Distracted driving is a big problem. Waiting out a red light, we can't help but notice that most drivers speed by with a cell phone to their ear or just one hand on the steering wheel as they tap out a tweet. Their vehicles tend to swerve, speed up, or slow down depending on the content of that oh-so-vital conversation or e-message. "Sorry I rear-ended you, but I just had to get all the details on Edward and Bella's real-life break-up. Will this affect the final Twilight movie?"
Since there is no well-heeled lobbying group in favor of distracted driving, our legislators made it illegal to text while behind the wheel. Great idea. lawmakers! Making alcohol illegal sure worked out back in the 1920s. No one drinks anymore. As for the War on Drugs, all that cocaine and marijuana coming in from Mexico will rot away in those tunnels under the border when the word gets out that drugs are against the law.
If making distracted driving illegal doesn't work, what can we do?
There is a simple answer - Replace the automatic transmissions in our vehicles with the classic stick shift. It takes every bit of the driver's attention to engage the clutch and shift (or down shift) to the proper gear. Stall your car by starting up a hill in third gear just once and you'll concentrate more on driving than on the tweet about that rat Justin asking Tiffany to the prom. Burn out your clutch by shifting at 5000 rpm and your next cell phone call will be to AAA for a tow. Drift backward from a stop on steep grade into a burly motorcyclist and the damage to your body may exceed that to your car's body.
This is the classic win - win - win. No more distracted driving means fewer accidents and everyone's insurance rates go down. Replacing all those transmissions means jobs, jobs, jobs. Since standard transmissions increase gas mileage, oil imports are a thing of the past.
It has to work out better than Prohibition, The War on Drugs, a Kardashian marriage and other concepts doomed from the start.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Dire Need?
There are a number of things for which our Lehigh Valley has a "dire need". A few more traffic lanes on Route 22 during rush hour comes to mind. Low-fat funnel cake would be a boon during Musik (with a k) fest. A Michele Bachmann-designed electrified fence with alligator-filled moat along the Delaware to keep out those Jersey and NY interlopers would not be unwelcome.
A recent addition to that list came from Jerry Deifer, co-founder of Vision Entertainment Group earlier this week. Jerry proposed a dance club for Bethlehem's Sands Casino claiming that "there is a dire need for a new, up-scale night life experience in the Lehigh Valley." Apparently, Jerry has never spent a rollicking Saturday night at Jolly Joe Timmer's Polka Grove. Now there's a night life experience.
Jerry's "Vision Bar" will feature "an enticing blend of sultry decor, dazzling special lighting effects, and amenities that rival the best." It will include "two large marble bars, a private mezzanine level overlooking the entire facility, VIP bottle service, indulgent small plates, an outdoor terrace, and four large TVs featuring state-of-the-art interactive entertainment." It will be similar to Gypsy Bar at the Borgata in Atlantic City also operated by Vision Entertainment.
I hate to burst your bubble there Jerry, but the Lehigh Valley is scarcely in "dire need" of something we already have. Our corner bars already have the sultry decor of pool tables and shuffleboards. And what is more dazzling than neon beer signs especially when they flicker due to a loose power connection? As for "amenities that rival the best", the Osama urinal cakes that dominate the Lehigh Valley bar scene remain a crowd favorite ten years running. Marble bars may go over in Atlantic City, but we can carve our initials into good old Lehigh Valley wooden bars. Mezzanine seating may be handy for overhead views of low-cut blouses on female patrons in A.C., but the effect is somewhat lessened by the preponderance of wife-beater tee-shirts on male patrons in the L.V. As for VIP bottle service, I've never had a problem getting my ice-cold Yuengling in bottles here. Beer glasses are for wimps and Jersey people. Indulgent small plates? Most Lehigh Valley bars will place your Slim Jims on a small plate if you ask. As for an outdoor terrace, the sidewalks and back alleys around our bars are far superior for getting a breath of fresh air, vomiting, or beating the crap out of a fellow patron. There is less damage from the vomiting or fight and they are easier to clean up. Lastly, I'm not sure what televised "interactive entertainment" might be in Atlantic City, but when I'm drinking I want the non-interactive Yankees or Phillies on the tube. I have enough difficulty interacting my brain with my feet as I stumble to the Mens Room.
Perhaps the Vision Bar will be a great success, but it does not fill a "dire need".
A recent addition to that list came from Jerry Deifer, co-founder of Vision Entertainment Group earlier this week. Jerry proposed a dance club for Bethlehem's Sands Casino claiming that "there is a dire need for a new, up-scale night life experience in the Lehigh Valley." Apparently, Jerry has never spent a rollicking Saturday night at Jolly Joe Timmer's Polka Grove. Now there's a night life experience.
Jerry's "Vision Bar" will feature "an enticing blend of sultry decor, dazzling special lighting effects, and amenities that rival the best." It will include "two large marble bars, a private mezzanine level overlooking the entire facility, VIP bottle service, indulgent small plates, an outdoor terrace, and four large TVs featuring state-of-the-art interactive entertainment." It will be similar to Gypsy Bar at the Borgata in Atlantic City also operated by Vision Entertainment.
I hate to burst your bubble there Jerry, but the Lehigh Valley is scarcely in "dire need" of something we already have. Our corner bars already have the sultry decor of pool tables and shuffleboards. And what is more dazzling than neon beer signs especially when they flicker due to a loose power connection? As for "amenities that rival the best", the Osama urinal cakes that dominate the Lehigh Valley bar scene remain a crowd favorite ten years running. Marble bars may go over in Atlantic City, but we can carve our initials into good old Lehigh Valley wooden bars. Mezzanine seating may be handy for overhead views of low-cut blouses on female patrons in A.C., but the effect is somewhat lessened by the preponderance of wife-beater tee-shirts on male patrons in the L.V. As for VIP bottle service, I've never had a problem getting my ice-cold Yuengling in bottles here. Beer glasses are for wimps and Jersey people. Indulgent small plates? Most Lehigh Valley bars will place your Slim Jims on a small plate if you ask. As for an outdoor terrace, the sidewalks and back alleys around our bars are far superior for getting a breath of fresh air, vomiting, or beating the crap out of a fellow patron. There is less damage from the vomiting or fight and they are easier to clean up. Lastly, I'm not sure what televised "interactive entertainment" might be in Atlantic City, but when I'm drinking I want the non-interactive Yankees or Phillies on the tube. I have enough difficulty interacting my brain with my feet as I stumble to the Mens Room.
Perhaps the Vision Bar will be a great success, but it does not fill a "dire need".
