The Problem with Lovers of Freedom

I’m reminded of a hangover. It’s 9:15 in the morning on July 5, 2014.

Discarded fireworks casings and packaging are strewn about the high desert of Wyoming—well, at least in one particular pull off about halfway up the Powell Airport hill that climbs Polecat Bench. As I walk by, I wonder how many other places just beyond the town proper of Powell and other Wyoming communities are suffering from the same fallout of freedom’s celebration.

The great expanses beyond any community in Wyoming (like the one described above) see very little traffic throughout the day or year. As a result, these remnants of our independence commemoration remain as an ugly reminder long after the largest of roadkills have been picked over by various scavengers—long after having rotted, dried up, and blown away by the wind.

And so I wonder, “Why do people have the need to go out to an empty place like this and light off their fireworks, only to leave the spent casings behind? Why can’t they do it in their towns where the remnants are more likely to be picked up by the street cleaner or other property owners?

Who are these people?

I think it’s wrong to generalize or stereotype about people, but it’s hard not to as I consider who would commit such a crime or sin on the land we hold so dearly in our heart—Wyoming… America… you know, “land of the free, home of the brave?”

My answer about who is responsible is dead on, although I have no proof.

The people that leave their spent fireworks casings abandoned in the desolate high desert are the same folk who leave their bullet-riddled belongings behind after shooting it up as target practice—refrigerators, 55-gallon drums, old computers, TVs… you name it. If it’s no longer needed, it’s fair game to become a target and then forsaken to an eternity as a desert eyesore.

Again, who are these people? Beyond pyromaniacs, they are banner-waving ‘Mericans who throw around clichés like, “freedom ain’t free.” They’ll proudly tell you, they love America—and the bumper stickers on their big and loud diesel, quad-cab, four-by-four pick-ups prove it. They love the U.S. and Wyoming, but they hate the President. They are the least tolerant people you’ll ever meet and you can bet they have plenty of guns to back up their narrow-minded, Fox-News-driven ideas and opinions.

But, be assured, they don’t love America. Actually they just love themselves and everything about their life. They see themselves as the center of the Universe and are the most disrespectful, self-serving and self-centered folk you will ever meet. Nevertheless, they know how to whoop it up with fireworks when the Fourth of July rolls around each year.

The Truth and Purity in Looking Down

In the Groove, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

I look down.

It’s an easy thing to do, and know one bothers me about it. Even when I use my camera or cell phone to compose and capture what I see looking down, no one bothers me. I suspect most folk who bother to notice think I’m just plain weird. Maybe I am.

There’s something about photographing those things at my feet. For starters, I don’t have to get anyone’s permission. Years ago, you could walk up to practically anyone and ask to take their picture and the reply was almost always, “Sure!” Nowadays, people think you’re up to something. “Why do you want to take my picture.” Take a picture of someone’s kid in a public place and you’re practically accused of being a pedafile.

Not long ago, I was taking a photo of a dilapidated wind mill in rural Western Nebraska from the roadside when a farmer in a pickup truck drove by, turned around when he saw me, pulled up behind my car on the roadside to ask me what I was doing (when it was obvious what I was doing). Actually what he wanted to know was why I was taking pictures of his land. Who knows what was going through his head when he saw me pointing my lens at the old windmill. Years ago, the same scenario probably would have resulted in him driving by thinking to himself, “Hmm, I wonder what he sees in that old field of mine?”

People with cameras aren’t treated with the same good-natured response/interaction they once were. And perhaps it’s justified considering how much unflattering (even if incredible) photography there is out there. To top it off, there are more people with cameras then ever. In fact, if you don’t have at least a cell phone camera, you are certainly in a minority.

Road Kill, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Recently I was looking at a body of work published in Lenswork by photographer Jun Wang called “Over 100: Centenarians of Hainan.” They were amazing. He even had an incredible image of a nude centenarian—it wasn’t flattering, but it was amazing. Yet, sitting there looking at the images, what was even more impressive about this body of work had to do with the logistics prior to the shutter release… how does one go about making the arrangements to photograph a collection of centenarians? It was difficult for me to imagine how I would approach a person who was 100-years-old in a way that led to a fantastic portrait of them. To put it another way, if a centenarian were to ask why I wanted to take their picture, I’m not sure what I would say short of a boldface lie.

Which gets me thinking… I suspect many photographers do lie about their intentions when it comes to their rationale behind a photo request. And if not an outright lie, certainly some of a photographer’s rationale goes unspoken or turns out to be misleading. Further, if portrait-requesting photographers have never lied, why are so many people suspicious about having their picture taken upon request? I also wonder what percentage of fantastic (but unflattering) portraits have been actually viewed by their subjects?

Success in photography is more than just knowing how to work a camera. It’s also about working your subjects and those related to your subjects. And given that sobering truth, I’ll likely keep looking down.

Flying Naked, De-Icing, and In-Flight Etiquette

Passengers, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

I don’t fly often, but I’ve flown enough in my lifetime where getting on an airplane is no longer the novelty or thrill it once was—akin to an amusement park ride. Further, my sorties over the years are punctuated by long spans of time on the ground and away from anything to do with air travel. As a result, the changes in the airline industry which have developed slowly and gradual over the years for the common traveler are rather pronounced to me. Where most air travelers take little note of the ever-evolving modifications in airline travel, I often find myself rather flabbergasted.

One thing I still haven’t figured out yet are the details of proper flying etiquette. Given everyone has a smart phone or some kind of electronic tablet to keep them occupied (even if they aren’t permitted to use the phone itself), is it polite or rude to engage someone sitting next to you? I remember air travel back in the day as a setting where you were certain to have a conversation (delightful or painful) with a fellow passenger. Given the ever-growing presence of personal electronic devices and noise-drowning earphones, I’ve received more than my share of cold shoulders in any one of my friendly attempts to engage a fellow traveler. And given these distractors, who has time to chat with a stranger anymore?
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Perhaps the regular traveler hasn’t noticed, but airports are bigger than ever. They are small cities with a population in flux, some even have their own zip code. Today’s major airports are more like shopping malls and pedestrian freeways under one big roof. You can buy anything, but you had better use a turn signal when walking through the terminal unless you want to be trampled. I remember years ago I was lucky to get a cup of coffee in the St. Louis airport late at night. That place was a cemetery.

Chicago O'Hare, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Which brings me to… why would you want to buy “anything” at an airport? Jewelry? Fine Clothing? A Harley? Something for your pet? Really, I’m going to buy something for my pet at the airport? Perhaps the rationale here is today’s airports are catering to the poor planner who happens to possess plenty of spending cash—albeit someone who forgets to pack their clothes or forgets to get that diamond ring in his I’m-going-to-ask-her-to-marry-me junket. That said, it’s not a stretch in justifying the coffee services of Starbucks, a magazine/book store, or places where one can grab a sandwich or drink, and even a store that offers accessories for your iPad as you wait for your next plane.
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In my recent journeys by air, I’ve had a thorough introduction to the de-icing procedure. It reminds me of cell phones: how did we ever get by without it? Further, when did ice start gravitating to the wings of a plane… what is it about wings that attracts ice? During the late 70s-early 80s, I clearly remember flying home several times in the winter as a college student and never did I see a de-icing truck or operator. How did planes fly without de-icing back then? One would think it involves a simple squirt on the leading edge of the wings, but the truth is, de-icing is like a car wash for airplanes.

