A Truly Hostile Work Environment
Long time reader BK relates the pain of violence inducing music in the workplace:
For over six months I have been free of the dreadful imposition of the office stereo system. This was due to the fact that in a fit of rage at hearing Train for the tenth time in four hours, I wheeled my chair under the speaker, leapt on top of it, thrust my hand into the ceiling plenum and ripped the offending wires from the their connections rendering the speaker more useless than it had ever been. Since that day, I have been working in relative peace.
Then...the sound technician showed up (cue ominous music). I couldn't help but snicker when he was discussing the sound system problems (there were many, most of which were not caused by me) with one of the partners. He couldn't figure out why the one speaker wasn't working. I desperately wanted to tell him that I had destroyed the speaker's ability to torment my every working minute and that if he were to fix the "problem" I would break every bone in both of his hands, nail his head to the floor and screw his pelvis to a cake stand. I restrained myself and now, the music is back.
This brings me to my point. Back when I disabled the source of my misery, I thought that there wasn't a radio station in the Twin Cities more annoying than Cities 97. I have been proven wrong this week. One of the drones in sector seven G had the bright idea to switch the station to Mix 104.1 (non-stop hits of the 80s). I have been praying that God strike me deaf ever since.
Is there a song more annoying than "Love Shack"? In Scandal's "The Warrior" (you know it: "Shooting at the walls of heartache...bang, bang"), what in God's name does the line "Your eyes touch me, physically" mean? Is he going to pluck out his orbs and massage her with them? Why wasn't Kenny Loggins killed in a devastating plane crash instead of Patsy Cline? Phil Collins made some of the most horrible dreck ever known to man. Van Halen really sucked without David Lee Roth. Then there's Journey, Def Leppard, Cyndi Lauper, the Knack, Bon Jovi, Night Ranger, et al.
My God in heaven. How in the world did I survive the 80s without ramming knitting needles into my ears?
Wednesday, May 07, 2003
Imagine All the People, Living For Today
It doesn’t take any great insight to know that gambling is mostly vice. Even from my casual participation with it, I know nothing good can result from wasting precious time and money on a guaranteed losing proposition. You can be momentarily distracted from your problems, periodically jazzed by the thrill of the chase, and fleetingly happy over a preliminary profit. And that’s all fine as far as it goes. But over time, the terrible arithmetic of the house advantage begins to add up and it will grind you down. If you’re addicted to the experience of gambling, ultimately you end up poor and tired and sinking deeper into whatever morass led you to the gambling table in the first place.
However, saying that, there is also one undeniable virtue in gambling. One that I’ve not seen present to the same degree in any other setting. That virtue is the destruction of the societal barriers that separate us.
When you’re thrown together with a group of people, huddled around a small table, facing a common enemy (the house), with the common goal of pursuing happiness, the differences that separate people in every day life disappear. All the biggies - wealth, class, race, age, gender, language - they melt away to insignificance.
Before anyone is tempted to nominate me for Humanitarian Idealist of the Year or thinks about getting me a subscription to Mother Jones Magazine, understand I’m not stating this as my utopian dream of what a gambling table should look like. Hell, I’m not even necessarily saying that it’s how I want things to be. I’m just saying that’s how it is.
No matter who else is at your blackjack table (and more often than not, a diverse group is present), you tend to cheer their victories, mourn their losses, and generally wish them well. Whites, blacks, Hmong, Hispanics, the dirt poor, the filthy rich, geriatrics, teenagers, I’ve sat by them all and the experience is usually the same, mutual good feelings and unified revelry.
This doesn’t happen anywhere else in society. At least it doesn’t happen this casually. I suppose if I joined certain social service groups or based the choices of where I live and work with the principle of diversity in mind, I’d have plenty of experiences like this. But since I have more traditional Minnesota values (like not going out of my way to meet anyone I don’t work with or that I haven’t known since high school), it doesn’t happen.
I don’t lead a sheltered life, at least by Minnesota standards. I’ve lived in the dense urban environs of both Twin Cities, where ethnic diversity is a fact and not merely the beautiful dream of Lake Calhoun dwelling Star Tribune editorial writers. In my younger days I lived in some of the worst neighborhoods this area has to offer. Or should I say they were neighborhoods “in transition” (and next time you see that term in the newspaper, understand, that doesn’t mean they’re getting better). And of course, for whatever reason, these are the most diverse neighborhoods in town.
But I’ve never had the easy opportunity, or the compelling reason, to sit for significant time and casually socialize with geriatric Hmong men, middle-aged black women, or teen-aged Indian kids in any other setting. It doesn’t happen in bars, restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls, or anywhere else. For these undeniably positive experiences, I have nothing to thank but the much maligned institution of gambling.
I’m not entirely sure why gambling results in these interactions. It has something to do with bringing together people who share a niche, non-culturally specific interest. It’s also an interest that has the element of risk and danger to it, thus increasing the bond between participants. The nature of gambling also helps. The games I play (primarily blackjack) aren’t zero sum. That is, someone else’s winning doesn’t hinder your personal chances for success. So, there’s no reason for jealousy toward other players and there’s no imperative for them to lose in order for you to win.
