12/20/2008

The difference between romance and love

In this NPR article, a very touching and outstanding story about two people who lived through a cancer diagnosis, until the person with the diagnosis passed away one week after their engagement at the age of 36.

I made the following comment to the person who posted this article on her Facebook page...

My father, when he was first diagnosed with lung cancer back in 2004, would have never known he had it if he didn't break his leg. It was a medium sized tumor, but the damage was done - by September 2005 it had spread to his spine, his brain, and everywhere else. But the greatest thing of it all - he never let anyone feel sorry for him. He still joked about things and kept as lucid as possible until his last days, which were filled with hallucinations, focal seizures, and goodbyes. We even had an Irish wake for him the day before he died.

When you think about it, though, it's a true test of love and friendship to sustain and stick by those in their darkest hours. We may pay the price by losing our loved ones, but we won't count the cost of what we sacrificed to get there. But the memories remain, and that's the real gifts they leave behind.

The difference between love and romance is that we make ourselves attractive for romance, but for love, attractiveness doesn't matter. It's that willingness to show up and support your loved one when they need you the most. That endurance makes a giant difference.

12/16/2008

Airing of the Grievances (a tribute to George Carlin)

In the spirit of the late George Carlin and the currently very much alive Jerry Stiller, I present the Airing of the Grievances.

Note to the folks: this entry has R-rated language.

1. People who can't walk a straight line, cut you off when you're trying to get somewhere, and then decide to yap on a cell phone endlessly. The opposite of this are people who stand there like statues. What, is this some kind of fucking game of "Red Light, Green Light?" Keep moving, unless you want to be moved or pushed to the floor.

2. Here's an idea for you neurotic wimps out there who hate smoking, drinking and other vices that are still legal: we don't picket you when you're running around naked with your naughty bits on display. We don't try to force you to sell certain kinds of "organic" produce. And we don't follow around people who we suspect might shoplift, when they're actually looking to eat healthier. $5 for a pound of apples raised in cow shit is a sin.

3. Wall Street. My 401(k) is now a 332.6(k), but it could have been a 201(k). Thanks, Hank and Ben. Please don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.

4. Hollywood. Earth to actors and actresses: you not the fucking royalty of America. You get paid millions of dollars to pretend or perform, and yet you think you can pass down your noble royal edicts as gospel? There are actors who do great services the right way - as far away from the red carpet and cameras as possible. There are others who are just attention whores.

While we're at it: can we stop with the bizarre child names? I have two lovely nieces named Hollace and Riley. Those names are fine. My brother and his wife had the smarts not to name them Celery Moonbat Munster Cheese or Cross Bronx Expressway or Lightning Bat Chain Puller. Weird names work for the Zappa folk, although Dweezil is wondering when he can change his name to Dennis.

5. Reality TV. Trollops with fake tans, fake boobs, fake teeth, and the slimy men who adore them, should be put into a cage with hungry wolverines to rid them of their chances of 15 minutes of fame. As for the umpteenth editions of Survivor, Amazing Race, and Big Brother, how about shifting those cameras to the urban centers of our land? God knows a little sunshine is the best disinfectant, and those millions can be used to spruce up quite a few places.

6. Gossip. It's time we got rid of glorifying overpaid brats and sent the paparazzi to Iraq, where instead of getting that great shot of Britney Spears' hoo-hah, they can take pictures of soldiers and others who yearn for the comforts of home and stability. The paparazzi can then understand what it feels like when IEDs and bombs lurk among them and be grateful their last picture wasn't given a posthumous Pulitzer.

7. The press. The newspapers and TV networks are losing money left and right because they've become the public relations board for various lobbies. Somehow they lost their way from reporting the news to acting like tittering high school girls with a crush on the football captain. Time to clean out the queen bees and the goths and get back to reporting, rather than spreading vicious high school gossip.

8. Politics. We still have people in Washington who are so fucking clueless about what the nation really needs! We need people to lay down their ideology - the far left with their Marx worship, and the far right with their God worship - and find out where the hell the happy medium is. It's not gonna happen when you act like some asshat Robin Hood on steroids, or the second coming of Jesus. And it certainly isn't going to happen by telling certain people they can't be poor and certain people they can't be rich. And yes, the sooner term limits to weed out the deadwood and corrupt hacks infesting Capitol Hill is implemented, the better off we'll be.

That's all I can think of for now...

12/02/2008

The Real Love Guru - nine years old

Warning to Doctor Phil and the slicksters on VH1: Alec Greven puts you two folks to shame with his direct, wonderfully clear dating book.

Some of his tips from the nine-year-old genius and my comments in red:

"It is easy to spot pretty girls because they have big earrings, fancy dresses and all the jewelry...[p]retty girls are like cars that need a lot of oil...The best choice for most boys is a regular girl. Remember, some pretty girls are coldhearted when it comes to boys. Don't let them get to you."

I can attest to that. A lot of the girls who seemed really pretty to me back in the day were sometimes pretty mean-spirited. And the longest-lasting friendships I had came from regular (not as pretty) girls.

And also:

"Crushes are like a love disease. It can drive you mad."

Also very much true. Crushes are like those songs you hear in your ears constantly - you never can seem to stop thinking about them. The girls I had serious crushes on were extremely flattered to be the object of my admiration/adoration, but I was more afraid of the boyfriends - I still have all my teeth! I could also never look them in the eye or hold a coherent conversation with them - I was so nervous I would slip up.

The true love you obtain will rarely be a crush you've had. It will be someone you'll feel comfortable and proud to share your day with.

and the best advice of all...

"Girls always like the smartest boys."

AMEN TO THAT! Back in the '80s, smart boys (back then called "nerds") were as popular as a nuclear power plant. The flip side to that was that the smartest boys, most often then not, had a lot of the answers, and actually listened to the girl's questions and concerns rather than giving a cursory "I don't know." Girls, once they knew they had a credible and reliable source, became fans of the smart boys for life, even though on the surface they seemed to despise them. So what if they dated the football captain or the baseball star, or their friends thought the smart boy was uncool to be even seen with. To a girl, the smart boy was a revered God.

12/01/2008

Want more money to go to the state? Decrease the winning odds

I've been doing research on this for the past couple of years, and I've noticed that the lottery's payout on instant games is no less than 67%, after administration and overhead. To wit...

- A $1 ticket has an average payout of 68-70%.
- A $2 ticket has an average payout of 69-73%.
- A $5 ticket has an average payout of 75-78%.
- A $10 ticket has an average payout of 80-83%.
- A $20 ticket has an average payout of 82-85%.

Other lotteries are far less generous with their prizes, around 60% maximum, but with an average of around 55% or so. What would happen if Massachusetts, in light of its fiscal crisis, decided to cut its prize payout structure?

The way you can do that is to keep the current amount of low-tier prizes ($10 or less) as is, but make the higher tier prizes ($20 or more) harder to get. To do so, you cut the amount of higher tickets.

For example, the Holiday Bucks payout of 71.82%, which is the total amount paid out in prizes ($10,859,400) divided by the total number of tickets (15,120,000) sold at $1 apiece, depends on the following prize structure for prizes $20 and over...

$5,000 prize x 60 tickets = $300,000 in the $5,000 "pool"
$100 prize x 13650 tickets = $1,365,000 in the $100 "pool"
$40 prize x 18900 tickets = $756,000 in the $40 "pool"
$20 prize x 54000 tickets = $1,080,000 in the $20 "pool"

Say the lottery changes the prize pools to this...

