I'm the Pied Piper....

Even though I subscribe to the local daily newspaper I seldom read it. I like to wait a few days or even a week or so and then I can scan it for important things that I haven't read on the Internet or heard discussed in the streets. The campaign just concluded for the Presidency was not, in my opinion, newsworthy. On the one hand you had a liberal who tried to disguise himself as a moderate conservative and on the other hand you had a liberal that flaunted his colors. Not much of a choice, if you ask me.

I had concluded quite some time before election day that Barack Obama would win the election and that McCain did not have a snowball's chance. The President-elect did a grand job of rallying people behind him. I just can't understand why.

By his own admission, he is unqualified to assume the highest office of the land. He has no experience at anything that matters. Being a lawyer certainly does not qualify him. Being an absentee Senator does not qualify him.

Ah, you say, but he offered change and hope. What kind of change? On the few occasions I talked to an Obama supporter I never got a clear-cut answer on why they were voting for him. None could articulate what he stood for. Looking at his record, will the change he speaks of repeat the disastrous Jimmy Carter administration? Not all change is good. Lenin offered change and look what happened. Hitler offered change and hope, too. We looked back on that era and ask, "How could the German people have fallen for him?" Someday, I think, others will look back on our day and ask the same thing.

Now that Obama has one the election I am following the news more closely. Some of the things I have read indicate my analogy to Hitler may not be that far off. I hope I am wrong.

"Come on, babe, follow me; I'm the Pied Piper, follow me...." and the people did.

Devastated woman

Photo courtesy of Chiara Angelini.
I pulled into a parking spot right in front of the grocery store. In the adjacent spot was an older Z-model Datsun (Nissan). The windows were down and a beautiful labrador retriever was stretched out across the passenger seat. It seemed to be comfortably sleeping, like the one pictured above. The car was filled with the driver's stuff and appeared to be a home for someone.

I was busy trying to get some stuff rearranged in my van and did not notice the woman come out of the store and return to her car, the one parked next to mine. I saw her leaning through the driver's side open window and moving things around. She extricated herself from her car and I commented, “Looks like a comfortable dog.”

“He's dead,” she said quietly, and went back into the store. He had died while she was shopping.

Several minutes later she returned, tears streaming down her face. I was not in a position to talk to her and could offer her no comfort. She got in her car and I noticed her steering wheel wobble like a top just before it falls over at the end of a spin. She drove off, wiping her tears. I imagine the dog and the car were all that she had.

We come into contact with all sorts of people every day. We never know the sufferings or the delights of most. I wish I could have consoled this poor woman. Those that could have, I later learned, did not. I thank God for the things I have and enjoy, having known both plenty and deprivation. That woman may not have had much by way of the world's goods but she had a heart and she had love — love for a dog who would never again return it.

Don't Correct Me

I take great pride in my command of the English language — or at least the American English language. I am better-than-average at spelling and pronunciation. Over forty years have passed since I graduated high school and I am still studying English.

It really irritates me when someone, especially an uneducated and ignorant someone, corrects my pronunciation. I know that grimace rhymes with face and the accent is on the second syllable. I know that dissect is not pronounced die-sect, but dissect.

I also have a familiarity with several languages, in none of which I can claim any proficiency. I know how to pronounce German, Spanish, and Latin. I am not so good in French (and a native-born Frenchman would tell me I never will be).

I know some words, particularly names, are pronounced differently depending where you are in the country. Bergen, NY and Bergen, NJ are not pronounced the same. Charlotte, NY and Charlotte, NC are pronounced differently as is Ephrata, PA and Ephrata, WA and the cities of Moscow, Russia and Moscow, ID. If I pronounce the name of a place wrong and am corrected by someone from that area or familiar with the proper pronunciation I take no umbrage.

I went to the deli at a local supermarket and asked if they had Lebanon balogna. I enunciated clearly: Leb-a-non, with the accent on the first syllable. The waif behind the counter said, "Leb-e-NON," to which I replied, "I pronounced it correctly." After ascertaining that they did not sell the product I asked for a pound of Münster cheese, using the correct German pronunciation of Myunster (the the y and umlauted u being pronounced as one letter). You meant "Munster," didn't you?" she asked. Somewhat indignantly I told her that I had said it as it should be.

