Saturday, March 23, 2013

Seven Derelict Observations from the Miami Airport

1.  Larry David said there are two types of people in this world that wear sunglasses indoors.  Assholes and blind people.  The Miami Airport is full of the former. 

2.  People need to bathe more often.  Water is free.  If you don't have money for water, wait for rain, go outside and clean yourself.  I certainly wouldn't want to see you naked.  But, that is less painful than having my clothes and nose filled with your stench.  If you die, your body should be donated to science to understand how a human being can transform itself into a pig. 

3.  If you have an annoying voice, don't speak.  Learn sign language. 

4.  Only women are allowed to shape their eyebrows.  If you are a man and you do it, wear a mini skirt.  It's the same thing. 

5.  Should someone call your cell phone, pick it up before it rings 18 times.  No one cares if you are getting a call.  It's probably ringing because you are playing with it to draw attention to you.  You have no family or friends that love you anyway. 

6.  Excuse me, thank you, please, you first.  This is forgotten vocabulary.  Yet, they are important words in a courteous and well mannered person's vocabulary.  I was educated by my mother and you by hound dogs.  Believe me, it will hurt if I slap you upside the head for being rude.  It's a shame there are laws preventing me from that but none against your behavior. 

7.  If you ate dog shit for lunch and you have not brushed your teeth today, don't open your mouth.  Don't speak.  Don't even breathe.  You will be doing society and the ozone layer a great favor. 



Picture and a Coffee


So, my friend wants to set me up with a colleague of his. He sent me two pictures. Yes, she is very pretty and looks amazing in a bikini. Supposedly, she is a great person.  
I'm glad that he sent full body shots. A picture of only the face scares me. I tried Match.com once. After some largely underwhelming dates, I came up with the iceberg theory. In the future, I would make it a point to first see what was below the neckline. Airplanes have seat belt extenders. There are no such things for arms.  
Yet, I am also leery of these set ups. There is possible trauma from a previous blind date setup. Some months ago, I accepted one via his wife. This girl was kind of a friend of a friend of her's. She was not too close but still within a larger circle of friends.  
The evening came. I drove to her house, picked her up and we went for dinner. She was very pretty in person as well and within acceptable size limits. For the first hour, I could not find much to criticize. Then, she got drunk.   At some point, she either had to pee or puke. I didn't ask which. So, she got up and in a sort of horizontal leapfrog, went from table to table, using the seat-backs as substitutes for a cane to keep herself upright on her way to the ladies room. Upon her return to the disappointment filled table, she told me in not so many words her plan for our future. She mentioned that if things were to work out, we could get married and have kids. Certainly, I wouldn't want a child born an alcoholic. Or marry one.
I do not remember how I reacted to her drunken plan. Today, some months hence, I cannot conceive of how I dodged, escaped or detoured away from her comment. Of course, the next day, my phone buzzed with the obligatory apologetic texts from her. I never responded. The irony was that she then told everyone that I never responded to her and therefore, I got the typical male asshole tag.  
I know my friend would not betray me like Match. He would also be a better filter.  But, this time, I'll also make sure to just go for coffee on the first date.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Losing America

Arizona is shining a spotlight on our souls as Americans.  The immigration debate is healthy, Arizona's law a tragedy.  We stand at the precipice of principles.

Immigration is the foundation of this country. As every school child knows, the Pilgrims arrived on this land to escape persecution. Throughout the following centuries, an eclectic mix of peoples set foot upon America from every corner of the planet, for myriad reasons. Yet, there has been one constant over the last almost 400 years that defines our country.  America is the land of opportunity, be it for economic, religious, or social motives.  We owe our lives to the tenet inscribed long ago on the Statue of Liberty.

America has a unique place in human history. Only something so powerful as equality, freedom and opportunity can draw a man here. Starvation, insecurity, or a wretched economy are factors that drive a man from his home. Both have combined for centuries to make America the shining beacon upon a hill.

Today, 70% of Arizona supports a law which gives police the right to determine a person’s immigration status. It is understandable why it passed. For years Arizona has had to deal with an influx of immigrants for which its economy, schools and hospitals cannot cope. It is not fair that those here legally, residents and citizens alike, must pay higher costs and taxes to cover illegal immigrants. Also, there have been crimes attributed to those here illegally. The Arizona/Mexico border is a porous transit point for drugs, guns and coyotes. The Federal Government tried building a fence that did not help.  Then, Arizona took the matter of illegal immigration into its own hands.

We know there is a problem with illegal immigration that is not limited to Arizona. California and Texas face similar challenges.  Surely, in other areas such as New York City, Atlanta, and Boston, social services are stressed as well due to illegal immigrants. But, there seems to be no backlash nor any pending law allowing local police to determine one’s immigration status based solely on looks and an officer’s impression.

There are murders, rapes and robberies committed in this country every day. Some acts are committed by Blacks, some by Whites, some by Asians, some by illegal immigrants. We do not lower the crime rate by asking every Black man to prove they did not committ a crime.  We will not lower the risk of terrorism if we ask each Arab to prove their innocence.  Is it acceptable, therefore, to ask someone for documentation proving residency, so as to limit the crime of illegal immigration? 

As America dives deeper into this polarizing debate, we cannot lose sight of our principles. If we were disgusted by the Nazis in Germany forcing Jews to carry identification; if we are shamed by how we rounded up the Japanese and forced them into our own concentration camps; if we love America and all that she stands for, then remember what the Statue of Liberty has been telling the world for 125 years:

“Give me your tired, your poor; Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, the tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
America is not about presuming guilt; it is not about ignoring due process; it is not about associating color and ethnicity with a crime; it is not about repeating the mistakes of our past. America is about hope, opportunity, equality and the rule of law.  Arizona’s law is inconsistent with America and it is not the solution to illegal immigration. It pushes us over the precipice and we will plummet to a future without our principles.  E Pluribus Unum.

Friday, April 2, 2010

You Can't Keep Hiding in the Closet


Not all of America went gaga over the Revolution of 2009. The swearing in of a mixed race President was groundbreaking. Yet, his Socialist tendencies, the crux of this reform, were met with general ignorance typical of so many Americans. In some corners of the land warning flags went up, as the foreshadowing was ominous.


When early on in his Presidency, Barack Obama smiled and shook hands with Hugo Chavez and received happily the Venezuelan’s gift, no great concern came over America. After all, he had promised in his election campaign that the world would see a new America.  Obama the Quixotic would attempt to repair the purported damage done by his predecessor over his eight year reign as the most powerful man in the world.

That moment of utter glee was truly the most foreboding image for America.  Today, it is difficult to differentiate between Chavez and Obama. Chavez is a declared Socialist who rallies the downtrodden by attacking the well-off with threats, taxes and the government takeover of industries. By increasing the size of his government and making people either reliant on or fearful of his government, Chavez guarantees his power.

President Obama, in the span of one year, has rallied the less fortunate of America to his side under the guise of healthcare. He has given special consideration to unions. Obama has taken over the General Motors, student loans and has made no secret of his desire to strangle the financial sector with greater regulation. He is rapdily growing the breadth and reach of government and the people's reliance on it. This is a powergrab to ensure his party's power.  Barack Obama's villains are those that he defines as rich.  There are known and soon to be known taxes that will continue the choke hold on anyone who makes over $150,000 per year. Obama’s Health and Human Services Secretary has threatened the insurance agencies to not find loopholes in the new law. Just yesterday, Obama warned his critics to lay off.

Hugo Chavez has consistently ignored his country’s constitution.  In passing the healthcare bill and relying on parliamentary procedures, President Obama has disregarded America's Constitution. Nowhere in our Constitution is healthcare mentioned. Every school child learns in civics classes that whatever is not enumerated in the Constitution is left to the states. Constitutional scholars should have a field day with the disregard for freedom of speech, government not being able to force something upon the people which they do not want, unreasonable search and seizure, and giving preferential monetary treatment to any state in the act of regulating commerce. In addition, we have lately seen President Obama approve new laws without the consent of Congress (automobile fuel efficiency, lead paint, ships in ports).

From a distance, President Obama’s blatant ignorance of the Constitution may be taken by some as acceptable for a greater, socialistic good. His passage of these new laws may seem innocuous. But, it is the underlying current driving these changes that is of grave concern. This second American Revolution was not the election of a mixed race President; it was the beginning of the deconstruction of 233 years of the greatest country and society created by man and the quick alignment with one of the world's flagbearer for socialism.

The reality is that Barack Obama’s gaga moment with Hugo Chavez foreshadowed what only a few people screamed about in 2009. The one main difference between the two is that Chavez is an avowed socialist and Obama is a closet socialist. Yet, their actions mirror each other and one cannot deny that today the parallels between the two are uncanny.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

The Digging of the Grave

Let the Democrats dig their graves. Our government is an absolute disgrace. We are supposed to be the example of democracy for all those other countries struggling (Iraq) to free themselves from tyranny to be able to control their own destinies. Today, the disconnect between elected officials and the public, plus the inefficiency of government and its gargantuan debt, means America is closer to a Banana Republic than that bright shining beacon upon a hill.

