Finishing a fourth lap on the Powell High School track and making note of the extremely slow pace, I was determined to run at least eight laps before heading home. Dusk was settling in along with its cooling temperatures and I found myself pondering, “Why bother if this is as fast as you can run?”
The answer came within seconds. Something like, “Well, you do this because the day may come that you have to really exert yourself and if that happens, you’ll be better off.”
It was a Monday evening and up to that point I was the only one at the track. A half lap later along the backstretch, I noted three people entering the facility and their three dogs—two medium-sized, a third was miniature. All three were off leash.
Watching the dogs to see if they would notice me, I’d gone through this routine before without incident. However, it’s likely that the arriving party hadn’t planned on anyone else in attendance and probably hadn’t seen me from the other side of the track in the dimly-lit setting. Nevertheless, I proceeded with my running. Entering the turn, one of the dogs noticed and headed directly for me. I don’t remember if it was barking, but I slowed as it approached and said in a normal voice, “Hey there pooch,” and extended my hand out so it could take a sniff or two while still maintaining my shuffling—all seemed well as the dog passed in front of me.
But as I went by, the dog circled back around from behind and took a bite at my moving leg. It’s mouth grazed over my calf with the snapping sound of a jaw closing rapidly. Stopped, I turned to confront the animal and found it growling and barking in a very hostile manner.
Perhaps I should have simply held my ground or backed away slowly. Who knows what will result when such events rapidly unfold. And every dog is as different as is every person. Nevertheless, I chased after the dog (a technique that has worked in the past) resulting in its temporary retreat, but it returned when the pursuit ceased. The commotion summoned the other dogs and the frenzied showdown was on.
In a matter of seconds, we were in the openness of the football field with two canines circling like sharks on a swimmer in open water. (The third and smaller dog wasn’t of concern despite its threatening behavior as well.)
It wasn’t long before the owners were calling their dogs off, but to no avail. The dogs may as well have been deaf at that juncture. It appeared the owners were completely caught off guard by the presence of a stranger as well as the aggressive behavior displayed by their pets.
It seemed like five minutes had passed, but one should never trust the estimate of time lapse by another who is thrown into a tumultuous event such as a multiple dog attack. Nevertheless, there I was, ironically exerting myself beyond my wildest dreams just minutes after pondering the importance of being in shape.
Too bad I wasn’t in better shape.
During the encounter, I managed to do several things though: communicated with the owners (in not the most civil manner mind you), kept the dogs at bay with kicking feet and fist (connecting on occasion, but not effective in thwarting their attack) and intentionally travelled toward the fence in front of the stands so the attack could be limited to 180 degrees instead of 360.
After the owners finally gained control of their dogs, exhaustion was my next battle, yet free to finally leave. Naturally I was furious about what had just happened especially as I took inventory of my injuries—a deep gash on my index finder and a hyper-extended thumb. The owner approached me requesting we talk about what just happened. In my mind, the only talking required now was with the police along with his name. After several requests, he reluctantly gave his name and I retreated for home while looking closer at the splayed index finger that eventually would require a visit to the hospital and a few sutures.
Walking home in the evening’s soft summer air, I felt pretty lucky given the other possible outcomes.
* * *
My opinion of dogs has not changed regarding this event. Like people, some are good and some... not so good. Although I was furious when it unfolded, I’m not too resentful to the owners of these animals now. And dog attacks won’t cease because the details of one particular conflict were spelled out here.
Nevertheless, here’s how it is from my corner of the ring... my hope is a formidable fine will be produced for the dog owners—short of their pets being destroyed. There’s no need for anyone to lose a member of their family in this case. Beyond that though, it’s likely that there are many dog owners out there who view their pets in the same light as those parents who think their children never get in trouble or never do wrong. Such thinking is dangerous in either case. If we really love our pets as we shamelessly contend, let’s make sure we do everything we can to protect our neighbors from such offenses, before they start asking themselves, “What would Michael Vick do?”
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
A Sorry, Rye Confession
I just read this book that I should have read years ago. I don’t know how it happened like this. Did you ever find yourself wondering how you missed out on something that everyone else knows about? It makes you feel kind of sorry for yourself if you know what I mean. Here’s what’s really funny about it. The other day I heard somebody use this word that I’ve heard before. Even when I was a kid. But, afterwards I realized I didn’t know what it meant. Well, I sort of had an idea, but I didn’t know for sure. So I looked it up and felt like a goddam fool for not knowing all these years. And I’m 49-years-old. I can’t remember what the word is now, but everyone knows it but me. Well, not anymore, I know it now. Anyway, this book’s called The Catcher In The Rye. Maybe you heard about it, maybe you didn’t. It’s considered a literary classic, but if you want to know the truth, I thought it was OK and all. But some of it really did kill me, really did. You just need to read it yourself. There’s really some funny crap in there, but it sort of depressed me too. Honest to God, all these years, I always wondered what or who the catcher in the rye was when someone mentioned that book. I’d just nod my head like some goddam phony. Anyway, I won’t spoil it here and tell you, but it has nothing to do with baseball. You should read it, even if you already read it years ago.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Going Straight on Route 28
There are other roads out there that are surely longer when it comes to being straight or flat, but Michigan’s State Route 28 has its own monotonous magic. Located in the Upper Peninsula, these observations are from an obscure 25-mile section between the towns of Seney and Shingleton.
The mostly-two-lane highway is lined with evergreens, paralleled by a railroad track to the south and occasionally widens for passing lanes. There are no communities or services to distract travellers except for a rest stop just beyond Seney. Most outstanding about Route 28 from its other homogeneous cousins is that even its surroundings consisting mostly of tall evergreens remain the same as one passes over the 25-mile stretch.
In my second traverse of this route—going from east to west this time—I noticed that besides being completely straight (between the two towns mentioned), there were times when I felt as if I was climbing or descending the asphalt. So bothersome was it, that when I felt confident that I was ascending a slight grade, I turned my truck around in the other direction only to find that it felt as if I was climbing in that direction too.
A couple travellers told me Route 28 is considered by some the most boring stretch of highway in Michigan; but really, how can it be? As one zens on its flatness and straightness travelling at 55 mph, the section is consumed before one has the opportunity to become truly bored.
The mostly-two-lane highway is lined with evergreens, paralleled by a railroad track to the south and occasionally widens for passing lanes. There are no communities or services to distract travellers except for a rest stop just beyond Seney. Most outstanding about Route 28 from its other homogeneous cousins is that even its surroundings consisting mostly of tall evergreens remain the same as one passes over the 25-mile stretch.
In my second traverse of this route—going from east to west this time—I noticed that besides being completely straight (between the two towns mentioned), there were times when I felt as if I was climbing or descending the asphalt. So bothersome was it, that when I felt confident that I was ascending a slight grade, I turned my truck around in the other direction only to find that it felt as if I was climbing in that direction too.
A couple travellers told me Route 28 is considered by some the most boring stretch of highway in Michigan; but really, how can it be? As one zens on its flatness and straightness travelling at 55 mph, the section is consumed before one has the opportunity to become truly bored.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Pearls Before Swine?
When the new basketball hardware (consisting of hoops and backboards) was installed at the St. Barbara’s Church parking lot in my home town earlier this spring, I was amused, thinking to myself that suddenly there was another location to shoot baskets. I was especially interested in this new development because I knew putting up the baskets wasn’t required, necessary or expected of the church. Simply put, it was a gesture of good will extended by the church to anyone in the community who liked to play the game.
Unfortunately it wasn’t long after the installation of this hardware that some of Powell, Wyoming’s finest delinquents spoiled the new courts for everyone when they started hanging from the rims with their lame attempts at slam dunking the ball, leading to the destruction of the south basket. A couple weeks later, the same fate came to the north basket. It wasn’t enough for these punks to destroy one rim, they had to wreck both. And do you suppose any of them were considerate enough to thank the church for their short-lived escapades in their pathetic display of amateur slam dunking—let alone offer to reimburse the church for the damage? Get real. Sadly, no one does that today.
So, what were those fools at St. Barbara’s thinking? How dare they install sub-par basketball hoops that can’t support the weight of a rotund 5’7”, 250-pound teenager who probably had to jump from the back of his friend’s pickup truck to “dunk and hang.” The good folks at St. Barbara’s just don’t understand that it’s not good enough to only install a basketball hoop that is regulation height—if it can’t support the full thunder and weight of Shaq himself, don’t bother! Further, I’m doubtful that the rims would still be intact if the church had pasted “No Dunking” signs on the backboards—talk about an invitation to tear them down.
So my question is this: When did basketball rims become monkey bars?
Blame it on the NBA. Dunking the ball has become the ultimate shot. There’s nothing more in-your-face and insulting than jamming the ball down your opponents throat... ah, I mean hoop. It’s so God-damn American just like George W. Bush’s, “Bring it on.”
We used to say, “Baseball, apple pie, and Chevrolet” when speaking about those things that are American. Clearly this needs to be updated to something like, “Slam Dunk, Bud Lite, and ATVs.”
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon (since I’m nearly 50-years-old), when we played basketball in my youth (pick-up or organized), it was a game of finesse. Every now and then, in a short, comedic outburst we would start playing the game the way it’s played today—only we weren’t prophesying, we simply called it “jungle ball.” After such antics, we quickly went back to playing the game properly. We never encountered bent or damaged rims, only an occasional rim without a net.