OK, most people use the pronunciations that the young lady working at the counter did. That makes it neither right nor acceptable. Where do these aberrant pronunciations come from? They come from ignorant TV reporters and radio announcers who seem bent on changing the way we speak. Grenada, that tiny island nation in the West Indies, was until the recent military engagement there (under the presidency of Ronald Reagan, for those to young to remember) pronounced with an "ah" sound. Now it is Gren-nay-da. Too bad Frankie Lane didn't know that. He would never have been able to rhyme it with Nevada — or will we be calling that Ne-vay-da ten years from now? Oh, just in case you are a public speaker, its English pronunciation is with the middle a as the a in at, not Nev-ah-da. Yes, I know, because I lived there.

If you are one of those people who feel it is your duty to correct everyone's pronunciation and use of the English language I have but one word for you: STOP! Sooner or later you will find yourself with egg on your face. If you are proficient in these areas and you want to save someone from future embarrassment, do it quietly and privately. And as for you, young lady behind the counter, remember this: the customer is always right — even when he's wrong.

How do they stay in business — Pt. 1

This is an advertisement in the Kitsap Sun for McGavins Bakery in Bremerton, Washington. Bremerton has a bad reputation, rightly earned, of poor customer service from its businesses. What once was a lively, productive city is now a moribund municipality gasping for its last breath as it applies cosmetic fixes that make it more appealing to the eye but do nothing to attract shoppers.

McGavins bakery is a fixture in Bremerton. It was there when I arrived in the Autumn of 1970. That was back when the city was booming. It advertises itself as the “home of the pink champagne cake.”

My wife saw the advertisement pictured above and called the bakery to place an order. Among other things, she specifically asked what was on the cake and was told, “nothing.” We do not ordinarily purchase cakes from a bakery because I can make my own equaling or exceeding the quality of that which you find in the majority of bakeries. However, this was for our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary, and it was a champagne cake — a little out of the ordinary. She placed an order and I picked it up several days later, on Saturday.

I arrived at the bakery and had to wait a few minutes while other customers were being served. When my cake was brought out from the back I do not remember if it was boxed or not. Because of the press of other customers I was not able to pay close attention to what was going on. I do remember looking at the cakes in the glass case and observing the skimpy icing covering some of them and that two were covered in what appeared to be either coconut or crumbs. I paid for my purchase and proceeded home where, without looking at the cake, I placed it in the refrigerator.

The following Monday was our wedding anniversary. That evening I got the cake out and told my wife that it appeared to have coconut on it. A pinch of the questionable matter confirmed my hunch. My wife was livid. She was disappointed. She had looked forward to having this cake for weeks. It isn't that she doesn't like coconut. It's much worse than that. Coconut ingestion can be fatal to her. Needless to say, it strained and dampened our celebration.

My wife later called the bakery and talked to a counter person while a man in the background provided the answers. Whether he was the owner, the manager, the baker, or the janitor I do not know. What I do know (the telephone was on the external speaker) was that he was arrogantly unconcerned. His bottom line was that if we did not want coconut we should have so stated that. Were we also to say we did not want catsup, mustard, nuts, meringue, whipped cream, etc. on it? When you are told nothing was on it, you expect nothing to be on it.

This is the mentality of many Bremerton businesses. This is the reason that Bremerton is now a fourth-rate city — a small metropolis of run-down, empty storefronts. “The customer is always right” never found acceptance here. I hope McGavins Bakery learns that customer service is what keeps a store in business. There are others who would gladly have their disgruntled patrons.

April Fools' Day

 

Practical jokes and hoaxes traditionally are the fare for April Fool's Day. Where it originated and why it came about are speculative matters, but the custom goes back many centuries and seems to have been widespread throughout much of Europe.

Being a practical joker at heart, I have been known to perpetrate some good-spirited hoaxes, not necessarily original, on unsuspecting subjects.

