Wednesday, March 02, 2005
This is for my mother
Mom, if you want to see Meegan's baby blog, just click on these words and you should be whisked right there.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Sunt eu, un haiduc
Alo.
Salut.
Darn you, Numa Numa dance guy and your stupid Eurovision song. It is in my head all the time. I am under the impression that I'm beginning to speak Romanian, all because I can say "sunt voinic," which sounds like "sun voyneek" and means "I am brave," and is, since this a Romantic language, probably in the masculine case.
I'm giving myself intravenous James Brown to compensate for the overbearing honkitude of "Dragostea Din Tei." Get on up! Sss funky! Stay on the scene! Like a lovin' machine! Shake your money maker! Can we hit it and quit it?! Hit it!
Got back from Tuff E Nuff, which was taught solo by the lovely and talented Denise. Mark apparently sneezed and threw his back out. Dude is a health nut; how that happened is beyond me but it gives me a pause for pessimism. People were like, "Oh no! Denise is going to be so hard on us!" which is funny because when it is Mark teaching, people are like, "Oh no! Mark's here! He's going to work us to death!" I just figure showing up at the class I will be a pile of quivering aches by the end of the hour.
Also, I have a groupie. His name is Shawn and he was telling other people in the class about my karaoke performance. He even was reenacting it a little. Well, if my craft has touched one other person, it is well worth the lack of shame it took to perform in front of a pack of just-out-of-college aged drunk white cappers.
Salut.
Darn you, Numa Numa dance guy and your stupid Eurovision song. It is in my head all the time. I am under the impression that I'm beginning to speak Romanian, all because I can say "sunt voinic," which sounds like "sun voyneek" and means "I am brave," and is, since this a Romantic language, probably in the masculine case.
I'm giving myself intravenous James Brown to compensate for the overbearing honkitude of "Dragostea Din Tei." Get on up! Sss funky! Stay on the scene! Like a lovin' machine! Shake your money maker! Can we hit it and quit it?! Hit it!
Got back from Tuff E Nuff, which was taught solo by the lovely and talented Denise. Mark apparently sneezed and threw his back out. Dude is a health nut; how that happened is beyond me but it gives me a pause for pessimism. People were like, "Oh no! Denise is going to be so hard on us!" which is funny because when it is Mark teaching, people are like, "Oh no! Mark's here! He's going to work us to death!" I just figure showing up at the class I will be a pile of quivering aches by the end of the hour.
Also, I have a groupie. His name is Shawn and he was telling other people in the class about my karaoke performance. He even was reenacting it a little. Well, if my craft has touched one other person, it is well worth the lack of shame it took to perform in front of a pack of just-out-of-college aged drunk white cappers.
Monday, February 28, 2005
What Brent Bozell and I have in common
We both hate the Dentyne ad. And "The Surreal Life." And "CSI." See? Now I have to like all that junk just to be contrary to the American Taliban's gentle arm.
Frankly, I can't disagree that there is something really unsavory about these programs, but who is letting their kids watch "South Park" and "CSI" and not knowing what is going on?
And, for truly disturbing TV, find one of those plastic sugery shows on cable. Saw a guy looking at getting pec implants. He asked if they came in bigger sizes. Want a manseire much?
Is it just me or does Jacko look a lot like the Joker?
Frankly, I can't disagree that there is something really unsavory about these programs, but who is letting their kids watch "South Park" and "CSI" and not knowing what is going on?
And, for truly disturbing TV, find one of those plastic sugery shows on cable. Saw a guy looking at getting pec implants. He asked if they came in bigger sizes. Want a manseire much?
Is it just me or does Jacko look a lot like the Joker?
Sunday, February 27, 2005
You are what you are
Let others watch the Academy Awards. Here I am glued to a PBS documentary on Liberace.
What a character. Moreover, the gilding was the lily with him. His piano skills, even to my tin ear, were meh. His clothes were too much. His jokes, too corny.
And, oh man, I can't believe how totally gay he was. It was so writ large and just out there. But there was this total blindness to it; I wonder if part of it was because so many of his middle-aged and older fans from middle america just didn't know what to look for when it came to queer culture. Even the bits they might have known (green on Thursdays, perhaps?) were so overblown it was almost ad absurdia. Especially over the years, his outrageousness grew. It was almost like he was daring people to realize he was gay, and when they didn't, he was just like, "Look! It's a gold lame suit with sequined shells and a cape in pink with frothy paillets and pearls and embroidery and a collar shaped like a shell! That doesn't phase you? I don't know how much more obvious I can be, people."
Part of me wonders if, in twenty years, people will look incredulously at the Michael Jackson's fans who proclaim his innocence because by then, more information about how child molesters operate will be common knowledge. Because, let's face it, the signs are there, and are also writ so large as to be absurd.
Boy, these people really think the Oscars are important, don't they?
What a character. Moreover, the gilding was the lily with him. His piano skills, even to my tin ear, were meh. His clothes were too much. His jokes, too corny.
And, oh man, I can't believe how totally gay he was. It was so writ large and just out there. But there was this total blindness to it; I wonder if part of it was because so many of his middle-aged and older fans from middle america just didn't know what to look for when it came to queer culture. Even the bits they might have known (green on Thursdays, perhaps?) were so overblown it was almost ad absurdia. Especially over the years, his outrageousness grew. It was almost like he was daring people to realize he was gay, and when they didn't, he was just like, "Look! It's a gold lame suit with sequined shells and a cape in pink with frothy paillets and pearls and embroidery and a collar shaped like a shell! That doesn't phase you? I don't know how much more obvious I can be, people."
Part of me wonders if, in twenty years, people will look incredulously at the Michael Jackson's fans who proclaim his innocence because by then, more information about how child molesters operate will be common knowledge. Because, let's face it, the signs are there, and are also writ so large as to be absurd.
Boy, these people really think the Oscars are important, don't they?
Doctors and email
Why don't doctors or their offices ever have email? It would just make sense for them to. Sure, I can see how they might get swamped, but they, as well as my alleged insurer, would be so much easier to contact than using a phone menu and no service all weekend.
I know I answered my own question. But why isn't health insurance held to the same standard that freaking Wal-Mart employees are???
I know I answered my own question. But why isn't health insurance held to the same standard that freaking Wal-Mart employees are???
My bad
It was California Blue Shield.
Sure is unholy, too.
Re-looking over the bill it seems that the deductible of $106.97 wasn't even applied to the whole total. I am so angry about this. I am thinking of writing a note for inclusion in my medical files that says "do not run tests on Callie until her insurance will pay for any portion of them. She can't afford it. Don't assume any tests are covered."
No cholesterol, no strep, no nothing.
Even the numa numa dance can't make me happy.
Sure is unholy, too.
Re-looking over the bill it seems that the deductible of $106.97 wasn't even applied to the whole total. I am so angry about this. I am thinking of writing a note for inclusion in my medical files that says "do not run tests on Callie until her insurance will pay for any portion of them. She can't afford it. Don't assume any tests are covered."
No cholesterol, no strep, no nothing.
Even the numa numa dance can't make me happy.
I hate Blue Cross Blue Shield of California
I have had to pay for every single fricking medical test I have taken since I started with these bastards. I just thought I was getting reamed regular-style until I got a bill for nearly $400 today for tests associated with my annual physical. I am so mad I could scream. At them. With abundant profanities.
If their explanation of benefits book had ever said "none" I could understand. But this, I am not getting at all.
What the heck am I paying out of my check every two weeks for if not a check-up once a freaking year? What would happen if I got in an accident? What if I contracted a horrible disease? I don't even get a decent subsidy on prescription medicine from these bastards.
Socilalized medicine now!!
If their explanation of benefits book had ever said "none" I could understand. But this, I am not getting at all.
What the heck am I paying out of my check every two weeks for if not a check-up once a freaking year? What would happen if I got in an accident? What if I contracted a horrible disease? I don't even get a decent subsidy on prescription medicine from these bastards.
Socilalized medicine now!!
Saturday, February 26, 2005
My date with Mister Clean
I went to a promotional event for the clean gay pirate and his bathroom swiffer. How cheesy is that.
I was curious, though; not so much about the product but who would drop by a wealthy Seattle suburb for tips on cleanliness. I thought I would have more snark to share, but I don't. I was put through a PR gantlet that has broken me down, people. I think that might have something with the fact that I was given a Magic Reach — basically a flexible swiffer for the bathroom that has a detachable head so you can use it on a pole or in your hand. It has two different types of scrub pads to attach and throw away. It has been researched and branded within an inch of its life (why not release under P&G brand swiffer? Because that brand is associated with quick n easy — the big gay muscleman throwback is associated with cleanliness, which is the operative word for bathroom sanitation). This, in other words, is a clever product.
Also, I was told I would get a gift pack that ought to include a nail polish by Cover Girl with the monniker "I love Mr. Clean." Which is cool.
Ladies love Mister Clean. Or, at least, the muscled, five percent body fat tanned bald dude that was playing him. I was a little freaked out by the white mascara on his eyebrows. He wasn't the cartoon character I've come to love. It's a little tough to see one of my idols brought all too literally to life.
But what the women were there for were the free manicures. If you are in PR and you want the ladies to turn out, offer free manicures. They are quick, hiring a manicurist or two is probably pretty cheap, but these ladies wanted to save $25. Insanity. And the women that were coming to this event were coming from the richest place in the state. For Pete's sake, Microsoft was across the street from this health club. I'm pretty sure most of these women, a lot of whom were coming to the health club for a Saturday morning workout, have figured out how not to do the intensive housework and their Saturday mornings were pretty much their own.
There was also the obligatory breast cancer awareness table.
What is it with the breast cancer awareness? It is the weirdest thing. I was pondering this at the event. There are a lot of women there, it makes sense. But there is something else going on with the breast cancer stuff. On my way back, I saw a car with three overlapping magnetic ribbons — one pink, which said "fight breast cancer," one yellow, with the slogan "support our troops," and a flag one that said "God Bless the USA." And I was thinking, what is the connection between these causes? Because logically, one of these things is not like the other. It's an add-on. It's like one more additional ribbon it's really hard to argue with. Support the troops, love the U.S.A., cop a feel for health.
