's Face It
For those of us of a certain age, time is no longer our friend. Every year we have survived shows on our faces in the cracks and crevices, as well as the changes of complexion color from peaches and cream to absolutely ruddy. What used to be a charming "bright-eyed" appearance is now a chin forward squint as we struggle not just to keep our eyes focused, but also to elevate the drooping skin folding onto the eyelids from the forehead. The desert sun is particularly brutal, especially when added to a youth spent on the white sand beaches of the SoCal coast, the only "free" entertainment for a tribe of five blonde-haired, blue-eyed children separated in age by six years.
Today was annual skin check-up day, this time with a new dermatologist recommended by my primary care physician. The line of patients was way out the door, with the inside seating area a standing room only event. I offered as I stood in line for the check-in to rebook my appointment to a more convenient time, but I was assured that there were many practioners available and it would not be a long wait.
"Long wait," however, is dependent on the person who is doing the waiting. I arrived, as directed, by 9:30 am to complete the paperwork for my 10:00 am appointment. At 10:30 am, I was still waiting outside to be called for my turn to see the doctor. I asked a couple of other waiting patients if this was typical, and two of them assured me they had never seen this many patients in line for an appointment. The good news is that when it was my turn, I was seen by the head doctor, the one who runs the clinic.
My check-up was fine, with a precancer on my nose blasted with the freeze spray and 3 prescriptions: one for the rosacea, another for the bacterial infection that causes rosacea, and a third for the constantly very red, very dry, very tender skin on my arms. It goes without saying that the dermatologist's mantra, "wear sunscreen," was the see you next time slogan. I also signed up for a consultation with the skin cosmetic specialist next week to see what we can do in an on-going treatment of the rosacea once it's under control. Thankfully, the $50 "I'm going to keep my appointment" payment is applicable to the purchase of product, but, on the other hand, that makes it some pretty expensive product.
All in all, my skin is doing just fine for a woman my age who has spent 1/3 of her life on the beach and 2/3 of her life in the harsh desert sun. I go back in 6 months for a check-up and renewal of the prescriptions if I need to continue them. I also signed up to see about facial filler for the Mariana trenches between my eyebrows because next month there's a special: 1/2 price! I'm willing to pay to lose the scowl, even if it only lasts about 9 months!!
Tomorrow, it's off to the eye doctor for an exam as I literally cannot see the writing on a TV screen and have to work to read my daily doese of TRN's. No insurance means it's on me, but whatever: I have to be able to read!
Today was annual skin check-up day, this time with a new dermatologist recommended by my primary care physician. The line of patients was way out the door, with the inside seating area a standing room only event. I offered as I stood in line for the check-in to rebook my appointment to a more convenient time, but I was assured that there were many practioners available and it would not be a long wait.
"Long wait," however, is dependent on the person who is doing the waiting. I arrived, as directed, by 9:30 am to complete the paperwork for my 10:00 am appointment. At 10:30 am, I was still waiting outside to be called for my turn to see the doctor. I asked a couple of other waiting patients if this was typical, and two of them assured me they had never seen this many patients in line for an appointment. The good news is that when it was my turn, I was seen by the head doctor, the one who runs the clinic.
My check-up was fine, with a precancer on my nose blasted with the freeze spray and 3 prescriptions: one for the rosacea, another for the bacterial infection that causes rosacea, and a third for the constantly very red, very dry, very tender skin on my arms. It goes without saying that the dermatologist's mantra, "wear sunscreen," was the see you next time slogan. I also signed up for a consultation with the skin cosmetic specialist next week to see what we can do in an on-going treatment of the rosacea once it's under control. Thankfully, the $50 "I'm going to keep my appointment" payment is applicable to the purchase of product, but, on the other hand, that makes it some pretty expensive product.
All in all, my skin is doing just fine for a woman my age who has spent 1/3 of her life on the beach and 2/3 of her life in the harsh desert sun. I go back in 6 months for a check-up and renewal of the prescriptions if I need to continue them. I also signed up to see about facial filler for the Mariana trenches between my eyebrows because next month there's a special: 1/2 price! I'm willing to pay to lose the scowl, even if it only lasts about 9 months!!
Tomorrow, it's off to the eye doctor for an exam as I literally cannot see the writing on a TV screen and have to work to read my daily doese of TRN's. No insurance means it's on me, but whatever: I have to be able to read!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Rockin' to Sleep
Last night the dogs were wound up, barking constantly and running from one side of the house to the other. I yelled at them to come in, but they continued with their antics. Then, the shaking began, an earthquake that lasted about 15 seconds and felt a bit stronger than the 4.0's we usually feel. TV news confirmed about 10 minutes later that it was stronger than usual, a 5.9, and centered at the east end of the Salton Sea, just across the CA/Mexico border, an area that has been experiencing ever-increasing earthquakes in both frequency and magnitude for about a year.