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Boxing Day Explained
According to my Daily Calendar, today is Boxing Day in Canada. Our Neighbors to the North have exported many things to us, some good, some not-so-good. Among the good are Canadian bacon (You can't have an Egg McMuffin without it), Dan Ackroyd (That "wild and crazy guy" and pitchman for the Bass-O-Matic), and hockey players with mullets (A never-ending source of amusement). The not-so-good include Canadian geese (Befouling our waters since 1812. That will teach us to invade them.), Celine Dion (Your heart will go on, Celine. OK, we get it), and Justin Bieber (Baby, baby, baby. Enough already).
What are we to make of Boxing Day? Is it simlar to the "Airing of Grievances" and "Feats of Strength" commemorated in the classic "Festivus" Seinfeld episode? Do Canadians settle grievances aired during Christmas dinner by donning gloves and entering a boxing ring? "You both know the rules established by the Saskatchewan Boxing Commission. No blows below the belt. Standing eight count. No grabbing the mullet. Remember we disqualified you for that last year, Grandma."
According to Wikipedia, Boxing Day is a day after Christmas when wealthy people in the UK would give a box containing gifts to their servants. "If you do a really good job cleaning up after our bacchanal on Christmas Day, Jeeves, there may a box filled with goodies for you tomorrow. Hopefully, it will be better than the re-gifted fruitcake that we got from Lady Maude and stuck you with last year."
Our Canadian friends brought socialized medicine and that hilarious custom of arbitrarily adding the letter "u" when spelling from the UK. I guess that Boxing Day is just another remembrance of the good old days when Canada was part of the Empire. Or maybe they like boxed fruitcake north of the border.
What are we to make of Boxing Day? Is it simlar to the "Airing of Grievances" and "Feats of Strength" commemorated in the classic "Festivus" Seinfeld episode? Do Canadians settle grievances aired during Christmas dinner by donning gloves and entering a boxing ring? "You both know the rules established by the Saskatchewan Boxing Commission. No blows below the belt. Standing eight count. No grabbing the mullet. Remember we disqualified you for that last year, Grandma."
According to Wikipedia, Boxing Day is a day after Christmas when wealthy people in the UK would give a box containing gifts to their servants. "If you do a really good job cleaning up after our bacchanal on Christmas Day, Jeeves, there may a box filled with goodies for you tomorrow. Hopefully, it will be better than the re-gifted fruitcake that we got from Lady Maude and stuck you with last year."
Our Canadian friends brought socialized medicine and that hilarious custom of arbitrarily adding the letter "u" when spelling from the UK. I guess that Boxing Day is just another remembrance of the good old days when Canada was part of the Empire. Or maybe they like boxed fruitcake north of the border.
Friday, December 23, 2011
An Engineer's Christmas
Having an engineer around the office at Christmas time is, in general, a good thing. Are half the lights not working on the office tree? Does your computer freeze up when you try to e-mail that hilarious video of a cat singing "Jingle Bells"? Does the office goes dark when you plug in the crock pots for the Holiday Brunch?
The engineer will come to your rescue. That nerdy guy with the bad haircut and questionable personal hygiene will make the holiday bright though you may have to suffer through his explanation of Ohm's Law and the superiority of stranded over solid copper wire. More efficient heat dissipation, you know. Just don't ask him to do any gift shopping. It is not in the engineer's DNA.
My first Christmas as an engineer in Corporate America proved this point. Our engineering group of eight was one of four on our floor. Each group had a secretary in those primitive times before voice mail, personal computers, and even fax machines. As Christmas approached, the secretary hit each of us up to contribute to a group gift to our boss. The day of the Department Christmas Party, we realized that we also had to come up with a gift for our secretary. The other groups had theirs neatly wrapped and labeled "Don't Open Until the Party".
In a panic, $5 (a princely sum in those days) was collected from each of us, and, as the junior guy, I was dispatched to make the purchase. The other groups had someone's wife do the buying, but we had no time. Now, engineers are nothing if not practical. Making work more efficient is what we do. If it was up to lawyers and accountants, office workers would still be using carbon paper and "White-Out". I bought Barbara a desk set with a leather-bound blotter and matching heavy-duty stapler and tape dispenser. Those company-issued desk supplies were crap. She would be the envy of her peers. I just knew it.
After lunch came the grand unveiling of the gifts. The bosses went first and unwrapped their gifts of golf-related items and expensive booze. The other secretaries then oohed and ahhed over their gifts of jewelry and costly perfumes. Our Barbara was somewhat underwhelmed with her desk set. In fact, she made a quick trip to the Ladies Room at that point accompanied by the other secretaries casting nasty glances at The Thoughtless Eight.
It may be a coincidence, but in subsequent years, Christmas gifting was changed to a Secret Santa basis. It defies the Laws of Probability, but we eight always were assigned each other while the secretaries were gifted by the boss or another secretary. In a way, this worked out great. We engineers were thrilled with our oh-so-practical miniature tool sets and drafting supplies. The secretaries also got what they wanted.
Speaking of coincidences, for a month or so after that Christmas, The Thoughtless Eight found those ubiquitous "While You Were Out" phone message slips written in shorthand. When we questioned Barbara about the contents of the message, she would reply, "You're the practical ones. You figure it out."
The engineer will come to your rescue. That nerdy guy with the bad haircut and questionable personal hygiene will make the holiday bright though you may have to suffer through his explanation of Ohm's Law and the superiority of stranded over solid copper wire. More efficient heat dissipation, you know. Just don't ask him to do any gift shopping. It is not in the engineer's DNA.
My first Christmas as an engineer in Corporate America proved this point. Our engineering group of eight was one of four on our floor. Each group had a secretary in those primitive times before voice mail, personal computers, and even fax machines. As Christmas approached, the secretary hit each of us up to contribute to a group gift to our boss. The day of the Department Christmas Party, we realized that we also had to come up with a gift for our secretary. The other groups had theirs neatly wrapped and labeled "Don't Open Until the Party".
In a panic, $5 (a princely sum in those days) was collected from each of us, and, as the junior guy, I was dispatched to make the purchase. The other groups had someone's wife do the buying, but we had no time. Now, engineers are nothing if not practical. Making work more efficient is what we do. If it was up to lawyers and accountants, office workers would still be using carbon paper and "White-Out". I bought Barbara a desk set with a leather-bound blotter and matching heavy-duty stapler and tape dispenser. Those company-issued desk supplies were crap. She would be the envy of her peers. I just knew it.
