I question the portrayal of all Republicans as too concerned about self-worth, individual financial security, and huge tax breaks, especially when contrasted with Democrats, who are all portrayed as too willing to spend too much money on too many social programs. People comprise the two primary political parties, individuals who adopt a life philosophy that, unfortunately, results in having to choose one of two political parties to represent their beliefs, especially during election years, when party candidates are presented to the public as fait accompli, rather than viable options.
I am somewhere between Republican and Democrat, a DemoPublican, and believe that everyone has not just the right, but the obligation to earn a living to any level of capacity of the individual, while also recognizing that there are people who are unable to do so. I don’t want to reward anyone with free goods/services based solely on an individual’s failure to get an education, and/or to develop a skill that can result in income, and/or to provide for one’s self and/or family members. As a life-long professional educator, I firmly believe that the more “democratic” idea of educational entitlement vis-a-vis No Child Left Behind has degraded the quality of the educational experience necessary for academic success. Anyone who wants to do so can walk the hallways without having to conform either to the school rules or the curriculum demands, and that sense of personal entitlement constricts the services that can be provided to the student who attends school to attain an educational goal.
There is limited progress when the capable are held back until the incapable catch up – or refuse to do so. Ad astra per aspera sends the stars to the skies in theory, but that’s no longer this country’s practice.
I am equally dismayed that in a country as people-rich as ours, buffoons and bullies rise to the top of the political media stage, often at the expense of more qualified, more experienced, more appropriate candidates for public office. Our election process propels the candidate who garners the most media attention, which means having the financial means to pay for media coverage, while dismissing out of hand well-qualified candidates who put doing the job well before media marketing. It appears that there really is no bad publicity when it comes to developing face time and party recognition, as Donald Trump rampages through the network news, talk shows, and political round-tables in the run-up to the next political campaign.
As a DemoPublican, I believe that Donald Trump is a street thug and a bully, not a Republican candidate who represents any Republican I know. Trump is the example of an individual being judged media-worthy solely by his bank balance, rather than his character. Thus, Trump is totally inappropriate to be considered by anyone as a viable candidate for President of the United States, including the Republican Party. Any man who casts aside one wife for a younger, more media attractive second, then third, wife has serious character flaws. Any man who defines himself by his wealth, rather than his personal integrity, has serious character flaws. Any man who cannot define the difference between ethics and ego has serious character flaws. Frankly, these character flaws disqualify Trump for any public office, but, unfortunately, provide the media with a free pass to claim as fact that Trump somehow represents the Republican Party.
Was Obama born in the United States? I don’t know the answer to that question, but that barn door was closed a couple of years back. Reopening that door is inappropriate, but beating the poor dead horse behind the door is ridiculous. Trump wants to know … what? Why? Does denigrating everyone else on the planet somehow enhance Trump's own flawed character? A man of character would speak forcefully to the lack of professional conduct of the Apprentice wannabes and send them packing, but Trump is that obnoxious, uncooperative, manipulative, disagreeable person himself, so he fosters it in his Apprentice cast and gleefully displays it himself in media interviews where he presents himself as ready, willing, and able to represent the Republican Party in the next presidential election.
However, the business model Trump prefers in the media does not translate to the White House. As a boss, Trump is a bully who demands more than an honest day’s work for an honest day’s wage. When an employee (or Apprentice) cries foul, Trump uses the catch phrase that defines him: “you’re fired!" With a practiced snarl and a dismissive look of scorn, even the boldest employee quivers before the Trumped-up King of the Business World. This may be SOP in Trump's personal empire, but it's not going to fly with foreign heads of state, government employees, and ordinary tax-paying citizens!
Who wants the best anyone can say about POTUS is that "he's a mean son-of-a-bitch"? Who wants to spend the Christmas holidays at the White House with all the wives, ex-wives, and children of the first, second, third "First" families? THAT is how the rest of the world defines America, the land of promis-cuity?? No, I don't think so. Trump says he’ll make his decision the first of June, but I’ve already made my decision: you’re a no-hire, so there won’t even be a probationary period that could result in the “you’re fired” for which you feel famous. Move on; there are other serious candidates presenting themselves to the public for consideration.
You are simply flotsam on the public platform. Broom, anyone?
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Picking at the Pieces
Tuesday was challenging because one of the hardest things in life for me is facing death. When I stood at Bob's bedside Easter Sunday morning, I was instantly a just-turned 17-year-old girl standing at my father's bedside. My dad was not a big man physically, but he was the world's largest man to me because he cared about me. I was his little princess, a portrait of a difficult child that few shared with my daddy. I had issues, and I had them with my dad, but his death ended my life in far too many ways. I made many bad choices after daddy died, but I've always believed that we are the sum of where we've been, what we've done, as well as our regrets. I like to think I'd never about so many aspects of my life, but I know that if I were transported backward in time, I would make the same mistakes again.
My dad accused me of doing something I simply did not do, when friends invited me to dinner, followed by a school event, and then a sleep-over at a neighbor's home. I had few friends because, quite simply, I had no idea how to be a friend. My mother isolated herself from other people, from going places/doing things, to protect her from reliving her past -- and, in many ways, I followed suit. Not good/not bad/just is. No one knows how excited I was to be celebrating my 17th birthday with the neighborhood girls, the first time in my life that I had stepped away from the isolation of my family life and experienced what it was like to be one of the girls. We followed all the rules because I've always followed all the rules, but my dad checked up on us. Rather than knocking on the door, he walked over to Ellen's home for a looksee and came to his own erroneous conclusion.
When I came back home the next morning from my special celebration, my father, who was my protector, attacked me with wild accusations and harsh punishments. Typically, I screamed back at him, used to this kind of verbal abuse from my mother, but unable to handle it from my father. No one knew that he was very ill on that day, but two weeks later, he went into the hospital and he died a mere 6 week's after my 17th birthday. No, we never got past the horror of the birthday party because there simply was no time to do so, but I stood at his bedside the night before he died -- and wished that I had never gone there and/or seen that. It haunts me to this day that "that" was my father.
Easter Sunday morning, I made myself go to the hospital and say goodbye to Bob because I've never been able to do that since I stood at my father's bedside and prayed that he would come back home so I could again be "daddy's little girl." It didn't happen, of course, because he was no longer daddy, but the barely breathing remains of his earthly form. I shut down church because no one could tell me why my father had to die when I had a long list of other candidates for that eternal punishment, including my own mother. My family imploded because we were not allowed to talk about it, nor to attend his graveside service. My job was to take the younger children home and get the house ready for people who would stop by after the funeral. I finally went to my father's grave, with my own children, but I think I had already celebrated my 45th birthday before that happened.
When another dear friend's husband died, I went to the hospital until almost the last day, but it was so hard to see him as I had seen my father. He was not the man I knew, and I did not want the memory of his last days to be my memory of all our days, as it was with my father. I was there for him, as well as my friend, but I did not go to his funeral because I didn't know how to do that. He was a good man and I wanted to be there, but my friend told me it was okay not to participate in the funeral. I didn't know how much I hurt her when I could not stand with her that day until only a few years' ago, so I now know how much she cared about me to support me during her time of intense, personal, devastating loss.
Bob's wife asked for some alone time, and I honor her wishes, but today, I'm not calling ahead to ask permission. I don't want her to tell me a decade later how much I hurt her by not showing up when she needed me to be there. My instinct is to run like hell away from anyone's grief, but most especially my own, but if we're going to cry, we're going to share our tears together, out in the open. I'll never be good at this, but I'm going to be better at doing it anyway.
Death is a natural part of life, but when we treat it as unspeakable, undoable, unacceptable, it changes our life forever. I do not fear death, but I do fear showing my pain at the loss of loved ones. I want to be strong, I want to somehow make it all better, but that's not my job. Today, I'm just going to take the cookies I baked this morning and go say hi to my friend, if only for a minute today, but forever if she wants me to be there with her.
My dad accused me of doing something I simply did not do, when friends invited me to dinner, followed by a school event, and then a sleep-over at a neighbor's home. I had few friends because, quite simply, I had no idea how to be a friend. My mother isolated herself from other people, from going places/doing things, to protect her from reliving her past -- and, in many ways, I followed suit. Not good/not bad/just is. No one knows how excited I was to be celebrating my 17th birthday with the neighborhood girls, the first time in my life that I had stepped away from the isolation of my family life and experienced what it was like to be one of the girls. We followed all the rules because I've always followed all the rules, but my dad checked up on us. Rather than knocking on the door, he walked over to Ellen's home for a looksee and came to his own erroneous conclusion.
When I came back home the next morning from my special celebration, my father, who was my protector, attacked me with wild accusations and harsh punishments. Typically, I screamed back at him, used to this kind of verbal abuse from my mother, but unable to handle it from my father. No one knew that he was very ill on that day, but two weeks later, he went into the hospital and he died a mere 6 week's after my 17th birthday. No, we never got past the horror of the birthday party because there simply was no time to do so, but I stood at his bedside the night before he died -- and wished that I had never gone there and/or seen that. It haunts me to this day that "that" was my father.
Easter Sunday morning, I made myself go to the hospital and say goodbye to Bob because I've never been able to do that since I stood at my father's bedside and prayed that he would come back home so I could again be "daddy's little girl." It didn't happen, of course, because he was no longer daddy, but the barely breathing remains of his earthly form. I shut down church because no one could tell me why my father had to die when I had a long list of other candidates for that eternal punishment, including my own mother. My family imploded because we were not allowed to talk about it, nor to attend his graveside service. My job was to take the younger children home and get the house ready for people who would stop by after the funeral. I finally went to my father's grave, with my own children, but I think I had already celebrated my 45th birthday before that happened.
When another dear friend's husband died, I went to the hospital until almost the last day, but it was so hard to see him as I had seen my father. He was not the man I knew, and I did not want the memory of his last days to be my memory of all our days, as it was with my father. I was there for him, as well as my friend, but I did not go to his funeral because I didn't know how to do that. He was a good man and I wanted to be there, but my friend told me it was okay not to participate in the funeral. I didn't know how much I hurt her when I could not stand with her that day until only a few years' ago, so I now know how much she cared about me to support me during her time of intense, personal, devastating loss.
