I Hate Houseguests

A recent article began:

“The Trump administration says people would drive more and be exposed to increased risk if their cars get better gas mileage.”

Wait – what?  I don’t get it.  Let’s read that again:

“The Trump administration says people would drive more and be exposed to increased risk if their cars get better gas mileage.”

So the Trump administration – specifically the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and the Department of Transportation (DOT) – is rooting for worse gas mileage?

Well, yeah.

It turns out that the Trump administration – by way of the EPA and DOT– wants to roll back tough mileage requirements put into place in the latter days of the Obama administration.  Their goal is to freeze the requirements at the year 2020 level rather than allowing the requirements to get tougher, and mileage to get better.

The administration’s proposal goes on to say, “People will drive less if their vehicles get fewer miles per gallon, lowering the risk of crashes.”

And if people drive less, says the proposal, it would “save up to 1,000 lives per year.”

Of course saving lives is of utmost importance.

But instead of lowering our gas mileage standards, here are better ways to save 1,000 lives per year:

How and Why	Lives Saved
Focus more resources on domestic violence.   According to the National Network to End Domestic Violence (NNEDV), three women in this country die every day because of domestic violence.	Save three women X 365 days = 1,095 saved in one year.
Focus more resources on healthcare-associated infections (HAI).   According to the Center for Disease Control (CDC), 99,000 people die each year from HAIs, or 271 people every day.	Save 271 people X four days = 1,084 lives saved.
Focus more resources on how people drive instead of what they drive.   The National Safety Council estimated automotive fatalities topped 40,000 in 2017, or 110 people every day.	Save 110 people X 10 days = 1,100 lives saved.

Do this and we’ll all breathe better – and live longer.

Let’s say you’re in the fortunate position of being able to buy a brand-new car.

Your financing is locked in, all your options are confirmed, and today is The Big Day.

You arrive at the dealership, slide into the driver’s seat, reach for the ignition and…

Nothing.

The car won’t go.

The engine won’t start.

The engine, in fact, needs to be replaced, according to a quick analysis by the dealer’s team.

Your brand-new car needs a brand-new engine.

Would you take delivery on the car?

Would you say, “OK, no problem, I’ll just pay for a new engine”?

Of course not.

You’re smarter than that.

Now let’s say you’re the U.S. Navy.

The Navy has a bigger budget, and it buys bigger vehicles.

Like much bigger, and much more expensive, ships.

Like guided missile destroyer ships.

Like $7.5 billion Zumwalt-class guided missile destroyers.

To be specific, the $7.5 billion Zumwalt-class guided missile destroyer Michael Monsoor, also known as “hull DDG 1001.”

The Michael Monsoor was named for a United States Navy SEAL who was killed during the Operation Iraqi Freedom and posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.

I respect and appreciate the Navy’s intention to honor this fallen hero.

Unfortunately, the ship they named to honor him?

The ship won’t go.

One of its $20 million engines needs to be replaced.

The ship hasn’t even started its journey from the shipyard in Maine to its home base of San Diego, much less dispatched any missiles, guided or otherwise.

The Navy knew this in February, but in April accepted delivery of the ship anyway.  It didn’t get around to announcing the engine whoops until July.

The reason for accepting a $7.5 billion ship with a failed $20 million engine?

According to a Navy spokesman, they accepted the ship “in order to support planned post-delivery activities…This course of action allowed for crew to move aboard and training to commence as planned.”

So the crew gets to “move aboard” and “commence” practicing not going anywhere.

Now, logic suggests that a brand-new ship has brand-new parts, and those parts would be covered under warranties, right?

Wrong.

A spokesperson for the Government Accountability Office (GAO), said, “It is unlikely that the warranty remains effective” on the engine.

That means that you and I, the taxpayers, are on the hook for the $20 million replacement.

Well, let’s take consolation in the fact that from an original planned purchase of 32 of these Zumwalt-class ships, the Navy wised up and reduced its order to 24, then to seven, and then to just three.  The Michael Monsoor is the second of the three.

Three strikes and you’re out.

Out $20 million, that is.

When I want a good laugh, I don’t bother looking for “Top 10 Funny Websites.”

I head straight to articles about work.

How can I not laugh when I see a headline like this?

Empathy?  Seriously?  In today’s workplace?

Let’s start with some definitions:

Empathy, noun:  the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

Empathize, verb:  to understand and share the feelings of another.

Empathetic, adjective:  showing an ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

Today’s workplace is known for:

The author of this article, Neil Senturia, cites a lack-of-empathy story about “Bob,” who had flown to his company’s headquarters for a two-day meeting:

At the last minute, his manager asks Bob to stay over another night, for another big meeting.  Bob says he can’t do that, he has to fly home, his son is sick and wife is out and plans have been made.  The manager throws down the gauntlet and says that if you don’t stay I will fire you. 

Bob goes home and the next day he is fired.

Senturia goes on to say,

Bob is a $250,000 per year big data genius – these guys do not grow on trees.  What was that manager thinking?

Senturia isn’t bemoaning the manager’s lack of empathy with Bob’s dilemma at home.

He’s wondering how the manager could so easily fire a revenue-generating cog in his company’s wheel.

Let’s look at some other examples of company empathy:

Employee to Manager	Manager With Empathy	Manager Without Empathy
I fell in our parking lot and broke my arm.  Can I leave early?	You can still type, right?  And crunch those numbers for me?	If you leave early, you’re fired.
I worked through lunch and crunched the numbers you said you needed.	I asked for that?  Well, just leave it and I’ll get to it at some point.	I didn’t ask for any damn numbers.  Stop wasting my time, or you’re fired.
I really need to go to the Emergency Room and get my arm taken care of.	Well, as long as you call in for your meetings and don’t miss any deadlines.	If you take unscheduled time off, you’re fired.

Senturia also extensively cites Cris Beam, author of the recent book I Feel You:  The Surprising Power of Extreme Empathy.  Senturia refers to Beam at least twice as “he,” when a glance at the Amazon write-up makes it clear that Beam is female.  Which makes me wonder if Senturia actually read the book, or just walked past it in a bookstore.

And – like a guy could write a book about empathy.

Senturia also cites how he provides “sandwiches from Con Pane Rustic Breads & Café” for his “crew,” like sandwiches are some kind of hallmark for his mastery of empathy.

Sandwiches?  Really?  How about a raise?  Flex time?  Work from home now and then?

How about a damn day off now and then?

So, if you’re looking for empathy I don’t recommend looking for it at work.

Unless your employer has a dictionary.

You can find “empathy” there.

Between “egregious” and “exploitation.”

I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, and I don’t mean just small stuff like keeping a library book past its due date.

I’m talking whopping big mistakes.  Life-changing mistakes.  Tsunami-size mistakes.

The one comfort I have is that while I still occasionally have overdue library books, I’ve learned from the tsunamis.  Learned well enough that I haven’t repeated those mistakes.

New mistakes, sure.  But no tsunami repeats.

Not so our U.S. Postal Service.

Their tsunami-sized mistake came in the form of a $3.5 million copyright infringement fine USPS must pay to artist Robert S. Davidson after it used – and profited from – a picture of his creation, the half-size replica of the Statue of Liberty that resides adjacent to the New York-New York Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas.

Apparently the mega-brains at USPS thought the image was the real deal – the full-size original in New York Harbor – and used it on a Forever stamp.

USPS began printing the stamps in 2010.  Within months USPS was informed of their mistake by numerous credible sources, but kept printing the image anyway.  The artist sued in 2013.  The lawsuit was settled in July 2018.

But this wasn’t USPS’ first tsunami-sized copyright mistake.

In December 2013 USPS had to pay $685,000 to sculptor Frank Gaylord for using – and profiting from – a photograph of his creation, the central part of the Korean War Veterans Memorial in Washington, DC.

USPS stamp using an image from the Korean War Veterans Memorial.

Gaylord filed his lawsuit in 2006, it worked its way through various courts, Gaylord eventually won, and USPS paid.

That was USPS’ first tsunami-sized copyright mistake. 

And from that first mistake, USPS learned:

Zip.  Zilch.  Nada.

Hence the 2013 lawsuit by Robert Davidson, and a penalty approximately five times the size of Gaylord’s earlier settlement.

At this rate I figure USPS’ next copyright infringement tsunami should be worth at least five times Davidson’s settlement, or around $17 million.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to get USPS to use my image on a stamp:

I was hunting for the right word or words to describe a recent story I’d read that had an outcome the opposite of what I’d expected. 

One of those “No way!” stories.  One of those “Wait…what?” stories.

Eventually my hunting led me to the right words:

Situational irony:  a discrepancy between what is expected to happen and what actually happens.

The situational irony I’m referring to is about Charlotte Fox, whom I’d never heard of and it’s likely you haven’t either.

This is also a story of mountain climbing and the people who do that.  Why they climb a mountain is something that’s never been adequately explained to me, other than, “Because it’s there.”

The mountain in this story is Mount Everest in Nepal, which we have heard of, mostly when people die trying to climb it.  And close to 300 have – from myriad causes including falling, oxygen deprivation, freezing, and avalanches.  Then there are those who just…disappear, like George Mallory, and are presumed dead, cause unknown.

In 1996, Charlotte Fox was part of an Everest climbing group that ran into serious trouble one day, and she lived to tell about it.  Unfortunately, eight other people on the mountain that day did not.

The story of that tragedy was turned into a book, Into Thin Air in 1997, and a movie of the same name, same year.

Everest was neither the first nor last mountain Charlotte climbed; on an Everest history website she’s cited as the first American women to summit three 8000m (five mile) peaks.  Her bio goes on to list where she climbed other mountains:  Asia, South America, Antarctica, Africa, Canada and the U.S.  So that Everest climb in 1996 was not Charlotte’s first rodeo, as they say.

Now, the situational irony:

Eventually Charlotte settled in Colorado, and apparently she still loved climbing; she moved into a 4.5-story house with 77 stairs.

It was in that house in May 2018 that Charlotte, who’d survived Everest and conquered so many other mountains, died.

She fell down the stairs.

On March 9 I posted a blog, Girl, You Are Dumb As Dirt.

In it I wrote about a female politician who behaved badly, got caught, and resigned.  Her story included extramarital sex and misuse of taxpayer money.

Since so many male politicians get headlines for the same or similar activities, I figured it was only fair to notice when a female politician did a dumb thing, too.

In other words:  She acted like a guy.

At the time I didn’t anticipate that I’d be writing about yet another female politician who was dumb as dirt, but sad to say, here she is:

California Democratic Assemblywoman Cristina Garcia.

In the recent past, media outlets describe Garcia as “a leader of the #MeToo movement in California government.”  The December 2017 Time magazine’s Persons of the Year choice was The Silence Breakers, and Garcia was included in a two-page photo spread of #MeToo activists:

Perhaps she misunderstood, and interpreted the #MeToo movement as, “Me, too, I can act like a guy”?

The story so far:

Earlier this year, former legislative staffer Daniel Fierro accused Garcia of groping him in 2014 when she was “visibly intoxicated.”  Specifically, Fierro said that Garcia stroked his back, squeezed his buttocks and attempted to touch his crotch in a dugout after a softball game in 2014.

But not just any softball game – it was a legislative softball game, which I thought was a nice touch, if you’ll excuse the expression.

Garcia denied the allegation, an investigation ensued, and on May 17 the California Assembly said an outside investigator found no evidence substantiating Fierro’s claim.  The Assembly Rules Committee sent letters to Fierro and Garcia that said the investigation was complete.

End of story?

No.

Two weeks later Fierro appealed, complaining that the investigator didn’t interview at least one witness he reported.  As of June 13, the California Legislature was resuming an investigation in light of concerns raised about the initial investigation into Garcia’s conduct.

The accusations don’t begin and end with Fierro’s, however.  Investigators did substantiate allegations that Garcia routinely used vulgar language around staffers, had staff run personal errands, and created a toxic environment in her office.

Also substantiated:  Making derogatory remarks about other lawmakers, including calling then-Assembly Speaker John Pérez a “homo,” for which Garcia later apologized.  She was also “strongly admonished” for making racially insensitive comments directed toward Asians.  She did not apologize.

Whew!  Garcia is one busy politician!

So here’s our scorecard:

Allegation	Status
Sexual misconduct:  groping	Investigation ongoing
Sexual misconduct:  squeezing	Investigation ongoing
Sexual misconduct:  crotch touching	Investigation ongoing
Using vulgar language	Substantiated
Requesting personal errands	Substantiated
Creating toxic environment	Substantiated
Using homophobic language	Substantiated, apologized
Using racially insensitive language	Substantiated, admonished

Behaving like a guy is getting to be an equal opportunity thing, isn’t it?

In the meantime, Garcia is up for 58^th Assembly District re-election in November.  I don’t imagine her constituents are doing the Happy Dance.

I saw this headline and thought, “Major Ah-Ha Moment!

“That’s what I’ve been doing wrong at work all these years!  Following the rules, slaving away, old nose-to-the-grindstone.  When I should have been rebelling!”

I couldn’t wait to read the Eight Ways Rule Breakers Can Create Positive Change so I could “Be A Rebel At Work.”

Then I decided to start my rebellion right away and not read the Eight Ways in order.  Or read all of them.  HA!

I started with Way #3:  “Use the conversational technique of plussing.”  This means that when you’re in a meeting and someone has a stupid idea, instead of saying “but,” you keep an open mind and say, “and…?”  Hoping they’ll pick up on your “and” and say something intelligent.

I know.  Unlikely.

By the way, in the dictionary I see “plus” listed as a preposition, an adjective, a noun, a conjunction, and an adverb.  As far as I can tell, “plus” is not and never has been a verb.

But perhaps using “plus” as a verb is a form of rebellion?

Way #1 is “Break away from the routine” and the author says, “It’s very easy for us all to fall back into routines and mindlessly follow them, day after day.”  I thought, yeah – that’s called “work”:  Mindless routines in exchange for a paycheck.

But then I thought – why not?  Why not “purposely seek out new and novel ideas,” as the author suggests?

My routine is to arrive at work by 7:30am, skip lunch, and work until 6:30pm or…whenever.

But today was my day to “break away from the routine.”  I strolled in around noon, and announced to everyone that I was leaving at 4pm.

Born to rebel, yeah!

OK, it was Sunday, and I was the only one there.  So it wasn’t exactly a full-frontal rebellion.

Moving on to…

Way #2:  Seek out differences of opinion.

This morning I was part of a group interviewing a prospective employee.  We each took turns asking the prospect a question, and when my turn came around…

Get ready…

I said, “Why do you want to work here?  This place sucks.”

No one in the room agreed, including our manager.

So, “differences of opinion,” yes?

