Olympic Comments

We've recently enjoyed [or been subjected to, choose one] a non-stop barrage of Olympic programming  "on the networks of NBC" lasting in excess of two weeks.  A lot was good about it, especially the variety of events covered and the various delivery systems, i.e., NBC, the NBC Sports channel, CNBC, MSNBC, and most conveniently, on-line to your own smart phones and iPads.  I used them all.

That's the good news.  The bad news is that there were a bunch of non-sports covered.  Of course, that's my opinion.  I, therefore, propose that at least the following events should no longer be part of the Olympics:  water polo, team handball, rhythmic gymnastics (including the ball, ribbon, hula hoop),  dressage with or without horses, synchronized swimming and synchronized diving, and any event that requires judging.  A sport is an activity that self-judges based on scores.  No style points are awarded to the pole-vaulter.  He/she either gets over the bar or not.  No judges needed.  Synchronized swimming is not a sport, nor is dressage, no matter how difficult or interesting it may be.  When the Greeks started the Olympics, I'd be shocked to hear that they awarded style points.

It seems to me we could have a lot more sport without the style events, and maybe we could bring back baseball and softball.  You think?

Bye Bye Miss American Pie...

Last night I indulged myself once again and engaged in my annual ritual of watching Bill Murray live through Groundhog Day again.  And again.  And again... Well, you get the idea.  How ironic that the day he's forced to live through again and again is the day before a day many of us would prefer never to have seen at all:  The Day The Music Died.  I was 18 when the plane carrying, among others, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper met the earth in a corn field near Clear Lake, Iowa.  For me and many of my contemporaries, it was the first deeply personal brush with death and the public mourning that goes with a celebrity death.  For that reason, the date - February 3, 1959 - became a demarkation line between childhood and adulthood.

As more than one op/ed writer has noted, the real irony is that the music never died at all.  And it never will.  Thanks to Don McLean's iconic American Pie, it seems to me that people will pause on this day for decades into the future as news anchors and deejays remind us each year on this date that it is the umpteenth anniversary of that fatal day when American teens shared a painful coming of age, because of the bad news on their doorstep.  We miss those good old boys...

You Say You Want a Revolution...

The words of our title - You say you want a revolution - were famously written by Lennon & McCartney, and became a touchstone for a generation.  About the same time, Pete Townshend wrote, and The Who sang, "Meet the new boss, same as the old boss." We propose using the wisdom in those words to re-build the seriously broken American Dream.  It's our belief the new boss is not just the same as the old boss, in too many instances the "new" boss is the old boss. And that's the reason we're proposing the opening salvo in our revolution:  Operation Clean Sweep.

 It's clear to anyone who doesn't live under a rock that our government is badly broken.  Partisan bickering has replaced lofty purpose as the guiding principle of both parties.  Our president is ineffective at best, respect for our institutions is at an all-time low and our economy both national and personal struggles for a toehold.  What to do?

Can we trust one party or the other to clean things up?  That's like banging your head against the wall because it feels so good when you stop.  Do we change our system?  Unnecessary and just not doable. No.  Operation Clean Sweep has one political enemy:  incumbency.  In all upcoming elections, we ask you to vote against any and all incumbents regardless of political affiliation.  It's obvious that those who have been elected have no desire or ability to change things.  Will this be enough of a message to those who would use our system for their own gain and ego polishing?  Possibly.  But the second time we do it may just start the congressional fat cats thinking.  After all, The United States is the prototypical democracy.  If we are unable to throw the scoundrels out, who will do it?

So let's get out our brooms and sweep the dirt out of our elected offices!  We have nothing to lose and everything to gain.  Your comments are welcome.

Liz and Michael

A few minutes of a morning show's time was today devoted to the up-coming auction of many of Elizabeth Taylor's goodies: designer clothing, diamonds (one that is expected to fetch $2.5 million all by itself), artwork, and whatnot. Among the artwork was an Andy Warhol portrait of Liz, including in the margin a note from Andy to Liz, followed by a "thank you" note from Liz back to Andy. The item had stayed in Warhol's personal collection for twenty-some years before it ended up in the Taylor collection and ultimately the Taylor estate. I was struck by this portrait because without the afore-mentioned notes, the casual viewer would have a hard time deciding if it were a picture of Liz Taylor or Michael Jackson!

