If you would be kind enough, indulge me this week by allowing for tribute to be paid to two American icons who celebrate birthday this Sunday. One is a renaissance man in the field of entertainment; the other, his claim to fame is confined to the arena of sports. Both men I have admiration for in one form or another. Both men have had a certain amount of influence in my life though neither of them know it, nor care to, for that matter. There are other individuals celebrating centennials who are worthy of noting, but bestowing iconic status would be a stretch, though I’ve also been impacted by them.
Corey Hart, for whom my son is named after, is celebrating his birthday Sunday. His name is the same sans the “e.” His hit Sunglasses at Night provided the impetus for passing his name on to my son. Back when disco sucked, The Boss ruled, punk was the rage, and going to clubs to see live bands ruled the day; my mode of attire reflected my embrace of the iconoclastic lifestyle that was so prevalent. I wore dark lens, gold frame, Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses like those which completed Lou Reed’s “look” in the ensemble I Ain’t Gonna Play Sun City video; even at night…indoors. Hence, the symbolism to my son’s given name. Walt Whitman is another who’s got a birthday May 31st.
Whitman, best known for his classic work Leaves of Grass, also fancied the new game of baseball. Besides keeping an amazing, insightful journal describing the horrors of the Civil War that he witnessed as a medic; Whitman had time to pen his feelings about this new form of exercise and competition:
“Well-it’s our game; that’s the chief fact in connection with it: America’s game; it has the snap, go, fling of the American atmosphere; it belongs as much to our institutions, fits into them as significantly as our Constitution’s laws; is just as important in the sum total of our historic life.” One-hundred and forty years later I tend to agree with him. Still he’s only an icon to the learned. Clint Eastwood and Joe Namath have a certain appeal that the everyman can identify with on some level.
Clint will be seventy-nine, same as my father. Namath turns sixty-six. Has it really been forty years since Broadway Joe guaranteed a Super Bowl victory? Has it really been six years since his drunken longing for the lips of ESPN’s Suzy Kolber? But that’s Joe, timeless, his life a series of firsts and trends that separated him from the pack.
Joe shamelessly, was quite a lothario, ironically hailing from Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania. He made no excuses for his behavior. Joe blew off a handful of baseball teams that offered him a contract right out of high school. Joe promised his mom he’d get a college education. It was tough with a 745 SAT and all, but Alabama let him in, and Paul” Bear” Bryant let him keep his long hair, and white shoes, when everyone else was wearing their hair short, and wore black cleats. He didn’t finish his degree until 2007, sorry mom.
Though Joe Willie Namath, as Howard Cosell liked to call him, played in a run first offense at Alabama; in the pros he threw, and often. He gloated over signing the richest contract ever for a rookie draft choice. But he didn’t sign with the NFL, his calling was the New York Jets of the upstart AFL. While in New York, he passed for over four thousand yards in a twelve game season. He tearfully bemoaned commissioner Pete Rozelle’s edict to sell his Upper West Side Manhattan club Bachelor’s III, a frequent hangout for reputed organized crime figures. He wore fur coats, and later donned pantyhose for a Beautymist ad campaign. The man was comfortable with his masculinity. His performance and presence was a driving force to the merger of the two rival football leagues. He threw more interceptions than touchdown passes, yet made election into the pro football Hall of Fame on the first ballot. He couldn’t act, but got roles in feature films. James Lipton is not going to interview him anytime soon. (see C.C. and Company if you have a shadow of a doubt) He made frequent television appearances though Joe was not terribly witty. America just couldn’t get enough of him. If that qualifies as iconic, Clint Eastwood is a living National treasure.
Clint Eastwood’s career nearly ended before it started when he and Burt Reynolds were fired as day extras. By the time they got to the employee parking lot, the names on their spaces had been removed and in their stead were the names of their replacements, Clu Gulager and Robert Horton.
After a series of B-movies, Clint landed the part of “Rowdy Yates” in TV’s Rawhide. That role catapulted him to Spaghetti Western fame. The “Dirty Harry” made him a global star. He’s appeared in sixty-six films, directed thirty-three, and produced thirty. He has his own movie Malpaso Pictures, his record company bears the same Malpaso moniker. His songs have appeared on the soundtracks of twenty movies. Clint composed and scored five films. He’s won five Oscars, and nominated for many others. He’s won five Golden Globes, and five People’s Choice Awards; one for Favorite all time actor. Clint’s also garnered a Screen Actor’s Guild Award for his body of work. During this illustrious career, he found time to run his Hog’s Breath Inn located in his beloved Carmel-By-The-Sea, where he ran for mayor and won in 1986. Hell, the Gorillaz even have a song named after him. Like Namath, Eastwood’s unrepentant about the life he’s led.
The many kids by multiple wives, the aloofness with the paparazzi, fuck’em if they can’t take a joke. Clint has earned the right to do whatever the fuck he wants if you ask me. Talk about never having to kiss anyone’s ass…ev-er. An icon who’s a renaissance man, America should have more of them.