Rebellion success!

My manager said she wants to see me right after the meeting.  I’m betting she’s going to congratulate me on my new Rebel Persona!

But before I go, I’m going to take that Rebel Test the article talks about.  Can’t wait to see what kind of rebel I am!

 

 

 

 

 

Publication date:  April 2018

Review, short version:  Four roses out of four.

Review, long version:

If you’re not a fan of histories of royal families, you can skip this.

If you are a fan – and I am, big time, especially the women’s histories – then I highly recommend Daughters of the Winter Queen by Nancy Goldstone.

This is a biography, and I often have a problem with biographies:  Dry, dry, dry and boring, boring, boring.

Did I mention dry and boring?

Like a high school history textbook.  And a college history textbook.

Like any textbook.

Goldstone is a wonderful writer, a great storyteller, and – surprise!  Also funny.  I was cruising along, reading, and suddenly I’d laugh because Goldstone has a way of making wry observations that make the characters and their era – the 17^th century – more relatable.

Yes, humor in a biography.  Examples:

“It was during this trip that the duke of Buckingham took it into his head to try to seduce Louis XIII’s wife, Anne of Austria, queen of France, a diplomatic initiative of questionable value.”

Another from Goldstone:  “It was like overhearing your lover use exactly the same pickup line he had once used with you, and then having him turn to you to ask for help in convincing his new quarry of his sincerity.”

And:  “No husband who had cheated on his wife and was trying to get out of it by pretending to be concerned for her welfare ever penned a guiltier letter.”

No textbook ever sounded like that!

So what’s Goldstone doing, adding her contemporary comments to 300+-year-old history?

She’s telling a serious story and reminding us that while these people were of the highest rank, they were just as human – and full of foibles – as we are.

Of course, there’s much more history than humor – the royal Stuarts weren’t known for having a sense of humor.  They often helped to bring tragedies on themselves, starting with Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, beheaded in 1587.  Mary’s son, James VI of Scotland becomes James I of England and managed to keep his head, but not so his son, Charles I, beheaded during England’s Civil War (1642-1651), of which he was a major cause.

The Winter Queen is Princess Elizabeth Stuart (1596-1662), daughter of that James I, whose betrayal of her was unspeakable.  Elizabeth and her husband, Frederick V, became queen and king of Bohemia, then lost their throne during the 30 Years’ War (1618-1648) after reigning only briefly, from November 1619 to November 1620.  Hence the nickname she was stuck with for 40+ years.

Elizabeth spends the remainder of her life in exile, striving always to regain what was lost.  She never again reigns as a queen, but her youngest daughter, Sophia,

becomes the mother of Georg Ludwig, who becomes George I of England.  Elizabeth’s story and that of her 13 children, particularly her daughters, make fascinating reading.  As does the history they were all participants in – and victims of.

It’s not often I encounter a biography – or any book – that I enjoy, learn from, and smile about.

Is there a better combination?

The other night I had one of those life-altering “Wait…what?” moments.

I was watching TV, and saw a promotion for a new program on TLC, The Learning Channel.

Always eager to learn, I focused in and saw…

Dr. Pimple Popper.

Did I mention I was eating dinner at the time?

Sweet.

Dr. Pimple Popper – apparently a moniker she’s chosen for herself – is also called “Dr. PP” by those in the know, that is, the hordes of fans who watch her multitudinous YouTube videos.  They, too, have a moniker:  “Popaholic, the endearing term for the community of Dr. Pimple Popper-obsessed viewers.”

The YouTube videos are of the good doctor treating people for conditions including:

“Egg Salad Cyst Bigger Than Expected” – 252,000 views
“Never-Ending Blackhead Surprises” – 2 million views
“Steatocystomas & Momma Squishy” – 12 million views

So you know Dr. PP is on the level – she has her own YouTube channel.

And, secondarily, according to her website, Dr PP is “a board-certified dermatologist.”

Wow, a bonus!

Now The Learning Channel is premiering Dr. PP’s own reality show on Wednesday July 11.  Whatever else you had planned for that evening, cancel it!  Except dinner, of course.

But wait, there’s more…

YOU can audition for the show:

Dr. Pimple Popper is looking specifically for people with lipomas, cysts, large growths, undiagnosed skin conditions, or something “oozing, draining, or bleeding.”

If you aren’t among the afflicted, you can recommend someone to audition for the show.  What a compliment!  “Jeff, you look so heinous, I’m going to contact the Dr. Pimple Popper show and recommend you.”  And if Jeff does, indeed, look heinous enough to qualify, you get $500.  A win-win!

Now, I am not someone who would ever make fun of a person with a skin condition, having suffered from several of them myself.

But I am hopeful that someday, somehow, I’ll figure out how…

I, TOO, CAN MAKE MONEY OFF SOMEONE ELSE’S MISERY!

In fact, the possibilities for doctor TV shows are endless, if you’ll excuse the expression.

Quick!  Who can I recommend for…

Dear Mr. Maxwell:

I am so excited to receive your email – excited and grateful!

I had no idea that I had a rich relative.  This is amazing news!

And not just rich – to quote you, the amount is “twelve million eight hundred thousand euros,” which translates into $14,875,507.20 at today’s exchange rate.  And let’s don’t forget that 20¢!

Because I’m smart, I did wonder if this was one of those scams I hear about – “too good to be true” and all that stuff.  But the reason I know you’re for real is that you don’t tell me to “Click Here” for more information, and then my computer blows up.  And you didn’t ask me for money, like some of those scams.  As if I would fall for that!

I will confess that I’m a bit confused about why, if my relative died in “May 2003” that you’re only contacting me now, more than 15 years later?  On the other hand, when I think of all the interest that’s accrued on that €12.8 million euros – no problem!

I’ll confess to a bit more confusion, with your saying your law firm is located in “Iome Togo” – I could not find that on a map.  Until I discovered that your “Iome” is actually Lomé, the capital of Togo, in West Africa!  I consider myself something of an expert sleuth and I enjoyed that challenge.  I like digging deep and figuring things out – nobody can pull the proverbial wool over my eyes!

Speaking of figuring things out, “Togo” is such a funny name for a country – like togo cups!

And speaking of confusion – I’m referring to the other typos in your email.  I didn’t want to be rude and ask why you didn’t have one of your secretaries type this, but then I realized that you’re doing that secret-secret Client/Attorney Privilege thing that I’ve seen on Law & Order.  You’re smart, too!

So – what’s our next step?  Verify that I actually am a relative of your client?  Well, we do have the same surname, and it’s not all that common.  I’m pretty sure I haven’t met another person with the last name “Johnson” except my family, so I’m sure you’re client is part of my family!

Since you didn’t give me your phone number, maybe I should come to Lomé, Togo in West Africa to meet with you?  It’s probably the least I can do after you took all that time to track down me, and only me.  For sure I’d like to shake your hardworking hand and say, “Thanks, Mr. Maxwell!”

And thanks to you, I can afford the airfare!  Oh, when I think of all the charitable good works I can do with that money…Liposuction, tummy tuck, my nose (for sure my nose), a Ferrari – no, make that a Jaguar.  No, make it both!

But in the meantime, just to make sure we’re on the same page, I’ll give you my PIN, checking account and Social Security numbers and you can just go ahead and deposit the money now.  For sure that €12.8 million euros – plus 15 years interest – is going to make my stupid bank manager stand up and take notice.  He’s bounced a couple of my checks lately and I’m really annoyed with him.

Mr. Maxwell, I feel like we’re on our way to being Best Friends Forever!

Sincerely, and I do mean that!

For the sixth straight year our daily newspaper just announced it’s “taking nominations for the Top Workplaces in the county.”  Ours is a county of about three million people, and anyone – employees and others – can nominate an employer.

The process is as follows:

The part of the process that intrigues me actually happens between Step #1 and Step #2 but isn’t shown on this image.

This is when the survey company contacts the nominated companies, agencies and institutions.  Those that agree to participate provide email lists of their employees to the survey company, which in turn emails the surveys to the employees.

In 2017, according to the article, “914 organizations were nominated and 77 agreed to participate.”

Let’s look at that again:

Employees/others nominated 914 organizations.

Only 77 agreed to participate.

That’s a mere 8.4%.

That means 837 organizations declined allowing their employees the opportunity to fill out a survey about their organization.

That’s a whopping 91.6%

What the hell is up with that?

Further into the article I learned that this lack of participation is “partly because employers who think they might be criticized by their workers choose not to participate.”

Ah-ha moment.

So 91.6% of the employers nominated were so afraid of being criticized by their employees that they said “No” to participating.

Could that 91.6% be extrapolated to encompass the whole county?  The whole country?

I say “Yes.”

I say a whole lot of employers are a whole lot afraid.

California, like many states, has a system of choosing some judges by elections.

For our state supreme court and courts of appeal, judges are nominated by the governor.  For our superior courts, when there’s a vacancy the judge is, again, nominated by the governor.  In some instances, first-timers will run for a superior court judgeship.  Either way, superior court judges face reelection if they want to keep their jobs.

From an early age we are taught – and told – that voting is the way to make our voices heard.  We vote for candidates who support our beliefs, and once elected, officials are answerable to voters.  Voters put people in office, and voters remove people from office.

But somehow, when we elect judges, those judges aren’t supposed to be answerable to us.  Somehow, judges aren’t supposed to care what we think of their actions, including the decisions they make in court.  Somehow, we can put them in office and remove them from office, but the judges are above caring about all that.

Only, they aren’t.

We voters are just supposed to accept whatever decisions judges make, and smile, and nod.

Put up, and shut up.

Only, some voters didn’t.

Wake-up call.

Two years ago – well before the #MeToo movement – a group of people, mostly women, started a grass-roots effort to recall a judge.

The judge was Aaron Persky of the Superior Court of California, County of Santa Clara.

The recall movement began after a June 2016 decision made by Judge Persky in the People vs. Turner case.  Turner being Brock Turner, a 19-year-old freshman at Stanford University.

Turner was indicted on five charges: two for rape, two for felony sexual assault, and one for attempted rape of a 22-year-old woman.  Turner and the woman had met at a fraternity party, and both got drunk.  They ended up outside, where Turner’s assault on the unconscious woman was interrupted by two witnesses.

After reviewing the results of DNA tests, the two rape charges were dropped by prosecutors.  The jury unanimously convicted Turner of the three remaining charges of felony sexual assault, specifically:

• Assault with intent to rape an intoxicated woman.
• Sexually penetrating an intoxicated person with a foreign object.
• Sexually penetrating an unconscious person with a foreign object.

This conviction could have sent Turner to prison for 14 years.

He didn’t go to prison.

There were no “years” involved in his incarceration time.

Instead, Judge Persky sentenced Turner to six months in jail. 

The judge said he thought Turner would “not be a danger to others” and expressed concern that “a prison sentence would have a severe impact” on him.

The judge did not mention the impact of the assault on the victim.

Prosecutors had asked for a six-year prison sentence.  But Persky sided with a recommendation from the county probation department, which said “when compared to other crimes of similar nature” the Turner case “may be considered less serious due to (his) level of intoxication.”

So because Turner was drunk, his assault on an unconscious woman was “less serious”?

Seriously?

Perhaps the most horrifying statement came from Turner’s father who said his son’s life would “never be the one that he dreamed about… a steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20 plus years of life.”

Three felony sexual assaults reduced to a mere “20 minutes of action”?

In September 2016 Brock Turner was released from jail after serving three months.

One month for each felony conviction.

All this made a lot of people – mostly women – angry.

They formed the Recall Judge Aaron Persky Campaign.

Their efforts were successful, and Persky was recalled in June 2018, the first judge recalled in California in more than 80 years.

There was opposition to the recall, both before and after it happened.  Before the vote, LaDoris Cordell, a retired judge and a spokeswoman for Judge Persky, said the recall was an attack on judicial independence and it had “encouraged people to think of judges as no more than politicians.”

Well, if he campaigns like a politician, and gets elected like a politician, and joins his own anti-recall movement like a politician…

After the recall Santa Clara District Attorney Jeff Rosen said, “When judges believe that they will lose their careers for making unpopular but lawful decisions, they may lack the courage to stand up for the rights of minorities or others needing protection from powerful majorities or those with even understandably inflamed passions.”

When Rosen talks about “minorities” he’s referring to Turner, a man.  When he talks about “powerful majorities” he’s referring to women.

Men as a “minority”?  Women as a “powerful majority”?  That’s a change.

No wonder Mr.  Rosen is concerned.

Michele Dauber, a Stanford University professor and chair of the Recall Judge Aaron Persky Campaign said the recall “expresses clearly that sexual assault, sexual violence is serious and it has to be taken seriously by elected officials.  It’s a historical moment when women across all sectors of society are standing up saying, ‘Enough is enough.’”

Aftermath?

Brock Turner returned home to Ohio.  He’d also been sentenced to three years probation, and required to register as a sex offender.  Turner has requested that his conviction be overturned, that his lifetime requirement to register as a sex offender be canceled, and that he be given a new trial.

Persky’s sentence, and the backlash to it, prompted California lawmakers to change the law.  Within four months, they enacted mandatory minimum sentences in sexual assault cases, and closed a loophole in which penetrative sexual assault could be punished less harshly if the victim was too intoxicated to physically resist.

Persky, according to the San Jose Mercury News, “will continue to work as on-call night judge from 5pm until 8am through June.”  After that, “It was unclear what the judge’s next career move will be.”

My takeaway?

If you don’t agree with the law that allows judges to be recalled, then change the law.

Otherwise, judges will continue to campaign like politicians, get elected like politicians, and very likely, if they piss off enough people…

Get recalled like politicians.

Have you ever said, “That’s my pet peeve”?

I have, too.  I was going to start this blog by sharing one of my pet peeves, but then I got to wondering, “Why do we say ‘pet peeve’ anyway?”

A bit of research suggested that the expression “pet peeve” goes back only about 100 years, which also makes me wonder – what did people call their peeves before then?

Anyway, “peeve” is both a verb and a noun.  As a verb, when you’re “peeved,” you’re annoyed or irritated by someone or something.  As a noun, “peeve” is the someone or something that’s causing your annoyance or irritation.

As for “pet”?  That means especially annoyed or irritated.

Everyone has pet peeves, whether they use that expression or not.  Fingernails on a chalk board.  Someone standing too close and crowding your space.  People showing up at your home without calling first.  Toilet seats left up.  Hair left in the sink.

And bad bosses, which is mostly redundant.

So, without further digression, here’s my pet peeve.

My companion and I were meeting our friends, a husband and wife, for dinner at a restaurant.  We all were in regular contact, but this couple lives on the other side of the country and we hadn’t seen them for a number of years.

