I promised myself when I started this Blog that I would not become a slave to it. As it happens, I don’t write when I am overwhelmed (understandable) or underwhelmed (questionable); but only it seems when whelmed, and that occurs less and less in my world. But when unencumbered, there is some motivation when encumbrance appears on the horizon. And so, as Ike looms, I move to button up Gustav.
#####
As is often the case, the goal was deceptively simple, its execution less so. Evacuate tens of thousands of Louisiana residents from the most vulnerable Gulf Coast Parishes and return them safely after Gustav. Transportation assets included over 700 coach buses, supplemented with school buses driven by National Guardsmen, paratransit vans, ambulances, Amtrak trains and both military and commercial aircraft, including 2 Ryan Air 737s, even though Ryan Air has no North American routes! Did they ferry from Dublin, I wonder?
I found myself in the Louisiana State Emergency Operations Center (EOC), a cavernous room in the State Homeland Security HQ. Some 600 souls working 12-15 hour shifts (I pulled a mind-bending 22 hour marathon at the height of the storm), including the Governor’s Office, DHS/FEMA, military (National Guard, Army Corps of Engineers), NGOs, political liaison (State House and Senate), Public Affairs, and at the core of the operation, 16 ESF stations. These are Essential Support Functions, originally designed by FEMA to cover critical needs in time of disaster.
My role in this monster tapestry is ESF-1, transportation. I work with the Louisiana state Department of Transportation and Development, arranging, documenting, monitoring, and troubleshooting the evacuation. By pure happenstance my station was located directly beside a makeshift podium, and several days ago I looked up to see Gov. Bobby Jindal readying a short “pump-up” speech to the assemblage. Several hours later I came face-to-face with DHS Secretary Chertoff delivering similar inspirational words. As he finished, my training as a White House Advance Man kicked in. I caught his eye and said “Thank You Mr. Secretary.” He turned to me, smiled, shook my hand, pivoted, and departed the room, leaving 600 people asking who the hell was the guy he shook hands with.
Shortly thereafter I was transferred to the graveyard (6pm – 6am) shift, and was therefore between the sheets 24 hours later when The Prez did his bit. No great loss, as I gather the crush to be photographed with The Man got a bit crazy. I have long believed that I was the only federal official in our nation’s history to have not a single grinning handshake photograph adorn my office wall.
Repatriation was more challenging than the evacuation, for while time pressure was not a factor, the evacuees were spread over substantial geography (6 neighboring states and northern Louisiana) and often not in the best of moods after enduring long days and uncomfortable nights days in makeshift shelters with overflowing toilets and no air conditioning. But return they did, and by most accounts the effort was judged a success. Then Ike appeared on the horizon.
The challenge now is to convince those returned to harm’s way to flee anew. Even though Ike promises to be stronger than Gus, and could well have a significant impact on southwest Louisiana, anecdotal evidence suggests that many, particularly the poor and infirmed, i.e. the most vulnerable, will resist. Not a good sign.
#####
For years, decades actually, I have proclaimed that my favorite movie, the only one I would recommend, was Picnic, starring Kim Novak and William Holden. Factoring out the Tom Mix and Gene Autry matinees featured each Saturday at the Clifton cinema, where I spent my 25 cent allowance on admission (20 cents) and a Good&Plenty or the 50’s equivalent of Skittles, I haven’t been in movie houses more than a dozen times in my life, provided, of course, that aircraft do not qualify as theatres.
Something has changed, and it is surely me rather than cinematography. After years of believing that virtually all Hollywood products and the vast majority of foreign efforts are drivel unworthy of critique or even condemnation, I am discovering that there is indeed quality, however rare, in film. Within the past week I have been treated to Potter (Beatrix, not the kid) and Secondhand Lions, two outstanding stories of love the way is should be, not what it has become.
These are films I might have once been embarrassed to promote, and now enthusiastically champion. One might suggest that age or sentimentality are encroaching; perhaps, but I would rather believe quality discovered. Of course neither received Oscars. Each lacked the requisite brutality, vulgarity, and banality so prized in Hollywood.
#####
Ike threatens the very spot I inhabited less than 2 weeks ago. A favorite cable news shot location (with the hotel built on stilts out in the Gulf in the background) is less than 2 blocks from my recent Galveston digs. Ike may well be the 08 Katrina, and I am grateful to be out of harm’s way.
I’ll likely be heading out of here soon, exactly where, TBD
The adventure continues…
Friday, September 12, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
LOUISIANA 001
Dawn broke with deceptive calm over New Orleans on 30 August. I was ensconced in a 3rd floor corporate apartment technically within the New Orleans city limits, but just a shot-put throw from Metairie, quite close to where I spent several months in 2005 working for the Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps was under tremendous pressure, facing allegations ranged from shoddy work 4 decades ago when the original levees were constructed, to malfeasance surrounding the current restoration. Academics, activists, and a broad assortment of stakeholders (and stake wielders) weighed in on both sides of the argument.
That debate continues today, immeasurably heightened by Gustav’s imminent visit to the Crescent City. Cynics posit that Gustav might well be the final judge of the Corps’ work. The engineering challenges are huge, and I have no doubt that the Corps’ efforts have made the area safer. Whether safe enough is Mother Nature’s call.
#####
Well, there’s nothing like a strong Cat 4 hurricane to get my phone ringing. Yesterday I toiled in anonymity, virtually ignored by one and all. Today (August 30)I am a highly trained response professional in heavy demand. Three hours ago I was in New Orleans reposing on a Barkalounger watching a Mayor Nagin press conference. Now I am in the Louisiana State Department of Transportation Emergency Operations Center in Baton Rouge, getting briefed on the plethora of plane, train, and automobile transportation being mobilized to evacuate up to 30,000 residents from Gustav’s path. The current emphasis is on special needs residents -- those infirmed, physically or mentally challenged, and those without transportation. In the time it took to drive the 75 miles to Baton Rouge, Gustav bulked up from a middling Cat 3 to a strong Cat 4, and he appears to be going for 5, the Grande Enchilada on the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane scale.