Bob's wife asked for some alone time, and I honor her wishes, but today, I'm not calling ahead to ask permission. I don't want her to tell me a decade later how much I hurt her by not showing up when she needed me to be there. My instinct is to run like hell away from anyone's grief, but most especially my own, but if we're going to cry, we're going to share our tears together, out in the open. I'll never be good at this, but I'm going to be better at doing it anyway.
Death is a natural part of life, but when we treat it as unspeakable, undoable, unacceptable, it changes our life forever. I do not fear death, but I do fear showing my pain at the loss of loved ones. I want to be strong, I want to somehow make it all better, but that's not my job. Today, I'm just going to take the cookies I baked this morning and go say hi to my friend, if only for a minute today, but forever if she wants me to be there with her.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Rest in Peace
My friend's husband died in his sleep very early this morning, the light gone from his sparkly bright blue eyes. The last couple of years were fraught with one thing after another, from various surgeries to complications with diabetes to advancing Parkinson's, the aftermath of his military service in Vietnam, to a recent spot of lung cancer. Ten days ago, when I stayed with him while his wife went to work, he was bitching to me about the pain in his chest following lung surgery. When I laughed that all the surgeons did was "punch a hole," not rip his guts open, he challenged me to try it myself before I chided his pain.
"Get tough, Marine," I responded, again with a laugh.
Last weekend, he felt good enough to go out to one of the local casinos with his wife and spend a little cash at the tables. However,last Wednesday, when I stopped by to check on him, his bright blue eyes were dulled, his already painfully thin body more so, and his inability to articulate a greeting to me frustrating for him. He had taken a turn for the worse almost overnight, but I had not realized how much worse that turn was until then. The week before, he was on the way back to health as good as it was going to be, but now? Before I left, he recognized me and waved goodbye as I left his room with a "see ya," but he would not be getting better this time.
Sunday morning, I awoke with a start and drove to the hospital, where he had been since late Friday. I greeted him and he opened his left eye to see me, then moved his hand in my direction. The change from Wednesday to Sunday was dramatic, and I knew this would be a final good-bye. I held his hand and let the tears fall. I told him that I'm going to miss him and wish that he didn't have to leave so soon. He knew I'll help his wife through this, but Lord only knows how: she's been his wife for a very long time, but she's also been his best friend, and she's going to miss him something fierce.
Me, too.
I only stayed about 25 minutes Easter Sunday morning, standing by his bedside, holding his hand, and then I told him to rest in peace. I leaned over, kissed his forehead, said goodbye, and came back home to wait for the news I knew would come. Last night, his wife told him goodbye, that it was time for him to let go. He closed his eyes and went to sleep before she left his room.
There will be a small inurnment ceremony, complete with a Marine Corps honor guard, in a couple of weeks. His name will never appear on the Wall in DC, but he's a victim of the Vietnam War, the same as the all the others who lost their lives before him. Bob was a good guy, not just my friend's husband, but also my friend. He was proud of his service to his country and frustrated by his failing health the past several years.
Your permanent change of station orders came through. Semper fi, Marine.
"Get tough, Marine," I responded, again with a laugh.
Last weekend, he felt good enough to go out to one of the local casinos with his wife and spend a little cash at the tables. However,last Wednesday, when I stopped by to check on him, his bright blue eyes were dulled, his already painfully thin body more so, and his inability to articulate a greeting to me frustrating for him. He had taken a turn for the worse almost overnight, but I had not realized how much worse that turn was until then. The week before, he was on the way back to health as good as it was going to be, but now? Before I left, he recognized me and waved goodbye as I left his room with a "see ya," but he would not be getting better this time.
Sunday morning, I awoke with a start and drove to the hospital, where he had been since late Friday. I greeted him and he opened his left eye to see me, then moved his hand in my direction. The change from Wednesday to Sunday was dramatic, and I knew this would be a final good-bye. I held his hand and let the tears fall. I told him that I'm going to miss him and wish that he didn't have to leave so soon. He knew I'll help his wife through this, but Lord only knows how: she's been his wife for a very long time, but she's also been his best friend, and she's going to miss him something fierce.
Me, too.
I only stayed about 25 minutes Easter Sunday morning, standing by his bedside, holding his hand, and then I told him to rest in peace. I leaned over, kissed his forehead, said goodbye, and came back home to wait for the news I knew would come. Last night, his wife told him goodbye, that it was time for him to let go. He closed his eyes and went to sleep before she left his room.
There will be a small inurnment ceremony, complete with a Marine Corps honor guard, in a couple of weeks. His name will never appear on the Wall in DC, but he's a victim of the Vietnam War, the same as the all the others who lost their lives before him. Bob was a good guy, not just my friend's husband, but also my friend. He was proud of his service to his country and frustrated by his failing health the past several years.
Your permanent change of station orders came through. Semper fi, Marine.
The Birth Day
My youngest is celebrating his 40th birthday today, far away from this home, but very close in my heart. I remember, of course, that day, from the first arrival at the hospital to being sent home because I was not in labor as defined by the military manual, and then the race to the delivery room because son was being born at home, not a circumstance his father wanted to handle.
When we arrived back at the hospital, it was 11:20 pm. The duty personnel were not waiting at the locked doors outside of which I crouched, doubled over, with continuous labor pains dedicated to birthing the baby NOW. When someone finally wandered toward the door to ask me what I needed, I thought the answer was obvious, but I had to explain that the baby was being born. Yeah, that worked: I was told that the doctor would determine whether the baby was, indeed, being born, and to sit in the lobby on a hard plastic chair and wait while he fetched the on-call doctor.
There was no doctor, but finally a nurse showed up and walked me (no wheelchair, no assistance) back to an exam room. She asked me if my water had broken, to which I replied, "no," then told me that I was probably not going to give birth until it did. When she asked me to climb up on the exam table so she could take a look, I did my best to comply, but the baby's head was "right there." She confirmed that the birth was not going to wait for anyone to find the missing doctor, who arrived in the delivery room simultaneously with the son, at 11:40 pm, April 26, 1971.
When the new baby came home the next day, his sister sat in the rocking chair in the living room and demanded to hold him. Somewhere, I have the picture of the first time she held him, the smile on her face confirmation that she really had always wanted a brother.
Most people think my daughter and I are alike because we physically resemble one another, but my son and I share personality traits in common. I have many fond memories, including our "Lethal Weapon" marathons, popcorn and Pepsi in hand. And, of course, there's the time I took him to see the Kevin Costner movie, "No Way Out," which begins with quite the steamy sex-in-the-limo scene, much to the dismay of the older women behind us, whose comments got us laughing so hard that I wasn't nearly as embarrassed as I should have been about the hot sex on the seat!!
We argue because we are both strong-willed and, how do I say this politely, committed to our own point of view (stubborn is the first word that comes to mind). Sometimes, we argue a point just because it's nice to have someone argue back and help us clarify what we think, but we both are to the ages when it's okay to let the other have his/her say and then move on with just a token response. Well, that is unless we discuss politics or the current President or any other topic that could even remotely cause an argument to ensue.
It has been the best of times, as well as the worst of times, just as it is in anyone's relationship, but I cannot imagine taking this journey without either my daughter or my son. They balance one another -- and then center me. My birthday is 6 weeks from now, another birthday that simply confirms the clock is ticking faster now than it was 40 years ago, when I looked forward to my lifetime with my children. Looking back ... well, it's hard to imagine that was 40 years ago!
When we arrived back at the hospital, it was 11:20 pm. The duty personnel were not waiting at the locked doors outside of which I crouched, doubled over, with continuous labor pains dedicated to birthing the baby NOW. When someone finally wandered toward the door to ask me what I needed, I thought the answer was obvious, but I had to explain that the baby was being born. Yeah, that worked: I was told that the doctor would determine whether the baby was, indeed, being born, and to sit in the lobby on a hard plastic chair and wait while he fetched the on-call doctor.
There was no doctor, but finally a nurse showed up and walked me (no wheelchair, no assistance) back to an exam room. She asked me if my water had broken, to which I replied, "no," then told me that I was probably not going to give birth until it did. When she asked me to climb up on the exam table so she could take a look, I did my best to comply, but the baby's head was "right there." She confirmed that the birth was not going to wait for anyone to find the missing doctor, who arrived in the delivery room simultaneously with the son, at 11:40 pm, April 26, 1971.
When the new baby came home the next day, his sister sat in the rocking chair in the living room and demanded to hold him. Somewhere, I have the picture of the first time she held him, the smile on her face confirmation that she really had always wanted a brother.
Most people think my daughter and I are alike because we physically resemble one another, but my son and I share personality traits in common. I have many fond memories, including our "Lethal Weapon" marathons, popcorn and Pepsi in hand. And, of course, there's the time I took him to see the Kevin Costner movie, "No Way Out," which begins with quite the steamy sex-in-the-limo scene, much to the dismay of the older women behind us, whose comments got us laughing so hard that I wasn't nearly as embarrassed as I should have been about the hot sex on the seat!!
We argue because we are both strong-willed and, how do I say this politely, committed to our own point of view (stubborn is the first word that comes to mind). Sometimes, we argue a point just because it's nice to have someone argue back and help us clarify what we think, but we both are to the ages when it's okay to let the other have his/her say and then move on with just a token response. Well, that is unless we discuss politics or the current President or any other topic that could even remotely cause an argument to ensue.
It has been the best of times, as well as the worst of times, just as it is in anyone's relationship, but I cannot imagine taking this journey without either my daughter or my son. They balance one another -- and then center me. My birthday is 6 weeks from now, another birthday that simply confirms the clock is ticking faster now than it was 40 years ago, when I looked forward to my lifetime with my children. Looking back ... well, it's hard to imagine that was 40 years ago!
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sounds Like
Every so often, I play ridiculous children's games on the computer. I'm not skilled at game playing, and not very competitive, so the marbles in a row or the hexagonal colored blocks offer me challenge enough to take the edge off the pounding winds that are now completing Week II of their local run.
Is it just me, or are words inserted by the programmers into the game sound tracks? One of the games plays the same tune endlessly, which drives me to distraction, but each time I remove a block of blocks, I hear "Linda." In another game, every time I destroy a layer, the game says "rubbish." In a third game, I hear "winner, winner."
And, yes, I find myself playing the darned game again because ... I cannot believe I'm hearing what I just heard!!