Today, the prognosticators will flood the airways with the gloom and doom stories headlined Are YOU Ready for the Big One? Of course, everyone who lives in Tornado Alley in the Mid-West or in the Hurricane Coastal Regions is always sort of ready for nature's vengeance, as are all of us who live in the earthquake prone Coachella Valley, but no one is really ready for any disaster because we all expect it either won't be "that bad" or it won't target our home. I worry far more about uncontained wild fires during high winds than I do about an earthquake, perhaps because I am a native Californian who has spent a lifetime living with the threat of The Big One. Sure, I have canned food and water on hand at all times, as well as basic medical supplies, but if I cannot get to them because I'm trapped under a collapsed building, what difference does it make?
Think Haiti: both the people and the emergency supplies were buried under the rubble that also blocked off the access to the victims by emergency personnel. People decried the lack of a timely response, but Haiti experienced The Big One -- and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. Mother Nature is more ferocious than man's best emergency response plan.
One of these earthquakes will rip open the Earth's crust, perhaps draining the Salton Sea in the process, and will be such a Big One that it won't matter how much worrying anyone has done in the past. Chicken Little warned the barnyard that the sky was falling, and it's still there. Earthquakes -- and hurricanes and tornadoes -- are natural events that happen, so it's better to be prepared to deal with the aftermath than it is to expend energy worrying when it will happen.
Today, the prognosticators will flood the airways with the gloom and doom stories headlined Are YOU Ready for the Big One? Of course, everyone who lives in Tornado Alley in the Mid-West or in the Hurricane Coastal Regions is always sort of ready for nature's vengeance, as are all of us who live in the earthquake prone Coachella Valley, but no one is really ready for any disaster because we all expect it either won't be "that bad" or it won't target our home. I worry far more about uncontained wild fires during high winds than I do about an earthquake, perhaps because I am a native Californian who has spent a lifetime living with the threat of The Big One. Sure, I have canned food and water on hand at all times, as well as basic medical supplies, but if I cannot get to them because I'm trapped under a collapsed building, what difference does it make?
Think Haiti: both the people and the emergency supplies were buried under the rubble that also blocked off the access to the victims by emergency personnel. People decried the lack of a timely response, but Haiti experienced The Big One -- and there wasn't much anyone could do about it. Mother Nature is more ferocious than man's best emergency response plan.
One of these earthquakes will rip open the Earth's crust, perhaps draining the Salton Sea in the process, and will be such a Big One that it won't matter how much worrying anyone has done in the past. Chicken Little warned the barnyard that the sky was falling, and it's still there. Earthquakes -- and hurricanes and tornadoes -- are natural events that happen, so it's better to be prepared to deal with the aftermath than it is to expend energy worrying when it will happen.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Ballot Box Caper
Here it is, a day shy of a week since the primary election, and the ballots are still not counted in Riverside County. The Registrar of Voters says the temps have finished counting the legitimate ballots, but NOT the absentee ballots and the "questionable" ballots, what became famous in past elections as the "hanging chad" ballots, those with some kind of problem, real or imagined. That's an additional 30,000 ballots that are NOT going to be counted unless the Registrar deems it necessary to do so based on the "final" election results of the ballots that will be counted. If it seems that counting more ballots may change an election result, more ballots will be counted, but if it won't make any difference, why prolong the process by counting them?
The first reason that pops into my head for counting ALL the ballots is the guarantee of one man/one vote in this country. We don't get to choose which ballots we count based on when they are received or how many hands it takes to count them! We count every vote cast -- whatever it takes. If the Registrar of Voters cannot wrap her head around that basic American concept, perhaps she should look for alternative employment.
Having missed well over one hundred thirty thousand legitimate ballots prior to publishing the "final" election results last Tuesday, the blame was dumped in the lap of the US Postal Service for delivering ballots at the last minute. But, when it was revealed that the USPS still has another twenty thousand or so ballots that were not delivered to the county office on or before election day, the decision was made NOT to count any of those ballots not because the voters did not submit them in a timely manner, but because the USPS did not deliver them to the county offices for counting in a timely manner. Period; not open for discussion. The Registrar also has a back-up excuse for not being able to count the ballots: her budget was cut, so she was only able to hire 60 temp workers, rather than 100, and that impacted the number of ballots that can be counted in a timely manner. But, she assures the media, according to law, she actually has a total of 28 days in which to certify election results, so it's okay if it takes more than a week to count the (selected) ballots.
Does any of this make sense, or am I simply missing the point? I am also concerned by the Registrar's assertion that adding an additional 125,000+ votes to the results announced prematurely last Tuesday night has not changed one single published result. What is the statistical probability that counting an additional 125,000+ votes in an election will not change any of the results of that election?
The public is calling for the resignation/firing of the Registrar of Voters based on a lack of confidence in her ability to git 'er done. We have another election in November, the general election, and it's a pretty big deal. If she can screw up a primary election this much, who wants to wait and see what she does in November?
