Start me up: Performster set to bring down the house

Internet startups are everywhere; everyone’s doing one, but one brilliant business team realized that not everyone knows how to start a startup, so they’re documenting their homegrown internet talent show. To my knowledge Brian Patterson and Reza are the first to breakdown a startup. Their blog (http://blog.performster.com) features videos, daily updates, a backstage pass to development and decision making with the option to leave feedback, and allows enthusiasts free pre-registration which puts your name (or email address) in a hat for a free ipod.

It’s called performster.com. Think YouTube talent show. Young entrepreneur and professional magician, Brian Patterson naturally has some tricks up his sleeve. The proposed service is going to be incredibly interactive; it’s a series of online talent contests with prizes, which advertisers can contribute to, a jury of peers (users) who vote on videos, and networking to connect fans to performers to talent agencies in any combination imaginable. And there’s more:
“…not only performers can win! We also offer blingPoints - this is our way of rewarding our happy, active site members. You’ll get points for watching videos, commenting, voting, inviting friends, uploading videos, and many other activities. You can then cash your blingPoints in for great gifts.”
— http://blog.performster.com
It takes humble yet brave innovators to expose the inner workings of their project. It melds entertainment with education, the same way the service will marry actual talent with education. Check it out!

Paper pushers pushed too far: Why are so many mainstays of major newspapers being fired or forced into early retirement?

Communication Breakdown
There was a time when the typewriter ruled the print media world. Said world is going the way of the typewriter. Its epitaph is written everywhere, except on physical paper. Community papers are the only newspapers making money these days, because people want to know who won the high school football game last night. Many are aggressively competing with the big city papers, forcing these publications to adapt—feature more specialized articles, quickly rev up an interactive website, or hold on and decimate the seasoned writing staff. “Don’t know web publishing?” Then it’s “do I know you?”

Book and magazine publishers better stay ahead of the curve, also; digital magazines that update continually and books with automatic edition renewing hit shelves soon.

As personal service plummets, interactivity mounts; manufacturers will have to replace personnel with artificial intelligence to make consumers comfortable again. Despite the brave new world’s exploding population, there are fewer personal touches; business is brisk and often faceless, so technology has to take over. Imagine if you didn’t have to send a greeting card because a server already signed, sealed, and delivered it. Myspace and Facebook already alert users to buddies’s birthday. It’s happening; witness all the abandoned Northeastern U.S. paper mills.

Smoking or non? Yet another reason not to light up.

No Butts
There’s a funny little attention getter lurking in the upper left hand corner of my resume; it reads “Nonsmoker” right before my contact information. Why? Well, besides being a bold statement, I can’t be discriminated against. Yes, your habit can affect where you work.

Aside from the obvious: smokers take smoke breaks, a company’s bottom line might be affected if you smoke because— —bingo! It’s a health risk, therefore benefits cost more. Plus bad breath, nicotine handshakes, and smoker’s cough might scare away clients. Companies are working on policies to screen for obesity as well because health insurance premiums go up with the scale.

Now you’re thinking what I’m thinking: discrimination! They can’t do that! But they can, far more heinous crimes go unpunished because a corporation’s lone responsibility is to make its investors rich. I don’t necessarily agree with these policies, but I will take advantage of them, hence the prominent “Nonsmoker.” Many employers will take action against phony nonsmokers, if they’re caught.

Perhaps a better solution lies in rewards for smokeless employees or those committed to quitting. Money’s a powerful thing; some folks might trash the pack and replace it with the patch, if the price is right. So unless you’re applying to Philip Morris, keep the jacks under wraps.

Burned
And the smoking bans… move to Virginia or the Carolinas before the ban gets you. It’s gonna be on the ballot in Texas, and it’s coming to a state near you.

Although going to a bar and being smoked like a Virginia ham is all part of the experience, it was refreshing to know while in New York if I went out I wouldn’t have to immediately wash my duds. No smoke smell steaming off your showering body and no complaints from girls (ewww do you smoke?!) they never believe me, even when I say, only when I see you, sweetheart, or but I’m drunk! Smooth.

To be blunt, I don’t care that smokers have to go outdoors to indulge. It’s their call, and I often accompany friends on the freezing escapades, perhaps to some sub par pizza parlor? You’re buying, right?

On the other hand, smoking sections don’t bother me. Some folks like to smoke while eating, doesn’t bother me if it’s not blowing in my face. Others won’t even eat in restaurants which allow tobacco, maybe seal the sections off with plastic wrap? A sort of makeshift kitchen quarantine should do the trick.

Welcome to Circuit City, where service is subject to profitability
One last thing, boo to Circuit City for laying off skilled salespeople. They deserve higher pay, because they’re knowledgeable. There is no excuse for firing workers just because cheaper labor is available. Where’s the loyalty? Where’s the negotiation? Where’s my boycott list? I’ve got a new inductee.

School’s out(rage) forever

Bedroom community, Anna, Texas has reason to be superstitious; Black Friday, a legend come true rocked the town’s school district on March 9. Dressed fir a funeral, Superintendent Joe Wardell and assistant superintendent Elaine Rulla marched down the halls like sheriff and deputy. Three teachers learned their contracts were not being renewed and Principal Dr. Jenks was demoted to office drone.

Why, in a town of 7,000 would school officials publicly humiliate employees? Intimidation? To perpetuate a rumor? To turn neighbors against each other? Only, no one seems to be on the superintendents’s side. Why embarrass? Revenge.

"Dr. Jenks said she believes the school district retaliated against her because she recommended contract termination for one teacher.

Carol Falls, a first-year teacher, got the news about her dismissal while going to pick up papers in the office about 10:15 a.m. on Black Friday. She thinks she knows why.

Two weeks earlier, Ms. Falls said, she had seen Assistant Superintendent Dirk Callison enter the small TAKS room at Central Campus, home to pre-kindergarten, kindergarten and fifth-grade students.

Fifth-graders had taken the Texas Assessment of Knowledge and Skills two days earlier. Their booklets and answer sheets were locked in the room awaiting shipment to the grading company.

The Texas Education Agency has security rules in place because of fears about cheating. TAKS scores determine a district's academic rating, and school officials are under pressure to raise scores year by year.

The sign on the TAKS room door read, 'TAKS Coordinator Only.' And Mr. Callison was not the coordinator.

Dr. Jenks has not identified that teacher publicly, but others said it was Mr. Callison's wife, Jan, an art teacher at Central Campus.

Mr. Callison said his wife's job performance had nothing to do with Dr. Jenks' removal as principal.
'It is a personnel matter, but there is absolutely nothing there,' Mr. Callison said. "
Karen Ayers, The Dallas Morning News

In small towns nothing is left to the imagination, but everyone deserves their dignity. The superintendents show no remorse, perhaps even enjoyed parading through the school with pink slips. Dr. Wardell makes no apologies and poor excuses.