I'm waiting for the game to say, "Idiot!"
Is it just me, or are words inserted by the programmers into the game sound tracks? One of the games plays the same tune endlessly, which drives me to distraction, but each time I remove a block of blocks, I hear "Linda." In another game, every time I destroy a layer, the game says "rubbish." In a third game, I hear "winner, winner."
And, yes, I find myself playing the darned game again because ... I cannot believe I'm hearing what I just heard!!
I'm waiting for the game to say, "Idiot!"
Bad Food Done Badly
Lately, I've had a hankering for Oriental food, of which there are not many choices available, unless one considers Panda Express an option. PE varies by location, and the quality of the food depends upon the cook on-shift. I've had okay PE, pretty good PE, and really, really bad PE, so I opted to try an old favorite up the hill. I had not stopped there in at least a year, but the restaurant has been open about 25 years and had a consistency not found in chain restaurants. I invited one of my international students, who is Chinese, especially because he knew the owner.
Neither one of us had the experience we recalled, beginning with the very Hispanic waitress whose English was ... challenging. My guest asked if the owner was on-site so he could say hello, but our waitress told us he was busy cooking. Hmm, that didn't ring a bell with either of us, but I ordered my favorite appetizer, the "cream angels," a wonton square filled with a chunk of creamed cheese and then deep-fried.
Evidently, the Mexican cook for the previous owner purchased the restaurant when the past owner retired about a year ago. The food has really changed, and it's not change I can applaud. The egg drop soup was awful, a basic left-over veggie soup with egg stirred in, delivered to our table in a huge mixing bowl! I was shocked at how much soup we received, rather than the two small bowls we expected, but, perhaps, the cook was merely cleaning out the pot before the evening rush began.
We both ordered common chicken dishes, which arrived looking most uncommon. Neither dish had a taste either of us remembered from past experiences with Oriental food. Instead of the little balls of fried meat we anticipated, we received "slabs" of sliced chicken with sauce sprinkled across the middle. The chicken, obviously pre-cooked and very dry, could not be resuscitated, no matter how much sauce we poured over it. The rice was okay, but what can go wrong with rice, right?
All in all, the best part of the meal were the cream angels and the commercial fortune cookies: anything left to the skill of the cook failed miserably. As we departed, my guest offered to take me to a good Chinese restaurant next week, one actually owned and operated by a Chinese family. He said, "It will taste good; I promise."
I'm going to hold him to that promise because what we shared yesterday was really bad food done badly!!
Neither one of us had the experience we recalled, beginning with the very Hispanic waitress whose English was ... challenging. My guest asked if the owner was on-site so he could say hello, but our waitress told us he was busy cooking. Hmm, that didn't ring a bell with either of us, but I ordered my favorite appetizer, the "cream angels," a wonton square filled with a chunk of creamed cheese and then deep-fried.
Evidently, the Mexican cook for the previous owner purchased the restaurant when the past owner retired about a year ago. The food has really changed, and it's not change I can applaud. The egg drop soup was awful, a basic left-over veggie soup with egg stirred in, delivered to our table in a huge mixing bowl! I was shocked at how much soup we received, rather than the two small bowls we expected, but, perhaps, the cook was merely cleaning out the pot before the evening rush began.
We both ordered common chicken dishes, which arrived looking most uncommon. Neither dish had a taste either of us remembered from past experiences with Oriental food. Instead of the little balls of fried meat we anticipated, we received "slabs" of sliced chicken with sauce sprinkled across the middle. The chicken, obviously pre-cooked and very dry, could not be resuscitated, no matter how much sauce we poured over it. The rice was okay, but what can go wrong with rice, right?
All in all, the best part of the meal were the cream angels and the commercial fortune cookies: anything left to the skill of the cook failed miserably. As we departed, my guest offered to take me to a good Chinese restaurant next week, one actually owned and operated by a Chinese family. He said, "It will taste good; I promise."
I'm going to hold him to that promise because what we shared yesterday was really bad food done badly!!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Balls
Seems that the newer way to rebalance one's back, stabilize one's core, and trick one into thinking it's not physical therapy, but FUN, is to have patients contort on a fairly big ball. Rolling back and forth is one of the more challenging exercises, oops, I meant to say "activites," one can do with a ball, as the FUN begins with one simply learning how to sit on the darned thing and not fall off.
I need to continue to stretch all those internal pieces that have drawn up (the reason why the back of my knees no longer go flat against an exam tabletop), as well as tighten the tummy muscles (in my case, tummy is too cute a word for the bulging abdomen I'm sporting). Walking is good on flat surfaces, such as a sidewalk (please write and tell the local gov't that sidewalks are good, as well as fun), but riding a bike is not recommended at this time. I skipped over the pool part (see comment re: tummy), but I do know that soaking in a really hot tub until the water cools feels heavenly (contingent upon one being able to extricate one's self from said tub).
Rather than jetting off to Greece to have mad, passionate sex with an inappropriately young man (tricky with a back that is basically frozen in place, but where there's a will, there must be a way), I'm going to be meeting more medical personnel up close and personal for a bit. With 3 separate doctors tinkering with this 'n that, it's a wonder I am not bedridden. I have to work with the system and see if together we can figure out (1) what's actually wrong and (2) determine what we are going to do about it, then (3) actually do it!!
Other than the ball. I see an ER in my future, accompanied by a chorus of "I fought the ball and the ball won."
I need to continue to stretch all those internal pieces that have drawn up (the reason why the back of my knees no longer go flat against an exam tabletop), as well as tighten the tummy muscles (in my case, tummy is too cute a word for the bulging abdomen I'm sporting). Walking is good on flat surfaces, such as a sidewalk (please write and tell the local gov't that sidewalks are good, as well as fun), but riding a bike is not recommended at this time. I skipped over the pool part (see comment re: tummy), but I do know that soaking in a really hot tub until the water cools feels heavenly (contingent upon one being able to extricate one's self from said tub).
Rather than jetting off to Greece to have mad, passionate sex with an inappropriately young man (tricky with a back that is basically frozen in place, but where there's a will, there must be a way), I'm going to be meeting more medical personnel up close and personal for a bit. With 3 separate doctors tinkering with this 'n that, it's a wonder I am not bedridden. I have to work with the system and see if together we can figure out (1) what's actually wrong and (2) determine what we are going to do about it, then (3) actually do it!!
Other than the ball. I see an ER in my future, accompanied by a chorus of "I fought the ball and the ball won."
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Moment
The girls and I are walking every day again; yesterday, a car slowed as it passed us, then turned the corner ahead of us. A woman got out of the car with her cell phone and asked if she could film the dogs. Okay, it was weird, but okay.
As she started filming, she shared that she had two dogs that could be my dogs’ twins, but recently, her Jack Russell terrier passed away and she misses him terribly, as does her Mia clone. She told me that yes, they are more than hyper, but are such loyal, loving dogs, and she just had to stop to say hello to Daisy.
Daisy is not one to avoid a thorough face-licking when anyone is fool enough to get within range, but the woman reveled in the extensive wash of dog tongue. The woman rubbed Daisy’s belly, talked baby talk to her, and was in absolute bliss as she continued to gush about her recently-passed JR terrier.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Daisy eats dog poop, which is why I avoid facial contact with her and/or immediately wash thoroughly after direct contact. I didn’t want to spoil the woman’s joy at sharing this moment and memory of her own pet. She works at an animal hospital, so it may not have fazed her, but any way you look at it, it’s best to avoid face-to-face contact with any dog that eats poop.
As she started filming, she shared that she had two dogs that could be my dogs’ twins, but recently, her Jack Russell terrier passed away and she misses him terribly, as does her Mia clone. She told me that yes, they are more than hyper, but are such loyal, loving dogs, and she just had to stop to say hello to Daisy.
Daisy is not one to avoid a thorough face-licking when anyone is fool enough to get within range, but the woman reveled in the extensive wash of dog tongue. The woman rubbed Daisy’s belly, talked baby talk to her, and was in absolute bliss as she continued to gush about her recently-passed JR terrier.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Daisy eats dog poop, which is why I avoid facial contact with her and/or immediately wash thoroughly after direct contact. I didn’t want to spoil the woman’s joy at sharing this moment and memory of her own pet. She works at an animal hospital, so it may not have fazed her, but any way you look at it, it’s best to avoid face-to-face contact with any dog that eats poop.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Pronouns and Antecedents
One of those pesky grammar lessons showed up in today's on-line newspaper in an article about a shooting involving 2 police officers, a K-9 officer, and a fleeing suspect. As the paper describes it,
When he broke free, one of the officers sent his K-9 partner, Ike, to apprehend him, Long said.
As Ike attempted to catch the parolee, he produced a handgun and fired multiple rounds, hitting both the officer and Ike, Long said.
The two officers returned fire, killing the parolee, she said.
I realize that K-9s are as much a part of the police force as their human counterparts, but I had not realized that Ike could "produce a handgun and fire multiple rounds" while chasing a fleeing suspect. Ike, the K-9 officer, died at the scene -- but maybe he'll be awarded a posthumous award for killing the parolee?
After all, that's not something just any ole K-9 can do!!
When he broke free, one of the officers sent his K-9 partner, Ike, to apprehend him, Long said.
As Ike attempted to catch the parolee, he produced a handgun and fired multiple rounds, hitting both the officer and Ike, Long said.
The two officers returned fire, killing the parolee, she said.
I realize that K-9s are as much a part of the police force as their human counterparts, but I had not realized that Ike could "produce a handgun and fire multiple rounds" while chasing a fleeing suspect. Ike, the K-9 officer, died at the scene -- but maybe he'll be awarded a posthumous award for killing the parolee?
After all, that's not something just any ole K-9 can do!!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Moving On
For the past week, I’ve been so totally pissed off that I have been ranting and raving much more than is usual for me. The reason: another call to reschedule yet another medical appointment. It’s taken me a week to figure out why that pisses me off so fast and so thoroughly, but I have realized it's a lack of respect for me as a patient. I am as important as any other patient – so why do I get the call to reschedule? When I make an appointment with a doctor for several weeks in the future, I expect that if the doctor with whom I am scheduled cannot take the appointment, a colleague should see me during the scheduled appointment. A medical issue resulting from a serious fall needs to be addressed appropriately and in a timely manner, not put on hold because the doctor's plans change.