Throw in free drinks, cocktail waitresses in short skirts and fishnet stockings, the promise of a midnight Wayne Newton show, then more booze and gambling, followed by a $2.99 all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet and I guess I’m not surprised that everyone is happy and grooving on the brotherhood man.
Which brings us to William Bennett and the real reason his behavior is abhorrent. It’s not the fact he gambles, it’s the way he gambles. As Ken Layne deftly explains :
What sort of lame-ass, anti-social creep would spend millions pushing buttons in the Lonely Department? I enjoy gambling, and I can even tolerate a few minutes of slots if my friends are playing, but real casino gaming is a social event, involving strangers gathered 'round a green-felt-covered table. As a gambler, you meet the people next to you, make dumb jokes about the evil dealer, toast your new comrades' victories, discuss the news and sports of the day, etc.
[Bennett spent] millions of dollars on machines, with no human company beyond the wandering cocktail waitress and the oxygen-tank guy honking quietly a few seats down? That ain't gambling. That's masturbation.
It doesn’t take any great insight to know that gambling is mostly vice. Even from my casual participation with it, I know nothing good can result from wasting precious time and money on a guaranteed losing proposition. You can be momentarily distracted from your problems, periodically jazzed by the thrill of the chase, and fleetingly happy over a preliminary profit. And that’s all fine as far as it goes. But over time, the terrible arithmetic of the house advantage begins to add up and it will grind you down. If you’re addicted to the experience of gambling, ultimately you end up poor and tired and sinking deeper into whatever morass led you to the gambling table in the first place.
However, saying that, there is also one undeniable virtue in gambling. One that I’ve not seen present to the same degree in any other setting. That virtue is the destruction of the societal barriers that separate us.
When you’re thrown together with a group of people, huddled around a small table, facing a common enemy (the house), with the common goal of pursuing happiness, the differences that separate people in every day life disappear. All the biggies - wealth, class, race, age, gender, language - they melt away to insignificance.
Before anyone is tempted to nominate me for Humanitarian Idealist of the Year or thinks about getting me a subscription to Mother Jones Magazine, understand I’m not stating this as my utopian dream of what a gambling table should look like. Hell, I’m not even necessarily saying that it’s how I want things to be. I’m just saying that’s how it is.
No matter who else is at your blackjack table (and more often than not, a diverse group is present), you tend to cheer their victories, mourn their losses, and generally wish them well. Whites, blacks, Hmong, Hispanics, the dirt poor, the filthy rich, geriatrics, teenagers, I’ve sat by them all and the experience is usually the same, mutual good feelings and unified revelry.
This doesn’t happen anywhere else in society. At least it doesn’t happen this casually. I suppose if I joined certain social service groups or based the choices of where I live and work with the principle of diversity in mind, I’d have plenty of experiences like this. But since I have more traditional Minnesota values (like not going out of my way to meet anyone I don’t work with or that I haven’t known since high school), it doesn’t happen.
I don’t lead a sheltered life, at least by Minnesota standards. I’ve lived in the dense urban environs of both Twin Cities, where ethnic diversity is a fact and not merely the beautiful dream of Lake Calhoun dwelling Star Tribune editorial writers. In my younger days I lived in some of the worst neighborhoods this area has to offer. Or should I say they were neighborhoods “in transition” (and next time you see that term in the newspaper, understand, that doesn’t mean they’re getting better). And of course, for whatever reason, these are the most diverse neighborhoods in town.
But I’ve never had the easy opportunity, or the compelling reason, to sit for significant time and casually socialize with geriatric Hmong men, middle-aged black women, or teen-aged Indian kids in any other setting. It doesn’t happen in bars, restaurants, grocery stores, shopping malls, or anywhere else. For these undeniably positive experiences, I have nothing to thank but the much maligned institution of gambling.
I’m not entirely sure why gambling results in these interactions. It has something to do with bringing together people who share a niche, non-culturally specific interest. It’s also an interest that has the element of risk and danger to it, thus increasing the bond between participants. The nature of gambling also helps. The games I play (primarily blackjack) aren’t zero sum. That is, someone else’s winning doesn’t hinder your personal chances for success. So, there’s no reason for jealousy toward other players and there’s no imperative for them to lose in order for you to win.
Throw in free drinks, cocktail waitresses in short skirts and fishnet stockings, the promise of a midnight Wayne Newton show, then more booze and gambling, followed by a $2.99 all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet and I guess I’m not surprised that everyone is happy and grooving on the brotherhood man.
Which brings us to William Bennett and the real reason his behavior is abhorrent. It’s not the fact he gambles, it’s the way he gambles. As Ken Layne deftly explains :
What sort of lame-ass, anti-social creep would spend millions pushing buttons in the Lonely Department? I enjoy gambling, and I can even tolerate a few minutes of slots if my friends are playing, but real casino gaming is a social event, involving strangers gathered 'round a green-felt-covered table. As a gambler, you meet the people next to you, make dumb jokes about the evil dealer, toast your new comrades' victories, discuss the news and sports of the day, etc.
[Bennett spent] millions of dollars on machines, with no human company beyond the wandering cocktail waitress and the oxygen-tank guy honking quietly a few seats down? That ain't gambling. That's masturbation.