The first reason that pops into my head for counting ALL the ballots is the guarantee of one man/one vote in this country. We don't get to choose which ballots we count based on when they are received or how many hands it takes to count them! We count every vote cast -- whatever it takes. If the Registrar of Voters cannot wrap her head around that basic American concept, perhaps she should look for alternative employment.
Having missed well over one hundred thirty thousand legitimate ballots prior to publishing the "final" election results last Tuesday, the blame was dumped in the lap of the US Postal Service for delivering ballots at the last minute. But, when it was revealed that the USPS still has another twenty thousand or so ballots that were not delivered to the county office on or before election day, the decision was made NOT to count any of those ballots not because the voters did not submit them in a timely manner, but because the USPS did not deliver them to the county offices for counting in a timely manner. Period; not open for discussion. The Registrar also has a back-up excuse for not being able to count the ballots: her budget was cut, so she was only able to hire 60 temp workers, rather than 100, and that impacted the number of ballots that can be counted in a timely manner. But, she assures the media, according to law, she actually has a total of 28 days in which to certify election results, so it's okay if it takes more than a week to count the (selected) ballots.
Does any of this make sense, or am I simply missing the point? I am also concerned by the Registrar's assertion that adding an additional 125,000+ votes to the results announced prematurely last Tuesday night has not changed one single published result. What is the statistical probability that counting an additional 125,000+ votes in an election will not change any of the results of that election?
The public is calling for the resignation/firing of the Registrar of Voters based on a lack of confidence in her ability to git 'er done. We have another election in November, the general election, and it's a pretty big deal. If she can screw up a primary election this much, who wants to wait and see what she does in November?
Design MegaStar
David Bromstad was the first Design Star and he's the best: period. His show, Color Splash, is one I DVR because he always has ideas we, the real people, can not just appreciate, but incorporate into our own spaces. He tosses off design advice that gives me courage to try it myself, such as "If you want to change the look of an old piece of furniture, paint it!"
I do like color, but real color, NOT color that takes the place of good, livable design. David's approach to design, "don't be afraid of color," gave me the courage to paint the guest room a shade of purple I really like, rather than a nice, soft sort of lilac shade I could have (safely) used. Using David as my personal design star, I added a few accessories that complemented the purple, with white as the color to tone down the fussiness of the room and give the blank canvas upon which to paint with color. I will admit, however, that I have not painted the heavy furniture white, which it should be to finally finish off the room the way it should look.
David is now in Miami and he's tackling design projects that I never knew existed, such as 25' ceilings!! He knows how to fill the empty spaces well, creating little special living spaces within the design space. His design style has evolved over the past few years into what I think of as elegant simplicity accented with a dramatic use of effective color. Instead of bright red walls, he paints elegant, cool grey or white walls that survive long past the design make-over, and then adds the red here and there, where it best serves a specific purpose. I still cringe when I remember the black dining room with yellow accents on one season of Design Star -- and a stunned designer who could not fathom why the client absolutely hated the end product.
David also adds signature art to his designs, creating exactly the right piece of art to go in the absolutely right space to finish the design, sort of like creating the perfect topper for a couple's wedding cake. He also brings in specialists, such as the glass artist in Miami who has created some unique designs for David's Color Splash Miami make-overs. The difference with Design Star Miami is that the homes are ... over the top and obviously expensive, which means David's designs have to step up to the client expectations. Bromstad is no longer splashing color on common walls, but creating showcases for the higher end client who not only expects that level of design performance, but can afford to pay for it.
Another David, David Tutero, who hosts My Fair Wedding, makes the point in another way: never add spray-on glitter to a fake flower bouquet. If the flowers don't dazzle on their own, no amount of fake glitter is going to do it for them, and if David Bromstad's designs don't dazzle on the drawing board, no amount of faking it is going to result in a satisfied client.
I'm happy to see that David Bromstad and his program, Color Splash Miami, continue to be part of the HGTV programming line-up as other design star program winners have been named, but none can match David for strong, solid design -- and execution of the concept in a way that makes him the best of all the Design Stars currently on TV.
I do like color, but real color, NOT color that takes the place of good, livable design. David's approach to design, "don't be afraid of color," gave me the courage to paint the guest room a shade of purple I really like, rather than a nice, soft sort of lilac shade I could have (safely) used. Using David as my personal design star, I added a few accessories that complemented the purple, with white as the color to tone down the fussiness of the room and give the blank canvas upon which to paint with color. I will admit, however, that I have not painted the heavy furniture white, which it should be to finally finish off the room the way it should look.
David is now in Miami and he's tackling design projects that I never knew existed, such as 25' ceilings!! He knows how to fill the empty spaces well, creating little special living spaces within the design space. His design style has evolved over the past few years into what I think of as elegant simplicity accented with a dramatic use of effective color. Instead of bright red walls, he paints elegant, cool grey or white walls that survive long past the design make-over, and then adds the red here and there, where it best serves a specific purpose. I still cringe when I remember the black dining room with yellow accents on one season of Design Star -- and a stunned designer who could not fathom why the client absolutely hated the end product.
