So I’m at home at my desk writing one Monday afternoon recently, and the doorbell rings. Not once, but a whole bunch of times in a row, hard, like it’s really urgent—a delivery guy who has no time to wait, or an actual emergency.
I’m not expecting anyone, and it’s never a good idea to just buzz someone into the building, so I grab shoes and keys and bolt down two flights of stairs to see who it is, only to find no one there.
I step outside and look up and down the block. Maybe it was the postal carrier and something needs to be signed for. I see no one.
Just as I’m giving up and going back in, a woman, accompanied by two men, comes out of the hair salon downstairs from me, and says, “Oh, there you are. I just rang your doorbell.”
“Yes, I heard you. That’s why I tried to answer the door,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to tell you about the Bible,” she says, smiling, taking a step forward.
The look on my face stopped her cold.
“You dragged me down two flights of stairs in the middle of my work day to tell me about the Bible? You’re kidding, right? I’m a Greek news editor—I promise, we’ve heard about the New Testament,” I tell her.
She takes not one, but two steps back.
“And by the way,” I continue, “if God is up in heaven, then I was definitely closer to Him a few minutes ago, when I was still working peacefully in my apartment on the third floor.”
I turned and headed back inside, but I’d swear I saw all three raincoated (why do door-to-door missionaries always seem to wear suits and raincoats? It may be mean to say, but I always wonder if it’s because they want to be prepared in case of an unexpected rain of frogs...) figures actually running away before I firmly slammed the door.
_______
It’s approaching dinnertime on a weeknight, and the phone rings.
“Hello,” I answer, in the customary, time-honored fashion.
“Hi, this is Danny from TruGreen Chemlawn. How are you this evening?” says an eager voice on the phone.
“Lawnless,” I answer, deadpan.
This is apparently a new one on Danny. He loses his rhythm. “What?’ Danny stammers.
“Lawnless. I live in a third-story city apartment, and I don’t have a lawn,” I explain.
This is apparently exactly the right thing to say, because he tells me he is very sorry for bothering me and hangs up before I can utter another syllable.
I bet I never hear from Danny again.
Yea! I win.
_________
Again, the phone rings. (I am beginning to develop an unconscious habit of flinching when the phone rings at certain times of day...)
“Hi, this is Ed from Soandso Marketing in Somewhere, Virginia. I’m looking for William.”
Yes! They are not a marketing company looking for me. I can tell them they have the wrong number and be rid of them.
“Sorry, you have the wrong number,” I say. “There’s no William here and never has been.”
“Well, is this 610-555-9999?,” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, repeating, “And there’s no one named William here, and there never has been.”
“Well, that’s okay, because we really just wanted the number,” he tells me.
Internally, I groan. Great. Telemarketers have somehow figured out yet another way to bug the ever-living tar out of us all by calling and pretending to look for someone who doesn’t exist.
“What for? And what are you selling?” I ask warily.
“We wanted to inform you that you have been entered in our dream prize sweepstakes.”
“Great,” I reply. “And just how would you know what my dreams are? More to the point, what are you selling?” (I’m amazed at how many times one has to repeat oneself with these folks. Maybe because they are forced to repetitively say the same thing, they don’t hear incoming data until it’s been repeated several times?)
“We have a bunch of prizes. One of them must fulfill one of your dreams,” he tells me.
I think this is rather presumptuous and tell him so.
He tells me my dreams must be rather special, why don’t I tell him about them?
EWWW!! This is getting far too touchy-feely for me. A telemarketing stranger calls up and wants to know my dreams? Why do I even answer the phone?
I tell him he’s dreaming if he thinks I’m going to tell him my dreams and could he get to the point already please, before I’m forced by sanity’s dictates to hang up the phone and end the conversation?
Get this—he tells me that’s it. I’ve been informed I’ve been entered.
I’m not sure that’s the case, since I didn’t give any real information about me other than that I am not William.
In what contest, for what supposed prize, I still don’t know. And I don’t care.
Because the day I really win, I will know it. It will be a day when no one contacts me needlessly, trying to parasitically waste my time or try to sell me something I don’t want or need.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Goodling scandal may indicate a deeper problem
In these United States, we tolerate many ideas—nearly all ideas, in fact. We trust that everyone each has an equal say by way of their vote, and that our elected officials and those they appoint are a fair representation of the diverse viewpoints that make up our society.
But what would happen if one group of people, possibly a large group but still a minority, decided that things were not going to their liking and that they have been instructed by God to recitify that situation? What if they decided that they were specifically entitled to rule over others because of their morally superior position? What if they decided to make a concerted effort to get their people into government, even if it meant a couple of decades of work, and then perhaps violating the very principles they espouse to further that cause? What do you think about an America run on the principles of Pat Robertson?
These are not entirely a hypothetical questions, though few people have been asking them—at least not very publicly and not as many as should be asking.
In the news in the last few weeks have been the question of firings in the U. S. Attorney General’s office.
Folks who have been watching trends in government have been increasingly alarmed by the droves of longtime experienced staffers that are resigning, being forced to resign or retire, or are outright fired or removed from positions in which they have years of expertise. The Bush administration has replaced these people with its own people—people loyal to its neo-conservative cause, but not necessarily (and more often than not, not) the best in their field. Hence, the Katrina fiasco.
A few weeks ago, the name of Monica Goodling surfaced in connection with those firings, when she resigned abruptly without explanation after refusing to testify about her role in the firings of several U.S. attorneys for what appear to be partisan reasons, while asserting her Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. Goodling, who was senior counsel to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales and Justice Department liaison to the White House, like many new legal appointees in the White House, is a graduate of Regent University, the college founded by evangelist Pat Robertson 29 years ago.
Regent’s Web site boasts that 150 of its graduates have been placed in high-ranking federal government positions since 2001 and are currently serving in this administration and that “approximately one out of every six Regent alumni is employed in some form of government work.” About 5,000 students currently attend Regent University.
That seems an amazing feat for a college that is less than three decades old. Not so long ago, Regent grads had trouble passing their bar exams, though the school has apparently raised its standards since then. Former Attorney General John Ashcroft teaches at Regent, and other graduates have been raised to positions in the Bush administration.
The school’s motto is “Christian Leadership To Change the World,” and that is precisely what it and its graduates seem to be attempting. Their goal is not only to tear down the wall between church and state in America, but to enmesh the two.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to wake up one day to find I live in some alternate version of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” which is what this is eerily beginning to sound like. There are very good reasons for a secular government. Having specifically Christian standards may sound like a good idea to some, but who gets to decide which Christian standards? Never mind the million of Jews, Muslims, Hindus, as well as the myriad of other religions practiced by American citizens.
And then there is the question, as in the case of Goodling, of people who appear to start out having the best of intentions, only to have them manipulated for political gain, which seems to be the case every single time in all of history that religion and politics are entwined.
Have folks like Robertson always vied for political power and gain? Yup. But the problem here is that he and folks like him have been quietly gaining ground.
If you actually think Robertson is just a man inspired by God to become a preacher to millions, above political ties or thought of power and personal gain, think again. His biography alone, quoted from Robertson’s own Web site, is evidence against that idea:
“Marion Gordon ‘Pat’ Robertson was born on March 22, 1930, in Lexington, Virginia, to A. Willis Robertson and Gladys Churchill Robertson. His father served for 34 years in the U.S. House of Representatives and Senate. Robertson’s ancestry includes Benjamin Harrison, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and governor of Virginia, and two United States presidents, William Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, the great-grandson of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. Robertson also shares ancestry with Winston Churchill.”
Okay, so Robertson claims a few famous ancestors. So what?
He’s also the founder and chairman of the Christian Broadcasting Network.
Still, despite a few million viewers, so what? What does that have to do with the rest of us?
Well, the problem may just go deeper than a bunch of lawyers in Washington, though that situation is more than a little disturbing. There is a bit of evidence that there’s a whole bunch of folks that have quietly been working to push their own “Christian” agenda, regardless of what the rest of us might think.
Lest you think I’m being entirely paranoid, I offer the following quote from a press release I received recently from a local evangelical group looking to promote National Prayer Day.
“The National Day of Prayer Task Force’s mission is to communicate with every individual the need for personal repentance and prayer, mobilizing the Christian community to intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
The National Day of Prayer Web site does go on to state that “The National Day of Prayer Task Force was a creation of the National Prayer Committee for the expressed purpose of organizing and promoting prayer observances conforming to a Judeo-Christian system of values. People with other theological and philosophical views are, of course, free to organize and participate in activities that are consistent with their own beliefs.”
(By the way, I didn’t change anything in these quotes—the grammatical error and capitalizations are theirs.)
It’s nice that they put in a disclaimer that we’re still free to organize around our own beliefs, but ultimately the underlying message here is that if you’re not with them, you’re inferior. And that’s a little disturbing, coming from a group that wants to “intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
There’s a big difference between taking initiative on fixing a perceived problem, and taking it upon oneself to decide that one’s way is the only right way and that it must be imposed at all costs, even by a stealth coup, if necessary. One way has a chance of success for all, and the other is a delusional psychosis that, if successful, could take us all to hell in a hand basket, literally.
I really do hope I’m just being paranoid.
But what would happen if one group of people, possibly a large group but still a minority, decided that things were not going to their liking and that they have been instructed by God to recitify that situation? What if they decided that they were specifically entitled to rule over others because of their morally superior position? What if they decided to make a concerted effort to get their people into government, even if it meant a couple of decades of work, and then perhaps violating the very principles they espouse to further that cause? What do you think about an America run on the principles of Pat Robertson?
These are not entirely a hypothetical questions, though few people have been asking them—at least not very publicly and not as many as should be asking.
In the news in the last few weeks have been the question of firings in the U. S. Attorney General’s office.
Folks who have been watching trends in government have been increasingly alarmed by the droves of longtime experienced staffers that are resigning, being forced to resign or retire, or are outright fired or removed from positions in which they have years of expertise. The Bush administration has replaced these people with its own people—people loyal to its neo-conservative cause, but not necessarily (and more often than not, not) the best in their field. Hence, the Katrina fiasco.
A few weeks ago, the name of Monica Goodling surfaced in connection with those firings, when she resigned abruptly without explanation after refusing to testify about her role in the firings of several U.S. attorneys for what appear to be partisan reasons, while asserting her Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. Goodling, who was senior counsel to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales and Justice Department liaison to the White House, like many new legal appointees in the White House, is a graduate of Regent University, the college founded by evangelist Pat Robertson 29 years ago.
Regent’s Web site boasts that 150 of its graduates have been placed in high-ranking federal government positions since 2001 and are currently serving in this administration and that “approximately one out of every six Regent alumni is employed in some form of government work.” About 5,000 students currently attend Regent University.
That seems an amazing feat for a college that is less than three decades old. Not so long ago, Regent grads had trouble passing their bar exams, though the school has apparently raised its standards since then. Former Attorney General John Ashcroft teaches at Regent, and other graduates have been raised to positions in the Bush administration.
The school’s motto is “Christian Leadership To Change the World,” and that is precisely what it and its graduates seem to be attempting. Their goal is not only to tear down the wall between church and state in America, but to enmesh the two.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to wake up one day to find I live in some alternate version of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” which is what this is eerily beginning to sound like. There are very good reasons for a secular government. Having specifically Christian standards may sound like a good idea to some, but who gets to decide which Christian standards? Never mind the million of Jews, Muslims, Hindus, as well as the myriad of other religions practiced by American citizens.
And then there is the question, as in the case of Goodling, of people who appear to start out having the best of intentions, only to have them manipulated for political gain, which seems to be the case every single time in all of history that religion and politics are entwined.
Have folks like Robertson always vied for political power and gain? Yup. But the problem here is that he and folks like him have been quietly gaining ground.
If you actually think Robertson is just a man inspired by God to become a preacher to millions, above political ties or thought of power and personal gain, think again. His biography alone, quoted from Robertson’s own Web site, is evidence against that idea:
“Marion Gordon ‘Pat’ Robertson was born on March 22, 1930, in Lexington, Virginia, to A. Willis Robertson and Gladys Churchill Robertson. His father served for 34 years in the U.S. House of Representatives and Senate. Robertson’s ancestry includes Benjamin Harrison, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and governor of Virginia, and two United States presidents, William Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, the great-grandson of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. Robertson also shares ancestry with Winston Churchill.”
Okay, so Robertson claims a few famous ancestors. So what?
He’s also the founder and chairman of the Christian Broadcasting Network.
Still, despite a few million viewers, so what? What does that have to do with the rest of us?
Well, the problem may just go deeper than a bunch of lawyers in Washington, though that situation is more than a little disturbing. There is a bit of evidence that there’s a whole bunch of folks that have quietly been working to push their own “Christian” agenda, regardless of what the rest of us might think.
Lest you think I’m being entirely paranoid, I offer the following quote from a press release I received recently from a local evangelical group looking to promote National Prayer Day.
“The National Day of Prayer Task Force’s mission is to communicate with every individual the need for personal repentance and prayer, mobilizing the Christian community to intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
The National Day of Prayer Web site does go on to state that “The National Day of Prayer Task Force was a creation of the National Prayer Committee for the expressed purpose of organizing and promoting prayer observances conforming to a Judeo-Christian system of values. People with other theological and philosophical views are, of course, free to organize and participate in activities that are consistent with their own beliefs.”
(By the way, I didn’t change anything in these quotes—the grammatical error and capitalizations are theirs.)
It’s nice that they put in a disclaimer that we’re still free to organize around our own beliefs, but ultimately the underlying message here is that if you’re not with them, you’re inferior. And that’s a little disturbing, coming from a group that wants to “intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
There’s a big difference between taking initiative on fixing a perceived problem, and taking it upon oneself to decide that one’s way is the only right way and that it must be imposed at all costs, even by a stealth coup, if necessary. One way has a chance of success for all, and the other is a delusional psychosis that, if successful, could take us all to hell in a hand basket, literally.
I really do hope I’m just being paranoid.
Goodling scandal may indicate a deeper problem
In these United States, we tolerate many ideas—nearly all ideas, in fact. We trust that everyone each has an equal say by way of their vote, and that our elected officials and those they appoint are a fair representation of the diverse viewpoints that make up our society.
But what would happen if one group of people, possibly a large group but still a minority, decided that things were not going to their liking and that they have been instructed by God to recitify that situation? What if they decided that they were specifically entitled to rule over others because of their morally superior position? What if they decided to make a concerted effort to get their people into government, even if it meant a couple of decades of work, and then perhaps violating the very principles they espouse to further that cause? What do you think about an America run on the principles of Pat Robertson?
These are not entirely a hypothetical questions, though few people have been asking them—at least not very publicly and not as many as should be asking.
In the news in the last few weeks have been the question of firings in the U. S. Attorney General’s office.
Folks who have been watching trends in government have been increasingly alarmed by the droves of longtime experienced staffers that are resigning, being forced to resign or retire, or are outright fired or removed from positions in which they have years of expertise. The Bush administration has replaced these people with its own people—people loyal to its neo-conservative cause, but not necessarily (and more often than not, not) the best in their field. Hence, the Katrina fiasco.
A few weeks ago, the name of Monica Goodling surfaced in connection with those firings, when she resigned abruptly without explanation after refusing to testify about her role in the firings of several U.S. attorneys for what appear to be partisan reasons, while asserting her Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. Goodling, who was senior counsel to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales and Justice Department liaison to the White House, like many new legal appointees in the White House, is a graduate of Regent University, the college founded by evangelist Pat Robertson 29 years ago.
Regent’s Web site boasts that 150 of its graduates have been placed in high-ranking federal government positions since 2001 and are currently serving in this administration and that “approximately one out of every six Regent alumni is employed in some form of government work.” About 5,000 students currently attend Regent University.
That seems an amazing feat for a college that is less than three decades old. Not so long ago, Regent grads had trouble passing their bar exams, though the school has apparently raised its standards since then. Former Attorney General John Ashcroft teaches at Regent, and other graduates have been raised to positions in the Bush administration.
The school’s motto is “Christian Leadership To Change the World,” and that is precisely what it and its graduates seem to be attempting. Their goal is not only to tear down the wall between church and state in America, but to enmesh the two.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to wake up one day to find I live in some alternate version of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” which is what this is eerily beginning to sound like. There are very good reasons for a secular government. Having specifically Christian standards may sound like a good idea to some, but who gets to decide which Christian standards? Never mind the million of Jews, Muslims, Hindus, as well as the myriad of other religions practiced by American citizens.
And then there is the question, as in the case of Goodling, of people who appear to start out having the best of intentions, only to have them manipulated for political gain, which seems to be the case every single time in all of history that religion and politics are entwined.
Have folks like Robertson always vied for political power and gain? Yup. But the problem here is that he and folks like him have been quietly gaining ground.
If you actually think Robertson is just a man inspired by God to become a preacher to millions, above political ties or thought of power and personal gain, think again. His biography alone, quoted from Robertson’s own Web site, is evidence against that idea:
“Marion Gordon ‘Pat’ Robertson was born on March 22, 1930, in Lexington, Virginia, to A. Willis Robertson and Gladys Churchill Robertson. His father served for 34 years in the U.S. House of Representatives and Senate. Robertson’s ancestry includes Benjamin Harrison, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and governor of Virginia, and two United States presidents, William Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, the great-grandson of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. Robertson also shares ancestry with Winston Churchill.”
Okay, so Robertson claims a few famous ancestors. So what?
He’s also the founder and chairman of the Christian Broadcasting Network.
Still, despite a few million viewers, so what? What does that have to do with the rest of us?
Well, the problem may just go deeper than a bunch of lawyers in Washington, though that situation is more than a little disturbing. There is a bit of evidence that there’s a whole bunch of folks that have quietly been working to push their own “Christian” agenda, regardless of what the rest of us might think.
Lest you think I’m being entirely paranoid, I offer the following quote from a press release I received recently from a local evangelical group looking to promote National Prayer Day.
“The National Day of Prayer Task Force’s mission is to communicate with every individual the need for personal repentance and prayer, mobilizing the Christian community to intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
The National Day of Prayer Web site does go on to state that “The National Day of Prayer Task Force was a creation of the National Prayer Committee for the expressed purpose of organizing and promoting prayer observances conforming to a Judeo-Christian system of values. People with other theological and philosophical views are, of course, free to organize and participate in activities that are consistent with their own beliefs.”