Tuesday, May 06, 2003
(Not) Wild On Vancouver
Whenever the action in the Wild-Canuck playoff series has switched to Vancouver I keep hearing from the announcers that Vancouver is the "most beautiful city in North America." Having been to the Terminal City on a couple of occasions I must disagree with that assessment.
Yes there are some spectacular views and Stanley Park is a natural treasure. But for me the city itself is vastly overrated. The downtown offers little in the way of compelling architecture and the vast numbers of blocky concrete apartment high rises sprouting up around the city give it a vaguely East European feel. Perhaps the circumstances of my two visits tend to color my views as well.
On my first trip my wife and I drove up from Seattle and stayed in a hotel in the rejuvenated (at least that's what we were told) GasTown section of the city. And while the area does have a certain rough around the edges urban renewal charm to it, Gastown is also only a few blocks away from one of the worst neighborhoods of Vancouver. We discovered this first hand one morning when found the driver's side window of our rental car bashed in and several items stolen (Rollerblades, clothing, and even my belt!). A security guard at the parking ramp informed us that it was likely some local junkies who had chosen our vehicle because of the Washington license plates. Perhaps it was the experience of delicately driving the car to the airport to exchange it for another vehicle while trying to minimize contact between my back side and the shards of glass embedded in the car set that soured me on the city.
But a few years later I gave it another go this time traveling to Vancouver in late May for a hockey tournament. Although I was able to avoid being victimized by indigent drug addicts on my second visit I found it difficult to fully appreciate the beauty of the city. Every day of the five days I spent in Vancouver the weather was the same. Overcast, rainy, high temps in the low fifties. Fargin' dreary. There might have been some snow-capped mountains in the background but with the clingy low cloud cover you couldn't see 'em. We seriously thought about a regimen of Vitamin C loading so as to avoid the scurvy. As a Minnesotan I'm used to crappy weather but this was the end of May for Chrissakes.
Don't get me wrong. I've been to worse cities than Vancouver. It beats the hell out of Oklahoma City for example. I'm just saying that when you hear all the jabber about it being the prettiest city in North America don't believe the hype. Personally if I had a choice of visiting any city in Canada I'd take Toronto over Vancouver any day.
Yes there are some spectacular views and Stanley Park is a natural treasure. But for me the city itself is vastly overrated. The downtown offers little in the way of compelling architecture and the vast numbers of blocky concrete apartment high rises sprouting up around the city give it a vaguely East European feel. Perhaps the circumstances of my two visits tend to color my views as well.
On my first trip my wife and I drove up from Seattle and stayed in a hotel in the rejuvenated (at least that's what we were told) GasTown section of the city. And while the area does have a certain rough around the edges urban renewal charm to it, Gastown is also only a few blocks away from one of the worst neighborhoods of Vancouver. We discovered this first hand one morning when found the driver's side window of our rental car bashed in and several items stolen (Rollerblades, clothing, and even my belt!). A security guard at the parking ramp informed us that it was likely some local junkies who had chosen our vehicle because of the Washington license plates. Perhaps it was the experience of delicately driving the car to the airport to exchange it for another vehicle while trying to minimize contact between my back side and the shards of glass embedded in the car set that soured me on the city.
But a few years later I gave it another go this time traveling to Vancouver in late May for a hockey tournament. Although I was able to avoid being victimized by indigent drug addicts on my second visit I found it difficult to fully appreciate the beauty of the city. Every day of the five days I spent in Vancouver the weather was the same. Overcast, rainy, high temps in the low fifties. Fargin' dreary. There might have been some snow-capped mountains in the background but with the clingy low cloud cover you couldn't see 'em. We seriously thought about a regimen of Vitamin C loading so as to avoid the scurvy. As a Minnesotan I'm used to crappy weather but this was the end of May for Chrissakes.
Don't get me wrong. I've been to worse cities than Vancouver. It beats the hell out of Oklahoma City for example. I'm just saying that when you hear all the jabber about it being the prettiest city in North America don't believe the hype. Personally if I had a choice of visiting any city in Canada I'd take Toronto over Vancouver any day.
Trying Burrito Brother
I rarely read the City Pages, but I did pick up last week’s ‘Best Of’ issue, listing what the editors and and readers think are the best people, places and things in the Twin Cities.
After skipping through most of the sections (including one listing the unlistenable DWI lawyer Ron Rosenbaum as the Best AM Radio Personality!) I got to the heart of what living in the city is all about. The hipster record stores? No. The musty used book stores that let you languish about for hours? Nah. I’m talking burritos.
Anyhoo, the CP had listed El Burrito Mercado as the best in town so I had to check it out. I was somewhat concerned that they had chosen it more on who owned it and who worked there than the burrite itself, but it indeed was delicious. Large chunks of white meat chicken, potato slices, incredibly fresh salsa along with flavorful rice and beans.
As I sat alone cosuming this fine meal, I could not help but overhear a group of what seemed to be engineer-types, about 5 in all, discussing the politics of the day. As is often sadly the case, one paunchy boomer-aged man with glasses was doing most of the talking.
He was carrying on about Saddam and his sons, about taxes, about concealed carry. Everyone else in the group was just sitting there kind of saying “Yeah” with little or no interest since they had the good sense to know that you shouldn’t discuss these kinds of topics around coworkers. The fact that he was the only one talking did not seem to stop him.