Don’t get me wrong, the slam dunk wasn’t alien to us. We knew about it thanks to Wilt Chamberlain, but Wilt didn’t hang from the rim following a “stuff” and besides, none of us were that tall or could jump that high, but we certainly had enough class to offer repair expenses for anything we broke.
I can only think of one way to bring the slam dunk and its self-centered, look-at-me attitude back down to earth in an effort to restore the integrity of basketball... It’s time to raise the rims to eleven feet.
Unfortunately it wasn’t long after the installation of this hardware that some of Powell, Wyoming’s finest delinquents spoiled the new courts for everyone when they started hanging from the rims with their lame attempts at slam dunking the ball, leading to the destruction of the south basket. A couple weeks later, the same fate came to the north basket. It wasn’t enough for these punks to destroy one rim, they had to wreck both. And do you suppose any of them were considerate enough to thank the church for their short-lived escapades in their pathetic display of amateur slam dunking—let alone offer to reimburse the church for the damage? Get real. Sadly, no one does that today.
So, what were those fools at St. Barbara’s thinking? How dare they install sub-par basketball hoops that can’t support the weight of a rotund 5’7”, 250-pound teenager who probably had to jump from the back of his friend’s pickup truck to “dunk and hang.” The good folks at St. Barbara’s just don’t understand that it’s not good enough to only install a basketball hoop that is regulation height—if it can’t support the full thunder and weight of Shaq himself, don’t bother! Further, I’m doubtful that the rims would still be intact if the church had pasted “No Dunking” signs on the backboards—talk about an invitation to tear them down.
So my question is this: When did basketball rims become monkey bars?
Blame it on the NBA. Dunking the ball has become the ultimate shot. There’s nothing more in-your-face and insulting than jamming the ball down your opponents throat... ah, I mean hoop. It’s so God-damn American just like George W. Bush’s, “Bring it on.”
We used to say, “Baseball, apple pie, and Chevrolet” when speaking about those things that are American. Clearly this needs to be updated to something like, “Slam Dunk, Bud Lite, and ATVs.”
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon (since I’m nearly 50-years-old), when we played basketball in my youth (pick-up or organized), it was a game of finesse. Every now and then, in a short, comedic outburst we would start playing the game the way it’s played today—only we weren’t prophesying, we simply called it “jungle ball.” After such antics, we quickly went back to playing the game properly. We never encountered bent or damaged rims, only an occasional rim without a net.
Don’t get me wrong, the slam dunk wasn’t alien to us. We knew about it thanks to Wilt Chamberlain, but Wilt didn’t hang from the rim following a “stuff” and besides, none of us were that tall or could jump that high, but we certainly had enough class to offer repair expenses for anything we broke.
I can only think of one way to bring the slam dunk and its self-centered, look-at-me attitude back down to earth in an effort to restore the integrity of basketball... It’s time to raise the rims to eleven feet.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Extinction of Another Dinosaur
Dinosaur, Colorado
4 June 2009
Years ago 1,200 people lived in Dinosaur, Colorado, though someone in town told me it was as high as 8,100. Just over 300 people live here today in Colorado’s westernmost town—only three miles from the Utah border. Up until 1966, the town was named Artesia, but changed to Dinosaur— hoping to capitalize on its proximity to nearby Dinosaur National Monument.
According to the Colorado Historical Society: In addition to oil, the Rangely Field rigs dredged up a sense of Colorado's gold-rush past. The drilling frenzy of 1945 brought a torrent of fortune seekers, quite a few of them cruder than the oil itself. Many landed in Artesia, a brand-new supply center twenty miles north of Rangely. Within a year of its founding in 1945, the community had 1,200 residents and seventy businesses. The high-octane boom could not last forever, of course; in 1965, its population down to 400, Artesia changed its name to Dinosaur and began serving visitors to the nearby national monument. The 1980s brought another growth industry—oil shale—and another surge of new residents, but by the 1990s Dinosaur was once again fighting to stave off extinction.
In the past three years, the local kids have attended an on-line school. Sadly, there are no athletic teams in Dinosaur either. Think of the unique mascot name possibilities for a town called Dinosaur that remain idle now. If any kids want a setting within a traditional education system, they travel 18 miles to nearby Rangely, Colorado—an ugly company town surrounded by oil and gas rigs and all of its residual junk strewn about haphazardly.
For $13 I slept on the ground in my tent at the quiet RV park. I dreamed of my cousin Ricky whom I haven’t seen since I was a teenager. He had returned to take over his brother Ronny’s business following his death.
Everything is for sale in Dinosaur—old motels, restaurants, stores, etc. and many of the streets have dinosaur names like Triceratops Terrace and Brontosaurus Boulevard.
Several old-timers visit one of the local restaurants in town—the B&B. It’s typical small-town talk: something about someone’s dog, high gas prices, winning the lottery, today’s crossword puzzle, health issues, hard-luck-son-of-a-bitch stories, hunting, and fishing—all with the rasp of a smoker’s voice.
Nowadays they go outside to smoke. A picnic table is provided near the front door. A few years ago they must have smoked freely inside the restaurant. I bet they despise these new anti-smoking laws. I can understand their perspective, but I’m thankful I don’t have to breath cigarette smoke while I have my pancakes and bacon—I did plenty of that when I was growing up. It seems like anyone of them could drop dead in the next year—perhaps I should include myself even if it seems more unlikely.
I wonder now, is this a part of America that is disappearing? Is the gathering of old folk in the local diners of America on the brink of collapse? Despite my less-than-complimentary observations, I feel lucky to come across this sight—life beyond the internet, shopping malls and posers living in à la mode towns like Jackson, Telluride or Moab.
I’ll take Dinosaur any day.
4 June 2009
Years ago 1,200 people lived in Dinosaur, Colorado, though someone in town told me it was as high as 8,100. Just over 300 people live here today in Colorado’s westernmost town—only three miles from the Utah border. Up until 1966, the town was named Artesia, but changed to Dinosaur— hoping to capitalize on its proximity to nearby Dinosaur National Monument.
According to the Colorado Historical Society: In addition to oil, the Rangely Field rigs dredged up a sense of Colorado's gold-rush past. The drilling frenzy of 1945 brought a torrent of fortune seekers, quite a few of them cruder than the oil itself. Many landed in Artesia, a brand-new supply center twenty miles north of Rangely. Within a year of its founding in 1945, the community had 1,200 residents and seventy businesses. The high-octane boom could not last forever, of course; in 1965, its population down to 400, Artesia changed its name to Dinosaur and began serving visitors to the nearby national monument. The 1980s brought another growth industry—oil shale—and another surge of new residents, but by the 1990s Dinosaur was once again fighting to stave off extinction.
In the past three years, the local kids have attended an on-line school. Sadly, there are no athletic teams in Dinosaur either. Think of the unique mascot name possibilities for a town called Dinosaur that remain idle now. If any kids want a setting within a traditional education system, they travel 18 miles to nearby Rangely, Colorado—an ugly company town surrounded by oil and gas rigs and all of its residual junk strewn about haphazardly.
For $13 I slept on the ground in my tent at the quiet RV park. I dreamed of my cousin Ricky whom I haven’t seen since I was a teenager. He had returned to take over his brother Ronny’s business following his death.
Everything is for sale in Dinosaur—old motels, restaurants, stores, etc. and many of the streets have dinosaur names like Triceratops Terrace and Brontosaurus Boulevard.
Several old-timers visit one of the local restaurants in town—the B&B. It’s typical small-town talk: something about someone’s dog, high gas prices, winning the lottery, today’s crossword puzzle, health issues, hard-luck-son-of-a-bitch stories, hunting, and fishing—all with the rasp of a smoker’s voice.
Nowadays they go outside to smoke. A picnic table is provided near the front door. A few years ago they must have smoked freely inside the restaurant. I bet they despise these new anti-smoking laws. I can understand their perspective, but I’m thankful I don’t have to breath cigarette smoke while I have my pancakes and bacon—I did plenty of that when I was growing up. It seems like anyone of them could drop dead in the next year—perhaps I should include myself even if it seems more unlikely.
I wonder now, is this a part of America that is disappearing? Is the gathering of old folk in the local diners of America on the brink of collapse? Despite my less-than-complimentary observations, I feel lucky to come across this sight—life beyond the internet, shopping malls and posers living in à la mode towns like Jackson, Telluride or Moab.
I’ll take Dinosaur any day.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Giving And Graduation
In 1978 when graduating from Springfield High School in Akron, Ohio, I accumulated over $200 in gift money. A little more than three years later when I received my bachelor’s degree from Arizona State University, I might have received about $100 in gift money—maybe. Seven years later, I received a Master’s degree in Vocational Education from Northern Arizona University and following graduation, I found myself completely broke with a five grand balance on my credit card. As a result, I ended up selling my ski and camera equipment so I would have gas money to drive back to Ohio for a visit with the family.
I wonder if my experiences in these life’s accomplishments are unique? I suspect they are not. So, I’ll ask the question: Why is it that when almost anyone graduates from high school these days, we lavish all kinds of gifts on them? Yet, when some of these same people go on to earn degrees in post-secondary education, professional certifications or licenses—often going into debt in the process—there’s little fanfare compared to that which is associated with the achievement of something as a mediocre high school diploma.
