tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78115874294085716132024-03-05T22:44:06.516-05:00Scoop’s RantProvoking thought, not people.Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-12212873341186981462011-05-24T23:30:00.032-04:002011-06-20T22:08:14.715-04:00Bozos, Blinkers, Make-Up and a Fork…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKzkGHhlcZ55NeXCjfJSqJXHllRViHvMVqEBwWss9bm3-tkyBx5MZOI2xDzdbfCUtvGeiylK7r7HSprTES4N9LUDOCmHROLnUk9wCmFDINoaR6KTSAeO8ePQDBHSbv58oX9prHrQvO4k/s1600/Bozo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKzkGHhlcZ55NeXCjfJSqJXHllRViHvMVqEBwWss9bm3-tkyBx5MZOI2xDzdbfCUtvGeiylK7r7HSprTES4N9LUDOCmHROLnUk9wCmFDINoaR6KTSAeO8ePQDBHSbv58oX9prHrQvO4k/s1600/Bozo+2.jpg" t8="true" /></a></div>This all happens to me a lot more often than should be cosmically possible: I’m driving along a four lane thoroughfare on my way into or out of town. Up ahead I can see the rough outline of what appears to be Bozo driving a car on fire in the left lane travelling much slower than mine. The left turn signal is flashing lazily and unless they are going to enter the grass median they’ve gone as far left as they can go without making <em>World’s Dumbest</em>. A mile later the picture is clear: Bozo is 94, 4 feet 2, and looking <em>through</em> the steering wheel while struggling to reach the gas. This land yacht has three ridiculously long CB antennas needling skyward through the white smoke billowing from under the hood. It rolls over the roof down the trunk and mixes in a mesmerizing swirl with the black smoke belching from the rear. The antennas flex like fishing poles in the turbulence giving the illusion that it is <em>actually trolling</em> on land. As I approach on the right (think dusty desert scene from Mad Max) I accelerate past the mess and am instantly assaulted by a noxious mix of the sound of a Sherman tank and the smell of burning dirty laundry. I shoot a disbelieving glance and consider reaching out to flick shut the open gas door. This pea-green smoke machine can’t possibly accomplish more than 5 miles to the gallon and really couldn’t make an environmentalist any angrier if it were made of Styrofoam and ran on <em>ground dolphin</em>.<br />
<br />
I guess I shouldn’t complain too loudly. Driving around oblivious to the world has effectively given the rest of us the opportunity to identify them by their obvious lack of skills and trademark blinker, open gas door, smoke screen, etc. Without these identifiers our safety might be further compromised. So, thanks for the heads-up, I suppose.<br />
<br />
One morning about two weeks ago, while driving down a back road, I learned that driving while drunk apparently exhibits the exact same signature erratic pattern as driving while eating an omelet. An over-sized pick-up truck in front of me dropped two tires off the road and over steered into oncoming traffic. I squinted in the sun and looked for the outline of Bozo; and as expected, there it was – the hair, the skills, the comedic approach to <em>my</em> safety. A rusted 90’s Whirlpool washer slid from one side of the truck bed to the other with violent, unrestrained abandon; and to my surprise a black dog leapt into the air barely avoiding the rebounding appliance. I watched in disbelief at the next traffic light as this moron finished an omelet – <em>with a fork</em>. He tossed what was left on the plate (by my calculation; a small pile of chopped tomato and two pieces of bacon) and… <em>the fork</em>… through the sliding rear window and into the dog’s face. The dog ate what may very well have been its last meal as the light turned green. The truck left and the paper plate flipped out under my car as I swerved to avoid getting omelet in my grille.<br />
<br />
Look, a lot of competent people eat when they drive; Butterfingers, French fries, Frappuccinos (yeah that’s right, Muffy; if it has sugar, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream it’s <em>almost</em> a sundae – I round up – it’s eating) … but generally mobile food is either finger food or sucked through a straw… hardly considered dining and driving… but when you can’t hold your meal you’re either eating in the wrong place or driving at the wrong time. I would argue if you’ve even considered eating with a fork off a plate on the passenger seat anytime is the wrong time for you to drive – with or without the food.<br />
<br />
Then there are the minor offenders – Bozo’s understudies. These are the 15 MPH <em>under</em> the speed limit one unit traffic jams; the mobile cancer studies who smoke with the windows up and the kids in the car; the pompous intolerable who creeps along in front of me applying make-up while dodging bicycles and joggers; here’s a news flash – ever tried to write and drive? Why do think you’re any better with Mascara and eye shadow!?? You need to know something – you aren’t fooling anyone – we know you’ve done this when you show up looking like Braveheart. Then there are those who pull out in front of me to slow down; or who refuse to get into the left turn lane, so they turn from the middle lane; or those who sit at the bank drive-through with a dog the size of a rat on their lap. Look, if your dog is fully grown and still smaller than my cat you should be embarrassed… <em>then fined</em>. I want you to know that when I’m behind you at the bank I secretly pray your dog has a momentary bout with curiosity and gets sucked into the pneumatic tube. I fantasize its demise as it thumps into the teller booth like a chunked pumpkin and knocks the teller off her stool amid a cloud of urine-soaked fur and cheap suckers.<br />
<br />
I wish I were a perfect driver, but I’m not. Which brings me to my point – I know I’m not; so I am careful to not pull out in front of you, or not drive with an animal on my lap, or not eat a full meal… <em>with a fork</em>… or not scoot over when you enter the highway. I will inevitably do something to someone from time to time to upset them but I apologize when I do it and it is far from purposeful or chronic. If you’re a clown, the next time you drive, do it with a slant towards the other driver and not so much towards yourself. Try to pay attention to those around you and consider if what you are doing is inconveniencing them… it’ll make you a better driver – and an all-around better human being. And if you’re reading this <em>and</em> driving right now by chance, put the phone down and turn off your blinker, Bozo – I’m the guy behind you laughing at the rat on your lap – and stop smiling and waving at me; I’m not saying hi.Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-9828841941522716462011-04-30T23:00:00.005-04:002013-04-28T08:42:12.457-04:00The Oracle of Corian…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2ZlNcCNdR_CojCw-jRwfgb3sMiF2aS8PdqNhbLW-lcahvTZdAxTFXCNqEpRcL8QkN0phAAMoLqeiiplo2N2DlO1RTR_cxO-a-QiUpNux4IWS3K92Hb3if-ld6U_CsQXSDSb2jshpH_I/s1600/Rosetta+Stone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2ZlNcCNdR_CojCw-jRwfgb3sMiF2aS8PdqNhbLW-lcahvTZdAxTFXCNqEpRcL8QkN0phAAMoLqeiiplo2N2DlO1RTR_cxO-a-QiUpNux4IWS3K92Hb3if-ld6U_CsQXSDSb2jshpH_I/s320/Rosetta+Stone.jpg" width="273" /></a></div><em>Junk</em> is the stuff we throw away; <em>stuff</em> is the junk we keep. In my kitchen, balanced between the toaster and the Tupperware; nestled next to the sink and the silverware; there’s a rarely-purged sad little drawer full of flotsam and jetsam. In it you’ll find a magnificently eclectic, oft- forgotten collection of mottled minutiae. It’s not just any minutiae; it’s the most valuable minutiae in the house – that’s why it has its very own, special little drawer. While at first blush it seems random, there is something unseen binding each item to the other; a thread that runs through each article connecting it all in a wonderfully sad, perfect little collection. A quick root reveals birthday candles, batteries, mystery screws, and displaced bits of metal and plastic – each of which I swear I recognize the longer I stare. It harbors the keys to long-forgotten locks and once-owned vehicles, locked locks without keys, and maybe even a needle or thread – but rarely both. Dig deeper and you’ll find an earring and a matchbook – both without matches, erasers without pencils, and pencils without lead; <em>but the most poignant presence in that drawer is the memories</em> – and that defines the collection’s value both as the sum of its parts and its part as a whole.<br />
<br />
We are all photographers. Our experiences are our frames; and our memories are the snapshots we save in them. Like old Polaroid’s, they are yellowed, blurred and taken out of context from some distant moment passed. As my fingers push and pull at the agglomeration in the drawer more obscurities reveal themselves. The collection captures me as I sift through its members; the meter and rhyme revealed with every sweep. It speaks to me in verse as I spy every item: a pipe cleaner, a poker chip, some pushpins, and a pebble; a bread tie, a bubble wand, and some bolts without nuts. With the legato of poetry it soothes – as my mind swims in the flood of memories it affords: an old photo, an old coupon, a new penny, and some gum; a lipstick, a glue stick, some Chap Stick, some Tums… I am confronted by its beauty – comforted by its song – taken by its reveal.<br />
<br />
In the corners and creases there live glimpses of past holidays: a sequin from a Halloween costume long gone – pinned under a bobby pin from some wedding or prom. Stuck to the back wall is a dried up Peep – my father’s favorite for each Easter he lived; and a lead ornament hook with a Christmas tree bulb that I won’t find come December. There’s a plastic spoon and a plastic favor from a birthday in ’04, and a napkin from “their” wedding – now living happily divorced; a dried weed for Mommy that was meant to be flowers, and a portrait titled “Daddy” – that was drawn in an hour. These are some of my items, and some of my memories they carry…<br />
<br />
My drawer is a living masterwork and encrypted in it are secrets to my memories. It is a Rosetta stone that decodes my past and offers a glimpse into my experiences; a cosmic magnet slowly gathering spicks and specks of my life, my experience, into its collection. But if this collection, this scattered representation of my life, can be read it can be read only by me. <em>If art; pastiche. If feast; a cornucopia. If color; a prism. If anything; a mirror</em>. Each who gazes into it sees what matters to them – <em>as</em> it matters to them. It is special in that way; that it is unique to every beholder and carefully considers its audience before it reveals any message – any secrets.<br />
<br />
In your kitchen, tousled somewhere below the toaster and the Tupperware; nestled near the sink and the silverware; there is an unorthodox record of who you are and what you’ve become. Go draw it open, and like an oracle throwing bones, slowly caress its contents upon your countertop and listen to what it reveals. Don’t call it junk – don’t call it <em>anything</em> – let it call to you. Accept the memories it holds and you will no longer question the mystery behind its customary and almost-universal presence in your kitchen.Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-78476746438609085572011-04-23T14:00:00.006-04:002011-06-20T19:45:46.532-04:00Zero Gravity, Zero Sum...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1lGBqUkw_TAGOCdKe48_EKoB57y3ZTZ0g71Yuh4WRfceE_zyPa5MtGd7BdYJNXCCZm70c8m9tUusgK98CdiTrryBo3Mk0jj6HzzgSwNpTG_AvCzU5FdAl4Vecxfyp8QRdhQQIJCkTMM/s1600/Reesey+State+Championships+2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1lGBqUkw_TAGOCdKe48_EKoB57y3ZTZ0g71Yuh4WRfceE_zyPa5MtGd7BdYJNXCCZm70c8m9tUusgK98CdiTrryBo3Mk0jj6HzzgSwNpTG_AvCzU5FdAl4Vecxfyp8QRdhQQIJCkTMM/s200/Reesey+State+Championships+2010.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>For years I have explained to my daughters on those rare occasions it’s come up that there are two types of people in prison. Those that are there because of things they did and those that are there because of who they are. Those that make mistakes can apologize and reconcile themselves with their victims. Neither of them deserves any place in my family’s life but at least with the former there can be an attempt at closure and redemption before we go our separate ways. But those that are just bad people must be stopped, and followed so they do not have the opportunity to repeat their offences – because they will.<br />