Google it and take a look for yourself. This must have been what Michael showed his plastic surgeon(s) when he said, "Make me look like this." The nose, and to a lesser degree, the eyes. But the shape of the lips! Even the hairstyle. It seems to me that at one point, some wag suggested that LaToya didn't really exist; she was just Michael in drag. Well, if anybody could have been Michael in drag, it was the young Liz Taylor. Fortunately they were close friends and thus often seen together, so there's no secret identity issue.

The resemblance suggests an alternate defense that Dr. Conrad Murray might have used: "I thought it was Liz Taylor that I was treating!" Not much worse than his actual defense.

The End of the World As We Know It...

Everybody OK? I thought so. Now we're in for more excuses from the morons. "I made another mistake in my calculations." Or, "God can do whatever He wants. It's His way of showing us how powerful He is."

Next thing we'll hear is that this was a preliminary test for The Saved. Look out for the big one in October. When that date passes, we've got the end of the Mayan calendar to deal with. Oh well, another day another Armageddon.

Ta-ta for now.

Read This Right Away!!!

Well, I hope that got your attention, because if you're not reading this before 5:59 PM on Saturday, May 21, you're probably not going to get to it at all. Why? Because that's when the world is ending! Don't you watch the news?

That's right, there is a sizable chunk of the world's population that believes we're all on our last mile. Unless you're one of the saved who expect to be taken up to heaven in The Rapture. The rest of us are done for. Wouldn't you know that right up to the end of the world there are going to be the haves and the have-nots. Doesn't seem quite fair, does it?

I have a couple of questions. First, why is this killer earthquake starting in New Zealand? They seem like pretty nice people to me. Here's another: Since God created the Earth and the rest of the universe at the same time, is he now destroying the whole ball of wax or is it just Earth? And if so, why are we getting the short end of the stick?

Here are a couple of my own personal tips to enjoy The End. First of all, don't feel sorry for anyone who died today, like Randy Savage, the wrestler; they're only being short-changed by 24 hours or so. Whatever else you do, don't pay any bills today. Now that I think of it, tomorrow (before 5:59PM of course) would be a great day to bounce a few checks. After all, they won't bounce until Monday... Or forever. If you want to feel sorry for someone, give a thought to those folks who believed this hoohah so thoroughly that they started bouncing checks last month. They're going to be in more trouble if the world doesn't end than if it does.

And finally, spare a little sympathy for the misguided preacher who has been promoting this whole thing. This is at least his second such prediction of Armageddon. The last one suffered from a "miscalculation," which he's corrected for tomorrow. So have an extra glass of wine tonight and don't worry about pissing anyone off. As for me, I'll be sitting at the keyboard tomorrow evening, writing my next installment. Hope I'm right!

Greatest Guitar Riffs

My friend Al sends me all kinds of e-mail stuff. You probably have a friend like Al. Some of it is interesting, some silly, some mildly pornographic. Chain letters, urban legends, photoshopped pictures, and "tests" on anything from cars of the fifties to the citizenship test are included. We joke that Al has too much time on his hands, but every now and then he sends something brilliant. Two of his forwards this week fit that category. One was a short film of a young woman playing with and teasing a group of about 10 cheetahs. You can watch it here Click here

The other one, which I'm writing about today, was a link to a web-site that lists someone's opinions of the 50 greatest guitar riffs ever, and includes all 50 of them. A riff, by the way, is defined as a short repeating musical theme that forms a song's framework. Most music includes riffs, whether classical or rock, by Mozart or the Beatles. (A couple of Beatles riffs are on this list, although Mozart didn't make the cut. After all, this is a rock list.) I invite you to check out the list, listen to some you're not familiar with and refresh your memory of some old favorites. It seems to me that you'll have the same reaction I did: Hey, they left off ...! If that happens, please feel free to point out the oversights to the rest of us. I can't believe they omitted the bass riff from Stevie Wonder's Superstition. After all, what's a bass but a big guitar. And how about The Temptations' Papa Was A Rollin' Stone. That was a funkified riff. And I've got a couple from Eric Clapton and Duane Allman I'd like to add. And the Doobies! Holy crap! How could they forget the Doobies?! Well, you get the message. Just set aside some time to listen to some real Guitar Heroes. Enjoy. Click here

A Barn Find

In the second half of the fifties, I was in high school in NJ, one of the “car guys,” as opposed to the “jocks,” or the”geeks.” Every cent I earned went into a ’39 Ford DeLuxe rumble seat roadster. Equipped with the usual goodies – 3 Stromberg carbs, Edelbrock finned aluminum heads, glasspaks – and a few less usual items like its vacuum-operated Columbia two-speed rear, it was my Deep Cherry Metallic pride and joy.