It is unfathomable today how America can call itself a democracy when our President and Congress do not respect the will of the people. The majority of America did not want the healthcare bill passed into law. Poll after poll after poll confirmed this. What Americans wanted in fact was for the Democrats to focus on the economy and get us out of this awful recession. Pelosi said that passing healthcare was the will of the people. No, Nancy, it was not. You are sounding like Castro who disregards the will of Cuban people.  Hopefully next year you will be "the people."

Broken promises and backroom deals are classic operating procedures for today's elected officials. Transparency? Never happened. Was the bill posted online as was promised by President Obama for five days? No, it wasn't. It's all moot now anyway. Besides, no one can read a 2000 page PhD level dissertation, digest it, and understand it in a few days. We have enough problems understanding the credit card disclaimer pamphlet.  Why is there muted revolt with the Louisiana Purchase, Cornhusker Kickback, Executive Orders and other underhanded tactics? 

Inviting Republicans for an all day soiree on live television was nothing but a joke. The Democrats said they wanted to take into consideration their opinions.  This is akin to due process in China, Iran or North Korea, where the other side is allowed to speak but will not be listened to by the judges.  It makes for excellent theatre.  The Republicans allowed themselves to be played for fools.

The impact of this health care law on our economy is completely unknown. It is frightening to all except the ones who cannot think logically for themselves and blindly follow what the Democrats say.  What will the impact be on corporations?  Caterpillar was the first one to give us a glimpse into the future.  If a company has to cut benefits, fire OR not hire people, it will not matter as the enlarged government net will take care of those that could otherwise be employed.  When more people rely on government, the more votes the Democrats will get.  

How will health care be paid for? Well, politician math is always wrong. Is there any government run entity that is actually efficient and works within budget? None. Do we want healthcare to follow in the footsteps of the IRS, Postal Service, Amtrak, Medicare, GM and Fannie Mae? 

How will the quality of healthcare be impacted? The reality is no one knows. We do have the highest quality healthcare in the world, period. We have the best trained doctors, the most advanced technology, with the least wait period for specialists. Some things work. Of course, some others could be improved. The Democrats simply threw the baby out with the bathwater on this one.

When government is over budget it borrows or raises taxes. Inevitably, taxes must go up to deal with healthcare, the debt and entitlements. What will this additional burden be on companies and taxpayers? When taxes are high, people don't save, spend and nor do companies. When less money is spent, fewer things are purchased and less taxes are collected. The welfare wheels will just go round and round, round and round, all day long. From 1998-2008, the federal debt as a percentage of GDP went from 58%-70% a high number from all angles. Or, it grew about 1% per year. In 2009, the federal debt went from 70%-86%, a 20% jump in one year. America cannot continue growing government and adding to the debt. Healthcare is the linchpin in this grenade.

There are too many questions and no answers from the Democrats. Political speak means nothing. But, by the time we do get our answers, it will be too late. Yet, we have only ourselves to blame.  America's knee-jerk reaction vote in 2008 brought us this shift toward Chicago style politics and socialism.  America was forewarned.  But, we did not listen, we made our bed and have to sleep in it until hopefully only 2011.

Monday, March 22, 2010

What Now?

Today marks the beginning of the end for America, as it is the day where lies, corruption, deception and ignorance have become our new Constitution.

In the march toward healthcare reform, Washington has trampled on the values that made this country the greatest example of Democracy.  Every single poll showed the majority of Americans against passage of this bill.  Also, no poll showed passing healthcare a priority over improving the economy.  So, what happened to representative government and the will of the people? We can only guess and leave it to historians to debate this in the future.

Americans have been powerless to stop Washington's infatuation with socialized healthcare and the trampling of the Constitution.  This feeling of powerlessness is reflected in America's approval ratings for Congress. It is astounding that while Congress has a 15% approval rating and the majority of Americans did not want to pass this healthcare bill, it was voted into law anyway. What a way to snub your nose at the citizens. What does that say about how Washington views the rest of the country?

Over a year ago, we were told about transparency.  It never occurred.  Washington has openly paid Senators hundreds of millions of dollars for their votes for healthcare.  In other countries that would be called a bribe.  Here it is even flaunted.  This is corruption in its purest form.  It is the antithesis of what our founding father's bequeathed us in the Constitution.     

Are we wrong in feeling so much gloom?  Washington does not listen to America, so we are right in feeling powerless.  We told our elected representatives in Washington to fix the economy first.  Yet, they hung on to the healthcare bone like a famished bulldog and didn’t obey the master’s will.  They hunger for the history books but not for doing right by the citizens.  We should fear for our future.

The news all around us is negative. Being a Generation X-er, I have never seen unemployment at 10%. Yet here it is and experts say, “get used to it.” Debt. I can’t even comprehend how much money America owes. All I know is that if my personal expenses and debt were as bad as my country’s, I’d be bankrupt, without credit and unable to get loans. People are losing their homes across the nation. This feeling of despair has not translated into action by our government. It’s priorities are skewed. They are drunk on power and relentless to go into history as the ones that finally got healthcare passed.

It is good that four years from now an adult will not be denied healthcare coverage for a pre-existing condition.  What is cataclismic is that today's government will go down in history as the one that developed a parallel constitution, ignored the people and dumped America into chaos.

Friday, January 22, 2010

An Ideal State of the Union Speech

Dear Americans: 

This, my second State of the Union address, will be one of atonement.

Folks, no longer can the charades continue.  For the past 12 months, I have really messed up.  It's been quite a challenge going from community organizer to Senator and then on to the Presidency in four short years. 

I have been infatuated with reforming healthcare.  Simply, I just wanted to go down in history as the one who finally did it.  Nancy, behind me, has as well.  We never listened to you and I was selfish.  All along, I ignored the 2/3 of you that were against this health care reform. 

Bipartisanship.  I promised it.  It sounded so good.  Being frank, it helped me get elected.  Yes, I lied to you.  It started on day two when I first blamed ole Dubya.  It was just so easy.  Then it got out of control and this became the hymn for us Democrats.  

I told you, America, it would not be business as usual.  But, you know what they say back in Chicago don't you?  Friends and family are important.  Some very good friends of mine are from Louisiana, Nebraska and in the unions.  The second paragraph of the Declaration of Independence is clear, something we hold dear to our hearts, yet I have not.

I do not have the courage to fight terrorism and treat the bad guys as combatants.  Please understand my intentions were good, as were Chamberlain's so many years ago.  I felt that if we demonstrated to the world that the rule of law could prevail, then they would follow along.  Now, I know, there really are bad guys out there that want to kill all of you.

My insecurity prevents me from addressing important issues such as China, Iran and the rebirth of Russia.  Putin intimidates me - he is really tough, a man's man.  I've never been a fan of Chinese food.  Nuclear bombs scare me.  I saw Chavez of Venezuela as a misunderstood man, so much so that I read the book he gave me many times over.   

Most importantly, I have to admit that for over a year I have ignored our economy.  This has contributed directly and indirectly to our demise.  It was my belief that it would rectify itself with the billions I stole from your pockets, while I focused on healthcare and how I would look on Mt. Rushmore.

Lastly, I need to clear one more thing up with all Americans, a basic lesson in Government.  If any party should be at fault for our demise, it must be us, the Democrats.  We have controlled Congress, ever since I was just a community organizer.  Congress makes the laws and passes the laws.  For over a year, we have also controlled the Presidency.  Now, things are worse now than ever.  

In closing, please support Republicans in November, just as Massachusetts did a few days back, because we, Democrats, have really screwed America.

Thank you and may God Bless America once again in 2011.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Democrats Feel Blue About Brown

Fight or flight.  It is has all come undone for the Democrats. The dream is over.  Scott Brown,  Republican, an unknown merely three weeks ago, has conquered Massachusetts, the Mount Everest of liberal states.  How did this happen - that is what the nation is asking today.

Senator Elect Brown's ascent is an epic moment in America's history. For the past year, there have been monumental events unfolding both here and abroad.  America finds itself facing challenges not seen in generations, if ever.  Anxiety and malaise are widespread throughout the land.  No one in Washington has been listening.  Democrats have been listless, not exuding confidence but vitriol.  Now, they have no choice but to open their ears.   

The country is at a crossroads.  What do we do with healthcare, cap and trade, deficits, unemployment, the rise of China and India, the nuclear threat, and terrorism?  

The majority of the country is against the health care bill. Yet, Democrats want to ram it through and go into the history books. We are scared to death about the economy. Their only solution has been to blame Bush. Things continue to get worse.  Iran has nuclear weapons, has suffocated free speech, voting and squashed dissent. The Democrats sit idly by. Terrorists have attempted to strike the US three times in the past year. The Democrats attempt to connect the dots and want to defend their rights. Meanwhile, the rights of American citizens are not prioritized.