He went on and on with his incredibly cliched conservative talking points and I was about to get up and brain him with my Corona when I realized something. THIS is the personification of the Right Wing Talk Radio Listener.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Rush, Medved, Hewitt and the like as much as the next White Male, but this explains at least partially why talk radio is so reviled. It’s not so much the hosts that people can’t stand, it’s the minions who take the essence of what may have been entertaining communicated by someone with Big League talent, boil it down to it’s dullest and then go around haranguing people with it.
Some of the guys in the group were a little younger and the look on their face said it all: Shut the f up! I don’t think they were necessarily libs, they would have spoken up if they were, they were more likely just typically apolitical as many people are. They decide whom to vote for based on emotional issues, or what smart people are doing, or what their uncle said.
And they make opinions about conservatives and conservative ideas based on loud mouths like George from South St. Paul. Thanks George. Thanks for making me have to explain what I’m NOT for ten minutes when I tell people I’m a conservative.
He did seem to enjoy his chicken burrito though...
I rarely read the City Pages, but I did pick up last week’s ‘Best Of’ issue, listing what the editors and and readers think are the best people, places and things in the Twin Cities.
After skipping through most of the sections (including one listing the unlistenable DWI lawyer Ron Rosenbaum as the Best AM Radio Personality!) I got to the heart of what living in the city is all about. The hipster record stores? No. The musty used book stores that let you languish about for hours? Nah. I’m talking burritos.
Anyhoo, the CP had listed El Burrito Mercado as the best in town so I had to check it out. I was somewhat concerned that they had chosen it more on who owned it and who worked there than the burrite itself, but it indeed was delicious. Large chunks of white meat chicken, potato slices, incredibly fresh salsa along with flavorful rice and beans.
As I sat alone cosuming this fine meal, I could not help but overhear a group of what seemed to be engineer-types, about 5 in all, discussing the politics of the day. As is often sadly the case, one paunchy boomer-aged man with glasses was doing most of the talking.
He was carrying on about Saddam and his sons, about taxes, about concealed carry. Everyone else in the group was just sitting there kind of saying “Yeah” with little or no interest since they had the good sense to know that you shouldn’t discuss these kinds of topics around coworkers. The fact that he was the only one talking did not seem to stop him.
He went on and on with his incredibly cliched conservative talking points and I was about to get up and brain him with my Corona when I realized something. THIS is the personification of the Right Wing Talk Radio Listener.
Don’t get me wrong, I love Rush, Medved, Hewitt and the like as much as the next White Male, but this explains at least partially why talk radio is so reviled. It’s not so much the hosts that people can’t stand, it’s the minions who take the essence of what may have been entertaining communicated by someone with Big League talent, boil it down to it’s dullest and then go around haranguing people with it.
Some of the guys in the group were a little younger and the look on their face said it all: Shut the f up! I don’t think they were necessarily libs, they would have spoken up if they were, they were more likely just typically apolitical as many people are. They decide whom to vote for based on emotional issues, or what smart people are doing, or what their uncle said.
And they make opinions about conservatives and conservative ideas based on loud mouths like George from South St. Paul. Thanks George. Thanks for making me have to explain what I’m NOT for ten minutes when I tell people I’m a conservative.
He did seem to enjoy his chicken burrito though...
The Country That Plays Together...
If you're looking for a novel way to assist in the rebuilding of Iraq you might want to check out the Kid 2 Kid Summer Fun Drive sponsored by local Twin City talk radio host Ian Punnett. The program, run through the American Refugee Commitee, aims to raise money to buy toys for the children of Iraq. You can get much more detailed information about the project by visiting this web site and you can even donate online if you so desire. No one wins hearts and minds quite like Elmo.
If you're looking for a novel way to assist in the rebuilding of Iraq you might want to check out the Kid 2 Kid Summer Fun Drive sponsored by local Twin City talk radio host Ian Punnett. The program, run through the American Refugee Commitee, aims to raise money to buy toys for the children of Iraq. You can get much more detailed information about the project by visiting this web site and you can even donate online if you so desire. No one wins hearts and minds quite like Elmo.
Monday, May 05, 2003
The Real Hypocrisy
Jonah Goldberg tackles Bill Bennett's gambling "problem" in an amusing piece at National Review Online in which he describes Bennett as a "big, sloppy Irish Catholic guy from Brooklyn", calls Madonna an "authentic slut" (always insist on only authentic sluts when looking for women of loose morals), and compares Bennett's vice with Clinton's "rogering the 'terns in the Oval Office".
Jonah Goldberg tackles Bill Bennett's gambling "problem" in an amusing piece at National Review Online in which he describes Bennett as a "big, sloppy Irish Catholic guy from Brooklyn", calls Madonna an "authentic slut" (always insist on only authentic sluts when looking for women of loose morals), and compares Bennett's vice with Clinton's "rogering the 'terns in the Oval Office".
Sunday, May 04, 2003
Independence Day
I dropped by The Minneapolis Institute of Arts today to catch the final day of the Declaration Of Independence Road Trip's stop in Minneapolis. I understand that the Constitution and the Articles of Confederation wanted to make the road trip as well but couldn't get permission from their wives. Of course this wasn't the famous signed Declaration we were seeing. Rather it was one of the "Dunlap broadsides" which were printed up on July 4, 1776. Only twenty five of the original two hundred Dunlap broadsides are still around and this particular copy had its own unique story having been found on the back side of a painting bought at a flea market for five bucks. It 1991 it was sold for over 2 mil and in 2000 it brought a cool 8.1 million at auction.
