Yesterday, William F. Buckley, who is now 80, wrote an article on why he thought that Hillary Clinton would be the Democratic choice for President in 2008.(Click on the post and scroll down for summary) It seems that a lot of Republicans are wishing that Hillary is the candidate. Probably because they have such an extensive file on her. Hillary has a high list of negatives that have made her a polarizing figure in politics and I am sure that the Republicans would love to run against her.
So---Preparing for such a race, I have begun to review some of the books about Hillary. One of the famous ones is "The Seduction of Hillary Rodham," by David Brock. Yes that is the same David Brock who wrote "The Real Anita Hill." He also wrote the articles in "The Spectator" about the Troopergate scandal that he eventually apologized for writing later. Mr. Brock has to be understood as a very radical Republican author, but still, the reading is entertaining.
One of the things that folks remember is the famous line of Hillary "I suppose I could be home baking cookies." What they do not remember is what that was the response to.
When Bill Clinton was governor of Arkansas, Hillary was intimately involved in the affairs of state...not Bill's affairs, but the government details. She was also a source of free legal advice. Anyway, there was a huge scandal about the legal work that Hillary was doing through the Rose Law firm, and whether there was any illegality about how the work was obtained. This type of controversy is often present when one spouse of an elected official is a lawyer. The good news is that the official gets free legal advice. The bad news is that the public may pay fees another way. So...
The problem of course would be if Hillary runs for President, Bill is no longer current on his law license. I suppose that he could still give her advice. ---Anyway, if Hillary does run, it will be the Co-Presidency all over again. I just wonder whether America is ready for another two terms of a co-Presidency.
What do you think? You make the call.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:11 AM
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Thursday, December 22, 2005
"That Vision Thang"
(Orig Post 9/2005) ------That Vision Thang; Or, Right Dreaming; Or, Separating Beef from Baloney
(Ed. note; This post goes back to Sept of 2005----some of the dream thang has seen some progress--the war has been another matter. Stay tuned.)
I've been thinking a lot lately about "that vision thang." You remember. Pres. George Bush Sr. was criticized cause he said going further into Iraq "wasn't prudent." We ridiculed him big time for being less than macho. He didn't have the vision thang.
His son, Pres. George Bush Jr. had the "vision thang." He was bold, forthright, and honest, not like his Democratic predecessor. Even if his dad told him Iraq would not be "prudent," son had the "vision thang."
Thinking back, it seems we have been real tough on our real visionary leaders---think of Pres. Jimmy Carter in his button down sweater, telling us to turn the lights off and turn the temps down and to get the alternative fuels program ready. We simply laughed at his vision thing, and are paying for our laughter today.
Even in Evansville, I occasionally have trouble with the "vision thang." As my readers know, I believe that the four walls of the house that is Evansville, are School, Library, Park, and Public Safety. Hence, I have urged a combined facility for EMS, Fire and Police. Maybe in some spare space. We have lots of it in the TIF district.
I have been reading Freud on Dreams, tring to get the dream just right. I have been thinking real hard about the objectives of Public Safety. However, no matter how meticulously I plan the sleep, I NEVER wake up with the dream of the Community Center in the Ceramic Shop, the Police in the Dean center, and the two ambulances of EMS packed right to the walls of the City Hall Basement.
Maybe one of my fellow bloggers can help me with the dream procedure. I must be doing something wrong! There is right thinking. I am just trying to have RIGHT DREAMING.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:52 AM
0 comments:
(Ed. note; This post goes back to Sept of 2005----some of the dream thang has seen some progress--the war has been another matter. Stay tuned.)
I've been thinking a lot lately about "that vision thang." You remember. Pres. George Bush Sr. was criticized cause he said going further into Iraq "wasn't prudent." We ridiculed him big time for being less than macho. He didn't have the vision thang.
His son, Pres. George Bush Jr. had the "vision thang." He was bold, forthright, and honest, not like his Democratic predecessor. Even if his dad told him Iraq would not be "prudent," son had the "vision thang."
Thinking back, it seems we have been real tough on our real visionary leaders---think of Pres. Jimmy Carter in his button down sweater, telling us to turn the lights off and turn the temps down and to get the alternative fuels program ready. We simply laughed at his vision thing, and are paying for our laughter today.
Even in Evansville, I occasionally have trouble with the "vision thang." As my readers know, I believe that the four walls of the house that is Evansville, are School, Library, Park, and Public Safety. Hence, I have urged a combined facility for EMS, Fire and Police. Maybe in some spare space. We have lots of it in the TIF district.
I have been reading Freud on Dreams, tring to get the dream just right. I have been thinking real hard about the objectives of Public Safety. However, no matter how meticulously I plan the sleep, I NEVER wake up with the dream of the Community Center in the Ceramic Shop, the Police in the Dean center, and the two ambulances of EMS packed right to the walls of the City Hall Basement.
Maybe one of my fellow bloggers can help me with the dream procedure. I must be doing something wrong! There is right thinking. I am just trying to have RIGHT DREAMING.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:52 AM
0 comments:
Saturday, December 3, 2005
"Father D"---or a short history of blarney---a true, or mostly true story
Father D; Or, A short history of Blarney
Father D; Or, a short history of blarney
If you search on the Yahoo search line for the name Woulfe, you will find that this is an Irish name. The family is from Tempelglantine. If you know anything about Ireland, you know that it was real big on potatoes, and blarney.
One of the uncles of mine was Father D, the brother of my grandmother, who came to America right after the seminary. He was assigned to the first Irish parish in St. Paul, up on the top of the hill as you enter St. Paul on Hwy 94. The entire hill in the 1880s was filled with little shanties where the Irish who worked on the railroad lived. In a short 40 years from 1880 to 1920, the Irish moved from nothing to being in charge of the Irish political machine that ran St. Paul.
Father D used to come to all the family gatherings. Like my First Communion, Confirmation, etc. I remember one such occasion when the adults were telling stories about some of the locals. I presume, in retrospect, that they might have been sipping wine while they chatted. My relatives were going over some of our local stuff. If we had a problem with increasing the money collected, Fr. D had the solution. He simply took out every other strand in the collection basket and then anyone who put change in the basket was instantly embarrassed. The collection basket revenue doubled instantly. Father seemed to have the solution for everything in my young mind.
Then someone mentioned that there was a somewhat racy and fast crowd in the lake set. In fact, some had pretty loose morals. It was shocking. Fr. D said he indeed had faced that problem also, but had solved the problem quite simply. One lady in particular seemed to come to Church each Sunday in the most provocative of dresses. Finally, one Sunday, he felt that it had simply had gone too far. Surely the Lord must be deeply offended. Father D felt he was being called to make an example of this exact offence. So, he just motioned over to the altar boy to go and get the chasuble. He draped it over the young women with the shocking dress that was so provocative. Then he gave her Communion.’’
It was a pretty shocking story for a young 12-year-old to handle. Over the years as an alter boy, I came across some pretty provocative women in Church…I always wondered whether the priest would send for the chasuble for these women; but no, they never did. As the years went on, I imagined that that dress must have been VERY provocative indeed. On the other hand, when I got about forty, I began to wonder just where Father D was at and whether celibacy might have been wearing on him a bit.
