Blah blah Ginger

Lost friends

2012-01-16T20:47:00.000-05:00

Three friends have passed away in the past six weeks. All three were my age or younger. In December, it was the sudden news of my high school girlfriend. More recently, the loss of a high school classmate after an illness. Just yesterday, a fraternity brother was the victim of an apparent heart attack.

All the memories come crowding in around the news, and I'm left a little more bereft. Each time, the shock and grief give way to the sadness that the world has lost another soul much too soon.

Amy loved horses and never strayed for too long or too far from her beloved Chicago.

Robin lived in Berkeley, Calif., but settled in Kauai, Hawai'i.

Dale was an enormous teddy bear of a man who found a community and a home in south Florida.

What's spooking me more than anything is that I still believe I'm too young to be losing so many contemporaries.

And yet obviously, I'm not.

Rest in peace, Amy, Robin and Dale.

Explaining the 2012 Republican "Presidential" field

2012-01-04T19:41:00.000-05:00

Notice the title of this post employs quotes. There are a bunch of white guys running to replace Barack Obama. There used to be a woman from Minnesota and an African American dude from Pizzaland, but they dropped out already. Now it's back to what Republicans love best - rich white guys. Do you have trouble keeping them straight? That's why I'm here. The New Hampshire primary is almost upon us. That's followed by South Carolina, Florida, then Nevada and Maine, yadda yadda yadda. For loyal readers who can't make heads or tails of the riff or the raff, what follows should help cut through the fog, hot air and froth (after all, Rick Santorum is still in the race).

We'll go from the bottom of the polls to the top.

Jon Huntsman: What? You've never heard of Jon Huntsman? That's because you don't live in either Utah or China. He's big in China. He used to be the U.S. Ambassador to China. Great, right? The man's got foreign policy chops, doesn't he? Why yes, yes he does. Ambassador Huntsman has more impressive foreign policy credentials than the rest of the Republican field combined. Only one problem: he was our Ambassador to China from 2009 to 2011. You don't see why that's a problem, do you? Think a minute. Who would his boss have been? Yesiree. Huntsman worked in the Obama Administration. As far as hardcore Republican voters are concerned, that doesn't just make him damaged goods, it damn near makes him the chief toady to the antiChrist. Huntsman is also the former Governor of Utah (and yes, one of two Mormons in the field). Apart from his former boss, his conservative bona fides are unassailable Having worked for The Dread Pirate Obama is not his biggest problem, though. Huntsman's real failing is he's a perfectly reasonable guy. He doesn't foam at the mouth, he doesn't like to offend people, he's incapable of right wing bluster and he isn't prone to saying outrageous things. Well ok, that isn't entirely true. He managed to insult the entire state of Iowa last week when he was trying to compliment New Hampshire. The Boston Globe is endorsing him for GOP nominee, partly because he's the only one in the field who doesn't make you want to put a gun in your mouth, and most importantly because he's not named Mitt Romney. Voters find Huntsman boring. They like to be entertained, and he's not fitting the bill. Ambassador Huntsman has the same chance of winning the GOP nomination as I have of being appointed manager of the New York Yankees. Pity. I'd love to see a debate pitting him against President Obama. I think he'd open a lot of eyes and elevate the discussion. Won't happen, though.
Odds of nomination: less than 1%.

Rick Perry: What do they put in the water in the Texas Statehouse? First George W, (Shrub the Decider) Bush and now Rick Perry serving as governor of Texas? What is the deal with people down there? Perry led the GOP field in Iowa for the amount of time it takes to buy a cup of coffee. Then he got up on stage and started to speak. The man makes Obama's predecessor look eloquent. Remember this?

He pretty much became a national punch line after that. In Iowa this week Perry polled around 10% and finished in fifth place. Normally, that's enough to eliminate you, but the day after Iowa, Michelle Bachmann dropped out of the race. Perry immediately announced he was staying in, because he wanted to be the go-to candidate for voters who are completely batshit howl at the moon nuts. Don't laugh. There are a lot of those votes out there to be had. You ever been to Texas?
Odds of nomination: 3%

Newt Gingrich: Who says there are no second acts in American life anymore? Ol' Newtie is on his fifth. For ten minutes, he was the front runner in Iowa, until someone said out loud "Holy shit, THAT Newt Gingrich? The blowhard asshole who used to be Speaker of the House? Didn't he once leave his wife for another woman when his wife was undergoing chemotherapy? Oh my god, he's back? How did that happen?" That wife-leaving thing also took place while Newt was trying hard to impeach Bill Clinton in the aftermath of the Lewinsky affair. I love irony, don't you? In all fairness, Newt is the smartest man in the Republican field. If you don't believe me, just ask Newt. He'll be happy to tell you how smart he is. That's really all he does all day long. "Hi, I'm Newt Gingrich, and I'm smarter than you, and smarter than anyone you know." Nobody likes Newt. The man is a nasty piece of work, and he has been since he first entered Congress more than 30 years ago. In the past year, his entire campaign staff abandoned him. Twice. Newt can't win. He knows this, but he refuses to abandon the race. Say what you will about Newt, but one of his lifelong defining characteristics is that he's a spiteful sonofabitch. The only person he hates more than a Democrat with a good point is Mitt Romney. He dislikes Romney for two reasons. First, Romney is winning. Secondly, Romney's sanctimonious, holier than thou manner prohibits him from being openly nasty to anyone. Newt hates that. Newt likes venom. He's only happy when he's making people cringe, and Romney won't give him the satisfaction. So Gingrich has a new mission: do everything he possibly can to destroy Romney, even if that means the GOP has no nominee at all and Obama waltzes to a second term unopposed. In effect, Newt Gingrich is the most loyal Democrat in America. If you want to contribute to the Newt Gingrich for President campaign, please click here,
Odds of nomination: 4%.

Ron Paul: He's your great uncle. The guy you see a couple times a year, plus weddings and the odd anniversary party. The kids love him because he sneaks them shots of Jack Daniels and regales them with stories of how he yelled at Paul McCartney at 5th Ave and West 56th Street in Manhattan in 1968 to cut his hair, and how McCartney gave him the finger. He worries you because midway through the appetizer course he starts in on how we'd all be in better shape if we returned to the gold standard, and how all substances, no matter how harmful, should be legalized, and how the country started going to hell when they allowed the blacks to vote, restaurants should be able to turn people away based on their race, and how people should have the right to beat their kids if they act up, because that's what the world was like when he was a kid, and he turned out ok, right? Ron Paul is a true blue Libertarian, and in many ways is the purest Republican in the field. You should have the right to anything you want. ANYTHING. And the government shouldn't have any say, because the natural state of affairs is the most natural, and the best. One absolute, inarguable truth about Ron Paul: he's consistent. What he's been saying in the past month is nearly indistinguishable from what he was saying in the 1970's. The problem is that it was just as ludicrous then as it is today. He doesn't want to run a government, he wants to destroy it and create a state of chaos, so things can just sort themselves out as they will. Thank God Ron Paul wasn't President during Katrina. He would have made George W. Bush's response look herculean and merciful. Paul's supporters are blindly supportive, but if you ask them why, they'll say "because he's different. He's not like everyone else." Yes, rotten fish is different too, but that doesn't mean I'm going to serve it for dinner, and I'm sure not going to vote for it.
Odds of nomination: 7%

Rick Santorum: Everything that's wrong in the country can be traced to our giving rights to The Gays. He'd be the first to tell you the Bible should be taken literally, and should replace the Constitution as the country's owner's manual. Not metaphorically. For real. Christian Evangelicals see him as the only choice now that Michelle Bachmann has been returned to her padded cell in Minnesota, you betcha. Santorum has compared homosexuality to bestiality and incest. We're not just talking opposition to Roe V Wade. Santorum thinks it would be perfectly okey dokey for states to ban birth control, and sodomy (of course). Really hysterical for a guy who screams bloody murder about intrusive government overreach. And abortion is always wrong. Except when it matters to him. Does Santorum have a foreign policy platform? Why of course he does! He believes there's no such thing as a Palestinian. And then there's his frothy Google problem. If Santorum was nominated, I'm not sure he'd carry a single state. What happened in Iowa Tuesday night told you everything you need to know about how conservative Iowa Republicans are. More importantly, it exposed how much Republicans really don't like Mitt Romney. Nine fewer Iowans profess their fealty for Romney and Santorum wins. Tuesday was a great night....for Barack Obama.
Odds of nomination: 10%

Willard (Mitt) Romney: Ten years ago, he saved the Salt Lake City Olympics. After that, he spit the bit as Governor of Massachusetts. Willard insisted he was a regular guy, then set out to show that he meant he was a regular chameleon. He said he respected the culture of the Commonwealth, and immediately proposed a law to ban same sex marriage. That didn't go over well. He was the business genius, except on his watch there was a disquieting series of companies being sold and/or sending their headquarters out of state. The most galling of those losses was Gillette's sale to Proctor & Gamble (based in Cincinnati). The biggest ongoing news story in the state while Romney was in office was the famed Big Dig Tunnel Project. Romney wanted absolutely nothing to do with it, since it was a federal construction venture. That is, until a ceiling panel failed in a tunnel and a woman riding in a car to the airport was killed. At that point, Romney insisted he was going to be the adult and take control. Did he accomplish anything? No, not really, but he did succeed in complicating an already thorny situation by sticking his nose where it didn't belong, and where he had no jurisdiction. Soon after, Willard grew bored, and decided he wanted to run for President (the first time). He abandoned his office and started roaming the country giving speeches. Nearly all of these speeches featured punch lines about how terrible his "home" state was and how happy he was to be in (pick one) South Carolina, Iowa, etc. He has been nearly living in Iowa and New Hampshire for the past five years. With all that, he came within eight votes of losing the Iowa Caucuses - to Rick (Frothy Mix) Santorum!! Republicans can't warm up to Romney because he's as likable as a toaster and as trustworthy as your average politician. He was uncomfortably pro-choice when he was Governor of Massachusetts but strongly pro-life everywhere else. I'd like to set the record straight about the health care initiative he signed into law when he was governor. He didn't write the law. He barely even negotiated it. He did support it, however, because it was passed by the legislature and favored by the electorate. A veto would have been political suicide, and while Willard may not be regular, he's not stupid, either. The truth is, it was good policy. It didn't come close to containing costs, but it's hard to run away from a bill he is on record as wanting passed (and signed into law). The health care law expanded insurance availability and improved the quality of life in the state. I don't see how that's a bad thing. That said, I didn't vote for Romney when he ran for Governor, and I wouldn't vote for him if he ran again. He did a terrible job running one state when he had the chance, and for all intents and purposes, he quit partway through. You could say he pulled a Palin, without the bother of a formal resignation. What evidence is there that he would do a better job being president of all fifty states? Republicans don't like him and don't trust him. Religious conservatives complain that they can't support him because he's not a Christian. That's terribly unfair. They should refuse to support him because he's a two (or three) -faced liar who will say whatever he has to, based on whatever audience is in front of him at the time. Willard would be comfortable quoting Groucho Marx. "These are my principles. If you don't like them, well, I have others."
Odds of nomination: 75%

So okay, for everyone (read: Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity and all the other Fox News nitwits) who insists that Obama is a failed President, if that's true, then how come this field is the best you can do to try to unseat him? Are you waiting for Sarah Palin to ride to the rescue? Are you waiting for Ronald Reagan to return from the dead? Mitt Romney? That's the best you got? Really? Good luck with that. If Willard is your best hope, I'd say you're not trying very hard.

All that said, there's a reason I'm not quite yet booking my tickets for the second inaugural next year. It's called Citizen's United. Because of the wrongheaded and poorly reasoned Supreme Court decision, untold invisible tens of millions of dollars will flow to the conservative side of the election (most likely Romney). They'll have a nearly unlimited budget to spread any vicious lies and distortions they like, and paint the election in terms that will create a false dichotomy and fool people into making the wrong choice for the wrong reasons. Just because the Republican field is more laughable than the concept of a book written by Snooki doesn't mean that the election won't end up being far closer than it should be. Just don't try to tell me that you think any of the bozos above actually deserves to put his hand on the bible and take the oath of office next year.

New Year 2012: All comes 'round.

2011-12-30T10:17:00.003-05:00

While it's true that bad things happen to good people, I have always believed in karma. When I try to summarize 2011, the phrase that keeps returning to mind is "All comes round." That also happens to be the title of my favorite track from what I humbly believe is the best new album of the year. Our friends Lori Diamond and Fred Abatelli crafted something special this year. The album is called "True" (and P was excited to collaborate on it). You need to own this album. Here's the song I referred to:

Gorgeous, isn't it? That's Lori on piano, Fred on bass, our friend Kim Jennings singing backup and Phil Punch on percussion. Quick detour.....a word picture review for this album. It's a sunny, lazy Sunday morning. You're lounging in bed, covered by a crushed velvet blanket. You have your sweetheart, a big mug of fresh brewed coffee, a toasted bagel, a bowl of fruit, the Sunday New York Times, and the whole day to enjoy it all. The album feels exactly like that.

So back to the song. While it's talking about karma in the sense of "mess with me and the universe will pay you back, just you wait," my meaning is a little broader (though seeing the headline of Osama Bin Laden's demise wasn't so bad). For me, 2011 was as much about hard work and patience paying off in a good way. At the beginning of the year, I was finally getting Greene Means Go Consulting truly off the ground, and it was reaping rewards. Additionally, I was about to expand my writing repertoire with Pet Connection to include editing and scheduling posts on the website. In essence, preparing to help run the site. By the end of the year, Greene Means Go had scaled way back, because I had been presented with an extraordinary full time training opportunity I just couldn't pass up. Now I'm happy as a clam working for NetSuite, and although Pet Connection went out of business a few months ago (long story), I've landed a new writing gig. I'm now a contributing writer for Sergeant's Pet Care's new Pet Health Central blog. The vacation in England and Scotland was magical. Oh yeah, there's also my new car, which isn't so bad.

At the dawn of 2012, I'm even more excited for the new year than I was at this time last year. The possibilities for growth are endless. They didn't happen by chance, though. Everything that went before led to it. It all came 'round. My mother would nod and say it's been "beshert"...Yiddish for being meant to be. Even in sadness and grief, I have to admit there's often a bittersweet beauty. The tragic and sudden loss of Rabbi Don gave rise to an outpouring of love and appreciating in the community that loved him so much. The Beatles were right. In the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. Don created an enormous amount of love in the world, and that returned to envelop the family -- and all of us -- when he left us.

The year 2011 wasn't easy. Far from it. It was a journey like any other, and some of it was downright terrifying. I'd prefer not to repeat those parts. Nevertheless, they led us to the possibilities of even greater events in 2012. There will be the London Olympics, an important election in the United States, and my parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary. I don't know about you, but I'm excited to be welcoming it all.

A happy, healthy and peaceful new year to everyone, and may it all come 'round for you.

Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 5. The event.

2011-11-30T08:00:00.000-05:00

The main reason we were in the U.K. wasn't really to see castles, cathedrals, or sheep. It was to celebrate the christening of our new honorary nephew. That ceremony took place on our last full day in England. It was even more fun that we'd be returning to the same wonderful little church where David and Jane were married almost exactly ten years before. On Thanksgiving weekend 2001 (just a couple months after 9/11), we visited Newcastle and Sunderland for the first time.

Finally, at the end of an extraordinary week, we were back at St. Bede's in South Shields. This time, David and Jane were the supporting actors, renewing their vows before the main event. Little William was the star. The same priest who married David and Jane was kind enough to officiate. As she did ten years ago, P was honored to deliver a reading during the ceremony. Exactly as ten years ago, I was just honored to be present. The ceremony flew by, though we do have pictures to prove it happened.

There were so many friends and family with whom we were reunited, and we felt like long lost cousins. That night at the reception in Sunderland, P and I spent a good chunk of the evening with Barry, a wonderful man we had first met in 2001. That day and night reminded me as much as any other moment of the entire week about what really mattered. Being with friends, celebrating the joys of togetherness, and appreciating the opportunity to connect and give thanks.

Heading home the next day was an adventure. Let me just say "London fog" isn't merely a figure of speech. After one canceled flight from Newcastle to London, one rerouted flight from Gatwick to Southampton, one anxious $200 cab ride from Southampton to Heathrow, another hour on the tarmac at Heathrow (one more time - fog), and one last cab ride from Logan, we finally made it home. We then found out we had been given one last generous gift before we left Great Britain: two nasty colds that haunted us through Thanksgiving week. In spite of the serious inconvenience of missing Thanksgiving dinner with my folks and the misery of persistent coughing, sneezing, sniffling, chills and aches, it was still worth it.

In fact, it was the very best vacation we've had in a long time.

Until the next time we return to the United Kingdom....

Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 4. Hairy coos and coconuts

2011-11-23T08:09:00.000-05:00

Before we left for the U.K., I made plans for us to take an all-day tour on Thursday in Scotland. In fact, the entire side trip to Edinburgh was based around this tour. Based on my research, one tour stood out as the best choice to see The Real Scotland, meaning territory and scenery outside of the big city. I booked two seats on the tour known as The Hairy Coo. Yes, I know, you're going to need an explanation, and before I get to it, I should stress it's all entirely family friendly. Really, it is.

Meet a hairy coo.

The Scots have a variant of cattle that's most ideally suited for the rough terrain and weather of the craggy, mountainous highlands. Highland cattle have a big shaggy coat, and huge horns. They're basically known as hairy cows, but you have to remember that Scotsman also have a peculiar dialect that isn't exactly the Queen's English. Instead of "hairy cows," they say "hairy coos." The hairy coos are actually quite adorable in a shaggy sort of way, though they can also be ornery, and since they have sharp horns (even the females), it's best not to antagonize them. Fortunately, they're always hungry, and we had food with us to pacify them.

I am NOT a hairy coo.

The tour bus we spent the day on is small, bright orange, and is made up to look a little like a hairy coo. Our fearless leader and guide was an absolutely priceless, very funny raconteur named Donald (he'd prefer to be known as The Don). The Don spent the entire day telling the best stories about Scottish history, the nature of the Scottish people, the highlands, clan lore, and best of all, everything you need to know about the beloved coos (after whom the tour buses are named...ours was Fiona). Oh yes, The Don also does this in a kilt, naturally. You see the guy in the picture way over on the right in the kilt? That's The Don.

The legendary Loch Drunkie

From the silliness of "vegetarian haggis" to the complex and sad tale of Mary Queen of Scots, to how Edinburgh came to be, to the origin of the name Loch Drunkie (it's pretty close to what you might think) to the differences -- and similiarities -- between Clan McGregor and Clan Campbell (he doesn't much like Campbells), Don had wonderful tales about everything under the sun and clouds while we made our way through the countryside. How much does the tour cost, you ask? Nothing. It's free. That's right. You are obligated to pay absolutely nothing. At the end of the day, when you exit the bus, you pay what you feel the tour was worth. I think our "tip" was about 40 GBP apiece. A major bargain. If we had more cash at the end of the day, we'd have probably tipped even more. This is a GREAT idea if you're ever in Edinburgh and want to see the countryside. We had a blast.

The Wallace Monument. Subtle it's not.

Early in the day, we stopped at the National William Wallace Monument near Stirling. The monument is essentially an enormous phallic symbol on a hill, dedicated to a man the English honestly believe was a terrorist (personally, I think the shape was quite intentional, a "pointed" message to the English). A careful reading of history indicates Wallace was the prototypical freedom fighter, and pretty much the definition of a Scottish hero. I was impressed with Donald's voluminous knowledge of the people and places in Scottish history and lore. He very correctly pointed out that although it was certainly entertaining, a huge chunk of the movie "Braveheart" was just wildly wrong. It completely mischaracterized who Wallace was, his upbringing, personality, and also glossed over some of the important context to the story. I know I'm in the minority, but I thought it was, not to put too fine a point on it, an overblown, overacted farce of a movie that did a terrible disservice to a great man and a tremendous story. Not to mention Mel Gibson's attempt to come off as a Scot was ludicrous. That's just me, though.

You've got something on your mouth there

Back to the coos. I've never seen an animal that looked quite like them. Ok, the drooling isn't the cutest thing in the world, but other coos don't seem to mind, so that's really our problem, not theirs. Given the environment they have to survive in, they're tough creatures, and I'm quite glad there was always a fence of some kind between us and them. In case you're wondering what they eat, they like turnips, potatoes and bread. We, however, didn't eat turnips, potatoes and bread. For lunch, we stopped off in a tiny, very rural Scottish village, where Don recommended a number of places, particularly a bakery cafe called Mohr. Their sign said "Eat Mohr Bread." They aren't just clever at picking names. I had the best open faced ham and cheese melt I've tasted in ages. Maybe ever. And a couple stores later, bought me a beautiful lambswool vest (not made from coos, or even sheep for that matter. We're not discussing sheep anymore, mmkay?).

My favorite part of the day involved one last castle. In and of itself, the castle isn't really anything special, but if you're of a certain age and quirky sense of humor, you will certainly remember this.

Yes indeedy, we visited Doune Castle, the setting for the funniest movie in motion picture history, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Doune was the backdrop for the Insulting Frenchman, the Castle Anthrax, the rousing song Knights of the Round Table, and most importantly of all, this utterly perfect scene.

Is there someone else up there we can talk to?

Unless you grew up memorizing Monty Python dialog as I did, I can't even describe the complete and all encompassing joy of being inside and then walking the perimeter of the setting of Holy Grail. I've probably seen the movie two, perhaps three hundred times, and I still laugh at the great lines. To me (and Donald admitted, to a lot of his visitors on his tours), Doune is something akin to a shrine. I'm quite sure he's used to the giddy expressions and the endless recitations of the script from otherwise normal looking tourists who encounter Doune for the first time. Best of all, Donald thoughtfully had a couple pairs of coconuts on the bus! I can now rightfully say I visited Doune Castle and had two coconuts which I was bangin' together. I think P thought I had completely lost my mind. I didn't care. I could die happy now. I found the perspective of size in this picture (at right) interesting, particularly given that of all the castles we saw in the United Kingdom, this was by far the smallest. That's me in the white sweater at Doune's entrance. I could walk the entire circumference of Doune Castle in about ten minutes. It was tiny, but for me, worth the whole day.

It was, all in all, a very long day, that despite what the pictures would indicate, was mostly raw, rainy and otherwise utterly Scottish. I suppose it could have been better if the skies had been clear, sunny and warm, but I honestly didn't mind. I thought it was one of best choices we made, and I'm only sorry we didn't have more time to see more of the countryside. I knew we'd love Newcastle and Northumbria (and we did), but I didn't expect to be so thoroughly entranced by Scotland. We need more time there. Much more.

Next chapter: The whole reason we were in England in the first place.

Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 3. Durham and Scotland

2011-11-22T15:00:00.000-05:00

DSG and P outside Durham Station with Durham Cathedral in the background

On Tuesday, P, David and I had lunch at Blackfriars (mentioned in Chapter Two), then hopped on the train down to Durham. When you disembark from England's National Rail at Durham Station, you're treated to a view that all by itself makes it worth being there. A short 10-minute walk away stands the greatest Norman building in Great Britain. Maybe anywhere. Durham Cathedral dates to 1093, and when you stand at the base of the immense columns and spires that tower into the sky, it makes no difference if you're Anglican, Jewish, Roman Catholic, Quaker or Hindu. Durham Cathedral is a majestic marvel. The highlight for me was standing behind the altar, between the church organ's twin sets of pipes, while the organist practiced for an upcoming service. The depth, power and transcendent beauty of the pipe organ's melody almost made me sob.

Looking down the hill of the Royal Mile

On Wednesday we traveled ninety minutes up the coast to the Scottish capital, Edinburgh (proper pronunciation if you want them to take you seriously: ED'nburruh).We couldn't have known when we got off the train that we were about to fall in love with the city, and the country. Edinburgh is as ancient as the rest of the area. At its heart is the Royal Mile, anchored by the fortress that sits on Castle Rock. There are castles, and then there's Edinburgh Castle. It's vastly older than its brethren to the south, having been inhabited in one form or another since the 9th century BC. It's been a royal castle for a millennium, since the reign of David the First. For modern day Scots, the relevance of Edinburgh Castle is driven home by the sight of two statues of latter-day heroes, one on either side of the main gate:

William Wallace on the right (did you see Braveheart?)

and Robert the Bruce on the left.

Edinburgh Castle

Every inch and every stone in the ancient castle complex pays tribute to the virtues of bravery, tenacity, loyalty and honor. It's a monument to bold and uncompromising Scotsmen who have survived and flourished over the centuries, despite repeated attempts to vanquish or assimilate them. It made me wish I had a clan to call my own, complete with my own tartan.

The castle has dozens of rooms and artifacts worth visiting, but a couple of them jumped out at me. The first was near the castle's peak. From one of the very top walls, you can look down about ten feet on to what appears to be a small, perfectly manicured garden. A second glance reveals small grave markers around the perimeter of the garden. It's not a garden. It's a graveyard, but no people are buried there.

Dog Cemetery

This is the Dog Cemetery, reserved for the pets and mascots of soldiers over the years. Of all the sights we encountered that first day in Edinburgh, nothing spoke more eloquently to me of the essential Scottish character. They are a fiercely proud and passionate nation, but even in the country's most famous and important military fortress, a strategic place of honor is lovingly maintained and reserved for their faithful companions. Dogs, particularly terriers, have historically been a key part of Scottish history (West Highland Terriers, Cairn Terriers, Scottish Terriers, and Skye Terriers, not to mention Golden Retrievers and Border Collies, among others, all have Scottish roots). Edinburgh is also home to the famous Greyfriars Bobby statue. He was a Skye.

The other location I particularly liked requires no explanation.

None shall pass.

I think I could be very comfortable here...they respect me!

Next post: The Scottish Highlands, cows, and coconuts

Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 2. Castles

2011-11-22T09:15:00.000-05:00

Once the sheep had passed, we drove on to Bamburgh Castle (pronounced BAM-b'ruh). I had an agenda in mind for this trip, beyond the joy of meeting Master William (shown at right with his doting Aunt P...isn't he the most adorable little kidlet? We think so), spending lots of quality time with David and Jane, and generally enjoying the hell out of the United Kingdom. I wanted to see castles.