(By the way, I didn’t change anything in these quotes—the grammatical error and capitalizations are theirs.)
It’s nice that they put in a disclaimer that we’re still free to organize around our own beliefs, but ultimately the underlying message here is that if you’re not with them, you’re inferior. And that’s a little disturbing, coming from a group that wants to “intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
There’s a big difference between taking initiative on fixing a perceived problem, and taking it upon oneself to decide that one’s way is the only right way and that it must be imposed at all costs, even by a stealth coup, if necessary. One way has a chance of success for all, and the other is a delusional psychosis that, if successful, could take us all to hell in a hand basket, literally.
I really do hope I’m just being paranoid.
But what would happen if one group of people, possibly a large group but still a minority, decided that things were not going to their liking and that they have been instructed by God to recitify that situation? What if they decided that they were specifically entitled to rule over others because of their morally superior position? What if they decided to make a concerted effort to get their people into government, even if it meant a couple of decades of work, and then perhaps violating the very principles they espouse to further that cause? What do you think about an America run on the principles of Pat Robertson?
These are not entirely a hypothetical questions, though few people have been asking them—at least not very publicly and not as many as should be asking.
In the news in the last few weeks have been the question of firings in the U. S. Attorney General’s office.
Folks who have been watching trends in government have been increasingly alarmed by the droves of longtime experienced staffers that are resigning, being forced to resign or retire, or are outright fired or removed from positions in which they have years of expertise. The Bush administration has replaced these people with its own people—people loyal to its neo-conservative cause, but not necessarily (and more often than not, not) the best in their field. Hence, the Katrina fiasco.
A few weeks ago, the name of Monica Goodling surfaced in connection with those firings, when she resigned abruptly without explanation after refusing to testify about her role in the firings of several U.S. attorneys for what appear to be partisan reasons, while asserting her Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. Goodling, who was senior counsel to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales and Justice Department liaison to the White House, like many new legal appointees in the White House, is a graduate of Regent University, the college founded by evangelist Pat Robertson 29 years ago.
Regent’s Web site boasts that 150 of its graduates have been placed in high-ranking federal government positions since 2001 and are currently serving in this administration and that “approximately one out of every six Regent alumni is employed in some form of government work.” About 5,000 students currently attend Regent University.
That seems an amazing feat for a college that is less than three decades old. Not so long ago, Regent grads had trouble passing their bar exams, though the school has apparently raised its standards since then. Former Attorney General John Ashcroft teaches at Regent, and other graduates have been raised to positions in the Bush administration.
The school’s motto is “Christian Leadership To Change the World,” and that is precisely what it and its graduates seem to be attempting. Their goal is not only to tear down the wall between church and state in America, but to enmesh the two.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to wake up one day to find I live in some alternate version of “The Handmaid’s Tale,” which is what this is eerily beginning to sound like. There are very good reasons for a secular government. Having specifically Christian standards may sound like a good idea to some, but who gets to decide which Christian standards? Never mind the million of Jews, Muslims, Hindus, as well as the myriad of other religions practiced by American citizens.
And then there is the question, as in the case of Goodling, of people who appear to start out having the best of intentions, only to have them manipulated for political gain, which seems to be the case every single time in all of history that religion and politics are entwined.
Have folks like Robertson always vied for political power and gain? Yup. But the problem here is that he and folks like him have been quietly gaining ground.
If you actually think Robertson is just a man inspired by God to become a preacher to millions, above political ties or thought of power and personal gain, think again. His biography alone, quoted from Robertson’s own Web site, is evidence against that idea:
“Marion Gordon ‘Pat’ Robertson was born on March 22, 1930, in Lexington, Virginia, to A. Willis Robertson and Gladys Churchill Robertson. His father served for 34 years in the U.S. House of Representatives and Senate. Robertson’s ancestry includes Benjamin Harrison, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and governor of Virginia, and two United States presidents, William Henry Harrison and Benjamin Harrison, the great-grandson of the signer of the Declaration of Independence. Robertson also shares ancestry with Winston Churchill.”
Okay, so Robertson claims a few famous ancestors. So what?
He’s also the founder and chairman of the Christian Broadcasting Network.
Still, despite a few million viewers, so what? What does that have to do with the rest of us?
Well, the problem may just go deeper than a bunch of lawyers in Washington, though that situation is more than a little disturbing. There is a bit of evidence that there’s a whole bunch of folks that have quietly been working to push their own “Christian” agenda, regardless of what the rest of us might think.
Lest you think I’m being entirely paranoid, I offer the following quote from a press release I received recently from a local evangelical group looking to promote National Prayer Day.
“The National Day of Prayer Task Force’s mission is to communicate with every individual the need for personal repentance and prayer, mobilizing the Christian community to intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
The National Day of Prayer Web site does go on to state that “The National Day of Prayer Task Force was a creation of the National Prayer Committee for the expressed purpose of organizing and promoting prayer observances conforming to a Judeo-Christian system of values. People with other theological and philosophical views are, of course, free to organize and participate in activities that are consistent with their own beliefs.”
(By the way, I didn’t change anything in these quotes—the grammatical error and capitalizations are theirs.)
It’s nice that they put in a disclaimer that we’re still free to organize around our own beliefs, but ultimately the underlying message here is that if you’re not with them, you’re inferior. And that’s a little disturbing, coming from a group that wants to “intercede for America and its leadership in the five centers of power: Church, Education, Family, Government and Media.”
There’s a big difference between taking initiative on fixing a perceived problem, and taking it upon oneself to decide that one’s way is the only right way and that it must be imposed at all costs, even by a stealth coup, if necessary. One way has a chance of success for all, and the other is a delusional psychosis that, if successful, could take us all to hell in a hand basket, literally.
I really do hope I’m just being paranoid.
Friday, April 13, 2007
In the Age of Information, misinformation abounds
It probably wouldn’t be much of a warning to tell you to not believe everything you read on the Internet—after all, everyone knows that, right?
But there are some sites that are trusted more than others. If you Google a topic, you can be reasonably sure you will actually turn up some Web sites that will give you the information you need, even if it is up to you to determine which of those sites are reliable and offer accurate information.
Another site many people have come to trust is Wikipedia, which bills itself as an encyclopedia. While it doesn’t have the reputation of, say, Encyclopedia Britannica, countless people use it everyday to find out more about topics of interest.
But the big difference between Encyclopedia Britannica and Wikipedia is the source of the listed information. While Britannica utilizes paid researchers and fact-checkers, Wikipedia is completely driven by contributions—submissions and editing done by its readers, with relatively few moderators.
That in and of itself is not a bad thing, provided care is taken. Wikipedia is free, which is a big plus, or should be, to those seeking knowledge on the cheap.
But often you get what you pay for, and while Wikipedia does monitor its listings and require citations, it really doesn’t do the job that a well-researched encyclopedia does.
The problem is that many things can “slip” through, and Wikipedia is actually susceptible to having misinformation posted.
Most particularly worrisome is its policy on biographies of living people. Despite the vulnerability of factual errors, Wikipedia does not allow the subjects of its bios to correct mistakes.
While I can see there may be some wisdom in prohibiting people from posting their own biographies on the site, it just seems plain stupid to not allow corrections by the people who probably know the subject—themselves—best of all.
While I have caught some Wikipedia mistakes myself, the problem was brought to my attention recently on Dean Radin’s blog. I’m not a big fan of most blogs, but Radin’s research into the possible relationship between psi phenomena and quantum physics is fascinating—and controversial.
It is the controversial nature of his work that has made him the target of true-believer skeptics (those that believe fervently psi does not exist), as well as a target of some religious communities.
But Radin is a serious scientist, utilizing recognized methodology and statistical analysis to examine one of the more mysterious aspects of human potential. To knowingly leave factual errors about his life’s work is to knowingly perpetuate misinformation, and for an “encyclopedia” to do that, it loses all credibility, as Radin accurately points out on his blog.
“I discovered this when attempting to correct factual errors in the entry page on my name, and for the Institute of Noetic Sciences. I’ve been asked not to edit these pages, even though I am arguably the expert on me, and an expert on (the Institute of Noetic Sciences), because it violates Wikipedia's guidelines… Wikipedia’s absurd guidelines means that for topics of interest to many people, namely controversies, the articles are guaranteed to be of poor quality. What a ridiculous state of affairs this good idea has come to, one that very effectively does one thing well—it perpetuates stupidity,” Radin wrote.
I can’t agree more, and upon closer inspection, it would seem that the more controversial the subject the less likely it is a balanced perspective is be presented. Because Wikipedia’s authors are anonymous, there is no one specifically to address about accuracy, and since Wikipedia is a decentralized group of volunteers, there is no one who is responsible.
Wikipedia may have started out a good idea, but a reference resource is only as trustworthy as it attempts to be—and Wikipedia isn’t trying very hard at all, unless it is to, as Dr. Radin so aptly stated, perpetuate stupidity, only in the false guise of wisdom.
For more on Dean Radin’s work, go to www.ions.org, www.deanradin.com or http://deanradin.blogspot.com.
(Originally published in The Easton News, April 12, 2007)
But there are some sites that are trusted more than others. If you Google a topic, you can be reasonably sure you will actually turn up some Web sites that will give you the information you need, even if it is up to you to determine which of those sites are reliable and offer accurate information.
Another site many people have come to trust is Wikipedia, which bills itself as an encyclopedia. While it doesn’t have the reputation of, say, Encyclopedia Britannica, countless people use it everyday to find out more about topics of interest.
But the big difference between Encyclopedia Britannica and Wikipedia is the source of the listed information. While Britannica utilizes paid researchers and fact-checkers, Wikipedia is completely driven by contributions—submissions and editing done by its readers, with relatively few moderators.
That in and of itself is not a bad thing, provided care is taken. Wikipedia is free, which is a big plus, or should be, to those seeking knowledge on the cheap.
But often you get what you pay for, and while Wikipedia does monitor its listings and require citations, it really doesn’t do the job that a well-researched encyclopedia does.
The problem is that many things can “slip” through, and Wikipedia is actually susceptible to having misinformation posted.
Most particularly worrisome is its policy on biographies of living people. Despite the vulnerability of factual errors, Wikipedia does not allow the subjects of its bios to correct mistakes.
While I can see there may be some wisdom in prohibiting people from posting their own biographies on the site, it just seems plain stupid to not allow corrections by the people who probably know the subject—themselves—best of all.
While I have caught some Wikipedia mistakes myself, the problem was brought to my attention recently on Dean Radin’s blog. I’m not a big fan of most blogs, but Radin’s research into the possible relationship between psi phenomena and quantum physics is fascinating—and controversial.
It is the controversial nature of his work that has made him the target of true-believer skeptics (those that believe fervently psi does not exist), as well as a target of some religious communities.
But Radin is a serious scientist, utilizing recognized methodology and statistical analysis to examine one of the more mysterious aspects of human potential. To knowingly leave factual errors about his life’s work is to knowingly perpetuate misinformation, and for an “encyclopedia” to do that, it loses all credibility, as Radin accurately points out on his blog.
“I discovered this when attempting to correct factual errors in the entry page on my name, and for the Institute of Noetic Sciences. I’ve been asked not to edit these pages, even though I am arguably the expert on me, and an expert on (the Institute of Noetic Sciences), because it violates Wikipedia's guidelines… Wikipedia’s absurd guidelines means that for topics of interest to many people, namely controversies, the articles are guaranteed to be of poor quality. What a ridiculous state of affairs this good idea has come to, one that very effectively does one thing well—it perpetuates stupidity,” Radin wrote.
I can’t agree more, and upon closer inspection, it would seem that the more controversial the subject the less likely it is a balanced perspective is be presented. Because Wikipedia’s authors are anonymous, there is no one specifically to address about accuracy, and since Wikipedia is a decentralized group of volunteers, there is no one who is responsible.
Wikipedia may have started out a good idea, but a reference resource is only as trustworthy as it attempts to be—and Wikipedia isn’t trying very hard at all, unless it is to, as Dr. Radin so aptly stated, perpetuate stupidity, only in the false guise of wisdom.
For more on Dean Radin’s work, go to www.ions.org, www.deanradin.com or http://deanradin.blogspot.com.
(Originally published in The Easton News, April 12, 2007)
Discriminating between bad and good news is a must for sanity
You turn on the evening news and hear it every day. Bad news again. Nineteen killed in a bus accident in Bangladesh. Shootout in Detroit leaves three dead, nine wounded. Tornado flattens church in Kansas.
Or take these real-life examples of “news” briefs that recently ran in the local dailies:
“Police detain suspect in dog beheading—(Minneapolis) A man suspected of cutting the head off a teenage girl’s dog and leaving it at her front door in a gift-wrapped box was in jail Friday on suspicion of terrorist threats. The 24-year-old man, who was not immediately charged, used to date Crystal Brown, the girl’s grandmother said.”
And:
“Teen found dead in school bathroom—(Hyrum, Utah) A 14-year-old girl who had talked about suicide died in a hospital a day after hanging herself in a school bathroom, school officials said. A classmate had found Kailey Mathews unconscious Wednesday in the bathroom at South Cache 8-9 Center.”
Isn’t news supposed to inform you of things that may affect you? How does either of these items affect anyone in the Lehigh Valley, excepting the vague possibility that the alleged animal abuser, Crystal Brown or the poor suicidal teen is related to someone in Pennsylvania? And if that is the case, how does putting either of these items in the paper inform anyone of anything they need to know?
Are we supposed to feel relieved that our dogs are safe from some twisted maniac in Minneapolis? Was he headed east? And maybe I’m incredibly unhip, but who is Crystal Brown, and why should I care who she is? A Google search turned up very little on her. Apparently she is a poet, but having a dog that was a murder victim recently is probably her bigger claim to fame at this point, which is pretty sick. Not quite as sick as a person who would behead a dog, but still pretty sad commentary.
The second “news” item is just worthless, in my opinion. Reporting something like that so far away serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever, unless there was some mitigating information that makes it locally newsworthy, such as a sudden nationwide rash of teenagers with an urge towards suicide in school bathrooms. There is nothing anyone in the Lehigh Valley is going to do about this particular sad incident—it only serves to depress and to distract one from more relevant issues.
That is a big problem with some “news” these days.
There seems to be more and more of a trend towards what I call “non-news.” These are items that have absolutely no chance of having any bearing on your life, yet are played continually on the mainstream news scene. When it came to be that an entire industry seemingly got together in some big conspiracy to waste newsprint, ink and airtime, I’m not sure, since they didn’t send me that memo, but it does seem to have come to pass.
The worst of “non-news” items are the negative briefs. Too short to actually flesh out the story with any useful information that would allow the reader to make sense of whatever issue is at hand, they basically drop a bombshell and move on to the next “story,” inevitably leaving the reader feel both unsatisfied and uneasy.
It also wastes the reader’s time. Why bother reading about something that has no bearing on one’s life, that one can do nothing about, that only serves to depress? Most people wouldn’t, but most “non-news,” especially the kind that comes in brief, sneaks up on the reader—by the time one realizes one doesn’t care about the piece, that one would really rather move on to something else, something more worthwhile—it’s over.
There are several nasty effects of this. This first is that the reader begins to approach news with some caution and trepidation. Is this news worth it, or is it just going to depress for no apparent reason?
When people tell me they’re “not into” following the news, I often suspect this is the reason—they’ve been stung by irrelevant, bad “non-news” so often they are numb to the difference and just shy away from the entire arena out of fear of getting depressed about something they can do nothing about.
That is the biggest danger of bad “non-news.” It’s disempowering, and being swamped with it day in and day out is even more disempowering. Being showered with negative information one can do nothing to change eventually gives one the impression that one can do nothing about anything negative, regardless of where the problem originates.
“Non-news” is also a bit confusing. In this Information Age, we’re literally flooded with information at a rate never before seen. More may be defined as better, but is it really better if the more isn’t quality stuff? There may be an endless stream of information, but there’s still only so much time in which to absorb it.
The “news” these days requires the a new set of hyper-developed skills in order to filter the “good” news, the kind with useful information, from the “bad,” or useless, kind of non-news, in order to keep oneself from drowning rather than surfing in the “news” world.
(Originally published in The Easton News, April 5, 2007)
Or take these real-life examples of “news” briefs that recently ran in the local dailies:
“Police detain suspect in dog beheading—(Minneapolis) A man suspected of cutting the head off a teenage girl’s dog and leaving it at her front door in a gift-wrapped box was in jail Friday on suspicion of terrorist threats. The 24-year-old man, who was not immediately charged, used to date Crystal Brown, the girl’s grandmother said.”
And:
“Teen found dead in school bathroom—(Hyrum, Utah) A 14-year-old girl who had talked about suicide died in a hospital a day after hanging herself in a school bathroom, school officials said. A classmate had found Kailey Mathews unconscious Wednesday in the bathroom at South Cache 8-9 Center.”
Isn’t news supposed to inform you of things that may affect you? How does either of these items affect anyone in the Lehigh Valley, excepting the vague possibility that the alleged animal abuser, Crystal Brown or the poor suicidal teen is related to someone in Pennsylvania? And if that is the case, how does putting either of these items in the paper inform anyone of anything they need to know?
Are we supposed to feel relieved that our dogs are safe from some twisted maniac in Minneapolis? Was he headed east? And maybe I’m incredibly unhip, but who is Crystal Brown, and why should I care who she is? A Google search turned up very little on her. Apparently she is a poet, but having a dog that was a murder victim recently is probably her bigger claim to fame at this point, which is pretty sick. Not quite as sick as a person who would behead a dog, but still pretty sad commentary.
The second “news” item is just worthless, in my opinion. Reporting something like that so far away serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever, unless there was some mitigating information that makes it locally newsworthy, such as a sudden nationwide rash of teenagers with an urge towards suicide in school bathrooms. There is nothing anyone in the Lehigh Valley is going to do about this particular sad incident—it only serves to depress and to distract one from more relevant issues.
That is a big problem with some “news” these days.