Spoiled View, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Admittedly, although the de-icing process adds 20 more minutes to sitting inside a grounded airplane, it is rather intriguing to watch this activity. First, the orange spray and then the green liquid goo—obscuring the view from the window seat that I worked so hard to get. It seems like overkill to me since I couldn’t see a sign of ice anywhere on the wings. Given its new psychedelic de-iced finish upon completion, the plane appears to be more prepared for a Grateful Dead concert than flying. The blurred window view reinforces this notion.

I think my preference for winter travel is shifting back to driving.

As a side note, I did a little research on de-icing while the plane sat there during the process. I turned off my iPhone’s “airplane mode” long enough to find out—hoping I wouldn’t endanger our flight as it was getting hosed down… hosed down with ethylene glycol that is! That’s right, ethylene glycol—a.k.a. antifreeze! And all this time I had thought that the reason one never sees animals around an airport is due to the loud planes. I never would have guessed that the varmints that once lived nearby drank up the sweet-tasting de-icing fluid during the winter season and then crawled over in the nearby weeds to die.

In addition, while in Minneapolis, I observed a de-icing operator lugging a de-icing hose around the perimeter of a plane in zero-degree temperatures and …he wasn’t wearing any gloves! I had to wonder: does de-icing fluid warm one’s skin and taste sweet?
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Other random flying observations…

Wilford, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

• Whatever became of the hot-looking stewardesses that gave the airline industry its great in-flight views? My jaunt between Minneapolis and Cleveland was hosted by Wilfrod Brimley’s clone asking me if I wanted coffee, juice, soda, or water? That was downright sobering.

• While about to depart from Minneapolis airport and its sub-zero temperatures, the pilot announces that they were having a small problem that was being looked into by the mechanics. I’m sitting there thinking about the conversation that’s going on between a couple of mechanics looking for a “small problem” on a plane in bitter cold conditions. Wouldn’t the conversation gravitate quicker to a solution like, “Ah, it’s probably nothing too important… it’ll be OK. Let’s go get some coffee.”

• What is it about the anxiety of going through the TSA security? I don’t think it has anything to do with being pulled aside and accused of terrorism. In my case, it seems more about the fast scramble to unravel everything about your attire and baggage and then reassemble it without holding anyone up. There is something incongruent about having to take off your shoes when you are late in catching a plane.

•I tried the new in-flight Internet service. At first it was a bust, then I read the fine print—you have to pay for it while the plane has to be over 10,000 feet. Nothing is free on a plane anymore; just a small bag of nuts and four ounces of a nonalcoholic drink. Not very impressive.

•Recharging Stations for your electronic devices… OK, I get it, but still it seems a bit weird to dedicate actual space in an airport for electrical plugs. I wonder what would happen if a person used their portable hair dryer in a recharging station.

Airplane Signage, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

•Beginning in 1988, regulation was introduced that banned smoking on 80% of flights (two hours or less). In 2000, the no-smoking ban was expanded to include all flights. Today in 2013, one would be hard pressed to find an airline that allows smoking on any flight. With that in mind, I find it a bit odd that the “no smoking” signs are still present in the jetliners of today. It seems that enough time has passed that everyone knows by now that smoking is forbidden on an airplane—especially since that’s the case in the airports too. Besides, isn’t it silly to make a lighted sign on an airplane that is never turned off? They should simply build a non-illuminated message into the back of the every seat—directly in front of every passenger.

•There are somethings that haven’t materialized in air travel that I predicted would have been the status quo by now. Why isn’t there a camera mounted in the cockpit or nose of the plane for passengers to view on the video screens in front of them (embedded in the back of every seat)? For years we’ve listened to the conversations between the crew and air traffic control, why can’t we watch them fly the plane too? Also, a camera mounted on the belly of the plane would be a nice addition for a view straight down. And why can’t the industry provide passengers with a map on these same screens so we can know exactly where we are as we look out the window for recognizable landmarks? These features should be standard fair if a passenger doesn’t want to pay for a movie on these same video screens.

• “…airplanes are a kind of time machine. The flying aluminum cans that transport us across distances that once required weeks, if not lifetimes, are not like the time machines of fiction. We can’t just transport ourselves to any place or time.” —friend and colleague Rob Breeding

•Finally: The new TSA body scanning machine (Advanced Imaging Technology)… it’s the closest thing to my father’s idea about how to prevent terrorist from boarding a plane—make everyone fly naked. Perhaps TSA could make their money back on these big-ticket machines in selling the scanned images to their owners for a nominal charge.


Postscript: I dare any in-flight magazine to publish this story. On a related note, here’s a little more information on TSA and their “advanced imaging technology” operations.

The Age of Innocence is Relative

Memories of Summer, Memories of a Past, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

As I was preparing coffee the other morning, I found myself unexpectedly thinking about the x-rated movies that played at Neeb Hall on the campus of Arizona State University when I was an undergraduate student (circa 1979). I don’t remember how many played in the course of a year, nor how long that genre continued playing there, but I know for sure x-rated movies were shown on campus. Several of us from Hayden Hall’s third floor actually attended one of those skin flicks too. It was the first x-rated movie I ever viewed. Most memorable was the funny, almost embarrassing feeling that came over me when the lights came up after it ended and I could see who was attending—and (gulp) they could see who was attending. I don’t remember wondering if other schools had the same kind of movies, and if someone had asked, I would have suspected that was the case almost anywhere. For the record, I don’t think ASU was ever known for any kind of radical behavior or activities back then. In fact, I think it was considered a fairly conservative school when it came to the country’s larger campuses.

For the record here, I’ll have you know that nothing became of this experience. We didn’t go out and attempt a rape, and none of us to my knowledge became involved in the porn industry or addicted to it. As college students, our reaction/response was probably typical—we giggled, laughed at how unrealistic it was (at least to us), felt a bit awkward, and then moved on. Further, of all the memories of my graduate years at ASU, going to that movie surely wasn’t one of those, “Hey guys, remember that time we…”

On a related note…

As a football cheerleader, we travelled to Stanford once. The day before the big game, we took in the campus. Amongst the beautiful architecture I remember most vividly the fragrance of marijuana in the air as students were smoking on the campus mall between their classes. I was a bit taken back as I never saw anything like this at my ASU (even if x-rated movies were shown there). Yet, after that trip, none of us on the cheerleading squad returned to ASU to initiate a movement for pot-smoking on campus. It was one of those, “Hmm, how about that. Yet another crazy thing attributed to Stanford; they smoke pot on campus and no one seems to care.”

And so, there I was pondering all of this over a cup of joe at 6:30 in the morning. I projected such activities to the Wyoming junior college where I work. I couldn’t imagine such activities permitted on our little pollyanna campus. But, then I wondered: are there still campuses that offer/tolerate such “atrocious” behavior today? Are things still the same in Palo Alto? Am I in such an isolated place that I don’t realize what is happening beyond this high desert, or are such campus escapades a thing of the past? And if they are something of the past, how did that come to be? When did it all shift to something more like the 1950s and Leave It To Beaver?

I mentioned all of this to a friend, and his answer was simply, “Reagan… President Ronald Reagan.”

A few other colleagues chimed in as well. When it comes to pornography, some thought that because the Internet provides a sense of privacy, we will never see it in such everyday public settings (like a major university). And as the legalization of marijuana becomes more widespread, a couple of them thought a day will come when we will see students having a toke or two between classes—assuming they are the same campuses where alcohol is permitted.

As I sit here thinking about all of this, I still wonder: What was that part of my past all about? For the most part, it’s not unusual to consider the things we do and experience today as stupendous in light of our past, especially when technology is factored in. Yet, here is something that was incidental back then that comes across as monumental today. Although I don’t have any hard and fast explanations, it is truly fascinating.