Perhaps when we receive the announcement from a relative, friend or neighbor who is completing their high school diploma, nothing more than a twenty-dollar bill should be offered. After all, they are only achieving today’s “minimum daily requirement” in this common achievement. However, when they complete their associate’s degree, or secure their multi-engine pilot’s license, we should up the ante—each time for the completion of a higher level.
Given this philosophy of giving, think about how unfortunate it might be for you and your pocketbook to know someone finishing up their Ph.D.
I wonder if my experiences in these life’s accomplishments are unique? I suspect they are not. So, I’ll ask the question: Why is it that when almost anyone graduates from high school these days, we lavish all kinds of gifts on them? Yet, when some of these same people go on to earn degrees in post-secondary education, professional certifications or licenses—often going into debt in the process—there’s little fanfare compared to that which is associated with the achievement of something as a mediocre high school diploma.
Perhaps when we receive the announcement from a relative, friend or neighbor who is completing their high school diploma, nothing more than a twenty-dollar bill should be offered. After all, they are only achieving today’s “minimum daily requirement” in this common achievement. However, when they complete their associate’s degree, or secure their multi-engine pilot’s license, we should up the ante—each time for the completion of a higher level.
Given this philosophy of giving, think about how unfortunate it might be for you and your pocketbook to know someone finishing up their Ph.D.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
McDonald's: A conduit to world peace?
It’s easy enough for any of us to poke fun at McDonald’s. They’re a big enough target given their status as a successful mega-corporation. And if anyone can be made fun of without serious fallout, it would be a big, international corporation like McDonald’s. Further, this is the same entity that has been aligned with the world’s questionable eating habits while transforming our English lexicon by adding “Mc” in front of words like “fish,” “chicken,” and “flurry.” Even beyond the McDonald’s menu, new McWords are created by McOthers every McDay, implying a certain McDonald’s-esque in anything to do with our McWorld.
And I’m as guilty as anyone in allowing myself to stoop to such frivolity at McDonald’s expense.
So along comes McCafé—with the appropriate accent mark over the lower case “e.” I was ready to hoot and holler with everyone else when I heard of this. As I recall, this has been a purposeful attempt by McDonald’s to take away some of the fussy coffee drinkers from another mega-corporation known as Starbuck’s.
Lucky for my hometown of Powell, Wyoming, McDonald’s decided to install a version of McCafé in our very own McD’s franchise, even though the closest Starbuck’s is 90-miles away in Billings! They didn’t have to do that, did they?
So, the other day I invited a coffee-drinking friend of mine to join me for a test-drive at our local McCafé—he’s a bit of a coffee snob too. Not surprising, it was easy for us to serve up wisecracks as if they were hamburgers—ordering European coffee drinks made with gourmet coffee at something as American as McDonald’s. How preposterous!
Now, for my confession: the McCafé latté was as good as any I’ve had at Starbuck’s. I can’t say it was the best latté I’ve ever had, but it was worth the two-dollar-plus price and certainly beat the hell out of the dark-coloured dishwater that is passed off as coffee in other local establishments for half the cost.
I’d like to think if McDonald’s can do justice to coffee, it’s time for all the other coffee-serving establishments to pony-up as well.
Nevertheless, as we sat there with gourmet coffee in hand, I experienced an epiphany of sorts—caffeine induced no doubt. What if there’s more to this than something as simple as McDonald’s raising the bar on coffee standards in America? Whether intentional or unintentional, is it possible that MacDonald’s McCafés are instilling a greater awareness of cultural diversity with these little, gourmet coffee stand installments—more than Starbuck’s could ever imagine? And stretching this meditation even further, might McCafés be responsible for deconstructing classism, encouraging tolerance while moving us all closer to world peace?
I know the above will take some explaining so, here’s where I’m coming from—along with an abundance of generalizations.
Despite its huge success over the past 15 years or so, Starbuck’s answered the call of those Americans who desired better coffee due to their keen awareness of coffee quality as a result of their worldly travels, culturally sensitive education or both. I would venture to say that Starbuck’s clientele could be distilled down to a profile that is upper middle class, college educated, white-collar workers living comfortably. McDonald’s clientele on the other hand are lower-middle class, not as much college (if any), blue-collar workers and just getting by for the most part. Therefore, it’s probably safe to say that by in large, people who patronize Starbuck’s do not patronize McDonald’s and vice-versa.
So, along comes McDonald’s with high-end Arabica coffees and espresso drinks hoping to win over some of the Starbuck’s customers—and perhaps they have. However, there’s something greater happening here: McDonald’s patrons who may have scoffed at Starbuck’s and other coffee house foo-foo espresso drinks might become a bit curious about this new product since it’s in their own backyard now—and Lord knows, come to like it!
What happens when people come to appreciate something as alien as gourmet coffee and espresso? Don’t they become curious about it—what’s it all about, what is the history, how is it made, who else uses it and where else is it served? All this leading to my theory that McCafés transform the huddled masses of America (that never gave Starbuck’s the time of day) into a people who are more tuned in and sensitive to the world beyond its shining seas.
I know, it’s a stretch, but just think about it when your sipping your next cup. Besides, where else can you get a mocha in Powell at 9:30 p.m.?
And I’m as guilty as anyone in allowing myself to stoop to such frivolity at McDonald’s expense.
So along comes McCafé—with the appropriate accent mark over the lower case “e.” I was ready to hoot and holler with everyone else when I heard of this. As I recall, this has been a purposeful attempt by McDonald’s to take away some of the fussy coffee drinkers from another mega-corporation known as Starbuck’s.
Lucky for my hometown of Powell, Wyoming, McDonald’s decided to install a version of McCafé in our very own McD’s franchise, even though the closest Starbuck’s is 90-miles away in Billings! They didn’t have to do that, did they?
So, the other day I invited a coffee-drinking friend of mine to join me for a test-drive at our local McCafé—he’s a bit of a coffee snob too. Not surprising, it was easy for us to serve up wisecracks as if they were hamburgers—ordering European coffee drinks made with gourmet coffee at something as American as McDonald’s. How preposterous!
Now, for my confession: the McCafé latté was as good as any I’ve had at Starbuck’s. I can’t say it was the best latté I’ve ever had, but it was worth the two-dollar-plus price and certainly beat the hell out of the dark-coloured dishwater that is passed off as coffee in other local establishments for half the cost.
I’d like to think if McDonald’s can do justice to coffee, it’s time for all the other coffee-serving establishments to pony-up as well.
Nevertheless, as we sat there with gourmet coffee in hand, I experienced an epiphany of sorts—caffeine induced no doubt. What if there’s more to this than something as simple as McDonald’s raising the bar on coffee standards in America? Whether intentional or unintentional, is it possible that MacDonald’s McCafés are instilling a greater awareness of cultural diversity with these little, gourmet coffee stand installments—more than Starbuck’s could ever imagine? And stretching this meditation even further, might McCafés be responsible for deconstructing classism, encouraging tolerance while moving us all closer to world peace?
I know the above will take some explaining so, here’s where I’m coming from—along with an abundance of generalizations.
Despite its huge success over the past 15 years or so, Starbuck’s answered the call of those Americans who desired better coffee due to their keen awareness of coffee quality as a result of their worldly travels, culturally sensitive education or both. I would venture to say that Starbuck’s clientele could be distilled down to a profile that is upper middle class, college educated, white-collar workers living comfortably. McDonald’s clientele on the other hand are lower-middle class, not as much college (if any), blue-collar workers and just getting by for the most part. Therefore, it’s probably safe to say that by in large, people who patronize Starbuck’s do not patronize McDonald’s and vice-versa.
What happens when people come to appreciate something as alien as gourmet coffee and espresso? Don’t they become curious about it—what’s it all about, what is the history, how is it made, who else uses it and where else is it served? All this leading to my theory that McCafés transform the huddled masses of America (that never gave Starbuck’s the time of day) into a people who are more tuned in and sensitive to the world beyond its shining seas.
I know, it’s a stretch, but just think about it when your sipping your next cup. Besides, where else can you get a mocha in Powell at 9:30 p.m.?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Nepotism and favoritism: Can it be defeated at Northwest College?
NWC’s Director of Student Activities and Orientation, Mike Taylor, was recently awarded as this year’s distinguished adjunct faculty. Congratulations are certainly in order and from what I’ve heard of Mr. Taylor’s instruction, the college got this one right. The same is true with Dennis Davis and in his distinguished full-time faculty award.
As the congratulatory remarks came in over the college’s email system, absent were any kind of comments from his direct supervisor—NWC’s Vice President of Student Affairs Dana Young. Further, given Mike’s accomplishments, it was even more odd/ironic that in the same year of his award, he has been removed from all but one of his golf classes for the upcoming summer and autumn offerings and replaced by the Vince Kobbe, husband of NWC’s human resources director, Heather Kobbe.
It’s likely that the good folks in administrative services and student life will defend his removal because the courses “conflict” with Taylor’s incredibly flexible schedule even though he had been teaching the classes for years. Could it be that Mr. Taylor simply teaches some of the funnest classes offered at NWC and a few bullies out there want some of that action?
While Taylor’s predicament is history, the college is now gunning to fill the Dean of Student Engagement and Success Director—a position that has been vacant for over a year and pays somewhere in the neighborhood of $70K-plus. I’m betting few employees of the college could recite the functions of what appears to be yet another administrative job in our top-heavy institution. One of the finalist is Deb Mills, spouse of the college’s Vice President of Administrative Services, Kim Mills. Speaking of betting, does anyone want to make a wager on who gets the nod for this position as well?
