Toys

It would go without saying that with all this car shopping going on there hasn't been time to decide how to refill the small, empty parking spot in front of the house.

No, the pictured bike isn't mine -- well, in my very vivid dreams it is -- but my need for a pair of wheels to help shed some stress while navigating some back road twisties is pressing at the very least.

I sold my motorcycle last June. It was aging, but ran well. It actually needed more than I could easily provide -- that being not only someone who loved it, but someone with the time and expertise to maintain it. I have no qualms about paying for needed service, but at $60 per hour, extensive service adds up quickly.

So I look ahead to the probablility of yet another summer watching everyone else get their ride on. And I'm on the outside, looking in....like a kid outside the toy store, standing at the window, face pressed up against the glass.

Something Blue

We made it to the car dealer yesterday (and back home before "lights out"). I had originally had my eye on a '99 Chevy Blazer that had been on this website for several months. It was everything I was looking for -- 4WD, 6-cyl, 20mpg, asking $5200...and it was blue.

It had sold literally five minutes before we showed up to look at it. What are the chances? I did, however, get a re-education in the finer points of automobile acquisition for those of us without the cash to pay and go.

No, I could not put the vehicle -- or any vehicle at this place -- on my American Express since they would have to kick back 3% to AmEx for the priviledge of accepting the card. Most banks are unwilling to finance a vehicle with over 100,000 miles regardless of age or condition. Most banks are also unwilling to finance anything over five or six years old regardless of condition or mileage.

Then I suggested putting only the down-payment on the card and the salesman winced, "I'm not sure I should be hearing anything about you using a credit card to borrow money to put down on a vehicle that you'll need to borrow money for". Okay...message received. The power of plastic is not all-encompassing.

So the bottom line is that I'll go back in a week with cash in hand and do the deal -- if I so choose. We ran the numbers and I'm approved, no problem. It's now for me to pick out something I can live with...and I'm not picky. The picture of the 2005 Jeep Liberty at the top of this post it what they had in stock that I liked. It's a great price, has a peppy 4cyl, 4WD...and it's blue.

Darkness Falls

Did you participate in Earth Hour? Douse the lights between 8 and 9PM on Saturday? Had I known about this I would have blogged about it sooner, but I only learned about it accidentally when my wife Googled something and saw that Google's page was "dark".

"We've turned out our lights, now it's your turn." Of course, their site was up and they weren't using any less energy than usual, but they had changed their page from white with black or colored lettering to black with white lettering to get the point across.

We dusted off our unused candles and made dinner by candlelight. Taken to the extreme, we shouldn't have used any energy at all during that hour, but we only kept to the spirit and used energy to cook our food.

After that hour, it became all but unbearable. Most of our candles were gifts -- and a house can take only so much mixing of vanilla, lavender, bayberry, and cinnamon before the assault on the senses trumps the savings in electricity. Note to self: stock up on unscented candles.

I'm really hoping that this statement helped to raise awareness across the planet. The energy issues we face transcend race, religion, politics, and geographical boundaries and every little bit helps.

Memories and Anticipation

We're finally heading to an auto dealer tomorrow to look at a few prospects. I'm sure it will be an education since the last time I actually worked with a car dealer and purchased a new car was nearly twenty years ago. The car I acquired was what you see pictured above -- a 1989 Nissan 240SX SE in Platinum Blue Metallic which, to 99 out of 100 people surveyed, looked Silver.

I didn't have a lot of luck with my only new car purchase. I managed to wreck it to the tune of $7200 within the first twenty-five hours of ownership. I then somehow persuaded the credit union that I should be allowed to take the car with me to Germany when I moved there in 1990. The company I had secured a job with went belly-up within six months of my arrival so I could no longer make payments, nor could I afford to ship the car back to the States.

Ultimately, the credit union informed me that they would never make the same mistake again. I had defaulted on the loan due to ill circumstance, not malice or dead-beatery. So I continued to drive the car for another few years until one unfortunate morning when I was pulled over by a grumpy, old German cop who complained every time he saw me about my lack of a proper German license plate.

On that foul day, Karma and circumstance caught up with me as it was revealed that my Passport, residency permit, work permit, registration and insurance were all out of date. Ouch. The last I saw of my car it was being secured on a roll-back at the local police station. I spent only a few hours incarcerated before my company sent down their own lawyer and my friend with 1000DM to spring me.

I never saw my car again. A German friend accompanied me to the Customs Office where they seemed a bit more than happy to inform me that it would cost thousands to get my car out of impound. Apparently, if I had declared the car as a personal possession when I moved to Germany, it wouldn't have been an issue. Instead, they viewed it as something of value I brought into Germany and hadn't paid import tax.

So my car was sold at a police auction to a cop and was seen here and there around Hamburg for a few years after my return to the States. I harbored a secret hope that the new owner would get an unpleasant surprise his first time on the Autobahn when he discovered that the car had a governor that kicks in at 114MPH -- practically a crawl.

My new secret hope is that this purchase won't delay my acquiring a Harley....much.

Last Legs

I'm contemplating the demise of an old friend. Ten years we've been together through thick and thin. Where is the love? The honeymoon is over. It's time to move on.

I acquired my current chariot ten years ago -- when it was already ten years old -- and drove it up from Texas. In these last ten years I've added not only another 100,000 miles, but a second engine, a new braking system, and a few other little touches that have been relentlessly nickel and diming me to death for the last three years.

In the first five or six years of owning this truck, I would have argued that it was the best $4500 I'd ever spent on a vehicle. After all, I hate having car payments and a good used vehicle makes more sense to me than most new purchases. The utility has been invaluable and I can't see ever being without some kind of SUV/truck/crossover vehicle in the family.

