Accumulating Stuff

We cleaned out the basement last week, tossing out articles we'd been saving needlessly, or things which had lost their usefulness over time. Things like old magazines, broken toys, household items, and objects that were once the property of deceased relatives or pets. It was sort of a Spring cleaning in the Fall.

Over time, I'd gotten used to weaving my way around piles of bags and turning sideways so I could slip past stacks of cardboard boxes. Meanwhile, others wondered out loud, "How can you live like this?" The years had provided a certain comfort knowing that I didn't need to make a decision about what would go and what would remain, as long as everything was under one roof and could stay dry. Lots of my "stuff" had sentimental value, while other portions, although broken, retained a kind of usability. Just the other day, I removed a magnet from an obsolete church key (bottle opener) and my son used it to retrieve an unreachable bolt that had dropped inside the car engine he was working on. See? Some things are worth saving.

I'm a sentimentalist. It's not easy for me to see my past tossed out. Items which are broken or seem no longer useful still have value to me on some level. Old toys our children played with when they still lived at home, the collar our dog wore as I took her to the vet to have her put to sleep, old black and white photographs of people who died before I was born, all have meaning to me. And so, I saved much that could have been thrown out.

The temptation now is to think that with all this room, we can store more stuff, but I've taken an oath to resist such activity. After all, I don't live alone. But someday, when I'm gone, others will go through what I've left behind, and perhaps, before tossing it all out, they will sense just a slight bit of what I felt by keeping it for all those years, and they'll see that it was because I was thinking of them.

Over And Outsourced

First, understand that I call myself a Liberal, with a capital "L," and I'm proud of it.

Employees where my wife works were required to go online and take Diversity Training, and it had to be completed by a certain date. About the same time, the company announced that the computer "Help Center," the department that office workers call with computer issues, was being outsourced.

My wife speculated that the two events were related, and of course, she was correct. The first time she called, she was unable to understand the person on the other end, and they said they'd have someone call her back in ten minutes, which never happened. Others in her department have reported having the same kind of experience.

I imagined the location would be somewhere in India, or perhaps the Philippines, but it's turned out to be Mexico, and company people who worked on the contract are already apologizing to employees.

It reminds me of a legislator in our state who thought that a mandatory seatbelt law was such a good idea in cars that it should also apply to motorcycles. Yet, even if you've never been on a motorcycle, it doesn't take much imagination to understand that if it goes down, the first thing you want to do is get off, rather than have it drag you... and keep you... in the flaming wreckage.

At some point, Corporate America has to realize that outsourcing is not always a good idea. And that some money-saving measures can be costly in the long run.

The Web-Bot Project

The Web-Bot Project is old news, but most of the people I talk with have never heard of it.

Originally, designed to search the web and then make predictions about the stock market, users claim they soon noticed the program making accurate predictions concerning things such as natural disasters and even the 9/11 tragedy.

The History Channel aired a program on the issue, tying in things like the Mayan Calender and the Chinese I Ching (book of changes) which like the Web-Bot Project, predict the end of the world in 2012.

You can watch a promotional video by clicking the link.

Bragging

Occasionally, because of that wonderful miracle called the internet, we get emails and pictures sent from friends and family, near and far, bragging about this or that accomplishment, or saying something about a son, daughter, or grandchild. Mostly it's mediocre stuff, or something so insignificant it's not worth mentioning -- like, "So-in-so just graduated, and now they're going off to college to become rich and famous."

I never really understood all the fuss and fawning over someone for doing what they should be doing anyway. I don't send out emails every time the flowers bloom outside, or when the cat does you-know-what in the sand box. That's what they're supposed to do and announcements aren't necessary.

I think the people sending out these "bragging emails" are really bragging about themselves, and not the person they're talking about, or the one in her prom gown in the picture. It's more of someone saying, "Look what I've done, my child got through school without ever being arrested... " or "Look what I made, she's so pretty, and she looks just like me."

There is good natured bragging, and then there's the bad kind that seems only to attempt to make others feel bad. "Look at us, we're better than you... look what we've accomplished and you didn't... look what we have and you don't."