“I've been in education 26 years, and I have not found a good way to tell people that we're not renewing
their contracts."
Karen Ayers, The Dallas Morning News

Um, you could try telling staff in private; what a concept! 26 years in education and you haven’t learned common courtesy? Give me the job! 26 years seems like just enough time for a notorious legend to reoccur. Where’s the justification for these firings? A math and science teacher was dismissed, aren’t they the instructors America needs most? These individuals should receive apologies, reinstatements (although I hope they are too proud to accept) and the superintendents should be scrutinized. Maybe the city could find a reason to fire them.

Books falling from my shelf

My latest must reads:

“I’m Just Here for MORE Food”- Alton Brown
Most celebrity chefs I can take or leave. Emeril? Too gimmicky; needs glasses, but he does everything from scratch. Rachel Ray? She’s ok, but her endorsements and talk show water down her cooking, however, the girl’s got skills and can make almost any dish look nice. But Alton? He’s logical, methodical, entertaining and tells you why, not just when and where. As soon as I saw this one in the store and realized it was about baking I was sold. The secrets to quality baked goods live here, and it’s a page turner with tested recipes and illustrations. Even if you don’t bake, it’s fascinating to science buffs and anyone who’s interested in what’s in their bread, muffin (or as Brown reveals cupcake masquerading as a muffin) and fruitcake. Yes, fruitcake; homemade fruitcake.

“Strangers on a Train”- Patricia Highsmith
The Fort Worth daughter makes every word count. Every sentence casts a spell. Sure, you’ve seen the Hitchcock flick, but I dare you to put this book down after the first chapter. Unlike Farley Granger’s portrayal, Highsmith’s Guy has a spark of evil in him and Bruno is a better charmer than in the movie. Read it before Hollywood ruins it in 2008.

“REALLY Useful Job Search Tactics”- Rick Gillis
Call him a guru, or crazy, but this guy’s got some revolutionary ideas when it comes to resumes and interviews. Gillis helped pioneer internet job searching with his HoustonEmployment.com in 1995 and he’s gonna give monster and careerbuilder a run for their money with his latest venture http://www.hirebuddy.com/. “REALLY Useful” is just what it advertises, and it’s about guerilla marketing and finding work in the job jungle. You can buy it from amazon.com and check out what Rick and his book are all about at http://www.rickgillis.com/.

What about you; what are you reading?

Get it together

My post’s gonna be short tonight, I’m organizing years of untended emails, that for whatever reason (valid or not) I decided not to delete. Isn’t it funny how you accumulate not only material but virtual clutter?

As some of you may know, I’ve been weeding through my belongings slowly but surely since I moved in December. The best part about moving is donating or recycling all the extraneous stuff you don’t need. Relocating spurred me to evaluate my personal debris twice and include the possessions my parents have been harboring for a few years on the second sweep.

What’s worked for me:

Spring is in the air, and there’s no better time to convince yourself you have too many hoodies or jackets. I admit it, I’m a recovering packrat, and I’ve heard the arguments for disarray, yet I feel better when I have less baggage. And for a transient vagabond like me, fitting your life in a suitcase is vital. You can do just a little at a time, and don’t throw away stuff you genuinely want/enjoy/wear but if you hesitate, you don't need it.

Organize your organizing. Go through clothes, then books, then media, then documents, and so on. It makes things easier because you’re thinking about similar items.

Don’t sort through old letters, cards and/or photos on a sentimental day. A good or indifferent mood suits this activity much better. If it's rainy and you're listening to Nico's "Chelsea Girl" better sort some socks instead. Though the goal isn’t to eradicate your paper past, you should eliminate some such material, and remember with your mind. If you simply can’t bear to part with the past, buy a filing cabinet, a photo album, or at least some folders or manila envelopes and label them. Tell yourself: I won’t let this happen again. I went through my keepsakes and it was never ending; but I did it, and so should you.

Well, that’s how I did it. Although time consuming, it was simple, cathartic, and brought back memories, some of which I was willing to leave to my imagination. Try organizing; it’s refreshing and clears the way for more junk.

Mugged by humidity: an autobiography through air conditioning

The soothing hum of a box fan cranked to full blast used to be my bedtime lullaby on summer nights just when the sun was setting, around 9 p.m. Though Syracuse, NY is always ranks in the top ten snowiest cities, the summers sweltered. A shady backyard, Kool-Aid, and the kiddie pool provided only temporary relief.

On what seemed as epic as crossing the Cumberland Gap, I stopped at the library to grab a book or Video King for a movie, on the bike ride to my grandparents’s house. I remember thinking it magical that I navigated the mile and a half or so, and arrived at the imposing house upon a hill via my own power, instead of Mom’s Subaru station wagon with the heavy, non-matching doors. Even if grandma and grandpa were napping, I could still sneak in; they never locked the front door, in fact, in the summer, it was usually open, to let the screen door do its duty. Whether anyone was awake or not, I’d politely beeline for the family room, where the miracle of modern technology ministered: a brown GE air conditioner. If a bike was magical, surely a cool air machine must be the messiah. My grandfather worked for GE until he had enough money to volunteer, travel, pursue photography, provide for him and my grandmother and spend time with us kids. Grandpa Morton must’ve had an air conditioner in his soul, because, in 16 years I only saw him lose his cool twice.

We had no air conditioning until I was about eight, when my parents sprung for a window unit. On really hot nights (the only times I ever remember having trouble falling asleep), my brother, Jeremy, and I cracked the creaking door to our folks’s room and savored the first icy blast, like the arctic rush a freezer produces when the vacuum seal is broken. Mom used to tell Jeremy and I that we’d put us all in the poor house if we kept opening the freezer door like that. Although we had to sleep on the floor, it beat boiling in bed, fighting over the fan’s angle, and casting covers to the floor in fits of hot rage. Plus we could look at the baby.

In Virginia ACs were standard issue, we even had central air in our second house. In fourth grade, when Dad told me “we’re moving” I thought my world was ending. I was eating an Empire State apple, and dropped it. I protested. No food, speaking only in grunts, arranging for friends’s families to adopt me, but I was whisked away on an airplane to see the place we were to call home. Plucked from school, for three days I might add, and bundled up, as was New York State protocol in February, found I could shed a few layers in Virginia Beach. Hmm. Maybe this isn’t so bad. Upon seeing the water and smelling the cool saltwater air I was sold. Well, it wasn’t that easy, but like switching from a bed in a cramped, stuffy bedchamber to the carpet in a refrigerated room, those perks sure helped.

Texas houses come with central air and sometimes swimming pools, the way a car these days is equipped with power windows and often sunroofs. Despite tonight’s humidity and the sticky sweat under even the lightest of clothing, I’m glad the AC didn’t kick in; it reminded me of humble beginnings. I only wish I had a box fan.

Gun (out of) Control

I am and you might be too young to remember that creepy old Technicolor Vincent Price movie “The House on Haunted Hill,” but good movies on television were hard to find in the ‘90s and yesterday’s B movies get an A+ when graded on today’s B feature curve. Every Halloween AMC has days and days of classic cult horror films and watching Vince stalk around this cobwebbed castle, putting his guests at unease became a tradition for me and my old man. In a twist on the old stay in the haunted mansion one night challenge, each participant (I think there were a dozen) received a “party favor.” What kind of door prize would Vincent Price supply? Why, a gun of course.