So that's what I'm looking for -- something the same only different. Gas mileage is key. My current behemoth has a thirty-five gallon tank feeding a 5.2liter (318ci) V8 that is now barely getting nine or ten MPG as it inhales ballparks of air whenever I step on the accelerator -- and that's provided it's down hill with a tail wind. At $112 per tank every two weeks, it adds up quickly -- and that's just to drive the thirty mile round trip to work for ten days.

I ranted in an earlier post about not getting anything back at tax time, so I'm looking for something really cheap (doesn't have a good ring to it) or really affordable that's nearly new. Wish me luck. If the stars are aligned, I'll find something in my favorite color -- blue.

Pray for the Dying

Submitted for your infuriation: the sad case of eleven year old Kara Neumann, a Wisconsin girl who became ill some 30 days ago suffering from a treatable form of Type 1 diabetes and finally slipped into a coma and died while her family did nothing. Here's CNN's Nancy Grace reporting on the story.

Her family claims they prayed for her to get better. In my book that's criminal neglect that lead directly to her death. Religious freedom? The family doesn't identify with any particular religious group, so I guess they're claiming the right to be divinely ignorant? Help me out here, I can't seem to remember which religious group that they're not affiliated with that teaches that a child be allowed to die as a result of parental stupidity.

Anyone remember "God helps those who help themselves"? It's like the story of the man who was trapped on his roof during a flood. Someone came by in a boat and offered to rescue him. "No thanks", he replied, "I'll wait. God will save me". The flood waters rise almost to his roof and a helicopter comes by and offers to pick him up. "I'll wait", insists the man,"God will save me". The waters rise and the man drowns. Upon his arrival in Heaven he asks God why He didn't save him. God tells him, "I came to you twice, in the boat and then in the helicopter, and you refused me both times".

I believe in the power of prayer, but what about the power of God-given rational thought to go along with it? I'm earnestly hoping that charges be swiftly brought against these morons who believe that their neglect of an innocent that resulted in her death can be hidden behind the veil of religious freedom.

It would be one thing if they chose to do nothing about their own demise, then they would simply be eligible for a Darwin Award (given posthumously to those who improve the human gene pool by removing themselves from it), but this despicable inaction only makes them eligible for prison.

But maybe if they pray really hard for a good lawyer....

Apollo 18

Here lies Apollo 18.... I know, there was no Apollo 18 mission. It was abandoned before its time because of budget cuts fueled by public apathy. Great minds still occasionally debate how we could have pulled the plug on the greatest endeavor in human history.

My hope is that the Constellation Program -- the successor to the Shuttle Program -- which gets underway in 2015 will be a worthy progeny of our manned space flight legacy.

I came across this article on NPR.org about Florida's Space Coast and it got me thinking about the short-sighted individuals who believe that spending money on space exploration is a waste. To that I respond with an appropriately chosen video.

A brilliantly conceived and written space opera, Babylon 5 often addressed issues regarding the human condition. Here's what was said about mankind's quest for the stars:

Long Distance (Time) Travel

I love little science and technology blurbs like this one. Who needs a time machine when we can look into the heavens and see billions of years into the past?

Some 7.5 Billion years ago, a star -- halfway to the edge of the Universe -- exploded in a huge burst of Gamma radiation and the light is just reaching us now.

And I complain about my commute to work.

Security For All

I came across this clip from the 1951 SciFi classic "The Day The Earth Stood Still". With the problems this planet faces every day from war and aggression and it's fallout, it's too bad that we can't just have a benevolent alien show up, take the reins, and tell us what's what. Sometimes I wonder what it would actually take for us to stop killing each other and if that's even possible.

Right Of Spring

One of my favorite things about the beginning of Spring -- other than it no longer being Winter -- is that I'm within three months of Summer and scenes like this.

Early evening in late July on the water in Maryland, this seemed to me like a staged Chamber of Commerce brochure -- the hotel on the water, the quaint and clever Hard Crab Cafe, the silent speed boat slumbering until braving the waves with tomorrow's crowd of tourists. For me, it was the perfect unforced cliche. I had to have it.

I never saw this scene again, never patronized the Assateague House, never tamed the tide in the Patriot, nor savored seafood at the Hard Crab Cafe. But I enjoy all of them every time I see this picture.

Driven to Drink: Part 2 -- The Payment of Attention

This Time article gave me a chuckle -- although it ended up being short-lived. In what ended up being a clever public relations ploy, a British directory assistance company, 118118, and Living Streets padded the lamp posts -- with white, fluffy rugby goalpoast cushions -- on East London's Brick Lane to protect mobile phone users from injuries incurred by running into objects while walking and texting.

Although I am in constant marvel at the complexities of the human brain and its ability to multi-task, the simple truth is that my eyes can only focus on one thing at a time, and that's usually where my attention is focused as well.

In his excellent book and subsequent video on motorcycle safety "A Twist of the Wrist", Keith Code puts it something like this: Imagine your attention is a ten dollar bill. It's not unlimited and you have to spend it wisely. If you spend it all in one place, you'll have nothing left for anything else. When attention must be paid, how will you spend yours?

Here's the ITN video that was posted on YouTube that is the companion to the Time article. These same people that are oblivious to objects in their path are surely the same ones we have to look out for when we drive. Some of the video looks staged, but some of it clearly isn't.

To Be Or....

Two unrelated stories caught my attention today, but they highlight a common theme. This story from Australia is about an 81 year old man who built a suicide robot to end his life as he "struggled to come to terms with demands by interstate relatives that he move out [of] his home and into care". And in this headline from France, a severely disfigured woman was found dead just two days after a court had rejected her request for assisted suicide.

