Crash in Brokeback Puddle

Target Customer Base

Do check out this link detailing a tiny Midwestern city’s reaction towards a park-district application to host a rowing event for the Gay Games of Chicago. Nice to know bigotry and intolerance are alive and well in small town middle America. Most of the comments during the hour of public comment had nothing to do with the actual application, just opinion on the ‘gay lifestyle’.

Sunita Stone of Crystal Lake said the Gay Games do not fit with what she calls the city's wholesome environment.

Wholesome? I, for one, don’t consider rampant development wholesome.

"I didn't want to have to be explaining a lot of things to my kids," Stone said.

You don’t have to. Just explain there are some people you should hate. The more vague the reasons, the less they can refute them with real-life encounters. My guess is her kids could explain way more than she’d care to hear.

I just want to know what I’m going to do with that vendor’s permit and pushcart full of sparkly pink satin jogging shorts if this falls through.

Complete Creative Control: Priceless

Hey!

What an incredible rip-off! I just went to the MasterCard site to enter and guess what? You have to use their images! They've already filmed the ad, they just want captions! Nice to know my credit card company thinks I'm a total moron who can only be trusted to fill in a blank. Think I'll cancel my account right now. Try and collect on my unpaid balance, you fiendishly repressive usurers!

Do you think American Express will allow me to Express Myself??

Priceless Post

Have you seen MasterCard is sponsoring a contest to make one of their famous ‘priceless’ TV commercial from some lucky entrant’s idea? I’m working on my entry now:


Packing Boxes: $75
(Tight shot: hands wrapping vase in newspaper, placing in box)

Moving Van: $250
(Interior shot: movers taking furniture out of little apartment while old lady fusses at them to be careful. Her adult son has a box in his arms and smiles sheepishly)

Attorney Fees: $2000
(Backlit shot: Son shaking hands with attorney over paperwork)

Never Having to Deal with Mom Again: Priceless
(Pull-back shot: Son waving good-bye to confused Mom left on steps of nursing home.)

Voice over: You can’t put a price on self-absorption. For everything else, there’s MasterCard!

Fade to Black

And The Winner Is...

I'd look like this, too.

Who would you thank if you won an Oscar? I admit it. I’ve always longed to have one of those gold statuettes* thrust into my greedy mitts and majestically reply “I’d like to thank the academy…” But who else? Those ‘little people’? The ones behind the scenes? Mom? Jesus? Your co-stars? Family? Friends? Your producer, director, agent? Could I really pass up the chance to thank the other nominees for really sucking so I could win?

Let’s face it. I’d thank my car.

*Best Original Screenplay

Keyed Up

As promised, the continuation of the vacation report…

The next day we checked out of the (good) hotel and went back to downtown Key West to finish our shopping excursion and hopefully see the ‘southernmost point in the U.S.”

After parking the rental car, we embarked on a full day of walking. After hitting some shops, we had to walk some distance to the southern marker. It was a cone shape monument to tourism; every 15 seconds someone would stand in front of it, have their picture snapped, and the next crew would assemble. If you were a pickpocket or had a hankering to steal a camera, this would be paradise. Amazingly, everyone seemed to have their camera handed back to them.

We shuffled through the line like the out-of-towners we were and (finally!) set off to find a beach. I swear that beach must have been five miles away. We walked forever, watching the houses deteriorate with every block. Pretty soon broken glass and cannibalized cars littered the streets. Even the chickens looked a little seedier. These homes were on desirable plots of land, and I couldn’t understand what the situation was. Did residents let the exteriors fall into disrepair to avoid high tax assessments? Did they want to hold on to their property since they knew they could not live so close to the ocean if they sold out? Or feared if they sold and the area gentrified, they would lose the original flavor and ethnic mix of the area? If so, admirable, but why not sweep the streets?

Still no beach. We asked a man sitting on his stoop; he said there were two beaches, and pointed us in the direction of the nearest one. It wasn’t so near. We came to a State Park and could see where a cruise ship had docked. For a $1.50 entry fee (each), we were allowed to walk still further in our quest for water. A sign noted this was voted Florida’s favorite state park. Perhaps I was missing something as it was winter, but I just couldn’t see it. Our hike culminated in a rocky beach and icy ocean. No sand in sight and the stones were very painful on the feet. We waded in but never did get up the courage to submerge fully; it was just too darn cold. Overall, a letdown as far as Florida Beaches go. Perhaps there were better areas in the park, we just stopped at the first one we came to and spread out our towels. I got a grand total of 23 minutes of sunlight, and with an SPF of 45, not a darn bit of color. If I ever return, I want to come when it’s warmer and spend a whole day basking.

We hoped to catch a trolley back to civilization, but no luck. Walked all the way back to the garage and set off in a hurry hoping to make our four o’clock reservation at the Turtle Hospital in Marathon. To say this was the highlight of my trip is an understatement; more like the highlight of my life. In two hours I learned more about Sea Turtles than I had in five years of aquarium visits and nature specials. It was the difference between reading a book about the Civil War and meeting Abraham Lincoln.

The woman who conducted to tour was a former teacher from Carbondale, IL who began as a volunteer at the hospital with no prior marine biology experience. She now has a paid position caring for the turtles and was the most informative and personable tour guide imaginable.

For many years, the hospital was closed to the public. The site was a hotel and had a salt water tide pool for the guests. A new owner of the property decided to stock the pool with game fish for his own and guests’ enjoyment. Often the kids staying at the motel would ask where the turtles were (due to the popularity of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon). The owner decided to research what permits were necessary to keep a sea turtle in captivity – leading him to start a rehabilitation center for injured turtles. Now it is the only facility of its kind on earth, and one of the leading Herpetological surgeons in the country donates his time there. Until Hurricane Wilma, the only way for a layperson to see the facility was to book a room at hotel. The hurricane damaged the hotel rooms to the point where the owner is now considering his options for the property. In the interim, it was decided to open the facility to tours as a source of revenue. As a charitable corporation, the owner absorbs many of the costs associated with the facility, with grants, donations and volunteers keeping it afloat. They even have an ambulance!