There was an article in the NYT about all the color ribbons out there, and how some colors relate to several causes. How did the pink ribbon get as big as the yellow ribbon? Why not the one that is against autism (the scary uncontrollable baby disease that is so blamed popular)? Why not the one against Lou Gerihg's Disease? I mean, I stand nominally opposed to these unavoidable diseases that need more research in the fight against them. I'm every bit as willing to pay $2 to buy them as the other ribbons (in other words, I'm not that inclined). Are people just big ole joiners? If I put up a polka-dot ribbon fighting chicken pox would people buy it??
I was curious, though; not so much about the product but who would drop by a wealthy Seattle suburb for tips on cleanliness. I thought I would have more snark to share, but I don't. I was put through a PR gantlet that has broken me down, people. I think that might have something with the fact that I was given a Magic Reach — basically a flexible swiffer for the bathroom that has a detachable head so you can use it on a pole or in your hand. It has two different types of scrub pads to attach and throw away. It has been researched and branded within an inch of its life (why not release under P&G brand swiffer? Because that brand is associated with quick n easy — the big gay muscleman throwback is associated with cleanliness, which is the operative word for bathroom sanitation). This, in other words, is a clever product.
Also, I was told I would get a gift pack that ought to include a nail polish by Cover Girl with the monniker "I love Mr. Clean." Which is cool.
Ladies love Mister Clean. Or, at least, the muscled, five percent body fat tanned bald dude that was playing him. I was a little freaked out by the white mascara on his eyebrows. He wasn't the cartoon character I've come to love. It's a little tough to see one of my idols brought all too literally to life.
But what the women were there for were the free manicures. If you are in PR and you want the ladies to turn out, offer free manicures. They are quick, hiring a manicurist or two is probably pretty cheap, but these ladies wanted to save $25. Insanity. And the women that were coming to this event were coming from the richest place in the state. For Pete's sake, Microsoft was across the street from this health club. I'm pretty sure most of these women, a lot of whom were coming to the health club for a Saturday morning workout, have figured out how not to do the intensive housework and their Saturday mornings were pretty much their own.
There was also the obligatory breast cancer awareness table.
What is it with the breast cancer awareness? It is the weirdest thing. I was pondering this at the event. There are a lot of women there, it makes sense. But there is something else going on with the breast cancer stuff. On my way back, I saw a car with three overlapping magnetic ribbons — one pink, which said "fight breast cancer," one yellow, with the slogan "support our troops," and a flag one that said "God Bless the USA." And I was thinking, what is the connection between these causes? Because logically, one of these things is not like the other. It's an add-on. It's like one more additional ribbon it's really hard to argue with. Support the troops, love the U.S.A., cop a feel for health.
There was an article in the NYT about all the color ribbons out there, and how some colors relate to several causes. How did the pink ribbon get as big as the yellow ribbon? Why not the one that is against autism (the scary uncontrollable baby disease that is so blamed popular)? Why not the one against Lou Gerihg's Disease? I mean, I stand nominally opposed to these unavoidable diseases that need more research in the fight against them. I'm every bit as willing to pay $2 to buy them as the other ribbons (in other words, I'm not that inclined). Are people just big ole joiners? If I put up a polka-dot ribbon fighting chicken pox would people buy it??
Chaff, pre-culled
That's my take on Hannidate.
Poor Barbara, the self-described green-eyed minx on Hannidate.
Some money quotes:
"I have a very close-knit, loving family. ALL Republicans! lol "
"I am seeking an honest, intelligent, politically savvy man, who believes in Republican values and is seeking a LTR ... Please, no drug users, cheaters, liars, womanizers, or heavy drinkers."
Contradiction? Apparently Republicans have learned to live with it for a while.
From Nashville's Christina:
"Who I'm looking for: Someone who has definitely been Hannitized, a committed Christian and someone who doesn't have children already (unless they are grown)."
From Greg:
"Most importantly, I am a conservative. I live in Pittsburgh and there appears to be a ratio of 4 men to every woman. Plus, most women in 'the burgh' are liberal"
This one, from Rob, is so crazy it deserves to be quoted in its entirety:
"A conservative U.S. Army veteran, living on the left coast. I like walks on the beach, Ann Coulter and standing up to outspoken liberal "experts" who claim to know what's going on in Iraq. I love my country, my president, my family and my dog, Fonzie. I'd go back to Iraq in a second but I've suffered a shoulder injury that won't allow me to play G.I Joe anymore. I'm looking for a strong minded conservative woman to take to dinner in a San Francisco restaurant. One who's smart enough to wait until we are served before delighting in the discussion of liberals, their flaws and their feeble attempts to hide them. I'd like to hold out for Ann, but I'm a realist. Though, I could see the two of us having the most delightful conversation: one simple, passionate conservative; one sophisticated, radical conservative...Man, I'd love to have dinner with Ann Coulter! If she's not available, I'd be happy to meet someone who identifies with her political id."
This is hot: From Dave:
"All I want from this is to kill deer with Ann Coulter someday"
If you dudes want Ann Coulter, write her or something!
From Bill:
"To describe myself I'll put the most important thing first: I LISTEN TO THE SEAN HANNITY SHOW!!!!!!!!! (Rush, too)"
What a winner.
All of these eejits are from the randomly selected Page 10. I am so glad all these NDs are stuck in one spot.
Also, may I direct you to newgrounds.com? I would recommend watching the Numa Numa guy. I know he's really embarrassed, but it's kind of a cute little video of him lip-synching to a Romanian pop song.
Poor Barbara, the self-described green-eyed minx on Hannidate.
Some money quotes:
"I have a very close-knit, loving family. ALL Republicans! lol "
"I am seeking an honest, intelligent, politically savvy man, who believes in Republican values and is seeking a LTR ... Please, no drug users, cheaters, liars, womanizers, or heavy drinkers."
Contradiction? Apparently Republicans have learned to live with it for a while.
From Nashville's Christina:
"Who I'm looking for: Someone who has definitely been Hannitized, a committed Christian and someone who doesn't have children already (unless they are grown)."
From Greg:
"Most importantly, I am a conservative. I live in Pittsburgh and there appears to be a ratio of 4 men to every woman. Plus, most women in 'the burgh' are liberal"
This one, from Rob, is so crazy it deserves to be quoted in its entirety:
"A conservative U.S. Army veteran, living on the left coast. I like walks on the beach, Ann Coulter and standing up to outspoken liberal "experts" who claim to know what's going on in Iraq. I love my country, my president, my family and my dog, Fonzie. I'd go back to Iraq in a second but I've suffered a shoulder injury that won't allow me to play G.I Joe anymore. I'm looking for a strong minded conservative woman to take to dinner in a San Francisco restaurant. One who's smart enough to wait until we are served before delighting in the discussion of liberals, their flaws and their feeble attempts to hide them. I'd like to hold out for Ann, but I'm a realist. Though, I could see the two of us having the most delightful conversation: one simple, passionate conservative; one sophisticated, radical conservative...Man, I'd love to have dinner with Ann Coulter! If she's not available, I'd be happy to meet someone who identifies with her political id."
This is hot: From Dave:
"All I want from this is to kill deer with Ann Coulter someday"
If you dudes want Ann Coulter, write her or something!
From Bill:
"To describe myself I'll put the most important thing first: I LISTEN TO THE SEAN HANNITY SHOW!!!!!!!!! (Rush, too)"
What a winner.
All of these eejits are from the randomly selected Page 10. I am so glad all these NDs are stuck in one spot.
Also, may I direct you to newgrounds.com? I would recommend watching the Numa Numa guy. I know he's really embarrassed, but it's kind of a cute little video of him lip-synching to a Romanian pop song.
Hottest thing I saw today
Though I don't mean that metaphorically. I mean it ironically.
I was driving down 6th Ave. headed for a party at Fire Engine #9, a local brewpub, and saw a big old dude (he was what those in the euphamism business call "apple shaped") waiting for the bus. He was wearing gray sweats that were held up with suspenders.
Do Stacey and Clinton realize what they are up against?
Seriously, I'm pretty sure they are only interested in clothing those who are going somewhere besides on the bus to the halfway home. Which is kind of a pity.
Did karaoke again tonight. After two beers, an apple martini and two rum and cokes it's a lot easier to do. Nancy, who is the wife of Mark the fitness instructor, said I was bringing in people from other rooms in the bar. I think they were trying to get a drink. I am really a terrible singer. Denise, who has too much pep to be believed and is quite the extrovert, is adamant that she won't karaokify in front of people. This is a woman who spends hours each day encouraging people to follow her lead as she does lunges, squats, legovers and jumping jacks. Seems to me like a three minute song would be the easiest thing in the world after leading a cardio session.
Shawn, a fellow traveler in the Y exercise realm, sang some songs too. His wife, Diona (not sure I'm spelling that right) is a scream. Funny English prof. Julie and Pat got back from hanging out in southern Mexico. Linley kicked Ben's (Denise's hubby) you-know-what in pool. Wyatt and his wife Sarah are cool, too. I am fortunate to be in a class with such interesting, genuine people who do not think I'm a total freak, even though I was explaining to Ben and — Robert? I'm so bad with names — the addiction I have to Frosted Miniwheats. Seriously, they dominate my life at this point.
Although today promised to rain with some clouds, it turned sunny and clear. Everyone is concerned about the weather and what it means for electrical rates and water usage this summer. Last time there was an energy crisis out here it was partly manufactured, but because Enron got away with it, there was some real suffering. People are planning out their energy usage and getting ready to let their lawns croak. I'm sure there's an angle here for a story for me to write ... or two or three.
I was driving down 6th Ave. headed for a party at Fire Engine #9, a local brewpub, and saw a big old dude (he was what those in the euphamism business call "apple shaped") waiting for the bus. He was wearing gray sweats that were held up with suspenders.
Do Stacey and Clinton realize what they are up against?
Seriously, I'm pretty sure they are only interested in clothing those who are going somewhere besides on the bus to the halfway home. Which is kind of a pity.
Did karaoke again tonight. After two beers, an apple martini and two rum and cokes it's a lot easier to do. Nancy, who is the wife of Mark the fitness instructor, said I was bringing in people from other rooms in the bar. I think they were trying to get a drink. I am really a terrible singer. Denise, who has too much pep to be believed and is quite the extrovert, is adamant that she won't karaokify in front of people. This is a woman who spends hours each day encouraging people to follow her lead as she does lunges, squats, legovers and jumping jacks. Seems to me like a three minute song would be the easiest thing in the world after leading a cardio session.