David also adds signature art to his designs, creating exactly the right piece of art to go in the absolutely right space to finish the design, sort of like creating the perfect topper for a couple's wedding cake. He also brings in specialists, such as the glass artist in Miami who has created some unique designs for David's Color Splash Miami make-overs. The difference with Design Star Miami is that the homes are ... over the top and obviously expensive, which means David's designs have to step up to the client expectations. Bromstad is no longer splashing color on common walls, but creating showcases for the higher end client who not only expects that level of design performance, but can afford to pay for it.
Another David, David Tutero, who hosts My Fair Wedding, makes the point in another way: never add spray-on glitter to a fake flower bouquet. If the flowers don't dazzle on their own, no amount of fake glitter is going to do it for them, and if David Bromstad's designs don't dazzle on the drawing board, no amount of faking it is going to result in a satisfied client.
I'm happy to see that David Bromstad and his program, Color Splash Miami, continue to be part of the HGTV programming line-up as other design star program winners have been named, but none can match David for strong, solid design -- and execution of the concept in a way that makes him the best of all the Design Stars currently on TV.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
A Present Moment
A photo is worth a thousand words, but what happens when the words are just ... words? This is a photo taken from the on-line local paper (mydesert.com) of a Marine officer brought up on charges at the nearby Marine Corps Base, where he serves as the Base Provost Marshal, and whose job is to oversee the military's law enforcement activities.
The allegations are that he
• Conspired with others to falsify unit training records and his own physical fitness test.
• Fraternized with subordinates at off-duty events.
• Failed to investigate allegations of adultery by Marines and a civilian officer.
• Hazed a Marine who admitted he committed adultery by forcing him to brief others about the crime (mydesert.com).
He is shown with his lawyer, a Middle-Eastern male with a hyphenated last name.
Here's the problem: people see the photo, read the headline, and leap to conclusions about the person, as well as the charges he faces. No, none of the commentators know the Marine, nor have knowledge of the case, but that does not stop anyone from blogging a thousand words based on a picture.
A Middle Eastern appearance is enough to substantiate charges of being a "sleeper," similar to the military officer who shot and killed Army personnel several months ago. The photo shows the two engaged in a conversation, which is fairly typical during a trial between the accused and the lawyer, but which appears, in this instance, to provide proof that they are involved in a conspiracy. One person alleges that "this guy looks shady," while another feels that this is a "classic case of over-charging," with the military throwing charges at the Marine while hoping that some of them will stick. Believe it or not, one blogger actually states that "My gaydar is going off -- look how he holds his hands without any wedding bands." After reading these comments, I am glad that the Marine is being tried by a military court, not a local court that will be influenced by the kinds of unsubstantiated personal comments made by the bloggers!
Years ago, there was a film shown in classrooms, Cypher in the Snow, about making conclusions about a student based on insufficient evidence. Each person was asked to explain what s/he saw, heard, or thought happened to a child, revealing that everyone uses their own perspective to construct their own truth. Recently, a TV movie, Vantage Point, made the same point: we all see the same thing, but the difference between what we see and what we assume happens is in direct contrast to what the evidence can prove. And, of course, a week ago I was certain that I saw a 3-foot tall child floating face down in the Pacific Ocean, not a 12" doll.
Reginald Rose wrote a TV screen play, 12 Angry Men, that warns us all to base our convictions on the evidence, not the race, color, religion, political tendencies -- or sexual orientation. I hope that this Marine gets a fair trial and, if he is guilty, accepts responsibility for his failure to do his job to the highest military standards. However, that is not a conclusion I can draw based on a photo that captures one instant of a person's life. What I think may be going on behind the scenes based on my fear of another terrorist attack, or attribute to the man's cultural heritage, or decide based on the way he holds his bare hands in a photo cannot, in any way, be used to determine his guilt or innocence either in a court of law or the local newspaper.
The allegations are that he
• Conspired with others to falsify unit training records and his own physical fitness test.
• Fraternized with subordinates at off-duty events.
• Failed to investigate allegations of adultery by Marines and a civilian officer.
• Hazed a Marine who admitted he committed adultery by forcing him to brief others about the crime (mydesert.com).
He is shown with his lawyer, a Middle-Eastern male with a hyphenated last name.
Here's the problem: people see the photo, read the headline, and leap to conclusions about the person, as well as the charges he faces. No, none of the commentators know the Marine, nor have knowledge of the case, but that does not stop anyone from blogging a thousand words based on a picture.A Middle Eastern appearance is enough to substantiate charges of being a "sleeper," similar to the military officer who shot and killed Army personnel several months ago. The photo shows the two engaged in a conversation, which is fairly typical during a trial between the accused and the lawyer, but which appears, in this instance, to provide proof that they are involved in a conspiracy. One person alleges that "this guy looks shady," while another feels that this is a "classic case of over-charging," with the military throwing charges at the Marine while hoping that some of them will stick. Believe it or not, one blogger actually states that "My gaydar is going off -- look how he holds his hands without any wedding bands." After reading these comments, I am glad that the Marine is being tried by a military court, not a local court that will be influenced by the kinds of unsubstantiated personal comments made by the bloggers!