<br />
One day a year ago, my wife was speaking with a friend. Her daughter was a gymnast. She shared one of her daughter’s routines during a meet on film with Meg. Our oldest, Alexa, saw it and mentioned it to Reese. That was the beginning. Soon Reese wanted to do what she saw on the video. We joined Zero Gravity Gymnastics because that’s where the older girl trained. Over the last year, Reese has fallen so deeply in love with gymnastics it is hard to imagine her not participating in this sport...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>For Reesey, gymnastics represents friendship, fun, reward, and love. Love for the sport, love for her teammates and <em>love for her coaches</em>. For us, gymnastics represents commitment, reward for Reesey, her accomplishments, and all the qualities that participation in a team sport and individual sport affords, but above all, it represents <em>Reesey’s happiness</em>.<br />
<br />
Our fundamental desire for both of our daughters’ participation in activities is to help reinforce the values we instill at home – among them: honesty, honor, commitment, and concern for others. In one weekend this fiasco violated almost every tenet Reesey holds dear plus some we wouldn’t expect an innocent 7 year old to even understand. She is a bright girl. She gets it. She knows there are good people and bad people. She just didn’t expect (and neither did we) to cross paths with criminals so closely, so young.<br />
<br />
Some of the most wonderful memories have been related to our experience with Reese through gymnastics; and over the last week, we’ve had some of the worst. But now in the last few days the positive lessons and teaching opportunities have presented themselves. Meg and I are maximizing these opportunities to show Reesey that when bad people act out, the better people organize and fight to do what’s right. We’ve been able to evidence for Reesey the positive impact the Police and the media can have when trying to bring justice. I thank, from the bottom of my heart, every one of you who have joined together and moved in lockstep to bring justice to those who knew they were defrauding us parents and robbing our children of their trust for someone they held so dear.<br />
<br />
Chrystal, Roger: You stole our money. You played us for fools. For that I’ll wish for you to get the justice you deserve. But, you cowards, in the process, you broke young hearts; you toyed with the innocence of children; you made our daughters cry, and for that… we won’t be stopped until you are. <em>Do not for one moment doubt our resolve</em>. Unlike you, we care for all children – not just our own – and that includes your potential future victims. As I have considered how I want you to pay, I find myself at a crossroads. I realize that there are other little girls that stand to suffer more than they deserve. These little girls are your own daughters. I do not take lightly the emotional damage that they could suffer witnessing your arrest or seeing you before a judge or even incarcerated. I am genuinely concerned that your children may be victimized by what I wish for you – which is more concern than you afforded Reesey when you chose to defraud us – but, then, that’s precisely what makes us different; and that’s precisely what makes this a Zero Sum game – there is no winner here, no truly positive outcome. At the very least, minimize <em>your</em> children’s pain and do what’s right before you’re compelled to.Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-10039130901352937172009-05-29T01:00:00.012-04:002011-06-20T19:44:25.583-04:00A Congressional Referendum For Daytime Padiddle…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2Jo4lZn1QYY7VpGGjFGHTZ9vHepuzFfigV41p6DK7iUZXB7xNqT3v5vM5YUHveOGBxm74iQvmYJcuCViWs0WUujkX5ilLgMqJ5XXV6UiMwAJEwPKK9fDh2arMdDgo-3tq_fuBDZip_U/s1600/Padiddle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2Jo4lZn1QYY7VpGGjFGHTZ9vHepuzFfigV41p6DK7iUZXB7xNqT3v5vM5YUHveOGBxm74iQvmYJcuCViWs0WUujkX5ilLgMqJ5XXV6UiMwAJEwPKK9fDh2arMdDgo-3tq_fuBDZip_U/s1600/Padiddle.jpg" /></a></div>Remember Padiddle? Punchbuggy’s wonderful little cousin where one is beaten severely for being the last person in the car to notice an oncoming auto with one headlight burned out? Well, The European Union has announced a plan to have all automobiles in Europe equipped with “daylight running lights” which in effect is driving around with headlights on all the time. This got me thinking. What if we did this in the US? It’s been proposed. They say the effect on gas mileage will be minimal at best… Since I get nervously suspicious every time <em>they</em> start telling me what matters, I decided to whip out my calculator and start looking at the math…<br />
<br />
…It is far, far from minimal...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>In order to understand the magnitude of the effect this law would have in the US, we need to know some basic facts and then agree on some assumptions. I will be very conservative in my approach so all you out there who feel obligated to doubt the conclusions of this post (an attitude I respect) you can at least know the conclusions as far as I can tell are <em>best-case</em> – meaning it could be (and probably is) much, much worse.<br />
<br />
Let’s start with the wattage of the average auto headlamp: 55 watts. Since most vehicles on the road have two working headlamps, that would be 110 watts per vehicle.<br />
<br />
In order to complete our analysis we need to know how many miles are driven in the US annually. According to the Federal Highway Administration and the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) 3,029,822,000,000 miles were traveled in the US in 2007. That’s 3 <em>trillion</em> with a “t.” (If you need some reference on the magnitude of that number see my earlier post <em>“<a href="http://scoopsrant.blogspot.com/2008/10/million-vs-billion-drift-to-innumeracy.html">Million vs. Billion – A Drift To Innumeracy</a>”</em> from October of 2008.)<br />
<br />
We will assume for our purposes that the average speed across all vehicles is 30 miles per hour (it’s probably lower, but we’re going conservative here.) 30 miles per hour results in 2 minutes elapsed per mile traveled. This means total travel time in the US is 6,059,644,000,000 (6 trillion) minutes or 100,994,066,666 (101 billion) hours on the road annually.<br />
<br />
Assuming (again, conservatively) that vehicles were travelling during the daytime hours <em>only half the time on the road</em> our calculation results in 50,497,033,333 (50.5 billion) daylight running hours. At 110 watts per hour, headlamps will use 5,554,673,666,630 (5.5 trillion) watt-hours or 5,554,673,667 (5.5 billion) kilowatt hours annually. The <em>entire United States</em> uses that much energy about every 15 hours.<br />
<br />
Next, we have to determine how many kilowatt hours can be converted from a gallon of gasoline. This is a little trickier. An automobile must put a gallon of gasoline through two conversions before it can use it to light a light bulb. A gallon of gasoline contains 60 kilowatt hours of chemical energy. Your car engine converts that chemical energy to mechanical energy through the process of internal combustion. However, that process is ridiculously inefficient (are you listening Detroit?) and only 25% of that original chemical energy is retained as mechanical energy and 75% is lost as heat. Therefore, 60 kilowatt hours of chemical energy is converted to 15 kilowatt hours of mechanical energy.<br />
<br />
But we’re not there yet. Your car must convert that new mechanical energy yet again before it can light those bulbs! The second conversion takes place in the alternator. Your alternator must convert that mechanical energy to electrical energy. The alternator is more efficient, but still loses 30% of the converted energy. So, only 70% of the mechanical energy is retained once it is converted to electrical energy. Therefore, from one gallon of gasoline, your automobile will produce a whopping 10.5 kilowatt hours of electrical energy.<br />
<br />
When we divide the 10.5 kilowatt hours into the the 5,554,673,667 (5.5 billion) kilowatt hours needed annually to keep the headlights on in the US during the daytime we reveal that it will require 529,016,540 <em>additional</em> gallons per year. At $2.50 per gallon, that’s $1,322,541,350.00 ($1.3 billion) more spent annually by Americans for their gasoline…<br />
<br />
The fossil fuel waste argument is only one aspect of the stupidity behind this proposal. For example, consider this: The average automobile releases 19.4 lbs of CO2 into the atmosphere per gallon of gasoline burned. Daylight headlights would result in an extra 10,262,920,876 (10.25 billion) lbs of additional CO2 into the atmosphere per year…<br />
<br />
Still not convinced? How about this one: The above figures only factor in the headlights. The current proposals call for headlights but not any other lights. I ask which will be greater – the number of accidents prevented because the headlights are on, or the number of accidents caused because drivers (the same idiots that make this debate even necessary) are only paying attention to their headlights and <em>forget to actually turn their lights on at night</em> driving around with no rear lights or side lights? The solution, according to some law-makers, is to have <em>all</em> lights on constantly – sure Einstein; just <em>double</em> all the above figures – problem solved.<br />
<br />
The only real upside I can see is more opportunity for games of Padiddle and the advantage that daylight will bring during those <em>very</em> serious matches. No more beatdowns because of those false-positive misidentifications of motorcycles – you’ll see’em coming… GO Congress! Instead of pulling out in front of cars at 1:00 pm because they’re somehow harder to see nowadays than they were 15 years ago (?!), we’ll all be beating the living shit out of each other like some kind of mobile cage match while screaming “PADIDDLE!” and driving head-on towards the moron with the one good headlight… awesome.<br />
<br />
How about we just enforce the laws that say we have to freakin’ learn to drive, hmmm?? Is that too tough? Really…?Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-47204876671334913262009-05-27T01:00:00.003-04:002011-06-20T19:42:57.370-04:00Does This Blog Post Make My Ass Look Fat...!?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Z-RIBsDGPrhkZoyZCs-EjN7eKSXpEJP54Ty6vQKk7wZqiU6i5Gs3wKSj1gp66RRUJeppzYmPtWJzep1BX_Hd9NhEsG9I3qtoP-0D-nZEmiyRVRt3TK-tyNG-58A7L3tWcSSjtvTO0jI/s1600/Mouse+weightlift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="257" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Z-RIBsDGPrhkZoyZCs-EjN7eKSXpEJP54Ty6vQKk7wZqiU6i5Gs3wKSj1gp66RRUJeppzYmPtWJzep1BX_Hd9NhEsG9I3qtoP-0D-nZEmiyRVRt3TK-tyNG-58A7L3tWcSSjtvTO0jI/s320/Mouse+weightlift.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>It could have been the involuntary fart that happened because he forgot to change the plate pin from 250 lbs. to 90 on the chest press…or maybe it was the fact he nearly crapped the abdominal machine… I’m not sure, but the point is there are some people that you just have to stare at while they work out.<br />