The problem was finding – and affording – parts, a situation shared by two friends who had ’40 Standard coupes, almost duplicates of the ’39 DeLuxe. Remember, this was long before restoration was a big deal and before replica parts were available. Salvage yards were our haunt.

We must have visited half of the junkyards within three hours of our homes. One of us heard of a small yard in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, down behind the Hotel Bethlehem. We visited one day and asked the usual question: “Have you got any ‘39/’40 Ford parts?” To our amazement, the crusty old coot who owned the place said, “Yeah, seems like there’s some old Ford stuff in the hayloft of the big barn.”

As we found our way up to the hayloft, we guessed we’d find mostly unusable, rusted, cruddy parts. Boy, were we ever wrong! There in the hayloft was a pile of parts that people like us would kill for. Complete sets of fenders, still wrapped in cosmolene and brown paper. Pristine bumpers wrapped the same way, Complete grille assemblies. And headlight rims, brand new and still perfect. And those beautiful ’39 taillights, 2 pairs of them. And the less attractive ’40 chevron-style taillights.

I can’t remember how much we paid for it, but we bought the whole lot. Drove home and borrowed a truck to come back the next day and pick it all up. After we had skimmed off the stuff the three of us needed for our Fords, we looked up other Ford enthusiasts and sold the rest, for enough to cover all our costs.

We didn’t find a car in that barn behind the Hotel Bethlehem, but it seems to me what we found was even better: the fountain of youth for two ‘40s and a ’39.

So Long, Jack LaLanne

I was saddened recently by news of the passing of Jack LaLanne. We worked together 25 years ago, and it was a fun time. Jack, of course, was the fitness guru, and had recently celebrated his 70th birthday by swimming and pulling 70 rowboats, each with one passenger, from Alcatraz Island to Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco. Oh, I forgot to mention; he did this while handcuffed at the wrists and ankles. Honest!

Anyway, Jack had agreed to voice a daily radio vignette for a client of ours. It was called Fun and Fitness Over Fifty, and featured Jack describing exercises appropriate for our audience, and pitching his unique use-it-or-lose-it philosophy. I have to admit, I don't think I've ever met a more enjoyable character.

Well, Jack arrived for our first session at a studio in Manhattan with scripts in hand. He swore he had studied them, but it may have been more like reading than actual studying. We ran into our first problem almost immediately. You see, Jack, like many people, was too vain to admit his need for reading glasses. As he read a script and reached the end of a line, he moved his eyes back to the start of the next line. And lost his place every time! Of course, there was no way we could talk him into reading glasses, and there was no way Ben, our faithful engineer and editor could cut and splice every line of every script, although that's what he had to do for this first session. Remember, this was before the advent of computer editing; this all had to be done with real tape and razor blades. When the session was done, we shook hands and bid farewell until the next session. As Jack left, Ben banged his head on the board and likened the session to the Bataan Death March. It had taken just a tick under 4 hours, about twice the usual length of our sessions.

As we were discussing possible solutions, the receptionist came in and said, "You've got to see this." "This" was Jack in the elevator lobby... doing jumping jacks as he waited. The session may have tested our endurance, but it sure didn't faze Jack.

Our solution was to get a bigger type ball for our IBM Selectric typewriter and a high intensity lamp for Jack's scripts. There was one more problem. Our sponsor wanted Jack to deliver the offer of a booklet of exercises. The mailing address was a PO box in Kankakee, Illinois. No problem, except that every time Jack tried to say, "Kankakee" it came out "Kankalee." Now wiser, we quickly decided to get one good take and edit that take onto the end of all the rest of the shows.