As a young man, I had an acquaintance who was deaf. I called this person's mother representing myself as an agent for a Dr. Frank Lee Lyon and said that Dr. Lyon was on track for developing a cure for deafness and would her child be interested in being a trial subject. I gave her the doctor's telephone number and asked her to call him that afternoon. The number I gave was for the local zoo.

About three o'clock that afternoon, I again called the mother who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, was somewhat irate. "Frankly, your liein'," she said and summarily hung up the telephone.

That evening I had occasion to see the mother, who was with her husband. She was in an emotional state of mind and was telling him of the telephone call she had received earlier that day. As I listened to her I could not help but start laughing. "That was you?" she asked unbelievably. I confessed it was, and the three of us had a good laugh.

On another occasion, much later in life, I left "While you were out" messages on several engineers' desks saying that a certain Myra Mains had called and would like them to return the call. The number given was that of a local funeral home. It is hard to suppress laughter when your "professional" coworker is asking to speak with Myra Mains.

We all need a good laugh from time-to-time and this day provides that opportunity. Have a happy, rollicking day!

I See Red When I See Pink

Thank you, Lars Brinkman, for the use of your photograph.

See the cruel man and the cruel tourist inflicting inhumane and cruel treatment on the nice horsey. See the famished horse as he shivers and shudders, breathing in all that foul and polluted Central Park air, pulling those lazy, self-indulgent tourists being pampered by its unethical and tyrannical owner. Doesn't that just make you see red?

I see red when I see Pink. Who is Pink? That's the question I had when I heard that Pink is calling for the ban of horse drawn carriages in the city of New York. So who is Pink? I always that Pink was a color. This Pink is something else. Pink is a sometimes androgynous-looking woman (who can look beautiful when she wants to), foul-mouthed, rocker from Philadelphia. Her notoriety and following among the world's easily-mislead youth gives her the platform to express her ridiculously silly ideas and to promote her favorite cause: the prevention of animal cruelty.

Do i support animal cruelty? No way! I just don't believe that Pink and PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) are always right when it comes to animal cruelty. In the first place, PETA believes that animals and people are equal. I do not. I believe that humans are far superior to the most superior animal. I also believe that God gave us animals to make our labor easier, and for eating. I have no problem with poisoning rats or trapping rats and mice in those cruel snap-action traps. Rats and mice might be Pink’s equal (and that I do not find hard to imagine) but they are not equal to me. And I find a horse-drawn carriage ride most enjoyable and relaxing.

So what does Pink have against horse-drawn carriages? The poor horsey has to walk in his bare feet in the snow. Oh, how pitiful. So do the Sherpa's of Nepal. The poor horsey has to breathe all that carcinogenic automobile exhaust. The poor horsey gets cold in winter and sweats in the summertime. Look, Pink, if you don’t like watching the poor horsies in Central Park or on the avenues of New York, go to India where the animals are venerated and inflict cruelty on the people.

A look at PETA’s home page on their web site is revealing. While I might find something(s) to agree with, I really wonder what PETA would do with all the animals if they had the “rights” that PETA thinks they should have.

But back to horse-drawn carriage rides. Are they really inhumane for the horses? I don’t believe they are. I have had horse-drawn carriage rides in New York, Honolulu, Victoria, B.C. and have seen them in a number of other localities. I have never seen a horse mistreated. That would be killing the goose that laid the golden egg. Sure, they have to breathe automobile exhaust. So, Pink, why are you not concerned about the driver breathing those same fumes? Why are you not concerned about the tourists having to breathe those fumes? Doesn’t the driver have to endure the cold of winter and the heat of summer? Why are you not concerned about him or her?

Some people have nothing better to do than to meddle with centuries-old customs and ideas. I guess that’s the only outlet for those who have no real skills and little wisdom and too much time and money. If you’re really against cruelty, campaign against partial-birth abortion or saline-induced abortion. Than you might be believable.

Stupid People!

Two weeks less two days ago we had a major flood in our locality. One of the effects of our inundation was that the road just east of our house was undermined by about four to five feet. There is a drop of approximately forty feet to the bottom.




Because there were so many of these incidents in the county it was late in the day before road barriers were in place.

For the first couple of days the road was barred like this:




One would think that would do the job. Not here! Traffic continued as if there were no barriers.