$5,000 x 30 prizes = $150,000
$100 x 1512 = $151,200
$40 x 3024 = $120,960
$20 x 30240 = $604,800

We've saved $150,000 in the $5,000 pool, $1,213,800 in the $100 pool, $635,040 in the $40 pool, and $475,000 in the $20 pool, for a total savings of $2,473,840, making the effective payout $7,881,360, or 52.13%.

This nearly $2.5 million is quite a neat bundle of savings, and this is just for the $1 tickets! If the lottery cut its payouts to 55% across all tickets, it would bring in a lot of revenue for the state, and it would certainly avoid toll hikes, gas tax hikes, and property tax hikes - and maybe leave a little to bring down the income tax to 5%.

On the other hand, critics will give the guilt-wracked spiel about the "those who can least afford it" filling in the budget gap, saying so super-expensive condos, while cooking super-exclusive food, and entertaining their super-shallow friends. Maybe they should downsize to the levels of "the people who can least afford it" and see how it feels for once - starting with their charmed luxury lifestyles. While they're at it, they can dig deeper than their conceit and contempt for those who don't have six figure salaries and a trophy spouse.

11/27/2008

Alice's Restaurant

Arlo Guthrie wrote the song Alice's Restaurant in 1965 as both a narrative and a protest against the Vietnam War. I've seen the movie many times and it is gentle, funny, and forceful. You don't have to be anti-war to enjoy it - but the strength of Guthrie's conviction is clear.

This lyrics to this were taken from Arlo Guthrie's website.

Alice's Restaurant
By Arlo Guthrie

This song is called Alice's Restaurant, and it's about Alice, and the
restaurant, but Alice's Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant,
that's just the name of the song, and that's why I called the song Alice's
Restaurant.

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant

Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago on
Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the
restaurant, but Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the
church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and
Fasha the dog. And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of
room downstairs where the pews used to be in. Havin' all that room,
seein' as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn't
have to take out their garbage for a long time.

We got up there, we found all the garbage in there, and we decided it'd be
a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump. So
we took the half a ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW
microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed
on toward the city dump.

Well we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across across the
dump saying, "Closed on Thanksgiving." And we had never heard of a dump
closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes we drove off
into the sunset looking for another place to put the garbage.

We didn't find one. Until we came to a side road, and off the side of the
side road there was another fifteen foot cliff and at the bottom of the
cliff there was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile
is better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up we
decided to throw our's down.

That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a thanksgiving
dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until the
next morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie. He said, "Kid,
we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of
garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." And
I said, "Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelope
under that garbage."

After speaking to Obie for about fourty-five minutes on the telephone we
finally arrived at the truth of the matter and said that we had to go down
and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the
police officer's station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the
shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the
police officer's station.

Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done at
the police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal for
being so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn't very likely, and
we didn't expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us out
and told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again,
which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer's station
there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was
both immediately arrested. Handcuffed. And I said "Obie, I don't think I
can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." He said, "Shut up, kid.
Get in the back of the patrol car."

And that's what we did, sat in the back of the patrol car and drove to the
quote Scene of the Crime unquote. I want tell you about the town of
Stockbridge, Massachusets, where this happened here, they got three stop
signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the
Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars,
being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to
get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of
cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station.
They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and
they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each
one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach,
the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not to
mention the aerial photography.

After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was going to put
us in the cell. Said, "Kid, I'm going to put you in the cell, I want your
wallet and your belt." And I said, "Obie, I can understand you wanting my
wallet so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you
want my belt for?" And he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangings." I
said, "Obie, did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?"
Obie said he was making sure, and friends Obie was, cause he took out the
toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took
out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars roll out the - roll the
toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie
was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice
(remember Alice? It's a song about Alice), Alice came by and with a few
nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back
to the church, had a another thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat,
and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court.

We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back
of each one, sat down. Man came in said, "All rise." We all stood up,
and Obie stood up with the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures, and the judge walked in sat down with a seeing eye dog, and he
sat down, we sat down. Obie looked at the seeing eye dog, and then at the
twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows
and a paragraph on the back of each one, and looked at the seeing eye dog.
And then at twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one and began to cry,
'cause Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American
blind justice, and there wasn't nothing he could do about it, and the
judge wasn't going to look at the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each
one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. And
we was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but thats not
what I came to tell you about.

Came to talk about the draft.

They got a building down New York City, it's called Whitehall Street,
where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected,
neglected and selected. I went down to get my physical examination one
day, and I walked in, I sat down, got good and drunk the night before, so
I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning. `Cause I wanted to
look like the all-American kid from New York City, man I wanted, I wanted
to feel like the all-, I wanted to be the all American kid from New York,
and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up, and all
kinds o' mean nasty ugly things. And I waked in and sat down and they gave
me a piece of paper, said, "Kid, see the phsychiatrist, room 604."

And I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I want to kill. I mean, I wanna, I
wanna kill. Kill. I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and
guts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies. I mean kill, Kill,
KILL, KILL." And I started jumpin up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL," and
he started jumpin up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down
yelling, "KILL, KILL." And the sargent came over, pinned a medal on me,
sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."

Didn't feel too good about it.

Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections,
detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me
at the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, four
hours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nasty
ugly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they was
inspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving no
part untouched. Proceeded through, and when I finally came to the see the
last man, I walked in, walked in sat down after a whole big thing there,
and I walked up and said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got
one question. Have you ever been arrested?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice's Restaurant Massacre,
with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and all
the phenome... - and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, did you ever
go to court?"

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on
the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want
you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W .... NOW kid!!"

And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W's
where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after
committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly
looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father
rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! And
they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the
bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest
father raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly
'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me
and said, "Kid, whad'ya get?" I said, "I didn't get nothing, I had to pay
$50 and pick up the garbage." He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?"
And I said, "Littering." And they all moved away from me on the bench
there, and the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean nasty things, till I
said, "And creating a nuisance." And they all came back, shook my hand,
and we had a great time on the bench, talkin about crime, mother stabbing,
father raping, all kinds of groovy things that we was talking about on the
bench. And everything was fine, we was smoking cigarettes and all kinds of
things, until the Sargeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held it
up and said.

"Kids, this-piece-of-paper's-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-
know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-
you-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-
officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say", and talked for
forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said, but we had
fun filling out the forms and playing with the pencils on the bench there,
and I filled out the massacre with the four part harmony, and wrote it
down there, just like it was, and everything was fine and I put down the
pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there, there on the
other side, in the middle of the other side, away from everything else on
the other side, in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read the
following words:

("KID, HAVE YOU REHABILITATED YOURSELF?")

I went over to the sargent, said, "Sargeant, you got a lot a damn gall to
ask me if I've rehabilitated myself, I mean, I mean, I mean that just, I'm
sittin' here on the bench, I mean I'm sittin here on the Group W bench
'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough join the army, burn women,
kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." He looked at me and
said, "Kid, we don't like your kind, and we're gonna send you fingerprints
off to Washington."

And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is a
study in black and white of my fingerprints. And the only reason I'm
singing you this song now is cause you may know somebody in a similar
situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in a
situation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's walk into
the shrink wherever you are ,just walk in say "Shrink, You can get
anything you want, at Alice's restaurant.". And walk out. You know, if
one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and
they won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony,
they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.
And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in
singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's an
organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day,I said
fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and
walking out. And friends they may thinks it's a movement.

And that's what it is , the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and
all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the
guitar.

With feeling. So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and
sing it when it does. Here it comes.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

That was horrible. If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud.
I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it
for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.

So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four part
harmony and feeling.

We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing.

All right now.