There seems to be more and more of a trend towards what I call “non-news.” These are items that have absolutely no chance of having any bearing on your life, yet are played continually on the mainstream news scene. When it came to be that an entire industry seemingly got together in some big conspiracy to waste newsprint, ink and airtime, I’m not sure, since they didn’t send me that memo, but it does seem to have come to pass.
The worst of “non-news” items are the negative briefs. Too short to actually flesh out the story with any useful information that would allow the reader to make sense of whatever issue is at hand, they basically drop a bombshell and move on to the next “story,” inevitably leaving the reader feel both unsatisfied and uneasy.
It also wastes the reader’s time. Why bother reading about something that has no bearing on one’s life, that one can do nothing about, that only serves to depress? Most people wouldn’t, but most “non-news,” especially the kind that comes in brief, sneaks up on the reader—by the time one realizes one doesn’t care about the piece, that one would really rather move on to something else, something more worthwhile—it’s over.
There are several nasty effects of this. This first is that the reader begins to approach news with some caution and trepidation. Is this news worth it, or is it just going to depress for no apparent reason?
When people tell me they’re “not into” following the news, I often suspect this is the reason—they’ve been stung by irrelevant, bad “non-news” so often they are numb to the difference and just shy away from the entire arena out of fear of getting depressed about something they can do nothing about.
That is the biggest danger of bad “non-news.” It’s disempowering, and being swamped with it day in and day out is even more disempowering. Being showered with negative information one can do nothing to change eventually gives one the impression that one can do nothing about anything negative, regardless of where the problem originates.
“Non-news” is also a bit confusing. In this Information Age, we’re literally flooded with information at a rate never before seen. More may be defined as better, but is it really better if the more isn’t quality stuff? There may be an endless stream of information, but there’s still only so much time in which to absorb it.
The “news” these days requires the a new set of hyper-developed skills in order to filter the “good” news, the kind with useful information, from the “bad,” or useless, kind of non-news, in order to keep oneself from drowning rather than surfing in the “news” world.
(Originally published in The Easton News, April 5, 2007)
Encouraging self-esteem is a mistake if you don’t encourage self-respect
It was a downright rotten thing last week to hear there was another life lost in the Lehigh Valley to the gang “culture.” Paul “Bam Bam” Serrano III, 18 was charged in Bethlehem by police for the shooting of 15-year-old Kevin Muzila, and police say it was a case of mistaken identity, that Muzila wasn’t even the intended target. Likely, Serrano was “auditioning” for a gang.
Though the murder took place in Bethlehem, it could have just as easily been Easton. When these tragedies happen, everyone at first grieves and asks, “Why?” It’s a valid question. Then they quickly stop asking, “Why?” and assigning blame. If you don’t believe me, go to the comments section on the daily newspapers’ Web sites and see the vitriolic diatribes. Blame the parents, blame the schools, blame Youth Services, blame Serrano—just blame someone, it’s got to be someone’s fault.
And it is. If Serrano did indeed murder young Kevin Muzila, then, as an 18-year-old citizen of this country, he is responsible, regardless of what his parents, the schools or Youth Services did or did not do.
But this is not any sort of isolated incident. This is certainly not the first time in the Lehigh Valley, unfortunately, that some dumb young punk has gotten it into his head that murder will somehow make him “more of a man” or a “better” person. In fact, it’s happened recently in just about every state in the nation.
Sure, you can blame violence on television, or bad parenting, and I don’t deny these are contributing factors.
But if you look back on it, a lot of the increased violence seemed to start a few years after there was a public push to build kids’ self-esteem.
Don’t get me wrong. I do think kids should be encouraged to feel good about themselves—at least, when they’ve done something good and deserve to feel good about themselves. It’s a bad message to send, that one should still feel good about oneself, even if one knowingly does bad things. Sorry, if you go around hurting people, you do not deserve to feel good about yourself, and a person who habitually goes around hurting people is not a good person.
But instead, the message has been, “Well, you did something very bad, but it’s okay. You’re still a good person.”
It’s not okay. That’s entirely the wrong message to send.
And there’s a subtle, but important difference between self-esteem and self-respect.
The message of self-respect would go something like this: “Well, you’ve done something very bad, and it’s definitely NOT okay. I know you can be better person than that. Now live up to it.”
The kid with self-respect would not lower himself to become a murderer or a criminal, but unfortunately, the kid with self-esteem but no self-respect might not stop himself, if he thinks there’s a chance of gain. After all, you might murder someone (or rape them, or steal their stuff), but underneath it all, you’re still a good person, right?
Obviously, that’s wrong. But there’s a good chance Serrano was thinking something along those lines.
So, whose fault was it? If proven guilty, Serrano’s. But every one of those folks who told him it was okay, that he was still a good person anyway, who didn’t set him straight along the way, whether they be parents, teachers, coaches or even strangers, might just share a bit of the blame.
The gangs, who promote this “culture” of violence in our neighborhoods, near our homes, poisoning our children, need to be deglamourized. And, underneath it all, because they do what they do, they are not good people.
A tale from the West Ward
Last Friday, I was at a stop sign approaching Ferry Street, when I noticed two young boys on the corner, one of who was repeatedly making a gang gesture reminiscent of the censored Beardsley Lysistrata illustrations at me. I didn’t immediately notice, if you can believe that, and then did a double take to see if I was really seeing what I was seeing. These boys were no more than 9 or 10.
I decided to stop for a moment and stare. The boy, egged on by his friend, continued to make the dramatic, vulgar gesture.
I pondered this for a moment. Obviously, they were trying to get me to react. It’s not like young boys haven’t been known to make rude gestures at women for centuries. But seriously, you had to be there; this was way over the top. I really couldn’t just let a little kid stand ignorantly on a busy street corner gesturing like that at his crotch, especially when I was pretty certain he didn’t have a clue what he was really doing.
I rolled my window down and asked him pleasantly if he knew what that gesture meant. I was right; clearly he didn’t. But his friend, the one who’d egged him on did—sort of.
“Suck it, baby!” he told me exuberantly, as though he would get some sort of prize for the right answer.
So I decided to push it a bit, to teach them a lesson.
“Suck what?” I asked.
“Uh...”
“Suck what? That is an action involving opening one’s mouth and wrapping one’s lips around something. Suck what?” I said. “I assume by ‘baby,’ you mean me, even though I’m 37, and you appear to be considerably younger.”
The egged-on perpetrator got a burst of courage at this point, and tried one more time. He made the gesture again, and said, with a shrug, “Suck it.”
“Rest assured it will not happen, but are you actually telling me you want to pull down your pants, underpants included, and somehow make me wrap my lips around your privates, here in public, on this street corner? Because that is what you are proclaiming, for all the world to see,” I said to him.
He stopped cold, eyes wide.
“I’m in fourth grade,” he said.
“I thought you might be about that old,” I told him. “And I pretty much thought you might not really know what you were doing when you made those gestures. I don’t know who showed you that, but they are not a good person to listen to, whoever they are. They are definitely not cool. What do you suppose could happen if you made that gesture at someone who took you seriously? Or who’s crazy, and got offended and tried to hurt you? Are you sure you’re really ready to deal with that?”
Things were pretty somber after that. I told them to have fun but be careful, and they waved goodbye as I drove off.
The whole conversation took less than two minutes, but they were the best-invested two minutes of my day, if not my week.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 29, 2007)
Though the murder took place in Bethlehem, it could have just as easily been Easton. When these tragedies happen, everyone at first grieves and asks, “Why?” It’s a valid question. Then they quickly stop asking, “Why?” and assigning blame. If you don’t believe me, go to the comments section on the daily newspapers’ Web sites and see the vitriolic diatribes. Blame the parents, blame the schools, blame Youth Services, blame Serrano—just blame someone, it’s got to be someone’s fault.
And it is. If Serrano did indeed murder young Kevin Muzila, then, as an 18-year-old citizen of this country, he is responsible, regardless of what his parents, the schools or Youth Services did or did not do.
But this is not any sort of isolated incident. This is certainly not the first time in the Lehigh Valley, unfortunately, that some dumb young punk has gotten it into his head that murder will somehow make him “more of a man” or a “better” person. In fact, it’s happened recently in just about every state in the nation.
Sure, you can blame violence on television, or bad parenting, and I don’t deny these are contributing factors.
But if you look back on it, a lot of the increased violence seemed to start a few years after there was a public push to build kids’ self-esteem.
Don’t get me wrong. I do think kids should be encouraged to feel good about themselves—at least, when they’ve done something good and deserve to feel good about themselves. It’s a bad message to send, that one should still feel good about oneself, even if one knowingly does bad things. Sorry, if you go around hurting people, you do not deserve to feel good about yourself, and a person who habitually goes around hurting people is not a good person.
But instead, the message has been, “Well, you did something very bad, but it’s okay. You’re still a good person.”
It’s not okay. That’s entirely the wrong message to send.
And there’s a subtle, but important difference between self-esteem and self-respect.
The message of self-respect would go something like this: “Well, you’ve done something very bad, and it’s definitely NOT okay. I know you can be better person than that. Now live up to it.”
The kid with self-respect would not lower himself to become a murderer or a criminal, but unfortunately, the kid with self-esteem but no self-respect might not stop himself, if he thinks there’s a chance of gain. After all, you might murder someone (or rape them, or steal their stuff), but underneath it all, you’re still a good person, right?
Obviously, that’s wrong. But there’s a good chance Serrano was thinking something along those lines.
So, whose fault was it? If proven guilty, Serrano’s. But every one of those folks who told him it was okay, that he was still a good person anyway, who didn’t set him straight along the way, whether they be parents, teachers, coaches or even strangers, might just share a bit of the blame.
The gangs, who promote this “culture” of violence in our neighborhoods, near our homes, poisoning our children, need to be deglamourized. And, underneath it all, because they do what they do, they are not good people.
A tale from the West Ward
Last Friday, I was at a stop sign approaching Ferry Street, when I noticed two young boys on the corner, one of who was repeatedly making a gang gesture reminiscent of the censored Beardsley Lysistrata illustrations at me. I didn’t immediately notice, if you can believe that, and then did a double take to see if I was really seeing what I was seeing. These boys were no more than 9 or 10.
I decided to stop for a moment and stare. The boy, egged on by his friend, continued to make the dramatic, vulgar gesture.
I pondered this for a moment. Obviously, they were trying to get me to react. It’s not like young boys haven’t been known to make rude gestures at women for centuries. But seriously, you had to be there; this was way over the top. I really couldn’t just let a little kid stand ignorantly on a busy street corner gesturing like that at his crotch, especially when I was pretty certain he didn’t have a clue what he was really doing.
I rolled my window down and asked him pleasantly if he knew what that gesture meant. I was right; clearly he didn’t. But his friend, the one who’d egged him on did—sort of.
“Suck it, baby!” he told me exuberantly, as though he would get some sort of prize for the right answer.
So I decided to push it a bit, to teach them a lesson.
“Suck what?” I asked.
“Uh...”
“Suck what? That is an action involving opening one’s mouth and wrapping one’s lips around something. Suck what?” I said. “I assume by ‘baby,’ you mean me, even though I’m 37, and you appear to be considerably younger.”
The egged-on perpetrator got a burst of courage at this point, and tried one more time. He made the gesture again, and said, with a shrug, “Suck it.”
“Rest assured it will not happen, but are you actually telling me you want to pull down your pants, underpants included, and somehow make me wrap my lips around your privates, here in public, on this street corner? Because that is what you are proclaiming, for all the world to see,” I said to him.
He stopped cold, eyes wide.
“I’m in fourth grade,” he said.
“I thought you might be about that old,” I told him. “And I pretty much thought you might not really know what you were doing when you made those gestures. I don’t know who showed you that, but they are not a good person to listen to, whoever they are. They are definitely not cool. What do you suppose could happen if you made that gesture at someone who took you seriously? Or who’s crazy, and got offended and tried to hurt you? Are you sure you’re really ready to deal with that?”
Things were pretty somber after that. I told them to have fun but be careful, and they waved goodbye as I drove off.
The whole conversation took less than two minutes, but they were the best-invested two minutes of my day, if not my week.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 29, 2007)
The U.S. should consider giving peace a chance in Iraq
There are some people that aren’t going to like my column this week. Actually, I hope no one likes reading my column this week—there’s just no way this is a happy subject.
The fourth anniversary has past since the U.S. invaded Iraq, and obviously, despite having deposed and executed Saddam Hussein, we’re still there. And now, we’re about to send more troops, including some from the local area.
That’s about as personal as it gets, when family and friends are asked to bid goodbye, perhaps forever, to those they love that have pledged themselves to the defense of our nation.
But this is no longer about any form of defense. It never was. The lies that led our nation into this mess prove that.
In the land of the free, you’d think we’d have some sort of accurate picture of what is actually happening in Iraq. But unless you’re an Internet research freak with a lot of time to burn, if you’re an average member of the American public, you really don’t have a clue what’s going on over there and how bad the situation is.
I admit, running The Easton News, my time for such in-depth international research is limited. And, it’s horrible, heartbreaking, sad, depressing stuff. So I know I don’t have the entire picture. But I’ve got a lot more than you’re going to see on Fox News.
It’s estimated that the average American child will see more than 10,000 murders and other graphically depicted acts of violence on television before their 18th birthday. But it’s rare to see even a draped coffin arriving home when a soldier is killed on network. And until the scandal with Walter Reed, you never saw American troops with major injuries. (Unless, of course, they were being shown off, like Jessica Lynch. Remember her?)
Why? Because the draped coffin is just too much of a reminder of the grim, inescapable reality of the situation—that this is a horrible war where people are getting maimed and killed.
And, lest the American public feel any remorse towards the Iraqi people, we aren’t shown any real picture of their lives either.
At most, we see optimistic diplomats or angry young men in the street or, occasionally, someone who looks rather poor and dirty. Not really a very good representation of the Iraqi people. In fact, with such a limited, and mostly negative view, it’s pretty good at reinforcing a stereotype.
But casualties in Iraq are so extensive that, combined with a shattered, practically non-existent day-to-day infrastructure, no one really knows how many civilians have been killed. And civilian injury tallies went out the window a very long time ago.
It is being reported that the rate of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is incredibly high among our troops in Iraq, both when they come home and, for some, while they continue on active duty right now. And while the good news is that we can and do save a higher percentage of wounded soldiers than any other war, many, many more of them will live with major disabilities for the rest of their lives.
The best way we can support our troops is by pressuring our leaders to bring them home. The best way we can keep our nation safe is to end this war and try to rebuild the international goodwill that this administration has squandered so carelessly.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 22, 2007)
The fourth anniversary has past since the U.S. invaded Iraq, and obviously, despite having deposed and executed Saddam Hussein, we’re still there. And now, we’re about to send more troops, including some from the local area.
That’s about as personal as it gets, when family and friends are asked to bid goodbye, perhaps forever, to those they love that have pledged themselves to the defense of our nation.
But this is no longer about any form of defense. It never was. The lies that led our nation into this mess prove that.
In the land of the free, you’d think we’d have some sort of accurate picture of what is actually happening in Iraq. But unless you’re an Internet research freak with a lot of time to burn, if you’re an average member of the American public, you really don’t have a clue what’s going on over there and how bad the situation is.
I admit, running The Easton News, my time for such in-depth international research is limited. And, it’s horrible, heartbreaking, sad, depressing stuff. So I know I don’t have the entire picture. But I’ve got a lot more than you’re going to see on Fox News.
It’s estimated that the average American child will see more than 10,000 murders and other graphically depicted acts of violence on television before their 18th birthday. But it’s rare to see even a draped coffin arriving home when a soldier is killed on network. And until the scandal with Walter Reed, you never saw American troops with major injuries. (Unless, of course, they were being shown off, like Jessica Lynch. Remember her?)
Why? Because the draped coffin is just too much of a reminder of the grim, inescapable reality of the situation—that this is a horrible war where people are getting maimed and killed.
And, lest the American public feel any remorse towards the Iraqi people, we aren’t shown any real picture of their lives either.
At most, we see optimistic diplomats or angry young men in the street or, occasionally, someone who looks rather poor and dirty. Not really a very good representation of the Iraqi people. In fact, with such a limited, and mostly negative view, it’s pretty good at reinforcing a stereotype.
But casualties in Iraq are so extensive that, combined with a shattered, practically non-existent day-to-day infrastructure, no one really knows how many civilians have been killed. And civilian injury tallies went out the window a very long time ago.
It is being reported that the rate of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is incredibly high among our troops in Iraq, both when they come home and, for some, while they continue on active duty right now. And while the good news is that we can and do save a higher percentage of wounded soldiers than any other war, many, many more of them will live with major disabilities for the rest of their lives.
The best way we can support our troops is by pressuring our leaders to bring them home. The best way we can keep our nation safe is to end this war and try to rebuild the international goodwill that this administration has squandered so carelessly.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 22, 2007)
Murrow’s observations are even more relevant today
“We are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable and complacent. We have currently a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information. Our mass media reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses and recognize that television in the main is being used to distract, delude, amuse and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture too late.”—Radio and television journalist Edward R. Murrow, in a speech to the Radio and Television News Directors Association (RTNDA) convention in Chicago, October 15, 1958.
I was planning on writing about “Scooter” Libby and how he was convicted of four out of five counts of perjury and obstruction of justice in the Plame/Wilson case this week. But when I mentioned it to a few different people around me, I either got blank stares, or a “remind me, what was that one about again?”
Yes, the situation in Iraq and Afghanistan, and in this country, the U.S., is a confusing, bombastic mess. And, I know it’s hard to keep track of it all. I also know that when a problem seems huge, overwhelming and insurmountable, when one feels one can’t do anything about it, human nature is to more or less go into denial, to act like the danger isn’t present.
But I don’t think it’s really the problem is so big and insurmountable. I think that we are being failed by the “big” news media outlets, and our steady and ever-increasing diet of meaningless “infotainment” over the past five decades has replaced pretty much all relevant, in-depth news coverage to the point that a lot of average folks don’t even know what real news is any more.
Let’s start with what news is not. (This list is far from inclusive; what passes for news these days is endless.)
News is not:
Today’s tragic car crash on the highway.
What Brittany did to some body part, whether her own or someone else’s.
