Many of you don’t have any idea who Hal David is, nor do you probably care. Tough shit, I’m going to tell you anyway. He was a lyricist who, along with composer Burt Bacharach, formed one of the most successful and prolific music tandems ever. They were the Rogers and Hammerstein of my parent’s generation. Think a schmaltzy version of Lennon and McCartney, or Elton John and Bernie Taupin for that matter. The point is, the opening line to one of many corny songs he wrote asked the question “What’s it all about…” Well, several events featured prominently in the past week’s news make me ask the same question.
I have been blogging for over a year. Every Wednesday without fail, I weigh in on some subject matter. The content ranges from the irreverent to the sublime, from the ridiculous to pieces historically factual, sometimes all of the above. It was my understanding that a blog is just such a forum for that type of thing. Today, I ponder. I also apologize for the Debbie Downer content. If you’re not up for it, pass this week, I’ll understand.
As a disclaimer, I am not a pillar of virtue. I was never purported to be. However, all that “he who has not sinned,” “judge ye not, lest ye be judged” crap aside, murders disturb me. Due to their frequency, I have not become so jaded that when I hear one has occurred, it at least elicits a shaking of a cast down head. Two murders happened recently that have grabbed headlines. One has garnered national attention, while the other happened a mere twenty-five miles away here in South Florida.
The murder of Connecticut Husky defensive back Jasper Howard has received attention because Howard was a college football player of note. The murder of fourteen year old Matthew Gorzynski of Coral Springs is notable because the alleged perpetrator is Matthew’s fifteen year old brother William. One does not sadden me more than another. Christ, people are dying everyday everywhere. There are two separate conflicts going on where people intentionally try to kill each other. In the big picture, all of this upsets me, but the killings disturb me in terms of what’s happening in our society.
I’m not stupid. I know murder, though we may not like it, is part of our culture. That does not mean I have to understand it. As a matter of fact, I’m trying to wrap my brain around why these murders have taken up space in my head. Why did a kid from Miami, who wanted to get out of his environment so badly, that he went to a college town located, as my son put it “in the middle of nowhere.” He devoted himself to the goals of getting his college degree, and while he was at it, perhaps honing his football skills to such a level that playing professional football might be in his future. If he did indeed succeed at the next level, the money provided would allow him to move the rest of his family out of the toxic environs of inner-city Miami. The very thing Jasper Howard desperately sought to escape, found him sixteen-hundred miles away.
I don’t know the particulars of this case. Authorities have not indicated the motive of the three assailants currently in custody. Police investigating the crime said that one of the suspects pulled the fire alarm to vacate the building where a campus dance was taking place. Once, outside, a fracas broke out. It was during the melee Howard was stabbed by John William Lomax III. (why do killers always have three names when being identified?) Did these three young men travel thirty miles just to start a ruckus for lack of something to do? Was a girl involved? Was this a crime of passion? Was this a crime of boredom? These are questions that keep running through my head. The bottom line is, why did it happen at all? I don’t much like not being able to figure any of this out. To compound my inability to grasp the meaning behind this heinous event, another occurs even more bizarre, sad, and puzzling.
Yesterday, the news reported that William Gorzynski (maybe he doesn’t warrant a third name because he’s a minor) stabbed his younger brother Matthew in the chest with a kitchen knife. What drove William to commit such an act? The two brothers had an argument over the volume on the computer speakers. When I heard this I thought my ability to disseminate information had gone drastically awry. Again, all the information surrounding the confrontation is sketchy at best. Was the suspect a troublemaker at school? Had he been causing problems since his mother left “several” years ago. Is this an isolated incident? What’s been building for so long that would prompt this sort of outburst over speaker volume? I can’t even fathom what the father of these two boys must be feeling, and/or agonizing over. Then to add insult to injury, my wife watched Oprah yesterday.
The program focused on a case involving a woman who loaded seven eleven year old girls into her minivan after a sleepover. She drove at a high rate of speed eventually crashing. Two of the girls were seriously injured. Another, the woman’s own daughter, did not survive. The woman was drunk. She killed her own kid. She’s hospitalized, under police guard while she recuperates from her injuries. She’s under a suicide watch. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!? My god, I’m getting depressed (incensed) all over again writing this.
As I get older, there are several nagging questions l don’t have definitive answers to. The standard “what’s the meaning of life” is one. Why do some people die, while others get the opportunity to live? Why do some kids get cancer at age six, and others live to ninety before they’re diagnosed? Why do things happen that gnaw at me, like the ones I just mentioned? I don’t want to summarily dismiss it as “all part of god’s plan,” whatever the fuck that’s suppose to mean. That sounds like a copout to me. I used to say I hope the answers to these questions, and all the others much less significant, will be revealed to me when I die. It won’t matter then though. This “me” will no longer exist and I won’t give a shit. I give a shit now!
Showing posts with label Current Events. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Current Events. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Glass House
Rude [rood] >adj. 1 offensively impolite or ill-mannered: she had been rude to her boss [with infinitive] it’s rude to ask a lady her age.
Referring to a taboo subject such as sex in a way considered improper and offensive: he made a rude gesture. [attrib.] having startling abruptness: the war came as a very rude awakening.2 roughly made or done; lacking subtlety or sophistication: a rude coffin.
archaic, ignorant and uneducated: the new religion was first promulgated by rude men.
3 [attrib.] chiefly Brit. Vigorous or hearty: Isabel had always been in rude health.
-DERIVATIVES rude-ly adv.; rude-ness n.; ru-der-y n.
-ORIGIN Middle English (in sense 2, also ‘uncultured’): from Old French, from Latin rudis ‘unwrought’ (referring to handicraft), figuratively ‘uncultivated’; related to rudus ‘broken stone.’
Dominating the headlines this week have been several high profile cases of indecorous public behavior. In this age of around the clock “news” coverage, in competition for ratings, all forms of media have latched onto this topic with both claws. Like the old wives’ tale of celebrity deaths coming in threes, so to are the most recent Miss Manners felons. Joe Wilson, Republican Congressional Representative from South Carolina, Kanye West, inarticulate egomaniacal pop star, and tennis great Serena Williams, all find themselves amid a maelstrom of public outcry led by those who are acting as today’s moral entrepreneurs. Is this really news, and do we need everyone weighing in with their opinion on proper decorum?
In 1922, Emily Post published her world renowned best seller on proper etiquette. The timing of this publication couldn’t have been better; the Roaring 20’s weren’t called “roaring” for nothing. America was coming out of the period of strict Victorian morals. It was time for society to finally let its collective hair down. The finishing school contingent was appalled at the deprivation of societal norms as they new them. Most of these young ladies of “old money” wealth and privilege wanted to remind the nouveau riche a certain moral respectability comes with affluence; a message which many ignored. Post’s book has remained the standard for the last eighty-seven years and seventeen printings. It is this same set of manners the hoity-toity of today refer. Antiquated yes; needed, in some cases, but not enough to warrant the overblown, overhyped scrutiny that is prevailing in the previously mentioned cases. Let’s take a look at each scenario.
Congressman Wilson, who shouted “You lie!” at the President during his speech to Congress concerning health care, represents the great state of South Carolina, home of Preston Brooks. Who is Preston Brooks you say? In 1856, Preston Brooks beat the living shit out of Charles Sumner with a gold tipped cane right on the Senate floor. Over what? In today’s vernacular, Sumner ‘dissed his uncle, A.P. Butler and his views on slavery. Though Brooks was censured for this little fiasco, his constituents re-elected him, and sent him numerous gold-tipped canes to boot. When Congress reconvened after the summer break, most members came armed. Needless to say, they had to check their weapons at the door. Wilson’s constituents love him as well or they wouldn’t have elected him for his forth consecutive term.