An edict is likely coming from the Governor’s office calling for budget reductions at Northwest College and other community colleges around the state. As a result, there’s a good chance a reduction-in-force (RIF) will be activated. And with commentaries like this, I wouldn’t be surprised to know that my position is on the chopping block. Nevertheless, I hope President Paul Prestwich also considers a little “spring cleaning” in his own administrative offices. While he’s at it, perhaps this would be a good time for him to remind us peons on the anti-nepotism/favoritism policy details at Northwest College—if there are any.
As the congratulatory remarks came in over the college’s email system, absent were any kind of comments from his direct supervisor—NWC’s Vice President of Student Affairs Dana Young. Further, given Mike’s accomplishments, it was even more odd/ironic that in the same year of his award, he has been removed from all but one of his golf classes for the upcoming summer and autumn offerings and replaced by the Vince Kobbe, husband of NWC’s human resources director, Heather Kobbe.
It’s likely that the good folks in administrative services and student life will defend his removal because the courses “conflict” with Taylor’s incredibly flexible schedule even though he had been teaching the classes for years. Could it be that Mr. Taylor simply teaches some of the funnest classes offered at NWC and a few bullies out there want some of that action?
While Taylor’s predicament is history, the college is now gunning to fill the Dean of Student Engagement and Success Director—a position that has been vacant for over a year and pays somewhere in the neighborhood of $70K-plus. I’m betting few employees of the college could recite the functions of what appears to be yet another administrative job in our top-heavy institution. One of the finalist is Deb Mills, spouse of the college’s Vice President of Administrative Services, Kim Mills. Speaking of betting, does anyone want to make a wager on who gets the nod for this position as well?
An edict is likely coming from the Governor’s office calling for budget reductions at Northwest College and other community colleges around the state. As a result, there’s a good chance a reduction-in-force (RIF) will be activated. And with commentaries like this, I wouldn’t be surprised to know that my position is on the chopping block. Nevertheless, I hope President Paul Prestwich also considers a little “spring cleaning” in his own administrative offices. While he’s at it, perhaps this would be a good time for him to remind us peons on the anti-nepotism/favoritism policy details at Northwest College—if there are any.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Bud Lite vs. The Badlands
“Wyoming people know what’s best for Wyoming.”
This is the expression that kept on going through my mind as I was walking through a garbage-strewn expanse of Wyoming badlands last weekend. Included with the above statement, there is often some kind of declaration about keeping (big) government out of our lives. I suspect this attitude is fairly popular with many of those who live in the country’s other western states as well.
“Those people in Washington D.C. don’t know nothin’ about Wyoming and what it’s like to live out here, I’d just assume they stay put in their big cities and stay out of our business.”
Yeah, the last thing we need is some big government regulation telling us we can’t litter in our high-country deserts. Surely once it piles high enough and becomes visible from town, we’ll go pick it up... you betcha’.
Here are a few other big questions I was mulling over in my head...
Is the cornucopia of trash residing in the surrounding desert the personification of Wyoming’s distain for big government intervention?
Do people who live and love Wyoming do so because they find the vast areas of wilderness desirable or because they prefer to do whatever they please even if it means transforming the landscape into a giant landfill? Surely most of us living in Wyoming would relate to the former of these two rationales, yet there appears to be enough of the latter who are ruining it for the rest of us.
As far as particulars go, most of the trash/litter out there is limited to those places that are accessible by a vehicle—clear evidence of our ongoing haul-it-off-and-throw-it-away society. Some of the trash is very old, some from the day before. Shotgun shells and Bud Lite containers (both bottles and cans) litter the desert—rivaling the excessive number of cow pies. There are a few other beer bottles and cans from other breweries, but Bud Lite is undoubtedly the hands-down winner.
I always thought Bud Lite was shitty beer and now I have another reason for not drinking it.
It’s likely that underage drinkers are responsible for most of the beer-related litter, but I have to wonder if they are the same individuals who are hauling refrigerators or old cars out into the desert, filling them full of bullet holes and leaving them.
And what else might one find amongst the fossils and petrified wood: old automobile transmissions and other car parts, computer monitors and CPUs, furniture, a microwave oven, plastic buckets half filled with rock-hard drywall mud, dirty rags, televisions, ovens, and plastic bags from an assortment of stores in town. Almost all of the above items are riddled with bullet holes too—true to the spirit of an authentic Wyoming desert party.
Again I wonder, if given the opportunity to sit down and visit with the person who took the PC and monitor out into the desert, shot it up and left it—would there be anything they could tell me or explain to me that would convince me that they weren’t a total, self-centered ass?
Wyoming: Like no place on earth.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter who’s to blame in all of this. Aren’t we all to blame—especially if we continue to ignore this steadily growing eye soar in the desert that surrounds us? Nevertheless, I think it’s safe to say that citizens of my community (Powell) and the outlying areas are the ones who have created this local environmental blight.
If you think Wyoming has a better quality of life than just about anywhere else in the country, we agree. —Wyoming Republican advertisement
There are those in other states that think their state is as beautiful, I won’t argue. Yet, Wyoming probably makes the top 10 when it comes to any poll that list the most scenic states, so aren’t we obligated to uphold this truth as keepers of its beauty?
In a note of irony... some of the older debris out there has a certain nostalgic appeal to it and perhaps will be picked up by a collector in the near or distant future. Yet, this is no justification for our reckless disposal of our now-worthless, worldly possessions.
I’m not a community organizer, but if there is such a person in our community, my wish is for them to organize/activate our community in a clean-up-the-badlands project. I suspect it’s a big job (and ongoing), but surely it is worth it. Imagine, every weekend (at least during the warmer months of the year) a handful of people venture out into a designated area of public land to pick up and haul out the trash. The local landfill is waiting for our recovered products and we probably have one of the highest number of pick-up trucks per capita than any other part of the country. We owe it to ourselves and the desert that surrounds us. I’m ready to volunteer my time and pick-up truck.
So, let’s meet on April 18th at 10:00 a.m.—the Powell Airport parking lot. From there (depending on the numbers) we’ll head off to a location that is in need of a clean-up. Maybe we can get something started. Seriously! I double-dog-dare you to show up.
And while I’m at it, I have a favor to ask of the gun owners and Bud Lite drinkers who wander out into the desert... is it too much to ask of you to bend over and pick up your spent casings and empty beers?
This is the expression that kept on going through my mind as I was walking through a garbage-strewn expanse of Wyoming badlands last weekend. Included with the above statement, there is often some kind of declaration about keeping (big) government out of our lives. I suspect this attitude is fairly popular with many of those who live in the country’s other western states as well.
“Those people in Washington D.C. don’t know nothin’ about Wyoming and what it’s like to live out here, I’d just assume they stay put in their big cities and stay out of our business.”
Yeah, the last thing we need is some big government regulation telling us we can’t litter in our high-country deserts. Surely once it piles high enough and becomes visible from town, we’ll go pick it up... you betcha’.
Here are a few other big questions I was mulling over in my head...
Is the cornucopia of trash residing in the surrounding desert the personification of Wyoming’s distain for big government intervention?
Do people who live and love Wyoming do so because they find the vast areas of wilderness desirable or because they prefer to do whatever they please even if it means transforming the landscape into a giant landfill? Surely most of us living in Wyoming would relate to the former of these two rationales, yet there appears to be enough of the latter who are ruining it for the rest of us.
As far as particulars go, most of the trash/litter out there is limited to those places that are accessible by a vehicle—clear evidence of our ongoing haul-it-off-and-throw-it-away society. Some of the trash is very old, some from the day before. Shotgun shells and Bud Lite containers (both bottles and cans) litter the desert—rivaling the excessive number of cow pies. There are a few other beer bottles and cans from other breweries, but Bud Lite is undoubtedly the hands-down winner.
I always thought Bud Lite was shitty beer and now I have another reason for not drinking it.
It’s likely that underage drinkers are responsible for most of the beer-related litter, but I have to wonder if they are the same individuals who are hauling refrigerators or old cars out into the desert, filling them full of bullet holes and leaving them.
And what else might one find amongst the fossils and petrified wood: old automobile transmissions and other car parts, computer monitors and CPUs, furniture, a microwave oven, plastic buckets half filled with rock-hard drywall mud, dirty rags, televisions, ovens, and plastic bags from an assortment of stores in town. Almost all of the above items are riddled with bullet holes too—true to the spirit of an authentic Wyoming desert party.
Again I wonder, if given the opportunity to sit down and visit with the person who took the PC and monitor out into the desert, shot it up and left it—would there be anything they could tell me or explain to me that would convince me that they weren’t a total, self-centered ass?
Wyoming: Like no place on earth.
I suppose it doesn’t really matter who’s to blame in all of this. Aren’t we all to blame—especially if we continue to ignore this steadily growing eye soar in the desert that surrounds us? Nevertheless, I think it’s safe to say that citizens of my community (Powell) and the outlying areas are the ones who have created this local environmental blight.
If you think Wyoming has a better quality of life than just about anywhere else in the country, we agree. —Wyoming Republican advertisement
There are those in other states that think their state is as beautiful, I won’t argue. Yet, Wyoming probably makes the top 10 when it comes to any poll that list the most scenic states, so aren’t we obligated to uphold this truth as keepers of its beauty?