There is no rock fill under the road — only mud. Every time a vehicle passes the vibrations loosen more dirt, causing the area under the road to slough off more material, further undermining the road.

The county came out a few days later and installed more barriers and this is the present configuration:




Several sandbags have been added to make it more difficult to move the barriers but every day several do it. One recent night, about 11, a small pickup truck barreled through and drove right into the center barrier, breaking it in pieces and moving it about 100 feet. Some drive over the cones, others stop and move the barriers sideways, leaving them for some other dunderhead to drive through.

One woman told me, “It's so inconvenient to drive around.” “Yes,” I responded, “but not quite so inconvenient as waiting for the medics to arrive and pull you out of the creek.” She took the long — and safe — way.

I think the base problem is not inconvenience but a total disregard for law. Anyone with a lick of sense would know the signs are there for a reason. They would also know that they are there to protect people from possible injury or to protect the road from further damage. But then, those that drive through road barriers don't have a lick of sense. They are just plain stupid.

Margarine vs. Butter

The New York Times has an article in today’s on-line edition titled, “The Claim: Margarine Is Healthier Than Butter.” I am sure that it will generate no little discussion.



Margarine proponents like to talk about its low cholesterol ratings and lack of saturated fats. Butter proponents like to talk about its lack of trans fats. I couldn't care less about those things. I use butter because it tastes better and it is natural. I figure, if God made it it cannot be all that bad. Margarine is made by chemists and mad scientists. That makes it suspect, in my book.

I am old enough to remember when margarine had no coloring and little flavor. It looked like grease and tasted like grease. Yuk! Little packages of food coloring were supplied because people did not like what they saw. Pennsylvania's pure food laws put a big crimp on margarine sales back in the forties and fifties, because long after other states allowed food coloring to be integrated into the margarine before sales, Pennsylvania did not.

Stuart Hill has an excellent blog entry on this very matter. I recommend your reading it. The gist of his article is that the food and drug industries are in cahoots to keep us dependent on them. There may be some merit to that. I believe the food and drug developers have bought out the Food and Drug Administration. Why else would the FDA allow rapeseed, a known carcinogen to be sold for human consumption in the form of Canola Oil? Why else would a known poison like Aspartame be allowed in products designed for human consumption?

If you eat a balanced diet, butter is not going to adversely affect your cholesterol levels. Eighty percent of the body's cholesterol is self-produced and does not come from ingested sources. I am going to die someday and cholesterol may be the cause, but at least I will die happy eating the things I like rather than some chemist's greasy paste.

This is America, so Speak English

“This is America, so speak English!” I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that statement. It has most often been spoken in conversation between Americans discussing the many immigrants that cannot or will not speak English. I think it is an unkind, knee-jerk, redneck reaction to a non-problem.

Why do immigrants and foreigners not speak English?

1. They are visitors from another country here on business or vacation. Why should they learn English just to spend their money in our country? Those redneck rubes that think they should have no trouble accepting their dollars. Not only that, they (the rubes) do not learn Spanish to go to Mexico or French to visit Paris. No, they think everybody should bow to their backwoods philosophy — except themselves.

2. They are recent arrivals and have not yet had time to learn our language. Give them a break, for Pete’s sake! English is not an easy language to master. Ten-to-one, those that have no mercy on others have no mastery of their own language.

I worked in an industrial bakery and was one of eight native English-speaking employees on my shift. Of the three hundred plus others most were Mexican, with a scattered representation from the other Central and South American countries. Many of them were bilingual, most were not. “This is America, so speak English!” was often thrown in their faces.

Although it was not required, I made an attempt to learn Spanish so I could better communicate with them. One night, a young Mexican male was pulling a large motor across the plant floor by the cord. In order to get it to change direction, he sped up and yanked on the cord. I was livid because I was the one who would have to repair it. I lashed into him, speaking English, only to see a face that obviously was not comprehending. “¿Habla inglés?” He shook his head from side to side. After getting his supervisor and instructing the man on how to move electrical equipment I told him that if he was going to live and work in the United States he would always have menial jobs unless he learned English. He started immediately.