Must our governments and our laws deny us the dignity we would afford ourselves? I don't know all the details of the elderly man in Australia and the article reporting his death was a short one, but how must he have felt to decide that his only way to peace was by ending his life?

I can only imagine. Having lived for some years in a home that he once shared with a spouse, perhaps, was he relentlessly pressured by family who only "wanted what was best"? Best for whom? Were they impatient waiting for their share of his estate? Were they tired of helping him out because he could no longer care for himself or the property? I can only speculate, but maybe he just couldn't live knowing he wouldn't die in his own home. Perhaps he didn't want to be someone else's burden -- even if they were a paid health care worker.

The heartbreaking story of the woman in France was considerably more detailed. She was severely disfigured and in constant excruciating pain -- a combination that would probably lead anyone to consider death a viable alternative. In this world of humans who make over ninety percent of our decisions based on what we see, she would have been shunned, avoided, stared at, and completely unable to lead anything resembling a normal life -- even without the pain.

Yet her pleas fell on the deaf and unyielding ears of the courts who believe they know better than we what is best for us. It's almost a sick punchline that the medical examiners and prosecutors are looking into whether her death was illegal. What? Excuse me if I must quote Jack Kevorkian who said that, "Dying is not a crime". Illegal was denying her the right to end her life on her own terms with what dignity she had left.

I don't support giving everyone a blank check to off themselves at any time for any reason, but for those of sound mind at the end of their life, whether by illness or infirmity, or those whose wishes have been made clear in writing or to an advocate, the right to die should be implicit -- not dragged endlessly through the courts or fought over by "well meaning" relatives or used as a publicity tool for self-serving politicians.

That won't be me. Hopefully I have several decades ahead of me at the very least, but I'm a realist. When it comes time for me to shuffle off this mortal coil there are a hundred scenarios that could make it the adventure of a lifetime.

But for the unsavory eventualities that I haven't thought of, can't imagine, or don't want to believe could befall me, I'll already have a plan in place. If the last hand in life dealt to me is from the bottom of the deck, I won't need the mercy of the courts or a contemporary Doctor Death to help me on my way. I'll cash in my chips at a time of my own choosing with the only banker I can trust -- and that will be me.

And Now A Word From Our Sponsor

I debated as to whether or not I should write this particular post since I don't want to be just another purveyor of bombast rambling endlessly about pop culture.

But it relates indirectly to my previous post, Pop-Up Poignards, regarding the intrusion of advertising into every possible aspect of our lives.

One of the few (two, in fact) reality shows I watch is American Idol. It's a show as stuffed full of commercial breaks as any on television. Last night, the remaining eleven finalists had just one minute forty seconds each for their performances over the two hour live broadcast. That's under twenty minutes of singing talent in one hundred twenty, leaving plenty of time for banter among the host, the judges, and the contestants. The rest of the time is sold to the all-powerful advertisers.

Thanks to my TiVo, I can sit down at any time to watch a program and unceremoniously skip over every last commercial (except for the pop-ups). It's a beautiful thing. Well, it's evidently occurred to someone that there may be some DVR users in TV land that aren't getting the benefit of the regularly scheduled advertising. So after returning from a commercial break the host, Ryan Seacrest, addresses an audience member and asks to, "see that for a minute". The audience member hands him an Apple iPhone and Seacrest procedes to plug the iPhone in what can only be called a live, on-air, in-show commercial -- just like the old, old, old days.

As I watched, I found myself running out of breath -- because I had forgotten to breathe. There really is no escape, it seems. Seacrest MCs the show with his usual wit and aplomb, but I could have sworn that he looked uncomfortable -- probably wondering if this was buried in the fine print of his contract that he really should have read.

Two Mile Island

This shocking development was the top story in the Northeast today. A nearly two mile section of I-95 was completely shut down for emergency repairs because of a cracked support column, and the headaches to commuters may continue for two to four days.

Wow. Breaking news, that. One of the 6007 structurally deficient bridges in Pennsylvania is actually being repaired. I guess it's the nearly 200,000 inconvenienced drivers that use the roadway who make it a story. The various news agencies managed to interview most of the gridlocked victims who all kept repeating the same word -- Nightmare.

Well at least we all agree on something. The collapse of our Nation's infrastructure from neglect and indifference is definitely a nightmare. That people lost their lives in the Minnesota bridge collapse and our government didn't launch into a spending frenzy to protect its citizens is a nightmare. Again we're back to a place where the Federal government needs to, as PA Governor Ed Rendell says, "get off their butts and institute a nationwide plan to repair our infrastructure".

Dena responded to Here's Mud In Your I with two links that warrant a closer look. As reported by the American Society of Civil Engineers (ASCE) -- Here are the 2005 grades for the Infrastructure Report. And here is the Updated 2008 Action Plan. Besides the overall poor grade of D, note the dollar figure needed over the next five years to correct the issues in all of the fifteen Subject areas: $1.6 Trillion.

We've spent nearly twice that in the last five years in the Middle East. I'm not suggesting I have a grand plan for budgeting the war, but I think we need to figure out how to make sure our troops get what they need to finish cleaning up the mess we've made while keeping our own country from falling into disrepair. I'd just like to see a little more balanced perspective. As important as what we're doing over in Iraq may be, it's not more important than maintaining the vital systems of our own country.

My fear is that this will be just another reactive phase with an all too brief duration as agencies and officials scamper about in an effort to show us that they're really concerned and are doing something about this situation. Then the bridge will be repaired, the hype will die down and everyone will go back to their wait-and-see routine until the next piece of infrastructure cracks, falls down, or injures people -- at which time the reactive phase will restart all over again.