Years ago, there was a film shown in classrooms, Cypher in the Snow, about making conclusions about a student based on insufficient evidence. Each person was asked to explain what s/he saw, heard, or thought happened to a child, revealing that everyone uses their own perspective to construct their own truth. Recently, a TV movie, Vantage Point, made the same point: we all see the same thing, but the difference between what we see and what we assume happens is in direct contrast to what the evidence can prove. And, of course, a week ago I was certain that I saw a 3-foot tall child floating face down in the Pacific Ocean, not a 12" doll.
Reginald Rose wrote a TV screen play, 12 Angry Men, that warns us all to base our convictions on the evidence, not the race, color, religion, political tendencies -- or sexual orientation. I hope that this Marine gets a fair trial and, if he is guilty, accepts responsibility for his failure to do his job to the highest military standards. However, that is not a conclusion I can draw based on a photo that captures one instant of a person's life. What I think may be going on behind the scenes based on my fear of another terrorist attack, or attribute to the man's cultural heritage, or decide based on the way he holds his bare hands in a photo cannot, in any way, be used to determine his guilt or innocence either in a court of law or the local newspaper.
Friday, June 11, 2010
What If ...
What if the fire due west from me about 5 miles last evening wasn't contained? The 40-50 mph winds have been pounding us for weeks, especially in the late afternoons and evenings, and last night was no exception. The brush fire that started at the intersection of I-10 and an off-ramp was in a direct line from my community, with little but dry brush and a few desert homes between there and here. If the fire fighters hadn't been able to get the resources to the fire quickly enough, rather than 60 acres burned, there would have been disaster because the winds are still blowing this morning. Fire + winds = no stopping a fire until it has consumed all the available fuel in its path.
What if the teen circumnavigator had perished at sea? Would her parents still be telling the media that she needs to follow her dream? Or would the parents rue their lack of wisdom in encouraging this young girl to do something too big too young in her life? When we are teens, we all want to do more, to go farther than anything we've ever known, to succeed beyond our wildest dreams -- and our perceived limitations of our own parents' lives. Again, it's all about putting an old head onto young shoulders to give the perspective of both time and wisdom, but what if the old heads had prevailed when the young folks wanted to head west in their wagon trains? Sometimes, life gives us difficult choices to make.
What if the uncounted ballots had not been counted? According to the on-going tallies, there has been absolutely no change whatsoever in the outcome of the voting process last Tuesday. That's hard to believe, but apparently is true. Counting literally as many uncounted ballots as were counted for the precinct total has had no effect on the outcome of the election. The margins between winners and losers is identical, so it really hasn't mattered that 130,000 cast votes were not counted before releasing the "final" results of the election. There goes the old theory that MY vote can make a difference.
What if everyone listening to Geraldo this morning, who was ranting and raving about the residents of the oil-effected shorelines who are waiting for "someone" to clean up the mess, heard what he said? He echoed my earlier thoughts: everyone report to the shoreline. Suit up and start removing whatever floats in to containment barrels instead of calling the 1-800 number to file a claim against BP. If you aren't part of the solution, you are simply contributing to the problem. This is OUR country, so let's do it. Get the job done: stop waiting for someone else either to clean up the mess or pay to have someone do it for you. It isn't BP's problem, it's YOUR problem, so fix it, people.
And what if I locked up the house, got into my RAV, and took off for a couple of weeks? Could I take the dogs with me and just be gone? Why do I always worry about all the possible problems, rather than just do it? I spend so darned much time in "what if" land that I'm just not having fun.
What if the teen circumnavigator had perished at sea? Would her parents still be telling the media that she needs to follow her dream? Or would the parents rue their lack of wisdom in encouraging this young girl to do something too big too young in her life? When we are teens, we all want to do more, to go farther than anything we've ever known, to succeed beyond our wildest dreams -- and our perceived limitations of our own parents' lives. Again, it's all about putting an old head onto young shoulders to give the perspective of both time and wisdom, but what if the old heads had prevailed when the young folks wanted to head west in their wagon trains? Sometimes, life gives us difficult choices to make.
What if the uncounted ballots had not been counted? According to the on-going tallies, there has been absolutely no change whatsoever in the outcome of the voting process last Tuesday. That's hard to believe, but apparently is true. Counting literally as many uncounted ballots as were counted for the precinct total has had no effect on the outcome of the election. The margins between winners and losers is identical, so it really hasn't mattered that 130,000 cast votes were not counted before releasing the "final" results of the election. There goes the old theory that MY vote can make a difference.
