How will you remember 2011? Maybe it will be, as Time magazine suggested, the year of the activist. I tend to look at the empty half of the glass, so while I see all the things that have changed across the globe, I wonder where the change is for our neighborhood.
Osama bin Laden: not an issue anymore. Muammar Gaddafi: ditto. The vacuum their terminations have generated continue to swirl. The vortex of the Middle East began in Arab Spring, but continue on through the Winter of Discontent. The troops came home from Iraq, but stayed in Afghanistan. Plans for a family trip to the cradle of civilization are still on hold while things get sorted out. Perhaps in another thousand years or so.
That should give the radiation in Japan a chance to settle down enough to make it a little more tourist-friendly, though with all the earthquakes and extreme weather charging around the planet this year, I feel a little more comfortable hanging around the continental United States, where the scariest natural phenomenon continues to be Charlie Sheen. Can someone please explain how this guy got another job on another sitcom? If you said "The Lindsay Lohan Defense," then you can move your piece around the board six more spaces to land on the Compare and Contrast square to discuss Arnold Schwarzenegger and Anthony Wiener.
Roll the dice again and you might come full circle to the Occupy Movement. The winter weather has dampened the resolve of those who weren't moved by the tear gas or pepper spray. As part of that ninety-nine percent I'm stuck scratching my head while, in spite of all the signs and tents T-shirts by Jay-Z, corporations like General Motors and Master Card continue to make record profits. Maybe regime change in a world run by corporations is a little more difficult than we had imagined. To that end, maybe I should leave the last words to a great imagination that ended this year: "Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow." See you in 2012.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Timing Is Everything
The first thing I thought about as I was preparing to write this entry was about how the media tends to - wait a minute - I am the media. Not the twenty-four hour worldwide leader in opinionated blowhards, but the once a day opinionated blowhard with access to a keyboard. That settled, it occurred to me how we, the media, tend to highlight moments of pain and strife with unnecessary calendar-related irony.
Whenever there is a house fire it is a dangerous and potentially deadly event. The fact that someone's house burns down just before Christmas makes the story more sad. Not because the fire burns any hotter in December or the damage done is any more severe during the winter months, but because of the proximity to the holidays. The same can be said for burglaries or theft of any kind. It's worse because of Christmas. Anyone who has their car stolen on December twenty-fourth is a victim of the highest echelon. I made a bad choice when I picked Father's Day to have my car stolen.
Hold on. I didn't pick the day. Nobody does. The guy in Texas who chooses to shoot up his family gathering in a Santa suit gets special attention because he did choose. We, I'm speaking of the audience this time, view this tragedy with greater sadness because it happened in proximity to the high point of love and understanding. There is no season that is immune from suffering, but we want to believe that. This time, I mean the media and the audience. There must be a time when the pain and grief of everyday accidents and acts of violence just doesn't happen.
Maybe next year.
Whenever there is a house fire it is a dangerous and potentially deadly event. The fact that someone's house burns down just before Christmas makes the story more sad. Not because the fire burns any hotter in December or the damage done is any more severe during the winter months, but because of the proximity to the holidays. The same can be said for burglaries or theft of any kind. It's worse because of Christmas. Anyone who has their car stolen on December twenty-fourth is a victim of the highest echelon. I made a bad choice when I picked Father's Day to have my car stolen.
Hold on. I didn't pick the day. Nobody does. The guy in Texas who chooses to shoot up his family gathering in a Santa suit gets special attention because he did choose. We, I'm speaking of the audience this time, view this tragedy with greater sadness because it happened in proximity to the high point of love and understanding. There is no season that is immune from suffering, but we want to believe that. This time, I mean the media and the audience. There must be a time when the pain and grief of everyday accidents and acts of violence just doesn't happen.
Maybe next year.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Paul's Epistles
For a while, like a good portion of the rest of the country, I have watched as Ron Paul has quietly become the voice of reason in the Republican Party. "Quietly" because he has been able to hang on the edge of the race to his party's nomination without getting the kind of scrutiny that many of the other front-runners have achieved, and wilted under. Herman Cain couldn't take it. Sarah Palin, true to form, quit before she ever got started. Remember when Donald Trump was going to run as a Republican? Gary Johnson, part of the "who's that again" faction, announced that he would be dropping out of the Republican primaries to run as a Libertarian.
Odd, since that's where you might expect to find Ron Paul. His anti-war, isolationist views are raising interest that sound more at home on another platform, rather than under the bright lights of the Reagan Library with the rest of the assembled Avengers. He appeals to Tea Partiers and Occupiers. He's the anti-candidate. He's also all about cutting the fat off our nation's budget. To the bone: an immediate, one trillion dollar spending cut that would slash the federal budget by more than one-third and eliminate the departments of Education, Energy, Commerce, Interior, and Housing and Urban Development. If Rick Perry is looking in, that's six departments he would get rid of, doubling his cuts if he could only remember what they were.