After lunch came the grand unveiling of the gifts. The bosses went first and unwrapped their gifts of golf-related items and expensive booze. The other secretaries then oohed and ahhed over their gifts of jewelry and costly perfumes. Our Barbara was somewhat underwhelmed with her desk set. In fact, she made a quick trip to the Ladies Room at that point accompanied by the other secretaries casting nasty glances at The Thoughtless Eight.
It may be a coincidence, but in subsequent years, Christmas gifting was changed to a Secret Santa basis. It defies the Laws of Probability, but we eight always were assigned each other while the secretaries were gifted by the boss or another secretary. In a way, this worked out great. We engineers were thrilled with our oh-so-practical miniature tool sets and drafting supplies. The secretaries also got what they wanted.
Speaking of coincidences, for a month or so after that Christmas, The Thoughtless Eight found those ubiquitous "While You Were Out" phone message slips written in shorthand. When we questioned Barbara about the contents of the message, she would reply, "You're the practical ones. You figure it out."
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Still a Wimp
Everything old is new again - even shaving with a blade. The fastest-growing brand in Proctor & Gamble's Beauty and Grooming Division is Gillette's Art of Shaving, a boutique product line that includes $45 shaving soaps and $150 badger hair brushes (So expensive because plucking hair from a live badger is not for the faint of heart). A P&G spokesman stated, "For a lot of college-age men, there is an element of being a bad ass for shaving with a blade."
Those of us who served in the Army will pass up this opportunity to be a bad ass. We cringe at the memory of shaving with a nicked-up blade that had bounced around our backpack all day either with cold water or no water at all and no soap. The resultant open wounds on our faces then were coated with camo paint which stung or were exposed to tear gas which caused real pain. Then we got to do it all over again the next day. It was an enormous relief to return to the barracks where there was hot water and/or electricity for our electric shavers. It also allowed the scabs extending from our sideburns to our neckline to heal.
Today's college guys may strive for bad ass status with $45 shaving soap and $150 badger hair brushes. I will remain a wimp and shave as seldom as possible and in the most comfortable way.
Those of us who served in the Army will pass up this opportunity to be a bad ass. We cringe at the memory of shaving with a nicked-up blade that had bounced around our backpack all day either with cold water or no water at all and no soap. The resultant open wounds on our faces then were coated with camo paint which stung or were exposed to tear gas which caused real pain. Then we got to do it all over again the next day. It was an enormous relief to return to the barracks where there was hot water and/or electricity for our electric shavers. It also allowed the scabs extending from our sideburns to our neckline to heal.
Today's college guys may strive for bad ass status with $45 shaving soap and $150 badger hair brushes. I will remain a wimp and shave as seldom as possible and in the most comfortable way.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Do What You're Good At
The full-page, four-color ad in this week's New Yorker is headlined, "Security and Jobs For Decades to Come". Could it be touting Michele Bachmann's plan to build a double electrical fence with alligator-filled moat along our borders? America is made safe from all those anchor baby moms-to-be plus we get plenty of work for gator wranglers.
Actually, the ad touts the F-35 "Lightning II". It "is more than an innovative leading edge fighter. More than an aircraft with unprecedented capabilities that will help America and its allies defend freedom. It is an advanced technology program that is a cornerstone of our nation's industrial base. Creating direct and indirect jobs for 127,000 Americans...The F-35 Lightning II program. Securing freedom, Securing jobs. Securing America's future."
Macroeconomics tells us that free trade is the optimal condition for everyone. Why spend millions to grow bananas in Alaska when Alaskans can import tropical fruit more cheaply from Honduras? Why spend millions to develop fisheries in Honduras when they can import Alaskan salmon at half the cost? Nations should stick to what they are good at and trade for the rest.
America is no longer good at making automobiles, clothing, or Barbie dolls. Our highways are clogged with Hondas. Try finding "Made in the USA" tank tops or Wii games. But, by God, we lead the world in weapons manufacturing. You don't see nuclear submarines coming out of sweatshops in Sri Lanka.
Some might say that spending billions to develop an aircraft "with unprecedented capabilities" is not the most cost-effective way to protect our shores against a terrorist with a bomb in his shoe. Some might say that those billions might be better spent developing energy-saving technology and upgrading our infrastructure. We would not only get those 127,000 good-paying American jobs, but we would have a reduced dependence on foreign oil and bridges that don't fall down.
Fortunately, our far-sighted Congressmen saw through that fallacy and approved the 2012 Defense Budget which includes the F-35 program. They were not influenced by the New Yorker ad or by "campaign contributions" from Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman, but by macroeconomic theory. Do what you're good at, America.
Actually, the ad touts the F-35 "Lightning II". It "is more than an innovative leading edge fighter. More than an aircraft with unprecedented capabilities that will help America and its allies defend freedom. It is an advanced technology program that is a cornerstone of our nation's industrial base. Creating direct and indirect jobs for 127,000 Americans...The F-35 Lightning II program. Securing freedom, Securing jobs. Securing America's future."
Macroeconomics tells us that free trade is the optimal condition for everyone. Why spend millions to grow bananas in Alaska when Alaskans can import tropical fruit more cheaply from Honduras? Why spend millions to develop fisheries in Honduras when they can import Alaskan salmon at half the cost? Nations should stick to what they are good at and trade for the rest.
America is no longer good at making automobiles, clothing, or Barbie dolls. Our highways are clogged with Hondas. Try finding "Made in the USA" tank tops or Wii games. But, by God, we lead the world in weapons manufacturing. You don't see nuclear submarines coming out of sweatshops in Sri Lanka.
Some might say that spending billions to develop an aircraft "with unprecedented capabilities" is not the most cost-effective way to protect our shores against a terrorist with a bomb in his shoe. Some might say that those billions might be better spent developing energy-saving technology and upgrading our infrastructure. We would not only get those 127,000 good-paying American jobs, but we would have a reduced dependence on foreign oil and bridges that don't fall down.
Fortunately, our far-sighted Congressmen saw through that fallacy and approved the 2012 Defense Budget which includes the F-35 program. They were not influenced by the New Yorker ad or by "campaign contributions" from Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman, but by macroeconomic theory. Do what you're good at, America.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Chase and Me
Saturday was Chase Utley's 33rd birthday. This makes me sad in two ways.
The logical left side of my brain recognizes that the Phillies second baseman is clearly on the down-side of his career. 33 is a prime, productive age for accountants, auto mechanics, or astronauts (and those are only the "a" careers), but, for major league ballplayers, fast balls are faster and that 90 foot distance between the bases is longer when one is well into one's fourth decade of life. Chase missed the first month of last season with a leg injury. The 30+ year old body doesn't heal as quickly.