#####
It is now 5am on 1 September, and the first rain and wind squalls are lacing my hotel parking lot. If the government (federal, state, and local) richly deserved condemnation for their collective response to Katrina/Rita/Wilma, so far the response to Gustav has been impressive. In the area I am working, a collection of federal, state, military, and private sector contractors have mobilized and dispatched some 700 busses (coach and school), Amtrak trains, countless ambulances and special needs vans to move thousands of residents to north Louisiana, and to Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and beyond. Tourists were bused to Louis Armstrong airport, and military aircraft were placed on alert to move stragglers and anyone caught in a last minute surge. All this with qualified drivers, sufficient fuel, accurate directions, medical personnel, pet accommodation, etc., and so forth. Wags and talking heads will analyze the effort, and it will be found wanting (as wags and talking heads always seem to find), but it is immeasurably improved from what it once was.
#####
While still in New Orleans I spent some time with the Red Cross and found it no less dysfunctional than my Katrina/Rita/Wilma experiences. A stark contrast to the rigorous efficiency I am surrounded by here in Baton Rouge. I have told senior Red Cross officials in Washington that the overwhelming volunteer composition of the organization is both its greatest strength and most obvious weakness. But there is massive resistance to change. In the aftermath of the horrendous 2005 season the Red Cross brought on board as President a retired army general to improve operational efficiency. She lasted less than one year; she didn’t fit the vaunted “Red Cross culture” so passionately embraced by headquarters staff. It is a caring but dysfunctional culture that does not well serve its clientele – the poor, disadvantaged, dislodged, bedraggled victims of Mother Nature and international terrorism.
#####
The big question this morning is whether Gustav will become a quatre cinq? Apparently not. And the thought occurs: Gustav und Hanna. Awfully Teutonic sounding, or so it seems.
A lady on my TV just questioned whether Gustav would bring “The Rapture.” Now there’s optimism for you.
If there has been an overreaction to Gustav, so much the better. New Orleans Mayor Nagin, with his penchant for hyperbole called this “the mother of all storms” in one of his many press conferences. A bright spot in Katrina’s dark cloud is that she focused attention on the potential depth of Mother Nature’s wrath. A good thing.
The adventure continues…
That debate continues today, immeasurably heightened by Gustav’s imminent visit to the Crescent City. Cynics posit that Gustav might well be the final judge of the Corps’ work. The engineering challenges are huge, and I have no doubt that the Corps’ efforts have made the area safer. Whether safe enough is Mother Nature’s call.
#####
Well, there’s nothing like a strong Cat 4 hurricane to get my phone ringing. Yesterday I toiled in anonymity, virtually ignored by one and all. Today (August 30)I am a highly trained response professional in heavy demand. Three hours ago I was in New Orleans reposing on a Barkalounger watching a Mayor Nagin press conference. Now I am in the Louisiana State Department of Transportation Emergency Operations Center in Baton Rouge, getting briefed on the plethora of plane, train, and automobile transportation being mobilized to evacuate up to 30,000 residents from Gustav’s path. The current emphasis is on special needs residents -- those infirmed, physically or mentally challenged, and those without transportation. In the time it took to drive the 75 miles to Baton Rouge, Gustav bulked up from a middling Cat 3 to a strong Cat 4, and he appears to be going for 5, the Grande Enchilada on the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane scale.
#####
It is now 5am on 1 September, and the first rain and wind squalls are lacing my hotel parking lot. If the government (federal, state, and local) richly deserved condemnation for their collective response to Katrina/Rita/Wilma, so far the response to Gustav has been impressive. In the area I am working, a collection of federal, state, military, and private sector contractors have mobilized and dispatched some 700 busses (coach and school), Amtrak trains, countless ambulances and special needs vans to move thousands of residents to north Louisiana, and to Texas, Arkansas, Tennessee and beyond. Tourists were bused to Louis Armstrong airport, and military aircraft were placed on alert to move stragglers and anyone caught in a last minute surge. All this with qualified drivers, sufficient fuel, accurate directions, medical personnel, pet accommodation, etc., and so forth. Wags and talking heads will analyze the effort, and it will be found wanting (as wags and talking heads always seem to find), but it is immeasurably improved from what it once was.
#####
While still in New Orleans I spent some time with the Red Cross and found it no less dysfunctional than my Katrina/Rita/Wilma experiences. A stark contrast to the rigorous efficiency I am surrounded by here in Baton Rouge. I have told senior Red Cross officials in Washington that the overwhelming volunteer composition of the organization is both its greatest strength and most obvious weakness. But there is massive resistance to change. In the aftermath of the horrendous 2005 season the Red Cross brought on board as President a retired army general to improve operational efficiency. She lasted less than one year; she didn’t fit the vaunted “Red Cross culture” so passionately embraced by headquarters staff. It is a caring but dysfunctional culture that does not well serve its clientele – the poor, disadvantaged, dislodged, bedraggled victims of Mother Nature and international terrorism.
#####
The big question this morning is whether Gustav will become a quatre cinq? Apparently not. And the thought occurs: Gustav und Hanna. Awfully Teutonic sounding, or so it seems.
A lady on my TV just questioned whether Gustav would bring “The Rapture.” Now there’s optimism for you.
If there has been an overreaction to Gustav, so much the better. New Orleans Mayor Nagin, with his penchant for hyperbole called this “the mother of all storms” in one of his many press conferences. A bright spot in Katrina’s dark cloud is that she focused attention on the potential depth of Mother Nature’s wrath. A good thing.
The adventure continues…
Thursday, August 28, 2008
TEXAS 002
Galveston is, as previously noted, a beach resort overrun with sandwich shops and open air bars replete with old men sucking on longnecks (beer bottles for my uninitiated sophisticate readership) and gazing lazily toward Cuba. I occupy one of those solitary stools on occasion, and as Pogo might say “I have seen the enemy and it is I.”
#####
Texas tykes have begun another school year, and local news informs that the Texas legislature (the “Lege” made infamous by Molly Ivans and others) has passed a law making it illegal for students to offer teachers gifts in exchange for grades, a practice that was apparently in wide use by youngsters scrambling to avoid being “left behind.” This follows by several years a law mandating that students must have passing grades in at least some of their current courses in order to be eligible for sports (i.e. football).
I have been told that some of the largest sports books outside of Vegas exist for high school football in Pennsylvania and Texas. Lest that seem improbable, I can attest to the absolute chaos that reigned one Friday evening in a Keystone Commonwealth tavern when the cable channel showing a local high school football rivalry suddenly went blank. A car was dispatched (I swear) to the local cable company office half a mile away, and the picture re-appeared some 8 minutes later, likely avoiding miscellaneous bloodletting and sundry carnage.