You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Excepting Alice
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant

Da da da da da da da dum
At Alice's Restaurant

11/25/2008

Facebook: use it wisely

If you're a Facebook user, you can use the social network program as an invaluable tool to reconnect with your friends from the past, including those who you had secret and not-so-secret crushes on, but don't blame it for breaking up a relationship because your SO was actually talking to said secret and not-so-secret crushes, including exes.

The Globe article is okay, but a lot of people state - correctly - that the Facebook isn't at fault here. It's the jerk of the guy who decided to two-time the girl by having two profiles. Of course, you can participate in the occasional Super Poke, invitations to Mafia wars, and hugs, but if that's not your style, the "ignore" button comes in handy.

10/20/2008

A neat shortcut and walk from Cambridgeside Galleria

Yesterday I didn't feel like crowding onto the Green Line trolley back to North Station, so I decided to take a walk past the Cambridgeside reflecting pool to near the Museum of Science.

Usually I would cross the McGrath Highway and head up the Gilmore Bridge to Community College. This time, however, I continued on the path to the right and kept on walking alongside the Royal Sonesta.

Ahead of me was the Longfellow bridge, so I knew I was near Kendall Square. Sure enough, when the path ended, I was on Land Blvd. The street/path I was on was actually Cambridge Parkway. (It reminded me of FDR Drive in New York, but without the cars.) After I crossed Land Blvd and went over the monkey bridge, I was on Main Street, parallel to the Red Line portal. I continued on Main and made my way to Broadway. One or two lights traffic lights later, and I was at Kendall/MIT station. Total time: about 25 minutes.

I would recommend that if you do this, do it during the daytime, as during the night it may be unsafe. Nearly everyone had room, and maybe one or two joggers/bikers blasted past me. I'll try it from Kendall to Cambridgeside, but the reward from walking is that you burn off all those calories from the food court!

10/18/2008

Food control - why it's a waste of time and a failure

Every time I enter the L'il Peach in Cleary Square, the kids from the Rogers and Hyde Park High load up on whatever sugar-laden or fat-laden treats they can get their hands on. Many a time, I joked out loud that there should be a snack tax - one that would discourage kids from bollixing up the line by forking over more money for Pixy Stix, Chef's Cajun/Ketchup/Soul chips, and Ring Pops.

That would give richer, tonier, wealthier towns a wicked idea, though. Tack on a quarter to a fist full of Tootsie Pops, a bag of chips, or anything else that looks like junk food. They take a harsher line: they ban any form of sugar in their schools.

I'm wondering if the dearth of cupcakes and crullers really raised the SAT scores - no wealthy family will have their spawn at UMass Amherst to flip burgers or work in a cubicle when they could be at a Big Six accounting firm with a hot trophy wife and five Stepford children.

I think these richer towns have it wrong: You cannot hope to rein in obesity if you have a group of resentful kids and equally resentful parents glaring at you as if you were Captain Queeg. Take away the sugar, and they're bound to find it elsewhere and consume it sub rosa.

Are the kids from Lynn going to become illicit sugar suppliers for the kids in Lynnfield? How about the North Andover kids, jonesing for a can of Coke Classic, surreptitiously going over the border to Lawrence to snag a can - at inflated prices? And Brookline is surrounded by Boston, and it's easy to sneak into Allston and Roxbury to get your fix of Ho-hos and Yoo Hoo.

If these richer towns really want to do something about obesity, the first thing is to take the advice of Richard Simmons - bring back gym, also known as physical education. Letting the kids run around for twelve minutes a day during recess will not only get all that pent-up energy out of their systems, it will help maintain their health without your school administration being branded a nanny-state killjoy. The MCAS and other boutique courses can wait - and you won't be taking away a single cupcake or cookie without a whimper, as they'll be burned off as soon as the recess bell rings.

Second, the teachers should be examples to students, and not live their lives through them. That means they should encourage healthier eating by eating healthier themselves. If the teachers can have donuts and flavored coffee during their meetings and are telling their kids they can't bring in cupcakes for the bake sale, then the teacher's a hypocrite AND a liar. Maybe after a few meetings with the things they're forcing their students to do, they will modify their hasty decision.

Third, and most importantly, it is most important to know that social engineering through food control is a bad idea. Making kids perfect at the expense of letting them be kids is a Sysiphian task. Trying to control children through food also brings up nastier, elitist overtones, as in "Johnny won't be much if he's 300 pounds vs. Jenny's a good girl for being within 99% of her weight and height profile." In the future, Johnny could lose all that weight, or even maintain the weight and be fit (normal blood pressure, good cholesterol scores, etc.), while Jenny is in the hospital yet again because she can't gain control of her anorexia or buliemia, and she's one or two binge-purge sessions away from choking on her own vomit and dying - and she's the same 72 pounds she was in 5th grade, at the age of 21.

I don't talk about these things lightly because I am overweight myself. I am over 300 pounds, although I am 6-4. I have high blood pressure at times, and I am prone to lose weight one doctor's visit, only to put it back on another. I sit in front of a computer all day, and exercise is hit-or-miss. Ice cream is my Kryptonite. So what business would I have telling the school boards that their plans to ban sugar and junk food stinks?

Plenty.

I'm a lot like Johnny: my blood sugar and cholestrol is still good. I don't eat eggs all the time, I don't drink or smoke, or do drugs. I do walk, but not enough to get benefits. My doctor tells me I won't live past 60 if I keep on doing what I do, but losing weight and keeping it off isn't an easy process. There is no magic pill, no exercise program or diet program that will make me 100+ pounds lighter tomorrow. I've tried Weight Watchers and I've found it too heavy on meetings and group therapy (and massive amounts of accounting) and not enough on proper eating.

If these school boards think that sugar and junk food are the obstacles from keeping kids healthy, maybe they should consult reputable dietiticians and physicians who aren't paid to spout out the directives these school boards want to hear, as kids will also overeat the healthy, organic stuff equally simply because they think it's OK to gorge on soy shakes and organic tofu dogs.

Maybe they can bring Richard Simmons to their schools and tell them how to do it right.

9/19/2008

Craps and the Stock Market

If you're familiar with the game of craps, and especially gambling, you'll probably appreciate this post. If not, I'll try to explain everything the best I can.

The craps board is laid out into sections. There is the Pass/Don't Pass, the Come/Don't Come, seperate numbers, and the exotic bets section. The actual object of the game is to either (a) get the number ("point") before someone rolls a 7, or (b) get a 7 before the point is established. If you get 2, 3, or 12, that's called craps and you lose.

The way I play craps is that you have a much better chance of getting a 7 versus all of the other numbers. The people who want to win using a "point" play the Pass/Come section. The people who want to win using "7" use the Don't Pass/Don't Come section. Usually you get hostile stares when everyone's betting Pass and you put money on the Don't Pass.

For the exotic bets, people see the odds on some of these bets and figure they'll make tons of money. That's what the casino wants you to think, but they know ahead of time that these exotic bets win plenty of money for the house. The worst bet - any seven - has a house advantage of 16%, whereas a Pass/Come bet ranks about 1%.

In the stock market, too many traders, instead of making serious trades, shuffled a lot of their money into exotic bets - subprime mortgages, derivatives, etc. They were losing tons of money until the Federal Reserve agreed in principal to take over the bad bets. If I tried to take my losing craps bets and begged the casino to take them, I would be nursing serious bruises and broken bones, as the layman can't pass on his debt back to the casino (especially if they're using "markers" - loaned money to pay back the debt). The same thing happens in Wall Street: traders will use margin to buy stocks, and if they do poorly, they either meet the margin to keep on playing or give up the stocks. What happened was previous stinkeroos of bets piled on top of one another, and when one source of money ran out, traders attempted to goose other instruments, like gold and energy, to make a quick buck, then paid off their old debts.