Once I overheard two young women talking and one was telling the other... "My boyfriend and I have a very romantic relationship." Translation -- "We do, and you and the rest of the world don't. Don't you wish you were me?"

Good natured bragging is the kind that doesn't put others down, or make them feel bad by comparison. But, most bragging is best left alone. It's better to just present the evidence, in text or photo, without editorializing or offering direct commentary. Bragging is usually the kind of thing you have to let others say about you. If your relationship really is romantic, if your daughter really is pretty, or if you've done a good job, people will notice without you telling them... and will probably say so.

Spying On the Home Front

One of my favorite TV programs is FRONTLINE from PBS.

The show that aired on May 15, 2007, Spying On the Home Front, was both informative and a cause for concern. By clicking any of the links above you can watch it (and many other Frontline programs) online, for free.

Make some popcorn, or open a bag of chips, and be sure to view all five parts. It's something like 50 minutes in total.

It's interesting on several levels. First, there's the troubling aspect of the invasion of privacy. Then, there's the mentioning of the various special computer equipment and software used to spy on us.

You hear a lot of people say things like, "I'm not doing anything wrong and so it doesn't bother me." What strikes me most is that we know how data, once gathered, never goes away. And, once law makers are moved to create loopholes in the laws to allow our own government to spy on us, you never see those laws reversed and taken back to what they once were... things only get worse from there.

Let's even give the current administration the benefit of doubt and say that they're all well meaning and that they have the best of intensions... that they're only looking out for our best interest. And then, consider that some totalitarian dictator elected in the future, or one who might take over the presidency in some way other than by an election, is placed in office. And that this person might not have the same concern for our well-being, but is more concerned that he or she has to maintain control over a population that doesn't want him or her in office.

And now that the flood gates have been open... now that they have the technical ability and the legal right to invade our privacy... and destroy individuals... like say, by erasing your bank account... how could you fight it? What if it was just a mistake, and an innocent person's name was similar to a bad guy's name. How do you recover? Who would care?

Something that comes up from time to time is the repeal of Article II of the Constitution that states, "No person except a natural born citizen, or a citizen of the United States... shall be eligible to the office of President..." so that someone like Arnold Schwarzenegger can become president. Just imagine what that could lead to.

Pockets

I'm fond of pockets in my clothing. Being male, I don't carry a purse, and because I'm not a student or traveling hitch-hiker, I don't employ a backpack. But, there are items I need to have with me when I leave home, like my eyeglasses, car keys, and the ever present universal global communicator cell phone thing.

The problem is, they're not making clothing with pockets like they used to. I don't know, maybe it's because so much of our clothing is being manufactured in places where the constant presence of personal items, like say, a wallet, isn't really that important.

I like to wear pull-over jerseys with a collar, but I think there may be only one or two out of the dozen or so I own that have a breast pocket suitable for placing my eyeglasses, or for storing the occasional cash register receipt. Trust me, eyeglasses don't survive well in your pants pocket, assuming there are pockets in your pants to begin with.

At home, I like to dress casual and prefer to lounge about in sweats. However, sweat pants with pockets is a rare item, although I do own one or two pair. I like pants pockets because it's a good place to store change, cough drops, or the grocery list of errands I've made for myself.

Family members think I've become reclusive as I age, but it's just that I don't want to look like those people you see in the supermarket racing in with their car keys, cell phone, and a pack of cigarettes with butane lighter in hand. So, I stay home... 'cause I got no dang pockets.

Warnings

I’m not the brightest person around, and I have no experience or education in law enforcement. But, when situations such as the one at Virginia Tech arise and consume all of the TV airtime, and the front pages of our newspapers, I’m left wondering: Who is in charge, and what the hell were they thinking?

Shooter On the Loose:
After a double murder took place, and the shooter remained unaccounted for, wouldn’t any sensible person suggest that they should lock all the doors? Authorities would, and have, when an elementary, middle, or high school was in the vicinity. Are college students and faculty any less at risk?

Emails:
Does it make sense to issue a mass emailing as a warning when thousands may not check email for days, weeks, or even months? Was there no intercom system... were there no telephones, bullhorns, or disaster sirens available? Did anyone think to place an announcement on the closed circuit TV system, local cable television, or the student campus radio station, WUVT? Email is yesterday’s technology and not the first source for urgent information.