Goodbye, Jack, it was truly a delight to know you.

Keep Walking!

No, this isn't what you expected, not a warning to get yourself in shape before it's too late. No, it's something else entirely. In the midst of the NFL playoff season, with the Super Bowl looming large, we are starting an annual festival of crap and pap that's being sent our way dressed as advertising. Most of it seems to be entries in an inanity contest. Could the Pepsi commercials about Pepsi being "drafted" as the official cola of the NFL be any sillier? Does anyone not realize that all that means is that Pepsi was willing to pay more for it than anyone else?

Anyway, here's a link (http://www.crikey.com.au/2010/08/17/johnniewalker/?source=cmailer) that will take you to the most nearly perfect commercial I can remember seeing. It's a long one (over 6 minutes) and it's a brand image spot for Johnnie Walker Scotch. It appears to have been shot on a Steadicam, in one take. I'll admit that there could have been some digital cuts in there, but I don't think so. And even if there are, they are so masterful they only add to the beauty of the finished product. Oh, and the sound appears to have been looped (re-recorded), again skillfully.

So I'd suggest you pour yourself a wee dram of Johnnie Walker, plop down in your favorite chair, and enjoy the rare beauty of perfection. It seems to me there's precious little of it these days.

Random Thoughts on the Old/New Year

Two years ago, as we bid farewell to 2008, Marsha and I added a heart-felt "Good riddance" to the traditional toast. After all, 2008 was the year that brought us breast cancer and Parkinson's Disease. As we looked ahead to 2009 and beyond, we anticipated better times, or at least not worse times. And certainly not "The Great Recession." Anyway, here we are preparing to bid another not-so-fond farewell to 2010 and wondering what 2011 has in store for us.

Is this the last New Year my mom will see? Certainly the odds are in favor of that, given her increasing frailty. The good news is that she's 99 and ready for whatever comes her way. Or doesn't.

Will 2011 be the year of my retirement? And if so, what will I do with my days that's worthwhile? Will our savings and investments be sufficient to keep us living as we like to live?

Will we move from Hillsdale to an expanded Last Run in the Catskills, or is something entirely different in the cards for us? Will our kids and grandkids continue to live in South Bend and Atlanta? I'd say so, but who knows?

In 2011 Cris will be 13, Emma Kate will be 11, Jack will turn 4, and his little sister ( apparently) will be born. And those four young people will make 2011 a wonderful year, regardless of whatever else may happen.

Back to where I started this entry, Marsha has been free of cancer for 2 years now, and the new drug trial I'm in has virtually eliminated the symptoms of my Parkinson's. Looking back, it seems to me, we spend too much time worrying about what may happen in the future and not enough time enjoying the moment. My only resolution is that I will try to tip that balance for myself and as many other people I can affect. Happy New Year to all!

Christmas Shopping Scam

I was in Best Buy today and had the opportunity to watch a couple of semi-pros almost get away with a couple of unpaid-for items. They were a man and woman in their 50s, well-dressed and well-spoken. They were directly ahead of me at the checkout nearest the door, right next to the security guy who checks your packages. When I arrived, they were in a deep discussion with the cashier, about whether one of the items they were purchasing would work for them. They had multiple bags which were swished around, things removed and returned to one bag or another. After deciding that the item in question would not work for them they headed for the door... with the unpaid-for item in the bag. "Wait," says the clerk, "that needs to be scanned." "Oh, silly me. Of course it does," says she. The security guard and I are both watching closely by now. She returns to the register, lets the clerk scan the item, and heads for the door again. This time the security guy is blocking the door, as the clerk, now not about to be distracted, says "You haven't paid for that." "I'm such a goose," she says as her disappointed partner pulls out a credit card and pays. I didn't see the first couple of minutes of the operation, so I don't know for sure if there were other items unpaid-for, but it sure seems possible , maybe likely, that all their distractions and sleight of hand earned them some stocking stuffers. Ho, ho, ho.