We don't have castles in the the US. Castles are old. Very old. We're not an old country. Oh sure, people in New England would like you to think we're so historic, but that's just absurd. The longest we go back is the 17th century. The "castle" referred to in the city name Newcastle is a Norman Keep that dates to 1172. That's old. David took P and I to lunch one day, to a restaurant called Blackfriars in Newcastle. It traces its origins to 1239, and stands as the oldest dining room in England. In the United Kingdom, "old" isn't the time of George Washington, or even the Virginia Colony. Old is defined as "was this thing around before the English language existed." I had already seen Stonehenge on a previous trip, and that pretty much defines the term Antiquity. I had circled a couple castles on my list I wanted to see. David added many more.

First was Alnick Castle (pronounced "annick," rhyming with panic). Alnick may not sound familiar, but if you've seen any of the Harry Potter movies, that was the setting for Hogwarts. It was quite a sight, but in retrospect it was probably the least interesting castle we saw all week. Being a backdrop for a movie is fun, but that was about it. The adjacent town is quite lovely, intimate, and looks like a classic postcard of Olde England.

Between Alnick and Bamburgh was The Sheep Incident. Bamburgh Castle is more or less the prototype of what I always have in mind when I think "castle." It's enormous, is set way up on a hill with a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, and conveys an unmistakable and eloquent message: Go ahead. Try to attack me. I dare you. I am impregnable. I shall vanquish you and destroy you. Try anyway. I shall enjoy watching you die.

It has a presence that's both grand and intimidating, impressive and daunting. It probably helped that we saw it on a grey, damp, blustery afternoon. The skies were leaden, and it seemed to make Bamburgh seem even more imposing. The first vantage point was from the ocean front, with the cold North Sea biting at our faces as we climbed through the rough, tall beach grass to view Bamburgh sitting atop a rocky basalt ledge. No doubt about it, Bamburgh is an incredible sight. Imagine how it must have looked to anyone approaching the Norman behemoth in the 11th century. Later in the week, we met a lady whose daughter was married in Bamburgh Castle. Great spot for a wedding, don't you think?

After that, we drove up the coast, just outside of the town of Caster. There, we got out of the car and walked across a dramatic, nearly barren and desolate coastal headland landscape toward the remains of Dunstanburgh Castle. Dunstanburgh isn't your run of the mill structure, or even your garden variety castle. It was built in the 14th century, but within a couple centuries had already been abandoned and quickly devolved into a ruin. It's decayed over time, sitting alone in the middle of a nearly pristine oceanfront bluff, directly facing the North Sea. In its day it must have been truly enormous, and even largely destroyed it's impressive. However, I didn't like Dunstanburgh at all. To be more specific, Dunstanburgh scared the hell out of me.

It's very hard to describe, but I think my friend David put it best. Whereas Bamburgh threatens to destroy your body, Dunstanburgh, even centuries later, seems to emit a malevolent air of evil that isn't interested in killing you physically. It wants your soul. We approached it from a few miles away, and although the thing looked eerie from a distance, the closer we got to it, the stronger the air of something being not quite right seemed. In print, it probably sounds childish without experiencing it first hand, but I can honestly say I've never felt so anxious near a building (much less a ruined one) as I did Monday at Dunstanburgh Castle. I wasn't just chilled by the wind, rain and cold. Weather is weather, and it doesn't bother me. This was different. Something thoroughly awful happened there a very long time ago. There's a spooky reverberation, an echo if you will, that hasn't gone away over the centuries. I'm very glad we made that walk. Spending time with David is always a treat, and we had a great time along the way, but I never want to go back to that spot as long as I live. What I said that day (and I still believe) is that Dunstanburgh is the kind of place that will give you nightmares. Some things are better left abandoned.

Next chapter: Durham and Scotland

Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 1. The Sheep Incident

2011-11-21T15:32:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving weekend 2001 was the last time P and I were on English soil together. We flew to London and took a train up to Newcastle for the wedding of our dear friends David and Jane Arthur. We had little time for sightseeing before leaving for a couple days in Paris. At the time, we vowed to return as soon as we could to see Newcastle and Northumberland.

Ten years later we finally made good on our promise.. David and Jane are the proud new parents of a thoroughly adorable baby boy (meet Master William). Last week marked his naming ceremony, along with David and Jane’s renewing their wedding vows. There was no way we were missing that, and this time we set aside a week to see the sights. It's impossible to recount it all, but I will say it was one of the best vacations we’ve ever had together. The week was a whirlwind of sights, sounds, experiences, stories, dinners, walks, drives, train rides and more memories than I can believe.

We rented an apartment by the river in Newcastle (formally, it’s known as Newcastle Upon Tyne, so that tells you which river). It was a perfect place, about 100 yards from the iconic new Gateshead Millennium Bridge, and a little further up river from the classic Tyne Bridge. Here you can see the two of them (new bridge in front, older one down river to the right) with the Sage Gateshead performing arts center in the background, on the opposite shore.

In the middle of the week we took a side trip up to Edinburgh, Scotland. We wandered around the downtown of my new favorite city, took in the magnificent Royal Mile, and also had a chance to see the rugged beauty of the Scottish highlands.

Before I get too far afield, I should tell you a story from our first full day in Northumberland. David, Jane and Master William took P and I to view three of the great castles of northeast England. First, we saw Alnick Castle (which you know as Hogwarts from the Harry Potter movies). After that, the great Bamburgh Castle and the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle....I'll talk about those two in a later post. On the way to Bamburgh, we were driving along and noticed a meadow full of sheep, alongside the road. P asked David if the sheep ever escaped, and he said no, of course not, because they were well encircled by fences. Silly question, right? Not so much. Not three minutes later, with Bamburgh Castle in the distance, what do we see down the road? I'll be damned. Sheep, as far as the eye can see, and they're charging down the road toward us. A couple hundred of them.

Even the air freshener was alarmed at the sight. Jane, who was driving, had the good sense to ask the only relevant question at the moment. Not "Where the hell did they come from," but "What do I do now?" David, of course, offered the correct answer. "Stop." That was a good plan, because before we knew it, they were getting closer.

I mentioned they were charging down the road toward us, right? Indeed they were. Notice the air freshener still can't believe what's taking place. On they came, in a big sheepy herd.

As you can plainly see, by now the air freshener is positively freaking out, and we're not entirely sure what to do, either. In an instant, there was nothing but fuzzy sheep, rushing past the car, as fast as their spindly little sheepy legs could carry them.

In any onrushing horde of sheep rampaging through the British countryside, there is always one straggler, desperately trying to catch up.

We all sat there in the car for another few moments, too stunned at what we'd witnessed to make sense of it all. Eventually, when The Sheep Incident (as it is now forever known) had passed, we moved on to the grandeur of Bamburgh Castle and the stark, distinctly spooky malevolence of Dunstanburgh Castle's remains.

But that will have to wait for another post. Nothing should compete with The Sheep Incident.

Rabbi Donald J. Pollock

2011-10-13T22:12:00.001-04:00

In blahblahginger's previous post, I discussed the importance of savoring the good times, because you never know.....

What do you never know? You never know when they might come to an abrupt end. When someone you dearly love and cherish is suddenly gone. In the last post, I mentioned the Jewish New Year. We spent the morning of Rosh Hashanah the way we have for years - with our beloved Rabbi Don Pollock and his incredible wife Betsy, and the service they conduct with what's become an extended yet still intimate little Jewish community in Brookline, MA. Don married us in 2001. For a year before the ceremony, P and I got to know him (and he us) over the course of about a dozen sessions in his home. Everybody who attended our wedding can speak to how remarkable a man Don is -- it was a ceremony you don't easily forget. Since then, he has been our counselor, our therapist, and most importantly, a very, very dear friend.

Don passed away Tuesday night. He was 64, but he was also, to all of us who loved him so dearly, ageless.

Don was in on the secret about the surprise birthday trip P had planned for me to Paris for my 40th birthday. When P's mother passed away, Don left the most beautiful, heartfelt message on our home voicemail. P saved it for months and months, because of its comforting eloquence. Just hearing his voice lowered your blood pressure. When we saw Don, we didn't get a handshake, we got a big hug and a kiss. Not just us. Everyone did. That was Don. It always felt like a safe, comforting security blanket.

Don was a lover of life. He dearly loved Betsy and their two children. He loved their wonderfully remodeled house in Brookline, and their golden retriever Honey. Don loved to laugh. I'll always hear his deep, booming laugh echo through my memory.. Most of all, Don loved the community he created. He was a rabbi who disdained the political intrigue of a formal synagogue environment, and instead created his own congregation without walls. He performed bar- and bat-mitzvahs, officiated at weddings, funerals, and other life celebrations. Don was an ardent protector of human rights, and was one of the first rabbis in Massachusetts to marry gay and lesbian couples. Oh yes, Don was very politically outspoken. You didn't want to get him started on the corrosive dangers and outright failures of Shrub's presidency. His last Rosh Hashanah sermon bemoaned what had become of the pervasive culture of fear and mistrust in the ten years since 9/11. I've never known a rabbi who could craft a sermon the way Don could. There was no such thing as cookie cutter with him. His passion for justice and tikkun olam (the healing of the world) soaked through every word. He didn't just preach the words. He lived them.

He was also an extraordinarily talented and dedicated therapist. His life was dedicated to helping others. Don was a rabbi in the very best sense of the word. He was a teacher, not of the formal words found in the Talmud, but what the sentiments convey. Don ceaselessly asked the central question of the Jewish experience: why. He pondered what it meant to be Jewish, and what it meant to find meaning in a dauntingly complex world. Don was, above all, a true mensch. As a friend mused yesterday, the words "rabbi" and "mensch" don't always go together, but with Don they certainly did. His generosity of spirit, his humanity, and eager embrace of the people around him awed me from the very first time we met.

The last words both P and I said to Don when we parted after High Holiday services were "I love you." When Don said I love you, he meant it with all his heart, all his soul, and all his might. He believed in us, both separately as individuals, and together as a couple. That faith in us never waned, not from the first day. It has strengthened us immeasurably through the years. Though we are thoroughly devastated by Don's passing and grieve with Betsy, the family and the extended community, we also carry Don's love, his wisdom and his boundless spirit with us forever.

Thank you, Don, for all you gave us, all you taught us, everything you saw in us, and most of all, for sharing your heart with us. We will never forget you. Your love was a gift, and we'll treasure it for as long as we live. May your memory be for a blessing.

Happy and healthy 5772

2011-10-07T18:14:00.000-04:00

Being Jewish and having a birthday at the end of September means that from time to time my birthday is going to coincide with Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, the Jewish High Holy Days. When I was a kid, I used to hate that. I resented it bigtime. You would have, too. Whaddya mean I have to spend all (or even part) of my birthday in the synagogue? How unfair is that? C'mon, isn't there some talmudic dictum exempting birthday boys from having to do that? I've been good!

This year, though, I welcomed the serendipity of dates. It forced me to take time out to reflect. As an adult, I've come to appreciate how the rituals and traditions made elegant sense. The blowing of the shofar (ram's horn) is a not-too-subtle call to stop what you're doing and pay attention -- and also a macabre reminder that somewhere, a poor ram had a really, really bad day, just so you could watch a body part of his used as a wind instrument.

During Rosh Hashanah last week, I heard a woman recount the details of what for her had clearly been a truly awful year, what Queen Elizabeth II once termed an annus horribilis. I listened and thought "wow, I guess I had a good year." Upon further reflection, I had to amend that. I had a great year. For me, the Jewish year 5771 was a combination of tremendously good luck and, if I'm going to be brutally honest, the fruition of many years of hard work and dedication. The lesson I draw from that is to be grateful....for all of it.

It's neither trite nor an overstatement to say that there but for the grace of God go all of us. Good health isn't guaranteed, and neither are other successes or even simple happiness. Disasters can (and do) take place without notice or reason. A good year is a gift. Savor it.At the same time, nobody is perfect, and life isn't all apples and honey. I'd love to insist I'm faultless, but lying is a bad idea...and, rabbis remind congregants, a sin. Yom Kippur is the Day of Atonement for a reason. For the mistakes I've made, to the people I've wronged, I'm deeply sorry and ask for forgiveness.

This is the time of year that we hope and pray that we'll be inscribed in the book of life. May you enjoy a sweet, happy and healthy new year.

As the H turns

2011-08-10T18:02:00.002-04:00

Honda

It was the winter of 1987. I was living in upstate New York when I bought a red Honda Civic hatchback. It had a manual transmission (that used to be common, kids), it fit all my possessions, and it was the first car that was mine, not a hand-me-down from a family member. Ever since, I've been a loyal Honda owner. That Civic was followed by another one, and in September of 2000, an Accord Coupe. I've loved my Accord. Dependable as clockwork, comfortable, a kickass sound system (I put that in...Honda's standard audio was never very good), and pretty much a constant rolling advertisement for why Honda is Honda. From the day I drove it off the lot, I only had one complaint: it got terrible gas mileage.

With the Civic, I could count on 35-37mpg, rain or shine, winter or summer.The Accord never did much better than 25mpg. If I was really lucky and had a long highway trip, I might manage 28, but that was as good as it ever got. I didn't like it, but I couldn't change it, either. I tried not to think about it too much as the miles added up, until a couple years ago when I started seeing advertisements for trucks and SUV's that did better on a tank of gas than my four cylinder, two door sedan. That pissed me off.

I was seriously intrigued by the popularity of the Prius Hybrids, and a few years back I got to rent one when I was on the west coast. No two ways about it. That's not just a good car. The Prius is a great car.Lots of acceleration (I was in the Bay Area, where you had better be able to accelerate when the time comes), all kinds of interior room, and very well-designed and well made. I haven't been that impressed with a car since the first time I drove a Lexus. Only one problem...I couldn't own a Prius because of one fatal flaw. It suffers from fatal, incurable homeliness. I don't understand why wanting fuel efficiency requires I drive something that looks like a cheese wedge. The Prius was out, but 23mpg still wasn't cutting it, so I waited for the right car. Last year, it appeared in the automotive press. The 2011 Hyundai Sonata has been getting rave reviews. It got great mileage, too, but the newer Sonata Hybrid's were even better. I was in love.

Hyundai

Earlier today, I sold my Accord to my local car mechanic. They haven't seen the last of me, though. I'll still be a loyal customer, just with a much newer car. This weekend I'm taking delivery of my new Sonata Hybrid. Dark grey, with a grey leather interior. My friend Marc is in the market for a new car as well, and he's also seriously considering making the same choice. I love his criteria: "Over 40, under 30," meaning over 40mpg, and under $30,000. That's actually a very small club. If you don't want to drive a cheese wedge, and you're not interested in a diesel (which VW does very well, I have to admit), I strongly suggest you consider thinking about the virtues of South Korea. The Sonata Hybrid's rated at 40mpg highway, and the MSRP is $25,000. The smaller Elantra gets 40mpg, too. Both good choices.

As for me, my Honda era, spanning three cars, a few hundred thousand miles, and twenty four years, is over, as of today. As a friend aptly put it, Hyundai is now what Honda used to be. I'm excited to get my new wheels, and to drive past a whole lot more gas stations.

Chapter two of "The Kindle Conundrum"

2011-07-20T08:27:00.005-04:00

Two years ago, I discussed Amazon Kindles at some length, and how I just wasn't ready for an e-book reader. I'm old school. I love the experience of reading a physical book, I love the ritual of the decision-making process in the store, looking at the cover art, gauging how many pages I have left, the little frisson of joy at turning the last page, seeing books on a shelf......you know, reading BOOKS.

I also said that the truth was I didn't have the circumstances in my life to justify the purchase. As much as I admired the Kindle, and eventually the competition from Barnes & Noble, it felt frivolous. Fast forward to this summer. I commute via public transportation close to three hours round trip each day. Working on my laptop isn't an option most of the time. To pass the time, I've been reading a lot. I'm averaging a book a week, even though a big chunk of that time (i.e. on the subway), holding a book and bracing myself to avoid getting thrown around while the train's moving isn't easily done, either. With a hardcover, it's impossible. Hardcovers are heavy, and tough to manage with one hand. Try holding a 500-page book and turning the page while holding on, with people packed in around you. Good luck. Even with a paperback it's aggravating.

I finally made the decision that I wanted...no, I needed a Kindle. Sadly, there are always too many bills in the way, even though the newest Kindles are now less than half the price compared to the spring of 2009. Maybe for my birthday (end of September) or Hannukah.

You can imagine my surprise and joy, then, when I got home from a weeklong business trip on Friday to find a brand-new third generation Kindle, the one with built-in 3G, waiting for me. And a leather cover in chocolate brown! Yes indeedy, I have the world's best wife. She had been planning this all along, that sneaky woman of mine.

So now I have a Kindle of my very own, and I'm not afraid to say I love it. As I freely admitted in 2009, it's a great little device. It does what only the very best technology can accomplish: it gets the hell out of the way and allows you to enjoy the content. What did I download first? You might be surprised. The first additions weren't from the New York Times' bestseller list, or even Amazon's top 100 books. Well, they might have been, a century or three ago.

Collected Works of Charles Dickens
The Complete Plays of William Shakespeare
Collected Works of Mark Twain
Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein"
"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll
T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land"

There's a particularly cool feature available for Kindle readers....anything published before the 1920's is free, or nearly free (as in $1.99). Why? The copyrights have expired. Essentially, if it's in the public domain, there's no sense paying for it, so Amazon charges little to nothing for the very best literature. I'll eventually fill out my classics shelf with Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Victor Hugo and others, but in the meantime does it get any better than Dickens, Shakespeare, Carroll, Twain and Eliot? The last two became special favorites of mine after a particular English class in high school....thank you, Dr. Teichgraeber. I still maintain that was the best C in my academic life. It was worth every frustrating exam.

Don't get me wrong, I'm going to have plenty of time for current stuff I have to pay actual money for, such as political treatises, Richard North Patterson, Dennis Lehane, Tom Clancy, Christopher Moore, Carl Hiassen and Dave Barry, plus my beloved biographies and historic novels (I loves me some Civil War books). There's going to be a nice mix over time. Best of all, though, the commute goes by faster now. I can read on the subway, I can hold a library's worth of books in one hand, and put them all in my luggage even though they weigh less than one paperback. Do I miss the sensation of turning pages? Yes I do, but less than I expected. I do miss the cover art. I wish the books were visible on my shelf at home when I finish with them. I'll need to find a new home for my boarding pass, now that it can't be tucked inside the back cover.

However, it's still reading. I'm still enjoying great (or even mindless, formulaic) literature. I have my idols with me wherever I want to lose myself in their words. I'll get over the loss of the tactile thrill of books.

I hope.

A decade to remember

2011-07-07T13:31:00.001-04:00

July 7, 2001 was a Saturday. In Boston, the Red Sox beat the Atlanta Braves 3-1 at Fenway Park. A few hours later, it started raining, and drizzled most of the night. Although the forecast called for sunshine and temperatures in the 70's on Sunday, the ground was soaked from the night before.

That moved our wedding ceremony on Sunday the 8th from the lawn of the Pierce House Estate in Lincoln, Mass. to the tent we rented in front of the large mansion.. The moving of the ceremony was one of only two things that didn't go exactly (or at least as well) as planned during that incredible, magical day. There was the photographer who was an hour and a half late, but that's a whole other topic. Our rabbi conducted a service that was beyond memorable. We wrote our own vows, and in mine, along with the usual, I promised to kill bugs for my bride...she appreciated that. As I was soon to find out, P had a little surprise for me. As the reception was getting under way, she took the microphone, had me sit in a chair at the corner of the dance floor, and serenaded me with a song she had been rehearsing: Al Green's classic hit "Let's Stay Together."

The rest of the day is kind of a blur for both of us. What we both remember is that neither of us ate much on our wedding day, until we got to the hotel in downtown Boston. Then, in our split-level suite, still in our wedding clothes, we sat at a little cocktail table, discussed what had just happened, and ate really yummy leftover wedding cake, with our hands. We didn't have cutlery, we were starving, and too impatient to wait for room service at the very elegant Le Meridien (now Langham) Hotel. It was a day we both still look back to in amazed wonder, and as of Friday it was exactly ten years ago.

Ten years. We were married in what I now have to acknowledge was a completely different world. A gallon of gas cost about $1.70. The Twin Towers dominated the lower Manhattan skyline. The Red Sox hadn't won a World Series in 83 years. Cami and Harry were months away from even being conceived. This blog was years from its first post. Yeah, it was a long time ago.

One thing hasn't changed. I still say, and I still believe, that I'm the luckiest guy I know.

Happy anniversary, sweetie! I love you even more today than I did before I said "I do."

Stealing a ball from a kid? Really?

2011-06-15T19:12:00.000-04:00

There are thousands of theories on what's wrong with society today. We don't pay enough attention to education, there's too much reliance on technology, red vs. blue, north vs. south, us vs. them. My opinion?

They're all bullshit.

I can summarize what's wrong with all of us in one very short video.

It's really that simple. Baseball game. Foul ball. Kid's got it in her hands. The woman rips it away from the little girl, sits down and someone gives her a high five. There it is, right there. You want to know what our problem is? It's the ethic portrayed in that video..

I-Me-Mine. I got mine, to hell with you. It's all about me. Little kid's got something I want? Take it from her. I want it, so I deserve it. There's a selfish entitlement where people don't get the concept of doing the right thing. What's best for all of us isn't necessarily what you want. When you boil it down, the video portrays a blatant theft, but for the woman and her friend, Machiavelli is in charge. The ends justify the means, and as long as she has the baseball, how she acquired it is secondary (or irrelevant).
Inability to recognize (or understand) what's right: Was there not a little voice in that woman's head saying "this is a bad idea"? You're taking a baseball away from a small child. In what world is that remotely acceptable? Where does your head have to be to allow that to happen?
Celebrating poor behavior. The selfish woman not only wasn't embarrassed, her friend wasn't either. How do I know? Did you see the high five? "Hey, you ripped a baseball away from a kid! Way to go!" This is the Jerry Springer portion of our culture. Do something abhorrent, and someone will think that was perfectly ok.

The era of John Kennedy's "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country" is dead. Bill Clinton's "There's nothing wrong with America that can't be fixed by what's right with America" is long gone.

We're now in the midst of the "steal a ball from a kid and crow about it." That's just fucking nauseating. I'm embarrassed to live in a world where the act shown in that video is possible. If you're not, why not?

Buying a bad alarm system

2011-06-11T13:15:00.053-04:00

News item: TSA employees fired for not screening for explosives.

News item: TSA Puffer machines pulled from service

News item: Man sneaks into wheel well of plane, dies.

News item: Passenger boards international flight in Houston with loaded gun.

The time to invest in a big, expensive alarm system is before thieves break into your house and ransack the place, not after. That's not what we did in the United States, though. We had our collective house violated nearly ten years ago, and then went out and bought an alarm system as quickly as we could. We didn't care what it cost, and didn't take the time to give too much thought to what worked best. We just needed something, anything. What we got was a mess.

With all their vaunted security measures, how did a kid manage to stroll up to a jet unnoticed at Charlotte-Douglas International Airport and sneak into the wheel well of the aircraft? TSA has no answer to that question.

With all the strict devotion to state of the art security, how did the TSA manage to spend $30 million for 94 "puffer" machines that turn out to be absolutely worthless in the airport environment for which they were designed? Nobody proved the machines' efficacy in a real world environment before they were installed.

How is it that TSA employees at Honolulu International Airport couldn't be bothered to inspect baggage being loaded onto planes that would then be flying across the Pacific? Pick one: it's a training issue, a management issue, and/or a hiring issue.

TSA manages to fail its own department's internal investigations. Their current annual budget is more than $7 billion. That's around two years of aid to Afghanistan, more money than Major League Baseball makes in a year, and 1/16 of Exxon/Mobil's revenue in the first quarter of 2011.

There are countless more stories of TSA incompetence. Is it possible that those billions haven't been well spent? That's what I think, and I agree with David Freddoso: throwing good money after bad is poor public policy, and needs to stop. Of course TSA's inability to do its job long predates President Obama's administration, but it's now his job to fix this mess. This isn't an insignificant problem, since we're all told TSA is a key linchpin in our Homeland Security structure. If it was important enough to waste countless billions on to create and run, it's important enough to do it right.

This would be an excellent time to do away with some of the patently idiotic "security theater" rules that have been in place for years, such as making passengers remove their shoes and prohibiting liquids (those dangerous snow globes). What works in airport security? That's tricky, because the one structure that is an absolute proven success is the Israeli model, which wouldn't be feasible in the US.

What needs to happen? Sadly, we as a country need to do something we appear to have become incapable of doing over the past generation: have a serious, rational discussion about what's in our national interest. It's time to sit down, analyze what works, what doesn't, how much we're willing to spend for the safety we desire, and what we're willing to give up to get that safety.

The current alarm system is just plain broken, It's not making us safer, just more paranoid.

Image credits: Taxiing aircraft, USAirways.

Dachshunds on the prowl

2011-05-25T08:56:00.001-04:00

It was just a matter of time, I suppose. Cami and Harry are nine and a half years old, and they’re dachshunds. In German, dachshund means “badger dog.” They have always wanted to hunt and kill a critter. The problem is that every critter they go after is either faster than them (chipmunks, bunnies), waaaay bigger (wild turkeys), or is maddeningly adept at hiding in trees/ jumping over tall fences (squirrels). It’s never been a fair fight, from the dogs’ point of view. In other words, no prey has ever sat there quietly and let itself be killed.

A year or so ago, there was the (I felt) stupid rabbit who almost allowed itself to get fatally cornered in the back yard. I was in the house one afternoon watching the Red Sox on television, P was outside with the dogs, and I suddenly heard one...then two...blood curdling screams. I logically assumed that the first scream was one of the dogs in agonizing pain. Turns out the first scream was the rabbit, who had just had its tush (or some part of its body) bitten by one of the dogs. Have you ever heard a rabbit scream? Now I know where Alfred Hitchcock got the idea for the sound in the famous shower scene from “Psycho.” He had to have heard a rabbit being attacked. For real…not a pretty noise.

So anyway, the rabbit screamed, then P screamed as she was watching the scene unfold before her, and eventually the rabbit wriggled his or her way through the chain link fence. As far as I know, neither dog said anything of note. The rabbit got away, minus a few tufts of fur and a little bit of blood. That was the closest either dog has gotten to a successful kill. Personally, I felt badly for them. My lovely wife was appalled (and rather annoyed with me, it should be noted) that I, of all people, a pet blogger, was willing to see an innocent bunny get eaten.