In exchange for help learning Spanish I agreed to tutor several in English. I soon learned that we often take for granted common words and idioms. One day a young man from Nicaragua asked me what “left” meant. I explained to him that it is a direction. “You can go left or you can go right,” I said while pointing in the direction indicated. “That doesn’t make sense,” he responded. “Well, use it in a sentence.” He said, “I was at the green grocers today and asked for a dozen eggs and the man said he only had three left.”

3. When foreigners are among their own people, they will speak their native language because it is more convenient and quicker for them. I know it is irritating to be among people whom you do not understand. However, we like English because it is what we know. And, when overseas and in a country that speaks another tongue, we find conversation with someone else who can speak English refreshing. Speaking one’s own language is comforting.

4. Foreigners often will not speak English for fear of making mistakes. I can understand this. I used to have a fair understanding of German and can still carry on a conversation. I sat on an airplane behind a group from Germany and translated to my wife what they were saying. It was really funny because they were drunk and did not know I could understand. My wife suggested I talk to them, but I declined because I knew my command of the language was so inferior to theirs.

4. By speaking their mother tongue they can keep you paranoid, wondering what about you they are talking about. I'd almost bet this is the primary reason. Now, that’s tongue-in-cheek but to hear some people talk that’s really the way it is.

I do believe we should have one national language and that language should be English. I believe that those who come here to live and to work and that speak another language should make due haste to learn English. I do not believe that our governments should have to print instructions in twenty languages to mollify those who cannot speak English. But if we want to enjoy an influx of tourists and their dollars businesses and public conveniences should attempt to communicate with them in their language, if those concerns so desire.

I once visited Montreal and asked a policeman for directions. Even though I was wearing the uniform of an American serviceman he spoke to me in French. I was infuriated. English is one of the two national languages of Canada. The entire time I was in Montreal I heard no English apart from the World’s Fair or aboard ship. I did not expect the man in the street to know English and perhaps the policeman was not bilingual. I learned what it was like to be a foreigner unable to communicate.

Too many Americans expect foreigners to do what they will not. How many Americans are bilingual? The percentage is less than that of other lands. In many countries Americans are sought after by the natives so they can practice their English language skills.

I have learned that immigrants who have a non-English heritage love to hear their heart language. It takes little effort to learn a few polite phrases like “Good morning, hello, how are you?” Speaking to them in their own tongue paves the way for friendship and understanding. It may also open the door to assimilation. A little effort and a little understanding goes a long way. Now, if only I could master “Good morning” in Korean....

Red Bull Energy Drink

I was given a can of Red Bull a few weeks ago. I'm not sure why I was given it. Perhaps my benefactor thought I was a little drained. I have seen others drinking Red Bull and had often wondered what it was. I thought maybe it was a malt liquor or some other intoxicating beverage. It is neither.

I placed the can in the refrigerator and tried to forget about it. Did I really want to drink it? It looked suspicious. The can was smaller than that of a 12 oz. soda pop so it couldn't be a soft drink. One day I picked it up and noticed the small print that said "Energy Drink." Hmmn, so that's what it is. I returned it to its place in the refrigerator.

Several times over the next weeks my wife would ask, "Have you drunk that energy drink yet?" And my answer was always, "No." Every now and then I'd pick the can up, look it over, and set it back down.

"What did it taste like?" I asked myself. "Have you ever heard anybody say they liked this stuff?" I'd continue in my mental conversation.

I finally opened the can. With great deliberation I poured the nectar into a glass. In a different glass container it would easily have been mistaken for a urine sample. Did I really want to drink this? I picked the glass up and turned it slowly in my hand, examining the contents for anything suspicious. Bringing it to my nose, I sniffed it gently. I took a sip. It was carbonated. It tasted like medicine. I tried to analyze the flavor and finally concluded it came in somewhere as a cross between Alka Seltzer Plus and Gatorade.

I do not believe any claims were made about the taste but it is supposed to be an energy drink. It didn't do anything for me — at least it had no noticeable effect. Oh well, it didn't cost me anything and didn't hurt me. That's a plus. However, it definitely will not be on my grocery list.