Until then, I'm going to check the news again for an aerial image of the barren stretch of I-95 next to the motionless sea of diverted traffic that's still snaking around it. It's like a scene from The Day The Earth Stood Still and that's one of my favorite movies.

The Orange and the Green

"My father, he was Orange and me mother, she was green" -Traditional

I couldn't let St. Paddy's Day go by without a nod to some of the Isle's recent history. Northern Ireland's violent past was, like many police actions (wars), all at once the news of the world even as images from Belfast were being supressed.

On a side note, I find it an unfortunate literary coincidence that the term "assonance" -- the alliterative rhyming of words based on their sharing the same vowel and/or consonant sounds -- makes Belfast and Beirut ideal poetic companions.

The first Police album I ever purchased -- yes, a vinyl album -- was 1981's "Ghost in the Machine". Despite the first single released in the United Kingdom, Invisible Sun, reaching number 2 on the charts, the BBC banned the video because of its subject matter -- the depiction of the conflict in Northern Ireland -- demonstrating another sad instance of the media acting as government's propaganda arm to choke the release of information.

Here's the video.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

To everyone who is just a little bit Irish, at least on St. Paddy's Day, I raise a pint of the finest stout in a toast to the Emerald Isle and fellow Irish everywhere -- metaphorically, that is. The consumption of alcoholic beverages here in the office during work hours is frowned upon.

But it was not always so. My first job after high school was in a restaurant and bar called Huckleberry's -- long since closed and demolished, now a parking lot. My introduction to Guinness came from an Irishman who was putting them away like it was his job. The encounter forever changed my taste in beer.

"What is that?" "Guinness Stout -- try it" He offered me his freshly pulled pint and I was too curious to refuse. The customer is always right, after all. *Yum*. "That's really good." "It's delicious", he corrected me, "Drink a six pack of that and you'll shit black for a week." Charming. I wondered if that's how all of the Irish enticed you to drink with them.

As for my own nationality, I'm a potpourri of many things -- English, Irish, Scottish, Italian, French-Indian (Huron, maybe?) and German-Dutch. So I'm a mutt, but I'm a quarter Irish -- a pretty good percentage by American standards -- with some MacEntees and McGeehans in my family history.

Some years back, I had visited a friend in Chicago for the St. Patrick's Day parade. I remember it being cold, windy (of course) and the Chicago River was dyed its usual shade of green. The parade was terrific -- my favorite bits were the pipes and drums. Few things stir my blood like the skirl of the bagpipes, but traditional Irish music comes close.

And with that, I offer up a slice of one of my faves, The Chieftans. This is a scene I would enjoy tremendously -- sitting around the pub with friends, all with traditional acoustic instruments and half-enjoyed pints of Guinness on the table. Enjoy.

Still Dreaming....

After yesterday's post, I realized I couldn't very well write about Paris without showcasing my own captured version of its most recognizable icon. As I previously mentioned, the day ended at Le Tour d'Eiffel shortly before closing time and, although a bit cliche, I knew I had to record my own interpretation for posterity.

I remember the warm air being still and humid and many of the locals had returned home for the evening. Armed with my constant companion, a Canon A1 that was a gift from my parents before my emigration to Germany, I hiked about a quarter mile from the base and turned around to frame my picture.

It was nearly eleven o'clock and I found myself mesmerized by the Eiffel's ascent piercing the obsidian sky. It seemed fitting to deliberately overexpose the frame to accentuate the tower's brilliance. [For you shutterbugs, I used a 28 - 85mm lens, ASA 400 film and overexposed the image by one f-stop.]

It would be weeks before I developed my rolls of film after returning to Hamburg, but this image became an immediate favorite when I saw the Eiffel brilliantly radiating with near living luminescence. It's a reminder to me that my heart has found its home in many parts of the world and I'm happy occasionally losing myself in the exciting uncertainty of another culture in half-remembered surroundings.

Parisian Dreams

That the above black & white image seems nothing more than a forgotten old postcard does nothing to diminish its charm for me. Struck momentarily by the scene's relaxed simplicity, I captured this frame on a whim crossing the Seine River in August of 1991 while on the way to the best little ice cream cafe in Paris. I'm afraid I don't remember the name of it and certainly couldn't spell it if I did, let alone pronounce it.

Magnifique -- which I can pronounce -- is how I would later describe not only the ice cream, but the City of Lights itself despite our introduction being all too brief. While living in Hamburg, I had accompanied my best friend, his wife, and their three year old daughter in a cramped RV across Germany, Luxembourg, and France to a rustic campground at Biscarosse Plage. We spent one day in Paris. I might as well have tried to enjoy Epcot Center in forty-five minutes.

But what an exceptional day it was. Up with the sun and on a train into the city to arrive at the gates of Le Louvre at its opening so we could see the Mona Lisa for ourselves. I don't recall how many wings Le Louvre has -- five, I think -- but we kept up a brisk pace for five hours to get through one of them. Would I do it all over again? Of course not. I'd want to explore a different wing.

From Le Louvre we headed to Notre Dame, Pont Neuf, and ultimately ended our day at the Eiffel Tower just before it stopped welcoming visitors. By then I was on cultural overload, even more so because my friend's wife was the only one of us who spoke French -- stranger in a strange land indeed.

I think of that vacation often and the brief, delicious slice of international flavor that warms my palette to this day. I've been back to Europe a few times since then, but not to Paris -- not yet, anyway. It's near the top of my "Must Revisit" list. It's going to have to be soon, I think. I have a craving for that amazing ice cream.

Parasitically Speaking...

Bugs give me the heebie-jeebies -- not every identifiable species, but in general. I appreciate their role in the ecology and the food chain, their adaptability and legacy on this planet, but prefer to appreciate them at a distance.