Clint Eastwood was who I admired while attending acting school. Why not, we’re the same height, the same weight. He was eleven pounds at birth, I was nearly ten. We were both born on a Friday at 7:05. We share the same receding hair line. When I wrote Malpaso and informed them of the things Clint and I had in common, they suggested I stop by the studio to meet him when I was in Hollywood meeting with my new agent, Elna Lawrence. A motorcycle wreck put an end to an end the trip as well the the aspirations concerning acting.
I know this blog is longer than I said it would be. If you don’t like it, tough shit, I can do whatever I want because it’s my birthday on Sunday too.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Police On My Back
In order for a civilized society to function properly there must be laws and civil servants to enforce them, if not, anarchy would be the order of the day. The hierarchy of legal checks and balances find judges, specifically Supreme Court Justices, on the top rung, Wackenhut rent-a-cops, and the different variations thereof, are the bottom feeders. In between there are numerous more specialized factions. The military and all its affiliated branches including the National Guard fall in the vast DMZ of law enforcement. The same can be said for the FBI, the DEA, and the division of ATF. The Attorney General and various local and federal prosecutors are also included. However, there is one group that dominates in sheer numbers; one group whom everyone has had contact with in one form or another sometime in their lives, that is the police.
Police, just like their federal brethren come in different shapes and sizes. There are state troopers, sheriffs, sheriff officers, and last, but certainly not least, are your local police men and women.
Most are dedicated, disciplined individuals who have the thankless task of maintaining order in a sometimes chaotic and dangerous world. They are underpaid, yet often risk there lives all in the name of truth, justice, and the American way. They are frequently stereotyped and parodied, sometimes unjustly. Some however, are belligerent, bigoted, and drunk with the authority bestowed upon them. It is this small minority that casts a pall over those who serve the public in admirable fashion. Police are kinda like farts. Most times they are pleasant, they grant relief, and even the toxicity that’s periodically emitted has a certain redeeming quality. But every once in awhile you get one that betrays your confidence, and it winds up staining everything.
I have had my share of experiences in dealing with the local constables. I grew up in an era, and a place where you didn’t need to be reminded with signage that the primary purpose of the police was to “protect and serve.” This was the first and foremost thought on the minds of the officers I had contact with in my youth. I will never forget their professionalism and kindness.
Due to my unruly sister, I feared if I ever erred, I was surely to be publicly flogged after what the police previously had endured from one family. But there were other families in town that had similar woes, and yet every one of them always spoke of the local officers with the utmost respect. Well I did err, and more than once I’m afraid to say.
I was pulled over for a variety of traffic violations nineteen times before the Sgt. Skip Robbins finally issued me my first summons, figuring I had received enough second chances. These officers were always gracious and fair, even as I proceeded to stockpile tickets over the course of my illustrious driving career. It was not too long after, the new and improved generation of officers manned the streets. They were my age, some were my peers; they hadn’t been on the job long enough for the harsh realities of a brave new world to harden their hearts. It was their lives perceived injustices real or imagined that caused them to be dicks in the line of duty. That and little wee-wees.
They were the ones who held the power now. Everyone whoever slighted them was going to pay. They would throw their weight around at every opportunity. “To protect and serve” quickly became “abuse and harass” for this small niche group that would dare tarnish the public perception of the rest law enforcement officials. Upon my move to South Florida, I was happy to see that the local apple barrels had its share of malcontents that spoiled it for the rest.
I watch as police run red traffic signals as seen in the movie Superbad, by turning on the pretty lights that adorn the tops of patrol cars. And no, they were not on their way to the scene of a crime. Once they made it through the traffic signal, the lights were extinguished, and the officer proceeded at the normal rate of speed, which for some cops is the speed of sound; only to pull into an eating establishment.
Just the other day I was tailgated, then passed on the right at a rate which exceeded the posted speed of thirty-five, in order to cut me off to get in the left hand turn lane at a traffic signal so this cop could improve their traffic position by one car length. We both proceeded in the same direction, at the same rate of speed, only to be situated next to each other while we waited for that light to change. I must reiterate, this behavior is not indicative of the majority of officers I have come in contact with. More than once, I have been pulled over for speeding, exorbitantly I might add, only to be released with a warning. My demeanor dictated theirs. Treat them with respect, only if they deserve it, not command it, and nine times out of ten they’ll cut you some slack if they’re the legit cops, not the ones who were picked on in high school.
For anyone who is unaware, drivers in South Florida regularly flaunt their disregard traffic laws. Yet, the local police force does not consider these infractions to be high on their priority list of maintaining order. At any given moment, red lights are run, there are illegal lane changes, no one has ever heard of keeping right. Cars manufactured for sale in South Florida must not have come equipped with directional signals, since it is the rare occasion indeed you happen to espy one flashing, often this is a false alarm, as it is on for no particular reason. You’d think that the automobile industry would save millions by eliminating that item.