Let's face it. The day is coming when #26 will not be batting third for the Phillies. The logical left side of my brain doesn't like this, but remembers that the Phillies survived when age eroded the skills of Mike Schmidt and Steve Carlton. It took 28 years for the Utley-led Phillies to win another World Series after the Schmidt / Carlton triumph in 1980, but somewhere in California or the Dominican Republic, the nucleus of the 2036 World Champion Phillies is being born right now. Of course, the next wives of Donald Trump and Newt Gingrich are being born in 2011 as well.
The emotional right side of my brain takes little solace in this. For one thing, I will be 88 in 2036 and it might be difficult to get a good spot along the Victory Parade route for my wheelchair. More to the point, I am now less than twice the age of Chase Utley. We never think that we are getting older. That wrinkled visage that greets us in the bathroom mirror each morning isn't really us. But when we see a graying, hobbling Chase Utley we recognize our own mortality.
Musicians can age ungracefully, but not ballplayers. Mick Jagger, Keith Richard, and Billy Joel are roughly my age. They can look like a train wreck and that's OK. The sex, drugs, and rock & roll got them, but I'm still good. It's different with ballplayers. As long as Chase Utley can sprint around the bases after a home run (and, by the way, that sort of hustle and lack of grandstanding is what makes him my all-time favorite player), I feel young myself.
Use that Grecian Formula and pile on the wrinkle cream, Chase. You're doing it not only for yourself, but for a certain fan who feels good as long as you look good.
The logical left side of my brain recognizes that the Phillies second baseman is clearly on the down-side of his career. 33 is a prime, productive age for accountants, auto mechanics, or astronauts (and those are only the "a" careers), but, for major league ballplayers, fast balls are faster and that 90 foot distance between the bases is longer when one is well into one's fourth decade of life. Chase missed the first month of last season with a leg injury. The 30+ year old body doesn't heal as quickly.
Let's face it. The day is coming when #26 will not be batting third for the Phillies. The logical left side of my brain doesn't like this, but remembers that the Phillies survived when age eroded the skills of Mike Schmidt and Steve Carlton. It took 28 years for the Utley-led Phillies to win another World Series after the Schmidt / Carlton triumph in 1980, but somewhere in California or the Dominican Republic, the nucleus of the 2036 World Champion Phillies is being born right now. Of course, the next wives of Donald Trump and Newt Gingrich are being born in 2011 as well.
The emotional right side of my brain takes little solace in this. For one thing, I will be 88 in 2036 and it might be difficult to get a good spot along the Victory Parade route for my wheelchair. More to the point, I am now less than twice the age of Chase Utley. We never think that we are getting older. That wrinkled visage that greets us in the bathroom mirror each morning isn't really us. But when we see a graying, hobbling Chase Utley we recognize our own mortality.
Musicians can age ungracefully, but not ballplayers. Mick Jagger, Keith Richard, and Billy Joel are roughly my age. They can look like a train wreck and that's OK. The sex, drugs, and rock & roll got them, but I'm still good. It's different with ballplayers. As long as Chase Utley can sprint around the bases after a home run (and, by the way, that sort of hustle and lack of grandstanding is what makes him my all-time favorite player), I feel young myself.
Use that Grecian Formula and pile on the wrinkle cream, Chase. You're doing it not only for yourself, but for a certain fan who feels good as long as you look good.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Help Us ALF
The late 80s TV series ALF was one of my favorites. The zany Alien Life Form from the planet Melmac had many idiosyncrasies - eating cats and, best of all, an affinity for "genuine imitation Naugahyde". Since Naugahyde is itself imitation leather, imitation Naugahyde might very well be real leather to ALF. Oh, those confusing double negatives.
Equally confusing is a toy store advertising circular in yesterday's mail. It recommended the Perfect Christmas Gifts - an authentic replica of Harry Potter's wand for the little boys on your list and genuine faux pearls for that little princess who is so hard to buy for. Since a replica is by definition non-authentic, an authentic replica of a fictional object like Harry's wand could be the very device (phoenix feather included) to keep Voldemort at bay. Similarly, faux pearls come from some sweatshop in China, but genuine faux pearls are either guaranteed to be fake or come from good old American oysters.
ALF, help us resolve these confusing double negatives.
Should the authentic replica wand and the genuine faux pearls prove to be of the same quality as Skee Ball prizes at Chuck E Cheese, Christmas can still be salvaged. The circular also lists the "M-forcer Marshmallow Launcher" (marshmallows not included). What kid wouldn't want to pepper his kitchen walls or a sibling with soft white sugary treats? How long would it take for the more scientifically-minded tyke to figure out that the marshmallow projectiles stick a lot better if they are heated to a semi-gooey mass?
Maybe the authentic replica wand and the genuine faux pearls really are the Perfect Christmas Gifts.
Equally confusing is a toy store advertising circular in yesterday's mail. It recommended the Perfect Christmas Gifts - an authentic replica of Harry Potter's wand for the little boys on your list and genuine faux pearls for that little princess who is so hard to buy for. Since a replica is by definition non-authentic, an authentic replica of a fictional object like Harry's wand could be the very device (phoenix feather included) to keep Voldemort at bay. Similarly, faux pearls come from some sweatshop in China, but genuine faux pearls are either guaranteed to be fake or come from good old American oysters.
ALF, help us resolve these confusing double negatives.
Should the authentic replica wand and the genuine faux pearls prove to be of the same quality as Skee Ball prizes at Chuck E Cheese, Christmas can still be salvaged. The circular also lists the "M-forcer Marshmallow Launcher" (marshmallows not included). What kid wouldn't want to pepper his kitchen walls or a sibling with soft white sugary treats? How long would it take for the more scientifically-minded tyke to figure out that the marshmallow projectiles stick a lot better if they are heated to a semi-gooey mass?
Maybe the authentic replica wand and the genuine faux pearls really are the Perfect Christmas Gifts.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Eclipsing the Sun Belt
The 2010 Census shows once again that America's population is moving south to the Sun Belt. Arizona, Texas, and Florida are gaining population and congressional seats while Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New York are losing people and political pull.