<br />
I joined the gym for the same reasons everyone does – so I could look better, feel better, and not sweat when tying my shoes… OK…I wasn’t <em>that</em> out of shape, but I’ve certainly been much, much better. I’ve resigned myself to the fact I’m never going to be 22 again. I’ve resigned myself to the fact I’m not getting back my late-teens metabolism. But I refuse to believe that my fit days are up.<br />
<br />
Joining a gym is a slippery venture. Comfort is the enemy of motivation. In the past, I couldn’t get my ass off the couch at 6:30 in the evening so I watched the clock until 7:30 and shrugged to myself that there is nothing I could do – <em>it was too late</em>. I couldn’t get my ass in gear in the morning to get to the gym <em>and</em> be on time for anything all day so I shrugged to myself and said I would do it that evening – <em>around 6:30 or so</em>… and so the cycle went. So my track record (no pun intended) has been that I wind up donating $45 to the YMCA or some other gym every month as some sort of <em>tithe to the gods of fitness</em>...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>The gym I most recently joined is a haven for elderly ex-military types and silver sneaker shufflers. It was a brilliant choice and here’s why: most of the machines I use are generally unoccupied when I need them, I feel really strong when I look around the gym, and everyone around me is so slow I feel like Bruce Jenner on the treadmill. Plus, the elderly actually make great workout buddies; they leave all the “buff angst” at home – or 1950 anyway…whatever… the point is no one screams obscenities at their own arms in the mirror at <em>my</em> gym.<br />
<br />
Now, I worked out regularly years ago playing high school football and then collegiate rugby but not so much in the last 10 years. A <em>lot</em> has changed. First of all, the machines on the nautilus side are amazingly sophisticated now. Some of the machines have no plate pin (or visible weights for that matter.) The desired weight is achieved through electronically controlled resistance, range of motion is governed automatically through body position, and the machine beeps if you short a rep or go too fast. Another 20 years and I figure everyone’s fat ass can just sit still with an iPod stuck in their ears and get skinny. Plus, it’s funny as hell to watch someone search for the plate pin for 5 minutes before you go help them…<br />
<br />
When I was in my twenties, working out felt good. Leaving a gym after a workout was rewarding. I felt like going back an hour later and doing it again… Nowadays, I stiffen over, cramp up, sign out, hope to God I don’t drop my keys, and limp to my car like I just got shot in the ass. There is little more I want to do immediately after a good workout nowadays than lay down wherever I am. After about an hour, I’m fine again, but holy shit – <em>really</em>?<br />
<br />
Eating everything I walked past wasn’t conducive to the whole fitness thing either, so I had to cut that out – or at least do it in private. Vitamins have always been part of my regimen but I’ve stepped it up a few pills and now my pee has a half-life. All this healthy living is killing me from the taste buds down; but I just keep telling myself I’m “gonna lose weight and be all muscly soon enough…”<br />
<br />
Dieting is easier now (after 90 days) that my body has resigned itself to the fact that it gets 10-20 grams of carbs and less than 1600 calories a day. And let me tell you, once I decided that I wasn’t going to eat foods that were harmful, over-processed, convenient, carb-laden, or pre-prepared, I found that it was hard to eat <em>more</em> than 1600 calories a day…<br />
<br />
Watching The Food Network on a diet is like blowing pot smoke into a rehab window – it may or may not be the drug the addict wants, but it’s certainly enough to make him start thinking about the one he does. I used to try to replicate Paula Dean’s and Mario Batali’s recipes – now that my diet is in full swing I just think they’re assholes… I actually saw Mario Batali in a healthy nutrition magazine a while back… I’ve got a new show for you… Irony Chef America.<br />
<br />
But, surely, I jest… I still watch The Food Network, I still love Mario and Paula and a few other favorite chefs, and I still enjoy some of the dishes… Why? How? Because I don’t take it too seriously; and that gets me closer to my point.<br />
<br />
So all this working out, and eating right has paid off… I’ve lost a ton of weight and I feel phenomenal. But I can’t bring myself to become obsessed with it. I’ve had friends in the past who have truly become possessed with the desire to perfect their physiques and obsessed with their diet. I must admit that I am very strict with what I eat but not to the inconvenience of those around me. Every restaurant I visit has something I can eat on the menu… and if I ever find myself in one that doesn’t, I will eat the closest thing to my diet they have. I truly believe 50% of the secret to diet success is awareness.<br />
<br />
All in all, I think healthy is good, but it can be taken <em>way</em> too far. I am hurtling towards great shape and no one I know would call me obsessed. I just don’t get the philosophy of some people. I actually heard a guy say the other day to a trainer on his way out of the gym “damnit, I’m getting into shape if it kills me,” – seriously? My three-part fitness philosophy is simple: Work out. Eat right. Die healthy… Plus, I keep reminding myself that I can eat right and exercise regularly remaining relatively unrestricted or I can go on a nutritional jihad and worship in a gym – either way, the end result is the same – I die healthy… I don’t have delusions that I’m any further from mortality if I weigh less. Being fit and in shape simply allows me to live out my <em>maximum</em> years… it doesn’t buy me more Earth time beyond that.<br />
<br />
I don’t have the math in front of me, but I’ve got to believe you would have to go <em>way</em> beyond the average person’s reasonable tolerance for bullshit and commitment to actually <em>add</em> years to the end of your lifespan through diet and exercise. Eating smart and exercising, I believe, keeps you from <em>losing</em> years off the end of your lifespan. Hell, it might even help you regain some that were lost… but being obsessed doesn’t <em>add</em> anything… at least that’s my opinion, I could be wrong. But follow me, here: If a person’s constitution (genetics, ethnicity, etc.) allows for a lifespan of, say, 75 years then I believe if that person eats healthy and stays in shape throughout their life they will live roughly 75 years. But I do not believe that being healthy and in shape will push that to 85. Eating poorly and being obese, however, might result in dying at 65. Therefore, I believe, you would have to go <em>way</em> beyond the average person’s reasonable tolerance for bullshit and commitment to actually <em>add</em> years to the end of your lifespan through diet and exercise. But let’s say (for the sake of argument) <em>fanatical</em> fitness did add 5 years to a lifespan… how many of those five years were spent like a hamster, on a treadmill, trying to read closed captions on a wall-mounted TV?<br />
<br />
Nope. I plan on staying healthy through awareness of my nutrition and regular activity… It’s working <em>very</em> well so far… that way when my time is up I can say I didn’t live in a gym… I was too busy with close friends and family doing all the things I wanted to do…Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-91017021932254051492009-05-25T01:00:00.004-04:002012-07-07T11:54:26.436-04:00O Scoop, Scoop! Wherefore art thou Scoop?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8W9Uosa-ts1OLRBN9lcgB9w7F3HVqDj0sxdgBLTNPAAR8gpbnzeqVm2etBBlAuBmgF7Z1mnmffVXemY6f7k9oEMdCLnV8CETksrBhNN57xhfvpTEGyzs04jGh0N8U4RRq3gcBVIiLgo/s1600/Shakespere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH8W9Uosa-ts1OLRBN9lcgB9w7F3HVqDj0sxdgBLTNPAAR8gpbnzeqVm2etBBlAuBmgF7Z1mnmffVXemY6f7k9oEMdCLnV8CETksrBhNN57xhfvpTEGyzs04jGh0N8U4RRq3gcBVIiLgo/s1600/Shakespere.jpg" /></a></div>I’m back. You’re welcome. It’s been quite a few months but I needed to focus my writing on some other projects… like a book. Yeah, some of you know about the book and some of you don’t. Up until now I've been pretty tight-lipped about it except for a few close friends and family. It’s a neat little (big) venture that I decided would be good for my soul since (I’m sure) my soul is damned to be stuck somewhere paying for my cynicisms…<br />
<br />
Imagine that! An epic novel by me that we’ll see on bookshelves in 2014-2015 – imagine that! Writing and editing it so far has been both cathartic and therapeutic; and exciting and time-consuming. I find it surprisingly easy compared to what I thought it would be like...<br />
<br />
So, anyway, in response to many of you who read <em>Scoop’s Rant</em> that have been emailing and asking what happened to me… I’m still here… Just a short while more and I’ll go back to ranting (part time) so hang in there… I’ll try to put something up between chapters. Look for another couple of posts within the next few weeks… I’ll get some stuff off my chest and onto yours… betcha…Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-57855428500313773462008-10-06T23:05:00.006-04:002011-06-20T19:41:33.976-04:00Million vs. Billion – A Drift To Innumeracy...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPJxRDT_p-UetD6iTt1ixuw1FBZZFasEGxFuq9L1iwroXyMGwoO8RGbG2nyNlAU4_FHdN2QxD97fE_mj-bjH9HRfYf-I2XlbshItSLtdyEhewExYPHdKEyXwXdlgvuFTA_Av-ksBnSHU/s1600/Money+Stack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpPJxRDT_p-UetD6iTt1ixuw1FBZZFasEGxFuq9L1iwroXyMGwoO8RGbG2nyNlAU4_FHdN2QxD97fE_mj-bjH9HRfYf-I2XlbshItSLtdyEhewExYPHdKEyXwXdlgvuFTA_Av-ksBnSHU/s1600/Money+Stack.jpg" /></a></div>The first time I heard the term innumeracy was in 1991. I was in college and had a psychology professor who was going on and on about how people today don’t understand the magnitudes of numbers. He had a point. I maintain it’s because practical application ceases once the numbers grow to be larger that what we encounter in our everyday lives. Most people I encounter (and I’m in the banking and finance industry) don’t have a clue what large numbers mean and what their impact is on whatever they are being applied to; whether it be financing for large projects, balancing budgets, timeframes, or even how many fish are in the sea.<br />
<br />
I wrote this post to illustrate in real-world examples (by showing the unknown in terms of familiarity) how large numbers relate to each other and the impact and magnitude they have on us. I was compelled to write it based on a conversation I had recently with a friend of mine who (it became apparent) hadn’t the slightest clue as to what they were talking about; not because they were incapable or because they had a differing opinion from mine; but because they were utterly ignorant to the magnitude of the numbers they were throwing around – my friend was <em>innumerate</em>...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>At some point, (and I suspect it is different for all of us) numbers transition in our minds from quantitative units to mere language so there is, therefore, a loss of quantitative understanding when the transition threshold is reached. I say transition because it is less of a <em>shift</em> and more of a <em>drift</em>. If the drift should be graphed we would see, I suspect, a gradual curve down, towards innumeracy, as we drift from <em>understanding the numbers</em>… through <em>sort of getting the numbers</em>… to <em>not having a clue</em>. This numeracy curve is a sliding scale based on a person’s grasp of large numbers that begins with zero and drifts toward infinity. At some point on each person’s curve the threshold is reached where the numbers have lost quantitative value and are nothing more than words in the subjects mind. I call this point the numeracy threshold. In this country we have a very low numeracy threshold. It is the reason most people can’t grasp the quantitative values and realities of large numbers. It is also the reason the government can pitch astronomically high dollar amounts past the taxpayers like fastballs…<br />