My back issues have gone untreated since the trip to the ER last December 17, although I have talked to 3 separate doctors, as well as office staff, and filled in pages and pages of medical background in my feeble attempt to be heard. The ER doctor assured me the correct diagnosis was “stirred up arthritis,” based on the x-rays done at the time. My own well-known knee surgeon responded with a smile when both my daughter and I stressed prior to the knee surgery that there was something seriously wrong with my back. My doctor continued to focus on the knee during the follow-up appointment to remove the stitches and again after completion of physical therapy, although I told him that I was now almost 2 months past the injury and still trying to cope with the on-going loss of physical function.
He finally agreed to refer me to a back specialist whom he highly recommended, a process that took another week to complete. An appointment was made with the recommended specialist, but a week later came the call that “my” doctor would not be available to keep the appointment and I had to reschedule. In the interest of being seen sooner than later, I rescheduled the appointment with another doctor in the practice, but when I arrived as directed for the appointment with my 18-page medical history and the x-rays from the ER visit, he told me that he could not ascertain an injury based on the ER x-rays. He did, however, suggest that I could benefit from exercise activities performed in a swimming pool. The stunned look on my face must have been his clue to then decide that, perhaps, it could benefit both of us to take another look; hence, the appointments for a CT scan and 2 separate MRIs, the results of which are several pages in length and detail numerous actual physical injuries/ issues.
And here I sit, again waiting for the medical services for which I pay each and every month. My follow-up appointment with the substitute doctor had to be rescheduled because he takes an annual family vacation at this time of the year, but I guess no one recalled that when they scheduled the appointment? Then, last week, with the appointment scheduled for today, the call came again: the doctor is not available this week, so my appointment is again being rescheduled. I made it clear that this is not an acceptable way to conduct one’s business and asked to be scheduled with the doctor to whom I was originally referred. Of course, that is not an option. Before I said anything I could regret, I ended the call.
I called my knee doctor and asked for another referral to another doctor. My injury may not be significant to them, but it has greatly impacted my life and I want to know how to move past this place that I have been since Thanksgiving 2009. The nurse with whom I spoke last Thursday acknowledged my request and assured me that the doctor would respond by Monday at the latest.
It’s Wednesday; I’m still waiting.
I’m sure my back has healed because the body heals itself, but the point is the disrespect shown to me as a patient who, in good faith, put my medical well-being into the doctors’ hands. I should not have to sit and wait 4 months for my body to heal itself, especially when I proactively made a 75-mile round-trip to the ER at the time of my fall and then persisted to question the casual assumption that it’s my arthritis; nothing more, nothing less. I’ve already done this with the knee injury that took 4 months and 4 individual trips to 4 different doctors, complete with a set of bone x-rays that showed no injury, but was finally recognized in an MRI report. Ironically, the knee surgeon assumed it was “nothing more than a torn meniscus,” and performed surgery based upon that assumption, rather than actually reading the MRI report I brought with me to the appointment. The torn ACL and the fractured kneecap detailed in the MRI report did heal without medical assistance, but there is not one minute of one day that I’m not in pain in my knee, and, since the December fall, also my back.
Family and friends often chide me for refusing to go to the doctor when I have medical issues, but there is a lifetime of reasons why I make that my last option, rather than my first choice. I do want to be told there is nothing wrong, nothing to worry about – if that is the actual case, but my experience is being blown off with the “nothing wrong” diagnosis when there is something seriously wrong. I depend on the medical professionals to diagnose the medical issue and then offer a treatment plan, but it seems as if I can do as well by consulting mayoclinic.com and installing a heated pool in my backyard!
_______________
Okay. I'm finished. I cannot stay in this place physically or mentally. I probably will not go back to a doctor because the stress of my expectations that someone will actually do something to change what is exacerbates my anxiety and causes chest pains. I've been eating chocolate like it's the only food group available to me, while trying to cope with a situation that is obviously out of my control. If I cannot change it, I have to accept it, and if I have to accept it, I must do so or suffer from the consequences of trying to change what I simply cannot change. My asthma has flared, as well as my diabetes, and it's not worth the personal price I'm paying to want someone to hear me and help me. As I've always believed, "if it is to be, it is up to me."
Moving on.
My back issues have gone untreated since the trip to the ER last December 17, although I have talked to 3 separate doctors, as well as office staff, and filled in pages and pages of medical background in my feeble attempt to be heard. The ER doctor assured me the correct diagnosis was “stirred up arthritis,” based on the x-rays done at the time. My own well-known knee surgeon responded with a smile when both my daughter and I stressed prior to the knee surgery that there was something seriously wrong with my back. My doctor continued to focus on the knee during the follow-up appointment to remove the stitches and again after completion of physical therapy, although I told him that I was now almost 2 months past the injury and still trying to cope with the on-going loss of physical function.
He finally agreed to refer me to a back specialist whom he highly recommended, a process that took another week to complete. An appointment was made with the recommended specialist, but a week later came the call that “my” doctor would not be available to keep the appointment and I had to reschedule. In the interest of being seen sooner than later, I rescheduled the appointment with another doctor in the practice, but when I arrived as directed for the appointment with my 18-page medical history and the x-rays from the ER visit, he told me that he could not ascertain an injury based on the ER x-rays. He did, however, suggest that I could benefit from exercise activities performed in a swimming pool. The stunned look on my face must have been his clue to then decide that, perhaps, it could benefit both of us to take another look; hence, the appointments for a CT scan and 2 separate MRIs, the results of which are several pages in length and detail numerous actual physical injuries/ issues.
And here I sit, again waiting for the medical services for which I pay each and every month. My follow-up appointment with the substitute doctor had to be rescheduled because he takes an annual family vacation at this time of the year, but I guess no one recalled that when they scheduled the appointment? Then, last week, with the appointment scheduled for today, the call came again: the doctor is not available this week, so my appointment is again being rescheduled. I made it clear that this is not an acceptable way to conduct one’s business and asked to be scheduled with the doctor to whom I was originally referred. Of course, that is not an option. Before I said anything I could regret, I ended the call.
I called my knee doctor and asked for another referral to another doctor. My injury may not be significant to them, but it has greatly impacted my life and I want to know how to move past this place that I have been since Thanksgiving 2009. The nurse with whom I spoke last Thursday acknowledged my request and assured me that the doctor would respond by Monday at the latest.
It’s Wednesday; I’m still waiting.
I’m sure my back has healed because the body heals itself, but the point is the disrespect shown to me as a patient who, in good faith, put my medical well-being into the doctors’ hands. I should not have to sit and wait 4 months for my body to heal itself, especially when I proactively made a 75-mile round-trip to the ER at the time of my fall and then persisted to question the casual assumption that it’s my arthritis; nothing more, nothing less. I’ve already done this with the knee injury that took 4 months and 4 individual trips to 4 different doctors, complete with a set of bone x-rays that showed no injury, but was finally recognized in an MRI report. Ironically, the knee surgeon assumed it was “nothing more than a torn meniscus,” and performed surgery based upon that assumption, rather than actually reading the MRI report I brought with me to the appointment. The torn ACL and the fractured kneecap detailed in the MRI report did heal without medical assistance, but there is not one minute of one day that I’m not in pain in my knee, and, since the December fall, also my back.
Family and friends often chide me for refusing to go to the doctor when I have medical issues, but there is a lifetime of reasons why I make that my last option, rather than my first choice. I do want to be told there is nothing wrong, nothing to worry about – if that is the actual case, but my experience is being blown off with the “nothing wrong” diagnosis when there is something seriously wrong. I depend on the medical professionals to diagnose the medical issue and then offer a treatment plan, but it seems as if I can do as well by consulting mayoclinic.com and installing a heated pool in my backyard!
_______________
Okay. I'm finished. I cannot stay in this place physically or mentally. I probably will not go back to a doctor because the stress of my expectations that someone will actually do something to change what is exacerbates my anxiety and causes chest pains. I've been eating chocolate like it's the only food group available to me, while trying to cope with a situation that is obviously out of my control. If I cannot change it, I have to accept it, and if I have to accept it, I must do so or suffer from the consequences of trying to change what I simply cannot change. My asthma has flared, as well as my diabetes, and it's not worth the personal price I'm paying to want someone to hear me and help me. As I've always believed, "if it is to be, it is up to me."
Moving on.
Monday, April 11, 2011
TRNs
I'll admit that I loves me a good love story, so I do read what I've always termed "trashy romance novels," wherein the man meets the woman or vice versa, they fall into like that seems headed toward love via a short stop at lust, but stumble along the way and only reunite after they both realize they cannot live another day without one another. I also prefer the lights to dim when they head to bed, with romantic suggestions about the lovemaking, rather than explicit graphic detail. I much prefer his throbbing manhood to the current steel-hard cock, and her damp panties to her dripping wet pussy, but I am at heart a romantic and can fill in my own details. I don't need to build my vocabulary with a long list of current slang for people's reproductive equipment, assorted body parts, and sexual activity. I turn the pages when a trashy romance novel becomes too "dirty" for my taste.
In the latest, and probably the last, book by TRN author Lora Leigh that I will purchase, the man v. woman struggle involves an overtly aggressive macho man who cannot lose himself to a mere woman: he has to hammer her into submission sexually before he can accept her as part of a relationship. I prefer male characters who share their weakness with women, rather than force the woman to submit to an iron-clad definition of manhood that results in a sexual assault. Too much testosterone turns me off, so I turn the pages, rather than read all about it in every salacious detail. Hence, from the beginning of the book, when the strong male character forced himself sexually upon the weaker woman, I was turned off by too much explicit detail far too soon into the book, but have enjoyed this author's stories in the past, so kept reading.
However, there is a new aspect to the romantic boy-meets-girl stories I've long enjoyed and I simply cannot ... go there. After turning past many, many pages of explicit sexual detail, my breaking point came with chapter 9, the anal intercourse chapter of the relationship -- and my first (hopefully last) experience with "that" in a TRN. Alluding to what goes on behind closed doors is okay: I can fill in the blanks if I feel the need to do so. However, the graphic detail totally turned me off -- and I didn't even read the chapter!! When I figured out where it was going, I knew that was a journey I would not share with the characters and stapled the pages together. Chapter 10 was the after-glow for him, but I'm not so sure it was the same for her. Her character felt physically and sexually dominated, while he was the cock of the walk, crowing to himself about that very special bonding and what it felt like/meant to him. To me, a relationship is an equality, not a dominant/subservient fight to the finish that always ends with both a winner, and a loser, on far more levels than just the sexual.