BANG! Concealed weapons permits double while population dwindles to half in New Orleans after Katrina storms out. Suddenly New Orleans is the U.S. murder capital. It’s a renaissance for local weapons dealers, who report record sales. With already 37 deaths (more than a dozen a month!) in 2007 and an incalculable number of guns in the city, I don’t know how anyone can sleep at night, let alone gun store owners.

When we think of New Orleans we think of beads, booze, boobs and food; it’s a big fat party, right? Well, now it’s a party in a ghost town where everyone has guns. The Big Easy bears an eerie resemblance to “The House on Haunted Hill.”

New Orleans is the city America abandoned, or forgot, or is trying to forget. Amid all this talk about staying the course in Iraq, we pulled out of New Orleans too early, and now it may be too late. What authority would an armed city bow to? Better yet, what authority would want to walk into a potential war zone?

Storm survivor, artist, and senior—she’s 64—Vivian Westerman renders all commentary obsolete, firing four abrupt sentences:

"I got a 6,000-watt generator and the cutest little Smith & Wesson,
snub-nose .38 you ever saw," and "I'm a marksman now. I know what I'm doing;
there are a lot of us. The girl next door is a crack shot."
-Mary Foster, The Associated Press

That says it all.

Poem

I've been in a sentimental mood lately. Still don't know if I want to go back to Alaska or continue the job search here.

Buried Treasure

I chose the sea over a sea of people,
Trees instead of suburbia,
To hang from rather than hang in.
There is peace in the absent
There is war in the present
I’d rather find buried treasure on the beach,
than under the cushions of a couch

So many secrets has the sea,
An everlasting supply of stories, the wind has heard.
Exist combinations of words I wish I’d arranged
Codes for cracking in the rings of ancient trees—
—we’re jealous of the great oak’s life, so we cut it down,
to build a dresser out of its flesh.

Because it’s all right for creatures to go about naked,
but not humans,
a woman wears leopard skin pants while stroking her cat to sleep.

An antelope escapes an African zoo— —into the jungle's jaws
A prisoner out on good behavior begs to remain in jail:
“It’s a jungle out there! A jungle—they’ll eat me alive!” he says.

What’s at the wrong end of the rainbow?
Nothing?
Or worse, a pot of poisonous snakes, perhaps.

An ocean of ideas on what can be done with the ocean to turn a profit…
…and acres of deeds to dole out the land at a price.
In a perfect world shoeboxes would decompose before the dead pets concealed inside
and before the memory of these friends disappears.

December 21st is the shortest day of the year
and so, very slowly we went together into the place where death was
this was the dead man and we’d come for his secret:
if you could be any animal, what would you be?

Blue light special: marital infidelity on aisle six

By now you’ve all heard about the Wal-Mart fling between Julie Roehm and Sean Womack. To refresh your memory: ‘Mart senior vice president of marketing Roehm was wined, dined and well, use your imagination by Womack whose ad firm, Draft FCB, was competing for a $580 million contract with Wal-Mart. Roehm, nestled in the lap of luxury, enjoyed expense account three martini lunches, an expensive case of vodka from an executive and the actual lap of Sean Womack, all violations of WM company policy. That’s right; she sat in his lap during a meeting. Wow! I thought “Bold Moves” was a Ford marketing campaign. Infuriated, Wal-Mart fired Roehm last December.

Then steamy emails fogged up Shelley Womack’s computer screen. Sean Womack’s wife was on to it and the jig was up. A live action soap opera erupted in the media and the cheating couple becomes famous. They appeared in Hollywood to extend their fifteen minutes, tantalizing reporters with a seminar “Marketing 2.X.” The devilish duo preached professionalism; few took them seriously, and most were just there for the scoop.

Although I believe when two people are attracted to each other, they should pursue it; discretion is paramount. As a rule I don’t get romantically involved with coworkers and seldom share social drinks, but I am popular with my peers nonetheless.

Speaking of the hard stuff, I’ve always (no pun intended) wondered why Wal-Mart doesn’t sell spirits, but in summer 2005 Wally World got off the wagon. But why did it take so long? Oh, right, they’re a family store, as in the whole family can work for minimum wage all 16 of us, even Bubba; Bubba ain’t quite right.

Listen up Wal-Mart marketing department: exploit the incident! Put the pricey vodka on sale and in a few months there’ll be future workers on the way.

Pet chow's gone to the dogs, but why?

Ok, I may have waited too long to dogpile on this one, but as the reports pile up, like all recalls, there are bound to be consumers crying wolf. Did someone say “sue?” The difference here is death. Animals died and America dropped their porkchops, appalled. With the exception of “Cujo”, U.S. moviegoers are more moved by man’s best friend’s silver screen demise than man’s. Why? Because we don’t know that guy or she’s a bad girl, but when a canine’s assassinated we’re all heart: “aww, that looks like Toby.” So I forecasted outrage immediately and indefinitely.

No surprises
Pet food ingredients are no secret: surplus corn, rice, wheat, and (ahem) Barbaro and friends (horses), or let’s just say "leftover protein" wind up in your cat’s food dish. And why not? It cuts food waste. But I wasn’t surprised when premium pet chow was revealed no better than Alpo. What did consumers expect to be in there, organic Angus beef and truffle oil? Sometimes you don’t get what you pay for. Recalls and the assumption that less expensive generic packaged foods originate from the same factory shake our name brand faith. Now apply that logic to Kibbles 'n Bits versus Pellets 'n Pits. Manufacturers design feed to be nutritionally complete as efficiently as possible, then they pile on the filler. But cheap food doesn’t do this kind of damage. I don’t know if whipping up chicken and rice for fluffy is necessary, but it’d be both safer and cheaper.

This is taking longer than the Anna Nicole's paternity test!
The only loose threads baffling us should be what happened to kill these unlucky creatures? Sudden kidney failure commonly results from an allergic reaction or poisoning, but labs are still at a loss to isolate a cause.

craigslist crazy

What do you think of craigslist? It’s more entertaining than useful to me. When I search jobs I can count on the amusing calls for call girls and some outlandish part time gigs. A retired friend of my mother’s landed a chauffeur stint for some wealthy Dallas doctor by responding to an ad. A friend of mine met his future roommate and girlfriend through his craigslist curiosity. Another acquaintance has a plush sectional to vegetate on; thanks to some Georgetown yuppie who was just dumping rather than selling, because he had to vamoose.

I know it’s not a reputable place for serious job sleuthing; however, there are more jobs in my field (writing) than any other online employment site. So maybe it is reputable. I admit I get sidetracked by the garage sale items, but I earnestly apply to what seem like legitimate jobs (i.e. detailed and with a real email address not job3456@craigslist.org) to no avail.

But honestly, over the past 2 years the management team is getting much better at weeding out scams and shady posts. Though craiglist’s layout bores, no advertisements assail you at login, you don’t have to subscribe or feed information to anyone you don’t choose to, and often you aren’t whisked to some other site while applying to jobs. In other words it’s less stress than monster or careerbuilder.

