9/11/01

One of the most over-used phrases you hear in regard to the 9/11 tragedy goes something like "Not all Moslems are terrorists, but all terrorists are Moslems." Another is the mistaken rhetoric involving what has been erroneously labeled "The War on Terrorism," sometimes shortened to, "The War on Terror," in the same simplistic way one might have a "War on Drugs," or a "War on Poverty," only with bombs.

By now, enough experts on the terminology of conflict have instructed us that only Congress can declare a State of War under Article I, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution, which it has not formally announced since World War II. In 1973, Congress, in response to the escalating conflict in Vietnam, passed the War Powers Act (technically, the War Powers Resolution) requiring presidents to seek congressional approval within 90 days after introducing troops into hostile action.

Whatever the means, methods, or label... we now find ourselves entangled in an unending hostile military conflict in which neither side can win. It has robbed us of -- and will take for the unforeseeable future -- the lives of sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, and fathers and mothers, from many countries, needlessly, regardless of how most of us feel. It's been inflicted upon us all, and now that it has started, there's nothing we can do about it.

The single solution lies within the worldwide Moslem community itself. There's just no way to rid ourselves of every radical Moslem fundamentalist bent on striking out at the world as they seek revenge for some insult, real or imagined, and it's impossible to predict where or when terrorism will rear its ugly head in some perverted sense of justice-seeking for the poor and downtrodden members of that society. However, what is clear is that only when the larger, non-aggressive, truly compassionate, peace-loving members of the Moslem culture soundly reject the destructive activities of the terrorist few, and express their disapproval loudly and in unison, will peace return to our lives, and theirs.

First-Time Vegas

The plane ride was long, but about what I expected. Nothing fancy, packed in like sardines, wake me when we get there. Upon our arrival, my first thoughts reflect in the words of Eugene Morris Jerome, in the movie Biloxi Blues. "Man it's hot. It's like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't take this kind of hot." Inside the airport, we're greeted by banks of flashing slot machines. No thank you, I'm just here for the shows and a little weekend rest and relaxation. I'm not going to get sucked into that gambling thing.

A white-knuckle cab ride by one of many drivers who know the streets, alleys, and short-cuts in Las Vegas intimately, and we burst through the doors of our hotel as though we had just been ejected from our seats back at the airplane. (Blessings upon Willis Haviland Carrier, the man who invented modern air conditioning, without whom human habitation of the desert would not be possible.) We are in paradise... walking in slow motion as though in a dream... lush gardens, waterfalls, hundreds of other tourists dressed like gardeners at a black tie dinner. Everyone looks very much out of place in this five-star hotel.

We open the door to our room as relaxing cocktail lounge music tinkers in the background. Once inside, it takes me a half-hour and several phone calls to figure out how to open the curtains, but when I do, I stand there for hours... over a period of days. We were on the 52nd floor overlooking "The Strip." Below us was the life blood of Las Vegas, taxi cabs flowing through the city and off into the distance, like the fluid traveling our veins and arteries. I stayed up most of the night seated in front of the window just watching the city, like some kid in front of an aquarium, feeling like some country bumpkin on his first trip to the big city. There was a lot happening out there, and I didn't want to miss any of it.

The stay was short, but we managed to see two shows over two nights both after having dinner fit for a king. Then it was back to the hotel, which was like a city unto itself. All paths take you through the hotel casino at some point. Having watched over the shoulders of others, eventually I got up the courage to approach a penny slot machine. Cautiously allowing the machine to suck the dollar bill from my hand, I soon turned it into $5. Quickly, I retrieved my winnings and dashed away, clutching the money as I laughed out loud like Doctor Frankenstein with the secret discovery, "It's alive... It's ALIVE!"

I was tempted to get on a plane and head home, straining against the need to beat the odds, and return from Vegas a winner. But it was so easy, why not try again. At a different machine, POOF... I turned $1 into $16, and at another, $1 became $12. And so it went on and on, win some, lose some. I don't know if I came home ahead or behind, but I had a good time. Not once did I ponder wars, hurricanes, or the National Deficit. My body had been on vacation before, but this was the first time my mind came along for the ride.

The odd thing is, for years I ridiculed friends and family members for their "wasteful" excursions to Las Vegas. Now, I'm looking forward to going back some day, confident that I'll return with fond memories of my trip. At least, I know I'll enjoy the view. I think I want to try the 53rd floor with that wall-to-wall view of the city. Thank you Chris and John for showing us a wonderful weekend. Next trip, I plan to go "big time" in the casino and play the nickel slot machines.