“Hey,” I reasoned, “it’s their yard, not the bunny’s. Sorry, but Cami and Harry have every right to defend their territory. From my point of view, if the rabbit had a brain, he’d have said to himself ,"Self, perhaps it would be wiser to check out the five surrounding yards that do NOT contain sprinting, barking predators with sharp teeth.” I have nothing against rabbits. I think they're adorable, but between a stray rabbit and my dogs, on my dogs' own property, I am firmly pro-dachshund. In someone else's yard, I'd make sure the dogs leave the prey alone. Actually, I wouldn't have to. Rabbits can hop away faster than Cami and Harry can run after them.

Fast forward to this past Monday. It’s early evening, and P let the dogs out to pee. Within a minute or so, she says in that I’m-not-messing-around-here, pay-attention-voice, “David, come out here quick. I need you.” So I did. She said “Harry has found something. You need to get him away from it.”

What Harry had found was very small, about the size of a chipmunk, and it was grey. It looked like a fat mouse with no tail. Also, it wasn’t yet dead, but it was about to be any minute now. Whatever it was, Harry had broken its little neck, and was deciding what he should do next. Cami, oddly, was not joining in on the attack. She was loitering nearby, seemingly looking for FOV’s (friends of the victim) to interrogate with extreme prejudice.

I got the dogs away from the small victim, which they didn’t appreciate, as they reasoned that they still had some unfinished business to attend to at the scene. Once the dogs were safely indoors, I returned to the victim, who had by this time stopped breathing entirely. When I picked it up with a garden implement, I saw that it was in fact (emphasis on ‘was’) a very tiny rabbit. Harry had killed a baby bunny. I have no idea how it had gotten there, but my first thought was “rabbits aren’t loners. Where there’s one little bunny, there are going to be more. Where are they?”

I haven’t answered that last question yet, but I can tell you Harry Potter Dachshund Greene was quite pleased with himself, and was almost strutting, as if he was doing his own impression of Richard Pryor and Gene Wilder from “Stir Crazy.”

There will be no living with him now.

Confusion in Amherst

2011-05-22T14:09:00.000-04:00

Today's Boston Globe contained news that University of Massachusetts-Amherst Chancellor Robert Holub is on his way out. When he leaves, the university will be looking for its fifth leader in ten years. How surprising is this? For UMass Amherst, not at all. In fact, the UMass system has had issues for years. When he was governor, Mitt Romney, in a breathtaking display of political cowardice, decided that we didn't need no stinkin' public university. Romney floated a plan to scrap the system completely. Fortunately, that idea was promptly laughed out of consideration. Still, it spoke volumes about where the university stands around here....it's optional.

The truth is, there's really nothing wrong with the UMass system per se, except that its "flagship" (a term used with tongue planted firmly in cheek) campus has suffered from a staggering lack of leadership, and the fish rots from the head down. As recently as 2008, UMass Amherst's alumni association was shown to be a public laughingstock when it was disclosed that they didn't want to share their data with anyone else in the system, because they deemed it proprietary information. Never mind that they're not an independent private school, but one member of a five-campus system. Also, let's not linger on the reality that they do a rotten job of fundraising (the lifeblood of any school that pretends to be considered a serious player). The school is hardly hopeless. They've become much better academically over the past couple decades. In particular, Amherst's artificial intelligence and honors program are nationally recognized. In the past, the oceanography and restaurant management majors were well regarded. There is some potential there.

However, most people don't realize that not only is UMass Amherst not the best school in the system, it isn't even close. UMass Medical School in Worcester is the real jewel in the crown. In a state that's home to some of the best hospitals in the country, Worcester has nothing to be ashamed of. Meanwhile, UMass Lowell's Engineering program is terrific, and is home to a research center that Major League Baseball uses to test equipment. UML will be home to a new Plastics Hall of Fame. Did you know that UMass Lowell has its own nuclear reactor on campus? It's true. UML is the best school in Massachusetts you've never heard of.

With Chancellor Holub being kicked to the curb, Amherst has to start over...again. It's going to be up to new incoming system president Robert Caret to be the grownup. Real leadership requires that the spoiled brats in Amherst (yes, alumni association, that means you) are forced to face reality. UMass Amherst (and rest of the system) is certainly better than it once was, but it's still nowhere close to being mentioned in the same breath as the public universities of California, Virginia, Michigan, Wisconsin or Pennsylvania. In other words, it's not a world class university system, and it never will be until and unless there's a coherent, long-term commitment to excellence in fundraising, administration, and most importantly, vision.

Massachusetts is home to some of the best private colleges and universities in the world. We have MIT, Harvard, Tufts, Babson, Brandeis, Boston College, Williams, Wellesley, and dozens more. Why can't our public university reside at that level, too?

Photo credit: Robert Holub, boston.com. UMLBRC logo, UMass Lowell.

Book report time!

2011-05-13T22:45:00.000-04:00

I started my new job in downtown Boston six weeks ago. I love the company, the software is a blast to work with, as are my co-workers. The neighborhood around the office is a little funky (Ft. Point), and it's full of outstanding lunch choices. There is one element of the job I don't like: my commute just plain sucks. Commuter rail to the dreaded Red Line of the T, then a five minute walk to the office. The Red Line is the worst part of it, no doubt about it. No matter how you slice it, when it's an hour and a half from door to door, there's no such thing as a "good" commute, it's just gradations of craptastic. I love the job, so it's worth it, but my main coping mechanism has been reading. I've finally decided that a Kindle will be in my future, in spite of what I said a couple years ago...I still love reading actual books, but my circumstances have changed. Weight and one-touch manipulating on a train matter more than they did before. Besides, the Kindle is now half the cost of the original device. My reading speed has approached warp speed. I'm averaging one book a week, in 30-minute chunks. Six weeks, six books. Of those six, five of them were terrific They were so good, in fact, that it's time for a blahblahginger book report. What I've read since April 1 (except for Dale Brown's "Executive Intent," which you should read on the beach, and not worry too much if you accidentally drop it in the bushes on the way back to the car. It's really not worth keeping on your bookshelf.)

"The Wordy Shipmates" by Sarah Vowell. Ms. Vowell is a delightful, slightly (ok, very) sarcastic social essayist. She's been on NPR's This American Life, as well as Letterman, Conan, The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. "The Wordy Shipmates" is Vowell's very funny, acerbic, absolutely factual take on how it all went for the Pilgrims who made the treacherous journey across the Atlantic to start a new life in the colonies. "Oh please, David, that sounds boring as hell," you say? No, it definitely wasn't boring. It was fascinating, laugh-out-loud funny, and more than a little thought-provoking. John Winthrop, Roger Williams and John Cotton become more than stilted oil paintings. They're real, flesh and blood people with emotions, irrational behavior, and lots and lots of ego thrown in. This is a terrific book, and one that you wouldn't necessarily pick up in a bookstore and say "I've GOT to check this out!" You really should, though.

Unbroken: by Laura Hillenbrand. Do you remember "Seabiscuit"? Not the movie. The movie was good. The book was outstanding, and I still say it's one of the half dozen finest non-fiction sports books I've ever read. The author was Laura Hillenbrand. I didn't think she'd be able to outdo herself, but "Unbroken" is an epic story. And it's all true. Louis Zamperini was a world class track and field athlete, a teammate of Jesse Owens on the 1936 US Olympic Team in the Munich Games. How he got to that world stage is a story in and of itself. After that, World War II started, and Zamperini's life took a series of turns that defy imagination, much less belief. I'd get to sections of the book and say to myself "Well, it can't get more dramatic than this." And then it does. "Oh c'mon, that episode really has to be the climax." Nope. You've heard the term life is stranger than fiction? This story is stark proof. An extraordinary achievement in storytelling about a remarkable man.

You Suck: A Love Story, by Christopher Moore. Take Douglas Adams, sprinkle in some Monty Python, and let it all soak in a vat of Anne Rice-flavored rum. That's Christopher Moore's latest thrill ride of utter lunacy. It's a story about San Francisco, the undead, some utterly terrifying cats, a very wise homeless dude, and a bunch of stoners who work in a Safeway. But it's really about a disturbing goth chick named Abby Normal who inexplicably doesn't get along with her mother. Oh yeah. Mel Brooks definitely has an influence on this novel, but I can't entirely describe how. Please don't read this book in public. You'll get some really odd looks when you burst out in hysterical laughter on a very quiet moving train early in the morning. Not that I know anything about that.

War, by Sebastian Junger His career started with the landmark "The Perfect Storm." Since then, Seb Junger has cemented his place as one of the few remaining true journalists in the book writing business. By true journalist, I mean just that. Junger sticks to Joe Friday's dictum: just the facts. He offers no editorial opinions one way or another. He simply tells you what he saw, and what he heard. You can make up your mind from there. "War" is about American forces in Afghanistan. And bullets. And ambushes. And fear. And bravery. "War" was the basis for the Oscar-nominated documentary "Restrepo," which was directed by Tim Heatherington. That name might be familiar if you follow the news. Heatherington was killed last month while covering the uprising in Libya. When you read a Sebastian Junger story, you don't just learn about what's going on, you're right there with him, hanging on for dear life. I had to put this book down numerous times because I couldn't bear to find out what was going to happen next. But I couldn't not know, either, so I'd pick it up again. It's like that.

Still Missing, by Chevy Stevens. I found this book on my bookshelf last week. Obviously I had bought it, but I had no memory of when or why. In retrospect, I now realize it had to have been on the strength of a rave review that must have read something like "a chilling, haunting work that will easily become the best first novel you'll read this year, or next year, or perhaps the year after that." I can't say the book was a fun read. It's a thriller. It's beautifully crafted. It's also deeply disturbing and very, very dark. Ms. Stevens sets the stage with a realtor's kidnapping near Vancouver. Then the disturbing part starts, and that pretty much continues the rest of the way. I finished the book today, and it's going to take some time to get the narrator's voice out of my head. I'd recommend reading this *before* "You Suck," so you have something to laugh about when you're done. You'll need it.

So that's five great books. Next week I start an 800-page biography. After that, I have to go shopping again.

"Not intended to be a factual statement"

2011-04-15T16:23:00.000-04:00

A United States Senator stood at his desk in the Senate chamber and boldly, unapologetically lied about an organization he didn’t like in order to score cheap political points and scare people who didn’t know any better. When he was caught in the lie, his office’s response was to say his little fib “was not intended to be a factual statement.”

Understand, what Senators say on the Senate floor goes into the Congressional Record. They are, by definition, public stances by the speakers on the issues.

In case you hadn’t heard, the Senator is John Kyl (R-AZ), and the organization he didn’t like is Planned Parenthood. Kyl insisted that abortions define 90% of what Planned Parenthood does. The truth? It’s actually 3%. And not only do federal dollars not pay for any abortion services, they can’t. It’s illegal, and has been for 35 years, thanks to the Hyde Amendment. Kyl knew that. He knew that the core of Planned Parenthood's mission is about family planning, and keeping women healthy. He was just bloviating to sow fear and hysteria. Jon Kyl isn't a lone wolf. He's a leader in the Senate majority, and he was following the Conservative playbook. Lying – baldface lying – in order to create fear and whip up the base, is standard policy, and has been for years. Don’t believe me?

Death panels.
WMD in Iraq
The President was born in Kenya
Sharia law is taking over the US, so we have to legislate against it.

Those aren’t points of public policy disagreement. Those are examples of intentional propaganda. Tell The Big Lie long enough and loud enough, and people will believe it. The Big Lie works. Google the term if you want to know where the concept originated.

The conservative right wing doesn’t talk about actual policy, or even helping people. The biggest issue facing millions of Americans right now is unemployment. So far, this is looking like a jobless recovery. When Boehner and company took office, they said jobs would be first on the list. Republicans have controlled the House of Representatives for over 100 days now. Quick quiz: how many jobs bills have they proposed? None. Not one. Watch this....

Academy Award winner Aaron Sorkin perfectly summarized how it works. In the movie “The American President,” President Andrew Shepherd (played by Michael Douglas), is tired of Senator Bob Rumson (Richard Dreyfuss) and his constant pestering of the unmarried President about his girlfriend (Annette Bening). In exasperation, the President takes to the White House press room podium and rants a bit. The best nugget explains the GOP orthodoxy of the current (and past) generation to a tee.

We have serious problems to solve, and we need serious people to solve them. And whatever your particular problem is, I promise you, Bob Rumson is not the least bit interested in solving it. He is interested in two things and two things only: making you afraid of it and telling you who's to blame for it. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how you win elections.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, doesn’t improve our country one tiny bit. Stop falling for the talking points and consider the source. It’s not reasonable or acceptable for a sitting Senator to knowingly, intentionally spout lies, hoping nobody will notice or call him on it.

Think critically.

Photo credit: Jon Kyl, thinkprogress.org

Career evolution, the next chapter

2011-04-02T08:45:00.003-04:00

The story so far....
Greene Means Go Consulting was created in June of 2009 to serve clients with training and business consulting needs. Contracts ranging from a day to a few months proved to be successful, and even - dare I say it - almost lucrative. Along the way, a long-dormant journalism career was reborn. The little consultancy that could, actually did.

From time to time, potential permanent opportunities presented themselves, but none of them came to fruition. After a while, I determined that I was probably destined to remain an indy for hire, and I came to enjoy it. Some months (and quarters) were better than others, but hard work and a lot of networking was paying off.

So now it's time for the news. On Friday, I started a new job. Not a consulting contract, but working full-time in downtown Boston as a Senior Instructor for a software company based in Silicon Valley. Why did I willingly walk back into the not-so-much-controlling-my-own-destiny rat race? The short answer is I found the right fit, they named my price, and I'm good at what I do. Excellent company, progressive software, lots of growth, and a great new challenge. This decision has been in the works for a couple months, but as far as I was concerned it wasn't real until I was issued my new laptop (and Blackberry) and logged in to my new email account. It's real now..

Certain things will have to change. My commute will go from a flight of stairs to thirty miles (via commuter rail, subway, and a short walk). I'll have to be showered, dressed, caffeinated and out the door at least an hour before I used to wake up. I'll have to shave! Daily! I might finally get a Kindle to pass the time on the train. Also, I'll have to accept a reliable paycheck every couple weeks. I will have to figure out how to use a Blackberry - the company cell phone assigned to me. Never been a big fan of Crackberries. Always hated the damn things, to be honest, but now I own one. I'll work through it, though. How hard can it be? If Wall Street stock brokers, Congressmen and Senators can figure them out, I'm sure I can manage.

It's been two years since I worked for someone else, and fifteen since I last worked downtown. Walking the couple blocks toward South Station on the way home after my first day, I looked up at the Boston skyline I remember so well, and you know what occurred to me? I've missed it. Even though I live in Maynard, I love that dirty water. Boston you're my home.

Before you ask, I promise Greene Means Go Consulting isn't dead, not by a long shot. Under the right circumstances, I'll still do some consulting on the side, and the regular writing gig will never stop. Wild horses couldn't drag me away from my friends and readers at Pet Connection. This should be a great new ride. I'm strapped in, and ready to climb the hill!

Enjoy every sandwich

2011-03-22T20:26:00.002-04:00

My mother taught me to pay attention to the universe when it's trying to send you messages. One that's been loud and clear in recent months, at least to me, has been summarized a hundred different ways throughout recorded time. Pay attention, and don't take anything for granted. Or, as the late, great Warren Zevon (at right) said in his final appearance on The David Letterman Show in October of 2002 when he knew his days were dwindling due to terminal cancer, "enjoy every sandwich."

Carpe diem, gather ye rosebuds while ye may, don't postpone joy. An earthquake, tsunami, random accident or devastating diagnosis could be as close as this afternoon. You don't know, so if you've been meaning to tell someone how terrific you think they are, tell them today.

Last week, I made my second annual trip down to Orlando for Global Pet Expo, the world's largest pet product trade show. The best part of the trip had nothing to do with the 2,300 vendor booths, or even the 80 degree temps (though I definitely enjoyed that part after a brutal New England winter). No, the best part was spending four days with co-workers/friends I've come to treasure. To be sure, we covered a hell of a lot of ground, and produced what I would humbly insist was outstanding coverage (you can read about the immense size of the undertaking here and here, the pet industry's explosive growth here, my single favorite booth at the show here, what it's like to meet Cesar Millan here, the top picks here and and my final thoughts here). So yeah, we were busy.

On Wednesday alone I worked a 15 hour day. But you know something? I had the best time, and I wish I didn't have to wait an entire year to do it again. During the first morning's breakfast staff meeting, I got to see one of the very first copies of Dr. Marty Becker and Gina Spadafori's new book Your Dog: The Owner's Manual. You can order it right now at Amazon.com. In fact, you really should. I'll bet folding money it'll go down as the best book ever written about dog care. Don't take my word for it, though. I've included the handy dandy Amazon widget. Check it out for yourself.

The hardcover's available now (Mine is on its way), and the Kindle edition is coming in a couple weeks, but can be pre-ordered today. But wait, it gets better. If you play your cards right (and live in the right parts of the country), you can meet Dr. Becker, Gina, and also Gina's uncommonly gorgeous flat coated retriever McKenzie. They're embarking on a national bus tour starting next month. Tour schedule here. Sorry, no Boston appearances.

Back to my original point, though. What I'll remember about the four days in Florida won't be any particular product, or even anything on the show floor. It'll be the break I had after work on Thursday, sitting by the hotel pool with two friends, enjoying a lovely Florida evening. It'll be the dinner after the work was done Friday night, the hours spent laughing and enjoying a superb meal. It'll be the satisfaction of knowing how fortunate I am to be doing good work with great people. It's not the destination, it's the journey I like to savor. Sometimes, like this month, we need a reminder to enjoy every sandwich.

Image credit: Warren Zevon, rutterorganization.com.

What Wisconsin really means

2011-02-23T13:26:00.000-05:00

The events in Wisconsin these days matter to you, even if you live clear across the country. The fight at the State House in Madison over teacher contracts is a microcosm of the philosophical battle brewing everywhere.

The governor says it's about money, but it's not. It's about breaking the union. What it's really about is the latest battle between two sides of the political spectrum who not only don't understand each other, they don't want to understand each other. There are other right-left/red-blue battles going on. The US House of Representatives, after signaling that they'd like to (but won't be able to) gut President Obama's health care reform legislation, is taking dead aim at what they see as classic incarnations of liberal waste - the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, Planned Parenthood, etc. The National Endowment for the Arts, the Department of Education and other "wastes of taxpayers' money" will be up for the budget axe sometime soon.

Why is this happening? Why are teachers' unions being threatened with extinction? Why are public servants being treated like last week's pizza boxes? How did we come to this?

George Lakoff knows. He's a professor of Linguistics at the University of California, Berkeley. In his book "Moral Politics - How Liberals and Conservatives Think," Professor Lakoff says, in essence, that liberals and conservatives hold two fundamentally different views, not just on how the country should work, but in fact on what it means to be an American.

To the liberal mind, America is about a neighborhood barn raising. You help me build my house, and I'll help you build yours. Ever watched "Extreme Makeover - Home Edition"? That's the ethic. Liberals subscribe to FDR's and JFK's philophies - Americans who have, have an obligation to assist those who don't have. It's in everyone's best interests to make sure that nobody is left suffering in the dust. Social Security was built on that concept. So was the Peace Corps and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. A rising tide raises all boats. It's how we made it through the Great Depression. The federal government put people who were out of work, back to work. Through the CCC, the WPA and the rest of the alphabet soup initiatives, the United States was able to create an infrastructure that eventually prepared us to fight -- and win -- World War II. Labor unions are founded on the idea that everybody deserves a safe workplace, and the right to collective bargaining. The blue collar, middle class worker and his or her family is therefore protected. They get a fair shot at owning their own home and giving their kids a decent education.

I know this ethical framework first hand. Jews talk about social action. We call it "tikkun olam" - healing the world. That's an inherently liberal, blue-state concept. There's a reason Jewish Americans are so often Democrats.

Conservatives reject the entire premise I just described. To a conservative, it boils down to "I made this money by my own blood, sweat and tears, and I get to keep all of it, if I so choose. I earned it, it's mine. That's what built America." As Professor Lakoff put it in his recent HuffPo column,

Conservatives believe in individual responsibility alone, not social responsibility. They don't think government should help its citizens. That is, they don't think citizens should help each other. The part of government they want to cut is not the military (we have 174 bases around the world), not government subsidies to corporations, not the aspect of government that fits their worldview. They want to cut the part that helps people. Why? Because that violates individual responsibility.

Professor Lakoff then explains where the individual responsibility ethic comes from.

The way to understand the conservative moral system is to consider a strict father family. The father is The Decider, the ultimate moral authority in the family. His authority must not be challenged. His job is to protect the family, to support the family (by winning competitions in the marketplace), and to teach his kids right from wrong by disciplining them physically when they do wrong. The use of force is necessary and required. Only then will children develop the internal discipline to become moral beings. And only with such discipline will they be able to prosper. And what of people who are not prosperous? They don't have discipline, and without discipline they cannot be moral, so they deserve their poverty. The good people are hence the prosperous people. Helping others takes away their discipline, and hence makes them both unable to prosper on their own and function morally.

I call that the Archie Bunker School of Philosophy. Archie didn't like unions.Governor Scott Walker is in the process of blatant union-busting. Protests in Wisconsin are focusing attention not just on budgets and unions, but how we address the problems we face. Busting a union and endangering the bedrock principle of collective bargaining won't do anything to solve budget shortfalls or heal a community in crisis. This is not a time for a decree from Archie Bunker. Today, what we need is a barn raising.

The only way that will take place is if people from Berkely to Madison to Manhattan begin to understand that communities benefit from treating each member as partners, not enemies.

Image credit: Wisconsin state house, tourism.state.wi.us

Remembrance

2011-01-27T18:46:00.000-05:00

Today is January 27, and for millions of people across the world, it's a solemn day of remembrance.

On this date in 1945, Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated. The largest of the death camps, and one of the worst pits of evil in the Holocaust (or Shoah, as it's known in Hebrew), Auschwitz has become synonymous with man's inhumanity to man. Because this was the date of liberation, the UN designated January 27 International Holocaust Remembrance Day. Genocides didn't stop when World War II ended. I think it's fair to say the lessons remain to be learned.

For more of us, today stands as a day of shock and sadness, and you're about to feel old. On January 27, 1986, Space Shuttle Challenger exploded in the cold, crystal clear Florida sky over Cape Canaveral. The crew perished, including Christa McAuliffe, who was to be the first teacher in space.

Here in the Boston area, the shock was magnified, as Christa was a local. She was born in Boston, earned her Bachelor's degree from Framingham State College, and taught in Concord, New Hampshire. She belonged to the nation, but she was as local as Doug Flutie, Rich Gedman and Mike Dukakis. Today, the McAuliffe-Shepard Discovery Center teaches New Hampshire children about the wonders of space, science and exploration.

President Ronald Reagan's short speech to the nation after the Challenger tragedy was pitch-perfect. The last paragraph of his address still resonates.

"The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and "slipped the surly bonds of earth" to "touch the face of God."

The Challenger explosion took place 25 years ago today.

I feel old.

Photo credits, IHRD banner, US Holocaust Museum. Challenger crew, Aerospaceguide.net

Cody's story and the power of community

2011-01-24T12:48:00.000-05:00

I've been the News Editor at Pet Connection since December of 2009. I've probably written about 120 stories over there by now, maybe more. Of that growing body of work, none are as important or, I think, as powerful as this column. It was published this morning on the Pet Connection blog. I'm intentionally not posting it here because I'd much prefer you go over there and read it (and respond, if you're so inclined). The story of Cody, Stephanie and the remarkable generosity of total strangers has completely blown me away. Very humbly, I'm more excited and proud of this post than any single piece of writing I've composed to date, ever. That's a bold statement, I know, but I believe it's that good. I hope you enjoy, and consider helping the cause by chipping in to Cody's fund, or at the very least, spreading the word.

-David

Photo credit: Cody, courtesy of Stephanie Green

Let the word go forth

2011-01-20T08:08:00.004-05:00

The election was tough, and close. Republicans wondered aloud and often if their opponent was appropriate and a legitimate candidate to lead the country. The Democrat, a young, charismatic and handsome Senator, was forced to give a speech during the campaign explaining why people needn't be afraid, and how about if we concentrate on the issues instead of window dressing? The Republican candidate was a polarizing, love 'em or hate 'em political veteran.

2008? No. 1960. The Republican nominee was Richard Nixon, and the winning Democrat was John Kennedy. The fear was that as the country's first elected Catholic chief executive, he'd take his orders from the Pope. While that seems vaguely ludicrous now, at the time Republicans were terrified, and fomented vicious rumors throughout the campaign that Kennedy was some kind of Trojan Horse.

January 20, 1961 was a bitterly cold, bright day, exactly 50 years ago today. Washington was still digging out from a heavy snowfall the night before. Former Poet Laureate Robert Frost intended to read a poem he had composed for the occasion, but the sun's glare was so bright on the Capitol's east front portico that Frost couldn't read the pages in front of him, so he recited "The Gift Outright" from memory.

As Kennedy rose to speak for the first time as President, the world held its breath, having no idea what to expect from the son of Ambassador Joseph Kennedy. What the country and the world heard that day was one of the great inaugural addresses in presidential history. Forty eight years later, President Barack Obama used JFK's inaugural as a template for his own.

Kennedy showed cold war defiance,

"Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty. "

He reminded his audience that he wasn't part of the same generation as his predecessors.

"Let the word go forth from this time and place, to friend and foe alike, that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans—born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace, proud of our ancient heritage—and unwilling to witness or permit the slow undoing of those human rights to which this Nation has always been committed, and to which we are committed today at home and around the world."

Kennedy signaled a firm endorsement of diplomacy (which would prove helpful during the Cuban Missile Crisis to come in less than two years)

So let us begin anew—remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate.

Finally, in the passage that everyone remembers a half century later, the new president gave rhetorical birth to the Peace Corps and a new national ethic of service that still resonates today:

The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it—and the glow from that fire can truly light the world. And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.

My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.

Since Kennedy, we've had other great communicators - Reagan, Clinton and Obama come to mind, but none of them lit the same flame of optimism and belief that, for the first time in a long time, anything was possible. Kennedy's speech laid the foundation for his upcoming grand challenge to put a man on the moon before the end of the decade. When Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas one thousand days after he took office, the country wondered what could have been. What might have happened in a second term? We'll never know, but we do know how great John Kennedy's first speech was as President of the United States. Fifty years later, it's worth watching in its entirety.
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Photo credit: americanrhetoric.com

How the weather works in New England

2011-01-11T12:23:00.002-05:00

If you've never lived in New England, there are things to learn about life here. I'm not talking about how we use/mangle the English language, or our quaint driving habits. I'm not even talking about our obsession with the Red Sox, Patriots and Celtics.