As the years have rolled on, I have understood that it was just the blarney. There was a little truth, maybe the part about the beautiful women. And there was a little exaggeration, maybe the part about the chasuble. And then I am never quite sure. Each Sunday I wonder whether this Sunday will be the time that the chasuble is finally called for.
Father D; Or, a short history of blarney
If you search on the Yahoo search line for the name Woulfe, you will find that this is an Irish name. The family is from Tempelglantine. If you know anything about Ireland, you know that it was real big on potatoes, and blarney.
One of the uncles of mine was Father D, the brother of my grandmother, who came to America right after the seminary. He was assigned to the first Irish parish in St. Paul, up on the top of the hill as you enter St. Paul on Hwy 94. The entire hill in the 1880s was filled with little shanties where the Irish who worked on the railroad lived. In a short 40 years from 1880 to 1920, the Irish moved from nothing to being in charge of the Irish political machine that ran St. Paul.
Father D used to come to all the family gatherings. Like my First Communion, Confirmation, etc. I remember one such occasion when the adults were telling stories about some of the locals. I presume, in retrospect, that they might have been sipping wine while they chatted. My relatives were going over some of our local stuff. If we had a problem with increasing the money collected, Fr. D had the solution. He simply took out every other strand in the collection basket and then anyone who put change in the basket was instantly embarrassed. The collection basket revenue doubled instantly. Father seemed to have the solution for everything in my young mind.
Then someone mentioned that there was a somewhat racy and fast crowd in the lake set. In fact, some had pretty loose morals. It was shocking. Fr. D said he indeed had faced that problem also, but had solved the problem quite simply. One lady in particular seemed to come to Church each Sunday in the most provocative of dresses. Finally, one Sunday, he felt that it had simply had gone too far. Surely the Lord must be deeply offended. Father D felt he was being called to make an example of this exact offence. So, he just motioned over to the altar boy to go and get the chasuble. He draped it over the young women with the shocking dress that was so provocative. Then he gave her Communion.’’
It was a pretty shocking story for a young 12-year-old to handle. Over the years as an alter boy, I came across some pretty provocative women in Church…I always wondered whether the priest would send for the chasuble for these women; but no, they never did. As the years went on, I imagined that that dress must have been VERY provocative indeed. On the other hand, when I got about forty, I began to wonder just where Father D was at and whether celibacy might have been wearing on him a bit.
As the years have rolled on, I have understood that it was just the blarney. There was a little truth, maybe the part about the beautiful women. And there was a little exaggeration, maybe the part about the chasuble. And then I am never quite sure. Each Sunday I wonder whether this Sunday will be the time that the chasuble is finally called for.
December 2005: "The Hearse"----a true story
The Hearse; Or, On the importance of natural advertising; Or, Memories of "Harold and Maude"
The Hearse; Or On the importance of natural advertising
One of the famous advertising stories of Minneapolis is the story of “Paul Stafford Electric.” He was a fellow student of Don Sheehan in 1994. The truth was that advertising expenses were so large for Paul Stafford Electric that he asked Don Sheehan for some advice. Paul had been buying trucks for his electricians to drive to the job site and in the space of one year, the number of accidents of his electricians had sent his insurance premiums skyrocketing. In addition, gas prices were skyrocketing along with advertising, and after paying all the expenses, there was little to celebrate about.
Don Sheehan came upon a novel strategy. First, Paul Stafford went to the local mortuary and purchased some used hearses. The price was about $1500 for a used hearse those days. Then he purchased some small trailers that he could tow to the job site after the trailer hitch was put on the hearse. In the trailer were all the proper electrical supplies necessary for the job. Then he placed the distinctive advertising on the hearse and trailer. The rest is history. The name of Paul Stafford Electric is known throughout Minneapolis and the best part is that he pays no advertising.
I pondered that if it worked for Paul Stafford, it would work for me too. So, yes, I did talk to Paul Stafford and he did give it his blessing. I purchased a hearse and used it in the computer business. I can tell you that it worked wonders and I also learned that those hearses have wonderful premium sound systems, precisely because the music is so soothing for the recently departed.
As young girls, Amy and Julie loved riding in the hearse and riding in the back in the midst of heavy traffic on the 35W following the hearse. They loved to shock drivers behind by quickly opening the curtains and shouting “boo.” The petrified look in the drivers faces was thrilling. The girls did not know what a “hearse” was, and just called it the “pretty car with the curtains.”
It is not clear whether the interest in hearses was due to my love of the movie "Harold and Maude," or whether it was because I was always the alter boy at St. Jude’s Church who got to go to Calvary Cemetary with full motorcycle escort when I was in 8th Grade. I do think it was simply that the advertising expenses were zero. Yes, when I was on the road, my CB handle was “Hearseman.
This is simply an example of “natural advertising.” I will have other examples in further posts.
The Hearse; Or On the importance of natural advertising
One of the famous advertising stories of Minneapolis is the story of “Paul Stafford Electric.” He was a fellow student of Don Sheehan in 1994. The truth was that advertising expenses were so large for Paul Stafford Electric that he asked Don Sheehan for some advice. Paul had been buying trucks for his electricians to drive to the job site and in the space of one year, the number of accidents of his electricians had sent his insurance premiums skyrocketing. In addition, gas prices were skyrocketing along with advertising, and after paying all the expenses, there was little to celebrate about.
Don Sheehan came upon a novel strategy. First, Paul Stafford went to the local mortuary and purchased some used hearses. The price was about $1500 for a used hearse those days. Then he purchased some small trailers that he could tow to the job site after the trailer hitch was put on the hearse. In the trailer were all the proper electrical supplies necessary for the job. Then he placed the distinctive advertising on the hearse and trailer. The rest is history. The name of Paul Stafford Electric is known throughout Minneapolis and the best part is that he pays no advertising.
I pondered that if it worked for Paul Stafford, it would work for me too. So, yes, I did talk to Paul Stafford and he did give it his blessing. I purchased a hearse and used it in the computer business. I can tell you that it worked wonders and I also learned that those hearses have wonderful premium sound systems, precisely because the music is so soothing for the recently departed.
As young girls, Amy and Julie loved riding in the hearse and riding in the back in the midst of heavy traffic on the 35W following the hearse. They loved to shock drivers behind by quickly opening the curtains and shouting “boo.” The petrified look in the drivers faces was thrilling. The girls did not know what a “hearse” was, and just called it the “pretty car with the curtains.”
It is not clear whether the interest in hearses was due to my love of the movie "Harold and Maude," or whether it was because I was always the alter boy at St. Jude’s Church who got to go to Calvary Cemetary with full motorcycle escort when I was in 8th Grade. I do think it was simply that the advertising expenses were zero. Yes, when I was on the road, my CB handle was “Hearseman.
This is simply an example of “natural advertising.” I will have other examples in further posts.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
On Freedom of Speech; On muscles; On Weight Equipment and more
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Memories of John Jones: Or why the equipment does not make the muscles;On why laws don't make freedom of speech or assembly--people do
Many of you may remember John Jones, the owner of Jones Barbells on Union Street. He was an avid flyer, a flight instructor and a weight lifter known nationally by his plane with the Jones Barbell logo on it. He was the son of a World War II ace pilot.