After an incredibly informative slide show discussing types of sea turtles and the threats they face, we were allowed to see the operating room. Each turtle is given a name and medical chart, and our guide told us what medications they were on, etc. The most insidious ailment is Fibropapilloma tumors – an infectious soft tissue tumor cased by a herpes-like virus that turtles catch by swimming in waters where humans bathe. Think about that the next time you visit a crowed beach or public pool…*

The tumors are disgustingly huge pink protrusions that can occur in the cornea, blinding the turtle and leading to certain death. Green sea turtles are especially vulnerable; some experts estimate 90% of Green Sea Turtles in U.S. waters have them. Turtles brought to the hospital with tumors are assessed by x-ray; internal tumors are untreatable and lead to euthanasia. External tumors can be removed by laser, but as the tumors contain such a large blood supply, multiple surgeries may be required to remove all growths safely. Although anesthetized for the surgery, return to salt water (a wonderful curative) is very painful on the open wound. Once tumors are removed, the turtle is kept in captivity for one year to monitor reoccurrence. Once free from growths for a year, the prognosis is excellent and the turtle returned to the wild. Where she can then be killed by monofilament line, oil spills, boat propellers or the ingestion of a plastic bag. Yes, the future of the sea turtle is pretty bleak. Unless this whole bird-flu thing really steps up and wipes out mankind, I’m not too optimistic for the plant and animal life on this planet.

Then we walked into the treatment area. Right before my eyes was a real live (ok, just barely) sea turtle! He was in a blue plastic kiddie pool with a damp towel on him, propped so his head was lower than his back flippers. He had some type of repertory infection and they were hoping the position would help drain his lungs. Only time would tell if the antibiotics would have any effect.

To my right were some little plastic containers, slightly bigger than a shoebox. In each swam a baby sea turtle no bigger than my palm!! These were washed ashore during Wilma and brought in by residents who found them on driveways or yards. I can’t believe I was that close to these cute little hatchings. As soon as they were determined to be healthy, it’s back to the sea for them. The hospital does not wish to interfere with the cycle of life and keep the turtles until they are grown, so despite the dangers they are released. One however, had a major problem. He could only swim in a tight little circle, forever paddling clockwise. He got little physical therapy sessions where they tempted him to swim in the opposite direction with squid and shrimp treats and little flipper massages. Check out their wonderful website for photos and further information.

Uses of names with ‘he’ and ‘she’ designations is arbitrary. No one knows the sex of these reptiles, unless an x-ray revealed eggs or something.

I loved seeing the turtles up close, although it really brought home the plight of these poor creatures. So many were scarred beyond recognition from boat propellers or fishing mishaps. Missing limbs, deformed shells, the inability to sink or swim properly, tumors – it was all very sobering. I wished I lived near enough to volunteer there, I’m sure they could always use someone to wash towels or scoop turtle poop out of the tanks or something. Until then, the best I can do is make a donation and tell everyone about it. I’ve already spoken with a woman who says every year for 12 years family has vacationed in Key West. She said her children always asked if they could visit the turtles and she was very pleased to hear they could now tour the facility.

Our guide even recommended a good restaurant nearby and we headed there just in time for Louise to get some great photos of the sunset. My camera stinks, and I really need to get a better one soon. We had dinner outdoors on the water and then it was off to my favorite destination, the Dirty Pelican Hotel. Ug.

So we check in well after dark again, and the room is slightly larger but certainly no cleaner. We were opening suitcases, settling in, when a flush of the toilet decided to come up rather than down. So it’s off to office to ask for a plunger. Gee, I don’t know where one is, and the supply closet is locked, says night desk clerk. So he starts walking around knocking on cabins to see if there is one out on loan! Sheesh. So eventually he says we can have another (bigger) room for the same cost, as they can’t fix the room we have. So we pack up the toothbrushes and head to the next cabin over, the Marlin Room. Oooh! Do I get a free marlin? No such luck. It’s a much bigger room with a full kitchen, but no marlins, real or stuffed in sight. What do I find in that bathroom? A plunger. Fortunately it was not needed.

Next morning it was back to the airport, and although I certainly wish my vacation were longer, I couldn’t wait to leave the Poopy Pelican behind. The city of Miami is to be commended on hiding the airport so well. The money they saved on signage lined some politician’s pocket, I’m sure. Anyhoo… once inside it took some doing to figure out which desk to check in at. Once settled, I decided to visit the ladies’ room. Mistake! As I walk in a siren begins to shriek and the emergency lights come on. Confused, everyone inside exits back to the lobby area. No alarm there, but the men are exiting their washroom as well. What kind of bizarre bathroom alarm was triggered? Terrorists couldn’t exist in that filth, so I can’t imagine. The noise was so loud I decided I could wait, as did a few others.

The flight to Chicago was delayed over something really silly, like they didn’t have some sort of equipment that moves one plane out of the way for the next. Our plane was on the ground, waiting, it just couldn’t get to our door. An hour later we get on the plane. I sit by a window and watch Mr. Union Baggage Handler in action. Now I’m totally against the concessions airline workers have had to make, the government bailouts, etc. but this guy was really giving the job a bad name.

First off, he was working alone. He had the golf cart-type vehicle hooked to two trams of luggage. He had not even started with the luggage, and all passengers had been seated and belted for some 15 minutes. He ever so slowly turned each piece of luggage around, looked at the tag, (good for him!) and in slow motion placed it on the conveyor leading to the cargo area of the jet. No rush. He’s paid for an 8-hr day whether that’s one plane loaded or twenty. And it sure looks like that figure is closer to one. I could have done the job faster and more efficiently, but apparently that’s not the point. The point is to go really slow, yet somehow damage the suitcases along the way. Drop them on the conveyor at precisely the correct angle to miss the rubberized ramp and hit metal. It’s an art, and he’s perfecting it with my $10 Wal-Mart bag. Yawn.

We land in Chicago greeted by snow and 20 degree weather. WELCOME BACK, LOSERS


*But this did cure me from surreptitiously touching one. Sick sea turtles don’t need my germs.

Back to Blogging Soon!

Still Alive

Hello, Everyone!

Long time, no blog. Sorry. I WILL get to the next segment of my vacation soon. If I’m not dead from PFOA’s before then.

Watching:
Shrek 2 – Loved it. Recommend.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – Liked much. Recommend.
Paradise Lost (both segments 1 and 2) – Excellent. I am now cured of wanting to move to Arkansas or ever buying another article of black clothing. I’m not saying Byers did it, but if I were guilty, I couldn’t think of a better nut case to have running around to plant the seeds of maybe we got the wrong guy…

Reading:
The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane by Kate DiCamillo – good, but no Because of Winn Dixie. (Just in case you are wondering, I didn’t care for The Tale of Despereaux at all.)

Listening: Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire (#4)

Time to Stick It to Teflon

This nice attorney is standing by to assist you with your lawsuit. That is, if you still possess the motor skills to call her...

What Does DuPont Know, and When Did They Know It?

From the Chicago Tribune, 2/20/06

Now, something finally seems to be sticking to Teflon--a nasty environmental tempest that has maker DuPont Co. and cookware companies worried that garage sales in the coming weeks will be stuffed with discarded non-stick pots and pans.