When it rains, fire lanes at shopping centers are so filled with parked cars that I am tempted to set fire to a building just to make a point. Yet, with all this happening, last Sunday, the fate of the free world as we know it hinged on my forgetting to display my handicapped placard so it was clearly visible.
I was wrong by not putting it on my rearview mirror before I went into the Pembroke Lakes Mall, my bad. Had the “officer”- I put this in quotes because she was a community service aide dressed in jeans and a golf shirt- looked inside the car, she would have seen the placard protruding from the passenger side visor and this nasty misunderstanding could have been avoided altogether. This was not the case.
Upon exiting the mall, I saw the women get out of the dressed down faux version of a Pembroke Pines police vehicle, and begin to write me a citation. When I was within earshot, all she said to me was “I’m sorry.” I opened the car, removed the placard to show her the error of my ways. Uninterested, she continued to justify her salary. When she presented me with the summons, she repeated “I’m sorry” and went about her merry way confident in her knowledge of a job well done. She did not give a shit that my placard was valid, as I stood there in my shorts that revealed a prosthetic limb. She did not give a shit that this would cost ten dollars and unknown quantities of time for me to be free of this summons. She was doing her part to keep American democracy safe. Was she impressing someone with her undue diligence in the hope that one day she could attain full cop status? Who the hell knows or cares, certainly not me.
I immediately went to the local police station to clear this matter up quickly. I was greeted by a condescending female voice over the phone reminding me that it was Sunday. What a dumb shit I was! Thank goodness she told me what day of the week it was. She continued to speak to me as if I was five, and I suffered from some sort of brain deficiency. I wondered how she liked bullying people when she could hide behind a phone. My quest for a quick resolution would have to wait. There were public servant man hours and taxpayer dollars to waste.
Monday morning, a phone call to the city clerk’s office yielded instructions for wiping the slate clean. I was instructed to write a detailed letter describing the circumstances that instigated the ticket, get said letter notarized, make copies of my placard and driver’s license, and mail it along with my ten dollars to the Broward County Clerk of Courts. Is that all, hell, maybe I’ll try and get another one next week just to keep everyone busy.
When police arrived at the scene of the accident that caused me to qualify for a handicapped parking permit, the first request of the EMT was a blood test to see if I had been drinking, not whether I was going to live or die. I once accrued sixteen points for speeding in one month in one town. Collectively, I’ve amassed ninety-seven points on my driving record, all but six before 1993. My driving privileges have been suspended for seven of the first nineteen years of my driving career. I was written summons’ on everything from fictitious plates to too dark to be driving without proper illumination; no registration to expired license, exhaust too loud to driving while suspended, did I deserve them all, probably. Did the dastardly deed of not properly displaying the handicapped placard that every asshole in South Florida insists upon displaying at all times though it clearly states “remove before driving” warrant a summons? You come to your own conclusions. I’ve got to go, Indiana Wants Me.
Police, just like their federal brethren come in different shapes and sizes. There are state troopers, sheriffs, sheriff officers, and last, but certainly not least, are your local police men and women.
Most are dedicated, disciplined individuals who have the thankless task of maintaining order in a sometimes chaotic and dangerous world. They are underpaid, yet often risk there lives all in the name of truth, justice, and the American way. They are frequently stereotyped and parodied, sometimes unjustly. Some however, are belligerent, bigoted, and drunk with the authority bestowed upon them. It is this small minority that casts a pall over those who serve the public in admirable fashion. Police are kinda like farts. Most times they are pleasant, they grant relief, and even the toxicity that’s periodically emitted has a certain redeeming quality. But every once in awhile you get one that betrays your confidence, and it winds up staining everything.
I have had my share of experiences in dealing with the local constables. I grew up in an era, and a place where you didn’t need to be reminded with signage that the primary purpose of the police was to “protect and serve.” This was the first and foremost thought on the minds of the officers I had contact with in my youth. I will never forget their professionalism and kindness.
Due to my unruly sister, I feared if I ever erred, I was surely to be publicly flogged after what the police previously had endured from one family. But there were other families in town that had similar woes, and yet every one of them always spoke of the local officers with the utmost respect. Well I did err, and more than once I’m afraid to say.
I was pulled over for a variety of traffic violations nineteen times before the Sgt. Skip Robbins finally issued me my first summons, figuring I had received enough second chances. These officers were always gracious and fair, even as I proceeded to stockpile tickets over the course of my illustrious driving career. It was not too long after, the new and improved generation of officers manned the streets. They were my age, some were my peers; they hadn’t been on the job long enough for the harsh realities of a brave new world to harden their hearts. It was their lives perceived injustices real or imagined that caused them to be dicks in the line of duty. That and little wee-wees.