There are many John Jones stories. He was a very simple and direct and honest person. Sometimes disturbingly so for high and mighty types. John was most at home in his welding overalls with the top glass shield that he retracted, like Dark Helmet, when he came from the back welding area to help a customer. He loved welding, and selling was just extra.
Back in 1990 I wandered into the shop to see his weight equipment and explained to the big guy that I had been a long distance runner in my youth, and a slow one at that, but needed to regain my leg strength. He said not a word. He just waved me to follow him back to the leg press section of the display room. He showed me his patented leg press machine, the one that had the special safety and he designed to prevent back injuries. I was an easy sale.
As I cleared out my storage chest recently of the many race t-shirts over the years, I had to smile. John never said that my dream of running again was crazy, like most of the relatives. He just showed me what was necessary.
Everything was on a handshake with John. His word was good. I would buy everything he had eventually. Finally, when I asked about some new piece, he quietly said, "Dick, you just need to use what you have. It's up to you, not the equipment."
That was just what I needed to hear then.
To those of you that attended the recent peace vigil, I applaud your showing up to express your opinion by free assembly. To those who take the other side, I applaud your right to express it.
The question is not for those who show up. The question I have is ----Who is the real Observer. Is it me? I think not. I have to write a bit each day with my name on it. The observers are those who just log on to observe what the rest are talking about. I know because I get the traffic reports.
John Jones told me something that I did not want to hear. The equipment was not going to get the muscles. It was up to me.
To those who are just observing, think about expressing yourself without fear. Think
about telling a friend about The Evansville Observer. The Observer is not about me. It is really about the comments. It's about the discussion. The Observer is just a place to talk. A place to chat about
Memories of John Jones: Or why the equipment does not make the muscles;On why laws don't make freedom of speech or assembly--people do
Many of you may remember John Jones, the owner of Jones Barbells on Union Street. He was an avid flyer, a flight instructor and a weight lifter known nationally by his plane with the Jones Barbell logo on it. He was the son of a World War II ace pilot.
There are many John Jones stories. He was a very simple and direct and honest person. Sometimes disturbingly so for high and mighty types. John was most at home in his welding overalls with the top glass shield that he retracted, like Dark Helmet, when he came from the back welding area to help a customer. He loved welding, and selling was just extra.
Back in 1990 I wandered into the shop to see his weight equipment and explained to the big guy that I had been a long distance runner in my youth, and a slow one at that, but needed to regain my leg strength. He said not a word. He just waved me to follow him back to the leg press section of the display room. He showed me his patented leg press machine, the one that had the special safety and he designed to prevent back injuries. I was an easy sale.
As I cleared out my storage chest recently of the many race t-shirts over the years, I had to smile. John never said that my dream of running again was crazy, like most of the relatives. He just showed me what was necessary.
Everything was on a handshake with John. His word was good. I would buy everything he had eventually. Finally, when I asked about some new piece, he quietly said, "Dick, you just need to use what you have. It's up to you, not the equipment."
That was just what I needed to hear then.
To those of you that attended the recent peace vigil, I applaud your showing up to express your opinion by free assembly. To those who take the other side, I applaud your right to express it.
The question is not for those who show up. The question I have is ----Who is the real Observer. Is it me? I think not. I have to write a bit each day with my name on it. The observers are those who just log on to observe what the rest are talking about. I know because I get the traffic reports.
John Jones told me something that I did not want to hear. The equipment was not going to get the muscles. It was up to me.
To those who are just observing, think about expressing yourself without fear. Think
about telling a friend about The Evansville Observer. The Observer is not about me. It is really about the comments. It's about the discussion. The Observer is just a place to talk. A place to chat about
Thursday, September 8, 2005
A Caution: "On Think and Grow Rich"
If you ever were a salesman or business owner you have many inspirational books on your bookshelf. One needs them to stay motivated. Enthusiastic.
One of the most famous of these inspirational books is "Think and Grow Rich" by Napolean Hill. Other favorites are "See You at the Top" by Zig Ziegler or "Shut up and Sell" by Don Sheehan. Then there are the audio tapes for driving in the car.....the real estate closing tapes...ABC, always be closing etc. Anyway, you get the idea....
If you are married and a salesman, you are probably also reading a book, or even two books by John Gray.....like..."Men are from Mars,,Women from Venus"....The reason that you are reading the books by John Gray is either because you don't have a clue about women as sales prospects, or you don't have a clue about what is happening to your marriage----or both.
Reading inspirational books is fun. However, one warning. It is important to review "walking the walk" as well as "talking the talk." What I mean, of course, is that one does need to know that Napolean Hill died penniless....It is also important to know that John Gray is on his 4th marriage.
O.K. Now when you are reading the books, you can have a better sense of perspective. I don't want to ruin any enthusiasm here, but, it is important to know. Behold, you may be in far better shape that the authors were. In fact, you may not even need the books.
Just a thought for the day.
One of the most famous of these inspirational books is "Think and Grow Rich" by Napolean Hill. Other favorites are "See You at the Top" by Zig Ziegler or "Shut up and Sell" by Don Sheehan. Then there are the audio tapes for driving in the car.....the real estate closing tapes...ABC, always be closing etc. Anyway, you get the idea....
If you are married and a salesman, you are probably also reading a book, or even two books by John Gray.....like..."Men are from Mars,,Women from Venus"....The reason that you are reading the books by John Gray is either because you don't have a clue about women as sales prospects, or you don't have a clue about what is happening to your marriage----or both.
Reading inspirational books is fun. However, one warning. It is important to review "walking the walk" as well as "talking the talk." What I mean, of course, is that one does need to know that Napolean Hill died penniless....It is also important to know that John Gray is on his 4th marriage.
O.K. Now when you are reading the books, you can have a better sense of perspective. I don't want to ruin any enthusiasm here, but, it is important to know. Behold, you may be in far better shape that the authors were. In fact, you may not even need the books.
Just a thought for the day.
Stillwater Struggles to Regain Control over Lumberjack Days
Sometimes it takes a whole village----It has been taking everyone in Stillwater, Mn. to try to piece together what actually happened during last years Lumberjack Days. They had "Lynyrd Skynyrd" as the feature band and had plenty of fine beer, so what could have gone wrong? Turns out they had just too much beer and were a couple hundred porta potties short. Anyway, sometimes trying to get in touch with your heritage just backfires.
Stillwater is a special place for me, cause I used to picnic above Stillwater on the bluff in "Pioneer Park," Wonderful view. A scene right out of Huck Finn. Something to check out.
If you go to the Lumberjack days, there will be some bland bands they are hoping will keep everybody away, or at least a few of you who came for the music. I will try to keep you informed on how the weekend turned out.
As a P.S., the only lumberjacks I knew of were a Mr. Tozer, who was a lumber baron of Stillwater and left money for students of Washington county for college scholarships ----hundreds of them over the past 50 years. Many of my siblings and friends owe their schooling to his generosity. So, this weekend, Mr. Tozer, we remember. Thank you.
Stillwater is a special place for me, cause I used to picnic above Stillwater on the bluff in "Pioneer Park," Wonderful view. A scene right out of Huck Finn. Something to check out.