Now if somebody would just publish a report that said Corvettes cause cancer, I’d go to some of those garage sales…

Home chefs have questioned the safety of non-stick cookware since an Environmental Protection Agency advisory board asked regulators in late January to examine whether a chemical that gets slippery Teflon and similar coatings to bond to a pan can cause cancer.

And just to be on the safe side, I’m never going to cook again. With any type of pot or pan.

Both Teflon-maker DuPont and the EPA said cooks had little to worry about. The EPA raised questions about the chemical, perfluorooctanoic acid, or PFOA, after studies found it to be in low levels in the blood of 90 percent of Americans, said Susan Hazen, the EPA's acting assistant administrator. Although the source of the exposure is unknown, she said cookware was an unlikely culprit. PFOA is in the non-stick substance sprayed onto cookware. The pan then goes through a heating process in which virtually all of the PFOA is destroyed, according to DuPont.

By releasing it into the air, where 90% of the population absorbs it by breathing. Wonder where they found that ‘other’ 10%? Antarctica? Or did those folks just have something far worse in their blood streams that ate up the PFOA?

Last year, the EPA fined DuPont $16.5 million--the largest administrative fine in EPA history--alleging that the company hid data on toxicity and health effects of PFOA for more than 20 years and contaminated the drinking water supply next to a DuPont plant in West Virginia. PFOA causes liver cancer, reduced birth weight, immune-system suppression and developmental problems in laboratory animals exposed to high doses.

But this isn’t anything to get alarmed about…

Key 3

Mr. Right continues in his pursuit of an A, leaving me little chance to get near the computer for posts. Only two more weeks! Then I want to try and catch the Pompeii exhibit right before it leaves Chicago. I’ve heard they have already sold something like a hundred thousand tickets to the Tut exhibit, many to people from far away as California. Wonder if I’ll be able to see that at all?

In other news, I enjoyed the book Mixed: My Life in Black and White by Angela Nissel, author of The Broke Diaries. Very good. I see from the book jacket that she is now working as a writer for the TV comedy Scrubs and noted that is the closest she has ever come to using her medical anthropology degree.

Noticed gas prices were down a little this week – kind of a make-good from Cheney?

Here’s a Tax Law change long overdue: Allow me to declare my cars as dependents. I provide 100% of their support! If people like me WEREN’T buying gas, there’d be complaints about that too, as profits fell. To a mere 14 billion.

Back to the vacation story…

The next morning we went kayaking with Lazy Dog Tours. They really had dogs all over the premises, mostly Border Collies. After handing out life vests and paddles, our group of ten launched in a mixture of one and two person open kayaks. I’m just really glad Louise was there to do all the work, or I’d still be at the dock splashing in a circle.

Louise was ready to abandon ship five minutes into my not-so-rhythmic flailing with the oar. Only I could screw up left, right, left, right…. Thirty yards from the dock I was pooped. No way was I going to last two hours!

Fortunately all we did was paddle to the nearest Mangrove outcrop and drift along slowly looking for sea life. Whew! Thought Louise would make me sit on a sand bar and issue me a round life preserver on a rope, telling me to hitch a ride back to the marina on the next passing dolphin so she could enjoy the trip.

The guide knew his water critters, showing us a sea hare, starfish, conch, sea cucumber and horseshoe crab. A few of the paddlers were squeamish and took a pass at touching some of the slimier offerings, but not us! We couldn’t get enough of holding and photographing anything short of a sea snake. I was pretty disappointed we didn’t see any sharks. The deadly bull shark can be found in those waters, but we were so shallow (at times touching sand) there were none to be found. The guide said sometimes they saw nurse sharks (more docile; I would have ventured a touch).

No sea turtles either; they feed deeper, so not much chance of touching one of those. Nothing like admitting your loftiest goal in life is to harass sea creatures, but this seems to be a thing with me. I really want to touch wild sea turtles and sharks. Captives will do in a pinch.

We got more than our promised two hours and had a pleasant time. Some day I will have to try the whole kayak thing again, perhaps in my own craft. Nothing like capsizing to teach one how to paddle correctly.

By the time the tour ended we were famished and ended up in Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville restaurant for gulf shrimp. True to form, the place had a heck of a gift shop. The island was one big gift shop – most of it too big to fit into my suitcase. Among some of the goodies I had to leave behind: the sea turtle candle, sea turtle wall sculpture, sea turtle carved cabinet, sea turtle coffee table… you get my drift.

Locals there were in very good shape – all ages rode bicycles and looked very fit. It was easy to spot that the fat wheezy ones were tourists. I found the chickens charming and honestly didn’t see droppings on the sidewalks, so perhaps they weren’t much of a nuisance in the areas we visited. The houses were very close together, only the fanciest had yards of any sort.

We visited the Key West Aquarium, but I was disappointed it was so small. Cost $10 to get in – everything was pretty much $10, except for Hemmingway’s house, that was $11. Go figure. Had to give off an ‘exclusive’ air? No time to see everything, and I’m glad we concentrated on the animals instead. The Aquarium had a sea turtle who kept surfacing right in front of the Do Not Touch sign. Now, what genius puts her right next to the Touch Pool? This was the pool where the public was encouraged to touch everything in the display. Barely 24 inches away is ET the sea turtle looking for her dinner. I wondered just how much of a Tips Appreciated would be needed to get the guide to look the other way…but I kept my hands to myself.

Then followed a leisurely afternoon of shopping, culminating with the turtle races at Turtle Kraal’s.* It’s this dockside bar that puts little numbers on box turtles then lets them race down a wooden dragstrip for the amusement of dumb tourists like myself. I was holding a winning ticket and then had the opportunity to pick a key. If your key opened the treasure chest, you would win the money in the kitty; that night it was up to $325, but no one won that evening. We watched sunset from their upper deck and then hunted for some chocolate covered Key Lime pie (which comes on a stick, no less) and shopped yet more before heading back to the hotel.

*Former site of a turtle cannery, est. 1849. Yep. I stood where the carnage occurred.

Tomorrow: Is there a beach around here?

Pell Lake Isn't That Big

Sick society

Publication Northwest Herald
Date February 17, 2006
Section(s) Opinion
Page



To the Editor:

I read with interest a recent story about the turtles that are holding up the development of property. It's probably costing the developers, and their employees and subcontractors, tons of money.

Do you think there might be something wrong with a society that makes laws to save a turtle that practically no one has any interest in, and wouldn't make any difference whether it became extinct, yet, also passes laws that permit the murder of an unborn human being - created by God and with the opportunity to make a significant difference in this world?