Bomb Threats:
After two separate bomb threats within two weeks, might it have occurred to anyone responsible for student safety that, rather than a mere prank, someone could have been testing how the campus security force, and local police, responded to a dangerous situation?

Lastly:
When will people in charge finally start admitting they made a mistake? I’m sure there are legal and liability concerns, and there’s a risk of angering the public. But, from the leaders of our Country on down to the administration of the University, they only make themselves look foolish when they keep denying responsibility over and over again.

The End Is Near

Here's one for you, if you haven't already heard about it.

On a Sunday afternoon, I watched an interesting program on C-Span with Neil deGrasse Tyson. You'd know him if you saw him. He hosts a scientific program on PBS, and he's the Director of the Hayden Planetarium in New York City -- a really smart and entertaining individual.

Near the end of the program to promote his new book, there was a question and answer period and someone asked about "asteroids." After that, he went into a long explanation that included the following.

Apparently, in 2004, a new asteroid the size of a football stadium was discovered, and within a week, some rough calculations indicated that is was coming this way and would pass very close to the Earth in 2029. The same week of the discovery, there was a large tsunami that devastated Indonesia, and so the announcement was lost in the more pressing current news of the day.

The asteroid, called Apophis, is expected to pass over northern Europe so close that it will dip below the orbits of our communications satellites. However, there is a small window, called a keyhole, that if it passes through, will allow it to return and impact the Earth seven years later in April of 2036, striking a point in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Santa Monica, California. If that happens, monster waves will wipe out most of our west coast.

Fallingwater

It’s the sort of thing you always want to do, but for one reason or another, keep putting off. On a picture-perfect autumn day in mid October, we drove to Fallingwater. It was a chilly Saturday morning, and the turning leaves were in full display. The ride there was magnificent; the return trip, with the sun behind us, would be even better.

Ever since I first heard the name, Frank Lloyd Wright, and I learned of the futuristic home he’d designed that would rest on top of a waterfall, I’d wanted to see it. The very idea was crazy - like the mile-high skyscraper Wright had once proposed for the City of Chicago. While that plan remained an idea on paper, the house often referred to as “Wright’s Masterpiece” was real, had been lived in, and was only an hour’s drive away.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the emotional connection I felt with the family. It began with the tour guide, who casually listed the rules we were to follow, and then in an almost off-hand manner, lowered her voice and said, “As we enter the house, we will enter through the same door the family would have.”

More than a house, it is the home of the Kaufmann family, and you arrive at a snapshot in time decades ago, where personal possessions lie about. It’s as if you’re walking through the home of your grandparents after they’ve passed. Photographs of smiling friends and family taken out on the terrace, or laughing in oddly dated bating suits as they swim in the water that ceaselessly runs under the house, lend a sweet sadness to the experience. And although there are dozens of other people at different stages of the tour throughout the house, a respectful silence remains, amidst the ever-present soft background music of the waterfall.

A visit to Fallingwater is an emotional experience unlike anything I’ve found when visiting museums or the buildings where the rich and famous have lived. I’m sure we’ll visit again, perhaps in spring time, when the Rhododendrons are in bloom.

War: What is it Good For?

To say I'm disappointed would be a gross mischaracterization. It was my generation that faced the tragedy known as the Vietnam War. And unlike previous political conflicts that drew the collective national spirit together through reason and purpose (including "The Cold War") with Vietnam, there were more of us against it, than were for it.

Now, here we are again, invading another country, killing its citizens, and having the lives of American sons and daughters taken from us in return, with no goal or conclusion in sight.

Where is my generation that promised this wouldn't ever happen again, that we were tired of those who fabricated conflicts and bloody wars that seem to serve no purpose other than to thin out the growing population, to acquire the riches of others, and to consolidate power so that robbing other countries of their resources would be easier the next time?

I'm not merely disappointed, I'm downright angry. I want my generation, the one that agreed and proclaimed with absolute certainty that war was a thing of the past, and that fictitious events, like the Gulf of Tonkin incident that was used to escalate U.S. involvement in Vietnam would never be used to draw us into war again... to stand up at the ballot box, and begin correcting the mistakes we've been living with during the current administration.