Ron Paul is also preparing for Armageddon. That's pretty forward thinking, since the Mayans have predicted that the world will end shortly after Election Day 2012. Paul's version is less like a John Cusack movie and more Orwellian. "I'm afraid of violence coming," he told a crowd of more than six hundred in Bettendorf, Iowa. "When you see what the government is preparing for, and the arrests and military law, and the demonstrations in the streets, some people aren't going to be convinced so easily that you don't owe them a living." The Federal Reserve must go. He worries that the United States is about to surrender control of its own currency to the United Nations.
Then there's this: "Given the inefficiencies of what DC laughingly calls the criminal justice system, I think we can safely assume that 95 percent of the black males in that city are semi-criminal or entirely criminal."
"We are constantly told that it is evil to be afraid of black men, it is hardly irrational."
After the Los Angeles riots, "Order was only restored in L.A. when it came time for the blacks to pick up their welfare checks."
Referring to Martin Luther King Jr. as "the world-class philanderer who beat up his paramours" and who "seduced underage girls and boys."
To Barbara Jordan, a civil rights activist and congresswoman as "Barbara Morondon," the "archetypical half-educated victimologist."
These quotes come from newsletters that bore his name and credentials in the eighties and nineties. Back in 1996 he took responsibility for their content, but now claims that they were all written by a ghost writer whose name he cannot recall.
Well, that's nice. At least he's starting to sound more like a real Republican again.
Odd, since that's where you might expect to find Ron Paul. His anti-war, isolationist views are raising interest that sound more at home on another platform, rather than under the bright lights of the Reagan Library with the rest of the assembled Avengers. He appeals to Tea Partiers and Occupiers. He's the anti-candidate. He's also all about cutting the fat off our nation's budget. To the bone: an immediate, one trillion dollar spending cut that would slash the federal budget by more than one-third and eliminate the departments of Education, Energy, Commerce, Interior, and Housing and Urban Development. If Rick Perry is looking in, that's six departments he would get rid of, doubling his cuts if he could only remember what they were.
Ron Paul is also preparing for Armageddon. That's pretty forward thinking, since the Mayans have predicted that the world will end shortly after Election Day 2012. Paul's version is less like a John Cusack movie and more Orwellian. "I'm afraid of violence coming," he told a crowd of more than six hundred in Bettendorf, Iowa. "When you see what the government is preparing for, and the arrests and military law, and the demonstrations in the streets, some people aren't going to be convinced so easily that you don't owe them a living." The Federal Reserve must go. He worries that the United States is about to surrender control of its own currency to the United Nations.
Then there's this: "Given the inefficiencies of what DC laughingly calls the criminal justice system, I think we can safely assume that 95 percent of the black males in that city are semi-criminal or entirely criminal."
"We are constantly told that it is evil to be afraid of black men, it is hardly irrational."
After the Los Angeles riots, "Order was only restored in L.A. when it came time for the blacks to pick up their welfare checks."
Referring to Martin Luther King Jr. as "the world-class philanderer who beat up his paramours" and who "seduced underage girls and boys."
To Barbara Jordan, a civil rights activist and congresswoman as "Barbara Morondon," the "archetypical half-educated victimologist."
These quotes come from newsletters that bore his name and credentials in the eighties and nineties. Back in 1996 he took responsibility for their content, but now claims that they were all written by a ghost writer whose name he cannot recall.
Well, that's nice. At least he's starting to sound more like a real Republican again.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sour Grapes
I've been here before. Just a couple of years back, the Denver Broncos roared out of the gate and won six straight games. With a new coach, a new quarterback, and they were on the fast track to the playoffs. It all happened so fast. And then reality set in. The Broncos couldn't win a game. They couldn't finish what they had started. It came down to the last game of the year, and if they could just beat the lowly Kansas City Chiefs, they could squeak in.
It didn't happen. The next year, things went from bad to worse as the wunderkind coach only managed three victories before being fired halfway through the season. That set the stage for plenty of low expectations this year: new coach, but same old quarterback, a rebuilding year. That's certainly what it looked like after five games with only one win. Then they got a new quarterback. You may have heard something about that. He won six straight games. You may have heard something about that, too.