If we want to find out whether a merciful, yet, just God does in fact judge nations with immoral priorities such as these, then we should just keep doing what we are doing.

We'll find out one way or another.

Larry Thompson

Pell Lake, Wis.



Dear Larry the Loser:

Allow me to introduce myself: I am your worst nightmare. I am an agnostic turtle-loving abortion rights activist, and I VOTE. The first order of business is to vote YOU off the island. I want to live near sweet peaceful reptiles, not the cold blooded development freaks like yourself. Move to Schaumburg, you pavement-craving idiot! The biggest nature walk and exercise experience in your life can be from the parking lot to the automatic doors at Ikea while eating your Cheesecake Factory confectionery. See you at the polls!

Way More Accurate Than I Suspected!

I'm a Dodge Viper!

You're all about raw power. You're tough, you're loud, and you don't take crap from anyone. Leave finesse to the other cars, the ones eating your dust.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Would You Like a Rant With That?

Ingredients: Beef Tallow, Gluten, High Fructose Corn Syrup,

Heroin, DDT, Asbestoses, stray peanuts and Palm Oil
May contain trace amounts of genetically modified potato starch.

(Not intended for: Vegetarians, people with food allergies, lactating mothers, women who are pregnant, women who want to become pregnant, women who could become pregnant and children under 12. See your doctor if shortness of breath, irregular heartbeat, weight gain, loss of vision or Wrong Happy Meal Toy Issued occurs.)

First my government lies to me, and now my fast-food provider. After being pilloried for not reporting the correct amount of trans-fat in their French fries comes news that McDonald’s has finally acknowledged their fries are not gluten-free either. Coming on the heels of my viewing the movie Insider, I think we need a Hamburger U scientist to step forward and reveal that crack cocaine is a main component of the side dish.

Taking Aim

Where Are We Going So Fast, and Why Are We in This Handbasket Dept.*

Now, should I be feeling a sense of irony that the Vice President shot someone? On his own ‘team’? (Here’s a conspiracy theory: he was about to defect. One can only assume Scalia saw reason.)

Or is plain old hysterical laughter acceptable? Enjoy a compilation of jokes on the topic here.

What are we to take away from this incident? Cheney can’t be trusted with a gun? Little trigger happy, that’s for sure. He originally thought the other hunter was going to fire on him, so he shot first. Yeah, that’s it. Can’t wait until it later comes out that Whittington wasn’t armed at all. He wasn’t even with the hunting party.

The only thing that could have improved this story is if he had shot the President. Now that would have been entertaining. What of his delay in announcing the incident? Sounds like there were witnesses to shut up, bodies to bury, etc. All this from the man who said Kerry was a threat to gun owners – ha!

No, really, what was Cheney waiting for? If the guy died, he was commandeering Air Force Two and getting the heck out of Dodge?

And remember, the VP did not shoot Whittington, he sprayed him with buckshot. There’s a big difference there, you know, like the difference between having a car battery in your garage or a nuclear weapon. They’re both dependent on chemical reactions, and either can get your garage invaded in a pre-emptive strike, just depends on who’s spraying the buckshot.

What really rankles is the fact that both Cheney and Whittington lacked a $7 upland game-bird hunting stamp. He’s hunted enough in Texas to be familiar with their requirements.

Did Cheney have a Lawyer Stamp? Bet open season is about 12 months on that one. It’s probably the only non-endangered species he shot at all day.

I am a big supporter of hunting, when done by the rules. Not having the stamp is saying you are above the law. I’m sure I’m the first person to accuse the VP of that….

Cheney’s disregard for the preservation of wildlife habitat doesn’t sit with his being an avid hunter. Most hunters are conservationists who want all to enjoy the outdoors and be responsible stewards of nature. Cheney can’t be bothered with getting the proper permits to hunt quail since the rules don’t apply to him.

Surprised he has time to get out at all, seeing how busy he is trying to overturn the Endangered Species Act to fundamental rule of hunting: know what is behind your target. I’m sure the insurgents of Iraq can attest to that one as well.

I hope Cindy Sheehan shows up to his next speech wearing blaze orange. Will they escort her out for that too?

You Don't Win a Silver,

You lose a gold.



You do realize she will be forcibly sterilized and exiled to a far northern Harbin* to do laundry for future Olympic teams the rest of her life...


*Hmmm... I just did a search for 'political map of China' so I could get that name, and Google blew up - said no page could be displayed...Coincidence? I think not!
Thanks to Yahoo and Infoplease for the help.

Key Too

The next morning I checked to see if my eyebrows were plucked (as that was the only view in the mirror) and tried to shave my legs standing on one foot. It’s nice to travel with another woman for a change of pace; we were so meticulous about hair and makeup, packing neatly and reviewing the sights we wanted to check out that day. And did I mention we left the hotel at the pre-agreed time? Yep. This sure isn’t a Mr. Right extravaganza.

It was a tad cold for my taste but we wandered the grounds, checking out all of the fiberglass circus animals strewn between the cottages. Breakfast was a dirty coffee pot of mystery sludge with a pitcher of watered down orange liquid on the side. That tepid water wouldn’t have passed as orange juice in Illinois, let alone Florida. Where’s the fresh squeezed goodness? The main entrée was a packet of generic crumb cakes. I tore open the two-pack, noting all of the crumbs had migrated to one side and looked like lemurs trying to leap off the spongy yellow cliff to their death. Upon returning to our room we found a tiny gecko and took photos of it: our first Florida herp of the trip! It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized we were in the Gecko Room. Cool. Free Gecko. Where’s the Marlin room?

We decided a real breakfast was in order and stopped at a nearby diner for actual food – that came with a side of grits. Then we proceeded to check out a huge gift shop, another perk of traveling with a girlfriend. Mr. Right would have spent all of 20 seconds accelerating past “Shell World” pretending not to hear my pleas, had he been driving. Louise screeched to a stop and we spent the next two hours browsing two floors of ocean-themed goodies. My lack of a U-Haul was the only thing between my and bankruptcy, but I still managed to overspend the whole trip budget on day one. Didn’t see any sandals, however.

We made our way down the Keys, seeking out the elusive and rare Key Deer. The Key Deer is a distant cousin of the white-tail, much smaller and more trusting than any around us in ‘shotgun season’ land. I did however, wonder if tiny venison loins were extra tender.

There were long stretches of highway and bridges on the way down where speed limits were low and passing not allowed. Oh, Mr. Right would have loved that! Especially the Burma-Shave style signs that said patience is a virtue only three minutes to the next passing zone. Now that taunt alone would have killed him. He’d have to pass just to prove he could. 45? His vehicles don’t idle that low.