Some heinous crime in a distant city on the other side of the continent.
The nasty, prolonged divorce of a couple of famous people who weren’t famous five minutes ago.
The latest industry-created fad in breakfast cereals.
Lifestyles of the pets of the rich and famous.
These are just toxic distractions designed to take your attention away from the real issues. They can rightfully be considered toxic because they are sensational stories designed to evoke a response, often a negative emotion such as rage, sadness or envy, without any real purpose.
Fatal traffic accidents and distant murders happen every day, sadly enough. But unless the victim was a member of the community, what good does it do to dwell on something tragic that one can do nothing about?
News is what affects you directly—what your taxes are, what your lawmakers are doing and how it will affect you, how our nation is faring compared to other nations and how we are perceived around the world. It is how our workers are doing as well as the companies that employ them. It is the daily state of affairs in our communities.
Big and small, news is the things that actually, directly affect our lives. And news should be heard, because it is empowering in the telling, that people may be able to affect the things that affect their lives.
Like I said, I was going to write about Libby’s conviction in connection with the Plame/Wilson affair.
For those that need to get up to speed, Valerie Wilson was the undercover CIA agent whose name was leaked to the press a few years ago, by all indications, by someone in or close to the White House.
Joseph Wilson is her husband, the diplomat who was sent to Niger to find evidence of Saddam Hussein trying to get his hands on weapons-grade uranium, one of our justifications for going to war in Iraq. He didn’t find what he was instructed to and provided plenty of evidence that Iraq was not seeking uranium. (Wow, I just realized, the Bush administration doesn’t change its tune much, does it? Isn’t it the possibility of Iran getting their hands on a stash of weapons-grade plutonium the underpinning of Bush’s current saber-rattling with that country? Not real creative.) A grand jury was convened a couple of years ago to investigate the matter of who outed Plame, but when it subpoenaed evidence from the White House, the Bush administration argued that it had the executive privilege to without whatever it wanted. It took a couple more years of legal arguing, but eventually some of the paperwork the Bush administration wanted withheld was entered as evidence.
Some of that evidence points directly to the president and vice president.
But having noticed that very few other people have noticed, I can’t help but think that getting one’s news from TV, and even quite a few print media sources, is a bit like eating Pop-Tarts instead of a healthy meal, for every meal.
Edward R. Murrow was not only a great reporter, but a great observer, so much so that he seems as much prophet as newsman. His words of five decades ago ring quite true today, so much so that I have decided his words will end this week’s column as well as begin it, because he said then much more eloquently than I could ever say today how very worrisome it is that in many of the places this nation relies upon to keep them informed, the news is not the news.
Edward R. Murrow’s words, on a variety of subjects, may be of more import today than when they were first uttered.
“Our history will be what we make it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred years from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes for one week of all three networks, they will there find recorded in black and white, or color, evidence of decadence, escapism and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. I invite your attention to the television schedules of all networks between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m., Eastern Time. Here you will find only fleeting and spasmodic reference to the fact that this nation is in mortal danger.”—Edward R. Murrow, in a speech to the Radio and Television News Directors Association (RTNDA) convention in Chicago, October 15, 1958.
“No one man can terrorize a whole nation unless we are all his accomplices.” —Speech to his staff (1954), as quoted in “Edward R. Murrow and the Time of His Time” by Joseph Wershba
“The only thing that counts is the right to know, to speak, to think— that, and the sanctity of the courts. Otherwise it’s not America.” —Speech to his staff (1954), as quoted in “Edward R. Murrow and the Time of His Time” by Joseph Wershba
“If...news is to be regarded as a commodity, only acceptable when saleable, then I don't care what you call it— I say it isn't news...
“But this nation is now in competition with malignant forces of evil who are using every instrument at their command to empty the minds of their subjects and fill those minds with slogans, determination and faith in the future. If we go on as we are, we are protecting the mind of the American public from any real contact with the menacing world that squeezes in upon us...
“The sponsor of an hour’s television program is not buying merely the six minutes devoted to commercial message. He is determining, within broad limits, the sum total of the impact of the entire hour. If he always, invariably, reaches for the largest possible audience, then this process of insulation, of escape from reality, will continue to be massively financed, and its apologist will continue to make winsome speeches about giving the public what it wants, or "letting the public decide."
“I do not advocate that we turn television into a 27-inch wailing wall, where longhairs constantly moan about the state of our culture and our defense. But I would just like to see it reflect occasionally the hard, unyielding realities of the world in which we live. I would like to see it done inside the existing framework, and I would like to see the doing of it redound to the credit of those who finance and program it. Measure the results by Nielsen, Trendex or Silex-it doesn't matter. The main thing is to try. The responsibility can be easily placed, in spite of all the mouthings about giving the public what it wants. It rests on big business, and on big television, and it rests at the top...”—Edward R. Murrow, in a speech to the Radio and Television News Directors Association (RTNDA) convention in Chicago, October 15, 1958.
The entire text of Murrow’s speech to the RTNDA may be found at: www.rtnda.org/resources/speeches/murrow.shtml
Stuff that qualifies as actual news on the Valerie Plame scandal may be found at: www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0406061libby1.html and www.truthout.org/ docs_2006/013107Z.shtml
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 15, 2007)
I was planning on writing about “Scooter” Libby and how he was convicted of four out of five counts of perjury and obstruction of justice in the Plame/Wilson case this week. But when I mentioned it to a few different people around me, I either got blank stares, or a “remind me, what was that one about again?”
Yes, the situation in Iraq and Afghanistan, and in this country, the U.S., is a confusing, bombastic mess. And, I know it’s hard to keep track of it all. I also know that when a problem seems huge, overwhelming and insurmountable, when one feels one can’t do anything about it, human nature is to more or less go into denial, to act like the danger isn’t present.
But I don’t think it’s really the problem is so big and insurmountable. I think that we are being failed by the “big” news media outlets, and our steady and ever-increasing diet of meaningless “infotainment” over the past five decades has replaced pretty much all relevant, in-depth news coverage to the point that a lot of average folks don’t even know what real news is any more.
Let’s start with what news is not. (This list is far from inclusive; what passes for news these days is endless.)
News is not:
Today’s tragic car crash on the highway.
What Brittany did to some body part, whether her own or someone else’s.
Some heinous crime in a distant city on the other side of the continent.
The nasty, prolonged divorce of a couple of famous people who weren’t famous five minutes ago.
The latest industry-created fad in breakfast cereals.
Lifestyles of the pets of the rich and famous.
These are just toxic distractions designed to take your attention away from the real issues. They can rightfully be considered toxic because they are sensational stories designed to evoke a response, often a negative emotion such as rage, sadness or envy, without any real purpose.
Fatal traffic accidents and distant murders happen every day, sadly enough. But unless the victim was a member of the community, what good does it do to dwell on something tragic that one can do nothing about?
News is what affects you directly—what your taxes are, what your lawmakers are doing and how it will affect you, how our nation is faring compared to other nations and how we are perceived around the world. It is how our workers are doing as well as the companies that employ them. It is the daily state of affairs in our communities.
Big and small, news is the things that actually, directly affect our lives. And news should be heard, because it is empowering in the telling, that people may be able to affect the things that affect their lives.
Like I said, I was going to write about Libby’s conviction in connection with the Plame/Wilson affair.
For those that need to get up to speed, Valerie Wilson was the undercover CIA agent whose name was leaked to the press a few years ago, by all indications, by someone in or close to the White House.
Joseph Wilson is her husband, the diplomat who was sent to Niger to find evidence of Saddam Hussein trying to get his hands on weapons-grade uranium, one of our justifications for going to war in Iraq. He didn’t find what he was instructed to and provided plenty of evidence that Iraq was not seeking uranium. (Wow, I just realized, the Bush administration doesn’t change its tune much, does it? Isn’t it the possibility of Iran getting their hands on a stash of weapons-grade plutonium the underpinning of Bush’s current saber-rattling with that country? Not real creative.) A grand jury was convened a couple of years ago to investigate the matter of who outed Plame, but when it subpoenaed evidence from the White House, the Bush administration argued that it had the executive privilege to without whatever it wanted. It took a couple more years of legal arguing, but eventually some of the paperwork the Bush administration wanted withheld was entered as evidence.
Some of that evidence points directly to the president and vice president.
But having noticed that very few other people have noticed, I can’t help but think that getting one’s news from TV, and even quite a few print media sources, is a bit like eating Pop-Tarts instead of a healthy meal, for every meal.
Edward R. Murrow was not only a great reporter, but a great observer, so much so that he seems as much prophet as newsman. His words of five decades ago ring quite true today, so much so that I have decided his words will end this week’s column as well as begin it, because he said then much more eloquently than I could ever say today how very worrisome it is that in many of the places this nation relies upon to keep them informed, the news is not the news.
Edward R. Murrow’s words, on a variety of subjects, may be of more import today than when they were first uttered.
“Our history will be what we make it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred years from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes for one week of all three networks, they will there find recorded in black and white, or color, evidence of decadence, escapism and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. I invite your attention to the television schedules of all networks between the hours of 8 and 11 p.m., Eastern Time. Here you will find only fleeting and spasmodic reference to the fact that this nation is in mortal danger.”—Edward R. Murrow, in a speech to the Radio and Television News Directors Association (RTNDA) convention in Chicago, October 15, 1958.
“No one man can terrorize a whole nation unless we are all his accomplices.” —Speech to his staff (1954), as quoted in “Edward R. Murrow and the Time of His Time” by Joseph Wershba
“The only thing that counts is the right to know, to speak, to think— that, and the sanctity of the courts. Otherwise it’s not America.” —Speech to his staff (1954), as quoted in “Edward R. Murrow and the Time of His Time” by Joseph Wershba
“If...news is to be regarded as a commodity, only acceptable when saleable, then I don't care what you call it— I say it isn't news...
“But this nation is now in competition with malignant forces of evil who are using every instrument at their command to empty the minds of their subjects and fill those minds with slogans, determination and faith in the future. If we go on as we are, we are protecting the mind of the American public from any real contact with the menacing world that squeezes in upon us...
“The sponsor of an hour’s television program is not buying merely the six minutes devoted to commercial message. He is determining, within broad limits, the sum total of the impact of the entire hour. If he always, invariably, reaches for the largest possible audience, then this process of insulation, of escape from reality, will continue to be massively financed, and its apologist will continue to make winsome speeches about giving the public what it wants, or "letting the public decide."
“I do not advocate that we turn television into a 27-inch wailing wall, where longhairs constantly moan about the state of our culture and our defense. But I would just like to see it reflect occasionally the hard, unyielding realities of the world in which we live. I would like to see it done inside the existing framework, and I would like to see the doing of it redound to the credit of those who finance and program it. Measure the results by Nielsen, Trendex or Silex-it doesn't matter. The main thing is to try. The responsibility can be easily placed, in spite of all the mouthings about giving the public what it wants. It rests on big business, and on big television, and it rests at the top...”—Edward R. Murrow, in a speech to the Radio and Television News Directors Association (RTNDA) convention in Chicago, October 15, 1958.
The entire text of Murrow’s speech to the RTNDA may be found at: www.rtnda.org/resources/speeches/murrow.shtml
Stuff that qualifies as actual news on the Valerie Plame scandal may be found at: www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0406061libby1.html and www.truthout.org/ docs_2006/013107Z.shtml
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 15, 2007)
Why a 20 minute computer fix takes a week to complete
The very worst thing that could happen to a news editor in my position happened about two weeks ago. My home computer died.
It was early in the morning, like 5:30 a.m., an unusual hour for me to be voluntarily awake. I was about to transfer a whole bunch of stuff onto a CD for inclusion in that week’s issue, when I heard a small pop and my computer, without even a whine or a whimper, suddenly went dead.
I didn’t immediately panic. The surge protector may have been tripped.
Nope.
Well, maybe it’s a fuse somewhere on the back of the computer.
I check. There isn’t one. But I do notice a faint whiff of ozone, which is not a good sign.
But hey, maybe it’s magnetic lock. I’ve never seen that happen while a computer is running, but wouldn’t that be great? Just unplug everything and replug it back in, and if that’s what’s up, it will work.
That isn’t what’s up.
So now I’m reaching the very unhappy pre-dawn conclusion that I’ve just blown my computer’s power supply. If it isn’t that, it’s worse, and I’ve just fried my motherboard, I figure.
I decide the best course of immediate action is to brew another cup of cappuccino and contemplate the situation.
The power supply is the most likely scenario, which is relatively good, since that means the computer’s memory is intact, and it’s a pretty easy fix, if you’ve got the part.
So I call up “Romeo’s” (so named because that’s what it says on the tower case) architect, my little brother, who built the beast for me a few years ago.
I ask what the specs are for my power supply. He tells me he might be able to replace the part for me sometime next week. I say, “No, no, you don’t understand. That’s really sweet, and I appreciate it, but I can’t wait ‘til next week. I need this thing working tonight. Give me the specs on what power supply I need to buy. I’m hitting Circuit City on my way back to Easton from the office, and I’ve got a date with a screwdriver and Romeo after that. I’m fixing this beast tonight.”
So he gives me the specs—a 20-pin, 300-400 watt power supply should do it. It should be about $15 if I buy it online, and a whole lot more in person. (Yes, compugeeks, I’m still in the dark ages.)
Great. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I’m going to acquire one pronto. (Laugh it up, eggheads.)
The thought of having to rewrite and edit everything that is stuck on my non-operative computer in a dark industrial park office makes the price tag a pretty moot point. I decide that even if it’s $75 at a retailer, that’s worth the night’s sleep.
For the record, at a retailer, it’s about $50. But that’s only if they have such an antiquated item actually in stock. Two Staples and a Circuit City failed to turn up the requisite item.
A phone call to Easton Electronics confirmed that having someone do the repair for me would be in the neighborhood of $125 or a bit more, and still, the repair would not be complete before deadline.
So, I bit the bullet, did what needed doing, and ordered the part online.
It was $12.95. Shipping was either $11.40, if I’d like it to arrive sometime in the next three days, or $8.90 if I didn’t care if it arrived until sometime after the spring thaw. I definitely cared, so I chose the $11.40 option. I’d have paid a lot more than that, if they could have beamed it directly onto my doorstep, ala Star Trek, at that point.
So, four days later, (Why is there a law that dictates that the more you need something NOW, it must be delayed in transit?), a box arrives at my office. I put that week’s paper to bed and tell my boss that I am leaving because I have an overdue date with a screwdriver.
I take the sides off the tower and am immediately glad neither my brother nor a pro is doing this job. There is a carpet of dust an inch thick weaving it’s way among the circuit panels. There is no way I’d have been up for the scolding, though where all that dust came from in the less-than-a-year since my computer was last cleaned is beyond me.
So, before any real sugery can begin, I need canned air.
I call around town to see if a car trip can be avoided. Three likely places fail to turn up results, so it’s off to Kmart.
Nearly $7 and 30 minutes later for a compressed, canned version of a substance we breathe 24/7, I’m back at my apartment ready for business.
First thing, Romeo gets a thorough dusting.
Four screws are all that holds in a computer power supply, I discover. I remove them and put them in my pocket for safekeeping.
The old power supply won’t reach the floor if I don’t remove the big plug attaching it to the processor (or is that the mother board?), but since it’s the only big plug, I figure it’s pretty safe to remove it.
I don’t know much about computers, but having seen the inside of a few, it’s pretty much a bunch of modular parts connected together by various plugs. Ergo, if you can fit the square plug into a square hole, and keep which square plug goes where, all should be well. My plan was to remove one thing at a time, replacing it with the new one in succession so I didn’t get lost.
So I installed the new power supply with it’s four screws. I went to plug in the big plug, only to discover that my new big plug has 24 pins. I was about to lose it, when I noticed that four seemed to be detachable. Whew! A jumper. I remove the extra four and plug in.
Then I went carefully over the octopus of wires and identified the ones that were identical to the ones hooked up in the computer. One by one, I unhooked and rehooked plugs, about 10 in all. The actual replacement process took less than 20 minutes.
Then it was time for the moment of truth. Panels back on the tower, monitor and accessories all hooked back up, kitchen A-B-C fire extinguisher handy just in case I did something really wrong, power supply plugged into cord plugged into wall.
I pushed the switch.
And Romeo was back. Alive. On my first try.
So I sent my fellow editors at work an email. It said, “Victory is mine.”
They had no idea what I was talking about.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 8, 2007)
It was early in the morning, like 5:30 a.m., an unusual hour for me to be voluntarily awake. I was about to transfer a whole bunch of stuff onto a CD for inclusion in that week’s issue, when I heard a small pop and my computer, without even a whine or a whimper, suddenly went dead.
I didn’t immediately panic. The surge protector may have been tripped.
Nope.
Well, maybe it’s a fuse somewhere on the back of the computer.
I check. There isn’t one. But I do notice a faint whiff of ozone, which is not a good sign.
But hey, maybe it’s magnetic lock. I’ve never seen that happen while a computer is running, but wouldn’t that be great? Just unplug everything and replug it back in, and if that’s what’s up, it will work.
That isn’t what’s up.
So now I’m reaching the very unhappy pre-dawn conclusion that I’ve just blown my computer’s power supply. If it isn’t that, it’s worse, and I’ve just fried my motherboard, I figure.
I decide the best course of immediate action is to brew another cup of cappuccino and contemplate the situation.
The power supply is the most likely scenario, which is relatively good, since that means the computer’s memory is intact, and it’s a pretty easy fix, if you’ve got the part.
So I call up “Romeo’s” (so named because that’s what it says on the tower case) architect, my little brother, who built the beast for me a few years ago.
I ask what the specs are for my power supply. He tells me he might be able to replace the part for me sometime next week. I say, “No, no, you don’t understand. That’s really sweet, and I appreciate it, but I can’t wait ‘til next week. I need this thing working tonight. Give me the specs on what power supply I need to buy. I’m hitting Circuit City on my way back to Easton from the office, and I’ve got a date with a screwdriver and Romeo after that. I’m fixing this beast tonight.”
So he gives me the specs—a 20-pin, 300-400 watt power supply should do it. It should be about $15 if I buy it online, and a whole lot more in person. (Yes, compugeeks, I’m still in the dark ages.)