When I arrived at the exhibit and learned that Norman Lear was the owner of this particular copy and originator of the road trip idea I had second thoughts about entering. Actually I nearly turned tail and headed home when a volunteer informed me that the wait to get in to see the document was around forty minutes. Forty minutes of my precious time? Then I remembered that the founders of our great land risked facing the hangman's noose and endured years of war to secure the freedoms that we now enjoy and decided that I could handle a forty minute wait. This pretty much makes us square right Mr. Jefferson?
The line wasn't really all that bad and as we snaked our way closer to the document itself we were treated to various visual displays including a video shot on July 4, 2001 featuring various Hollywood celebs reading portions of the Declaration of Independence. Kevin Spacey appeared to be trying just a little too hard as he over annunciated each word for dramatic effect. Benicio Del Toro was dressed like he was heading immediately from the reading to an exclusive nightclub and didn't want to waste any time changing his threads. I think Winona Ryder showed up on the wrong day but they included her anyway. No Winona, today is the Declaration of Independence reading, tomorrow's the Miranda Warning reading.
It's events like this that cause celebrities to believe that people actually care about their opinions on matters of politics. Why of course I know about civil liberties in the time of war. Have you forgotten my participation in the Declaration of Independence reading project a few years ago? Do you think Norman would have asked just anyone to do that?
There was also a display of comment cards that people filled out after going through the exhibit. You were asked what independence meant to you and how seeing the Declaration in person would change the way you lived your life. Most of the responses were from kids but I did notice a fifty nine year old woman who responded that from now on she would "work harder for the cause of peace". Hmmm... Interesting answer when you consider that the Declaration was, in effect, a declaration of war. My favorite card was filled out by a ten-year-old boy. What is independence? "To be able to do what you want." What will viewing the Declaration do to you? "I will try to help other people around the world become free." I think he gets it.
When I finally reached the document I was relieved to see it securely enclosed in a sturdy glass case. I would have hated to see the hallowed parchment soiled by a barbeque sauce covered Stonecutter in search of a napkin.
I dropped by The Minneapolis Institute of Arts today to catch the final day of the Declaration Of Independence Road Trip's stop in Minneapolis. I understand that the Constitution and the Articles of Confederation wanted to make the road trip as well but couldn't get permission from their wives. Of course this wasn't the famous signed Declaration we were seeing. Rather it was one of the "Dunlap broadsides" which were printed up on July 4, 1776. Only twenty five of the original two hundred Dunlap broadsides are still around and this particular copy had its own unique story having been found on the back side of a painting bought at a flea market for five bucks. It 1991 it was sold for over 2 mil and in 2000 it brought a cool 8.1 million at auction.
When I arrived at the exhibit and learned that Norman Lear was the owner of this particular copy and originator of the road trip idea I had second thoughts about entering. Actually I nearly turned tail and headed home when a volunteer informed me that the wait to get in to see the document was around forty minutes. Forty minutes of my precious time? Then I remembered that the founders of our great land risked facing the hangman's noose and endured years of war to secure the freedoms that we now enjoy and decided that I could handle a forty minute wait. This pretty much makes us square right Mr. Jefferson?
The line wasn't really all that bad and as we snaked our way closer to the document itself we were treated to various visual displays including a video shot on July 4, 2001 featuring various Hollywood celebs reading portions of the Declaration of Independence. Kevin Spacey appeared to be trying just a little too hard as he over annunciated each word for dramatic effect. Benicio Del Toro was dressed like he was heading immediately from the reading to an exclusive nightclub and didn't want to waste any time changing his threads. I think Winona Ryder showed up on the wrong day but they included her anyway. No Winona, today is the Declaration of Independence reading, tomorrow's the Miranda Warning reading.
It's events like this that cause celebrities to believe that people actually care about their opinions on matters of politics. Why of course I know about civil liberties in the time of war. Have you forgotten my participation in the Declaration of Independence reading project a few years ago? Do you think Norman would have asked just anyone to do that?
There was also a display of comment cards that people filled out after going through the exhibit. You were asked what independence meant to you and how seeing the Declaration in person would change the way you lived your life. Most of the responses were from kids but I did notice a fifty nine year old woman who responded that from now on she would "work harder for the cause of peace". Hmmm... Interesting answer when you consider that the Declaration was, in effect, a declaration of war. My favorite card was filled out by a ten-year-old boy. What is independence? "To be able to do what you want." What will viewing the Declaration do to you? "I will try to help other people around the world become free." I think he gets it.
When I finally reached the document I was relieved to see it securely enclosed in a sturdy glass case. I would have hated to see the hallowed parchment soiled by a barbeque sauce covered Stonecutter in search of a napkin.
All Cattle, No Hat
Another strong e-mail from reader E.B. on the Bush carrier landing:
Naturally, the newsbirds are all a-twitter about the president landing on an aircraft carrier yesterday. Very impressive stuff, actually, just dandy for the 2004 campaign videos. Well, yes, of course. The president's a politician. Imagine that.