If you go to the Lumberjack days, there will be some bland bands they are hoping will keep everybody away, or at least a few of you who came for the music. I will try to keep you informed on how the weekend turned out.
As a P.S., the only lumberjacks I knew of were a Mr. Tozer, who was a lumber baron of Stillwater and left money for students of Washington county for college scholarships ----hundreds of them over the past 50 years. Many of my siblings and friends owe their schooling to his generosity. So, this weekend, Mr. Tozer, we remember. Thank you.
Sunday, September 4, 2005
"The Saxophone and the Sunglasses"---a mostly true story
The Saxophone and The Sunglasses
Some of you have kindly written wondering where my old dark blue 1989 Lincoln Towncar is. Well, it is still running. My oldest daughter, who always dreamed of owning a Honda is driving the Lincoln "ghetto cruiser" and fitting it into the parking spots in Madison designed for a Honda. Anyway, recently, I got to sit in the car and think of the good old days, and I flipped down the visor and tons of Cd's fell in my lap. Quickly, I inserted some in the CD player, desperately looking for some rock and roll. No, they were all Blues, Jazz and hip hop. Worse, most were in Italian. " When did this all begin?" I mused. Then I remembered about the Saxophone and the Sunglasses.
One Sunday night when my oldest was a sophmore at EHS, I overheard a stressful discussion in the kitchen, and as I usually did, I walked right into it. " What's the problem," I asked. " Well," she replied, " tomorrow is the first Jazz Band practice." "So, what?" I ventured. "Well," " I don't have a saxophone and don't know how to play it since I play flute."
" Just ask Mr. Z," I said, "and if he says you can play sax, I will go get the sax at Ward Brodt. Call me at lunch and leave me a message. On monday, there was a short, breathless message on the recorder. " Go get the sax!"
That afternoon both girls came home from school and were giggling and excited. I had to ask, " Well what happened?" "Oh," the oldest said, Mr. Z said to come tonight and just fake it and then gradually play what I felt comfortable with." It's going to be no problem, I can fake it fine."
What followed was the most intense three weeks of learning ever in our home. Scales, swearing, broken reeds, trips to the music store for riff books, arguments about why it is important to stop playing at midnight so the old folks can sleep. After three weeks of almost no sleep for us, the playing sounded pretty darn good. She said, " Well, I need to go to Janesville!" " What ever for?" I asked. "The Sunglasses", she replied. I did understand. If you play the sax, you need the approved style of sunglasses.
As I sat in the old blue Lincoln with the lap full of jazz cds, I thought of what had happened because of that one open door, that one moment when a musical passion had been ignited because the maestro had opened the door to a lifelong obsession.
If you do make a contribution to the instrument fund at EHS,( EHS musical inst fund, attn Mr. Z) you might consider that it is not the instrument you are giving, but the entrance ticket for a lifelong passion for music. If you were present at the "Good Question" gig at "Real Coffee" recently, you got an idea of how much fun this can be.
Some of you have kindly written wondering where my old dark blue 1989 Lincoln Towncar is. Well, it is still running. My oldest daughter, who always dreamed of owning a Honda is driving the Lincoln "ghetto cruiser" and fitting it into the parking spots in Madison designed for a Honda. Anyway, recently, I got to sit in the car and think of the good old days, and I flipped down the visor and tons of Cd's fell in my lap. Quickly, I inserted some in the CD player, desperately looking for some rock and roll. No, they were all Blues, Jazz and hip hop. Worse, most were in Italian. " When did this all begin?" I mused. Then I remembered about the Saxophone and the Sunglasses.
One Sunday night when my oldest was a sophmore at EHS, I overheard a stressful discussion in the kitchen, and as I usually did, I walked right into it. " What's the problem," I asked. " Well," she replied, " tomorrow is the first Jazz Band practice." "So, what?" I ventured. "Well," " I don't have a saxophone and don't know how to play it since I play flute."
" Just ask Mr. Z," I said, "and if he says you can play sax, I will go get the sax at Ward Brodt. Call me at lunch and leave me a message. On monday, there was a short, breathless message on the recorder. " Go get the sax!"
That afternoon both girls came home from school and were giggling and excited. I had to ask, " Well what happened?" "Oh," the oldest said, Mr. Z said to come tonight and just fake it and then gradually play what I felt comfortable with." It's going to be no problem, I can fake it fine."
What followed was the most intense three weeks of learning ever in our home. Scales, swearing, broken reeds, trips to the music store for riff books, arguments about why it is important to stop playing at midnight so the old folks can sleep. After three weeks of almost no sleep for us, the playing sounded pretty darn good. She said, " Well, I need to go to Janesville!" " What ever for?" I asked. "The Sunglasses", she replied. I did understand. If you play the sax, you need the approved style of sunglasses.
As I sat in the old blue Lincoln with the lap full of jazz cds, I thought of what had happened because of that one open door, that one moment when a musical passion had been ignited because the maestro had opened the door to a lifelong obsession.
If you do make a contribution to the instrument fund at EHS,( EHS musical inst fund, attn Mr. Z) you might consider that it is not the instrument you are giving, but the entrance ticket for a lifelong passion for music. If you were present at the "Good Question" gig at "Real Coffee" recently, you got an idea of how much fun this can be.
Saturday, September 3, 2005
"Let's Keep Everything just the way it was."--a true story
Thursday, September 01, 2005
"Let's keep everything just the way it was."
In my college years, I lived with my grandmother in St. Paul, in a home just like my home on East Main. It was in the suburbs in 1912, at the end of the trolly line, though it is in the inner city now.
One Sunday, my dad drove me in from White Bear Lake for the move. He said, "Nana likes things just the way they were when Grandpa died. Just remember----- it is her house." "O.K., I said," " No problem."
This was in 1963. Grandpa had died in 1930. The victrola in the corner of the living room looked right out of an FDR fireside chat. The radio dial was on a AM station that had died years ago. I expected any minute a breaking bulletin announcing a further chapter in the Pacific war. Anyway, all the wallpaper was mint original. True Historic Preservation stuff. The rugs were all oriental. And of course the floors were oak and the sliding pocket doors really slid hard, since nobody knew how to adjust them anymore.
The furniture was the problem--the living room furniture was vintage 1920's, but the springs had been shot for at least 30 years. So, nobody could sit on them or a serious back injury would result. The dining room furniture was useful since it was all oak
.
Nana had a story for everything. Yes, the green historic lighting was ok outside, but not as grand as when the "lamplighters" used to come each night on the wagon and reach up and light the kerosene lamps with a wick. Now that was grand.
Years later, I learned that folks occasionally react to loss that way. They will want to keep things just the way they were. There is therapy for it now. No need for a person to suffer that way....fixed in time and not being truly alive.
At the Homecoming Parade in Evansville this year, I had the opportunity to watch the parade from the true center of the Historic District. What a glorious day of fall colors. The residents I spoke too, however, were not too jovial. They had just gotten their assessments for being Historic and the assessments had gone sky high. They pleaded with me, "Can't we just be old and not "Historic?"
"NO, I replied," "That cannot be." We are old on East Main and proud of it. You are Historic. You have to keep things just the way they were."
"Let's keep everything just the way it was."
In my college years, I lived with my grandmother in St. Paul, in a home just like my home on East Main. It was in the suburbs in 1912, at the end of the trolly line, though it is in the inner city now.