What if everyone listening to Geraldo this morning, who was ranting and raving about the residents of the oil-effected shorelines who are waiting for "someone" to clean up the mess, heard what he said? He echoed my earlier thoughts: everyone report to the shoreline. Suit up and start removing whatever floats in to containment barrels instead of calling the 1-800 number to file a claim against BP. If you aren't part of the solution, you are simply contributing to the problem. This is OUR country, so let's do it. Get the job done: stop waiting for someone else either to clean up the mess or pay to have someone do it for you. It isn't BP's problem, it's YOUR problem, so fix it, people.
And what if I locked up the house, got into my RAV, and took off for a couple of weeks? Could I take the dogs with me and just be gone? Why do I always worry about all the possible problems, rather than just do it? I spend so darned much time in "what if" land that I'm just not having fun.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Not Quite Final Afterall
How awkward it is for the Registrar of Voters in Riverside County, who, after posting the results of the primary election Tuesday, then discovered somewhere between 100 and 105 thousand uncounted ballots! The number of uncounted ballots exceeds the total number of counted ballots, which means the final outcomes of the election have not been determined in spite of the published and celebrated results.
Oops doesn't seem quite strong enough to cover the mistake. What makes this mistake even worse is that no one caught it until a news reporter for a local station did some quick math and thought wow, this is the lowest voter turn-out ever. He called the Registrar's Office for comment the morning after the election. Personnel at that office did the math and agreed that the totals were less than half of the lowest voter turn-out on record, and sounded the alert.
What has not been counted is all of the ballots submitted by the voters who mailed their ballots directly, as well as those ballots hand-delivered on or before election day. These "absentee" ballots were found stored in boxes, ready to be counted, but simply over-looked in the pressure to get the totals published as soon as possible. It seems that no one said, hm, these totals are really low; or wow, we finished counting really early; or hey, are we sure we counted all the ballots? No red flags, no warning bells, no gut instinct activated anyone to make sure all the ballots were counted and the job was done.
So, all of the election results hang in the balance as the total number of ballots not counted exceeds the number of ballots used to determine the published results of Tuesday's election. The incumbent DA, for example, was ousted -- or was he? Several local tax measures hang in the balance, funding sources that can make -- or break -- local communities.
This is a huge mistake, one that should not have been made. Blaming the media pressure to publish the winners/losers on the 11 o'clock network news is not a strong rebuttal argument for the failure to get the job done right the first time.
UPDATING: The Registrar explained that her office received approximately 130,000 absentee ballots from the US Postal Service between Monday and Tuesday (election day). Although the staff began counting the absentee ballots, they stopped Tuesday evening to prepare for the influx of ballots from the polling places. The reported election results were based on "100% of precincts" reporting, which gave the false impression to the media/public that those election results were final, when, in fact, they are not. As a matter of fact, it is now estimated that counting the 100,000+ remaining ballots will not be finished until sometime tomorrow (Friday). Therefore, the preliminary election results are subject to change based on the sheer volume of uncounted ballots that may affect the reported election results.
Oops doesn't seem quite strong enough to cover the mistake. What makes this mistake even worse is that no one caught it until a news reporter for a local station did some quick math and thought wow, this is the lowest voter turn-out ever. He called the Registrar's Office for comment the morning after the election. Personnel at that office did the math and agreed that the totals were less than half of the lowest voter turn-out on record, and sounded the alert.
What has not been counted is all of the ballots submitted by the voters who mailed their ballots directly, as well as those ballots hand-delivered on or before election day. These "absentee" ballots were found stored in boxes, ready to be counted, but simply over-looked in the pressure to get the totals published as soon as possible. It seems that no one said, hm, these totals are really low; or wow, we finished counting really early; or hey, are we sure we counted all the ballots? No red flags, no warning bells, no gut instinct activated anyone to make sure all the ballots were counted and the job was done.
So, all of the election results hang in the balance as the total number of ballots not counted exceeds the number of ballots used to determine the published results of Tuesday's election. The incumbent DA, for example, was ousted -- or was he? Several local tax measures hang in the balance, funding sources that can make -- or break -- local communities.
This is a huge mistake, one that should not have been made. Blaming the media pressure to publish the winners/losers on the 11 o'clock network news is not a strong rebuttal argument for the failure to get the job done right the first time.
UPDATING: The Registrar explained that her office received approximately 130,000 absentee ballots from the US Postal Service between Monday and Tuesday (election day). Although the staff began counting the absentee ballots, they stopped Tuesday evening to prepare for the influx of ballots from the polling places. The reported election results were based on "100% of precincts" reporting, which gave the false impression to the media/public that those election results were final, when, in fact, they are not. As a matter of fact, it is now estimated that counting the 100,000+ remaining ballots will not be finished until sometime tomorrow (Friday). Therefore, the preliminary election results are subject to change based on the sheer volume of uncounted ballots that may affect the reported election results.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Well, That's Another Way of Looking at It
The suspended high school students are fighting back in the media after realizing that they will not be attending their graduation ceremony this week because they are suspended for playing the "Beat the Jew" game. Their point is that it's just a game and people are putting too much into the name of the game. They believe that if they called it something else, no one would be upset.