#####
Update from the age discrimination front: The company that was all over me to manage a major project for them, has, since learning of my high school and college graduation dates, been struck mute. No surprise. CNN and MSNBC cannot mention the name McCain without noting his age. So convoluted has the rhetoric become, that CNN has glommed onto the phrase “oldest non-incumbent to be nominated.” Of course his political affiliation may have also been a factor. In less than 30 minutes of CNN entertainment last evening, the talking head referred to Michele Obama 3 times as “First Lady,” before being reminded that the appellation is premature.
#####
Locals refer to this area simply as Galveston, but with Gustav bearing down on the Gulf, I notice the parlance is shifting to “the island.” With only two paths of egress, the tail end of I-45 across a causeway that intersects the strip, and a ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula on the eastern tip, the term “evacuation” takes on new meaning. A bartender told me that twin sisters Katrina and Rita were responsible for silencing much of the “it won’t run me out, I’m planning a hurricane party” bravado. Gustav has not yet entered the Gulf, but I see lots of 4x8 plywood sheets being whisked about in the beds of F-150s and Silverados.
#####
The plan as of yesterday was to depart “the island” tomorrow on the 3am ferry for the Bolivar peninsula, meander the coast a bit, then catch I-10 for New Orleans and a planned rendezvous with an acquaintance laboring away to erase the lingering remnants of Katrina. Gustav and Hanna may have something to say about that, and at the moment I am drawn to where this all began. If Mother Nature so directs, I will head to Hattiesburg, MS and its strategic (some might say unfortunate) location 75 miles NE of New Orleans, and 75 miles directly north of the Mississippi Gulf Coast where the Girl Scout Hilton awaits, a pavilion behind the Hattiesburg Red Cross building where a ragged collection of volunteers spent 3 weeks sleeping on cots after Katrina.
And so, the next time we meet I will definitely be somewhere else.
The adventure continues…..
#####
Texas tykes have begun another school year, and local news informs that the Texas legislature (the “Lege” made infamous by Molly Ivans and others) has passed a law making it illegal for students to offer teachers gifts in exchange for grades, a practice that was apparently in wide use by youngsters scrambling to avoid being “left behind.” This follows by several years a law mandating that students must have passing grades in at least some of their current courses in order to be eligible for sports (i.e. football).
I have been told that some of the largest sports books outside of Vegas exist for high school football in Pennsylvania and Texas. Lest that seem improbable, I can attest to the absolute chaos that reigned one Friday evening in a Keystone Commonwealth tavern when the cable channel showing a local high school football rivalry suddenly went blank. A car was dispatched (I swear) to the local cable company office half a mile away, and the picture re-appeared some 8 minutes later, likely avoiding miscellaneous bloodletting and sundry carnage.
#####
Update from the age discrimination front: The company that was all over me to manage a major project for them, has, since learning of my high school and college graduation dates, been struck mute. No surprise. CNN and MSNBC cannot mention the name McCain without noting his age. So convoluted has the rhetoric become, that CNN has glommed onto the phrase “oldest non-incumbent to be nominated.” Of course his political affiliation may have also been a factor. In less than 30 minutes of CNN entertainment last evening, the talking head referred to Michele Obama 3 times as “First Lady,” before being reminded that the appellation is premature.
#####
Locals refer to this area simply as Galveston, but with Gustav bearing down on the Gulf, I notice the parlance is shifting to “the island.” With only two paths of egress, the tail end of I-45 across a causeway that intersects the strip, and a ferry to the Bolivar Peninsula on the eastern tip, the term “evacuation” takes on new meaning. A bartender told me that twin sisters Katrina and Rita were responsible for silencing much of the “it won’t run me out, I’m planning a hurricane party” bravado. Gustav has not yet entered the Gulf, but I see lots of 4x8 plywood sheets being whisked about in the beds of F-150s and Silverados.
#####
The plan as of yesterday was to depart “the island” tomorrow on the 3am ferry for the Bolivar peninsula, meander the coast a bit, then catch I-10 for New Orleans and a planned rendezvous with an acquaintance laboring away to erase the lingering remnants of Katrina. Gustav and Hanna may have something to say about that, and at the moment I am drawn to where this all began. If Mother Nature so directs, I will head to Hattiesburg, MS and its strategic (some might say unfortunate) location 75 miles NE of New Orleans, and 75 miles directly north of the Mississippi Gulf Coast where the Girl Scout Hilton awaits, a pavilion behind the Hattiesburg Red Cross building where a ragged collection of volunteers spent 3 weeks sleeping on cots after Katrina.
And so, the next time we meet I will definitely be somewhere else.
The adventure continues…..
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
TEXAS 001
I’m 17’ above sea level, and I know this because the sea is less than 100 yards from my door and there is a 17’ seawall between it and me. At the moment it is raining, pelting actually, and the noise from the roof drowns out the TV. Makes one wonder what a Cat 1 hurricane would sound and feel like.
#####
As a younger man I would typically seek out challenges the more arduous the better, perhaps in an effort to prove myself worthy of some cosmic trial. But now I confess to being drawn to less demanding pursuits, and while watching the Olympics yesterday I may have glommed onto something. While viewing the rowing competition, described as one of the Games most demanding, I noticed the chap in the back with a little megaphone exhorting the actual rowers to ever greater effort. Now I gather the responsibility includes determining and communicating the proper cadence, but I couldn’t help fanaticizing the acquisition of Olympic Gold for aerobic screaming. Something to look into.
#####
My accommodation here in Galveston is a recently converted garage, clean, quiet, funky, dry, with all modern amenities, fully furnished and parking at the door. I walked to the water’s edge and squinting I could almost make out tropical storm Fay gathering steam in the Central Atlantic. During all my previous experience along the Gulf I was under contract to companies that promised “swift and early” evacuation, although this was never necessary. This time I’m on my own, and separated from the mainland by a causeway, which causes me to think ahead, hence perhaps the name.
#####
Pedagogical gurus fret over the likelihood that youngsters using calculators will eventually lose the ability to perform manual calculations, a result that may or may not hasten the downfall of civilization. In a similar vein I fear that if deprived of my vehicle GPS, I might enter a spiral of perpetual geographic confusion, and fall victim to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.
My fancy, expensive Garmin (which became much less expensive the very week after I bought it) sped me breezily around a Dallas rush hour accident that completely closed I-45, and led me through some convoluted and poorly marked spaghetti in Houston. I am indebted to the lady in the box, who instead of admonishing me when I accidently or purposely ignore an instruction (no “make an immediate U-turn” scolding), simply and pleasantly says “recalculating.” Would that those around me were as understanding of my deficiencies.