The cover notes exclaim "attraction so hot, it's shocking," but that has not meant offensive in my past experience. "Leigh's books can scorch the ink off the pages," touts another cover note, but there's heat and then there's too much fire. What's ironic is that the book over-view claims that "He is larger than life ... driven to distraction by the one woman who is too powerful to resist," because she comes across between the book covers as personally weak, vulnerable, and victimized by the male lead character! A woman is not strong because she allows herself to be conquered sexually; she's strong because she demands respect from her sexual partner, not her total submission to any and everything he demands.
I like the good old days, when the lights dimmed and the audience filled in the blank screen with their own mental meanderings, rather than having someone's darkest vision thrust upon them without warning! It brings to mind the Criminal Minds TV series, with a cast of FBI profilers who deal with the worst of the worst in an effort to stop a serial criminal before another victim loses life. Due to the graphic nature of the show, I can only watch it during the day, but from the people who bring viewers that experience comes the next step down: the FBI agents who, according to the PR hype, get into the mind of the serial killer and live the vicious murders as they occur, all the while working to stop the killing spree. Living those scripts and acting out the progression of events has to take a toll on the actors. I often wonder if becoming even for a short time another person's worst nightmare goes home with the actor and becomes a piece of who s/he is from that day forward. I don't need that level personally, and I cannot imagine why it needs to be portrayed on a TV series. We all can fill in the blanks, but most of us prefer not to go there/do that because it simply is not necessary.
I like my rose-colored glasses and cannot find one single redeeming quality to either the anal intercourse in explicit detail included in a romance novel or being inside the mind of a mass murderer as s/he commits the next criminal act shown on my TV screen.
Imagine that.
In the latest, and probably the last, book by TRN author Lora Leigh that I will purchase, the man v. woman struggle involves an overtly aggressive macho man who cannot lose himself to a mere woman: he has to hammer her into submission sexually before he can accept her as part of a relationship. I prefer male characters who share their weakness with women, rather than force the woman to submit to an iron-clad definition of manhood that results in a sexual assault. Too much testosterone turns me off, so I turn the pages, rather than read all about it in every salacious detail. Hence, from the beginning of the book, when the strong male character forced himself sexually upon the weaker woman, I was turned off by too much explicit detail far too soon into the book, but have enjoyed this author's stories in the past, so kept reading.
However, there is a new aspect to the romantic boy-meets-girl stories I've long enjoyed and I simply cannot ... go there. After turning past many, many pages of explicit sexual detail, my breaking point came with chapter 9, the anal intercourse chapter of the relationship -- and my first (hopefully last) experience with "that" in a TRN. Alluding to what goes on behind closed doors is okay: I can fill in the blanks if I feel the need to do so. However, the graphic detail totally turned me off -- and I didn't even read the chapter!! When I figured out where it was going, I knew that was a journey I would not share with the characters and stapled the pages together. Chapter 10 was the after-glow for him, but I'm not so sure it was the same for her. Her character felt physically and sexually dominated, while he was the cock of the walk, crowing to himself about that very special bonding and what it felt like/meant to him. To me, a relationship is an equality, not a dominant/subservient fight to the finish that always ends with both a winner, and a loser, on far more levels than just the sexual.
The cover notes exclaim "attraction so hot, it's shocking," but that has not meant offensive in my past experience. "Leigh's books can scorch the ink off the pages," touts another cover note, but there's heat and then there's too much fire. What's ironic is that the book over-view claims that "He is larger than life ... driven to distraction by the one woman who is too powerful to resist," because she comes across between the book covers as personally weak, vulnerable, and victimized by the male lead character! A woman is not strong because she allows herself to be conquered sexually; she's strong because she demands respect from her sexual partner, not her total submission to any and everything he demands.
I like the good old days, when the lights dimmed and the audience filled in the blank screen with their own mental meanderings, rather than having someone's darkest vision thrust upon them without warning! It brings to mind the Criminal Minds TV series, with a cast of FBI profilers who deal with the worst of the worst in an effort to stop a serial criminal before another victim loses life. Due to the graphic nature of the show, I can only watch it during the day, but from the people who bring viewers that experience comes the next step down: the FBI agents who, according to the PR hype, get into the mind of the serial killer and live the vicious murders as they occur, all the while working to stop the killing spree. Living those scripts and acting out the progression of events has to take a toll on the actors. I often wonder if becoming even for a short time another person's worst nightmare goes home with the actor and becomes a piece of who s/he is from that day forward. I don't need that level personally, and I cannot imagine why it needs to be portrayed on a TV series. We all can fill in the blanks, but most of us prefer not to go there/do that because it simply is not necessary.
I like my rose-colored glasses and cannot find one single redeeming quality to either the anal intercourse in explicit detail included in a romance novel or being inside the mind of a mass murderer as s/he commits the next criminal act shown on my TV screen.
Imagine that.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Cringe-worthy
There are some public figures who make me cringe when I see them on a variety show, a talk show, or a late night whatever you call it show. One who affects me this way is Russell Brand, currently hyping the redeaux film, Arthur. Brand is not an actor; he's a performer. What he performs is a character he has developed as his public persona, and it's as phony as the proverbial $3 bill. His appearance is always disheveled in a contrived way; his conversation always walks the line between appropriate and so not appropriate, in a contrived way; his facial gestures are so over the top that they, too, are contrived to accent his outrageous commentary; and his speech is a farcical slur of sexual innuendo, accompanied with wink-winks, that is completely contrived. He is the class clown who disrupts the instruction for the rest of the students to bolster his own insecurity and lack of academic ability. Unfortunately, when Brand appears in a film, he's the same character he assumes for public appearances, a trend among the very young and inexplicably famous who occupy the pages of the print media, as well as the guest spots on the TV talk shows.
Who are these people? What are their credentials not just for the instant publicity and claims of fame, but their performance creds? What have they ever done, at age 16, for instance, to warrant the proclamation of famous, the appellation of star, of being touted as a person the rest of us should not just bow down to and worship, but use as models for our own lives? And, for crying out loud, who are these youngsters kidding when they "write" a book, especially the ones who allegedly pen an autobiography half-way through their teen years? Are we honestly to believe that is their work and not the trumped-up presentation of a media team? Does anyone over the age of 18 really want to know about the hardships and/or the struggle to become famous of a 14-year-old child? Where has the child learned his/her craft? Why is that child NOT attending school and mastering the basic skills with their peers? It takes more than raw talent to become a professional, and Russell Brand is living proof of that fact.
It also takes time.
Elizabeth Taylor passed away recently, an actress who began her career at a very young age. She did not, however, earn stardom until she had been proving her performance capability for well over a decade! Until then, she was simply a child actor cast in a series of roles that showcased her talent and potential. Jodie Foster also began her career as a child, but she matured her talent by maturing her self, too, including earning a college degree while studying her craft. However, many children who are given the opportunity to perform in a role don't make it beyond the one opportunity, whether it's on stage or in a film or at a concert. Auditions used to be known as "cattle calls" for a reason: herds of talented performers showed up to audition, but few were selected for the cast because it takes a uniquely talented performer to do the job justice, not just another anyone. The old saying, "Many are called, but few are chosen," is what separates the great actor from the run-of-the-mill performer.
Oh, lest I forget: TV has perfected the reality show genre wherein no one has to do anything other than recall the Terrible Two's and act out those infantile behaviors while the camera rolls. Voila: an instant star is born, a reality star who commands millions of dollars to continue to perform the same temper tantrums endlessly while touring the media outlets. Not only does that behavior become the career, but it also defines the individual, who then has to live up to the worst of their personal lives, and continue to live that phase of their life until they fade into the sunset. These "stars" go from riches to rags when a new crop of reality "stars" take over the TV season, unless, of course, they can finagle another reality gig, such as a career boost generated by a performance on a TV wrestling program.
When people read the novel, The Ugly American, they cringed to think that the portrayal by the novelist of an American tourist is the picture the world has of the citizens of what was then called the greatest nation. However, that portrayal of the worst in us has become the standard for the rest of us a mere 50 years later, and we endlessly confirm that portrayal through the media. How sad that we no longer believe we are the people an American President, John F. Kennedy, challenged to "ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country." We all used to be proud to be hard-working Americans, and we all had our stories of how we made it to the top through hard work that was both ethical and honorable, and which served as teaching tools for the generations coming behind us. Now? Make it big, make it fast, and make it all about me. The rest of you? Get the hell out of my way!!
Today, I cringe when I see the fawning media slobbering over a Disney contract child performer attending a premier, as if they are witnessing the second coming of Christ. I cringe when I see seasoned performers, such as Regis Philbin, Ellen DeGeneris, and Oprah Winfrey, sitting second chair to a Justin Beiber and pretending that they believe "the Beeb," whose career seems to be built upon a hairstyle, will go the distance they have already lived. I cringe when I see the best actors in the business, such as Academy Award winner Helen Mirrin, playing second banana to Russell Brand, whose biggest credential for his public standing is being married to another instant media sensation who created a publicity firestorm when she showed too much bosom for an appearance on Sesame Street.
I'd like to live long enough to see another American leader refute the mediocrity that passes as performance and challenge the American people to stand up straight, square their shoulders, pull up their sagging and bagging pants, and begin living life again as a proud people who know not how to get the job done by foreign workers, but how to do the job ourselves, from beginning to end. I'd like us to see ourselves again as world leaders, people who demonstrate through who we are and how we conduct our business that we are no longer the "ugly" Americans, but, once again, the proud people who set the standard for the rest of the world. I'd like to see Americans being proud of a job well-done, rather than making excuses for not doing the job that needs to be done because it doesn't pay enough.
However, that is not going to happen when kids allegedly from the Jersey Shore earn multiple millions of dollars for being drunk in public, talking trash, physically assaulting other people, acting like whores, and pretending that they are role models for today's youth. If they are showing the rest of us how to make a success of our lives, America needs a full body cleanse!