We had a lovely meal and lots of good conversation and laughs.  As we finished dinner (Warning:  Pet Peeve Approaching) the wife took a small case out of her purse.  She snapped it open, offered the contents to her husband and took one for herself.

The contents were toothpicks.

They both then did a very lengthy and very thorough teeth cleaning at our dinner table.

The conversation now sounded like this:

Wife:  So (pick, pick), have you (suck, pick, suck) talked to (pick, pick, pick) Roger lately?

Husband:  (pick, suck) We haven’t (pick, pick) heard from him since his (pick, suck, pick) divorce.

This clearly wasn’t aberrant behavior for them.  Somehow, since we’d last seen them, this had become their “normal” and they were completely at ease, talking and picking and sucking and…

Eventually, the picking and sucking concluded, and thankfully, so did our evening.

My companion and I compared notes and he, too, was disgusted.

Which made me wonder, are we the only ones who feel this way?

It turns out – no.  Just a few days later there was a letter in Dear Abby on this very subject.  Great timing!

The writer was complaining that her in-laws “often use a toothpick while we are still seated at the dinner table…When they dine at my home, they leave their used toothpicks lying around…My mother-in-law is now starting to floss her teeth in public.”

That’s really disgusting!

Dear Abby agreed that “oral hygiene should be attended to away from the table,” and backed up her opinion with Emily Post’s in Post’s most recent book on etiquette.  “Toothpicks,” Emily added, “should be used in private.”  The same for flossing, of course.

Now, everyone knows that good dental hygiene is important – no, critical – to good health.  And everyone hates food getting stuck in their teeth.

Especially spinach.  Spinach getting stuck in your teeth is a given.  Have spinach, will stick.

But oral hygiene, while critical, isn’t mean to be shared.

I do realize that in the Grand Scheme of Life, someone sharing their disgusting, annoying, unsanitary dental cleaning in public is not all that important.

But to reference Emily Post again,

Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others.  If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use.

And please – do not use that fork to pick your teeth.

 

 

Voice-activated digital assistants – like Amazon’s Alexa and Echo, Google’s Assistant, and Apple’s Siri – have become so popular that in a few years, more than half of U.S. households will have them.

That’s more than 70 million households.

That’s a lot of people who should be very, very afraid.

Why?

In early May, a husband and wife were at home in Portland, OR.  A home in which every room was wired with Amazon Echo voice-controlled speakers, used to control their home’s heat, lights and security.

They got a call from a business associate of the husband’s.  The caller was in Seattle, 176 miles away.

The business associate had received a recording of a conversation between the husband and wife.  The couple didn’t know they’d been recorded.  They didn’t know the recording had been sent somewhere.

Their trusty Echo had done this all on its own – recorded their private conversation, selected a recipient from their address book, and sent the recording.

Creepy?

Oh, yeah.

The wife contacted Amazon, whose spokesperson offered this explanation:

Echo woke up due to a word in background conversation sounding like “Alexa.”  Then, the subsequent conversation was heard as a “send message” request.  At which point, Alexa said out loud, “To whom?”  At which point, the background conversation was interpreted as a name in the customer’s contact list.  Alexa then asked out loud, “[Contact Name], right?”  Alexa then interpreted background conversation as “right.”

Poor little Echo just got all confused and misunderstood what it was hearing.  And sent that private conversation not only to the contact in Seattle, but to Amazon as well.  If you have the Google or Siri systems, they also get copies of your conversations.

Because that’s how the systems work.

Did you know that?

The Amazon spokesperson went on to say, “As unlikely as this string of events is, we are evaluating options to make this case even less likely.”

Less likely means possible.  Possible means this can happen to anyone who uses this technology.

The article about the Portland couple was followed by a spate of articles on how to protect ourselves from the very technology that increasing numbers of us are welcoming into our homes:

“Protect Your Privacy With An Echo In the Room”
“After Amazon Echo Misfire, Ways To Protect Your Own Privacy”
“Smart Gadgets:  Ways To Minimize Privacy and Security Risks”

Are you listening, folks?

On second thought, you don’t have to listen.

Your devices are doing that for you.

Whether you want them to, or not.

We Americans hate waste.

Or at least, we say we do.

We hate wasting time standing in line.

We hate wasting money dropping bombs on dictators who don’t pay attention.

We hate wasting emotions on people unworthy of our emotions.

Yeah, we hate waste all right.  And yet…

We don’t hesitate wasting…

Paid vacation days.

In a recent survey of 4,439 workers, in 2017 “More than half – 52% – didn’t take all the vacation time they earned, and almost a quarter of workers said they hadn’t taken a vacation in more than a year.

“In all, surveyed workers left a total of 705 million vacation days unused last year.”

Those 4,439 workers are a tiny fraction of 126 million full-time workers in the U.S.  Multiply all those workers by all their unused vacation days and…

Waste?

Oh, yeah.

This is in a country with paid time off already pitifully small compared to other countries.  According to WorldAtlas.com, we’re not even in the top 55.  Austria is at #4 with 38 days; the count for Panama is 32 days; and Burkina Faso, a country I’d never heard of and sure couldn’t point to on a map, gets 37 days of paid leave.

The U.S.:  15 days.

And we waste a lot of them.

Of course I wondered why, and the survey suggested that “Employees who were concerned that vacation would make them appear dispensable or less dedicated were less likely to use all their vacation time.”

So we want to appear less dispensable and more dedicated.  Fantasy time.

Fantasy:

Manager:  Jack, it’s been brought to my attention that you were entitled to two weeks paid vacation last year, but you used only three days.  To my mind that makes you less dispensable and more dedicated, so I’m promoting you to assistant manager, and bumping up your salary by $1,000 a year!
Jack:  Wow, thanks!  And I’m taking even less vacation this year!

Reality:

Manager:  Jack, you’re fired.  You can pick up your last paycheck in Human Resources.  Oh – and all those vacation days you didn’t use last year?  You forfeited them by not using them so they won’t be part of your last paycheck.
Jack:  Wait…what???

In case this isn’t bad enough, in a second survey of just 2,224 workers – again, such a small number compared to that 126 million – we learn that many who did use paid time off “were still in contact with the office…Twenty-nine percent were contacted by a co-worker, and one in four said their boss contacted them.”

So we actually take some of that precious time off – and we’re still at work.  Sadly, there’s even a new word for it:

Fantasy: 

Manager:  Jack, I realize you’re on vacation and I hate interrupting you, but could you lead the team meeting tomorrow morning?  I’ve got a last-minute thing with one of my kids or I wouldn’t dream of doing this.  I’d be so grateful if you could step in for me.
Jack:  No problem!  Just send me your agenda and I’ll call in at 8:30am your time.

Reality:

Manager:  Jack, who the hell OK’d your taking vacation time?  Never mind – I’ve got an important golf game tomorrow morning so I want you to lead the team meeting at 8:30am.  I know that’s the middle of the night there, but too bad.  Otherwise, you’re fired.
Jack:  Wait…what???

Now, I’m a believer in donating money to worthy causes, but I can guaran-damn-tee you that most employers don’t fit that description.

But when you don’t use your paid vacation time, you’re giving hundreds of dollars back to your employer.

What are we?

Crazy, anxious, afraid, exhausted, insecure, stressed?

Yeah.

On May 22 the United States Postal Service (USPS) made an important announcement that was second perhaps only to North Korea’s complete, verifiable, and irreversible denuclearization:

Scratch-and-Sniff Stamps.

The first ever.

Yes, that’s right.

Scratch-and-Sniff Frozen Treats Forever stamps.

This is a collection of 10 stamps that when scratched and sniffed, will emit an odor – excuse me, a scent, to use the USPS word – that will maybe smell like the picture on the stamps.  According to the USPS official announcement, the stamps feature:

…The work of Margaret Berg of Santa Monica, CA, depicting whimsical watercolor illustrations of frosty, colorful, icy pops on a stick…Today, Americans love cool, refreshing ice pops on a hot summer day.  The tasty, sweet confections come in a variety of shapes and flavors.

It’s unclear whether the stamps’ scents will come in a variety of flavors.

It’s unclear whether anbody’s going to care.

But USPS no doubt thinks it’s a clever marketing ploy and we’ll keep buying the stamps until we’re sure we’ve scratched and sniffed all of them.

It’s also unclear as to why USPS is doing this, except to:

…add the sweet scent of summer to letters of love, friendship, party invitations and other mailings…

In other words, for the betterment of mankind, specifically, the ever-dwindling number of people who use snail mail.

But speaking of marketing, picture a bunch of USPS honchos sitting around a conference room table and saying…

Team Leader:  Team, I’ll cut to the chase.  You’ve all seen our fiscal report for 2017 that detailed our loss of $2.7 billion.  The Postal Service has now incurred cumulative net losses of $63.6 billion from 2007 through June 2017.  In addition, we will most likely default on $6.9 billion in payments for future retiree health benefits for the fifth consecutive year.  We owe $33.9 billion in unfunded retiree health obligations from unpaid dues in 2012 through 2016.

Silence.  And then…

Team Member #1:  Um…were all those “billion” with a “b”?

Team Leader:  Yes.  We’ve now operated at a financial loss for 11 straight years.  Going forward, what are we going to do about this?

Team Member #2:  Um…how about raising the rates?

Team Leader:  Now, that’s thinking outside the box.  But we just raised the rates on January 1 – now it’s 50 cents to mail a first-class letter.  So I don’t think our customers – the few that are left – will buy into another increase.

Team Member #3:  How about if we get more people to buy more stamps?

Team Leader:  OK, let’s run with that.  How do we do that?

Silence.  And then…

Team Member #4:  Well, I had an idea…it might sound crazy, but – does anybody remember scratch-and-sniff?

Silence.  And then…

Team Leader:  I vaguely remember that.  I’d assumed it referred to a rather nasty skin condition?

Team Member #4:  No!  Scratch-and-sniff was popular during the late 1970s to mid-1980s, and people would buy stickers that had pictures on them, scratch them, and that would produce a smell related to the picture.

Team Leader:  And why would people do this?

Team Member #4:  Well, it was mostly for kids, and teachers used the stickers as rewards.  So if you were a good student, the teacher would put a sticker on your homework assignment and you could scratch and sniff it!  Like, um…a peach or an apple!

Team Leader:  So as a reward, a kid could sniff a peach or an apple?

Team Member #4:  Um, yeah. 

Team Leader:  Couldn’t they just sniff the real thing?

Silence.  And then…

Team Member #5:  I think I see where he’s going with this.  Scratch-and-sniff stamps, right?  We create scratch-and-sniff stamps, and customers will use them on their mail, and the recipients will get so excited when they scratch and sniff the stamps that they’ll go out and buy them, too?

Team Member #4:  Yes, exactly!

General murmuring in the room.  And then…

Team Leader:  So scratch-and-sniff was popular in the late 70s to mid-80s.  The fact of the matter is, half the population of the U.S. is under 40, so they won’t even remember this, or why anyone wanted to do it.  Are we all on the same page?

Team:  Um, yes.

Team Leader:  Then let’s get our ducks in a row.  We’re considering a scratch-and-sniff stamp, with an odor – I mean, smell – yet to be determined.  We produce scratch-and-sniff stamps and the masses will go wild buying them and everyone will be scratching and sniffing?

Team:  Yes!!!

Team Leader:  And it won’t be due to a nasty skin condition?

Team:  No!!!

Silence.  And then…

Team Leader:  OK, team, this really has legs.  I want to see – and smell – a prototype first thing tomorrow morning.  I want to really crush the envelope on this.

Team Member #3:  Ah, I think you meant push the envelope?

Team Leader:  No, I meant crush.  This is the Post Office, after all.  I want a big, splashy first-day-of-issue dedication ceremony on that Facebook thing, I want Tweetter, and I want kids – lots of media coverage of kids scratching and sniffing and demanding their parents buy the new stamps.  So somebody come up with an odor.  I mean, smell.  Whatever.

Team Member #5:  I’ll find a smell that will be expensive to produce and kids will love!  Like popcorn!  Or chocolate!  Or dirty gym shoes!

Team Member #4:  I’ll find a company that remembers how to make expensive scratch-and-sniff!

Team Member #3:  I’ll find an expensive artist to create images!  Something whimsical!

Team Member #2:  I’ll find an expensive art designer!  No, I’ll find two expensive art designers!

Team Member #1:  And I’ll…I’ll…find something expensive, too!

Team Leader:  Team, I see a paradigm shift coming!  I envision multiple lines of scratch and sniff – today, ice pops; tomorrow, animals, vegetables, and um…did somebody say dirty gym shoes?  The Post Office is on its way to Profit City!

Publication date:  April 2018

Review, short version:  Four roses out of four.

Review, long version:

You may have seen the 23andMe.com commercial with a woman in a series of vignettes:

• Riding a motorcycle
• Surfing
• Taking selfies with friends
• Driving an ATV

If you’ve seen the commercial you may have noticed its catchy theme song:

Getting to know you,
Getting to know all about you.
Getting to like you,
Getting to hope you like me.

I find this so interesting:  The juxtaposition of the oh-so-contemporary idea of 23andMe testing your DNA, and a song that’s almost 70 years old.

That’s right – almost 70 years.

The song, Getting to Know You, was first publicly heard in the Broadway hit show The King and I, with music and lyrics by the brilliant team of Rodgers (music) and Hammerstein (lyrics).

That team is profiled in Todd Purdum’s book, Something Wonderful, and Purdum’s book is something wonderful, indeed.

Oscar Hammerstein II (born 1895) and Richard Rodgers (born 1902) became writing partners in 1942.  Prior to that, they’d both had successful careers in musical theater with other partners, including Hammerstein writing with Jerome Kern, and Rodgers partnering with Lorenz Hart.

But it was when Rodgers and Hammerstein teamed up that their greatest musical magic happened:

Oklahoma!	Broadway – 1943	Movie – 1955
Carousel	Broadway – 1945	Movie – 1956
South Pacific	Broadway – 1949	Movie – 1958
The King and I	Broadway – 1951	Movie – 1956
Cinderella	Television – 1957	Broadway – 2013
The Sound of Music	Broadway – 1959	Movie – 1965

In between these masterpieces, Purdum notes, there were failures, as well.  Sometimes creative people put their hearts and souls and selves into their work and still…it just doesn’t click with the audience.  Those efforts are labeled – by the naysayers, at least – as “failures.”  The inspiring part is that Rodgers and Hammerstein knew the lows as well as the highs, but even as their “failures” were closing on Broadway, they were at work on their next success.

Something Wonderful is a highly readable accounting of an amazing relationship during and after World War II, and their shows were very much a part of their time.  The partnership brought thousands of hours of pleasure and memories to millions of people on the stage, the movie screen, and on a new medium called “television.”