Then he lost a couple. The race to the post-season stalled. All that Mile High Magic seemed to have evaporated. That's when I started thinking about the times I have had my heart broken by the Denver Broncos. Back in 2005, the only time they have been in the playoffs since John Elway retired. Another great opportunity spoiled, this time by the Pittsburgh Steelers. And all those years when John Elway was the Denver Broncos, and he seemingly carried them into the post season on will alone, only to be diced up into bite-size pieces by one NFC Champion or another.
Until they finally won a Super Bowl. Then it became an expectation. They won another one the next year. And then there was a long time where they didn't. Now the Denver Broncos are once again poised on the brink of playing in the tournament to determine the championship of Professional American Football. What self-respecting fan wouldn't be rooting for these scrappy underdogs? It's a great story.
Yes, and it's one I've heard before.
It didn't happen. The next year, things went from bad to worse as the wunderkind coach only managed three victories before being fired halfway through the season. That set the stage for plenty of low expectations this year: new coach, but same old quarterback, a rebuilding year. That's certainly what it looked like after five games with only one win. Then they got a new quarterback. You may have heard something about that. He won six straight games. You may have heard something about that, too.
Then he lost a couple. The race to the post-season stalled. All that Mile High Magic seemed to have evaporated. That's when I started thinking about the times I have had my heart broken by the Denver Broncos. Back in 2005, the only time they have been in the playoffs since John Elway retired. Another great opportunity spoiled, this time by the Pittsburgh Steelers. And all those years when John Elway was the Denver Broncos, and he seemingly carried them into the post season on will alone, only to be diced up into bite-size pieces by one NFC Champion or another.
Until they finally won a Super Bowl. Then it became an expectation. They won another one the next year. And then there was a long time where they didn't. Now the Denver Broncos are once again poised on the brink of playing in the tournament to determine the championship of Professional American Football. What self-respecting fan wouldn't be rooting for these scrappy underdogs? It's a great story.
Yes, and it's one I've heard before.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
It's Gotta Be The Shoes
That's what Mars Blackman told us a quarter century ago. We listened then, or at least a great many of us did. That's why the shoes that Michael Jordan promoted and wore under the auspices of "air" became such hot sellers. Millions sold, millions made. Money, money, money. For sneakers. Tennis shoes. Pardon me, basketball shoes.
And the thing is, it wasn't the shoes that made Michael Jordan such a great athlete. It wasn't the extra long shorts. It wasn't the tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth when he ascended to those great heights. But that's not what your average consumer thought. They wanted a part of that amazing spectacle. They wanted to buy some Air.
Fast forward a few years to my first year as an elementary school teacher. Way back then, my school had a uniform: White shirt, blue or khaki pants. The idea was that our low-income parents could save a few dollars on school clothes, and we could even help out with a few extra shirts or pairs of pants when things got really tight. Who needs to worry about buying all those snazzy new threads when you're trying to put food on the table? Well, here's the deal: The kids at our school did. We tried for two years to get our "voluntary" uniform policy to stick, and watched as kids showed up in sweaters that cost easily as much as a week's worth of uniform shirts and pants. And the shoes.
I know how much Air Jordans cost. I know how fast kids' feet grow. I watched kids come in and shuffle about in fifty dollar sneakers, only to wear them out in a few weeks of scuffing them around the blacktop. And sure enough, a few days later, that kid would have some brand new kicks on his quickly expanding feet. Heaven forbid that your parents would send you to school in some off-brand sneaker. The social order of the school would mock you relentlessly if your shoes came from Payless. It had to be worth it to buy the shoes and avoid the ridicule.
It's been thirteen years since we had a uniform policy at our school, about as long as it's been since Michael Jordan retired from the Chicago Bulls. The first time. It's been eight years since he played for anybody, but this past weekend, there were fights and police called in to quell the excitement generated by yet another permutation of the shoes. Pepper spray, shots were fired, windows broken. I kept thinking: It's quite possible that some of the kids I taught way back then found their way out to the mall and participated in some of that action. It's gotta be the shoes.
And the thing is, it wasn't the shoes that made Michael Jordan such a great athlete. It wasn't the extra long shorts. It wasn't the tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth when he ascended to those great heights. But that's not what your average consumer thought. They wanted a part of that amazing spectacle. They wanted to buy some Air.
Fast forward a few years to my first year as an elementary school teacher. Way back then, my school had a uniform: White shirt, blue or khaki pants. The idea was that our low-income parents could save a few dollars on school clothes, and we could even help out with a few extra shirts or pairs of pants when things got really tight. Who needs to worry about buying all those snazzy new threads when you're trying to put food on the table? Well, here's the deal: The kids at our school did. We tried for two years to get our "voluntary" uniform policy to stick, and watched as kids showed up in sweaters that cost easily as much as a week's worth of uniform shirts and pants. And the shoes.