Logical reasons include the decline of manufacturing in the Rust Belt, lower taxes particularly for retirees in Florida and Texas, and the booming Hispanic population down there. I credit somewhat less logical reasons:
Ubiquitous air conditioning. Immigrants from the Great White North can go from their climate-controlled houses to their air-conditioned cars to 70° shopping malls and never break a sweat in 90° temperatures with 95% humidity. It was not always so. In my Army days down South and in my work days on Florida, Arizona, and Texas projects, I would begin sweating when the sun came up and by the time it set, I would look like Michael Phelps after a workout in the pool. Also, those stories about Louisiana mosquitoes the size of small birds are not far off the mark. What is really distressing is getting mosquito bites in January. Fortunately, the modern, hermetically sealed, air-conditioned Sun Belt lifestyle eliminates the carnivorous insect problem as well.
Readily available cold beer. Gas station convenience stores down South sell cold beer for $1 per can and place the suds in individual brown paper bag so you can blithely drive by state troopers while re-hydrating. Try doing that while wrestling with the six pack minimum purchase in Pennsylvania, plus you have to provide your own single can sized bags.
Cowboy hats. If you wear a cowboy hat in the Sun Belt (especially one of those cool severely-creased leather ones), people accept you as a country music fan. "That man looks just like Tim McGraw." If you wear a Stetson north of the Mason-Dixon line, people think that you never outgrew your childhood Hopalong Cassidy fixation. "That man has issues. Better avoid him."
If the Rust Belt states wish to retain their population and political power, they should mandate compulsory air conditioning, allow drivers to freely guzzle beer, and de-stigmatize cowboy hats. The North shall rise again.
Logical reasons include the decline of manufacturing in the Rust Belt, lower taxes particularly for retirees in Florida and Texas, and the booming Hispanic population down there. I credit somewhat less logical reasons:
Ubiquitous air conditioning. Immigrants from the Great White North can go from their climate-controlled houses to their air-conditioned cars to 70° shopping malls and never break a sweat in 90° temperatures with 95% humidity. It was not always so. In my Army days down South and in my work days on Florida, Arizona, and Texas projects, I would begin sweating when the sun came up and by the time it set, I would look like Michael Phelps after a workout in the pool. Also, those stories about Louisiana mosquitoes the size of small birds are not far off the mark. What is really distressing is getting mosquito bites in January. Fortunately, the modern, hermetically sealed, air-conditioned Sun Belt lifestyle eliminates the carnivorous insect problem as well.
Readily available cold beer. Gas station convenience stores down South sell cold beer for $1 per can and place the suds in individual brown paper bag so you can blithely drive by state troopers while re-hydrating. Try doing that while wrestling with the six pack minimum purchase in Pennsylvania, plus you have to provide your own single can sized bags.
Cowboy hats. If you wear a cowboy hat in the Sun Belt (especially one of those cool severely-creased leather ones), people accept you as a country music fan. "That man looks just like Tim McGraw." If you wear a Stetson north of the Mason-Dixon line, people think that you never outgrew your childhood Hopalong Cassidy fixation. "That man has issues. Better avoid him."
If the Rust Belt states wish to retain their population and political power, they should mandate compulsory air conditioning, allow drivers to freely guzzle beer, and de-stigmatize cowboy hats. The North shall rise again.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Don't Know Much About History
Our boy Newt Gingrich is quite the historian. Fresh from accepting a six figure "historical consulting fee" from Freddie Mac (Don't call it lobbying!), Newt delved into his vast knowledge of Middle East culture to state that the Palestinians are an "invented people who are, in fact, Arabs". What gave it away, Newt? Was it the flowing robes and the kaffiyehs or the fact that they speak Arabic?
Newt continued. As we all know, Arabs have an "enormous desire to destroy Israel" and therefore any Israeli - Palestinian peace process is "delusional". Way to set up potential President Gingrich as a non-partisan, even-handed broker of peace in the Middle East there, Newt!
Let's compare the actual histories of Palestine and America. In the 1200s, European crusaders conquered Jerusalem and killed off nearly all its inhabitants. In the 1500s and 1600s, Europeans invaded America and killed off nearly all its native inhabitants. The Turks drove the Crusaders out and for 700 years, Arabs, Christians and Jews lived together in what all three claim as the Holy Land. Regardless of their religion or language, all three could claim that they were Palestinians. After all, they were living in Palestine. What should they call themselves, some "invented" term like Eskimos? Any resident of the Western Hemisphere whose bloodline originated elsewhere claims the "invented" classification of "American".
More to the point, Palestinian and American history tell us that varying ethnicities can live together in relative peace. Problems arise when a third party, be it crusaders, conquistadores, or GOP candidates stir the pot of native rivalry to their own advantage. Israeli - Palestinian peace is "delusional" only if third party powers make it so. Common Israelis and Palestinians (or whatever "invented" term Newt would have us call them) would much prefer to live in peace rather than looking over their shoulders for the next rocket attack.
Just don't accept blankets from those nice visitors from overseas until you get your smallpox vaccination, Palestinians. The Indians didn't get vaccinated and look what happened to them.
Newt continued. As we all know, Arabs have an "enormous desire to destroy Israel" and therefore any Israeli - Palestinian peace process is "delusional". Way to set up potential President Gingrich as a non-partisan, even-handed broker of peace in the Middle East there, Newt!
Let's compare the actual histories of Palestine and America. In the 1200s, European crusaders conquered Jerusalem and killed off nearly all its inhabitants. In the 1500s and 1600s, Europeans invaded America and killed off nearly all its native inhabitants. The Turks drove the Crusaders out and for 700 years, Arabs, Christians and Jews lived together in what all three claim as the Holy Land. Regardless of their religion or language, all three could claim that they were Palestinians. After all, they were living in Palestine. What should they call themselves, some "invented" term like Eskimos? Any resident of the Western Hemisphere whose bloodline originated elsewhere claims the "invented" classification of "American".
More to the point, Palestinian and American history tell us that varying ethnicities can live together in relative peace. Problems arise when a third party, be it crusaders, conquistadores, or GOP candidates stir the pot of native rivalry to their own advantage. Israeli - Palestinian peace is "delusional" only if third party powers make it so. Common Israelis and Palestinians (or whatever "invented" term Newt would have us call them) would much prefer to live in peace rather than looking over their shoulders for the next rocket attack.
Just don't accept blankets from those nice visitors from overseas until you get your smallpox vaccination, Palestinians. The Indians didn't get vaccinated and look what happened to them.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Mascot Mania
The Philadelphia 76ers are seeking a new mascot. Their current costumed character, a giant rabbit named Hip-Hop, fails to instill fear in opponents or enthusiasm in fans. The Phoenix Suns have a costumed gorilla that bounces from a trampoline through a ring of fire. Now there's a mascot routine that scares (or at least distracts) the opposition and gets the crowd into the game. A break-dancing mutant Easter Bunny just isn't the same.