There Goes The Neighborhood

Red Lodge Riders, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

My favorite Harley joke...

Q: How is a Harley Davidson like an old dog?
A: They both like to ride in the back of pickup trucks.

Well, the “The Red Lodge Iron Horse Rodeo” has come and gone which means this quiet little mountain town is now in recovery mode from an onslaught of loud motorcycles (mostly of the Harley Davidson variety). I’m happy to report that the Subaru corps of Red Lodge are slowly reclaiming the main drag again. Like a Jekyll and Hyde story, Red Lodge transformed from a quaint and tranquil enclave into a village of chaos and paranoia located next to an easy-escape-penitentiary. Some of the locals compared it to an infestation of cockroaches.

Now that it is history, I find myself questioning the communities that kowtow to the loud Harley events/rallies. Typically we are told that it’s good for commerce, but there are obvious costs in hosting this particular crowd—for starters, extra law enforcement and emergency services are always beefed up when a “rally” comes to town. No doubt, a few watering holes probably do extremely well during these rallies, but one has to wonder how an entire town truly benefits, especially if alienating many of the permanent residents of the community is part of the fallout. And this: might there be other groups a community could cultivate that would generate as much (if not more) commerce without all of the consternation? After all, I don’t recall anyone ever informing me how great the Harley crowd is when it comes to tipping or splashing out with their dough.

As one Red Lodge resident pointed out, “I bet I spend a lot more money in Red Lodge over the course of a year than the average Harley rider that is here and gone for one weekend. Why should I be told to leave for the weekend if I don’t want to tolerate them?”

When walking up and down on Broadway, Red Lodge’s main drag, the rally was akin to a circus freak show. Harley riders and non-riders sit or stand, gawking as the the parade of roaring bikes go by. Often you see the same riders go by several times within the hour. I wonder if they are reliving their teenage years of cruising or making up for the cruising that eluded them as a teenager.

One also has to wonder if the riders see themselves as some modern-day outlaw (à la Clint Eastwood’s High Plains Drifter character) riding into town hoping every local will stop what they are doing while staring with their mouths wide-open.

As long as I’m speculating here, I’ve gathered that many of these riders are likely singing to themselves Bon Jovi’s “Dead Or Alive” as they make that first pass down a community’s main drag.

I’m a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride.
I’m wanted dead or alive.
—Jon Bon Jovi.

Too funny.

On a related note, I also found myself chuckling as one rider who was decorated with the obligatory black vest that spelled out “Lone Wolf” on the back—cruising Broadway with all the other bikes. One is hardly a lone wolf if they have to wear a label telling the world such.

One friend asked recently, “If Harley riders are the ideal of American rugged individualism, why do they all wear the same clothing that usually entails some ensemble of a black leather vest with patches, black leather riding chaps and blue jeans, and a black t-shirt (often sleeveless) advertising some Harley Davidson dealership? In reality, they are conformist lemmings.” My suspicion here is if the Grateful Dead groupies were as loud as the Harley crowd, they wouldn’t be allowed in any town.

Perhaps I’m being too harsh. My partner simply said it this way, “It’s a chance to dress up in a costume and be someone they aren’t.” In essence it’s a Halloween party on wheels.

Though I’ve never owned a motorcycle myself, I do understand the excitement, passion, and that feeling of being free associated with riding a motorcycle. Perhaps I’ll even try it someday, but what I fail to process is the need to carry out this activity on a piece of equipment that overpowers every other sound including a normal conversation—not to mention the need to rev the engine excessively or when it's really not required at all. Such is hardly a practice of respect or considerations for others—which seems to be sooooo unAmerican these days. As I see it, every time a rider revs their loud Harley Davidson, it is simply an outcry for everyone to look at them. And usually I do—with great disdain. Like a dog barking excessively at us, we all should be encouraged to yell back “SHUT THE FUCK UP” every time a deafening Harley goes by. And, if noisy scooter trash is now permissible in America, then such outspoken replies should be licit as well.

In short, the excessively loud Harley Davidson motorcycle has become the quintessential illustration of today’s loud, overweight, underperforming, entitled and overbearing American. Surely such “audible” gatherings of machines would never have been tolerated in the same way back in the 1950s.

And through it all, somehow this particular loud and unruly group that commonly displays messages like a skeleton’s middle finger on the back of their riding vest, or patches that celebrate guns and death, with grandiose, stereotype depictions of Native Americans is somehow considered patriotic. How is that… because they ride an under-performing, oil-slobbering, gas-guzzling, overpriced and overbearing motorcycle that’s made in America?

When will the noise-based, “look-at-me” Harley contingency finally ride that “Highway To Hell”...and not return?

Thoughts on a Phony Parade

Grip and Grin Euphoria. www.japantimes.co.jp

The following email came out today from the fearless Vice President of Public Relations at Northwest College:

You’re invited to a brief groundbreaking ceremony for the college’s new Yellowstone Building next Thursday, May 16, at 4PM at the construction site just west of the tennis courts. An invitation post card was put into your mailbox this morning. As you’ll see, the post card also includes announcement of President Prestwich’s Farewell Reception the day before; more about that event will come to you from Board of Trustees President Mark Westerhold.

I hope you’ll put the groundbreaking ceremony on your calendars and plan to help NWC launch construction of our exciting new instructional building.

Thanks, all.

Mark

After reading this, all I could imagine was that this would be another one of those dull gatherings featuring old, important-people-dressed-in-suits carrying on with a bunch of sterile, gold-plated, one-time-use shovels resulting in another one of those overblown grip-and-grin photo sessions.

In short, a phony parade. And the only people more phony at a phony parade are those that attend. 

Yet, my hope is that this ground-breaking ceremony will result in something less predictable than the above scenario.

I have a couple ideas.

How about a bunch of students with regular shovels doing the actual ground breaking? Any students… whoever wanted to come up and shovel. Perhaps even a Bobcat handy to give the students a “construction thrill.” We can leave the important people in suits on the sidelines. They get paid enough as it is. They need no further recognition.

Could we have a ground-breaking contest? As in, who can shovel off the most sod (measured in square feet) in… say, five minutes.

I don’t know. Honestly I haven’t given it much thought, but I’ve given it a lot more thought than anyone who organizes a phony parade.

I was going to send my suggestion in a “reply all” response, but I have a tendency to get in trouble when I make suggestions like this via a campus-wide email, so I’m subscribing to that “once burned, twice-shy” outlook—and safely posting it here.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe the ground-breaking ceremony will be something with a little more imagination, but I doubt it. After all, we are talking Northwest College here—a place where we tout originality and creativity, but when it gets right down to it, we fall in line and follow everyone else to justify our institutional direction.

At the risk of being a phony, I may have to attend just to see if I’m wrong.

Postscript: As expected the groundbreaking ceremony was ceremoniously unimaginative. Each VIP took turns at the podium to bring the sparse audience to a level of excitement they hadn't experienced since... um, ...maybe lunch that same day. Gold-plated shovels (spray-painted by one of the physical plant employees) were driven into the already-broken ground by the hard-hat wearing VIPs in nice suits (with the exception of the one token student). 

Photo by: www.japantimes.co.jp

Sour Grapes and Bullshit

My Newest Art Project, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Like past years, I had no realistic expectations of winning anything in this year’s Project Launch photo competition. But, I had expected that whatever projects were selected, I would be totally blown away (or at least impressed) by their entries. Yet, after reviewing the top awards (with the exception of Will Steacy’s “Deadline” project), I’ve concluded I know nothing about “art” or “photography” based on this year’s top choices. And, after three attempts, I won’t be bothering The Center with future entries as my work is clearly not vague enough, not quirky enough, nor is it eccentric enough for anything to do with The Center’s idea of “award-winning” photography.