No, the key to life in the upper right hand corner of the country is to comprehend our relationship with weather. Unlike most of the southern tier of the continent, we have four seasons. Spring and fall are glorious, and summer doesn't suck. Winter, however, requires a bit of training.

Start with temperature. It's not cold until the temps go below 15-20 degrees. Less than 4 inches of snow barely counts as snow. We notice it at around 4-6, but it doesn't bother us until about 6-8, and even then, nothing gets cancelled. Schools, church events and other social functions aren't in real danger until over 8 inches of snow. After that, there's a sliding scale of bothersomeness. We acknowledge a foot of snow as a "real storm." From there on up, the spectrum extends to the top of the scale, which is a measure of comparison to the Holy Weather Event of The Past 50 Years, also known as The Blizzard of '78.

If you were here during The Blizzard of '78 (it's always capitalized, and somewhere, a chorus sings a high C with great reverence whenever it's invoked), no further explanation is necessary. If you were either not here or not yet alive, it cannot be explained to you using usual vocabulary. Stories take on the sepia-tinged, mixed hue of nostalgia, legend and long ago coped- with dread.

"Yeah, this is a pretty good storm, but it's not The Blizzard of '78." (cue the chorus in the distance)
"Are you kidding? You call this a blizzard? Seriously, I lived through a real blizzard. This is nothing, kid. You shoulda been around during the Blizzard of '78 (faint chorus). Let me tell you about it."

What follows, typically, is a 20-minute soliloquy with four part harmony and twenty seven eight-by-ten color glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was.

But if you don't have time for all that, you can just use the FTAS.
For those not familiar with it, FTAS stands for the French Toast Alert System.
Here, check this out.

It was high when the post was published because there was a storm due. We ended up with about 2 feet of snow....

Who's Harvey Leonard, you ask? Currently, he's a meteorologist at WCVB, channel 5. In 1978, he was at channel 7. Of all the weathermen in the area, Harvey is the only one who pegged The Blizzard just right. Harvey is, therefore, a minor deity. When he tells us it's important, we make french toast.

P has to go to the store now.

Photo images: Harvey Leonard, wcvb.com, Blizzard of '78 highway photo, dunlapcusd.com

A clear and present danger

2011-01-08T20:47:00.004-05:00

Vitriol might be free speech, but it's not without consequences.

- Pima County Sheriff Clarence Dupnik, Jamuary 8, 2011

We don't yet know what was in the assassin's mind before the horrific shooting in Tucson, but we know there are at least six dead, including a child and a federal judge. We know that Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords was shot in the head at close range. We know that Sarah Palin sent out this tweet:

and then deleted it after the shooting, in an unsurprising gesture of hypocritical gutlessness. Not just reload, but RELOAD.

We know that this tweet appeared after the shooting.

AFTER the shooting. What map was he referring to? This one, sent out by SarahPac (Palin's political action committee, which is designed to finance her next election campaign) during the 2010 election.

Can't see it clearly? It's targeting 20 House Democrats who voted for the Health Care bill. And by targeting, that's precisely what it was doing. The targets are gunsights. Bullseyes. Three of them were located in the state of Arizona, and one of them had Gabrielle Giffords' name on it. She was shot in the head today.

In case you don't think the direct incitement to violence on the right is explicit enough, there's the now infamous quote from Sharron Angle, the Republican, Tea Party-backed Senate nominee from Arizona's neighboring state of Nevada. When asked by host Lars Larson of Portland, Oregon where she stands on the 2nd Amendment, she had this to say:

You know, our Founding Fathers, they put that Second Amendment in there for a good reason and that was for the people to protect themselves against a tyrannical government. And in fact Thomas Jefferson said it's good for a country to have a revolution every 20 years.
I hope that's not where we're going, but, you know, if this Congress keeps going the way it is, people are really looking toward those Second Amendment remedies and saying my goodness what can we do to turn this country around? I'll tell you the first thing we need to do is take Harry Reid out.

Second Amendment remedies. Today, a Federal judge was killed. A Congresswoman was shot in the head, and as of this writing is in critical condition. For the past few years, there has been a growing, menacing drumbeat, all from the loudest spokesmen of the political right, implicitly and explicitly suggesting violent solutions to what they perceive as social and legal injustices. Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck, Bill O'Reilly, Sarah Palin, Sharron Angle and Michelle Bachmann have all been reading from the same hymnal. It hasn't been just one voice. It has been a chorus.

Actions have consequences, and I think it's high time that the political right is held to account for its behavior, its rhetoric, its insistence that rational action and thought aren't sufficient. Limbaugh, Beck, O'Reilly, Palin et al didn't pull the trigger today, but they created an environment that made it conceivable. When the right invokes sayings like "the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of tyrants and patriots," it needs to take responsibility for the bloodshed that results. Today wasn't an accident. Today didn't take place in a vacuum.

Six innocent people are dead in Tucson. Wake up, America. More than one man is guilty.

Photo credits: Both weets, twitter. SarahPac map, SarahPac.

2010 Was a Sweet Ride

2010-12-28T18:15:00.000-05:00

It's hard to sum up 365 days in a few words. Twelve months, 52 weeks, 525,600 minutes....a lot takes place, good, bad and ugly. For me, and for my lovely bride, it may have been a challenging year, but 2010 was also full of promise, change and evolution. We endured the passing of beloved relatives, the welcoming of new clients and projects, crises and passion. Just as I was struggling to find a theme, a capstone appeared on Christmas day.

Perry's album "Sweet Ride" was launched in 2009, but it's really still being released and publicized. The title track was written with the hope of being featured on the NPR show Car Talk. Amazingly, just having a producer named David "The Calves of Belleville" Greene wasn't enough to get us automatically included in their musical selection. Perry submitted her CD to the Car Talk staff. Repeatedly. And heard nothing back, for months.

Finally, on the Christmas day show, episode #1052, you can hear Sweet Ride. Listen toward the end of segment 6. The full track is also available on Perry's website right here. I've known how talented she is for a long time. Now the whole NPR listening community gets to find out, too. I love you, sweetie!

In adding on to the trend started last year where I recounted things for which I was grateful, here is my short list for 2010:

1) My clients: starting up an independent consultancy only works if there are people and organizations who want -- and are willing to pay for -- your services. 2010 taught me a few things. First, I'm a lousy marketer. Second, if I give it some effort, I can find a niche for my talents. Greene Means Go Consulting would just be a vivid fantasy without friendly and loyal clients, spread coast to coast. I thank them all.

2) My house: When millions of Americans suffer through the agony of foreclosure, it's no small feat to admit the obvious - having a home is something to be thankful for. Sure, we had to endure almost a year of annoying, frustrating back and forth conversations with our lender to modify the mortgage, but in the end we're still in the home we love, for a figure we can manage. Maynard is a great town, and that's from someone who never thought he could live without an MBTA trolley rolling in front of his door. Every time I travel (which is less and less these days) I remember that there's no place like home.

3) My dogs: Without Cami and Harry, I wouldn't have much of a tie to Pet Connection. Without Cami and Harry, P and I wouldn't have a tiny fraction of the entertainment that we do. Without Cami and Harry, we'd miss out on the love and incredible joy of these adorable, loving souls This Thursday marks nine years since they appeared in our lives. I couldn't imagine my life without them, and I don't want to.

4) My wife: She's my sweetheart, my best friend, my musical idol, and my soulmate. 2010 was both the best of times and the worst of times, but she's still here, and so am I, looking forward to the new year, and whatever 2011 has in store for us.

So how do your measure 525,600 minutes? Remember the love.

May you have a healthy, happy new year.

It's getting better all the time

2010-12-04T21:37:00.000-05:00

When the recession began two years ago and people started losing their jobs in droves, I read a few dozen articles about those downsized souls who completely changed course. Instead of making six figures as a bond trader, the person was now running a bed and breakfast somewhere, growing heirloom tomatoes, working for a nonprofit, or something else similarly 180 degrees from what they had been doing previously.

Then I was laid off. I hadn't been making six figures previously, and it wasn't my plan to reinvent my professional self, but looking back from the vantage point of 18 months later, that's pretty much what happened. What's next didn't automatically have to mean keep doing the same stuff as before.

Independent consulting is a euphemism for "figuring it out as you go along." Nevertheless, with a little luck and a lot of blood, sweat and tears, Greene Means Go Consulting is now showing signs of turning a tidy profit and building a growing cadre of happy clients. Looking back, the surprising part is that for the first time since the mid 1980's, I've been using the journalism part of my brain again, and it still works! Thanks to Pet Connection (you've been reading, right? You should be), I've become an integral part of an incredible community of support, knowledge, events and opinion. Without that addition to my world, 2010 wouldn't have been nearly as fun and rewarding.

I don't recommend that everyone (or anyone) ditch it all to become a solo entrepreneur and start a new business from scratch, with only the barest safety net. The older you are, the more responsibilities you've assumed (mortgage, children, car payments) and the more you've become used to things like buying presents for people at Christmas and nagging details like electricity and food, the harder the sudden fall gets.

On the other hand, it feels that much better when, against all odds, it starts to work out, and a new reality appears -- one that not only doesn't suck, but is actually more rewarding and more FUN than what had come before.

Now that 2010 is starting to wind down, I finally have faith that my gamble is paying off. I work differently now. It doesn't have to be just one job, and it doesn't even have to be only one client at a time. Two halves can equal a whole. If they're more fun than the previous whole, bonus!

The recession taught me that there's no such thing as long term planning. You can plan if you like, but if you're being honest with yourself, all you're doing is fantasizing. I'll take it as it comes, and make the best of it. 2009 was a tough year. 2010 was better. I'm rooting for 2011.

Photo credits: Sgt Pepper album, beatles-facts.com.

The best part of travel is coming home

2010-11-12T15:35:00.000-05:00

I left home for Washington, D.C., early Friday morning, Oct. 29. I returned home on the evening of October 31, and woke up at 3 the following morning to get to the airport for a 6:30 am flight to the west coast for a client project.

At a little after 5:30pm yesterday, almost two full weeks after I left for Washington, I parked my car again in my own driveway. My car. Not a rental car. The key to my front door, not the plastic room key for a room that looked exactly like everyone else's.

Wifey was at work, so do you know what the best part about coming home was? Hearing Cami and Harry's excited squeaks, happy barks and feeling them jumping on me again with unrestrained glee. I then had to endure a full-blown Dachshund kissing assault. It was vicious, let me tell you. I barely survived.

Don't get me wrong. Having breakfast with Woody, and meeting the rest of the gang was great. But nothing, not even quality Flat-Coated Retriever time, replaces the sheer joy of my own kids. (Please don't hate me, Woody. You know I love you.) Picking them up, hugging, snuggling and kissing their furry little heads can't be equaled by anything else.

Once I sat down in my comfy leather chair, Harry immediately jumped up to snuggle in. That's what I missed. We later had a squeaky toy tug of war. They're happy to have dad back.

Ah, the joys of home.

Photo credit: Harry with his new multi-squeaky toy, P Greene.

November update

2010-11-06T14:20:00.001-04:00

It's been a very busy few weeks, so instead of ranting about the election (not touching it, at least not right now) or getting into a big sturm und drang over Keith Olbermann (he was wrong, period. That's the way it goes), I thought I'd take some time to talk about what's been going on in my world since I last checked in a few weeks ago.

First off, I did make it down to Washington, DC for the Rally to Restore Sanity. Want the truth? It was disappointing as hell. Not because Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert were bad. From what I saw online, they were great. It's just that somewhere in the neighborhood of 200,000 people showed up, and the Mall was, shall we say, freakin' PACKED. My little band of friends and I couldn't see the stage. We expected that. Unfortunately, we couldn't hear a damn thing, either. So instead of trying to get to a better spot....which wasn't possible, we walked away. That's right. We left before the event really hit its stride. I did get some great shots of wonderful signs, though.

After standing around for an hour trying to discern what was going on up on the stage many blocks away, we walked past the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, up Pennsylvania Avenue, and eventually found our way to 2000 Penn (the back yard of the George Washington University -- a neighborhood I know well). We had lunch at Bertucci's, talked politics, and had a grand ol' time. It was a great band of folks, a couple of whom I've known online for a year or more but never met in person, and a couple I was meeting for the first time. I had fun. We had fun. 'Twas worth it. Ironically, the best parts of the weekend had nothing to do with the March, which was the ostensible reason for being there.

The best part was being with friends. Along with the folks I hung out with on Saturday, I had the great honor of staying in Virginia with old friends from Syracuse whom I hadn't seen in, well, a long time. I've known Bob since I was a pledge at Theta Chi, and probably met Sue right about the same time. I can't put into words how much their friendship has always meant to me, and continues to warm my heart to this day. Seeing them at their house, meeting their terrific kids, and reconnecting...the 18-hour round trip drive was worth it if only to see them.

I drove home Sunday (Halloween), and got in just in time to kiss the wife and dogs, unpack, re-pack, and go to bed by 9, and even that was late. Why so early? I had to wake up at 3:30 to be at Logan for a 6:30am flight on Monday to northern California. Work beckons. Greene Means Go Consulting signed a contract with one of my very favorite clients for a project that required me to be onsite for the first third of November. So I'm on left coast time, and loving it. I'll be here until Thursday, and finishing up the project work a few days after I get home.

Finally, I'd like to acknowledge an anniversary that passed without notice recently. On October 24, my humble little blog celebrated its fifth anniversary (and you may have noticed I changed the page's look to freshen it up a little). To all of you who have been loyal readers since the blog's inception, and for those who have joined my personal soapbox in the years since the fall of 2005, thank you. I'm honored you still care enough to read my ramblings, and flattered that when I haven't posted anything for a while, you send me notes to ask if everything's ok. I have no idea what the next five years will bring, but it's good to know I have friends who are happy to come along for the ride.

In the meantime, don't forget that at least twice a week (Monday and Thursday mornings), I post news updates on all things furry and feathery over at my main writing home, Pet Connection. Important news on the pet world, great people, and stories you might not see anywhere else. If you haven't checked it out already, give it a try.

Sanity stages a comeback

2010-10-21T14:30:00.001-04:00

Do you ever feel like nearly everyone in the political spectrum was simultaneously dosed with crazy pills?

We've got a woman in Delaware who insists she isn't a witch, and who doesn't know what's in the First Amendment. She's running for the Senate. On the Democratic side, there's the Senate candidate who is unemployed and lives at home with his dad. He won a primary race only because, as best anyone can figure, his name was first in order on the ballot. South Carolinians don't want to spend too much time reading, so they'll approve whatever is on the top line. That's not a recipe for success, is it?

This season's political ads include an apocalyptic vision where the President is explicitly compared to the angel of death, and although it appears the House leadership may change, there's no cogent reason why. But wait, it gets better. A full 19 years after Anita Hill's testimony in the Clarence Thomas confirmation hearings, Thomas' wife Ginny (short for way too many Gin & Tonics) is demanding an apology. You can't make this stuff up.

On October 30 (the Saturday after next), I'm joining Jon Stewart in calling for a time out. Look, there's got to be wide swath of the country that understands the similarity between the collective national choo choo going 'round the bend and Justice Potter Stewart's definition of pornography: "I know it when I see it."

On Saturday, October 30th, the weekend before election day, the Capitol end of the National Mall will host the Rally for Sanity. Proposed sign messages include:

You may have a point, but all the shouting makes it difficult to understand you
Real patriots can handle a difference of opinion
I prefer facts, nuance and intellectual debate (but I'm probably not a 'real American')
Correctly spelled slogan
I understand you disagree with my point of view. I'm okay with that.
Death to nobody
I support the sign that I am holding
Don't Panic

That last one is a tribute to Douglas Adams, and if you know where your towel is, you're all set.

Get the idea of the Rally for Sanity? Bring it down a notch. Breathe. Get a grip. Extremism has no utility whatsoever. Name calling, mindless hysteria and insisting at the top of your lungs that the end of the world is at hand and THOSE people are to blame won't do anything other than antagonize all sides.

Electing the person who approves the nastiest fear-mongering advertisement will create worse public servants, not better. The towering unemployment figures and increased home foreclosures are not one person's fault. It took a long time, thousands of factors and more missed decisions than can be counted to arrive at the mess we're in today. The only way we're going to get out of it will be to behave like adults, not spoiled, bratty children hopped up on junk food, sugary drinks and crack pipes.

Reason is good. I'm telling you sanity is what we need. If on October 30 you join the voices of "Chicken Little is Wrong, Dammit," maybe we'll all have a fighting chance of seeing a better brand of public discourse.

The best in the business

2010-10-04T14:42:00.001-04:00

Quick quiz: Who is the best athlete in the world right now? Lebron James? Albert Pujols? Rafael Nadal? Usain Bolt? Alberto Contador?

I'd say none of the above. I think the greatest athlete on the competitive stage right now is six years old, weighs upwards of 1,500 pounds, and goes by just one name: Zenyatta. She earned her 19th win this past weekend at Hollywood Park. That's 19 wins in 19 races. She's beaten great fillies and she's beaten winners of the Kentucky Derby (Mine That Bird), and the Belmont Stakes (Summer Bird).

Zenyatta, also known as The Queen, has a now-classic style. She doesn't go wire to wire. That's boring. She likes to start slow. Dead last, actually. She cruises along, admiring the scenery, not working terribly hard, while the rest of the field seemingly runs away with the race. Then, at some point in the backstretch, jockey Mike Smith puts her in gear -- a gear that no other horse possesses. Once that overdrive kicks in, the race is over. She did it last year in the Breeder's Cup Classic at Santa Anita for her 14th win
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She demoralized the field this year at the Clement Hirsch Stakes for win #18
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Then this past weekend at Hollywood Park she did it again at the Ladies Secret
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Zenyatta knows she's the best. She's famous for showing off, prancing in front of the crowd. The Queen (yep, she's named after the Police's "Zenyatta Mondatta") would relate to Hall of Famer Larry Bird, who walked into the locker room during 1986 All Star Weekend before the 3-point shooting contest and announced that since he was going to win, "I'm just lookin' around to see who's gonna finish up second." Of course Bird won the contest. That's Zenyatta. She knows she's all that. She knows she has that top gear, that when she wants, she can blow everyone else away -- and will.

You have one last chance to see Zenyatta in action. On Saturday November 6, she's going to run in her 20th and last race in the 2010 Breeders' Cup Classic at Churchill Downs in Louisville. After that, she'll retire as perhaps the greatest filly of all time. If you never saw Secretariat, Man o' War, or Citation, you owe it to yourself to sit down and watch the last race of Queen Z, the best horse in decades.

Photo credit: Team Zenyatta after the 2010 Clement Hirsch, Charles Pravata

Puppy Mill Awareness - one day just doesn't do it

2010-09-20T10:38:00.001-04:00

Saturday was Puppy Mill Awareness Day.

There was a Facebook page promoting it. PetFinder highlighted adoptable pets. Events were held all over the place. I'm sure there were walks, fundraisers, the works. I didn't note any of it in my newswrap columns, because frankly I think it's a pitifully stupid idea, exactly equivalent to Valentine's Day.

Yep, you read that right. Pitiful. Stupid. I could offer more adjectives if you like.

Here's where Valentine's Day enters into the equation. I'm a pretty romantic guy. Just ask my wife. However, I long ago dissed Valentine's Day as a huge waste of time and money, with the following logic: If you understand the value of romance and show your partner day in and day out why they're the greatest thing that ever happened to you, overspending for roses, chocolates and insipid balloons one day a year makes no sense. And if you can't be bothered to show any semblance of romance the other 364 days of the year, Feb. 14 just highlights your shortcomings. Don't bother.

Now back to puppy mills. A day of awareness is great for raising funds to combat arthritis, breast cancer or cystic fibrosis. A day to talk about puppy mills is a lot like a day to remind people to brush their teeth. It's not a one day a year thing, kids. For people who care about pets, this is one of the top two or three dangers we battle every day, every week and every month of the year.

Puppy Mill Awareness Day is September 18. So after that we should forget about it and go on with our lives, oblivious to the ongoing nightmare taking place under our noses?

I can't. Would you like to see the stories I read on an ongoing basis in putting together our newswraps about the appalling places stuffed to the rafters with wire cages? The numbers are staggering, almost numbing. Breeding animals are kept in conditions that, if we were talking about people, would constitute crimes against humanity. International tribunals would be set up to prosecute.

I understand the idea of the day: Bring attention to the issue to people who are otherwise unaware of it. I get it, I just dispute its sense. If you're seriously going to put your money where your mouth is, it has to be an every day thing, not one Saturday in September. So no, I'm not going to waste my time or yours talking about events one day a year to promote awareness of the horrors and sickening degradations of puppy mills, some of which might be in your neighborhood.

Combatting the ongoing evil of the industry is part of Pet Connection's 365 day a year mission. We have fun gushing over how much we love our own pets, we highlight the irreplaceable bond between people and animals, we review vacuums, we promote the no kill philosophy, we remind our readers that manufacturers have a responsibility to keep faith with their customers, and we tell it like it is. Puppy mills are evil. At Pet Connection we'll be talking about it today, tomorrow, next month, and six months from now.

Now don't forget to brush your teeth.

(this post appeared on Pet Connection's blog Sunday night, September 19)

Photo credit: Mill dogs, flickr creative commons (Gumdrop Sweet)

Exceptional, and not in a good way

2010-09-07T13:22:00.001-04:00

This Saturday is the 9th anniversary of the day that's come to shape this country's recent history, for good or ill. When people talk about "the good ol' days", as far as I'm concerned, they're talking about the time up to the morning of September 11, 2001. Since then we've lost our minds, not to mention our souls. On Saturday, a fundie preacher in Florida wants to burn holy scriptures, to, in his words, "teach them a lesson". Never mind that he's ignoring the most fundamental tenets of his own religion and may well be creating a dangerous firestorm that could harm American soldiers around the world. Since 9/11, it's perfectly ok to hate. McCarthyism has returned, only now instead of lobbying the term communist around like a hand grenade, it's chic to hate a whole religion. A planned community center in Lower Manhattan is seen as a desecration of Ground Zero, in spite of the list of innocent victims of 9/11 who themselves read from the Koran. It seems their deaths don't count in the eyes of a huge swath of the country. It's immaterial that some of those particular victims were more heroic than any of the cowards we're hearing from today. The following is from an about.com article on Muslims who were killed nine years ago:

Imagine being the family of Salman Hamdani. The 23-year-old New York City police cadet was a part-time ambulance driver, incoming medical student, and devout Muslim. When he disappeared on September 11, law enforcement officials came to his family, seeking him for questioning in relation to the terrorist attacks. They allegedly believed he was somehow involved. His whereabouts were undetermined for over six months, until his remains were finally identified. He was found near the North Tower, with his EMT medical bag beside him, presumably doing everything he could to help those in need. His family could finally rest, knowing that he died the hero they always knew him to be.

Blogger Japhy Grant says we need a war on stupid.

Truth is being tossed aside for ratings and the end result is a slow legitimization of the idiotic.

The reason for this is cowardice. Our society has come to believe that any viewpoint is a legitimate viewpoint, so long as there’s someone out there to espouse it. While this might make for good jokes on The Colbert Report, it’s actually a greater threat to America than terrorism or drugs or any of the other causes we have decided to ‘declare war’ on. Which is why I am suggesting that America ought to collectively declare war on stupidity. If we are to wage an ideological battle against a concept, let it be against Stupidity.

The right to hold an opinion carries with it the responsibility to defend it. If you believe Obama was born in Kenya, prove it. If you can’t, you and your defenseless opinion don’t deserve a place in the national discourse. Just as we don’t invite the KKK to debate whether blacks and whites should be married, why should we give homophobes a platform to promote a fundamentally and empirically indefensible viewpoint? When Sharon Angle suggests the violent overthrow of the government, someone ought to speak up, not in a tone of ironic snickering, but in indignant rage.

I'd agree with declaring a war on stupidity if that didn't mean that we'd have to take up arms against a few million of our fellow citizens who are just too aggressively ignorant to understand that what they're saying is more antithetical to American ideals than those of the people we've been killing for most of the past decade. First, though, we'd have to sit them down and patiently explain what antithetical means. Nobody has that much time on their hands. The attacks of 9/11 were no more about religion than the invasion of Iraq was about WMD. The new hatred has bred its own code. Even though the US Constitution expressly forbids religious tests for any office in the land, Tea Baggers and Rush Limbaugh are having great fun accusing President Obama of being Muslim. What they're really saying is something else.

The most galling irony is the same Tea Baggers, Dittoheads, and Becktards who insist they want to take the country back from whatever it is they don't like will also insist, without a shred of irony, that we're still the greatest country God ever put on the earth (as if God is so very proud of their hatred of others), and dammit, we have a right to be the greatest. There's a term for that, too. It's called American Exceptionalism, and it's what drove the Bush Neocons to their scorched earth policies for eight years. If only the rest of the world was more like us, they say, it would all be better now.

Except that's not true. What they're really saying is they're contemptuous of the rest of the world. They don't know or care why they should learn or respect the opinions of each other, much less our allies, or even our enemies. They think Randy Newman's classic "Political Science" is a blueprint, not a satirical commentary.

Photo credits: Distress signal, 3950.net.Morans, flickr.com

A pet blogger Visits Good Morning America

2010-08-27T08:58:00.003-04:00

Many months ago, Dr. Marty Becker -- also known as America's Veterinarian -- invited my wife and me to meet him in New York for one of his "Good Morning America" segments. We resolved to be there for his August appearance.

Wednesday, P and I made the four hour drive to Manhattan, had dinner with Dr. Becker (he had just flown in from Idaho), then woke up waaaaay too early Thursday(military folks call it 0-dark-30) to meet Dr. Becker for the short walk across the street to the studio. How early? Times Square was dark and nearly deserted. I'd had about four hours sleep... and no coffee yet.

I've been a loyal GMA viewer since Joan Lunden and David Hartman hosted the show, long before the studio with the commanding view of Times Square was built. For me, it was a thrill on multiple levels. I'd be seeing this iconic show up close, from the inside, which is an opportunity that doesn't come along every day.

Also, way back (mumble mumble) years ago I was a broadcast journalism major in college, and this is the most tricked out, state of the art studio I've seen. The media geek in me was eating it up, admiring the most complex master control room this side of CNN, the studio studded with cameras and lights, and the gazillion dollar monitors.