Who are these people? What are their credentials not just for the instant publicity and claims of fame, but their performance creds? What have they ever done, at age 16, for instance, to warrant the proclamation of famous, the appellation of star, of being touted as a person the rest of us should not just bow down to and worship, but use as models for our own lives? And, for crying out loud, who are these youngsters kidding when they "write" a book, especially the ones who allegedly pen an autobiography half-way through their teen years? Are we honestly to believe that is their work and not the trumped-up presentation of a media team? Does anyone over the age of 18 really want to know about the hardships and/or the struggle to become famous of a 14-year-old child? Where has the child learned his/her craft? Why is that child NOT attending school and mastering the basic skills with their peers? It takes more than raw talent to become a professional, and Russell Brand is living proof of that fact.
It also takes time.
Elizabeth Taylor passed away recently, an actress who began her career at a very young age. She did not, however, earn stardom until she had been proving her performance capability for well over a decade! Until then, she was simply a child actor cast in a series of roles that showcased her talent and potential. Jodie Foster also began her career as a child, but she matured her talent by maturing her self, too, including earning a college degree while studying her craft. However, many children who are given the opportunity to perform in a role don't make it beyond the one opportunity, whether it's on stage or in a film or at a concert. Auditions used to be known as "cattle calls" for a reason: herds of talented performers showed up to audition, but few were selected for the cast because it takes a uniquely talented performer to do the job justice, not just another anyone. The old saying, "Many are called, but few are chosen," is what separates the great actor from the run-of-the-mill performer.
Oh, lest I forget: TV has perfected the reality show genre wherein no one has to do anything other than recall the Terrible Two's and act out those infantile behaviors while the camera rolls. Voila: an instant star is born, a reality star who commands millions of dollars to continue to perform the same temper tantrums endlessly while touring the media outlets. Not only does that behavior become the career, but it also defines the individual, who then has to live up to the worst of their personal lives, and continue to live that phase of their life until they fade into the sunset. These "stars" go from riches to rags when a new crop of reality "stars" take over the TV season, unless, of course, they can finagle another reality gig, such as a career boost generated by a performance on a TV wrestling program.
When people read the novel, The Ugly American, they cringed to think that the portrayal by the novelist of an American tourist is the picture the world has of the citizens of what was then called the greatest nation. However, that portrayal of the worst in us has become the standard for the rest of us a mere 50 years later, and we endlessly confirm that portrayal through the media. How sad that we no longer believe we are the people an American President, John F. Kennedy, challenged to "ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country." We all used to be proud to be hard-working Americans, and we all had our stories of how we made it to the top through hard work that was both ethical and honorable, and which served as teaching tools for the generations coming behind us. Now? Make it big, make it fast, and make it all about me. The rest of you? Get the hell out of my way!!
Today, I cringe when I see the fawning media slobbering over a Disney contract child performer attending a premier, as if they are witnessing the second coming of Christ. I cringe when I see seasoned performers, such as Regis Philbin, Ellen DeGeneris, and Oprah Winfrey, sitting second chair to a Justin Beiber and pretending that they believe "the Beeb," whose career seems to be built upon a hairstyle, will go the distance they have already lived. I cringe when I see the best actors in the business, such as Academy Award winner Helen Mirrin, playing second banana to Russell Brand, whose biggest credential for his public standing is being married to another instant media sensation who created a publicity firestorm when she showed too much bosom for an appearance on Sesame Street.
I'd like to live long enough to see another American leader refute the mediocrity that passes as performance and challenge the American people to stand up straight, square their shoulders, pull up their sagging and bagging pants, and begin living life again as a proud people who know not how to get the job done by foreign workers, but how to do the job ourselves, from beginning to end. I'd like us to see ourselves again as world leaders, people who demonstrate through who we are and how we conduct our business that we are no longer the "ugly" Americans, but, once again, the proud people who set the standard for the rest of the world. I'd like to see Americans being proud of a job well-done, rather than making excuses for not doing the job that needs to be done because it doesn't pay enough.
However, that is not going to happen when kids allegedly from the Jersey Shore earn multiple millions of dollars for being drunk in public, talking trash, physically assaulting other people, acting like whores, and pretending that they are role models for today's youth. If they are showing the rest of us how to make a success of our lives, America needs a full body cleanse!
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Failing Domino's
It's been at least a year since I've ordered a pizza from Domino's because the last pizza did not taste good. The crust was doughy and raw, but the edges were burned, as well as the pepperoni. Good pizza is a treat, but bad pizza is a total turn-off. I've been watching the commercials and listening to the claims that Domino's is doing it better and has added chicken appetizers to the menu. I like chicken strips and nuggets, and enjoy sharing them with my girls, so today I decided to treat both myself and my dogs to take-out day.
The worker who answered the phone spoke so fast that I could not understand a word she said, so I asked her to stop, slow down, and start over. She put me on hold; when the phone was again answered it was a male's voice. I asked him what happened, and he said I complained that I could not understand the person who answered the phone, so she asked him to take the call. I told him that she simply went into her canned speech so fast that it all blurred together -- and no one could have understood a word she said. Whatever; we moved on.
I ordered the medium pizza for $5.99 and decided to add the chicken pieces for an additional $5.99 as the picture on the website looks good. The pieces appear to be much bigger in the ad than they were in the box I received: I'll guess that the pieces were about 2" diameter chunks of chicken consumable in one bite, similar to what McDonald's serves as chicken nuggets. One piece was closer to what I expected the entire serving to be: a 3-bite appetizer of chicken, perhaps 3" in length. This is not a good value as the cost is not comparable to other restaurants selling chicken chunks. Kentucky Fried Chicken charges more for the same number of pieces, $6.99, but the pieces are generous and easily 4 times the size of what was in the Domino's box today. The Colonel's chicken strips totally taste not just better, but more like "real" chicken than what Domino's boxed up for me today .. regardless of the advertising claims that they use "real" chicken, not bits and pieces compressed into nuggets. Coulda fooled me ... .
Domino's wants to know how well they are doing with their improved recipes and new products, but they want my response either on Twitter (I don't) or Facebook (nope). The pizza today was an easy A, but the chicken fails on every level: portion size, taste, and price.
If you want chicken strips that taste like "real" chicken, look like "real" chicken, and are a generous serving of "real" chicken, order them from a chicken store, not a pizza shop.
The worker who answered the phone spoke so fast that I could not understand a word she said, so I asked her to stop, slow down, and start over. She put me on hold; when the phone was again answered it was a male's voice. I asked him what happened, and he said I complained that I could not understand the person who answered the phone, so she asked him to take the call. I told him that she simply went into her canned speech so fast that it all blurred together -- and no one could have understood a word she said. Whatever; we moved on.
I ordered the medium pizza for $5.99 and decided to add the chicken pieces for an additional $5.99 as the picture on the website looks good. The pieces appear to be much bigger in the ad than they were in the box I received: I'll guess that the pieces were about 2" diameter chunks of chicken consumable in one bite, similar to what McDonald's serves as chicken nuggets. One piece was closer to what I expected the entire serving to be: a 3-bite appetizer of chicken, perhaps 3" in length. This is not a good value as the cost is not comparable to other restaurants selling chicken chunks. Kentucky Fried Chicken charges more for the same number of pieces, $6.99, but the pieces are generous and easily 4 times the size of what was in the Domino's box today. The Colonel's chicken strips totally taste not just better, but more like "real" chicken than what Domino's boxed up for me today .. regardless of the advertising claims that they use "real" chicken, not bits and pieces compressed into nuggets. Coulda fooled me ... .
Domino's wants to know how well they are doing with their improved recipes and new products, but they want my response either on Twitter (I don't) or Facebook (nope). The pizza today was an easy A, but the chicken fails on every level: portion size, taste, and price.
If you want chicken strips that taste like "real" chicken, look like "real" chicken, and are a generous serving of "real" chicken, order them from a chicken store, not a pizza shop.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Master Manipulation
Ah, the youth of today. When honesty is required, lie; when the direct approach works best, manipulate. Practice and perfect a look of total innocence and apply it whenever an adult confronts the lie, the manipulation, and then storm off in a fury of anger and resentment when neither the lie nor the manipulation work.
I know better than to loan money, but because I basically believe in the goodness of people, I attempt to teach through learning one's lesson, even when I can predict the outcome ahead of the loan. The girl next door, who thoroughly enjoyed meeting my daughter at Christmas, learned about giving from the heart when said daughter helped her shop for and then create a special Christmas stocking for her mother. I reinforce the mother, as well as her parenting, because, as a single parent who works long days, the mother has to trust her daughter to be honest with her at all times. The girl is at the age when she no longer wants to be mothered, but she's making bad choices that are going to bite her in the ass before she's prepared to handle them. The mother continues to tell me her daughter is a "good girl," but I know better.
Thus, when the girl spent 4 days with me the weekend prior to Valentine's Day, I was happy to help her make her mother a special card and loan the money to purchase a gift to accompany the card. I made it very clear that the money I spent was a loan, and the promise was given to repay me the following week. Not only did that not happen, but when I reminded my borrower of her debt, she "went off" on me the way she would go off on one of her teenage friends. When her mother over-heard the daughter's telephone rant and learned it was directed at me, she was appalled. She called me, expressed her disappointment with her daughter, and ordered her daughter to apologize to me.
That does not work. Either the apology is from the heart and sincere, or it isn't worth making. I told the girl that I understood that she had to make this gesture, but she owed me sincerity, as well as the money she owed me, and until I had both from her, there was a wedge between us that would stay in place.
Yesterday, the mother called me and asked point-blank why I was not calling them as I used to do on a much more regular basis. I told her that I've been busy, I've had some medical issues, and I've been redoing my bathroom, but the mother realized that there was something else going on and asked her daughter, who finally admitted that one, she owes me money, and two, she told lies about me to her mother. Again, the call from the mother, who again informed me that her daughter would be on my doorstep to repay part of the money she owes me and to again apologize.
When the daughter rang the doorbell, I answered, but I did not invite her inside. When she presented me with partial payment, I acknowledged it, but asked her when I could expect the balance of what she owes me. Then, I told her that she is making bad choices about the people in her life, as well as the decisions she is making to lie to her mother (and to me). She is not avoiding me solely because she owes me money and lied to cover that up, and we both know that to be the truth. I told her that her mother has to trust her to be where she's supposed to be, when she's supposed to be there, but we both know that the girl is not coming home to do her homework after school. The girl figured out how to spend far too much time with her friends, and that includes an older boy she has a crush on. She arrives home 15 minutes before her mother -- in time to be "in the shower" and avoid her mother's knowing eyes.