I found myself contemplating how much weed the jurors had been smoking as they made their (what seemed to me) willy-nilly selections for 2013. Perhaps only as they were coming out of the fog had they finally started to appreciate Steacy’s project and thus gave a wee bit of credence to what they were doing.

Reading up on the comments by some of the jurors was painfully laughable. Juror Christopher McCall awarded Laia Abril’s project that “documented” those who embrace eating disorders. This so-called photographer went about her craft by taking pictures of her computer screen (or perhaps just used screen shots generated by her computer… not that it really matters). Rather than seeking out, getting to know, and photographing those with eating disorders, this “artist” has simply decided to photograph self-portraits posted by members of this community on the internet. As long as that’s the case, perhaps Abril should only be considered a “virtual photographer.”

Juror McCall justifies Abril’s “photographic technique” saying, “Abril’s use of the computer monitor—with its banding, smudges and stains across the screen—render her subjects through a lens inherent to the technology and social media prevalent in society today.” Catcher in the Rye protagonist and antihero Holden Caulfield would have had a field day with these remarks. Talk about “art speak” bullshit. If Abril had simply posted links to all of the websites she stalks and “photographs,” the experience of this subject-matter would have been the same.

I suppose further comments should now follow on the winning selection from a Swiss-born Japanese kid who had the hard luck of being turned down for Japanese nationality because he was already a Swiss citizen—a tough and compelling life indeed. David Favrod sets out to create “my own Japan, in Switzerland…” through his obscure and disjointed images. Sounds riveting, yeah?

Simply put, it’s a sad day when shoddy-to-mediocre work is promoted (undeservingly) as award-winning art or photography.

When I hear others claim that today’s art and photography worlds are mostly a ruse, I will surely recall the majority of this year’s Project Launch selections.

Romney's Supersized “Drill, Baby Drill”

Two Frannie Rigs, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Mitt Romney must be channeling Woody Hayes these days. Recently he unveiled his “energy plan” that promises to deliver all of North America to energy independence by 2020 via “drill, baby drill.” I had hoped he would have demonstrated more imagination—something beyond “three yards and a cloud of dust” championed by the late Ohio State football skipper. Coincidently (and conveniently), his delivery date marks the end of his Presidency if he were elected this November and then re-elected four years later.

I’m not doubtful that his plan would work. But, more importantly, shouldn’t we be asking, “Energy independence… but, at what cost?” What is our world going to look like as we continue to invest in the burning of fossil fuels as our primary energy source? Of course, if you’re one of those who find no credence in science, you can put your head back in the sand—you needn’t read on.

Apparently the Romney-Republican-Big-Corporation Camp (RRBCC) has little confidence in the scientific community either when it comes to its warnings regarding the pitfalls of burning fossil fuels indefinitely. Rather, Mitt and company align themselves with obscure articles and research that contradicts the scientific community consensus related to global warming as a result of fossil fuels.

On a related note: How is it that the science and scientists who demonstrated foresight in the successful rover missions to Mars are so much different than the science and scientists who warn us of global warming’s approach and consequences?

A question that always comes to mind has to do with the motivation of each camp. That is, what does the RRBCC have to gain by going against the scientific community’s advice when it comes to our continued dependence on fossil fuels? For starters, there is money to be made in staying with the current course—big money! No significant research/trials to drain profits along with a solid monopoly equals profit, profit, profit. In short, change is painful and there are bound to be casualties along the way.

Looking at the scientific community’s motivation; what do they have to gain if we heed their advice? Oh sure, some will see a significant profit for playing instrumental roles in the transition, but there’s no way of convincing me that the scientific community is going to make money hand-over-fist like the big oil companies and energy suppliers have and will continue to do.

The truth is, the most respected scientists work independently of corporations—typically for educational research institutions. Their motivation surely has some minuscule ingredient of “ego” for self and their institution, but the financial gain isn’t anything close to the profits of stockholders, CEOs and other corporate personalities who are all in it for one thing—to make a profit or, even better, make a killing.

To ensure we—the little people—are on board, the RRBCC folk promise good jobs if we double down on fossil fuels; as if a future which embraces renewable energies has no jobs for anyone.

It appears this line of reasoning is endemic all the way down to the local levels. Not long ago, I had the opportunity to sit in on the local Republican forums where every candidate talked up oil, gas and coal with not one mention of renewable energy sources. I found this odd given that we live in a state (Wyoming) where sunshine and wind are even more abundant than gas and coal.

All of this support for fossil fuels while holding contempt for renewables serves as an illustration: change is not a trip of leisure, nor does it generate the huge profits as those things established and widely accepted. Worse yet, change does not bode well with a short-sighted society incapable or unwilling to fathom problems and challenges just beyond the horizon.

The truth is the RRBCC world is akin to an obese person who has taken years to arrive at his 300-pound excess, along with an unwillingness to admit such obesity, nor the patience required to shed the excess properly. So, rather than acknowledge the problem and start down a road of true change, Romney’s plan simply proposes that we resign ourselves back to the overstuffed couch with the TV remote in hand as the other hand reaches for a bag of chips.

Longing For Anonymity Oblivion

Ohio Camp Trees, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Every now and then I go through these phases… phases where I find myself ashamed of Facebook and all of us who flaunt ourselves on it. I mean, who really cares if I’m traveling across the country or visiting the battlefield at Vicksburg, Mississippi? And do I really care if someone is having a meal at a particularly good restaurant or has posted new images of their grandchildren?

It’s times like this when the vast “Facebook Borg” appears to be shouting at the world to look at them, and thus perpetuating that self-centered mindset,“It’s-All-About-Me.” I’m so ready to disconnect.

Perhaps this blast is nothing more than a by-product of being broken down in Richmond, Kentucky.

Yet, all of this leads me to believe that maybe the best way to get ahead (or at least advance) in the world we live in is through the activity of shameless, self-promotion; making me wonder if talent and hard work really matter in today’s tightly networked world. A blabbering, self-loving photographer named Peter Lik comes to mind (I’m sure he wrote his own bio too).

At some point, I’ll come back around and start posting my own “look-at-me” or “listen-to-me” posts, but for now anonymity oblivion sounds pretty good.

In true hypocritical fashion, I hope no one reads this.

America’s Fitness Dichotomy

Cody's Anne Brinegar, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Not long ago the local McDonald’s PlayPlace, with its familiar crawl-tube design, ball pits, and slides, was replaced by an electronic video “arcade.” The cavanerous space that housed the PlayPlace is now bleak, and dwarfs the smattering of installed game stations. I’m told through some reliable sources that this happened as a result of insurance premiums and cleanliness issues (which are likely related).

I don’t doubt that the insurance industry or health inspectors were behind the PlayPlace’s demise, but I have to wonder if this transformation is symbolic of what is truly happening in our country—we are becoming a shiftless, myopic, push-button society. Might as well bring out the Soma while we’re at it.

NPR ran a story the other day reporting that one third of our country is obese while another third is overweight. Looking around my quaint, little town of 5,000-plus, I don’t doubt these figures. Yet, our country did not reach greatness on the backs of an unfit population.

I was reminded again of our country’s decline in fitness when a friend of mine in Akron, Ohio sent a text while he was announcing the City Track Meet (representing approximately 23,000 students K-12) that read, “Currently announcing City Meet. My 5th place mile time in 1977 of 4:35, would have won it tonight.” His innocent observation was probably more poignant than he had intended.