And yes, that was a long time ago.

But don’t make the mistake of thinking Rodgers and Hammerstein’s creations are in any way passé.  In a reverse of the norm, the written-for-TV Cinderella broadcast in 1957, and opened on Broadway in 2013.

And as Purdum writes, “On a single spring evening in 2014, in the United States alone, there were 11 productions of Carousel, 17 of The King and I, 26 of South Pacific, 64 of Oklahoma!, and 106 of The Sound of Music.”

So do something wonderful for yourself:  Read the book.  Then check your community and larger theaters for Rodgers and Hammerstein shows.  Rent/download/stream the movies.

Don’t be surprised if you find yourself humming along to some of the songs.  You’ve heard them – like in the 23andMe commercial.  Maybe you just didn’t know it until now.

And as for that commercial with their music and lyrics alive and well, almost 70 years later?

I suspect that Rodgers and Hammerstein would think that was…

Something wonderful.

She must stay thin and young-looking, while her male colleague can grow fat and bald in peace.  – Eliana Dockterman

From a PBS NewsHour, anchor Judy Woodruff and her guest, Mark Shields:

Mark Shields	Judy Woodruff
Highly respected political columnist	Highly respected anchor, PBS NewsHour
Hair:  Gray	Hair:  Blond
Chin:  Sagging, jowly	Chin:  Taut, sculpted
Neck:  Thick, flabby	Neck:  Taut, sculpted
Arms:  Not visible, suspect flabby	Arms:  Slender, toned
Build:  Portly	Build:  Slender

What’s wrong with this picture?

Here’s what’s wrong:

Two highly respected journalists, of comparable age, both with many years in the business.

But if Judy Woodruff had gray hair, jowls, and a portly build, she wouldn’t have an on-air job.

Even if she was 30 years younger, with gray hair, jowls, and a portly build she’d be banished to a back cube in the newsroom.  If she was able to have a job in journalism at all.

What if Judy was losing her hair?  Would she lose her job, too?  Have you ever seen a balding woman hosting a TV program?  Compare and contrast that with…

Matt Lauer, Unemployed	Mark Bittman, PBS
Peter Mansbridge, CBC	Bill O’Reilly, Unemployed

Yeah, that stinks.

See Dick and Jane.

Dick and Jane are on their way.

Dick and Jane are on their way to their dream vacation:

A much-anticipated trip to a tropical island.

A tropical island far, far away.

A tropical island with white sandy beaches.

And swaying palm trees.

And cool ocean breezes.

And WiFi.

And cell phone connection.

Because Dick and Jane must….

Dick and Jane wouldn’t ever, ever dream of going anywhere without staying connected.

Even on a dream vacation.

Dick and Jane are learning the new word for this:

Dick and Jane are going on workation.

Because Dick and Jane must stay connected to their jobs.

So along with their swimsuits, sunscreen and sun glasses, Dick and Jane are bringing their laptops, iPads and smart phones.

And lots of device chargers.

And lots of batteries.

You see, Dick and Jane are afraid.

They are very, very afraid.

Dick and Jane are very, very afraid that if they don’t stay connected to work, someone will think they are dispensable.

Someone will think they aren’t dedicated.

Someone will get fired.

So Dick and Jane have been doing their research.

Lots and lots of research.

About how to have a successful workation.

They’ve read books and online articles.

Lots and lots of books and online articles.

They’ve learned how to keep track of time zones so they don’t miss important meetings.

And keep track of what day it is, so they don’t miss important deadlines.

And keep track of how many hours they work, even though they aren’t getting paid for it.

When Dick and Jane return home, they’ll tell everyone what a wonderful time they had.

They’ll post pictures on Facebook of white sandy beaches and swaying palm trees.

They won’t post a picture of Dick’s panic attack when the cell phone call with his boss was dropped.
They won’t post a picture of Jane’s meltdown when her boss called in the middle a romantic tryst with Dick.

And they won’t think about all the fun things they couldn’t do on their workation because…

They were workationing.

I sincerely want to be a kind person.

I sincerely want to be kind, especially to those less fortunate than I.

I sincerely want airlines to stop allowing bogus “support” animals on airplanes.

When I say “support” animals I’m not referring to the professionally trained, well-behaved animals we see accompanying people with disabilities.  These are properly referred to as “service animals” and they, indeed, perform valuable services.

Instead I’m referring to the Noah’s Ark of  “support” animals that people claim are absolutely necessary to their well-being when traveling on airplanes.

The problem can be summed up in the old adage, “Give him an inch, and he’ll take a mile.”  That’s us humans – give somebody an OK for her “support” duck and somebody else will insist their peacock is a “support” animal.

Think I’m kidding?  Meet Daniel Terducken Stinkerbutt, a “support” animal whose owner dresses him in “little red shoes and a Captain America Diaper,” according to a report from ABC News.

Last year Daniel and his owner made not one, but two flights together, and his “hugs and kisses” helped her make it through the flights.

Seriously?  Hugs and kisses from a duck?

But that bird got on an airplane, so why not Dexter the peacock?

Alas, his owner tried – and was denied – their flight in January at Newark Airport.  Possibly because Dexter tried to kiss and hug the airline employee.

Lest you think “support” animals are limited to feathered friends, here’s a list of animals just recently banned by various U.S. carriers:

• Hedgehogs
• Ferrets
• Insects
• Goats
• Rodents
• Snakes
• Spiders
• Amphibians
• Sugar Gliders
• Non-household birds*
• Any animal that is dirty/has an odor**

*I don’t know if Stinkerbutt fits into this category.
**Apparently passengers who are dirty/have an odor are still welcome.

One airline has also banned animals with tusks, horns or hooves, except for trained miniature horses acting as service animals.

Yes, apparently miniature horses can be trained as service animals.  Notice in this photo how the owner is in the aisle seat, and the horse’s hindquarters are tucked up against the legs of the passenger next to him?  That owner is no dummy.

Wouldn’t you love being that other passenger?  Can’t you just see the scene at the airport check-in counter?

Passenger:  Whew!  I was afraid I was going to miss my flight – is my seat still available?

Airline Agent:  Sure is, and you’ll be sharing your leg room with a horse’s ass!

In spite of the “banned” list above, airlines are still faced with dilemma of banning passengers with their “support” cats, pigs, pocket pooches, kangaroos, marmosets, guinea pigs, hamsters, rabbits, rats, badgers, bearded dragons and worse – skunks and elephants so far are not banned.

Banning animals = losing all that passenger revenue.

Or the airlines can cave in, keep collecting that revenue, and continue allowing passengers to go whole hog and bring on board any animal they want, regardless of the inconvenience –  urination, defecation – and danger of aggressive behavior toward other passengers.

Thinking I’m kidding about “whole hog”?

People tell all sorts of work-related lies. 

Candidates lie to interviewers.  Interviewers lie to candidates.  Employees lie to managers.  Managers lie to employees.

And CEOs lie to everybody.

Here are three big lies you hear all the time:

1. We absolutely do not anticipate any layoffs.
2. Our organization truly does care about work/life balance.

And the biggest lie of all:

3. Do what you love and the money will follow.

Lie #3 came to mind while I was reading an article by Scott Mautz, CEO of Profound Performance, an appropriate company name since the article is full of work-related profundities.  Examples:

• Be clear on what you want and proactive in making it so.
• Pursue the life and career that you want, not that someone else expects of you.  This is the key to having a truly meaningful, fulfilling career and life.
• Let desire to serve your authentic self drive your actions.

You’ll see a common thread between these thoughts and Lie #3:  If you’re thrilled working at your organization, and performing work that gives you constant warm fuzzies, then you’ll love, love, love it and make lots, lots, lots of money.

I decided to count how many people I’ve known, currently know, and ever expect to know that fit this description, and so far it’s…

Zero.

The ideas of doing “what you love,” pursuing the “life and career you want” and “serving your authentic self” are absurd.  First of all, no employer cares if your “authentic self” shows up or not, as long as you’re on time, productive and efficient.

Second, the only reason we show up is because they pay us to, not because we find the work “fulfilling.”

If you don’t believe me, look for someone who says they love what they do.  If you can find one, ask if they love it so much they’d work for free.  Answer:

“Um, well…wait.  Um, did you say ‘for free’?  Gee, I don’t know, I…well, um…no.”

So I’d like to encourage Mr. Mautz to step away from that rarefied atmosphere he lives in and talk to people in the real world, like our 18 million healthcare workers, our 12 million factory workers and our 500,000 teachers.

People who are too busy trying to support their families and make ends meet to spend time thinking about themselves, much less their “authentic selves.”

If you can’t find one of these 30,000,000+ workers, then talk to this guy.

I’ll bet he’d love to share about “serving his authentic self”:

Somehow the latest food fad slimed – er, I mean slid – right past me.

I’m referring to swamp – er, I mean green – juice.

“Green juice” is a generic name for a supposedly healthy beverage that looks like it came from a swamp, or an algae-infested swimming pool.  It’s made from processed (squished) vegetables, plus other stuff that makes it possible to swallow.  For example, here’s the ingredients list from one brand:

“Water, organic romaine juice, organic apple juice, organic celery juice, organic cucumber juice, organic lemon juice, organic kale juice, organic parsley juice, organic spinach juice, organic ginger juice, natural peppermint flavor, organic rosemary extract.”

You do know that some of this stuff was added to distract you from the taste of the rest of the stuff, right?

If you think I’m kidding about the swamp, a number of brands include algae, like chlorella and spirulina:

Contains Chlorella	Contains Spirulina	Contains Both

Just like swamps.  And swimming pools.

Green juice has become popular not because of the taste, but because of all the wonderful results promised by the producers:

Suja Mighty Greens will “make your body sing.”
Blueprint Motion Potion will put “pep in your step.”
Jus by Julie states, “This cleanse is the best of both worlds.”

I’d like to ask Suja Juice to share the data from their clinical research on exactly how their green juice makes a “body sing,” and exactly what that sounds and looks like.  Is the singing coming from the test subjects’ mouths, some other orifice, or a combination of

those?  Is the singing Top 10, Hip-Hop, Blues, other?

And what about “pep in your step”?  How many test subjects that drank Blueprint Motion Potion experienced this, and what did that look like?

As for Jus by Julie and the “cleanse” – nope, not going there.

Of course, you don’t have to buy cases of bottled green juice to make your body sing, etc.  You can just plunk down $600 for this lovely Breville 800XL Juice Fountain Elite, buy out the produce section at your grocery store, and make your own swamp stuff.

Too pricey?  Then how about this nice Omega J8004 Nutrition Center Commercial Masticating Juicer for just $337?  It’s not just any juicer – it masticates!

Or, you could just walk around town until you find a neglected swimming pool, scoop up a bucket of that green slime – er, I mean juice – and drink it all down.

That “cleanse” will put some “pep in your step,” for sure.

We Americans are an inventive bunch.

The variety, quantity and importance of our inventions are truly awesome.  Just think of the impact on our lives of inventions like:

• Computers.
• Automobiles.
• Cheese Whiz.

Equally awesome is the fact that no sooner does one American invent something…

Than another one invents a crime inspired by it.

Take, for example, snowmobiles.

On a dark December night back in the mid-1950s, inventor Arnie Arneson of Biwabik, in northern Minnesota (population 213), was excited to be taking his invention, the snowmobile, for its very first test drive around town.  The test drive went well, and Arnie was thrilled.  So thrilled, in fact, that he parked the snowmobile in front of the town’s bar and ran inside to tell the owner, Olly Olafson, all about it.  Because it was 58 degrees below zero, Arnie left the snowmobile’s engine running to keep the fuel line from freezing.

No sooner had Arnie disappeared into the bar than a figure bundled in heavy winter clothes, including a ski mask, appeared from around the corner of the bar.  The figure ran to the snowmobile, sat down, revved the engine, and took off over the river and through the woods.  Arnie’s snowmobile had inspired the first snowmobile theft.

Arnie was still seen around Biwabik, but alas, not his snowmobile.

No doubt Arnie’s story came to mind if you heard about the latest invention-inspired crime:

The new Medicare card scam.

In May 2017 the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services (CMS) announced that

“CMS is readying a fraud prevention initiative that removes Social Security (SSA) numbers from Medicare cards to help combat identity theft, and safeguard taxpayer dollars.

“The new cards will use a unique, randomly assigned number called a Medicare Beneficiary Identifier (MBI), to replace the Social Security-based Health Insurance Claim Number (HICN) currently used on the Medicare card.”

To translate that alphabet soup of acronyms, our government had woken up to the fact that using Social Security numbers as ID was a dumb idea.

Alas, because the CMS has done such a poor job of informing the 44 million beneficiaries about the new Medicare cards – “more than three-quarters of Americans over age 65 know little or nothing about the federal government’s initiative” according to a recent survey – there’s a whole lot of people who are ripe for the scamming.

The scammers saw their opportunity and seized it – just like Arnie’s snowmobile thief.

The first batch of new cards had barely cleared the Post Office in April 2018 when a variety of telephone scams came to light.  These include scammers:

• Posing as Medicare representatives calling beneficiaries demanding a processing fee to activate the new number, which they also ask for.
• Telling beneficiaries that they are owed a refund from transactions on their old card and then asking for bank account information to process the reimbursement.
• Advising beneficiaries that their new card has been kidnapped and will require a $5,000 ransom to release it.

OK, I’m lying about the last one, but you get my point:

New invention = new crime.

Americans will keep inventing and thieves will keep thieving.

What a country!

Publication date:  January 2018

Review, short version:  Four skunks out of four.

Review, long version:

It’s now official:

I am done reading any book categorized as:

Women’s Fiction>Mystery, Thriller & Suspense.

One book in this category is Gone Girl.  Read it, hated it.

Another is The Woman in the Window.  Read it, hated it and wrote about it here, back in February.

Now, in the same category, comes The Wife Between Us.  Started it, and couldn’t endure past page 100, out of 343.

All three books are Women’s Fiction>Mystery, Thriller & Suspense and have gotten raves from readers.  Gone Girl was made into a movie; a Woman in the Window movie is in the works; and I have no doubt The Wife Between Us is on the same path.

Three movies I did or will skip.

When a book is labeled a “thriller” it is, by definition, supposed to

“give readers heightened feelings of suspense, excitement, surprise, anticipation and anxiety.”

To do this, authors contrive plots and sub-plots with twists and turns that keep you guessing, and racing to the last page to discover who actually did what to whom.  In The Wife Between Us, for instance:

Early on we meet Vanessa, told in first person, and Nellie, told in third person.  Vanessa was married to Richard, and now Nellie is engaged to Richard.