<br />
Saying, “I walked 5 miles,” allows most of us to understand the magnitude of that accomplishment because we have a frame of reference. Saying, “I walked 1000 miles,” is similar because the reference frame is there, but there is a disconnection from experience so the true impact of the accomplishment is lost until we map 1000 miles from, say, our home – then we suddenly realize the magnitude of the accomplishment. Now saying, “I walked 10,000 miles,” I imagine would cause most people to glaze over, then change the subject completely as they start singing the pop song remake by the Proclaimers – which, by the way, never actually mentions 10,000 miles but somehow we all think it does anyway… This is what I mean by the drift towards innumeracy. Now, I’m not saying you need to count to some ridiculously large number to understand its quantitative value, but it might just help…<br />
<br />
I could probably write a dissertation on this subject. One that would span many pages, but this isn’t a master thesis it’s a blog so I’ll spare you and get to it. What I want to do is apply familiar comparisons to large numbers so that you might find their quantitative value. Numbers that we regularly encounter but are rarely able to reference; numbers that are in the news daily, but mean very little to us because they are merely words to most people – they exceed the numeracy threshold.<br />
<br />
Over the last few weeks I’ve asked various individuals I’ve run into to tell me the difference between a million and a billion. Try this for yourself and you’ll get some very diverse answers (some even comical) ranging from cleverly uninformed to the ignorant to the very innumerate. Answers like “<em>a few zeros,</em>” or “<em>a third comma,</em>” or a favorite of mine, “<em>a ‘B’ and an ‘M’.</em>” One person cleverly said, “<em>37 years of McDonald's served.</em>” It was actually the 8 years from 1955 (one million served) to 1963 (one billion served). But that’s one more illustration of not having a reference <em>or</em> a framework to put it in… the result is that innumeracy affects many people’s grasp of time as well. I suspect the reason McDonald's stopped counting in 1994 after 100 billion burgers had been sold was because they realized if it took them 8 years to go from a million to a billion it would take them much too long to get to a trillion and the marketing ploy would lose it’s luster. Actually, at their current rate of 75 burgers a second and current tally of about 120 billion sold, it would take another <em>372 years to sell the trillionth burger</em>… feeling innumerate?<br />
<br />
So let’s get on with it. Below you’ll find some reference points that might help you the next time you read about a billion or a trillion dollars being spent here or there…<br />
<br />
What is the difference between a million, a billion, and a trillion?<br />
<br />
<em>Height</em><br />
<br />
If you had a <em>million</em> dollars in a stack of bills one foot high, by the same denomination a <em>billion</em> dollars would be a stack the height of the Eiffel Tower. A <em>trillion</em> dollars would terminate just outside the airlock of the International Space Station during an average orbit.<br />
<br />
<em>Time</em><br />
<br />
If you were to travel back in time a <em>million</em> seconds you could relive the past 12 days. A <em>billion</em> seconds sends you back 32 years and would allow you to celebrate our country’s bicentennial all over again – in 1976. A <em>trillion</em> seconds of time travel and you could witness, first hand, the final extinction of the Neanderthals 31,710 years ago.<br />
<br />
<em>Area</em><br />
<br />
If you laid a <em>million</em> US pennies out flat in a tight, single-layer carpet you would cover about 4000 square feet or less than one tenth of an acre – roughly the area of a high school basketball court. A <em>billion</em> US pennies laid out in the same fashion would cover 89.7 acres – roughly 68 football fields. A <em>trillion</em> US pennies would cover 89,675 acres or 141.1 square miles. They would carpet the entire city of Philadelphia, Detroit, or Washington, D.C. – not that they don’t waste enough money in that town as it is… Incidentally, the first penny was minted in 1887. The US Mint estimates there have only been 300 billion pennies <em>ever produced… ever</em>. At that rate, the US will mint its one-trillionth penny sometime in the year 2290.<br />
<br />
<em>Distance</em><br />
<br />
If you wanted to walk a <em>million</em> inches you could walk around the perimeter of Central Park almost 3 times (15.78 miles). At an average walking speed of 2 miles per hour, total walking time would be about 8 hours. A <em>billion</em> inches and you could walk from Central Park to Los Angeles <em>and back</em> almost 3 times (15,782 miles) and total time on the hoof would be roughly 11 months. A <em>trillion</em> inches would take you from Central Park to Central Park via the North and South Poles as you circumnavigate the Earth more than 634 times and the trip would take around 901 years of constant walking. For those of you more theoretically minded, a <em>trillion</em> inch stroll would also take you from Central Park <em>to the Moon and back</em> – 33 times.<br />
<br />
<em>Liquid Volume</em><br />
<br />
If you had a <em>million</em> 12-ounce cans of beer you could fill 3 residential in-ground pools with frosty libation. A <em>billion</em> 12-ounce cans of beer and you could fill 3,125 pools or 1.5 commercial oil supertankers. A <em>trillion</em> 12-ounce cans and you could fill 1,488 commercial oil supertankers, or the Houston Astrodome roughly 150 times.<br />
<br />
<em>Dry Volume</em><br />
<br />
If you stacked a <em>million</em> 12-ounce cans of beer you could build a life-size replica of Big Ben or 5 city buses. If you stacked a <em>billion </em>12-ounce cans of beer you could replicate 4,600 city buses or the Washington Monument close to 14 times. Stack a <em>trillion</em> 12-ounce cans of beer and you could either build 13,631 Washington Monuments; or 161 life-size replicas of the Great Pyramid at Giza; or the Great Wall of China 1.5 times; or <em>both</em> towers of the World Trade Center 124 times… <em>each</em>.<br />
<br />
We seldom stop to think about the magnitude of the numbers we encounter everyday on television, or in the papers, or on the radio. We hear of this company or that company’s record profits, how congress has earmarked another absurd amount of money for something or other, or national debts… but the true quantitative value of the numbers is lost on most people because it exceeds their numeracy threshold.<br />
<br />
The next time you encounter a number you believe could be beyond <em>your</em> numeracy threshold, hold it up to the light of something you can quantify – it might surprise you… or even scare you...Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-63130314455150474012008-09-21T23:45:00.007-04:002011-07-08T00:35:48.003-04:00Legos, Eggos, & Our Slogan Ethos…<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzb9wvwq9cHC5alHcFqKFpDlkNiD9MMXisV-AwgUhcAXpdc_S6BRXQwqy9ZDVsvcj81JydjsOorD4JQLXfri5UBjmoUwCjdSss9MIBCshqoHsD4yJkNft4EpjZmCzTe67fTMyx4_x7aiE/s1600/Eggo-Lego.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488720835791051538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzb9wvwq9cHC5alHcFqKFpDlkNiD9MMXisV-AwgUhcAXpdc_S6BRXQwqy9ZDVsvcj81JydjsOorD4JQLXfri5UBjmoUwCjdSss9MIBCshqoHsD4yJkNft4EpjZmCzTe67fTMyx4_x7aiE/s320/Eggo-Lego.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 138px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 250px;" /></a>The famous <em>“L’Eggo my Eggo”</em> has been Eggo’s only slogan since 1965. Through the 1970’s, 80’s, and 90’s it became a permanent addition to the colloquial lexicon of us all. Even if we don’t like the waffles, we’ve all said <em>“L’Eggo my Eggo”</em> in reference to something at some point in time. By 2005, it had propelled Kellogg’s Eggo frozen waffle brand to 65% market share. It is an example of how these platitudes with attitudes grab the products they represent and slingshot them into orbit like tiny satellites around our minds. They linger like voices in our heads, telling us to reach for one canned soup over another; scrub with this soap or that soap; spritz or spray on one cologne instead of another so women will act like buffoons trying to get a swatch of our clothing; or they convince us, <em>against all logic</em>, that our asses really do feel fresher with some particular toilet paper or other…<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>It seems everything has a catch phrase these days, one that attempts to burrow its way into our collective, social psyche. Pulling on us to believe its cryptic subtext and buy its message, or at least <em>the product</em> it claims to represent. Companies attach these slogans to their products so we will identify those products with their chosen phrase. But it is usually just a heaping helping of more corporate bullshit. So the result is that very few of these slogans honestly describe the product or the company they’re attached to.<br />
<div><br />
Almost <em>everything</em> has one; restaurants, airlines, automakers, and banks; tool makers, toys, clothiers, and clothing lines; shoe makers, shoes; stores, and malls; furniture, electronics, appliances, and groceries; beers, bars, sodas, and office supplies; colleges, universities, pharmaceuticals, and blue chip stocks… The list goes on, and on, <em>and on</em>. But how many of us really stop to think about these slogans and what they tell us about what they purport to represent?<br />
<br />
Let me take you on a journey down memory lane. Let me challenge you to recall the products and companies represented by these specious and sophistic sobriquets… and if you really want to get my point <em>don’t go looking them all up before you torture yourself</em> – do it as a last resort. Give yourself at least a day to wallow in the pain… Plus, it’ll be fun to roam around the house or office mumbling mottos and slogans under your breath as you try to jog the ole noggin, no?<br />
<br />
So, how good are you? Can you name the company or product associated with each slogan? Lets begin with some easy ones to warm up the gray matter:<br />
<em></em><br />
<em>“Breakfast of Champions”</em><br />
<em>“Fly the Friendly Skies”</em><br />
<em>“Drivers Wanted”</em><br />
<em>“Oh What a Feeling!”</em><br />
<em>“Soup is Good Food”</em><br />
<em>“Good to the Last Drop”</em><br />
<em>“A Diamond is Forever.”</em><br />
<em>“The Quicker Picker Upper”</em><br />
<em>“We Answer to a Higher Authority”</em><br />
<em>“American By Birth. Rebel By Choice.”</em><br />
<br />
Do you ever wonder why you can’t remember which side of your car the gas cap is on even though you’ve arguably seen <em>it</em> far more often than these slogans; yet these phrases, these unctuous little nuggets get lodged in our heads like squatters? You would never forget Secret’s <em>“Strong Enough For a Man, But Made For a Woman,”</em> but I bet you <em>have</em> forgotten to actually put on the deodorant, haven’t you? How do these slogans work on us so effectively? It’s not like they are all wonderfully phrased; or that they all roll off the tongue with the legato of poetry. Actually, some of them are downright awkward – I think <em>awkward</em> is exactly what Quiznos’ may have been shooting for with <em>“M’m, m’m, m’m, m’m, m’m…toasty.”</em> – good lord…<br />