Parasites are something else entirely. From viruses to vampire bats, although indeed a part of the food chain, their life is sustained only by draining that of their host, often to its death -- which is what makes computer viruses so utterly contemptible.

Being an I.T. professional, I work up close and personal with technology and with the ultimate goal of keeping everyone happy, productive, and working smoothly on our trouble-free and fully functional network. That someone else of obviously above average intelligence is working just as diligently as I with the diametrically opposed goal is both disheartening and infuriating.

Unlike smallpox, polio, and the bubonic plague which sprung from the primordial goo and evolved over eons in an instinctive effort to survive, computer viruses are Frankensteined together out of ones and zeros in just the right dastardly sequence to create a unique malicious code.

In the past it was enough to simply keep my virus protection updated and be mindful of the kinds of things I downloaded from the Internet. Now I have to be prepared to defend myself from threats that lay in wait within the gadgets available from reputable retailers: iPods, Tom-Tom navigation systems, and digital picture frames manufactured in China as reported in this article.

Despite their apparent lax quality controls, I don't blame the Chinese per se. These threats are coming from individuals who develop and unleash them. What compels talented programmers with highly marketable skills to focus their efforts in this way is beyond me. The better they are, the more likely they will earn not a paycheck, but a place on law enforcement's most wanted.

A mind might be a terrible thing to waste, but minds with this intent are better wasted than allowed to proliferate.

Our American Work (to Death) Ethic

What are your vacation plans this year? Do you have vacation plans? Do you even get any paid vacation? Sadly, many Americans don't. And the ones who do are lucky to get a few weeks at best. We are the unchallenged losers when it comes to the understanding that time away from work is important and healthy -- socially, physically and psychologically. The above chart speaks for itself. This article is a pretty comprehensive summation as well.

To cite a few examples from my own circle: A close relative got three weeks vacation from the privately held company where he worked, but he would always get a sideways look from the owner and the attitude that he was practically stealing from the company when he had the audacity to take it. My wife recently joined a company in a well-paying, middle management position. She's been in the workforce longer than I, but was only given two weeks. Despite her position, salary, expertise and years of paying her dues, she got the company rhetoric, "New hires get two weeks. No negotiation." I get three weeks off, but that's because I've been here over five years. I don't get another week until I've got ten years under my belt. Another is a friend who is considered highly skilled labor, but starting fresh at most machine shops she usually gets nothing for the first six months. Or it's necessary for her to accrue her one or two weeks before she can take it.

Granted, the above examples don't take into account all forms of PTO -- sick days, personal days, paid holidays -- but that's assuming that's even part of the package. Some companies don't have policies in place for sick days. That means, depending of the changeable mood of your supervisor, you could be suspect for calling out with a cold.

Also, the chart only accounts for federally mandated vacation time. I've only lived in a few states, but so far none of them had mandated any minimum vacation time for the common man. I'm not familiar with whether or not there are more liberal, forward-thinking States that do.

What this tells me is that the governments of most every other industrialized nation are comprised of people who respect their workforce and understand the necessity to protect them from the inevitable exploitation of big business which -- evidently -- will jump at the chance to live down to its lowest impulses.

So what's wrong with us? Are we not getting the message through to our representatives? Or do they simply not care because they've got their six figure incomes and six weeks of vacation and we should just keep quiet, not rock the boat and be happy that we have a job?

It's one of my mantras that I'll work to live, but I won't live to work. I count myself as one of the fortunate. In addition to my fifteen vacation days, I have ten sick and four personal -- twenty nine days in total. By sobering comparison, a first year intern at nearly any company in Europe would have as much and then some his first day on the job. In fact, most companies over there will voluntarily far exceed the federal mandates.

It shouldn't be a surprise among us that there are so many instances of stress, depression and heart attacks as we are ground into dusty submission by the daily grind. With no end in sight and no light at the end of the tunnel for a majority of workers, it's clear where much of the drain on the healthcare and social service systems comes from.

Our American work ethic is ethically un-American. For citizens in the land of the free and the home of the brave, we are slaves to the bottom line and to the corporations that have us in their grips, and we've become fearful for our jobs, that we are replaceable and therefore obligated to our selves, our families and to our communities that we become not a burden.

"Thus conscience does make cowards of us all...."

Driven to Drink - Part 1 of a Disjointed Series

I arrived at work today after spending over an hour in my vehicle covering the twelve miles that separate me from my daily grind. And I realized that I barely remembered most of the drive except for a slice of the morning show I listen to that had welcomed Paul Mooney as a guest in their studio.

Paul Mooney is a comedian and comedy writer who has written for Richard Pryor, Redd Foxx, Saturday Night Live, The Dave Chapelle Show and others. Of Barak Obama he says, "His mother is white, he looks like Malcolm X, he speaks like Martin Luther King and Oprah loves him. What's not to like?"

But I digress. I see that most of us seem to move in a quasi-robotic trance as we make our way to work. We've all trodden the same path so many times that it's like being on autopilot. Our vehicles know the way so well that we simply sit back and watch the view change outside our windows until the scenery comes to a halt and we are ushered out: "Please wait until the vehicle has come to a complete stop, and thank you for enduring Your Morning Commute."

Then there are the unfortunate souls who are cramped into a phone booth the entire morning. Phone booths are ungainly vehicles. They rarely have functioning turn signals, bob and weave drunkenly through traffic and around corners, and their harried occupants are well into the first teleconference of the day long before they step foot in the office.