All this makes me wonder where the revenues coming from, who owns the site, and why hasn’t some internet or media or internet media goliath snatched craigslist up?

Turns out job postings do cost in major U.S. cities, which discourages some bogus ads. In the startup’s hometown, San Francisco, craigslist want ads cost nearly triple their print predecessors, but at $75 a pop companies shell out anyway. There are 200 active San Fran posts dating from a month and a day ago to today on the writer/editor link alone. That’s $15,000, for you math wizards. And if you want your post to appear under two headings, it’ll cost ya double. More paydirt! Craig Newmark puts the Craig in craigslist and owns 75% of his internet namesake; eBay owns the rest. I knew there was a reason I spent so much time on both sites!

If you are reading this and have experienced the bewildering (or not so bewildering, depending on your take) world of craigslist please post!

The plot thickens

I want to live in the movies of Hollywood’s golden age. I’d get to dress in the finest clothing, never sweat pants or shorts; smoke and drink all I want and live forever; get away with murder, or foil murder plots; get the dame to fall for me, but pretend I’m not interested; be silhouetted in black and white, hide in the shadows and appear sinisterly mysterious behind window shades and smoke screens; I’d talk tough, rough guys up, yet never break a sweat or lose my slacks’s crease. Imagine me a silver screen big shot. No matter their actual fate, movies immortalized figures like Edward G. Robinson, Cary Grant, and Humphrey Bogart so, that I can’t imagine them sick, dying, or dead; they just keep chasing skirts, bad guys, and money, syndicated on small screens. Never tired, never dead, never out of bullets or smokes, always with a cool head. The primary film stars were larger than life and realer than old black and white photographs, there’s nothing haunting about their images; they’re dynamic in daring rooftop escapes, ducking deadly planes, and sneaking to validate alibis. So I’ll take a vacation to tinsel town, make it a double feature, I’m tired of being turned down or ignored by employers. I won’t be returning phone calls either. Put me on the case, on a train with my dame, or in the middle of a chase. Hot pursuit! Hot pursuit! Follow that car! I’ll escape, even if it’s just for the afternoon.

Pair of poems

I started writing and this is what I came up with. They're raw and uncut and probably infected. With cynicism.

Annoying Button Poem: Let's see if I can piss anyone else off

Button up, button down.
Too many buttons.
They keep butting in,
“I’m lost!,” they shout,
“you missed me, you missed me.”
Now my shirt’s a mess and
I pushed her buttons down the stairs,
I hit the computer keys out of the ballpark.
The wrong one’s right in front of my face,
how can I resist her belly button?
I should have sewed it up a long time ago,
but I don’t know, I was on the button bubble.
She leaves it buttoned almost to the top,
so she can just throw it on when she needs to go.
I wouldn’t mind having a go at her, I miss unbuttoning so.
There’s a button at the bottom of the garment next to a tag that says “Made in Mexico,”
if only I could push it and that’s where I’d go.
I’m looking for the one labeled eject,
found it yet, I haven’t.

Different Drum

Productive day’s never good enough,
I ask too much of myself,
Sometimes I want to sleep it all away.
Three days of newspaper never read,
I want the ads, but they don’t want me.
My warm milk melted my cereal,
and the coffee’s cold.
This is getting old, where are the new people,
to drag me out of the house, undressed, kicking screaming,
I’ve been California dreaming far too long, I’ll thank you for it later.
Find a song that suits my mood, I knew I wasn’t the only one
to find Sunday’s sprawl kinda rude, TV makes me feel guilty.
I’m just humming to a different drum.
One by one by one
clones of me march by.
Shedding skin.
Committing sin.
Telling jokes, telling lies,
getting ready for my big expiration date.
I don’t know if parting’s such sweet sorrow,
as I go marching by It beats my different drum,
but for my deserted dessert I’ll have pecan pie.
Perhaps no ending is appropriate; I’ll leave you hanging, drummer girls and boys,
as dragging days left me wading through old news and food,
I tried to keep up, I really tried.

The Rundown

It’s Saint Patrick’s Day and if the green dye #5 infused beer didn’t get the job done this post will.

Push me and I push back

Some anklebiter cut me in line at the museum yesterday, so I shoved him. He ran for his 400 lb gorilla of a mother who instead of listening to hat I said pushed me. “Now I know where he gets it from,” I said, meaning his manners and gut. I walked away leaving her screeching “how dare you?!” Oh baby, I dare like this. It’s a shame kids like him will never know better than rudeness and TV dinners. I want to be a parent so I can out parent the hell out of 75% of the population. But first I need offspring. Any volunteers? I’m told I have nice eyebrows.

“Saturday Night Live” still isn’t funny. I checked tonight.

More bad marks for school cafeterias

According to the department, of 94,132 schools reporting in the 2005-2006 school
year:
Ten percent, or 9,498 schools, were not inspected at all
Twenty-nine
percent, or 27,184 schools, were inspected only once
Libby Quaid, Associated
Press

Hmmm… perhaps I should stop pretending to be a 12th grader to get cheap lunch. Maybe I can get a fast food endorsement like actress Jennifer Hudson.

No end in sight

Four years ago the U.S. invaded Iraq. It’s as surreal now as it was then. Soldiers and civilians lived years in minutes. We are all older, but are any wiser? Why are there still only unanswered questions?

Now that’s teamwork

NCAA tournament highlights are available on YouTube courtesy of CBS.

Game Over?

Nintendo sends Playstation and Xbox sprinting for the reset button. February Wii console sales more than doubled PS3 sales and nearly beat Sony and Microsoft receipts combined. Price, innovation, its all ages audience, and party games put Wiis in 335,000 homes last month. Good thing Sony and Microsoft manufacture other electronics.

Can you put a price on your best friend?

You know how your mother always told you not to give the dog people food? Well, Fido might’ve been better off on cheeseburgers. The recent pet chow recalls ask what a four legged companion is worth to owners. Many dog and cat lovers spend thousands to prolong furry friends’s lives, so my answer would be “thousands.” But these people don’t want money, they want their pets back.

More plane strain

Cathay Pacific Airways hasn’t been keeping up on current events:

"You can't keep your passengers on the plane for 9 1/2 hours," said Chandran,
30, of New York City. "They kept saying 'half an hour more, 45 minutes more.'
But by the time it got to hour six, we were pretty much accepting that we
weren't going to go … At least in the terminal, you can get up and walk around."
David B. Caruso and Jennifer Peltz, ABC News

Yes, my blog has gotten this bad

I had to write 30 and 60 second radio ads for a job I'm applying for. I'm not in a very creative mood, so plop!

60 Second Ad
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30 Second Radio Ad
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Pretty bad, eh? I don't think I'm getting that job. Sorry, I'ver been tired all day.

Navigating the seas of internet piracy

Let’s face it, YouTube has a hot monopoly, but you can’t blame ‘em. No one else caught on as quickly; now traditional media sources like Viacom scramble to catch the digital video clip bus. Viacom may be too late, so it filed a $1 billion suit against YouTube for copyright infringement.