Shawn, a fellow traveler in the Y exercise realm, sang some songs too. His wife, Diona (not sure I'm spelling that right) is a scream. Funny English prof. Julie and Pat got back from hanging out in southern Mexico. Linley kicked Ben's (Denise's hubby) you-know-what in pool. Wyatt and his wife Sarah are cool, too. I am fortunate to be in a class with such interesting, genuine people who do not think I'm a total freak, even though I was explaining to Ben and — Robert? I'm so bad with names — the addiction I have to Frosted Miniwheats. Seriously, they dominate my life at this point.
Although today promised to rain with some clouds, it turned sunny and clear. Everyone is concerned about the weather and what it means for electrical rates and water usage this summer. Last time there was an energy crisis out here it was partly manufactured, but because Enron got away with it, there was some real suffering. People are planning out their energy usage and getting ready to let their lawns croak. I'm sure there's an angle here for a story for me to write ... or two or three.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Something funny
Hannidate. Oh man, thank you Think Progress for pointing this out. What a rogues gallery of NDs! (That's Callie-slang for "not datable," which, in spite of my using it literally cross-country for the past eight years, has failed to catch on. Well, maybe this blog will help. Probably not.) I particularly got a kick out of Alton, the divorced guy in the Adidas shirt (c'mon! you're looking for Luv, Republican style!) on page 3 or so who is a cargo pilot. Here's what makes him such a keeper:
"If the relationship blossoms into love, marriage will definitely be on my mind. If the she has children that is fine. I had 4 with my ex but she is moving to Richmond, VA and I will miss mine dearly. My visits will be cut to 4-5 times a year. I would be open to more children in a loving marriage. I do want a person who is open to exploring our sexual sides together in a sharing manner."
So he's beyond ND. He's more bunny than elephant. I don't even want to know what that last sentence means.
I shouldn't mock. The liberal in me, that weird Christian influence in me as well, reminds me that we're all a pack of bumbling losers in this crazy world, looking for connections with nature, fellow man and God. None of us has that much more insight into our own failings than bunnyman does; none of us has much more of a clue than bunnyman does, either. In my own way, I'm as big a dope as bunnyman.
OTOH, because we're all a bunch of bumbling losers, it's nice to be able to make fun of each other. It's not the better angels of our nature, it's the humor of the macabre.
"If the relationship blossoms into love, marriage will definitely be on my mind. If the she has children that is fine. I had 4 with my ex but she is moving to Richmond, VA and I will miss mine dearly. My visits will be cut to 4-5 times a year. I would be open to more children in a loving marriage. I do want a person who is open to exploring our sexual sides together in a sharing manner."
So he's beyond ND. He's more bunny than elephant. I don't even want to know what that last sentence means.
I shouldn't mock. The liberal in me, that weird Christian influence in me as well, reminds me that we're all a pack of bumbling losers in this crazy world, looking for connections with nature, fellow man and God. None of us has that much more insight into our own failings than bunnyman does; none of us has much more of a clue than bunnyman does, either. In my own way, I'm as big a dope as bunnyman.
OTOH, because we're all a bunch of bumbling losers, it's nice to be able to make fun of each other. It's not the better angels of our nature, it's the humor of the macabre.
I ate methadone FMW
Well, fellow people, I did something I didn't want to do, but after a few Frosted Miniwheat-free days I couldn't take it anymore and I went to the store.
Ever since the low-carb thing gripped Americans I've been in carbohydrate hog heaven and entirely too accustomed to seeing discounted namebrand cereals (especially the healthy ones) every time I shop. Well, not the other day. And there is no way I'm going to pay $5 for a box of cereal. I just refuse. So I searched my purse for a coupon, but no, not at all.
However, I noticed that the private label brand was on sale. You know, the kind that isn't actually FMW, but is "Bite size Frosted Shredded Wheat." I knew it would not be as good as FMW (what is?) but I didn't know if it would be as bad as the private label grape nuts, which are horrible, and I think are called "crunchy nuggets," which aren't nearly as evocative a title as "Grape Nuts." But for $2.50 for 20 oz, I was willing to take a chance.
What I got was the methadone of FMW. They did not get me high like FMW does, that is to say, I did not get the big satisfaction payoff while eating them, but it did curb my crazy crazy cravings for the hard stuff.
The private label brand had some issues: it was toastier tasting, which wasn't too bad and sometimes was really nice; it had a slightly different texture and puffier build, which was not too bad either but wasn't really ever really nice; and it had a MUCH less even distribution of frosting on individual bits. Some bits had a whiff, others had a thick, thick coating. This was an interesting element, to say the least. Usually when I eat FMW I try to keep the most-frosted ones in the bowl until the last five or six, where I eat them in ascending order of frostedness (I am a freak, I have gotten over it, I don't make a big public deal about this eating order normally, but I'm telling a story here). With the varying levels of frostedness, didn't have to do this. Instead, I just pretty much ate the superfrost bits at my leisure until I reached the last three or four. I even could eat a Superfrost with a Nofrost to balance a spoonful out (however, it was a mouthful). Now, this had the effect of being an insane relief to my OCD'd manner of eating the stuff — I could just let go and enjoy the faux FMW — but it also kind of irked me because with regular FMW, you may — MAY — have one megafrosty bit in the whole bowl, so if you do it's a real treat. With the faux FMW, there was no special Skinnerian payoff. It wasn't just gambling without risk, it was gambling without the chance of intermittent letdowns.
I guess this experience with the fake FMW has taught me that I don't always want to be a winner. OTOH, maybe this experience does not have that much to tell me about myself except that I eat like a freak.
Yesterday I went to Safeway for lunch (considered the sushi, went with a grilled panini — Philly cheesesteak, sad to say they didn't have marinara behind the counter, which would have perked it up a notch — and didn't get hungry until 10 p.m.) and saw FMW on sale, $3 per 24 oz. So I bought a couple boxes, but I'm still planning on finishing the fake box first. Because I'm cheap and because I have adjusted a little; perhaps even brought a little sanity to the whole FMW consumption, with the methadone box.
Ever since the low-carb thing gripped Americans I've been in carbohydrate hog heaven and entirely too accustomed to seeing discounted namebrand cereals (especially the healthy ones) every time I shop. Well, not the other day. And there is no way I'm going to pay $5 for a box of cereal. I just refuse. So I searched my purse for a coupon, but no, not at all.
However, I noticed that the private label brand was on sale. You know, the kind that isn't actually FMW, but is "Bite size Frosted Shredded Wheat." I knew it would not be as good as FMW (what is?) but I didn't know if it would be as bad as the private label grape nuts, which are horrible, and I think are called "crunchy nuggets," which aren't nearly as evocative a title as "Grape Nuts." But for $2.50 for 20 oz, I was willing to take a chance.
What I got was the methadone of FMW. They did not get me high like FMW does, that is to say, I did not get the big satisfaction payoff while eating them, but it did curb my crazy crazy cravings for the hard stuff.
The private label brand had some issues: it was toastier tasting, which wasn't too bad and sometimes was really nice; it had a slightly different texture and puffier build, which was not too bad either but wasn't really ever really nice; and it had a MUCH less even distribution of frosting on individual bits. Some bits had a whiff, others had a thick, thick coating. This was an interesting element, to say the least. Usually when I eat FMW I try to keep the most-frosted ones in the bowl until the last five or six, where I eat them in ascending order of frostedness (I am a freak, I have gotten over it, I don't make a big public deal about this eating order normally, but I'm telling a story here). With the varying levels of frostedness, didn't have to do this. Instead, I just pretty much ate the superfrost bits at my leisure until I reached the last three or four. I even could eat a Superfrost with a Nofrost to balance a spoonful out (however, it was a mouthful). Now, this had the effect of being an insane relief to my OCD'd manner of eating the stuff — I could just let go and enjoy the faux FMW — but it also kind of irked me because with regular FMW, you may — MAY — have one megafrosty bit in the whole bowl, so if you do it's a real treat. With the faux FMW, there was no special Skinnerian payoff. It wasn't just gambling without risk, it was gambling without the chance of intermittent letdowns.
I guess this experience with the fake FMW has taught me that I don't always want to be a winner. OTOH, maybe this experience does not have that much to tell me about myself except that I eat like a freak.
Yesterday I went to Safeway for lunch (considered the sushi, went with a grilled panini — Philly cheesesteak, sad to say they didn't have marinara behind the counter, which would have perked it up a notch — and didn't get hungry until 10 p.m.) and saw FMW on sale, $3 per 24 oz. So I bought a couple boxes, but I'm still planning on finishing the fake box first. Because I'm cheap and because I have adjusted a little; perhaps even brought a little sanity to the whole FMW consumption, with the methadone box.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Newsweek, the tragedy of
Babies and Autism. There must be a sort of in-built audience for this story, because there have been so many scary scary articls about it. Thermasol (sp?), which is to say mercury, in vaccinations (it's not there anymore — but try telling that to crunchy moms across the country!). Asperger's syndrome with its chattier, but almost equally disconnected little victims. Temple whatsername, who made the kinder cow chutes for slaughter houses and has autism. Autism is scary stuff for this world of would be Skinners.
I don't think the baby autism thing is interesting because people don't want their kids to catch it — although that's certainly part of it. I think it's another symptom of this world of irrational fear we Americans live in. It's scary to think there are things that are completely out of your control that can go wrong — having an autistic baby, losing all your money in a stock market crash, sitting on a dirty toilet seat and catching Ebola — in America more than any other country. Why? Because although this country is wealthy, it is fundamentally extremely dysfunctional with its money. It forces individuals to look out for themselves. You are very much on your own out here if something terrible happens to you or your family and you don't have health insurance, or a gun to defend yourself, or a personal cash cache under the bed. Having an autistic child in a society that demands you carry the burden of the financial responsibility and emotional responsibility (which can be mitigated with finances, natch, to varying degrees) yourself has got to be terrifying. It creates a series of choices that must be heartwrenching for any family of modest means; moreso for a single mother.
And people try so hard to have the perfect kid. Now that babies are virtually guaranteed to survive the first five years of life, each one has a different kind of value attached to it than 100 years ago. Which is a good thing in so many ways. But it puts a lot of pressure on these little creatures to be perfect; there aren't seven or eight backups coming through.