Yeah: that's the point, kids. It is the name of the game -- and the historical underpinnings of the name of the game. If it were the old "Fox and the Hounds," or "hare and the hounds," or "cats and dogs," or "sharks and fish," you are correct: probably no one would be upset with your playing it. But that's not what you named the game, so suck it up.
You blew this call and, perhaps, you'll learn from this experience what is versus what is not appropriate for future reference, including anything that invokes one's race, color, religion, political views, sexual preference ... well, you get the drift of where this is going.
Yeah: that's the point, kids. It is the name of the game -- and the historical underpinnings of the name of the game. If it were the old "Fox and the Hounds," or "hare and the hounds," or "cats and dogs," or "sharks and fish," you are correct: probably no one would be upset with your playing it. But that's not what you named the game, so suck it up.
You blew this call and, perhaps, you'll learn from this experience what is versus what is not appropriate for future reference, including anything that invokes one's race, color, religion, political views, sexual preference ... well, you get the drift of where this is going.
Floater
The four of us saw the same thing: the body of a child, floating face down, in the ocean. Three of us agreed that it was probably a child about 3 feet tall, and we all clearly saw arms, legs, a "bare" head, and I could have sworn the floater had on swim trunks. The only thing to do was to find someone at the life guard station and have them pull the victim from the ocean.
It took me a full 5 minutes to find a life guard because there was no way into the compound below the life guard station. In frustration, I finally asked the woman manning the "Save the Seals" table if she knew how to contact the guards and she found a phone number written on a scrap of paper inside the cash box. I called and reported that there "is a body, perhaps of a child, in the water off the steps down to the cliffs." When he asked me where I was, I told him that I was standing below the guard tower, but he needed to know if I was at the Children's Pool or somewhere else, and it took me a minute to communicate that I was standing at the fence, at the foot of the tower, in front of the porta-potties.
When a guard opened the gate in front of me, we took off at a hurry toward the walkway where my friends were keeping the body in sight so we could get to it. Quickly the one life guard became a dozen, with some deployed directly into the water, while others scrambled down the cliffs to get a line of sight. My friend confirmed that the body had gone behind the rocks from her viewpoint, so she lost a direct visual, but we knew where we had seen it and we knew where she lost sight of it.
It's amazing how quickly a crowd gathers and how large a crowd of on-lookers can become in mere moments. Everyone was straining to see what was happening from up top, but I was down on the cliff with the guards, providing them with details. I told them that it was, perhaps, a child -- maybe 5-6 years of age, judging by the size of the body I had seen floating face down in the water. However, I pointed out, I hoped that it was just a doll or a practice dummy for water rescues. Yes, I could clearly see arms and legs splayed to the sides, and I thought I saw swim trunks, too.
It took a few minutes, but suddenly one of the guards took off running, alerting the rest of the crew via radio. When he came scrambling back up the cliffs to where I was standing, he was smiling: it was a doll, a rather small doll, that he rescued from the shoreline. We were all relieved, but I was a bit befuddled as I doubt that I could have seen a doll that small from the sidewalk -- and I am sure the "body" I saw floating face down in the ocean was about 3 feet in length. The guards thanked us several times and assured us that they would rather deploy and find a doll than have anyone see what they think is a body in the ocean and continue walking.
Someone once made the point to me (forcefully and forever) that perception is reality, but, once again, it is clear that perception is simply what someone thinks, based on an individual's interpretation of what s/he thinks they see: it's not reality. Reality is that my 3-foot tall child floating face down in the ocean and wearing swim trunks was just a 12" doll. I'm glad that it turned out to be a doll, and not a child, but there is still a part of my brain that spent the night wondering if there still is a 3-foot tall child floating face down in the ocean off the shore in LaJolla!
It took me a full 5 minutes to find a life guard because there was no way into the compound below the life guard station. In frustration, I finally asked the woman manning the "Save the Seals" table if she knew how to contact the guards and she found a phone number written on a scrap of paper inside the cash box. I called and reported that there "is a body, perhaps of a child, in the water off the steps down to the cliffs." When he asked me where I was, I told him that I was standing below the guard tower, but he needed to know if I was at the Children's Pool or somewhere else, and it took me a minute to communicate that I was standing at the fence, at the foot of the tower, in front of the porta-potties.
When a guard opened the gate in front of me, we took off at a hurry toward the walkway where my friends were keeping the body in sight so we could get to it. Quickly the one life guard became a dozen, with some deployed directly into the water, while others scrambled down the cliffs to get a line of sight. My friend confirmed that the body had gone behind the rocks from her viewpoint, so she lost a direct visual, but we knew where we had seen it and we knew where she lost sight of it.