What happened this week should be a warning to those who think they'll get rich off the stock market. Unless you like to see how sausage is made, your best bet is to stay away from it. Yes, your 401(k) you've so lovingly contributed and your company has matched should be safe, but all it takes is one stupid and irresponsible bet for your account to vanish. On the other side, those who are screaming that Wall Street is now being "socialized" is missing the entire point why the government sometimes has to step in to prevent stock market crashes from happening. In fact, some of the financial pundits should have no business being in front of a TV screen - dispensing such advice as "401(k) money is free money" (it isn't), "Stock XYZ will make a killing - buy now!" (stock starts at $10, spikes up to $50, but then ends up getting delisted and liquidated for less than a dime), and "The economy is doing fine/horrible!" (says who?)

I've been following business for a few years now. If you want to learn what happens when bad bets on Wall Street come home to roost, I suggest renting the excellent Kevin Bacon movie Quicksilver. For laughs and how to really work over the people who hate you, I heartily recommend Trading Places.

9/13/2008

KHOU has a wicked sense of humor...



KHOU in Houston put up statuses of the damage done by Ike...but you've got to hand it to them to connect the hurricane with Tina Turner. Must be some kind of Javascript deal.

8/13/2008

Elizabeth Tieso: 1922-2008

Normally I don't write about death, but soon enough, death comes to all of us.

Sudden, unavoidable death is harsh. The harshest death of all, however, is the slowest one, but the also the one that relieves you the most; it is the illness that goes on rollercoaster turns until one day, your selected deity says, "enough."

When my father died in 2005 from lung cancer, I was more relieved than saddened because he had fought for 14 months, and I would have rather gone through a root canal and six months of jury duty than watch him die the last few days he lasted. But when he did die, it was as if a huge monumental weight lifted from my shoulders. I was happy that my mother, the poor soul who accompanied him to 2am emergency room runs and sat beside him during his final hours, was released from oncological bondage. The wake and funeral, on the other hand, confirmed that state where my father changed from a living, breathing human to cremated remains in an urn. (One Christmas my brothers put a hat on his urn. My mother wasn't too thrilled, but had my father been alive, he would have thought that to be funny.)

My grandmother, Elizabeth "Betty" Tieso, had been showing signs of early senility as far back as 2000. She would occasionally forget things, talk in "ragtime" when in the hospital, or not recognize us. At least at that time, she would laugh and joke that she was having a senior moment.

In 2004, however, things began to change, and rapidly. One Sunday afternoon, my grandmother had collapsed in the bathroom. A few days later, we discovered she had a mini-stroke. Then, she was lucid enough, but beginning to show signs of deterioration in speech and stability. The doctors thought she had the beginning stages of Alzheimer's disease, but it wasn't until later that we discovered she was suffering from senile dementia.

It's hard for me to describe what dementia is compared to Alzheimer's, but from what I understand, Alzheimer's allows you to function with some degree. Dementia, on the other hand, chips away at all your brain function until you're bedridden and 100% dependent on others to take care of you.

As time passed, Betty's health declined slowly. She wasn't able to talk in coherent sentences anymore, and she trembled constantly. On occasion, she could recognize us, but often the names got scrambled around (I often got called Gus, Rich, Dave and even Bernie). She could still eat, but needed assistance. Around a month ago, my grandfather, Ben (Barney), who refused to put her into a nursing home, got in contact with hospice.

A few days ago, God activated Betty's two-minute warning. By then, her status began to decline much more rapidly, to the point where she wouldn't eat or drink anymore. He was preparing for Betty for her departure from the mortals and into the Heavens. Each day, I asked my mother, "No change?" and she would tell me, "No...everything's still shutting down."

I prayed to God to have Him take Betty at a time where I would not be home. I feared that early morning phone call where my grandfather would tell us that Betty was gone. This morning, I wore a Boston Red Sox polo shirt to work and set about my day.

My brother from Beverly called me at 10:30. God never thought of my request to take her in daylight was the least bit selfish - in fact, He thought that the "enough" clause was universal for all of us - for the people who took care of her, to the people who watched her decline, day by day.

Betty breathed her last on August 13, 2008, at 10:15am. She was 86 years old.

7/26/2008

Political correctness - the religion of the elite

Jon Keller gives a crack set of comments about the Lowell Spinners Political Correctness Night, where the bat boys were batpersons and the shortstops were vertically challenged players.

Keller also has a poll that highlights the killjoy nature of PC...I'm printing his poll out with my comments in red.

- Insistence on gender neutrality in all things (e.g. "selectperson" or "second-baseperson")

Where the men can now become nurses and women can now be mayors, there is no bias. When it gets ridiculous as in the above, it smacks of insecurity and avoiding reality.

- The insistence that there is no right or wrong

I graduated with a mathematics degree in 1994. Proving theorems and solving complex mathematical problems was the way I got out of writing fifteen page papers. The proof of 1+1=2 is rumored to be 800 pages long, and in abstract algebra, 1+1=2 is the result of an element in an additive ring with the operation of + acting as a collector of successive items, with 1 representing a unitary object and 2 representing the successive object.

In my current line of work, there are certain rules and regulations I must follow, and I must keep a high accuracy percentage, or else I get FIRED. That means I cannot explain my way out of my errors; I actually have to have proof that I was right before they dismiss the charge, so I'm guilty before I'm proven innocent.

'There is no right or wrong' is a cop-out when the person posing the question can't answer it either.


- Phobic antipathy toward Western civilization, its cultural works and beliefs

In other words, be really, really suspicious and jealous of stuff that was not done by the Third World, corrupt despots and bloodthirsty dictators, and things that involve science, law and other innovations...things that keep people in the Middle Ages or lesser.

- One must never do anything to damage anyone else's self-esteem (i.e. grading, tracking, testing)

Horsehockey (not to you, Jon!). Testing, grading and tracking is absolutely essential - it gauges knowledge, points out errors, and helps people to understand what is right and what is wrong. Even if you're not held to a job that expects high quality, you're still being graded, tracked and tested by your managers and supervisors to see if the hire they made (you) will be able to tackle higher assignments down the road. If you break under pressure, you may miss out on raises, and soon enough, you may be shown the door for lack of initiative.

- Feel-good environmental fads of dubious value (such as carbon footprint offsets)

Any activity that protects the elite at the expense of the non-elite is a product of guilt, guarded jealousy, and envy. The elite, in order to protect all their goodies, throw out all sorts of curve ball theories to keep the non-elite from enjoying their spoils. Environmentalism is a great example - the elite preach the gospel according to Gaia, but once the mercury-filled lights are dimmed, the elite go home in their carbon-wasting jets, drive their gas-guzzling cars, and enter their gated mansions, smugly counting their lucre behind closed doors and snickering. Any "-ism" that has been tried as a political fiat always fails and sometimes takes a human toll - sometimes at the point of a gun.

- Excessive emphasis on the "root causes" of violent criminal behavior

Analysis paralysis hasn't solved the great murders of the 20th and 21st century...but defense attorneys seem not to mind when they can bill at $300 per hour.

- Going nuclear over someone else's harmless slip of the tongue

Don Imus found out the hard way - referring to a women's basketball team as he did in passing was similar to taking down a hornet's nest with a machine gun.

On the other hand, if you're zealous in correcting people for their slips of the tongue, it would be better to keep your tongue in your mouth instead of being a pushy busybody.

- Valuing PC over the First Amendment

Free speech is not equal to saying whatever you want while the other speaker is forced to listen. Free speech is also not equal to having people accept your wacky theories or your obscenity-laden tirades.