These are the same gentle folk who -- at least, judging by their reactions -- would just as soon shoot me if I dare distract them from whatever is keeping the phone riveted to their ear. So when I use my horn -- which is for signalling other drivers, by the way -- to let them know they are about to redecorate the side of my car with their ill-timed lane change, it's usually then that they seem intent on informing me of their IQ which is always "1". Or maybe that's their emotional age, I'm not sure.

For myself, I try to avoid like the plague being on the phone in the car. My job necessitates that I be reachable 24/7, so my cell phone is my constant companion. I have a snazzy bluetooth earpiece that will answer the phone when I press a button and hook it over my ear, but I refuse to "accessorize" with the damn thing as if it's a high-tech earring that never leaves my head (back to that EM radiation thing from a previous post). Regardless of how much I'm in awe of the Borg from ST:TNG, I don't want to look like one or change my name to Locutus.

So by the end of the day when I return home, I'm ready for an adult beverage -- not to self-medicate, but simply to raise a glass in a toast of thanks that I've successfully circumnavigated my route without any hostile engagements with ungainly phone booths.

Here's Mud In Your I

I hadn't planned on beating this drum two days in a row, but I'm a drummer -- it's what I do best. Fast on the heels of yesterday's AP story about pharmaceuticals in the water supply, we have this not-so-new development about poisoned and mutated populations of fish. It would be remiss of me not to throw this story in as well since it goes hand in hand.

In short, there is a growing body of irrefutable evidence that the various toxins present in our environment -- specifically in this case, the water supply -- are causing severe reproductive problems in many kinds of fish, genetic mutations, skewed sex ratios, as well as impaired reproduction in mussels, inhibited growth in algae, kidney failure in vultures, and mass die-offs of entire species of amphibians. The list, tragically, goes on and on and on.

Is there anybody out there? The sad thing is that there are a lot of people who are and will remain ignorant of this -- for a number of reasons. This isn't a "breaking" story, which means it won't garner any ratings and therefore unlikely to be featured on either local or network news. It may be the subject of a Discovery or Science channel special, but those programs are usually watched by the learned who already know there's a problem.

Additionally, "They" (whoever "They" happen to be) don't want to alarm the general populace and would prefer to keep under wraps as much of this information as possible -- as if there would be panic in the streets. Please...the majority of people who might stumble across this story may, at best, shake their collective heads, mutter under their breath, "*tsk, tsk*...what a shame...sure hope someone does something about this..." and then move on to the really interesting stories -- like the latest dirt on how screwed up Britney Spears is.

If I'm not mistaken, it's at this point that governments are supposed to step in and work to resolve the big issues that individuals can't do on their own. I say governments -- plural -- because although the United States reigns supreme in the wait-and-see, but don't-do-anything-to-piss-off-big-business department, we're not the sole offenders. We are the mightiest, however.

Doubtless many people could rattle off multiple examples of how much we do for the environment and the world at large. So what? The bottom line is that it's not enough -- not by a long shot. We certainly spring into action when our oil interests are threatened, spending trillions of dollars in a seemingly endless quagmire in the cradle of civilization.

But to even consider investing that kind of money, resources and manpower to ween ourselves off of fossil fuels, clean up our air and water, and help to provide food and healthcare to the world? Nope. Some bean counter probably did a cost-benefit analysis and decided there just wasn't enough in it for US. That goes right along with corporate lobbyists who make damn sure that their interests are grandfathered out of any potentially "costly" legislation that might compel them -- for lack of a better term -- to clean up their act.

That's the ticket. As long as the right person or entity gets their palm greased, the worst offenders get to continue to offend the worst. It's nothing short of criminal. It's also now officially a sin according to the Vatican, which recently listed ecological offenses among today's evils. Unfortunately, it's unlikely that the threat of excommunication will spur anyone into action.

So this is how the world dies, not with a bang, but a whimper -- resigned to its fate, its cries for help gone unheeded like those of Kitty Genovese, a young Queens woman who in 1964 was attacked in the street three times over the course of a half an hour and ultimately stabbed to death while thirty-eight of her neighbors watched from their windows and did nothing.

At least in this voyeuristic, information age that we live in, we'll all have front row seats.

To Your Health!

And in yet another feel-good story about the perils of the world in which we live, an AP investigation has shown that prescription drugs have been found in the drinking water across the United States. In case you missed this story, you can have a look at it here, here, and here.

Lovely. As if it isn't enough that it was determined years ago that there is no longer any truly "clean" air left on the planet, we now have to worry about the effects of residual pharmaceuticals in our drinking water. Nevermind that we've been sold a bill of goods about the toxins that are put into our water deliberately -- flouride, a waste product from the manufacture of atomic bombs and chlorine, which reacts with other naturally occuring compounds to form trihalomethanes (THMs) which have been linked to asthma, eczema, cancer and heart disease.

Is it really too much to ask that my drinking water contain only three things -- two molecules of Hydrogen and one of Oxygen? Apparently it is. No wonder there are more children born with autism, ADD, ADHD and the like -- although I'm convinced that it's as much a result of unhealthy additives in the food as it is toxins in the water supply.

Not surprisingly, the head of a group representing a major California water supplier was quoted as saying that the public "doesn't know how to interpret the information" and might be unduly alarmed. Really? I think my alarm is more than duly. I'm not trying to crack the Enigma code here. How much interpretation does it take when there are traces of antibiotics, anti-convulsants, mood stabilizers and sex hormones in my drinking water?

Oh, for the good old days back in the Dark Ages. There wasn't much potable water then, so everyone went around in a kind of haze because they were drinking mead. At least you knew what was in your honey wine wouldn't poison you.

When are we, as a race, going to wake up and realize that if we haven't got our health, we haven't got anything? Trite perhaps, but true. How much money and lives could be saved by simply having the "luxury" of fresh air, clean water and pure food? Everyone's howling about the economy like a bunch of scorched cats without understanding that the economy is a wholly owned subsidiary of the ecology.