Stopping at a visitor’s center, some kooky lady behind the counter told us the deer looked like ‘Dobermans with antlers’, and they could be seen anywhere on the island. They don’t, and they aren’t.

Drove around for awhile and stopped at a little nature viewing spot at the edge of the road. Walking up to the little wooden platform over the wetland, I heard a huge ruckus in the leaves. Muskrat? I asked. Then we saw them: wild iguanas. In the water below were two alligators, about 3 to 5 feet. We also saw a green heron and small anole. Thrilled, we pressed on for the prize: Key Deer in their natural habitat.

Another trail head looked promising, and we hiked the 2/3 mile trail with high hopes. The placards along the way weren’t exactly encouraging. They told of poison trees, rattlesnakes, alligators, and a whole host of other things that could kill you on the way. Not one item, friendly or otherwise, was anywhere near the sign advertising it. Dejected, we arrived back at the car a little tired and in despair of ever seeing a deer.

Driving to the furthest reaches of the island, we were rewarded with a gaper’s block of dumb tourists photographing deer. The tiny deer were practically asking for a ride in Trashy Mom’s SUV while her two sons Dumb and Dumber were chasing the deer around with blades of grass saying they were ‘just feeding them grass’, so all those signs about Don’t Feed the Deer don’t count.

It was pretty obvious why they are almost extinct, with no fear of humans or cars. They were cute, and I took some photos. Unlike the Trashy’s we didn’t harass the animals or call them over to us as there was no need. We left before the deer were abducted or worse, and headed towards that evening’s hotel. After the first night, I was containing my enthusiasm to say the least.

Fortunately, Parmer's Resort, in Little Torch Key was very nice. The rooms were very spacious and clean, the grounds included a dock and pool, not to mention huge cages of colorful tropical birds of every sort between the buildings. The staff was great and we enjoyed an incredible breakfast bar in the mornings. MUCH better for the next two nights.

We enjoyed a nice dinner at a bar and restaurant down the street while watching the Super Bowl. It was the first of forty-seven times that week that I would eat conch (giant snail). This was a chowder, but it tasted too tomato-y and like a stew. I guess I was expecting a cream based soup. Oh, and Key Lime Pie. It’s like city ordnance, they won’t let you finish a meal without it.

Tomorrow: Oars Not Touching the Water

But Will He be Buried at Sea?

In Memoriam

Peter Benchley

1940-2006

More on the Topic

People we did not see in the airport

Mr. Right has been hard at work on his internet class (that’s so ethical of him) and tied up the computer Friday and Saturday. Well, actually, Friday night I watched the final four episodes (ever? Perish the thought!) of Arrested Development, as Fox has canceled it. Yet they can keep absolute garbage (like what passes for journalism on their nightly news) on indefinitely. Why having my intelligence insulted still bothers me, I don’t know. Does that mean my intelligence is actually falling?

Anyhoo, I spent Saturday watching movies, so here’s a quick synopsis of my reading/listening/watching of late:

Elsewhere, by Gabrielle Zevin, read by Cassandra Morris – a magnificent audio book about a fifteen-year-old girl who dies and feels cheated her life on earth was so short. Sounds like the afterlife is pretty cushy, so I don’t think even at that tender age I’d have been too terribly crushed. Excellent writing, excellent narration, highly recommended although I’m not yet done with it.

Flush, by Carl Hiaasen. Good book for young people about the Florida Keys and pollution. See why I took it on vacation? Not quite done, but again, recommended for budding conversationalists.

8 Mile – I enjoyed this movie although I know nothing about Detroit (played by Toronto) or rap music (Eminem, playing essentially himself). Rating: Recommended.

The Big One (Michael Moore) – a cute look at making a book tour while having another agenda. Loved the Rockford segment! Wish I would have gone to his book signing! Shows Moore at Media Play being told Barnes and Noble (a block away) did not have his book, sales were only 3% of attendees and Rick Nielsen of Cheap Trick was not home. Of course, Moore disproves all of the above! Best tidbit: TWA uses prisoners as telephone ticket agents. Rating: OK, not great.

Napoleon Dynamite – Silly fun, but what’s the big fuss? No plot. Adequate look at teen angst, cute retro-angle, but so what? Lack of true dilemma or solution killed this one for me. Falls short of greatness, but a must-see for its cultural reference. At least now I understand the Pedro for President t-shirts. Rating: Recommended with reservations.

Alexander – Oliver Stone. Not impressed. Was it truly the topic? It’s a huge, complex, little-documented story to tell, and Stone comes across as more History Channel than Conspiracy Theorist, to his great detriment. Something tells me he needs to watch Brokeback Mountain to see how it’s done. Starts out as Alexander’s story told by an old man who was one of his generals reflecting on the past. It then becomes a flash-back within a flash-back when the story skips back a decade to flesh out little tidbits that occurred earlier in his life to influence the ‘present’ point of the story. Not good. A better script would be my first starting point. Perhaps his life is too big to tell. Stone should have concentrated on just the death of his father, Phillip. Lots of unsolved intrigue and conspiracy there. On the plus side, Bucephalis is played by a beautiful Freesian, but I didn’t agree with his death in battle or like the omission of Alexander’s creation of a city named after his favorite steed. Alexander’s human side was killed by lousy acting. Who cast Colin? Barf. Jolie made a good crazy mom, but she’s what, four years older than Colin? They did nothing to ‘age’ her, such as grey hair, etc. and instead played up the Oedipus angle to the hilt. Cop-out. Rating: Not Recommended.

Sunday Mr. Right asked for the movie Insider as it was recommended for his ethics class. I could certainly see why, and strongly recommend this movie. Heck, it has Al Pachino, so right there it gets my endorsement! Fantastic movie. Really makes you want to be a whistle blower so you can be harassed the rest of your life and live in poverty (which may have happened anyway, it just compounded it further). Rating: Strongly Recommended.

Let me tell you in excruciating detail about my exciting trip to the Keys….

Flew out of O’Hare and the experience was unexpectedly pleasant. The American Airlines check-in was painless: a computer terminal guides you through the process and a clerk weighs your bags. Louise’s bag was overweight so we crammed some of her stuff into mine to avoid a $25 surcharge. I thought I over packed. Ha! (More on what all was brought later…)

This is the lamest new revenue source for the airlines, the imaginary Too Heavy Tax. First off, can you trust their scale? Secondly, as you will hear later, the whole luggage handling crew is a scam. Post-911 air travel was new to me, as I never go anywhere, and hadn’t done the whole Lockdown thing before. I remember the good old days when you could see someone off at the gate and be there when they arrived. Now you can’t use those cute little luggage locks because everything is opened and peered at. Great, I will now spend the whole fight terrified my bag will pop open and spew underwear all over the tarmac. The plane was about an hour late, but as this was not a connecting flight or some sort of business meeting, I wasn’t stressed about it. The staff was kind enough to seat us together and we ate some of my provisions on the way down.