Americans have been clear on what they want and don't want.  It's simple.  We want confidence from our elected leaders.  All of us know we are in bad shape across the board.  The Democrats turned a deaf ear to us. Their's is an insulated world where there is no consequence.  They have not communicated confidence and we, down here, are unsure of their direction.  They have ruled through dissonance and now the consequences are evident.    

Americans wanted a change for 2009.  The Democrats misnterpreted this.  The change we wanted was confidence.  A simple message from Washington such as, "We hear you, we know things are tough, they will get better and this is how we will do it."  No such message can be heard behind closed Democrat doors.

Now, after losing their super majority, Democrat arrogance has led to infighting and the squabbling has begun.  Massachusetts pulled the pin.  The Coakley and Obama camps sound like pre-pubescent teenagers.  The house of Obama and Pelosi is blowing up before us. 

Pelosi feels she has the pulse of the nation running through her veins. She is adamant about passing health care one way or another.  Forget about building confidence or listening to Americans.  This will be suicidal for the Democrats. Massachusetts saved the nation but not the Democrats. How ironic.

Scott Brown, Republican, was elected Senator in the most Democratic state in nation. It was another shot heard round the world. How he won will be studied by Political Science students for years to come.  Hopefully, the Republicans begin studying now to prepare for November 2010.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Being Truly Thankful

You will have to make a gargantuan effort in two ways to be thankful today, Thanksgiving 2009. The past 12 months have been an absolute disaster for so many that you have to somehow block it out for 24 hours. The economy has been on the precipice all year. One out of every 8 people is unemployed, friends are losing their homes, and more of us live paycheck to paycheck. There have been divorces and deaths also, like any other year.  Cars have broken down, you may have fought with a friend, and your favorite person may not have won American Idol. No, it won’t be easy to build a temporary wall around all of this.

To truly be able to give thanks today, the effort needs to be made with your day to day life. Shut the computer down. Being on the Internet, surfing the web, Facebook and MySpace, is quickly turning us into a country of 300 million independent pods with an ever diminishing ability to interact face to face. Turn off the television. There is a reason why it used to be called the idiot box. It also foments our materialism and superficiality. Today, a Kardashian is hailed a hero, Lambert's lambasting helps him become richer, and reality shows are not really all that real. Who cares who will be the next top model or who lost the most amount of weight? Too bad family time can't be DVR'd. Put the cell phone away.  Our always on society with text messages, emails and games, interrupts your ability to focus for more than 30 seconds on anything.

Blocking out the difficulty of 2009 and stepping out of your technology inspired life for just a day will permit you to start noticing things for which to be thankful.

If you have someone to share a meal with today, appreciate it. Some weeks ago I was out to dinner and observed an elderly woman all by herself with just a magazine and magnifying glass to keep her company. She looked around every once in a while and smiled at different tables. No one seemed to notice. My father once told me that loneliness is the worst disease. Her eyes confirmed that.

In your mind, say thank you to the Marine Corps, Army, Air Force, Navy and Coast Guard. You may or may not approve of our current wars. Yet one thing is certain. These men and women have sacrificed more than you or I ever have and ever will. Today will be a long and lonely day for many of them.

Maybe you are lucky enough to live where birds sing. If you are and you hear a bird sing, stop for ten seconds. Listen to its songs. Look for the bird. Don't be envious because his is a simple life.

Sit with your dog for ten minutes. Give him a treat, pet him and talk to him. How great is it to have a true friend that would never leave your side, for anything? The loyalty and dedication of a dog is unequaled in our world. Their lives are too short.

Remember your parents. You may be with them or you may not.  Take just a few minutes and flip through some memories. Your mother’s soothing words after breaking up with a girlfriend or boyfriend. Or her hands putting on a band aid and telling you not to worry. Remember your father teaching you how to drive. Remember your father’s face of unadulterated pride at your graduation.  These are times that will never come back.

Talk to your best friends, even if they are far away. Your hectic lives may have separated you, yet that will never erase the good times and bad times that were shared.  Friends have helped make you what you are today.  A true friend is family.

In your walks today, wherever you may go, you may see an elderly couple holding hands. That is indescribable and beautiful. After decades of wrinkling together, the bond is still there.  They know they are in the fall of their lives.  That couple likely never stepped into the Walden woods but surely they have sucked the marrow out of life.  They will not waste one minute on such unimportant things, like the Internet, television and texting, like you and I do.  Happy Thanksgiving.




Monday, November 23, 2009

The Last Decade of Innocence

Children know what adults forgot:  life is simple and should be good.  Then you reach the teenage years and life's complexities begin to show.  The bonds that held you tight to your family begin to erode as you seek your own existence and want to define your life as you dreamt it years ago. Then after college when you finally face the cold wind of life alone, the kid realizes that the score is 100 to 0 and he is down.

As I entered my adult years, I finally admitted to myself that once in a while I wanted to run back to the safety I had when I was 12. The family room with the woodstove awaited me, where we’d all sit down at 5:30pm and watch All in the Family. Or, I would love to have laid down once again on top of my bed and look directly at my Run DMC poster. Nothing could replace sitting at the kitchen table on a cold Sunday morning, with the smell of coffee and fresh baked cornbread intertwined in a heavenly dance.

There was a comfort that life provided and my parents had been the root. Back then, as life was truly straightforward, my world consisted of my parents love and discipline, their principle and hard work; piano lessons and Boy Scouts; baseball and basketball; fights in school and fights at home; and of course, my few good friends. It was a simple world and a small town, with an overabundance of dreams and hopes and yes, it was good.

Life was so simple when I was 12. Of course I knew little about little. My music tastes varied. I did like Rod Stewart (only today can I admit that) and Noah still remembers my extensive collection of Hall and Oates. We would play them over and over again at night, pretending to be DJ’s on my Realistic tape recorder my Dad bought me. Noah and I would listen to WCOZ or WROR and when a good song came on, hit “Record” and “Play.” It didn’t matter that we’d catch a little of the DJ’s voice. We didn’t have iTunes back then. We had imagination.

My family and I grew up on Cider Mill Road, in a town called Sudbury. It had 12,000 people. Our house was set back from the street, with woods all around. There was a huge and hilly back yard that was absolutely perfect for sledding in winter. Our mountain began at the basketball pole, down the first small hill. Then it went on to the big one and from there to the third hill, the most challenging, that went past the stacked wood on the right, and down through the woods. I had to avoid the oaks and maples that were standing or fallen, to land on the frozen little stream that never seemed to go anywhere. Every Spring I’d go down there to see if there were any fish or turtles. There never were. But, one day while exploring the woods, not quite like Christopher Columbus, I discovered oil! I ran back home, screaming, to my mom that we were going to be rich. Shortly thereafter as I guided her to the secret location, she told me that some fool had dumped his car oil into the stream.

Hard work was what also defined my mother. One thing that she slaved at and could do and outdo anyone was cooking. I can still recall from the recesses of my mind the smell of the feasts cooked by my mother. They would have won awards at any competition. Forget Rachel Ray and those other overpriced, overmarketed figures on television as they cannot compare. My mother could take scraps of food and any leftovers and within 30 minutes whip up a meal worthy of a banquet. My mother cooked an incredible meatloaf. Noah and I partook of one particular iteration of that meatloaf one night. It was so good that we helped ourselves to more and more until it all disappeared. Of course, the next day he and I denied any involvement. But, we had no alibi nor did she have anything to serve for dinner that night.  She knew it had been us.

Christmas and Thanksgiving were special times for my mother to show off her skill. She would spend all day basting and cutting and preparing and making sure that every detail, smell, and taste would be perfectly coordinated. I will never forget that one Thanksgiving, as we all sat down in absolute drooling hunger. My mother was slicing the turkey in the kitchen. Her friend brought it to the table. Her footsteps got closer and closer to the dining room where all ten of us friends and family were sitting in pure agony waiting to feast. In absolute slow motion horror, I watched as my mother’s friend stepped in to the dining room and tripped over something. The beautifully juicy and perfectly sliced turkey breast unceremoniously fell to the floor. Our dog loved her even more that year.

My parents would give me an allowance for raking leaves, mowing lawn, shoveling the driveway and cutting, splitting and stacking wood. Before I hit 14, I alone deforested half of Sudbury, on direct orders from my father. Also, I contributed to global warming by polluting the winter air as I kept the wood stove fed and roaring throughout the winter. I was a Republican years before I could vote. But, work did not stop there. My mom had to have hers, too. So, without a union to defend me or any rights whatsoever for protection, I also became her servant. At a young age I became adept at dish washing, dusting, vacuuming and knowing how to keep the house ready for the ever pending Presidential visit. Of course, he never came.