One Sunday, my dad drove me in from White Bear Lake for the move. He said, "Nana likes things just the way they were when Grandpa died. Just remember----- it is her house." "O.K., I said," " No problem."
This was in 1963. Grandpa had died in 1930. The victrola in the corner of the living room looked right out of an FDR fireside chat. The radio dial was on a AM station that had died years ago. I expected any minute a breaking bulletin announcing a further chapter in the Pacific war. Anyway, all the wallpaper was mint original. True Historic Preservation stuff. The rugs were all oriental. And of course the floors were oak and the sliding pocket doors really slid hard, since nobody knew how to adjust them anymore.
The furniture was the problem--the living room furniture was vintage 1920's, but the springs had been shot for at least 30 years. So, nobody could sit on them or a serious back injury would result. The dining room furniture was useful since it was all oak
.
Nana had a story for everything. Yes, the green historic lighting was ok outside, but not as grand as when the "lamplighters" used to come each night on the wagon and reach up and light the kerosene lamps with a wick. Now that was grand.
Years later, I learned that folks occasionally react to loss that way. They will want to keep things just the way they were. There is therapy for it now. No need for a person to suffer that way....fixed in time and not being truly alive.
At the Homecoming Parade in Evansville this year, I had the opportunity to watch the parade from the true center of the Historic District. What a glorious day of fall colors. The residents I spoke too, however, were not too jovial. They had just gotten their assessments for being Historic and the assessments had gone sky high. They pleaded with me, "Can't we just be old and not "Historic?"
"NO, I replied," "That cannot be." We are old on East Main and proud of it. You are Historic. You have to keep things just the way they were."
Monday, August 22, 2005
"The Sugar Daddy Christmas"; or, The Christmas Story
The Sugar Daddy Christmas; Or, A Christmas Story
Several years ago, the stress of the Christmas season seemed to have destroyed all the joy---the desire to get the perfect gift for others and the complementary desire to get the perfect gift from the perfect family member just screamed out for change. So, I designed what the kids have come to call the "Sugar Daddy Christmas." Prior to Christmas we would focus soly on the religious nature of the holiday. All the advent ceremony. All the reflections on waiting. All the cleaning out of the old and preparation for the new. Then, on the day after Christmas, we would go total capitalist.
On Christmas Day, each family member would give one gift to each other, with a strict price limit of $10. It would hopefully be a book, some body lotion or something of interest. A handmade gift would be the ideal. Then on Christmas Eve, we would celebrate at the Cathedral in Madison at midnight with all the brass instruments.
On the Day after Christmas, each person would get a "Sugar Daddy" envelope with $100 in it for the shopping spree. Each would then go on the shopping spree and keep all the receipts. The person who got the most value measured in discounts from original retail, would get an additional $50.
This shopping spree was quite a competitive event. The girls were all amazed how much those precious things before Christmas were discounted just one day later. What an added benefit for just having a religious emphasis before Christmas. Religion seemed to have some economical side benefits. Molly, the youngest, did get some purchasing help from one of the boyfriends, Greg, who devised a purchasing strategy of using deeply discounted toys to win the contest. However, in the end, the first year, Amy was the declared winner.
Now they all just ask, "Are we still doing the Sugar Daddy?" When the answer is yes, they know there is no stress. They have asked for stiff penalties for anyone who goes over the $10 limit however. No exceptions allowed. It is a real challenge to keep the gift under $10. It is also a challenge to keep the spirit of Christmas from being destroyed by Madison Ave.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:13 AM
Several years ago, the stress of the Christmas season seemed to have destroyed all the joy---the desire to get the perfect gift for others and the complementary desire to get the perfect gift from the perfect family member just screamed out for change. So, I designed what the kids have come to call the "Sugar Daddy Christmas." Prior to Christmas we would focus soly on the religious nature of the holiday. All the advent ceremony. All the reflections on waiting. All the cleaning out of the old and preparation for the new. Then, on the day after Christmas, we would go total capitalist.
On Christmas Day, each family member would give one gift to each other, with a strict price limit of $10. It would hopefully be a book, some body lotion or something of interest. A handmade gift would be the ideal. Then on Christmas Eve, we would celebrate at the Cathedral in Madison at midnight with all the brass instruments.
On the Day after Christmas, each person would get a "Sugar Daddy" envelope with $100 in it for the shopping spree. Each would then go on the shopping spree and keep all the receipts. The person who got the most value measured in discounts from original retail, would get an additional $50.
This shopping spree was quite a competitive event. The girls were all amazed how much those precious things before Christmas were discounted just one day later. What an added benefit for just having a religious emphasis before Christmas. Religion seemed to have some economical side benefits. Molly, the youngest, did get some purchasing help from one of the boyfriends, Greg, who devised a purchasing strategy of using deeply discounted toys to win the contest. However, in the end, the first year, Amy was the declared winner.
Now they all just ask, "Are we still doing the Sugar Daddy?" When the answer is yes, they know there is no stress. They have asked for stiff penalties for anyone who goes over the $10 limit however. No exceptions allowed. It is a real challenge to keep the gift under $10. It is also a challenge to keep the spirit of Christmas from being destroyed by Madison Ave.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 9:13 AM
Thursday, January 27, 2005
"The CB Radio," or If You Need Help, call 911
Recently I have been busy cleaning out my garage. In an old faded box I found a CB radio I used to take on the road during sales trips in years past. The CB had an 800 number on it for customer service. Even though it had been 20 years, I thought I would dial the number. When the human answered the phone, "GE Service," I was stunned.
I have gotten used to all the recordings. You know the ones. When you call, even though you might call at the very instant they open, the friendly recording lets me know they are busy helping customers. If it is a medical provider, they are nice enough to say, "If you need help, call 911."
It seems that 911 is the total health care provider these days. In fact it seems that the attitude is that service is never included in the product. People are just too busy doing more important things than the business they are in.
I have gotten used to all the recordings. You know the ones. When you call, even though you might call at the very instant they open, the friendly recording lets me know they are busy helping customers. If it is a medical provider, they are nice enough to say, "If you need help, call 911."
It seems that 911 is the total health care provider these days. In fact it seems that the attitude is that service is never included in the product. People are just too busy doing more important things than the business they are in.
"The Last Latte"---FICTION or "She Never Settled."
He gathered up his courage and pushed open the door. It was not his favorite type of task. She had died suddenly in Europe on a business trip. A distant relative. Now he had to take care of the final details.
He pushed open the door and entered the large Italian tiled entrance room and spoke to the the very professional looking woman at the desk. " I have come for the urn of Gloria Fitzgerald, please. "Oh yes," she said, " I have been expecting you.".
Now as the woman left to retrieve the urn, all the memories swept over him. He thought of the last time he had visited with Gloria. It was at the Caribou Coffee at Hwy 101 and Hwy 12 in Minnetonka. She was a very high test woman. Very well traveled. Very particular as to all the details. Very much a perfectionist in every way. " Yes," he thought, "Her favorite phrase was " I just never could settle. "
Quietly chatting with her while the very busy staff at Caribou Coffee brewed her beverage, their chat was interrupted by the manager booming out------" Latte, low fat, extra froth, extra hot, half pump vanilla, sweet and low---and yes half caff--"
"That's ME, That's ME " she said, with her hand waving above her head. Just then it seemed as though a spotlight shone on her like some rock star as she rose to the stage to get her latte. It was just those overhead cone lamps at Caribou. It seemed like a stage to him.