It's NUCLEAR!

... not "newk-yah-ler," you idiot.

If you want to be taken seriously on the subject, you should at least know how to pronounce it.

A Fair Wage

Over and over, the republican-controlled U.S. Congress has offered its citizens legislation the general public overwhelmingly desires, only to attach provisions that will effectively prevent the Bill from passing. Now, they're doing it again with the Federal Minimum-Wage Bill.

The word fairness comes to mind. Since 1996 the minimum wage has remained at $5.15, yet legislators have voted themselves a pay increase each year, on no less than 10 separate occasions. During that same period congressional pay has gone up $31,000 for members, many of whom are independently wealthy, and will work less than 80 days this year. As of January 2006, Senators and Representatives receive $165,200 per year. The Majority and Minority Leaders in both the House and Senate and the President pro tempore of the Senate earn $180,100. The Speaker of the House earns $208,000.

The proposed Bill would raise the minimum wage from $5.15 an hour to $7.25, not instantly, but by 2009. Attached to the same legislation offering the working poor a meager increase in income, is a sweeping package that includes a permanent reduction of the estate tax, and provisions that extend and expand various existing tax policies beneficial only to the rich, and profitable to giant corporations such as Microsoft and Boeing, including benefits such as reducing capital-gains taxes on timber sales by 60 percent.

In the words of Senator Dick Durbin, Democrat of Illinois, "Republicans, in time of war, a war that costs us $3 billion per week - are proposing tax cuts for the wealthiest people in America - tells the whole story about their priorities."

Touch-Screen Voting

It's Primary Election Day where I live, and I've just returned from my first experience with a touch-screen electronic voting machine.

My initial impression was, if you know the slightest bit about computers, this would be the easiest way in the world to fix an election, short of assassinating your candidate's opponent. My second impression was, if the powers that be want to take this route, why not make it possible to vote over the Internet from the comfort of your own home and in your jammies?

My third impression was, we're screwed. There's no way crooked people with a crooked mind can resist tampering with this system. Wrong-headed people with their corrupt point of view already go out of their way to change, alter, and fix things much less important. With the stakes so high, and so much money at risk, the same people who have been picking our pockets for years won't be able to resist altering, changing, and fixing elections. It will happen somewhere, I promise, and we'll be hearing about it through the media one day soon.

My only question is, with every possible poll showing such a high level of disapproval for the people running things now, if the next several elections reflect something other than the way we know most of us feel, what will be the result? Who can we complain to, and what would be the outcome? Short of anarchy and a complete revolt, all that's left to us is something like, The Fall of the Roman Empire.

Surprise!

Keeping it a secret was difficult, planning began a year in advance. Our daughter, with help from her brother (as well as many friends) arranged a surprise birthday party for their mother. Years from now, the details will have faded away, and so they're not really important. But, the feeling of it, and the emotions, will remain with us for the rest of our lives.

I had a small part -- get my wife to the party on time. Fearing we might be late, we arrived too early, so I began driving around, retracing my path, pretending to be looking for a suitable restaurant that wasn't too crowded that time of the day. Coming up with truthful-sounding answers when she would inquire about my bizarre dinner search wasn't easy -- she's no dummy.

We arrived, and were led to the party room by someone smartly tipped off regarding our appearance. Then, like something you'd see in a movie, the doors parted, and everyone shouted, "Surprise!" There are few really magic moments in life, and even fewer worth remembering, but this was one we'll keep forever.

The best part is, she never knew her friends and family were all waiting for her. I believe we're defined by our friends and family, and my wife has the best of both. Time was that life was too hard and busy for me to worry about friends or family, but the experience our daughter provided for her mother has taught me they're the most important aspects of life. Thank you Chris and Robert, and all the others who helped. Happy Birthday, Michele. The details are not important. But, the feeling will remain with us for the rest of our lives.

Narco-Mexico

Mexico's President, Vicente Fox, has U.S. lawmakers in a tizzy over new legislation, passed last week by the Mexican Congress, which designates small quantities of heroin, cocaine and other narcotics as drugs that people can use without being prosecuted as criminals.

Mexican authorities say it's an effort to free police from dealing with small-time, petty drug users, while U.S. authorities, fearful of an increase in drug trafficking near the border, and having American citizens turned into narco-tourists, say the bill is an attempt to decimalize narcotics.