A couple of years ago, another friend, upon moving to Powell from New York City, noted how many obese and overweight people there were in this state of “the great outdoors” compared to those in The Big Apple. He attributed it simply to the fact that almost everyone walks in New York as part of their everyday transportation.

Finally, the other day I found myself on a 32-mile bike ride which included 20 miles of dirt road and trails over the course of three hours. Hardly impressive when it comes to any kind of athletic standards, but looking around my little community, I have to wonder if even 10% could have kept up with me.

Is the bell curve stretching out? I’m no diet and health expert, but if we took today’s population and compared its fitness level to America’s fitness level of 1950, I suspect the info-graphics would look something like the chart below.

Despite our decline to greater self-indulgence and a sedentary life revolving around the artificial adventures provided by the television, internet and movies/videos (while eating high-fat foods), there is another, even if very small, population representing the opposite end of this spectrum. They are the record-breakers, the Usain Bolts, the Serena Williams or Haloti Ngatas—athletes with more dedication than ever, fueled by diets, regiments and technology that take their performance far beyond their colleagues of 30 or 50 years ago. They are as freakish as the 400-pounder who rarely leaves her house because she can barely move.

My suspicion is that the variation between what the worst of us and the best of us can do over the course of, say two miles, is becoming more expansive, more extreme—just like our politics.

I have often wondered if we are setting the stage for a split in human evolution—resulting in a race of athletic and health-minded humans and those akin to Jabba the Hut.

Lastly, in contemplating just how bad things are when it comes to our health, First Lady Michelle Obama has resorted to a physical fitness campaign that pathetically only says, “Let’s Move.” Sadly, this may save some of the youth, but in an age where instant gratification has become the norm, we don’t have a chance.

An Uncle, A Man, A Life

Uncle Paul, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

I’m not one to claim favorites when it comes to family members, but I’ll say here that Uncle Paul was indeed a favorite when it comes to the extended family. And for him to be a favorite wasn’t a matter of simple math. Paul Kline was “Number Six” in the long line of Kline children (14 in all) who came from the marriage of Thomas and Stella Kline—my grandparents. I never took a survey amongst my fellow cousins, but I suspect if any of them spent a significant amount of time with him, he would be a favorite of theirs as well.

Born one day and thirty-three years before me, Uncle Paul and I occasionally shared informal birthday celebrations if I was in Akron during July.

As a child, I first knew Uncle Paul as “Uncle Chicky;” a nickname from his childhood. Many of the Kline siblings were given such nicknames from their father, Tom: Fred was called “Whitey,” Russell was known as “Teddy,” and even my mom was sometimes referred to as “Mamie.” Related to the giving of nicknames, Paul was originally named “Charles Monroe” at birth, but the birth certificate materialized with Paul J.; the J standing for Junior. Likewise, Uncle Fred was originally named Walter Sidney but somehow turned up as Fred Julius on the birth certificate.

During my early years, I was always a bit leery and thus somewhat fearful of Uncle Chick due to the roughhouse and boisterous air that seemed to surround him. I remember a fishing trip to Canada that included him and other Kline families; and even though each family had their own cabin, we always knew when Uncle Chick woke up with his signature yawn that was likely heard from the other side of the river. As I grew older and realized that the only pain he would ever inflict on me was a good charlie-horse in the shoulder, I saw through his gruff exterior and discovered a soft-hearted man who epitomized the word “serve.”

It has taken me years to pin down what was so special about Uncle Paul, but it finally came to me early in 2011 when I was unexpectedly home for my Uncle Jim’s funeral. You see, Uncle Jim was my father’s brother—a Tyree, while Uncle Paul was my mom’s brother—a Kline. Yet there was Uncle Paul sitting next to my mom and dad on that sad day during the funeral. I don’t know if he was there for my mother, who was there for my father, or if he was simply there for his brother-in-law. Regardless, there was no other Kline in attendance, nor were they expected. Yet, Paul J. Kline was there. That was the measure of this man that finally spoke to me. Perhaps it’s not that noteworthy, but for whatever the case, something happen inside of me when I saw him come through the doors at Uncle Jim’s funeral. That one show of unexpected kindness will forever stay with me.

The few lines of his obituary that were printed in the Akron Beacon Journal said much about the character of Paul Kline.

Paul J. Kline born July 12, 1927 passed away December 30, 2011 with his family at his side. Employed as a lineman/trouble shooter with Ohio Edison for over 40 years, he enjoyed his retirement taking care of his wife, cooking awesome meals for his family, and cultivating his garden.

He was an avid fisherman, handyman and chauffeur to anyone who needed him. Strong, wise, honest, ornery and always smiling—with a twinkle in his eyes…

I can testify as much as anyone that “ornery” he was, but always in a humorous way while that “twinkle in his eyes” was honest-to-God; and unlike a faint and distant star, was as bright and constant as the sun on a cloudless summer day.

“Obamacare’s” True Adversary

The Tailspin Begins, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Writing on or participating in discussions about healthcare is probably the same as kicking around the idea on whether or not God exist or what is the meaning of life. Yet, what puzzles me the most, is that unlike these latter two subjects, the Affordable Care Act is directly before us; and given we are so divided about it, well that is the most astonishing of all.

Admittedly I’m somewhat surprised that I have the energy to write about this topic, as if I have something to say that hasn’t already been considered in some other forum or context. Yet, here I go pretending such is true.

NPR reporter, Ari Shapiro reported recently in his coverage of the Republican primaries, that the rally cry generating more audience feedback from any of the candidates in the running was when they declared something akin to, “If I’m elected, the first thing I will do is repeal ‘Obamacare!’”

One has to wonder if the same spirited response would come if any of these candidates simply said, “If I’m elected, the first thing I will do is repeal universal healthcare!”

As an Anglo who has been around more than my share of dark-skinned-derogatory comments generated by fellow Whities in the course of my life, I feel pretty convinced that all of this is just another smokescreen to disguise the absolute destain this group holds for a man of color leading the country, period.

I know, I know. How dare I play the “race card.” Yet, how can one ignore it given our country’s prolific and sobering history of prejudice and racism—as if to pretend that it is so far behind us now (or never existed).

Racism is akin to cigarette smoking: for the most part, everyone knows it’s not a good thing, yet many still practice it for whatever reason. Like smoking, it will take generations to completely disappear—if it does at all. And the idea of Whites hating Blacks and vice versa shouldn’t be thought of as some relic hanging around from 200 years ago. Racism has barely had time to become stale, let alone rotten in a society that once commonly incorporated it into almost every part of our day and life. It runs deep in America and anyone who thinks otherwise is downright in denial.

That said, there is still no excuse for it. If racism had been a product of the classroom or the workplace only, we probably would be further along in overcoming it today. But, the truest fact of all is, racism is a product of the home—safely and quietly guarded by the parents who instill it in their children and can never be outlawed in the domestic setting.

Although this stealth population of “racist amongst us” aren’t too concerned about being politically correct, they know that their strong prejudice towards Blacks (or others not like them) isn’t tolerated, taken seriously, or will hold any water when it comes to elected officials of color. So, the best they can do is go after something that has his signature/name on it—much like a voodoo doll.

Had George W. Bush knocked on a poor, White, working-class individual’s door who currently opposes “Obamacare” six years ago and made them the same offer/benefits that make up today’s Affordable Care Act package, they would have signed up. However as today’s President offers the same, they turn it away and make up some lame, Constitutional-rights excuse that prevents them from feeling as if they are taking a handout from—God forbid—an African American.