An interesting item about Susan Sontag and Annie Leibovitz. They were sweeties, doncha know. You wouldn't have learned it from the NYT's obit, and this was a fairly raging debate on Romenesko about three months ago, when Sontag died. Way to be on top of the ball, there, NW. Well, it was motivated by a fairly recent meeting of LGB reps with NYT people, who said they couldn't get any confirmation that the two actually had a relationship. I would have thought plenty of NYT staffers would have gone to the illuminary-filled parties Sontag and Leibovitz were known to swan about at. What's the point of being a NYT staffer if you don't get to go to the cool parties?
On to the last sentences that made me groan:
"If AT&T can hang up, anything is possible." Hey, didn't you guys crib from 1908's "Looks like the era of rail travel has, well, run out of steam" when writing about the internal combustion engine in the Model-T?
"It contained questions: about life, about suffering, about the nature of God." That's reading a lot into an elderly and ailling pope's not making it to the Lenten retreat.
"Putin needs to be coaxed out of his shell — gently." I like it when they give advice. Especially advice that makes it sound like this cagey and totalitarian man is a) introverted and b) a shy widdle cwab.
"If Bush wants to get Europe's help, he needs to talk not just to its rulers but to its people." Ah, Fareed? This might have been a good time to mention this. However, don't think Fareed is being soft on Bush. This is actually a piece that catalogs how bad certain policy failures have been and how he thinks some, like this whole Lebanon-Syria thing, should be addressed. But it would have been nice to mention that Bush is afraid of being confronted by real people.
Laura Bush: "We don't actually get invited to that many dinner parties." Interesting.
"And, for a growing number of users, HIV." Because the quote didn't include it, and that's the angle on the gay sex and meth connection, and by God, NW has to get its moral on extra sledgehammery!
"... he could use all the friends he could get. Especialy ones with deep pockets."
Killer detail in the autism article: an autistic girl, who has written and is featured in an Oscar-nominated film based on her "awakening," says she knows she looks "retarded" carrying handfuls of spoons, but can't help herself. That's awesome. Worth the whole baby autism scare, almost, really worthy of a good McSweeney's piece. This chick has a David Sedaris quality but she'll never "pass." She's edgy.
However, the last sentence is: "A fleeting moment, a developmental milestone — and, if all goes well, a new world of possibilities for a sweet little boy with dimples." Sugar rush!
"The group reached consensus on one thing: more research is needed." Drinking wine, that is. Insert Beavis laugh here. It's not the worst last sentence. It's just so flipping formulaic.
"If and when the NHL resumes play, it may find that all that is left is scratch." Wag that finger, NW.
"'Project Runway' shows how ugly fashion can be — and that's a good thing." Do they have a machine that spits this stuff out? Tragically, the rest of the article is about as illuminating. Although I, too, stood behind Jay (especially once Kara Saun did that stupid conflict-of-interest thing with the shoes), I wouldn't go touting him as my favorite in the magazine. I also wouldn't have given in to Wendy Pepper's delusions. Those almost ruined that great show for me, please, please be careful because with NW I'm already on the edge.
"When you leave the pooch alone, it lets out a yelp and heads for the doghouse. WIth practice, your spouse might do the same." Meow! I never get tired of spouse-training jokes. Sike.
Also noticed:
When quoting "Zagat's" "selectively," "sometimes" the words can be "read" in "an all-too-ironic" way that is "counter" to the "way" they "were meant to be read."
On the "The Technologist" page, I've noticed NW has a little grafcito here called "Blog Watch." They want people to read Jerry Brown's blog, at least, they put a clever graphic next to it that looks like a blue computer key marked "Save." Here's a sample of Governor Moonbeam: "It is curious how people perceive platitudes and extremism on my part when I perceive the same thing in them. Schopenhauer said that extracting truth from oneself required putting one’s mind on a rack and subjecting it to relentless interrogation—so prone are we to delusion and denial. Of course, the ideologues know nothing of such anguish because they rarely leave the refuge of their own tightly held identities. (paragraph) Bloggers are a force. The established order of politics (EOP) and the MSM face a big challenge from this fearless army. Tragically, in some countries, the challenge is met by enforced silence."
Bleh. Even this pile o crap blog is more lively than that. Boy, NW, you need to be careful about what you pimp!
Also, once again a letter writer, David L. King of Geneva, NY, proves to be a more insightful questioner than the person who wrote the article about "The New Game of Retirement." I think restructuring the entire Social Security Administration — one of the best and most popular programs in the history of the nation — demands a level of "WTF???" questioning. Also, a letter writer from the FBI, the fetchingly named Cassandra M. Chandler, notes that the email that was compromised was handled by a private firm, not the FBI. Which begs for an article about the effects of privatization on federal security. How much of our govt security is in the hands of private firms? In Iraq, Afghanistan, and here in the US? What does it mean when the technicians and the smartypants all are employed by contractors? Where are they coming from? Alas, like her namesake, I fear NW will not heed this clarion call for an investigation.
Oh, thank God a week of NW-free time awaits! Hallelujah! Bring on the New Yorker! I need it intravenously! Stat!
I don't think the baby autism thing is interesting because people don't want their kids to catch it — although that's certainly part of it. I think it's another symptom of this world of irrational fear we Americans live in. It's scary to think there are things that are completely out of your control that can go wrong — having an autistic baby, losing all your money in a stock market crash, sitting on a dirty toilet seat and catching Ebola — in America more than any other country. Why? Because although this country is wealthy, it is fundamentally extremely dysfunctional with its money. It forces individuals to look out for themselves. You are very much on your own out here if something terrible happens to you or your family and you don't have health insurance, or a gun to defend yourself, or a personal cash cache under the bed. Having an autistic child in a society that demands you carry the burden of the financial responsibility and emotional responsibility (which can be mitigated with finances, natch, to varying degrees) yourself has got to be terrifying. It creates a series of choices that must be heartwrenching for any family of modest means; moreso for a single mother.
And people try so hard to have the perfect kid. Now that babies are virtually guaranteed to survive the first five years of life, each one has a different kind of value attached to it than 100 years ago. Which is a good thing in so many ways. But it puts a lot of pressure on these little creatures to be perfect; there aren't seven or eight backups coming through.
An interesting item about Susan Sontag and Annie Leibovitz. They were sweeties, doncha know. You wouldn't have learned it from the NYT's obit, and this was a fairly raging debate on Romenesko about three months ago, when Sontag died. Way to be on top of the ball, there, NW. Well, it was motivated by a fairly recent meeting of LGB reps with NYT people, who said they couldn't get any confirmation that the two actually had a relationship. I would have thought plenty of NYT staffers would have gone to the illuminary-filled parties Sontag and Leibovitz were known to swan about at. What's the point of being a NYT staffer if you don't get to go to the cool parties?
On to the last sentences that made me groan:
"If AT&T can hang up, anything is possible." Hey, didn't you guys crib from 1908's "Looks like the era of rail travel has, well, run out of steam" when writing about the internal combustion engine in the Model-T?
"It contained questions: about life, about suffering, about the nature of God." That's reading a lot into an elderly and ailling pope's not making it to the Lenten retreat.
"Putin needs to be coaxed out of his shell — gently." I like it when they give advice. Especially advice that makes it sound like this cagey and totalitarian man is a) introverted and b) a shy widdle cwab.
"If Bush wants to get Europe's help, he needs to talk not just to its rulers but to its people." Ah, Fareed? This might have been a good time to mention this. However, don't think Fareed is being soft on Bush. This is actually a piece that catalogs how bad certain policy failures have been and how he thinks some, like this whole Lebanon-Syria thing, should be addressed. But it would have been nice to mention that Bush is afraid of being confronted by real people.
Laura Bush: "We don't actually get invited to that many dinner parties." Interesting.
"And, for a growing number of users, HIV." Because the quote didn't include it, and that's the angle on the gay sex and meth connection, and by God, NW has to get its moral on extra sledgehammery!
"... he could use all the friends he could get. Especialy ones with deep pockets."
Killer detail in the autism article: an autistic girl, who has written and is featured in an Oscar-nominated film based on her "awakening," says she knows she looks "retarded" carrying handfuls of spoons, but can't help herself. That's awesome. Worth the whole baby autism scare, almost, really worthy of a good McSweeney's piece. This chick has a David Sedaris quality but she'll never "pass." She's edgy.
However, the last sentence is: "A fleeting moment, a developmental milestone — and, if all goes well, a new world of possibilities for a sweet little boy with dimples." Sugar rush!
"The group reached consensus on one thing: more research is needed." Drinking wine, that is. Insert Beavis laugh here. It's not the worst last sentence. It's just so flipping formulaic.
"If and when the NHL resumes play, it may find that all that is left is scratch." Wag that finger, NW.
"'Project Runway' shows how ugly fashion can be — and that's a good thing." Do they have a machine that spits this stuff out? Tragically, the rest of the article is about as illuminating. Although I, too, stood behind Jay (especially once Kara Saun did that stupid conflict-of-interest thing with the shoes), I wouldn't go touting him as my favorite in the magazine. I also wouldn't have given in to Wendy Pepper's delusions. Those almost ruined that great show for me, please, please be careful because with NW I'm already on the edge.
"When you leave the pooch alone, it lets out a yelp and heads for the doghouse. WIth practice, your spouse might do the same." Meow! I never get tired of spouse-training jokes. Sike.
Also noticed:
When quoting "Zagat's" "selectively," "sometimes" the words can be "read" in "an all-too-ironic" way that is "counter" to the "way" they "were meant to be read."
On the "The Technologist" page, I've noticed NW has a little grafcito here called "Blog Watch." They want people to read Jerry Brown's blog, at least, they put a clever graphic next to it that looks like a blue computer key marked "Save." Here's a sample of Governor Moonbeam: "It is curious how people perceive platitudes and extremism on my part when I perceive the same thing in them. Schopenhauer said that extracting truth from oneself required putting one’s mind on a rack and subjecting it to relentless interrogation—so prone are we to delusion and denial. Of course, the ideologues know nothing of such anguish because they rarely leave the refuge of their own tightly held identities. (paragraph) Bloggers are a force. The established order of politics (EOP) and the MSM face a big challenge from this fearless army. Tragically, in some countries, the challenge is met by enforced silence."