The legislation passed by the Mexican Senate would make it legal to possess up to 25 milligrams of heroin, 5 grams of marijuana, or half a gram of cocaine. It would also make it legal to have small amounts of LSD, amphetamines, and up to a kilo of peyote.

With the First Twins well-known penchant for overindulging and then getting arrested, I wonder if their father will be giving them plane tickets to visit his good presidential friend south of the border, or will he just begin bombing Mexico?

Rating School Girls

A local news story that's setting radio talk show phone lines on fire has to do with a list prepared by several less than scrupulous boys, rating the "Top 25 in 2006" high school girls. In spite of its benign, almost complimentary title, the list reaches beyond the mere inclusion of each girl's name, grade, and photo.

Printed and distributed anonymously, the list goes on to present sexually explicit descriptions of each girl in detail. Physical attributes are given letter grades, and body parts as well as faces, are described using the crudest of terms. Along with commentary regarding a person's weight, height, and ethnicity, there are references to the way each might perform vulgar sex acts. Much of it is so vivid that it can't be read on radio or TV. Many of the girls wouldn't attend class for days.

The parents and community, in general, are understandably concerned and simultaneous inquiries are being conducted by both the school board and the local police. What charges might be filed is still being debated. At the same time, a portion of the population is proclaiming that this is merely a matter of boys being boys... that it's only a joke that happens every year, and this is just the first time parents have become aware of it.

Some parents just don't get it. One can only hope that the children they're raising don't grow up and find jobs in important government positions, where their decision making will affect the well-being of others, and their mistakes can be justified with simple bumper-sticker slogans such as, "Boys Will Be Boys."

Happy-Slapping

One of the worst things that ever happened at my high school involved a rule which said students weren't permitted to leave the grounds during lunch. The major scandal one year was when a school "bad-boy" drove his convertible past the front of the building at lunchtime with the top down, his friends yelling and waving while he honked the horn. Teachers were in an uproar, the principal huffed and puffed up and down the halls all day, but the students got a big kick out of it -- we just laughed.

We've come a long way since then. The dangerous and foolish things that pass for pranks, and that young people think are funny, often make me pause and shake my head. Television programs such as Jackass, Dirty Sanchez and Happy Tree Friends have popularized these scenarios and their imagery. Happy-Slapping, or attacking some unsuspecting stranger or acquaintance while recording the still or video images on cell phones is the latest gift to us from those too young and stupid to know any better.

Sometimes staged with friends, but more frequently a tactic akin to a sucker-punch delivered to a stranger, happy-slapping takes many forms, from setting someone on fire, to tossing water on an elderly person on a bicycle from a passing car. Along with injury, rape and even death have occurred... for the fun of it. In some instances, the act has been turned back on the perpetrator.

There was a time when someone would have their house T.P.ed, (toilet papered) usually around Halloween time, or friends would pat you on the back, leaving a "Kick Me" sticky note. One wonders what's left for subsequent foolish generations to do next... tossing babies from roof tops, high-speed head-on collisions with strangers on the highway, or perhaps the ever-laughable neighborhood thermo-nuclear explosion captured by camera phone?

Did He Think He Could Fly?

It was reported late last week that 62-year-old Rolling Stones guitar player, Keith Richards, suffered a mild concussion after falling out of a palm tree while on holiday in Fiji. News accounts said that even after Richards performed his Palm Tree Plunge, he was strong enough to hop on a Jet Ski and involve himself in another accident.

Somehow I wasn't surprised. But, several questions, almost immediately, come to mind.

What was he doing in a palm tree? Should aging rock stars be permitted to drink so much that they begin, (or resume) exhibiting bizarre behaviors that land them in the hospital? And, is it possible that Richards will outlive Mick Jagger?

Older Women

As a boy, I was always attracted to older women. The truth is, so is just about every boy. Girls are cute and fun, and they're the ones you're allowed to connect with. But, women are where the action is, and every boy waits for the day he can connect with real honest-to-goodness woman.

I used to read a lot about comedian Lenny Bruce because he talked and wrote about older women, and his adult encounters with them. Lenny grew up in a world of older women in the family, his first "love affair" was with a woman ten years older, and as a young man he worked on stages where strippers were the main form of entertainment. Lenny Bruce knew a lot about older women, and they loved him.

He once wrote of an older woman who talked to him, not as a boy, but as the man he would one day become. And truly, putting all physical attraction aside, that's what a young person seeks from an older woman, recognition and acceptance.