As soon as we stepped off into the Miami terminal, things took a turn for the scary. The smell of mold assaults you immediately and our trip to the restroom was horrific. They haven’t remodeled or cleaned this airport since Amelia Earhart’s visit. Heck, I think I saw her wreckage in that creepy restroom. We waited forever for our luggage while I took the opportunity to play “Spot the Drug Mule”. I was scared of the airport staff, and don’t even get me started on the patrons.

The weather was ok, not really warm, low sixties. They had a cold front move in right when I decide to visit, of course.

After waiting forever for a shuttle, we got to the car rental place and were soon armed with an inaccurate map and on our way south towards the Keys. And yes, the streets are filled with tons of traffic, mostly young men with cars that thump, bounce and have spinning wheels. I knew this. I did not need to see this.

Once underway, we passed the largest car dealerships imaginable*. Are they the only ones of Miami-Dade County? It looked as if everyone in the state bought there cars there, that’s the only way you could justify such monoliths. Is there some program whereby Cuban refugees are issued a new car upon arrival that I don’t know about? These dealerships were huge: four- or five-story high parking garages filled with vehicles. They had names like Planet Dodge. I think a few had their own zip codes. Several were right in a row, looking like Woodfield Mall. Spooky. Prediction: with the failure of Ford and the dominance of Wal-Mart, I think Wal-Mart will start selling discounted Fords, and when they can’t produce them cheap enough, they will switch to GM, etc. etc; down the line until Wal-Mart is the number one car seller in America – of Daewoo’s.

So we proceeded down a highway punctuated by Drive Safe signs that served as little highway memorials (crosses, flowers) and warnings about Crocodile Crossings. (There are saltwater crocs in the area, although the American Alligator is much more common and not endangered. Guess that’s why you don’t have to slow down for them.)

We saw some signs for a sandal outlet, which led me to question, what constitutes a ‘second’ in sandals? A flip-flop missing the little thing that wedges between the toes?

Arriving in Key Largo quite late, we were told by the staff of the Hungry Pelican Hotel that they were overbooked and we had to be moved to a smaller room – one big bed, not two. At this point we were so tired, we really didn’t care. After seeing the room, I cared. Guide books lie!!

Now this was tiny. I could hold up my arms and touch fingertips to each wall. The mirror in the bathroom was so high, I could only see my eyes. Couple that with the fact it had not been painted or cleaned since Bogart was in the area, and I was getting downright unpleasant. After bumping into each other a few times and wrestling with the suitcases, we managed to shut the door. No worry about anyone breaking in, the luggage blocked the doorway. There was no phone in the room, so ‘road blog’ was out. Heck, there wasn’t a light bulb over 40 watts in the room, or a flat place to set anything down. Grumbling, I fell asleep quickly.

Tomorrow: What Continent Serves This for Breakfast?


*Check this out! The fire happened the day we landed and was all over the news! Looks like the dealership ‘took care of it’. Can you say Conspiracy Theory?

So Now You Know

Hi! I’m the adorably cute Key Deer! I’m almost extinct! Let me wander right up to your car and tell you why…

Well, I suppose the trip could have ended worse...

Back to Blog

Chickens everywhere.
Cats everywhere.
Dogs everywhere.
Kooky people everywhere.

Yes, I survived a trip to Key West.

(Motto: With New Orleans out of the way, we’re the strangest city by the sea!)

Too tired to type about it now, but suffice it to say it was an adventure. In germs. Salt water was the healthiest thing I touched for days, I’m sure. No road blogs, as I’m not even sure the internet reached Key Largo yet…well, it has, but when you haven’t renovated (or cleaned) your hotel since Bogart dropped by, it’s mighty hard to come by. Much like flushing toilets, plungers or window squeegees….

Anyhoo, more tomorrow when I recuperate!

Bye Bye Blog

Need to start packing for my big adventure in missed connections, or whatever it is that next week brings.

Must make a list:

Sunscreen. SPF 400.
Paperback books. Three or four.
Bathing Suits (I have seven, but can’t swim. Don’t ask.)
Hair Care Products (It’s not how you get there, it’s how good you look when you arrive)
Rain poncho, snow boots, tourniquets, splint, snake bite kit, parka. (You know darn well something awful will happen to ruin my trip)
Positive Attitude. (Heck, if I had one of those, I wouldn’t need this trip so damn bad, now would I?)
Steamer trunk full of evening gowns. (Worked for Ginger)
Big sapphire necklace. (No, wait, that’s for boat trips. What do you take on planes? I didn’t design the aircraft, nor can I fly one.)
Toothbrush.
Shoes. Shoes. Shoes.
Empty space for souvenirs.
Excuses for customs regarding said souvenirs. (Know your rights! Alligators are not endangered! Florida allows the collection of herps for personal pets)

We’ll be flying into Miami.

Everything I know about Miami I learned many years ago watching Miami Vice:

Pastels are in!
Everyone is a drug dealer.
Boat chases are a twice-daily occurrence.
Your job would be way cooler set to rock music.
Stubble is hot. (Does this mean I don’t have to shave my legs?)
An incredibly rare vintage Ferrari can be parked anywhere and still be there when you return. Ha!

(Finally) Entering the Frey

I’ve been following the whole Jim Frey thing very carefully, and just want to say he knew full well his stories were embellished past the provenience of ‘memoir’ and yet he enjoyed profiting from the lies.

Yes, memoir is an unreliable form that lends itself to flattering its author – look at any politician’s book.

Yes, people who are addicts have real issues with perception. But Frey shopped his book as fiction prior to its acceptance at Random House. (Hey, didn’t I just see Nan Talese’s resume on Monster.com? Right where it belongs)

I applaud Oprah for changing her stance on Frey and the book. Yes, it was just ‘good business’ and perhaps a bow to fan pressure, but I’m glad she changed her tune. We should not allow writers and publishers to make any claims they want to sell books. Right now, Frey is just one little (extremely successful) guy taken to task.

There is much work to be done, so the next time a Clinton memoir makes a similarly outrageous claim or glaring omission, they too should be taken to task. Look at Eli Wiesel. He published Night as an ‘autobiographical novel’. Was every word true? No. But his unmistakable sense of place let you know he had truly lived the horrors of which he wrote. He profited from his book with out lying, shopping it as non-fiction, or trying to defend it until the facts piled up to high to ignore. Kudos to the Smoking Gun and others who try to bring the truth to light – whether anyone wants to hear it or not.