They were the ones who held the power now. Everyone whoever slighted them was going to pay. They would throw their weight around at every opportunity. “To protect and serve” quickly became “abuse and harass” for this small niche group that would dare tarnish the public perception of the rest law enforcement officials. Upon my move to South Florida, I was happy to see that the local apple barrels had its share of malcontents that spoiled it for the rest.
I watch as police run red traffic signals as seen in the movie Superbad, by turning on the pretty lights that adorn the tops of patrol cars. And no, they were not on their way to the scene of a crime. Once they made it through the traffic signal, the lights were extinguished, and the officer proceeded at the normal rate of speed, which for some cops is the speed of sound; only to pull into an eating establishment.
Just the other day I was tailgated, then passed on the right at a rate which exceeded the posted speed of thirty-five, in order to cut me off to get in the left hand turn lane at a traffic signal so this cop could improve their traffic position by one car length. We both proceeded in the same direction, at the same rate of speed, only to be situated next to each other while we waited for that light to change. I must reiterate, this behavior is not indicative of the majority of officers I have come in contact with. More than once, I have been pulled over for speeding, exorbitantly I might add, only to be released with a warning. My demeanor dictated theirs. Treat them with respect, only if they deserve it, not command it, and nine times out of ten they’ll cut you some slack if they’re the legit cops, not the ones who were picked on in high school.
For anyone who is unaware, drivers in South Florida regularly flaunt their disregard traffic laws. Yet, the local police force does not consider these infractions to be high on their priority list of maintaining order. At any given moment, red lights are run, there are illegal lane changes, no one has ever heard of keeping right. Cars manufactured for sale in South Florida must not have come equipped with directional signals, since it is the rare occasion indeed you happen to espy one flashing, often this is a false alarm, as it is on for no particular reason. You’d think that the automobile industry would save millions by eliminating that item.
When it rains, fire lanes at shopping centers are so filled with parked cars that I am tempted to set fire to a building just to make a point. Yet, with all this happening, last Sunday, the fate of the free world as we know it hinged on my forgetting to display my handicapped placard so it was clearly visible.
I was wrong by not putting it on my rearview mirror before I went into the Pembroke Lakes Mall, my bad. Had the “officer”- I put this in quotes because she was a community service aide dressed in jeans and a golf shirt- looked inside the car, she would have seen the placard protruding from the passenger side visor and this nasty misunderstanding could have been avoided altogether. This was not the case.
Upon exiting the mall, I saw the women get out of the dressed down faux version of a Pembroke Pines police vehicle, and begin to write me a citation. When I was within earshot, all she said to me was “I’m sorry.” I opened the car, removed the placard to show her the error of my ways. Uninterested, she continued to justify her salary. When she presented me with the summons, she repeated “I’m sorry” and went about her merry way confident in her knowledge of a job well done. She did not give a shit that my placard was valid, as I stood there in my shorts that revealed a prosthetic limb. She did not give a shit that this would cost ten dollars and unknown quantities of time for me to be free of this summons. She was doing her part to keep American democracy safe. Was she impressing someone with her undue diligence in the hope that one day she could attain full cop status? Who the hell knows or cares, certainly not me.
I immediately went to the local police station to clear this matter up quickly. I was greeted by a condescending female voice over the phone reminding me that it was Sunday. What a dumb shit I was! Thank goodness she told me what day of the week it was. She continued to speak to me as if I was five, and I suffered from some sort of brain deficiency. I wondered how she liked bullying people when she could hide behind a phone. My quest for a quick resolution would have to wait. There were public servant man hours and taxpayer dollars to waste.
Monday morning, a phone call to the city clerk’s office yielded instructions for wiping the slate clean. I was instructed to write a detailed letter describing the circumstances that instigated the ticket, get said letter notarized, make copies of my placard and driver’s license, and mail it along with my ten dollars to the Broward County Clerk of Courts. Is that all, hell, maybe I’ll try and get another one next week just to keep everyone busy.
When police arrived at the scene of the accident that caused me to qualify for a handicapped parking permit, the first request of the EMT was a blood test to see if I had been drinking, not whether I was going to live or die. I once accrued sixteen points for speeding in one month in one town. Collectively, I’ve amassed ninety-seven points on my driving record, all but six before 1993. My driving privileges have been suspended for seven of the first nineteen years of my driving career. I was written summons’ on everything from fictitious plates to too dark to be driving without proper illumination; no registration to expired license, exhaust too loud to driving while suspended, did I deserve them all, probably. Did the dastardly deed of not properly displaying the handicapped placard that every asshole in South Florida insists upon displaying at all times though it clearly states “remove before driving” warrant a summons? You come to your own conclusions. I’ve got to go, Indiana Wants Me.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Weather. Or Not.
A hitter in the game of baseball can fail seven out of every ten opportunities yet he is considered a huge success. Corporate executives can drive their firms to the brink of financial ruin yet still reap extravagant salaries and benefits. Stock brokers get a commission whether they make money for a client or lose it. Another group who get paid generous salaries for being habitually wrong is television weather anchors.