I've always liked older women, and happily, I'm married to one. She wasn't always an older woman, when we met she was quite young. But today, she's an older woman, although she's several years younger than me. I've finally connected with an older woman, and she treats me like the man I will, one day, become.

The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth

The gas price problem is starting to pinch everyone where I live. I'm tempted to count my blessings and say that paying a high price is better than an availability problem. But, now there are stories of gas stations running out in some places, and I know it's just a matter of time before it spreads. I've already been through that situation twice, and I'm not looking forward to doing it again.

For me the solution is clear; we need alternative fuel sources -- more than one, so we don't paint ourselves into a corner again like we've done with oil. But, because the bureaucracy drags its feet, and because politicians and leaders of countries fear upsetting the global economy, finding alternative fuel sources is a long-term solution, not something that will help us in the weeks ahead.

Other than wheeling our old bicycles out of the garage and dusting them off, I don't know what else individual citizens can do. Big problems require big-minded leaders to get off their duff and do something. Governments exist to protect and serve their citizenry. Administrations are put in place to deal with the large problems (road building, mass immunization, price gouging) that the public isn't able to deal with by themselves. So far, I see little effort on the part of people elected for dealing with such problems in my Country.

A list of reasons for the fall of the Roman Empire reads like the headlines of the day. It includes, a decline in morals and values, public health problems, political corruption, unemployment, inflation, urban decay, inferior technology, military spending. Can anyone else see the writing on the wall? I'm guessing "the meek shall inherit the Earth," a lot sooner than anyone expected.

Future Isn't What It Used To Be

When I was a kid in school, they told us that by now, we'd all be flying our own little helicopters to work or when we went shopping. They said most of the diseases and illness that plague human kind would be cured by now... and that we'd spend weekends on the moon, and two week vacations on Mars. There would be no more war.

They said we'd have two-way wrist TVs to communicate (well, we're almost there) and homes would all be heated with solar panels on the roof... cars and trucks would be pollution free... cars would drive themselves down the highway. Why did we believe them, the dirty rats. Where's the pleasant, clean, peaceful future we were promised?

Watch Wearing

Time was (no pun intended) when I felt naked without a watch. If I'd leave home and forget my wristwatch, I was constantly looking for a clock to see the time. It wasn't that I had to be someplace, or that I might be late if I didn't keep track of the time. It had more to do with being in the moment... so to speak. I'd read a book called Be Here Now, by an associate of Timothy Leary, a Harvard psychiatrist named Dr. Richard Alpert, who became Baba Ram Dass. It's a long story that I'll skip for now. But anyway, I was trying to be here... you know... like, now.

For a time, (no pun intended) there was an early-morning TV program where an interesting and likable college professor conducted a class on the media. I wasn't taking the class for credit, but the man was interesting. And since I had to get up anyway, I'd tune in for the class. One morning, he talked about clocks, and specifically, digital clocks. He called them "the most subversive invention ever." The professor went on to explain that a clock with hands showed you not only the time at the moment, but where you had been, and where you were going in time. The issue with digital clocks, he told us, was that they forced one to focus on the moment, to the exclusion of what came before or later. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to "be here now," I wanted to be here before, or after now. I didn't care when, just not now. I got rid of my digital watch and went back to one with Mickey pointing to numbers.

Eventually I got out of the habit of wearing a watch altogether. I hate hunting down those little batteries, and because almost everywhere you go, there's a clock someplace... except at the doctor's office. They don't want you to see how long they've kept you waiting.

The Long Arm of the FBI

Jack Anderson was a newspaper columnist and investigative reporter who broke many stories embarrassing to the Nixon White House, the FBI and the CIA. He won the Pulitzer Prize in 1972, and died in December 2005. Among those who worked for him, and studied under his tutelage, was Brit Hume, now managing editor for Fox News... no left-wing liberal network.

Anderson sometimes obtained information from "insiders" who supplied him with secret documents and memos not intended for public viewing. So angry were members of the Nixon Administration, that a top aid employed thugs to poison him, a plot that dissolved when conspirators of the Watergate break-in were captured.

Now, the FBI wants legal permission to go through Anderson's files which have been donated to George Washington University for use by scholars and researchers. Some think the move is a "fishing expedition" by the Bush Administration to frighten reporters who might engage in similar investigative journalism in the future.

Could it be that the Bush Administration has something to hide?