Great. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I’m going to acquire one pronto. (Laugh it up, eggheads.)
The thought of having to rewrite and edit everything that is stuck on my non-operative computer in a dark industrial park office makes the price tag a pretty moot point. I decide that even if it’s $75 at a retailer, that’s worth the night’s sleep.
For the record, at a retailer, it’s about $50. But that’s only if they have such an antiquated item actually in stock. Two Staples and a Circuit City failed to turn up the requisite item.
A phone call to Easton Electronics confirmed that having someone do the repair for me would be in the neighborhood of $125 or a bit more, and still, the repair would not be complete before deadline.
So, I bit the bullet, did what needed doing, and ordered the part online.
It was $12.95. Shipping was either $11.40, if I’d like it to arrive sometime in the next three days, or $8.90 if I didn’t care if it arrived until sometime after the spring thaw. I definitely cared, so I chose the $11.40 option. I’d have paid a lot more than that, if they could have beamed it directly onto my doorstep, ala Star Trek, at that point.
So, four days later, (Why is there a law that dictates that the more you need something NOW, it must be delayed in transit?), a box arrives at my office. I put that week’s paper to bed and tell my boss that I am leaving because I have an overdue date with a screwdriver.
I take the sides off the tower and am immediately glad neither my brother nor a pro is doing this job. There is a carpet of dust an inch thick weaving it’s way among the circuit panels. There is no way I’d have been up for the scolding, though where all that dust came from in the less-than-a-year since my computer was last cleaned is beyond me.
So, before any real sugery can begin, I need canned air.
I call around town to see if a car trip can be avoided. Three likely places fail to turn up results, so it’s off to Kmart.
Nearly $7 and 30 minutes later for a compressed, canned version of a substance we breathe 24/7, I’m back at my apartment ready for business.
First thing, Romeo gets a thorough dusting.
Four screws are all that holds in a computer power supply, I discover. I remove them and put them in my pocket for safekeeping.
The old power supply won’t reach the floor if I don’t remove the big plug attaching it to the processor (or is that the mother board?), but since it’s the only big plug, I figure it’s pretty safe to remove it.
I don’t know much about computers, but having seen the inside of a few, it’s pretty much a bunch of modular parts connected together by various plugs. Ergo, if you can fit the square plug into a square hole, and keep which square plug goes where, all should be well. My plan was to remove one thing at a time, replacing it with the new one in succession so I didn’t get lost.
So I installed the new power supply with it’s four screws. I went to plug in the big plug, only to discover that my new big plug has 24 pins. I was about to lose it, when I noticed that four seemed to be detachable. Whew! A jumper. I remove the extra four and plug in.
Then I went carefully over the octopus of wires and identified the ones that were identical to the ones hooked up in the computer. One by one, I unhooked and rehooked plugs, about 10 in all. The actual replacement process took less than 20 minutes.
Then it was time for the moment of truth. Panels back on the tower, monitor and accessories all hooked back up, kitchen A-B-C fire extinguisher handy just in case I did something really wrong, power supply plugged into cord plugged into wall.
I pushed the switch.
And Romeo was back. Alive. On my first try.
So I sent my fellow editors at work an email. It said, “Victory is mine.”
They had no idea what I was talking about.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 8, 2007)
If Easton is so bad, why do they visit us and want to live here?
At the risk of making some instant enemies, I’ve decided to bring up a topic that is long overdue in this humble little sphere of The Easton News—local development (insert scary theremin and organ music here).
I’m bringing this up because if I don’t, I think my head may explode.
Let me start by saying that it is probably fair to say that I am more informed on local zoning, planning and development issues than the average person. I never really sought to be—it just happened. Actively covering nine municipalities and two school districts, which often requires attending three or four evening municipal meetings of various sorts a week will do that to you.
Let me also warn you that, being a loyal resident of Easton, this article is going to be a bit biased that way. In fact, it should be. I may cover other municipalities, but the only one I live in is Easton, and therefore, that is the only one I can really lay claim to.
Not everyone holds that opinion, however, and that is also a bit of what prompted me to write on this subject. It’s an important point, but rather dangerously neglected.
I got a night off from meetings last week and decided to take advantage of my rare freedom at one of Easton’s fine pubs. But instead of enjoying my book as I had intended, I got drawn into a conversation about Easton’s revitalization with some guys who all said they were “local.”
The first was the one who drew me into the conversation. He clearly stated that Easton is a mess and needs a complete overhaul. Drugs, crime, blight, you name it, Easton is falling down, it all sucks, and we should come up with a plan to tear it down and replace it before it’s too late. Also, those folks from Jersey are coming, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so we better get used to the idea of adding some ticky-tack to the city to suit their tastes. We should also invest in some major riverfront “revitalization” like perhaps Baltimore Harbor—it will also help those suburbanites we’re about to be overrun with feel more comfortable. Oh, and we should also take a clue and be more like Hoboken too.
I was more than a little offended at his assessment of the city. Certainly Easton has problems, but this was a bit much. But I decided to stay calm and gather a bit more information.
It turns out the guy does not live in Easton; he lives in—drumroll, please—NEW JERSEY!!
So I ask why, if Easton is so terrible, he is drinking in a bar in Easton. He tells me his mother lives here. Then he goes on about how wonderful Bethlehem is and how they’ve really turned things around and we should be more like them. Then I ask some more about where his mother lives. It turns out she does not live in Easton either, but more west—the direction in which the wonderful Bethlehem lies (that he did not choose to enjoy instead of the evil Easton).
I point this out, but he chooses not to elaborate on this mysterious phenomena. He tells me that no one is doing anything at all here, that even our volunteer organizations are run by lowlifes, at which point I decide the conversation has become so unpleasant that it must end. I just can’t see the point of arguing with a guy that doesn’t know who or what he’s talking about and is convinced everything here must be bad. He decides that if he can’t verbally barrage me further, it is time to go elsewhere (undoubtedly in Easton). Good riddance.
So I attempt once again to read my book, but another gentleman at the bar wants to continue the conversation. He is a construction manager, a transplant from out west who’s lived in Easton, he said, for seven years.
So, being that he’s in the building business and lived in Easton for two years longer than myself, I figure he might know something. He also used the words I brought up earlier, about “being part of the community.”
Well, he’s a nice guy, but it turns out he doesn’t live in Easton either—he lives in Forks. And if he’s been part of the community, I have to ask where he’s been on their zoning and planning issues for the past seven years. The answer? Not at any meetings. He couldn’t even name a single member of either board. And he continued to tell me he lived in Easton.
I got accused of being very negative and not being sensitive of the opinions of others that night. But I can’t really accept that assessment. Refusing to agree with opinions based on no known fact is not negative—it’s prudent. And I can’t figure out how these guys’ opinions, all of who do not live in Easton, somehow, in their heads, have more weight than that of an informed resident who would have rather been reading her book on information theory over a microbrew.
Easton is a jewel of a city, and everyone seems to have an opinion about how it needs to be “fixed.” But the only people whose opinions should really hold any weight are those of actual Eastonians because those are the folks who will have to live with the results and pay the price or reap the benefits of those decisions.
That is the case with every municipality. It would seem that a lot of folks these days don’t actually know what it means to be part of the community—it is definitely more than just coming home at night to the house you bought after your last job transfer and paying taxes on it until your next one, complaining about the neighborhood all the while. And, more than frequenting the neighborhood watering hole, no matter how many buddies you might have there.
It involves actually identifying with and working with members of the community in which one resides, not to mention participating in its growth and management.
And while it is a good thing to keep an open mind and look at ideas that have worked elsewhere, we never want to implement an idea because we want to be another city. I’ve heard all too often about making Easton into New Hope, Manyunk, Jim Thorpe and now Hoboken. But as wonderful (or not) as those place may be, we never want to be them, for the simple reason that EASTON IS WONDERFUL BECAUSE IT IS EASTON.
As one notorious local publisher has stated in a name, “Easton is home.”
Let Hoboken be Hoboken. There is only one. And, there is only one Easton, Pa.
What we need to do is make all the things that are unique and wonderful about Easton even more wonderful and make sure that the new stuff is up to those standards and fits in with Easton’s character. Despite stressed finances, Easton is fabulous real estate in one of the last untapped NYC markets. Yes, they are coming—and we have to make sure that their new development is up to our standards.
We need to never forget that people are moving to the area because it offers a better quality of life than where they are coming from. We need to make sure that the things that made and continue to make Easton great are not swept away or trampled underfoot by folks who don’t understand the value of them, and in fact, many times, are fleeing communities that have been messed up by poorly planned over-development they didn’t take the time to participate in. We need to make sure that the folks who already live here are considered before the folks who we might entice to move here, because they are the people who have made Easton and the surrounding area what it is—the real reason why folks want to move here.
Those from out of state who don’t like it should remember that one must pay a bridge toll to come, but the bridge always has an open eastbound lane, and going back to New Jersey is free, if one decides this side of the river is not to one’s liking.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 1, 2007)
I’m bringing this up because if I don’t, I think my head may explode.
Let me start by saying that it is probably fair to say that I am more informed on local zoning, planning and development issues than the average person. I never really sought to be—it just happened. Actively covering nine municipalities and two school districts, which often requires attending three or four evening municipal meetings of various sorts a week will do that to you.
Let me also warn you that, being a loyal resident of Easton, this article is going to be a bit biased that way. In fact, it should be. I may cover other municipalities, but the only one I live in is Easton, and therefore, that is the only one I can really lay claim to.
Not everyone holds that opinion, however, and that is also a bit of what prompted me to write on this subject. It’s an important point, but rather dangerously neglected.
I got a night off from meetings last week and decided to take advantage of my rare freedom at one of Easton’s fine pubs. But instead of enjoying my book as I had intended, I got drawn into a conversation about Easton’s revitalization with some guys who all said they were “local.”
The first was the one who drew me into the conversation. He clearly stated that Easton is a mess and needs a complete overhaul. Drugs, crime, blight, you name it, Easton is falling down, it all sucks, and we should come up with a plan to tear it down and replace it before it’s too late. Also, those folks from Jersey are coming, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so we better get used to the idea of adding some ticky-tack to the city to suit their tastes. We should also invest in some major riverfront “revitalization” like perhaps Baltimore Harbor—it will also help those suburbanites we’re about to be overrun with feel more comfortable. Oh, and we should also take a clue and be more like Hoboken too.
I was more than a little offended at his assessment of the city. Certainly Easton has problems, but this was a bit much. But I decided to stay calm and gather a bit more information.
It turns out the guy does not live in Easton; he lives in—drumroll, please—NEW JERSEY!!
So I ask why, if Easton is so terrible, he is drinking in a bar in Easton. He tells me his mother lives here. Then he goes on about how wonderful Bethlehem is and how they’ve really turned things around and we should be more like them. Then I ask some more about where his mother lives. It turns out she does not live in Easton either, but more west—the direction in which the wonderful Bethlehem lies (that he did not choose to enjoy instead of the evil Easton).
I point this out, but he chooses not to elaborate on this mysterious phenomena. He tells me that no one is doing anything at all here, that even our volunteer organizations are run by lowlifes, at which point I decide the conversation has become so unpleasant that it must end. I just can’t see the point of arguing with a guy that doesn’t know who or what he’s talking about and is convinced everything here must be bad. He decides that if he can’t verbally barrage me further, it is time to go elsewhere (undoubtedly in Easton). Good riddance.
So I attempt once again to read my book, but another gentleman at the bar wants to continue the conversation. He is a construction manager, a transplant from out west who’s lived in Easton, he said, for seven years.
So, being that he’s in the building business and lived in Easton for two years longer than myself, I figure he might know something. He also used the words I brought up earlier, about “being part of the community.”
Well, he’s a nice guy, but it turns out he doesn’t live in Easton either—he lives in Forks. And if he’s been part of the community, I have to ask where he’s been on their zoning and planning issues for the past seven years. The answer? Not at any meetings. He couldn’t even name a single member of either board. And he continued to tell me he lived in Easton.
I got accused of being very negative and not being sensitive of the opinions of others that night. But I can’t really accept that assessment. Refusing to agree with opinions based on no known fact is not negative—it’s prudent. And I can’t figure out how these guys’ opinions, all of who do not live in Easton, somehow, in their heads, have more weight than that of an informed resident who would have rather been reading her book on information theory over a microbrew.
Easton is a jewel of a city, and everyone seems to have an opinion about how it needs to be “fixed.” But the only people whose opinions should really hold any weight are those of actual Eastonians because those are the folks who will have to live with the results and pay the price or reap the benefits of those decisions.
That is the case with every municipality. It would seem that a lot of folks these days don’t actually know what it means to be part of the community—it is definitely more than just coming home at night to the house you bought after your last job transfer and paying taxes on it until your next one, complaining about the neighborhood all the while. And, more than frequenting the neighborhood watering hole, no matter how many buddies you might have there.
It involves actually identifying with and working with members of the community in which one resides, not to mention participating in its growth and management.
And while it is a good thing to keep an open mind and look at ideas that have worked elsewhere, we never want to implement an idea because we want to be another city. I’ve heard all too often about making Easton into New Hope, Manyunk, Jim Thorpe and now Hoboken. But as wonderful (or not) as those place may be, we never want to be them, for the simple reason that EASTON IS WONDERFUL BECAUSE IT IS EASTON.
As one notorious local publisher has stated in a name, “Easton is home.”
Let Hoboken be Hoboken. There is only one. And, there is only one Easton, Pa.
What we need to do is make all the things that are unique and wonderful about Easton even more wonderful and make sure that the new stuff is up to those standards and fits in with Easton’s character. Despite stressed finances, Easton is fabulous real estate in one of the last untapped NYC markets. Yes, they are coming—and we have to make sure that their new development is up to our standards.
We need to never forget that people are moving to the area because it offers a better quality of life than where they are coming from. We need to make sure that the things that made and continue to make Easton great are not swept away or trampled underfoot by folks who don’t understand the value of them, and in fact, many times, are fleeing communities that have been messed up by poorly planned over-development they didn’t take the time to participate in. We need to make sure that the folks who already live here are considered before the folks who we might entice to move here, because they are the people who have made Easton and the surrounding area what it is—the real reason why folks want to move here.
Those from out of state who don’t like it should remember that one must pay a bridge toll to come, but the bridge always has an open eastbound lane, and going back to New Jersey is free, if one decides this side of the river is not to one’s liking.
(Originally published in The Easton News, March 1, 2007)
Modern knights in shining armor carry snow shovels, not swords
There are undoubtedly many stories of last week’s snow storm, and in most places the now-graying aftermath is still evident.
Folks that spent many hours stuck on Pennsylvania highways are not likely to soon forget their ordeal, and based on how many complaints PennDOT and local public works departments have received about road conditions, likely local officials won’t forget this one soon either.
But that’s not what will make last week’s storm memorable for me.
Let me preface things by stating that I like snow—a lot. It’s been too many years since I’ve had the opportunity to go skiing, but I hold the opinion that it is one of the better thrills out there.
I don’t look forward to it, but driving in snowy conditions doesn’t phase me either, which is a good thing, because it seems like I’ve been required to drive in more than my share of bad weather.
I fear no snow.
That said, I can’t say I really looked forward to driving in it last Wednesday, and indeed, had it not been a “production day,” the day the newspaper must be “put to bed” (my friends always ask if I tuck it in and read it a bedtime story), there is very little that could have convinced me to not stay in bed for an extra half-hour before enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee.
Reporting from home is actually easier, since my apartment is in Easton, but my office is in Allentown.
But such snowy morning niceties were not to be, so I and the Swedish Prince (my Saab) hit the highway Wednesday morning.
I may not have had the opportunity to sleep in, but apparently the plow guy that is supposed to do the parking lot at my office building did. So after a very slow, white ride to work, I arrived only to find that I couldn’t get my car into the parking lot, despite 25 minutes of trying.
Eventually, I gave up, parked the car by the (plowed) roadside and hiked in.
It wasn’t thrilling, but I figured at least I wouldn’t get stuck in the parking lot.
I was entirely wrong.
A couple hours later when I hiked back out to the car, I found myself going nowhere quickly, though all around me had been plowed. I hadn’t even gotten plowed in. The snow had drifted, leaving the Swedish Prince buried past the running boards.
But I said I fear no snow, and I don’t, so I popped the trunk and got out the gear.
Unfortunately, I only got the car a few months ago, and snow wasn’t the highest priority in August, so my gear consisted of a small but sturdy metal collapsible shovel and a few spare floor mats that could get the car some traction, in theory, at least.
It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that in an ongoing blizzard my gear was about as effective as attempting to clear the Jersey shoreline with a teaspoon.
But I was determined to free my car. “I and the Swedish Prince ARE going back to Easton today, together,” was my singular thought.
So I dug. And dug some more, all the while subscribing to the minimalist theory that if I could just get the car a little traction, my ordeal would be over.
But it was becoming evident that I had a losing battle on my hands. A five-foot-two, 105-pound woman armed only with a mini shovel in a foot of continually drifting snow in an ongoing blizzard is not a perfect model of efficiency, unfortunately.
And just when I was about to lose it and hike back to the office to demand that a professional be called to pull me out of that drift, a big, shiny pickup truck stopped on the other side of the roadway and a man got out.
I hesitated asking for help. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be out in such unpleasant weather unless they already had something important to do, but getting stuck at an office park that was quickly becoming a cold white ghost town was a pretty distasteful prospect, so I asked if perhaps I could get a push.
They did far more.
It turns out one of the men was driving by earlier and saw that I was stuck. So he went back to the building where he works for Gerhart Scale, about a mile down the road from my office, picked up two shovels and a buddy and came back in a blizzard just to help dig me out. That’s what they were doing when I asked for a push.
I am still flabbergasted at their thoughtfulness. It seems such a rare thing these days for anyone to take the time out to help another, even when it’s easy. And this was not easy.
Mike Shank and Steve Iles are rare guys. They wouldn’t even let me help with the rest of the shovelling and told me to get warm in the car instead.
I only met them for a few minutes, but I won’t forget Mike and Steve any time soon.
Modern knights in shining armor don’tcome along often and they don’t necessarily carry swords—they might just carry shovels.