In a note of irony... some of the older debris out there has a certain nostalgic appeal to it and perhaps will be picked up by a collector in the near or distant future. Yet, this is no justification for our reckless disposal of our now-worthless, worldly possessions.
I’m not a community organizer, but if there is such a person in our community, my wish is for them to organize/activate our community in a clean-up-the-badlands project. I suspect it’s a big job (and ongoing), but surely it is worth it. Imagine, every weekend (at least during the warmer months of the year) a handful of people venture out into a designated area of public land to pick up and haul out the trash. The local landfill is waiting for our recovered products and we probably have one of the highest number of pick-up trucks per capita than any other part of the country. We owe it to ourselves and the desert that surrounds us. I’m ready to volunteer my time and pick-up truck.
So, let’s meet on April 18th at 10:00 a.m.—the Powell Airport parking lot. From there (depending on the numbers) we’ll head off to a location that is in need of a clean-up. Maybe we can get something started. Seriously! I double-dog-dare you to show up.
And while I’m at it, I have a favor to ask of the gun owners and Bud Lite drinkers who wander out into the desert... is it too much to ask of you to bend over and pick up your spent casings and empty beers?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
The Demetrification of Interstate 19
The interstate highway that runs between Tucson and Nogales, Arizona (I-19), might not be one of the most scenic stretches of pavement in the country, but it definitely possesses a different “personality” thanks to the metric-based road signs and highway markers posted along this ribbon of asphalt. I always thought it was kind of cool that we had this "eccentric" little stretch of highway in America that was metric based—a little testimony/illustration of America's diversity where the literal rubber meets the road.
So, how did we get these metric-based road signs on I-19 in the first place? It was a little experiment the government carried out when we were seriously considering adopting the metric system—sometime in the early 70s. However, some 30 years later, the good politicians in Arizona have adopted that McDonald's homogeneous mentality and are planning on using $1.5 million of the state’s half-billion dollar stimulus package to replace the signs with our old-school mileage system.
God forbid the travellers of I-19 become a bit confused or mentally challenged all these years with those damn metric signs.
One colleague pointed out that while John McCain has been ranting and raving over the “pork” particulars that have been folded into the stimulus package, he hasn’t complained a word about the pork that’s in his own back pocket—replacing perfectly good kilometer-based road signs with mile-based road signs.
As I sit here and contemplate this menial travesty, perhaps the money would be better spent if it were applied to converting all the other road signs throughout the country into metric-based road signs. Yet, I suppose we’d rather snub our nose at the rest of the metric-based world because it might be a little too much for our educational system to teach another base-10 measurement system. I mean, let’s face it, there’s only a handful of countries in the world that are not using the metric system.
As long as we’re hell-bent against the rest of the world, I propose we get rid of our nickels and dimes and replace them with eighth and sixteenth coins instead. That’ll show’em!
We always talk about what a great country we are—our innovation, our ingenuity, our creativity, and so on. Yet, after all these years of consideration, we are either incapable or too stubborn to adopt something as simple as the metric system.
Go figure.
So, how did we get these metric-based road signs on I-19 in the first place? It was a little experiment the government carried out when we were seriously considering adopting the metric system—sometime in the early 70s. However, some 30 years later, the good politicians in Arizona have adopted that McDonald's homogeneous mentality and are planning on using $1.5 million of the state’s half-billion dollar stimulus package to replace the signs with our old-school mileage system.
God forbid the travellers of I-19 become a bit confused or mentally challenged all these years with those damn metric signs.
One colleague pointed out that while John McCain has been ranting and raving over the “pork” particulars that have been folded into the stimulus package, he hasn’t complained a word about the pork that’s in his own back pocket—replacing perfectly good kilometer-based road signs with mile-based road signs.
As I sit here and contemplate this menial travesty, perhaps the money would be better spent if it were applied to converting all the other road signs throughout the country into metric-based road signs. Yet, I suppose we’d rather snub our nose at the rest of the metric-based world because it might be a little too much for our educational system to teach another base-10 measurement system. I mean, let’s face it, there’s only a handful of countries in the world that are not using the metric system.
As long as we’re hell-bent against the rest of the world, I propose we get rid of our nickels and dimes and replace them with eighth and sixteenth coins instead. That’ll show’em!
We always talk about what a great country we are—our innovation, our ingenuity, our creativity, and so on. Yet, after all these years of consideration, we are either incapable or too stubborn to adopt something as simple as the metric system.
Go figure.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Remembering Mrs. Brazil
Having just celebrated Dr. King's 80th birthday, swelling in the background for the entire week was the inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States.
I wasn't sure exactly how to go about the business of celebrating on that pseudo-double-barrell holiday. Dr. King and President Obama reminded us about the importance of public service, but I couldn't help but reflect on those of African-American descent who have touched my life over the years. Too bad for me that such individuals are so few. Yet, I'm the only one to blame for such an abbreviated list.
It was only a couple weeks ago that I remembered Mrs. Brazil, and because of these recent events, for the first time I saw her in a new light.
I never gave much thought about her as an African-American. And, to be sure, no one in my family let it be known to me that (in 1966) my foundation for reading and writing were being shaped by an African-American woman. Yes, I owe my humble beginnings in reading and writing to my first grade teacher, Mrs. Brazil.
Up until now, I’ve been rather oblivious to the unique scenario that had shaped my early years—especially in light of those tumultuous times. Only three years earlier the racial atrocities were recorded regarding the 16 Street Baptist Church in Alabama and not long after 1966, Dr. King was gone.
So, folded in between all of this racial strife, a bunch of young White kids growing up in an all-White neighborhood of East Akron, Ohio, were given the first tools of reading and writing by an African-American woman—tools that have defined the inner core of any civilization.
What a contrast from Kindergarten with Mrs. Scheatzle to the first grade with Mrs. Brazil. Mrs. Scheatzle was a petite and attractive Anglo woman who spoke calmly and evenly. When I walked into Mrs. Brazil's class on the that first day of the first grade, I knew I had graduated. She was a smart dresser, but she was big enough to play linebacker with Ray Nitschke of the Green Bay Packers (or so it seemed). In short, she was no Mrs. Scheatzle. Mrs. Brazil was gentle with us to be sure, but her voice was capable of booming across the room and she had a great, uninhibited laugh. Occasionally, when we started to become unruly she would settle us down by reminding us that we weren't in Kindergarten anymore. She conducted that class as if she were holding court.
In reflecting on that time, the other day I called my mother to see if there was anything she remembered that may have been too harsh for a first grader like myself to comprehend. She only remembers the surprise to hear about Brazil's assignment as a teacher at Ritzman Elementary where I was entering the first grade. Both of us suspect that she may have been the first non-White to teach there—and long before any African-American children attended as students. Regardless, my mother couldn't recall any controversy regarding Mrs. Brazil at Ritzman and only remembers her as a caring and friendly teacher who would call the house to check on my status when I'd been sick and away from school.
I hold a certain sadness today in that I don't know what became of Mrs. Brazil, nor do I know how many years she actually taught at Ritzman. I suspect it wasn't very long because I don't recall being aware of her presence by the time I was in the fifth grade—the last year I attended Ritzman. Like many of my former teachers, I truly regret not knowing what paths she pursued after sharing the 1966-67 academic year with her. I never learned her given name either.
Today, I find myself wondering what pressures and anxieties she experienced as a teacher working at a school that was 100% White way back then? I can't imagine it was as innocent and uneventful for her as it appeared from my first-grade perspective. How did such an assignment even come about? Whatever racial tensions she may have experienced, tolerated, suffered, it never showed. Yet, I have to wonder what would a first grader really notice? For me, she was competent, effective and influential as a first grade teacher. What more has ever been required?
Perhaps even more perplexing is that I don't recall any of the kids from the other classes saying anything about Mrs. Brazil while on the playground or in route to and from school. And the kids attending Ritzman were hardly angels—many used the various inappropriate and offensive names for those of colour and other nationalities. In fact, I remember hearing more jokes about Poles than any other race or nationality.
The fact that my first grade experience with Mrs. Brazil was racially uneventful is probably a credit to my parents who never demonized Blacks or used any of the derogatory, popularized-by-Whites terms for African-American people, although several members of our extended family did—and probably still do to this day.
I've told many people over the years about Mrs. Brazil—not because she was African-American, but because she always called me "Tyree"—my surname. I thought that was cool because my brother and his friends in high school always called each other by their last names and suddenly, my teacher was as cool as they were.
As it turned out, sometime later in the year, she pulled me aside and apologized when she realized that my given name was actually "Morgan." I'm pretty certain I told her it was OK, but had I a little more courage, I would have told her I preferred to be called "Tyree" all along.
On this week when we've celebrated the 80th birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the swearing in of Barack Obama as our 44th President, I'd like to look her in the eye and thank her for being such a powerful and influential force in my early years. Maybe I could even have her read this essay and offer me a little feedback on my writing one last time.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wyoming: A Prosaic Triangulation Theory
This has been a long time coming...
On Election Day, I took my "Obama" sign down by 7:00 p.m.—an hour or so after the polls closed in Wyoming. I had decided days earlier that's what I'd do no matter the outcome. Besides it was dark outside by that time.
The election night returns were to start pouring in my 7:00 Eastern Time and once they did, the results came quickly—quicker than many expected. I was glad. I didn't want to see McCain's campaign experience a slow death. Sure I wanted Obama to win, but I wanted him to win big. No ugly recounts in Florida or Ohio. No special meetings of the Supreme Court. Just one big, fat win for Mr. O.