A Prairie Home Companion

If, like me, you've been a fan of the live PBS radio broadcast that is a step back in time to a gentler era where you could count on the participants to be warm and friendly, and the content to remain non-offensive and family safe, and you've waited for the movie version to appear on DVD so you could rent it, save your time and money because you'll be greatly disappointed.

Like a lot of things that attempt to cross into another medium, A Prairie Home Companion falls short of expectations. The ironic part is that the show has been broadcast on television several times, and when it stayed true to its format, it was even more enjoyable. You saw the faces behind the familiar cast voices, the musicians and singers who produced incredibly simple but enjoyable music, and the sound effects people who brought humorous skits to life the way it was once done in old-time radio.

Missing, most especially, is the comforting, familiar, and always moving monologue delivered by Garrison Keillor as he talks off-the-cuff about his home town, Lake Wobegon, "where the women are strong, the men are good looking, and all the children are above average."

Disappointment begins in the opening moments as Keillor's radio private eye character, Guy Noir, enters played poorly by one of my favorite actors, Kevin Kline. The script is rambling and pointless with a failed attempt to create a story which includes a theater-saving angel that confusingly, some can see, but others cannot -- at different times.

The worst inclusion is actor Woody Harrelson who plays half of the cowboy singing team of Dusty and Lefty, as they pace the hallways passing gas and whose song lyrics and adult joke telling are reminiscent of vaudeville strip shows when the audience was comprised of only drunken men.

American nostalgia, Midwestern charm, and corny Lutheran jokes are gone, replaced with attempts to mix-in unfamiliar characters who die backstage, obsessively write teenage suicide poetry, or babble endlessly over each other's lines so that the dialog is completely obliterated, rendering the content incidental. What portions that are enjoyable, such as most of the music, is frequently interrupted with some meaningless cut to what is going on backstage.

A Prairie Home Companion, the movie, has forfeited its charm and wit in favor of reaching a younger audience who have probably never listened or watched it before, and allowed its character to be turned into a series of fart jokes. In its present form, it's neither welcome in my home, or a companion at all.

Keepers of the Western Door

A four-hour drive in a comfortable car beats a four-hour plane ride any day, especially if you're with friends or family. Take turns driving, pause at a roadside rest stop when the mood strikes you, stop for brunch or dinner at the halfway point. There are no pesky luggage searches, we take our shoes off and leave them off -- not for national security, but because it just feels good. We bring all the liquids we want without having to wastefully toss them in a trash can at the departure gate. Sitting together, we can talk without having to shout over the sound of jet engines; we're not interrupted by airline employees barking about what we can, and cannot, do. The journey seems almost effortless -- even enjoyable. Four hours pass as though they were only one.

As we arrive, we're greeted with smiles everywhere, and we feel welcome. It's a bit chilly, but at least we're not dripping with perspiration before we reach the front door like we had out in the western desert of Nevada. Once we enter, it's another world. Like Alice stepping Through the Looking Glass, we're not in Buffalo, New York anymore, but someplace that seems a lot like a hotel and casino complex, and one of the better ones at that. Everyone has heard of Las Vegas and Reno, but for someone like me with very little gambling experience, Seneca Niagara seems like it must be one of those well-kept secrets you never hear about. It's bigger and better than I expected. I like this... who knew?

This time I might get up the courage to do some honest-to-gosh gambling, rather than merely gazing at the fountains or admiring the decorating scheme. Instead of just hanging out at the penny slots, I might actually approach a Blackjack table, if someone would only talk me into it... or tie me to a chair, something like that... yeah, maybe then I might do it. But, somehow I do it, without anything involving cattle prods, or duct tape and kidnapping. I get up early when most others are just going to bed, brush my teeth and head down to the tables before I have time to begin forming self-doubt. Like a child lost in the mostly-vacant casino, I wonder around with my hands in my pockets, looking for an empty table and a friendly-looking dealer who might not mind answering a lot of stupid beginner questions, like... "Is this a Blackjack table?"