Thanks again, Mike and Steve. You made my day, which, though I had forgotten at the time, was Valentine’s Day.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 22, 2007)
Folks that spent many hours stuck on Pennsylvania highways are not likely to soon forget their ordeal, and based on how many complaints PennDOT and local public works departments have received about road conditions, likely local officials won’t forget this one soon either.
But that’s not what will make last week’s storm memorable for me.
Let me preface things by stating that I like snow—a lot. It’s been too many years since I’ve had the opportunity to go skiing, but I hold the opinion that it is one of the better thrills out there.
I don’t look forward to it, but driving in snowy conditions doesn’t phase me either, which is a good thing, because it seems like I’ve been required to drive in more than my share of bad weather.
I fear no snow.
That said, I can’t say I really looked forward to driving in it last Wednesday, and indeed, had it not been a “production day,” the day the newspaper must be “put to bed” (my friends always ask if I tuck it in and read it a bedtime story), there is very little that could have convinced me to not stay in bed for an extra half-hour before enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee.
Reporting from home is actually easier, since my apartment is in Easton, but my office is in Allentown.
But such snowy morning niceties were not to be, so I and the Swedish Prince (my Saab) hit the highway Wednesday morning.
I may not have had the opportunity to sleep in, but apparently the plow guy that is supposed to do the parking lot at my office building did. So after a very slow, white ride to work, I arrived only to find that I couldn’t get my car into the parking lot, despite 25 minutes of trying.
Eventually, I gave up, parked the car by the (plowed) roadside and hiked in.
It wasn’t thrilling, but I figured at least I wouldn’t get stuck in the parking lot.
I was entirely wrong.
A couple hours later when I hiked back out to the car, I found myself going nowhere quickly, though all around me had been plowed. I hadn’t even gotten plowed in. The snow had drifted, leaving the Swedish Prince buried past the running boards.
But I said I fear no snow, and I don’t, so I popped the trunk and got out the gear.
Unfortunately, I only got the car a few months ago, and snow wasn’t the highest priority in August, so my gear consisted of a small but sturdy metal collapsible shovel and a few spare floor mats that could get the car some traction, in theory, at least.
It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that in an ongoing blizzard my gear was about as effective as attempting to clear the Jersey shoreline with a teaspoon.
But I was determined to free my car. “I and the Swedish Prince ARE going back to Easton today, together,” was my singular thought.
So I dug. And dug some more, all the while subscribing to the minimalist theory that if I could just get the car a little traction, my ordeal would be over.
But it was becoming evident that I had a losing battle on my hands. A five-foot-two, 105-pound woman armed only with a mini shovel in a foot of continually drifting snow in an ongoing blizzard is not a perfect model of efficiency, unfortunately.
And just when I was about to lose it and hike back to the office to demand that a professional be called to pull me out of that drift, a big, shiny pickup truck stopped on the other side of the roadway and a man got out.
I hesitated asking for help. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be out in such unpleasant weather unless they already had something important to do, but getting stuck at an office park that was quickly becoming a cold white ghost town was a pretty distasteful prospect, so I asked if perhaps I could get a push.
They did far more.
It turns out one of the men was driving by earlier and saw that I was stuck. So he went back to the building where he works for Gerhart Scale, about a mile down the road from my office, picked up two shovels and a buddy and came back in a blizzard just to help dig me out. That’s what they were doing when I asked for a push.
I am still flabbergasted at their thoughtfulness. It seems such a rare thing these days for anyone to take the time out to help another, even when it’s easy. And this was not easy.
Mike Shank and Steve Iles are rare guys. They wouldn’t even let me help with the rest of the shovelling and told me to get warm in the car instead.
I only met them for a few minutes, but I won’t forget Mike and Steve any time soon.
Modern knights in shining armor don’tcome along often and they don’t necessarily carry swords—they might just carry shovels.
Thanks again, Mike and Steve. You made my day, which, though I had forgotten at the time, was Valentine’s Day.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 22, 2007)
How to get even with companies that ‘fee’ you to financial death
I went to pay my slightly overdue phone bill the other day. I know I should get to it earlier, but working as many hours as I do, sometimes it’s hard to keep track of the days.
So I attempted to rectify the situation immediately and pay my phone bill in full by phone on my debit card. It seemed like the fastest, most reliable way to make sure they got paid. No muss, no fuss—right?
You’d think I’d just call them up, type in a whole bunch of numbers, and that would be the end of that. It should be even cheaper for the company for me to pay them that way, since it’s not even necessary for me to take up the time of one of their paid customer service representatives. I type in all the numbers for them, saving them the trouble and expense, and their computer does the rest. They might have to pay some IT folks to maintain their computer system, but it’s far less than paying customer service representatives to each individually take care of people like me who want to pay by phone, so they undoubtedly save money. The automated system is also more secure and makes it nearly impossible for someone to casually get hold of credit and bank card numbers, reducing the chance of identity theft and therefore liability for the company.
So, when it’s presumably cheaper, safer and easier for the company to process automated credit and debit card payments, and also presumably, reflected somewhere in my bill are overhead costs for that system and also any customer service from a live representative I might actually require, why do they charge an additional $3.50 fee to pay my bill by phone? This is not part of any late fee; this is a charge for the “convenience” of getting them their money as quickly as possible.
This is sort of similar to the gambit banks have been getting away with for the past bunch of years—charging exorbitantly for ATM use.
At one time, banks often charged either a flat monthly fee or a per use fee for ATM usage. But still unsatisfied with the elimination of having to pay the salary of a live teller for many common transactions, banks now often charge a fee for using an ATM that is owned by anyone other than themselves. In addition, the ATM owner may charge a user fee, so the consumer pays both institutions for the “privilege” of accessing their own cash.
While it may seem petty to complain, large corporations make a ton of money on such transactions. Such fees may seem small—a dollar here, 75 cents there, a surcharge of a few more dollars there, but over time, it really adds up, and from a percentage standpoint, it’s beyond exorbitant.
Take very a typical ATM transaction as an example—you need quick $20 cash. So you hit the ATM, but a branch of your own bank isn’t in sight. When you put your card in the slot, the “foreign” machine tells you that an extra $1.50 will be deducted from your account—do you agree? Probably not, but you also probably have little choice since you want your money. Later, when your bank statement arrives, you may notice you’ve been charged again, this time by your own financial institution, for using that “foreign” ATM that has already charged you. Let’s assume your bank is more “merciful” than the ATM owner and “only” charges you 75 cents for accessing that $20. You’ve now paid $2.25, or more than 10 percent of the amount to access your own money—which may be more than your credit card charges in interest for a cash advance that’s paid back promptly.
Assuming a person takes money out under those circumstances just once a week, more than $100 will be paid out annually just for accessing one’s own money—all while saving those banks a ton in salaries for live tellers.
And, the idea to charge a fee for live teller transactions has been kicked around (and even implemented in some places) leaving consumers to pay every time they do anything at all with their own money. Depositing? The bank gets a little bit.
Want some of your money back? They get a little bit more. Need help figuring out your account balance? We bet you do—and it will be a little less still when we charge you a teller fee to tell you how much money you no longer have. What a great idea—at least, if you’re a bank.
It’s enough to make one want to skip financial institutions entirely and revert to the mattress method.
But getting back to my dilemma with the phone company, I did the next best thing—I hung up instead of agreeing to their $3.50 fee and paying them. I decided to call them back and have a nice long, free chat about my dissatisfaction with their system with the a real, live, salaried member of their customer service department.
I made sure it took 15 minutes to very politely tell them I felt their $3.50 fee was a bit unreasonable and that I would be stopping by their office in Bethlehem on my way to work to pay them in cash. It was very entertaining, even if the representative was a little confused.
I figure since a portion of my bill is undoubtedly earmarked for such overhead that I pretty much never use, I need to rectify the situation and balance things out. I am considering making a habit of it, and calling my phone company (and any other service institutions I do business with that overcharge for basic functions) on a monthly basis just to say “hi” and see how things are going. I may not be able to charge them a fee back, but I can make sure I get my money’s worth, and perhaps a little entertainment too, at their expense.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 15, 2007)
So I attempted to rectify the situation immediately and pay my phone bill in full by phone on my debit card. It seemed like the fastest, most reliable way to make sure they got paid. No muss, no fuss—right?
You’d think I’d just call them up, type in a whole bunch of numbers, and that would be the end of that. It should be even cheaper for the company for me to pay them that way, since it’s not even necessary for me to take up the time of one of their paid customer service representatives. I type in all the numbers for them, saving them the trouble and expense, and their computer does the rest. They might have to pay some IT folks to maintain their computer system, but it’s far less than paying customer service representatives to each individually take care of people like me who want to pay by phone, so they undoubtedly save money. The automated system is also more secure and makes it nearly impossible for someone to casually get hold of credit and bank card numbers, reducing the chance of identity theft and therefore liability for the company.
So, when it’s presumably cheaper, safer and easier for the company to process automated credit and debit card payments, and also presumably, reflected somewhere in my bill are overhead costs for that system and also any customer service from a live representative I might actually require, why do they charge an additional $3.50 fee to pay my bill by phone? This is not part of any late fee; this is a charge for the “convenience” of getting them their money as quickly as possible.
This is sort of similar to the gambit banks have been getting away with for the past bunch of years—charging exorbitantly for ATM use.
At one time, banks often charged either a flat monthly fee or a per use fee for ATM usage. But still unsatisfied with the elimination of having to pay the salary of a live teller for many common transactions, banks now often charge a fee for using an ATM that is owned by anyone other than themselves. In addition, the ATM owner may charge a user fee, so the consumer pays both institutions for the “privilege” of accessing their own cash.
While it may seem petty to complain, large corporations make a ton of money on such transactions. Such fees may seem small—a dollar here, 75 cents there, a surcharge of a few more dollars there, but over time, it really adds up, and from a percentage standpoint, it’s beyond exorbitant.
Take very a typical ATM transaction as an example—you need quick $20 cash. So you hit the ATM, but a branch of your own bank isn’t in sight. When you put your card in the slot, the “foreign” machine tells you that an extra $1.50 will be deducted from your account—do you agree? Probably not, but you also probably have little choice since you want your money. Later, when your bank statement arrives, you may notice you’ve been charged again, this time by your own financial institution, for using that “foreign” ATM that has already charged you. Let’s assume your bank is more “merciful” than the ATM owner and “only” charges you 75 cents for accessing that $20. You’ve now paid $2.25, or more than 10 percent of the amount to access your own money—which may be more than your credit card charges in interest for a cash advance that’s paid back promptly.
Assuming a person takes money out under those circumstances just once a week, more than $100 will be paid out annually just for accessing one’s own money—all while saving those banks a ton in salaries for live tellers.
And, the idea to charge a fee for live teller transactions has been kicked around (and even implemented in some places) leaving consumers to pay every time they do anything at all with their own money. Depositing? The bank gets a little bit.
Want some of your money back? They get a little bit more. Need help figuring out your account balance? We bet you do—and it will be a little less still when we charge you a teller fee to tell you how much money you no longer have. What a great idea—at least, if you’re a bank.
It’s enough to make one want to skip financial institutions entirely and revert to the mattress method.
But getting back to my dilemma with the phone company, I did the next best thing—I hung up instead of agreeing to their $3.50 fee and paying them. I decided to call them back and have a nice long, free chat about my dissatisfaction with their system with the a real, live, salaried member of their customer service department.
I made sure it took 15 minutes to very politely tell them I felt their $3.50 fee was a bit unreasonable and that I would be stopping by their office in Bethlehem on my way to work to pay them in cash. It was very entertaining, even if the representative was a little confused.
I figure since a portion of my bill is undoubtedly earmarked for such overhead that I pretty much never use, I need to rectify the situation and balance things out. I am considering making a habit of it, and calling my phone company (and any other service institutions I do business with that overcharge for basic functions) on a monthly basis just to say “hi” and see how things are going. I may not be able to charge them a fee back, but I can make sure I get my money’s worth, and perhaps a little entertainment too, at their expense.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 15, 2007)
Modern knights in shining armor carry snow shovels, not swords
There are undoubtedly many stories of last week’s snow storm, and in most places the now-graying aftermath is still evident.
Folks that spent many hours stuck on Pennsylvania highways are not likely to soon forget their ordeal, and based on how many complaints PennDOT and local public works departments have received about road conditions, likely local officials won’t forget this one soon either.
But that’s not what will make last week’s storm memorable for me.
Let me preface things by stating that I like snow—a lot. It’s been too many years since I’ve had the opportunity to go skiing, but I hold the opinion that it is one of the better thrills out there.
I don’t look forward to it, but driving in snowy conditions doesn’t phase me either, which is a good thing, because it seems like I’ve been required to drive in more than my share of bad weather.
I fear no snow.
That said, I can’t say I really looked forward to driving in it last Wednesday, and indeed, had it not been a “production day,” the day the newspaper must be “put to bed” (my friends always ask if I tuck it in and read it a bedtime story), there is very little that could have convinced me to not stay in bed for an extra half-hour before enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee.
Reporting from home is actually easier, since my apartment is in Easton, but my office is in Allentown.
But such snowy morning niceties were not to be, so I and the Swedish Prince (my Saab) hit the highway Wednesday morning.
I may not have had the opportunity to sleep in, but apparently the plow guy that is supposed to do the parking lot at my office building did. So after a very slow, white ride to work, I arrived only to find that I couldn’t get my car into the parking lot, despite 25 minutes of trying.
Eventually, I gave up, parked the car by the (plowed) roadside and hiked in.
It wasn’t thrilling, but I figured at least I wouldn’t get stuck in the parking lot.
I was entirely wrong.
A couple hours later when I hiked back out to the car, I found myself going nowhere quickly, though all around me had been plowed. I hadn’t even gotten plowed in. The snow had drifted, leaving the Swedish Prince buried past the running boards.
But I said I fear no snow, and I don’t, so I popped the trunk and got out the gear.
Unfortunately, I only got the car a few months ago, and snow wasn’t the highest priority in August, so my gear consisted of a small but sturdy metal collapsible shovel and a few spare floor mats that could get the car some traction, in theory, at least.
It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that in an ongoing blizzard my gear was about as effective as attempting to clear the Jersey shoreline with a teaspoon.
But I was determined to free my car. “I and the Swedish Prince ARE going back to Easton today, together,” was my singular thought.
So I dug. And dug some more, all the while subscribing to the minimalist theory that if I could just get the car a little traction, my ordeal would be over.
But it was becoming evident that I had a losing battle on my hands. A five-foot-two, 105-pound woman armed only with a mini shovel in a foot of continually drifting snow in an ongoing blizzard is not a perfect model of efficiency, unfortunately.
And just when I was about to lose it and hike back to the office to demand that a professional be called to pull me out of that drift, a big, shiny pickup truck stopped on the other side of the roadway and a man got out.
I hesitated asking for help. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be out in such unpleasant weather unless they already had something important to do, but getting stuck at an office park that was quickly becoming a cold white ghost town was a pretty distasteful prospect, so I asked if perhaps I could get a push.
They did far more.
It turns out one of the men was driving by earlier and saw that I was stuck. So he went back to the building where he works for Gerhart Scale, about a mile down the road from my office, picked up two shovels and a buddy and came back in a blizzard just to help dig me out. That’s what they were doing when I asked for a push.
I am still flabbergasted at their thoughtfulness. It seems such a rare thing these days for anyone to take the time out to help another, even when it’s easy. And this was not easy.
Mike Shank and Steve Iles are rare guys. They wouldn’t even let me help with the rest of the shovelling and told me to get warm in the car instead.
I only met them for a few minutes, but I won’t forget Mike and Steve any time soon.
Modern knights in shining armor don’tcome along often and they don’t necessarily carry swords—they might just carry shovels.
Thanks again, Mike and Steve. You made my day, which, though I had forgotten at the time, was Valentine’s Day.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 22, 2007)
Folks that spent many hours stuck on Pennsylvania highways are not likely to soon forget their ordeal, and based on how many complaints PennDOT and local public works departments have received about road conditions, likely local officials won’t forget this one soon either.
But that’s not what will make last week’s storm memorable for me.
Let me preface things by stating that I like snow—a lot. It’s been too many years since I’ve had the opportunity to go skiing, but I hold the opinion that it is one of the better thrills out there.
I don’t look forward to it, but driving in snowy conditions doesn’t phase me either, which is a good thing, because it seems like I’ve been required to drive in more than my share of bad weather.
I fear no snow.
That said, I can’t say I really looked forward to driving in it last Wednesday, and indeed, had it not been a “production day,” the day the newspaper must be “put to bed” (my friends always ask if I tuck it in and read it a bedtime story), there is very little that could have convinced me to not stay in bed for an extra half-hour before enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee.
Reporting from home is actually easier, since my apartment is in Easton, but my office is in Allentown.
But such snowy morning niceties were not to be, so I and the Swedish Prince (my Saab) hit the highway Wednesday morning.
I may not have had the opportunity to sleep in, but apparently the plow guy that is supposed to do the parking lot at my office building did. So after a very slow, white ride to work, I arrived only to find that I couldn’t get my car into the parking lot, despite 25 minutes of trying.
Eventually, I gave up, parked the car by the (plowed) roadside and hiked in.
It wasn’t thrilling, but I figured at least I wouldn’t get stuck in the parking lot.
I was entirely wrong.
A couple hours later when I hiked back out to the car, I found myself going nowhere quickly, though all around me had been plowed. I hadn’t even gotten plowed in. The snow had drifted, leaving the Swedish Prince buried past the running boards.
But I said I fear no snow, and I don’t, so I popped the trunk and got out the gear.
Unfortunately, I only got the car a few months ago, and snow wasn’t the highest priority in August, so my gear consisted of a small but sturdy metal collapsible shovel and a few spare floor mats that could get the car some traction, in theory, at least.
It wasn’t long before I came to the conclusion that in an ongoing blizzard my gear was about as effective as attempting to clear the Jersey shoreline with a teaspoon.
But I was determined to free my car. “I and the Swedish Prince ARE going back to Easton today, together,” was my singular thought.
So I dug. And dug some more, all the while subscribing to the minimalist theory that if I could just get the car a little traction, my ordeal would be over.