Finally, seeing Dr. Becker in front of the camera is always a treat. The camera loves him. He lights up a room, even a crowded studio with live audience. I've seen enough "stars" who don't have that indefinable it to appreciate those who do. Dr. Becker does, and like watching an unusually talented athlete take over a game, you can't help but sit up and take notice.

Sometime after the 6 am rehearsal, a woman named Anne Marie Karash arrived from the Humane Society of New York, carrying Pringle and Romeo. Pringle is a playful orange kitten, and Romeo is a tiny chihuahua-poodle (Choodle) fluffball. Both little faces are less than 12 weeks old, and at the time they arrived at GMA, both were available for adoption.

It's just not possible for most mortals to resist adorable kittens or puppies in their midst, and people would jockey for position to see and hold both of them. For the last hour or so before Dr. Becker's segment started, Romeo was snuggled in my wife's arms, and P didn't seem like she'd be letting him go. I was briefly worried that we might have just adopted a third dog.

Pringle (nobody can resist him) was a wriggler. He was comfortable with the surroundings and very playful. He loved extending a paw toward the face of whomever was holding him, and once he even leaped to the floor. A little cat has a lot of room to roam in a big studio! Fortunately, he's cute but not too fast.

The segment itself is here. It was a perfect blend of important tidbits that force the viewer to re-evaluate what they thought they knew (while chocolate should never be a regular part of a dog's diet, its danger is over-hyped) and important wisdom that many people certainly don't know (chemical reactions from the use of nonstick cookware can be lethal to birds, and chewing gum can kill dogs or cats).

Back to Romeo the tiny fluffball. Immediately after the segment ended, a woman asked to adopt Romeo. He didn't make it off the set before he had a prospective new mommy and a loving home... how heartwarming is that?

A final observation about GMA: I've heard on-air staff repeatedly refer to the show as a family. That always sounded hokey and fake to me. This morning I saw they're not kidding. Everyone Dr. Becker saw on his way into the building, from the security guard at the entrance to the producer to the cameramen, greeted him like an old friend. It's a very "huggy" place, and I loved seeing that.

Despite the show being done live, it runs like a perfectly calibrated Swiss watch, and yet, everyone I encountered genuinely enjoyed what they were doing. Now I see why Dr. Becker is happy to fly across the country (sometimes in rotten weather) to come to Times Square, the most crowded acre of real estate in North America. Working with the best never gets old.

Photo credits: All pictures from my Pentax. Top, Dr. Becker with vicious, not yet adopted puppy Romeo. Middle, David Muir holding Romeo, Dr. Becker holding Pringle. Bottom, l-r, DSG, Robin Roberts, P, Juju Chang.

Jimmy Carter? Really?

2010-08-16T08:33:00.004-04:00

Millions of liberal thinkers have spent much of the past 10, 20, perhaps 30 years trying to figure out just what makes conservatives tick.We might have just been handed something of a Rosetta Stone. Paddy over at The Political Carnival shared the list of the 25 worst Americans in history, as seen through the eyes of 43 influential conservative bloggers. It's said you can tell a lot about people by the enemies they keep, so what follows are the 25 worst enemies of the right, from 1776 to today:

23) Saul Alinsky (7)
23) Bill Clinton (7)
23) Hillary Clinton (7)
19) Michael Moore (7)
19) George Soros (8)
19) Alger Hiss (8)
19) Al Sharpton (8)
13) Al Gore (9)
13) Noam Chomsky (9)
13) Richard Nixon (9)
13) Jane Fonda (9)
13) Harry Reid (9)
13) Nancy Pelosi (9)
11) John Wilkes Booth (10)
11) Margaret Sanger (10)
9) Aldrich Ames (11)
9) Timothy McVeigh (11)
7) Ted Kennedy (14)
7) Lyndon Johnson (14)
5) Benedict Arnold (17)
5) Woodrow Wilson (17)
4) The Rosenbergs (19)
3) Franklin Delano Roosevelt (21)
2) Barack Obama (23)
1) Jimmy Carter (25)
___________________________

Margaret Sanger

Ok, let's start with the obvious. Half this list is still alive, so you've got to wonder about the responders' sense of perspective. Secondly, I fully agree with some of the Hated 25, if not the order of their placement. Alger Hiss, John Wilkes Booth, Timothy McVeigh, Aldrich Ames, sure. There are worse, but this quartet can't be disputed. I have to assume "The Rosenbergs" are referring to Julius and Ethel, not my friends Carol and Dick Rosenberg, who are two of the finest human beings I've ever known, regardless of their politics. Richard Nixon I get, but James Buchanan isn't on the list? And Warren Harding? Ted Kennedy, Bill and Hilary Clinton are on the list for obvious reasons, as are Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid, given the audience. JFK, RFK and Tip O'Neil must have escaped because they have the good sense to be dead. I don't know why Thurgood Marshall or Dr. King were left off. George Soros is offensive because he's unforgivably rich and has a conscience, and Al Gore just won't shut up about that damn fraudulent global warming thing, so obviously he's a terribly bad man. Working to reverse climate change must be un-American.

Margaret Sanger's commitment to birth control was bad because, uh, I guess because overpopulation is part of God's Plan. I thought Jane Fonda was pretty good in On Golden Pond, Klute and Julia, but the right wing never forgave her for Barbarella. Tough crowd. The inclusion of Saul Alinsky made me laugh. Tea Baggers wouldn't exist if not for the godfather of community organizing, but let's not sully the discussion with facts, ok?

Franklin Delano Roosevelt

Just wondering, though, about Jeffrey Dahmer, Richard Speck, Al Capone, Charlie Manson, Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, Richard Kuklinski, Jim Jones, Ted Kaczynski, Kenneth Bianchi, Angelo Buono, Eric Harris, Dylan Klebold and another baker's dozen of notorious sociopaths that leap to mind. Margaret Sanger is worse than them? Al Sharpton? FDR, who hauled the country out of the Great Depression and then guided it heroically through World War II, all from a wheelchair? Well, he created what the right now calls the Welfare State. Preserving families and saving people from starvation must be un-American.

And the worst man in the history of the republic is Jimmy Carter? Seriously? He isn't even in the bottom third of the worst Presidents. Since he left office, President Carter has worked tirelessly for human rights and lessening suffering around the world. What an awful mission. And of course, the man was educated at Annapolis and he was awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. According to the right wing, if you're awarded an international accolade for promoting peace, it makes you a villain, because war is always a better solution. Likewise, Woodrow Wilson is at #5 because he envisioned what became the United Nations. International cooperation is never a good idea, according to the right wing. Promoting diplomacy and peace must be un-American.

Jimmy Carter

If this is what passes for The Worst Americans Ever, in the eyes of the right wing, what does this say about the right wing? This isn't a segment of the population with ideas. It's a group of people who barely understand American history. According to this list, empowering communities is a bad idea. Diplomacy and working to find peaceful solutions to conflict is bad. Promoting human rights and safeguarding the middle class are tantamount to treason.

Meanwhile, mass murder, not so terrible, compared to the sins committed by the Big Bad 25. By all means, vote Republican if this makes sense to you.

Photo credits: Margaret Sanger, Business Week. FDR, Library of Congress. Jimmy Carter, jimmycarterbiography.com.

Rights aren't decided by a show of hands

2010-08-05T09:38:00.002-04:00

The popular response to yesterday's ruling from Chief U.S. District Judge Vaughn Walker invalidating Proposition 8 has been that it's a forceful statement for liberty and equality. Though that's true, I think striking down Prop 8 says something more fundamental, and even more important: rights aren't subject to the whim of popular opinion. The question of equality isn't decided by a show of hands.

We don't vote on rights here in America. If we did, the only group who would have any rights at all would be white men who own property. There'd be no reason to grant rights by popular vote to anyone else, so women wouldn't be allowed to vote. Rape probably wouldn't be a criminal offense, since women wouldn't have the right to press charges. Small children would still be working 16-hour days in deplorable conditions, and getting paid pennies for the honor. At least they'd be getting paid. African Americans wouldn't even be that lucky. Separate but equal would be a major step up. Major League Baseball would be lily white, as would every other major sport. You never would have heard of Jackie Robinson, Henry Aaron, Jim Brown, Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant. If the U.S. Military had any minorities in it at all, they'd be in segregated units. There wouldn't be a federal holiday honoring Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., because he wouldn't have done anything of notice.

You don't let the majority vote on granting rights to the minority because they never will. Striking down Proposition 8 proves that with an independent judiciary, when push comes to shove, liberty and equality will always trump fear, ignorance and hate. The owner's manual for the United States is the Constitution, not the Bible. If you want a theocracy, I suggest you move to Iran.

Speaking of theocracy, the response to Judge Walker's ruling featured the predictable complaints from the fringe right. Brian Brown, the president of the National Organization for Marriage, whined "with a stroke of his pen, Judge Walker has overruled the votes and values of 7 million Californians who voted for marriage as one man and one woman." That's correct, Brian. In his opinion, Judge Walker wrote:

"Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite-sex couples are superior to same-sex couples."

An enlightened society doesn't do that. In sum, Proposition 8 was decidedly un-American. Nevertheless, for those who still want to defend the status quo against these marauding gays and lesbians, I'll close with the best quote of the day, which came from the Twitterverse, courtesy of Glenn Greenwald:

"In this time of upheaval, a nation turns to Newt Gingrich- standing next to his 3rd wife/ex-mistress- to hear about the sanctity of marriage".

Photo credit: Judge Walker, sfgate.com

Requiem for a legend

2010-07-23T18:56:00.000-04:00

Daniel Schorr, 1916-2010

When I set out for Syracuse University in the fall of 1982, I joked that I wanted to be the next Sam Donaldson, but the truth was the man I admired the most was Daniel Schorr. More than Walter Cronkite, Dan Rather or Woodward and Bernstein, to me Daniel Schorr represented the nobility and importance of the newsman's craft. In this interview, he recounts his most electrifying moment as a journalist: reading his own name in the Nixon White House's "Enemies List" -- on live television. Here, NPR's Scott Simon reminisces, and a nearly hour-long special remembrance can be heard here. What I loved about Schorr was that he made the right enemies. History vindicated Schorr's refusal to bend to the principles of others...not that his moral compass should surprise a soul. After all, he was one of the last of the Murrow Boys.

Schorr's legacy lives on here in Boston. The Daniel Schorr Journalism Prize, sponsored by WBUR and Boston University, supports the next generation of journalists. Past recipients of the prize include NPR's Guy Raz, Lourdes Garcia Navarro, and Laura Sullivan.

Men and women of Schorr's caliber and conscientiousness are in scarce supply. In the 21st century, viewers have come to believe that journalists sit at an anchor desk and read copy written by people who couldn't spell the word ethics if you spotted them the e, the t and the h. Outside of organizations like NPR, the line between editorial and entertainment can scarcely be traced (I'm looking directly at you, Fox News). Perhaps it's just as well that Daniel Schorr, at the age of 93, has become a part of history. I'm shattered by his passing, more than I can remember being by the death of a public figure.

On behalf of those who remember what it means to stand for something, thank you, Mr. Schorr.

Photo credit: Daniel Schorr, NPR.

A rare diamond

2010-07-22T09:52:00.046-04:00

Once in a generation, there's a sportswriter who can transcend the rest of the industry and become something bigger. The great Ring Lardner, and in more recent times Frank Deford, started out covering ballgames, but took their talents higher. They had so much more to say, and were able to take on larger societal commentary, while still ostensibly using the lens of a writer observing sweaty guys in a stadium. Today it's Howard Bryant. Howard is a senior writer for espn.com and ESPN the Magazine. He's been a beat writer in the Bay Area, New York and Boston and he's a voter in Major League Baseball's Hall of Fame balloting. In short, his sports writing bona fides are pretty well unimpeachable. What sets Howard apart is that he's an extraordinary thinker. His first two books were dead serious, sober studies of subjects that most others would just as soon avoid. In fact, most of his colleagues have avoided the topics like a heaping plate of health food in a press box. His first book was "Shut Out: a Story of Race and Baseball in Boston". Howard meticulously researched the tangled, difficult history of the confluence of race, sports and society in the land of the bean, the cod, busing and the Tobin Bridge. What he found wasn't pretty, and in the face of what could have been a torrential backlash, Bryant painted the picture as it was, not how we all wished it had been. For instance: Tom Yawkey and Joe Cronin, two high priests of Red Sox legend, were dyed in the wool racists. Had the franchise been more enlightened, we could have had Jackie Robinson and Ted Williams on the same team. Perhaps even Willie Mays. Sadly, Boston and the team's leadership couldn't handle that much progressive thought, regardless of the prodigious talent that was there for the taking. As a result, the Red Sox were the very last team in the league to integrate (all hail the immortal Pumpsie Green). And didn't win a pennant for two decades, or even come close to one. There's much more to the book, though, and I encourage you to read it. You too, non-sports fans.

Howard's next book was "Juicing the Game: Drugs, Power and the Fight for the Soul of Major League Baseball". It's the definitive history of what's now called the Steroid Era and explains brilliantly why I loathe both Bud Selig and the Players' Union. You can't have an intelligent discussion of what took place in baseball between the mid-1990's and the early part of this century without fully appreciating the saga behind Messrs. McGuire, Sosa, Bonds, Selig and Fehr.

This week, I saw Howard give a talk at the Boston Public Library about his latest - and longest - book to date: "Henry Aaron: The Last Hero". Howard's a very good writer, but what sets him apart from the rest are two things. First, he researches like few others. Deep in his bone marrow he's a journalist first, and getting it right matters above all else. Additionally, he isn't just regurgitating facts and figures, but weaving within the baseball story the threads of a more important saga, namely how the balls, strikes and home runs relate to the people, the times, and the greater society. Baseball has always played a pivotal role in the lifeblood of the country, but the sports pages aren't the place to talk about it, and most guys who spend their time in the press box aren't equipped or interested in addressing What It All Means.

In each of this three books (and if you talk to him you'll hear it even more clearly), Howard makes sure you understand that the people in the drama don't live in vacuums. They are a product of, and protagonists in, the greater drama of their sport and their culture. This is what Ken Burns did so well in his documentaries, and what only the very best history teachers understand: it's all about context. In the Aaron book, Howard explains that although the man would have been a superb hitter in any era, what he did, and the times in which he did it, made him something very special. More to the point today, he did it with purity, without the need for the Cream, the Clear, androstenedione or human growth hormone.Aaron's story is much more than a baseball story, it's an American drama, spanning critical eras of the 20th century.. Hank Aaron played the game, and in a real sense, still plays a different one today. People remember Hank Aaron's performance in All Star Games and during the great chase for Babe Ruth's home record in 1973 and the spring of 1974. Howard tells the story as well of Henry Aaron, who is a complex, talented, proud, deeply wounded and troubled man, one who has never entirely come to grips with the full impact of the events he's both lived through and shaped.

Henry Aaron is a true American hero, not just for our time but for all time, and to paint the picture accurately in a way that made him more than just a faded color image of a man hitting a home run into the humid Atlanta night off Al Downing in April of 1974, it took someone who could unearth the real diamond amid a vast ocean of dirt.

I'd bet folding money that many years from now, hopefully while I'm still around to see it, Howard Bryant is going to receive the J.G. Taylor Spink Award, which is the highest honor a baseball writer can receive. At that juncture, a writer is said to be a Hall of Famer (since the award is announced during the annual induction ceremonies in Cooperstown, NY). By then, who knows, he may have already nabbed a Pulitzer, too. In the meantime, read the three books he's already written, and watch for what he has to say. There are a lot of writers working today, but there's nobody who's doing it better than Howard Bryant.

Photo credits: Howard Bryant, Bill Chapman/Viking. Aaron cover, amazon.com.

Happy Fourth of July!

2010-07-02T17:08:00.000-04:00

Happy 234th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence's ratification

You're missing some great stuff here

2010-06-23T09:00:00.002-04:00

The World Cup is starting to heat up just as it's getting colder down in South Africa. I've seen a bunch of the matches, and I've gotta tell you this is an incredible tournament. Unfortunately, the vast majority of sports-loving Americans care as much about the World Cup as they do about tile grout. That is, to the degree that they even notice its existence, they'd prefer not to look at it for more than the time it takes to change the channel (or close the curtain).

A pity, that. Football (we are the only nation that calls it soccer) at this level has all the international bragging rights of the Olympics and the athleticism of the Tour de France, combined with palace intrigue that would have made Louis XV blush. The fun part about this tournament is that most of the pre-games favorites have fallen on their collective faces in pretty dramatic fashion. England, who experts thought should have wiped the pitch (field) with the U.S,. only managed a draw. They would have won if their goalkeeper had made a save that Louis XV could have made, and he's been dead more than 230 years. Meanwhile, defending World Cup champs Italy and European champions Spain are in serious danger of not making it to the next round. France (whom Ireland would tell you didn't deserve to be in the tournament in the first place) played with all the passion of Louis XV, who, remember, has been dead for more than 230 years. They're headed back to Paris now, where they might all be hanged from the Arc de Triomphe, only because they don't use the Bastille for executions anymore. Not since Louis XVI, who followed you know who.

Enough about the French, though. Back to this year's World Cup. The US was robbed of a winning goal against Slovenia by a ref from Mali. Even I, who only watches the sport once every three or four dozen blue moons, can tell that the officiating in this tournament is so inept that it makes you wonder if those damn infernal vuvazelas aren't actually being used to disrupt the referees' brain function. And by the way, those horns? The vuvuzelas? The ones that sound like a biblical plague of locusts? They need a different name. "Vuvuzela" sounds to me like, well, not a loud horn.

But it won't matter here. The US hasn't adopted the rest of the world's love for the sport, and the far right wing nutjobs seem to be quite happy with that. You see, soccer promotes socialism. After all, any sport that allows a tie must be morally bankrupt. Too much uncertainty. Don't mention hockey to them, that hockey allows ties in the regular season as well, and the fact that the Stanley Cup now resides in Chicago. They'll just tell you that since Barack Obama is from Chicago, that must be proof of, well, something bad. Undercuts American exceptionalism, or nonsense like that. Whatever. The World Cup is still the world's most popular sporting event, and I'm going to be glued to it until the final game on July 11. You want to know why? Because I'm bent on overthrowing the entire balance of the cosmos by doing something with a vuvuzela. I'm not telling you what it is, though. Gooooooooooooooooooooooal!

Photo credits: World Cup logo, FIFA. Louis XV, wikimedia. Vuvuzela, Reuters.

Where have you gone, William Safire?

2010-06-16T09:09:00.005-04:00

William Safire was my hero. I disagreed with all of his politics -- the guy was a right wing nutjob who worked in the Nixon White House. He wrote Spiro Agnew's famous "nattering nabobs of negativism" line, referring to members of the media. You didn't think Agnew was capable of thinking up that one himself, did you? After Agnew resigned in disgrace, Safire became a nattering nabob himself, joining the New York Times. For the last thirty years of his life, from 1979 to just before he passed away last September, Safire reigned over the language equivalent of Mount Olympus. He authored the finest column in the world on the use of the English language, called "On Language", appearing regularly in the New York Times Magazine. I never missed it. As a linguistic obsessive, Safire was a man after my own heart. He was not just interested in language, he was consumed by it.

Safire loved the nuance, the ebb and flow and the music of words. He admired the melody of a well-turned phrase. I memorized his "Fumblerules of Grammar". I had to -- I taped it to the wall next to my desk in my high school dorm room. That didn't stop me from being a terrible student, but at least I didn't use no double negatives. Safire's column explored where words (and phrases) originated. How were they used? Why? Best of all, Safire was a master at tearing to ribbons anyone who mangled the language, botched syntax, and just plain humiliated English teachers everywhere.

We now arrive at Heather Unruh. Ms. Unruh is a competent, relentlessly cheerful anchor for WCVB Channel 5 in Boston, which is the ABC affiliate. Truth be told, she is a decent journalist. Walter Cronkite she's not, but she is better than damn near anybody at Channel 7, our NBC station, or (God help us) the local Fox station, which is to journalism as George W. Bush is to profound political thought. I like Heather, except when she makes up words (not unlike Shrub, who would say things like "Don't misunderestimate me"). Tuesday evening, Heather was reporting on an emergency plane landing at Logan, and finished the segment by promising "We're efforting this story".

No, Heather, you are not efforting the story. Nobody is efforting the story. You're working on the story. You are tracking events. You will have more details later. You are NOT efforting, because it's not a word. It is something mediocre amateurs say to sound impressive, in the vain hope than nobody will figure out that they just pulled a piece of utterly nonsensical drivel out of, well, thin air. The AP Stylebook, the bible of journalists, is the accepted, authoritative source on what is and is not a word you can use in print or on the air. I have an AP Stylebook license. Efforting is not a word, Heather. Your news director and your producer will back me up on that.

Ms. Unruh is not alone in her fanciful inventions. During the first Gulf War, updates from the Pentagon would talk about the Coalition troops "attritting enemy forces". Attrit? Get it? Third person singular present participle of attrition. Except ya know what? BZZZT. Not a word. They were just making it up as they went along, and figured that since they were in uniform and you weren't, you would not have the temerity to question that they were mangling the language just as severely as they were mangling Iraqi defenses around Baghdad. Sorry, uniforms don't impress me. You screw up the language and I get to call bullshit just as loudly as your English teacher would have, were she/he in the room.

My point is that language exists to be employed correctly, not faked like a teenager's license used to get into a club. We all get dumbed down that much more when public figures perform the verbal (or written) equivalent of flying a jet into the side of a mountain. Let's say you repair automobiles. If you pay for a sign to be made that will hang above your shop, do you think it doesn't matter if you insist you can repair a car made by "Honnda" or "Accura"? If you cannot even spell the name of the automotive line, why should I have confidence that you'll be competent to handle my car if I drop it off? And please do not start in with "Well, we can't all be perfectionists like you, David". Spelling counts, kids. It's not as if the proper spelling of Honda or Acura is a closely guarded secret. When you get a chance, mosey on over to Lowell Road in Hudson, New Hampshire some day. There is an auto repair facility that promises it will work on your Honnda or your Accura. Honest. I drive by it on a semi-regular basis, but I wouldn't stop in there if it was the proverbial last shop on earth. For Ms. Unruh and the unnamed Defense Department spokesman (as well as occupants of the Oval Office and other august positions of public visibility), when you work with words all day, every day, it is your solemn duty to do it with a high degree of accuracy -- even if you drive an Accura.

We can agree to disagree on politics, sports, even the weather. But there is such a thing as right and wrong when it comes to the written word. France and Israel both have boards of language mavens specifically tasked with monitoring usage of French and Hebrew respectively, and safeguarding their proper use. We have professional boards of licensing for doctors, dentists, lawyers, and even real estate agents, but not the language we speak, read and write? That feels wrong. Someone should start one. It is worth the effort.

Photo credit: Heather Unruh, thebostonchannel.com. William Safire, salon.com. Acura logo, theautochannel.com.

I wish I'd paid attention in math class

2010-06-10T19:25:00.001-04:00

Life got weird for the NCAA today. The University of Colorado decided to leave the Big 12 Conference (formerly known as the Big 8) to join the Pac 10 Conference (formerly known as the Pac 8). So the Big 12 is the Big 11, but it's about to shrink more, because Nebraska is rumored to be headed to the Big 10, which has 11 member schools, so it really is the Big 11, but if Nebraska joins the Big 10, it becomes the Big 12. The current Big 12 isn't done losing numbers, though, since Oklahoma, Oklahoma State, Texas, Texas A&M and Texas Tech are rumored to be joining Colorado in the Pac 10, which would make it the Pac 16. Meanwhile, the only school in the country that isn't already in a conference is Notre Dame, who may (or may not) be pondering joining the Big 12, I mean 10, which actually would then become 13.

Got it?

So the teams left in the Conference Formerly Known as the Big 12 would be Baylor, Kansas, Kansas State and Colorado State. Nobody in their right mind would call them the Big 4, because there's nothing big about them. They'd be left out in the cold, unless perhaps the Mountain West (no numbers in the name, isn't that strange?) is interested. But seriously, schools from Kansas and Texas in a conference called the Mountain West? That would make as much sense as inviting them to the Ivy League. No wait, that would be worse, actually. Boise State, which is currently in the Western Athletic Conference (WAC), is potentially being considered for the Mountain West, but you didn't really care about that, did you? No, I didn't think so. The truth is the Big 12 is going to become extinct. So they'll be the Big 0.

So to sum up:

The Big 10, which really has 11, is about to become the Big 12, or possibly the Big 13.
The Pac 10, which used to be the Pac 8, is the Pac 11 today, but they are probably going to become the Pac 16.
The Big 12, which used to be the Big 8, is now the Big 11, but they could shrink to as few as 4, at which point they're really not a conference anymore.

The reason for all of this has nothing to do with athletics. Actually nothing in the NCAA has anything to do with athletics. Or academics, for that matter. It's all about money. Big money. Billions of dollars for tournaments, bowl games and TV rights. Speaking of money, the University of Southern California (USC), which is in the Pac 8/10/16, was slapped across the face by the NCAA today because, in essence, they're unclear on the whole idea of discipline. Current NFL running back and former USC tailback/Heisman Trophy winner Reggie Bush is at the center of the storm, and chances are good that Reggie could kiss his Heisman goodbye, because technically he wasn't an amateur when he played for USC. Reggie's former coach, Pete Carroll, can't really be disciplined, since he's now running the Seattle Seahawks, and they don't play in the Pac 8, Pac 10 or the Pac 16. They play in the NFC West, which is a division in the NFL. So kids at USC today, who weren't even in high school when Reggie Bush was raking in cash and gifts while at USC, are going to be penalized. That makes sense, don't you think?

I would actually recommend that all the schools who have been disciplined by the NCAA be put in their own conference. Sadly, that would get unmanageable, since it would include USC, Kentucky, Colorado, Southern Methodist, Memphis, Boston College, Michigan, Connecticut, Florida State, Miami, Auburn, Indiana...you get the idea.

What lessons do we draw between the Gulf and the Sound?

2010-06-07T17:21:00.000-04:00

Warning: This post contains profanity and a fair bit of angry contempt. If that's not your cup of tea, and particularly if you've complained to me in the past that you'd prefer not to read that sort of thing, it's best that you stop reading now, or better yet, click here. That way, I don't have to issue an apology that I don't mean. Thanks.
____________________________________________________________________________

A week after the Deepwater Horizon exploded, burned and sank to the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, Interior Secretary Ken Salazar appeared at the State House in Boston and announced Federal approval of the Cape Wind project. Cape Wind will be the first large scale offshore wind to energy program in US history. Ten years of studies, noisy town meetings, bickering and wrangling culminated in Secretary Salazar's decision.