I had promised our girls that if NPR projected an Obama win, I would shout everyone milkshakes. And once the announcement came, I was off on my bike for the goods. By the time I returned, McCain was finishing his concession speech.
How fast did defeat or victory come? Faster than a slow carry out order at McDonalds.
Before it was clear that Obama had surpassed the magical 270 electoral votes required, it was even clearer that Wyoming's two senate seats were going to be won easily by the Republicans. Further, its lone Congressional seat (that was almost won by a Democrat two years earlier), eluded Gary Trauner once again only this time it was a new and improved Barbara Cubin—aka Cynthia Lummis who defeated him and proudly boasted to the media afterwards that Dick Cheney will be her mentor. Wow.
Which brings me to a little triangulation theory I came up with.
As it turns out, President-elect Obama suffered his worst defeat of the night at the hands of the Cowboy State—only 33% of Wyoming's voting electorate darkened their oval for the former "community organizer." The state that simply claims to be OK, Oklahoma, was a close second giving him only 34% of their votes. Even the folks of Arizona and Alaska (McCain and Palin's respective states) were more generous to the senator from Illinois. Throughout the month leading up to November 4, I watched the polls and was puzzled to see that Utah was projected as the most anti-Obama state with less than 30%.
Sadly, I was reassured that Wyoming beat out Utah in the anti-Obama votes once the polls closed on November 4.
So, while Obama and the country talked about and embraced a change in the country's direction, things were going to remain the same regarding the Cowboy State—as usual. Conservative to the bone, and in my opinion, to a fault.
All of this reminded me of an article I read earlier in October from the Billings Gazette—the headline read, "Wyomingites come up short in study of personality traits." Maybe you read it.
It was a study that was published in the September issue of the academic journal Perspectives on Psychological Science. The prevalence of five personality traits were mapped to all of the states including the District of Columbia and sadly, Wyoming scored no better than 48th (out of 51) in three of the five areas. These three areas of deficiency were "openness" (how open to new ideas and new experiences people are), agreeableness (how friendly and cooperative people are), and conscientiousness (how dutiful and reliable people are). Perhaps the only good news from the study for Wyoming is that as a people, we're not very neurotic (how prone to anxiety and stress people are) compared to most of the nation.
Then there is the "Republican for a Reason" advertisements that kept on appearing in my hometown newspaper the Powell Tribune leading up to Election Day. Perhaps you're one of the lucky few to have read them, "If you think Wyoming has a better quality of life than just about anywhere else in the country, we agree." Below that reads, "It's no coincidence that 75% of the top elected leaders in Wyoming are Republicans." As if life in Wyoming is good because of an abundance of Republican politicians?
And how do we get Republican leaders? I suspect there are many folk who consider themselves Republicans casting such votes.
So, what do we have here? First of all, Wyoming led the charge against the man who easily won the Presidency. In other words while most of the country was making a gradual turn to the left, our state made a hard right. Well, that makes sense given the study that basically says we are close-minded, not very friendly or cooperative (see Dick Cheney) and self-centered. What else are we as a people—oh yes, Republican... for a reason.
Do I have to spell it out?
On Election Day, I took my "Obama" sign down by 7:00 p.m.—an hour or so after the polls closed in Wyoming. I had decided days earlier that's what I'd do no matter the outcome. Besides it was dark outside by that time.
The election night returns were to start pouring in my 7:00 Eastern Time and once they did, the results came quickly—quicker than many expected. I was glad. I didn't want to see McCain's campaign experience a slow death. Sure I wanted Obama to win, but I wanted him to win big. No ugly recounts in Florida or Ohio. No special meetings of the Supreme Court. Just one big, fat win for Mr. O.
I had promised our girls that if NPR projected an Obama win, I would shout everyone milkshakes. And once the announcement came, I was off on my bike for the goods. By the time I returned, McCain was finishing his concession speech.
How fast did defeat or victory come? Faster than a slow carry out order at McDonalds.
Before it was clear that Obama had surpassed the magical 270 electoral votes required, it was even clearer that Wyoming's two senate seats were going to be won easily by the Republicans. Further, its lone Congressional seat (that was almost won by a Democrat two years earlier), eluded Gary Trauner once again only this time it was a new and improved Barbara Cubin—aka Cynthia Lummis who defeated him and proudly boasted to the media afterwards that Dick Cheney will be her mentor. Wow.
Which brings me to a little triangulation theory I came up with.
As it turns out, President-elect Obama suffered his worst defeat of the night at the hands of the Cowboy State—only 33% of Wyoming's voting electorate darkened their oval for the former "community organizer." The state that simply claims to be OK, Oklahoma, was a close second giving him only 34% of their votes. Even the folks of Arizona and Alaska (McCain and Palin's respective states) were more generous to the senator from Illinois. Throughout the month leading up to November 4, I watched the polls and was puzzled to see that Utah was projected as the most anti-Obama state with less than 30%.
Sadly, I was reassured that Wyoming beat out Utah in the anti-Obama votes once the polls closed on November 4.
So, while Obama and the country talked about and embraced a change in the country's direction, things were going to remain the same regarding the Cowboy State—as usual. Conservative to the bone, and in my opinion, to a fault.
All of this reminded me of an article I read earlier in October from the Billings Gazette—the headline read, "Wyomingites come up short in study of personality traits." Maybe you read it.
It was a study that was published in the September issue of the academic journal Perspectives on Psychological Science. The prevalence of five personality traits were mapped to all of the states including the District of Columbia and sadly, Wyoming scored no better than 48th (out of 51) in three of the five areas. These three areas of deficiency were "openness" (how open to new ideas and new experiences people are), agreeableness (how friendly and cooperative people are), and conscientiousness (how dutiful and reliable people are). Perhaps the only good news from the study for Wyoming is that as a people, we're not very neurotic (how prone to anxiety and stress people are) compared to most of the nation.
Then there is the "Republican for a Reason" advertisements that kept on appearing in my hometown newspaper the Powell Tribune leading up to Election Day. Perhaps you're one of the lucky few to have read them, "If you think Wyoming has a better quality of life than just about anywhere else in the country, we agree." Below that reads, "It's no coincidence that 75% of the top elected leaders in Wyoming are Republicans." As if life in Wyoming is good because of an abundance of Republican politicians?
And how do we get Republican leaders? I suspect there are many folk who consider themselves Republicans casting such votes.
So, what do we have here? First of all, Wyoming led the charge against the man who easily won the Presidency. In other words while most of the country was making a gradual turn to the left, our state made a hard right. Well, that makes sense given the study that basically says we are close-minded, not very friendly or cooperative (see Dick Cheney) and self-centered. What else are we as a people—oh yes, Republican... for a reason.
Do I have to spell it out?
If George W. Bush could run for another term despite his boondoggled presidency, he'd still get re-elected if all he had to count on was Wyoming.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
McCain's Skeleton Closet
Barack Obama a Muslim? A friend of a known "terrorist" from the 1970s? A long-time member of Rev. Jerimiah Wright's church? He still gets my vote because if we're talking flawed character traits and questionable associations from the past (and present), Barack Obama can't hold a candle to John McCain.
You see "my friends," John McCain has a shady history himself through his various associations over the years—all of which are more documented than the trite scuttlebutt on Obama.
Start with a Google search using some of these names and terms and find out how many dots you can connect back to our beloved war hero and maverick, John McCain: Jim Hensley and Kemper Marley (Sr.); Joe Bonanno and John McCain; Kemper Marley and the Mob/Mafia; bombing, reporter, Don Bolles and Kemper Marley; horse racing, Kemper Marley and Emprise.
For those of you that can't be bothered, I'll give you the Reader's Digest version of what you probably don't know about John McCain (in case you haven't figured it out by now)... he has ties to the Mob through his in-laws (the Hensleys). Further he has accepted money for his past (and present?) political campaigns from members of the mafia. Former Mafia boss Joe Bonanno, one of the top five Mafia bosses in New York City, invited Senator McCain and Arizona's governor to his birthday party in Tucson, Arizona in 1995. McCain sent a congratulatory telegram back because he was unable to attend. In 2007 McCain also accepted $2,100 in campaign contributions from each of five members of Bonanno's immediate family.
If Obama's a terrorist sympathizer for attending civic-minded board meetings with 1970s anti-war radical Bill Ayers, what's that make McCain in his cozy ties with the mafia?
Most amazing is that none of McCain's dodgy history has surfaced in Obama's campaigning or via the "liberal" media. I find it hard to believe that either entity isn't aware of the senator's Mafia connections.
What else might we learn about John McCain before we cast our votes on November 4?
On two other notes: Regarding foreign relations experience, McCain pundits have continually pointed out that Senator Obama is lacking in this department. Perhaps he is, but millions of Americans have spoken and are obviously confident in his ability when considering those from his own party that he defeated with more experience—including his VP pick, Biden. One has to wonder how well Sarah Palin's candidacy would have fared if she had competed in the Republican primaries from day one.
When discussing taxes and the now-iconic "Joe the Plumber," McCain has singled out Obama's quote regarding "wanting to spread the wealth around." Why is that such a bad thing? I'll gladly have my taxes increase from 36% to 39% when I'm making $250,000 per year... no problem!
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Drillin' & Spillin'
For those of you who only need sound bites instead of lengthy, articulate essays...
Drill, Baby, Drill =
Drill, Baby, Drill =
Spill, Idiot, Spill.