The Congressman is so far to the right, he voted for keeping the Confederate flag flying over his states Capital building. Found out this bit of news at a website called thinkprogress.org., isn’t that an oxymoron? Several news sources have made reference to Wilson’s stance, alluding to his overt racism as the cause for his behavior. Wilson claims it was just a “spontaneous outburst” during an emotionally charged moment. Wilson apologized to the President, who readily accepted. It did not matter one iota whether the apology was sincere or not. The President was quick to put the matter behind him, and focus on the health care issue, going so far as to instruct Congress not to sanction Representative Wilson. It is the media who keeps fanning the flames of discord. The same may be said in the case of Serena Williams.
Williams went into a profanity laced tirade at the U.S. Open tennis championships recently. She forfeited the match, was fined, and made a contrite apology. The media and the USTA won’t put the matter to bed. Williams’ apology wasn’t timely. It wasn’t sincere. Her behavior deemed deplorable. The USTA is going to form a committee to investigate the matter further to see if perhaps Williams should forfeit her winnings from her and her sister Venus capturing the doubles title. This committee is going to consider whether Serena should possibly be banned from participating in future Grand Slam events. Why don’t we just draw and quarter her, and be done with it. Don’t these people remember John McEnroe, Ivan Tirilac, Ilie Nastasie, or Jimmy Connors? Can you imagine the USGA fining or suspending Tiger Woods from competition for all the expletives he spews after bad shots? The rest of the world would think the Americans have finally gone off the deep end. The PGA Tour would suffer tremendously, as would its current global appeal. The continual media glare has done the trick. The holier than thou have had their say. Now let Serena Williams get back to playing tennis, instead of explaining her demeanor. As for Kanye West, well, he’s just a “jackass.”
That’s what the President called West during what he believed was an “off the record” moment. And now the President is under fire. Jesus Christ! Can you imagine what a field day the press would have had if they were all vying for soundbites from Presidents Lyndon B. Johnson and Richard Nixon, pottymouths both!? And besides, Kanye West did behave like a jackass at the MTV video music awards. (they still show videos on MTV?). Does anyone want to disagree? I didn’t think so. The thing that galls me the most is now, everyone and their brother are examining why all this rude behavior.
It couldn’t possibly be that we’ve become a culture so permissive that “shit” was uttered on the mainstream program ER. Maybe it’s because we’ve stretched the boundaries of propriety so far, and now a couple of incidents bring to our attention that maybe this isn’t such a good thing. Maybe we just haven’t caught up with the rest of the world about not taking everything so goddamn seriously.
We as a society have allowed the moral self-righteous to become so preoccupied with how others are behaving that they forgot to examine their motives. Like the politicians who rail on behalf of some cause, only to be accused of what they’re railing against. (See Mark Foley, Eliot Spitzer, and South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, what’s up with these South Carolina folk?) When did those in the media become the shining stars of moral purity? They cast aspersions in the same tone of voice that Alex Trebek uses when he tells the correct answer to a contestant who has erred. Trebek always acts as though he knew the answer, and makes the person feel as if their fly is down.
When you come right down to it, I’m with Emily Post. Stuff like keep your elbows off the table, chew with your mouth closed, no double dipping at the veggie platter, don’t fart in front of strangers, don’t use your fork as if it were a steam shovel, and open doors for others. If they don’t thank me, I’ll let them know about it. But when they return the favor, I will say thank you.
Those in the media better take a long hard look in the mirror, and make sure their demeanor is flawless enough to cast stones. Let’s get a thicker skin, and lighten up. There are much more serious matters that deserve our attention. I don’t know about you, but I have enough concerns with my own behavior; I really don’t give a shit about someone else’s crassness. Maybe that’s because I say “fuck” a lot.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Till Death Do Us Never Part
The saying goes that “the first condition of immortality is death.” In this era of Pop Culture idolatry, it is not surprising that the featured story of every newscast last week, both local and national, focused on the passing of those who attained varying degrees of demigod status. Each individual occupied their unique niche on the landscape of the American psyche. Of the four, all but one underwent at least one metamorphosis before ending up in a quite different form than the one that captured public attention. For all their noteworthiness, they still wound up the same as the rest of us will one day end up, albeit with much more fanfare.
The lives of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Michael Jackson, have had their lives, and in the case of Farrah Fawcett, their death, played out in glorious technicolor across every form of media. Not a week went by when a picture of any of the three could be seen adorning the covers of gossip magazines located at the supermarket checkout. A headline often accompanied the photo, claiming some cataclysmic event had befallen them. This was done is such a fashion that you would feel guilty without knowing all of the grisly, and occasionally fabricated details, making it a “must read” for those who want to be “in the know.” I didn’t, nor did I care if I wasn’t.
If you didn’t get your fill via the written word, or if you fell into “just barely able to read” category these publications consider their target audience; all major networks, and several cable stations, offer tabloid “entertainment television” programs that air each and every night, chronicling each burp, fart, and bowel movement of your favorite celebrities. What a full life one must lead that in order to complete their tapestry of cultural fulfillment a daily dose of celebrity gossip puts a finishing touch to such a rewarding canvas. And then one of the cultural icons dies…and those, whose lives are so dull, get the opportunity to delve even further via the magic of television. So long have they peered into the fishbowl, they feel connected, though the closest they’d ever been, or got, to having a relationship, was strictly vicarious. Take note all you stalkers.
Billy Mays was different. Billy Mays was a salesman for many years prior to him becoming a TV pitchman, or salesman if you will. Billy Mays didn’t morph into anything; he stayed the same, but with a larger clientele. It’s been speculated that Billy Mays died of a heart attack. As of this writing, that has been neither confirmed nor denied. However, if you ever watched or listened to Billy Mays try to convince you to buy something, a heart attack is a very reasonable assumption. There was no assuming necessary when it came to Farrah Fawcett’s cause of death.
Right from her first diagnosis, revealed in print and on television, cancer killed her. You heard about her courageous and epic struggle against the dreaded “Big C.” A made-for TV movie chronicled the last few weeks of her life until she became too weak, or too withered; where following her battle would border on the macabre.
Over the years we watched Farrah go from eye candy on a sex-ploitation television series, to pin-up queen (I tossed a couple of salads to that poster), to serious actress. We sighed a collective “Awww” when she married Six Million Dollar Man, Lee Majors. Not me, but there were those who, for whatever reason, gave a crap. From the comfort of living rooms across the country, these same camp followers felt sadness when the happy couple stopped being happy. The euphoria returned when Farrah and Ryan O’Neal wed, only to exit again when they too, divorced. But, as so duly reported, their romantic spark was rekindled, her adorning fans rejoiced. And then she had the bad luck to die the same day as Michael Jackson, who would steal every grandiose sympathetic headline.
Nothing hogs the spotlight like sudden early death to spoil someone else’s. I use the word sudden, because if you had been a faithful follower of Michael Jackson, you shouldn’t have been too surprised given his track record. “Unexpected” is not a word I would use in association with the announcement of his death. Plagued by years of prescription drug use, tormented, subjugated, overflowing with idiosyncrasies and insecurities, it’s no wonder he made it this long. Still, the death of Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “King of Pop,” is cause for all of us to at least say “whoa!”
A newsperson rhetorically asked the general viewership what exactly Jacko’s legacy would be. Would Michael Jackson be noted for the wonderful music he created, the dancer extraordinaire, the amazing showmanship; or would he be noted for his bizarre behavior, his suspected pedophilia, and his truly wacky attempts at altering his physical appearance? I am of the opinion it will closely resemble that of the “King of Rock and Roll.” The eccentric, overweight, drug abusing, womanizer, has left a body of work, and an ever-longing fan base, that has been passed down to the next generation. Children not yet born will know of, and perhaps grow to adore the music of Michael Jackson, much in the same way as current followers of the music of Elvis, and Jim Morrison and the Doors.
Michael Jackson was once the lovable front-kid for the famous singing Jackson Five brothers. He struck out on his own to become the man-child mega-star, who made music videos an art form. His sisters, though talented, owe Michael their careers. Had they been siblings of anyone else, they may have been forever doomed to a life of obscurity. Perhaps they would have been better off. Or do people like that; though they’ll firmly deny it, crave the paparazzi’s attention. A life in the limelight is better than no life at all. I say be careful what you wish for. Even in death, there will be numerous forays into the saga of Michael Jackson. The media will leave no stone unturned. The never-ending coverage will easily surpass that of Anna Nicole Smith. Why couldn’t they have died on the same day? That would have spared us all that Anna Nicole bullshit.