Bleh. Even this pile o crap blog is more lively than that. Boy, NW, you need to be careful about what you pimp!
Also, once again a letter writer, David L. King of Geneva, NY, proves to be a more insightful questioner than the person who wrote the article about "The New Game of Retirement." I think restructuring the entire Social Security Administration — one of the best and most popular programs in the history of the nation — demands a level of "WTF???" questioning. Also, a letter writer from the FBI, the fetchingly named Cassandra M. Chandler, notes that the email that was compromised was handled by a private firm, not the FBI. Which begs for an article about the effects of privatization on federal security. How much of our govt security is in the hands of private firms? In Iraq, Afghanistan, and here in the US? What does it mean when the technicians and the smartypants all are employed by contractors? Where are they coming from? Alas, like her namesake, I fear NW will not heed this clarion call for an investigation.
Oh, thank God a week of NW-free time awaits! Hallelujah! Bring on the New Yorker! I need it intravenously! Stat!
In yo face, Ernie!
Ah, the blogging of personal retribution begins.
No, seriously, folks. I had a wrong put in perspective for me by a professional in my field. Which makes it a little sweeter than hot cocoa and hugs from mom. Although those are always great.
Today, out of curiosity, I called a journalism ethics line to address a small problem that cropped up. I can't disclose what it was, that would be unethical, but suffice to say, although I had pretty much figured out what I was going to do to address it, I thought I'd call this advice line I'd gotten a flyer for a few weeks ago from my editor. I'd tell you what it was, but it wouldn't be ethical.
At any rate, it wasn't terribly consequential, but I had some q's about the hotline and this was as good an excuse to chat to a Chicagoan as any.
Well, Jim Burke, ethics dude and strategic management professor (and PhD) of Loyola U in Chicago (a Jesuit University — so they know from ethics and thinking deeply), and I conferred and he said my approach was right.
Anyway, we got to talking and I asked him about the hotline and what sort of calls he got (he couldn't be specific — ethics, you know) and I told him the story of my One Big Ethical Failure.
Back in the day — 1998 — I was a business clerk at a certain statewide daily that shall remain nameless. One of my duties was to type in all the bankruptcies. Oh, lord, that was a depressing job. I would like to know if there are any Scroggins in Arkansas that have not actually filed for bankruptcy, because that was a name that came up with astonishing frequency. They ran in what is known as "agate," pron. short A-ghit, the small type of information compendium stuff. Stocks, sports scoreboards, obituaries, community events all are examples of agate.
One day I got a phone call out of the blue from a slightly hysterical woman who told me she was filing for bankruptcy and I could not run hers. She said she was divorced and didn't want her ex-husband to know where she was living because he would kill her.
Now, whether or not this was the truth is debatable. But I'd been doing this insane compiling task for about a year and she was the first person to ever call with such a story. So, I give her credibility on that front. Also, who am I to make her do the lie detector test? And, for another, any offended party that will be looking for her particular bankruptcy will likely not do it through the newspaper. Credit agencies and banks and so forth use either their own missives to bankruptcy court or learn from the defendent him or her self.
I also knew that sometimes there are bankruptcies that will never make the paper due to the way the system worked (at least at that time). It was all copied paper information that was on shelves by the clerks' desks. I was certain cagier bankrupt people knew to steal their public paperwork. For those clerks who dealt with case numbers — that is to say, people who worked at the Daily Record, an all-agate paper that specialized in long lists of court judgments and docket numbers and God knows what else — they knew to ask for the missing case numbers. Not so clerks where I worked. And, with skyrocketing poverty, you wanted every break you could get. Also, cases often got held up in processing so they would not be filed publicly until days later. It was one of those all-paper deals where you had to look very hard to find what you wanted, and that was only if you knew to look for it.
Basically, I figured there was ample room for leniency here. So I didn't run the bankruptcy and I didn't tell my boss about it.
Now, you might be wondering, "Who gives a rat's tootie about the bankruptcies?"
Well, in Arkansas there is a vibrant community of nosy busybodies. Apparently. They have nothing better to do than judge people and gossip about them. Some of them are reporters. Oh! Rim shot! But seriously, with so little to do in that state and so much Blood of the Lamb judgmentalism, some people will reach for any source of smug satisfaction they can find.
I did tell him later, when I was approached by an employee of the paper and asked to keep her bankruptcy hush-hush. Now this, I thought, was completely different. I did not think it was fair for the paper to have this sort of perk for employees. Moreover, it could get out and I'd not even have my conscience to fall back on. Or more people would want such a perk for themselves or their friends or family. And that's a sticky wicket.
I had to confront my boss, Ernie. I also leveled with him that the way I did bankruptcies, there was no telling if I managed to get in every single one filed each day. That was a shocker to him, because he had never seen how things were done. God knows he had enough to do with the work and the stress and the heart attacks.
Of course he went semi-ballistic. I didn't think, at the time, that the woman who asked me would be punished, but she was. And, since it was being put on leave without pay, I thought it was a particularly crappy punishment for someone who was filing bankruptcy and trying to get her life together. I was really naive. I was 24, tops. To be fair, I think the decision to punish the woman who asked was not altogether wrong; a message had to be sent that you can't ask editorial for favors. It was unfair of her to put me in that position.
I don't remember being punished, although I probably was. Which really meant this reporter who had to do my stupid work was the one who was punished.
I didn't expect him to disagree with me about the divorced woman, however. The fact that I leveled with him about this shows the absolute depth of my naivete in the business world. I only wanted to do the right thing at all times. I did not think about lying or covering my ass. To this day, I marvel at my insane liberalism of spirit and yet feel really proud of it. I never wavered from wanting to do right, even if it ended up being my head. Today I am a little wiser. And I don't do bankruptcies, either.
Ernie, my boss, who is long since gone, told me we *had to* run the bankruptcy I didn't run a few weeks earlier. I refused and I ended up sending it in an e-mail to him and said if he wanted it in the paper, fine, he could insert it himself. I didn't want to be a party to it because if violence resulted, I didn't think I could stand it. I was crying and possibly throwing a bit of an emotional fit. This is just who I am, little miss Quaker schools.
I went to my folks' home and cried some. Mom told me if this was the worst ethical mistake I ever made I should be glad as she cuddled with me and stroked my hair. Dad just laughed about it and pointed to this being one of the most ridiculous tempests in a teapot he'd ever heard of. If I lost my job over it, he said, I should be grateful to not have to work in such a petty environment. This was like microethics, as he described it, look at the stakes; how could the reputation of this big paper be smeared by something so tiny as one woman in a rural community's bankruptcy and a clerk? Was the uproar worth what had been uproared about? Ultimately, had I not shown judgment between protecting a possibly abused woman and covering for a fellow employee? For comment on this particular paper's macroethics — the kind that refer to its content, its business partnering with Wal-Mart and Dillards, its Clinton-bashing and more — I would refer you to the alternative weekly, Arkansas Times.
They were right, and I was right, and Jim Burke agreed. He told me I sounded like a "very ethical journalist." He read from a guideline book that said journalists must be compassionate above all things (we're the preistly class, I guess).
Frankly, this sort of professional vindication was something I needed. I probably could have stood to hear it then, so that I could realize how much more idealistic I was than the environment I was in. And this is something that is happening to journalism everywhere, this creeping lockstep of rules and agendas and believing that treating everyone the same way is the same as treating our community ethically. I am yet an idealist in the face of all this. And I just got some professional, third-person recognition of this.
That was nice.
No, seriously, folks. I had a wrong put in perspective for me by a professional in my field. Which makes it a little sweeter than hot cocoa and hugs from mom. Although those are always great.
Today, out of curiosity, I called a journalism ethics line to address a small problem that cropped up. I can't disclose what it was, that would be unethical, but suffice to say, although I had pretty much figured out what I was going to do to address it, I thought I'd call this advice line I'd gotten a flyer for a few weeks ago from my editor. I'd tell you what it was, but it wouldn't be ethical.
At any rate, it wasn't terribly consequential, but I had some q's about the hotline and this was as good an excuse to chat to a Chicagoan as any.
Well, Jim Burke, ethics dude and strategic management professor (and PhD) of Loyola U in Chicago (a Jesuit University — so they know from ethics and thinking deeply), and I conferred and he said my approach was right.
Anyway, we got to talking and I asked him about the hotline and what sort of calls he got (he couldn't be specific — ethics, you know) and I told him the story of my One Big Ethical Failure.
Back in the day — 1998 — I was a business clerk at a certain statewide daily that shall remain nameless. One of my duties was to type in all the bankruptcies. Oh, lord, that was a depressing job. I would like to know if there are any Scroggins in Arkansas that have not actually filed for bankruptcy, because that was a name that came up with astonishing frequency. They ran in what is known as "agate," pron. short A-ghit, the small type of information compendium stuff. Stocks, sports scoreboards, obituaries, community events all are examples of agate.
One day I got a phone call out of the blue from a slightly hysterical woman who told me she was filing for bankruptcy and I could not run hers. She said she was divorced and didn't want her ex-husband to know where she was living because he would kill her.
Now, whether or not this was the truth is debatable. But I'd been doing this insane compiling task for about a year and she was the first person to ever call with such a story. So, I give her credibility on that front. Also, who am I to make her do the lie detector test? And, for another, any offended party that will be looking for her particular bankruptcy will likely not do it through the newspaper. Credit agencies and banks and so forth use either their own missives to bankruptcy court or learn from the defendent him or her self.
I also knew that sometimes there are bankruptcies that will never make the paper due to the way the system worked (at least at that time). It was all copied paper information that was on shelves by the clerks' desks. I was certain cagier bankrupt people knew to steal their public paperwork. For those clerks who dealt with case numbers — that is to say, people who worked at the Daily Record, an all-agate paper that specialized in long lists of court judgments and docket numbers and God knows what else — they knew to ask for the missing case numbers. Not so clerks where I worked. And, with skyrocketing poverty, you wanted every break you could get. Also, cases often got held up in processing so they would not be filed publicly until days later. It was one of those all-paper deals where you had to look very hard to find what you wanted, and that was only if you knew to look for it.
Basically, I figured there was ample room for leniency here. So I didn't run the bankruptcy and I didn't tell my boss about it.
Now, you might be wondering, "Who gives a rat's tootie about the bankruptcies?"