<br />
Now that you’re all warmed up from the neck up and feeling smart and saucy, try these on for size – a little tougher but not impossible:<br />
<em></em><br />
<em>“The One and Only”</em><br />
<em>“Leave the Driving to Us”</em><br />
<em>“You’ve Got Questions, We’ve Got Answers”</em><br />
<em>“99.44% Pure”</em><br />
<em>“Ring Around the Collar”</em><br />
<em>“We’ll Pick You Up”</em><br />
<em>“You are Now Free to Move About the Country”</em><br />
<em>”Never Let’em See you Sweat”</em><br />
<em>“Look Ma, No Cavities”</em><br />
<em>“Perfect”</em><br />
<em>“Just Imagine…”</em><br />
<br />
You may have noticed that this second list has a very different feel to it. In the first list you might have found it easy to identify the product <em>and</em> company. In the second list you might have gotten an industry, but drew a blank as to which company or product. Interesting, huh? I thought so too… That last one in the second list means a lot to me. I grew up with it and I believe it embodies two of the should-be-rules of advertising: <em>honesty</em> and <em>accuracy</em>. Aren’t they something we should demand as consumers? Ok, so maybe some honesty is incidental, or at least accidental, but hey, it’s honesty – even if it is borne from deception… <em>“Nothing Sucks Like an Electrolux”</em> comes to mind.<br />
<br />
Here’s a list of slogans we all recognize, but will torture us until we look them up. They hang in our minds – familiar, but lacking specificity:<br />
<br />
<em>“Kid tested, Mother Approved”</em><br />
<em>“How do you eat yours?”</em><br />
<em>“You’ve come a long way baby!”</em><br />
<em>“Better Living Through Chemistry”</em><br />
<em>“Born from Jets”</em><br />
<em>“It’s All Inside”</em><br />
<em>“Thank you for your support”</em><br />
<em>“It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature”</em><br />
<em>“Quality in Everything We do”</em><br />
<em>“Good Taste is Easy to Recognize.”</em><br />
<br />
It’s the tip-of-the-tongue nature of these slogans that make them work. They sit on our subconscious in stasis until we see the product on the shelf. Then, the slogan shoots into our conscious mind and we feel a rush of familiarity. Advertisers call it “confirmation and reaffirmation” – technical for “warm and fuzzy.” With this in mind, I challenge you with one last list. This one is for the older crowd and those who really want a challenge naming the products and companies they represent. See if you can cull them from your subconscious…<br />
<br />
<em>“I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up!”</em><br />
<em>“When You’ve got it, Flaunt it”</em><br />
<em>“Always a Bridesmaid, but Never a Bride”</em><br />
<em>“Stronger Than Dirt”</em><br />
<em>“I Can’t believe I ate the whole thing”</em><br />
<em>“Does She, or Doesn’t She?”</em><br />
<em>“The Mark of a Man”</em><br />
<em>“Mama Mia, thatsa spicy meatball”</em><br />
<em>“We Will Sell No Wine Before Its Time”</em><br />
<em>“The Quality Goes In Before the Name Goes On”</em><br />
<em>“Two Great Tastes that Taste Great Together.”</em><br />
<br />
However well you did recalling the slogans in this post, the next time you find yourself humming one of these gems in a jingle, think about how corporate America has climbed inside your head – driven by their subliminal love of <em>your</em> money. Regardless of how paltry you think these slogans are, they do shape us in ways in which we are often unaware. How many products do we <em>not</em> sample due to advertising slogans – <em>of others</em>? Those products that may have become regular purchases or even favorites but are doomed into obsolescence because their slogan is less meretricious and brummagem than the competition’s slogan?<br />
<br />
Personally, I think the American Dairy Association said it best when they told us to <em>“Behold the power of Cheese!”</em> – behold the cheese indeed!</div>Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-10570626163067671632008-09-17T18:00:00.011-04:002011-06-20T15:59:30.923-04:00Vikings, G-CHIPs, & Genomic Verity (Part 2)…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpXN_Jq5kY8o8InfrZ9vmhDS9a6LCfsG580CqLMSpI-28GnYh7Kg2QkoJNxs3XNO7CjZnuGT2gWzYkphQq_Aj4t0zamlcpgNMrLsuXZlQZtN7G3CrfvNfMhNKKMzvRW-TIptfE-lhZ8g/s1600/cavePainting1-thumb-350x270-19717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRpXN_Jq5kY8o8InfrZ9vmhDS9a6LCfsG580CqLMSpI-28GnYh7Kg2QkoJNxs3XNO7CjZnuGT2gWzYkphQq_Aj4t0zamlcpgNMrLsuXZlQZtN7G3CrfvNfMhNKKMzvRW-TIptfE-lhZ8g/s320/cavePainting1-thumb-350x270-19717.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In <em><a href="http://scoopsrant.blogspot.com/2008/09/vikings-v-chips-genomic-verity-part-1.html">Vikings, G-CHIPs, & Genomic Verity (Part 1)...</a></em> I addressed the Human Genome Map. My conclusions were that it was incomplete both in its content and in its effort. Now, in (Part 2) I intend to discuss just <em>how</em> incomplete I think it is by showing you one possible future…<br />
<br />
Monsters lurk everywhere. They manifest themselves as addictions, fears, illnesses, and sometimes just rocks and hard places. But in the not-so-distant future there will be monsters of a much different ilk. Creatures so scary we will find ourselves unable to function as we do now. Fear of the unknown will take on new meaning as “the unknown” is completely redefined in unimaginable ways...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>32,000 years ago outside a cave in what is now Southern France, monsters roamed the landscape. Inside the cave a Cro-Magnon group of <em>Homo sapiens</em> lived. They huddled around fires and fire-roasted beast. They told stories; they fought, procreated, played, and nursed children. They studied their surroundings through trial and error, and they built crude tools. They used these tools to hunt, make clothing, ignite fire, and <em>decorate the walls of their cave with paintings</em>. A few tools, some bones, and drawings on the cave walls are all that remain from what they left behind. But from these items and their art we get a fleeting glimpse of who they were. The 32,000-year-old remnants of life in the cave at Chauvet-pont d’Arc, France is a legacy that is slim in artifact but rich in art. It is a reminder that beginnings rarely resemble ends. It is a reminder that <em>what we are is what we have become of what we were…</em><br />
<br />
I envision a future where there is the possibility of no disease, no famine, 150 year human life spans, and the end of homework – an age of freedom. Not freedom as we define it today, but a freedom from uncertainty; but with a heavy price – privacy. We whine about the loss of our civil liberties now, just wait.<br />
<br />
Science tells us today that alcoholics may have a genetic predisposition to the disease (which may actually be an allergy). That these genetic indicators could be used in the future to predict alcoholism in individuals <em>who may have never taken a drink</em> is a very real possibility within the next 10 years. But what if our genes can predict more than disease and physical attributes? Sure, Alzheimer’s, alcoholism, ALS, and azure eyes are all great arguments for furthering genetic research – after all, who would be so callous as to argue against furthering developments in a science that could predict ovarian cancer, macular degeneration, or Down’s Syndrome? But what if our genes could <em>predict</em> kindness, artistic ability, sociopathology, or even… <em>murder</em>?<br />
<br />
In this century Science will be able to detect those markers in our DNA that indicate with high probability (if left unchecked or ignored; or in other cases undeveloped) what we will become. Genetic combinations will be identified that are indicators of intelligence or lack thereof in certain individuals. These combinations will indicate whether a particular person has the potential to become a musician, a professional athlete, or even a serial killer, and will become the starting point for developing that person. Some of these markers will be found to be universal indicators. I’ll call the list of universal markers in any given individual their <em>G-code</em>. Keeping in mind that our DNA remains constant through our lives we must accept the possibility that these G-codes will be identified at birth. This will open the door to the horror of knowing our strengths and weaknesses before we discover them for ourselves… <em>But why stop at birth?</em> It may well become a legal and viable reason in our future society for terminating a pregnancy… <em>But why stop at abortion?</em> It may even allow for the prohibition of procreation between individuals with a poor genetic nexus… <em>But why stop at sex?</em> These combinations might lead to legal and illegal communication between individuals <em>altogether</em>…<br />
<br />
It is accepted by our society in general that (at least in children) explicit music, sex-infused movies, and graphically violent video games can lead to real-world violence, unacceptably-youthful sexual liaisons, and a general loss of innocence that is required to develop a strong conscience. Evidence of acceptance is our rating system, which wouldn’t exist if it were not an accepted philosophy. Television shows, theatrical releases, and video games are all rated on these scales. We accept them as reasonable and useful templates for what our children should watch or play. We recognize even today that developing minds can be influenced heavily by what they are exposed to, but we cast a very wide net over our entertainment media. Our current shotgun-approach to rating what we are exposed to is primitive compared to the surgical targeting in the future. In the future, television will not be rated as we do now. There will be no need… but more on that in a moment…<br />
<br />
In the future we will carry identification that contains a chip that can wirelessly communicate. The chip will contain our G-code. As new universal genetic combinations and markers are found to be significant indicators of something or other, everyone’s code will be scanned for it and (if present) their G-code will be automatically updated on their chip. This chip will govern what we do and how we do it. When we try to purchase movie theater tickets our chip will be processed and based on the information in our G-code we will be allowed to continue or will be asked to choose a different movie. Groceries, music, radio stations, even books will be “G-scored” to <em>protect</em> us from heart disease, and negative influences. In the privacy of our homes we will have the opportunity to pre-score our purchases and desired influences.<br />
<br />
Seem far-fetched?<br />
<br />
Most states today issue magnetic-stripped driver’s licenses. On that magnetic strip is information germane to the individual it is issued to. Is it not a logical (if not short) leap to assume that future iterations of identification would include our genetic information? The chip will most likely not be in a card. More than likely it will be in an implant or some other technology that would prevent us from forgetting or misplacing it. It might also follow that it would be a crime to remove the instrument.<br />
<br />