#####
I’ve been warned about Texans by a close acquaintance charged with serving the needs of vacationing Lone Star residents, but so far no great evil has befallen me. They’re not very good spellers (I actually passed the “Cavalry” Baptist Church) and they do have some odd road signs, including one appearing every few miles that warns “State law requires that all warning signs be obeyed.” Glad they clarified that for me. And I have noticed a tendency for some (I assume out-of-staters) to add an extra “s” to the State name, likely a political commentary on the populace.
#####
Most folks I’ve met along the planet’s byways are rather inarticulate in describing their political proclivities. Liberals talk in generalities about justice for all of humanity and saving the earth, to which conservatives respond “tree huggers and bleeding hearts.” The right professes to promote individual responsibility and personal freedom, which the left dismisses as the “haves” screwing the “have-nots”.
My own conservative leanings were molded on the belief that however well-intentioned, government has a well developed knack for bollixing things more than the forces of nature originally designed. My own decade as a federal bureaucrat solidified these feelings, and as time passes I am greeted with a continuum of examples that confirm these inclinations.
Government efforts to stamp out discrimination of every stripe provide a wealth of illustrations. Efforts to eliminate age discrimination are a relatively new phenomenon, and arrived on the scene just in time for me, as before entering my 7th decade I always seemed to have more opportunities than the time to execute them, but afterward I was left in a wasteland of “don’t call us, we’ll call you” responses.
In recent times I encountered two instances of age discrimination so egregious and well documented I felt they were slam-dunks, at least until George Tenant forever trashed that sobriquet. I pursued neither, preserving a life-long track record of neither bringing suit nor being successfully sued (though several have tried).
Besides the federal government, every state and most local jurisdictions of reasonable size proudly sport an EEOC, while most NGOs and many companies feature the equivalent. In the “age” arena they boast of federal and state statues forbidding (on pain of severe punishment) employers from asking applicants their date of birth.
But I am now engaged in a mating ritual with a company that claims to have great interest in my services, and the last hurdle they require of me is to specify the exact month and year of my graduation from high school and college. Now it has occurred to me that they may have actuarial talent on staff that could invoke some complex algorithm to elucidate what my government has taken great pains to protect me from divulging. All perfectly legal.
I’m told that Asian cultures revere age as much as western society distains it. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
#####
Were I to seek a Masters in Sports Medicine, my thesis would be titled: "Comparison of jogging in 60 degree weather at 10,500’ and at sea level in 90+ heat and 100% humidity". Research would be concise and conclusion as to preference terse: “Neither.”
#####
Mother Nature often seems intent on pursuing an equal opportunity posture, and is at the moment steering Fay through Florida and away from Texas where Dolly and Eduard made landfall. But some are now calling for the lady to enter the Atlantic, gain strength, then turn left and rumble through the panhandle and possibly the Texas Gulf coast. Film at 11.
…the adventure continues
#####
As a younger man I would typically seek out challenges the more arduous the better, perhaps in an effort to prove myself worthy of some cosmic trial. But now I confess to being drawn to less demanding pursuits, and while watching the Olympics yesterday I may have glommed onto something. While viewing the rowing competition, described as one of the Games most demanding, I noticed the chap in the back with a little megaphone exhorting the actual rowers to ever greater effort. Now I gather the responsibility includes determining and communicating the proper cadence, but I couldn’t help fanaticizing the acquisition of Olympic Gold for aerobic screaming. Something to look into.
#####
My accommodation here in Galveston is a recently converted garage, clean, quiet, funky, dry, with all modern amenities, fully furnished and parking at the door. I walked to the water’s edge and squinting I could almost make out tropical storm Fay gathering steam in the Central Atlantic. During all my previous experience along the Gulf I was under contract to companies that promised “swift and early” evacuation, although this was never necessary. This time I’m on my own, and separated from the mainland by a causeway, which causes me to think ahead, hence perhaps the name.
#####
Pedagogical gurus fret over the likelihood that youngsters using calculators will eventually lose the ability to perform manual calculations, a result that may or may not hasten the downfall of civilization. In a similar vein I fear that if deprived of my vehicle GPS, I might enter a spiral of perpetual geographic confusion, and fall victim to the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle.
My fancy, expensive Garmin (which became much less expensive the very week after I bought it) sped me breezily around a Dallas rush hour accident that completely closed I-45, and led me through some convoluted and poorly marked spaghetti in Houston. I am indebted to the lady in the box, who instead of admonishing me when I accidently or purposely ignore an instruction (no “make an immediate U-turn” scolding), simply and pleasantly says “recalculating.” Would that those around me were as understanding of my deficiencies.
#####
I’ve been warned about Texans by a close acquaintance charged with serving the needs of vacationing Lone Star residents, but so far no great evil has befallen me. They’re not very good spellers (I actually passed the “Cavalry” Baptist Church) and they do have some odd road signs, including one appearing every few miles that warns “State law requires that all warning signs be obeyed.” Glad they clarified that for me. And I have noticed a tendency for some (I assume out-of-staters) to add an extra “s” to the State name, likely a political commentary on the populace.
#####
Most folks I’ve met along the planet’s byways are rather inarticulate in describing their political proclivities. Liberals talk in generalities about justice for all of humanity and saving the earth, to which conservatives respond “tree huggers and bleeding hearts.” The right professes to promote individual responsibility and personal freedom, which the left dismisses as the “haves” screwing the “have-nots”.
My own conservative leanings were molded on the belief that however well-intentioned, government has a well developed knack for bollixing things more than the forces of nature originally designed. My own decade as a federal bureaucrat solidified these feelings, and as time passes I am greeted with a continuum of examples that confirm these inclinations.
Government efforts to stamp out discrimination of every stripe provide a wealth of illustrations. Efforts to eliminate age discrimination are a relatively new phenomenon, and arrived on the scene just in time for me, as before entering my 7th decade I always seemed to have more opportunities than the time to execute them, but afterward I was left in a wasteland of “don’t call us, we’ll call you” responses.
In recent times I encountered two instances of age discrimination so egregious and well documented I felt they were slam-dunks, at least until George Tenant forever trashed that sobriquet. I pursued neither, preserving a life-long track record of neither bringing suit nor being successfully sued (though several have tried).
Besides the federal government, every state and most local jurisdictions of reasonable size proudly sport an EEOC, while most NGOs and many companies feature the equivalent. In the “age” arena they boast of federal and state statues forbidding (on pain of severe punishment) employers from asking applicants their date of birth.