So Spake The Cynic

Let's do what Albert Einstein called a "thought experiment." In the experiment, I'm going to make believe I'm Tiger Woods' attorney. I'm meeting with my client a couple of months before the present day, discussing strategy. Tiger says, "I just gotta get back to golf!" To which I thoughtfullly respond, "You know, Tiger, it could help us in the settlement process if your game just turned to crap until we get this thing finalized." Well, this is just an innocent fiction, but Tiger's game did turn into an amazing pile of crap, as he became as bad as he was good. Bad club selection had him hitting short into water hazards and airmailing greens. Putts were going every way but in the cup. Hell, he finished next to last in one tournament!

Fast forward a couple of months to today. First day of the Barclay's tournament around the corner at Ridgewood. The settlement is signed, sealed, and delivered and Tiger cards a 65, six under, to share the lead! It's a Christmas miracle! Well, we'll see what happens over the next three days, but I think I'd be a helluva divorce attorney; almost as good as Tiger's attorney. At least that's the way it seems to me.

The Obsession That Is Apple (continued)

About 6 weeks ago I wrote of the (then) impending introduction of the Apple iPad, noting that I would not be in line to get one; at least, not right away. And I wasn't; at least, not right away. In truth, I folded after 3 or 4 weeks. What can I tell you? I'm hooked on Apple, and now, I am definitely hooked on iPad.

First the bad news: I am one of the "few" (according to Apple) people having WiFi connectivity issues. This is a problem since WiFi is the only kind of connectivity I have, since I didn't spend the extra $129 for a 3G model. Curiously, my daughter is also one of the "few." Perhaps it's just coincidence that both of us run our home networks off a Verizon cable modem/router. (Conspiracy theorists take note.) In any case neither of us has any problems with our office WiFi network, and Apple promises a software fix soon, but not now.

Here's the good news: I love my iPad! Since I don't own a laptop, the iPad is the first opportunity I've had to sit in front of the TV and multi-task, iPad in hand. And the reading experience is excellent. Cautious again, I downloaded only one of the free classics that I had never read in school when I should have, Moby Dick. Fifty pages into it, the metaphor was so real that I found myself about to wet my finger to turn the page. So I bought a book, a science fiction by Spinrad. It was a totally iTunes experience. Took less than 30 seconds to download. My second book was a pre-order of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest from Amazon. They've promised to download it to my iPad on May 25. Here's the great part: On May 25, the hardcover is being published. What's that going to cost? Maybe $19.95 from Barnes & Noble. Six months or a year later, the paperback will arrive for probably $14.95. My e-copy is only $9.99.

Certainly there will be times and places not conducive to the use of my iPad: The beach, for one. And I don't know if I'll have to turn it off for take-offs and landings, but who cares? I don't fly that much anymore. It seems to me that Apple has hit the bullseye one more time. At least they've hit MY bullseye!

TV Review: Most Daring

The by-product of an evening of ennui is often the serendipitous discovery of a previously unexplored cable channel. For me last night, it was a channel called TruTV. If it's on your cable system, you should check out this seemingly endless source of train-wreck TV, most of it amateur, hand-held fuzziness.

This particular show, subtitled Loonies in the Boonies, is dedicated to the certifiable insanity of rednecks and mullet-men (and women). As one might expect, there's a lot of beer consumed and a lot of automatic weapons fired (often at the same time). Also in abundance are pick-up trucks, ATVs, mud, obese men and women, fist-fights, and unimaginable combinations of the above.

The games that these cretins entertain themselves (and us) with are mind-boggling in their stupidity. One of my favorites was Cowboy Pinball. Here's how it works. In a fenced-in area, 6-foot circles are outlined on the ground with lime. Into each circle goes a redneck, and into the enclosure goes an angry bull. The object of the game is to be the last cowboy standing. For the bull, the object is to mutilate as many cowboys as it can. If the bull's not really into it, an angrier bull is invited into the enclosure. And there's the train-wreck!

Here's another one. Using a garden hose (!), tie an office chair to the back of a pick-up truck, place one brain-damaged redneck on the chair and see how fast he can be towed before he's bounced out. A variation on this theme is to put the moron on snow-skis and tow him on a dirt road until he wipes out. If things start to slow down a bit, the producers pump it up with a fight between two trailer park denizens, male/male, female/female, or co-ed. And apparently it's always fun to show hunters, so drunk they can barely stand, trying to load and fire shotguns without killing each other.