Locally we are experiencing a liar of another sort, one much worse; yet he has attracted less attention. Why? Because he didn’t tell his lies to Oprah? Perhaps. But see if you agree his are worse than exaggerating a trip to the dentist…

Marengo Alderman Werner “Jack” Genot, 69, admitted he fabricated a decades old war hero story and acquired military license plates with forged discharge papers. He wins the “Most Fabricated Service Record Since George W. Bush” award hands-down. Genot claims to have participated in battles that took place long before he was old enough to serve, and hid his 1956 less-than-honorable discharge due to a stolen car. He appeared in area schools trumpeting his falsehoods and was the local contact for Toys for Tots. Among his claims: A Bronze Star, Silver Star, two Purple Hearts and a ten-month stint as a prisoner of war. It’s amazing he was able to keep up the façade for as long as he did. Shame on us for not investigating sooner!


Yet the public outcry has been muted, at best. Some say Americans just love to tear down their heroes, reveal their feet of clay. I disagree! Only in America are the “heroes” shown to be beneath contempt, yet they rise again and again. Look at D.C. Mayor Marion Barry! The average American didn’t uncover his true nature; they did however, vote for him again in spite of it. We as a nation are too forgiving. The cult of celebrity trumps any attempt to shun or shame these people to the fringes of society, where they belong. Any country where Tonya Harding and Joey Buttafuco can continue to make a living is much too forgiving indeed. Genot should have resigned the moment his lies came to light. Any citizens who did not immediately start proceedings to recall him gets the government they deserve.

Spur of the Moment Blog

Window seats are such fun!

Mr. Right read my little diatribe about the scrap paper incident and seemed to enjoy it, laughing out loud several times. Well, you know what they say, if the posty sticks…

Open Memo to the Two Houses on the Highway

Christmas is over. Long over. I do not care if you take down your lights (although I’d like to note it IS the warmest January on record) but do STOP PLUGGING THEM IN!!!!!

Isn’t there some provision in the Patriot Act for prosecuting these people??


Things You Learn the Hard Way Department

It’s really challenging to eat an ice cream cone while driving a stick shift.


Stay Tuned for an Ode to the Best January Ever in a future edition, along with kudos to Oprah for changing her stance on Frey.

In case anyone reading this hadn’t noticed, I’m a creature of habit. As far as I’m concerned, change is for Laundromats and parking meters.

This is but one of the reasons I’ve been under incredible stress as of late due to the land-gobbling Evil Empire ruining my little Eden. Ever read that horrible little book Who Moved My Cheese? It sucks. Sold a billion copies so bosses could give it out to employees and make them read it (gosh, wonder how I know so much?) and absolve themselves of the guilt laying off thousands of workers might have otherwise caused.

“Here’s this little book. It will point out that this horrible situation is all your fault. It’s just you. You’re not embracing change.”

Well let me tell you which character I was: Scurry. I’m the stupid little mouse who is bright enough to detect the cheese has moved, but goes running around aimlessly bumping into walls looking for more. Like Chicken Little, I know the sky is falling; I just don’t do anything more productive run around and shriek. But at least I’m running.

Anyhoo… I’m not the type of person to do anything last-minute or unplanned. (Took a year and a half to pick out my last car) My biggest fear is walking into a room and having a bunch of people jump out yelling ‘Surprise!’ I hate surprises. I hate people. The only good surprise I can think of might be the extreme misfortune of someone I didn’t like, and that only really happened once. And the person was so rotten; it wasn’t a surprise at all, so I can’t even count it. Yep. I hate surprises. Oh, wait, here’s an exception: winning a new Corvette. That would be good. Unless it was white. I really don’t like white.

So you get the picture that I don’t do ‘last minute’.

When my free-spirited and confident friend Louise called last night and said some gals had cancelled out at the last minute on the kayaking vacation they had planned for Key West, and would I like to go, of course I said no. Why would I want to leave the lovely Midwest in February just to go look at some sea turtles?

Flying? That’s just an opportunity lose nice luggage and find out your name is on the No-Fly list. (Just to be a bitch, I’m going to wear my Burqua to the airport…)

Reluctantly, I said I would consider it. First, I spoke with Mr. Right. He was okay with it.(Heck, four days without me? He offered to drive me to the airport!)
Well, I’ll check with work. We’re really busy at work. February 4 to 8? Sure. No problem. Enjoy. Uh, Oh. Looks like I have to Make A Decision in a Short Period. Hate that. Hate that.

Mr. Right went on the internet and got me a ticket. Do you want a window seat? Oooh! I don’t know, I agonized. I like the window so you can sleep, and there is that special thrill of being the first one to yell “Engine Four is on fire!!” Or perhaps an aisle seat, so you can trip the hijackers as they rush the cockpit… Decisions! Decisions! Regular Meal, or Low Cholesterol? Either will taste like the cardboard try it’s served on, so I pick regular, knowing darn well something will go wrong and I’ll get a Vegan Special. Bleah. *

So now I just need to buy a new piece of luggage, lose 10 lbs. in a week, and fret. I really owe Mr. Right big time for all his help. Think I’ll give him his own pad of post-its. Ones that say “I Love You!” Or “Please Recycle”. One of those.

More later!


*As an aside, we had this big debate at work as to what constitutes a ‘fruit’ vs. a ‘vegetable’. One person said the biological definition is anything that can propagate another plant is a fruit. That would mean cucumbers, peas and pumpkins are all fruits. I much preferred Kane Citizens’ pronouncement that “Anything I like is a fruit. Anything I don’t is a vegetable’. Works for me.

Mini-Me?

GM Restoration Parts and Chevrolet Donate To Restore Stolen Corvette

GM Restoration Parts and Chevrolet have donated $2,500 in genuine parts to help
restore the 1968 Corvette convertible that Alan Poster recently had returned to
him after being stolen 37 years ago.

Alan Poster, who made a number of headlines last week for having his stolen Corvette returned just before being shipped to a would-be buyer in Sweden, was surprised by the gift during an interview with Cruise Control Radio, a national automotive talk radio show.

Harlan Charles, Corvette product manager, called to congratulate Mr. Poster on
having his Corvette returned and informed him that GM Restoration Parts and
Chevrolet were giving him $2,500 credit to use for genuine Corvette parts. Mr.
Poster’s Corvette was returned missing several original items such as a gas
tank, carburetor and a transmission, and its original International Blue paint
scheme had been changed to silver. “We’re happy to help Mr. Poster restore his
long-lost love,” said Charles. “We understand what it’s like to fall in love
with a Corvette and to get it in your blood. Corvette enjoys a 70 percent
loyalty rate, which means 70 percent of people who buy a Corvette purchase
another one.”