But it was becoming evident that I had a losing battle on my hands. A five-foot-two, 105-pound woman armed only with a mini shovel in a foot of continually drifting snow in an ongoing blizzard is not a perfect model of efficiency, unfortunately.
And just when I was about to lose it and hike back to the office to demand that a professional be called to pull me out of that drift, a big, shiny pickup truck stopped on the other side of the roadway and a man got out.
I hesitated asking for help. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be out in such unpleasant weather unless they already had something important to do, but getting stuck at an office park that was quickly becoming a cold white ghost town was a pretty distasteful prospect, so I asked if perhaps I could get a push.
They did far more.
It turns out one of the men was driving by earlier and saw that I was stuck. So he went back to the building where he works for Gerhart Scale, about a mile down the road from my office, picked up two shovels and a buddy and came back in a blizzard just to help dig me out. That’s what they were doing when I asked for a push.
I am still flabbergasted at their thoughtfulness. It seems such a rare thing these days for anyone to take the time out to help another, even when it’s easy. And this was not easy.
Mike Shank and Steve Iles are rare guys. They wouldn’t even let me help with the rest of the shovelling and told me to get warm in the car instead.
I only met them for a few minutes, but I won’t forget Mike and Steve any time soon.
Modern knights in shining armor don’tcome along often and they don’t necessarily carry swords—they might just carry shovels.
Thanks again, Mike and Steve. You made my day, which, though I had forgotten at the time, was Valentine’s Day.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 22, 2007)
Thursday, April 12, 2007
If it’s perfect, they stop making it
Why is it that just when you think you’ve found the perfect version of something, they stop making it?
There’s probably some long complicated mathematical formula that explains why this happens, but I’d rather hear a reasonable explanation for this inexplicable phenomena in plain English, if one exists.
I recently broke the battery door on my digital camera. It’s been cracked for a couple of months, but since the camera continued to operate perfectly in every other way, I figured I had some time before the problem became pressing.
The problem became immediately pressing at the chili fest at Pearly Baker’s Alehouse this weekend when I arrived amidst 500 avid chili fans only to discover the battery door had cracked further while in my bag and now would not stay shut, making the camera inoperational. Though I live only a few blocks away, this weekend’s frigid cold convinced me to improvise rather than run back to my apartment in search of electrical tape; the lanyard strap on the flash drive I carry served reasonably well wrapped tightly around the camera to hold the door shut, getting me through the shoot.
My complaint is not that the battery door broke. While it would have been nice if it hadn’t, my camera has been traveling with me on a daily basis for more than a year, and it takes quite a beating. This is the only thing that has begun to show any wear, other than the place where I have literally worn the silvering off the shutter button.
No, my complaint is that Konica-Minolta has ceased to make cameras!
That the company would no longer make cameras, film or digital, was announced shortly after I purchased my Dimage Z3 (one of the most awesome SLR “semi-pro” digital cameras out there, in this humble reporter’s opinion). I was pretty disappointed when I heard the news, but the company promised to support their discontinued products for the next seven years, so I figured I was still pretty safe.
So I went to their Web site this weekend, and while the camera is still supported, the customer service has been turned over to Sony. No real information on how I order a replacement battery door is on the site, so I will have to call them and figure out the logistics with, hopefully, a real live person, since I don’t want to part with my camera for a few weeks to send the camera off to one of their service centers for something I can fix myself if I only had a replacement battery door.
While I am supplied with a quality Nikon through the newspaper, it’s all of the things I tried to avoid when I chose a camera for myself, now about a year and a half ago. I consider myself to be pretty tech-savvy; but that camera and its non-features frustrate me enough to want to physically smash it instead take pictures with it.
I researched what I wanted in the way of a digital camera for a long time before I purchased my Z3, and pretty much nothing on the market has its features in a similar package with a similar quality for a similar (and exceedingly reasonable) price. The camera I have has an excellent lens with 12x optical zoom, a ridiculously fast processing unit, a good light card, operates on AA batteries and has a great variety of features that are all user-friendly. And all that fits in a reporter’s bag perfectly—it’s not as bulky or clunky as many other cameras in its class. I’ve loved it since the day it arrived.
While I’m not yet ready to part with my Z3 (in fact, I’m considering trolling the Internet for its backup twin, though last I checked, they were about $40 more than I paid for mine—imagine that, electronics that gain in value after they are discontinued! I guess other people really like that camera too.), I do realize that I probably should start looking for its successor. In the light-speed world of computers, the three years that have passed since its introduction make it ancient.
The Z5, the last in the Minolta series, is the Z3 with a little more mega pixel power, but alas, it was discontinued with the rest of the cameras, so it wouldn’t do me much good.
Which leaves me searching for to replace product that, as far as I am concerned, has already been perfected, but is no longer being manufactured by that company. Already owning the perfect camera, I haven’t looked at what’s out there recently, but I’m hoping against hope that some manufacturer has moved to fill the void left by the departure of the Dimage Z series of cameras, updated, of course, so I can have “perfection” for another couple of years before the tech world shifts the ground beneath our feet yet again.
So, if in the near future, I show up at an event you’re attending looking more than a bit annoyed and carrying a bulky Nikon whose flash insists on going off in your face even though I “told” it not to, you’ll know I’ve yet not succeeded in my quest.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 8, 2007)
There’s probably some long complicated mathematical formula that explains why this happens, but I’d rather hear a reasonable explanation for this inexplicable phenomena in plain English, if one exists.
I recently broke the battery door on my digital camera. It’s been cracked for a couple of months, but since the camera continued to operate perfectly in every other way, I figured I had some time before the problem became pressing.
The problem became immediately pressing at the chili fest at Pearly Baker’s Alehouse this weekend when I arrived amidst 500 avid chili fans only to discover the battery door had cracked further while in my bag and now would not stay shut, making the camera inoperational. Though I live only a few blocks away, this weekend’s frigid cold convinced me to improvise rather than run back to my apartment in search of electrical tape; the lanyard strap on the flash drive I carry served reasonably well wrapped tightly around the camera to hold the door shut, getting me through the shoot.
My complaint is not that the battery door broke. While it would have been nice if it hadn’t, my camera has been traveling with me on a daily basis for more than a year, and it takes quite a beating. This is the only thing that has begun to show any wear, other than the place where I have literally worn the silvering off the shutter button.
No, my complaint is that Konica-Minolta has ceased to make cameras!
That the company would no longer make cameras, film or digital, was announced shortly after I purchased my Dimage Z3 (one of the most awesome SLR “semi-pro” digital cameras out there, in this humble reporter’s opinion). I was pretty disappointed when I heard the news, but the company promised to support their discontinued products for the next seven years, so I figured I was still pretty safe.
So I went to their Web site this weekend, and while the camera is still supported, the customer service has been turned over to Sony. No real information on how I order a replacement battery door is on the site, so I will have to call them and figure out the logistics with, hopefully, a real live person, since I don’t want to part with my camera for a few weeks to send the camera off to one of their service centers for something I can fix myself if I only had a replacement battery door.
While I am supplied with a quality Nikon through the newspaper, it’s all of the things I tried to avoid when I chose a camera for myself, now about a year and a half ago. I consider myself to be pretty tech-savvy; but that camera and its non-features frustrate me enough to want to physically smash it instead take pictures with it.
I researched what I wanted in the way of a digital camera for a long time before I purchased my Z3, and pretty much nothing on the market has its features in a similar package with a similar quality for a similar (and exceedingly reasonable) price. The camera I have has an excellent lens with 12x optical zoom, a ridiculously fast processing unit, a good light card, operates on AA batteries and has a great variety of features that are all user-friendly. And all that fits in a reporter’s bag perfectly—it’s not as bulky or clunky as many other cameras in its class. I’ve loved it since the day it arrived.
While I’m not yet ready to part with my Z3 (in fact, I’m considering trolling the Internet for its backup twin, though last I checked, they were about $40 more than I paid for mine—imagine that, electronics that gain in value after they are discontinued! I guess other people really like that camera too.), I do realize that I probably should start looking for its successor. In the light-speed world of computers, the three years that have passed since its introduction make it ancient.
The Z5, the last in the Minolta series, is the Z3 with a little more mega pixel power, but alas, it was discontinued with the rest of the cameras, so it wouldn’t do me much good.
Which leaves me searching for to replace product that, as far as I am concerned, has already been perfected, but is no longer being manufactured by that company. Already owning the perfect camera, I haven’t looked at what’s out there recently, but I’m hoping against hope that some manufacturer has moved to fill the void left by the departure of the Dimage Z series of cameras, updated, of course, so I can have “perfection” for another couple of years before the tech world shifts the ground beneath our feet yet again.
So, if in the near future, I show up at an event you’re attending looking more than a bit annoyed and carrying a bulky Nikon whose flash insists on going off in your face even though I “told” it not to, you’ll know I’ve yet not succeeded in my quest.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 8, 2007)
Groundhogs are the American stand-in for European badgers
Looking outside this week, you wouldn’t think we’d need a groundhog to tell us there will be six more weeks of winter. We’ve gotten off so easy this year, it seems only fair that we actually have a winter, and therefore it mostly lies ahead.
Whether there’s a groundhog involved or not, it seems that Feb. 2 is the day for weather prognostication in a variety of cultures.
When I was a kid, the concept of Groundhog Day fascinated me. I remember seeing this mysterious entry on the calendar, printed on, no less, and wondering, “Groundhogs get their own day?” Having spent the first five years of my life in Brooklyn (and then the next 13 in a suburb just outside of Princeton, N.J.) brought up by a Greek mother who was raised in a Jewish Brooklyn neighborhood, groundhogs were foreign to me (Mom described them as “dirty, filthy wild animals,” her standard description for any form of wildlife more exotic than a stray cat). So, when I was a little kid, I couldn’t even imagine what one looked like, let alone figure out why they were apparently important enough to get their own holiday.
Later, in grammar school in suburban New Jersey, I got an explanation—sort of. They were actually rather cute, country-dwelling creatures with a Feb. 2 penchant for determining whether winter would last another six weeks or not. No further attempt at an explanation for this mysterious ability was made, and I don’t remember anyone, the teacher included, questioning the source of this traditional legend. I don’t even think they used it for a springboard to discuss mammals, or animal habits or anything really useful.
Groundhog Day was just another one of those seasonal lessons one repeatedly learns in grammar school with certain key explanations omitted, year after year, like the story of the first Thanksgiving, which so remarkably leaves out the details of how the friendly Native American Squanto just happened to be able to speak perfect English to the Pilgrims. (By the way, Squanto actually did speak English, but I leave that to another column.)
Later, I discovered “Groundhog Day” also happens to be Candlemas on the Christian calendar, and Imbolc (also called Olmeic), a cross-quarter day, in the British Isles, a day sacred to Brigid and predating the area’s conversion to Christianity.
In Europe, it was traditional for farmers to observe the habits of badgers as they emerged from hibernation and their winter dens. Predictably, the precursor to the American groundhog tradition also held that if the creature saw his shadow, he would run back in the den for another nap and there would be six more weeks of winter. If the badger did not see his shadow, it meant the creature had some confidence that spring was just around the corner.
If one’s literal livelihood depended on how the crops do, and that is determined largely by the weather, one can see how this could be a pretty important day.
Important enough, that when the first German immigrants settled in Pennsylvania, the tradition would have to continue. Only there were no badgers in North America, so the groundhog was chosen instead. (I’ve not figured out how this consensus was reached, other than it seems a reasonably logical choice.)
Candlemas, also on Feb. 2, commemorates the ritual purification of Mary, 40 days after the birth of Jesus, but it also has some other traditions attached to it, probably ones associated with the earlier holiday, Imbolc, which later became known as St. Brigid’s Day in the British Isles.
Imbolc tradition holds that other hibernating creatures also emerge on this day to check out the weather. Bears emerge, as well as wolves, which if they choose to return to their lairs on this day is interpreted as meaning severe weather will continue for another 40 days at least. Snakes are also mentioned.
Okay, if I wanted to know what the weather will be 200 years ago or now, I’m sure I’d rather say “hi” to the groundhogs or badgers, rather than asking a bear or a wolf or a snake. So this explains how come Feb. 2 isn’t “Wolf Day” or “Bear Day.”
But apparently you don’t really need to check with the animals to see if spring is on its way.
“If Candlemas be fair and bright, Winter has another flight. If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, Winter will not come again.” and “For as the sun shines on Candlemas Day, so far will the snow swirl in May...” are two traditional rhymes that jive with the badger/groundhog prognostications. If there were no sun, how would the creature see his shadow and get alarmed?
In days of old, the eve of Candlemas, considered the last day in the Christmas season, was also traditionally the day on which Christmas decorations were removed from people’s homes. It was believed that traces of berries, holly and so forth would bring death among the congregation before the year was out if this was not done. Personally, I think this superstition is actually evidence that folks leaving their Christmas decorations up year ‘round to the annoyance of their neighbors is not a problem that is limited to this century. Perhaps this was the Church’s way of getting the attention of those folks—don’t take down those decorations, and you or your loved ones or someone will die because you didn’t (and likely they are going to hell too).
Today, Groundhog Day brings to mind the town that has made Groundhog Day famous—Punxsutawny, Pa. and the movie in which Bill Murray is sentenced to live the day over and over again until he gets it right.
The day actually lasts a week or more there, with all things Punxsutawny Phil, the star of the show, available. There is even a dedicated group of men, called the Groundhog Club Inner Circle, who dress in top hats and tails and are charged with the duty of keeping Phil fed and happy. With titles like “His Protector,” “His Scribe” and “Burrowmaster,” as well as titles like “Head Hailmaker,” “Cloud Builder” and “Fog Spinner,” one can see these folks take the business of Phil and the coming of spring very seriously.
They probably should. For the record, Phil sees his shadow about 9 out of 10 times, and I don’t think this year will be all that unusual.
For more information on Groundhog Day and Punxsutawny Phil, go to: www.groundhog.org.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 1, 2007)
Whether there’s a groundhog involved or not, it seems that Feb. 2 is the day for weather prognostication in a variety of cultures.
When I was a kid, the concept of Groundhog Day fascinated me. I remember seeing this mysterious entry on the calendar, printed on, no less, and wondering, “Groundhogs get their own day?” Having spent the first five years of my life in Brooklyn (and then the next 13 in a suburb just outside of Princeton, N.J.) brought up by a Greek mother who was raised in a Jewish Brooklyn neighborhood, groundhogs were foreign to me (Mom described them as “dirty, filthy wild animals,” her standard description for any form of wildlife more exotic than a stray cat). So, when I was a little kid, I couldn’t even imagine what one looked like, let alone figure out why they were apparently important enough to get their own holiday.
Later, in grammar school in suburban New Jersey, I got an explanation—sort of. They were actually rather cute, country-dwelling creatures with a Feb. 2 penchant for determining whether winter would last another six weeks or not. No further attempt at an explanation for this mysterious ability was made, and I don’t remember anyone, the teacher included, questioning the source of this traditional legend. I don’t even think they used it for a springboard to discuss mammals, or animal habits or anything really useful.
Groundhog Day was just another one of those seasonal lessons one repeatedly learns in grammar school with certain key explanations omitted, year after year, like the story of the first Thanksgiving, which so remarkably leaves out the details of how the friendly Native American Squanto just happened to be able to speak perfect English to the Pilgrims. (By the way, Squanto actually did speak English, but I leave that to another column.)
Later, I discovered “Groundhog Day” also happens to be Candlemas on the Christian calendar, and Imbolc (also called Olmeic), a cross-quarter day, in the British Isles, a day sacred to Brigid and predating the area’s conversion to Christianity.
In Europe, it was traditional for farmers to observe the habits of badgers as they emerged from hibernation and their winter dens. Predictably, the precursor to the American groundhog tradition also held that if the creature saw his shadow, he would run back in the den for another nap and there would be six more weeks of winter. If the badger did not see his shadow, it meant the creature had some confidence that spring was just around the corner.
If one’s literal livelihood depended on how the crops do, and that is determined largely by the weather, one can see how this could be a pretty important day.
Important enough, that when the first German immigrants settled in Pennsylvania, the tradition would have to continue. Only there were no badgers in North America, so the groundhog was chosen instead. (I’ve not figured out how this consensus was reached, other than it seems a reasonably logical choice.)
Candlemas, also on Feb. 2, commemorates the ritual purification of Mary, 40 days after the birth of Jesus, but it also has some other traditions attached to it, probably ones associated with the earlier holiday, Imbolc, which later became known as St. Brigid’s Day in the British Isles.
Imbolc tradition holds that other hibernating creatures also emerge on this day to check out the weather. Bears emerge, as well as wolves, which if they choose to return to their lairs on this day is interpreted as meaning severe weather will continue for another 40 days at least. Snakes are also mentioned.
Okay, if I wanted to know what the weather will be 200 years ago or now, I’m sure I’d rather say “hi” to the groundhogs or badgers, rather than asking a bear or a wolf or a snake. So this explains how come Feb. 2 isn’t “Wolf Day” or “Bear Day.”
But apparently you don’t really need to check with the animals to see if spring is on its way.
“If Candlemas be fair and bright, Winter has another flight. If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, Winter will not come again.” and “For as the sun shines on Candlemas Day, so far will the snow swirl in May...” are two traditional rhymes that jive with the badger/groundhog prognostications. If there were no sun, how would the creature see his shadow and get alarmed?
In days of old, the eve of Candlemas, considered the last day in the Christmas season, was also traditionally the day on which Christmas decorations were removed from people’s homes. It was believed that traces of berries, holly and so forth would bring death among the congregation before the year was out if this was not done. Personally, I think this superstition is actually evidence that folks leaving their Christmas decorations up year ‘round to the annoyance of their neighbors is not a problem that is limited to this century. Perhaps this was the Church’s way of getting the attention of those folks—don’t take down those decorations, and you or your loved ones or someone will die because you didn’t (and likely they are going to hell too).
Today, Groundhog Day brings to mind the town that has made Groundhog Day famous—Punxsutawny, Pa. and the movie in which Bill Murray is sentenced to live the day over and over again until he gets it right.