Santa Claus did stop by, every year. But, I knew he did, and that he must have really liked our cookies and milk. Every morning on Christmas day, one bite was taken from the cookie and he drank some milk. Like most other kids, it was impossible for me to fall asleep as the great anticipation of Christmas morning was more than I could take alone in my bed. Somehow, I did fall asleep. Waking up was never a problem! One year, Santa hung out a little too long since, I guess, he had finished his rounds. I remember vaguely Santa walking up and down the hallway one winter, with his bell, waking us up, saying, “HO HO HO! Merry Christmas!” I woke up and there he was. I watched him and watched him in total disbelief for about one minute. Then I realized he sounded familiar and feminine. It was my mother, as a surprise to us all, dressed as Santa, doing her best to give us the most amazing Christmas possible.

Even at Christmas, our pets were given a little something. Canela was our German Shepard that outweighed me when I was ten by at least 30 pounds, she was faster, had bigger teeth and loved Frisbees, peanuts my sisters and I. She was a great wrestling partner, a gentle giant, protective of all that she considered hers, even the cats Sandy and Ashley. The cats would team up and tease Canela and make her run after them, up and down the hallways and stairs. My father would swear the house was coming down or that some earthquake had just rocked us. We learned to get out of the way so as to not become some statistic of injury inside the house. Once in a while, I did want to push a sister in the way, just to see what would happen. But, all big brothers are like that.

In the fall I would rake leaves with my cousin Charles, who was much older than me. We would always build the biggest pile of leaves possible at the bottom of the hill. Then, he’d encourage my sisters and I, at the top of his lungs, to jump in. And we did, over and over again. We seemed to have an endless supply of energy back then. We always made sure our pile of leaves was really big, as we could really get some speed and height running down that hill. Canela would gallop after us and jump in also, as she knew nothing but happiness when she was with us. We were only jumping into a big leaf pile in a New England fall, nothing more. We would delight ourselves at leaping into it over and over again, best friends in absolute and innocent ecstasy. The ache, twenty years later, is in my heart and no longer my arms.

My very first Mustang was in fact a blue Ross Ten Speed with baskets on the side in the back. I’d ride in loops, up and down my street, between Raymond Road and Robert Frost Lane, for those were my boundaries. I would pretend to be John Poncharello, imitating a siren and pulling my sisters over on their bikes. I had a little notepad and pen to write out fake tickets, for ugliness, being liberals or for just plain breathing too loudly. My mom told me years later that she had fielded at least two or three calls from the neighbors because the siren sound was just too loud. I wonder if they ever appreciated my sacrifice.

Back then, I worked at Star Market as a bagger and made $3.25 an hour, which was great money at the time. I was on my way to being the next Bill Gates. I hated having to take the bus to work downtown after school because it was embarrassing. I also had a paper route for a while. It was terrible having to deliver papers early in the morning and get laughed at by the high school kids who stood on Robert Frost Road while I made my way home for the middle school bus. And it was all the worse when there was snow and I rode my Ross 10 speed, trying to out run snowballs, without snow tires. I detested having to mow lawn, clear leaves, shovel the driveway, cut and split wood and make sure there was enough in the garage in case a monster snow storm suddenly appeared that Dick Albert had not seen, yet somehow my father with his Farmer’s Almanc had predicted. I am still wondering if he co authored it.

My dad used to embarrass me a long time ago. I have seen my father blow his nose in public in a sheet of newspaper. When he would go to the apothecary, and the charge was $9.73, he’d unload his two pants pockets which somehow, amazingly, held enough miscellaneous items to build a space shuttle. Then in front of everyone, he’d separate the exact change from the crumpled bills, the binaca, the keys, handkerchief, pens, notepad, wallet and credit cards. My father would always start up a conversation with any stranger and crack dumb jokes. Back then, I would instantly go running quickly in another direction, head low, wanting to divorce him somehow for embarrassing me. But, those are quirks and I, as an adult, have inherited them. I swore I would never do all that and today, I am just like him. The apple never falls far from the tree and I’m glad.

When I was younger, the first few times I’d smell a wood stove burning in October represented a sadness as it was the signal for winter. This would mark the exclamation point on the temporary death of late nights at Friendly’s and the pool hall; Saturdays at Horseneck Beach and Sunday morning basketball. It would spark thoughts of the coming months, of snow and Christmas, of mid terms and college applications, of cloudy days and 4pm sunsets, of cold mornings and the Toro snowblower.

Children look in amazement at the world around them and wonder about all that will be theirs. Somewhere that vanishes. As a child I was no different. I wanted to grow up so fast, that the handcuffs of time frustrated me. One day I was going to be a pilot. Then I thought about a fireman or a lawyer. Then I thought about basketball. Then girls. Quickly I had graduated college, got a job and the difficulties of life expanded exponentially. Looking back on a simple time, there were downs but not like today. It was the last decade of innocence. Those few negative things were simple strangers that passed by. All that they left in their wake, was a bed of memories so warm and comforting that still today I want to jump back in, fall asleep and be woken up again by Santa Claus.

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Appreciating a Gift


Recently, I have been telling a story about the most wonderful experience in my life. I was lucky to have grown up in the 80’s in Boston. The Celtics were my team and they were my Gods. Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Chief, Cornbread Maxwell, and Dennis Johnson. DJ was my guy. I loved his tenacity, grit and basketball awareness. Those no-look passes to Larry Bird down low are as clear in my mind as if it were 1986.  I still remember Johnny Most, "There's a steal by Bird, underneath to DJ!"  Who always drew the defensive assignment on Michael Jordan or Magic? Dennis Johnson. It was because of him that I worked like hell on my defense.

In 2005, I boarded a flight from São Paulo to Miami. Like always, I was full of anxiety and itching to get home. As people filed in, I started playing my game of Seat Roulette, “That person, no, that one no, maybe that one, DEFINITELY not that one.” Some people, unfortunately, look like science projects gone bad and you definitely don’t want them sitting next to you for eight hours.

I had noticed an awful lot of tall guys with USA Basketball jackets coming down the aisle. I thought to myself, “That’s pretty cool, USA basketball on my flight.” It was not going to make me suddenly rich or famous but possibly worthy of a trip anecdote. I recognized maybe one or two guys. Then, suddenly, time slowed down. The angels sung. There he was, Dennis Johnson, entering to economy class.

I quickly put my head down. I was nervous. I thought to myself, “OH MY GOD IT’S DJ, IT’S DJ, OH MY GOD.” I tried to grab my cell phone to call someone. I dropped the phone. I bent over to pick it up. My hands were trembling, palms sweating. I got my phone, looked up, looked left, and there, in all his glory, was Dennis Johnson in the seat next to mine, the Angels were holding the high note. Again, I looked down, left, right, left right. What was my name? Could I form vowels?  I had Parkinsons. I felt faint.

Dennis Johnson tapped me on the shoulder and I passed out. When I came to, he spoke and simply said, “I’m sorry I’m a pretty big guy. If I fall asleep and you need to get up, don’t hesitate, shake me, elbow me, it’s not a problem.” I tried to respond. My mouth opened at least. All I could manage was a grunt and a head nod.

I slowly regained control of my muscles and my mind. I turned back to the TV screen for a second then blurted out as quickly as I could, “Mr. Johnson, I am straight, but really you were my hero and my idol growing up, I loved watching you, the way you played, your intensity, your awareness, your passing, your defense. I copied all of your moves. I had posters of you in my room. I even know why you spin the ball before a foul shot. You have no idea what I am going through right now having you sitting next to me.”

His reaction was stunning. All he said was, “Thank you. I appreciate that.” I was calming down, quickly becoming a 34 year old man again and not some 12 year old school girl at a New Kids on the Block concert. We then chatted, the basic chat one does on the plane. As we taxied and took off, we went from chat to conversation. He talked to me about Robert, Larry, Kevin, KC, as if I were on a first name basis with these guys as well.  I felt as if I had been part of the Celtics in the mid 80’s. It was so cool! DJ told me about his goal to one day coach in the NBA.  He had recently  accepted a new job to coach some team in Texas and had to leave Florida.

Then came an even more incredible move.  DJ asked me what I did for a living and so I explained it. I remember he told me that it was nice to hear about things other than basketball and how lucky I was to travel so much. He asked me about my family and how they deal with me being away. At that point I felt at liberty to go even further and asked him for advice, for at the time I was coaching high school basketball. He shared some pointers and drills that I could implement. By the time dinner was over, I felt like we had become friends. At the end of our flight, we shook hands and I expressed to him once again, the incredible luck in meeting my childhood idol and the joy in talking to him. I wished him luck and he thanked me. For some hours, to me, he was Dennis Johnson the man, down to earth, considerate, and humble.  

I had been given a gift that became even greater because in early 2007, Dennis Johnson suffered a massive heart attack and died while coaching practice for his team in Austin, Texas. He never made it to the NBA as he had told me he wanted on that flight from Brazil. Larry Bird called him the greatest basketball player he had ever played with.

To me, Dennis Johnson is my hero and my idol because he was simply a good man.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Pardoxical Irony

There were many wonderful ironies during last week’s buildup to the NFL game in London on Sunday. How great was it that the “Patriots” were playing on British soil? There was the actual football game in the land of another kind of Manchester United, where that sport is also called football. Yet, there was a striking contrast that was likely missed by most.