Don’t misunderstand me; I don’t necessarily believe we will be prevented from purchasing Ho-Hos and Big Macs (yes they’ll still be around) if our G-code contains the markers for heart disease and obesity, but rather, the information will be available to us as a tool for better self-managing our health. Likewise, there are those among us who smoke for 60 years and die from old age with no cancer; those that eat fast food regularly with seemingly no affect to health. Perhaps if your G-code doesn’t contain those markers identified as indicating you are susceptible to the effects of smoking or unhealthy food, you would be able to partake with reckless abandon…<br />
<br />
<em>They're watching you watch what you watch, so watch what you're watching…</em> Based on their G-code, children may or may not be allowed to watch a television program. If a particular television set detects a minor with a chip that contains within its G-code an adverse marker for the chosen programming it simply won’t play the program.<br />
<br />
Sound far-fetched?<br />
<br />
All television sets produced on or after January 2000 contain a V-CHIP. A simple piece of technology allowing parents to restrict what their children watch on TV. My vision is no different <em>in its intended purpose</em> with the exception that my future iteration is not voluntary and is obviously more technologically advanced… I call it the G-CHIP.<br />
<br />
I see the G-code and G-CHIP being used with children to a certain age and then, as they become young adults, most restrictions would be lifted. Only the most serious markers would remain in place. Adults will continue to utilize the chip to self-govern based on their genetic tendencies. And I can only assume that there would be 10-year olds viewing what would have been, in the past, R-rated movies and M-Mature rated games because the dawning of the genetic age will have separated out those who would be harmed. Whether you adopt a lighter version or a darker, more sinister version of my vision, I believe the above is inevitable. Whether we continue to allow genetic research to perpetuate unchecked and unabated as we do now or if we tighten our oversight on the research; the result will be the same.<br />
<br />
Monsters lurk <em>everywhere</em>. Remember this the next time you’re extolling the merits and virtues of how we’ve mapped the entire Human Genome; remember that it’s incomplete and nothing now compared to what it’s going to lead to. Try to eschew your excitement <em>and be still</em>… because in all reality… <em>monsters roam the landscape just outside… and that map is only something we’ve just painted on the wall of our cave…</em>Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-70514290697286082262008-09-08T23:15:00.008-04:002011-06-20T15:51:08.463-04:00Vikings, G-CHIPs, & Genomic Verity (Part 1)…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqT4zCWoy5J-KJcTgxTM4sszuzjJUFuz-Pdr8yoe588EzZNHDQSn4I0mG23r_mYrgWfXfILABa21ZuQRztR6vxeG9XnxfdNzi6DgF8gtfOID2qeIHyjR8kTTjebPX5CwnCGERQT2g_Rcc/s1600/Vinland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqT4zCWoy5J-KJcTgxTM4sszuzjJUFuz-Pdr8yoe588EzZNHDQSn4I0mG23r_mYrgWfXfILABa21ZuQRztR6vxeG9XnxfdNzi6DgF8gtfOID2qeIHyjR8kTTjebPX5CwnCGERQT2g_Rcc/s320/Vinland.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><em>They’re watching you watch what you watch, so watch what you’re watching</em>. Sound complicated? I’ll explain… But before I tackle what I mean by the whole watching you watching thing, let me start in Part 1 with something less complicated – like, say, <em>genetics</em>.<br />
<br />
In the summer of 986 CE, Norwegian explorer Bjarni Herjolfsson set sail as usual to spend the winter with his Father. This year the trip was unique in that four months prior his Father had relocated from Iceland to Greenland. Herjolfsson, despite being unfamiliar with the waters of Greenland, set out for his Father anyway. Midway through the journey, his ship was blown off-course by a storm and Herjolfsson found he was lost at sea with no compass or map. He eventually righted his vessel but not before glimpsing <em>the forest-covered hills of a distant shore</em> to the West. Eager to complete his journey home, He continued on to Greenland. He reported his visual discovery both in Greenland and upon his return to Norway, but few took notice. Ten years later renowned Norwegian explorer Leif Eriksson listened. Eriksson purchased Herjolfsson’s ship and sailed west from Greenland in 1000 CE. He landed in Newfoundland, Canada and continued down the Eastern seaboard to Florida. 957 years later, in 1957 CE, a map surfaced in the collection of an antiquities dealer. It was dubbed the “Vinland” Map and depicts the cartography from that very journey. I’ve seen the map and it looks more like an old coffee stain on a Formica counter top than the outline of North America…<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>In the fall of 1943 CE, Italian scientist Salvador Luria conducted an experiment on the replication of viruses in bacteria. The experiment was designed to study genetic mutations. Midway through the experiment, Luria was blown off-course when bacteria began to show random traits from <em>prior replications</em>. Luria completed his experiment, but not before glimpsing the promise of structured genetic encoding – <em>the protein-laden hills of a distant shore</em>. Ten years later renowned American researcher James Dewey Watson listened. In 1953 CE, Watson, with fellow researcher Francis Crick, designed the first structural model of DNA. Fifty years later, in 2003 CE, under the early direction of James Dewey Watson, and later, Francis Collins, the Human Genome Project (HGP) created the first map of the human genome. I’ve seen the map and I suspect most people don’t know that the map <em>has not</em> been completed. There are still heterochromatic areas that remain unsequenced.<br />
<br />
It is estimated that a full 8% of the Human Genome is not included in the map… <em>8%</em>… I paid attention in 1st grade most days so I know the map is 92% complete… do you think that 8% could make a difference somewhere, somehow? The United States (50+ DC) total area is 3,794,083 square miles; the next time you draw it leave out California, Florida, all of New England, and Delaware – <em>that would be 8%</em>.<br />
<br />
So they’ve <em>almost</em> mapped the human genome… so what? What does that mean? Realistically, it means <em>nothing</em> relative to what it will mean 100 or 200 years from now. Although it is the first attempt at written representation of our essence – that which makes us unique from our planet mates – to ignore that it is a thin beam of light in a broad and dark space would be reckless, irresponsible, even <em>dangerous</em> to future generations. So why does the general public blindly accept the current iteration of the genome map as final and accurate? Because it speaks to things you need a PhD and a Nobel Prize to fully understand? Because those who do possess these accolades say it’s so? Personally, I suspect it’s just a rough draft. I maintain it might be no more accurate a map of <em>my genome</em> than the Vinland map is of <em>my continent</em>.<br />
<br />
Now, I know a continental land mass is not the human genome… but think about it. Which one (from the standpoint of accuracy) would be the more challenging project: a continental coastline map using Viking Age technology or the Human Genome map using 21st Century technology? I say it would be easier to map the coastline. The Vikings were a very, <em>very</em> adept seafaring people and group of explorers. If the coastline project was <em>less difficult</em> or even <em>as difficult</em> as the Genome Project and the Vinland map proved to be that distorted, can we assume that the Genome map is without any error? There is more left to discover about our genetic code than is known now <em>and</em> can be imagined… <em>combined</em>.<br />
<br />
It should be noted that there is concern that the Vinland map parchment might be a forgery. But make no mistake; the fact Eriksson sailed the coast of North America is not in question. The document itself has been date-tested and the findings are conflicting. Most research groups say the evidence corroborates the dates claimed by the map’s champions (1440), while others say the evidence supports the critics. But regardless, the historical record is clear and unrefuted: the map’s information concerning North America (i.e. the coastline) is accepted by mainstream science as being the cartography as recorded by the Viking explorers Bjarni Herjolfsson and Leif Eriksson.<br />
<br />
So there you have it. My logic for thinking the Genome Map is something to be cautiously excited about; <em>excited</em> because it is the first draft of something truly amazing; <em>cautious</em> because it is not complete; <em>excited</em> because, like a detective’s notebook, the answers are right there – even if hidden for now; <em>cautious</em> because sleeping around the corner is a monster – one we will be unable to contain once awakened (and trust me – we <em>will</em> want it contained)…Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-84694354129146957872008-08-21T09:21:00.008-04:002011-06-20T16:07:35.251-04:00I see London, I see France...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eSO6bFYo3f4TyojuuQoDTKPGmlJuqGVV4L_N_-tnI5EwBk0G202oEY0Z05Ls2DDuHtbpSmmjxJt8FiLqmdLXMASDwsWln_hQB_ecLipObAneaUfwrb6po4AjZ8KarT1_s7DW936L9v8/s1600/Olympics+Nude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eSO6bFYo3f4TyojuuQoDTKPGmlJuqGVV4L_N_-tnI5EwBk0G202oEY0Z05Ls2DDuHtbpSmmjxJt8FiLqmdLXMASDwsWln_hQB_ecLipObAneaUfwrb6po4AjZ8KarT1_s7DW936L9v8/s320/Olympics+Nude.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>These days I have pride in my country more days than not. So I cheer for our athletes “to bring home the gold.” And when the network needs to fill time, I sit attentively and listen to the special interest piece designed to get me all weepy and ready to pump my fists at the heavens for gold in the next event. I watch the athlete’s stories and I study their faces. I cry out when they fly off a beam in error, and I cry out when they fly off a beam by design. I sit in amazement at how some athletes make themselves so great and at how others even make it onto the flight to Beijing. I try to man-up and bite my lip when I hear my country’s anthem being played for a superior member of the human race and I wonder what it must be like to be a part of that time-honored podium ceremony…<br />
<br />
I played rugby for most of my athletic career so the elegance of the Olympic medal ceremony is, well, excuse the pun but, <em>Greek</em> to me. If I could imagine rugby’s equivalent for you for a moment, it would most likely go something like this: a bar top instead of a podium; a bar crowd singing a very rude limerick in lieu of a formal anthem; a golden beer for a medal; and one’s own jock strap in place of the kotinos olive wreath. The only real similarity I can possibly muster <em>(and I know it’s a stretch)</em> between the ancient version and my rugby experience is <em>all the nudity</em>...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Speaking of nudity (‘cause I like to) how cool would it be to watch the Olympics play out nude like the ancient games in Greece? OK, OK. I agree – not so fast it could get ugly. But humor me. Let me talk it through…<br />
<br />
By order of Scoop, all Olympic events are now nude. And because I control what I watch, I’ll tell you which ones I’ll watch and which ones I won’t… cause if I just go flipping on the tube without concern for this I might get an image burned into my mind that, well, burns.<br />
<br />
First, let’s lay a couple of ground rules: <em>no whining to me about how I’m discriminating</em>. I’m making my choices based on aesthetic value and on what <em>my</em> eyes can handle, not yours; so get your own blog. <em>No complaining that I’m forgetting the competitive value of a particular event</em>. I watch all Olympic sports (except soccer) especially the obscure ones but it would simply change my tastes if they were nude. <em>Don’t tell me how it would be impossible for the athletes to perform because of support provided by the equipment, clothing, etc</em>. It’s not real, spanky, untie your panties or briefs and remember it’s <em>my</em> fantasy. So relax, no one really put me in charge of Olympic attire.<br />