Free speech really is saying things that people won't agree with, any may require you clarify your statement. Free speech also guarantees us saying things without fear of arrest or reprisal.

PC mutates free speech into something that is synthetic, a sort of code-word interlingua between two people who are afraid to say in public what they are free to say behind closed doors. PC euphemizes unpleasant things, incorrectly elevates dull ones, and attempts to block off all stereotypes and characterizations that people find unsettling. PC manages to take the joy out of wonderful, marvelous things and reduces them to impersonal, cold machinations, in which the joke is on the unknowing.

Behind closed doors, the freedom to be ugly and to lash out on those beneath you while in public you painstakingly choreographed the correct, inoffensive version prove you to be a phony, rather than being one of the "enlightened."

7/19/2008

21st century clichés and how to get rid of them

I'm always interested in good writing and good speech. In school, reading literature was my worst subject; grammar and vocabulary were my strongest. Here are seven clichés that should be struck from the tongues and the type.

1. About

About usually means "approximately," as in "It'll take about 30 minutes or so to install your Windows program." About is also used for measurements and circumference, as in "Trace a line about the two points."

About takes on a pretentious, gossipy, snobby, smug, shallow sheen when it's used to emphasize something, as in "It's all about the Benjamins."

2. As a...

"As a..." tells the reader you have absolute authority on the subject, and no one can refute you. "As a mother, I recommend..." sound like you just got your PhD in anthroplogy and you want to test it out on a few friends. If it sounds too high-falutin', don't use it. "I recommend..." will do the job nicely.

3. (We live) in a world...

Don LaFontaine, the famous voice-over actor, gets paid millions of dollars to utter this phrase. His sons and daughters have attended the colleges of their choice without having to take out student loans.

The above phrase is a phrase I like to call "wrist twisting," which means that the person who's saying it is often winding up like a top, and then casting their dainty wrist to fulfill their point. "We live in a world where..." is just verbal empty calories, and normally used by people who have very little to say. Except Don LaFontaine, of course.

4. Need

Compare the following two sentences.

"The fondue is delicious, but it needs a little more wine. "
"The fondue is delicious, but you need to concentrate on the roast beef."

In the first sentence, the object or a noun phrase follows and is matter-of-fact. In the second sentence, the infinitive "to" follows the noun, and sounds condescending (as in, "you're wasting too much time on the fondue - the roast beef is beginning to burn" or "your weak suit is your roast beef").

Needs to + infinitive
also indicates frustration and one's desires and demands not being fulfilled snappily enough. To reduce the nastiness and smugness of Needs to + infinitive, use "must" for supreme urgency (you don't want the roast beef to burn to a crisp), "have/has to" for moderate urgency or direct orders (you can't get out getting that roast beef) or "should" if it's less urgent or a suggestion (the past recipes were OK, but we want one that will put your tastebuds into heaven - or at least avoid ordering pizza).

5. From...to...

In the middle of a sentence, describing a trip, this phrase is not a cliche. ("We went from London to Paris to Madrid on our senior trip." "The seniors went from homeroom to the gym to the park on their scavenger hunt.")

When from...to... begins a sentence, it's used to grab the attention of the reader - nothing more, nothing less. It dresses up a boring article, akin to those cute things in high school where a naughty word would be used, then the phrase, "now that I've got your attention..." follows. This variation of from...to... also sounds a bit snobbish, as if these places were so sacred and exclusive, no mere mortal could even step their pinky toe in there.

6. Overloaded wrist-twisters

A wrist-twister is a phrase that can be best described as "the windup before the pitch." Usually that pitch is loaded with clichés, propaganda, agitation and frustration, and a "whole buncha nothin' in there." (Listen to Valley Girl from Frank Zappa for that reference.)

7. If

This two lettered conjunction is fine, when used properly. 'If's' intention is to put forth a desire, a hypothesis, or advice ("If I had a million dollars..." "If this is true..." "If I were you...")

In talk radio or TV shows, however, 'if' is finding its way to promote things, most of the time sketchy or skeevy in nature. "If you read the book..." may make Barnes and Noble's bottom line healthier, but after buying said book, you have to take at least two showers or spend your entire weekend finding second through eighteenth opinions, then don't use 'if' for self promotion. In fact, stay away from talk radio. 99% of the time they sell garbage and snake oil anyway.

8. How

Not Tonto's old greeting to the Lone Ranger (aka Kemosabe) but an exercise in clarification. "How does that work?" "How do you know?" and "How are you" are perfectly reasonable uses for 'How.' When the husband who does wrong by the wife gets "How could you?" before a few days of the silent treatment, it's a good example of 'how.'

A bad example and putting 'how' into the tawdry red-light district of clichés is the phrase "How can..." Actually, "how can...when..." begins guilt-trips and other psychological head games.

Politicians, especially incumbents, nanny-staters, and full-bore control freaks, will use "how can..." for naked self-promotion. "How can Senator X put forth a bill for animal rights when there's a lot of children going hungry every night?" "How can Senator Y block a bill for animal rights when there's a lot of animals used for testing?" (For the record, both bills got killed and Senators X and Y got voted out.)

6/21/2008

Acting like the very children you wish to teach

The correct, diplomatic way of asking two kids to stop discussing hunting:

"Guys, I think that's an interesting story, but a little bit too graphic for other kids. You can still discuss it, but please talk quietly, or perhaps talk about it later."

The incorrect, childish, selfish, immature way of asking two kids to stop discussing hunting:

"LALALALA, I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW IF YOU KILLED BAMBI OR NOT! I HIKED, I STRIPPED NAKED AND WORSHIPPED GAIA, I'M BETTER THAN YOU, LALALALA!"

And yes, it was in the New Upper West Side Socialist Nation of Vermont, where hunting is still acceptable, except you can't run over deer or bears with your Prius.

Update: Newsbusters also follows the story with one really good quote from Okie:

And who's the 10 year old here?

The teacher covering up her ears and saying "la la la la la la".

The woman is an idiot. I hope she gets fired for stupidity. (emphasis mine)

5/31/2008

From Cleary Square to Kennedy Plaza, all in a day

I was on vacation this week and in contrast to the Route 240 trip was my trip to Providence via the Commuter Rail on Wednesday.

Every year since around 1998 or so, I make a point to go to Providence or Newport because I like Rhode Island. Ocean Staters aren't the milquetoasts and passive-aggressive fools that Bay Staters are - they have the balls to tell people they'll be glad to serve them once they complete their phone conversations - something Bay Staters fear will win them a trip to our finest emergency rooms.

If you do go, my suggestion is NOT to go through South Station OR to take the Peter Pan/Bonanza bus. The MBTA/MBCR WILL charge you $15.50 for a round trip - $7.75 each way. The Bonanza bus, even though it costs $15.95 round trip and is much quicker, has some pretty beasty traffic from Providence to Boston.

Rather, take the Orange Line to Forest Hills, and then the Route 32 bus to Cleary Square. The $9 interzone fare I paid on a round trip ticket from Hyde Park to Providence is more than worth it. I boarded the 12:28 train and got to Providence around 1:05; returning on the 5:10 train, I got back to Hyde Park around 6:04.

Rhode Islanders have their own idiosyncracies, including their own brand of lemonade ice, coffee syrup, "New York System" hot dogs, corruption (politicians and the like) and the feeling you're in the "sixth" borough of New York. But therein lies the difference; Bay Staters feel so entitled to their bounties in education and technology, you almost feel that arrogance and smug "ha ha, look what I can do and you can't!" once you step into the tourist sections of Boston. Ocean Staters will tell you what things are, what you can do with it if you don't like it, and take little guff from strangers.