Keep in mind, this article has to do with the same area where the oil industry and its cronies (i.e., wealthy Republicans who stand to gain big time) want to expand drilling.
Keep in mind, this article has to do with the same area where the oil industry and its cronies (i.e., wealthy Republicans who stand to gain big time) want to expand drilling.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Dumbing Down Elitism
Elitism... how did it become a four-letter word here in America?
When I was in New Zealand for a year, I remember how the term "dumbed down" became so closely associated with America and Americans. I was somewhat taken back when it came up those first few times. After a while I started to figure out how it was... or at least that's what I thought. My explanation was that the association of "dumbed down" and "America(ns)" had to do with our (i.e., Americans) no-nonsense simplicity, our efficiency and our tendency to eliminate all of the fringe and ornamentation in any given project, our direct line of thought and its application to achieving our goals.
Even when George Bush was elected President in 2000 and I was in Christchurch, many Kiwis I encountered seemed to know what he was all about before I did. They referred to him (back then) the way I do today... not-too-bright, incompetent, butcher-of-the-English-language, arrogant, etc. Again, I was rather taken back thinking to myself, "Well, let's give him a chance before we totally condemn him."
Eight years later it seems that America itself has embraced this image of associating ourselves with the term "dumbed-down." Although we don't think of ourselves with such blunt terminology, however eloquent one states it, the translation is the same: we've been cultivating a growing distaste for anything that resembles elite or elitism. I'm unsure when the movement started, but George Bush's Presidency has certainly fertilized it.
I was just reminded that the founders of this country were elitist—highly educated, cultured, and brilliant. Isn't the formation of the "electoral college" a reflection of such elitism?
Sam Harris' recent Newsweek article attacking the candidacy of Sarah Palin has truly solidified my theory/opinion regarding our aversion to elitism.
I'll finish with quotes from his insightful article here, but I invite you to read the entire piece, print it out, and share with others.
—•— —•— —•— —•— —•—
What is so unnerving about the candidacy of Sarah Palin is the degree to which she represents—and her supporters celebrate—the joyful marriage of confidence and ignorance. Watching her deny to Gibson that she had ever harbored the slightest doubt about her readiness to take command of the world's only superpower, one got the feeling that Palin would gladly assume any responsibility on earth:
"Governor Palin, are you ready at this moment to perform surgery on this child's brain?"
"Of course, Charlie. I have several boys of my own, and I'm an avid hunter."
"But governor, this is neurosurgery, and you have no training as a surgeon of any kind."
"That's just the point, Charlie. The American people want change in how we make medical decisions in this country. And when faced with a challenge, you cannot blink."
...The prospects of a Palin administration are far more frightening, in fact, than those of a Palin Institute for Pediatric Neurosurgery. Ask yourself: how has "elitism" become a bad word in American politics? There is simply no other walk of life in which extraordinary talent and rigorous training are denigrated. We want elite pilots to fly our planes, elite troops to undertake our most critical missions, elite athletes to represent us in competition and elite scientists to devote the most productive years of their lives to curing our diseases. And yet, when it comes time to vest people with even greater responsibilities, we consider it a virtue to shun any and all standards of excellence. When it comes to choosing the people whose thoughts and actions will decide the fates of millions, then we suddenly want someone just like us, someone fit to have a beer with, someone down-to-earth—in fact, almost anyone, provided that he or she doesn't seem too intelligent or well educated.
...I believe that with the nomination of Sarah Palin for the vice presidency, the silliness of our politics has finally put our nation at risk. The world is growing more complex—and dangerous—with each passing hour, and our position within it growing more precarious. Should she become president, Palin seems capable of enacting policies so detached from the common interests of humanity, and from empirical reality, as to unite the entire world against us. When asked why she is qualified to shoulder more responsibility than any person has held in human history, Palin cites her refusal to hesitate. "You can't blink," she told Gibson repeatedly, as though this were a primordial truth of wise governance. Let us hope that a President Palin would blink, again and again, while more thoughtful people decide the fate of civilization.
When I was in New Zealand for a year, I remember how the term "dumbed down" became so closely associated with America and Americans. I was somewhat taken back when it came up those first few times. After a while I started to figure out how it was... or at least that's what I thought. My explanation was that the association of "dumbed down" and "America(ns)" had to do with our (i.e., Americans) no-nonsense simplicity, our efficiency and our tendency to eliminate all of the fringe and ornamentation in any given project, our direct line of thought and its application to achieving our goals.
Even when George Bush was elected President in 2000 and I was in Christchurch, many Kiwis I encountered seemed to know what he was all about before I did. They referred to him (back then) the way I do today... not-too-bright, incompetent, butcher-of-the-English-language, arrogant, etc. Again, I was rather taken back thinking to myself, "Well, let's give him a chance before we totally condemn him."
Eight years later it seems that America itself has embraced this image of associating ourselves with the term "dumbed-down." Although we don't think of ourselves with such blunt terminology, however eloquent one states it, the translation is the same: we've been cultivating a growing distaste for anything that resembles elite or elitism. I'm unsure when the movement started, but George Bush's Presidency has certainly fertilized it.
I was just reminded that the founders of this country were elitist—highly educated, cultured, and brilliant. Isn't the formation of the "electoral college" a reflection of such elitism?
Sam Harris' recent Newsweek article attacking the candidacy of Sarah Palin has truly solidified my theory/opinion regarding our aversion to elitism.
I'll finish with quotes from his insightful article here, but I invite you to read the entire piece, print it out, and share with others.
—•— —•— —•— —•— —•—
What is so unnerving about the candidacy of Sarah Palin is the degree to which she represents—and her supporters celebrate—the joyful marriage of confidence and ignorance. Watching her deny to Gibson that she had ever harbored the slightest doubt about her readiness to take command of the world's only superpower, one got the feeling that Palin would gladly assume any responsibility on earth:
"Governor Palin, are you ready at this moment to perform surgery on this child's brain?"
"Of course, Charlie. I have several boys of my own, and I'm an avid hunter."
"But governor, this is neurosurgery, and you have no training as a surgeon of any kind."
"That's just the point, Charlie. The American people want change in how we make medical decisions in this country. And when faced with a challenge, you cannot blink."
...The prospects of a Palin administration are far more frightening, in fact, than those of a Palin Institute for Pediatric Neurosurgery. Ask yourself: how has "elitism" become a bad word in American politics? There is simply no other walk of life in which extraordinary talent and rigorous training are denigrated. We want elite pilots to fly our planes, elite troops to undertake our most critical missions, elite athletes to represent us in competition and elite scientists to devote the most productive years of their lives to curing our diseases. And yet, when it comes time to vest people with even greater responsibilities, we consider it a virtue to shun any and all standards of excellence. When it comes to choosing the people whose thoughts and actions will decide the fates of millions, then we suddenly want someone just like us, someone fit to have a beer with, someone down-to-earth—in fact, almost anyone, provided that he or she doesn't seem too intelligent or well educated.
...I believe that with the nomination of Sarah Palin for the vice presidency, the silliness of our politics has finally put our nation at risk. The world is growing more complex—and dangerous—with each passing hour, and our position within it growing more precarious. Should she become president, Palin seems capable of enacting policies so detached from the common interests of humanity, and from empirical reality, as to unite the entire world against us. When asked why she is qualified to shoulder more responsibility than any person has held in human history, Palin cites her refusal to hesitate. "You can't blink," she told Gibson repeatedly, as though this were a primordial truth of wise governance. Let us hope that a President Palin would blink, again and again, while more thoughtful people decide the fate of civilization.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Maybe It's Not That Bad
Was it my imagination, but I just finally made it around to watching Bill O'Reilly's interview with Barack Obama and I didn't detect any blood. Geeeeeeze, they were rather chummy weren't they and seemed to see many things on a fairly eye-to-eye basis. At least they appeared to understand one another and where each was coming from. Are things really that bad between the Republicans and Democrats in this country that they can't sit down and talk like these two iconic forces?
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Palin & McCain's Bridge To Nowhere
Despite the research of several different reporters and news agencies coming up with conclusive evidence that Sarah Palin actually did support "The Bridge To Nowhere," to the extent of campaigning and lobbying for it, Sarah Palin's recollection is quite different: “I told Congress, ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ on that bridge to nowhere.” And almost everyday since her memorable (historic?) Republican National Convention speech, she continues to repeat this claim as she stumps around the country with her running mate, John McCain.
With overwhelming evidence of her outright lie, John McCain and his supporters continue to prop her up while backing her deception on this topic. Which really makes McCain and company a bunch of liars too. Wow, there's a news flash, politicians who lie.
But, is it a lie?
Probably, but some might not consider it a total lie. Yet, it's hardly truthful. If the world is as black and white as Republicans like to paint it, I'll side with calling her claim a lie. She only said "no thanks" after the project was dead in the water. As one reporter stated it, she carried out the last rites on the ill-fated project.
And lying about a fairly petty happening of the past in light of those affairs awaiting her and McCain (should they get the nod in November) makes one wonder what else they might be willing to lie about down the road. However, if they eat crow and come clean now about The Bridge to Nowhere, their bid for the election is doomed for certain. Too bad because my respect for them would surely soar. But coming clean in front of the American public doesn't accomplish a thing. Undoubtedly McCain and Palin surely know they have made their bed, and now have to lie in it hoping the American public's apathy and callousness come to their rescue.