To discover this obscure contrast, one had to have looked just past Tom Brady at his press conference. Tom Terrific stood on a podium, in front of cameras, reporters and the like, as he has done hundreds of times. Behind him, there was a large Dunkin Donuts advertisement. This is the same Dunkin Donuts, founded in Massachusetts that is currently conquering the world with its delicious coffee.

The Dunkin Donuts sign was placed over a plaque memorializing some Brits who lost their lives in World War I. Many other companies leverage mass marketing and branding as a way to rule the world, such as Starbucks, McDonalds, and so on. We are fairly immune to this, except when it comes to the desecration of famed stadiums and ballparks. But in World War I (and World War II) the path to world domination was war. Yet in London this weekend, the power of modern day media trumped yesterday’s British power of valor and sacrifice.

Had it not been for the British and the United States in World War I, Dunkin Donuts and other companies would not be conquering world palettes. It is plausible that today they would go by different names and peddle fine schnitzel and warm beer.

In World War I, many British paid the ultimate sacrifice to defend their homeland and in a trickle down process have allowed the West to flourish. That is how Tom Brady was able to have his press conference on Saturday and how Dunkin Donuts can continue serving coffee in other countries, even Colombia.

Dunkin Donuts of course has a contract with the Patriots that cost the company millions of dollars for advertising rights. So, one the one hand, legally, they did nothing wrong. Since we are immune to mass marketing, except for the Super Bowl, we surely were oblivious to this contrast. But, the question must be posed: why couldn’t Dunkin Donuts skip one press conference? For one second, imagine the significance. It would have been nice to have Dunkin Donuts sacrifice those ten minutes in the spotlight by not arrogantly displaying its logo over a remembrance of those that died battling tyranny. Or, maybe they could have just found another angle or venue.

I remember when 9-11 happened, People magazine came out with an issue dedicated solely to that tragic event. On one page there would be a photo of someone jumping from a tower. The opposite facing page would have an advertisement of a smiling woman and her wonderful shampoo. Imagine for a second if Dunkin Donuts had not hung its logo that one time, out of respect for those British that gave their lives in World War I. The final irony is that companies would gain greater respect and customers by once in a while skipping the advertising.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

The Hispanic and Latino Impossibility

In the United States we throw around two seemingly interchangeable terms, Latino and Hispanic, without even the slightest idea of how to define these words. From job applications, to the census, to scholarships and on and on, this country seems hell bent on classifying people. Yet, the words Latino and Hispanic will never be adequately defined. Let’s look at just a few basic reasons why not.

With regard to the classification of Latino, there are many paths this can take. Should it be someone with Latino roots? If so, would this, therefore, include Italians, French even Romanians? Or, should it be a requirement that this person be from this side of the Atlantic? Maybe we should only include Spaniards and their offspring from "over here"? What about Belize, in Central America, where English is the primary language? One thing is for sure, Brazilians don't like being labeled Latinos, altough their language has Latin roots, so that will limit a geographic definition.

Geography is one way to possibly define a Latino or Hispanic. But, should we also limit how many generations removed a person is? If a person was born in the United States, to parents born in the United States, whose parents immigrated from Colombia, would that be too far away to be considered Latino or Hispanic? Is a person born in Argentina to parents from Italy also Latino or Hispanic? If we accept this, then we creep closer to including those aforementioned countries in Europe under the Hispanic and Latino definition.

Now, these terms also present another challenge, one of misconceptions. From my experience, Hispanic, for example, has been used to describe a "minority" in the United States (sometimes in a derogatory way). But, who is Hispanic? Is a white Chilean an Hispanic? A Spaniard? Is a Brazilian also an Hispanic? After all, the Portuguese settled Brazil and while sharing the same peninsula with Spain, Hispania. Unfortunately, many people in the United States somehow equate Hispanic with Mexican and there go the stereotypes. But, we don’t all like tacos and mole.

The countries south of the Rio Grande have such a rich cultural and ethnic mix that it makes it almost impossible to define these terms. The skin colors are as varied as the foods, holidays, religions, and ethnic backgrounds. Set foot in Peru and observe how many Japanese descendants there are! In Argentina, there is an important Jewish population. The Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Venezuela and Cuba have many blacks who can trace their roots to the slave ships and Africa. Also, there is an important Arab influence in many countries "down south." The original peoples of the continent still exist as well.

In the end, the terms Hispanic and Latino will never be satisfactorily defined and I speak from experience and from the heart. I was born in Spain to a Spanish mother and American father. I consider myself Hispanic, Latino, American and Spanish.

At different moments of my life, different definitions of these words have prohibited me from participating in certain activities. One that I recall vividly was an Hispanic scholarship that was unavailable to me because I was not considered Hispanic. A classmate of mine, who was born in the United States, to parents who were also born in the United States, of Guatemalan and Mexican roots, won it. In culture, language, and birth, he was exponentially more American than I. He did not even speak a word of Spanish.

To define Latino and Hispanic, we must dig deep beneath the surface and consider many variables. In so doing, we will discover how incredibly dynamic, broad and rich the cultures are that came from the Romans. We can even make a link via Peru and Brazil that the Japanese and Latinos/Hispanics are cousins by marriage.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Mocking Domestic Violence

When Rhianna was beat up by her boyfriend, it was splashed all over the news. A spotlight was shed once again on the issue of domestic violence. Quickly, the media shut off the light and Rhianna’s problem seemed to have disappeared. But, not completely. It is back and more serious, only it is presented in a different way.

Rhianna has a new album and the cover sure is racy and sexy. In it, she is naked except for barbed wire covering her private parts. The media has come back to her once again yet instead of portraying her as a vicitm, she is called intelligent, daring, sexy. They say she is pushing the envelope and they're in awe.

So today, I looked it up to see what all the hulabaloo was about. Sexy, yes. Racy, absolutely. I can understand all the fuss and know there will be more. Show a pair of breasts to most men and they’ll call the woman anything! Intelligent? Sure, if it helps. But, the reality is that it’s not hard to market a naked woman to men.

Daring? Yes, how dare she. After becoming a media figure for the abuse she took from Chris Brown, Rhianna’s album cover makes a mockery of the seriousness of domestic violence. When a man beats a woman, it stems from insecurity and his needs to feel powerful and in control. The woman is not treated with respect nor as a human, but as an object.

When Rhianna arrogantly exposes her breasts on an album cover, most men will think of one thing. They are not going to study the picture and think of the beauty of a woman’s body, of how it compares to a Van Gogh painting. These men will certainly not consider her intelligence or her potential or her humaness. They will think of one thing: those two objects can satisfy these other needs. Leveraging a well known weakness in men is not that difficult.

With Rhianna’s ability to reach and influence so many people, one has to wonder if she thought this one through. It's not too smart of her. The reality is that there are many men that look at women as objects, not as art, not as equals, not as intelligent humans worthy of respect. This picture reinforces that women can be considred objects.

Recently, Nicole Kidman testified before Congress and stated that Hollywood can be considered at fault for perpetuating violence against women by portraying them as objects. This won't get much air time from the media. They are also at fault, as they are at fault for most of our ills. The media reinforces society's ills, as they have with Rhianna. By confirming that Rhianna is intelligent, daring, and pushing the envelope with this picture is deceitful. They forget her domestic violence while they applaud the picture of Rhianna’s breasts.

Rhianna has lost a great opportunity. Intelligence comes from the inside. The ability to communicate a thought clearly, string together an argument, be unique – that is the basis of intelligence. Rhianna just took a picture of herself, naked, and wrapped in barbed wire. That’s not intelligence; it is a mockery of the seriousness of domestic violence. Her brush with this faded yet in many streets and avenues in the United States, it continues for many other women. Some women in abusive relationships will undoubtedly, and sadly, end up buying Rhianna’s album.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Atticus and Linus

Now I realize that for years I had been peering out windows looking for flying pigs. But, I stopped, forever, as the days of hoping Atticus Finch would run for elected office are over.

I live in a country that I adore but where all politicians are actors, not just Reagan and the Terminator. Actors are also politicians, one is heads, the other tails. There has never been a time where I’ve been in a drug induced haze, legal or other, while hoping that a truly decent man or woman would stand up, in the act of representing the people, and simply lead this country through strength, values, and honor, not lies.

These people exist, if imperfect, in history books. They wrapped me for years in the blanket of idealism. They were called Jefferson, Washington and Lincoln. I have now learned that every Linus has to grow up at some point. This year, it was my turn.

I used to consider myself a Republican because of Ronald Reagan and my Conservative upbringing. Also, I have always worked hard and still today, hate to part with money. I registered as a Republican at 18 and through the years, donated money to the cause. That’s past tense as I can no longer do it in good conscience.