Anxiety!!!  (See above definition.)

Richard is an abusive psycho.

Suspense!!!   (See above definition.)

Somewhere along the line we discover that Nellie and Vanessa are the same person.

Surprise!!!  (See above definition.)

Richard has an assistant named Emma, who is the daughter of the married professor Vanessa/Nellie had an affair with back in college.  Emma wants revenge on Vanessa/Nellie for breaking up her parents’ marriage.

Excitement!!!  (See above definition.)

At some point we meet Kate, Richard’s ex-girlfriend, whom he also abused.  Vanessa/Nellie is the wife between abused ex-girlfriend Kate and soon-to-be-abused Emma.

Get it???

I promise, if you look up the word contrived in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of this book.

The Wife Between Us was supposed to keep me wondering, but all I’m wondering about is first, why I hung on until page 100, and second, why I tried another thriller after I suffered through Gone Girl and The Woman in the Window.

But amidst all this bad news there is some good news as well:

The book has two authors, Sarah Pekkanen and Greer Hendricks.

So I’m having twice as much fun mocking their efforts.

“Thriller” = “on-trend female-centric psychological suspense genre.”  Seriously?	I’d love to see an ad like this say “Soon To Be A Minor Motion Picture!”

Day, Time:    Wednesday 8:45am

Location:       At home, on my computer

When what to my wondering eyes should appear…

Joe, what a surprise to hear from you.

And that you’d like to join my LinkedIn network.

Really, what a surprise…

Since you fired me in 2011, after eleven years of promotions, raises and rave reviews.

“Eliminated” my position.

Laid me off, let me go, terminated me.

Sent me to the unemployment line, and sent me into Job Hunting Hell during the Great Recession.

Now, after seven+ years, you’ve sent me a request to connect.

What are you doing – trolling around LinkedIn trying to connect with all the people you fired?

Lord knows there are plenty of us – more than 100 people, in a company that employed, max, 130.

Or maybe you singled me out, to make me feel special?

I know – there are those who would say, “It was a long time ago, get over it, you’re doing fine now.”

I’m sure they’re right.

I’m sure I should move on.

I’m sure I should accept your invitation.

So, Joe:  Do just one thing before I click that “Accept” button:

Hold your breath until you hear from me.

If you told your boss, “Yeah, I’ll be in sometime tomorrow between, oh, 8am and noon,” I think we know it wouldn’t go over well.

So why is it when you and I, the consumers – when we’re the boss – are told, “Yeah, we’ll be there tomorrow to fix your sink between 8am and noon,” we say, “OK, great, thanks”?

Yet that’s exactly what we do when given a “service window” by a plumber, air conditioning company, termite inspector and numerous other service providers.

Well, phooey on that.

The last time I said, “OK, great, thanks,” it was to a widely advertised (“As Seen On TV!”) company that claims to love “wowing” their customers.  This is good.  I like to be wowed.  I want to be wowed.

I wasn’t.

I’d agreed to a service window of 10am to 2pm.  When 2:15 arrived but the service person hadn’t, I called the company.  “Oh, we have you down for this afternoon,” they said.

What part of “afternoon,” I wondered, is 10am?

Their mistake, obviously, but if I’d been told “afternoon” I could have been out that morning running errands, rather than sitting at home, waiting for someone to show up.  At their convenience.  To provide a service that by the way, took 30 minutes, for which they charged enough money to feed a family of four.

For a month.

It wasn’t the first time this happened to me, and I know it’s happened to you.  The reason for service windows, I suppose, is to allow for the unexpected.  A technician arrives to fix the dishwasher, and the customer ends up with three inches of water on the kitchen floor.  That delays getting to the next location, which delays getting to the next location, and so on for the rest of the day.

Companies would rather give themselves a big block of time and then brag about their “on-time service record” when they manage to show up one minute before the end of the service window.

Kind of like the airlines.  If they get you to your destination within a week of your original arrival time, it’s “on time” as far as they’re concerned.

Allow me to reiterate.  Phooey!

The one exception I make is for medical appointments.  I always take plenty of reading material, because I expect to be kept waiting – in both the reception room and the examining room.  I don’t like it, but I know many people schedule an appointment for one issue when in reality they have five:  “Doctor, while you’re here, could you look at this bump/lump/spot on the back/front/side of my knee/arm/ear?”

Not that you or I ever do this.

And what’s the doctor to do?  Say, “Sorry, your appointment was for your rash, you’ll have to make another appointment for that.”  Of course not.  So the doctor stays because, after all, the doctor’s goal is to help us.

Which ought to be the goal of all service providers, and maybe it is – secondarily.  Their first goal is to make money, which is a fine goal, but to do this they over-schedule too few technicians for too many service calls, and one glitch ends up wasting way too much of our time.

So here’s the plan.  The next time you need something done by a professional and the company wants a four- or five- (and yes, I’ve even heard of an eight-) hour service window, politely but firmly say, “No.  I want an exact time.  If you can’t do that, then I’ll find a company that will.”

I know they’ll be quick to commit to an exact time.  How?

Because I did this last week, and I’m expecting the termite guy in five minutes.  And – oh, I need to answer the phone.

“Hello?  What?  Not for another three hours…”

I went in for this…	And ended up with this.

Many people – mostly women but men as well – consider regular trips to a nail salon necessary to their good grooming.

I’d never done the manicure/pedicure thing – called a “mani-pedi” by those in the know.  The idea of someone else taking care of these chores was appealing but – the idea of some stranger fooling with my hands and feet wasn’t.

Eventually my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to be a Wild Thing and try something new.  But where to find a great nail salon?  Online, of course.  Because as everyone knows, everything on the Internet is true.

I searched for the 10 best nail salons in my town, and up came Yelp with a list.  The first place had a five-star rating with more than 200 reviews, so I figured I couldn’t go wrong.

And for awhile, I was right.  First, I really enjoyed the experience, and oh – the foot/calf and hand/forearm massage was heavenly.  Second, the nail tech did a great job, and I no longer had to.  A mani-pedi became a welcome part of my routine.

Until my last visit.  Two days after the mani-pedi I noticed a dry, cracked patch on the bottom of my heel.  Then the crack started oozing blood.  “What the hell?” I thought.  I used an antiseptic spray and band-aids for a few days, and when I didn’t see improvement, scheduled a doctor’s appointment.

His diagnosis:  a heel fungal infection.  See picture at top.

Eeeeeeeewwwwwww.

Am I 100% certain that I got the fungal infection from the nail salon?  No.  But considering the fact that…

• I’d never had a fungal infection.
• It started two days after the mani-pedi.
• I’d never thought to ask if the nail tech sterilized her tools in between clients.

I won’t be returning to that salon.  If I ever decide to do the Wild Thing again I’ll ask someone I trust who has mani-pedi experience for the name of their salon.

No more looking online.

Even though, as everyone knows…

When people talk about California being the largest nut producer in the U.S., they aren’t referring to almonds.

Though California is the largest almond grower in the country.  In the world, in fact.

No, the “nut” they’re referring to are the nuts in the legislature.

Specifically, the nuts who are spending their time, and our tax dollars, creating, discussing, debating, sending to committee, amending, discussing, debating, sending back to committee for more discussing, debating, lathering, rinsing, and repeating…

Senate Bill-1305 Emergency medical services providers: dogs and cats:  immunity.

Or, as it’s more affectionately known, the “Mouth-to-Snout” bill.

Yes, that’s right.

Mouth-to-snout resuscitation for dogs and cats.

The bill’s purpose is to allow first responders to provide this service.  Currently, only licensed veterinarians can perform resuscitation on dogs and cats.

Not all cats, mind you.  SB-1305 specifies:

(1) “Cat” means a small domesticated feline animal that is kept as a pet.  “Cat”does not include non-domesticated wild animals.

So if a first responder encounters, say, an injured mountain lion, the responder is under no obligation to perform mouth-to-snout on an animal that might misunderstand and rip out the responder’s throat.

OK, I’m being facetious.  SB-1305 doesn’t obligate any first responder to give mouth-to-snout to a dog or cat.  Instead, it takes a procedure reserved for licensed veterinarians and makes first responders exempt from prosecution, should they voluntarily provide mouth-to-snout on a dog or cat in an emergency situation.

I don’t want to go so far as to say the idea of giving a cat or dog mouth-to-snout is horrifying to me, but…

The idea of giving a cat or dog mouth-to-snout is horrifying to me.

Let’s get real.  You are aware of where dogs and cats spend a lot of time licking themselves, right?

But then, I’m not a pet owner.  So I can’t identify with the pleasure of knowing my pet just did a thorough crotch cleaning, and is now licking my face.

Yum, yum.

To get to the bottom (get it?) of this, I did some research and learned that pet mouth-to-snout resuscitation is taken seriously by organizations including the American Veterinary Medical Foundation, the American Red Cross and many others.  The online guidelines include:

1. For large dogs:  Close the animal’s jaw tightly and breathe into the nose.  The animal’s chest should rise.  Give two breaths.
2. For small dogs and cats you may be able to cover the nose and mouth with your mouth as you breathe. The animal’s chest should rise.  Give two breaths.

My responses are:

1. No.
2. No.

I’m sure the legislators will spend lots more time discussing, debating and et cetera-ing SB-1305 rather than focusing on, for instance, California’s:

1. Deplorable infrastructure.
2. Widespread immigration challenges.
3. Ongoing homeless issues.

In the meantime, I’ll be pondering:

1. Does anybody think, if a first responder saves a dog or cat’s life, the pet owner is going to complain it wasn’t “legal”?
2. Does anybody think law enforcement officers have nothing better to do than arrest fellow first responders for saving a pet’s life?
3. Does any pet owner think, “I’m responsible for my pet, so I should learn how to do mouth-to-snout resuscitation”?

A restaurant recently mentioned in a magazine caught my eye because it’s located in Sonoma, CA and I have family in Sonoma.  “Have they been there?” I wondered, and “If not, would they like to?”

The answer to both questions is…

No.

Unless they want to spend $586 for “an 11-course meal for two, without drinks but with a built-in service charge,” to quote a review in The New York Times.

Yes, this small (52-seat) restaurant in a small town was deemed worthy of the estimable New York Times’ notice, with a headline that described it as “Pricey But Not Pretentious.”

I beg to differ.  About the “not pretentious” part.

And not only The New York Times – Forbes magazine also designated the restaurant dine-worthy, and overnight-worthy as well, since the establishment is both a restaurant and hotel.

Excuse me, it’s an inn.  I guess when you have only five rooms, you get to call yourself an inn.

And the list of raving media goes on:  CNN, Bon Appetit, Food & Wine, Vogue, the Wall Street Journal, even The Telegraph in the United Kingdom.

And the cause of all the attention, raving and drooling?

SingleThread.

Yes, that’s the restaurant/inn’s name, all one word.  Talk about pretentious?  You’re so cool you can’t even put a space between “Single” and “Thread”?

Apparently, you are.

So what do you and your companion get for $586, tip included but no drinks?  Which, by the way, you can secure only with a pre-paid, non-refundable ticket?  Here’s a sampling:

The poached foie gras is served with “tea of last year’s tomatoes, Tokyo turnips and their greens.”  Sonoma Grains are a mix of “Nettles, Kasu-Zuke, Faro Verde Beignet, Rib Cap and Herbs from the Garden.”

 The donabe contained black cod and chanterelle with shaved radishes, carrots, lacy greens, miners lettuce and flower petals that replicated an early spring hillside in bloom.

 Juice from rhubarb is aerated and caps layers of shiso granita and a warm rhubarb compote.  It’s like spooning through a cloud into an ice storm and, finding the rhubarb compote at the bottom, ending up in a warm room. 

I’m guessing you don’t get fries with this stuff.

Reviewers didn’t confine themselves to rhapsodizing over the food.  The hotel – I mean, inn – got raves as well:

The trashcan lids lift upon approach as if by magic.

 The complimentary toothbrush has bristles of binchō-tan charcoal. 

Then there’s the multi-function Toto smart toilet with so many heating and cleaning and rinsing modes it practically does your laundry.

So if you and your companion are in the mood to eat “an early spring hillside in bloom,” make friends with mind-reading trash cans, and do your laundry in a toilet, by all means book a visit to SingleThread.

After you show them the money.

And don’t ask for fries.

Here’s a recent article that caught my eye:

Mindfulness, in case you were wondering, is defined as “The state or quality of being mindful or aware of something.”

The article suggests to managers that when employees practice mindfulness, it can “lead to a happier and more efficient workplace.”

This goes on the assumption that managers care whether or not their employees are happy.  Efficient, yes, but happy?

I’ve never encountered a manager who had “employee happiness” on his or her priority list, but I can imagine the conversation:

Manager:  So, Rob, are you happy here at XYZ Tech? Rob:  Well, uh, now that you uh, asked, I – Manager:  Are you going to have that summary finished by 2pm?  That will make me happy, and that’s what matters.

The article goes on to suggest both how and where employees can practice mindfulness.

How?  Meditation, exercise or listening to music.

Meditation: Manager:  Sam, what are you doing? Sam:  I’m mindfully meditating. Manager:  Unless you want to meditate yourself into an unemployment line, get back to your computer.
Exercise:  Manager:  Joe, what are you doing? Joe:  I’m mindfully exercising. Manager:  Unless you want to exercise yourself out of a job, get back to your computer.
Listening to music: Manager:  Jack, what are you doing? Jack:  I’m mindfully listening to music. Manager:  Listen to this:  You’re fired.

Where?  The article suggests that, “As a leader, you would be smart to provide employees with a place to enjoy quiet time,” ideally an unused room that can become the office “quiet space.”

Employee:  Sir, some of us were talking, and we thought we’d suggest turning that unused room at the end of the hall into a quiet space where we can practice mindfulness.

Manager:  That room at the end of the hall?  Hmmm.  Now that you mention it, that room would be perfect for my private putting green.  Thanks for suggesting it!

The best part of the article focuses on finding a mindful way to identify and vent about tensions, and that’s addressed with a suggestion from Amanda Slavin, the CEO and founder of CatalystCreativ, described as an “experiential marketing agency.”

Now, the first thing I noticed is that “Creativ” was spelled incorrectly, so I headed for the company’s website and discovered that no – CatalystCreativ is its actual name.  I’ll bet that wreaks havoc when they spellcheck!

Or perhaps misspelling words shows how creativ they are?

And what the hell does “experiential” mean?

Anyway, Amanda says, “We have monthly meetings where each and every individual on the team can bring up tensions.”

Now, there’s an idea that could really produce some mindfulness:

Manager:  Let’s start with you, Rob.