So this summer, when you're tired of re-runs, take a look for TruTV. Or you can just wait for the networks to come up with Celebrity Loonies in the Boonies. It seems to me it's bound to happen.

The Obsession That Is Apple

As I write this, the world is less than 72 hours away from the introduction of yet another blockbuster product from Apple, Inc. Of course I refer to the iPad, which promises to be as much of a game-changer as sliced bread or beer in cans. I suspect that the malls on Saturday will see lines of drooling Apple fanboys snaking past the Gaps, Starbucks, and Macys, and ending at the front doors of the Apple Stores. The lucky ones will have pre-ordered their iPads and will actually dance out of the stores with iPad in hand. The rest will wait their turn to touch the iPads that are chained to the tables, but most won't walk out with them. The initial supply has already been virtually exhausted. And I, to the amazement of all who know me, will be nowhere to be found.

Journey back through time with me to Super Bowl XVIII, in 1984. The iconic Macintosh commercial had its one and only airing during that game. I think it could be argued that this was the most impactful single commercial ever created. At the very least it's up there with the Lyndon Johnson campaign commercial called Daisy that ran in 1964. Anyway, it was just after the 1984 commercial aired that I bought the first Mac for our company. We had already been through a couple of IIe and IIgGS Apples. Since then, at work and at home, I've gone through something like twenty Mac desktops and laptops. As new ones have arrived, the old ones went to our daughters and their children, a couple of young people who couldn't afford one on their own, and my mother. Mom, by the way is approaching 99 years of age and credits her laptop with keeping her mind sharp as she plays solitaire and other games daily. The first iPod came along in 2001. Since then, I'm on my 4th or 5th iPod. I'm also on my 2nd iPhone (3rd if you count the one that Apple replaced on warranty. And now there's the iPad.

What is it about Apple products that creates this kind of brand loyalty? Well, first there's design. No other manufacturer seems to understand that people like having something that looks and acts cool. And Apple, more often than not, is in the technological vanguard. Think of this, a subject that I discussed at lunch today. The iPad is the third new product category in a row in which Apple is defining the form factor: the mp3 player, the smart phone, and the personal media player/reader. iPod, iPhone, iPad. And don't forget how Apple has rewritten the rules for music sales with iTunes, how it's changed software development and sales with the App Store. And now it seems likely the entire media business is going to feel the force of Apple's innovation.

And yet I'm not there, in line for an iPad. Fear not. I can't imagine that I won't have an iPad, and sooner rather than later. I'm just waiting until I've got a good feel for how this new magic fits into my life. Will I stop buying newspapers and subscribe instead to electronic versions? Science fiction writers have been predicting that for decades. Will I miss having a real book in my hands? Will I really use it to look at live timing and scoring while I watch sports on TV? So I'm waiting a bit while some of these questions are answered. Or I could just be truthful and admit that the most important reason for buying an iPad is that it's way cool?

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

Whilst finishing my lunch, I renewed my acquaintance with the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I had forgotten what a great piece of satire it is, although its founder swears with a straight face that it's not satire, but is an actual religion. He points out that there is every bit as much scientific evidence for the existence of the FSM as there is for any other claimed deity. Point well taken. As you might expect, he has the same respect, or lack thereof, for Intelligent Design, at least for intelligent design by a deity other than his Noodly Goodness, the FSM.

If you're killing a few minutes and need a chuckle or two, I suggest you Google Flying Spaghetti Monster and visit the web-site. I get the biggest kick out of reading the hate e-mail. It's amazingly vituperative and equally amazingly misspelled. And it led me to the quote of the day: “ The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt. ”

-Bertrand Russell

It seems to me that if that's not a basic truth, there probably isn't one. As FSM believers are wont to say, "May the sauce be with you."

Space and The Obama Budget

Dateline Washington, February 2. From the Washington Post News Service:

Obama nixes back-to-the-moon program

The Obama administration is killing Constellation, NASA’s ambitious back-to-the-moon program. …Instead…the administration wants to invest $6 billion over five years in a commercial space taxi to carry astronauts into low Earth orbit…

Well, as far as I’m concerned, that’s good news and bad news… and more good news and more bad news. Here’s what I’m talking about.

Good News: We won’t be continuing the work on a new rocket, Ares 1, and a new crew capsule, Orion.