For most of my life, I demonized only democrats. Reality has now sunk in. Whether Democrat or Republican, they are all the same to me. Politicians are hypocrites, devoid of intelligent argument and genetic liars. Take a cue card or script away from them and they become incapable of orating. Values? Scratch the surface just a little and you'll hear the air escape. Honesty? That depends on what your meaning of truth is. Our government is run by the equivalent of baboons in three piece suits.

Why did I leave the Republican Party? Well, you simply cannot on the one hand preach less government and grow government at the same time. How can they scream family values but then run off to Argentina behind a wife’s back? A real moral compass does not lead you to solicit sex in a bathroom. You cannot hold the Bible in one hand while you steal money with the other. How can you say you are pro life but support the death penalty? Is it too much to ask that if you parade freedom and liberty on the campaign trail, you don't limit mine after being elected?

The Democrats are hypocrites and liars just like the Republicans. How can a President be a champion of woman’s rights while treating interns and secretaries like objects for his satisfaction? You have a representative from New York who fights for the poor yet he hides his millions of dollars of assets. Traditional Democratic states have the highest tax rates yet year after year they rank near the bottom as far as giving to charity. The current President says he doesn’t want to bicker, then in the next sentence he takes swipes at his opponents. He runs on a platform of openness yet we have no idea who received our money for the bailouts. I don’t understand if all men are created equal, why do the Democrats therefore demonize those that are rich?

I am no Arlen Specter or Benedict Arnold. I am just Conservative, except of course when expressing my opinions. There is so much to be said about the disenfranchising of Americans with their politicians. There is a growing gulf between those we elect and every day people. It continues to grow even faster than the icecaps are melting.

I know somewhere in this great country, there are Atticus Finch’s that could lead America as it should. But, they are terrible actors.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

We've lost our minds

Michael Jackson's passing is a glaring example of how we have lost our minds. He was a phenomenal performer, whose songs many of us grew up with.

Yet, the frenzy caused by his death obscures the dark side of Michael Jackson, that of a bankrupt child molester, drug addict, man-boy, whose bizarre behavior left many of us shaking our heads in disbelief. Today, we honor him as a God.

His is a sad story but what is truly sad is how he has been annointed a deity. Not even Pope John Paul II's passing created such havoc. At the end, what Michael Jackson did was write great songs, invent a cool dance, molest children, bankrupt himself, lie, take drugs, and dangle his baby over a balcony (without ever being investigated for child abuse). These were his horrific trespasses.

Michael Jackson's death has been elevated above all else that is important in our world. But, he is not a God. A long time ago we lost sight of values and standing for right and wrong. People lost their minds upon his death in every way: emotionally and in the midst of the greatest economic crisis, somehow found money for his funeral today.

Imagine for a second the benefit, if the people that tried in vain to get tickets to today's event, would have dedicated that time to a truly worthy cause, or had donated the money they spent on tickets to a worthwhile charity. Maybe, just maybe, that would have been a way to honor someone who supposedly was all for the children. They could have left the Jackson family to mourn in private. Unless, of course, the media attention helps them get back into the spotlight, a stroke of marketing genius.

The media's constant 24 hour vigil on every nuance and event regarding his death from around the world has fed this frenzy. Unfortunately, the last tragedy with regards to Michael Jackson's death is what is left: for lawyers and his family to fight amongst themselves for whatever remains of his material wealth. Who wants to bet that the mother of his children gets nothing and no one will stand up for her?

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Chicken or Pasta?

Since time began, man has wanted to fly. In the old days, he looked at birds and made them Gods. He wondered what the view would be like from way up there. Man was envious. Centuries after his lust for flying began, he flew thanks to the Wright Brothers, Santos Dumont and many others. Now man can fly as far and as high as he wants. Yet, today flying is miserable.

The first thing I would ask a flight attendant, if given the opportunity, is: did you want enjoy the glory of what a flight attendant used to represent or did they not accept you as a guard at Riker’s Island? Flight attendants are like Nazi Prison Camp guardians. They do not talk, they do not smile. They grunt and glare and say three things: chicken or pasta, pull your seat up now, that needs to be turned off immediately. You are not allowed to talk back to a flight attendant, crack jokes or complain about anything. You will be arrested upon landing.

Flight attendants play their own little games, too. Their favorite one seems to be smash elbow. This is where they will drive the cart up and down the aisle as fast as possible, eyes closed, and count how many elbows they can smash into.

On International flights, in economy, there are two carts: one with drinks, one with food. The one with food has two flight attendants and goes first. Right behind it is the drink cart but with only one attendant. The food cart goes three times as fast: they have two people (basic math) and it is easier to throw a tray of food than a cup of liquid. Therefore, if you fly economy, you will always finish your chicken or pasta before you get your drink or $6.00 MD 20/20 tasting “International Flagship” wine.

Now, the next source of misery are stupid fliers. If you don’t have an elementary school education, you should not fly. There is a simple order to where seats are located on a plane. There are numbers and letters, 23A, 28G. When you get on a plane, there is a flight attendant to help guide you. She will ask everybody to show a boarding pass, which has a seat assignment. Then, you will be pointed in the right direction. This flight attendant located at the boarding door is a backup for cases of stupidity. At this point, even a monkey could find its seat. But, incredibly, some people still cannot. Extreme stupidity has no solution. If you have trouble finding your seat, you should not fly. If you sit down in the wrong seat, you should be escorted off the plane, no questions asked. Why? Because when you get asked whether you want chicken or pasta, your brain will explode. By then, we’ll be in mid flight and have to land due to the mess.

An elementary school education also comes in handy when asking for a drink. They have some sodas, juices, coffee, warm beer and two 7 Eleven wines (but no brown paper bags). You have the option to ask what they have. If, after the flight attendant tells you everything available, you ask for tea, you should never fly again.

The TSA does a decent job of screening for weapons, liquids and patting down old ladies. But, they need to search and seize Cuban and homemade food. This is a weapon of torture. In a plane, you are no better than sardines in a can. There is no air nor space and having to smell this vomit is on the level of waterboarding.

If you are male between the ages of 14 and 60, you need to man up. For the love of testosterone, don't bring a pillow on the plane. Yes, airlines have done away with this luxury. Of course, the seats are as comfortable as those at Fenway. But, what has happened to toughing it out? These men should have their pillows removed to help get them back on the path to being a man. It is fine for kids, women and senior citizens. Back in the day when we dreamed of flying, a man would sleep on rocks and under a tree but never brought his own hay to make a pillow.

We all know people who fly first class are rich. They made their millions by inheriting it, screwing someone or a few of them through hard work and luck. Yes, they will enjoy a certain luxury in the air for a few hours while having paid ten times the price of economy. Yet, when we economy fliers get off the plane, the first class cabin always looks as if a tornado came through there, with blankets, food, water bottles, newspapers strewn about as if it had been Armageddon. When the firsters board the plane, they will plow through us serfs while looking down on us. Then, we are made to walk through their waste when we get off. It says a lot about rich people.

Bait and switch is illegal. This is when you advertise one product, expound in its glory and amazingness, yet after purchasing it, the buyer realizes it is no better than a two day old turd. The government allows the airlines to bait and switch. Television commercials demonstrate happy fliers. They smile, they wave goodbye, hug hello, they sleep happily on the plane, the flight attendants smile, the person eats well and can’t seem to wait to fly again. It is as if the life got touched by the magic wand of nirvana.

The product is not like that. Open the American Airlines magazine and you will find a page with dry snot, tons of ripped pages, the crossword puzzle filled out and sticky substances on the cover. Your knees are stuck against the seat in front of you. It is then that the guy will decide to push his seat back right on top of your knees. Now, your eyes and his balding, dandruff filled head are two inches apart. You can’t eat, you can’t read, you can’t work and you can’t put your own seat back because the guy behind you is 6’7”. His knee is your armrest. The guy next to you is burping and taking ear wax out of his ear with his pointer finger and making little balls of wax. What an interesting dinner it will make: dandruff falling from above the tray and little yellow curry balls from the left. To your right and across the aisle is a little kid hate because he is oblivious to the hell and torture that surrounds you. Looking up, you notice one of the panels on the wall is held on to another panel with duct tape. There are still eight hours to go. Chicken or fucking pasta.

Car executives were smart. They flew in their own planes and got skewered by Congress when they went to DC. The second time around, they drove. It says a lot when someone would rather spend 12 hours in a car made by GM or Chrysler, instead of two hours in a plane. Over a hundred years ago we should have been careful what we had wished for.

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Taxes are not about smoking

Understanding the explosive new federal tobacco tax increase is simple. Smokers bad. Public sentiment is overwhelmingly against smoking. Politicians smelled easy money and went after it.

Yet, this new tax has nothing to do with smoking. It is about our government meddling in our private lives and using this tax as a form of behavior modification. It has to do less with health.

Our founding fathers warned us of the excesses of the majority. In America's history - and the world's! - we have seen governments try incorrectly and unsuccessfully to "clean" certain behavior (prohibition, McCarthyism). Today, anywhere one goes, smoking is not allowed. Smokers get nasty looks from passersby. Once in a while, we'll even get the exaggerated "cough! cough!" from some clown too weak to make the point to our faces but trying to make a point nevertheless.