There will be books and movies about Michael Jackson’s life; some authorized, some not. One thing is for sure, like Elvis, Michael Jackson became a parody of himself, and will be immortalized in some films depicting him as such. Personally, I think Elvis, if he were alive, would think the portrayals of the fat, bloated, buffoon, humorous. But, I can’t really picture Michael Jackson ever laughing at what others consider to be his foibles. Too bad, he gave people so much material to work with.
It is only fitting I save for last, the one who died first. Ed McMahon always walked in someone else’s shadow. He will never be known first and foremost, as the host of StarSearch. McMahon only got that gig because he parlayed “Here’s Johnny” into a career. The longtime sidekick on The Tonight Show, became one of the most recognizable faces in America by playing straight man for Johnny Carson. McMahon met with limited success in films, struck gold as the spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House and some fly-by-night life insurance company. All these engagements paid phenomenally well, yet McMahon spent it all. His home was facing foreclosure. How does that happen after thirty years on The Tonight Show followed by umpteen years as host as one of the most successful programs on the new Fox television network? American Idol owes Ed McMahon and StarSearch a debt of gratitude. Ed McMahon died as he lived; in the shadow of others. I wonder if he was jealous, hoping just once to not have to share the spotlight. Once a second banana, always a second banana.
As this is being written, actor Karl (nice nose, not) Malden and former champion boxer and cokehead Alexis Arguello, have died. More fodder for the tabloids and the respective television counterparts. If it’s any consolation for any of these recently deceased is, with the help of the media, they, like those in this piece, will not have to "go gentle into that good night.”
The lives of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Michael Jackson, have had their lives, and in the case of Farrah Fawcett, their death, played out in glorious technicolor across every form of media. Not a week went by when a picture of any of the three could be seen adorning the covers of gossip magazines located at the supermarket checkout. A headline often accompanied the photo, claiming some cataclysmic event had befallen them. This was done is such a fashion that you would feel guilty without knowing all of the grisly, and occasionally fabricated details, making it a “must read” for those who want to be “in the know.” I didn’t, nor did I care if I wasn’t.
If you didn’t get your fill via the written word, or if you fell into “just barely able to read” category these publications consider their target audience; all major networks, and several cable stations, offer tabloid “entertainment television” programs that air each and every night, chronicling each burp, fart, and bowel movement of your favorite celebrities. What a full life one must lead that in order to complete their tapestry of cultural fulfillment a daily dose of celebrity gossip puts a finishing touch to such a rewarding canvas. And then one of the cultural icons dies…and those, whose lives are so dull, get the opportunity to delve even further via the magic of television. So long have they peered into the fishbowl, they feel connected, though the closest they’d ever been, or got, to having a relationship, was strictly vicarious. Take note all you stalkers.
Billy Mays was different. Billy Mays was a salesman for many years prior to him becoming a TV pitchman, or salesman if you will. Billy Mays didn’t morph into anything; he stayed the same, but with a larger clientele. It’s been speculated that Billy Mays died of a heart attack. As of this writing, that has been neither confirmed nor denied. However, if you ever watched or listened to Billy Mays try to convince you to buy something, a heart attack is a very reasonable assumption. There was no assuming necessary when it came to Farrah Fawcett’s cause of death.
Right from her first diagnosis, revealed in print and on television, cancer killed her. You heard about her courageous and epic struggle against the dreaded “Big C.” A made-for TV movie chronicled the last few weeks of her life until she became too weak, or too withered; where following her battle would border on the macabre.
Over the years we watched Farrah go from eye candy on a sex-ploitation television series, to pin-up queen (I tossed a couple of salads to that poster), to serious actress. We sighed a collective “Awww” when she married Six Million Dollar Man, Lee Majors. Not me, but there were those who, for whatever reason, gave a crap. From the comfort of living rooms across the country, these same camp followers felt sadness when the happy couple stopped being happy. The euphoria returned when Farrah and Ryan O’Neal wed, only to exit again when they too, divorced. But, as so duly reported, their romantic spark was rekindled, her adorning fans rejoiced. And then she had the bad luck to die the same day as Michael Jackson, who would steal every grandiose sympathetic headline.
Nothing hogs the spotlight like sudden early death to spoil someone else’s. I use the word sudden, because if you had been a faithful follower of Michael Jackson, you shouldn’t have been too surprised given his track record. “Unexpected” is not a word I would use in association with the announcement of his death. Plagued by years of prescription drug use, tormented, subjugated, overflowing with idiosyncrasies and insecurities, it’s no wonder he made it this long. Still, the death of Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “King of Pop,” is cause for all of us to at least say “whoa!”
A newsperson rhetorically asked the general viewership what exactly Jacko’s legacy would be. Would Michael Jackson be noted for the wonderful music he created, the dancer extraordinaire, the amazing showmanship; or would he be noted for his bizarre behavior, his suspected pedophilia, and his truly wacky attempts at altering his physical appearance? I am of the opinion it will closely resemble that of the “King of Rock and Roll.” The eccentric, overweight, drug abusing, womanizer, has left a body of work, and an ever-longing fan base, that has been passed down to the next generation. Children not yet born will know of, and perhaps grow to adore the music of Michael Jackson, much in the same way as current followers of the music of Elvis, and Jim Morrison and the Doors.
Michael Jackson was once the lovable front-kid for the famous singing Jackson Five brothers. He struck out on his own to become the man-child mega-star, who made music videos an art form. His sisters, though talented, owe Michael their careers. Had they been siblings of anyone else, they may have been forever doomed to a life of obscurity. Perhaps they would have been better off. Or do people like that; though they’ll firmly deny it, crave the paparazzi’s attention. A life in the limelight is better than no life at all. I say be careful what you wish for. Even in death, there will be numerous forays into the saga of Michael Jackson. The media will leave no stone unturned. The never-ending coverage will easily surpass that of Anna Nicole Smith. Why couldn’t they have died on the same day? That would have spared us all that Anna Nicole bullshit.
There will be books and movies about Michael Jackson’s life; some authorized, some not. One thing is for sure, like Elvis, Michael Jackson became a parody of himself, and will be immortalized in some films depicting him as such. Personally, I think Elvis, if he were alive, would think the portrayals of the fat, bloated, buffoon, humorous. But, I can’t really picture Michael Jackson ever laughing at what others consider to be his foibles. Too bad, he gave people so much material to work with.
It is only fitting I save for last, the one who died first. Ed McMahon always walked in someone else’s shadow. He will never be known first and foremost, as the host of StarSearch. McMahon only got that gig because he parlayed “Here’s Johnny” into a career. The longtime sidekick on The Tonight Show, became one of the most recognizable faces in America by playing straight man for Johnny Carson. McMahon met with limited success in films, struck gold as the spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House and some fly-by-night life insurance company. All these engagements paid phenomenally well, yet McMahon spent it all. His home was facing foreclosure. How does that happen after thirty years on The Tonight Show followed by umpteen years as host as one of the most successful programs on the new Fox television network? American Idol owes Ed McMahon and StarSearch a debt of gratitude. Ed McMahon died as he lived; in the shadow of others. I wonder if he was jealous, hoping just once to not have to share the spotlight. Once a second banana, always a second banana.
As this is being written, actor Karl (nice nose, not) Malden and former champion boxer and cokehead Alexis Arguello, have died. More fodder for the tabloids and the respective television counterparts. If it’s any consolation for any of these recently deceased is, with the help of the media, they, like those in this piece, will not have to "go gentle into that good night.”
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Sports Mélange
Several topics have piqued my interest this week. A couple are bits of media fueled sensationalist mindlessness, deserving of little attention. One item could be construed as important to baseball fans; one is not if you are a student of the game. One is important to sports fans who hang out in bars, another is important to everyone who has ever hung out in a bar, or been behind them. They are all thought provoking to some extent. I will try to do justice to all four tidbits without putting you to sleep, though the topics themselves may.