But back to universal health care… Even President Obama has admitted that this healthcare plan isn’t perfect, it’s only a start. Yet, because it is his healthcare plan, those who oppose it would prefer to go back to the drawing board rather than improving on what has already been set in motion. And no doubt, the second iteration of healthcare coming from the Republicans (if given another chance) or an Anglo President will surely be received warmly even if there are negligible differences between “Obamacare” and “Whiteycare.”

One of my friends recently posted a comment regarding a conversation he had with a Canadian couple over dinner one night. After explaining how a socialized Canadian healthcare system had supported the man and his wife over the years (and mind you, he had some pretty serious health issues), he concluded with the following, “I don’t understand “Obamacare” and why it’s so controversial,” he said. “But I know that in Canada no one is ever going to lose everything they have just because they get sick.”

This is probably as good a place as any to remind the reader how old “Obamacare” really is…

“I am for people, individuals—exactly like automobile insurance—individuals having health insurance and being required to have health insurance. And I am prepared to vote for a voucher system which will give individuals, on a sliding scale, a government subsidy so we insure that everyone as individuals have health insurance.” —Newt Gingrich 1993

Really... “Obamacare” over the lackluster economy, over an ongoing war that has drained the country’s wealth, over getting our troops out of Afghanistan and other misguided conflicts around the world ASAP, over record profits notched by Exxon and company while gas prices continue to soar… Hell, I’m more worried about the drug/gang violence in Mexico spilling over onto our side of the border than mandatory universal healthcare.

Apple’s Eye

Heros Gone, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Thank God, Sarah Palin’s “non-news” that she won’t be running for President wasn’t the most important story in the news today. Sadly however, her “announcement” was upstaged by the passing of Apple co-founder and CEO Steve Jobs.

Given his health in the past couple of years, I know the announcement of his death didn’t come as a surprise. Yet, there is a feeling that the world is somewhat stunned by this news.

Will today go down as one of those days that we’ll always remember where we were when we learned of this, like the Challenger disaster or the attacks on 9-11? I’m unsure, but it’s beginning to feel the same—one great loss.

Like my grandfather who worked some 50 years for Goodyear Tire and Rubber, I have made a living for the greater part of my working years via a Macintosh computer. I wonder now if Gramps felt the same when inventor and founder of Goodyear Frank Seiberling passed away in 1955.

In a world where corporations have taken over the center stage, one has to wonder if we’ll ever see another individual like Steve Jobs. Did it feel this way with the passing of Albert Einstein?

Ironically, hours before the announcement of Jobs’ passing, I created a template for a CD jewel case tray in a little program called Pages—Apple’s watered-down version of page layout giants InDesign and QuarkXPress. It was something that came to me on a whim, something my students could use to raise the bar on an upcoming assignment. Up until that moment, I never gave the program much credence for anything beyond a simple letter-sized flyer, yet there I was for some unexplained reason, creating a custom-sized document that included fold and trim marks.

Perhaps even more ironic was that on the eve of Apple losing their visionary, the newest iPhone release had been characterized as a dud. That’s two big strikes against Apple in the same week. Despite the company’s popularity and success, I’m surprised to find myself wondering if the company will weather the storm. Is it possible that the loss of one man, in this day and age, could bring down a company as successful as Apple?

We shall see. In the meantime, a voice tells me to purchase the new iPhone—as if lighting a candle for Jobs.

High-Powered Low-Lifes in Education

Kent School Boiler, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

With astonishment, I read the stories about an Al Jazeera reporter named Gabriel Elizondo visiting a local high school football game in Brooks, Texas recently. At the heart of this story was the insipid greeting and dismissal directed toward the reporter coming from the school’s principal, Lisa Yauck and superintendent, Michael Lee.

If you have not heard about this story, I would encourage you to stop here and read the reporter’s blog entry from that day and than read the school superintendent Michael Lee’s response to the Elizondo’s blog.

What first struck me about this event was the total ignorance oozing from these two educational (and one would assume, “informed”) administrator’s regarding Al Jazeera as a legitimate news operation that has matched and sometimes surpassed the coverage of other leading news agencies around the world. It is simply beyond belief. In a world that is becoming more and more polarized, these two jingoist serve as shining examples of incompetence and mediocrity in education while perpetuating malicious hatred within the heart of our country’s innocence—small town America.

It’s no secret that I don’t care for Fox News. I probably see them in the same light as Lee and Yauck view Al Jazeera. However, one thing I know for sure is Fox News has a right to report/film/write a story at my local high school or college athletic event, even if I’m sure they will put their “spin” on it.

Like many lackluster school administrators, Lee cites FERPA as his rationale for turning away Elizondo. Yet anyone who truly knows FERPA certainly knows it is not a counter to freedom of the press—especially when it comes down to something as public as a high school football game… held at a public school no less!

If Michael Lee truly believes FERPA is the justification for spurning a reporter who wishes to interview fans (whether it be students or general public) at a high school football game, he is a second-rate superintendent, and totally incompetent. On the other hand, if Lee is using FERPA to mask his disdain and prejudice for other people of culture, race or religion, he is simply a disgrace. Which ever the two, I know one thing for sure, he should be fired along with secondary principal Lisa Yauck.

Trying To Get Past 9-11

Not Again!, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Thank God September 12 has finally arrived. After more than a week’s worth of rehashed 9-11 tributes, interviews, ceremonies and highlights, I’m ready to move on, even if few share in my sentiment.

Call me unpatriotic, but I find it hard to believe that the victims of September 11, 2001 would want us to wallow in so much of that dark day ten years ago. Yet, after all of this time, rather than putting it behind us, it’s as if we would rather go back in time and wade back into that pool of acute pain and sorrow.

Thank you, but I’ll have none of it.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I want to forget that day or pretend it never happened. Even if one wanted to forget it, how could they—something that epic, that tragic? I just don’t want to relive it year in and year out through all the poignant, graphic and sad, sad stories that have been repeated over and over in various outlets of the media.

Like December 7, 1941 (the attack on Pearl Harbor), I think it’s tasteful to stop for a moment of silence and fly the flag each year. But, to have six moments of silence, for example, (when the first plane hit the WTC, when the second plane hit the WTC, when the third plane hit the Pentagon, when the plane crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, and when each of the towers fell) is a bit over the top.

How did 9-11 render our country, our people, our media with this masochistic-like obsession—all the while wearing it on our sleeve for all the world to see? Talk about a chip on the shoulder. Isn’t Halloween enough?

Journalist and author William Langewiesche spent five months at ground zero of the WTC after the attacks and warns, “It’s not to deny the tragedy. It’s to question the utility of public grief.” Langewiesche produced an extensive piece for Atlantic and was later published as a book titled American Ground: Unbuilding the World Trade Center.

Through it all, I can’t help but think of some goody two-shoes cheerleader who was beaten up on the playground by a thug. Despite the fact that she may not have deserved such treatment or it was simply a violent act, she goes on and on all year long about it until many of her friends think that maybe she had it coming.

Even today, September 12, I was hoping my respite would finally arrive. Yet, there were still more stories flooding the media about 9-11.

C’mon America, it’s time to move on and look forward and focus sharply on making America great… again. Besides, football season and the Rugby World Cup are upon us.

Northwest College: Marching Toward Mediocrity

Northwest College Landmark, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

It was announced in the college email today that Northwest College photographer David Vaughan resigned from his position—effective immediately.

The email came from Payroll Specialist Tracy Gasaway, but it was a forward from the Human Resources Director, Jill Anderson. Why Anderson couldn’t have sent the announcement to everyone herself is beyond me. Yet, another illustration of the convoluted practices of an administration that is far from being above board.