Bad News: We’ve already spent $9 billion on Ares and Orion. To make matters worse, Obama’s budget includes another $2.5 billion to shut the project down!

Good News: Without the new rocket and crew capsule, there’s no way for us to get to the International Space Station (ISS), which is another spectacularly bottomless money pit. The shuttle fleet is being decommissioned and disposed of through a gigantic yard sale, so nobody will be using that to get to the ISS either.

Bad News: In yet another example of backward thinking, the $6 billion commercial space taxi will be good only to do exactly what the shuttle fleet had done: give rides back and forth to low Earth orbit, i.e. the ISS.

The Worst News: There is not a thin dime in the budget for exploration. $17 billion wasted, to go nowhere but to the Hubble and the ISS. Not a single dramatic piece of science has been done in the ISS, the Hubble is on its last legs, and there won’t be any more Mars rovers, unmanned visits to the rest of our solar system, or colonists on the moon or Mars.

Unmanned exploration is the best thing we can do right now. It’s cost-effective, relatively quick, and completely safe. But that won't happen. Clearly, though, our government is on a different page. It seems to me that we’ve somehow decided that our destiny lies here on Earth and nowhere else, and that’s sad. I had hoped for more.

The Law

Herewith, the promised enlightenment on the Law of Unintended Consequences. It’s a “Law” like Murphy’s Law, rather than a real law like Boyle’s Law. (Extra credit for anyone who can quote the latter without reference to Wikipedia or Google. Shockingly, I managed to dredge up an acceptable approximation.) While there’s no official statement of the Law of Unintended Consequences—let’s just call it The Law—the function of it is this: For every action taken, there will be consequences, both the expected consequences and the unexpected ones which will be, more often than not, negative in nature.

Take as an example Kudzu, also known as the vine that ate the South. It was first introduced to the U.S. from the Orient in the last part of the nineteenth century. Because it was hardy, with a strong and extensive root system, the thought was that it would prevent soil erosion. Besides, it was a nice looking vine that could be used decoratively. Eventually someone with the best of intentions thought it would be worth a try to prevent the erosion of the soil beside highway interchanges and on medians. And it didn’t even need mowing. Bonus!

Enter The Law. It certainly did the intended job, but something else happened. Kudzu loved the climate in the Southeast U.S. And just like Topsy, it just growed. And growed. And growed. Anyone who has driven the highways and byways of the region has seen it, covering anything that doesn’t move for more than 15 minutes in a row. And nothing seems to deter it, although we can be sure that when something is found to fight the Kudzu, it will also cause birth defects, or black holes. It’s The Law.

I was reminded to write about this by a recent article from the Associated Press under the lead “Asian carp a hungry threat.” “[They] can reach 4 feet long and weigh up to 100 pounds.” Not surprisingly, they are starving out the native varieties of fish and are threatening Great Lakes fishing. They also tend to leap out of the water in response to motors, turning themselves into 100-pound unguided missiles ready to KO the unwary boater.

But from whence did the Asian carp come, and why? From Asia, of course, “to cleanse fish ponds and sewage lagoons” in—you guessed it—the deep South. From there into the Mississippi and who knows… Tomorrow the Great Lakes, and then on to Canada! It’s The Law again.

One more example that is—it seems to me—a whole lot less humorous. It’s the military version of The Law, also known euphemistically as Collateral Damages. This is what it means in English: People we didn’t mean to kill, but did anyway.

In Defense of Participles

Are students taught about participles any more? I, for one, am getting sick and tired of hearing people who should know better using a participle when a past tense is called for. Chief among this group are the TV newsreaders, who prefer to be called “anchors.”

Perhaps that appellation causes them to think they know something about matters nautical. If that were so, they’d never report, “The boat sunk in 100 feet of water.” No, no, no! The boat didn’t “sunk;” it SANK! Why do they make that mistake when they’d never make the opposite mistake and say, “The boat has sank”?

Sink, sank, sunk, sinking. Present, past, past participle, present participle (also gerund). Does no one learn to conjugate verbs anymore?

Same goes for stink, stank, stunk, stinking.

And you wonder why I’m sometimes referred to as the anal-compulsive grammarian?