Francisco Rodriguez, New York Met, and closer par excellence, was recently taken to task by no less an authority on pitcher’s mound decorum, than the illustrious Brian Bruney, set-up relief pitcher for the New York Yankees. Bruney publicly declared that the histrionic displays of Rodriguez are “a tired act.” This is coming from a man who has thirteen career saves to Rodriguez’ two-hundred and twenty-five, though they are only one month apart in age. You may say that Bruney is not a closer; hence the difference in career saves. Maybe Bruney was being groomed as a closer to replace an aging Mariano Rivera, but lacked the talent. Now Bruney is judged by the relatively new statistic “holds.” Well, hold this.
Bruney was in college gaining an education and honing his skills while Rodriguez was making a name for himself during the Los Angeles Angels post season run to the World Championship. Since that was the case, Bruney with his infinite intelligence, should reserve his commentary just by his sheer wisdom should know better. In the unlikelihood Bruney should reach the level of ability Rodriguez seems to possess, his criticism would hold a little more validity. But to disparage a man who has been to the mountaintop of his profession, and yet still has the same passion, and youthful exuberance for the game after eight years, is an absolute waste of four years in college. You should ask for your money back. You say you learned to play the game differently? You hail from the quaint city that Kindergarden Cop was filmed in.Where did you learn the game of baseball? In the suburbs, in an organized youth program, at some well maintained city park facility? Maybe Rodriguez learned the game in some garbage strew vacant lot, with only a milk carton for a glove, a sock wound with tape for a ball, with the well being of his entire family at stake, depending on his success. And with each professional success he is grateful for his unbelievable good fortune. Bruney says he doesn’t know Rodriguez personally; well maybe he should get to know him before he pops off. Didn’t they teach you that in college?
It has been reported Sammy Sosa tested positive for steroids in 2003. So what, that was six years ago. I’m currently reading Ball Four by Jim Bouton for the twenty-something time. Bouton states that baseball players will take anything. To paraphrase, “If there was a pill that guaranteed a pitcher twenty wins, but took five years off their life, they’d take it.” These words were published in 1971. Nothing has changed. Why can’t anyone get over that? Recently, many Olympians, as well as Danika Patrick, were offered a similar scenario, and they too agreed that if it meant winning a race, or a gold medal, they’d take the pill. That’s what competitiveness will do to young people who don’t have an eye on fifty years down the road. Why can’t anyone get over that either?
With Roger Federer winning the French Open in tennis, Kobe Bryant garnering his forth NBA Championship, and Tiger Woods playing in the U.S. Open this week in his pursuit of Jack Nicklaus’ eighteen Major Championship record; sportswriter Greg Cote, of the Miami Herald, thought it would be appropriate for him to offer his list of all-time greatest athletes. This topic has been debated for years, and will continue to be debated ad nauseum. It’s always fun, but there should be some ground rules first.
Is the athlete just the best because of his accomplishments in his sport, or is he to be considered against other athletes? Cote decided to match all athletes against each other based on their accomplishments in their particular sport. Cote considers Michael Jordan to be the best athlete of all-time. Very good but the only sport he played with any success was basketball. That makes him a greater athlete than Jim Thorpe who was an accomplished professional football player, professional baseball player, and Olympic gold medalist in the decathlon and pentathlon? Are you kidding me?
Nobody asked me but the criteria should be more specific. Shouldn’t sheer athletic ability be measured? Like athletes who have gained a certain amount of success at more than one sport should be considered. What of the athlete who has participated at the professional level, considering the difficulty in achieving that goal? Dave Winfield is a great athlete. He played basketball at the University of Minnesota. He was drafted by the Minnesota Vikings of the NFL before settling on baseball, where he attained Hall of Fame status. Ron Reed and Dave DeBusschere played both pro basketball and baseball, with Reed opting to stay in baseball, and DeBusschere basketball. Bo Jackson was a track star at Auburn before he went on to win the Most Valuable Player awards in both the Major League and Pro Bowl all-star games; in the same season mind you. Deion Sanders achieved all-star status in professional football and baseball also. Frank Thomas was an honorable mention All-American tight end before making baseball his career. More recently Julius Peppers excelled for the nationally ranked Tar Heel basketball team, but decided that pro football is where his true talents lay. Michael Jordan failed miserably at professional baseball, and not even at the Major League level at that. Is he the greatest athlete ever? Greatest basketball player, I would agree, greatest athlete no. If you want to include did an athlete change the way their sport was played, did they make their teammates better, did they excel at all aspects of the game; all these things need to be considered. Was Muhammad Ali the greatest fighter ever? Statistics say he wasn’t. Did he revolutionize the sport? Not really, Sugar Ray Robinson was doing what Ali did much earlier. Did Ali change the face of boxing? Absolutely. Does that make him on of the greatest athletes ever, no. You get my point. Save this for a barroom, not a column in a newspaper.
Lastly, there is the DUI manslaughter plea by Donte Stallworth. Before you scream he got off easy consider this. Stallworth has cooperated with authorities from the onset. He passed his roadside sobriety test, but failed the later blood test. He killed a man who was jaywalking across a major eight lane thoroughfare that was divided by a concrete median. Had Stallworth been of the mind to take his case to trial, with a good attorney, the outcome could have been more surprising than the sentence he received. Stallworth, believe or not, did the right thing in the eyes of the court. He reached a quick financial resolution with the family of the deceased. Almost immediately, he then entered a guilty plea to the charge of DUI vehicular manslaughter. He was truly remorseful when sentence was handed down. He will go and serve his thirty days in jail, and be out before the start of training camp. He will suffer emotionally for the rest of his life. He will be on probation for nine years. He will have community service to do. He has lost his license for the rest of his life. The shame will be immeasurable. How do I know what goes through a person’s mind after this sort of tragedy? Two of my friends have experienced the same thing, DUI manslaughter. One had to do time in jail, the other didn’t. Both were equally traumatized, and the memory follows them forever. It is very painful indeed to hear them share what they feel. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Jim Leyritz should be following the Stallworth case closely, but I don’t think he is.
He is too concerned about establishing his innocence, and clearing his name. Leyritz is intent on showing in a court of law that it was the dead individual, who was also drunk, was at fault, and not he. Leyritz admits to being intoxicated, but it was the drunken woman who’s to blame. In my opinion, this is not the way to go. There are other circumstances surrounding Leyritz that cast a pall over this case as well. Since the only place to gather this information is through news sources, it’s best I not pass judgment yet. But, Leyritz could be taking a pro-active approach to the situation to enhance his chances in court, so far he is not. That’s too bad. I’ll venture a guess if he does not win his case, not only will his name remain tarnished, he’ll do a helluva lot more than thirty days in jail. That’s too bad. I’ve met him. He seems like a really nice guy who does lots of good stuff for kids. Maybe those very same kids will learn something else besides baseball due to his current predicament. I hope I haven’t bored you with all this brain clutter.
Francisco Rodriguez, New York Met, and closer par excellence, was recently taken to task by no less an authority on pitcher’s mound decorum, than the illustrious Brian Bruney, set-up relief pitcher for the New York Yankees. Bruney publicly declared that the histrionic displays of Rodriguez are “a tired act.” This is coming from a man who has thirteen career saves to Rodriguez’ two-hundred and twenty-five, though they are only one month apart in age. You may say that Bruney is not a closer; hence the difference in career saves. Maybe Bruney was being groomed as a closer to replace an aging Mariano Rivera, but lacked the talent. Now Bruney is judged by the relatively new statistic “holds.” Well, hold this.