What is frightening is how this tobacco tax could lead to future taxes on anything deemed dangerous by our government and society. Should we have 85% tax on foods and drinks that make you obese? Forget backyard burgers. How about 85% tax on gasoline if you have an SUV? So much for my choice. Should we tax gamblers? If you live in a high risk area (flood, hurricane) or in a very polluted city, should that be taxed also? What other behavior should we tax that is deemed "bad" by society? These behaviors are detrimental to our health in some way, just like smoking. Bad behaviors lead to bad health which leads to higher health insurance costs.

I know smoking is bad. What is worse is for the government to try behavior modification through taxation. Claiming they are trying to reduce health care costs and improve our lives is a smoke screen. It's just easy money and it sets an awful precedent for whatever behavior they want to change in the future. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness...unless the government doesn't agree that what you choose to do with your life.

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Tribute to the Dog

The essay below was written in 1879 by Senator George Graham Vest. At the time, he had been hired by a plaintiff that was suing his neighbor for having killed his dog. For anyone who is a dog lover, this is the best piece of writing about man's best friend.

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Tribute to the Dog

The best friend a man has in the world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.

The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous is his dog. A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the wintry winds blow and the snow falls fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings, and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens.

If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies. And when the last scene of all comes, and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even in death.

- Senator George Graham Vest, 1879

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Vote for the light to change

In this uncertain time, reeking of financial mismanagement, unemployment, higher inflation and insecurity, there is a cry across the land for change. In a week, we will vote in likely the most contentious election in the past eight years. Obama’s mantra is “Vote for Change.” One need not vote specifically for change. Change just happens.

Voting for change is nice. His is a catchy phrase that his public relations folks, who are surely paid exorbitant sums of money because he can afford it, most likely invented. Or in this case, better yet, reinvented. Change is all around us in many different ways.

This financial crisis came on suddenly. Still to this day, I really don’t understand it. The government can’t explain it to me nor can the CEO’s who drove their business to bankruptcy and walked away with millions. The last time I heard the term derivatives, I think I was in high school dreaming about Christie Brinkley. Shorts? Bermudas. But, these terms led to a crisis that changed my lifestyle. It is Publix chicken instead of Perdue on our barbecue. Now, I act like my father and chase after everyone at home to shut off all the lights (I guess there was a method to that madness). I buy toothpaste and toilet paper in bulk, when on sale, because neither go bad. Energy saving lightbulbs are being phased in throughout the house. They give off this nice, white, nuclear-like glow in each room. I’ve put the dishwasher on normal wash instead of heavy. Who knows if this saves a lot of energy or water. At least I feel good because I think I’m on the green bandwagon now. Hopefully it runs on ethanol or hydrogen and not gas.

There are other changes, quicker and more subtle, all around me. Lights change from green to red on the street. Of course, if mine turns red, I’ll curse the guy for going slowing down and because I’m from Boston, it’s what we do up there. Seasons change. We have two in Miami, damn hot and hot.

It was once thought that drinking alcohol was bad for you. If done in moderation, now, it is not a problem. Drinking one glass of red wine is now encouraged as it lowers cholesterol. Coffee was once shunned. Yet, today, it is believed that one or two cups a day can be healthy. Juan Valdez’s lobbyists may have been behind this study. I also figure if one or two cups are healthy, then eight or nine have to be even better.

We used to be told that red meat was unhealthy and had to be cut out of our diet to lose weight. The vegans were surely spitting blood angry when along came Dr. Atkins. For years, his diet has been considered one of the best for losing weight. And on the eighth day, joy fell upon every carnivore in the land. Actually, drinking wine to lower cholesterol while eating the equivalent of two cows is like the intersection of health and well-being. What a change!

Plaid was out with the end of the 70’s, but happily kept alive by some lumberjacks. Along came grunge and then it was in fashion again. That music has now gone the way of plaid, although I’m told in some corners of Vermont they still listen to Soundgarden and Nirvana.

Living together before marriage was once considered a sin. Now, whether you are straight, gay or other, it is quietly approved. It has done nothing for the divorce rate, though.

The Red Sox lose for eighty six years and we New Englanders felt like the most cursed fans. Then the Sox changed, went out and won the World Series twice in three years. Today, we are spoiled.

When I look around at all the things I’d like to change, I question whether I really want to. Change just comes naturally, in every aspect of my life, whether I'm in control of it or not. I know the resident of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue will change in January. And it's true, the only thing that is constant is change and I don't even have to vote for it.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Smoking prejudice

We stand on a precipice and look across. Over there, on the other side, is a black President, the culmination of decades and centuries of battling and overcoming prejudice. Many feel if we cross and elect a President who is black, it will finally eradicate hundreds of years of prejudice.

Prejudices are universal and many. We carry them overtly or hide them behind closed doors, whether we can admit it or not. You may feel that Hispanics are taking advantage of us, or that Muslims are all terrorists, every Southerner is country, women should be home, or maybe smokers should be shunned.

For better or worse, I am a smoker and have been for years. I’ve had to endure lectures, insults in public, dirty looks and ostracism. I am sure that I have offended people by the smoky smell of my clothes in meetings, restaurants or public places. Although I am addicted to a bad habit, I was not born this way. I took up smoking on my own volition and today pay the price for it.

Smoking has been proven to be harmful, yet I still enjoy my cigarettes. When I write, I feel looser with my thoughts. During my drives, I am more relaxed and it may even help me avoid road rage (now wouldn’t that be a great study?!). If I have a glass of wine or two I’ll smoke. They make a perfect complement to a cup of coffee in the morning.

For work I travel a lot in airplanes. It is interesting how one can easily pick out who the smokers were on a flight after landing. They are the ones dodging people and suitcases, not holding doors for others and walking faster than those on the moving walkways. How do you differentiate a smoker that just got off a plane from a late passenger running to the gate? The direction.

When I came back from Mexico City last week, I was one of those running toward the first exit. But the Miami International airport is very strict – they do not allow smokers on the terminal side of the street. Smokers have go across three lanes of traffic to special areas about 200 feet from the doors. Talk about being singled out.

As is common in Miami, many people try to skirt the rules. They’ll look around to see if the non-smoking enforcers (skycaps) are busy. Then they’ll light up. So, as I wiggled and jiggled expeditiously to the street, I figured I would do the same. I reached the door, looked left and looked right. No problem, I saw another guy smoking. I grabbed a cigarette, took a drag and moved up next to him. I learned that watching National Geographic: the strength in numbers strategy.

A few puffs later, I noticed the skycap moving toward us. Little did I know that the bubble I had lived in for so long was about to be burst. I looked at the guy next to me and we both kind exchanged these looks of, “Damn! We’re about to get booted!”

Then the white skycap was right in front of us, dressed in a typical skycap outfit. He pointed to the black gentleman standing next to me and asked him to go across the street to smoke. Just like that, he turned and walked away to look for his next tip. I was left alone to smoke my cigarette in front of the door. I felt lucky to not have been singled out. Then I slowly walked back inside for my luggage, thinking that a black President would not have changed that skycap's behavior.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Coffee for Evelio

A day or two after moving to Miami, I was desperate for a haircut. Steve, my landlord, was the first person I got to know in Miami. Evelio, was the second. I ran into his barbershop by accident and came away with one important lesson.

Steve had suggested where to get a haircut. He told me of a great place, the best in Miami, that few people knew of. There was a terrific hair stylist with whom he could make an appointment for me. But, I mentally paused on the term hair stylist. A vision played out in my mind of a guy with a lisp, methodically stretching my hair out, cutting it with his clippers, all the while his pinky fingers sticking out. Steve told me the best thing about this place was that it was not far and would cost only $35.00. Calmly, I thanked Steve. I asked for the phone number, told him I’d set it up myself and that simply pointing me in the right direction was more than sufficient. I thanked him and went on my way to find a barber shop with a candy cane.

When I met Evelio the barber for the first time, I saw an old man who appeared to never have had a decent meal to eat in his life. He was softspoken and always seemed to smile. Evelio would wear the white barber flock, his name in cursive, that never had a rogue hair hanging out on it. Evelio's hair way gray and thinning, combed back in his attempt to hide the ongoing loss. It was unlikely, I thought, that he’d go for regular haircuts.

Like so many older Cubans, Evelio never lacked for things about which to complain. But, he had a unique way of conveying annoyance at everything he saw as wrong. Evelio would hesitate, look around before sheepishly admitting that something was bothering him. He would speak just above a whisper after moving closer to my ear, while the blades kept churning to cover up his words. Was it worry that still, fifty years later and in the United States, someone would be listening in that would turn him over to authorities?