The girl told me that her mother never tells her where she is and/or what she's doing, so why should the girl tell her mother anything. I reminded her that she's 14 and the daughter, while her mother is turning 40 this year and is the parent. Unless the 14-year-old is prepared to become a mother herself and relive her mother's life pattern, the young girl is headed for heartache she does not want or need.
Believe it or not, the girl sincerely apologized for lying about me and promised to repay the other half of her debt. She told me that she used to enjoy coming to my house to do her homework and use my computer when she got home from school, but I have not been friendly to her, so she quit coming over. I told her that when she tells lies and tries to manipulate adults to get what she wants from them without having to be either truthful or repay a debt, then the adults will walk away from her just as I have done. We have neither the time, nor the energy, much less the resources to play a child's game.
We'll see how the lesson goes. As the old saying goes, "The proof is in the pudding, not the promise."
I know better than to loan money, but because I basically believe in the goodness of people, I attempt to teach through learning one's lesson, even when I can predict the outcome ahead of the loan. The girl next door, who thoroughly enjoyed meeting my daughter at Christmas, learned about giving from the heart when said daughter helped her shop for and then create a special Christmas stocking for her mother. I reinforce the mother, as well as her parenting, because, as a single parent who works long days, the mother has to trust her daughter to be honest with her at all times. The girl is at the age when she no longer wants to be mothered, but she's making bad choices that are going to bite her in the ass before she's prepared to handle them. The mother continues to tell me her daughter is a "good girl," but I know better.
Thus, when the girl spent 4 days with me the weekend prior to Valentine's Day, I was happy to help her make her mother a special card and loan the money to purchase a gift to accompany the card. I made it very clear that the money I spent was a loan, and the promise was given to repay me the following week. Not only did that not happen, but when I reminded my borrower of her debt, she "went off" on me the way she would go off on one of her teenage friends. When her mother over-heard the daughter's telephone rant and learned it was directed at me, she was appalled. She called me, expressed her disappointment with her daughter, and ordered her daughter to apologize to me.
That does not work. Either the apology is from the heart and sincere, or it isn't worth making. I told the girl that I understood that she had to make this gesture, but she owed me sincerity, as well as the money she owed me, and until I had both from her, there was a wedge between us that would stay in place.
Yesterday, the mother called me and asked point-blank why I was not calling them as I used to do on a much more regular basis. I told her that I've been busy, I've had some medical issues, and I've been redoing my bathroom, but the mother realized that there was something else going on and asked her daughter, who finally admitted that one, she owes me money, and two, she told lies about me to her mother. Again, the call from the mother, who again informed me that her daughter would be on my doorstep to repay part of the money she owes me and to again apologize.
When the daughter rang the doorbell, I answered, but I did not invite her inside. When she presented me with partial payment, I acknowledged it, but asked her when I could expect the balance of what she owes me. Then, I told her that she is making bad choices about the people in her life, as well as the decisions she is making to lie to her mother (and to me). She is not avoiding me solely because she owes me money and lied to cover that up, and we both know that to be the truth. I told her that her mother has to trust her to be where she's supposed to be, when she's supposed to be there, but we both know that the girl is not coming home to do her homework after school. The girl figured out how to spend far too much time with her friends, and that includes an older boy she has a crush on. She arrives home 15 minutes before her mother -- in time to be "in the shower" and avoid her mother's knowing eyes.
The girl told me that her mother never tells her where she is and/or what she's doing, so why should the girl tell her mother anything. I reminded her that she's 14 and the daughter, while her mother is turning 40 this year and is the parent. Unless the 14-year-old is prepared to become a mother herself and relive her mother's life pattern, the young girl is headed for heartache she does not want or need.
Believe it or not, the girl sincerely apologized for lying about me and promised to repay the other half of her debt. She told me that she used to enjoy coming to my house to do her homework and use my computer when she got home from school, but I have not been friendly to her, so she quit coming over. I told her that when she tells lies and tries to manipulate adults to get what she wants from them without having to be either truthful or repay a debt, then the adults will walk away from her just as I have done. We have neither the time, nor the energy, much less the resources to play a child's game.
We'll see how the lesson goes. As the old saying goes, "The proof is in the pudding, not the promise."
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
THE GAP
College is an educational experience on a higher level, and, contrary to popular opinion, college is NOT "for everyone." Because the public school systems believe that every child will learn the same academic content to the same degree of proficiency, regardless of the myriad variables that both affect and determine educational success, generations of younger people believe that they deserve a college education so they can be given a better job at higher pay. It's an exercise in futility to explain that's not how the system works: you EARN a college degree based on the successful completion of increasingly demanding academic coursework, and not everyone is capable of doing so.
The first two years of a college education require the determined and correct usage of all those pesky basic skills that one should master during the middle school/high school curriculum. However, mastery of basic skills is not accomplished when the task of teaching test-taking overwhelms other skills, such as written expression, scientific experimentation, and advanced mathematical calculations. The four-year high school curriculum has become a repetitious cycle of reteaching the same basic skills, without upping the ante to higher levels of application of the skills. Thus, a student may recognize vocabulary words and application definitions, but have no idea whatsoever how to use those words to write a coherent, meaningful sentence, much less string an endless parade of well-written sentences together to compose either a paragraph or an essay.
The students who are "getting it" are those whose parents push, push, push their students to earn good grades and, therefore, qualify for the advanced classes. High schools used to delienate appropriate educational placement based on academic performance, but that criteria no longer applies: everyone takes the same courses in an effort to leave no child behind. In the process, the curriculum is so diluted that the majority of students who should be doing more/doing it better are left behind, waiting for the under-performing students to squeak through another semester with a barely passing grade based on simple skill 'n drill educational activities. Application of the basic skills in a meaningful setting is limited to the select group of students who can already do that prior to arriving on the high school doorstep.
If there is an adequate number of advanced classes to handle the students who no longer need the basic skills classes, there will continue to be a graduating class that prepares at least some of its educational product to succeed beyond the high school diploma. Unfortunately, however, due to skill-based testing requirements and/or budget allocations, the great masses of students are endlessly repeating what should have been mastered no later than 8th grade.
Eventually, even the most marginally prepared student will enroll in college, based on the widening gap between the educated work force that gets it and has it, and the poorly-prepared day laborer who is stuck in a job that mirrors the high school experience: endlessly repeating the same basic action while expecting to be promoted to a position of more responsibility that is rewarded with a higher salary. Not going to happen, and the jobs that used to be termed menial are going to continue to dwindle as automation of the assembly line becomes the standard for the physical labor. A professional job earns a professional salary, as well as professional responsibilities, while a menial job remains menial both in task and paycheck.
The gap widens: well-prepared college students succeed, while unprepared college students drop-out and/or fail classes. The classrooms are packed with students who want more, but don't have the educational skills to achieve more, sometimes to the point of excluding the well-prepared student -- who works during the day and cannot show up between 8 and 5 for priority registration. The lie is that everyone deserves the right to attend college because not everyone is "college material." A person who spends at least two years retaking high school curriculum before mastering enough competency to squeak by the required college-level coursework takes up space that could be filled by another student who already mastered the high school curriculum and can actually complete a college degree within the expected four-six years. Professional careers require the first degree to be completed before the advanced degrees; some students can accomplish that task, while others will endlessly sign up for, drop, fail, retake the same courses ... and finally give up, while blaming the schools for their failure.
All men are not created equal, and neither are all students equal in aptitude, ability to learn and retain knowledge, and application of skills to actual tasks. Some people take longer to learn, but retain the knowledge for a lifetime; others take a lifetime to learn, but fail to retain what they have been taught. There are going to be professional careers that pay high salaries and menial jobs that pay minimum wage. The individual determines who makes it and who doesn't, not the educational institution. Some students endlessly complain, "I don't understand this," while others vow to keep redoing until they do get it. At the end of the semester, the student who gets it moves on, while the student who does not understand stays in place. Sooner or later, both the educational institution and the floundering student run out of time, energy, and resources, leaving the student with unpaid student loans for a failed run at an inappropriate educational choice.
The first two years of a college education require the determined and correct usage of all those pesky basic skills that one should master during the middle school/high school curriculum. However, mastery of basic skills is not accomplished when the task of teaching test-taking overwhelms other skills, such as written expression, scientific experimentation, and advanced mathematical calculations. The four-year high school curriculum has become a repetitious cycle of reteaching the same basic skills, without upping the ante to higher levels of application of the skills. Thus, a student may recognize vocabulary words and application definitions, but have no idea whatsoever how to use those words to write a coherent, meaningful sentence, much less string an endless parade of well-written sentences together to compose either a paragraph or an essay.
The students who are "getting it" are those whose parents push, push, push their students to earn good grades and, therefore, qualify for the advanced classes. High schools used to delienate appropriate educational placement based on academic performance, but that criteria no longer applies: everyone takes the same courses in an effort to leave no child behind. In the process, the curriculum is so diluted that the majority of students who should be doing more/doing it better are left behind, waiting for the under-performing students to squeak through another semester with a barely passing grade based on simple skill 'n drill educational activities. Application of the basic skills in a meaningful setting is limited to the select group of students who can already do that prior to arriving on the high school doorstep.
If there is an adequate number of advanced classes to handle the students who no longer need the basic skills classes, there will continue to be a graduating class that prepares at least some of its educational product to succeed beyond the high school diploma. Unfortunately, however, due to skill-based testing requirements and/or budget allocations, the great masses of students are endlessly repeating what should have been mastered no later than 8th grade.
Eventually, even the most marginally prepared student will enroll in college, based on the widening gap between the educated work force that gets it and has it, and the poorly-prepared day laborer who is stuck in a job that mirrors the high school experience: endlessly repeating the same basic action while expecting to be promoted to a position of more responsibility that is rewarded with a higher salary. Not going to happen, and the jobs that used to be termed menial are going to continue to dwindle as automation of the assembly line becomes the standard for the physical labor. A professional job earns a professional salary, as well as professional responsibilities, while a menial job remains menial both in task and paycheck.
