America Decides. Since when?

I just finished building a snowman with my twins, which means I built a snowman and they cheered me on. They have very different styles so there was a diversity of support. Building a snowman is an act that saps one of all cynicism. It's just difficult to see the negative when a 6' 3" frozen statue is smiling down on you with his crooked grin. But I'll fight through that.

We are again in the season of electing a President, which like most holidays and the NBA regular season and playoffs is much longer than it need be. Candidates are out campaigning, honing their stump speech, deflecting attempts by opponents to define them in a negative light and gaining more pounds than Britney on a downswing. The 24 hour media cycle embraces this with enough vigor to allow Jon Stewart to extend to a full hour. Through it all, we are expected to believe Americans of voting age and without felony convictions are actually making up their minds.

However, the method of campaigning itself undermines this premise. Campaigns work hardest at raising money to air commercials and hire consultants to assist in spinning the latest topic. Almost without fail, polling numbers shift in direct proportion to the number of commercials they are exposed to and the bent of the media sources they listen to. I hesitate at pluralizing "sources" since most people don't get beyond one and, if they do, they don't get beyond one political orientation. You read the New York Post and then go home and watch Fox News in a virtual piling-on of biased information.

Perhaps I would have more faith in the ability of Americans to make an informed decision if, to this day, some of them didn't still believe Iraq had a hand in 9/11. Just because the Vice President said it, and repeated it and threw it in even after the President had finally admitted it wasn't true, doesn't make it true. Yet, some people still buy it or worse find comfort in it for our actions since. Marketers, like politicians rely on this pliability and the success of the Thigh Master is proof positive that some of us shouldn’t be allowed to vote.

So as we move towards a Democratic nominee and Ralph Nader decides if he should scuttle that candidate’s chances of winning, we await the Swift Boat to pull along side and turn the election. Afterwards we’ll shake our heads and wonder how it happened all the while in a state of denial of how the system works in the first place.

I think I’ll put back on my Goretex and build an igloo.

I am Owed 9 Bucks

Seldom do my wife and I get out. Tethered to the house by three children we exist in a short radius that is only occassionally expanded by the train to work or the short trip to the supermarket. Even when we did go out in the Land Before Tikes, the movies was not a typical night out. For some reason my wife never found sitting in the dark for two hours in near silence as interesting as sitting in near dark for two hours having a beer and making lots of noise. I was happy with either option with perhaps the latter taking it by a length.

Now is different. Now doesn't allow us so many long nights because of age and offspring. Now is like being in middle school when parties were still dry and the most fun one could conjer was renting a slightly inappropriate movie for that new fangled VHS device. My wife's father was on the cutting edge of technology and loved his gadgets so they got stuck down the unsuccessful evolutionary branch of Beta like some fast loping Hominid without the Sapien part. Regardless of format, that's where we were and that's where we pretty much find ourselves today.

So when we went to see "I Am Legend" it was with much excitment and anticipation. We passed on the safe bet of "Charlie Wilson's War" and instead went for what appeared to be the movie best enjoyed on the big screen. We had caught a short trailer on the internet and were fairly sure we knew what we were getting into; a man alone, surviving off the land of a once concrete jungle, forced to compete with escaped zoo predators...[If you have yet to see this movie and don't want me to spoil it- and it pains me to allow you this out as you should know, you have a right to know- you may wish to stop here and instead read my write up of "Fried Green Tomatoes" ("Not just a chick flick, a real recipe for fun! Three and a half stars") from the January movie review]

But no, that isn't what it is really about. That's the hollow premise they bring you in on and to that I have to say, "Will Smith, shame on you!" No this is actually a mix between Planet of the Apes and Night of the Living Dead. The virus that was thought benign and a cure for cancer actually turned deadly and killed most everyone. The only ones to survive were a few immune to the virus for no apparent reason like Will Smith, who also happened to be the military's lead scientist on the outbreak and a few hundred thousand other people who are infected and essentially rabid hunting immune people so they can kill them and eat them. Did I mention their dogs are rabid too and hunt immune dogs to kill and eat them? I didn't? Well they do. And Will Smith's wife and daughter get killed just as they escape to relative safety. Is it possible I failed to mention he had to strangle his own dog to death? And that he had to amputate his own arm by dragging it across a rusty barbwire fence? That actually didn't happen but might as well have.