Bruney was in college gaining an education and honing his skills while Rodriguez was making a name for himself during the Los Angeles Angels post season run to the World Championship. Since that was the case, Bruney with his infinite intelligence, should reserve his commentary just by his sheer wisdom should know better. In the unlikelihood Bruney should reach the level of ability Rodriguez seems to possess, his criticism would hold a little more validity. But to disparage a man who has been to the mountaintop of his profession, and yet still has the same passion, and youthful exuberance for the game after eight years, is an absolute waste of four years in college. You should ask for your money back. You say you learned to play the game differently? You hail from the quaint city that Kindergarden Cop was filmed in.Where did you learn the game of baseball? In the suburbs, in an organized youth program, at some well maintained city park facility? Maybe Rodriguez learned the game in some garbage strew vacant lot, with only a milk carton for a glove, a sock wound with tape for a ball, with the well being of his entire family at stake, depending on his success. And with each professional success he is grateful for his unbelievable good fortune. Bruney says he doesn’t know Rodriguez personally; well maybe he should get to know him before he pops off. Didn’t they teach you that in college?
It has been reported Sammy Sosa tested positive for steroids in 2003. So what, that was six years ago. I’m currently reading Ball Four by Jim Bouton for the twenty-something time. Bouton states that baseball players will take anything. To paraphrase, “If there was a pill that guaranteed a pitcher twenty wins, but took five years off their life, they’d take it.” These words were published in 1971. Nothing has changed. Why can’t anyone get over that? Recently, many Olympians, as well as Danika Patrick, were offered a similar scenario, and they too agreed that if it meant winning a race, or a gold medal, they’d take the pill. That’s what competitiveness will do to young people who don’t have an eye on fifty years down the road. Why can’t anyone get over that either?
With Roger Federer winning the French Open in tennis, Kobe Bryant garnering his forth NBA Championship, and Tiger Woods playing in the U.S. Open this week in his pursuit of Jack Nicklaus’ eighteen Major Championship record; sportswriter Greg Cote, of the Miami Herald, thought it would be appropriate for him to offer his list of all-time greatest athletes. This topic has been debated for years, and will continue to be debated ad nauseum. It’s always fun, but there should be some ground rules first.
Is the athlete just the best because of his accomplishments in his sport, or is he to be considered against other athletes? Cote decided to match all athletes against each other based on their accomplishments in their particular sport. Cote considers Michael Jordan to be the best athlete of all-time. Very good but the only sport he played with any success was basketball. That makes him a greater athlete than Jim Thorpe who was an accomplished professional football player, professional baseball player, and Olympic gold medalist in the decathlon and pentathlon? Are you kidding me?
Nobody asked me but the criteria should be more specific. Shouldn’t sheer athletic ability be measured? Like athletes who have gained a certain amount of success at more than one sport should be considered. What of the athlete who has participated at the professional level, considering the difficulty in achieving that goal? Dave Winfield is a great athlete. He played basketball at the University of Minnesota. He was drafted by the Minnesota Vikings of the NFL before settling on baseball, where he attained Hall of Fame status. Ron Reed and Dave DeBusschere played both pro basketball and baseball, with Reed opting to stay in baseball, and DeBusschere basketball. Bo Jackson was a track star at Auburn before he went on to win the Most Valuable Player awards in both the Major League and Pro Bowl all-star games; in the same season mind you. Deion Sanders achieved all-star status in professional football and baseball also. Frank Thomas was an honorable mention All-American tight end before making baseball his career. More recently Julius Peppers excelled for the nationally ranked Tar Heel basketball team, but decided that pro football is where his true talents lay. Michael Jordan failed miserably at professional baseball, and not even at the Major League level at that. Is he the greatest athlete ever? Greatest basketball player, I would agree, greatest athlete no. If you want to include did an athlete change the way their sport was played, did they make their teammates better, did they excel at all aspects of the game; all these things need to be considered. Was Muhammad Ali the greatest fighter ever? Statistics say he wasn’t. Did he revolutionize the sport? Not really, Sugar Ray Robinson was doing what Ali did much earlier. Did Ali change the face of boxing? Absolutely. Does that make him on of the greatest athletes ever, no. You get my point. Save this for a barroom, not a column in a newspaper.
Lastly, there is the DUI manslaughter plea by Donte Stallworth. Before you scream he got off easy consider this. Stallworth has cooperated with authorities from the onset. He passed his roadside sobriety test, but failed the later blood test. He killed a man who was jaywalking across a major eight lane thoroughfare that was divided by a concrete median. Had Stallworth been of the mind to take his case to trial, with a good attorney, the outcome could have been more surprising than the sentence he received. Stallworth, believe or not, did the right thing in the eyes of the court. He reached a quick financial resolution with the family of the deceased. Almost immediately, he then entered a guilty plea to the charge of DUI vehicular manslaughter. He was truly remorseful when sentence was handed down. He will go and serve his thirty days in jail, and be out before the start of training camp. He will suffer emotionally for the rest of his life. He will be on probation for nine years. He will have community service to do. He has lost his license for the rest of his life. The shame will be immeasurable. How do I know what goes through a person’s mind after this sort of tragedy? Two of my friends have experienced the same thing, DUI manslaughter. One had to do time in jail, the other didn’t. Both were equally traumatized, and the memory follows them forever. It is very painful indeed to hear them share what they feel. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Jim Leyritz should be following the Stallworth case closely, but I don’t think he is.
He is too concerned about establishing his innocence, and clearing his name. Leyritz is intent on showing in a court of law that it was the dead individual, who was also drunk, was at fault, and not he. Leyritz admits to being intoxicated, but it was the drunken woman who’s to blame. In my opinion, this is not the way to go. There are other circumstances surrounding Leyritz that cast a pall over this case as well. Since the only place to gather this information is through news sources, it’s best I not pass judgment yet. But, Leyritz could be taking a pro-active approach to the situation to enhance his chances in court, so far he is not. That’s too bad. I’ll venture a guess if he does not win his case, not only will his name remain tarnished, he’ll do a helluva lot more than thirty days in jail. That’s too bad. I’ve met him. He seems like a really nice guy who does lots of good stuff for kids. Maybe those very same kids will learn something else besides baseball due to his current predicament. I hope I haven’t bored you with all this brain clutter.
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, February 18, 2009
Funny Odd, Funny Ha-Ha, Sort of
When you hear that two nuclear submarines collide, it is perfectly understandable for the initial reaction to be one of shocked disbelief. The prospect of submarines armed with enough nuclear warheads to carry out 1,246 Hiroshima bombings is one of enormous gravity. The earth’s inhabitants should in unison breath a sigh of relief, thankful that a global catastrophe had been narrowly averted. As CNN led their Monday morning broadcast with this news, I was shocked. But not with wary trepidation, it was incredulousness that caused my stupor.
Not one, but two different naval commanders from different countries could simultaneously come down with a case of the stupids. Slack-jawed, I stared at the television screen, and listened to the anchorwomen, in a voice normally saved for assassinations of heads of state, the passing of a pope, and declarations of war; inform the viewers of this tragedy in the North Atlantic. How did she do that and keep a straight face? Sure, two nuclear submarines crashing into each other is serious. But once she got beyond that, didn’t it cross her mind, “How the hell did that happen?”
Let’s first take a look at the players in this bizarre performance of a David Lynch screenplay. The British sub HMS Vanguard was launched in 1992, and refitted in 2007 as part of a $7 billion contract. The sub is not due to be replaced until 2024, unless someone sails off the edge of the earth first. It stands to reason after spending that kind of cash, every available piece of new technology was installed aboard this pride of the British fleet. It’s safe to assume that it would include sonar and radar.
The same goes for the French vessel Le Triomphant, sonar and radar have just got to be onboard, don’t they? A closer look at the details of this incident reveals that one sub is British, and the other French. You may think that’s stating the obvious, but under the circumstances one can’t be too sure.
The military past of the French has been distinguished by the incredible amount of money spent yielding little positive results. Napoleon’s march into Russia didn’t turn out so hot. The French foray in Viet Nam was a disaster. And the French should be thankful the United States entered World War II, or German would be the spoken language. Granted, the French came to the aid of the colonies versus the Brits, and we know how that turned out. One good turn deserves another.
The British and the French faltered during the battle over the Suez, and it was up to the U.S. again to set things straight. Sure America has had it’s setbacks as well, but they aren’t driving their subs into other folks. As a matter of fact, in 1992, a surfacing Russian submarine struck the USS Baton Rouge in the Barents Sea. If any countries subs should be slamming into other countries it should be the U.S. They’ve got submarines patrolling most of the world’s major bodies of water.