By the way, the Easter Bunny is responsible for a childhood trauma that I still haven't outgrown. I was placed on the lap of a department store E.B. for the requisite Easter photo when I was three or four years old. The Bunny's head was a rigid mesh-like material with painted-on features. From a distance, it looked like a giant rabbit. Up close, you could see right through the mesh to the human head inside. I was convinced that the evil E.B. had swallowed a human and I was next. I responded with screams and tears. The photo did not go well and the trauma lingers to this day. Perhaps this is why I was never a fan of Hip-Hop.
The 76ers plan to go "Philadelphia Heritage" for their new mascot. They showed some variations on Ben Franklin and the Quaker Oats Guy and requested fans to vote for their favorite. Is some clown in knee pants and a funny hat a true reflection of Philly's sports heritage? No way!
These are the fans who bombarded Santa Claus with snowballs at an Eagles game, who projectile-vomited on a little girl in the stands at a Phillies game, and whose drunken antics led to a judge, prosecutor, and court being set up during games at the Old Veteran's Stadium. The new 76ers mascot should reflect the proud tradition of Philly Fandom. We should be choosing between:
A rude, booing Elf who would hurl snowballs at the opponent's bench
A fat, drunken Lout (dressed in team colors, of course) who would chug overpriced warm beer, belch cheers, and vomit when officials make a call against the home team.
A robed Judge carrying an over-sized gavel who would pound the floor in time to cheers of "Dee-Fense". In true Philly legal tradition, fans can bribe the Judge (or "contribute to his campaign") to have him lead the cheer of their choice.
The Phillie Phanatic and the Eagles' Swoop will be easily eclipsed by the 76ers new mascot if it is one of these.
By the way, the Easter Bunny is responsible for a childhood trauma that I still haven't outgrown. I was placed on the lap of a department store E.B. for the requisite Easter photo when I was three or four years old. The Bunny's head was a rigid mesh-like material with painted-on features. From a distance, it looked like a giant rabbit. Up close, you could see right through the mesh to the human head inside. I was convinced that the evil E.B. had swallowed a human and I was next. I responded with screams and tears. The photo did not go well and the trauma lingers to this day. Perhaps this is why I was never a fan of Hip-Hop.
The 76ers plan to go "Philadelphia Heritage" for their new mascot. They showed some variations on Ben Franklin and the Quaker Oats Guy and requested fans to vote for their favorite. Is some clown in knee pants and a funny hat a true reflection of Philly's sports heritage? No way!
These are the fans who bombarded Santa Claus with snowballs at an Eagles game, who projectile-vomited on a little girl in the stands at a Phillies game, and whose drunken antics led to a judge, prosecutor, and court being set up during games at the Old Veteran's Stadium. The new 76ers mascot should reflect the proud tradition of Philly Fandom. We should be choosing between:
A rude, booing Elf who would hurl snowballs at the opponent's bench
A fat, drunken Lout (dressed in team colors, of course) who would chug overpriced warm beer, belch cheers, and vomit when officials make a call against the home team.
A robed Judge carrying an over-sized gavel who would pound the floor in time to cheers of "Dee-Fense". In true Philly legal tradition, fans can bribe the Judge (or "contribute to his campaign") to have him lead the cheer of their choice.
The Phillie Phanatic and the Eagles' Swoop will be easily eclipsed by the 76ers new mascot if it is one of these.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wardrobe and Other Malfunctions
The NFL announced this week that Madonna will perform at half-time of the upcoming Super Bowl. Since Janet Jackson's embarrassing "wardrobe malfunction" several years ago, Super Bowl half-time performers have included Paul McCartney, the Rolling Stones, Prince, Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, The Who, and The Black-Eyed Peas. What do all these acts have in common? If they suffered a Janet Jackson - like "nip slip", no one would care. In fact, exposure of the aged torsos of any of the above would put most Super Bowl viewers face-down in the guacamole.
The exception to that would have been Fergie of the Peas, but most listeners were cringing with eyes shut due to her vocals and would have missed a "wardrobe malfunction" anyway.
Year after year, the Super Bowl Half-Time Show is an over-choreographed, poorly lip-synched disaster. Still, as a 60+ year old music fan, I looked forward to seeing McCartney, the Stones, the Who and the like. I couldn't afford to see them live back in the day and there were no MTV videos then. The potential for personal embarrassment still exists though. I might come up with a reasonable answer when little Timmy asks, "Why is Janet Jackson's top falling off?", but a response to "What did you ever see in these old guys back in the '60s?" would be difficult. I'm working on my response to "Why is that old lady singing 'Papa Don't Preach' and 'Like a Virgin'?"
The exception to that would have been Fergie of the Peas, but most listeners were cringing with eyes shut due to her vocals and would have missed a "wardrobe malfunction" anyway.
Year after year, the Super Bowl Half-Time Show is an over-choreographed, poorly lip-synched disaster. Still, as a 60+ year old music fan, I looked forward to seeing McCartney, the Stones, the Who and the like. I couldn't afford to see them live back in the day and there were no MTV videos then. The potential for personal embarrassment still exists though. I might come up with a reasonable answer when little Timmy asks, "Why is Janet Jackson's top falling off?", but a response to "What did you ever see in these old guys back in the '60s?" would be difficult. I'm working on my response to "Why is that old lady singing 'Papa Don't Preach' and 'Like a Virgin'?"
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
On, Wisconsin
The great state of Wisconsin has been a source of comedy over the years. Television's "Laverne & Shirley" and "Happy Days" showed us the zany side of America's Dairyland in fiction. The Wisconsin State Legislature showed us its wacky side in fact when members denied a quorum for Governor Scott Walker's plan to limit public service employee union bargaining rights by bolting to Illinois. "Nah - Nah, you can't touch us. We're in Illinois." Very mature, legislators.
Wisconsinites may disagree of politics, but they stand four-square behind their beloved Green Bay Packers. A recent poll revealed that Packers QB Aaron Rodgers was viewed favorably by 89% of state residents. Rodgers beat out George Washington who had a mere 86% approval rating. That wig and knee pants make him look a tad gay and Wisconsin is, after all, the home of super-macho Harley-Davidson. Aaron also topped Mother Teresa at 83%. M.T. may have devoted her life to the sick and dying in India, but she had a weak arm and would never have won a Super Bowl.