Rhode Island's singleton Ivy League school, Brown University, isn't swarming with hipster doofuses, nutty conspiracy theorists, bums, and other poseurs. I walked up and down Thayer Street - Providence's equivalent of Harvard Square - without being accosted, jostled, harangued, or being passed by as if I weren't there. You felt as if you were part of the neighborhood, not as someone you though was going too freakin' slow and if you had the power, you'd lift the damn sidewalk.

If you want to ride a public transit system better than the MBTA, RIPTA is a good example on how Rhode Island legislators see the passengers who don't or can't drive - they treat them like passengers and not like revenue sources. On the two trolley rides and bus ride I took, the buses were not crowded, and the passengers got along well. Inside Kennedy Plaza, however, there were plenty of people waiting, but it was far more orderly and organized. Maybe Dan Graubauskas could take a trip down to Providence and take notes!

The kids themselves that mill around Kennedy Plaza from the various middle and high schools in Providence are the same as you would find in Boston. One huge difference: The Providence Police Department makes their presence duly known - patrol cars, horseback, bikes, foot patrols, etc. Back in 2003, I was down the Kennedy Plaza and a group of kids began fighting. As fast as you can say "Police Squad" at least 80 cops flew down there and broke up the fight. I was amazed at the quick response and the ability to get the situation under control from the Providence cops.

Finally, one thing I like about Rhode Island that it's close enough to Massachusetts without being Massachusetts. I looked forward to all the times I went to Club Baby Head over near Richmond Street with Rob and Bucky Avery, Jim Brackett, and other people from UMass Dartmouth. I was a college student back then, and getting from Dartmouth to Providence was near impossible without a car. Now, it's only a 36 mile/40 minute trip from Hyde Park. Progress!

5/20/2008

The deadly assassin named cancer

Senator Edward "Ted" Kennedy was diagnosed with a malignant glioma in his front parietal lobe.

My father, after being diagnosed with lung cancer in September 2004, was further diagnosed with gliomas similar to Sen. Kennedy's in May of 2005. We thought he had food poisoning, because he vomited a lot, but under further diagnosis, the doctors at the (fantastic) Dana Farber Cancer Institute discovered the gliomas. My father, after undergoing six regimens of chemotherapy, told us it was a very tiny cell and it was nothing to worry about - the radiation he would be getting would take care of it.

I can tell you first hand that malignant gliomas, even though they may look small and harmless, are nothing to trifle with. Radiation, plus the gliomas, effectively scrambled my father's brains, and caused other complications such as hematomas, headaches, and loss of physical coordination. By September 2005, he was wheelchair bound, but still somewhat lucid, and actually looked like he was getting better. However, once the cancer spread to his spine, we knew it would be a matter of time. We planned his funeral in October, thinking he'd survive until at least after Christmas. He died two days before Thanksgiving, after celebrating his 35th wedding anniversary, at the age of 63.

The time span between my father's diagnosis and death was five months.

Seizures are also a potential calling card for gliomas. My father's were not the grand mal seizures, but what they call "partial focal" seizures, which I can best describe as daydreaming with difficulty rousing. Sen. Kennedy could have also had the traditional grand-mal, which are also known as "tonic-clonic."

JFK and RFK found their lives snuffed out through a killer's bullet. Cancer is no less an killer, but it does so at its own leisure, biding its time to wreak havoc through the body. Time will tell whether Sen. Kennedy will beat this medical assassin. Miracles may happen, but don't count on them.

5/09/2008

The land of extremely overreactive DON'TS

Entry #1: Don't give delicious 16 cent donut hole treats to babies, or else you'll be fired for "theft." Right, for a 16 cent Timbit (or Munchkins) you get to explain to your unemployment office why your generosity and your fledgling career was struck down by an overzealous manager, who likely has an exact count of every single Timbit in the inventory, including the size and the time the frosting was put on. Good news: she was rehired, but likely Tim Horton's gave the manager a dress-down, which likely went like this: "She gave the baby a freakin' Timbit! We can cover that measly 16 cents in the time it takes for you to go to the john!"

Entry #2: Don't read "Notre Dame vs. the Klan: How the Fighting Irish Defeated the Ku Klux Klan" by Todd Tucker, in which Notre Dame students beat the living snot out of the KKK, when in the presence of "affirmative action" officers with a hair-trigger sensitivity. This leads me to wonder: would it have been OK to read adult magazines in public instead of a book that emphasizes teamwork against naked racial hatred? Were I a professor, not only would I assign the book, I'd make sure these college kids read it during summer vacation.

Note to the "Affirmative Action" meddling dingbat: is it any wonder why people roll their eyes and put "diversity" in quotation marks? Many other "affirmative action" officers would recommend several other books along that line, and they wouldn't carry their title with such aggressive seriousness. And why did it take the ACLU, FIRE and several news agencies to make the university drop this? Answer: no one wants their college to be labeled a cauldron for academic Stalinism.

5/07/2008

If you're planning on making comments, please read below...

I set the comments so I have a chance to review them before I post them. I reject posts out of hand when they seem spam-like, don't make sense, attack other posters (rarely me), engage in long "is too! is not!" arguments, or seem really "fishy". "Anonymous" posters get double-secret probation because I'm not sure if they're legit or they're trying to jam up the comments board with verbal bovine effluvia - as in one post I had rejected flat out because they decided to key-word and link-farm their entry to the hilt.

It also means I have to exercise some benevolent censorship; one person's well reasoned comment is fine; a five-page manifesto on why Alfred E Neuman should be elevated to King of America is not. Those of you who do follow the rules are not affected - at least you have the common sense not to test your BS skills on the comments board

If it gets out of hand, COMMENTS WILL BE DISABLED.

4/28/2008

An analogy...

Malcolm X : The Honorable Elijah Mohammed : : Barack Obama : Rev. Jeremiah Wright.

Somehow I thought of this after remembering the excellent (if long) Malcolm X by Spike Lee. At least somewhere along the line, Obama may have an epiphany.

4/27/2008

Сняло JR?*

Interesting article on how Dallas, with JR Ewing as the ultimate capitalist, ended the Cold War.

When the public under Communist rule saw that America wasn't the evil empire its leaders purported to be, they figured, "Hey, JR Ewing is an SOB, but at least the SOB doesn't put people in the gulag - and he doesn't have a secret police force watching our every move!"

* Who shot JR?

4/26/2008

Putting people first

Another thought on Earth Day, from the Great White North.

Summary: when teachers scream at full-throat that learning multiplication tables is "dull, rote learning," then what the hell is screaming slogans about "saving the planet" and "reducing your carbon footprint?"

And I wonder why these same kids, when they reach college, are so underprepared that half of their freshman year is spent in remedial learning - you know, the lessons the idiot teacher should have prepared but was too busy watching An Inconvenient Truth for the eighteenth time.

And kudos to the first smart high school kid who says, "I think your statistics are hogwash, and you don't deserve the union-mandated salary to teach this environmental Inquisition. I'd like to learn the law of Cosines and Shakespeare, not the Gospel According to Al Gore and his Marxist buddies."

4/24/2008

Don Gillis 1922-2008

Don Gillis, former sports director for the WHDH (when it was Boston's CBS affiliate until 1972)/WCVB (an ABC affiliate since then) and host of Candlepin Bowling on Saturdays, passed away at the age of 85.

Candelpin Bowling was a staple at my grandparent's house, as every Saturday afternoon my grandmother would be serving my grandfather lunch, and he'd dip his sandwich into his tea. My uncle also bowled on Candlepin Bowling back in the eighties, against Hugh Ferguson, and I can also remember as clear as yesterday Tom Olzsta rolling four consecutive strikes.