Baby Names

A generation ago they laughed when rock star Frank Zappa of the group Mother's of Invention named his daughter "Moon Unit" and his son, "Dweezil." Grace Slick, lead singer of Jefferson Airplane called her daughter "China" while David Bowie bestowed upon his daughter the name, "Zowie," causing school mates to call her by the humorous moniker, "Zowie Bowie."

Still today, people give their children weird, strange, and even laughable names. Jason Lee and Beth Riesgraf call their son, "Pilot Inspektor," and Penn Gillette of the magic team Penn and Teller crowned his daughter, "Moxie Crimefighter."

I have to wonder if anyone gave consideration to the children who will have to wear the names they were given until they're old enough to change them. Will their friends think their parents were really cool, or just idiots? How will it sound when the teacher takes attendance each morning?

We gave our children the traditional names of Christine and Robert, because it was about them, and not us. And, because we wanted their friends, family, and people who they would meet later on in life to like them, not laugh at them.

Unfinished Wars

I'm tired of all the wars we start, but can never finish. In the U.S., our government has given us the "War on Poverty," the "War on Drugs," and now we have the "War on Terrorism,"... another opened ended war with no possible end in sight. You'd think the people who make it to the top would be the best and the brightest, but obviously that's not the case.

Best Guitar Players

I play guitar and participated in several garage bands that had a few gigs in some bars... nothing serious. But, when guitar players get together, the topic always turns to, "the best guitar player." There are lots of differing opinions, and many subjective lists have been posted on the Internet (jazz, rock, country) but, the same names always appear. One name that's always missing is Robin Trower.

Born on March 9, 1945, in Catford, England, (he's now 61) Robin Trower played in lots of bands including Procol Harum (A Whiter Shade of Pale) before eventually starting his own, which sometimes was the opening act for the Rolling Stones.

I picked up a copy of his Living Out of Time DVD and I was pleasantly surprised that he played (and sounded) just the same as he did when I first discovered him.

What I Wouldn't Do

I sometimes wonder if there's a limit on what people would do for money.

Recently, a Kansas City, Missouri couple falsely claimed they were the new parents of sextuplets in a scheme to profit from their neighbors' kindness. The births were said to have occurred in March, and the local newspaper ran a story with a photograph of the couple holding six baby outfits. A reporter was allowed into the home nursery, which included six gift baskets from the husband's employer, and demonstrating they were prepared to receive the four boys and two girls, as soon as they were discharged from intensive care.

The couple created a web site soliciting gifts which included a van, washer and dryer, cash and gift certificates, and a new house. Oddly enough, the babies were never seen and the town police chief could find no record of the birth. Now, the truth is out, and prosecutors haven't determined how much the couple profited from the scam, or what charges to bring beyond the municipal level. The couple said they did it because they needed the money. I was amazed at all the effort they put into their scam.

Occasionally, I ponder just how far I'd go if I really was in desperate need. I wouldn't kill anyone, or become involved in anything that would harm another. I wouldn't rob, steal, or cheat anyone. And, I wouldn't do anything that involved a crime. I'm the kind who always gets caught.

Wrap Rage

A major newspaper in the U.S. city where I live recently reported, "British researchers blame "Wrap Rage" for more than 60,000 injuries in that country." The article went on to say, "In 2004, a writer for The Times of London described the CD as the crucible of wrap rage, whose old cardboard box was replaced by a zip strip. The answer to our unwrapping prayers! Yet 12 years later, a pull-tab torn off in hand, we are still chewing through plastic like wild dogs."

I've occasionally sliced a finger on the edge of a plastic package, and I've managed to scatter the contents of a potato chip bag about the room. A company that makes my favorite cough drops provides a bag that's resealable, but the initial opening can be frustrating as the perforated portion never quite comes off all the way. It usually takes three or more attempts to completely open the bag.

I've acquired the habit of reaching for the scissors rather than a razor blade or a sharp-pointed knife when opening a new package. Past experience has taught me that introducing some tools into the situation can only increase the risk of injury when dealing with a hard-to-open packaging.

The worst packages to open are children's toys, especially on holiday mornings. Parents are half asleep, the children are impatient, and even after opening the package, you're likely to encounter a host of wire or plastic ties employed to prevent theft. Often, freeing the toy from its packaging without destroying the item is a challenge.

"We've put people on the moon," as the old saying goes, so it seems as though someone could design a package that would protect the contents, without preventing the consumer from getting to it.