Imagine our surprise! Now imagine the surprise of the parents of the 8-13 year olds who brought their kids to this matinee to see the ever heroic Smith in a signature roll only to flee after about 25 minutes when their children froze up from fear and stopped responding to basic commands. I have to admit, I didn't think in my late late thirties I would be closer to a female in a movie theatre than I was when I was 16, but my wife was tucked deep into my sweatshirt and heading south. This was in no way related to sexual desire, but rather had a groundhog, burrowing quality to it. Nonetheless I was slightly aroused when I too wasn't hiding in the sweater of the man sitting next to me on the other side.

Not since I charged people $2 a review to try and recupe the ticket price to the Jodie Foster flop "Contact" have I felt so let down by a motion picture. Charlie Wilson's War? I heard it was very entertaining, Hanks and Roberts how could it not be at least that, but I have yet to see it. I have been to see kids movies with my daughter, but not out again with my wife. Has our radius just shrunk again?

If only we had seen this, it would have all been different!

Perforated Faith

What has happened to this country? There are numerous talking heads, here and abroad, who anticipate the fall of the Great American Era. Like Rome, some point to the Goths, Visigoths and Vandals who threaten our gates and seek to bring us down. Others point to internal decay, the detorioration of values or the imposition of fascist rule over the compliant masses that are causes for our end.

All of that is nice, but it has nothing to do with the real cause. These are simply symptoms of the real ill that is at the root of our malaise: we have lost the knowledge of how to perforate. Like previous civilizations that lost the most core ingredients of their societies; steel, glass, cement or paper, we have lost the ability to properly perforate. It matters not what material we are spealing of, they all suck.

Kitchen towel? When was the last time that came off in a neat clean line? Postage stamps? As the price has risen, the incidents of stamp tear have soared exponentially. The line separating individually packed string cheese, toilet paper sheets (quilted or sandpaper), spiral bound notebook paper, facial tissue box tops, fridge pack soft drink sleeves or 12-pack beer cartons. It doesn't matter.

Now many will point to the fact that many of these products are not even made in the United States anymore. That the sucking sound of NAFTA or the continued artificial exchange rate of the Yuan are to blame for America's perforation disfunction. At the start of this, and here I'm a little unsure as I was out of the country until mid-2003, but I put the date of inferior perforation becoming accepted as standard quality somewhere around January 20th, 2001, we could hardly be blamed. Only since then as we have continued to accept the semi-tearable as within tolerance that the blame has come to rest on the shoulders of Pennsylvania Steelers, Detroit Auto workers and the small percentage of California's documented migrant farm workers.

Even the definition has been changed to accommodate the fall in perforation expectations. The commonly accepted defintion today is:

1. A hole or series of holes punched or bored through something, especially a hole in a series, separating sections in a sheet or roll.

Absent is any reference to the holes allowing for separation of the sections. I began to think it was just me. Somehow I had come to expect more of perforation than a man should. My house, as many these days, is void of any hardcopy version of a dictionary, but that didn't mean Ma' didn't have one lurking next to the 1968 edition of the World Book Encyclopedia. And sure enough she did. A sleek 1972 version of Webster's with one cover heavily stained and the hinge partially separated. Essentially what would be described as "Collector's condition" on Amazon marketplace. And there it was, page 273 just before "Perform".

per·fo·ra·tion (pûrf-rshn) n. : 1. A hole or series of holes punched or bored through something, especially a hole in a series, separating sections in a sheet or roll, for the purpose of separation.

So next time you are at the Supermarket make sure you let management know you are fed up and you aren't going to take it anymore- that and they should stop putting the sticker on the deli packages so that it makes a hole in the plastic when you open it defeating the purpose of the ziplock! Which explains much of our recent poor showings in international basketball competitions.

Scandal at the ISTSB

Animosity and competition, often leading to accidents and property destruction, are run of the mill on Sodor. See story below.

Few public transportation systems have a spottier record than the railways on the Island of Sodor. Hardly a day passes without a mass derailing, loading system failure or significant delays. What is the reaction of the Island of Sodor Transportation Safety Board (ISTSB) to this chronic flaunting of safety and inherent waste in the system? At best, it turns a blind eye. At worst, it is complicit in the conspiracy.