Be advised, television weather anchors and meteorologists are not one in the same. Meteorologists are people of science, weather anchors are talking heads with microphones in their ears. Some meteorologists feed their carefully scrutinized and disseminated information to weather anchors, and through the magic of television, smiling they bring to us the forecast via the airwaves. Meteorologists often report the weather. Television figures meteorologists bring credibility to the station and the weather news that warrants reporting. Lately, weather anchors just bring big boobs and perky voices. The “attractive weather anchor” is a ploy to hold our attention through something as mundane as the weather so we won’t change the channel to some legitimate weather broadcast. The question is, is any aired weather forecast legitimate?
As a child in New Jersey, I remember hanging on every word uttered by meteorologist/weatherman Tex Antoine, particularly in the winter. What kid hasn’t watched the weather in the hope that the storm being tracked by the trusted weather people would dump at least enough snow to cause the schools to close; only to be bitterly disappointed in the outcome?
Imagine, on Monday you glue yourself to the television, fixing your eye on the intricate weather map that showed an enormous capital “C” making its way down from Canada. By the time you were seven, you knew that the big “L” over the Great Lakes meant moisture, and the “H” over Oklahoma meant sunny skies. In our minds eye we could visualize the “L” colliding with the “C” in western Pennsylvania, precipitating frozen precipitation. We hoped against hope that the “C” would push through to the coast, and the “L” wouldn’t weaken, giving us a blanket of snow large enough to piss off our parents.
Heading off to bed, plans of sledding and snowball fights were already in their preliminary stages. It was very difficult indeed to sleep knowing, if the weather people were correct, that you didn’t have to get up the next morning; only to find upon awakening, that Tex Antoine was full of shit. Plans immediately went into motion as how to get to New York to spike his insulin injection with something lethal. I mention this because it was reported that was the reason Tex often appeared intoxicated on air; he was a diabetic. It was also reported later he drank too much. However, I didn’t realize that diabetes caused profane humor. Long before Indiana basketball coach Bobby Knight uttered the infamous phrase “If rape is inevitable, lay back and enjoy it,” Tex Antoine lost his job over using the same quip as a segue after Roger Grimsby just finished reporting on a rape. Sadly, Tex’s demise would have to wait; there was a bus to catch.
Discussions about the weather were not reserved for the elderly, who often seemed overly preoccupied with the topic. Even as youngsters, the talk on the bus centered on the previous evening’s weather misinformation. Not much has changed in forty-five years. Those who give us the weather on the evening news are commonly full of shit.
In Florida, it is a lot more difficult to be wrong over and over, yet turn on any station, and they all subscribe to the same bogus forecast. After June 1, on any given day, the weather Kreskins look into their crystals balls, and spew out the same regurgitated tripe, “Hot sun, with a possible chance of passing showers or thunderstorms, highs in the low nineties.” What the hell does “possible chance” mean anyway? Isn’t that the same thing? Can’t they just say “it’s going to be hot, and it might rain,” and be done with it? Besides, as long as I’ve lived in Florida, during the summer months, every afternoon around four o’clock, you could expect a shower of varying degree. Yet, men and women make a substantial living telling viewers the same weather forecast day in and day out. Isn’t that some form of insanity, repeating the same thing over and over expecting different results? This year is different. The weather folk have started in early with monotonous forecasting.
For the past month, weather anchors and meteorologists alike have fed us the same crap of “possible chance of passing showers,” and I haven’t seen a one. Sure, my car has shown the filthy evidence of a facsimile of raindrops. But, there hasn’t been any discernable “rain” for quite some time. Still, the talking weather heads continue to stand by their patented South Florida seasonable forecast and get paid for it. Don’t you think that they should be held accountable in some way shape or form for their lack of accuracy? Millions of dollars are spent on meteorological equipment, and still tornadoes and hurricanes can’t be pinpointed with any degree of certainty.
Each of the past three years we’ve been warned with impending dread of the magnitude of the upcoming hurricane season which runs from June 1, to November 1. Thankfully, none of the “experts” prognostications have come to fruition. Every time some sort of weather activity occurs off the coast of West Africa, weather anchors get on the air to warn of the “possible chance” of imminent doom. Panic stricken, people then rush out en masse to buy every bottle of water and battery available. Within the next couple of days we’re told how fortunate we were to have dodged another potential bullet, when weather anchors give us the all clear, as the storm has blown northward toward Iceland. This is after we’ve spent our life savings on portable generators, portable air conditioners, extra gas cans, and a two month supply of canned goods.
It has been seventeen years since Hurricane Andrew, when local South Florida meteorologist Brian Norcross gained national notoriety. He talked everyone through that tragic catastrophe by staying on the air for Christ only knows how many hours straight. He published a book covering the incident. He wrote another on proper hurricane preparation. A TV movie about Hurricane Andrew was made featuring Ted Wass as Norcross. Brian Norcross became a very rich man. CBS national news consults him every time there is a serious threat of a hurricane striking landfall somewhere in the U.S. Norcross has gained the public trust. Good for him, he deserves everything he has. But to me, I liken him to Don Larsen throwing a perfect game in the World Series, aside from that achievement; he was a mediocre pitcher at best. Larsen parlayed that one singular shining moment into a lucrative broadcasting career peppered with endorsements.