Perhaps the saddest thing about all of this is that there appears to be a large percentage of the American public who refuse to believe or simply don't care about such indisputable findings (... well, I'm sure Fox News could come up with something in their arsenal of "crack reporters" that counters all other media reports regarding Palin).
That being the case, maybe Rev. Jeremiah Wright wasn't so far off the mark after all.
With overwhelming evidence of her outright lie, John McCain and his supporters continue to prop her up while backing her deception on this topic. Which really makes McCain and company a bunch of liars too. Wow, there's a news flash, politicians who lie.
But, is it a lie?
Probably, but some might not consider it a total lie. Yet, it's hardly truthful. If the world is as black and white as Republicans like to paint it, I'll side with calling her claim a lie. She only said "no thanks" after the project was dead in the water. As one reporter stated it, she carried out the last rites on the ill-fated project.
And lying about a fairly petty happening of the past in light of those affairs awaiting her and McCain (should they get the nod in November) makes one wonder what else they might be willing to lie about down the road. However, if they eat crow and come clean now about The Bridge to Nowhere, their bid for the election is doomed for certain. Too bad because my respect for them would surely soar. But coming clean in front of the American public doesn't accomplish a thing. Undoubtedly McCain and Palin surely know they have made their bed, and now have to lie in it hoping the American public's apathy and callousness come to their rescue.
Perhaps the saddest thing about all of this is that there appears to be a large percentage of the American public who refuse to believe or simply don't care about such indisputable findings (... well, I'm sure Fox News could come up with something in their arsenal of "crack reporters" that counters all other media reports regarding Palin).
That being the case, maybe Rev. Jeremiah Wright wasn't so far off the mark after all.
Read John Ridley's brilliant piece on "Palinguage."
Monday, September 08, 2008
Post Convention Indigestion
The Democratic and Republican conventions are here and gone—thankfully and, at last. In hindsight, I think my vote could simply have gone to the candidate whose party said, "You know, there's no need for a convention since we already have our unanimous representative, so we're just going to take all that money that we would have spent and give it to a bunch of Katrina victims who still haven't recovered yet."
I watched some and listened to both conventions when I could—neither impressed me much. All I could think was that some rich alumni gave a bunch of money to their alma mater to be used for one big pep rally.
Someone needs to give John McCain muscle relaxers... talk about "wooden." That guy makes Al Gore look like he doesn't even have a skeleton. I know, I know, injuries from his days as a POW...
One things for certain, the next first lady is going to be a "looker" according to some pundits. I heard Cindy McCain's outfit would have maxxed out my credit card—to the tune of over $300,000. Now I want to know what Michelle's "address outfit" set her back.
I keep on reminding myself, that no matter who wins it's got to be better than eight years of George Bush, regardless of what the Obama supporters keep saying. Yet, with Sarah Palin in the room, I'm reminded of Dan Quayle. We'll see how well she holds up come the debates and she finds herself surrounded by a crowd of not-so-faithfuls. I didn't like the idea of Quayle assuming the office should something have happened to the elder Bush back then and I'm not too crazy to think about her taking over either under the same (even more likely) circumstances.
I suppose what has left the greatest impression on me (not necessarily in a good way) from the two pep assemblies was the mantra/cheer coming from the Republican crowd after McCain mentioned the need to drill for more oil—"DRILL BABY DRILL, DRILL BABY DRILL, DRILL BABY DRILL..." Never has there been greater reinforcement for generalizing or stereotyping the Republicans and their short-sighted notoriety. I suppose "Drill Baby Drill" t-shirts are next. Listening over the radio, I could almost see their arms growing longer as their knuckles approached the ground while their brows cast a great shadow across their eyes.
I must be some kind of elitist.
"Elitist"… it really has become a four-letter word thanks mostly to AM-conservative-talk-show radio.
I wonder how many people have considered the true definition of "elitist." Here's one that I found on my liberal-biased, Macintosh laptop computer: a group of people considered to be (and not according to themselves) the best in a particular society or category, esp. because of their power, talent, or wealth.
Well, that ain't me folks—especially the part about power and wealth, while talent is surely debatable.
I watched some and listened to both conventions when I could—neither impressed me much. All I could think was that some rich alumni gave a bunch of money to their alma mater to be used for one big pep rally.
Someone needs to give John McCain muscle relaxers... talk about "wooden." That guy makes Al Gore look like he doesn't even have a skeleton. I know, I know, injuries from his days as a POW...
One things for certain, the next first lady is going to be a "looker" according to some pundits. I heard Cindy McCain's outfit would have maxxed out my credit card—to the tune of over $300,000. Now I want to know what Michelle's "address outfit" set her back.
I keep on reminding myself, that no matter who wins it's got to be better than eight years of George Bush, regardless of what the Obama supporters keep saying. Yet, with Sarah Palin in the room, I'm reminded of Dan Quayle. We'll see how well she holds up come the debates and she finds herself surrounded by a crowd of not-so-faithfuls. I didn't like the idea of Quayle assuming the office should something have happened to the elder Bush back then and I'm not too crazy to think about her taking over either under the same (even more likely) circumstances.
I suppose what has left the greatest impression on me (not necessarily in a good way) from the two pep assemblies was the mantra/cheer coming from the Republican crowd after McCain mentioned the need to drill for more oil—"DRILL BABY DRILL, DRILL BABY DRILL, DRILL BABY DRILL..." Never has there been greater reinforcement for generalizing or stereotyping the Republicans and their short-sighted notoriety. I suppose "Drill Baby Drill" t-shirts are next. Listening over the radio, I could almost see their arms growing longer as their knuckles approached the ground while their brows cast a great shadow across their eyes.
I must be some kind of elitist.
"Elitist"… it really has become a four-letter word thanks mostly to AM-conservative-talk-show radio.
I wonder how many people have considered the true definition of "elitist." Here's one that I found on my liberal-biased, Macintosh laptop computer: a group of people considered to be (and not according to themselves) the best in a particular society or category, esp. because of their power, talent, or wealth.
Well, that ain't me folks—especially the part about power and wealth, while talent is surely debatable.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Hey John, Call Ted
First it was Abba, then John Mellencamp... now it's Jackson Browne.
Apparently no one in the music biz wants anything to do with John McCain... Poor, old fart.
Apparently no one in the music biz wants anything to do with John McCain... Poor, old fart.
Most recently, Jackson Browne is suing McCain for $75,000 related to copyright infringement and damages to the singer's reputation. The crime? Someone in McCain's Ohio campaign family decided to use the song Running on Empty to mock Barack Obama's comments about American drivers tuning up their rigs and maintaining proper air pressure in their tires to offset our thirst for petrol at the pump.
Hullabaloo like this can only help Jackson Browne, so why is the singer bringing a lawsuit into the picture? I'm unsure, but if I were him, I'd use my courtroom winnings to fund Barack Obama's campaign even more—talk about adding insult to injury.
So, what's with these high-profile causes like a presidential campaign (Republican or Democrat) helping themselves to someone's artistic work? Sure, I can understand if it's Mrs. Anderson's fifth-grade class making their end-of-year multi-media slide show, but for Pete's sake, it's a presidential candidate representing the entire Republican Party! What are they thinking?
Has anyone in McCain's camp considered Ted Nugent? Isn't he a big-time Republican and a highly decorated NRA advocate? Surely McCain's marketing spin doctors can do something with Cat Scratch Fever, Love Grenade or Nugent's "Can't Grill 'Em Till Ya Kill Em" mantra.
Well, I'm off to the iTunes music store now... gonna replace that vinyl copy of Running On Empty.
Hullabaloo like this can only help Jackson Browne, so why is the singer bringing a lawsuit into the picture? I'm unsure, but if I were him, I'd use my courtroom winnings to fund Barack Obama's campaign even more—talk about adding insult to injury.
So, what's with these high-profile causes like a presidential campaign (Republican or Democrat) helping themselves to someone's artistic work? Sure, I can understand if it's Mrs. Anderson's fifth-grade class making their end-of-year multi-media slide show, but for Pete's sake, it's a presidential candidate representing the entire Republican Party! What are they thinking?
Has anyone in McCain's camp considered Ted Nugent? Isn't he a big-time Republican and a highly decorated NRA advocate? Surely McCain's marketing spin doctors can do something with Cat Scratch Fever, Love Grenade or Nugent's "Can't Grill 'Em Till Ya Kill Em" mantra.
Well, I'm off to the iTunes music store now... gonna replace that vinyl copy of Running On Empty.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
The Only Wind Energy Fact You Need To Know
This is directly from a web site of the United States Department of Energy and its Energy Efficiency and Renewable Energy page.
"The wind energy resource in the United States is plentiful. Good wind areas, which cover 6% of the contiguous U.S. land area, could supply more than 1.5 times the 1993 electricity consumption of the entire country."
Read it again.
We don't need to dig up and burn more coal. Yes, transitions are painful, but not as painful if we address them early rather than later.
"The wind energy resource in the United States is plentiful. Good wind areas, which cover 6% of the contiguous U.S. land area, could supply more than 1.5 times the 1993 electricity consumption of the entire country."
Read it again.
We don't need to dig up and burn more coal. Yes, transitions are painful, but not as painful if we address them early rather than later.
Too bad a nobody like me is touting this little fact rather than the coal-courting senators of Wyoming (where wind is the only thing more plentiful than coal)—John Barrasso and Mike Enzi.
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