Cape Wind supporters wanted renewable energy to power Cape Cod and the Islands. Opponents couldn't argue the merits of the project, they just didn't want big windmill turbines in the middle of scenic Nantucket Sound. Now it's going to go forward, and within the next few years Massachusetts will be on the cutting edge of the green energy movement. We won't have to worry about major explosions. No birds or fish will die, much less by the tens of thousands. We won't have hundreds, if not thousands of miles of coastlines ruined forever, and we won't have to rely on BP to tell us anything. While the entire country watches the Gulf with growing horror, I think it's time we started learning at least one lesson from this catastrophic tragedy: Relying exclusively on fossil fuels for our energy is dangerously outdated, a waste of time, money and lives, not to mention the environment. Wind, solar and biofuels are what will power the next century. To the degree that we don't have the guts to acknowledge that, we're doomed to become a second-class economy.

If you're one of the nitwits who gleefully chanted "Drill baby drill" along with Barbie McLipShmutz during the 2008 campaign, you had better be on the Gulf coast right now reporting for cleanup duty. Otherwise, and there's really no kind way of saying this, you're a fucking hypocrite. In addition, rightwing pinheads, you can't accuse President Obama of being a socialist and then turn around and simultaneously accuse him of not doing enough to fix the gushing pipe in the Gulf, or worse, hoping the tragedy happens (Heckuva job, Brownie). In short, you don't get to have it both ways, though Glenn Beck and Rush Limbaugh aren't likely to point out that bit of intellectual inconsistency, because those are really big words, and their audiences are too busy with the misspelled signs and flat out ignorance to waste time trying to understand reality. The truth is always more complicated than a handwritten sign or 10 second sound bite, and that confuses people who don't like to think too hard or can't be bothered to learn about the facts the belie their blowhard rhetoric. If I've just offended a friend or relative, that's just too damn bad. Deal with it.

If this unforgettable video is to be believed (warning, extremely profane and NSFW), BP can't even pass Booming 101...by the way, I have a new favorite phrase after watching that video a couple dozen times. If you watch it, I think you'll agree with me..."fucking proper fucking booming" needs to enter the popular lexicon. So why is anyone surprised at what's going on right now? You shouldn't be. You remember the Exxon Valdez? You remember the Torrey Canyon? You remember the Atlantic Empress? This is already far worse than all of them put together, with no end in sight....and remember, the 2010 hurricane season just started. Because an oil disaster isn't frightening enough, let's blow some of that polluted water around, and see how bad that gets. In any case, before the wind and waves from the first storm arrive, the economic and ecological damage will have already dwarfed anything we've ever seen. Trusting an oil company, whether it's BP or Exxon, to protect the environment is exactly like expecting the Catholic Church to reliably protect your child from, well, the Catholic Church. It's not a matter of if you're going to get screwed, it's a matter of when, how badly, and for how long.

The future of energy will be seen in Nantucket Sound, somewhere in the Great Lakes -- west of New York state, and the state of Gujarat in India, where the largest solar energy project in the world is under development. Further oil development needs to phase down, and eventually stop. If the Obama administration continues to approve oil exploration anywhere near US shores, it will be complicit in further tragedies. Otherwise, there will be more Deepwater Horizons. Count on it.

And now for an IMPORTANT topic: television theme songs

2010-05-26T09:00:00.012-04:00

So I've been having a discussion in a social media forum (mumbleFacebookmumble) about the best television theme songs. There are many terrific nominees. As a rule, I feel strongly that the best themes came from the 60's, 70's and 80's. For starters, there are the golden greats. If you don't know all the words to Sesame Street, The Brady Bunch The Addams Family, or Gilligan's Island theme songs, don't even bother reading the rest of this post, because you need to go to remedial theme song school.

Although some loved Bonanza, I wasn't fond of TV westerns. Great tune, though, I have to admit. I was always a big fan of St. Elsewhere (which featured or launched the careers of some damn serious stars, like Mark Harmon, Denzel Washington and Howie Mandel). In the same time period, I think the best theme of its time was Hill Street Blues (Let's be careful out there!). There was the timeless "Suicide is Painless" from M*A*S*H, the classic "Those Were the Days" from All in the Family, and the perfectly funky Sanford and Son, Laverne & Shirley had the advantage of coming with its own dance steps. You need a buddy with you to do it right. I still say "Happy Days (which came first, of course) had a better theme. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology for Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. I loved the symphonic majesty of Battlestar Galactica, and the infectious syncopation of Law & Order. Across the pond, the British gave us Monty Python, Benny Hill and the great Dr. Who, which along with The Twilight Zone might be the trippiest theme song ever.

Then there's the pantheon. The ridiculously talented John Sebastian (of the Lovin' Spoonful) wrote and recorded Welcome Back Kotter's "Welcome Back". Jose Feliciano did Chico and the Man. Oscar winner Elmer Bernstein is responsible for perhaps the best earworm of them all, the theme for National Geographic. Star Trek is the only show in television history to have not one but two outstanding themes. Alexander Courage wrote the original (no, William Shatner didn't write it), but the reworking for the movie, then The Next Generation might have been even better. Although they're technically not "lyrics" per se, everyone of a certain age knows the words to ABC's legendary Wide World of Sports, because Jim McKay's voice, starting with "Spanning the globe, to bring you the constant variety of sports." was as familiar as Walter Cronkite saying "and that's the way it is". W.G. Snuffy Walden wrote themes for both Thirtysomething in the 80's and The West Wing.in the 90's. (Quick quiz: what actor appeared regularly in *both* series? Answer: Timothy Busfield, who played Elliot Weston on thirtysomething, then Danny Concannon on The West Wing) The melodies of The Simpsons and Batman, once wedged in your brain, like National Geographic, don't leave. Everybody knows your name at Cheers. The theme song that absolutely, positively MUST put you in a good mood was from perhaps the funniest sitcom of them all: "Soap". After all, it gave us Billy Crystal. And if that doesn't do it, there's SpongeBob Square Pants. The simplest, shortest, and most elegant theme that you might never have heard is "Abblasen", a trumpet fanfare heard each week at 9am on CBS Sunday Morning.

Then we come to the medalists, and they're all from the golden era of television themes, the 1960's, 70's and 80's.
Fifth place:Henry Mancini is the man behind the Peter Gunn Theme
Fourth place. The best sports theme ever written requires air drums. Everyone give it up for the classic from Monday Night Football. Forty years on and still the best.
Third place: "Light the fuse", Lalo Shiffrin's Mission: Impossible.
Second place: Ken Burns' The Civil War, which I think is the greatest piece of television programming ever produced, gave us the haunting, perfectly textured "Ashokan Farewell" from Jay Ungar.
The best television theme song of all time: Book 'em, Dano. The Ventures' Hawaii Five O.

Feel free to argue, but you know I'm right.

What's next

2010-05-02T11:00:00.000-04:00

I've found myself thinking existential thoughts the past couple days. That's bound to happen when someone close to you passes away. You ponder what's beyond. Before my grandmother died a couple years ago, I remember speaking with my mother about how frightening it must have been for her mother. At 100 years of age, Nana had no belief whatsoever in a heaven, hell, or anything at all beyond terra firma. For her, death was not just turning off a light switch, but the end of the light bulb. Done. Nobody there from beyond to greet you, no presence greater than yourself, just nothingness. The end. That felt bleak, depressing and downright scary to me.

My mother-in-law Norma Klein passed away early Friday morning. A devout Catholic, she believed in heaven and a presence beyond herself. Although Norma raged against the dying of the light, deep down it had to have been so very comforting to maintain a profound faith in a higher plane and a new path she could eventually ascend to. I've been thinking about her since she passed, and praying that in her next life, she is blessed with more joy and tranquility. I absolutely believe we get multiple go-rounds. I choose to believe that children whose lives are cut short get another chance right away, in a new place, with a fresh hope. I've known old souls, people who appear to have learned big lessons and can apply them better now, because they get something ineffable from long ago trial and error that the rest of us don't, or just haven't yet. Regardless of their chronological age or their circumstances, they're wiser. I've heard myself described as a young soul. I think that's probably true. I'll get it right some day, but for now I'm probably still in the tadpole stage, and so for me the cosmic maturing process might have a ways to go.

Jews aren't supposed to believe in the constructs of heaven and hell. No angels on puffy clouds, flames, pitchforks or purgatory (so I really can't explain Detroit, Philadelphia, or Newark). At the same time, we don't fully buy the one and done notion, either. I think, hope and pray that my grandmother was simply wrong, and that she was surprised to be greeted lovingly by souls she had previously known, starting with my grandfather. For me, the ideal that resonates best was summed up by poet Thomas Bailey Aldrich:

"What is lovely never dies, but passes into other loveliness".

It's said from time to time in some Jewish memorial services, and is an appropriate illustration of Jewish sentiment addressing what happens when the EKG goes flat. For me, it's a comforting way to face the inevitable.

I choose to believe that my grandparents, my mother in law, friends whom I've lost, and other lovely souls I've known haven't been shut off like locked spigots, gone forever. They've passed into other loveliness. They'll return in some fashion (or have already returned) in newer, fresher incarnations, perhaps doing it better this time, learning more, and having the opportunity to play a new hand, make new choices, and create new loveliness.

It's what I wish for Norma, and what I hope happens to all of us.

The next chapter feels familiar, in a good way

2010-04-16T12:11:00.022-04:00

This week I started a new full-time contracting gig, working with the staff at the central IT office of the University of Massachusetts. I've worked with UMass before in a couple different incarnations, and in fact I've been a full-time contractor with them previously. So this is both very familiar and at the same time, new, exciting territory.

Way back in September of 2001, I was contacted by Modis. They're a big IT staffing and recruiting company. Through Modis, I worked on a training contact gig with the UMass system for a year. To this day, after working on more than 50 implementations all over North America, that 13-month experience getting PeopleSoft up and running at the Lowell campus remains one of my favorites. The people I worked with were tremendous, the organization backed up our efforts, and, best of all, the software worked as promised -- not always something you can count on, I've learned the hard way.

A couple years ago, when I was still at SunGard, I had great fun delivering a couple trainings for a different UMass group in Shrewsbury. They were a collegial, engaged and challenging group -- my kind of client. I had kept in touch with my former Modis connections over the years, and last month they arranged for me to interview with UMass for their advancement software implementation. So, after almost nine years, I've rejoined Modis and after less than a year, the advancement community once again. After the first few days, it's already a challenge I can sink my teeth into, it's a little different from anything I've done before, and yes, it's fun.

Those People

2010-04-07T19:50:00.029-04:00

With the introduction of the new iPad (now with wings!), Those People are coming out of the woodwork. You know Those People. The friends, coworkers and sometimes perfect strangers who implore you in all seriousness to buy one today, because it will change your world forever. The ones who profess special knowledge. They confidently announce that this device will sound the death knell of (pick one) all laptops, all e-book readers, all electronics not called iPad. When someone makes a cogent, considered argument as to why it's a good device to have, as my friend Ericka did here, I can respect that. It's not just blind obedience. She sat down and thought about how pet owners could use the thing. It's the uncritical, noisy squee I have issues with. I've noticed this is a phenomenon endemic to Apple devotees. Have you ever heard the owner of a new hair dryer announce that from this day forward, all other similar devices are obsolete because hers is so amazingly adept at drying hair that it will corner the market? No. Have you ever heard the owner of a new car proclaim their vehicle to be the greatest conveyance of all time, and that you should go out and get what they drive, as they have now seen the light and know for a dead certainty that your car will go the way of the horse and buggy? No, of course not. (unless you are actually driving a horse and buggy, in which case they have a good point)

However, the day of Steve Jobs' press conference introducing what for all intents and purposes is little more than an oversized iTouch (an iPhone without the phone), I had multiple friends tell me in all seriousness that "as of today, all laptops, netbooks and Kindles are dead and gone. Game over." Mind you, they hadn't actually held one in their own hands, much less tested the thing. But they felt confident in their proclamation. Based on what? Saint Jobs stood on a stage and said it would, so that's good enough for them. This hardly qualifies as critical thinking, kids.

Here is where I point out that I like Apple products just fine. I own not one but two iPods (both gifts), and I enjoy using them. They're great on long plane rides, especially with noise-cancelling headphones -- not made by Apple, sorry. Countless friends and family members own iPhones and MacBooks. It isn't the machines I have trouble with, but that strange, bizarrely vocal (and I must say small) subset of users who not only believe their Apple products are the greatest thing since Elvis, but feel the need to tell me that if *I* don't get one, I will not be saved. They're the gadget version of Jehovah's Witnesses, only in some cases less polite.

Apple makes great stuff, but the iPhone didn't render all competitive cellphone technology obsolete, did it? The MacBook didn't destroy the laptop market, did it? The iPad is a gadget, ladies and gentlemen. It won't rid you of the heartbreak of psoriasis, it won't curtail global warming, it won't cure cancer, it won't make Sarah Palin grow a brain, and it won't magically allow Teabaggers to use proper grammar, much less spell past the level of a fifth grader.

For the past two months I've been enjoying a terrific new smartphone (the Motorola Droid from Verizon, over there on the right). I love using it, but I'm not insisting you go out and buy one today. That would be presumptuous of me, and I don't have any emotional investment in what kind of cellphone you use. I like what I have. You like what you have. It's all good. So if you're getting (or already have) an iPad, I'm happy for you. Enjoy it in good health, after the bugs get worked out. Just please don't preach to the world that it's the greatest thing since this, ok? Thanks. The rest of society appreciates that you're enjoying your new toy. Quietly.

photo credit: iPad photo, courtesy of flickr (d!zzy), Teabonics photo courtesy of flickr (Pargon). Droid photo, blahblahginger.

Impressions from the Global Pet Expo 2010

2010-03-26T17:07:00.008-04:00

As you probably know, I've been writing for Pet Connection since November. I'm the News Editor. This weekend, I'm in Orlando with the Pet Connection team to report on the Global Pet Expo, which is the largest pet product trade show in the world. In fact, there are only three convention centers in the US large enough to accommodate it: Las Vegas, Chicago, and here. I flew in yesterday, and my colleague (and boss) Gina Spadafori posted a wonderful little essay on a quirky but fun little tradition at the hotel where we're all staying. You can read that here.

My job is to help out, participate in the meetings where we decide on some of the best (or at least most innovative) products, and, of course, blog about the experience. The post that follows is historic for me in a couple dimensions. It's the first one I've written for Pet Connection from the road, as in it wasn't composed from the comfort of my living room or home office. Secondly, I got my wings today. Gina is my editor, and she's about as good as it gets. When she approves it, I know it's ready for prime time. The post below went directly from me to the web, no other authorization required. That may not sound like much, but in the writing biz, when your editor trusts you enough to write and publish without an intermediate look-see? It's a big vote of confidence. And I like this post, so I'm cross posting it here to Blah Blah Ginger. Enjoy.

David

P.S. When I mention that I don't want to steal Dr. Becker's thunder, that means you should stay tuned to Good Morning America and ABC News Now in the very near future. He'll be doing his thing there, and to a far wider audience than I could ever command with my modest little blog.

______________________________________________________________

Impressions from GPE 2010

Where to begin? Ok, first off, I must acknowledge that people had done their very best to warn me beforehand that the convention center is big. I had seen GPE's website beforehand, replete with a recitation of the numbers of booths, participants, etc. Gina and Dr. Becker both stated GPE's exhibition hall is "seven football fields long", but that's like telling someone it's 93 million miles to the sun and expecting them to appreciate what the number 93 million means. After a while, big is just big, followed by very big, followed closely by "much bigger than I can understand".

This place is huge. I mean enormous. Immense. Massive. Let me put it this way: our hotel (which Gina mentioned yesterday: home of the Peabody Ducks) is across the street from the front door of the convention center. So I know for sure that I entered GPE in Orlando, but I'm quite sure by lunch I had walked to Galveston. And back. We had a lunch meeting in Orlando I needed to be back for, so I couldn't have stayed in Texas overnight, though my feet were very much interested in the idea, and kept bringing up the possibility of just hunkering down wherever we were, which I think at the time was somewhere in Louisiana.

The exhibition hall is divided roughly into regions (we'll call them states), and there were signs overhead telling you what state you were in at the moment. My mission was to make it over to where they were highlighting the new products. That's why I ended up in Texas. Did I mention the place is freakin' huge?

It would take far too long to recount everything I liked, and besides, I don't want to steal Dr. Becker's thunder. His list is better, more varied, more comprehensive, and besides, it's a secret until it's not. Suffice it to say there is something at GPE for everybody's taste, and quite a number of products specifically made for people who have no taste at all. However, just to give you a sense of how eye-opening the Global Pet Expo is (now I understand why it's called Global: you're gonna walk to another continent, buddy. Wear comfy shoes), the product that impressed me the most was something for cats. And remember, I'm a lifelong, card-carrying dog person.

The variety was impressive. I even saw an item designed to feed squirrels. Why you would BUY a special contraption to feed an animal that's quite happy traipsing around the neighborhood ravaging everybody's bird feeders -- as my wife would gladly attest-- is beyond me, but I wasn't the one manning the booth, so that's an SEP (Somebody Else's Problem).

I quickly learned to avoid the MegaHugeCorp booths, with the garishly lit signs from the companies that you see on every aisle of every pet food store. The interesting stuff is found in the little, out of the way corners of the exhibition hall, the sectors where you have to cross state lines to get there. The relatively small company that makes the only squeaky toy Harry has never been able to destroy (though to his credit, he's still trying). I spoke to the company CEO. She was lovely, and thrilled to hear an in-person endorsement of her company's toys. I met two phenomenally creative inventors who have spent a decent chunk of the last few years creating something that nobody had made before. I'm betting they've leveraged their very own savings to do it, too. Their products aren't from some faceless company in Taiwan: the product was theirs. As in, they made it. In one case, literally made one at a time. They were proud as hell to tell me about their inventions, and their stories riveted me. I found myself in awe of their entrepreneurial spirit and determination to see their dream come to market. And you know something? THOSE are what I remember the most vividly, because they put their blood, sweat and tears into making their imagination come to life. Hey, I'm in Orlando -- that's an appropriate way to present yourself here. Also? Their products are just plain terrific (psst: they'll both get wider press from someone else, but I can't say anything about that...just between you and me, ok?.

Some products, like the ones that you know won't last 11 seconds after your retriever or Jacks Russell gets her teeth on it, I hurried by. But I was fascinated by the endlessly creative food puzzles, thoughtfully designed to continue engaging a dog's mind, or the innovative contraptions geared toward encouraging owners to spend more time with their pets. As I walked around, since I am of a certain age, I jotted down anything that I liked, including their booth number, in case some kind soul would be willing to fly me back to that jurisdiction later. One item I saw was created with the same notion in mind as plopping your kid in front of a television set, and expecting that to be a baby sitter. It was marketed so you could spend *less* time playing with your pet, not more. The good products at GPE, as Dr. Becker might say, should (and I must say do) help strengthen the bond between pet and owner, and make the whole experience more fun for both. Those are the ones that I'll head back to tomorrow to get samples to bring back for Cami and Harry, so we can have even more fun with them, and them with us. As a pet owner, to me that's what it's all about. In the meantime, you see those puppies up there on the right? They have the right idea. For them, GPE is as comfy and cozy as it gets.

Continuing to help those in need

2010-03-09T13:02:00.028-05:00

Haiti was devastated by a massive earthquake two months ago. Yes, it's been two months already. It would be hard to name a country that was in worse shape or less prepared to deal with such a catastrophe. It was already the poorest country in the western hemisphere. It already ranked near the bottom in surveys of mortality rates, potable water and GDP. Haiti has suffered from appalling governments that couldn't (and in many cases didn't even bother trying to) feed its own citizens. Corruption, torture, few thriving industries, and little hope for improvement. Haiti was a mess before January 10.

The aid came pouring in from around the world in the early days and weeks after the ground shook and heaved. Now, though, is the worst time of all. The eyes, attention, and dollars of the world community have moved on. New earthquakes have struck in Chile, Taiwan and elsewhere. Here in the US, attention has shifted back to the health care debate, the Oscars, American Idol, and as of next week, NCAA Basketball tournament brackets (Go Orange!).

People aren't committed to Haiti anymore, right? Wrong. My niece is. Jessie is a graduating senior at Middlebury College, and she's working to raise money on her campus, on behalf of Partners in Health. Her campaign to raise $10,000 for Haitian aid is already more than 40% toward its goal, and there's a fundraiser scheduled for next month to bump the totals further. The help doesn't have to come just from the Middlebury community, though. You can give Jessie, and the people of Haiti, a hand.

Jessie is the kind of young woman who gives me hope for the next generation. My time with AmeriCorps in the 90's reminded me of the importance of helping communities greater than your own. Even if you have a good life, a happy family and plenty of prospects for your life, others have nothing. From the day she was born, Jessie has never had to worry about where her next meal would come from, whether she'd live in a safe environment, or even if there were people around her who loved her. You can probably insert your own name in each of those elements. Just because you're doing well doesn't mean others are. If you have the ability to help, millions need you.

It's not hyperbole to say that much of Haiti's citizenry has lost everything. Hospitals have been crushed. There aren't enough health care workers. A shortage of antibiotics means people are dying from easily treatable infections. Potable water, already a risky proposition, is in short supply. People are living in the open, having lost families, friends, their homes, and all the possessions they ever owned. This week the temperature in Port Au Prince is in the high 80's, headed into the 90's and low 100's in the coming weeks and months. With insufficient shelter, food and clean water, people who survived the earthquake can still die by the thousands of disease and starvation, joining the quarter of a million already killed. Past that, the country needs to be rebuilt, literally from the ground up. If the world waits for Haiti to do it itself, it will never happen, at least not in our lifetime.

This isn't a quirky college fund raising lark, this is a real effort by a bright, caring young woman to do her part to help rescue a sovereign nation in peril. Please help. Jessie's Haiti Fund page is here. On the right side of the page you'll see a progress thermometer, with a Click Here to Donate button, which will send you here to contribute. If you can't give, you can spread the word. On behalf of Jessie, and most importantly the people of Haiti, thank you.

Blogs I like the most

2010-03-05T08:45:00.002-05:00

Because I've been a persistent blogger, friends and readers have asked me questions about the genre, including which blogs I enjoy reading. The short answer is "many", but there are some in particular I go back to over and over, and I'd endorse unequivocally.

Current events / politics: The Political Carnival. Powered by two indefatigable, acerbic, unabashed liberal wits who don't miss a trick. It helps that one of the two is a former sketch comedian and comedy writer. Laffy's finely-honed sense of the absurd makes the site, updated dozens of times a day, a constant series of surprises. If you're not reading it, you're missing out on great stuff that you might not find elsewhere.

Technology: David Pogue, New York Times. David Pogue's the best. He can explain the newest, most cutting edge technology in a way that will satisfy savvy tech types like me, and still quickly, painlessly educate curious luddites. David also has a particular talent in sorting through the marketing bullshit to get at the truth of what you need to know, as opposed to what the big box stores and television ads preach at you. Don't make an electronics purchase without reading David's thoughts first.

Red Sox blog: Over the Monster. I've changed my mind a number of times on Red Sox blogs I like. Over the Monster is the most sensible, pisses me off the least, has the most acceptable reasonable opinion (RO) to stinking gasbag (SG) ratio. If you want SG's, you could always listen to talk radio. Over the Monster supplies a steady stream of facts, interesting sidebars, thought-provoking ideas, and engages in the least possible hand-wringing, Chicken Little hysteria. If you go check it out, I'd suggest downloading the 2010 Over the Monster Annual. It's got some good content. The guys on this site are my kind of Red Sox fans, and I salute their ongoing work.

Personal blog:
Loralee's Looney Tunes. If you had to categorize her, technically she'd have to fall into the arena of "mommy blogger", though there's a helluva lot more to her than that. Truth be told, it sounds vaguely condescending, and doesn't really fit. Loralee is one of those people I wouldn't have encountered in a million lifetimes if it weren't for social media. She's unflinchingly honest, eloquent and a true American original. Her writing affords a glimpse into a different world, and Loralee is the perfect example of how, if you do it right, you can develop a loyal following of good souls. That works, because she's a good soul.

The Bloggess. The funniest person on the web, period. If you read her blog and don't laugh, you may have lost your funny organ. To call her "humorous" is like saying Larry Bird was an ok basketball player and the Titanic didn't have a good first voyage. Read about her trip to Japan, but don't be drinking milk when you do, ok? If she offends you, tough. That's your problem. Sometimes humor is messy.

Special interests:
Uniwatch This one is about as esoteric as it gets, and I've been addicted to it for years. Along with being a lifelong sports fan, I've always maintained an abiding interest in the minutiae of sports uniforms. To my way of thinking, there are few uniforms in sports that look as great as the LA Dodgers, St. Louis Cardinals, Boston Red Sox, Detroit Tigers, Green Bay Packers, Boston Celtics, Detroit Red Wings, Montreal Canadiens, UNC Tar Heels, or UCLA Bruins. If that last sentence made no sense to you at all, Uni Watch is a waste of electrons for you. If you understand what I mean, you have got to check it out. The site is the personal crusade of Paul Lukas, whose column appears on a semi-regular basis on espn.com. Paul regularly wades hip deep into the arcane details of sani socks (and stirrups), logos, typography, and why the University of Oregon's football uniforms are so hideously awful. It's addictive in the same way that Oreos are addictive. At least to me.

Pet Connection. Look, I was an avid reader long before I started working for them as the site's News Editor last November. The talent on Pet Connection, top to bottom, is both wide and deep. These people know their stuff, so I have to swim as hard as I can to keep up. They have no product to sell, no axe to grind, and while the blog should be readable and entertaining, when you boil it down, they/we stand by three non-negotiable rules: get it right, be fair and be compassionate (well, there are limits. I'm looking at YOU, Michael Vick). The staff includes Christie, Dr. Tony, Kim, Liz and others, but Pet Connection is driven primarily by two uncommonly remarkable people: Gina and Marty. Gina Spadafori is the executive editor, and she is the very model of a modern major journalist. Along with the site, she and Dr. Marty Becker (I'll get to him in a minute) are responsible for a syndicated column, a regular series of articles for Parade magazine, and not one but two new books currently in production. She's what I hope I'd be if I had stuck with journalism way back when. She's also the mom to four adorable dogs, a cat, some chickens and a weather forecasting duck with definite issues. Dr. Becker is a practicing veterinarian who's also a writer (see above), an adjunct professor at three top veterinary schools, a regular guest on the Dr. Oz Show, Good Morning America, and oh yes, a perpetually popular lecturer at veterinary conferences all over North America. Talk about busy.... The man's a force of nature. Actually, I've determined it's possible that there are multiple Dr. Beckers out there taking care of all the responsibilities listed, since I'm not convinced one man can do all of what he does as well as he does it. In any case, I'll meet one of the Dr. Beckers at the end of the month. I'll report back. I love working with this gang, but I'd still read the site religiously even if my name didn't appear in the staff list. Shameless plug: my news wrap columns appear every Monday and Thursday.