But I am now engaged in a mating ritual with a company that claims to have great interest in my services, and the last hurdle they require of me is to specify the exact month and year of my graduation from high school and college. Now it has occurred to me that they may have actuarial talent on staff that could invoke some complex algorithm to elucidate what my government has taken great pains to protect me from divulging. All perfectly legal.
I’m told that Asian cultures revere age as much as western society distains it. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time.
#####
Were I to seek a Masters in Sports Medicine, my thesis would be titled: "Comparison of jogging in 60 degree weather at 10,500’ and at sea level in 90+ heat and 100% humidity". Research would be concise and conclusion as to preference terse: “Neither.”
#####
Mother Nature often seems intent on pursuing an equal opportunity posture, and is at the moment steering Fay through Florida and away from Texas where Dolly and Eduard made landfall. But some are now calling for the lady to enter the Atlantic, gain strength, then turn left and rumble through the panhandle and possibly the Texas Gulf coast. Film at 11.
…the adventure continues
Saturday, August 9, 2008
COLORADO 002
High intrigue on the free local bus. A (very) ragged person taking his good time ambling aboard was admonished by the driver to expedite the process. Words were exchanged, and as the bus was departing the station, driver slammed on his breaks and demanded VRP’s immediate exodus.
VRP refused, and in fact suggested, rather politely, that if driver could not treat his passengers civilly, it was he who should exit the vehicle. Driver then radioed his supervisor to summon the authorities, and departed the bus, leaving motor running.
Then things got interesting. VRP, sensing an opening, leapt up and slipped into the driver’s seat, emitting a maniacal cackle. Several brave souls (female) determined this should not pass, and cleverly created a diversion by shrieking at the perp (now no longer a passenger) the Spanish equivalent “Oh my god, he’s going to kill us all.” Distracted perp jumps up and makes a very unwise move. Instead of bolting the scene he heads for the driver with fists clenched and obscenities sputtering.
Willy Sutton would have been jealous. Three local police cars and 2 sheriff’s vehicles descend on the scene, and it soon appears that this is not just one of your typical “$750,000 fine and 16-years in jail” capers. It seems that his brief stint in the driver’s seat has escalated the offence to busjacking (notwithstanding the absence of vehicle movement). Virtually ignoring the perp, who by now is beginning to twig that his outburst is being taken far more seriously than he thought possible, the assembled constabulary pull out rule books and begin a heated debate on what charges to levy.
Then I see perp, who had been standing with hands behind his back virtually begging to be manacled, looking furtively at his backpack lying on the ground near the group. He edges closer, but alas, just before he executes a snatch and split, one of the keen-eyed cops spots the feint and orders him to the ground. Uncharacteristically, I found myself rooting for the perp, to no avail.
I suspect that in Summit County a bank robbery warrants calling out the National Guard.
#####
High intrigue, Part Deux. Some weeks ago, the Denver Water Commission, which controls a monster dam in Summit County, closed the well-traveled Dam Road one midnight without advance warning to citizenry or local officials. The road is all of 3 miles long, and I-70 runs parallel with convenient exits at either end. But locals rose in high dudgeon, and everyone from the Governor to the Girl Scouts weighed in. Unspecified “security concerns” were cited for the closure. Fever pitch was reached when the local Fire Chief tried having the Water Commission Director jailed for “blocking an essential emergency route.”
I am happy to report the road has now re-opened from 6am to 10pm (perhaps on the theory that terrorists prefer darkness, 911 notwithstanding). Police, at $42/hour overtime, according to the local paper, stand at each end watching traffic whiz by, stopping the occasional truck for a peak inside. But erring on the side of caution, 18-wheelers over 13,000 pounds GVW are banned.
Water rights in the west are serious business. Historical footnote: When the dam was constructed in the late 1940’s it displaced the entire existing town of Dillon, which re-emerged several miles away, with many of the original structures jacked-up and hauled to their new location.
#####
I suspect a lack of scientific validation, but on the theory that hurricanes, like lightning, tend not to strike twice in the same place, I have elected to follow Edouard to Galveston, TX., the island south of Houston directly on the Gulf. My digs will be less than 100 yards (100 meters, give or take, for my International readers) from the beach, yet behind a 17 ft. seawall designed to keep the waters in their place. The move will put me closer to likely carnage, now that it is fairly obvious that the Midwest has decided it can recover from spring flooding without my help.
#####
In the midst of my physical and mental preparation for the descent to sea level, the John Edwards “sex scandal” broke. Although it does seem these days, at last among politicians, those NOT accused of infidelity are the exception. The only aspect I find odd is the stampede among liberal Democrats to condemn the indiscretion. It may be the early Alzheimer’s, but for the life of me I can’t recall similar liberal outrage over the Clinton peccadilloes. One expects the opposition to gloat and posture, but the Democrat Party faithful were tripping over themselves to voice their outrage. Perhaps it’s the embarrassment over the timing, with the Convention near upon us. Or sympathy for his cancer-stricken wife and small children. Or could it be that morality is taking hold inside the Beltway? Naaah.
I’m off, down the mountain, across the plains, and toward the sea. The next time we meet I will be somewhere else.
The adventure continues…
VRP refused, and in fact suggested, rather politely, that if driver could not treat his passengers civilly, it was he who should exit the vehicle. Driver then radioed his supervisor to summon the authorities, and departed the bus, leaving motor running.
Then things got interesting. VRP, sensing an opening, leapt up and slipped into the driver’s seat, emitting a maniacal cackle. Several brave souls (female) determined this should not pass, and cleverly created a diversion by shrieking at the perp (now no longer a passenger) the Spanish equivalent “Oh my god, he’s going to kill us all.” Distracted perp jumps up and makes a very unwise move. Instead of bolting the scene he heads for the driver with fists clenched and obscenities sputtering.
Willy Sutton would have been jealous. Three local police cars and 2 sheriff’s vehicles descend on the scene, and it soon appears that this is not just one of your typical “$750,000 fine and 16-years in jail” capers. It seems that his brief stint in the driver’s seat has escalated the offence to busjacking (notwithstanding the absence of vehicle movement). Virtually ignoring the perp, who by now is beginning to twig that his outburst is being taken far more seriously than he thought possible, the assembled constabulary pull out rule books and begin a heated debate on what charges to levy.