Still, it was the type of risk that drives the Secret Service crazy. These things do go wrong sometimes, so there had to be a better reason to land the president on an aircraft carrier with a jet. Yes, it was a fine speech --the world has been remarkably redefined-- but that speech could have been given anywhere. Why an aircraft carrier? Why the unusual risk?
The president could have just as easily waited a day or two to greet The Abraham Lincoln in port, ascended the hustings of a star-spangled stage, and given the same speech to an even larger and adoring crowd. The great ship, its midshipmen dressed-out in rows behind him, the cheering masses --helluva photo-op, which would have avoided all the clucking hens of punditry now complaining of base showmanship.
But if this president had done the usual thing, the safer thing, some little boy or girl would be standing on the dock below waiting to see their daddy again for the first time in 10 months. It's the longest hardest wait in the world. The family would be there, the boat would be there, and daddy would be there, but before they can be together again, there's this big speech by the prez, the security checkpoints, the television crews, the political groupies, the protesters, and so on. And all you want is to see your dad again.
That's probably why the jet landed on a carrier underway. It was a jet and not a helicopter, not because it was too far asea, but because you can't eject from a helicopter if something goes wrong. The inevitable welcome-home-job-well-done event took place on the sailor's schedule, so as not to delay his reunion, not according to some political hack's polling data or the celebrity media's ability to capture the really big show.
The happy result is not one little boy or little girl, not one wife or husband, mother or father, or brother or sister will have to wait a moment longer on that hot dock today in San Diego to bring their sailor home. There isn't going to be some long, stupid high-falutin' fat cat ceremony first. You can just find your sailor, get his stuff, and go home. And, by George, that sailor just met the President of the United States, landed right there on the ship, gave a speech and everything. That story gets told a thousand times.
There'll be alot of wide eyes tonight. It will be a happy time, even happier because the president stole not a moment of it. Instead, he gave something profoundly respectful to military families everywhere: Time together, far from the maddening crowd....
It was a very classy thing to do. It was a very honorable thing to do.
Another strong e-mail from reader E.B. on the Bush carrier landing:
Naturally, the newsbirds are all a-twitter about the president landing on an aircraft carrier yesterday. Very impressive stuff, actually, just dandy for the 2004 campaign videos. Well, yes, of course. The president's a politician. Imagine that.
Still, it was the type of risk that drives the Secret Service crazy. These things do go wrong sometimes, so there had to be a better reason to land the president on an aircraft carrier with a jet. Yes, it was a fine speech --the world has been remarkably redefined-- but that speech could have been given anywhere. Why an aircraft carrier? Why the unusual risk?
The president could have just as easily waited a day or two to greet The Abraham Lincoln in port, ascended the hustings of a star-spangled stage, and given the same speech to an even larger and adoring crowd. The great ship, its midshipmen dressed-out in rows behind him, the cheering masses --helluva photo-op, which would have avoided all the clucking hens of punditry now complaining of base showmanship.
But if this president had done the usual thing, the safer thing, some little boy or girl would be standing on the dock below waiting to see their daddy again for the first time in 10 months. It's the longest hardest wait in the world. The family would be there, the boat would be there, and daddy would be there, but before they can be together again, there's this big speech by the prez, the security checkpoints, the television crews, the political groupies, the protesters, and so on. And all you want is to see your dad again.
That's probably why the jet landed on a carrier underway. It was a jet and not a helicopter, not because it was too far asea, but because you can't eject from a helicopter if something goes wrong. The inevitable welcome-home-job-well-done event took place on the sailor's schedule, so as not to delay his reunion, not according to some political hack's polling data or the celebrity media's ability to capture the really big show.
The happy result is not one little boy or little girl, not one wife or husband, mother or father, or brother or sister will have to wait a moment longer on that hot dock today in San Diego to bring their sailor home. There isn't going to be some long, stupid high-falutin' fat cat ceremony first. You can just find your sailor, get his stuff, and go home. And, by George, that sailor just met the President of the United States, landed right there on the ship, gave a speech and everything. That story gets told a thousand times.
There'll be alot of wide eyes tonight. It will be a happy time, even happier because the president stole not a moment of it. Instead, he gave something profoundly respectful to military families everywhere: Time together, far from the maddening crowd....
It was a very classy thing to do. It was a very honorable thing to do.
All That And The Inspiration for '2112'
I’m not an Ayn Rand devotee. Her writing is stilted and flat and her characters are shallow. Her Objectivist philosophy’s embrace of atheism and lack of moral values are personally troubling for me as well.
But you gotta give the girl some credit for being ahead of the curve in a few areas. Check out these nuggets from a 1964 Playboy interview conducted by Alvin Toffler (the author of Future Shock ) from The Libertarian Reader .
On the Draft:
Armies should be strictly voluntary; and, as military authorities will tell you, volunteer armies are the best armies.
On the US withdrawing from the UN:
I do not believe that an individual should cooperate with criminals, and, for all the same reasons, I do not believe that free countries should cooperate with dictatorships.
On the right of free nations to remove dictatorships (regime change):
A dictatorship-a country that violates the rights of its own citizens-is an outlaw and can claim no rights.
On the future of Communism (recall that this is 1964):
Collectivism, as an intellectual power and a moral idea, is dead.