Photo credits: banner logo images from each of the websites mentioned.

If you're wrong, chances are good you're a Senate Republican

2010-03-03T14:33:00.011-05:00

Millions of people receiving unemployment checks will get their money after all, no thanks to Senator Screwball, Jim Bunning. This is a man who was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame after throwing a perfect game for the Philadelphia Phillies in 1964. That's pretty much the last competent thing he ever accomplished in his life. You know the difference between Al Franken and Jim Bunning? Al Franken was a comedian. Jim Bunning is a bad joke. He singlehandedly held up billions of dollars to Americans who desperately needed the money, in order to make a laughably pointless argument: this isn't paid for, and I want to strike a blow for fiscal responsibility.

Oh do you, Senator. Let's see. You voted for monstrously large tax cuts in Shrub's administration. None of those were paid for. You voted for trillions of dollars in expenditure over wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, none of which were paid for. You had no problem voting for bailouts for Wall Street and the auto industry (altogether now: Not Paid For), but when it comes to helping out American citizens who are out of work and hanging on by their fingernails, you decide it's time to strike a schoolmarm-like tone insisting that now you won't put up with it anymore? Your bloviating would be more convincing if it weren't covered in layers of stinking, pompus crap.

Meanwhile, some of his wormier colleagues, namely Jeff Sessions (R-AL), Jon Cornyn (R-TX) and others, took to the floor to call Senator Screwball "courageous". It should be noted that all of his fellow demogogues voted just as Bunning did to explode the deficit over the past decade. None of them breathed a word about the fiscal irresponsibility of it all. You know who did? Senate Democrats (though John McCain voted against the tax cuts, it should be noted...).

Final passage of health care reform won't need 60 votes. It can be done by a commonly used tool called reconciliation, which only requires 51 votes. There's no way Republicans can fight it, but senior Senate Elephants such as Chuck Grassley, Orrin Hatch, and yes, John McCain, still took to the Senate floor to whine like petulant children about how unfair and unprecedented it all was. Again, the pesky problem of facts got in the way, and Rachel Maddow's bravura performance a couple nights back deserves to be viewed in all its we-see-what-you're-really-doing glory:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

What it comes down to is so easy to understand, even a Tea Bagger should be able to figure it out: health care reform will pass. Will it be perfect? Hell, no. However, it's the most important first step in the right direction we'll have taken since, well, ever. I'm heartened to know that Republicans oppose it, because that's a good guarantee that it's probably going to work. After all, this is the party that vociferously opposed the Equal Voting Rights Act of 1965, the Social Security Act of 1965 (which created Medicare), most of the New Deal, and pretty much every important advance in society since the 19th amendment gave women the right to vote in 1920.

If it's going to make your world better, if it's going to help your family, if it's going to grant rights to those who don't have a voice, understanding political voting isn't so complicated. Chances are, as we have seen throughout the past generation, the Democratic party wants to improve your life. Republicans want to obstruct, obfuscate, block and deny.

If only Senator Screwball had read his history books, he'd have known that standing in the way of funding unemployment payments was a losing proposition. It was World War II, and FDR gave a fireside chat in which he explained the importance the Lend Lease Act for Great Britain. FDR said if your neighbor's house is on fire, you don't quibble on the price of the water hose that could help put the fire out.

For millions of Americans, the house is in flames. Dear Senate Republicans: if you're not going to lift a finger to help, the least you can do is sit down and shut the hell up until the rest of us pitch in to put the fire out.

Photo credit: sixties60s.com

The law of unintended consequences is going to slobber all over your face

2010-02-05T12:15:00.010-05:00

Sometimes a good idea can go wrong, even with the best of original intentions. A couple years back, long before I had joined the team, my Pet Connection colleagues Gina Spadafori, Dr. Marty Becker, Keith Turner and Kim Thornton created DogCars.com. It's a site dedicated to vehicle reviews, specifically aimed at advising dog owners which cars would be best for them and their furry kids. Things like how low to the ground is the rear hatch -- so the dog wouldn't have to jump as high. It's a terrific idea, right? Yes, it is. It's a great site, very helpful, and I especially like the multi-paw ratings for each succeeding level of dog friendly vehicle. But here's the problem. Over time, it leads to the concept behind Dog Cars being misunderstood, and worse, misapplied.

Subaru, which happens to make very pet-friendly cars, is launching a campaign that will premiere this weekend on Animal Planet's Dogs 101 marathon tomorrow. The ads will also be featured prominently on the 6th Annual Puppy Bowl this Sunday, airing opposite a football game, of all things. And if you look at the content of the ads, you might see what I'm getting at. Olive and Zelda are demonstrating that they can drive, and even parallel park -- a feat of automotive derring-do which eludes many people I know.

And this is my central point: I'm not in favor of all dogs being allowed to drive. To be sure, I support the granting of rights to as much of our citizenry as possible. I believe that gays and lesbians everywhere should enjoy the same right to have their wages garnished due to failure to pay child support as the rest of us. I believe that Georgetown Hoya basketball fans, New York Yankees fans, and even Dallas Cowboys fans should be allowed to vote, and on a limited, strictly controlled basis, be allowed to hold elective office. Town Selectmen, state treasurer, stuff like that. I even support the right of Tea Party activists to breathe the same air as the rest of us, though responsibilities beyond that should be limited until they can prove conclusively that they're more capable of sentient thought than the average bullfrog.

But you have to admit that Subaru's pernicious campaign will lead to dreadful consequences. Border Collies, Weimaraners and Australian cattle dogs, no problem. They'll be fine, and I have no doubt will prove to be far better drivers than most residents of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and all southerners during snowstorms. Many, though certainly not all Labs, German shepherds, Dobermans, and a family of Flat Coated retrievers and a Sheltie I know of in Sacramento, they should be perfectly good behind the wheel. Schnauzers of all size, I expect, will be careful and courteous drivers, better than anyone you're likely to encounter on the average freeway at rush hour. But face reality. Irish Setters? Seriously? And Bull Mastiffs? Are you kidding me? We're not talking impressive attention spans here. I'm not going to pile on the "Afghan Hounds are rock stupid" bandwagon in this post, but, ok, yes I am. You have to admit that putting one of these dogs behind a couple hundred horsepower and a ton of metal, rubber and chrome at more than 50 MPH might not be a wise course of action, even in good weather. On an empty roadway. In daylight.

And then there are the dogs who will simply be too aggressive. You do NOT want to be in front of (or behind, for that matter) a Jack Russell or a West Highland terrier in a bad mood in fast moving traffic, or -- god forbid -- the poodle who's too busy applying her makeup to pay attention to the Toyota she's about to rear-end, which will then accelerate out of control, clobbering the poor, unsuspecting family of Shih-Tzu's out for their lunch date at the country club.

On a personal note, I have no confidence whatsoever that my own beloved Cami will be even an adequate driver, and I'm deeply resentful that after seeing the Subaru ad over the weekend, she's going to insist that *she* be allowed to take driving lessons, and that we not only buy her her own car (which we can't afford), but also driving gloves and matching shoes - and probably a new collar or three - so that she coordinates properly. Harry would be fine, I'm sure, borrowing my or P's car to run errands on occasion, and I would be amenable to that, though we'd have to make sure he stays away from the supermarket, because once he navigates his way to the butcher shop and the marrow bone section, it's all over. But little Missy Diva Piglet Punky Girl, I don't think so. I know my daughter, and this is just a recipe for disaster on so many levels I can't even bring myself to recount them all.

This is, at its core, all about what's known the Law of Unintended Consequences. One day a bunch of years ago, George and Barbara said "wouldn't it be a hoot if Dubya ran for office? That'd be great, and hey, he couldn't fuck up anything worse than he did the Texas Rangers, right?". What seemed like a harmless prank by a bored couple in Texas didn't turn out so well, did it? Actions have consequences, people. It's important to THINK SOMETHING THROUGH before you just spring it on the general public. I'm telling you, we're seeing a slippery slope effect at work here, and don't blame me when some irresponsible bitch (I can say that in this case -- do NOT give me a hard time about it) lets her rambunctious basset hound puppy get behind the wheel of her Mercedes SUV, and the next thing you know, we have a major catastrophe on I-95, or the 101 near San Francisco, or the I-35 near Dallas, or the Kennedy Expressway heading to O'Hare. You know it could happen, too.

All I'm saying is the law of unintended consequences could slobber all over your face, and innocent dachshunds (and their owners) will pay the price. I have no doubt I'll be inundated with comments now saying "my dog is smarter than your dog" and similar invective. Save it. I have seen the future, and it's going to ruin the leather upholstery.

Photo credit: Olive/Zelda: AdAge.com. Cami: PKG.

Mess with the bull, you get the horns

2010-01-29T16:54:00.014-05:00

Fresh off his State of the Union address, President Obama was invited to speak today in Baltimore at a retreat of GOP Representatives. He was walking into the enemy's lair, as it were, and agreed not to simply address Republican Members of Congress, but also submit to a Q&A session following his remarks. I happened to tune in to CNN in time to watch. What I saw can only be described as remarkable. The GOP caucus members were, by their own words, "itching to quiz the President". They were so confident they'd own the day that they allowed the entire proceeding to be televised. CNN had most of it, but CSPAN had all of it. To call this unfriendly ground would be putting it mildly. Behind Mr. Obama on stage were House Minority Leader John Boehner (R-OH), Minority Whip Eric Cantor (R-VA), and House Republican Conference Chair Mike Pence (R-IN).

In the Q&A, the President listened to and responded to each and every standard, tired talking point in the GOP "arsenal" (I use the term loosely), and he calmly, eloquently, and utterly without rancor refuted each and every point they tried to make. A couple of the questioners were people the president happened to know well (one Congressman was a former colleague of the President's from their time together in the Illinois General Assembly). Whether he knew the questioner well or not, he continued to elucidate the same points: automatically barking "no" at everything coming from the White House, without having a reasoned response of your own serves no purpose, and does nothing to serve the people you're ostensibly representing. Additionally, if you're going to disagree with policies, at least have the decency to describe them accurately, and stop mischaracterizing (or outright lying about) them.

The President pointed out that GOP Caucus members had derisively called his health care proposals a "Bolshevik plot", when in fact many of the details in the President's plan had been proposed by Republicans in the 90's during the debate over Bill Clinton's failed health care initiative. His executive summary to the GOP: a "ton of civility instead of slash and burn would be helpful".

In the Q&A, though, the GOP had their chance to make their points, and that's when they looked foolish. Mike Pence of Indiana, as red blooded a Republican as they come, admitted candidly that their arguments were "simply demolished" by the President. He admitted they shouldn't have allowed the proceedings to be televised. They weren't talking to a bumbling, intellectually bereft George W. Bush anymore. Personally, I'm grateful for their miscalculation, because it reminded me once again why I voted for the President.

The GOP Caucus must have thought that Scott Brown's win would chasten Mr. Obama, and they'd be in control. Today's performance, though, shouldn't have been a surprise. The man was a law professor at the University of Chicago. The President showed Boehner and company for what they are on national television, and they should have seen it coming. The truth remains that the GOP has nothing of substance to offer. It has gained some good mileage from mocking the President for using a teleprompter (as if there's something wrong with that), but this time he had none, and he still beat them like a rented mule.

Barack Obama is a leader. I don't care what Boehner, McConnell, Grassley or Fox News have to say, because the truth is, they have nothing to say. "No" is not an argument, and President Obama showed that conclusively in Baltimore today. While I still believe that Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi are the two worst Democratic Congressional leaders in more than a century, it's heartwarming to know that Democrats have two powerful forces in our favor:

the Republicans are led by John Boehner and Mitch McConnell, and
Barack Obama in office, reminding us that once again, it's good to be an American.

Just stop already, ok?

2010-01-25T10:27:00.021-05:00

The 2010 Super Bowl will be played at Sun Life Stadium. Where the hell is that, you ask. Hell, before this morning, I'd never heard the term in my life. Was a new stadium built in Miami since the Orange Bowl a few weeks ago? That game was played in (as Dave Barry would say, I'm not making this up) Land Shark Stadium. More on that name later. You know what I found out? Sun Life Stadium IS what was, since last May, Land Shark Stadium. All you Saturday Night Live fans of a certain age are depressed you can no longer chirp "land shark!", aren't you? Yeah, I am too.

It isn't the whole loss of the Chevy Chase-Dan Akroyd meme that's bothering me. And it isn't that Sun Life Financial paid $4 million a year to stick their name and logo all over the stadium now named for them. It's that this is the SEVENTH name this freakin' facility has had since it was built in 1987. That's right, it's six years younger than my son Marc, and it's had seven names. Officially, he's only had one. Nicknames don't count.

The multi purpose facility was initially christened Joe Robbie Stadium in 1987. Mr. Robbie was the founding owner of the Miami Dolphins, the primary tenant of the building. The MLB Florida Marlins play there too, as well as the Miami Hurricanes football team. In January, this is where the FedEx Orange Bowl is held. Actually, the game used to be played IN the Orange Bowl, which was a real live place, but it was a creaky old barn, and was torn down a few years back, so now the FedEx Orange Bowl isn't played in the Orange Bowl but we still call it the Orange Bowl because, oh who cares. It takes place in January, ok?

So back to the name. It was Joe Robbie Stadium until 1996. That's NINE years. An eternity, compared to what was to come. In 1996, Pro Player, an athletic clothing brand, bought the naming rights, and it became Pro Player Park. Sometime during that year, there must have been a vehement protest by Porky Pig that the name was giving rise to excessive spittle, so it then became Pro Player Stadium. That name stuck until 2005 - another 9 year run, which appears to be the upper limit on names for this place. The naming rights agreement then expired, at which point it became Dolphins Stadium. Remember, the Dolphins play there, and Joe Robbie was their first owner, so that wasn't a bad move, though it was already the fourth name in 18 years, so people had to have figured out by then that facility nameplates should only be applied with big velcro strips, and no office staff should buy too much stationary at a time.

Where were we? Oh yes, Dolphins Stadium. Far too sensible a name, don't you think? Yes, so did the folks in charge, because it became Dolphin Stadium, and got a spiffy new logo, which you see here. "Hey!", I hear you saying, "that's not a name change. It WAS Dolphin Stadium!". "Au contraire, mon frere", I respond. "Mais non". The new moniker was DOLPHIN Stadium. No terminal S for the marine mammal portion of the title. Dolphin, not DolphinS. Oddly, that did not mean that the football team could only have one player on the field at a time, so I don't have a clue as to why the offending "S" had to go, but it was jettisoned, presumably along with reams upon reams of hapless, now obsolete letterhead.

Dolphin -- let's just call it No Final S Stadium, stood for three years. Last summer, things got surreal. Along came Jimmy Buffet, he of the parrot head, cheeseburger in paradise, margaritaville, not quite drunk, not quite sober concerts. Jimmy entered into an agreement with the marketing department of Anheuser Busch -InBev to create Land Shark Lager for Mr. Buffet's chain of restaurants. They wanted more attention for the brew (I've never tasted it...is it any good?), so they decided to slap the name on the big ol' park, harkening back to the good ol' days when Saturday Night Live was really, really funny. Ironically, by the time the stadium WAS built, the whole landshark skit was already a distant memory. In the event that any of my loyal readers are either too young to have been alive in 1975, too fatally unhip to have watched at the time, or were alive but weren't allowed to stay up that late, here's a link to the first land shark sketch from Season 1 of Saturday Night Live.

Land Shark | Movies & TV | SPIKE.com

Ok, so this whole Land Shark Stadium deal? It expired after eight months. THEN, the name briefly reverted to No Final S Stadium. Now, the NFL Pro Bowl (next Sunday) and Super Bowl XLIV (Sunday, February 7 - Geaux Saints!) will be played at, wait, I've forgotten already. Oh yeah, Sun Life Stadium, thanks to Sun Life Financial Inc, which by the way, is based in CANADA! It's always possible that down the road, Sun Life might go out of business or be bought up by someone else (see New Boston Garden --> Shawmut Center --> FleetCenter-->TD Banknorth Garden --> TD Garden, though everyone in New England just calls it The Gahden). Honestly I could have used other facilities to make the point. All of you in San Francisco and Oakland, just insert the 31 names used for PacBell Park, Candlestick, and the big yard where the A's play.

This game of Name That Building, if transferred to people, would be like determining that next year, instead of Marc, we're going to call him George. Then eight months later, Andrew. Then Stephen. Then Steven, because, well, we feel like it. Then Alan, and Randy. We'll reserve the right to rename him Ned, Buzz, Harold, Thomas or Wayne (or some combination of any of those, as we see fit) down the road.

I get it when a company goes out of business. The Houston Astros used to play at Enron Field. It had to be renamed, for obvious reasons, and since 2002 it's been called Minute Maid Park (nicknamed The Juice Box). Apart from that sort of event, this insanity has to stop. I have to believe I'm not alone in this sentiment. My late grandmother saw Babe Ruth play at Fenway Park. My dad saw Ted Williams play at Fenway Park. I've seen Carl Yastrzemski, Jim Rice and Jacoby Ellsbury play at Fenway Park. Same place, just like Wrigley Field, Dodger Stadium and even (gasp!) Yankee Stadium. Yes yes, I know it's all about the Benjamins, but seriously, was money changing hands when Pro Player Park become Pro Player Stadium? Or the Dolphin / No Final S incarnations? And seriously, is that outweighed by the idiocy of an 8-month naming arrangement, followed by ten minutes of No Final S, followed by Sun Life, which will soon become Toshiba Television Park, then Ballpark Franks Ballpark, Hathaway Shirts Field, Toyota Prius Park, Starbucks Stadium, and finally, Trojan Condom Park?

Enough already. It's Miami, right? Let's just settle on one name, and keep it there. I even have a nomination: Gangland Field.

Massachusetts is red-faced

2010-01-19T21:21:00.005-05:00

The rest of the country is dumbfounded. The sound you heard a little before 9:30pm tonight was the thud of collective jaws dropping all over the United States. The Senate seat held by Ted Kennedy for 47 years, and held by Democrats (including Ted’s brother, President Kennedy) since February of 1944 is now in Republican hands. How is this possible?

For starters, Martha Coakley ran an inexcusably poor campaign, and Scott Brown ran a picture perfect one that made people feel good about him being their new Senator. Martha Coakley was an awful candidate who either made spectacularly bad decisions or succumbed to appallingly bad advice from her advisors. She appeared to believe that all she had to do was win the primary, and from there it would all be smooth sailing. It took two weeks into a six week campaign for her to start a serious media presence. In the meantime, Coakley effectively ceded the airwaves and the public attention to Scott Brown. He’s a bright, good looking and well spoken (now-former) state senator, married to one of the best news reporters in Boston. Since he had nothing to lose, he played to win. Brown introduced himself to the Commonwealth’s electorate with his now-famous “truck ads”, and by the time the Coakley campaign figured out what was going on, their 30 point lead had evaporated. Brown dominated the agenda, and controlled the discussion. As they say, in politics, if you’re not on offense, you’re on defense. If Martha Coakley had a proactive gameplan, she never gave herself a chance to run it.

When she did start running a campaign against Brown, her formidable faults became apparent. While Brown looks like the guy you want to have a beer with and talk current events, Coakley comes across as the scolding, disapproving meter maid who won’t let you have the extra two minutes you need to put your shopping bags in the trunk and vacate the space. She’s already started writing the ticket, and, well, you should have thought of that before you decided to check out the big sale on shoes across the street. It’s clear that in her positions as Middlesex County DA and state Attorney General, she didn’t get much practice smiling. When she attempts the feat, it looks like she’s trying to do something she only read about in a book. Her smile isn’t just unnatural, it isn’t sized or shaped correctly for her face. So when Martha Coakley smiles, you’d prefer she reverted to her sour default look.

Then she opens her mouth, and you realize that the idea of her succeeding Ted Kennedy feels vaguely ludicrous. She’s a dreadful speaker, with all the charisma of a roll of store-brand paper towels. Her rhetorical skills are nearly as bad the late Senator Paul Tsongas, except he was brilliant, he cared deeply about what he was saying, and you could feel his passion in his words. It’s hard to tell if she’s brilliant, because she can’t get out of her own way. In the words of Steve Martin, some people have a way with words. Others, not have way.

In addition, Coakley has a disconcerting vocal affect that makes you wonder where she’s from, because you’ve never had a neighbor who sounded like that, and perhaps she could stop talking for a minute because your ears are starting to ache. From the beginning of the campaign to the end, in debates, interviews and stump speeches, Coakley couldn’t seem to muster up an original or interesting thought of her own. The late Senator Kennedy could take an audience, hold it in his hand, and if he wanted, put it in his pocket to take it for a walk around the US Capitol grounds. Martha Coakley couldn’t hold a crowd’s attention if she offered free beer.

Above all, Martha Coakley committed a mortal sin in politics: she severely underestimated her opponent. Contrary to what the rest of the country thinks, we do have a Republican party in Massachusetts. They’re small but effective. Republicans held the state house without interruption from 1991 (Bill Weld) until Deval Patrick took over the governor’s office in January of 2007. That’s 16 years. A couple of them (Jane Swift and Mitt Romney) were so bad they should have been sued for professional malpractice, but they were there in the corner office, gamely trying to run things. Coakley should have understood that assuming her opponent would be a tomato can of the Ray Shamie variety could prove fatal, but she either missed or ignored the memo.

Scott Brown framed the discussion, and he painted the Attorney General as “more of the same” Even though Massachusetts is generally seen as happy with the same, so many people are hurting economically that he was able to tap into a broad, inchoate displeasure with a recession that has hit the state hard, and a Democratic candidate who wasn’t exactly mesmerizing or confidence-inspiring. Brown himself had no solutions to offer. He’s a run of the mill Republican out of central casting, blathering on about lowering taxes, the supposed evils of government taking over health care, and how he’ll do something about that. The fact that he had little to no substance behind his rhetoric was beside the point. For two weeks, when voters were paying attention, he had the court to himself, he held serve, and he had skills. He kept talking about his trusty truck (as if his truck, with its 200,000 miles, renders him more suitable for office), and built visibility, name recognition and polling points. More than that, his candidacy caught fire. People began to believe he could win. The groundswell had begun, based on little more than “I have a truck, and you don’t want more of the same”. In politics, being the only one on stage for awhile means the only message people have to listen to is yours, and they’ll buy it if you sell it convincingly enough. In a short election, time is of the essence.

Coakley didn’t explain who she was or what she stood for until too late. When she woke up after missing the alarm for the first couple weeks, she immediately went negative -- another colossal misstep. In so doing, she gave the impression that Ted Kennedy’s Senate seat was, in fact, her birthright as a Democrat. Further, Brown’s temerity in running for the seat was an insult to the late Senator’s memory and she was going to get nasty about the insult. Therefore, you should vote for her, because, well, she never made it clear to the electorate why. Cohesive Messages R Us worked for Brown, not Coakley. By then, the DNC realized they had backed a lame horse, and started to panic. Bill Clinton was brought in. President Obama was asked to appear. The incessant robocalls started in earnest (I’ve heard friends report more than a dozen a day), Brown’s lead widened, and he was able to hold the momentum on up to Election Day.

There’s so much Martha Coakley could have said. Her policy positions resonate with what Massachusetts citizens believe about government and how policy should work, but she blew it. Health care reform and reproductive rights for women were slam dunk issues that should have blown a hole in the race, but Coakley couldn’t close the deal. She had Ted Kennedy’s legacy behind her, and she ran the worst statewide campaign anyone’s seen since the early 90’s, frittering away a 30 point lead. The race she couldn’t lose, she lost, and lost in humiliating fashion.

Now the super-majority has been taken away from the Democratic Senate Caucus. Filibusters are on the table again, health care reform is in serious jeopardy, and Martha Coakley had better hope Ted Kennedy’s ghost doesn’t find out where she lives, because if he does, she’ll never get a good night’s sleep again. Personally, I’m totally ok with that.

A campaign this thoroughly brain dead deserves consequences from beyond.

Dad's 40th birthday

2010-01-17T09:28:00.000-05:00

My dad turns 40 today. No really, that’s what he said Friday night. We were siting down to dinner at Sel de la Terre in Boston to celebrate. He said he’s been celebrating his 39th birthday for long enough now (since the year man landed on the moon, and Joe Namath's New York Jets shocked the Baltimore Colts in the Super Bowl). It was time to turn 40, I suppose. Leap Day babies have got nothing on Robert Greene. The fact that I’m the youngest of his six kids and I’m 45 isn’t an issue. Dad’s judgment on that head-scratching conundrum: “That’s your problem”.

I gave him his 80th, uh, I mean 40th birthday present last year. Even if it was 12 months early, a 10-day vacation to Hawaii trumps pretty much everything, other than a 30-day vacation to Hawaii. Nobody offered that, so I win.

I’m the first to admit how fortunate I am to have a father whose birthday I can celebrate, and even better, a father I’m proud to say is my dad. He has always been, and continues to be, my idol. I probably said this last year, when I first explained why I was voluntarily embarking on such an unusual journey. Most middle aged men probably don't book 10 days in an island paradise with a parent, but I didn’t give it a second thought. It made perfect sense to me. He’s the one I’ve always been leaned on. There’s nobody else I would have considered asking to be my best man. I’ve always known that no matter what, he’s understood what made me tick. I’m a Red Sox fan because he instilled the passion of the game in me, and I’m a sailor because he showed me the value of an easy beam reach.

Dad shares his birthday with the most fascinating cross section of people you’ve probably heard of: Benjamin Franklin, Muhammad Ali, Mack Sennett, Anne Bronte, Andy Kaufman, Al Capone, Anton Chekhov, James Earl Jones, Jim Carrey, Vidal Sassoon, Michelle Obama, Kid Rock and Dwayne Wade. Or should I say they share their birthday with him.

Happy 40th birthday, dad.