<br />
It might surprise you that not all men’s events would be off-limits to my eyes. But I’ll start with the ladies. I would divide the events into three categories: those I would have to watch, those I would watch with conditions, and those I wouldn’t even <em>listen to</em> nude – <em>them</em> nude, not <em>me</em> nude.<br />
<br />
I would have to watch: <em>women’s volleyball (Beach and Indoor)</em> especially if they promise to roll around in the sand again when they win; <em>women’s swimming (Meet and Synchronized)</em> assuming the she-men Chinese and East German juicers of the past have been extirpated so I won’t have to watch through my fingers. A note on the synchronized events – nose plugs are considered equipment and therefore not allowed. This of course will force more above-the-surface time – point to Scoop. I would have to watch <em>women’s diving (all events)</em> special slow-mo coverage should be devoted to springboard – since I’m not in control of coverage, I’ll be doing this with my own remote – bring the beer. Also <em>women’s gymnastics (trampoline)</em> – see springboard above… Lastly, <em>women’s field hockey</em> – don’t knock it ‘till you watch it.<br />
<br />
I would conditionally watch: <em>women’s gymnastics (all other events)</em> providing the Chinese get the 12 year olds off the mat – otherwise it’s just creepy. <em>Equestrian (Dressing and Jumping)</em> You say jumping, canter, piaffe and trotting. I say popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs and beer! Condition: it’s a gender-mixed event so the camera work needs to be Emmy-award-winning cautious.<br />
<br />
I wouldn’t watch the following nude events if I were blind: <em>women’s weightlifting</em> OK… No. <em>Women’s softball</em> – sorry fans they just don’t do it for me. I don’t even find the “pretty one” pretty…<br />
<br />
This brings us to the men – yeah, the men. Hear me out. I have my reasons for adding them to the list in a few events, <em>very few events</em>. I’ll divide the men into two groups: Those I’d watch with conditions, and those I wouldn’t watch.<br />
<br />
<em>Men’s soccer</em> shouldn’t be a problem since players aren’t really men anyway (especially if they pronounce it futbol) besides, with the top-of-the-sky-box, fixed-omniscient camera vantage that soccer broadcasts always seem to be shot from, it would be impossible to see any soccer player’s tiny junk anyway… and, it would prove to the world everything we ruggers have known for years. <em>Men’s Fencing (epee, sabre, and foil)</em> would be no less interesting than I can imagine: two very frightened naked men standing at either end of a very long narrow mat, whipping their epees through the air and refusing to fight – admit it, it’s got comedic value… <em>Men’s canoeing</em> is one event I’d watch as long as they keep the camera at water level. Finally, <em>Men’s swimming</em> OK, ladies I’ll throw in Phelps et al. Phelps’ torso of a 6’8” male, legs of a 6’0” male, his size 13 flippers, oversized paddles, and double jointed body is a wonder; may as well see the rudder on this ship, right?<br />
<br />
So there you have it. An ex-rugby player’s take on the Olympics in the nude. You know, they’re trying to bring a version of rugby back to the Olympics. Rugby was an Olympic sport for four games, but after 1924 the IOC dropped it because when the US beat France for gold in the final, the French fans, in protest, invaded the pitch. You gotta wonder though if there was something else to the story they’re not telling us… like parties… beer… or, maybe even… <em>nudity</em>...Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-18440670846286285472008-08-20T01:25:00.010-04:002011-06-20T16:14:39.648-04:00eHarmin’ me dot com…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlFVuvpHXu3dRjR3sPDtWuK8Na-4NuhDxzZxvrIro8PKPPtCXETlsPFLhI8Y9vM2y8MSVty2PsSi7PZFFaym5fDm84X55JYcCB_cHr3Sk_JshC2YVnuMmNg9LzH55pE-uS3ZXZsnB67Y/s1600/Keyboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYlFVuvpHXu3dRjR3sPDtWuK8Na-4NuhDxzZxvrIro8PKPPtCXETlsPFLhI8Y9vM2y8MSVty2PsSi7PZFFaym5fDm84X55JYcCB_cHr3Sk_JshC2YVnuMmNg9LzH55pE-uS3ZXZsnB67Y/s200/Keyboard.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>There were five bar stools between my future ex-girlfriend and me. Absently stirring her drink, she stared at the TV behind the bar and yawned. The condensation ran down my pint and soaked into the pressed-pulp bar coaster. The coaster had had more to drink than me and it was then in my boredom I decided to test a theory. I had acquired a two-page questionnaire earlier in the day. I slid off my stool and walked toward her counting down the bar stools as I went. She was an early 20’s student athlete type who looked like she might enjoy dinner and a movie with the right person…<br />
<br />
No one does that anymore – dinner and a movie. I think more people would if everyone didn’t expect that everyone else liked the hip, trendy bar scene so much. It’s like there’s a silent understanding that my date won’t like a movie and dinner if I could have taken her to a club or a bar. I say bullshit. Every woman I’ve talked to says some of her best memories are of the simple dates. I’m not talking about married and might-as-well-be-married couples, either. Married date-night is different; where the cautious analysis of your date and scud-shot conversations are replaced with familiarity and comfortable colloquy; or in some marriages, silence...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>The college newspaper had published an article about an upcoming on-campus dating service. I contributed to the paper from time to time and had an op-ed piece in the works. I had acquired the paper in my left hand from a psych major I knew working on the new service. Every college campus I’d ever been on needed a dating service like it needed training on how to pour beer, have sex, or show up on 2 hours sleep. I thought it was a stupid idea, and there I was about to wreck my chance at getting lucky proving it. I gripped the paper in my hand tightly; nervous it would go awry; that I’d upset her and ruin a shot at a nice relationship – or at least a nice time. I considered putting my paper away and being myself; doing what I’d always done and talk to her face-to-face… three stools to go…<br />
<br />
eHarmony, Match.com, swingerslane.com, and others of their ilk present a unique social challenge to our society. OK, maybe not that last one… there’s probably no good way to break <em>that</em> ice. In addition to being a huge waste of time and money, match sites give people an excuse not to interact in person with strangers. Follow me… I want to go out and enjoy myself in a sports bar watching Notre Dame beat the socks off whomever they’re playing. While I’m there I like to hang out with my friends <em>and maybe a few strangers</em> drinking pints and playing darts. Since cell phones, and mainstream Internet access, everyone communicates within their own little clique for pre-arranged meetings. The meetings still may be in a bar full of strangers, but more times than not, it’s at someone’s house. Don’t get me wrong; I’d be lost without my Blackberry. But at what cost to our society do we embrace this technology? Match sites allow people to converse and ask each other out without ever once interacting in person – <em>it’s kind of like setting yourself up on a blind date</em>.<br />
<br />
She saw me approaching and shifted on her bar stool. She tipped her head and tugged nervously at her earring. I felt really uncomfortable with myself. I stood one stool away from her and put the paper on the bar. I asked kindly if she would mind completing my compatibility questionnaire and returning it to me before she left. She squinted at me with incredulity. I smiled. She smiled back. I raised an eyebrow, handed her a pen, went back to my warm Guinness, and waited.<br />
<br />
She wrote for 10 long minutes. When she was through she put the paper in her back pocket. She walked over and told me I couldn’t have it because it wasn’t fair that she didn’t have a questionnaire on <em>me</em>. I told her I was sorry and to forget it. She laughed, sat down, and we bought each other many drinks. <em>I never made that deadline on the op-ed piece</em>. We dated for a year and then remained great friends for two more; then one March night she died. Her sorority sisters found the paper in a shoebox. It had my name on it so they gave it back to me…<br />
<br />
If you want a date go out and ask somebody. Stop allowing match services to pigeonhole our society and limit our choices to truncated groups defined by answers on some questionnaire. Stop allowing these <em>services</em> to tell us “looks don’t matter,” that “personality is everything.” <em>You can’t see a great personality from across the room</em>. Stop allowing them to retard you by requiring you to snipe at partners from afar. Contrary to what they want you to believe, it is <em>not</em> a good thing to be able to screen people before you meet them. As a matter of fact, I believe it puts you at greater risk of hooking a nut.<br />
<br />
But, alas, I could be wrong. Maybe having some computer quiz telling you what you like is the way to go for those of you with low self esteem, poor self image, agoraphobia, diarrhea, or whatever other excuse you muster to avoid talking to that stranger in the room. Maybe those people who advocate online matching have a point when they applaud <em>all</em> the marriages that have been created by people making a “connection” on these sites… <em>OK, as long as we’re making up statistics – how many marriages have they destroyed? Which have there been more of: rapes or happy unions?</em> Bet you won’t see those stats on a commercial…<br />
<br />
After her death, it took me a few days to read her responses on my questionnaire. Not one single answer was a “hit.” If it had been a website or dating service, they would have kept us <em>away from </em>each other. We had nothing in common on paper, yet never had one maladroit moment. Nothing in common on paper, yet everything in person; and her impact on my life has been profound. The March edition carried my op-ed even though the campus dating service had long been defunct.Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-20692434293848004622008-08-18T01:57:00.019-04:002011-06-20T16:09:32.529-04:00Phelps over Spitz is hard to Swallow…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikT0g9tJtzBAO2O2TeFfh_yI3QePnm2Gf05hdXEooT64vwUMVY7EdIi1tNLmoX_RpHf1yuZxm505JKI7_XtuWUHfX6Lq5FJM0bO5SkPxug5XY_GbPFyQwGd6TloCoczBjixynW2OGHEs8/s1600/Mustache+on+a+Stick.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikT0g9tJtzBAO2O2TeFfh_yI3QePnm2Gf05hdXEooT64vwUMVY7EdIi1tNLmoX_RpHf1yuZxm505JKI7_XtuWUHfX6Lq5FJM0bO5SkPxug5XY_GbPFyQwGd6TloCoczBjixynW2OGHEs8/s1600/Mustache+on+a+Stick.bmp" /></a></div>OK. I <em>gotta</em> know… does anybody else wonder about Phelps' achievements? So no one misunderstands my angle, indulge me. Step inside my head for a spell. I’ll spill my thoughts out for you in detail to nosh on, then you decide.<br />
<br />
Modern sports have become mired in controversy over drug use and doping. The fundamental rationale for the World Anti-Doping Code (which is wholly adopted <em>in toto</em> by the IOC in the Olympic Charter) is “to preserve what is intrinsically valuable to sport.” The code states intrinsic value is characterized by ethics, <em>fair play</em> and honesty; excellence in performance; and <em>health</em>. It’s a few of these that got me thinking… I’ll start with a ridiculously simplistic scenario then move into a more complex one.<br />