Wouldn’t it be great if weather forecasters were paid on a sliding scale based on accuracy? I wonder if the “Mendoza Line” would apply in their cases. Talk to me on November 2nd, maybe it’ll rain by then.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Immaculate Misconception
Americans are stupid. American apathy has reached its apex. Those observations may be considered harsh by some. However, what other reasons can there be for no public outcry over what the oil companies are doing to the average consumer. Spokespersons for the oil industry lie, this is not a surprise. What is a surprise is when spokespeople tell the truth and it’s more difficult to fathom than the lies are.
Remember last summer when the American public was told by some oil industry spokesperson that gas prices were based on what price was paid for crude oil three months previous? And then gas prices continued to fluctuate daily, shooting that theory in the ass.
Over the past twelve months gas prices have ranged between approximately $4.50 a gallon to a low of $1.49 a gallon here in South Florida. Last summer, crude oil costs were as high as $147.27 per barrel. Several months ago the bottom fell out of the oil futures market. The cost per barrel reflected that when it reached a low of $32.41. With that being said, it stands to reason that if $147.27 per barrel of crude equated to $4.50 at the pump, then the price for gas should have been around $1.00 a gallon based on $32.41 for crude. If my math is correct, $147.27 is about four and half times $32.41. Yet gas never even got close to $1.00 per gallon. Greedy fuckers, but that part you knew. Except now a mouthpiece for the oil industry says as much when questioned. After all the lies, and all the bullshit Americans have been fed for the last year, the greedy fuckers are finally fessing up.
We’ve had to listen to gas prices remaining high due to hurricane damage to oil drilling facilities. We got the “volatile Mid-East situation” excuse for soaring gas prices. We got the supply wasn’t keeping up with the demand bullshit. So what did Americans do? They bought hybrid cars at inflated prices. They drove less, except for those who have enough income that they don’t care how high gas prices are.
Politicians tell us the situation in the Middle East (oil producing nations) is mellowing considerably. Oil companies jacked gas prices up while maintenance was done to damaged rigs and refineries. The supply side is rosy since oil reserves are at their highest levels ever. That means that foreign oil is going to cost more since they have product that isn’t selling as fast as it should to sustain whatever country’s economy. Now, nobody’s buying any new cars, much less hybrids, so why the rising gas prices? Believe or not, there is a legitimate reason, a shitty one, but legitimate nonetheless.
The oil industry in this country has not reinvested their mind-boggling profits back into their own infrastructure since 1976. Sure, you can point to the environmental issues that would come from erecting new refineries or expanding the capacities of old ones. Still, that type of action would not only employ thousands of folks, but also keep gas prices at “reasonable” levels. Today’s reasonable is yesterday’s exorbitant. There is another reason, it’s the one many Americans have suspected all along but big oil has never owned up to.
CBS news called “Drill baby, drill,” the battle hymn of last summer’s Republican National Convention. However, oil companies have cut back on drilling, even though they’ve claimed that there are several large untapped oil fields off-shore in the Gulf of Mexico, in Canada, and Alaska. Chief economist with the American Petroleum Institute John Felmi says drilling has stopped on existing leases “because there’s probably no oil there,” even though there is substantial evidence to the contrary. Christ! Exxon-Mobil has an entire ad campaign running that centers on new sources of fossil fuel. Mr. Felmi offered up the real reason to the halt in drilling, this would be the same reason gas prices remain high, “We had a serious decline in terms of prices (?) and in terms of earnings in the 4th quarter last year.” The drilling stopped as a hedge against a downturn in profits in case there’s another crisis like last summer caused by lack of unearthing more crude? Does this mean big oil is causing its own crisis and shareholders are profiting by it?
There it is folks, for the first time in print the truth from an oil industry representative. What Mr. Fermi is saying for those of you who really are idiots, is that the oil industry can’t invest any monies because oil companies have to keep paying stockholders huge dividends. Wow! I feel so much better now that is out in the open. Mr. Fermi might as well have appeared on television in a festive party hat giving the viewing audience the finger while laughing maniacally. A good thing can come out of this revelation. From now on maybe we’ll get less bullshit. Florida Power and Light have taken this tact.
Last year a disgruntled employee intentionally threw a wrong switch that caused massive power outages all over the state, and an estimated $8 million in damages. Instead of FP&L holding itself accountable for the actions of its employees, FP&L decided that raising customer rates to cover the costs of this little happenstance was the way to go. But at least they were up front about it, and the Florida legislature agreed. See, there’s no need to hide behind some contrived fabrication any longer.