Aaron Rodgers fell short of only Abraham Lincoln at 91% and Jesus Christ at 90%. Despair not, Aaron, there is hope. The Packers are undefeated so far this season. Bring a second consecutive Super Bowl title back to the Badger State and you are sure to out-poll those two. Preserving the Union and freeing the slaves is nothing compared to hoisting a Lombardi Trophy in each hand. As for that Jesus guy, he turned water into wine, but Wisconsinites prefer Miller or Pabst beer (proudly brewed in Milwaukee) to toast their gridiron triumphs.
Athletic fame is tenuous though. The New England Patriots' Tom Brady probably had similar popularity ratings in Massachusetts after winning four Super Bowls and then he lost one. Abe, JC, George, and MT surely out-poll him nowadays. All he got was a $10 million per year contract and a super-model wife. I guess that's a meager consolation prize if you lose the upcoming Big Game, Aaron.
Wisconsinites may disagree of politics, but they stand four-square behind their beloved Green Bay Packers. A recent poll revealed that Packers QB Aaron Rodgers was viewed favorably by 89% of state residents. Rodgers beat out George Washington who had a mere 86% approval rating. That wig and knee pants make him look a tad gay and Wisconsin is, after all, the home of super-macho Harley-Davidson. Aaron also topped Mother Teresa at 83%. M.T. may have devoted her life to the sick and dying in India, but she had a weak arm and would never have won a Super Bowl.
Aaron Rodgers fell short of only Abraham Lincoln at 91% and Jesus Christ at 90%. Despair not, Aaron, there is hope. The Packers are undefeated so far this season. Bring a second consecutive Super Bowl title back to the Badger State and you are sure to out-poll those two. Preserving the Union and freeing the slaves is nothing compared to hoisting a Lombardi Trophy in each hand. As for that Jesus guy, he turned water into wine, but Wisconsinites prefer Miller or Pabst beer (proudly brewed in Milwaukee) to toast their gridiron triumphs.
Athletic fame is tenuous though. The New England Patriots' Tom Brady probably had similar popularity ratings in Massachusetts after winning four Super Bowls and then he lost one. Abe, JC, George, and MT surely out-poll him nowadays. All he got was a $10 million per year contract and a super-model wife. I guess that's a meager consolation prize if you lose the upcoming Big Game, Aaron.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
End Fast Food Addiction
Like most health-conscious Americans, I shy away from fast food. Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures. Facing a long flight during a layover at the Denver Airport and unwilling to cough up $8 for a packaged in-flight "snack", I queued up to the airport Burger King and ordered a Whopper. The savings weren't all I anticipated. The Whopper price was a whopping $4.40. Oh for the days of $0.15 hamburgers, $0.10 fries, and $0.20 milkshakes at the McDonald's of my youth. In fact, oh for the days of a $3 Whopper at a non-airport Burger King.
Still, the Whopper was a tasty and comparatively economical choice. If I had run to the local grocery store and purchased 1/4 lb of ground beef, lettuce, pickles, onions, mayo and a large bun, could I have done it for less than $4.40? Or, health-conscious person that I am could I have substituted arugula, chopped anti-oxidant vegetables, and a low-cal vinagrette for that price? Probably not. And I received that birthright of all Americans - instant gratification - a burger in my hand within minutes of ordering without the time and mess associated with preparing it myself.
We bemoan the fattening of America due to our fast food addiction. According to the Nutritional Information poster at BK, my Whopper comes in at an impressive 690 calories. Eat two of those rascals and I've made my recommended daily caloric intake. But I've only spent $6 to $9 depending on where I bought the sandwiches and there are no pans to scrub or plates to wash. Fast food may kill me, but it is cheap and convenient.
There is only one way to end America's fast food addiction and it is not Nutritional Posters or scary medical updates on the news. Force customers to prepare their own fast food and clean up after themselves. The prospect of standing over a hot grill, fishing gunk out of the deep fat fryer, and doing the dishes at Mickey D's or BK will cause us to think twice about impulsively picking up a burger on the way home. Nutritional home meals will return and we Americans will once again be svelte and healthy.
The cheap aspect of fast food is a harder nut to crack. Burger King is offering "buy one, get one for free" on Whoppers this weekend. Maybe the money I save on burgers will pay for insulin.
Still, the Whopper was a tasty and comparatively economical choice. If I had run to the local grocery store and purchased 1/4 lb of ground beef, lettuce, pickles, onions, mayo and a large bun, could I have done it for less than $4.40? Or, health-conscious person that I am could I have substituted arugula, chopped anti-oxidant vegetables, and a low-cal vinagrette for that price? Probably not. And I received that birthright of all Americans - instant gratification - a burger in my hand within minutes of ordering without the time and mess associated with preparing it myself.
We bemoan the fattening of America due to our fast food addiction. According to the Nutritional Information poster at BK, my Whopper comes in at an impressive 690 calories. Eat two of those rascals and I've made my recommended daily caloric intake. But I've only spent $6 to $9 depending on where I bought the sandwiches and there are no pans to scrub or plates to wash. Fast food may kill me, but it is cheap and convenient.
There is only one way to end America's fast food addiction and it is not Nutritional Posters or scary medical updates on the news. Force customers to prepare their own fast food and clean up after themselves. The prospect of standing over a hot grill, fishing gunk out of the deep fat fryer, and doing the dishes at Mickey D's or BK will cause us to think twice about impulsively picking up a burger on the way home. Nutritional home meals will return and we Americans will once again be svelte and healthy.
The cheap aspect of fast food is a harder nut to crack. Burger King is offering "buy one, get one for free" on Whoppers this weekend. Maybe the money I save on burgers will pay for insulin.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Training and Equipping
The US Senate, "The World's Greatest Deliberative Body, Advising and Consenting Since 1789" did not have a good week. Our duly-elected Senators failed to reach a majority on extending payroll tax reductions that would either "put money in the pocket of citizens and stop these economic hard times in their tracks" according to supporters or "be a boondoggle that would increase the burgeoning deficit and place an untenable burden on our children" according to detractors. Ah well, it's an election year so let's not make any tough decisions.
One decision that was made, and by a whopping 93 - 7 majority, was passage of the 2012 Military Budget. This $662 billion bill includes $13 billion "for training and equipping Afghan security forces and $400 million for Afghan infrastructure projects." Apparently, money sent half-way around the world to a place that we're bailing out of next year doesn't count against that terrifying deficit. It's not as if $400 million couldn't be better used to upgrade our own infrastructure. US highways and bridges are in great shape.