Rob:  I’m mindful that I have a lot of tension about Sue because she’s such a suck-up.  In fact, we all call her “Suck-Up Sue.”  I could vent about her for hours.

Manager:  And what would you like to contribute, Suck-Up?  I mean, Sue?

Sue:  Just that I love working for you, sir, and I love our company.  You are a fantastic leader!  Can I get you a refill on your coffee?

Manager:  Rob, I don’t see what your problem is.  Sue, can I show you my new private putting green?

The article concludes by suggesting that however employees practice mindfulness – “Employees decide for themselves.”

So I’ve decided I’ll practice mindfulness at work as follows:

1. I’ll be mindful of when it’s break time, lunchtime, and go-home time.
2. I’ll be mindful that it’s OK to misspel, as long as I’m creativ.
3. I’ll be mindful to steer clear of our manager.

And his putting green.

 

 

 

 

 

“Panic buying!”

“People suddenly hoarding!”

“Consumers trying to get their hands on whatever they can!”

“Frantic phone calls!” 

“People shocked and scared!”

Is this some kind of bank run?  Are panicked people suddenly hoarding cash or gold or some other precious item?

Not exactly.

What people are scrambling for is…

Candy.

Necco candy to be exact, including:

Sweethearts – those little heart-shaped candies so ubiquitous around Valentine’s Day, with words on them like Puppy Love, Love Bug and more recently, Tweet Me.

Squirrel Nut Zippers – a name I would not even try to begin explaining.

And most in demand…

NECCO Wafers – called “America’s Iconic Candy” by its creator, and called “tropical drywall” and “plaster surprise” in a recent Wall Street Journal story.

Why the panic?

Because the creator of these and other candies, Necco – or the New England Confectionary Company – announced last month that it would have to shut down if it couldn’t find a buyer by May.

That would be a sad end for a company that’s been around for 170 years in a country where most things hold our attention for maybe 17 seconds.  Maybe.

One retailer explained the massive demand as “People are really trying to stockpile a connection to their youth and their past.  You’re trying to hold onto a little piece of a time in life when things were cheaper and life was easier and sweeter.”

And I thought that was a sweet sentiment.  Until I read the following:

“Candy wholesaler Candyfavorites.com sold more NECCO Wafers on Wednesday than it would normally sell in six months.”

“We’ve had people offer to purchase our entire inventory.” 

“Today alone we probably sold 30 cases.” 

“The candy is listing on eBay for up to 10 times its normal retail price.”

“I’m stashing them like BitCoin.”

OK, now I get it.  People aren’t scooping up massive amounts of NECCOs because they like chewing on chalk.

It’s just good old American greed.

So here’s my hope:

The Necco company finds a buyer, and all you hoarders are stuck forever with massive amounts of NECCOs and Squirrel Nut Zippers other candy that nobody will buy from you.

And I hope you like chewing on chalk.

On March 20 I did a blog about receiving an offer in the mail for a “$250 Amazon gift card…just call this number!  Limited time offer!  Hurry!”

Well, I didn’t “Hurry!” but I did call, and as I’d suspected, to get the gift card I had to allow a company I’d never heard of give me a sales pitch for a product I didn’t want.

I passed.

I’m a long-time Amazon customer, and in my blog I suggested that Amazon had sold my information to a marketing company “…and now I’ll get inundated with more offers I don’t want.”

I believe my prediction has come true.  And I hate that I was right.

Since I received that mailing in mid-March, there’s been a significant increase in phone calls.  I use my voicemail to screen calls, and most of the calls disconnect when they go to voicemail – a sure giveaway for robocalls, i.e., telemarketers.

And I’m getting inundated with emails including:

• Cheap Cruises Up To 80% Off
• The Easy Way To Support Your Prostate Health
• Save Up To 27% On Baby Products
• Can The Flex Belt Make Your Abs Sore Like Crunches After Only One Use?
• Are You Looking To Love Again?
• Burial Insurance Get Peace Of Mind
• This Pill Unlocks The Power Of Your Brain

These offers range from silly to downright bizarre.  I suspect the “cheap cruises” that are “80% off” probably go up and down the Detroit River.  And no, I’m not remotely concerned about my “prostate health” since I do not and never have had a prostate.

All this speaks to the recent news stories about the tech giants – Amazon, Google, and the one we’re hearing the most about, Facebook.  As one writer succinctly put it, each story

“…underlines companies’ rapaciousness and their determination to monetize every scrap of information they can stockpile on anyone.”

That “anyone” is you and me.  Let’s remember that these guys are in the business of making money, not providing us with a free service.

And let’s take comfort in Senator Diane Feinstein (D-CA) making a statement on April 2 about how Facebook and other social media platforms had better “fix” their scandalous behavior or face government intervention.

Especially since we’ve seen how effective “government intervention” has been in Afghanistan, and Iraq, and Syria, and, and, and…

Um…Blake?

Blake Farenthold?  Former Republican Representative in our country’s illustrious Congress?

You can shut down your website now.

You resigned on April 6.

You’re no longer “Representing the 27^th District of Texas,” proudly or otherwise.

You’re history.

You’re…

Toast.

Except for one thing.  Or rather, 84,000 things.

“Things” meaning “dollars.”  Meaning $84,000.

Meaning $84,000 of American taxpayer dollars.

It seems that back in 2014, your aide, Lauren Greene, leveled accusations against you including that you’d subjected her to sexually suggestive comments and behaviors.

She complained, and you fired her.

You posted a video denying her accusations.

All normal so far.

Greene filed a lawsuit for sexual harassment, gender discrimination and a hostile work environment.  You privately settled the case in 2015.  The settlement was $84,000.

All still normal.

On April 7 CBS News said your “estimated net worth in 2015, according to data from the Center for Responsive Politics, was $5.8 million.”

And yet you used you’d used taxpayer dollars for that $84,000 settlement.

And you didn’t even both to deny it – in December you publicly promised to reimburse the Treasury Department.  Again, according to CBS, you said, “I’m doing my best and am going to hand a check over this week to probably Speaker Ryan or somebody and say look here’s the amount of my settlement, give it back to the taxpayers.”

Apparently back then no one questioned why you used taxpayer money.  I suspect your answers would have been, “That’s what everybody around here does.”  And, “I thought I could get away with it.”

So that was last December.

You were facing an investigation by the House Ethics Committee, and on April 6 you “abruptly resigned.”

As of today the Speaker has not received the $84,000.

And neither have we taxpayers.

In your resignation video you said, “It’s been an honor and a privilege to serve.”

Yes, our Congress is a great place to serve.

Serve yourself, that is.

I read a lot of books and watch a lot of movies.

But I never, EVER read disease books or watch disease movies.

One example:  Still Alice by Lisa Genova, published in 2009.  The book has 4.3 stars on GoodReads with almost 25,000 reviewers.  It was made into a movie in 2017 starring Juliana Moore and won numerous awards, including an Oscar for Moore.

Moore plays a 50-year-old woman with a wonderful life until she’s diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s.

Disease book.  Disease movie.

No.  And no.

I recently heard Lisa interviewed about her latest book, Every Note Played.  This time her lead character has amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease.  I had no interest in reading it, but I did start to wonder why Lisa had written another book about a horribly afflicted person.

In turns out that Lisa is making a career out of this:

Still Alice, 2009, Alzheimer’s	Left Neglected, 2011, brain injury

Love, Anthony, 2012, autism	Inside the O’Brien’s, 2015, Huntington’s disease	Every Note Played, 2018, ALS

Some Internet cruising revealed that Lisa was divorced in 2004.  I imagine her thinking, “Well, here I am, a 34-year-old single mother.  I have a BS degree in Biopsychology and a Ph.D. in Neuroscience.  I’m tired of all this science stuff.  I want to try something easy.  Hmmm.  I know!  I’ll be a writer!”

But…why disease books?

Lisa self-published Still Alice in 2007, which, as all writers know, is a pretty certain road to Nowheres-ville.

But then Simon & Schuster – a ginormous, prestigious publishing house – bought the book for six figures and published it in 2009, which, as all writers know, never happens.  I imagine the head of book acquisitions at Simon & Schuster wondered, “Who wants to read book about a woman with Alzheimer’s?”

It turned out a lot of people did.  Still Alice was on The New York Times best seller list for 59 weeks, which, as all writers know…

Lisa’s next three books were also New York Times best sellers.  She’s four for four, with the fifth book no doubt on the same path.

Her website uses a number of words to describe her, including “Badass,” and I’d say she is.  How do I know?  She has “people”:  one person who schedules her book events, another her speaking events, a film agent, a literary agent, a stylist (whatever that is), and more than 50 photos of her badass self.

Lisa’s Amazon page notes that:

Lisa’s writing focuses on people living with neurological diseases and disorders who tend to be ignored, feared, or misunderstood, portrayed within a narrative that is accessible to the general public.  Through fiction, she is dedicated to describing with passion and accuracy the journeys of those affected by neurological diseases, thereby educating, demystifying, and inspiring support for care and scientific research.

Call me cynical, but back in 2004 I doubt that was Badass Lisa’s original intention.

No, Lisa found a niche and filled it:  Disease books.

Damn.

Publication Date:  January 2018

Review, short version:  Two roses out of four for writing and readability.

Review, short version:  Four skunks out of four for these egregiously awful people.

Long version:

Janet Lee Bouvier Auchincloss Morris.

Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis.

Caroline Lee Bouvier Canfield Radziwell Ross.

What do these women have in common?

Need a flow chart?  I sure did – three women, eight husbands, 11 kids and stepkids.

First:  Janet was the mother of Jacqueline, known as Jackie, and Caroline, known as Lee.

Second:  All three married multiple times, mostly to men they knew – or thought they knew – had major wealth and power.

In fact, Janet raised her daughters with that credo:  Marry only men with major wealth and power.

As for love?  Optional detail.  He’s already married?  More details.  He’s chronically unfaithful?  Impotent?  Gay?  Mere bagatelles.

Here’s something else these three women have in common:

They’re all parasites.  Definition: a person who habitually relies on or exploits others and gives nothing in return.

I hate parasites.

So why did I read – and even finish – Jackie, Janet & Lee?

I read it because I remember beautiful Jackie Kennedy, her handsome husband President John F. Kennedy (JFK), and their darling children, Caroline and John Jr.  I thought – foolishly – “It will be interesting to learn more about Jackie and her sister and their background.”

Wrong.

It was sickening.

Sickening to encounter a trio of women so shallow, superficial, greedy, grasping, self-indulgent, self-centered, elitist, entitled, mercenary…and I’m being kind.

Example #1:  Janet divorces first husband Jack Bouvier in 1936.  Jack agrees to pay alimony, plus their daughters’ medical, dental and education.  Still, Janet is “struggling” to make ends meet on her alimony – $1,000 a month, “roughly $17,000 today.”  Poor thing.

Example #2:  While Lee is married to Prince Stas, who is unfaithful, and she’s having affairs with Aristotle Onassis and some guy named “Taki.”  Onassis is married and also having an affair with opera singer Maria Callas.  While Onassis is having affairs with Lee and Maria, he pursues a relationship with Jackie, and eventually they marry.  After Onassis dies, Jackie has a long-term affair with married Maurice Tempelsman.  I got writer’s cramp trying to keep track.

Example #3:  When Jackie is 39, Janet is displeased with Jackie and slaps her in the face.  Twice.  When Jackie and Lee are well into their 50s they still call Janet “Mummy.”  Lee has her maid follow her into the bathroom to drop gardenias into the toilet.  Jackie escorts Lee to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting in a limo.  (Who the hell goes to an AA meeting in a limo?)  And speaking of limos, Jackie takes one to Hammersmith, the family

estate, a four-hour drive from Manhattan.  “Of course, Jackie had a chauffeur, but, still, it was exhausting.”

Yeah, everybody knows sitting in a limo is sooooo exhausting.

Who are these people?

You’ll find out if you care to tackle J. Randy Taraborrelli’s well-written but ultimately awful 460-page book.

Do so only if you’re desperate for something to read.

And have a hefty supply of anti-nausea drugs.

To be used during and after the reading of Jackie, Janet & Lee.

Are you considering a career change and cruising endless job sites?

Might you be skipping over some amazing opportunities like “Speleology” (see below) because you can only guess at what it means?

Because I care about you, I’ve put together an alphabetical list of careers that may be your perfect match, along with helpful illustrations of what you’ll be doing when you land that dream job:

Word and What You Guessed It Meant	What It Actually Means	Helpful Illustration
Apiology Something to do with being sorry?	The study of bees.
Campanology Something to do with pitching a tent?	The art or study of bell casting and ringing.
Dactylology Something to do with pterodactyls?	The technique of communicating by signs made with the hands and fingers.
Garbology Something to do with dumpster diving?	The study of a society or culture by analyzing its refuse.
Nosology Something to do with my nose?	The branch of medicine that deals with the classification of diseases.
Onomatology Something to do with Yoko Ono?	The study of name formation and naming practices.
Palynology Something to do with my friends?	The study of pollens and spores, especially those that are fossilized.
Phonology Something to do with my cell phone?	The study of speech sounds in language.
Pteridology Something else to do with pterodactyls?	The study of ferns and other seedless plants.
Radiobiology Something to do with channel surfing?	The study of the effects of radiation on living organisms.
Sitology Something to do with being a couch potato?	The branch of medicine dealing with nutrition and dietetics.
Speleology Something to do with spelling?	The scientific study of caves.
Vexillology Something to do with getting mad…or sick…or something?	The study of flags.

OK…

The year is 1953.

An obscure poultry supplier in Omaha, Nebraska has a problem:  Thanksgiving has come and gone, and they have an overstock of turkeys.  A serious overstock:  Two hundred and sixty tons of turkeys.  That translates into 20,800 birds – give or take a turkey.

What to do?

After much finger pointing and blame assigning, someone has an idea:  Cook the birds.  Make large quantities of dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a vegetable.  Peas, perhaps?  Then portion it all out into individual metal trays, one turkey dinner with trimmings per tray.  Put each dinner in a box that has an enticing color picture of the contents, and freeze it.

The sales department loves the idea.  They believe housewives will buy the product, take it home and put it in their freezers.  And one night when Mom can’t figure out what to make for dinner, she’ll open her freezer and – saved!  Mom will say, “No cooking for me tonight.  I have these in my freezer, all ready to heat and serve in just 25 minutes.  My family will love them!  And I love them, too, because after dinner – no cleanup!  I just throw the trays away.”

The new product appears in grocery stores that same year.  The company was so confident that it authorized a first run of 5,000 frozen dinners, but within 10 months, they’d already sold 10 million.

By the end of 1954, they’d sold more than 25 million frozen dinners.

The name of that obscure company in Omaha, Nebraska?  C.A. Swanson & Sons.