Of course, to actually make these enormous changes for the benefit of mankind would take staggering amounts of money and effort, and that means that many big corporations might have to short-change their stockholders -- and we can't have that. No, the corporate lobbyists are too powerful and most of our elected officials are quite comfortable being in their back pockets, so I'm not holding my breath that much of this will change during my lifetime -- unless it reaches a tipping point that forces us into a last minute reactionary effort trying desperately to fix what could have been prevented in the first place.

But that is a rant beyond the scope of this post. In the mean time, I'm trying to live a healthy lifestyle and my doctor recommends that I drink eight to ten glasses of water a day.

Bottoms up!

Spring Forward, Fall Down

Once again, I find myself suffering under the governmentally imposed jet-lag that accompanies the start of Daylight Saving Time -- which has often been erroneously attributed to Benjamin Franklin who, while he was envoy to France, published an anonymous letter suggesting that Parisians economize on candles by rising earlier to use morning sunlight.

But he did not actually suggest Daylight Saving Time. That distinction goes to William Willett, a prominent English builder and outdoorsman who observed with dismay back in 1905 how many Londoners slept through the best part of the summer day. He also disliked having to cut short his round of golf at dusk.

The United States instituted Daylight Saving Time in 1918, and for the past ninety years we've been shuffling our clocks back and forth twice a year in an effort to make the most of our allotted sunlight.

Bollocks. It's a double-edged sword in the Spring as well as the Fall. I absolutely live for the long summer evenings, but since I'm not a morning person to begin with, it makes the torture of the alarm clock -- the most ghoulish invention since the iron maiden -- even more excrutiating. Additionally, as opposed to "regular" jet-lag, the pain drags on for weeks until my body's circadian rhythms readjust themselves.

In the Fall I finally reclaim the hour of lost sleep that has eluded me for six months. Unfortunately, it also means that my existence is that of a complete troglodyte as I get up in the dark, drive to work in near darkness, work in an office without windows, and drive home at night -- even though it's only five o'clock. I have a new-found empathy for the Russians and Scandinavians who live near the Arctic Circle and spend the Winter perfecting their vodka.

With that in mind, for the time being, I'll don my Ray-Ban's for the drive home and then enjoy the sunset from my deck with a pitcher of vodka martinis. Za Vashe Zdorov'ye!

Sunken Friend Ship: Part 2

Talk about the Karmic Credit Plan -- no sooner do I lament the misplacement of old friends, but one resurfaces. Like a turning of the tide that reveals long buried memories, an innocuous message washed into my email from Classmates.com, "Someone signed your Guestbook!"

I get these messages from time to time, often from people I neither graduated with nor even went to school with. I can't image that my profile is so fascinating that it attracts those I've never met -- more likely I'm one of many that they're browsing for one reason or another.

In effect, someone clicks on your profile and an email is generated to let you know that they were there. This time, it was someone I knew -- a friend I haven't seen since the twenty year reunion several years ago and prior to that...well, it was the 80s.

Class reunions are a funny thing. It seems that everyone initially gravitates into the cliques they formed as teen-agers. Sure, we all -- most of us, anyway -- eventually mingle and chat, but even then it's akin to speed dating. Many folks come in from out of town and kill two birds with one stone by incorporating the reunion into a larger vacation, so there's not much follow-up after the "Gee, it's been forever"s are said.

Truth be told, it frustrates me. A lot of the people I look forward to seeing don't come and the numbers dwindle every time we get back together. For some, I guess they're like George Carlin who said, "There's a reason I haven't seen those people for 25 years -- I didn't like most of them".

For my part, I'm far too curious not to show up every five years and take inventory of my classmates who don't actually regard high school as something to be forgotten and scraped off the bottom of their shoes. I'll probably still be attending even when they have to wheel me in from the home and wipe the drool from my bib after I've had my Ensure and Metamucil.

As to my friend -- we live in different states, so it's anyone's guess when -- or if -- we'll get to hang out and catch up on each other's lives, but reconnecting was great and the trip down memory lane has been a good one.

Pop-Up Poignards

It's official. Pop-up ads are everywhere, in everything, all the time. Now they're even seeping onto YouTube. At least I can proactively close them if they dare to invade my computer screen. I'm waiting to be attacked by them in my car as soon as someone figures out how to put them on the radio.

It's bad enough that network television shows have been getting steadily shorter since the Sixties to allow for the inclusion of more commercial time. Back then, the average length of an hour-long program was 48 minutes. A few years ago I read it was down to about 42 minutes -- that's why my favorite reruns seem to be missing something that I swear was in there once upon a time. They've butchered golden oldies to make sure I know where to buy the latest and greatest formula of Tide.

So now, as if it isn't aggravating enough to put up with the mini cliffhanger moments that precede every commercial break in my favorite shows, I have to contend with the maddening distraction of pop-ups that consume the lower third of my screen.

My favorites to loathe? "You're watching an all new episode of LOST" Gee, really? Thanks for being so keenly aware that I could be a complete moron and need to be told what I'm actually watching. I've only been following the show since 2004, so I might have stumbled onto this time slot by accident and really be lost in this great wasteland.

Sure I've complained, but those complaints fell on deaf ears -- or at least ears that were stuffed with money from the advertisers whose marketing research indicated that this form of torture is effective. It makes me wonder who is ruining it for the rest of us.

The only time I'm okay with having my eyes yanked to the bottom of the screen is when I'm watching something with subtitles. It's almost enough to make me swear off of network television and just buy the series when they're released on DVD.