Actually, the $13 billion "for training and equipping" is an All-American Job Creation Stimulus. The good military armament that the Afghans will get will be proudly made in the USA. As tough as it is for US consumers to find anything on their Christmas list that is not made in China, if you want Santa to come down the chimney bearing tanks, artillery, guns and ammo, you've got to buy American. We don't manufacture TV sets, video games, or clothing anymore, but we remain #1 when it comes to bombs and hand grenades.
American workers may take a bit of a hit if those payroll tax reductions expire, but our friends in the Military - Industrial Complex got a pre-Christmas gift of $13 billion. Lest we think that our Senators are heartless, they did include a big 1.6% pay increase for our brave fighting men and women in that 2012 Military Budget. It doesn't make up for the additional 2% they will cough up in increased payroll taxes, but it's not as if Beetle Bailey and Sgt Snorkel make campaign contributions like General Dynamics and Lockheed do.
One decision that was made, and by a whopping 93 - 7 majority, was passage of the 2012 Military Budget. This $662 billion bill includes $13 billion "for training and equipping Afghan security forces and $400 million for Afghan infrastructure projects." Apparently, money sent half-way around the world to a place that we're bailing out of next year doesn't count against that terrifying deficit. It's not as if $400 million couldn't be better used to upgrade our own infrastructure. US highways and bridges are in great shape.
Actually, the $13 billion "for training and equipping" is an All-American Job Creation Stimulus. The good military armament that the Afghans will get will be proudly made in the USA. As tough as it is for US consumers to find anything on their Christmas list that is not made in China, if you want Santa to come down the chimney bearing tanks, artillery, guns and ammo, you've got to buy American. We don't manufacture TV sets, video games, or clothing anymore, but we remain #1 when it comes to bombs and hand grenades.
American workers may take a bit of a hit if those payroll tax reductions expire, but our friends in the Military - Industrial Complex got a pre-Christmas gift of $13 billion. Lest we think that our Senators are heartless, they did include a big 1.6% pay increase for our brave fighting men and women in that 2012 Military Budget. It doesn't make up for the additional 2% they will cough up in increased payroll taxes, but it's not as if Beetle Bailey and Sgt Snorkel make campaign contributions like General Dynamics and Lockheed do.
Friday, December 2, 2011
The Perfect Gift
Finding the perfect Christmas gift is a real challenge especially when it is a work group gift for a boss that no one particularly likes. Many a poor downtrodden secretary (or Admin Assistant in today's world) was handed $5 from everyone in the group and went insane choosing between another pen and pencil set that the boss would never use or a briefcase that he would never carry. Wasteful or not, the gift was absolutely required. Non-contributers might suffer the boss's wrath during Annual Performance Review. "You don't seem to be much of a team player, Bob. Let's add that to your Areas for Improvement."
Just in time for Christmas, this week's New Yorker carries an ad for the perfect boss's gift. It says, "Are you petite? Do you sit short? Miss all the action when you sit? Sitting Taller offers a fabulous booster in a slick handbag for adults or backpack for kids! Carry your height in a bag!"
What boss wouldn't love that? Studies prove that tall people are perceived as more commanding. When sitting tall (thanks to the booster) behind his desk, the boss can gaze imperiously over the heads of his minions. His words will sound like Moses on the mount no matter how foolish. When seated at the Executive Conference Table with his peers, his added height will add weight to his comments. "I always thought that Accounting Boss Smith was an idiot, but what he says sounds great."
So if you really want to rid yourself of a tyrannical boss, get him the Sitting Taller Booster in a Bag. He will be promoted out of your hair in no time. It's also cheaper than hiring a hit man.
Just in time for Christmas, this week's New Yorker carries an ad for the perfect boss's gift. It says, "Are you petite? Do you sit short? Miss all the action when you sit? Sitting Taller offers a fabulous booster in a slick handbag for adults or backpack for kids! Carry your height in a bag!"
What boss wouldn't love that? Studies prove that tall people are perceived as more commanding. When sitting tall (thanks to the booster) behind his desk, the boss can gaze imperiously over the heads of his minions. His words will sound like Moses on the mount no matter how foolish. When seated at the Executive Conference Table with his peers, his added height will add weight to his comments. "I always thought that Accounting Boss Smith was an idiot, but what he says sounds great."
So if you really want to rid yourself of a tyrannical boss, get him the Sitting Taller Booster in a Bag. He will be promoted out of your hair in no time. It's also cheaper than hiring a hit man.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
It's a Natural Gas
It was a small side note on the Business Page. "Royal Dutch Shell and Mitsubishi paid $17 billion to the Iraqi government for rights to natural gas deposits derived from a new oil field. The natural gas would otherwise be flared to the atmosphere as part of the drilling process." In the same newspaper, Republicans question Obama's decision to remove American troops from Iraq by the end of this year. "Let's stay until the job is finished."
Guess what, GOP? The job is finished now that Dutch and Japanese companies can safely swoop in and haul out that natural gas. After $2 trillion wasted, 4,000 lives lost and many more than that screwed up, the American taxpayer has done his job. There's a certain irony that the Dutch and Japanese are getting their natural gas from Iraq without any domestic pollution while we are getting ours by pressurizing chemicals into our groundwater. Maybe if we spent that $2 trillion on research, we could solve our energy problems without risking flames from our kitchen faucets.
Realistically, that Iraqi natural gas has to be liquefied and transported making it expensive. "Fracked" natural gas is right beneath Pennsylvania and exactly where it can be used so it is much cheaper. Better yet, we can keep it right here now that the Dutch and Japanese won't bid up its price since they have that good stuff from Iraq. What if Bush - Cheney had justified the Iraqi Incursion as "cheap energy" rather than "weapons of mass destruction"?
Guess what, GOP? The job is finished now that Dutch and Japanese companies can safely swoop in and haul out that natural gas. After $2 trillion wasted, 4,000 lives lost and many more than that screwed up, the American taxpayer has done his job. There's a certain irony that the Dutch and Japanese are getting their natural gas from Iraq without any domestic pollution while we are getting ours by pressurizing chemicals into our groundwater. Maybe if we spent that $2 trillion on research, we could solve our energy problems without risking flames from our kitchen faucets.
Realistically, that Iraqi natural gas has to be liquefied and transported making it expensive. "Fracked" natural gas is right beneath Pennsylvania and exactly where it can be used so it is much cheaper. Better yet, we can keep it right here now that the Dutch and Japanese won't bid up its price since they have that good stuff from Iraq. What if Bush - Cheney had justified the Iraqi Incursion as "cheap energy" rather than "weapons of mass destruction"?
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