It's amazing how quickly a crowd gathers and how large a crowd of on-lookers can become in mere moments. Everyone was straining to see what was happening from up top, but I was down on the cliff with the guards, providing them with details. I told them that it was, perhaps, a child -- maybe 5-6 years of age, judging by the size of the body I had seen floating face down in the water. However, I pointed out, I hoped that it was just a doll or a practice dummy for water rescues. Yes, I could clearly see arms and legs splayed to the sides, and I thought I saw swim trunks, too.
It took a few minutes, but suddenly one of the guards took off running, alerting the rest of the crew via radio. When he came scrambling back up the cliffs to where I was standing, he was smiling: it was a doll, a rather small doll, that he rescued from the shoreline. We were all relieved, but I was a bit befuddled as I doubt that I could have seen a doll that small from the sidewalk -- and I am sure the "body" I saw floating face down in the ocean was about 3 feet in length. The guards thanked us several times and assured us that they would rather deploy and find a doll than have anyone see what they think is a body in the ocean and continue walking.
Someone once made the point to me (forcefully and forever) that perception is reality, but, once again, it is clear that perception is simply what someone thinks, based on an individual's interpretation of what s/he thinks they see: it's not reality. Reality is that my 3-foot tall child floating face down in the ocean and wearing swim trunks was just a 12" doll. I'm glad that it turned out to be a doll, and not a child, but there is still a part of my brain that spent the night wondering if there still is a 3-foot tall child floating face down in the ocean off the shore in LaJolla!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Beat the Jew (update)
It's a week after the game (formally known as Beat the Jews) came to light: one volunteer is the Jew, the other participants are the Nazis. The Jew takes off running and the Nazis jump into their cars and try to find him. Not just the obvious racial/ethnic cleansing aspect of this activity is reprehensible, but the fact that adrenalin-filled high school kids are jumping into their cars and tearing off down a major thoroughfare, speeding, weaving in and out of lanes, running red lights -- while trying to catch the Jew.
Surprisingly enough, the community outrage has been muted; perhaps it would have been stronger had the Nazis driving the vehicles been involved in an accident during the chase, especially if someone had been maimed or killed. Regardless, the punishment phase landed right in the middle of the school district and the students involved have been suspended, which means some of them will miss graduation. The reasoning behind the district's actions is that the students were on-campus when the game began. The 18-year-old student who let the cat out of the bag fears for his life: he has not left his home since the story broke because he has literally been threatened with death for ratting out the game-players.
The backstory includes that approximately 70 (yes, that is 7-0) students were involved in this scenario via FaceBook. They thought it hilarious and couldn't wait for the games to begin. Had it stayed in the electronic world, the school district may have been able to avoid involvement, but the participating students brought it onto campus when the student parking lot became the point of origination for the chase. Thankfully for the parents, they no longer have to figure out what the hell to do about their children's actions because their focus is now on a lawsuit filed against the school district for denying their children participation in graduation.
If we do not learn from history, we are condemned to repeat it; if we do not do our job as parents during our children's formative years, our children are given permission to act with impunity when they are older. Rather than holding the school district accountable for "ruining" their children's lives by denying them participation in graduation vis a vis the suspensions for their reprehensible actions, perhaps the parents could be more proactive. How about taking control of the car keys, selling the vehicles and putting the proceeds into a college fund, deleting the FaceBook accounts, and shutting down the computers for the summer as a starting point. The parents could organize a family field trip to the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles, as well as a sober on-site visit to the memorial park that is within a couple of miles of their children's high school parking lot!
And then there needs to be some serious conversation: really serious conversation.
Surprisingly enough, the community outrage has been muted; perhaps it would have been stronger had the Nazis driving the vehicles been involved in an accident during the chase, especially if someone had been maimed or killed. Regardless, the punishment phase landed right in the middle of the school district and the students involved have been suspended, which means some of them will miss graduation. The reasoning behind the district's actions is that the students were on-campus when the game began. The 18-year-old student who let the cat out of the bag fears for his life: he has not left his home since the story broke because he has literally been threatened with death for ratting out the game-players.
The backstory includes that approximately 70 (yes, that is 7-0) students were involved in this scenario via FaceBook. They thought it hilarious and couldn't wait for the games to begin. Had it stayed in the electronic world, the school district may have been able to avoid involvement, but the participating students brought it onto campus when the student parking lot became the point of origination for the chase. Thankfully for the parents, they no longer have to figure out what the hell to do about their children's actions because their focus is now on a lawsuit filed against the school district for denying their children participation in graduation.
If we do not learn from history, we are condemned to repeat it; if we do not do our job as parents during our children's formative years, our children are given permission to act with impunity when they are older. Rather than holding the school district accountable for "ruining" their children's lives by denying them participation in graduation vis a vis the suspensions for their reprehensible actions, perhaps the parents could be more proactive. How about taking control of the car keys, selling the vehicles and putting the proceeds into a college fund, deleting the FaceBook accounts, and shutting down the computers for the summer as a starting point. The parents could organize a family field trip to the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles, as well as a sober on-site visit to the memorial park that is within a couple of miles of their children's high school parking lot!
And then there needs to be some serious conversation: really serious conversation.
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