As the lady returned with the urn, he quickly signed the paper. "Well," he thought, "that was her last latte." "She never did settle."
Posted by Evansville Observer at 10:01 AM
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He pushed open the door and entered the large Italian tiled entrance room and spoke to the the very professional looking woman at the desk. " I have come for the urn of Gloria Fitzgerald, please. "Oh yes," she said, " I have been expecting you.".
Now as the woman left to retrieve the urn, all the memories swept over him. He thought of the last time he had visited with Gloria. It was at the Caribou Coffee at Hwy 101 and Hwy 12 in Minnetonka. She was a very high test woman. Very well traveled. Very particular as to all the details. Very much a perfectionist in every way. " Yes," he thought, "Her favorite phrase was " I just never could settle. "
Quietly chatting with her while the very busy staff at Caribou Coffee brewed her beverage, their chat was interrupted by the manager booming out------" Latte, low fat, extra froth, extra hot, half pump vanilla, sweet and low---and yes half caff--"
"That's ME, That's ME " she said, with her hand waving above her head. Just then it seemed as though a spotlight shone on her like some rock star as she rose to the stage to get her latte. It was just those overhead cone lamps at Caribou. It seemed like a stage to him.
As the lady returned with the urn, he quickly signed the paper. "Well," he thought, "that was her last latte." "She never did settle."
Posted by Evansville Observer at 10:01 AM
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"Do You Believe In Pinocchio
One of the great journeys that we all seem to go through is not only deciding what we like and dislike, but also what we believe and do not believe. This journey is short for some, and long for others. Exciting for some, disturbing for others. The results are not always predictable.
Years ago, one of my kids, on the way home from church, said, "Well, Dad, I just don't believe that. It's just baloney. It's just a story."
I replied, "Well, I suppose you don't believe in Pinocchio either?" "Of course not," she replied," That's just a story too."
"Well," I said, " let's put the question another way. " Do you believe that when people lie they are changed and become a deformed person?" " And that the transformation is obvious to all around them?"
" I never thought of Pinocchio that way." she replied. " In that case, I guess I DO believe in the story of Pinocchio."
Then I said, " Ditto for the other stories that you say you don't believe in. Don't let the details of the story confuse you about the real meaning. You might be surprised in how much you really believe.
So how about you? Do you believe in Pinocchio? You make the call.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 12:09 PM
Years ago, one of my kids, on the way home from church, said, "Well, Dad, I just don't believe that. It's just baloney. It's just a story."
I replied, "Well, I suppose you don't believe in Pinocchio either?" "Of course not," she replied," That's just a story too."
"Well," I said, " let's put the question another way. " Do you believe that when people lie they are changed and become a deformed person?" " And that the transformation is obvious to all around them?"
" I never thought of Pinocchio that way." she replied. " In that case, I guess I DO believe in the story of Pinocchio."
Then I said, " Ditto for the other stories that you say you don't believe in. Don't let the details of the story confuse you about the real meaning. You might be surprised in how much you really believe.
So how about you? Do you believe in Pinocchio? You make the call.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 12:09 PM
"What Business Are YOU in?; Or, The Miracle Business
Sometimes one can be in the right place at the right time. When I began in the hospital business with Unity Hospital, they had just added 100 beds, were rapidly growing and having erratic census. That all adds up to problems. The usual problems of growth. It was just like a bad first half of football. With a few adjustments, the second half could be glorious. So it was for me.
I worked very hard in the first 90 days, and with the right staff, we saw an amazing change in results. I was excited. We all were. I then got the call that the big guy, the head administrator, Mr. Haines, wanted to see me. Face time with him was big. People fought for it. Remembered it. I was just a little nervous as I headed up to the office suite.
When I entered the offices, his secretary told me,"Go right in, Dick. He's waiting for you." That made me even more nervous.
Once in his office, I was startled by his appearance. He was dressed in a surgical outfit, with the mask propped up on his forehead. Sticking out from the bottom of the outfit was his wing tip shoes.
He shook my hand warmly and said, "Good to meet you, Dick. Sit down and relax."
"Excuse my appearance, Dick, but I have just had an unbelievable morning. One of our board members' daughters was rushed to the hospital this morning with a rare complication, and her life and the babies life were in question. I am close with the family, and came in with her. It was very tense. But at the critical moment, Dr. X made all the right decisions, and both her and her baby will be just fine. It was really an amazing thing. It was like a miracle. I'm still on a natural high from the experience."
Then he went on. " Dale has told me nice things about what you have done. I want you to keep up the good work. But above all, I want you never to forget what business we are in. We are in the miracle business. Yes, we are surrounded by numbers, numbers, numbers, and it seems after some long days, that numbers might be what this is all about. Really, if you ever get to the point where that is all it is about, your career is really over. We are in the miracle business!"
After shaking hands and thanking him for his time, I went back to my office. The meeting was nothing like what I had expected. His words, I have never forgotten.
Every guru, every consultant who ever came to any business I have ever worked for always started the session with the words " What business are you in?" Mr. Haines knew.
So I ask you. What business are you in?
I worked very hard in the first 90 days, and with the right staff, we saw an amazing change in results. I was excited. We all were. I then got the call that the big guy, the head administrator, Mr. Haines, wanted to see me. Face time with him was big. People fought for it. Remembered it. I was just a little nervous as I headed up to the office suite.
When I entered the offices, his secretary told me,"Go right in, Dick. He's waiting for you." That made me even more nervous.
Once in his office, I was startled by his appearance. He was dressed in a surgical outfit, with the mask propped up on his forehead. Sticking out from the bottom of the outfit was his wing tip shoes.
He shook my hand warmly and said, "Good to meet you, Dick. Sit down and relax."
"Excuse my appearance, Dick, but I have just had an unbelievable morning. One of our board members' daughters was rushed to the hospital this morning with a rare complication, and her life and the babies life were in question. I am close with the family, and came in with her. It was very tense. But at the critical moment, Dr. X made all the right decisions, and both her and her baby will be just fine. It was really an amazing thing. It was like a miracle. I'm still on a natural high from the experience."
Then he went on. " Dale has told me nice things about what you have done. I want you to keep up the good work. But above all, I want you never to forget what business we are in. We are in the miracle business. Yes, we are surrounded by numbers, numbers, numbers, and it seems after some long days, that numbers might be what this is all about. Really, if you ever get to the point where that is all it is about, your career is really over. We are in the miracle business!"
After shaking hands and thanking him for his time, I went back to my office. The meeting was nothing like what I had expected. His words, I have never forgotten.
Every guru, every consultant who ever came to any business I have ever worked for always started the session with the words " What business are you in?" Mr. Haines knew.
So I ask you. What business are you in?
"My Honorable Opponent."
Some time ago, when I was in high school, I was a short, bookish guy with thick glasses. Yes, I know this is hard to imagine. I decided to try out for the debate team. The topic for debate that year was "Should the UN be significantly strengthened?" I was assigned to the first negative and after the first "warmup" debate within the team, our coach, Mr. Ryan, taught me a lesson I have never forgotten.