The product?  Swanson’s Turkey TV Dinners.

Now, you’ve heard:  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

I say:   When life gives you turkeys – make TV Dinners.

This headline in my newspaper prompted me to write the following memo to all media – not just to my newspaper, but to all newspapers.  Whether the story is on the front page, the fifth page or the 50^th page.

And not just all newspapers, but…

To All Media: 

Whether you’re online, on the phone, on the fax, on TV, radio, iPhone, iPad, that wrist computer thingy that nobody uses, and every other way you put the news out there:

Please stop saying “City paid.”

Or “County paid.”  Or “State paid.”  Or “Federal government paid.”

Because neither the city nor county nor state nor Federal governments pay for anything.

We, the taxpayers, do.

Just imagine how different a story would be if it was accurate:

Example #1:	Correction:
“Just a decade later, that number has ballooned to more than $67 billion and the state is picking up the tab.”	“Just a decade later, that number has ballooned to more than $67 billion and the taxpayers are picking up the tab.”
Example #2:	Correction:
“The Federal government distributes around $530 billion in funding each year to states and localities.”	“The Federal government distributes around $530 billion of your tax dollars each year to states and localities.”
Example #3:	Correction:
“…which states and the largest U.S. cities use their own revenues to fund low income rental housing programs, separate and apart from any federal funds they receive.”	“…which states and the largest U.S. cities use taxpayer dollars to fund low income rental housing programs, separate and apart from any federal funds they receive.”

Think about it.  How often have you heard something along the lines of, “The Pentagon expects to pay $94.6 million for each F-35A fighter jet”?

This somehow lulls us into thinking, “The Pentagon sure is paying a heck of lot of money for one fighter jet!”

As if “the Pentagon” was some amorphous thing “out there” with its own checkbook.

The Pentagon has NO money except for what we, the taxpayers, give it.  Same for every government – city, county, state and federal.

So, members of the media, going forward, please tell your stories accurately.  At every level, for every expense, be clear about where the money comes from.

Maybe then we, as taxpayers – and voters – will pay more attention to where it’s going.

I recently received this notice in the mail:

Did I think, “Wow!  I’ve been an Amazon customer for years, and now they’re rewarding me for it!”

No.

Skeptic that I’ve learned to be, I knew Amazon wasn’t going to just give me a $250 gift card.  Amazon wasn’t going to give me any gift card.

Amazon founder and CEO Jeff Bezos didn’t get to be the richest person in the world by giving away money.

And Bezos is, according to CBS News’ Money Watch and other sources, indeed the richest person in the world:  As of February 2018, worth $116 billion, richer than Bill Gates, than Warren Buffet, than maybe anyone, anywhere, ever.

But apparently for Bezos, he wasn’t quite rich enough.

So he sold my information – and certainly I wasn’t singled out for this special attention – to a marketing company.

Hence my receipt of the above notice.

Skeptical, but admittedly curious, I called the number.

A chipper voice asked to whom she had the pleasure of speaking, and instead of answering (I’m wise to that), I said, “What’s this all about?”

It turned out that if I would just agree to a “free, no-obligation, one-hour solar consultation,” that $250 gift card would be mine!!!

The chipper voice was still talking when I hung up.

The notice included a separate slip, on the back of which in fine print I learned that this gift card giveaway was “Sponsored By:  Energy Informative Company.”  A quick search on the Internet revealed that “Energy Informative’s mission is to educate and empower homeowners about solar panels and energy.”

So Bezos sold my information to Energy Informative.  Or perhaps he sold it to some huge marketing conglomerate that puts together incentives for all sorts of companies, and now I’ll get inundated with offers I don’t want.

Jeff Bezos is making money off my information, and I’m not.

And that, I guess, is how the rich get richer.

The media are buzzing with speculation about the proposed meeting between President Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong-un.

Will they meet, or won’t they?  If so, when and where?  And what will they talk about?

I can’t answer any of these, but I can at least speculate on how their meeting will go…

Kim:   Translator:	Well, if it isn’t that old lunatic, mean trickster and human reject. Mr. President, welcome to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
Trump: Translator:	Hey, Little Rocket Man, how ya doin’? Supreme Leader, I’m honored to be here.
Kim:   Translator:	You look worse in person than you do on TV.   We sincerely hope you are finding your accommodations comfortable.
Trump: Translator (interrupts):	I saw some Korean chicks on the way here – not bad.  I’d grab them by the pu– This is a beautiful country with beautiful people.
Kim: Translator:	What is up with your hair?  Would you like the name of my hairdresser? This is a historic day for all of us.
Trump:   Translator:	Do you shave your head or does a blind guy do it for you?   Historic, indeed, we will both live long as heroes in the history books.
Kim: Translator (interrupts):	My button is bigger than your button, and so it my pe– We have many serious and far-reaching issues to discuss.
Trump: Translator:	My biggest button is so ready for that fire and fury like the world has never seen! What we do here today will affect every person on our planet.
Kim: Translator:	All of the mainland U.S. is within the range of our nuclear strike.  Today the U.S., tomorrow the world! The world is watching and will remember what we do here today.
Trump:   Translator:	I’m going to get China to make you disappear in one form or another very quickly. The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and the United States will show the world the way!
Kim:   Translator:	If you think I’m going to give up my nuclear capability, you are a mentally deranged dotard. Once I am assured we’re friends, I will dismantle everything, forever.
Trump: Translator:	This is gonna be great, it’s gonna be fantastic, we’re gonna totally destroy you. And we will live in harmony for all time.
(Trump and Kim leave the room.)
Translator: Translator:	Rex Tillerson이 그리워.  Yeah, wish he was here.

 

Publication date:  December 2017

Review, short version:  Four skunks out of four.

Review, long version:

I first encountered Tiffany Haddish last December during a radio interview about her new book, The Last Black Unicorn.

I’m always looking for something to read, so I was interested in hearing what she had to say.  Especially since she was introduced as “the breakout star of this summer’s raucous hit movie, Girl’s Trip, and last month, Haddish became the first African-American woman stand-up comedian to host Saturday Night Live.”

Tiffany had plenty to say in the interview, and I wanted to know more, so I added my name to the waiting list for her book at my library.  The book is so popular – it’s been on the New York Times best seller list for 12 weeks – that I waited nearly three months until it was my turn.

During that three months it was easy to learn more about Tiffany – she’s all over the media.  According to one online source, “The 38-year-old comedian has endured poverty, the foster care system, molestation, and a throng of other traumas.  And in her pursuit to become a successful comedian and actress, she infamously once lived in her car.”

How did Tiffany go from homeless – to presenter at the March 4 Academy Awards?

Here was a story I had to read.

When I finally had Tiffany’s book in hand, I was elated.  I started to read, and my elation quickly turned to disappointment.

For here is someone who may have an inspiring story to tell, but lacked something – the motive, or the imagination, or the editor – to help her choose the right words.  As a result, her story is lost in passages like this, on page 90:

Then I started to get pissed.  I realized this motherfucker is giving this bitch all my fucking tricks.  Ain’t that some bullshit?  

Then he started fucking her.  And he’s fucking her without a condom.

And I didn’t have to wait until page 90 for the profanity – the introduction, or “Invitation” as she calls it, is brief, but includes both “shit” and “fuck ups.”  Over the next 90 pages I encountered all of the following many, many times:

Sucked, shit, fuck, bullshit, motherfucking, shitty, ass, fucking, bitch, bitches, dick, titties, goddam.

Here’s one more excerpt, from page 87:

What the fuck was on that damn tape?  What the fuck was on that tape?  I need to know what the fuck was on that tape.…

My hair was fucked, but I gave zero fucks at this point.

This is a twelve-week New York Times best seller?

A 4.04 rating on GoodReads with 10,757 reviews?

A book people are apparently willing – eager – and happy to spend $26 on?

I’m not opposed to profanity, or offensive language, or obscenities, or whatever you care to call it.  I sometimes use it myself, and I think sometimes it can be useful and/or funny and/or meaningful.

So my primary issue wasn’t the profanities, but rather the egregious use of them.  It was so repetitive, and that became…

Boring.

Really, REALLY BORING.

Ninety pages were all I could handle.

Back in that radio interview, Tiffany said, “I hope a little girl or little boy reads this and be like, ‘My life is hard, but it ain’t that hard.  If she could survive that, I could survive anything.’”

Tiffany, I also hope lots of little girls and boys are inspired by your story.

I also hope they won’t quote you.

The headlines are full of stories about men behaving badly.

So it’s only fair that when a woman behaves badly, that makes headlines, too.

And the story about Megan Barry is making beaucoup headlines.

This is not only about a woman behaving badly, but stupidly.  Hence, the title of this blog.

Megan Barry, the 54-year-old Democratic mayor of Nashville, resigned on March 6.

Barry, who is married, had been involved in a two-year affair with her bodyguard, Robert Forrest, 58, also married.  As is normal nowadays, news of the affair was pretty much greeted with a big yawn from other politicians and the public.

Barry called the affair a “mistake” and vowed to continue serving as mayor.

But then Barry was accused of – and pleaded guilty to – using city funds to cover expenses incurred during and because of the affair.  Something along the lines of $11,000, which she’ll repay, while spending three years on probation.

Barry and Forrest, according to CNN, “were often partaking in domestic and foreign travel for work, which led Forrest to rack up $33,000 in expenses and $50,000 plus in overtime in 2017 on top of his $84,500 salary.  Nine of the trips were attended only by Barry and Forrest.”

Forrest also pleaded guilty and will pay $45,000 in restitution to the city, and spend three years on probation.

Apparently having an affair is OK, but asking the taxpayers to subsidize it – that’s a transgression.

Unless you’re a member of Congress.

When a member of Congress commits a transgression – like sexual harassment, for example – the Office of Compliance (OOC) pays to settle the issue.

And we taxpayers subsidize it.

To the tune of $17 million from 1997-2017.

And not one member of Congress has been held accountable for whatever actions of theirs necessitated the settlements.

In other words, not one member of Congress got caught.

So Megan, if you’re going to behave like a guy, then learn what the guys have known forever:

Behaving badly at the taxpayers’ expense is OK…

As long as you don’t get caught.

Megan and Robert in their pre-mugshot days until…Gotcha!

Dear Abby:

I usually think your advice is right on, but I have to disagree with your recent response to “Fed Up” in Napa, CA.

Fed Up’s husband is outgoing and very talkative.  He loves conversing on the phone for hours, and visiting with all the neighbors, so let’s call him “Chatty.”

Chatty’s conversing and visiting means he’s  consistently late for dinner.  Fed Up has a set time for dinner – 6:30pm – and Chatty knows this, but he shows up 6:45 and even 7pm.  When he’s late – which seems to be chronic – Fed Up gets, well, fed up, and goes ahead and eats without him.  She would rather, she says, have Chatty with her when she sits down to eat at 6:30.

Your advice started out well, when you said Fed Up can’t force Chatty to the dinner table at 6:30.

Then your advice went south when you said, “Try this:  Tell him dinner time is 6:30, but prepare the food as if it’s for 6:45 or 7.”

Wait.  What?

When wife Fed Up fixes husband Chatty dinner every night, does he show up on time, and thank her for doing this night after night, like men do in real life?

No.  He shows up late.

There’s only one excuse for tardiness:  Death.

If Chatty dies on his way home from talking to the neighbors, then I’m OK with his failure to appear for dinner on time.

Otherwise, Chatty is late because

1. He’s an ungrateful, unappreciative jerk.

   

2. He’s disrespectful of Fed Up’s time and effort.
3. He chooses to be late, which is passive-aggressive behavior.

You should have suggested serious, long-term counseling for Chatty to address this personality disorder, but…no.

Instead you tell Fed Up to accommodate Chatty’s bad behavior first, by lying, and second, by preparing dinner for a time adjusted to Chatty’s lateness.

Are you crazy?

Here’s my advice to Fed Up:  Divorce Chatty, sell your house, take a nice long vacation to a five-star hotel where someone else does the cooking, hook up with a younger guy who appreciates you, and live happily ever after.

Just like women do in real life.

The media abounds with stories about dumb criminals:

“Eight Dumb Criminals Caught Through Facebook!”

“These Seven Dumb Criminals Basically Arrested Themselves!”

“Criminals Caught By Bragging About Their Crimes Online!”

But after hearing a recent local crime story, I can’t help but wonder – who are the dummies?  The suspects, or their victims?

Here’s what happened:

In a bank parking lot, these two women are dressed in medical scrubs.  The first woman is sitting in the driver’s seat of a car, and the second approaches a person – hereafter referred to as “the victim” – in the parking lot.

The second woman asks “the victim to cash a check usually for the amount of $4,900,” and promises the victim $40 for their assistance.  This happens to a series of victims.

The checks turn out to be fake, and the suspects net around $44,000 – so far.

Let’s put ourselves in the victims’ shoes.

Scenario #1:  A woman walks up to you in a bank parking lot and says, “Excuse me, I have this check and I’m wondering if you can help me cash it?  I’m blond and wearing hospital scrubs, so obviously I’m trustworthy.”

Would you think, “Blond, hospital scrubs.  No problem!”

Of course not.

Scenario #2:  A woman walks up to you in a bank parking lot and says, “Excuse me, I have this check and I’m wondering if you can help me cash it?  I’ll meet you by my getaway car – it’s right over there.”

Would you think, “A getaway car?  They must be filming one of those reality TV shows.  No problem!”

Of course not.

Scenario #3:  A woman walks up to you in a bank parking lot and says, “Excuse me, I have this check and I’m wondering if you can help me cash it?  I’d cash it myself but I forgot my fake ID.”

Would you think, “What a hassle, forgetting your fake ID.  No problem!”

Of course not.

You would think, “We’re in a bank parking lot.  Why doesn’t she go into the bank and cash it herself?”

Wouldn’t this raise a teensy-weensy bit of suspicion?

For the victims, apparently not.

I’m assuming the suspect’s checks were made out to “Cash.”  The victim takes the check into the bank and cashes it, the victim hands over $4,900 to the suspect, the suspect gives the victim $40, the suspects drive away.

Who would take a check from a stranger, walk into a bank and cash it for them?

Who are the real dummies here?

Publication date:  January 2018

Review, short version:  Two skunks out of four.

Long version:

Most writing teachers tell their students, “Write what you know.”

A.J. Finn, author of The Woman in the Window, did this to some extent.  In his Amazon bio he describes his “struggles with agoraphobia [an abnormal fear of being in crowds, public places or open areas] and depression.”  His lead female character, psychologist Dr. Anna Fox, also struggles with agoraphobia and depression.