It’s not all good however as Ayn gives her opinion on one of my favorite magazines:
I consider National Review the worst and most dangerous magazine in America.
I’m not an Ayn Rand devotee. Her writing is stilted and flat and her characters are shallow. Her Objectivist philosophy’s embrace of atheism and lack of moral values are personally troubling for me as well.
But you gotta give the girl some credit for being ahead of the curve in a few areas. Check out these nuggets from a 1964 Playboy interview conducted by Alvin Toffler (the author of Future Shock ) from The Libertarian Reader .
On the Draft:
Armies should be strictly voluntary; and, as military authorities will tell you, volunteer armies are the best armies.
On the US withdrawing from the UN:
I do not believe that an individual should cooperate with criminals, and, for all the same reasons, I do not believe that free countries should cooperate with dictatorships.
On the right of free nations to remove dictatorships (regime change):
A dictatorship-a country that violates the rights of its own citizens-is an outlaw and can claim no rights.
On the future of Communism (recall that this is 1964):
Collectivism, as an intellectual power and a moral idea, is dead.
It’s not all good however as Ayn gives her opinion on one of my favorite magazines:
I consider National Review the worst and most dangerous magazine in America.
High Expectations
The news that the arrests of several Al Qaeda suspects in Pakistan might have foiled a plot by the terrorists to launch an airborne suicide attack against the U.S. Conuslate in Karachi demonstrates two important points:
1. We are making progress in the war on terror and the idea that the war with Iraq would "distract" us from pursuing Al Qaeda was silly.
2. In a way the very success of the September 11th attacks have put Al Qaeda in a difficult position. 9/11 was such a stunning and devasting attack that it raised the bar on future terrorism. What if the latest Al Qaeda plot to attack the U.S. Consulate in Pakistan would have been successful? A small number of Americans and Pakistanis working at the Consulate would have been killed. But to the average American at home in the USA the story would have little impact. You mean to tell me that Pakistan is a dangerous place for Americans? Imagine that. That attack would have gotten some play in the Arab world and demonstrated that Al Qaeda was still capable of conducting operations but in the big picture of the war it would have been of little consequence. The fact that Al Qaeda has been reduced to planning (and not even being to carry out) such small scale attacks on rather unimportant targets, especially given their past history of gunning for symbolically significant targets, is another sign that the organization is on the ropes.
The news that the arrests of several Al Qaeda suspects in Pakistan might have foiled a plot by the terrorists to launch an airborne suicide attack against the U.S. Conuslate in Karachi demonstrates two important points:
1. We are making progress in the war on terror and the idea that the war with Iraq would "distract" us from pursuing Al Qaeda was silly.
2. In a way the very success of the September 11th attacks have put Al Qaeda in a difficult position. 9/11 was such a stunning and devasting attack that it raised the bar on future terrorism. What if the latest Al Qaeda plot to attack the U.S. Consulate in Pakistan would have been successful? A small number of Americans and Pakistanis working at the Consulate would have been killed. But to the average American at home in the USA the story would have little impact. You mean to tell me that Pakistan is a dangerous place for Americans? Imagine that. That attack would have gotten some play in the Arab world and demonstrated that Al Qaeda was still capable of conducting operations but in the big picture of the war it would have been of little consequence. The fact that Al Qaeda has been reduced to planning (and not even being to carry out) such small scale attacks on rather unimportant targets, especially given their past history of gunning for symbolically significant targets, is another sign that the organization is on the ropes.
Saturday, May 03, 2003
Par For the Course
The New York Times Book Review from April 20 included a review of a new book from Don Van Natta Jr., entitled "First Off the Tee”.
(Yes, April 20 is almost two weeks ago and yes, I’m commenting on it now because it takes me that long to get through an average Sunday New York Times. Come next week, expect an update from me about how the New York Times is reporting US Troops may have already entered Baghdad.)
“First Off the Tee” is an historical review of the golfing abilities, styles, and demeanors of the many American presidents who have played the game. According to Van Natta, Woodrow Wilson was the worst of the lot. And John Kennedy was the best, despite the fact that it wasn’t even his favorite sport:
”Dwight Eisenhower was famous for his love of golf. Perhaps he was too famous, since his successor, John Kennedy, the most gifted presidential golfer of all, decided it was politically wise to curtail his own appearances on the links. Unfortunately, this led to rumors of other sports occupying his time and to Theodore Sorensen's remark: ''This administration is going to do for sex what the previous one did for golf.''
Van Natta also attempts to show how golf can reveal the character of a man. Which brings us to one of the great Presidential characters of all time, Bill Clinton. Believe it or not, sometimes “the man from Hope” took some liberties with his scorecard.
”Many of our presidents who turned in respectable scores played in violation of the game's honorable rules. Some were worse than others when it came to accepting a conceded (gimme) putt of a few feet, or re-teeing a wayward drive (taking a mulligan). Clinton occupied a universe of his own when it came to playing loosely, managing not only to mangle all the rules but to convince himself in the course of replaying multiple shots that he was turning in legitimate scores in the mid- to low 80's. Not surprisingly, Van Natta sees unsettling affinities between Clinton's golf game and his ethics.