I find one. A man at least my age, perhaps a bit older, and he's chewing something that might be tobacco, or maybe broken glass, I'm not sure. This is someone I can communicate with. I explain it's my first attempt at Blackjack, and throw myself at his mercy. He's kind and informative, sometimes too much so. He divulges so much information, I'm unable to absorb it all, or even retain small amounts. I ask him to alert me if the cocktail waitress passes behind me, I need a large cup of black coffee. After about two or three hands, he's tapped out and an older woman takes his place. She's kind, friendly and informative. She's, also, skinny and sounds as though she smokes about three packs of cigarettes a day. She appears drunk, or on medication. As she's dealing (or maybe shuffling, I forget) about four cards fly out on the table and she calls the pit boss over and confesses. They talk and work out a solution that sounds like some kind of magic card trick, and suddenly we're back playing. She gives advice and tells me "what the book says," and because I follow it, by the time the original dealer returns, she's managed to strip me of $110 at a $10 table. Two men simultaneously sit at my table, one on the left and one on the right of me, and because I sense I'll receive less instruction, I cash in my chips and move on.

Another table and the dealer is available -- a man who looks younger, and even more stupid than me. I can only hope. Yes, it's a Blackjack table (I'm still asking dumb questions) and as I place $90 worth of chips down, and he begins shuffling, I tell him it's the second time I've played Blackjack, and I've just lost $110. Also, because I'm feeling a little nervous, I inadvertently find myself in a rambling monologue that discloses all of my shortcomings and the major events of my life. Well, it was his own fault; it took a long time for him to shuffle the eight decks of cards that comprise the shoe he was about to deal from. Had it been a single deck, I could have shortened my story. Now, here's the kicker -- as soon as he finished, he was tapped out and a different dealer now stood before me. Is this a pattern, or just an indication of my bad luck? This guy was even younger, sported one earring, and he had a space between his front teeth wide enough to hold a dollar's worth of nickels. Even worse, he was fast, smooth, and smart. But bless the gods and saints of card players, he was friendly, and gave explanations as though I was playing with his money. I noticed that when I didn't do "what the book said," sometimes I did better.... sometimes not. Another player sat down at the table, and I "colored up." I read that phrase someplace, and since it sounded good, I used it.

A third table, and a dealer with a shaved head like mine is standing alone. I concluded this was either a good sign or a bad one, I couldn't be sure, but whichever it was, it was very much so. He was tall and thin, and he didn't look too smart. By now you'd think I'd know better... he wouldn't be dealing Blackjack if I was smarter than he was. Since I now had experience, I no longer asked stupid questions, but expressed myself in declarative statements. "Hey," I said with an air of confidence, "This is a Blackjack table." "This is Twenty-One, sir." I paused a moment, rolling the words over in my mind and while I wasn't sure at first, it now seemed that meant the same thing.

After an awkward moment when he jokingly asked me to assist him in mixing the cards, and I began to oblige (I knew I wasn't permitted to touch the cards, I just forgot) the game began. Like all the other dealers, he was an affable soul. He told me how "the book" said I should handle situations, and why. Some of his advice contradicted the things I thought I already knew about the game, and sometimes when I went against the prevailing logic, I did better than if I'd followed it... sometimes not. Another player sat down and I left with my chips. Crossing the casino, I paused at a row of slot machines and emptied my pockets to count my winnings. To my surprise, I was $45 ahead of the original amount I started with. I couldn't believe it, I had to count it three times to be sure. And, because the casino was starting to get busy and there were no more empty tables, and because I was ahead, it seemed like a good time to stop.

During our overnight stay at the hotel, we had a fabulous steak dinner, saw an entertaining magic show, and spent time at the in-house night club where we observed several well-known football players rubbing elbows with us common folks, all without ever setting foot outside of the building. We had a wonderful time, and to the best of my knowledge, we each came back still wearing our shirt. Thank you again Chris and John, thank you Danielle for watching "Morph the Wonder Dog" so we could all go, and thank you especially, to the Seneca Nation of Indians, Keepers of the Western Door, for your hospitality. I sometimes wonder, if Indians were in the White House instead of cowboys, might things have been handled better?

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."