I learned earlier this morning that Vaughan turned his keys in sometime after midnight, when no one was around.

This was a case of someone who wasn’t really wanted—someone not appreciated. This cloud of ingratitude has lingered since Vaughan’s first year on the job when he learned newly-hired college president Miles LaRowe would not have supported the photography position had LaRowe been on the job sooner. An air of non-support and disinterest for his position has prevailed since that first year.

Given such neglect, it seems reasonable that the college’s leadership considered firing Vaughan at any given time, but they couldn’t produce any dirt on him. So, like any spineless, paranoid and heartless operation, they strung him out—making things so discouraging for him, that he simply gave up and quit on the college.

The verbal language that came from those in his department and the administration was typical administrative lip service. But, when it came to putting things in writing there was only a vacuum. No one really supported or fought for Vaughan except those who had no power or real input to his situation. Even the photography department that educated Dave years ago and its four-faculty-members-strong status was relatively mute.

Ironically, other members in his department glided effortlessly through the job-banding process and saw significant pay increases—$10-15K more than his salary. His plea for a proper job banding and compensation was passed around from one incompetent administrator to another like an unwanted stepchild. In the end, Vice President of College Relations, Mark Kitchen and Human Resources Director, Jill Anderson even admitted their own detachment and ignorance of Dave and his position as they planned to hand his case over to an external consultant. Incompetence prevails again at Northwest College. But really, they simply didn’t care.

It’s disturbing to know that Vaughan doesn’t have another job lined up at this time… that’s how bad it was for him. Imagine how miserable you’d have to be in a job, leaving it without having anything else lined up—given the current economical climate.

Ironically, this past spring, an anonymous source reported that Vice President of Administrative Services, Kim Mills received a $10,000 pay increase—something V.P. Kitchen could not verify or deny in his highly, self-touted “rumor clearinghouse” intranet site. One has to wonder how much flack Mills endured for his comfy $10K boost compared to Vaughan’s three-year pursuit for proper job banding. And to no one’s surprise, Mills is considered one of the key administrators who had strongly objected to Vaughan’s job banding reclassification.

Dave Vaughan, College Photographer, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Another individual who is also critical of the college made a poignant observation about how trouble seems to find those at Northwest College who don’t fit a “Stepford” profile. Such individuals typically work in their own circles due to a unique component in their jobs. Sadly, these are the people that make any learning institution dynamic—which is what education should be. How can a school be dynamic if everyone is on the same page? Like racial profiling, if you’re not seeing the world through the same lens as everyone else at Northwest College, you’ll likely be dismissed.

College professor Harriet Bloom Wilson was one of the first to chime in regarding Vaughan’s departure, “What a pity. David’s photographs have captured all that is special and beautiful about Northwest for years. They represent us around the world.”

My guarded response to Bloom-Wilson’s comment (because I’ve been reprimanded for “improper use” of college email) was simply, “Yeah, starting with myself, he made us look more special and beautiful than we really are.”

What I really wanted to say was something like the following:

“Way to go NWC administration… another step closer to mediocrity.”

“NWC… you will be absorbed.” (From a popular Star Trek episode)

“NWC… where mediocrity prevails.”

There’s so many descriptors of NWC’s administrative leadership that have come up again and again in conversation over the years regarding the dismissals of talented staffers like Dave who have left on their own or were removed outright. So, I’ll put these descriptors here so there can be no doubt as to the words that are spoken in such conversations about the college’s leadership:

Ineffectual
Vapid
Paranoid
Two-faced
Phonies
Insidious

Myopic
Pollyanna
Nefarious

Along the lines of nefarious, several NWC staff members have benefited in their elevated salaries and retirements by listing the supervision of Dave’s efforts in their job description. This is the greatest deception of all because from Day One, Vaughan has been a one-man photo operation who has scheduled shoots, made first-level photo-editorial decisions, developed and executed unique and creative compositions for shoots, made purchase decisions regarding equipment and supplies, communicated with all college staff regarding photography work and managed an extensive data base of images. No one “above” him directed Vaughan in any of these areas. I hope the light of shame finds and exposes these individuals in their incompetent, self-serving, resume-building, life-wrecking ways.

In parting, Vaughan was responsible for many things that never credited his contribution. Most outstanding was coming up with the college’s slogan/jingle, “Northwest College: Your future, our focus.”

In the past years as Vaughan’s enthusiasm waned thanks to the insipid support coming from those around him, he developed a few more slogans that were more accurate of what he felt—reflective of his experience as a Northwest College employee. One of my favorites was, “Northwest College: Don’t not do.”

Thanks Dave for all you did. No thanks to Northwest College and its toxic administrative culture—strangling anything extraordinary or with an inkling of creativity.

The dirty hands of Allstate

Lost Glove, a photo by mdt1960 on Flickr.

Allstate Insurance Company steals cars... really they do.

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine living and teaching in Yuma, Arizona was involved in a head-on car collision that resulted in the demolition of his 1995 Honda Civic—his only reliable transportation. The incident unfolded as an elderly gentleman turned left in front of him as my friend’s Honda entered an intersection under normal circumstances. My friend was on his way to play a celebratory round of golf following the end of the academic year. Although he attempted to avoid the collision, there simply wasn’t enough time and his day at the links was lost along with his car. Thankfully no one was seriously injured.

The other driver was cited and admitted on the scene to police and others that he was completely at fault.

Done deal, right?

Not so fast.

A couple days after the accident, the other driver’s insurance company, Allstate, balked about the incident and indicated that they were not satisfied with the initial reports and questioned whether or not their client was truly at fault.

Today, my friend received an official email from Allstate that they will dispute his claim and therefore, not compensate him for his losses. I’m hard pressed to find a greater example of maliciousness and ill will in the news these days.

My friend’s insurance company, Geico, hasn’t been much help either up to this point, but I’m not quite ready to lump them in there with the ilk of Allstate.

And so, here we have the essence of what is so very wrong with this country. It begins with operations like Allstate who are clearly more interested in turning a dollar rather than righting a wrong—especially when it comes to someone like this friend who is making his way through this world without any kind of safety net or nest egg to fall back on.

In good faith, I made the 1,200 mile journey to Yuma to bring him back to this part of the country where a summer job awaited him. Nevermind that he lost two weeks of full-time pay while he waited (also in good faith) for this matter to settle quickly and fairly. I too was not worried about the expenses out of my pocket knowing he would be reimbursed for the loss of his car, transportation expenses back to Montana and whatever lost wages he suffered.

Instead, the diabolical “good hands” of Allstate Insurance don’t see it that way. Not even remotely. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear one day not too far down the road that insurance companies like Allstate are in the business of stealing cars because that’s what happened to my friend. Simply put, Allstate Insurance stole his car.

As big business executives and board members grow richer while the little folk like us become poorer and trampled by this prolific and rampant self-centered corporate greed, I’m sadly beginning to understand more each day why a person grabs a gun and decides to fly off the deep end and take several others with him/her.

Vision-Mission Hyperbole

“Never mistake activity for achievement.” —John Wooden

Vision and mission statements... are they a rudder for an organization’s direction or are they just some arbitrary name written on its hull? How do we feel about the crop of vision/mission statements springing up all over our world? Do you find yourself saying, “Gee, it sure is nice to know that my educational pursuits or my efforts in the work place dwell in a house with these pronounced values.” Do we require such reassurance? Are we that insecure?

As you probably have already guessed, I have some reservations about what this public illustration/display of purpose, mission, or vision is all about. However, before dropping a cynicism bomb here, I thought it worthy to investigate these polished proclamations.