Then I see perp, who had been standing with hands behind his back virtually begging to be manacled, looking furtively at his backpack lying on the ground near the group. He edges closer, but alas, just before he executes a snatch and split, one of the keen-eyed cops spots the feint and orders him to the ground. Uncharacteristically, I found myself rooting for the perp, to no avail.
I suspect that in Summit County a bank robbery warrants calling out the National Guard.
#####
High intrigue, Part Deux. Some weeks ago, the Denver Water Commission, which controls a monster dam in Summit County, closed the well-traveled Dam Road one midnight without advance warning to citizenry or local officials. The road is all of 3 miles long, and I-70 runs parallel with convenient exits at either end. But locals rose in high dudgeon, and everyone from the Governor to the Girl Scouts weighed in. Unspecified “security concerns” were cited for the closure. Fever pitch was reached when the local Fire Chief tried having the Water Commission Director jailed for “blocking an essential emergency route.”
I am happy to report the road has now re-opened from 6am to 10pm (perhaps on the theory that terrorists prefer darkness, 911 notwithstanding). Police, at $42/hour overtime, according to the local paper, stand at each end watching traffic whiz by, stopping the occasional truck for a peak inside. But erring on the side of caution, 18-wheelers over 13,000 pounds GVW are banned.
Water rights in the west are serious business. Historical footnote: When the dam was constructed in the late 1940’s it displaced the entire existing town of Dillon, which re-emerged several miles away, with many of the original structures jacked-up and hauled to their new location.
#####
I suspect a lack of scientific validation, but on the theory that hurricanes, like lightning, tend not to strike twice in the same place, I have elected to follow Edouard to Galveston, TX., the island south of Houston directly on the Gulf. My digs will be less than 100 yards (100 meters, give or take, for my International readers) from the beach, yet behind a 17 ft. seawall designed to keep the waters in their place. The move will put me closer to likely carnage, now that it is fairly obvious that the Midwest has decided it can recover from spring flooding without my help.
#####
In the midst of my physical and mental preparation for the descent to sea level, the John Edwards “sex scandal” broke. Although it does seem these days, at last among politicians, those NOT accused of infidelity are the exception. The only aspect I find odd is the stampede among liberal Democrats to condemn the indiscretion. It may be the early Alzheimer’s, but for the life of me I can’t recall similar liberal outrage over the Clinton peccadilloes. One expects the opposition to gloat and posture, but the Democrat Party faithful were tripping over themselves to voice their outrage. Perhaps it’s the embarrassment over the timing, with the Convention near upon us. Or sympathy for his cancer-stricken wife and small children. Or could it be that morality is taking hold inside the Beltway? Naaah.
I’m off, down the mountain, across the plains, and toward the sea. The next time we meet I will be somewhere else.
The adventure continues…
Thursday, July 24, 2008
COLORADO 001
Wildernest is a condo community occupying a mountainside just outside Silverthorne, Colorado. I am subletting one-half of a 2-bedroom condo for the month of July. The Peruvian tenant has returned home for the month, leaving behind sister Racee (roll the R hard) and husband Sergio, a delightful couple that ply me with ceviche and introduce me to the wonders of their homeland (“we have a canyon Grander than yours”). Their English is sketchy, but infinitely superior to my Spanish.
The 10,000 ft. altitude presents some interesting challenges. While on a modest 4-mile trail hike last Saturday I happened upon several aging volunteers engaged in trail maintenance. Having little to occupy my world at the moment, I returned “home,” donned work boots, gloves, and hard hat, and trekked back to the work site where I joined these “mature” nature helpers who appeared rather fragile as they hacked away at roots, dug water runoff trenches, and “revegitated” areas that errant hikers had “devegitated.”
Determined as always to do my part and then some, I failed to include altitude in the equation, and several hours later, when the group stopped for lunch (after I earlier announced that “I do not eat lunch,”) I sank meekly to mother earth and began to pray for rain.
I vowed to stay until the 3pm terminus, not least because one of the clan announced she had cold beer in a cooler at the trailhead, but when lightheadedness morphed to minor hallucinations (i.e. a root I was about to dislodge shrieked “don’t kill me,”) I tucked tail neatly between legs, mumbled something lame about meeting friends in town, and staggered back to the trailhead, where in my ultimate humiliation I grabbed the free bus back to my condo rather than walk.
#####
The free bus connects the towns of Silverthorne, Dillon, Breckenridge, and Keystone, the latter two being major ski resorts. It is a lifeline to the large immigrant population that supplies labor for the area. I am often the only English-speaking rider as we wend up and down the steep hillsides.
Typical of resort areas that post notices imploring tourists to have fun, but not too much, the busses carry the scary warning that “disturbances are punishable by up to $750,000 in fines and up to 16 years in jail.” Now in Colorado a Class II felony (including 2nd degree murder) carries an average 27.2 year sentence, and with good behavior, one rarely serves more than half that time. If I wanted to do away with someone in Summit County, I would think long and hard on how to get them to create a transit disturbance.
In fact I overheard a disheveled local (a “ragged person” in Paul Simon parlance), recount that last St. Paddie’s Day, returning from the requisite revelry and belting out his favorite Irish ditties, the bus driver ordered him, not to stifle himself, but to exit the bus. When he protested, he was directed to the posted sign outlining potential consequences. I wonder if there is anywhere else on the planet where one can get hoosgowed for 20% of his lifespan for singing off key?
#####
Though it comes as no surprise, the demise of Tony Snow received (except from Fox) only minimal mention, while the requiem for Tim Russert lasted weeks. Like Russert, Snow was considered fair and was well respected, but of course being conservative, his passing was noted curtly by the mainstream media. The outrage is that an obit circulated by the AP and comments on the LA Times and Daily Kos blogs found it appropriate to take vile parting shots at the 53 year old father of three. Even in death…
#####
Despite calls from the Midwest for increased disaster relief, my phone has until recently remained silent. I am reminded of my Red Cross Katrina deployment at a holding operation in Montgomery, AL. For 4 days Red Cross officials told our milling throng of some 500 volunteers that there were no calls for assistance in the ravaged areas, while on a wide screen TV in the corner, Governors Barbour of Mississippi and Blanco of Louisiana were close to tears in their urgent pleas for help. FEMA wasn’t the only body overwhelmed by this natural tragedy.
But continuing problems in the Midwest and Dolly’s whack at Texas have shaken the tree a bit, and at the moment 3 firms have requested I stand by. So perhaps after nearly 6 months of “ployage” I will soon be de-ployed. Be still my heart.