Anna’s also dealing with panic disorder and PTSD, and has a cornucopia of pharmacopeia to deal with these conditions:  ativan, melatonin, tofranil, inderal, aripipazole, imipramine, temazepan, or as Anna put it, “I need two hands to count them all.”

Plus, Anna likes her wine.  Lots and lots of wine.  Merlot has transitioned from her beverage of choice to her #1 food group.

So it’s no wonder, when Anna looks out her window into a nearby neighbor’s house and thinks she sees a murder being committed, that others doubt her, and Anna doubts herself.

Anna’s agoraphobia keeps her homebound, so looking out her windows and into her neighbors’ is Anna’s primary pastime.  She has a camera with a powerful zoom lens, and uses it like a telescope to track comings and goings – and maybe a murder.

And a murderer.

Anna’s other pastimes include watching old black and white movies, paying occasional attention to her cat, playing online chess, and offering free online advice to a bevy of people in need.  To her credit, three-quarters of the way through the story Anna finally acknowledges the dichotomy of the latter:  “Who am I to tell anyone else how to manage their disorder?”

But…Does looking out a window and maybe seeing a murder sound familiar?  Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window with Jimmy Stuart?

Does acknowledging that someone you think is alive, is actually dead, sound derivative?  The Sixth Sense with Bruce Willis?

And does any movie with a psychopathic teenager prompt a “Been there, done that” yawn?

Familiar.  Derivative.  Yawn.  That’s my takeaway from The Woman in the Window.

As is often the case, I’m at odds with the reviewers – here’s just a sampling:

“…a beautifully written, brilliantly plotted, richly enjoyable tale of love, loss and madness.  As the plot seizes us, the prose caresses us.”

 “Caresses us”?  Seriously?

“Astounding.  Thrilling.  Lovely and amazing…packed with mesmerizing characters, stunning twists, beautiful writing…”

“One of those rare books that really is unputdownable.  The writing is smooth and often remarkable.”

To show how even more at odds I am with the entire universe, “Even before its publication, movie rights were sold as well as foreign rights in multiple countries.”

Even before its publication.

I found spending 400+ pages inside Anna’s drug-and-merlot-riddled mind exhausting.

Learning that the cause of all her ailments, which began almost 11 months earlier, was looking at her phone to see who was calling, and it was the man she was having an affair with, and she was driving her car with her husband and daughter in it, so she was distracted and drove off a cliff…

Really exhausting.

Apparently it’s also the recipe for success.

 

The recently unveiled official Obama portraits are generating a lot of ArtSpeak.

“ArtSpeak” is a secret language used by artists, art critics, art curators, and art salespeople.  They use this language to baffle and befuddle the rest of us into thinking, “Gosh, I don’t understand what he/she said, therefore this must be great art!”

For example, here’s some ArtSpeak from a CNN interview with an art critic on Michelle Obama’s portrait:

“may lessen the sense of verisimilitude.”

“provisional and improvisatory…”

“realistic renderings are also seen as a bit retardataire…”

And this, from Kehinde Wiley, who painted Barak Obama’s portrait and was speaking of his own artistic style:

“to cross temporal boundaries and fuse contemporary urban street [culture] with the Western art historical canon.”

See what I mean?  ArtSpeak.

A different critic described the background of Mr. Obama’s portrait as “a playful decorativeness that nonetheless feels organic.”  Based on his facial expression, I think Mr. Obama looks like he’s sitting in a bed of poison ivy.  Clearly, I’m not an artist, art critic, art curator or art salesperson.

So instead of focusing on the Obama portraits, here is my take on those folks who delight in using ArtSpeak to baffle and befuddle us:

The Emperor’s New Clothes:  Revisited

Here’s a tale about an Emperor who was so enamored of art that he spent much of his subjects’ taxes on paintings, sculpture and the like.

He rarely troubled himself about domestic or international matters, except insofar as they affected the art market and his acquisition of yet more works of art.  His great palace more resembled a museum than a residence; and as one might say, “The Emperor is sitting in council,” it was instead said of him, “The Emperor is in his galleries admiring his collection.”

And what a collection it was:  works by Rembrandt, Michelangelo and van Gogh hung alongside creations by contemporary artists; statues stolen, or rather, recovered, from Greek and Egyptian excavations were displayed with modern sculpture; and an entire, separate gallery was devoted to works by artists ranging from Alechinsky to Zocchi, all cleverly titled Untitled.

One day, two rogues, calling themselves painters, arrived at the Emperor’s palace.  They claimed they could create a painting of the most wondrous images, but those images would remain invisible to anyone who was either stupid or unfit for the office they held.  In other words, anyone who didn’t speak ArtSpeak.

“Had I such a painting,” thought the Emperor, “I would find out which people in my realm are stupid or unfit for their office.”  The Emperor clapped his hands and said, “Let the painting begin!”  He provided the rogues with a $500,000 advance, a private studio, luxurious living quarters and a brand-new Viper, to assure their comfort while they completed this miraculous work.

The rogues set up a huge, blank canvas, then demanded the costliest paints and brushes which they then put in their L.L. Bean backpacks to later sell at flea markets.  Using their own ratty, old brushes they utilized on just such occasions, they made a great show of working all day, and on into the night with the palace lights ablaze.

After several weeks the Emperor was most curious as to how the work was progressing, but he was, at the same time, very nervous about viewing it.  For he remembered that a stupid person, or a person unfit for their office, would be unable to see the images on the canvas.  “I know,” thought the Emperor.  “I’ll send somebody else to view the painting – my chief curator.  He is an expert on all matters related to art, and certainly is fit for his office.  He can bring back a report.”

So the chief curator went to the studio, where the two swindlers, or rather, artists, were hard at work stroking their dry brushes across the blank canvas, then pausing to stand back and admire their work.  “Holy Toledo,” thought the chief curator, “I don’t see anything on the canvas!  Does this mean I’m stupid?  Or unfit for my office?”  Wisely he did not say this aloud.  But one of the rogues turned to the chief curator and said, with mock humility, “Tell us, sir, what think you of our efforts so far?”

“Marvelous!” exclaimed the chief curator.  “The potent, yet totally ambiguous composition operates like a filmic montage; disparate images are collaged in sequence to create a resonating unfixable meaning!”

“I was hopping you’d say that,” the rogue replied modestly.  Then the rogues asked for another $500,000 advance, which the chief curator arranged before he hurried off to report his findings to the Emperor.

Rumors began, as rumors will, and soon the whole country was talking of the Emperor’s new painting.  The Emperor knew it was time to see the painting for himself, but he first sent a summons far and wide, commanding all the curators and art critics in the land to join him at the palace to view this wondrous work.  As the group entered the studio, the rogues appeared to be hard at work, their paint brushes still dry, the canvas still blank.

“Is it not incredible?” rhapsodized the chief curator.  “The physicality of the paint redefines the parameters, and addresses the formal issues with an underlying narration that touches upon the psychological and emotional aspects of our lives!”

“Huh?” thought the Emperor, panicked, because all he saw before him was a blank canvas.  And if he saw nothing, it meant he was stupid and/or unfit to be Emperor!  Aware that everyone in the room was awaiting his response, the Emperor studied the canvas for several more moments, then slowly nodded.

“Yes, indeed,” he said.  “The painting does stress psychological depth, but avoids narrative details.  And note the balance of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or disturbing subject matter.  It’s a fusion of the imaginary and the real.”

The curators and art critics were quick to jump on the bandwagon, though they, too, saw nothing on the canvas.  “The juxtaposition of primary and secondary colors creates a dense, flat surface pattern and gives vitality and dynamism to the composition!” exclaimed one curator.

“Note how the artists used color to link horizontals and verticals, and to tie together diverse textures to reflect contemporary philosophical preoccupations,” added a critic.

“But rather than presenting pictorial space as an illusion of three-dimensional reality seen from a fixed point of view,” chimed in another critic, “the artists are presenting the totality of the object through a multiplicity of views!”

“In their milieu they possess the best oeuvre of the genre,” cried a second curator.  “Ground-breaking!  Original!”

“They’ve broken down the image into discrete, abstract facets, subordinating the image to the act of visual analysis,” intoned yet another critic.

“A painting,” concluded the chief curator, “whose greatness is equaled only by its ambiguity.”  The Emperor then insisted that the rogues accept another $500,000 advance, and a date was set one week hence to allow the public to view the painting for the first time.  Tickets for the show sold out in less than an hour, and scalpers began doing a brisk business as word of the painting’s magical properties spread far and near.

When the day of the exhibition arrived, the rogues carefully carried the blank canvas into a gallery in the palace that had been selected for this momentous occasion.  The Emperor stood next to the painting, eager to hear the comments from his subjects to determine who might be stupid, or unfit for their office.  As people began to file in, the rogues vacated their luxurious living quarters, loaded their loot in the Viper and headed for the border.

All day people viewed the painting, paying homage and exclaiming over the genre and the oeuvre, lest they be thought stupid or etc.  The Emperor’s subjects were all aware of his fabulous collection of art – their taxes had helped pay for it, after all – but nothing in the collection had had such an impact as this.

Late in the day, a young family who had been in line since 4am that morning finally had their chance to view the painting.  As they stood before the canvas, their young son squirmed in his mother’s arms, understandably tired and cranky.  “Mommy,” he wailed, “why are we standing here staring at this white thing?  There’s nothing to it at all!”

The words of this innocent child were whispered to one another, until everyone in the gallery was shouting, “There’s nothing to it at all!  “There’s nothing to it at all!”

And the Emperor knew the people were right, oeuvre notwithstanding.

You may be familiar with a fairly recent phenomenon:  Meal delivery companies such as BistroMD, HelloFresh, Blue Apron and a number of others.

These companies provide pre-packed dinner boxes delivered to your front door with perfectly proportioned, fresh ingredients that minimize prep time.  Their offerings include mouth-watering meals like creamy dill chicken with fresh pasta and green beans; salmon cakes with beet salad; and artichoke, spinach and red pepper frittata.

Sound good?

Well, apparently the U.S. government thinks so.  In an effort to save money – something our government is famous for – the president’s recent budget proposal includes a plan to slash the food stamps program, also known as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, also – because the government loves acronyms – known as SNAP, by $17 billion in 2019.

Budget Director Mick Mulvaney compared the new plan to Blue Apron, and it even has its own catchy name:  America’s Harvest Box.  Just like Blue Apron and those other companies, it’s a boxed food delivery program.

As you can see, America’s Harvest Box (left) is very similar to Blue Apron’s box (right).

OK, maybe there’s a slight difference between America’s Harvest Box and Blue Apron with the latter’s fresh meats and seafood, fresh vegetables and fruits, sauces, dairy, and pantry items.

America’s Harvest Box would, instead, include shelf-stable milk, juice, grains, cereals, pasta, peanut butter, beans, canned meat, poultry or fish, and canned fruits and vegetables.  The box would be valued at about half of the SNAP recipient’s monthly benefit, with the remainder of their benefits given to them on electronic benefit cards, as before.  SNAP provides an average of $125 per month to 42.2 million Americans, so America’s Harvest Box would contain about $62 worth of…stuff.

In the interest of more transparency (something else the government is famous for)

around this program I contacted a Government Official Who Wished to Remain Anonymous (acronym GOWWRA) for a few questions:

ME:  What about people with food allergies – peanuts, gluten and so on?

GOWWRA:  They’ll get over it.

ME:  What about people who want fresh fruits and vegetables instead of canned?

GOWWRA:  They’ll get over it.

ME:  What if the food box is stolen off their front porch?

GOWWRA:  There was no collusion.

Considering how well the Congress is managing the Post Office – it’s lost only $65 billion in the last 10 years – I predict equal success for Congress managing America’s Harvest Boxes.

Especially if the Post Office is delivering them.

 

Once upon a time there was a happy nuclear power plant, just steaming away and producing electricity, and millions of pounds of nuclear waste.
Its name was the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station, and it had a happy nickname:  SONGS!
SONGS had the good fortune of being located on the beautiful coast of Southern California, with that great view, and that great opportunity to spew all that nuclear waste into the Pacific Ocean as well into the surrounding communities.
But…one day in 2012 SONGS got a boo-boo – oh, no!
So the owners of SONGS, Southern California Edison (SCE) and San Diego Gas & Electric (SDG&E), decided to give SONGS a $680 million upgrade they said would add 40 years to SONGS’ life.
But…the newly installed replacement steam generators wore thin and leaked radiation, and the owners had to close the plant in 2012.  Poor SONGS!  No more steaming and spewing! SCE and SDG&E learned the costs related to this debacle would be $4.7 billion.  That’s a lot of money!  So they got together to decide what to do.
“Oh, dear,” said one, “our shareholders will not be happy about this.”  Shareholders are people who invest in companies, and when the companies make lots of money, the shareholders make lots of money, too.
But if SCE and SDG&E had to spend $4.7 billion to take care of the shutdown  of SONGS, the shareholders would not get any money for a very long time and…
Everyone agreed that indeed, shareholders would not be happy.
Another voice was heard at the meeting.  “I have an idea!  Let’s charge all the electricity customers in Southern California to fix this mess!  After all, they paid to get electricity from SONGS, so they should pay when they don’t get electricity from SONGS.”
“Yes!” said another.  “And if the customers don’t like it, well, they can just stop paying their electric bill and not get any electricity!”
Everyone agreed that indeed, the customers should pay
Including the California Public Utilities Commission (CPUC), the regulators who are supposed to look after customers’ best interests, but don’t.
In 2013, a bunch of people met to talk about this in Warsaw, Poland.  Can you find Warsaw, Poland on a map?  No?  Well, the regulators figured nobody else could, either!
And in 2014, the CPUC decided the electricity customers should pay $3.3 billion of that $4.7 billion. Everybody at SONGS and the CPUC and SCE and SDG&E did the Happy Dance.
They were a whole dancing alphabet of happiness!
Except some customers weren’t happy.  And some customer groups weren’t happy.  And then some lawyers got involved.
And after more meetings – none of them in Warsaw, Poland – a new decision was announced in January 2018:
SCE and SDG&E agreed to shave $775 million from the original agreement.  “Customers Save Millions!” it was announced.
And the customers were very excited, and now they did the Happy Dance.
Until they did the math, and realized the $775 million meant customers were still on the hook for $2.5 billion.
And that $775 million only amounted to saving each customer about $2.50 a month.  For four years.
The End.  Almost…
Today SONGS still sits on the coast of sunny Southern California, all shut down but not forgotten.
Because all those years while SONGS was busy steaming, the amount of nuclear waste was growing.  And growing.
To about 3.55 million pounds of nuclear waste.  That will remain radioactive for thousands of years.
But everyone agrees:
The shareholders are indeed, happy.