I was amused to find the subtle difference between a mission statement and a vision statement. Yet, I wonder how many “average-joes” (like myself) have made an honest effort to interpret these statements—often posted in tandem—and drawing anything from them other than a bunch of high-brow, grandstanding, over-embellished fluff.

One of the first things we need to know is that such statements are a primary element in strategic planning. According to the rich sources of Wikipedia, “strategic planning is the formal consideration of an organization’s future course.” I’d consider this the rudder of the ship that everyone needs to see in feeling safer.

When it comes to strategic planning, three primary questions are tackled: 1) What the institution does? 2) For whom benefits? 3) How does the institution excel at what it does?

Couldn’t anyone answer these questions about a school? 1) educate. 2) those seeking an education—often called students. 3) hire educators who do their job well and hope the administrators stay out of the way.

* * *
Vision statement, mission statement—what’s the difference?
Again, Wikipedia speaks of the vision statement with those things of the future, “…describing how the organization would like the world to be in which it operates.” The on-line source goes on to say that the mission statement “…defines the fundamental purpose of an organization or an enterprise, succinctly describing why it exists and what it does to achieve its Vision.” Or simply, “what do we do?”

One has to wonder how we’ve gone on for so long without these public declarations popping out of every corner of a college campus or corporation. I’m unsure in making the connection, but much of it feels like it is the result of fear. Fear of not covering all the legal bases required in this age of sue-happy, disgruntled individuals who have given up on winning the lottery. I can almost see it in a courtroom...

Prosecuting attorney: Dr. College President, does the school have a mission statement and is that mission statement clearly displayed for the campus population’s view?

Dr. College President: No sir, but we are working on it at this very moment. We just formed the Strategic Planning committee last month.

Prosecuting attorney: Well, there you have it your honor and members of the jury. The school has failed to provide its clients any idea of where the institution is going or how it plans on getting there. I rest my case.

If such glorified statements are simply covering our backside, I would lump them in the same category as those innocuous, minimum-requirement disclaimers such as “batteries not included,” “Acme is an EOI,” and “Any views or opinions presented in this email are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of the company.”

And if they are not affiliated with anything of legalese, perhaps they are only words for the sake of writing and hearing—our own hooptedoodle (see Steinbeck’s Sweet Thursday). As if to say, “We’d like to demonstrate our mastery of... of, language (I suppose). We hope it doesn’t get in the way of your efforts here. Skip it if you wish.”

* * *

What annoys me the most about these statements is they all basically say the same thing, and rarely reflect anything unique about the organization or institution that it serves. And yet we place so much stock in coming up with a unique way of saying something that’s incredibly universal and considered a given.

Here’s an example. Consider the mission statements of three educational institutions: Binghamton University (New York), Northwest College (Wyoming) and Ball State University (Indiana). Can you determine which vision statement belongs to the above? (I’ve left the names out and replaced words such as “university,” or “college” with “school.”)

1) Our school will be a national model of excellence for challenging, learner-centered academic communities that advance knowledge and improve economic vitality and quality of life.
2) Our school is a premier public school dedicated to enriching the lives of people in the region, nation and world through discovery and education and to being enriched by its engagement in those communities.
3) Through a superior teaching, learning, and living environment, our school will be a dynamic and distinguished educational leader that shapes a positive future for students and the many communities it serves.

The answers are listed at the bottom of this post.

I suspect few of us are bright enough (or lucky enough) to differentiate between these three proclamations, and as one friend of mine said not long ago, “Gobblydegook from any institution sounds the same.”

Anyone want to compare mission statements?
As I’ve contemplated these two crowning edicts that so poorly define what an organization or institution is, I’m reminded of a lackluster business class I attended as an undergrad at Arizona State. Often I walked out of any given session thinking to myself that the day’s lesson was simply an organized and overblown presentation on common sense.

In light of all this, I think Nike may have outdone everyone in their “vision/mission” statement—“Just Do It.”

Clearly I’m a skeptic, but I do find comfort in knowing there are instances where such endeavors of purpose are successful and clearly vital and important to those on board, like the comment from one of my Facebook friends who stated, “I am so lucky to work where I do…we’ve grown from 123 employees in 2000 to 250 employees as of this year and we not only hold our vision/mission statement dear to our hearts but we have 250 people protecting the culture. It truly does come from the top. I’m happy to say ours is a rudder!”

Vision Statement Answers: 1) Ball State, 2) Binghamton, 3) Northwest.

Parents Exposed...

Heather
Originally uploaded by mdt1960

Children in Wyoming should not be forced to live with narrow-minded, irresponsible, codependent, and coddling parents. Our kids deserve parents who provide and nurture a solid educational foundation.

This is my response to the bogus “Teachers Union Exposed” directed at the state of Wyoming.

Let’s face it, if we really care about our kids and their future, we must acknowledge that much of a child's education along with their academic foundation and values comes from the home. Children spend much more time at home than the school, so in giving this movement some teeth... let’s include the home and the lessons/demonstrations provided by parents.

Cameras in the classroom and the home along with regular evaluations of teachers and parents! C’mon, who’s with me?

Cameras in Classrooms... Why Stop There?

Reading & Discussion
Originally uploaded by mdt1960

This is an open letter to Wyoming State Legislative Representative Steve Harshman from Casper regarding his proposal to bring cameras into the Wyoming classrooms.
I just read the story in the Christian Science Monitor regarding your proposal to bring cameras into the classroom for the purpose of teacher evaluations as well as monthly written reviews.

I find it a bit ironic—maybe even hypocritical—that such a proposal is being handed down in a state that is notorious for its resentment of anything that has to do with “big government.” Pardon me for saying, but what you’re proposing smells like big government even if it is a long way off.

As an instructor in the graphics/printing field, I’m OK with cameras in my classroom. Perhaps a few administrators and politicians like yourself will truly learn something useful, and perhaps even develop a real skill that will result in earning an honest living.

That said, my question to you is, why stop there? Let’s introduce the same monitoring equipment into the offices of educational administrators. Along with that, subject them to anonymous evaluations from the body of faculty every semester much like the instructors experience from their students. If you’re looking for dead wood, this will surely produce results—high-paying dead wood at that!

Come to think of it, bringing cameras into the homes would surely curb domestic violence, abuse and neglect as well. And, as a taxpayer and voter, I wouldn’t mind listening in on recordings from the monitored phones of our elected officials too. You’re OK with that aren’t you? As the article stated, you’ll get used to the equipment in no time, and after awhile, it will be like it was never there.

‎“There was of course no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live—did live, from habit that became instinct—in the assumption that every sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every movement scrutinized.” —Orwell’s 1984.

And this...

Harshman responds:
Dear Mr. Morgan,

I have not read the article. In regards to cameras in the classroom; as you know there is a semi-mob mentality regarding education in the Wyoming Legislature this session. Some of it can be contributed to a national trend or mood that is sweeping the country. My proposal is an attempt to fight “fire with fire” so to speak. The proposed tenure bills (where teachers lose their tenure and have at-will employment status where we can be fired for any reason that is “not illegal”) have me moving in order to counter the proposals. I have promoted cameras as a “teacher protection” measure. In addition, increased evaluations would get the principals back in the schools.

In response to the Orwellian comments that your letter drifts of to…? I am not going there. I would focus my efforts on the Senate Education committee where the real threat is. I can assure you, I am working behind the scenes for a favorable outcome.

Thank you for writing,

Warm Regards,

Steve Harshman
House District 37
(R) Natrona County