Oil industry spokespersons can now just say “gas prices will remain inflated because” according to Exxon-Mobil spokesman Ken Cohen “two and a half million people own stock in the company,” They have grown accustom to a consistently high return (16% or so) on their investment. The 2.5 million number includes people who own shares in mutual funds that include Exxon-Mobil in the portfolio. I am not going to figure out what percentage of the global population 2.5 million represents, but it’s really small. The rest of us are getting bent over without the courtesy of a dinner date.
Exxon-Mobil’s earnings last year were $45,000,000,000-the largest corporate profit ever. Remember that includes that down 4th quarter. A major portion of the profits, so we’re told, comes from selling domestic crude overseas where it fetches a higher price than Exxon-Mobil pays for foreign oil. Well hell that makes sense! Politicians cry “Lets stop our dependence on foreign oil,” oh that’s right we can’t because we’re selling off what we have here at home in the name of profit. Hey Exxon-Mobil shareholders, why don’t you lighten up a bit and do the right thing? The problem is when big oil does the right thing they still somehow fuck it up.
This past Sunday, 60 Minutes aired a piece on the pollution to the Ecuadorian Amazon Basin and the Amazon River’s tributaries, and the resultant lawsuit. This environmental catastrophe was caused primarily by the Texaco oil company, which is now owned by Chevron. Environmental experts estimate that it will cost about $8 billion dollars to clean up the mess left behind by an American oil company over twenty years ago.
Chevron used as their spokeswoman Silvia Garrigo, Chevron’s manager of global issues and policy, to address this topic with 60 Minutes correspondent Scott Pelley, big mistake. Ms. Garrigo came off as aloof, indignant, sanctimonious, and completely out of touch with the real world as well as the viewers. The corporate heads are so out of the loop as to how America thinks that they felt Ms. Garrigo would be their best choice to represent Chevron on national television. Not so. She and Chevron could be as right as rain in their position concerning the lawsuit and it wouldn’t have mattered a lick due to her pomposity.
Ms. Garrigo didn’t seem to feel Chevron should be held accountable for old Texaco liabilities. Though I am sure what had transpired down in Ecuador many years ago was disclosed prior to merger. Why not just suck it up, clean it up, and call a press conference to announce how environmentally conscientious Chevron is. That way they’d look like heroes. Sure it would have cost a lot and cut into profits, but you can’t put a price on the amount of global good will generated by the act.
No, Chevron came to the conclusion that an abrasive bitch protecting the company interests was the best way to go. The least the ivory tower assholes could have done was get someone who exuded some appeal.
Over the last couple of days gas prices have risen nearly twenty cents per gallon locally. Crude oil prices are $53.00 per barrel. Based on my earlier rough calculations, the price of a gallon of gas should be around $1.75 a gallon. It’s not. It’s $2.19 a gallon. I can’t believe how stupid I am when it comes to math. Maybe one day I’ll do something about it, just not right now. I don’t care about math that much.
Remember last summer when the American public was told by some oil industry spokesperson that gas prices were based on what price was paid for crude oil three months previous? And then gas prices continued to fluctuate daily, shooting that theory in the ass.
Over the past twelve months gas prices have ranged between approximately $4.50 a gallon to a low of $1.49 a gallon here in South Florida. Last summer, crude oil costs were as high as $147.27 per barrel. Several months ago the bottom fell out of the oil futures market. The cost per barrel reflected that when it reached a low of $32.41. With that being said, it stands to reason that if $147.27 per barrel of crude equated to $4.50 at the pump, then the price for gas should have been around $1.00 a gallon based on $32.41 for crude. If my math is correct, $147.27 is about four and half times $32.41. Yet gas never even got close to $1.00 per gallon. Greedy fuckers, but that part you knew. Except now a mouthpiece for the oil industry says as much when questioned. After all the lies, and all the bullshit Americans have been fed for the last year, the greedy fuckers are finally fessing up.
We’ve had to listen to gas prices remaining high due to hurricane damage to oil drilling facilities. We got the “volatile Mid-East situation” excuse for soaring gas prices. We got the supply wasn’t keeping up with the demand bullshit. So what did Americans do? They bought hybrid cars at inflated prices. They drove less, except for those who have enough income that they don’t care how high gas prices are.
Politicians tell us the situation in the Middle East (oil producing nations) is mellowing considerably. Oil companies jacked gas prices up while maintenance was done to damaged rigs and refineries. The supply side is rosy since oil reserves are at their highest levels ever. That means that foreign oil is going to cost more since they have product that isn’t selling as fast as it should to sustain whatever country’s economy. Now, nobody’s buying any new cars, much less hybrids, so why the rising gas prices? Believe or not, there is a legitimate reason, a shitty one, but legitimate nonetheless.