Well, in Arkansas there is a vibrant community of nosy busybodies. Apparently. They have nothing better to do than judge people and gossip about them. Some of them are reporters. Oh! Rim shot! But seriously, with so little to do in that state and so much Blood of the Lamb judgmentalism, some people will reach for any source of smug satisfaction they can find.
I did tell him later, when I was approached by an employee of the paper and asked to keep her bankruptcy hush-hush. Now this, I thought, was completely different. I did not think it was fair for the paper to have this sort of perk for employees. Moreover, it could get out and I'd not even have my conscience to fall back on. Or more people would want such a perk for themselves or their friends or family. And that's a sticky wicket.
I had to confront my boss, Ernie. I also leveled with him that the way I did bankruptcies, there was no telling if I managed to get in every single one filed each day. That was a shocker to him, because he had never seen how things were done. God knows he had enough to do with the work and the stress and the heart attacks.
Of course he went semi-ballistic. I didn't think, at the time, that the woman who asked me would be punished, but she was. And, since it was being put on leave without pay, I thought it was a particularly crappy punishment for someone who was filing bankruptcy and trying to get her life together. I was really naive. I was 24, tops. To be fair, I think the decision to punish the woman who asked was not altogether wrong; a message had to be sent that you can't ask editorial for favors. It was unfair of her to put me in that position.
I don't remember being punished, although I probably was. Which really meant this reporter who had to do my stupid work was the one who was punished.
I didn't expect him to disagree with me about the divorced woman, however. The fact that I leveled with him about this shows the absolute depth of my naivete in the business world. I only wanted to do the right thing at all times. I did not think about lying or covering my ass. To this day, I marvel at my insane liberalism of spirit and yet feel really proud of it. I never wavered from wanting to do right, even if it ended up being my head. Today I am a little wiser. And I don't do bankruptcies, either.
Ernie, my boss, who is long since gone, told me we *had to* run the bankruptcy I didn't run a few weeks earlier. I refused and I ended up sending it in an e-mail to him and said if he wanted it in the paper, fine, he could insert it himself. I didn't want to be a party to it because if violence resulted, I didn't think I could stand it. I was crying and possibly throwing a bit of an emotional fit. This is just who I am, little miss Quaker schools.
I went to my folks' home and cried some. Mom told me if this was the worst ethical mistake I ever made I should be glad as she cuddled with me and stroked my hair. Dad just laughed about it and pointed to this being one of the most ridiculous tempests in a teapot he'd ever heard of. If I lost my job over it, he said, I should be grateful to not have to work in such a petty environment. This was like microethics, as he described it, look at the stakes; how could the reputation of this big paper be smeared by something so tiny as one woman in a rural community's bankruptcy and a clerk? Was the uproar worth what had been uproared about? Ultimately, had I not shown judgment between protecting a possibly abused woman and covering for a fellow employee? For comment on this particular paper's macroethics — the kind that refer to its content, its business partnering with Wal-Mart and Dillards, its Clinton-bashing and more — I would refer you to the alternative weekly, Arkansas Times.
They were right, and I was right, and Jim Burke agreed. He told me I sounded like a "very ethical journalist." He read from a guideline book that said journalists must be compassionate above all things (we're the preistly class, I guess).
Frankly, this sort of professional vindication was something I needed. I probably could have stood to hear it then, so that I could realize how much more idealistic I was than the environment I was in. And this is something that is happening to journalism everywhere, this creeping lockstep of rules and agendas and believing that treating everyone the same way is the same as treating our community ethically. I am yet an idealist in the face of all this. And I just got some professional, third-person recognition of this.
That was nice.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Why I'm bitter below
I had a day that really brought motherhood and class issues to the fore for me. I talked to a woman — self-defined as working poor — whose son was killed in a terrible accident. Although the accident killed him, he was stuck under the car where he was not found for five hours (there are all kinds of other issues here I'm going to gloss over). Those were the worst five hours of her life. She didn't know where to find her son. She's self-defined working poor and that, combined with her emotional distress, probably didn't help with her communication.
Her husband had a broken leg and was supposed to start a job recently. She's got three other kids and has taken in a friend of her oldest son's.
So when I hear upper middle class women with two incomes or one that is big enough to support a family of whatever — where their stresses are totally ones that they can manage, stresses that any person in the world in their right mind would be thrilled to have — ballet lessons, soccer lessons, daycare to get the kids to, kid-proofing the kitchen to do because it's stocked with chemicals that keep linoleum floors and granite countertops sterile, finding time to sex up the hubby because they don't share a hut with the kids, fretting that buying take out food means they're a bad mom — it all seems so tiny and unimportant. Moreover, it perpetuates the middle class woman as reveling in imminance, ala Bouvoir. All those stupid things to think about, all cultural constructs that encourage consumer consumption and competition.
And there is so much pain out there, so many problems, that could be solved if these women felt secure enough about the future of their children to not pass them through this mechanized childhood machine to prep them for success. Maybe they would feel more secure about the future of their children if they all applied their political will and brilliant creativity towards making the world safer for all of us. Whether that is via economic, medical or political means.
Anyway, that's just my rant for today. I was really upset by this woman's story. I see it in a larger, upsetting context, too.
Also the guy from Niger, where I saved the village, as no doubt you've read before, dropped by today to present the Gateway with a wonderful carved elephant and me with a beautiful carved woman with a baby on her back and a water jug on her head. Basically, it reminded me of how much there is here and how ungrateful this society can be. And how the media don't always cater to our better angels.
Her husband had a broken leg and was supposed to start a job recently. She's got three other kids and has taken in a friend of her oldest son's.
So when I hear upper middle class women with two incomes or one that is big enough to support a family of whatever — where their stresses are totally ones that they can manage, stresses that any person in the world in their right mind would be thrilled to have — ballet lessons, soccer lessons, daycare to get the kids to, kid-proofing the kitchen to do because it's stocked with chemicals that keep linoleum floors and granite countertops sterile, finding time to sex up the hubby because they don't share a hut with the kids, fretting that buying take out food means they're a bad mom — it all seems so tiny and unimportant. Moreover, it perpetuates the middle class woman as reveling in imminance, ala Bouvoir. All those stupid things to think about, all cultural constructs that encourage consumer consumption and competition.
And there is so much pain out there, so many problems, that could be solved if these women felt secure enough about the future of their children to not pass them through this mechanized childhood machine to prep them for success. Maybe they would feel more secure about the future of their children if they all applied their political will and brilliant creativity towards making the world safer for all of us. Whether that is via economic, medical or political means.
Anyway, that's just my rant for today. I was really upset by this woman's story. I see it in a larger, upsetting context, too.
Also the guy from Niger, where I saved the village, as no doubt you've read before, dropped by today to present the Gateway with a wonderful carved elephant and me with a beautiful carved woman with a baby on her back and a water jug on her head. Basically, it reminded me of how much there is here and how ungrateful this society can be. And how the media don't always cater to our better angels.
The tragedy that is Newsweek 2/21
Oooh, a doubleshot of NW dissing! Coming straight to your pc from the internets like a laser beam!
I can't do radio talking. Oh, do yourself a favor and go to Slate.com and click on the Surfer Girl page, follow her link to the one to the FCC and scroll down to read the part she suggests, which are case studies in what is considered obscene. It is hilarious. Unless you are easily offended by rap lyrics. Honestly, I can't understand three-quarters of the lyrics in songs anyway, I had no idea. Well, a little. I was listening to "The Next Episode," a classic by Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg from "The Chronic," and laughed pretty hard when he comes to the part about gettin' his drink on, and his smoke on, and takin' somethin' home for him to poke on.
I mean, really, stripped of its incomprehensibility, a lot of rap becomes 99 percent less threatening to honkies.
Aye. The cover of this NW is the mother as Shiva. She's white, of course, and doesn't look particularly like most American moms (i.e. she's groomed and hot). This is part of the "perfect mom" thing, I guess. Which just goes to show it's a total myth. Anna Quindlen will apparently be declaring that moms shouldn't be martyrs. But then what would moms have to guilt trip their kiddos with? Moms that are martyrs — no, make that every one who is a martyr — eats that stuff up. They love martyrhood. If they didn't they'd take some control and go, "I'm sick of being a martyr around here. I'm not going to do x" and then leave it at that.
Interesting. According to editor Mark Whitaker, Society editor Lisa Miller, a recent mom, found herself "privately appalled" (well, up until now!) about the competitiveness of other mothers. She came across the manuscript for the book from which the excerpt runs on her desk (among "tons and tons of mail") and "dipped into it and fell in love." Turns out author Judith Warner is a stringer for NW. Sure you did, Ms. Miller. Sure you did.
Now, right here I have to break and say, haven't I read kind of the same story every 10 years from NW? Mothering — the secret thing no one talks about but is so bloody difficult women are almost killing themselves over it. Well, sheesh, I'd go into why it's self-indulgent pap but this chick at this page has done a really great job herself and she's a mom so she has moral authority to boot. It seems like every once in a while the media rediscovers this story. And, simultaneously, manages to let the men in the picture off the hook for all manner of responsibilities. Which is just too white, too upper-class, too riche to contemplate who they're talking to.
Also I don't think the occasional sentence referring to men in such an article means that they do not get off scot-free. Although I have friends who would argue the opposite. Look, the problem is that the women are protrayed as the engines of everything in their families and the men basically are a passive unit they need to manage. Which is possibly true for my mom and dad in some ways and some of my extended family. The articles pretty much accept, however, that this is the default parenting position.
Also that children must be catered to. I remember block parties where the kids had to fend for themselves while the adults got buzzed. That is the kind of future parent I wouldn't mind being. Not negligent, but not hovering, not worried and fearful of the neighborhood I live in. I never see block parties anymore; when I see anything that vaguely resembles them, it's all about catering to the kids. Whose fault is this?
Anyway, this is the popular sociology angle that hasn't been attacked in the mainstream press. How did we get to be so fearful? What does our social fixation on child competition say about us as a culture.
Also, a friend of mine has been reading some books and is convinced this child-oriented culture will turn out a cohort of wusses and lazy butts. They are burned out by the time they exit Princeton, I think is the key, and their parents are too old to drive them to piano lessons and ballet so they give up on all those structured hobbies and turn to pot and low-level careers where they don't feel all that pressure. He cracks me up.