No word yet if the pallbearers will be in a half-Worcester formation, but Don would certainly laugh at it if he did.

UPDATE: Joe Fitzgerald from the Boston Herald details Gillis' service in the Navy, and was there the day the Japanese surrendered and ended World War II.

A solid analysis of how taxes work

This article from CNN Money/Fortune is a straight-ahead (i.e. bias-free) observation on who pays what in taxes, based on wealth.

All I have to say is, "Better not show this to Congress...or maybe Congress knows this and would get clobbered if the public knew the truth!"

3/20/2008

Ashmont Discount RIP

My father was a frequent customer at Ashmont Discount Home Improvement Stores in the 80s and 90s, but the store finally closed down around 2002-2004 because everyone else found
Lowe's and Home Depot to be much better.

Thus, the trucks and cranes duly rendered the store into rubble, and a mini-Staples will rise in its place. I like Staples - I consider it a toy store for geeks and admins - and it'll be easier just to take the Route 50 bus to get my allotment of rubber erasers and funky calculators, but I can bet you that my Dad is looking for a few drill bits and masking tape at the Ashmont Discount in the beyond.

3/10/2008

Beware with your RFID cards

If you have a Charlie Card, you know you can tap them and your fare gets subtracted (or you get a note, "Card good until end of the month").

Universal Hub offers this tidbit which is apropos of what has happened to me, i.e. your RFID chip, if it contains money, is extremely vulnerable. That is, someone with a cheap scanner can figure out your unique code, and take all your money.

It didn't happen to me with my Charlie Card. When my credit account came up for renewal, the company sent me one with an RFID chip.

Soon enough, I began to receive things in the mail I never ordered.

  • Five pounds of premium coffee, plus appropriate coffeemakers and grinders
  • Mystery books
  • Vitamins from a "neutriceutical" company
  • Subscriptions to the Disney DVD club AND Scholastic AND Baby Einstein
  • Auction trades
  • Stamps.com

I figured all this bogus activity started around the 2nd of February, right after I bought some breakfast at Burger King or put some money on a (seperate) Charlie Card. All of the previous charges before I reactivated the card were fine and what I expected, but soon after the RFID card got activated, the fun started.

The credit card company has been outstanding in these travails. They cancelled my previous card, and gave me a new card, and refunded my money, but the new card also has new fraud charges popping up on them as well, either previous charges from the old card, or they simply got a hold of the new card. Think of those pop-up ads with spam, and then consider every time they do pop up, you get charged for it.

The one good thing about this is that these aren't huge charges - none of them were over $50. The companies I have dealt with understand completely, and they have been very nice about closing the previous (fraudulently opened) accounts.

The lesson I learned is no matter how safe and how careful you think you are in your accounts, think again. At first, I blamed myself - I was the victim of theft, even this type of petit larceny. Then, as more things came and I was able to say, "nope, not mine, close the account" I felt good, as it gave me hope that, yes, I was a victim, but no, I wasn't going to be passive about this - this a battle that affects not just me, but many others like me. Identity theft is no joke, especially when you have to consider all the man-hours of collecting information, calling the card companies, calling the businesses to close the accounts, being ultra-vigilant about new charges, contacting your credit reporting agencies - it's a huge pain in the ass, but well worth the difference between having your good name and credit history intact and having someone on their way to Tahiti while your available credit is zero.

When I was in 7th grade at Latin Academy, I had a bully attempt to extort money from me. The kid kept on picking on me and taking my money until I got fed up enough to go to my guidance counselor. I was scared shitless, crying, fearing retribution, but once he got suspended, six other kids told the exact same story, and the person was expelled later in the year. The headmaster and assistant headmaster were proud of me coming forward, and behind the scenes, the kids were grateful that someone came forward.

It might be cool for the jerk/scammer/script kiddie who swipes your credit card numbers, but the damage can be limited or minimal if you act immediately. Being a victim of any crime merits immediate action, even if you or the person who did it think it's minor. Not every battle or war requires bullets or guns, but depends a lot on keeping your wits (not panicking) and keeping a paper trail.

3/03/2008

Chuck E Cheese - it's trashtastic!

If you're a parent and you want to take your young'uns to a place where food and arcade entertainment mix pleasantly, may I suggest Dave and Buster's? (There are none in Massachusetts, but the closest one is at Providence Place in Rhode Island. Perhaps the element of gambling and not getting money back is a bad thing in Massachusetts?)

The food is a little more expensive, but at least you'll have the peace of mind not watching fistfights, intergang battles, fat white trash women arguing with skinny black gangbanger boyfriends (permascowls and cocked hats optional) while smacking their mixed-race spawn, and the mediocre pizza. Maybe the element of Fight Club and how the lower middle classes live is what draws this type of clientle; maybe other Chuck E Cheese franchises across the nation are more well behaved. I've never been to one.

However, as the night wears on, the clientele at D&B's becomes more adult, but not so much so that it requires a flak jacket and bail money.

2/22/2008

"What if they replaced the word f--- for the word kill in all those movie cliches?"

That's an old George Carlin skit with examples like "kill the ump," "'Okay Sheriff, we're gonna kill ya now. But we're gonna kill ya slow.'" "Shamu the Killer Whale."

It wouldn't help either way in little Jim's situation; unless those clever and bitter souls who program Elmo have other naughty Elmos, like Elmo Knows the Aristocrats Skit, Elmo Says Racial Epithets, Elmo The Pimp/Gangbanger, and Elmo the Leftist Agitator Whose Arrest Record Is The Size of the Manhattan Phonebook.

2/20/2008

The Northeast: where economic growth sputters

Jon Keller has the goods on a report from ALEC, a non-partisan forum highlighting where the economic pulse is good and bad.

According to the report, Massachusetts ranks 26th in economic outlook, which is one rung below the 50th percentile. Our saving graces: low sales taxes (5%), low income taxes (5.3%-5.95%) and "solid tort liability" (not sure what that means). Yet, we lose 330K residents thanks to a "high minimum wage" (national minimum is $5.85; ours is $7.50), high property taxes, high corporate taxes, and "forced unionism" (meaning that great "living wage" they tell you about also includes 20% or so in union dues, which promptly get spent on campaigns, strike funds, protests, and goodies for the union bosses).

A great example between Massachusetts and New Hampshire, for example? New Hampshire has an outrageously high property tax, about $50 per $1,000 per home value, meaning your $250,000 home in Nashua yields $12,500 in property taxes. They also have a meals tax of 8%. On the other hand, New Hampshire has 0% income tax and 0% sales tax. Massachusetts also has the largest concentration of colleges (including 10+ Ivy League schools), universities, and hospitals, and many are world class (is there a New York Latin School? A Kentucky General Hospital? What if Harvard were in Chicago?), whereas New Hampshire has one Ivy League school (Dartmouth), one quasi-ivy league school (University of New Hampshire) and many smaller state schools. In New Hampshire, apartment rents are at least 50% lower than those of Boston, if you can find an apartment not occupied by medical students and college students AND pay the $1000+/month rent.

It all balances out in the end - the strengths of one state may outnumber the weaknesses of the other, but it's how we pay the bills that makes all the difference. If you live in Utah, no worries - except in Salt Lake City, where word has it that the mayor is a little bit weird.

In case you're wondering who ranks dead last...when the report mentioned one Bernie Sanders as an "avowed socialist...enough said," I never thought Vermont would come in dead last. No wonder some Vermonters want to secede from America - they want to make it a new Cuba!

2/04/2008

Loss is painful; class is forever

In all the years I've considered sports the realm of jocks and the groupies that follow them, last night was a much different story.