Sound familiar? Napster succumbed to similar pressure from Metallica and the RIAA, and started charging for downloads as clone programs such as KaZaa sprung up, staying under the radar. Who’s going to pay for something you can still get free? Then the RIAA started making examples of users who illegally downloaded music. It didn’t stop pirates and didn’t get people to pay. When was the last time you heard “Napster”?

YouTube’s parent company is too savvy to charge users, so they’re trying to eliminate the offending videos. Some speculate Viacom really wants a piece of the action or partnership, but the company denies it. Publicity is my guess, because otherwise not aligning Viacom with YouTube seems strange:

BitTorrent, a popular file-sharing technology that claims 135 million users
worldwide, developed a loyal following as a tool for pirated video and audio
downloads. Now, the company has re-tooled itself as the BitTorrent Entertainment
Network and partnered with Viacom and other media companies to offer paid video
downloads. Users can buy new release movies for $3.99 each; TV shows and music
videos cost $1.99. So far, 20th Century Fox, Lions Gate, MTV Networks, Paramount
Pictures, Warner Bros. Home Entertainment and MGM have signed on.
John W. Schoen, MSNBC.com

This is what Napster creator Shawn Fanning should have held out for. If enough devotees “steal” media with your server’s help you have enough buzz to generate big bucks and buyout. That’s the lesson I see here. People want internet content free—at least at first—then pseudotheft pays off. What did we think all the out of work information tech geeks would do when the bubble burst? They found a way out of a necktie noose. Good for them.

Going bananas: tools of terrorists?

A welcome companion to cold cereal, they're great with peanut butter or as dessert (cooked or unadorned) who doesn’t adore canary yellow nature’s candy? And where else are you gonna get your potassium? But does the banana foster a sinister side?
Besides its resemblance to a gun, the fruit bears a secret. It seems lady Chiquita was hiding something else in that banana hat—protection money.

In court documents filed Wednesday, federal prosecutors said
several unnamed high- ranking corporate officers at the Cincinnati-based company
paid about $1 million

between 1997 and 2004 to the United Self-Defense Forces of
Colombia, known as AUC for

its Spanish initials.
Matt Apuzzo, Associated Press

Chiquita’s Columbian banana trees are in a war zone where left wing revolutionaries battle right wing terrorists. If Chiquita didn’t pay for protection, we’d have no bananas. If you worked in a bad neighborhood wouldn’t you want your employer to do something for your safety? Americans are shocked their grocery purchases go to terrorists, we're used to only our drug money finding terrorism.

Chiquita spent $1.7 million on security from 1997 to 2004, and is ordered to pay almost 15 times that, $25 million. I’m not saying America should interfere, we do enough of that, but we should understand lives are at risk for our meals and Chiquita had few options. Perhaps the fruit sellers should transplant the plants to a less violent location; I have a backyard that could use a few fruit trees.

Between the lines: Bookin’ it to the shelves

I swear I’ll write something someone actually wants to read one of these days, but notice I said these days, not this day.

Take a deep breath, if you happen to be in a used bookstore as I was this afternoon you’ll smell something between a hot press and yesterday’s news. Perfect. There’s nothing like new books, well, even if they’re not factory fresh, they’re novel novels to me. Little gems await your careful excavation of the stacks, so, if you’ve got the time, slow down and take a look. Do it. While Barnes and Noble, Borders, and the big booksellers can order anything you’re looking for, sometimes what you’re not looking for is just what the page turning doctor ordered. And you don’t have to pay full price, you might find a rare or unusual edition, and you don’t have to wait and come back. It’s right there; grab it!

Buying used saves money and is recycling, two things we could all do more of. Yes, I admit I have a bit of a book surplus, but I stopped buying and borrowing for nearly six months now and I take a book down from the shelf, read it, and if I’m not in love, I sell or donate. So I deserved to splurge today. Comedy books and cookbooks were all I bought, and I can never have enough of those, once I finish reading the dry history texts, my writing might get funnier or spicier; stay tuned.

Blues Power: Perkins plays on

Why I want to see Kenny Wayne Shepherd for 50 bucks: He's packing a legend!

A tall slender black man of twenty-four slides behind a piano; he intends to make it boogie. He dons a black and white suit and shades, which he sports on the tip of his nose. His pant legs rise slightly as he sits, revealing black socks, which emerge from freshly shined wingtips.

Pinetop Perkins, sits in a dark and smoky but bustling Blues bar. It’s 1937 and Perkins refuses a cigarette, but accepts a cocktail with a red plastic stirrer half in the liquid and half out. He nods and says, “Thanks, man.” In the room are the wait staff, a couple of bartenders, and a predominately black crowd, save a few poor whites and a slick record executive with too much cologne and hair tonic on. That must be why he’s sitting in the corner, his only company a dry martini.
Quiet conversation fills the bar and “cool, cat” or “yeah, daddio” drift through the air. The smoke rises to the ceilings, through the windows and doors, making its escape.

Pinetop and co. haven’t started yet, but at note one people put down their glasses and curb their conversations to make way for a hell raising performance.
Tonight Perkins and the band play red hot, as if they were Satan’s backup band on that cool January night. They smoke like the cigarettes and cigars that illuminate the dim room.

On Saturday, September 4th I saw proof that the majesty of the blues still wields power. It was a sight to make dead bluesmen spin in their graves, trying to get out and dance. I watched the aforementioned blues piano master, Pinetop Perkins, play with a local blues combo the Nighthawks (the band’s name is inspired by the famous blues guitar player Robert Nighthawk). The ensemble and
guest Perkins kicked out the Texas hot and Alaska cool American jams to a packed house. Perkins appeared a friendly, but serious man of few words; he let
the keys do the talking. Born 91 years ago, Perkins didn’t look, act or sound it. Perkins’s relentless performance pounded the keys and tickled the ivories with well trained hands. Even the necking white trash couple and the bizarre dancing couldn’t distract. Somewhere, in the distance a cell phone rang; no one noticed.
I don’t even know how I knew. Maybe I just made that up.

Pinetop Perkins stands for an America exclusive to the first half of the twentieth century, when this country cut its teeth. America is not politicians and elections; it’s everyday people playing and enjoying blues, jazz, gospel, hip hop, and rock music. Patriotic waves swept over me, fanning the burning house’s flames which only rose higher. If the concert weren’t outdoors Perkins woul’ve set smoke detectors off. America grew up around him. Pinetop helped shape this fine nation and if anyone has a story to tell, he does. Just hearing how he got there that night would fascinate me.
Pinetop swaggered his way across the stage to his electric piano dressed in a striking emerald green suit and pearl white top hat. Lookout, ladies: he’s 91 years old and dressed to impress. He looked fresh from the 1920s. As far as I was concerned, he was. Perkins survived and endured a parade of groundbreaking generations, nearly a century of change. The roaring twenties; tumultuous thirties; fresh dressed fifties; the drugs and sex of the sixties; disco and the decadent seventies; the campiest decade, the eighties; and the fad filled nineties. He watched the popular music cycle and his peers buy into more popular musical ventures, but Mr. Perkins stands by the standards. He lifted the blues piano tradition he helped establish to legend. Pinetop lived through adversity and discrimination just to perform to people perhaps descendant from those who fought to keep him from voting or using the same public restroom. But he outlived them all, and here he was, in Northwest DC jamming with a band of Caucasians to a predominately white audience and everyone is all smiles.