Speaking of major bodies of water; 70.8% of the earth is covered by water, about 139,000,000 square miles. 20.8%, or 27,800,000 of that 139,000,000 is the Atlantic Ocean. This recent freak incident occurred in the North Atlantic. For the sake of argument, let’s say the North Atlantic covers 13,900,000 square miles of varying depths. Two submarines, on routine maneuvers, both running stealthily at the same time so as not to be picked up on sonar, run into each other in those nearly 14 million square miles at the same depth. Who woulda’ thunk? If Vegas only took bets on that happening!
The powers that be, which include British Admiral Sir Jonathon Band, the First Sea Lord, (swear to god) quickly allayed any fears as to whether a nuclear strike could be launched if the situation arose at this very moment; “We can confirm that the capability remained unaffected and there has been no compromise to nuclear safety.” Well, that’s good to know! We can rest easy knowing there was no nuclear accident, but we can still kill people on purpose if necessary. Whew! That’s certainly a load off. There are more astounding real life quotes from esteemed and learned individuals; all said with an air of utmost seriousness, I shit you not.
Stephen Saunders, a retired British Royal Navy commodore and the editor of the prestigious Jane’s Fighting Ships, said “This really shouldn’t have happened at all…I find it quite extraordinary.” How’s that for expert insight. Mr. Saunders doesn’t quit while he’s ahead. He further states “The modus operandi of most submarines, particularly ballistic-missile submarines, is to operate stealthily and to proceed undetected. This means operating passively, by not transmitting on sonar, and making as little noise as possible.” Well, it looks like both subs achieved their goal. These statements fall under the heading of “No shit, really?”
Complex, long-winded excuses, or explanations, depending on your personal sentiment, included that France being situated outside of NATO’s command structure, so it does not provide information on the location of its mobile nuclear arms. Why pray tell? Well, “France considers its nuclear arsenal the most vital element in its defense capabilities,” said Jerome Erulin, a spokesman for the French Navy. Remember, this is coming from the folks who felt the Maginot Line was their best defense against the Germans.
Consider this nugget; it took six years to draw up the U.K.-French Bilateral Defense Cooperation Agreement, which called for regular exchanges on nuclear policy between navies. And we think the U.S. government gets bogged down in bureaucratic red tape. After this recent incident, Hans Kristensen, who monitors NATO’s weapons for the Federation of American Scientists stated “The fact that the collision occurred at all indicates that the two allies need to talk more.” Chalk another one up for the “no shit” column. I haven’t seen a picture of Mr. Kristensen, but the image of the scientist on The Simpsons comes to mind. Mr. Kristensen is not alone on “the big brain squad.”
Liberal Democrat defense spokesman Nick Harvey, said “While the British nuclear fleet has a good safety record…the people of Britain, France and the rest of the world need to be reassured this can never happen again.” I wouldn’t hold my breath. The HMS Trafalger in November of 2002 ran aground off the coast of Scotland. The British sub HMS Tireless, in 2003, crashed into “possibly an iceberg” while on patrol in the Artic. In May 2003 Pippa Dunlop, a reporter for the Telegraph News referred to this accident involving the Tireless, as “the latest in a series of mishaps to befall the British fleet.” This very same sub witnessed an onboard explosion that killed two sailors in March 2007. Mr. Harvey, I don’t think “good” is good enough when you’re talking about vessels that are nuclear powered and are armed with nuclear weapons.
Lastly, did you know that if this collision had been worse according to nuclear physicist Frank Barnaby, there could have been dire consequences? Really? Where do you want to start? He stated that “if the warheads were exposed to the sea, plutonium and highly-enriched Uranium could go into the water and be absorbed by marine life.” Sorry Frank, that’s doesn’t rank high on the import list with the earth blowing up and all.
The British Ministry of Defense issued this statement “because of the secret nature of these weapons. I think a degree of secrecy is necessary but the Ministry of Defense is, by nature, very secretive.” Huh?
Not one of these cerebral giants ever mentioned the word “radar.” I don’t give a rat’s ass about sonar. The last time ocean liners ran into each other was 1956, when the Andrea Doria was struck in dense fog by the Stockholm. Radar didn’t exist yet. For Christ’s sake, couldn’t somebody see a 500 foot long, 3 stories high, 16,000 ton blip on a screen? Let’s also keep in mind that 79% of France’s electricity is generated by nuclear energy. I sure hope none of the guys that run their utilities command a sub in their Navy. If so, Jon Stewart, SNL and the Harvard Lampoon are going to have a field day. I certainly hope the media keeps this story in the news. There so much more to make fun of than tired, old, boring, steroids.
Not one, but two different naval commanders from different countries could simultaneously come down with a case of the stupids. Slack-jawed, I stared at the television screen, and listened to the anchorwomen, in a voice normally saved for assassinations of heads of state, the passing of a pope, and declarations of war; inform the viewers of this tragedy in the North Atlantic. How did she do that and keep a straight face? Sure, two nuclear submarines crashing into each other is serious. But once she got beyond that, didn’t it cross her mind, “How the hell did that happen?”
Let’s first take a look at the players in this bizarre performance of a David Lynch screenplay. The British sub HMS Vanguard was launched in 1992, and refitted in 2007 as part of a $7 billion contract. The sub is not due to be replaced until 2024, unless someone sails off the edge of the earth first. It stands to reason after spending that kind of cash, every available piece of new technology was installed aboard this pride of the British fleet. It’s safe to assume that it would include sonar and radar.
The same goes for the French vessel Le Triomphant, sonar and radar have just got to be onboard, don’t they? A closer look at the details of this incident reveals that one sub is British, and the other French. You may think that’s stating the obvious, but under the circumstances one can’t be too sure.
The military past of the French has been distinguished by the incredible amount of money spent yielding little positive results. Napoleon’s march into Russia didn’t turn out so hot. The French foray in Viet Nam was a disaster. And the French should be thankful the United States entered World War II, or German would be the spoken language. Granted, the French came to the aid of the colonies versus the Brits, and we know how that turned out. One good turn deserves another.
The British and the French faltered during the battle over the Suez, and it was up to the U.S. again to set things straight. Sure America has had it’s setbacks as well, but they aren’t driving their subs into other folks. As a matter of fact, in 1992, a surfacing Russian submarine struck the USS Baton Rouge in the Barents Sea. If any countries subs should be slamming into other countries it should be the U.S. They’ve got submarines patrolling most of the world’s major bodies of water.
Speaking of major bodies of water; 70.8% of the earth is covered by water, about 139,000,000 square miles. 20.8%, or 27,800,000 of that 139,000,000 is the Atlantic Ocean. This recent freak incident occurred in the North Atlantic. For the sake of argument, let’s say the North Atlantic covers 13,900,000 square miles of varying depths. Two submarines, on routine maneuvers, both running stealthily at the same time so as not to be picked up on sonar, run into each other in those nearly 14 million square miles at the same depth. Who woulda’ thunk? If Vegas only took bets on that happening!
The powers that be, which include British Admiral Sir Jonathon Band, the First Sea Lord, (swear to god) quickly allayed any fears as to whether a nuclear strike could be launched if the situation arose at this very moment; “We can confirm that the capability remained unaffected and there has been no compromise to nuclear safety.” Well, that’s good to know! We can rest easy knowing there was no nuclear accident, but we can still kill people on purpose if necessary. Whew! That’s certainly a load off. There are more astounding real life quotes from esteemed and learned individuals; all said with an air of utmost seriousness, I shit you not.
Stephen Saunders, a retired British Royal Navy commodore and the editor of the prestigious Jane’s Fighting Ships, said “This really shouldn’t have happened at all…I find it quite extraordinary.” How’s that for expert insight. Mr. Saunders doesn’t quit while he’s ahead. He further states “The modus operandi of most submarines, particularly ballistic-missile submarines, is to operate stealthily and to proceed undetected. This means operating passively, by not transmitting on sonar, and making as little noise as possible.” Well, it looks like both subs achieved their goal. These statements fall under the heading of “No shit, really?”