"Well," he said, " that was a good first debate. Great energy. With some improvement you will be a great team. However, here are some thoughts. First, this is not mudwrestling, and we need to understand the difference. Some of you were surprised by your opponent's argument. The reason? You had not argued both sides of the question. So that is the assignment for next week. We will have another debate and you will not be assigned your part till then. We will draw straws at 3:30pm to decide your part. The thought of knowing both sides of an issue had never occured to me. Now it was the very first rule.
Mr. Ryan went on," The second skill I am about to teach you is deadly. It is "My honorable opponent." Before you make a key point, first you say, "My honorable opponent has said," and then state EXACTLY and FAIRLY what your opponent has argued. The mistake most people make is that they never can do this. Once you have done this, the audience thinks," Wow, what a wonderful guy he is". Then you pause ever so slightly as if to smile. Show some confidence. Then you say the magic word "HOWEVER." Then you take your sword and slay your opponent. verbally of course.
Thus, it would go like this. "My honorable opponent has said that the sky is green." (pause) HOWEVER, pause) my opponent is mistaken, It is clearly blue." Remember, always elevate your opponent before you slay him, figuratively of course. This is why before every sporting event, when the TV announcer asks what the coach thinks of the opposition, you would think that the opponent is the greatest team that has ever played the game. He is preparing the prey for the harvest. You are to do likewise.
"Well," he said, " that was a good first debate. Great energy. With some improvement you will be a great team. However, here are some thoughts. First, this is not mudwrestling, and we need to understand the difference. Some of you were surprised by your opponent's argument. The reason? You had not argued both sides of the question. So that is the assignment for next week. We will have another debate and you will not be assigned your part till then. We will draw straws at 3:30pm to decide your part. The thought of knowing both sides of an issue had never occured to me. Now it was the very first rule.
Mr. Ryan went on," The second skill I am about to teach you is deadly. It is "My honorable opponent." Before you make a key point, first you say, "My honorable opponent has said," and then state EXACTLY and FAIRLY what your opponent has argued. The mistake most people make is that they never can do this. Once you have done this, the audience thinks," Wow, what a wonderful guy he is". Then you pause ever so slightly as if to smile. Show some confidence. Then you say the magic word "HOWEVER." Then you take your sword and slay your opponent. verbally of course.
Thus, it would go like this. "My honorable opponent has said that the sky is green." (pause) HOWEVER, pause) my opponent is mistaken, It is clearly blue." Remember, always elevate your opponent before you slay him, figuratively of course. This is why before every sporting event, when the TV announcer asks what the coach thinks of the opposition, you would think that the opponent is the greatest team that has ever played the game. He is preparing the prey for the harvest. You are to do likewise.
"Pro Bono"
Every young law student in America during his/her law school days participates in some "pro bono" legal work. It is part of the training of the legal profession. It is also a training as to the mission of serving that the legal profession has prided itself in over the centuries.
Sometimes this "Pro bono" work is introduced to law students BEFORE they even enter law school. Sometimes they are informed of this aspect of their law studies in the very FIRST orientation session conducted by the admission department.
Click on the post for a link to the American Bar Association that describes this mission.
After extensive search in the vast resources of the local libraries, the only reference to this "pro bono" concept in our fair city that can be gleaned from ancient historical records is that once upon a time a long time ago, a distinguished law practitioner was heard to say, " We never thought of "pro bono."
Sometimes this "Pro bono" work is introduced to law students BEFORE they even enter law school. Sometimes they are informed of this aspect of their law studies in the very FIRST orientation session conducted by the admission department.
Click on the post for a link to the American Bar Association that describes this mission.
After extensive search in the vast resources of the local libraries, the only reference to this "pro bono" concept in our fair city that can be gleaned from ancient historical records is that once upon a time a long time ago, a distinguished law practitioner was heard to say, " We never thought of "pro bono."
"On Sale;" "On Saving"
Officially the word "sale" has meant nothing for many years now. The word "sale" is all over stores nationwide. The other night when my eldest daughter came home for a birthday, she was excited about a "special sale" at a upscale womans store where she works part time. It was the year that she spent in Italy that gave her a thrist for fine clothes that has been hard to recover from. She is kind to me on my style choice. She says that I am "classic" not "trendy." That means that I wear sweatshirts and stuff that would be banned in Europe, but that she understands. Anyway----
She explained what the net cost after the 20% discount was---- and it startled me. It seems that one can get a wonderful deal and yet still be far out of my range of purchase price.
Another word that is far out of fashion is the word "saving." I recently got excited about a coupon that I got at the local grocery store for $1 off my favorite coffee. The bag of regular grind was about $2 and I treasured the coupon till the next trip to the store. Only to find out that presto---the price of the $2 bag had mysteriously gone to $3. In an earlier time of yesteryear when the Lone ranger and Tonto roamed the earth, this was called "fraud." It seems that it is just normal business now. I call it "The Coupon Con." The savings are always ZERO.
Alas "sale" and "saving" are not only lost words, but the whole idea of saving has been lost. Consider that currently Americans have dipped into a "negative savings rate" which has only happened in one other time---namely 1933.
It seems that Americans probably know deep down that they are in the red. It's just too painful to confront it.
Anyway----those are two words that I always enjoyed----"sale" and "save." I will really miss them. And yes, the Lone Ranger and Tonto too.
She explained what the net cost after the 20% discount was---- and it startled me. It seems that one can get a wonderful deal and yet still be far out of my range of purchase price.
Another word that is far out of fashion is the word "saving." I recently got excited about a coupon that I got at the local grocery store for $1 off my favorite coffee. The bag of regular grind was about $2 and I treasured the coupon till the next trip to the store. Only to find out that presto---the price of the $2 bag had mysteriously gone to $3. In an earlier time of yesteryear when the Lone ranger and Tonto roamed the earth, this was called "fraud." It seems that it is just normal business now. I call it "The Coupon Con." The savings are always ZERO.
Alas "sale" and "saving" are not only lost words, but the whole idea of saving has been lost. Consider that currently Americans have dipped into a "negative savings rate" which has only happened in one other time---namely 1933.
It seems that Americans probably know deep down that they are in the red. It's just too painful to confront it.
Anyway----those are two words that I always enjoyed----"sale" and "save." I will really miss them. And yes, the Lone Ranger and Tonto too.
"Natural Accounting"; or Cutting Back on Pasta but loading up on Ice Cream
The other night as I was eating dinner, as I launched into a second helping of barbequed chicken breast, I mentioned to my daughter that I had just burned off 600 calories on the Nordic Trac, and thus felt very entitled to enjoying a second helping.
"Dad," she replied, " I don't think you get it. There is 1000 calories on your plate right now. No matter what you say, your body does the accounting. You are gaining weight!"
Being the parent, naturally, I was a little taken aback at the insubordination involved in a youngster speaking when not spoken to. Yet, as I reviewed the content of her little speech, I had to admit that the accounting certainly did not add up to the rhetoric. In fact that has been an ongoing theme lately. I have been encountering rhetoric that simply does NOT add up in a lot of areas of my reporting career.