Pinetop Perkins commands respect not through vocal chords, but piano chords, for American music would be incomplete without his influence on the country built around him.

Should I stay or should I go... back?

Who or what does your future hinge on? Who says you can’t repeat the past? Is going back to an old job as bad as retreating to the warmth of an old lover? What if you really liked it?

I did; and I might go back. A year ago Alaska called and I considered only a moment, trumpeting “yes” to adventure. The six months I’ve been back in the continental U.S. leave me starving for exploration. I can only read about others’s escapades. Before I settle for a mundane career I owe myself one last outing.

Last May my four month odyssey began; I had no expectations and the wilderness inspired me. Every step filled with vigor, never a free moment from 75 hour workweeks squandered, I embraced the Alaskan experience. My only fear is if I go back I may never come back; it’s so far from the hustle, so different from the bustle.

Sitka was the town I worked in and the citizens’s vitality infected everyone. The summer nights were endless. Bonfires lasted till a 2 a.m. that looked like 7 p.m. Food was fresh for such a remote location, and youth was in the air everywhere.

When faced with taking a number for corporate interviews, substitute teaching, and bleak fields with no mountains and no rain, I can’t help but want to go back.

Boxes and bags, corn, beer, and mistakes, but not necessarily in that order

Charge me with two counts of laziness last night. I broke my own no copy and paste axiom and did not censor the names or address of the defendants, but I protected the innocent with a false name: “Amy Blevins.” I have amended the post, below, and this is what should have run last night.

Beer goggles

Duke graduate John Cornwell, inventor of the beer dispensing fridge should have called me before the big game. Gladly would I have served as go between for Cornwell and the beer big guys (Miller Lite seems to be his favorite). And my rates are close to minimum wage. A commercial featuring the fridge pitching a can through a television would crush the competition! Think of it: the Super Bowl onscreen fizzles into smoke and electricity, while Cornwell slowly turns around and looks over, scowls at his creation, turns back, but looks again over his shoulder with a quivering lip and leaps over the couch, hugging the fridge “I can’t stay mad at you,” Cornwell sniffs. Sure, there’s always next year, but you gotta strike while the iron’s hot.

An improved beer can launching refrigerator will be available for $1500 to enthusiasts who contact Cornwell through his website (http://www.duke.edu/~jwc13/beerlauncher.html), but will Pepto-Bismol fit in the queue for the morning after?


Ads on bags

To tread old water, an obvious idea eluded me during my bag the bags blog (http://myblogservations.blogspot.com/2007/02/new-business-ethics.html). Shopping sacks are the perfect advertising vehicle, especially in malls, where buyers store hop with bright or sheik statements on purchase luggage. They’re also another status symbol. What socialite wouldn’t want everyone to know she can afford Nordstrom? Shhh! No one has to know about the sales rack. Another revelation struck shortly after blogging, Wal-Mart offshoot Sam’s Club sacked the sacks since the beginning. Yes, the ’Mart is evil, yet brilliant for boxing up bulk items at the checkout. Besides reusability, boxes boast better weight distribution, are often easier conveyance, they don’t squish your squishables (bread) or break you breakables (eggs), they don’t rip your fingers off during lifting, and hold more goods than their plastic and paper predecessors. Why not institute these in grocery chains? It only makes cents.

Corn shooting up; beef, poultry, and pork to follow

Just how much more will we pay at the check stand? A bushel of corn costs $3.20, up from last year’s $2. But the scarcity doesn’t end there:
Meat and poultry production will fall as producers face higher feed costs, the department predicted in its monthly crop report. Corn ethanol fuel, which is blended with gasoline, is consuming 20 percent of last year's crop and is expected to gobble up more than 25 percent of this year's crop.
The Associated Press
With questionable environmental benefit (see my earlier corn blog; http://myblogservations.blogspot.com/2007/03/yellow-is-new-green.html) and hitting America’s softest spot—our stomachs—on ethanol’s resume, I vote for corn as merely a gasoline additive. Only when it’s more efficient, its manufacture is sustainable, and its use doesn’t bloat the grocery bill, should ethanol enjoy exclusivity.

Complaint Letter

Here's a letter I'm sending to whoever owns a certain Pearle Vision store in McKinney. It's formal, so it's filled with inflated language, passive voice, and a bunch of other stuff I despise. Yep, I'm being lazy tonight; it's Friday.

Mr. BLANK
Owner
Pearle Vision

Dear Sir:

I am writing to inform you of an incident on February 27, 2007 at approximately 3:40 P.M. in yours store. My mother and I stopped in to pick up her contacts and get my glasses adjusted. Clerk Missy took my glasses without a word to the back. Two minutes later she called Lab manager Dennis Waterman to the back room. Three minutes after that both returned. It seemed like a long time for routine adjustment.

Missy cleaned my glasses and handed them back to me. After slipping them on I noticed what I thought was a fingerprint on the right lens. I tried to wipe it away with my cloth, but it was stubborn. I held it up to the light and saw that this was not a smudge, but a series of spider webbed cracks within the lens. I immediately returned and since Missy was assisting a customer, I politely pointed out the damage to Dennis Waterman who inspected the glasses. He denied fault instantly. He told me the scratches resulted from pressure and must have been there prior to my visit. I calmly told him the marks were not there before and that I had no way of inflicting scratches on the interior of the lens.

Waterman continued describing how Pearle was not responsible for the scratches and that I previously damaged the lenses. Insisting over and over that he was not liable and I scratched the glasses, Waterman condescendingly asked me if I understood what he was saying. I said I understood, but did not agree. I asked Waterman if he understood what I was saying. Instead of answering, he accused me yet again of pinning previous injury to my glasses on him. In a civil tone I asked Waterman point blank, “Are you calling me a liar?” Rather than answering, Waterman asked if I bought the spectacles from him and when I said no, he explained it was protocol for employees and patrons to inspect the glasses before alterations could occur, and that normally he doesn’t like cleaning or adjusting eyewear purchased elsewhere. I told him Missy did not mention anything to me and he became frustrated and turned me over to her. Waterman was loud, disrespectful, and above all, dishonest, as he talked in circles while other customers were present.

I showed Missy the glasses and she appeared nervous as she denied fault. She was however, pleasant, and finally agreed to replace the lens. Although neither employee admitted a mistake was made. Instead they conspired to cover it up and hope I got far enough away so they could tell me they’d never seen me before. At least Missy had the sense to put an end to the scene Waterman created. She had me sign a waiver stating only the right lens would be replaced and asked me for the brand of lens and prescription. I asked her if she would read the prescription from my lens and after hesitating she did, but wanted to me to verify it was correct before ordering the lens.