The day actually lasts a week or more there, with all things Punxsutawny Phil, the star of the show, available. There is even a dedicated group of men, called the Groundhog Club Inner Circle, who dress in top hats and tails and are charged with the duty of keeping Phil fed and happy. With titles like “His Protector,” “His Scribe” and “Burrowmaster,” as well as titles like “Head Hailmaker,” “Cloud Builder” and “Fog Spinner,” one can see these folks take the business of Phil and the coming of spring very seriously.
They probably should. For the record, Phil sees his shadow about 9 out of 10 times, and I don’t think this year will be all that unusual.
For more information on Groundhog Day and Punxsutawny Phil, go to: www.groundhog.org.
(Originally published in The Easton News, February 1, 2007)
World’s largest mind over matter experiment set to take place
Can people’s thoughts affect the physical world? And if so, if a lot of people think the same thing at the same time, will the effect grow stronger?
That’s question “The Intention Experiment” intends to explore in a series of experiments later this year.
It sounds wacky, but some very well credentialed scientists are involved in author Lynne McTaggart’s project. And, though looking at the Web site, it’s clear she wouldn’t mind if you bought her book of the same name, participation in the Intention Experiment (actually a series of experiments) is free.
The actual experiment is described as “a series of web-based experiments testing an outrageous premise: that human thoughts and intentions are an actual physical ‘something’ with the astonishing power to change our world,” according the Intention Experiment’s Web site. “Thousands of people from around the world are going to participate in what will be the largest ongoing mind-over-matter study in history. This is not about sending intentions to make a million dollars. The targets are philanthropic: healing wounds, helping children with attention deficit or patients with Alzheimer’s, counteracting pollution and global warming. To participate, basically all you need to do is send your good thoughts on the day of the experiment. Maybe just one good thought is all it takes to change the world.”
Sounds like folks with nice intentions, but the idea’s a bit flaky, right? Kinda new age?
I’d be right there with you on that, except Fritz-Albert Popp, a German physicist and founder of the International Institute of Biophysics in Neuss, Germany, credited with the discovery of biophoton emissions – tiny currents of light emanating from living things seems to think this is a pretty interesting project. So does Gary Schwartz, professor of psychology, medicine, neurology, psychiatry and surgery at the University of Arizona, director of its Laboratory for Advances in Consciousness and Health and also director of the National Institutes of Medicine-funded Center for Frontier Medicine in Biofield Science.
Rounding out the scientific team are Marilyn Schlitz, PhD, vice president for Research and Education at the Institute of Noetic Sciences and senior scientist at the Research Institute at the California Pacific Medical Center, and Dean Radin, PhD, one of America’s foremost researchers into the nature of consciousness and extended human potential.
While counteracting global warming and healing the sick are admirable goals, this project is starting a little smaller and aiming for something directly measurable.
On March 24, at 5 p.m. GMT, however many people have registered for the experiment will attempt to lower the temperature in a miniature Gaia-sphere remotely by intending for it to happen in a synchronized effort.
Think it’s impossible? Maybe. But measurable results were obtained in a prior experiment.
“McTaggart asked a group of 16 meditators based in London to direct their thoughts to four remote targets in Dr. Popp’s laboratory in Germany: two types of algae, a plant and a human volunteer. The meditators were asked to attempt to lower certain measurable biodynamic processes. Popp and his team discovered significant changes in all four targets while the intentions were being sent, compared to times the meditators were ‘resting.’”
Similar results have been obtained in other experiments, too, including some of Radin’s work. While McTaggart’s “Field” and practicum for living in it may sound a little bit like a cross between a kooky new age idea and the Jedi lifestyle to some, the science evolving behind these theories is truly mind-boggling, cutting edge stuff, involving quantum mechanics and physics, field theory. It asks the question, “What is reality, and how much do we really know about it?”
It’s sort of similar to the age-old question, “What is the meaning of life?”
I’m not sure we’ll find out the answer to “life, the universe and everything” for sure on March 24, but I’ll certainly be watching for the published results.
For more on The Intention Project, visit: www.theintentionexperiment.com/
To learn more about the Institute of Noetic Sciences (founded by Apollo 14 Astronaut Edgar Mitchell), go to: www.ions.org
(Originally published in The Easton News, January 25, 2007)
That’s question “The Intention Experiment” intends to explore in a series of experiments later this year.
It sounds wacky, but some very well credentialed scientists are involved in author Lynne McTaggart’s project. And, though looking at the Web site, it’s clear she wouldn’t mind if you bought her book of the same name, participation in the Intention Experiment (actually a series of experiments) is free.
The actual experiment is described as “a series of web-based experiments testing an outrageous premise: that human thoughts and intentions are an actual physical ‘something’ with the astonishing power to change our world,” according the Intention Experiment’s Web site. “Thousands of people from around the world are going to participate in what will be the largest ongoing mind-over-matter study in history. This is not about sending intentions to make a million dollars. The targets are philanthropic: healing wounds, helping children with attention deficit or patients with Alzheimer’s, counteracting pollution and global warming. To participate, basically all you need to do is send your good thoughts on the day of the experiment. Maybe just one good thought is all it takes to change the world.”
Sounds like folks with nice intentions, but the idea’s a bit flaky, right? Kinda new age?
I’d be right there with you on that, except Fritz-Albert Popp, a German physicist and founder of the International Institute of Biophysics in Neuss, Germany, credited with the discovery of biophoton emissions – tiny currents of light emanating from living things seems to think this is a pretty interesting project. So does Gary Schwartz, professor of psychology, medicine, neurology, psychiatry and surgery at the University of Arizona, director of its Laboratory for Advances in Consciousness and Health and also director of the National Institutes of Medicine-funded Center for Frontier Medicine in Biofield Science.
Rounding out the scientific team are Marilyn Schlitz, PhD, vice president for Research and Education at the Institute of Noetic Sciences and senior scientist at the Research Institute at the California Pacific Medical Center, and Dean Radin, PhD, one of America’s foremost researchers into the nature of consciousness and extended human potential.
While counteracting global warming and healing the sick are admirable goals, this project is starting a little smaller and aiming for something directly measurable.
On March 24, at 5 p.m. GMT, however many people have registered for the experiment will attempt to lower the temperature in a miniature Gaia-sphere remotely by intending for it to happen in a synchronized effort.
Think it’s impossible? Maybe. But measurable results were obtained in a prior experiment.
“McTaggart asked a group of 16 meditators based in London to direct their thoughts to four remote targets in Dr. Popp’s laboratory in Germany: two types of algae, a plant and a human volunteer. The meditators were asked to attempt to lower certain measurable biodynamic processes. Popp and his team discovered significant changes in all four targets while the intentions were being sent, compared to times the meditators were ‘resting.’”
Similar results have been obtained in other experiments, too, including some of Radin’s work. While McTaggart’s “Field” and practicum for living in it may sound a little bit like a cross between a kooky new age idea and the Jedi lifestyle to some, the science evolving behind these theories is truly mind-boggling, cutting edge stuff, involving quantum mechanics and physics, field theory. It asks the question, “What is reality, and how much do we really know about it?”
It’s sort of similar to the age-old question, “What is the meaning of life?”
I’m not sure we’ll find out the answer to “life, the universe and everything” for sure on March 24, but I’ll certainly be watching for the published results.
For more on The Intention Project, visit: www.theintentionexperiment.com/
To learn more about the Institute of Noetic Sciences (founded by Apollo 14 Astronaut Edgar Mitchell), go to: www.ions.org
(Originally published in The Easton News, January 25, 2007)
Doing the same thing over and over is the definition of insanity
If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, then the president and his cronies are definitely ’round-the-bend bonkers.
I’ve been avoiding the issue of national politics for some time now. The situation has gotten so ugly and so mired, and I’ve been disappointed and angry for so long, I just haven’t had the energy to deal with the daily barrage of manipulative partisan mudslinging that has seemingly become the hallmark of most mass media and nearly all national politics. But although it will undoubtedly be kicked back and forth between Democrats and Republicans for a long time, the issue of the war in Iraq is not really a partisan issue; it is now an issue of sanity.
President George Bush’s speech last week has woken me from that numbness, though its mantra-like chant of “stay the course” was dulled to a subliminal whisper designed to lull the American public back into something approaching an actual approval rating, instead of the record-breaking long-term disapproval rating Bush carries.
It didn’t work. National polls after Bush’s speech show that the public regards their president virtually no differently than before he called for 21,500 more troops to be placed in Iraq, with two-thirds disapproving of the president’s actions. In fact, in some areas, his ratings fell slightly, though the difference was within the margin of error and therefore not statistically significant.
What happened? The public didn’t buy it. There are only so many times one can say one thing and have another happen and still be believed, and that line has obviously been crossed. Clearly, the public no longer buys the line about Iraqi terrorists wanting to “destroy our way of life.” I guess no one ever told the White House spin doctors there are only so many times you can successfully wag the same dog before it eventually threatens to bite you.
It takes serious gall to call for more troops years after you’ve stood on an aircraft carrier announcing “mission accomplished” and even more gall to do so about a week after the deposed ruler of the country you’ve invaded has been publicly hanged (not to mention his two closest associates being executed a few days later). It takes a stupendous amount of gall to ask more American soldiers and their families to put everything on the line when nearly every qualified expert and study group, including Iraqis themselves, have stated the solution to the violence in Iraq will not be a military solution but a practical and diplomatic one.
“Success will take time,” Bush said. Well, yes, but how much more time do we have? What and who will define what is “success” in Iraq? Is it when they stop shooting at each other? Is it when they stop shooting at us? It is when we have some sort of verifiable proof that every last potential terrorist is definitely and verifiably dead? And how should we accomplish that, and what is the timeline?
“Failure in Iraq would be a disaster for the United States.” What is and who defines failure in this case? If we bring troops home, have we automatically been “lost” the war? By that logic, can we ever get out of Iraq? Does he expect to officially defeat someone and have them surrender to him? Who? The “insurgents”? (The word literally just means “rebel,” by the way.)
It’s not like we’re fighting some sovereign nation or highly organized group with a ruler or general that can act as a figurehead and ceremoniously say, “You win—we give up.” Saddam is dead, and the United States effectively installed the current government in Iraq, so obviously we’re not at war with them, even if we are fighting a war in their country and killing their people. And for all the talk of al Quaeda, we’ve heard precious little about the presumably still-alive Osama bin Laden, who was the administration’s excuse for the war in the first place. (Did you forget about him?)
The president’s speech talked a lot about ‘law-n-order,’ a common theme with him both at home and abroad, but his administration seems entirely disconnected from reality and what constitutes a desirable order. One really does get the impression sometimes that the leader of the free world might just be more comfortable playing cowboys and Indians—or more frighteningly, really is playing some version of that childish, outdated pastime, only on a global scale.
While the specific criteria for deeming success or failure in Iraq may be unquantified abstract concepts to Bush, that is probably not the case with the average citizen of Baghdad. I heard the Iraqi ambassador to the U.S. comment live on Bush’s speech on National Public Radio less than an hour after it was broadcast. When asked what sort of things one would see in Baghdad in the next six months that would indicate the situation was improving, he cited things we, and most nations, take for granted. Regular postal and banking hours along with regular business hours resuming, children regularly able to attend school and a return of nightlife, and safe traveling conditions with no curfews after dark were the three things he specifically mentioned.
One could also presume things like potable running water and electricity for more than a few hours a day in the city might also improve the situation. Many parts of the city have been without either for literally years now. It seems like such long-term inconveniences might just add to the general discontent.
When the U.S. invaded Iraq, now half a decade ago, $18 billion or more was allocated for infrastructure replacement. In other words, our government promised the Iraqis and the American people that it would pay for what it broke. That promise was broken a long time ago, and no one really knows where the money (American tax dollars) went. (This is an easily verifiable fact, though it has been obscured by so many other scandals of deservedly larger headlines, such as what constitutes torture.)
Now, the only reference to actually fixing the country’s infrastructure is the president telling us we will make them pay for it.
“To show that it is committed to delivering a better life, the Iraqi government will spend $10 billion of its own money on reconstruction and infrastructure projects that will create new jobs.”
The gall is in never-ending supply in the Oval Office, it seems. The above quote was part of a list of what the “democratic” Iraqi government will do, clearly because we literally have a gun to its head. If this is all about handing over sovereignty, shouldn’t we encourage them to actually exercise it?
But since this administration doesn’t appear to have such goals, or actually any clearly stated definition of what would constitute a sufficient success in Iraq that would allow us to bring our troops home or a timeline for any sort of withdrawal at all, and the president’s oft-rehearsed speech involves an all-brawn-no-brain approach, the one we’ve heard over and over again, it seems our nation is being led down the same path all over again. Only now he expects us to believe the result will be different, and disturbing hints that Iran and Syria might be theaters for similar U.S. military action in the near future were thrown into the mix.
It’s been said that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. Clearly, the Red King is off with his head.
(Originally published in The Easton News, January 18, 2007)
I’ve been avoiding the issue of national politics for some time now. The situation has gotten so ugly and so mired, and I’ve been disappointed and angry for so long, I just haven’t had the energy to deal with the daily barrage of manipulative partisan mudslinging that has seemingly become the hallmark of most mass media and nearly all national politics. But although it will undoubtedly be kicked back and forth between Democrats and Republicans for a long time, the issue of the war in Iraq is not really a partisan issue; it is now an issue of sanity.
President George Bush’s speech last week has woken me from that numbness, though its mantra-like chant of “stay the course” was dulled to a subliminal whisper designed to lull the American public back into something approaching an actual approval rating, instead of the record-breaking long-term disapproval rating Bush carries.
It didn’t work. National polls after Bush’s speech show that the public regards their president virtually no differently than before he called for 21,500 more troops to be placed in Iraq, with two-thirds disapproving of the president’s actions. In fact, in some areas, his ratings fell slightly, though the difference was within the margin of error and therefore not statistically significant.
What happened? The public didn’t buy it. There are only so many times one can say one thing and have another happen and still be believed, and that line has obviously been crossed. Clearly, the public no longer buys the line about Iraqi terrorists wanting to “destroy our way of life.” I guess no one ever told the White House spin doctors there are only so many times you can successfully wag the same dog before it eventually threatens to bite you.
It takes serious gall to call for more troops years after you’ve stood on an aircraft carrier announcing “mission accomplished” and even more gall to do so about a week after the deposed ruler of the country you’ve invaded has been publicly hanged (not to mention his two closest associates being executed a few days later). It takes a stupendous amount of gall to ask more American soldiers and their families to put everything on the line when nearly every qualified expert and study group, including Iraqis themselves, have stated the solution to the violence in Iraq will not be a military solution but a practical and diplomatic one.
“Success will take time,” Bush said. Well, yes, but how much more time do we have? What and who will define what is “success” in Iraq? Is it when they stop shooting at each other? Is it when they stop shooting at us? It is when we have some sort of verifiable proof that every last potential terrorist is definitely and verifiably dead? And how should we accomplish that, and what is the timeline?
“Failure in Iraq would be a disaster for the United States.” What is and who defines failure in this case? If we bring troops home, have we automatically been “lost” the war? By that logic, can we ever get out of Iraq? Does he expect to officially defeat someone and have them surrender to him? Who? The “insurgents”? (The word literally just means “rebel,” by the way.)
It’s not like we’re fighting some sovereign nation or highly organized group with a ruler or general that can act as a figurehead and ceremoniously say, “You win—we give up.” Saddam is dead, and the United States effectively installed the current government in Iraq, so obviously we’re not at war with them, even if we are fighting a war in their country and killing their people. And for all the talk of al Quaeda, we’ve heard precious little about the presumably still-alive Osama bin Laden, who was the administration’s excuse for the war in the first place. (Did you forget about him?)
The president’s speech talked a lot about ‘law-n-order,’ a common theme with him both at home and abroad, but his administration seems entirely disconnected from reality and what constitutes a desirable order. One really does get the impression sometimes that the leader of the free world might just be more comfortable playing cowboys and Indians—or more frighteningly, really is playing some version of that childish, outdated pastime, only on a global scale.
While the specific criteria for deeming success or failure in Iraq may be unquantified abstract concepts to Bush, that is probably not the case with the average citizen of Baghdad. I heard the Iraqi ambassador to the U.S. comment live on Bush’s speech on National Public Radio less than an hour after it was broadcast. When asked what sort of things one would see in Baghdad in the next six months that would indicate the situation was improving, he cited things we, and most nations, take for granted. Regular postal and banking hours along with regular business hours resuming, children regularly able to attend school and a return of nightlife, and safe traveling conditions with no curfews after dark were the three things he specifically mentioned.
One could also presume things like potable running water and electricity for more than a few hours a day in the city might also improve the situation. Many parts of the city have been without either for literally years now. It seems like such long-term inconveniences might just add to the general discontent.
When the U.S. invaded Iraq, now half a decade ago, $18 billion or more was allocated for infrastructure replacement. In other words, our government promised the Iraqis and the American people that it would pay for what it broke. That promise was broken a long time ago, and no one really knows where the money (American tax dollars) went. (This is an easily verifiable fact, though it has been obscured by so many other scandals of deservedly larger headlines, such as what constitutes torture.)
Now, the only reference to actually fixing the country’s infrastructure is the president telling us we will make them pay for it.
“To show that it is committed to delivering a better life, the Iraqi government will spend $10 billion of its own money on reconstruction and infrastructure projects that will create new jobs.”
The gall is in never-ending supply in the Oval Office, it seems. The above quote was part of a list of what the “democratic” Iraqi government will do, clearly because we literally have a gun to its head. If this is all about handing over sovereignty, shouldn’t we encourage them to actually exercise it?
But since this administration doesn’t appear to have such goals, or actually any clearly stated definition of what would constitute a sufficient success in Iraq that would allow us to bring our troops home or a timeline for any sort of withdrawal at all, and the president’s oft-rehearsed speech involves an all-brawn-no-brain approach, the one we’ve heard over and over again, it seems our nation is being led down the same path all over again. Only now he expects us to believe the result will be different, and disturbing hints that Iran and Syria might be theaters for similar U.S. military action in the near future were thrown into the mix.
It’s been said that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity. Clearly, the Red King is off with his head.
(Originally published in The Easton News, January 18, 2007)
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