"But....but... I have been cutting back on PASTA," I explained......"O.K., I guess I have been eating a little more ice cream......Maybe that is the problem. Ya think?"
"DA", she responded.
In dieting, the pea pod game just does not work. One cannot get away with saving a little in pasta and making it up in ice cream. The Lord does the accounting----the net result is obvious to all.
So. It's time to get the spreadsheets out. Time to get the pea pod specialists a little light to shine on the numbers. Time to get the real accounting.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 7:00 PM
"Dad," she replied, " I don't think you get it. There is 1000 calories on your plate right now. No matter what you say, your body does the accounting. You are gaining weight!"
Being the parent, naturally, I was a little taken aback at the insubordination involved in a youngster speaking when not spoken to. Yet, as I reviewed the content of her little speech, I had to admit that the accounting certainly did not add up to the rhetoric. In fact that has been an ongoing theme lately. I have been encountering rhetoric that simply does NOT add up in a lot of areas of my reporting career.
"But....but... I have been cutting back on PASTA," I explained......"O.K., I guess I have been eating a little more ice cream......Maybe that is the problem. Ya think?"
"DA", she responded.
In dieting, the pea pod game just does not work. One cannot get away with saving a little in pasta and making it up in ice cream. The Lord does the accounting----the net result is obvious to all.
So. It's time to get the spreadsheets out. Time to get the pea pod specialists a little light to shine on the numbers. Time to get the real accounting.
Posted by Evansville Observer at 7:00 PM
"Never Underestimate the Power of a Parakeet"
Last November when we received our natural gas bill, it was a real shock. When we all were assembled for dinner, I gave the formal notice of the necessity for a "budget summit."
Calmly and rationally, I went over the numbers. Something had to change. Everything was on the table. As far as the heat was concerned, the only solution was what I termed the "limbo rock" solution. How low can we go? Whatever it took.
Quickly, my daughter went to the thermostat. "It goes down to 45 degrees," she exclaimed. If it goes down that low, my parakeet will DIE! (shriek)
I had not made the precation of switching to decaff coffee. That may have been the fatal error. I did count to 10 however. Then, I simply said, "Well, I guess it is just the parakeet or me."
In a heartbeat, I realized that I had made an error. In quickly glancing around the table, I realized that I did not have the votes for victory. Alas.
So---I did what I had seen many politicos do in the past year when they were facing defeat--I asked for a brief recess. Recess granted.
In the next few minutes, I realized that I needed to consider the needs of everyone--even the parakeet. Then----- we fashioned a solution together. The parakeet would move to my daughter's room with the electric heat and the rest of the house would go to 45 degrees. Such an easy solution when I just was forced to consult.
So----what did I learn from it all?
Never underestimate the power of a parakeet
Calmly and rationally, I went over the numbers. Something had to change. Everything was on the table. As far as the heat was concerned, the only solution was what I termed the "limbo rock" solution. How low can we go? Whatever it took.
Quickly, my daughter went to the thermostat. "It goes down to 45 degrees," she exclaimed. If it goes down that low, my parakeet will DIE! (shriek)
I had not made the precation of switching to decaff coffee. That may have been the fatal error. I did count to 10 however. Then, I simply said, "Well, I guess it is just the parakeet or me."
In a heartbeat, I realized that I had made an error. In quickly glancing around the table, I realized that I did not have the votes for victory. Alas.
So---I did what I had seen many politicos do in the past year when they were facing defeat--I asked for a brief recess. Recess granted.
In the next few minutes, I realized that I needed to consider the needs of everyone--even the parakeet. Then----- we fashioned a solution together. The parakeet would move to my daughter's room with the electric heat and the rest of the house would go to 45 degrees. Such an easy solution when I just was forced to consult.
So----what did I learn from it all?
Never underestimate the power of a parakeet
"Rewrite"
What is the number one goal of the Evansville School District for the current academic year? Yes. Very good class. To Improve Student Writing.
You must know that one of the most difficult aspects of the writing of The Observer, is hearing from my editorial staff that there might be a flaw of some sort in an article that I have written. It is difficult indeed to hear this from an outsider, a blogger from the net, but to hear it from your own staff cuts to the bone. The term REWRITE” is very hard to hear. In fact there are other variations of the word that are hard to hear-------like REDO or……REFIGURE……or RECALCULATE…..or in kid slang---GO FIGURE
There is a real rush of excitement with the new technology now to publish as soon as one has written something. That is an impulse that can be deadly indeed.
To fight off the rush to publish, I have brought back to life an old Apple Ibook and write the first draft on it. That slows me down a little. Publishing to the net is a few more steps then. The perfect thing is if a good night sleep comes between the writing and the publishing. Such a problem. These are the types of problems that writers of old dreamed of.
So, when my editors come home at night, and review what I have done, and point out a fatal flaw here and there, I just cannot say, “That is a done deal. It CANNOT be changed. It just has to be that way. There is NO other choice about it. “
If I ever hint of such inflexibility, my editorial crew just chants-------NOT.
Or, they say, “ It’s just easy to correct…Here’s how…”
SO----I am just a little impatient when I am dealing with our school board or our city government or DOT or any level of government that tells me that that the numbers just have to be that way----or that it has been all decided in private and there is no time for other consideration because the decision must be made now……and besides the accountants are on vacation..
I keep hearing the voices of my kids------Dad---it’s easy to fix it…click,…click….click….
Yes….it is time to confront it. REVISE----REWRITE----REDO---REFIGURE-----RECOMPUTE-----
Whether it is great writing or great budgeting----it is required. It is not optional.
You must know that one of the most difficult aspects of the writing of The Observer, is hearing from my editorial staff that there might be a flaw of some sort in an article that I have written. It is difficult indeed to hear this from an outsider, a blogger from the net, but to hear it from your own staff cuts to the bone. The term REWRITE” is very hard to hear. In fact there are other variations of the word that are hard to hear-------like REDO or……REFIGURE……or RECALCULATE…..or in kid slang---GO FIGURE
There is a real rush of excitement with the new technology now to publish as soon as one has written something. That is an impulse that can be deadly indeed.
To fight off the rush to publish, I have brought back to life an old Apple Ibook and write the first draft on it. That slows me down a little. Publishing to the net is a few more steps then. The perfect thing is if a good night sleep comes between the writing and the publishing. Such a problem. These are the types of problems that writers of old dreamed of.
So, when my editors come home at night, and review what I have done, and point out a fatal flaw here and there, I just cannot say, “That is a done deal. It CANNOT be changed. It just has to be that way. There is NO other choice about it. “
If I ever hint of such inflexibility, my editorial crew just chants-------NOT.
Or, they say, “ It’s just easy to correct…Here’s how…”
SO----I am just a little impatient when I am dealing with our school board or our city government or DOT or any level of government that tells me that that the numbers just have to be that way----or that it has been all decided in private and there is no time for other consideration because the decision must be made now……and besides the accountants are on vacation..
I keep hearing the voices of my kids------Dad---it’s easy to fix it…click,…click….click….
Yes….it is time to confront it. REVISE----REWRITE----REDO---REFIGURE-----RECOMPUTE-----
Whether it is great writing or great budgeting----it is required. It is not optional.
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