I know how much Air Jordans cost. I know how fast kids' feet grow. I watched kids come in and shuffle about in fifty dollar sneakers, only to wear them out in a few weeks of scuffing them around the blacktop. And sure enough, a few days later, that kid would have some brand new kicks on his quickly expanding feet. Heaven forbid that your parents would send you to school in some off-brand sneaker. The social order of the school would mock you relentlessly if your shoes came from Payless. It had to be worth it to buy the shoes and avoid the ridicule.
It's been thirteen years since we had a uniform policy at our school, about as long as it's been since Michael Jordan retired from the Chicago Bulls. The first time. It's been eight years since he played for anybody, but this past weekend, there were fights and police called in to quell the excitement generated by yet another permutation of the shoes. Pepper spray, shots were fired, windows broken. I kept thinking: It's quite possible that some of the kids I taught way back then found their way out to the mall and participated in some of that action. It's gotta be the shoes.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Things Are Tough All Over
It's been a tough year for middle America. Once again, everything that was already too expensive got a little more so. We avoided a double-dip recession, and The Second Great Depression was something that we talked about but never occurred. Unemployment rates continue to decline, but we are told that we can't tax the job creators because then we'll never find work. The logical alternative would seem to become a professional job creator.
One person who lives in that rarefied air is the CEO of Netflix, Reed Hastings. The guy who keeps all those envelope stuffers and button pushers employed just got some bad news: His company is giving him a pay cut next year. It may have to do with the way his company handled their price hike back in July. Or the way they decided to change their name to Qwikster for those who were content to do without all those envelopes, and choices. It was a pretty solid corporate train wreck that required a certain amount of damage control. Stock prices fell, members left in droves, but the company survived. That's why the powers that be at Netflix decided to keep Mister Hastings' salary the same, but to cut his stock compensation in half. He'll still pull in half a million dollars this year, but his stock options will be reduced from three million dollars to just one and a half million. Ouch.
That "ouch" assumes that you can feel it when someone skims one and a half million dollars off the top of the two million dollars you are making in a year. "Looks like that family trip on Virgin Galactic will have to wait until next summer, kids."
Happily, Congress just voted in the tax break extension, so he won't lose all that FICA money over the next couple of months while he struggles to make ends meet. Maybe he should consider cancelling his subscription to that DVD rental outfit - what's their name again?
One person who lives in that rarefied air is the CEO of Netflix, Reed Hastings. The guy who keeps all those envelope stuffers and button pushers employed just got some bad news: His company is giving him a pay cut next year. It may have to do with the way his company handled their price hike back in July. Or the way they decided to change their name to Qwikster for those who were content to do without all those envelopes, and choices. It was a pretty solid corporate train wreck that required a certain amount of damage control. Stock prices fell, members left in droves, but the company survived. That's why the powers that be at Netflix decided to keep Mister Hastings' salary the same, but to cut his stock compensation in half. He'll still pull in half a million dollars this year, but his stock options will be reduced from three million dollars to just one and a half million. Ouch.
That "ouch" assumes that you can feel it when someone skims one and a half million dollars off the top of the two million dollars you are making in a year. "Looks like that family trip on Virgin Galactic will have to wait until next summer, kids."
Happily, Congress just voted in the tax break extension, so he won't lose all that FICA money over the next couple of months while he struggles to make ends meet. Maybe he should consider cancelling his subscription to that DVD rental outfit - what's their name again?
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The War On Christmas
I thought all would be calm
all would be bright
but a war still rages on
right here at home
Happy Holidays, even though
there are dozens of them
is not sufficient
The day is Christmas
and that is that
We won't be lulled to sleep
by the C in Chanukah
Or the mysteries of Kwanza
We don't want our Christmas
mixed up with all that
That's what our fighting men and women
have been fighting for
Or something like it
The War on Christmas will not have
as many casualties
Just some bruised egos
and hurt feelings
Just like Boxing Day after
and Black Friday before
And a memory of the good Doctor
Doctor Seuss:
"He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming
it came just the same"
Happy Christmas
The War is Over
all would be bright
but a war still rages on
right here at home
Happy Holidays, even though
there are dozens of them
is not sufficient
The day is Christmas
and that is that
We won't be lulled to sleep
by the C in Chanukah
Or the mysteries of Kwanza
We don't want our Christmas
mixed up with all that
That's what our fighting men and women
have been fighting for
Or something like it
The War on Christmas will not have
as many casualties
Just some bruised egos
and hurt feelings
Just like Boxing Day after
and Black Friday before
And a memory of the good Doctor
Doctor Seuss:
"He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming
it came just the same"
Happy Christmas
The War is Over
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