Afterwards I visited the LensCrafters in Stonebriar Mall. I asked Amy Blevins what she thought happened to my glasses. Without hesitation she said the frame was heated up without protecting the lens. When asked what she would do if she had damaged the glasses, Blevins said LensCrafters would replace both lenses. I am only asking for one lens, the one Missy cracked and Waterman lied about, and the truth. I am available by phone at 972-832-2593 if you would like to discuss the matter further. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Charles J. Reith III

Fire those lasers up! As soon as I get insurance, I'm getting lasik surgery.

Double Feature: Classic comic import to grace the silver screen and Brilliant billionaires: an American endangered species?

He’s a reporter with a knack for solving crimes before twin dimwitted detectives catch a clue. Any good reporter strives to be a detective anyway; and journalist is the closest you can come today without chasing cheating spouses. But I’m talking about Tintin, Belgium’s number one sleuth, his popularity and likeability has Steven Spielberg himself salivating. DreamWorks will host the world renowned cartoon character’s film debut, but will the adaptation ring true? I’m hoping for classic 2-D animation or even live action featuring actors with appropriate accents. I don’t want to see a CGI movie sacrificing depth and character development for cheap laughs. Conversely, the comic relief distinguishes Tintin, but whatever’s popular in two years dictates the film’s feel, so what do core fans matter? That’s not who Hollywood’s aiming at. Granted TMNT looks terrible, and its graphics will eventually date it, that won’t stop devotees, like me, and restless kids on spring break alike from plunking down $8.

What to do with all the money? Forbes magazine released its billionaires list today and everyone’s wondering what these folks spend their dough on. To anyone rich or poor, doesn’t time matter more than money? I have more time than money, but that doesn’t mean I’m wasting time, I probably waste more money. It’s great more women and Indians made the cut, but how do the rich and perhaps famous spend their time? Bill Gates generously gives hours to citizens of Africa, struggling students ( as a Harvard dropout, he was once one), and overseeing the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Ingenuity and creativity founded many of the listed billionaires, while American public schools and standardized tests discourage these two talents. We have many freedoms, but when will our children be free to think again? Proud as I am that the U.S. encourages opinions, I wish school administers would listen to kids, instead of the cha-ching of cash registers. Perhaps it’d put more money in students’s pockets.

But I can play the tambourine

New music’s been bumming me out for a while. But that’s because there’s a billion bands I’ve never heard of that deserve exposure, but are buried by layers of crap. What I need is a vacation, hey even the unemployed need a change of scenery now and then, if I had a job or source of income, I’d hop the next train to Austin. Less than a week after my arrival musicians from all over the globe will descend on jaded ol’ me. And they shall rock.

The din will slowly rise Thursday and grow louder until Saturday night when Iggy and the Stooges destroy another generation’s hearing. Please have mercy on me. Buy me a ticket so I can hear Pop and the boys tear through the classics.

Even if all the garage groups blow it, I can always count on Public Enemy. The backup plan continues with UGK, Against Me!, Hella, Don Caballero, Thurston Moore (of Sonic Youth fame, if you enjoy music you should know who he is), and The Nightwatchman or Rage Against the Machine’s guitar innovator Tom Morello. I just wanna see what Tommy’s up to after the Audioslave implosion, and the name sounds nostalgic. The Nightwatchman. And what would an underground festival be without Jello Biafra? I haven’t ever seen old man political punk rock perform and he’s not getting any younger, but I got my money on Jello getting crazier with age. Like tequila. And Kenny Wayne Shepherd’s brining 94 year old blues pianist Pinetop Perkins to the stage. I saw him three years ago in Baltimore and arthritis hasn’t claimed P Squared yet.

Blogservations 3-D: Get your glasses; it’s a trilogy!

Every night after the 10 o’clock news I stumble half asleep to my word processor’s blinking cursor. Often my mind is as empty as the page, but somehow I always have something to say. I’ve considered conducting blog interviews—would that qualify as a blog? I’ve thought about cheating, you know, copying some old poem or news story I wrote, but something compels me to keep it fresh. Or at least warmed over. Tonight I’m scraping even lower in my muckraker’s barrel, presenting third installment of blogservations.

Go for broke
What good is a monopoly restriction if all your options are the same? I’m sure Woodrow Wilson didn’t have Sirius and XM or Best Buy and Circuit City in mind when he feared monopoly, and if he were alive today I bet he couldn’t tell the difference between bad 80s music on Sirius and bad 80s music on XM. Let ‘em merge; they’re the identical anyway. Yeah, yeah, you have “exclusives.” Big deal. Give us a little variety!

There’s a fly in my soup, because it’s horsefly minestrone
Do recalls ever get recalled? Bausch and Lomb recalled yet another saline solution. This time there it’s iron. Apparently the beneficial metal isn’t supposed to go I your eye. My mom conjured up the old days when you made your own solution, that way if your chemistry experiment went wrong; you had no one to blame but yourself. Tainted goods are another reason I grow and make as much of my own food as possible.

I’ve heard of contributing to minors, but this is ridiculous!
As appalling as Demetrius McCoy’s smoke session with his two and five year-old nephews is, at least he didn’t give them cheese. Cheese is a combination of heroin and Tylenol PM that’s cheap, deadly, and has Texas in a headlock. It would have killed the kids.

I’ll name my kid Harley; it’s a good, honest name
With a name like Scooter did anyone doubt Scooter Libby was guilty of perjury?

Fire at the White House traced to pants
And don’t you think it’s about time the Bush administration admitted all their lies? America would respect the administration more. But then again, taking responsibility for mistakes hasn’t been an American value since Kennedy was assassinated.

Say what?
"I'll smack flames out your ass!” Does Diddy ever make sense when quoted? He should attend the Ann Coulter School of Slurs.


Singlehandedly eliminating an entire sector of my dating pool
Speaking of Ann Coulter, did I miss something? Was she funny before and now she’s just crude?

You ain’t from around these (body) parts

A Michigan couple received a package from DHL today; its contents were made in China, as is almost every consumer good, but these were unusual imports. A human liver and section of human head on the rocks greeted the Larmandes, who were eager for pieces of a table, got more than they bargained for.

28 chilled and bubble wrapped body parts are drifting across America, on their way to a Medical Research Lab. So unless you regularly peruse Jeffrey Dahmer's cookbook, enjoy soilent green, are Vincent Van Gogh, a black market body parts dealer, voodoo priest, making a monster, or are just plain weird, beware the next time the doorbell rings. This would make a great horror novel or movie plot, but I’m sure Stephen King’s all over it.

Loudmouth with laryngitis

This is what happens when I take my medicine. Here are some business stories you might have missed:

Petty grand larceny
Wall Street’s Bonnie and Clyde, Randi and Christopher Collotta absconded with $14 million worth of inside information, traded to 12 other offenders. This averages beautifully to $1 million per participant. Not much to get busted for, but this still makes me want to get into the high profile lawyer bracket. Preference? Prosecution.