The 10,000 ft. altitude presents some interesting challenges. While on a modest 4-mile trail hike last Saturday I happened upon several aging volunteers engaged in trail maintenance. Having little to occupy my world at the moment, I returned “home,” donned work boots, gloves, and hard hat, and trekked back to the work site where I joined these “mature” nature helpers who appeared rather fragile as they hacked away at roots, dug water runoff trenches, and “revegitated” areas that errant hikers had “devegitated.”
Determined as always to do my part and then some, I failed to include altitude in the equation, and several hours later, when the group stopped for lunch (after I earlier announced that “I do not eat lunch,”) I sank meekly to mother earth and began to pray for rain.
I vowed to stay until the 3pm terminus, not least because one of the clan announced she had cold beer in a cooler at the trailhead, but when lightheadedness morphed to minor hallucinations (i.e. a root I was about to dislodge shrieked “don’t kill me,”) I tucked tail neatly between legs, mumbled something lame about meeting friends in town, and staggered back to the trailhead, where in my ultimate humiliation I grabbed the free bus back to my condo rather than walk.
#####
The free bus connects the towns of Silverthorne, Dillon, Breckenridge, and Keystone, the latter two being major ski resorts. It is a lifeline to the large immigrant population that supplies labor for the area. I am often the only English-speaking rider as we wend up and down the steep hillsides.
Typical of resort areas that post notices imploring tourists to have fun, but not too much, the busses carry the scary warning that “disturbances are punishable by up to $750,000 in fines and up to 16 years in jail.” Now in Colorado a Class II felony (including 2nd degree murder) carries an average 27.2 year sentence, and with good behavior, one rarely serves more than half that time. If I wanted to do away with someone in Summit County, I would think long and hard on how to get them to create a transit disturbance.
In fact I overheard a disheveled local (a “ragged person” in Paul Simon parlance), recount that last St. Paddie’s Day, returning from the requisite revelry and belting out his favorite Irish ditties, the bus driver ordered him, not to stifle himself, but to exit the bus. When he protested, he was directed to the posted sign outlining potential consequences. I wonder if there is anywhere else on the planet where one can get hoosgowed for 20% of his lifespan for singing off key?
#####
Though it comes as no surprise, the demise of Tony Snow received (except from Fox) only minimal mention, while the requiem for Tim Russert lasted weeks. Like Russert, Snow was considered fair and was well respected, but of course being conservative, his passing was noted curtly by the mainstream media. The outrage is that an obit circulated by the AP and comments on the LA Times and Daily Kos blogs found it appropriate to take vile parting shots at the 53 year old father of three. Even in death…
#####
Despite calls from the Midwest for increased disaster relief, my phone has until recently remained silent. I am reminded of my Red Cross Katrina deployment at a holding operation in Montgomery, AL. For 4 days Red Cross officials told our milling throng of some 500 volunteers that there were no calls for assistance in the ravaged areas, while on a wide screen TV in the corner, Governors Barbour of Mississippi and Blanco of Louisiana were close to tears in their urgent pleas for help. FEMA wasn’t the only body overwhelmed by this natural tragedy.
But continuing problems in the Midwest and Dolly’s whack at Texas have shaken the tree a bit, and at the moment 3 firms have requested I stand by. So perhaps after nearly 6 months of “ployage” I will soon be de-ployed. Be still my heart.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
MONTANA 005
Absolutely zilch of general interest had been occurring in my world, and while that might suggest unlimited opportunities for blogging, the reality is that without meaningful things on which to discourse, one is forced to invent cute and witty vignettes and thus become as 99% of all bloggers. I resist inflicting inanities on those so generous as to accept my ministrations. And yet I recently received several e-mails inquiring as to the next post. Flattery works.
Then Mother Nature, perhaps as a warm-up to the impending hurricane season, wreaked floods and assorted tornados on the Midwest, creating the possibility of disaster response activity. My bag is packed.
And then Tim Russert died.
I must say, within my lifetime potentates and presidents have passed with less fanfare. The 24/7 news cycle screeched to a halt as the journalistic world scrambled to honor a giant among them. While it’s clear that there was added emphasis in homage to one of their own, it is equally apparent that Russert achieved a balance rarely found in modern reportage. He was surely a Democrat leaning liberal – he worked for Senator Daniel Patrick Monaghan and Gov. Mario Cuomo before embracing journalism, but he had that rare and fading ability to be tough and fair, incisive without being derisive, penetrating but not pompous, forceful but never vicious.
Although it’s arguable that all earthly departures are “untimely,” his apparent good health, boyish appearance, and age (58), brought the life/death cycle into clear focus, if only fleetingly.
Of all the stories, vignettes, and recollections tossed about over the weekend after his death, perhaps the most illuminating was an interview with Tom Brokaw promoting his most recent book, Wisdom of our Fathers. He speaks of a childhood devoid of play dates, summer camp, automobiles as sweet-16 birthday presents, and all the privileges now felt essential to shower upon children to insure their normal progression and guaranteed acceptance by the Ivy League.
He speaks instead of being a garbage man (sanitation worker, if you will) through 4 years of college, a job his father, Big Russ held, and which Russert came to respect even as he attended (on scholarship) a Jesuit high school with the sons of doctors and lawyers. Instead of teachers who worked overtime building self esteem, he recalls the priest who slammed him into a wall after some indiscretion, and when he asked for mercy, the priest replied, “God grants mercy; I administer justice.”
His passing also focuses on longevity, and suggests that a short life well lived will trump aging in mediocrity every day of the week.
#####
My recurring theme of the age of incivility has led me, quite by accident, to The Second Civil War, by Ronald Brownstein, which summarizes in 484 small-print pages the contention in my last blog that we are in an age of hyper-nastiness in American politics.
It is a fascinating, if heavy read, with historical documentation castigating both right and left (surprising, for a Los Angeles Times columnist), interweaving the excesses of Tom DeLay and the Daily Kos, Rush Limbaugh and Al Franken. He finds ample blame in every camp, though I must confess that I am not yet at the 2000-2008 chapters, which I suspect will fairly smolder with indignation.
Brownstein was more fair than I, as I attributed the current state of decline primarily to the left, when blame can and should be spread across the political spectrum. But he reaches an unsettling conclusion, at least in my interpretation, suggesting (perhaps inadvertently) that while periods of civility – he chops 150 years into 4 discreet packages, 2 of comity and 2 of incivility -- appear to be eras of good feeling, they often ill-serve the populace, as opposing views simply accommodate each other in order to gain acceptance of their own.