The obvious place to look is at the top and by top I mean the man in charge, Topham Hatt. Or rather Sir Topham Hatt. What great achievement led to his Knighthood? Your guess is as good as mine. But royal connections might be the only way to explain a record of reckless management not simply going unchecked, but instead rewarded with track upgrades, additional engines and lengthy time spent off the job ferrying his wife around in the company car.

So many problems and yet 2008 will see a 7.3% increase in passanger fares and an almost 5% rise in cargo charges as well as new or renewed fees on peak hour travel. In this time of global climate change leading to major changes in how we all have to treat the environment we rely on, the coal fired equipment on Sodor, allowed to run wild with some engines known for their blase attitude towards posted limits, presents a cautionary tale. Sir Hatt, please embrace the responsibilities you have been given and change your evil ways!

How do you get to that?

Are you the best person you know? I'm not and I know few people who would say they were, even out of false modesty, which in itself would disqualify them from being the best person you know. Talented people should be able to acknowledge their gifts. So unless you are one in a million, which means in the US there are 300 just like you; better odds than in China where some 1500 people would have equal attributes, you probably didn't answer the question in the affirmative.

So is your neighborhood the best neighborhood in your town or city? Most of us like or love where we live, if not for its inate charm and infrastructure then because it's where we live and familiarity fosters security and attachment. However, most, though I suppose not all, would not rate his or her neighborhood as "the best" they know. Tree lined streets, great schools, expansive parks, enjoyable bars and restaurants or friendly neighbors. There are a number of criteria we use to judge such rankings and invariably somewhere else has something else, something your few blocks or cross streets don't.

But perhaps your town or city is the best in your state? This is obviously colored by the size of the state and proximity to neighboring state and thus neighboring towns and cities. Regardless, similar concerns come to mind and we start to wonder whether there isn't a better place somewhere not so far away. Whatever the universe to sample from a confident postive reply is not so easy to find.

Obviously the next question pertains to whether you believe the state you live in to be the best in the union? Since you aren't a tourist in your own state, the criteria has to go beyond beaches and mountains to many of the questions that entered into our deliberations about neighborhood or town or city. And then you start to question not what you think of your own state's qualities, but what the other guys have. Sure North Carolina is supposed to be a great place to live, work and raise a familiy, but are its schools really better than mine? Is its local and state government as responsive (or as unresponsive) as my state's? I suspect there are a few that would issue a proud yes with little contempation, but once you start comparing they might not see their bank balance as full as they thought.

So why is it that the vast majority of people in this country insist, with little thought or hesitation, that the USA is #1! That America is the greatest country on the face of the earth. How do you make that leap? What criteria go into making that claim? What information do you have about the Netherlands, New Zealand or Sao Tome that allow you such unrestrained confidence that is hard not to take as arrogance if you are on the receiving end? How do you get to that?

Shooting a bus out of the sky that's moving 20,000 MPH

This seems as appropriate a place as any to begin. A disabled spy satellite that has been disabled basically since we paid the millions of dollars it required to launch it, is poised to rain down with a half ton of toxic hydrazine fuel on board that will likely survive re-entry. If you want to spin it, I suppose you could say, "...rain down on our heads..." If you are so inclined, please add that. Otherwise the chances of it coming in contact with humans is slim to none with Slim mounting his horse and leaving town. That should make you feel good unless you actually believe you had a chance playing last night's MegaMillions drawing, where your odds of winning the jackpot were less than being hit by our soon to be returned cloud busting spy satellite.

Thinking back to Sky Lab's decent, this one hardly is making much of a splash. My guess is it's the Armageddon factor as we plan to shoot this one out of the sky before it re-enters the atmosphere. I remember my sisters were waitresses at a fish shack by the Rhode Island shore and went to work with decorated hard hats and pretend emergency equipment. Perhaps recent history has made such satire unacceptable, but the customers thought it a riot and they probably made three to four times the typical amount in tips.

The chances of us successfully shooting down the satellite are also somewhat thin. The Navy's Aegis system that will be used, in this case sans warhead, has hit its target 12 out of 14 times in testing. That was at closer range and much slower speeds. The city bus sized satellite will be traveling at 20,000 miles per hour. Don't worry, we're waiting until the Shuttle is back safely and we have already promised to pay any other countries if we damage any of their equipment up there.

Here's to long shots.