Double B looks for the steal
Blockbuster’s sweet on Movielink Inc. “Movielink, based in Santa Monica, California, is a studio jointly owned by MGM, Paramount, Sony Pictures, Universal and Warner Bros.” (People’s Daily Online)

The ‘Buster is banking on renters’s slow migration to downloads over the next five years. But at only $50 million, the studio execs have half a decade to hold out for more. And they should. As entertainment and computing continue to integrate downloads will steal DVD, HD, and Blu-ray discs’s thunder.

Good first impression doesn’t last: Netflix is fixed
Late last month Blockbuster rival Netflix delivered its astonishing billionth DVD. Big deal. That milestone should have come sooner. During fall 2005 I had 3 film classes. I was watching four or five or six movies a week and grew tired of falling asleep in the library with my headphones on. An epiphany or a “duh!” struck me: why not sign up for the free Netflix trial; there’s a temporary fix! The movies rolled in to my tiny college P.O. Box, and I volleyed ‘em back as fast as Netflix served ‘em, often I’d watch a disc and mail it back the same day. After the trial I decided why end a beautiful friendship? Things went well for a few weeks and then after midterms and Thanksgiving break, our relationship began to break down. No matter how fast I devoured and returned the DVDs, Netflix slowed shipment significantly. Back in the library, yet still paying my online rental dues, I sometimes sent discs back the same day, not because I rushed to the dorm and watched them, sealing the DVDs, still hot from the player, in return envelopes, but because I’d already seen the film at the library or borrowed a copy. I cancelled the service before the next billing cycle. A few months later I found out I wasn’t alone: http://redtape.msnbc.com/2005/11/consumer_to_pay.html --but now I hardly watch one movie weekly, so four free rentals induces yawns.

Yellow is the new green

Ethanol is fashionable. We believe it must be better for the earth because it comes from the earth. But it’s not. Ethanol production guzzles more energy than refining crude oil and one gallon of the latter contains four times the energy as corn-based fuel. Cleaner? Yes. More efficient? Not even close.

Attempting to amend his administration’s atrocious environmental policy, George W. Bush backed ethanol, championing its clean burning and much like Nicorette gum to cigarettes, ethanol will help us kick our crude oil habit while fetching farmers loftier prices. So it’s excellent for the economy, excellent for the environment, and better for Bush’s image. While a splash of ethanol in our gas will do the earth good, going overboard will only benefit farmers and politicians, and justify our oil gorging. More efficient vehicles, better public transportation, and carpooling (remember that word?) are tangible solutions.

A luxury good? Corn is North America’s staple grain. In the US it’s in everything from soda to cereal; in Mexico nary a meal hits the table without corn. It’s inexpensive, plentiful, and in its unadulterated form, highly nutritious. But when ethanol production picks up, prices go up, companies snatch corn up, and scarcity on shelves forces demand up. Ethanol eats lots of corn. Corn’s new occupation cooked up tortilla price hikes in Mexico last month. Expect to see fried corn on the cob for $12 on menus.

But never fear, America, spud’s on deck. Coke’s second ingredient will be high-fructose potato syrup, potatostarch will thicken our sauces and gravies, and potato bread will be more prominent. I’ll miss corn’s charm. The tubers don’t have seeds that pop into a delicious wholegrain snack; potatoes may have eyes, but they don’t have ears; potato chips taste funny with salsa; I can’t smoke tobacco from a potato; and there’s no substitute for corn on the cob.

Call me when there’s a mandatory morphine shot

Gov. Timothy M. Kaine said Thursday he would sign legislation requiring all
sixth-grade girls to be vaccinated against the sexually transmitted virus that
can cause cervical cancer.
The Virginian Pilot

Tim’s not alone; Texas governor Rick Perry, courted by pharmaceutical producer Merck, approved similar legislature. Appeals may follow and a disapproving uproar is spreading. Mandatory HPV vaccinations may be coming to a 12 year-old girl near you.

Mandatory is the problem. The government has its hands on young girls’s bodies, and that doesn’t sit well with parents, especially when were talking about sex. Remember Salt-N-Pepa’s tune? Well, 17 years later we’re still bashful about sexual intercourse. The simplest solution is a choice; the difficulty of that solution is who makes the choice? “Responsible” parents who won’t admit their princess is sexually active or irresponsible folks who don’t give a damn? Perhaps a consent age limit should be set: at 16 it’s up to the girls. And it’s best kept a secret, because confidentiality reassures girls and girls’s parents. Voluntary participation paired with a nominal fee will keep costs down, and free service should be offered if needed.

We may be talking about a preventative cure for cancer here, but don’t forget the chemicals involved. Parents object to new drugs fresh from the vat. And don’t discount the deal making. It’s a potential goldmine for Merck, for, to paraphrase economist Adam Smith, the butcher and baker aren’t exactly philanthropists, and drug companies don’t do charity either. Perhaps if trustworthy politicians weren’t backing HPV, the vaccine would seem a breakthrough, not a burden.

Stranger than Science Fiction

I didn’t know I inherently hate Asians, however, Kenneth Eng says I do. But it’s ok, because Eng hates everyone. His trilogy of rants graced the pages of Asian Week, a San Francisco publication and the entries still stand on its website http://www.asianweek.com/.

If AW was looking for worldwide recognition, it certainly accomplished it. But was it a brilliant or not so bright quest for attention on the paper’s or Eng’s part? Will Asian Week retain or gain any readers or will Eng’s book sales plummet or skyrocket? He published “Dragons: Lexicon Triumvirate” in 2005 and his sophomore effort set to hit shelves today is unavailable from Amazon.com and BarenseandNoble.com. “Reincarnation” features a female Asian protagonist named “Cosine.” Hm… is Eng inferring all Asians excel at math? Could that be… …a stereotype?

Perhaps Eng will sell a script about Asians that don’t fit any stereotypes, or better yet, are impossible to relate to. That’s what he wants, that or to enslave blacks and whites. Since Eng’s a screenwriter he could pen a movie where inferior races lived to serve conceded jerks like him. Yes, token Asians provide comic relief in films, but there are just as many fat blacks and buffoonish whites; see “Norbit” and “Weekend at Bernie’s.” What’s wrong with that? Some comedians like Margaret Cho and Henry Cho (no relation) invite all races to laugh with them. My Asian friend Brian picks up dates with a guessing game: “what nationality am I?” I can’t tell you, it’ll spoil the fun. Everyone should lighten up a little, loosen our death grip on political correctness, and find the humor in Eng’s childish written tirades. In his delusional column titled “God of the Universe,” he writes:

The third thing I hate about Asians is how apathetic many of them are in terms of honor these days. If I saw an Asian being stereotyped in a movie theater, I would immediately stand up and shout incessantly at the screen so that none of the white audience members could enjoy the film.
Kenneth Eng, Asian Week

I see a career in self deprecating humor for Mr. Eng, or maybe he should stick to science fiction.

...I wonder what Eng thinks of the dragon race...