I'd better stop versifying if I want this done before "Lost" comes on.
Okay: the sentences are:
"But, as one official notes, even Reagan eventually did business with the leader of the 'Evil Empire.'" Mmm. Precious.
"He has to help him build a lasting legacy — and retire to Texas before the heat sets in." It's getting hot in here! Sike. NW isn't going to put the heat on the administration!
Oooh, like the picture of the scowling black kid on an article about LAPD shooting a 13-y-o unarmed kid. That's subtle. Also, if I were the protestors, I'd be concerned that all the signs have been written by the SAME PERSON. Was there, like, a sign-nazi person who wouldn't let others use the crayon on the butcher block? I mean, all the Ks look alike on the three posters I can read, and the hs in child. There's a story there for the local daily.
end sentence? "To keep panic — and anger — from spreading, Bratton's gone on TV and met twice with black leaders to show that his department — and its chief — are on the case."
"He has a good thing going playing the ultimate outsider, and that means keeping his show, and eating his steaks, back in Fargo, far, far away."
Four pages for Charles and Camilla. Oof. Her bangs. They are hurting me. Princes William and Harry must be so grateful they have Di's sexy genes. I have never seen a family of intense press interest that needed the sexy genes more.
"One thing is for sure: no singer or actor can help HP now." Sniff. "HP investors hope this picture develops just as he promises."
"Please, spare us the truth." Thanks, Mr. Samuelson. I bet you just did.
I'm not liking the women they chose for "Mommy Madness" pictorials. One is a morning news anchor for a local market. One is a Dartmouth grad part-time physicians assistant. The last one is a teacher (yay!) with four kids and no time to do her PhD dissertation. She did her coursework, though. The D grad has a husband that wants "the traditional dinner on the table." Didn't your ivy education give you a prep for a high-minded retort?
"'She ain't playin'.' Neither is he. Or he always is. 50 (Cent) will never be easy to know. But he would never reveal himself so nakedly in his music, as both the gangsta and the grandson, if he didn't want you to try." If he's so naked, and you've even talked to him for his profile, why don't you come down on one side of the fence or the other?
That's it for today. I can't stand it anymore. And heaven have mercy, I certainly don't want to miss a moment of "Lost" to deal with another popular crap sociology story-oriented NW: Babies and Autism, the scary disease they will scare you with. Just when the parents think they can control for every variable, autism strikes. Oh, I suppose it can be kind of sexy, but again, it's all fearmongering pretending to be highmindedness.
I can't do radio talking. Oh, do yourself a favor and go to Slate.com and click on the Surfer Girl page, follow her link to the one to the FCC and scroll down to read the part she suggests, which are case studies in what is considered obscene. It is hilarious. Unless you are easily offended by rap lyrics. Honestly, I can't understand three-quarters of the lyrics in songs anyway, I had no idea. Well, a little. I was listening to "The Next Episode," a classic by Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg from "The Chronic," and laughed pretty hard when he comes to the part about gettin' his drink on, and his smoke on, and takin' somethin' home for him to poke on.
I mean, really, stripped of its incomprehensibility, a lot of rap becomes 99 percent less threatening to honkies.
Aye. The cover of this NW is the mother as Shiva. She's white, of course, and doesn't look particularly like most American moms (i.e. she's groomed and hot). This is part of the "perfect mom" thing, I guess. Which just goes to show it's a total myth. Anna Quindlen will apparently be declaring that moms shouldn't be martyrs. But then what would moms have to guilt trip their kiddos with? Moms that are martyrs — no, make that every one who is a martyr — eats that stuff up. They love martyrhood. If they didn't they'd take some control and go, "I'm sick of being a martyr around here. I'm not going to do x" and then leave it at that.
Interesting. According to editor Mark Whitaker, Society editor Lisa Miller, a recent mom, found herself "privately appalled" (well, up until now!) about the competitiveness of other mothers. She came across the manuscript for the book from which the excerpt runs on her desk (among "tons and tons of mail") and "dipped into it and fell in love." Turns out author Judith Warner is a stringer for NW. Sure you did, Ms. Miller. Sure you did.
Now, right here I have to break and say, haven't I read kind of the same story every 10 years from NW? Mothering — the secret thing no one talks about but is so bloody difficult women are almost killing themselves over it. Well, sheesh, I'd go into why it's self-indulgent pap but this chick at this page has done a really great job herself and she's a mom so she has moral authority to boot. It seems like every once in a while the media rediscovers this story. And, simultaneously, manages to let the men in the picture off the hook for all manner of responsibilities. Which is just too white, too upper-class, too riche to contemplate who they're talking to.
Also I don't think the occasional sentence referring to men in such an article means that they do not get off scot-free. Although I have friends who would argue the opposite. Look, the problem is that the women are protrayed as the engines of everything in their families and the men basically are a passive unit they need to manage. Which is possibly true for my mom and dad in some ways and some of my extended family. The articles pretty much accept, however, that this is the default parenting position.
Also that children must be catered to. I remember block parties where the kids had to fend for themselves while the adults got buzzed. That is the kind of future parent I wouldn't mind being. Not negligent, but not hovering, not worried and fearful of the neighborhood I live in. I never see block parties anymore; when I see anything that vaguely resembles them, it's all about catering to the kids. Whose fault is this?
Anyway, this is the popular sociology angle that hasn't been attacked in the mainstream press. How did we get to be so fearful? What does our social fixation on child competition say about us as a culture.
Also, a friend of mine has been reading some books and is convinced this child-oriented culture will turn out a cohort of wusses and lazy butts. They are burned out by the time they exit Princeton, I think is the key, and their parents are too old to drive them to piano lessons and ballet so they give up on all those structured hobbies and turn to pot and low-level careers where they don't feel all that pressure. He cracks me up.
I'd better stop versifying if I want this done before "Lost" comes on.
Okay: the sentences are:
"But, as one official notes, even Reagan eventually did business with the leader of the 'Evil Empire.'" Mmm. Precious.
"He has to help him build a lasting legacy — and retire to Texas before the heat sets in." It's getting hot in here! Sike. NW isn't going to put the heat on the administration!
Oooh, like the picture of the scowling black kid on an article about LAPD shooting a 13-y-o unarmed kid. That's subtle. Also, if I were the protestors, I'd be concerned that all the signs have been written by the SAME PERSON. Was there, like, a sign-nazi person who wouldn't let others use the crayon on the butcher block? I mean, all the Ks look alike on the three posters I can read, and the hs in child. There's a story there for the local daily.
end sentence? "To keep panic — and anger — from spreading, Bratton's gone on TV and met twice with black leaders to show that his department — and its chief — are on the case."
"He has a good thing going playing the ultimate outsider, and that means keeping his show, and eating his steaks, back in Fargo, far, far away."
Four pages for Charles and Camilla. Oof. Her bangs. They are hurting me. Princes William and Harry must be so grateful they have Di's sexy genes. I have never seen a family of intense press interest that needed the sexy genes more.
"One thing is for sure: no singer or actor can help HP now." Sniff. "HP investors hope this picture develops just as he promises."
"Please, spare us the truth." Thanks, Mr. Samuelson. I bet you just did.
I'm not liking the women they chose for "Mommy Madness" pictorials. One is a morning news anchor for a local market. One is a Dartmouth grad part-time physicians assistant. The last one is a teacher (yay!) with four kids and no time to do her PhD dissertation. She did her coursework, though. The D grad has a husband that wants "the traditional dinner on the table." Didn't your ivy education give you a prep for a high-minded retort?
"'She ain't playin'.' Neither is he. Or he always is. 50 (Cent) will never be easy to know. But he would never reveal himself so nakedly in his music, as both the gangsta and the grandson, if he didn't want you to try." If he's so naked, and you've even talked to him for his profile, why don't you come down on one side of the fence or the other?
That's it for today. I can't stand it anymore. And heaven have mercy, I certainly don't want to miss a moment of "Lost" to deal with another popular crap sociology story-oriented NW: Babies and Autism, the scary disease they will scare you with. Just when the parents think they can control for every variable, autism strikes. Oh, I suppose it can be kind of sexy, but again, it's all fearmongering pretending to be highmindedness.
The tragedy that is Newsweek, 2/14
I have gotten so far behind on it it's hard to get going. I mean, here I have three Newsweeks waiting to be vetted for crappy last sentences and the only thing that is making me do it is that I have bugged out of kickboxing because a) my Achilles tendons have been barking at me all day and b) it's a substitute, so I don't feel like I'll be letting down my usual instructor, the partial-to-Ricky-Martin Regina. Honestly, the past couple of classes when the aerobicised version of "She Bangs" comes on I want to do the William Hung dance instead of knee lifts.
But back to Newsweek.
In the 2/14 edition I spy with my little eye:
A somewhat dry desert of bad last sentences. Heart be still!
"But isn't it just like him?" (After a personality profile of Barry Manilow. The set-up: Barry, who I adore for no good reason, says he always tips piano bar singers (awww!), and the writer said it should be the other way around because the Manilow magic (my phrase) makes "their tip jars sing.")
"That will leave plenty of time for more talk, more campaigning, more blogging — and more rock concerts." Oooh, they used the word "blogging." How HIP!!!
"Perhaps. But that would require a coherent policy first." I like snark, but I'm not sure it's called for at the end of an article that purports to show how the state dept. and the dept. of defense have tagged one group of Iranian rebels as either terrorists or good allies. This isn't about policy. This is about a burgeoning Nicaragua-style situation where there is going to be a policy that the MEK should not be helped but the shifty America-firsters, even if it costs our reputation and future security, will undermine that through gov't channels. That's just my prediction; if I were Seymour Hersh I'd look into it in — when did Scott Ritter say we'd be on the ground in Iran, June? Yeah, I'd wait till five months later.
So it was a boring week. Not that I don't have additional comments.
I am curious about the letters page. In 2005, isn't it about time Newsweek quit running letters with the tag "VIA INTERNET?" Because there are ways to verify where the writer is from. A phone call, for example, from a number supplied by the author. Most people who are asked to verify themselves for publication will do so in a NY minute. That's what I did when I got a letter published in the Gray Lady nigh on these many years (14? Really? Holy cow.) I think I might have squeeeed a bit as well.