Until then, I'll just have to stock up on throat lozenges to numb the pain of all this advertising that's being relentlessly crammed down my throat.

Living and Listening Laterally

I've recently gotten into the band Tool. I've enjoyed their music at a distance for years, but it's only of late that I've looked more deeply into their writing and musicianship. I've heard them called a "thinking man's progressive art metal band". I could wax overly descriptive, but if you're really interested, look here and here -- it's far more verbose than I care to be.

I've always been fascinated by physics, mathematics, philosophy, biology and astronomy, so when I stumbled across Tool's video, Lateralus, that was used as a basis for a student's presentation on philosophy and the Fibonacci sequence, I was intrigued.

I post it here for your edification.

Confession of a Technophobic Technophile

I'm wary of computers -- weary as well, often times. The rub is that I work in the Information Technology industry and owe them -- computers -- my livelyhood.

I love the instant access to information, messaging at the speed of thought, and the way in which the world has been brought closer together. It's remarkable the wealth of knowledge that will leap into my life with the entry of a few simple search terms. I can find long lost friends, tour the pyramids, travel to the farthest star and look up a dozen recipes for chicken paprikash -- all without leaving my chair in the space of a few minutes.

But I'm given pause by the digitalization of my personal information: bank records, credit history, medical information, school records -- all there for instantaneous access, hopefully not into the wrong hands for nefarious purposes. Identity theft comes to mind. I'm concerned with the perception of the loss of privacy. The potential for covert monitoring of the masses is vast. Any kid with a computer can download -- or more frighteningly, develop -- sniffers that will capture any and all data transmitted over any given media. I won't even delve into what governments are capable of.

I realize that some of my concerns could be taken as mild paranoia, but remember that what some may consider paranoia is really just heightened awareness. I prefer to think of myself as a realist and I wonder if all this technology has made life fundamentally better, or just more convenient.

"Improve a machine and you may gain productivity, but improve Man and you gain a hundred fold" -- K.N.Singh

I also can't help but cringe when I hear about the latent threat from the excessive amounts of EM radiation that we are all exposed to on a daily basis from our cars, televisions, cell phones, microwaves, computers and pretty much everything else in our world that uses electricity.

In spite of all this, I continue to be wretched from sleep by a digital alarm clock every morning, mix my shake in an electric blender, watch the weather and traffic reports on television, and drive to work in my vehicle so I can sit in front of a computer all day surrounded by powerful network servers and repeatedly offer my various usernames and passwords to "secure" sites that could ultimately betray me.

Mine is a digital prison not entirely of my own making, but I have chosen to allow its geometries to circumscribe my life. And even if I hadn't, I would be hard pressed to find a safe oasis in our silicon based, microchipped culture. As such, my dream of retirement -- should I be so fortunate to live that long -- is not of isolation from my fellow man, but from the trappings of our electromagnetic, convenience-oriented, fiber-optically fueled society.

Or as John Masefield wrote, "And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by". My version might include a motorcycle and a dry ribbon of blacktop stretching to the horizon, but the stars would still be there.

Annual Violation

It's tax time again -- as if it isn't tax time whenever I get my paycheck, or make a purchase, or make an investment, or accumulate interest, or, or, or.... I'm tired of having a bulls-eye painted on my bank account in this war on the middle class. I feel like I'm simultaneously supporting the poor who can avoid paying taxes as well as the rich who find ways around it.

Am I being penalized for being married and owning a home? It sure seems that way. We paid five figures of interest on our home last year while Uncle Sam helped himself to a hefty chunk of our paychecks before we even got them -- and we still owe. How much is enough?

It's been suggested that I could change my withholding -- again -- to have more tax taken out of my check and then I might get a refund. Sorry, but I'm not entirely thrilled with how the government is spending my money as it is. I'm not about to give them an interest free loan at my expense just to put it back in my pocket in April.

The unfortunate truth is that most, if not all, of those who fight city hall on this issue will lose. Case in point -- the couple in New Hampshire recently who barricaded themselves in their home and refused to pay, citing the absence of any legal substantiation for income tax. I was rooting for them even though I knew it could only end one way. They were tricked by the feds and taken out at gunpoint.

That's right boys and girls -- they'll take your money or your freedom even if they have to perforate you with lead to do it.

My wife says that we need a revolution in this country and I'm beginning to agree with her. Sedition, you say? Not exactly, but not knowing your rights is the same as not having any, and not taking a stand for what you believe to be right and fair is akin to advocating the status quo.

I think it's time we halt the IRS's march towards apotheosis, but that's just me. Or is it?

Blink of an Eye

Another weekend gone as quickly as it arrived. It seems not to matter whether it's filled with friends, family, home projects, and shopping, or just sleeping late and sequestering ourselves to recharge our batteries.

It's unbalanced. I spend five days a week working my job and two days a week -- the weekend -- working and managing my life. I've always said that I'll work to live but I won't live to work. I wish I could say that I'll live to work. That would mean I'm working my dream job and leaping out of bed every morning looking forward to all the wonderful experiences that the day has in store.

If I were still hammering out a backbeat in front of adoring fans, I would be living my work -- happily. As it is, I have a job that I like well enough on good days and can just stand on bad ones. I count my blessings because it could be a lot worse and, by comparison, I don't have much to complain about.

I'd better get back to work. I have things to do today and before I know it, it will be the weekend again.

Up and Coming

This kid is incredible. I wish I could say his drumming reminds me of myself when I was his age -- except I was five years older than him before I picked up drumsticks for the first time. He made this video one year ago when he was nine. You can see more of him -- Teddyz2112 -- on YouTube.

Also, the tune he's playing was a hit over twenty years before he was born.