There's an old adage that purports to link character with on-course demeanor. According to this view, you learn everything you need to know about people by playing three holes of golf with them. By the time Van Natta got that far with then former President Clinton, the man from Hope had granted himself three ''Billigans.''
To paraphrase Ted Sorenson, it appears Clinton was doing for golf what he was already doing for sex.
The New York Times Book Review from April 20 included a review of a new book from Don Van Natta Jr., entitled "First Off the Tee”.
(Yes, April 20 is almost two weeks ago and yes, I’m commenting on it now because it takes me that long to get through an average Sunday New York Times. Come next week, expect an update from me about how the New York Times is reporting US Troops may have already entered Baghdad.)
“First Off the Tee” is an historical review of the golfing abilities, styles, and demeanors of the many American presidents who have played the game. According to Van Natta, Woodrow Wilson was the worst of the lot. And John Kennedy was the best, despite the fact that it wasn’t even his favorite sport:
”Dwight Eisenhower was famous for his love of golf. Perhaps he was too famous, since his successor, John Kennedy, the most gifted presidential golfer of all, decided it was politically wise to curtail his own appearances on the links. Unfortunately, this led to rumors of other sports occupying his time and to Theodore Sorensen's remark: ''This administration is going to do for sex what the previous one did for golf.''
Van Natta also attempts to show how golf can reveal the character of a man. Which brings us to one of the great Presidential characters of all time, Bill Clinton. Believe it or not, sometimes “the man from Hope” took some liberties with his scorecard.
”Many of our presidents who turned in respectable scores played in violation of the game's honorable rules. Some were worse than others when it came to accepting a conceded (gimme) putt of a few feet, or re-teeing a wayward drive (taking a mulligan). Clinton occupied a universe of his own when it came to playing loosely, managing not only to mangle all the rules but to convince himself in the course of replaying multiple shots that he was turning in legitimate scores in the mid- to low 80's. Not surprisingly, Van Natta sees unsettling affinities between Clinton's golf game and his ethics.
There's an old adage that purports to link character with on-course demeanor. According to this view, you learn everything you need to know about people by playing three holes of golf with them. By the time Van Natta got that far with then former President Clinton, the man from Hope had granted himself three ''Billigans.''
To paraphrase Ted Sorenson, it appears Clinton was doing for golf what he was already doing for sex.
Friday, May 02, 2003
The Right (and real) Stuff
When President Bush landed on the aircraft carrier yesterday he had an impact on many Americans usually brought about only by rock stars and athletes. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. Yes, as unlikely as it might sound seeing Bush in a flight suit was enough to cause some women to swoon like school girls. Listening to Laura Ingraham quiver with excitement when describing Bush's appearance or reading
Kathryn Jean Lopez's posts calling Bush a stud brought home the point that there's more than one hottie in this administration. I haven't heard women in the media panting like this for a President since the days of Eleanor Clift getting all hot and bothered every time she uttered Bill Clinton's name.
Apparently though not everyone was impressed with GW's dramatic entrance. Critics have complained that it was nothing more than grandstanding and that the President was using the military to score political points. One writer even opined that if Clinton had tried the same stunt conservatives would be blasting him for it.
And you know what? We would have. Why? Because landing on an aircraft carrier and joshing around with the crew on the flight deck is not the real Bill Clinton. Hobnobbing with Hollywood celebrities? That's Bill Clinton. If Bush tried to pal around with the elite of Hollywood it wouldn't be George W. Bush. It would be phony. It would be an act. But yesterday? That was real. The real George W. Bush. He likes planes. He likes flying. He likes the military. And the military likes him in return.
Perhaps in the mid to late 90's with the country at peace and feeling quite secure people wanted their president to be warmly welcomed in Hollywood. But today we're in the midst of war and Americans prefer a president who is more at home on an aircraft carrier than at a gala movie premier.
When President Bush landed on the aircraft carrier yesterday he had an impact on many Americans usually brought about only by rock stars and athletes. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. Yes, as unlikely as it might sound seeing Bush in a flight suit was enough to cause some women to swoon like school girls. Listening to Laura Ingraham quiver with excitement when describing Bush's appearance or reading
Kathryn Jean Lopez's posts calling Bush a stud brought home the point that there's more than one hottie in this administration. I haven't heard women in the media panting like this for a President since the days of Eleanor Clift getting all hot and bothered every time she uttered Bill Clinton's name.
Apparently though not everyone was impressed with GW's dramatic entrance. Critics have complained that it was nothing more than grandstanding and that the President was using the military to score political points. One writer even opined that if Clinton had tried the same stunt conservatives would be blasting him for it.
And you know what? We would have. Why? Because landing on an aircraft carrier and joshing around with the crew on the flight deck is not the real Bill Clinton. Hobnobbing with Hollywood celebrities? That's Bill Clinton. If Bush tried to pal around with the elite of Hollywood it wouldn't be George W. Bush. It would be phony. It would be an act. But yesterday? That was real. The real George W. Bush. He likes planes. He likes flying. He likes the military. And the military likes him in return.
Perhaps in the mid to late 90's with the country at peace and feeling quite secure people wanted their president to be warmly welcomed in Hollywood. But today we're in the midst of war and Americans prefer a president who is more at home on an aircraft carrier than at a gala movie premier.
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