I may have to read the book again (once I have gotten through it the first time), but I believe his bottom line is that during periods of mean-spirited, backbiting, scorched-earth, take no prisoners politics, voters are treated to much clearer choices, and able to avoid the droppings of vast herds of un-gored oxen, rumbling through a society where everyone gets their way and no clear ideological path is discernable. So much for my “kinder and gentler” pleas.
#####
Over time I have derived some satisfaction, even pleasure, exposing the fallacy of certain “news” items, the most recent being Ronald Reagan’s trashing of George W. Bush as a moron and worse, which made planetary rounds at the speed of light and certainly brought untold glee to legions of the left. It happens that this was one of a plethora of “urban legends” that sound plausible but in fact are totally false.
Well, I have apparently been “gotcha-ed” by my reprinted “metaphors” supposedly taken from “real high school essays.” While I found them far more humorous than the typical fare I get sent in bulk e-mails, their true value was that these were (supposedly) high school kids stretching the limits of prose.
They actually came from a Washington Post Style Invitational in 1997, and while “supposedly” from high school essays, were almost certainly the product of fertile adult minds. While researching the subject I did find that a number of “respected” academic websites (I thought they all were) had reprinted the list as genuine. And so, Dear Diary, my ultimate humiliation, that of being lumped in with (shudder) respected academics.
#####
I am occasionally asked about the pathology of fretting over the lack of disasters that might otherwise afford me work. My best response is that I doubt emergency room staff go about praying for carnage, yet without same they would be out of business. And so, while I do not burn incense imploring Mother Nature to elevate and extend her wrath, I stand ready to pick up various bent and broken pieces of our national fabric rent asunder by natural or man (and woman)-made disasters. The excesses of the mighty Mississippi may afford that opportunity. Film at eleven.
Then Mother Nature, perhaps as a warm-up to the impending hurricane season, wreaked floods and assorted tornados on the Midwest, creating the possibility of disaster response activity. My bag is packed.
And then Tim Russert died.
I must say, within my lifetime potentates and presidents have passed with less fanfare. The 24/7 news cycle screeched to a halt as the journalistic world scrambled to honor a giant among them. While it’s clear that there was added emphasis in homage to one of their own, it is equally apparent that Russert achieved a balance rarely found in modern reportage. He was surely a Democrat leaning liberal – he worked for Senator Daniel Patrick Monaghan and Gov. Mario Cuomo before embracing journalism, but he had that rare and fading ability to be tough and fair, incisive without being derisive, penetrating but not pompous, forceful but never vicious.
Although it’s arguable that all earthly departures are “untimely,” his apparent good health, boyish appearance, and age (58), brought the life/death cycle into clear focus, if only fleetingly.
Of all the stories, vignettes, and recollections tossed about over the weekend after his death, perhaps the most illuminating was an interview with Tom Brokaw promoting his most recent book, Wisdom of our Fathers. He speaks of a childhood devoid of play dates, summer camp, automobiles as sweet-16 birthday presents, and all the privileges now felt essential to shower upon children to insure their normal progression and guaranteed acceptance by the Ivy League.
He speaks instead of being a garbage man (sanitation worker, if you will) through 4 years of college, a job his father, Big Russ held, and which Russert came to respect even as he attended (on scholarship) a Jesuit high school with the sons of doctors and lawyers. Instead of teachers who worked overtime building self esteem, he recalls the priest who slammed him into a wall after some indiscretion, and when he asked for mercy, the priest replied, “God grants mercy; I administer justice.”
His passing also focuses on longevity, and suggests that a short life well lived will trump aging in mediocrity every day of the week.
#####
My recurring theme of the age of incivility has led me, quite by accident, to The Second Civil War, by Ronald Brownstein, which summarizes in 484 small-print pages the contention in my last blog that we are in an age of hyper-nastiness in American politics.
It is a fascinating, if heavy read, with historical documentation castigating both right and left (surprising, for a Los Angeles Times columnist), interweaving the excesses of Tom DeLay and the Daily Kos, Rush Limbaugh and Al Franken. He finds ample blame in every camp, though I must confess that I am not yet at the 2000-2008 chapters, which I suspect will fairly smolder with indignation.
Brownstein was more fair than I, as I attributed the current state of decline primarily to the left, when blame can and should be spread across the political spectrum. But he reaches an unsettling conclusion, at least in my interpretation, suggesting (perhaps inadvertently) that while periods of civility – he chops 150 years into 4 discreet packages, 2 of comity and 2 of incivility -- appear to be eras of good feeling, they often ill-serve the populace, as opposing views simply accommodate each other in order to gain acceptance of their own.
I may have to read the book again (once I have gotten through it the first time), but I believe his bottom line is that during periods of mean-spirited, backbiting, scorched-earth, take no prisoners politics, voters are treated to much clearer choices, and able to avoid the droppings of vast herds of un-gored oxen, rumbling through a society where everyone gets their way and no clear ideological path is discernable. So much for my “kinder and gentler” pleas.
#####
Over time I have derived some satisfaction, even pleasure, exposing the fallacy of certain “news” items, the most recent being Ronald Reagan’s trashing of George W. Bush as a moron and worse, which made planetary rounds at the speed of light and certainly brought untold glee to legions of the left. It happens that this was one of a plethora of “urban legends” that sound plausible but in fact are totally false.
Well, I have apparently been “gotcha-ed” by my reprinted “metaphors” supposedly taken from “real high school essays.” While I found them far more humorous than the typical fare I get sent in bulk e-mails, their true value was that these were (supposedly) high school kids stretching the limits of prose.
They actually came from a Washington Post Style Invitational in 1997, and while “supposedly” from high school essays, were almost certainly the product of fertile adult minds. While researching the subject I did find that a number of “respected” academic websites (I thought they all were) had reprinted the list as genuine. And so, Dear Diary, my ultimate humiliation, that of being lumped in with (shudder) respected academics.
#####
I am occasionally asked about the pathology of fretting over the lack of disasters that might otherwise afford me work. My best response is that I doubt emergency room staff go about praying for carnage, yet without same they would be out of business. And so, while I do not burn incense imploring Mother Nature to elevate and extend her wrath, I stand ready to pick up various bent and broken pieces of our national fabric rent asunder by natural or man (and woman)-made disasters. The excesses of the mighty Mississippi may afford that opportunity. Film at eleven.
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