The oil industry in this country has not reinvested their mind-boggling profits back into their own infrastructure since 1976. Sure, you can point to the environmental issues that would come from erecting new refineries or expanding the capacities of old ones. Still, that type of action would not only employ thousands of folks, but also keep gas prices at “reasonable” levels. Today’s reasonable is yesterday’s exorbitant. There is another reason, it’s the one many Americans have suspected all along but big oil has never owned up to.
CBS news called “Drill baby, drill,” the battle hymn of last summer’s Republican National Convention. However, oil companies have cut back on drilling, even though they’ve claimed that there are several large untapped oil fields off-shore in the Gulf of Mexico, in Canada, and Alaska. Chief economist with the American Petroleum Institute John Felmi says drilling has stopped on existing leases “because there’s probably no oil there,” even though there is substantial evidence to the contrary. Christ! Exxon-Mobil has an entire ad campaign running that centers on new sources of fossil fuel. Mr. Felmi offered up the real reason to the halt in drilling, this would be the same reason gas prices remain high, “We had a serious decline in terms of prices (?) and in terms of earnings in the 4th quarter last year.” The drilling stopped as a hedge against a downturn in profits in case there’s another crisis like last summer caused by lack of unearthing more crude? Does this mean big oil is causing its own crisis and shareholders are profiting by it?
There it is folks, for the first time in print the truth from an oil industry representative. What Mr. Fermi is saying for those of you who really are idiots, is that the oil industry can’t invest any monies because oil companies have to keep paying stockholders huge dividends. Wow! I feel so much better now that is out in the open. Mr. Fermi might as well have appeared on television in a festive party hat giving the viewing audience the finger while laughing maniacally. A good thing can come out of this revelation. From now on maybe we’ll get less bullshit. Florida Power and Light have taken this tact.
Last year a disgruntled employee intentionally threw a wrong switch that caused massive power outages all over the state, and an estimated $8 million in damages. Instead of FP&L holding itself accountable for the actions of its employees, FP&L decided that raising customer rates to cover the costs of this little happenstance was the way to go. But at least they were up front about it, and the Florida legislature agreed. See, there’s no need to hide behind some contrived fabrication any longer.
Oil industry spokespersons can now just say “gas prices will remain inflated because” according to Exxon-Mobil spokesman Ken Cohen “two and a half million people own stock in the company,” They have grown accustom to a consistently high return (16% or so) on their investment. The 2.5 million number includes people who own shares in mutual funds that include Exxon-Mobil in the portfolio. I am not going to figure out what percentage of the global population 2.5 million represents, but it’s really small. The rest of us are getting bent over without the courtesy of a dinner date.
Exxon-Mobil’s earnings last year were $45,000,000,000-the largest corporate profit ever. Remember that includes that down 4th quarter. A major portion of the profits, so we’re told, comes from selling domestic crude overseas where it fetches a higher price than Exxon-Mobil pays for foreign oil. Well hell that makes sense! Politicians cry “Lets stop our dependence on foreign oil,” oh that’s right we can’t because we’re selling off what we have here at home in the name of profit. Hey Exxon-Mobil shareholders, why don’t you lighten up a bit and do the right thing? The problem is when big oil does the right thing they still somehow fuck it up.
This past Sunday, 60 Minutes aired a piece on the pollution to the Ecuadorian Amazon Basin and the Amazon River’s tributaries, and the resultant lawsuit. This environmental catastrophe was caused primarily by the Texaco oil company, which is now owned by Chevron. Environmental experts estimate that it will cost about $8 billion dollars to clean up the mess left behind by an American oil company over twenty years ago.
Chevron used as their spokeswoman Silvia Garrigo, Chevron’s manager of global issues and policy, to address this topic with 60 Minutes correspondent Scott Pelley, big mistake. Ms. Garrigo came off as aloof, indignant, sanctimonious, and completely out of touch with the real world as well as the viewers. The corporate heads are so out of the loop as to how America thinks that they felt Ms. Garrigo would be their best choice to represent Chevron on national television. Not so. She and Chevron could be as right as rain in their position concerning the lawsuit and it wouldn’t have mattered a lick due to her pomposity.
Ms. Garrigo didn’t seem to feel Chevron should be held accountable for old Texaco liabilities. Though I am sure what had transpired down in Ecuador many years ago was disclosed prior to merger. Why not just suck it up, clean it up, and call a press conference to announce how environmentally conscientious Chevron is. That way they’d look like heroes. Sure it would have cost a lot and cut into profits, but you can’t put a price on the amount of global good will generated by the act.
No, Chevron came to the conclusion that an abrasive bitch protecting the company interests was the best way to go. The least the ivory tower assholes could have done was get someone who exuded some appeal.
Over the last couple of days gas prices have risen nearly twenty cents per gallon locally. Crude oil prices are $53.00 per barrel. Based on my earlier rough calculations, the price of a gallon of gas should be around $1.75 a gallon. It’s not. It’s $2.19 a gallon. I can’t believe how stupid I am when it comes to math. Maybe one day I’ll do something about it, just not right now. I don’t care about math that much.
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