The gap widens: well-prepared college students succeed, while unprepared college students drop-out and/or fail classes. The classrooms are packed with students who want more, but don't have the educational skills to achieve more, sometimes to the point of excluding the well-prepared student -- who works during the day and cannot show up between 8 and 5 for priority registration. The lie is that everyone deserves the right to attend college because not everyone is "college material." A person who spends at least two years retaking high school curriculum before mastering enough competency to squeak by the required college-level coursework takes up space that could be filled by another student who already mastered the high school curriculum and can actually complete a college degree within the expected four-six years. Professional careers require the first degree to be completed before the advanced degrees; some students can accomplish that task, while others will endlessly sign up for, drop, fail, retake the same courses ... and finally give up, while blaming the schools for their failure.
All men are not created equal, and neither are all students equal in aptitude, ability to learn and retain knowledge, and application of skills to actual tasks. Some people take longer to learn, but retain the knowledge for a lifetime; others take a lifetime to learn, but fail to retain what they have been taught. There are going to be professional careers that pay high salaries and menial jobs that pay minimum wage. The individual determines who makes it and who doesn't, not the educational institution. Some students endlessly complain, "I don't understand this," while others vow to keep redoing until they do get it. At the end of the semester, the student who gets it moves on, while the student who does not understand stays in place. Sooner or later, both the educational institution and the floundering student run out of time, energy, and resources, leaving the student with unpaid student loans for a failed run at an inappropriate educational choice.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
A Walk Down the Garden Path
Great news from my online bank: one of their service providers breached security and hacked into my email site used to communicate with the bank. First thought: belies all the hype about how totally secure my online banking service is. Second thought: ah-ha, that's why I'm getting the sudden onslaught of emails with the blank subject line!! Final thought: do I continue my on-line banking or go back to pen 'n paper? That decision, of course, depends on how much I believe my bank's public avowal that my security is still safe-guarded, and I don't much believe my bank because ... its security was breached by a service provider! Kinda the old "believe me when I tell you you can believe me" approach to assurance.
Breaking news from the same neighborhood wherein 2 were killed and 5 injured in November: residents converged on a neighbor's home Saturday for a 50th anniversary party. One uninvited drop-in guest was told to leave, so he did; however, first, he removed his weapon from his pants and shot into the crowd at the party, wounding two. As he exited the area and walked toward his own home, 2 party-goers jumped into a car and followed him. When the car was next to the shooter, the car occupants pulled out their own weapons and fired at the shooter and an innocent bystander just walking home. The shooter was wounded, but the innocent bystander was killed. Aside from the practice of party-goers to carry loaded weapons to a social event, it is nice of the police to assure the public that this was NOT a gang incident in a known gang residential area that is still reeling from the 7 victims of the last NOT a gang incident a block away. Somehow, I don't believe the truth of the current public statements because, in 2007, the police began enforcing a gang injunction that allows known gang members to be arrested and, if applicable, deported. Four years later, the neighborhood is, according to the police, politicians, and public media ... no longer a gang-infested neighborhood ... but in 5 months, there have been 3 very public, seemingly gang-related, drive-by shootings. Perhaps the media strategy is that if I say it often enough, it becomes the truth, regardless of evidence to the contrary??
Code enforcement blocked off the gaping garage next door, but left all the doors and windows of the property unsecured, including the door to the upstairs apartment wherein squatters have taken up residence. I don't follow the logic, but what the hey. This is the same office that told me that if I want access to the utility access behind my property, I have to install a gate because the residents who have literally blocked off access to the utility poles behind my property line are within their rights to do so. Really? I asked. Yep: it is MY responsibility to provide access to the utility companies that have installations within my property line. When I reminded the code enforcement officer that the 8-foot wide alleyway is by law not part of my property and has to be kept clear to provide access to public utility companies, he told me that the city has decided to turn a blind eye to people who include that extra footage within their fences and block walls because too many residents use it for dumping trash (including the 2 families behind my property!). What a concept: when people fail to obey the law, reword the law to what the people will obey, and then tell residents that it is the law and force compliance?
Finally, it is interesting to read about the new generation of journalists, the young people who are on the scene with their electronic devices to post breaking news on You Tube and other instant media outlets. While these young people indeed may be on the scene filming what's happening, what they are doing is not journalism. News needs to stand a test of time that begins in an event that is then researched without bias, not reported as gossip gospel. Sometimes, what happens depends on who sees it, the geographical proximity to the event, and the point of view from which the event is witnessed. People become caught up in what they want to see and what they feel compelled to say based on why they are there. It is only after the fact, after the in-depth research, after the perspective of time, that a journalist can present the truth of the story.
I teach my students that there are always three sides to every coin: don't forget the edge that bands the two very different sides to the coin, the edge upon which a coin sometimes stands independent of the two sides. News is what happens now, at this time and in this place; journalism is not just what happens/when, but why it happened and what it means in a larger context. In the recent events in Japan, the "news" told us what could be seen on the surface, including smoke emanating from a nuclear power plant. Reporters told us what they were told to tell us: no problem; we have everything under control. Rather than digging deeper, the news readers read the copy provided on the teleprompter as if it were the truth. A week after the fact, research began to show the truth: the world is at jeopardy because of what was first described as a "minor explosion" at the power plant. People are dead; the ocean is radiated; the nuclear plant is at melt-down. NO ONE knows what will actually happen because the result of a nuclear melt-down is hypotheses based on the best guess, not first-hand knowledge, of the best scientists about a worst-case scenario. It will take decades, if not centuries, for journalists to do the research, to gather the evidence from every source and put forth the report of not just what we all saw then, but what it means now, and for the next generation.
Just as the police continue to tell the citizens in a local neighborhood that drive-by shootings and unprovoked killings are not gang-related, the reporters continue to tell the world that the Japanese have the reactor under control. People tell lies, especially if/when they are well-paid, public liars, such as news readers, politicians, and CEO's of huge(nuclear) corporations. Believe what you will -- and live with what you must -- but don't accept what people are paid to tell you via the media unless you know it is truth based on your own in-depth research, knowledge, and insight.
People can only walk you down the garden path if that's where you are willing to go.
Breaking news from the same neighborhood wherein 2 were killed and 5 injured in November: residents converged on a neighbor's home Saturday for a 50th anniversary party. One uninvited drop-in guest was told to leave, so he did; however, first, he removed his weapon from his pants and shot into the crowd at the party, wounding two. As he exited the area and walked toward his own home, 2 party-goers jumped into a car and followed him. When the car was next to the shooter, the car occupants pulled out their own weapons and fired at the shooter and an innocent bystander just walking home. The shooter was wounded, but the innocent bystander was killed. Aside from the practice of party-goers to carry loaded weapons to a social event, it is nice of the police to assure the public that this was NOT a gang incident in a known gang residential area that is still reeling from the 7 victims of the last NOT a gang incident a block away. Somehow, I don't believe the truth of the current public statements because, in 2007, the police began enforcing a gang injunction that allows known gang members to be arrested and, if applicable, deported. Four years later, the neighborhood is, according to the police, politicians, and public media ... no longer a gang-infested neighborhood ... but in 5 months, there have been 3 very public, seemingly gang-related, drive-by shootings. Perhaps the media strategy is that if I say it often enough, it becomes the truth, regardless of evidence to the contrary??
Code enforcement blocked off the gaping garage next door, but left all the doors and windows of the property unsecured, including the door to the upstairs apartment wherein squatters have taken up residence. I don't follow the logic, but what the hey. This is the same office that told me that if I want access to the utility access behind my property, I have to install a gate because the residents who have literally blocked off access to the utility poles behind my property line are within their rights to do so. Really? I asked. Yep: it is MY responsibility to provide access to the utility companies that have installations within my property line. When I reminded the code enforcement officer that the 8-foot wide alleyway is by law not part of my property and has to be kept clear to provide access to public utility companies, he told me that the city has decided to turn a blind eye to people who include that extra footage within their fences and block walls because too many residents use it for dumping trash (including the 2 families behind my property!). What a concept: when people fail to obey the law, reword the law to what the people will obey, and then tell residents that it is the law and force compliance?
Finally, it is interesting to read about the new generation of journalists, the young people who are on the scene with their electronic devices to post breaking news on You Tube and other instant media outlets. While these young people indeed may be on the scene filming what's happening, what they are doing is not journalism. News needs to stand a test of time that begins in an event that is then researched without bias, not reported as gossip gospel. Sometimes, what happens depends on who sees it, the geographical proximity to the event, and the point of view from which the event is witnessed. People become caught up in what they want to see and what they feel compelled to say based on why they are there. It is only after the fact, after the in-depth research, after the perspective of time, that a journalist can present the truth of the story.
I teach my students that there are always three sides to every coin: don't forget the edge that bands the two very different sides to the coin, the edge upon which a coin sometimes stands independent of the two sides. News is what happens now, at this time and in this place; journalism is not just what happens/when, but why it happened and what it means in a larger context. In the recent events in Japan, the "news" told us what could be seen on the surface, including smoke emanating from a nuclear power plant. Reporters told us what they were told to tell us: no problem; we have everything under control. Rather than digging deeper, the news readers read the copy provided on the teleprompter as if it were the truth. A week after the fact, research began to show the truth: the world is at jeopardy because of what was first described as a "minor explosion" at the power plant. People are dead; the ocean is radiated; the nuclear plant is at melt-down. NO ONE knows what will actually happen because the result of a nuclear melt-down is hypotheses based on the best guess, not first-hand knowledge, of the best scientists about a worst-case scenario. It will take decades, if not centuries, for journalists to do the research, to gather the evidence from every source and put forth the report of not just what we all saw then, but what it means now, and for the next generation.
Just as the police continue to tell the citizens in a local neighborhood that drive-by shootings and unprovoked killings are not gang-related, the reporters continue to tell the world that the Japanese have the reactor under control. People tell lies, especially if/when they are well-paid, public liars, such as news readers, politicians, and CEO's of huge(nuclear) corporations. Believe what you will -- and live with what you must -- but don't accept what people are paid to tell you via the media unless you know it is truth based on your own in-depth research, knowledge, and insight.
People can only walk you down the garden path if that's where you are willing to go.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)