You felt the pain in their voices. You felt sorry for Teddy Bruschi and Junior Seau. You thought that with just a little more oomph, the Patriots could have done it and made it 19-0.

You never heard regret or self-pity for getting that far to the Super Bowl. Nowhere did you see "why me" or "our defense wasn't good enough" or "I'm gonna sign with another free agent." There was not a shred of hubris or cocky overconfidence amongst the bunch. Tom Brady could have been a primadonna and blamed everyone; he didn't. His candor and "yes, we lost the Super Bowl and the perfect season, but hey, we made it this far and we're proud to do it for our fans" is a stark contrast to players who mail it in, take dumb penalties, moon the crowd, talk trash, and then when contract time comes around demand salaries in the nine figure range. Never mind that Brady's amour is a supermodel and demands payment in Euros; Brady might have had a bad night strategically, but he skyrocketed to professor emeritus of the class department.

Randy Moss, he of the mooning the crowd while a Viking, would be expected to throw a hissy fit. He too was subdued, humbled, and willing to give credit to the Giants where it was due. Will he come back? I don't know.

On the other side, it was surprising that Bill Belichick left the way he did. Giants coach Tom Coughlin, had he been on the other side of the ledger, would not have done what Belichick did; the only good thing that happened was that for a brief moment, the two coaches congratulated one another.

While still not primadonna-ish, the coach's sudden and brusque departure left me wondering what was going through his mind. Unlike his players, I swear Belichick was pouting for not winning the match.

The Patriots played cleanly, lost admirably, and will return next year with their head held high. They proved loss can be painful, but class is forever.

2/03/2008

Better to be an * than an a**

I don't know about many of you, but I'll be glad the football season is over.

Perfect is indeed the enemy of good. Yes, you can have straight A's from first grade to college, graduate with a summa cum laude, ascend from the ranks to the CEO, and then end up dead at your desk from overwork. You can be a child actor pulling in millions to billions of dollars, and then at 21, end up in the streets, partially nude, babbling incoherently, or at worst, be dead from a shotgun wound or drug overdose. You can meet your soul mate from first grade, marry after college, have two boys and two girls, and then end up dying from cancer at the ripe old age of 40.

Perfection above common sense kills. I will never be perfect. In fact, I was a straight B student, and nothing dastardly happened to me. I'm not married, and my world is not falling apart. The promoters, the hangers-on, and the Simon Cowells of the world thrive on perfection. They want to make sure their product has no flaws, no dings, and no skeletons hiding in their closets.

The Patriots may or may not have a perfect season by the end of the night. If they win at 19-0, it won't bother me. If the Giants win, making the Pat's season 18-1, it won't bother me. Both are excellent teams, no matter how much the New York Post asterisk-tsk-tsks the situation.

That's because after tonight, all that talk and hype building up over the past six months will be gone. The dopey stories about intermayoral bets, stock markets, inane commercials, premature claims to winning, scandals, and speculation will be lanced out like a giant boil, draining its poison into the sink, and salve of "no football" antibiotic smeared generously on the wound, covered by a six-month bandage.

UPDATE AT 10:08PM: The Giants won the Super Bowl, 17-14.

1/28/2008

Smoking - an addiction for people and politicians

My mother quit smoking on New Years Day 1991, and she does not miss the habit. Back in 1991, there weren't as many finger-waggers telling her all of those lovely chemicals she's putting into her body, and a pack of cigarettes cost about $2 a pack. Today, thanks to an excise tax of $1.51 per pack of cigs, the cheapest you can get a pack of cigs is $3.50, with the name brands clocking in at least $5.00. In New York State, a pack of cigarettes goes for at least $6 - and in New York City, you can't even get an ultra-cheap (as in no-name, you've got to be desperate) pack of cancer stix for less than $8.

When I went to Mohegan Sun for my birthday last year, I would have expected cigarettes to be much cheaper. Boy, was I wrong: a pack of Marlboros went for the princely sum of $9.65 per pack. (I have no clue how much the cheapos were, but a sawbuck? They were also selling bars of soap with real money for $13.95 - and of course, stupid me bought one. I did, however, use that dollar inside the bar of soap to play the daily numbers and ended up winning $721.)

In some of the New York State Indian reservations, however, you can still get name-brands for more than half the price. Why? The Indians kinda sorta don't put tax stamps on the packages.

This means the bridge & tunnel folks from Queens and Brooklyn (and their Manhattanite friends) who don't want to venture into their corner bodega can take a quick trip to the Hamptons for a family "visit" and stop by the Shinnecock Indian rez for a carton of Newports at $50. If their corner bodega is selling them for $8.50 a pack, that's $170 a carton there versus $50 (and $2.50 a pack) at the rez, meaning a savings of $120 per carton. No wonder the Indians in New York State like business the way it is, and the wholesalers are a bit miffed.

And believe the wholesalers with a fisheye when they say the cheap cigs are funding terrorism. Wholesalers who deliver to stores get a commission on all the sales they make, no matter what the price. So, when they go into the convenience store and set up their displays, it's not to make sure the lady in a bikini is not showing too much bodacious ta-ta; it's because that bodacious ta-ta is the difference between a stale pack that doesn't get sold and several hundred orders, perhaps with the bodacious ta-ta exposed. The wholesalers are blowing as much smoke to deceive the public; if the black market were as thriving as the wholesalers would have you believe, then New York City would have returned to the glorious cesspool of iniquity it once was. It hasn't, and it looks like the wholesalers are ticked that Indian tobacco sellers are cutting into their commissions and profits.

It doesn't mean I approve of smoking. I don't smoke myself, and I personally don't care if you light up, and I will not stop you if you're puffing away (if you ask nicely, all the fuss you'll get is a friendly hand wave and a "g'right ahead.").

Imagine, though, if cigarettes were ultimately banned. Everyone stopped smoking, no one got dirty looks when you lit up, and you didn't smell like an ashtray.

The politicians would have a hell of a time getting over their addiction - to smoker's money.

Here in Massachusetts, the excise tax for a carton is $1.51 x 20 = $30.20. $30.20 is not chump change, and a million cartons not being lit up means $30.2 million denied to the Commonwealth's coffers. Hence, you will see increasing and more constrictive rules on smoking, but you will never, ever see a complete ban, because once the commonwealth or any other state bans smoking completely, they lose hundreds of millions of dollars in easy, regressive tax revenue. The nanny state is not bold or ballsy enough to do a total ban, so they must do their deeds in passive-aggressive steps.

If there's anyone who really must get an intervention, it's the governments who use their insecurities and moralities to control people. Smoking is that perfect example: if smoking were banned, the states would require cases of Nicorette Tax patches.

1/17/2008

I'm an uncle again...

8 lbs, 5 oz (3770g), 20 inches (508mm), Riley Blake Colby. I already have a niece named Hollace; I call her God's Ultimate Trade: the girl that my mother always wanted, but to get her, we had to give up our father to lung cancer.

Somewhere along the line, God has to balance pain and suffering with hope and joy.

1/14/2008

Free Orange Julius or Cinnabon with each guilty verdict

If you're in the mall looking for random parts in Radio Shack, looking to complement your wardrobe in WalMart, looking for that kicky shredded denim skirt/off the shoulder T-shirt/footless tights/ballerina flats combo in Forever 21, or are just mall rats over the age of 18 with a clean record, the sheriff of Caledonia County in Vermont would like you to exercise your civil duty as a juror.

The bus is waiting to take you to the courthouse. Don't worry - by the time you've put the Level 3 Child Molester in jail, your iced chai latte will still be there...along with a fresh, warm Cinnabon roll!

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