<br />
Let’s assume you have two sprinters representing different countries. Both are evenly matched in abilities and health. During training, they both find they are lagging behind the field of sprinters as a result of some deficiency. The first sprinter chooses to take a drug to erase the deficit. The second sprinter chooses not to. The race is run and the first sprinter – the doper – wins...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Let’s assume the deficiency is physique, and the drug is hGH. The medallist is stripped, disgraced, and may or may not be expelled from the sport. Now, imagine for a moment the deficiency they both suffer is severe bronchitis and the drug is Azithromycin. No problem. Results stand and medals are kept. But what if the second sprinter doesn’t take the drug because it is <em>unavailable</em> to him?<br />
<br />
I know what you might be thinking, <em>that’s stupid Scoop. There isn’t an NOC on the planet that doesn’t have access to basic antibiotics</em>. Yes, I know that. I’m just saying what if the non-doper doesn’t take the drug because he literally <em>can’t</em>. What if there are disadvantages to certain countries athletes because that country’s NOC doesn’t have the same technological advancements as others? What if there is a <em>better</em> antibiotic that wasn’t available to one sprinter but was to the other? And, couldn’t this extend beyond antibiotics to equipment? The IOC strives to maintain fairness, but gives guidance on specialized equipment only in as much as to say that any publicity concerning the equipment must be submitted to the NOC concerned for approval. In other words if a country has a high-tech tracksuit any publicity concerning that suit must be approved by <em>that</em> Country’s NOC.<br />
<br />
I said the first example would be a ridiculously simplistic scenario, right? So here is the more complex sequel: What if there was a swimmer who didn’t have the training facilities; team of massage therapists, physicians, coaches, dietitians; or a $600 high-tech, space-age, shove-the-fat-from-my-ass-into-my-pecs swim suit? If our tech-poor swimmer is swimming against those that do have all the above, is there a fairness issue? If one of the goals of the games is to promote <em>fair play</em>, shouldn’t we make sure all Olympians are equally equipped or equally <em>not</em> equipped? If we won’t allow pharmaceutical enhancements, why allow the technical enhancements unless they are universally available?<br />
<br />
I am very impressed by and proud of our accomplishments in the Olympics, but in a lot of ways I find myself rooting for those Olympians who stand to win a medal in spite of the competition’s overwhelming technological and financial advantages. (Itte Detenamo from Nauru comes to mind. He is the only Olympian from his country. I plan to be his biggest fan outside of the 8.1 square mile Micronesian island nation. It would be sweet to see him Medal in Men’s Weightlifting +105kg)<br />
<br />
All this said I believe Michael Phelps to be one of the greatest swimmers in history. Phelps, in my opinion, would have won most of his gold medals without his space suit, but not all; and he would not have set 7 world records. Then again, and listen up critics, he set a world record in the 200 meter butterfly in spite of water-filled goggles – an equipment <em>disadvantage</em>, so maybe I’m wrong…<br />
<br />
The media compares Phelps to Mark Spitz. It would be something to see the two of them equally matched with (or without) the suit go head to head. It would be one hell of a race all things being equal, but they’re not.<br />
<br />
Of course, I’d insist Phelps grow a dirt squirrel…I figure stash-drag had to cost Spitz at least a tenth…Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-33725227175433742772008-08-16T15:44:00.024-04:002011-06-20T16:08:45.751-04:00Waxing-off vs. The Real Thing...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtjlLvn_OvipvsFV-PYIEtC_47WSKQ2O0ds270LrGL0uUwsRt6MZ7QS-K5isvxGKMBJw-RYYhoie511Ri3BnEer8su88SfF3QBhfPZX-r1_rr574J-r1_EBil_3ygNb_gGiahbiK7RZvI/s1600/Cat-son.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtjlLvn_OvipvsFV-PYIEtC_47WSKQ2O0ds270LrGL0uUwsRt6MZ7QS-K5isvxGKMBJw-RYYhoie511Ri3BnEer8su88SfF3QBhfPZX-r1_rr574J-r1_EBil_3ygNb_gGiahbiK7RZvI/s1600/Cat-son.bmp" /></a></div>Recently, I've realized that an experience one afternoon in college was to become one metaphor for how an awful lot of people enter into debates ill-prepared due to their own lack of desire to seek the facts before forming their opinion or broadcasting someone else’s.<br />
<br />
In college there was a guy who roomed and played rugby with us who studied Karate – <em>from a book</em>. I’m sure he never earned a belt. What he did earn was a reputation for being the guy that told you to come at him slowly like you had a knife. After two or three restarts he would flip someone to the floor and proudly proclaim his status as a master of something-or-other. One afternoon over a few pints of Guinness we all watched the Master get the Bruce beat out of him by a guy on the tennis team. Apparently his Ninja-like discipline didn’t apply to his lips. Or, perhaps Martina hadn’t come at him as slowly as he’d been practicing. In the end, the pints of Guinness dulled grasshopper’s wounds, we laughed our asses off, and life went on...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Most people make the same mistake as our old Karate Kid roommate. You see, all the wax-on, wax-off preparation in the world can't ready you for anything if your preparation isn’t a rigorous test of what is to come. If boxers could become great from shadow boxing alone, anyone with 5 square feet of floor space could be world champ over time. Waxing-off is fine – but it’s really not the Real Thing. You’ve got to spar too. For all the bragging-masters waxing-off out there, you’d think fewer people would be walking around in the dark thinking it’s sunny but that’s not the case. Very few people take the time to forge their opinions from facts they themselves have researched – so…they’re just waxing-off.<br />
<br />
Our Daniel-son mouthed off and ambled into a fight having only waxed-off and got his 靶垛 kicked. Here’s the reason I bring all this up: those that know most people just wax-off and rarely get in the ring to do any real diligence, lure them into the ring and prey on them. It’s not that these opportunists don’t see the value in educating the waxers; they just see <em>more</em> value in exploiting them. I usually try to educate rather than exploit. I would love to say it’s because I’m a good guy, or I want to do my part, but the truth is I just find it is easier to call bullshit, reeducate and move on than waste time lingering. Actually, you can’t find much value in exploiting the waxers anyway…<br />
<br />
Whether it’s politics, current events, or how our DVRs rewind live TV, we either understand it or we don’t. If you don’t and wish you did, educate yourself with the facts. Take the time to do your diligence and truly form an opinion – an <em>educated</em> opinion. If you don’t and you’re happy there in the dark, fine. But don’t try to pop out every now and again and act like an expert in matters you haven’t researched.<br />
<br />
Look, I am hardly always right. <em>As if</em>. But I do try to make sure I have researched a topic exhaustively before I stick myself in the ring. Plus, the final outcome from due diligence is ultimately only an opinion – <em>but one backed by fact and certainly a more respected one</em>.Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7811587429408571613.post-59110591287876367132008-08-15T01:25:00.012-04:002011-06-20T19:49:47.044-04:00The Island of Atlanta...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXWcPFJaO152rxKkdF5DKPJPHtj12UkZE6DVw36Ppl7afOmjI0G5AG4bzTsgnM1DbrKlctieKSND-G7VeNUA4NaYleNrizusXbLAGBFI-odBXdizZaTQARtlKOUCWzJzkiZEoRrm9Ito/s1600/Island-Atlanta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXWcPFJaO152rxKkdF5DKPJPHtj12UkZE6DVw36Ppl7afOmjI0G5AG4bzTsgnM1DbrKlctieKSND-G7VeNUA4NaYleNrizusXbLAGBFI-odBXdizZaTQARtlKOUCWzJzkiZEoRrm9Ito/s1600/Island-Atlanta.jpg" /></a></div>So there I was sitting in the Atlanta Airport waiting for weather to clear so I could get to Dallas for a three-day business meeting. My plane was delayed for 4 hours and according to Delta it would be 2 more.<br />
<br />
I'm a people-watcher so I don't mind delays and layovers. I actually quite enjoy myself as long as I get to watch the human animal in action - especially when it's unaware that it's being observed. Besides the nose-picking, wedgie-fixing, crotch-scratching members of the herd there are those that are truly worthy of being studied...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I like to play a game. I imagine I'm stranded on an island with 5 people in my immediate vicinity. Which 5? There's the exhausted mother with heathen children who won't obey for shit, torturing everyone around them while dad is wondering if the trip was worth it. The businessman who has been slowly growing out of his suit over the last three years and is traveling because he's been convinced that making his boss rich is in his best interest. The two teenage girls popping gum sitting 10 seats away from mom and dad trying to convince everyone they're traveling alone but fooling no one with the matching Mickey Mouse shirts mom and dad are wearing too. The late-20 something hottie with the nice body and no ring, flipping robotically through the latest issue of Cosmo, rolling her eyes every time the heathen brood trip over her bag and feet.<br />
<br />
Then, there are the "in need of assistance". They include the elderly, the infirmed, the wheelchair-bound, the not wheelchair-bound but whose fat asses are shoehorned into one anyway, and the mothers with infants who breast feed with such reckless abandon you get nervous they might offer you some. None of these assistance-needers get to be on my island.<br />
<br />
Right next to the jetway entrance is the jackass who honestly believes if he gets on the plane first he'll get there quicker even though he's in Zone 9 and won't board until after the rest of us. He's the human equivalent of a drain clog and needs to be removed to ensure a tidy flush onto the plane for the rest of us. There's the open-mouthed arrival/departure screen-gazer who stands in the middle of the concourse staring dopily upward right in the path of a golf cart carrying a gaggle of assistance-needers beeping like a dump truck backing into a quarry.<br />
<br />
Off in the corner are two attendants, two pilots, and an undercover air marshal. Do these guys fool anybody? They really shouldn't hang with the brass. Know what I mean? Finally, there's the overweight couple that both pull Subway Subs out of their carry-ons... and you wonder... 'cause there is no Subway in the Atlanta Airport.<br />
<br />
So which 5? What 5 would you choose if you could? Unless Cosmo-Cutie was interested, I'd probably wade 500 meters off the island and decide to forget how to swim anyway so it matters very little, right?<br />
<br />
But play along. I have my 5, you?<br />
<br />
With a half hour to go in Atlanta I give up the fantasy and forget my island. Besides, I <em>was</em> stranded with them – all of them – on the island of Atlanta. I began wondering which of them (if any) would pick <em>me</em>... I stood up, fixed my wedgie and started toward the jetway to observe the human clog from a better vantage...Scoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03226624737329585096noreply@blogger.com5