Evelio feared the wrath of God and hurricanes too. The barbershop had crosses, rosaries and pictures of the Virgin Mary on the walls. He had a hand painted sign that said, in Spanish, “Paying bills maintains friendships.” Another one said, “CASH ONLY.” He had been cutting hair since he was a young man in Havana. Apparently, he worked at the best barber shop back then and was known throughout the city. Sometimes, as I’d listen to him harken back to his hair cutting all star days, I’d feel sad, as if the time and distance from home blurred realities. It does for all of us.

While waiting for my turn, I would observe this kind old man. For being over 70 he’d move with surprising energy and alacrity. But, he also needed someone to keep reminding him of where he had placed a guard, or oil, or talcum powder. That someone was himself. We all talk to ourselves once in a while and Evelio was no different.

For two years I would go to Evelio’s to get my haircut. His barber shop was located in a run down strip mall on the border of Little Havana. There was a dollar store, a liquor store and a coffee shop, from where I would bring coffee for all that were in there. Sometimes, there would be one or two seemingly homeless guys that would wait their turn outside to sweep Evelio’s floors for a buck or two. His shop was hidden in plain sight under a sign that said, simply, “Barber Shop.” And, it had a candy cane. Sometimes, when I would get bored, I would just go to sit and listen to all the old Cubans yell, scream and complain at Evelio’s. It was entertaining. Except Evelio. He’d whisper something in a person’s ear, but I could not hear him because of the clippers.

I realized one day that there were more friends and visitors at Evelio’s than actual customers. He admitted to me that business was not good. Evelio told me that no one wanted to get a quality haircut anymore, no scissors, shaves or men talk. He’d whisper to me about the new generation being corrupted with blowouts, fades, and things unbecoming nice young men. Then he’d jump back look at me and shrug his shoulders, as if accepting his fate.

One day, I told him that I would be moving to the other side of Miami. See, Miami is a geographically a very large city. The area of Kendall where I had bought a house would be 20 miles west of Evelio’s, as far west as civilization dared go before confronting alligators and other nefarious creatures. Evelio was happy for me as he was for any news that I brought him about my life in Miami. Evelio would shake my hand with both of his, wildly, and a genuine smile across his face.

That day, I didn’t know it would be the last time I would walk out of Evelio’s barbershop. Sure, I was moving but I figured that on my way to and from meetings in the future, I could always stop back at Evelio’s to get my haircut, listen to some stories, laugh a little or drink some jet fuel coffee.

In my new neighborhood, they opened a new Hair Cuttery, at a new mall, with a newly paved parking lot. It was so close, I could walk. It had new paint and a synthetic feel. Pictures of the Virgin Mary were replaced by magazine cut outs for some gel or shampoo. No candycane outside the door. Gripes about life and doctors and politicians and Castro and bills were replaced by music, hair dryers and the credit card machine puking out its receipts. My life had become more hectic and the convience offered by the Hair Cuttery was valuable, even though it cost $20.00.

On occasion, I would think of Evelio and how he was holding up. He was one that always told me to work hard, fight but to never lose my soul. Five or six years later, I happened to drive right past the strip mall where I would first go and get my haircut. Everything was boarded up and for how long, I didn’t know. I had to pull in front Evelio’s window, which was now covered with plywood as if awaiting the fury of a hurricane. Mine was the only car in the parking lot. No homeless. No coffee shop. No dollar store. No more coffee for Evelio. I knew he’d be proud of me for my hard work and how I had fought adversity over the past few years.

Alone in that parking lot, I felt a heaviness that made it difficult to breathe. In five years I had not found one hour to drive to Evelio’s to just say hello. Now, his fate that he had so matter of factly accepted that one day in a spirited matter, had befallen him and he was no where to be found.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

Let me speak, forget the duel

It used to be that a man would invite an offender of his name to a duel in order to defend his honor and pride. Or sometimes he’d just shoot him. Alexander Hamilton died this way. This was general accepted practice. Opinions and divergence in beliefs were rarely accepted as they are, supposedly, today.

Of course, duels don't exist today, thank God, for I was involved in an argument that insulted my honor. Two hundred years ago, murder would have been justified although that would have resulted in a very anti-Christmas dinner at Christmastime. All talk about love, peace and brotherhood would have been forgotten.

Most people do not know to what extent America is a wonderfully broad and diverse land. There is such a difference between the Northeast, Southeast, mid-West, California (heretofore known as the land of fruits and nuts), and the only place you need a passport and language skills to travel, Miami. I really do believe, being the ignorant American I supposedly am, we don’t need to leave this country to explore different cultures.

One region in particular, the Southeast, held out its arms and welcomed me for two years as I traveled to many of its cities and towns. I got to know the region as well as can be expected in that time. I will never be a Georgian, Mississippian or Carolinian. I am a New Englander, with a Jewish last name, living in Miami, who happens to be half Spanish. That being said it, I was accepted in the land of Baptists, barbecue, Bubbas and football.

The real South extends from Richmond down to Jacksonville (and no further), west over to Pensacola and into Mobile, then over on to Vicksburg, north to Jackson, up to Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, Chattanooga, and finally back over to the Carolinas. That’s it. Texas is its own world, as most Texans would gleefully admit. Northern Virginia is not South. Most of Florida is a land that God forgot, except the Tampa area. Kentucky is, well, Kentucky. Today’s Mason Dixon line is not what it once was.

So, while I recalled and bored most at Christmas dinner with how lucky I was to have traveled extensively throughout the real South, some invitees were kind enough to show mild amusement, others continued to dive into my mom’s lamb, potatoes and salad with pure Christmastime delight.

As the wine began lifting my spirits I let the tongue leash loose just a bit. The conversation up to that point had been superficial and had followed some United Nations, Robert’s Rules of Order mode, given that some of us were getting to know one another. But, wanting to move away from such superficiality and fancy prep school formalities, I decided to pepper my thoughts with some observations about our brethren in the South, and in particular Georgia.

I am a great admirer of the city of Atlanta, also known as the New York City of the South, Georgians, and their history. Stone Mountain, Augusta, the woods and hills, Okefenokee and beautiful Savannah are but a few of the places of pride in Georgia. The people are warm and always greet you with a smile, whether on the Hertz bus, at the store, or walking down Peachtree Avenue. But, I also lit a fuse, not really on purpose, when I stated that the only problem with Georgia is that once you step outside of the greater Metro Atlanta area, it becomes white sheets and cross burning country.

I have met Georgians that had been preachers in Alaska, converting Eskimos to some kind of Christianity. Others told stories of tramping off into the woods for beer and crawfish parties and not coming back for days. One or two told me they are not racists but just don’t like blacks. Some detest Northerners and never want to meet another. And Bubba is a real name. A friend in Macon told me to never again serve Georgians bagels, fruit, milk and juice for breakfast. Gritting his teeth, he said, “These are Southern boys, grits for them.” I have sat on the porch of a general store in a rocking chair somewhere in the Georgian countryside while taking a break from motorcycle riding, sipping a lemonade, and watched a 50 something year old woman come screaming into the parking lot in a 1976 Ford pickup, stumble out of it in a ripped and dirty tank top, run in to the store and run back out with a 12 pack of Bud, lit cigarette in her mouth, climb back in to her truck and take off as if she were the female version of Bo and Luke Duke.

Unbeknownst to me, at Christmas dinner, one of the new faces, who happened to be a daughter of a good friend of my parents, had lived for many years in Columbus, Georgia. Like a good Southerner, or one that spent some time there and picked up at least one good trait, she was formal, kind, and maintained her composure while I presented my view of parts of Georgia. But, it was not until the next day that my little sister launched a verbal assault on me for having offended her.

We all have pride, yet more so when it comes to things near and dear to us, such as our homes. Americans are a traveling lot, not quite vagabonds, and one thing that some of us carry is a warm feeling and fond memories of whatever place we call home. With time and distance these bonds grow stronger yet more unclear as to truth.

If we feel we have learned something in these past fifteen years after college, it seems we really have learned nothing. After being pounded by popular belief that opinions are to be respected, or so that’s what I was told at UMASS, no matter how off base they are. But this daughter of my parents’ friend should not have been so upset as to require my sister to figuratively tie me to the post for 20 lashings.

Each person has unique experiences and viewpoints. Had things been reversed at Christmas dinner, this person might have made mention of how New Englanders are haughty, know it alls, cold, critical and liberal. But, see I would have agreed. After all we did lite the fuse that started the revolutionary war, have the best education in the country, best healthcare, are a center for high technology. We do suffer through miserable winters so we work hard and expect the best from each other.

Beautiful diatribe and pretty pictures painted with words cannot hide facts and should not be substituted, like Equal, for a real opinion or experience. We are adults, supposedly sure of our knowledge, feelings and well planted in our beliefs.

Maturing over these centuries has changed us from challenging duelers to debaters, from using swords to pens. But now we have gone too far, where we have become complete contradictions, painting beautiful and phony scenes where each one of us respects the opinion of the other, no matter how outlandish or false. At the same time we prohibit mention of opinions that don't fit the ideal of the moment, for fear of offending another, having to apologize or receiving a lecture from a sister.