Complex, long-winded excuses, or explanations, depending on your personal sentiment, included that France being situated outside of NATO’s command structure, so it does not provide information on the location of its mobile nuclear arms. Why pray tell? Well, “France considers its nuclear arsenal the most vital element in its defense capabilities,” said Jerome Erulin, a spokesman for the French Navy. Remember, this is coming from the folks who felt the Maginot Line was their best defense against the Germans.
Consider this nugget; it took six years to draw up the U.K.-French Bilateral Defense Cooperation Agreement, which called for regular exchanges on nuclear policy between navies. And we think the U.S. government gets bogged down in bureaucratic red tape. After this recent incident, Hans Kristensen, who monitors NATO’s weapons for the Federation of American Scientists stated “The fact that the collision occurred at all indicates that the two allies need to talk more.” Chalk another one up for the “no shit” column. I haven’t seen a picture of Mr. Kristensen, but the image of the scientist on The Simpsons comes to mind. Mr. Kristensen is not alone on “the big brain squad.”
Liberal Democrat defense spokesman Nick Harvey, said “While the British nuclear fleet has a good safety record…the people of Britain, France and the rest of the world need to be reassured this can never happen again.” I wouldn’t hold my breath. The HMS Trafalger in November of 2002 ran aground off the coast of Scotland. The British sub HMS Tireless, in 2003, crashed into “possibly an iceberg” while on patrol in the Artic. In May 2003 Pippa Dunlop, a reporter for the Telegraph News referred to this accident involving the Tireless, as “the latest in a series of mishaps to befall the British fleet.” This very same sub witnessed an onboard explosion that killed two sailors in March 2007. Mr. Harvey, I don’t think “good” is good enough when you’re talking about vessels that are nuclear powered and are armed with nuclear weapons.
Lastly, did you know that if this collision had been worse according to nuclear physicist Frank Barnaby, there could have been dire consequences? Really? Where do you want to start? He stated that “if the warheads were exposed to the sea, plutonium and highly-enriched Uranium could go into the water and be absorbed by marine life.” Sorry Frank, that’s doesn’t rank high on the import list with the earth blowing up and all.
The British Ministry of Defense issued this statement “because of the secret nature of these weapons. I think a degree of secrecy is necessary but the Ministry of Defense is, by nature, very secretive.” Huh?
Not one of these cerebral giants ever mentioned the word “radar.” I don’t give a rat’s ass about sonar. The last time ocean liners ran into each other was 1956, when the Andrea Doria was struck in dense fog by the Stockholm. Radar didn’t exist yet. For Christ’s sake, couldn’t somebody see a 500 foot long, 3 stories high, 16,000 ton blip on a screen? Let’s also keep in mind that 79% of France’s electricity is generated by nuclear energy. I sure hope none of the guys that run their utilities command a sub in their Navy. If so, Jon Stewart, SNL and the Harvard Lampoon are going to have a field day. I certainly hope the media keeps this story in the news. There so much more to make fun of than tired, old, boring, steroids.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
“Fragile, this must be America”- Apologies to A Christmas Story
The Super Droll is upon us, and I should probably be focusing on the hoopla that surrounds this coveted championship. After the thrilling BCS championship, this game to me is second tier. However, a recent series of events have occurred that stirred the embers of distain within my moral fiber. There has been a growing concern among some parents regarding the well being of current and future generations. Some of this concern is well founded, some is detrimental not only to the children which they so adamantly defend, but it eats away at the societal foundation.
This week, a basketball coach has been fired, and a football coach indicted, and teachers have been cited for assigning too much homework. The basketball coach taught his team to do the very best they could at all times. The football coach taught disciplining oneself to strive to achieve against all odds, both honorable characteristics to instill in any young person. Yet, both men have been publicly castigated for their results.
Micah Grimes, the coach of Covenant School in Dallas, Texas was unrepentant for his team beating Dallas Academy 100-0. (Who did the scheduling for the two schools?) Grimes should not have to apologize for his girls doing the best they can. They “played the game the way it was meant to be played. My values and beliefs would not allow me to run up the score on any opponent…my girls played with honor and integrity,” Grimes stated in an e-mail. Grimes was hired to coach girls basketball to the best of his ability. He is supposed to teach the lesson of hard work and application of a set of principles when properly executed, bring desired results. In the words of Philip Dormer Stanhope, the Earl of Chesterfield, “Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.” There isn’t a disclaimer that states “only under certain circumstances.”
Administrators of the Covenant School issued a statement which read “It is shameful and an embarrassment that this happened (the game, not the firing). This clearly does not reflect a Christlike and honorable approach to competition.” Really? I didn’t know Christ played basketball, or engaged in any sport at all. I didn't know he had an opinion on sports; where is that in The Bible? What were the girls supposed to do, quit? Make baskets for the other team to keep the score closer? I know! Maybe Covenant should’ve forfeited when things got out of hand. What a lesson that would have taught both teams. Thank goodness the Dallas Academy never gave up according to spectators. They tried their very best until the end. I think both teams learned a lesson from that alone.
It’s a good thing Covenant’s decision makers weren’t alive in 1916 when John Heisman’s Ramblin’ Wrecks of Georgia Tech beat the Cumberland College football team 222-0. I’m sure they’d have seen to it that there wouldn’t be a trophy named after him.
David Stinson, the head football coach of Pleasure Ridge Park High School in Kentucky, faces a lot more than dismissal. Stinson was recently indicted and charged with the reckless homicide, (is there responsible homicide?) of 15 year old Max Gilpin, a sophomore linema. The parents, Jeff Gilpin and his ex-wife Michele Crockett, brought the charges against Stinson.
Civil suits are what normally come out of these sorts of circumstances. The most notable case was that of Korey Stringer, the former Minnesota Viking who also died from heat related illness. But Max’s parents aren’t satisfied with financial compensation for death which occurred while Max was doing something he loved. Max so loved the game he took the over-the-counter supplement Creatine, to increase muscle strength to better compete. However, the side effects from taking Creatine can be cramps, heat intolerance, and electrolyte imbalances. It also can cause dehydration. In a statement, Ms. Crockett stated that Max had stopped taking Creatine prior to football practice commencing. Yet Creatine can remain in one’s system for up to thirty days. Also, Max was also taking Adderall to combat his ADHD. (Is this something every kid has now?) Adderall can raise ones blood pressure, and cause severe dry mouth. Dehydration, high blood pressure, and dry mouth are a bad combination in hot weather.
The attorney for Jefferson Commonwealth Dave Stengel stated, “This is not about football, this is not about coaches. This is about an adult person who was responsible for the health and welfare of a child.” Take note all you football coaches, don’t tell your players to tackle too hard, exert too much effort, or give 100%, because you never know what can happen. Don’t ask for their maximum effort until you’ve interviewed their parents, and family doctor. Remember to administer a urine analysis to find out what these kids put in their system. Mr. Stengel also stated that “a reasonable man should have realized that something like this could have occurred.” What an astute declaration. Is he aware that a reasonable man also realizes paralysis can occur playing football, broken bones, lacerated spleens, bruised kidneys? These are some of the inherent risks of giving forth maximum effort in a field of athletic endeavor. Reasonable people are aware of the risks of flying, driving too fast, and many other day to day activities. Reasonable people consult their physicians, but still tragedies befall them, such is life.
Mr. Gilpin hopes “something good will come out of this.” “Good” meaning coaches unwilling to coach because of what may happen? “Good” meaning schools doing away with football programs, or canceling games if the weather is too hot? Mr. Gilpin is also considering suing Riddell, the makers of the helmets and shoulder pads used by the players. As if no one knows the person that does this equipment will get hot when they put them on. Mr. Gilpin also “expects anyone responsible for Max’s death to be held accountable.” Does that list include him and his ex-wife? They signed the permission slip knowing what Max was ingesting?