Anyway, a geographical location for people — like Nkosinathi Sibanda — would be nice. Would Nkosinathi be of the East Egg Sibandas or the Palm Springs Sibandas? I mean, c'mon, it's the new millenium, but the internet is not a place in and of itself.
Speaking of irritating internet stuff, try this headline on for size: "You Don't Have Mail," about the FBI's incredibly FUBAR'd computer system. You know, the one that was supposed to spell out the salvation of interconnecting all those counter-terrorism agencies, the one that was supposed to lift the FBI out of the carbon copy and ditto sheet age, the one that was supposed to make it possible for agents in any place to do a basic database search? Basically, the one that would have brought the FBI halfway to where the teevee crime drama shows give it credit for being at?
Okay, I'm going to read the peice and, with nothing but the facts in the story and common idiomatic computer talk, come up with an alternative of approximately the same length and twice the compellingness. Ready?
Ooooo, complication number one rears its ugly head: The story is actually about email!!! Can Callie do it? Can she beat the Newsweek headline writers while referencing the email issue????
Here's what I'm working with: email shut down because hackers got in the system, the FBI has to tell its agents not to use their kids' names, etc., as passwords, and all the FBI honchos have basically been ignoring even their own safety precautions by using the public, non-sensitive "fbi.gov" email channel instead of the private one with the unknown URL (P.S. Newsweek didn't make that last bit as explicit as I just did).
How 'bout:
"You've got security breeches"
Which relies also on the tired AOL thing, but at least it includes the evildoing instead of just making the FBI look somewhat retarded. Honestly, it wasn't that they were so bungling as it was that the hackers (greasy men in their 20s who live on Domino's Pizza and Mountain Dew, I wager 7-1) were so much more creative.
or
"The Oops Files"
Which isn't as compelling, but throws up a shout out to the X-Files.
But back to Newsweek.
In the 2/14 edition I spy with my little eye:
A somewhat dry desert of bad last sentences. Heart be still!
"But isn't it just like him?" (After a personality profile of Barry Manilow. The set-up: Barry, who I adore for no good reason, says he always tips piano bar singers (awww!), and the writer said it should be the other way around because the Manilow magic (my phrase) makes "their tip jars sing.")
"That will leave plenty of time for more talk, more campaigning, more blogging — and more rock concerts." Oooh, they used the word "blogging." How HIP!!!
"Perhaps. But that would require a coherent policy first." I like snark, but I'm not sure it's called for at the end of an article that purports to show how the state dept. and the dept. of defense have tagged one group of Iranian rebels as either terrorists or good allies. This isn't about policy. This is about a burgeoning Nicaragua-style situation where there is going to be a policy that the MEK should not be helped but the shifty America-firsters, even if it costs our reputation and future security, will undermine that through gov't channels. That's just my prediction; if I were Seymour Hersh I'd look into it in — when did Scott Ritter say we'd be on the ground in Iran, June? Yeah, I'd wait till five months later.
So it was a boring week. Not that I don't have additional comments.
I am curious about the letters page. In 2005, isn't it about time Newsweek quit running letters with the tag "VIA INTERNET?" Because there are ways to verify where the writer is from. A phone call, for example, from a number supplied by the author. Most people who are asked to verify themselves for publication will do so in a NY minute. That's what I did when I got a letter published in the Gray Lady nigh on these many years (14? Really? Holy cow.) I think I might have squeeeed a bit as well.
Anyway, a geographical location for people — like Nkosinathi Sibanda — would be nice. Would Nkosinathi be of the East Egg Sibandas or the Palm Springs Sibandas? I mean, c'mon, it's the new millenium, but the internet is not a place in and of itself.
Speaking of irritating internet stuff, try this headline on for size: "You Don't Have Mail," about the FBI's incredibly FUBAR'd computer system. You know, the one that was supposed to spell out the salvation of interconnecting all those counter-terrorism agencies, the one that was supposed to lift the FBI out of the carbon copy and ditto sheet age, the one that was supposed to make it possible for agents in any place to do a basic database search? Basically, the one that would have brought the FBI halfway to where the teevee crime drama shows give it credit for being at?
Okay, I'm going to read the peice and, with nothing but the facts in the story and common idiomatic computer talk, come up with an alternative of approximately the same length and twice the compellingness. Ready?
Ooooo, complication number one rears its ugly head: The story is actually about email!!! Can Callie do it? Can she beat the Newsweek headline writers while referencing the email issue????
Here's what I'm working with: email shut down because hackers got in the system, the FBI has to tell its agents not to use their kids' names, etc., as passwords, and all the FBI honchos have basically been ignoring even their own safety precautions by using the public, non-sensitive "fbi.gov" email channel instead of the private one with the unknown URL (P.S. Newsweek didn't make that last bit as explicit as I just did).
How 'bout:
"You've got security breeches"
Which relies also on the tired AOL thing, but at least it includes the evildoing instead of just making the FBI look somewhat retarded. Honestly, it wasn't that they were so bungling as it was that the hackers (greasy men in their 20s who live on Domino's Pizza and Mountain Dew, I wager 7-1) were so much more creative.
or
"The Oops Files"
Which isn't as compelling, but throws up a shout out to the X-Files.
"Chi is real"
That's a quote from my former Sifu. Imagine it in a North Little Rock twang and you'll understand the effect such a sentence may have years after actually studying Kung Fu. It's not something you forget.
The thing is, Sifu was totally right. Chi is as good a metaphor for some sort of physiological processes as I've ever heard of, and I'm a devoted allopath. 10,000 years of anecdotal evidence must mean something, right?
In Kung Fu class we'd occassionally do Chi Gong exercises to build up our chi; I think the idea was eventually, once you build up enough, you can release it at your opponent much like in Mortal Kombat. We'd stand totally still, knees slightly knocked and bent, tongues at the tops of our mouths, arms rounded like we're trying to keep a bubble in them without popping it, and let the chi build up. That I, skeptic former Magician's Club member, could feel the popping and snapping in the tips of my fingers was kind of a surprise.
I took a Tai Chi class at the Y and it just isn't the same thing when a crunchy person teaches it. Of COURSE crunchy people believe in new age hokum like chi. I needed a church-going redneck to confirm it really existed.
There needs to be a name for the physiological processes that made Eric and Jesse, two 18-year-old, high-energy wild guys, such good kung fu fighters. Eric (who got a Decepticon tattooed on his arm before anyone else was getting Decepticon decals and tattoos) said when he was fighting he pictured "a little Chinese dude" (again, in an Arkansas twang) doing all the moves in a movie. Basically, he acted the part of a kung fu fighter and became one. What do you call that sort of mind over matter?
The thing is, Sifu was totally right. Chi is as good a metaphor for some sort of physiological processes as I've ever heard of, and I'm a devoted allopath. 10,000 years of anecdotal evidence must mean something, right?
In Kung Fu class we'd occassionally do Chi Gong exercises to build up our chi; I think the idea was eventually, once you build up enough, you can release it at your opponent much like in Mortal Kombat. We'd stand totally still, knees slightly knocked and bent, tongues at the tops of our mouths, arms rounded like we're trying to keep a bubble in them without popping it, and let the chi build up. That I, skeptic former Magician's Club member, could feel the popping and snapping in the tips of my fingers was kind of a surprise.
I took a Tai Chi class at the Y and it just isn't the same thing when a crunchy person teaches it. Of COURSE crunchy people believe in new age hokum like chi. I needed a church-going redneck to confirm it really existed.
There needs to be a name for the physiological processes that made Eric and Jesse, two 18-year-old, high-energy wild guys, such good kung fu fighters. Eric (who got a Decepticon tattooed on his arm before anyone else was getting Decepticon decals and tattoos) said when he was fighting he pictured "a little Chinese dude" (again, in an Arkansas twang) doing all the moves in a movie. Basically, he acted the part of a kung fu fighter and became one. What do you call that sort of mind over matter?
New thing bloggin: itty bitty sweet peppers
I am all for the itty bitty sweet peppers. I can get about six of them for three dollars. This means I can use two whole peppers in a salad and I am left with four whole peppers that will not dry out over the course of the day or go bad in short order. Also, they cost about the same as the regular red and orange and yellow peppers at the grocery store.
In just about a month the farmers markets will be opening up. Good times.
Also, I have been miniwheat free for something like three or four days now. The FMW have not been on sale like they usually are and I ran out. I've been eating the Safeway knockoff of Cranberry Almond Crunch ("Healthy Heart" my eye! So much sugar!) and contemplating the fake private label FMW I bought instead. Here's how passive aggressive I am toward it: I left it in the bag on the kitchen floor for three days and kicked it around a little while I was making breakfast and dinner. What a misplaced way to be hostile.
Who knows, they may even be as good as my tasty overlord FMW. I doubt it, though.
Made a decent vinaigrette last night with balsamic vinegar (which tastes good, but I have an instinctive hatred for because of having been a waitress and having fetch the stuff for people and having to walk around the front of the house smelling that pungency a lot — it just triggers my lizard brain), olive oil and a dash of sesame oil. If anyone has a suggestion for additions, I'd be all for it.
That was a hint. Comment. Please!!
In just about a month the farmers markets will be opening up. Good times.
Also, I have been miniwheat free for something like three or four days now. The FMW have not been on sale like they usually are and I ran out. I've been eating the Safeway knockoff of Cranberry Almond Crunch ("Healthy Heart" my eye! So much sugar!) and contemplating the fake private label FMW I bought instead. Here's how passive aggressive I am toward it: I left it in the bag on the kitchen floor for three days and kicked it around a little while I was making breakfast and dinner. What a misplaced way to be hostile.
Who knows, they may even be as good as my tasty overlord FMW. I doubt it, though.
Made a decent vinaigrette last night with balsamic vinegar (which tastes good, but I have an instinctive hatred for because of having been a waitress and having fetch the stuff for people and having to walk around the front of the house smelling that pungency a lot — it just triggers my lizard brain), olive oil and a dash of sesame oil. If anyone has a suggestion for additions, I'd be all for it.
That was a hint. Comment. Please!!
Still coveting
I just checked my account at the library electronically (I do this about three times a day, minimum) and I am not getting the "AVAILABLE: Being routed to MAIN" message for the "Persepolis."
I guess there are still some inefficiencies in the library system. I'll just have to get used to them.
I guess there are still some inefficiencies in the library system. I'll just have to get used to them.
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