Just because you can doesn't mean you should

2010-01-11T09:32:00.010-05:00

A Pet Connection reader sent me a fascinating link, and asked if I thought it was legitimate. The owner of a German Shepherd is offering $2000 plus expenses for someone who would be willing to donate their German Shepherd's healthy kidney to replace the failing kidneys of his dog Orso. Orso is suffering from kidney dysplasia (a genetic, irreversible disorder). Without a new kidney, Orso will die. With an organ donation, there's still no guarantee -- organ rejection syndrome works the same way in animals as it does in people, but a small chance is admittedly better than none.

It appears the listing is most likely not a hoax. Organ transplantation for animals does exist, though it's prohibitively expensive ($11-13,000 plus post-surgical immuno-suppressive medication costs that can reach $2,000/month for the rest of the recipient's life) and entails risks on both sides. The man is understandably hoping against hope that a miracle donor of the same bloodline as his dog is out there, and could save Orso's life. Whether it's legitimate or not, I can't help.

However, even if Cami or Harry were shepherds, and were from the same bloodline, I still wouldn't do it. In people, organ donations happen one of two ways. Either a living person who matches agrees to donate, or it's done post mortem, presumably by a donor who agreed to donate while they were still using the organs in question. Neither scenario is possible with pets. Neither a cat nor a dog can say "sure, I can live on one kidney. You can have the other one". Additionally, post mortem donation isn't done. The technology doesn't exist for that, and even if it did, an elderly pet's organs are generally not useful for young ones.

But my central point is that I would be violating my responsibility as a conscientious pet owner to allow such a donation. Cami and Harry can't give consent, and I have no right to agree to donating their perfectly healthy body part, unnecessarily risking their health (or their life) on behalf of any other animal. My responsibility is to care for them to the best of my ability, to promote their health and welfare their entire lives. Most of all, to borrow a line from the Hippocratic Oath, I promise to do no harm. Although I'm their "owner", their organs aren't mine to donate. Selling or donating [insert body part here] is intentionally doing harm, no matter the justifying rationale. Seems to me I'd be demonstrating myself to be an irresponsible dog owner, and I'd rather cut off my own right arm than break faith with my best buddy.

I love animals. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't. My own pet's health and safety will always be far more important than that of any other animal, without exception or hesitation. My heart truly goes out to Orso's owner. Watching his beloved dog suffering from progressive renal failure has got to be a pain like no other, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy (well, maybe my WORST enemy, but nobody else). Nevertheless, my pet can't be their putative savior. I wouldn't bet my pet's health (and life, perhaps) on the speculative gamble that might, perhaps, still not save Orso (the success rate for canine renal transplants is only 40%). Even if the success rate were better, to me that still wouldn't be sufficient justification for causing intentional harm.

So what do you think? For purposes of the discussion, let me stipulate three assumptions.

The reward money wouldn't make you or break you. Of course $2,000 is great to have, but it won't make the difference between keeping your house or homelessness, food or starvation. The money doesn't constitute a critical need.
You are a responsible pet owner. You aren't going to steal another dog for the reward. You love your animal(s), you treat them as your children, and you do whatever is best of them. In other words, you're not Michael Vick.
Your pet won't die in the process of organ donation. There are the usual, customary risks of anaesthesia, surgery and recovery, but not more than normal. Otherwise, they'll live and eventually be ok, minus one organ.

If you had a pet who matched the breed, bloodlines, age, size and all other relevant parameters, and were faced with the prospect of $2,000 plus expenses to donate your otherwise healthy pet's organ to a complete stranger, would you? Please comment and check back to follow. I'm interested in your opinions.

Photo Credit: Orso: pedigreedatabase.com. Surgery: flickr creative commons

...and never brought to mind

2009-12-31T09:15:00.003-05:00

May you all have a very happy new year, and here's to a 2010 that doesn't suck.

A tip of the fedora to SomeECards

2009 Thankful list, part the fourth: Cami and Harry

2009-12-28T08:00:00.007-05:00

This the fourth and final post in the series detailing things for which I'm thankful this year

Tangled puppies in a small bed.

There never was a plan to have two dogs. We were only looking for a female dog because that was what my wife wanted. I wanted a furry buddy, and I wasn't picky about the gender. However, while P was examining the girl, I distracted her brother, with no intention whatsoever of keeping him. This little 4 pound puppy with the soulful eyes had other ideas. He snuggled into my down jacket on that cold December afternoon in 2001 and gave a contented little sigh. I was a goner. We decided to get both. I looked into his eyes and knew his name should be Harry. I don't know why. The face said 'Harry'. “Potter Dachshund Greene” followed naturally after that.

Harry Potter Dachshund Greene

As for the girl, she was always going to be named Camilla, pronounced Ca-MEE-ya, as if you had a wicked New England accent, saying “come here”. We figured out immediately that of the two, she was the handful, with the personality that extended far beyond her little body. The rest of her name became nothing more than natural descriptors of who she was: Camilla Missy Diva Piglet Punky Girl. 'Piglet' replaced 'Princess' when it was clear she had the voracious appetite of a Labrador retriever, and Punky Girl came from her ceaselessly getting herself into trouble, often while her brother sat nearby, saying "hey, don't look at me. I'm merely sitting here watching."

Cami at a year and a half

I didn’t even want a dachshund. Truth be told, I’d always coveted golden retrievers or other big dogs I could play football with, and never had one of my very own. I didn't mind lapdogs a bit, but Dachshunds were too yippy, not especially friendly, and not nearly cute enough. The traditional smooth hair dachshund looked vaguely alien to me. I never had much use for the doxies I'd met, but P saw a longhaired dachshund in a store near where we lived in Boston and was immediately smitten. I researched the breed online. Damn, this variant was gorgeous. The coat is beautiful. I’ve come to describe them jokingly as resembling Irish Setters with their legs cut off (and about 100 IQ points smarter). Research indicated that the longhaired variety had some advantages over the traditional smooth haired dachshund. They tend to have gentler temperaments and are considered by some to be more trainable (a little less of the classic dachshund stubbornness). What we found in reality: gentler, for the most part yes. Trainable, sure. Reduced stubbornness, not so much.

Although Harry is very laid back, flawlessly obedient and endlessly accommodating, his sister's a different story. When she wants to be, Cami can be as willful as my mom’s late West Highland Terrier. She’s much sweeter than that Westie was, though, and that’s worth a lot. And then there was something I had never encountered before. In all my years of dog ownership, I’d never had a true alpha, until Cami. If she were a human being, I’m not entirely sure we'd be friends, but her overriding sweetness renders her utterly irresistible. She MUST be in charge at all times, and seems to enjoy dominating, well, any other dog who even looks at her funny. She’s has backed down German shepherds, Bernese mountain dogs and more Labs than I care to count. However, I have to acknowledge that dogs create their own socialized pecking orders, and Cami fits in to her “pack” just fine.

My favorite picture of Cami

While I don’t dispute people who say a dog is only as good as his owner, there is such a thing as a truly great dog. P and I have two of them. Dr. Marty Becker, my new colleague at Pet Connection, put it best in a recent conversation. "There's only one greatest pet in the world...and every family has it." He’s right, we do. They’re the happiest dogs I’ve ever had, and combined with their ridiculous smarts, it makes for a priceless combination.

Cami (l) and Harry (r) with Roz when they were puppies

Nobody told me beforehand or prepared me for how smart dachshunds are. We have to spell entirely too many words, or worse, become excessively wordy. I cannot, for instance, casually mention to P that I’m going for a walk, if it’s not going to involve the children. Instead, I will ‘engage in an out of doors perambulation’. Thank God I have a good vocabulary. In addition, their problem solving skills are better than those of some people I know. The word “manipulative” doesn’t even begin to describe what they’re capable of. Like a Border Collie, you can almost see the wheels turning when they have their minds set on a goal. I feel strongly that someone should have clued us into that beforehand.

Nevertheless, when I’m away from home on business, I miss them the most. I can (and do) speak to my wife multiple times a day. We also text each other. I can’t talk to Cami and Harry when I’m away. They don’t know where I am or why I’m not home. Daddy’s just inexplicably gone. Coming home, whether it’s after a few hours or a couple weeks, well, it’s priceless.

I’ve always felt badly for people who have never had pets, who have never felt the furry, cuddling body, or known the joy of your best buddy doing the full-body wag upon your return home, or witnessed the adoring eyes saying “I love you, daddy”. They’re priceless souls who add far more to our world than I’ll ever be able to express. Being known as Cami and Harry’s daddy is a wonderful feeling, and someday I hope I can be the man my dogs think I am.

The Vick saga gets bizarre: "Have you no sense of decency?"

2009-12-23T17:57:00.003-05:00

The following was posted this afternoon to the blog for petconnection.com, and yes, I wrote it. Obviously, I've been having fun over there...
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I admit it. Before I click on my browser’s bookmark for Pet Connection each day, I click on ESPN.com. I’ve been a sports nut longer than I’ve been pretty much anything else. This morning, a sports headline nearly knocked me out of my chair. Michael Vick has been voted the Philadelphia Eagles’ recipient of the 2009 Block Courage Award.

The Block Award is named after Ed Block, who was a well-known humanitarian and former head athletic trainer of the Baltimore (now Indianapolis) Colts. Quoting from their own website:

The Ed Block Courage Award Foundation is dedicated to improving the lives of neglected children and ending the cycle of abuse. The purpose is to raise Awareness and Prevention of child abuse. That objective is coupled with the Foundation’s commitment to celebrating players of inspiration in the NFL.

This is, basically, the NFL’s lower-profile version of baseball’s Clemente Award, named for Roberto Clemente, who played for the Pittsburgh Pirates until he was killed in a plane crash on New Year’s Eve 1972 while delivering relief supplies to victims of a Nicaraguan earthquake. The Block Award exists to recognize and celebrate notable good works off the field more than on-field performance. Even more importantly, you should know it’s voted on by each team’s players, not front office, fans or media.

This means Vick’s teammates decided he was such a good guy, such a role model for his public works on behalf of others, that he deserved to be lauded as their own community role model. Going back to the mission of the Block Award “…dedicated to improving the lives of neglected children and ending the cycle of abuse. The purpose is to raise Awareness and Prevention of child abuse.” Abused children and abused dogs have a lot in common. Neither are able to defend themselves against marauding people bent on causing them harm, and neither deserve the horrors visited upon them. The Block Courage Award is dedicated to ending the cycle of such abuse. Michael Vick perpetuated, and indeed encouraged the abuse, going so far as to slaughter dogs himself, according to eyewitness reports (from his own former employees).

In the past year since he was released from prison and reinstated by the NFL, I’ve lost count of how many interviews I’ve read and seen from players, his colleagues, who have said substantially “Look, the guy was punished for his crimes. He did his time. He gets to resume his life now, so back off, leave him alone, and let the man earn a living.”

He isn’t a star, and in fact Vick’s only played an ancillary role in the Eagle offense this year. I don’t like his presence in the NFL, but that’s not my call. Now, though, he’s lauded by his teammates as a role model? How have we gotten to the point where we not only celebrate poor behavior (i.e. the movie “Mean Girls,” the ongoing fascination with stories such as Jon vs. Kate and balloon boy, etc.) but now the convicted felons receive prestigious awards?

Fine, he’s earning a living. But calling him a “player of inspiration” is beyond the pale. The memories of the dogs in whose slaughter he assisted are again insulted. The award, and the other 31 (more worthy) 2009 NFL recipients are also duly insulted. Vick shouldn’t be mentioned in the same breath as Mike Furrey of the Cleveland Browns, who truly is a good citizen, or Shawntae Spencer of the San Francisco 49ers, who returned from a devastating knee injury in 2008 to become a team leader and star.

Vick has done nothing laudable, courageous or even exemplary. He’s a convicted felon whose crimes are often minimized by some as “just a part of his upbringing in a tough neighborhood.” Instead of a cautionary tale, today I can imagine kids in Vick’s hometown of Newport News, Va., saying to themselves “Hey, no matter what we do wrong, no matter how much trouble we get into, we can still play in the NFL, and our teammates will say we’re OK.”

To Vick’s teammates on the Eagles who voted for him, all I can do is quote Joseph Welch in front of the Army-McCarthy hearings in 1954. “Have you no sense of decency sir[s], at long last? Have you left no sense of decency?”

The Hanukkah story, chapter 3

2009-12-17T10:20:00.013-05:00

Here’s what really happened.

There was plenty of oil. There was ALWAYS plenty of oil. For those who tended to the temple lighting implements and monitored oil reserves, the amount of the oil was never in doubt. However, everyone fancies themself an expert, and people who didn’t have the foggiest idea what the hell they were talking about insisted on complaining and catastrophizing.

“Oy, there’s not enough oil! Oyvayzmir, what are we gonna do, this is awful, God will hate us, and smite us, and send more awful people to do more awful things to us, and the sky will fill with darkness, the cattle will fall over dead, my ankles will swell and I won’t be able to wear those wonderful shoes I just got, the strappy ones with the cute little buckle, you should see them, they’re so pretty, especially with the new black dress I found on sale, can you believe it. Oy, there’s not enough oil, we’re doomed”.

Let’s be clear, nobody ever listened to these insufferable bores. They talked, but so what? They always talked. They talked so much you didn’t hear them. Always inveighing against something, they were always wrong, and roundly ignored, even by their own children, who were busy trying to figure out how to become best friends with or seduce Bruce The Goodlooking Tall Dark And Handsome Oh My This Is A Boy That My Daughter Could Marry We Should Be So Lucky Maccabee.

There was one particular talker, the leader of the pack. This particular annoying, non-stop complaining person had a name. Now, I must acknowledge the obvious. History never recorded this person’s name. It could have been a man, but it wasn’t. You know it wasn’t. It was a woman. Her name could have been Riva, Harriet or Bertha, but it wasn’t any of those. Her name was Zelda.

Zelda had a mouth that could power Jerusalem by itself. Her voice cut through the morning fog like a hot knife through brisket. Zelda had her coterie of friends, but nobody else paid her any mind. Her husband Mordechai had died years before, after becoming terminally sick of his nonstop talking wife. He tried to disable his own ears by spearing them with a ram’s horn. The problem was the rest of the ram didn’t appreciate being utilized as a tool to solve someone else’s marital problem, and it quickly stomped Mordechai to death. The ram didn’t hang around to admire his handi, uh, hoofiwork. He couldn’t. Zelda started screaming again, and the ram suddenly realized he had just performed a messy, bloody but nevertheless kind mitzvah (blessed good deed) for poor Mordechai. The ram beat hooves out of Zelda’s hut, and retreated back to his lair to explain to his family what a weird day he'd just had, and perhaps those people deserved whatever happened to them, because even on their worst and smelliest days, rams aren't that annoying.

So back to Zelda. She wasn’t a stupid woman, but she wasn’t a happy one, either. She couldn’t attend High Holy Day services anymore, because one of the highlights is the ceremonial blowing of a ram’s horn, and her psychiatrist agreed that her PTSD would be exacerbated by the memory of the loss of her dearly (albeit strangely) departed husband. She was, therefore, shunned by most decent people. Zelda never understood that it had nothing to with whether or not she showed up for prayers. People just couldn’t stand her.

Nevertheless, the retaking of the temple was a communal event, and Zelda was there with everyone else. When it was discovered that the most of the oil had been spoiled by The Bad Guys, a collective gasp went up from the crowd. Although The Keeper Of The Oil (the Temple custodian and superintendant, a very nice man named Lenny, whom everyone loved, especially the kids, because he let them eat the leftover pastries from the larger and fancier bar and bat-mitzvahs) knew there was plenty of perfectly good oil left, Lenny never raised his voice much above a whisper. He didn’t see the point of yelling. Also, he was painfully shy around everyone over the age of 15. They intimidated him. So Lenny knew, the rabbis knew, the cantor knew, the cantor’s wife knew, the Temple president, vice-president, treasurer, secretary, president-emeritus, the president emeritus’ wife, and most everyone else in the crowd knew, but Zelda didn’t. Zelda was late to the temple meeting because she was stuck in traffic, so she was in the back of the room, which was very crowded. By the time word filtered to the back, “There’s enough oil” became “There’s not enough oil”. Zelda, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, started up. “Oy, there’s not enough oil! Oyvayzmir, what are we gonna do, this is awful, God will hate us, and smite us, and send more awful people to do more awful things to us, and the sky will fill with darkness, the cattle will fall over dead, my ankles will swell and I won’t be able to wear those wonderful shoes I just got, the strappy ones with the cute little buckle, you should see them, they’re so pretty, especially with the new black dress I found on sale, can you believe it. Oy, there’s not enough oil, we’re doomed”.

She didn’t just do this once. Every day, she’d return to the temple and say the same thing. (I’m not retyping it. You can just go back to the previous paragraph and read it again, ok? I typed it twice. You can read it twice. In fact, please read it eight times, just to save me the bother. Thanks)

As I said, there was always enough oil. Zelda was prone to overreaction. She repeated herself a great deal, and she was by now perhaps becoming a bit femisched (pronounced “fe-MISHed, meaning confused), and she kept on with the complaining as if she said it enough, it might come to pass. (This is the basis of The Big Lie. Say it enough times at a high enough volume, and hope people will eventually start to believe it. See: Abner Doubleday inventing baseball in Cooperstown, The Warren Commission Report, WMD in Iraq, and the edibility of blue cheese)

So the oil lasted through the entire eight days, of course. Lenny knew it would. All the Maccabees knew it would. The Rabbis knew. The Temple president knew. But none of them carried the history onward. Zelda was the one who kept talking, and Zelda was convinced it was a miracle from God. She was full of wildebeest entrails, but when everyone else forgot about what was honestly a total non-event, Zelda kept repeating the story over the years as if it was, well, gospel. She told her children. They weren’t paying attention at the time of the "miracle", of course. In fact, they weren’t in the temple when the so-called oil controversy began. They were out getting thoroughly stoned on ground-up ram’s horns they had snorted in the woods behind the temple parking lot. It was a real problem in those days. Eventually the problem got so out of control, there weren’t enough ram’s horns to use for High Holy Day Services, and the Jews had to barter with nearby Arabs. It cost them a very nice ark, rumored to contain the Holy Covenant. Quite the scandal, but that's grist for another post.

Zelda’s children told their children the apocryphal legend, they told their children, and so on and so on. History and legends are both written by those who tell the stories, whether it's the truth or not. Today, we light a menorah because an agitated, thoroughly annoying woman in the back of the temple who refused to listen to reason made up a story. We like holidays. The reason, like that used for Hanukkah, can be completely fokakta (screwed up), but hey, it’s an excuse to eat wonderfully addictive food. At Hanukkah, it’s latkes. Who doesn’t like little fried potato pancakes? Especially with sour cream or apple sauce. So thank you, Zelda. Lighting a menorah tonight, which commemorates your over-reactive hysteria, represents our version of the winter solstice holiday that every faith since the dawn of man has created. In the dead of winter, we create light to hope for the renewal of the sun, warmth and the blossoming of the earth again. The goyim do that at Christmas, we do it at Hanukkah. Tomorrow's the last night of Hanukkah. Light a candle for Zelda. She deserves it.

Enough talking. I smell latkes.

The Hanukkah story, chapter 2

2009-12-15T12:18:00.008-05:00

In the last post, I recounted the official story of how Hanukkah came to be: a rebel family called the Maccabees fought off the Greco-Syrians to defend Judea, and in a divinely inspired miracle, enough oil to keep the menorah of the Holy Temple lit for one day lasted for eight. That’s the story, and to that I say hogwash. Or, pastramiwash.

Let’s start with a fact of the times. Most, if not all stories we now know from antiquity weren’t recorded contemporaneously. They were passed down for generations (or in many cases, centuries) as oral history. Grandparents to children to grandchildren and so on. And in so doing, they can become an elaborate example of the game Telephone. Details change, get twisted, and disappear. And the story is always skewed in favor of the person telling it, or friends of theirs.

So back to the Maccabees. They weren't just a family. They were more than just the guys doing the fighting, even though those are the only ones we hear about through the millennia. It was a big, extended crowd (or as we’d call it in Yiddish, a “gantse mishpuche” – a huge family, meaning it included inlaws, outlaws, close friends, wannabes and hangers on, too). They weren’t all brave, noble fighters. There were the nerds, like Harold The Bookworm Would It Hurt You To Go Outside Once In A While You're So Pasty Maccabee, the wimpy, downright cowardly relatives like Merton Afraid Of His Own Shadow It’s So Mortifying If Only Your Grandfather Were Alive To See This Maccabee , and completely apathetic relatives like Sid the Shiftless No Goodnik Who Didn’t Even Finish Law School, Can You Believe Maccabee. There were also the usual assortment of Bruce The Goodlooking Tall Dark And Handsome Oh My This Is A Boy That My Daughter Could Marry We Should Be So Lucky Maccabee and Aaron Ok He's Not the Sharpest Knife In the Drawer But He's a Good Man And You Can't Have Everything So You Should Be Happy And You Can't Always Get What You Want What A Catchy Phrase Maccabee. These guys all had wives, sisters, brothers, daughters, parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, dogs, cats, birds, gerbils, lizards, guinea pigs, you get the idea. It wasn’t just a few guys in a VW microbus.

The important thing to remember here is that Jewish families are just like all other families. As I often say, every family is (screwed) up in their own particular way. There’s no such thing as normal. Never has been. The Maccabees had the distinct disadvantage of being well-known and highly visible. That inevitably means the more embarrassing members of the clan had to be kept quieter than the regular rabble. After all, you don’t want to the big star soldier up on stage while the old biddies in the back of the hall are whispering to each other “oh sure, look at that hotshot getting the Maccabee Memorial Prize for Exceptionally Impressive Valor In The Face Of Enemies Who Want to Turn Us Into Chopped Liver, And Not the Good Stuff, Either, No, The Dietetic Crap You Have To Feed Your Grandmother Who Can’t Digest Anything Anymore. Did you hear about his cousin Shana The Miskeit? Such a shame about her, drunk as a skunk off the temple wine last Passover. She decided the Four Questions weren’t enough. Such a bigmouth. She must have asked thirty. Maybe forty. I lost count. The girl was yelling all kinds of things about goats and vegetables and what she had done with the Rabbi’s son last Simcha Torah. Oy, such a shunda (embarrassment). And those are our valiant role models? Feh.”

Don’t discount those biddies. They’re the ones who tell the stories. They’re the ones who, more often than not, are the root of the oral histories. You know it’s true, too. Your grandmother’s stories are told every year, over and over, until you’ve memorized them. She’s not just telling *you* the stories. She’s telling all her friends, too. She has her not inconsiderable circle of influence, and the more she talks, the wider the circle inevitably becomes, year after year, decade after decade, wider and wider, told over and over and over. And that’s how it starts.

There’s always an historian, but that doesn’t mean they necessarily wear bow ties and faded tweed jackets or they spend their time scolding kids with the eternal “Shhhhh”. The historians are the ones who tell the stories. Invariably, they do it from their own point of view. As the movie Rashomon taught us, there’s always the effect of the subjectivity of perception on recollections passed on to others. In other words, how you feel about what you saw will color what you say about it later.

That said, I know who the Maccabee historian was. It wasn’t one of the big, impressive male warriors. Guys who do the fighting don’t do the talking. They’d rather be left alone to take a shower, then have a beer with their buddies, replete with fist bumps, satisfied smiles and nods of “that’s right, we’ve got it goin’ on. You mess with the bull, you get the horns”.

And it wasn’t their wives or girlfriends. They were too busy basking in the reflected light of their heroes, and telling their friends “I know, right? Can you believe MY boyfriend just saved the whole country? How cool is that? You bet your ass I’m getting a big rock now to flaunt in the face of all those beeyotches who thought they deserved him over me”.

It also wasn’t their parents. They were too busy kvelling (bursting with pride), talking to their friends “I know, right? Can you believe MY son just saved the whole country? How cool is that? You bet your ass I’m getting a big portrait of My Son The Hero now to flaunt in the face of all those beeyotches who thought I was a lousy parent”.

It was one of The People Who Talk. Fortunately for you, I know who it was. In the next post, I’ll reveal her name, and tell you the rest of the story (Paul Harvey can’t sue me for writing that. He’s dead).

Come back Thursday.

The Hanukkah story, chapter 1

2009-12-14T15:55:00.007-05:00

So what is Hanukkah (or Hannukah or Chanukah, or however the hell you want to spell it) about, anyway? The following is taken from Judaism.about.com:
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About 2200 years ago, Greek kings, who reigned from Damascus, ruled over the land of Judea and the Jews living there.

One Greco-Syrian King, Antiochus Epiphanes, forbade the Jewish people from praying to their God, practicing their customs, and studying their Torah. Antiochus forced the Jews to worship the Greek gods. It is said that he placed an idol of the Greek God Zeus on the alter in the Holy Temple of Jerusalem.

In response to this persecution, Judah Maccabee and his four brothers organized a group of resistance fighters known as the Maccabees. They fought against paganism and oppression. The tenacity of the rebels, which came from their steadfast faith in one God, is one reason this military victory has been so celebrated by Jews in future generations. In one battle near Beit Horon, Judah's small army is intimidated by the size of the enemy army and Judah tells them to have faith that God is on their side. Against great odds, after three years of fighting, the Maccabees succeeded to drive the Greco-Syrians out of Judea. The Maccabees reclaimed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. They cleaned the Temple, removing the Greek symbols and statues. When Judah and his followers finished cleaning the temple, they rededicated it

According to tradition, when the Maccabees entered the Holy Temple, they discovered that the Greco-Syrians had defiled the oil which was used for the Temple's menorah. Only one vat of purified oil remained - enough for only one day. It would take the Jews a week to process more purified oil. Then a miracle occurred. The Maccabees lit the menorah and it burned for not one, but eight days, by which time the new, purified oil was ready. This is why the Hanukkah Menorah has eight candles (not including the shamash candle used to light the others) and one reason why Jews celebrate Hanukkah for eight days.

Ok, that’s the official story which Jewish kids are taught in Hebrew School. The essence is this: enough oil for one day lasted for eight, and God helped us through. We Jews pride ourselves on questioning everything, and I have to call BS on the Hanukkah story. It feels wrong, and I think, no, I know I can explain what really happened. What will follow in succeeding posts is my take on the official story, and why I believe that Hanukkah’s an embarrassingly silly holiday, and wasn’t a miracle at all. Not even close. When I’m done, you’ll believe me. Or you won’t, but you want to stay tuned. C’mon, you’ve read this far. Aren't you curious to know what really happened?

Come back for the next post tomorrow. You know you want to.