The last issue of parental micromanaging kids happened in South Florida. Irate parents are complaining their kids are getting too much homework. This workload interferes with the students extra-curricular activities and takes away from family time. One woman cited her child averages 5-6 hours of homework per evening. Her child is in the 6th grade. Are you kidding me? Who else isn’t buying into this line of shit? It’d take me 5 hours too if I spent 3 of them texting, instant messaging, farting around with my Facebook page, and playing Xbox.
“Family time,” wasn’t that the excuse parents gave when they toiled too much on the job? Well then, there’d be more family time if both parents weren’t busy at their careers. There’d be more family time if parents didn’t encourage their children to sign up for everything short of military duty. There’d be more family time if parents weren’t so certain that their child won’t get into the right college without getting top notch grades and participating in a laundry list of extra-curricular activities. These are the same parents who’ve decided schools are not just institutions of learning, but glorified babysitters. Maybe if parents parented, schools could get back to the business of instruction, and spend less time disciplining and maintaining order. These are also the first parents that who are up in arms that their child didn’t learn what they should due to lack of instruction.
Have all of these well-meaning adults spilled McDonald’s coffee in their collective laps? Why is it everybody else’s fault? Why is everyone pointing fingers instead of assuming some responsibility? Why are we as a nation installing so many restrictions in an attempt to insulate kids, that the only lesson parents are teaching them is “there’s always someone else to blame.” Is that what the Miami father told his kid whom he’d just bought a brand new Corvette after the kid wrecked the previous one? Well, the kid went out and wrecked the second one too. This time he killed somebody. The kid was 15, too young to obtain a driver’s license. Dad was seen on television wailing “my poor boy!” What lesson did that parent teach his kid? When will parents realize they need to learn some lessons too? They want excellence from, and for their children but without the sacrifice. If this mentality doesn’t change we’re going to wind up with a generation of pussies with wet crotches.
This week, a basketball coach has been fired, and a football coach indicted, and teachers have been cited for assigning too much homework. The basketball coach taught his team to do the very best they could at all times. The football coach taught disciplining oneself to strive to achieve against all odds, both honorable characteristics to instill in any young person. Yet, both men have been publicly castigated for their results.
Micah Grimes, the coach of Covenant School in Dallas, Texas was unrepentant for his team beating Dallas Academy 100-0. (Who did the scheduling for the two schools?) Grimes should not have to apologize for his girls doing the best they can. They “played the game the way it was meant to be played. My values and beliefs would not allow me to run up the score on any opponent…my girls played with honor and integrity,” Grimes stated in an e-mail. Grimes was hired to coach girls basketball to the best of his ability. He is supposed to teach the lesson of hard work and application of a set of principles when properly executed, bring desired results. In the words of Philip Dormer Stanhope, the Earl of Chesterfield, “Whatever is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.” There isn’t a disclaimer that states “only under certain circumstances.”
Administrators of the Covenant School issued a statement which read “It is shameful and an embarrassment that this happened (the game, not the firing). This clearly does not reflect a Christlike and honorable approach to competition.” Really? I didn’t know Christ played basketball, or engaged in any sport at all. I didn't know he had an opinion on sports; where is that in The Bible? What were the girls supposed to do, quit? Make baskets for the other team to keep the score closer? I know! Maybe Covenant should’ve forfeited when things got out of hand. What a lesson that would have taught both teams. Thank goodness the Dallas Academy never gave up according to spectators. They tried their very best until the end. I think both teams learned a lesson from that alone.
It’s a good thing Covenant’s decision makers weren’t alive in 1916 when John Heisman’s Ramblin’ Wrecks of Georgia Tech beat the Cumberland College football team 222-0. I’m sure they’d have seen to it that there wouldn’t be a trophy named after him.
David Stinson, the head football coach of Pleasure Ridge Park High School in Kentucky, faces a lot more than dismissal. Stinson was recently indicted and charged with the reckless homicide, (is there responsible homicide?) of 15 year old Max Gilpin, a sophomore linema. The parents, Jeff Gilpin and his ex-wife Michele Crockett, brought the charges against Stinson.
Civil suits are what normally come out of these sorts of circumstances. The most notable case was that of Korey Stringer, the former Minnesota Viking who also died from heat related illness. But Max’s parents aren’t satisfied with financial compensation for death which occurred while Max was doing something he loved. Max so loved the game he took the over-the-counter supplement Creatine, to increase muscle strength to better compete. However, the side effects from taking Creatine can be cramps, heat intolerance, and electrolyte imbalances. It also can cause dehydration. In a statement, Ms. Crockett stated that Max had stopped taking Creatine prior to football practice commencing. Yet Creatine can remain in one’s system for up to thirty days. Also, Max was also taking Adderall to combat his ADHD. (Is this something every kid has now?) Adderall can raise ones blood pressure, and cause severe dry mouth. Dehydration, high blood pressure, and dry mouth are a bad combination in hot weather.
The attorney for Jefferson Commonwealth Dave Stengel stated, “This is not about football, this is not about coaches. This is about an adult person who was responsible for the health and welfare of a child.” Take note all you football coaches, don’t tell your players to tackle too hard, exert too much effort, or give 100%, because you never know what can happen. Don’t ask for their maximum effort until you’ve interviewed their parents, and family doctor. Remember to administer a urine analysis to find out what these kids put in their system. Mr. Stengel also stated that “a reasonable man should have realized that something like this could have occurred.” What an astute declaration. Is he aware that a reasonable man also realizes paralysis can occur playing football, broken bones, lacerated spleens, bruised kidneys? These are some of the inherent risks of giving forth maximum effort in a field of athletic endeavor. Reasonable people are aware of the risks of flying, driving too fast, and many other day to day activities. Reasonable people consult their physicians, but still tragedies befall them, such is life.
Mr. Gilpin hopes “something good will come out of this.” “Good” meaning coaches unwilling to coach because of what may happen? “Good” meaning schools doing away with football programs, or canceling games if the weather is too hot? Mr. Gilpin is also considering suing Riddell, the makers of the helmets and shoulder pads used by the players. As if no one knows the person that does this equipment will get hot when they put them on. Mr. Gilpin also “expects anyone responsible for Max’s death to be held accountable.” Does that list include him and his ex-wife? They signed the permission slip knowing what Max was ingesting?
The last issue of parental micromanaging kids happened in South Florida. Irate parents are complaining their kids are getting too much homework. This workload interferes with the students extra-curricular activities and takes away from family time. One woman cited her child averages 5-6 hours of homework per evening. Her child is in the 6th grade. Are you kidding me? Who else isn’t buying into this line of shit? It’d take me 5 hours too if I spent 3 of them texting, instant messaging, farting around with my Facebook page, and playing Xbox.
“Family time,” wasn’t that the excuse parents gave when they toiled too much on the job? Well then, there’d be more family time if both parents weren’t busy at their careers. There’d be more family time if parents didn’t encourage their children to sign up for everything short of military duty. There’d be more family time if parents weren’t so certain that their child won’t get into the right college without getting top notch grades and participating in a laundry list of extra-curricular activities. These are the same parents who’ve decided schools are not just institutions of learning, but glorified babysitters. Maybe if parents parented, schools could get back to the business of instruction, and spend less time disciplining and maintaining order. These are also the first parents that who are up in arms that their child didn’t learn what they should due to lack of instruction.
Have all of these well-meaning adults spilled McDonald’s coffee in their collective laps? Why is it everybody else’s fault? Why is everyone pointing fingers instead of assuming some responsibility? Why are we as a nation installing so many restrictions in an attempt to insulate kids, that the only lesson parents are teaching them is “there’s always someone else to blame.” Is that what the Miami father told his kid whom he’d just bought a brand new Corvette after the kid wrecked the previous one? Well, the kid went out and wrecked the second one too. This time he killed somebody. The kid was 15, too young to obtain a driver’s license. Dad was seen on television wailing “my poor boy!” What lesson did that parent teach his kid? When will parents realize they need to learn some lessons too? They want excellence from, and for their children but without the sacrifice. If this mentality doesn’t change we’re going to wind up with a generation of pussies with wet crotches.
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