Mr. Poster had just purchased a 1974 Corvette prior to having his
stolen 1968 Corvette convertible returned and plans to restore the car, repaint
it blue and give it to his 17-year-old daughter.

Flawed Blog

Sunday morning’s paper contained this very timely article about perfectionist tendencies* in children, and how that much pressure can paralyze a person. It even touched on the Procrastinating Perfectionism displayed by Mr. Right!

"If your child is sitting and struggling and won't write a paragraph until
it seems perfectly done and they're crumpling and throwing it away and obsessing
about getting it this way or that, their anxiety may have crossed over the
line," he said.

Some children procrastinate and don't do schoolwork until the last
minute, so they can blame a low grade on a lack of time, instead of facing what
feels like a judgment of their ability.

Although, I do think his was late-onset perfectionism. I need a big fat government grant to study that one properly. Any takers?

*BTW: I have now 'edited' my posts four times to make them look just right.

Blizzard Blog

Just when we forgot it was January with a string of 50 degree days, a snowstorm dumped a little over seven inches of snow by us. Fortunately, my new snow tires worked well and I wasn’t out in the worst of it. Didn’t go skiing, but did read a book, watch some DVDs and listened to a few CDs.


Books

The Dead Connection by Charlie Price was good, should appeal to the YA crowd and could definitely be used in a classroom to demonstrate point of view and shifting narratives. Not the greatest, but OK.

Just started Stiff by Mary Roach and so far, I love it.

CDs

Have a Nice Day by Bon Jovi: I didn’t. From the sound of it, netiher did they. I would like my $9.98 back. Not a good effort.

Nickelback: All the Right Reasons – Awesome!!!! Perhaps their best effort. Mr. Right and I both gave this high marks. Great energy. Do not want my nickel back on this one.

DVDs

Watched more of Arrested Development, Season One collection. Loved the line where the mother announces she wants to throw herself a lavish birthday party and Michael says, “Who doesn’t love a bicentennial?” I love how honest this family is with each other – while being dishonest. Incredible writing, excellent actors.

Audioslave Live in Cuba

Love the band, but do check out the documentary portion if you get the chance, very enlightening. Mr. Right and I both agree trade should be opened with Cuba, the cold war is so over (but not McCarthyism, sadly). The only thing I would have liked to see is the band getting to meet Castro. Now that would have been cool.

I'll Have to Settle For This

Sometimes 15 minutes feels like 15 hours...

After I am dead I would rather people wonder why I do not have a monument than wonder why I do have one.

Cato the Elder
234-149 BC

Ok, people – can anyone here please explain to me what part of ETHICAL stealing your spouses’ special sticky notes falls under? As detailed earlier, Mr. Must Get All Questions Right has been taking an on-line ethics course. He holes up with the computer for hours at a time, blocking my blogging, thus causing great distress to the masses who visit here daily seeking my wisdom.

For Christmas I received three little cute pads of Stik-Withit Brand notes with witty sayings on them like “Lets Make Dinosaurs Extinct”, “Use in case of Wardrobe Malfunction”, and my personal favorite, “What’s the use of happiness? It can’t buy you money.”

I walk into the office where Mr. Right is sweating out an assignment of write a biography of something something something. (He won’t tell me exactly what, since he says: “Do you really think you need to put this stuff on your blog?” Well, there’s the thanks I get for taking an interest in higher education.)

So what do I see? He’s opened the happiness package and is taking down little notes with a ball point pen!! All over my good stick-ums!! Oh, that’s real ethical! Stickys are for notes that need to be stuck somewhere. Mr. Right points out he would use them at work if it was the most handy item. Well, drive your employer into bankruptcy; see if I care, Mr. Ethics. Those postys were a gift. I was planning on using them for important messages like “VCR set! Do Not Change Channel” or “Buy Crickets”. Think I’ll now use them to mark “Mr. Right” on the food in the fridge most salmonella-suspect.

It never fails to amaze me how he loves little scraps of paper. Makes it that much easier to be unable to read your notes and more likely to lose them, I guess. So I make a big show of removing the notes from his grasp, giving him the post-it etiquette lecture and providing him with an old steno pad for notes. What A+ student doesn’t have a notebook? Oh yeah, I want this guy running my business. That million dollar quote? It’s on a sticky somewhere… oh, try looking on the bottom of Johnson’s shoe – that’s where our lunch order turned up one day.

Anyway, he had a paper due Saturday. That would mean submitted by midnight, a deadline he made by a full four minutes. He spent hours and hours and hours researching on line and preparing a paper. The instructor said in the syllabus that there would be a sample paper for guidance, but elsewhere under the ‘grading’ section, he wrote that at this level he did not feel an example was necessary. So Mr. Right overdid it as usual and went to submit his paper at 11:56 p.m. (he started sometime before 10 a.m. I think) where he found the sample paper in a drop down menu of the submittal screen – much too late to do anything about it. Ha! Serves you right, Sticky Abuser. Bet the teacher was going to affix a little sticky to your syllabus noting where the example was, but his wife had used his last one.

Bad News Blog

Not exactly the Spring Training Camp you had in mind?



Ozzie Guillen joked afterward that the biggest difference between having a green card and being a U.S. citizen is "now you cannot kick me out of this country."


Oooh, Ozzie. I hate to be the one to tell you, but...

Today's Headlines

Study finds rape, sexual assault not big prison problem


My guess is A) none of the government-funded researchers have ever been incarcerated, or B) they are the same group whose


FBI procedures fail to find spy in own agency

Bittersweet Blog

January 17, 2006

A Stolen Love Is Found, 37 Years Down the Road

By Michael Wilson

Alan Poster had been going through a rough time that winter. A Brooklyn native and a 26-year-old guitar salesman, he had just divorced and moved from Queens to a 21st Street studio in Chelsea. He bought himself a flashy treat that he could barely afford but could not resist: a blue Corvette. Boy, I know that feeling. I was 25 and worked three jobs to save up enough

He had owned it for only two or three months when it was stolen from a parking garage on 23rd Street. It was Jan. 22, 1969. What trauma!

Years passed, and there were other cars, but he never forgot that 1968 Corvette. "Probably the only car I've ever really loved," Mr. Poster, now 63, said in an interview last week. "That car and my new life started together." I’ve loved all of my cars, but the Vette the most

The new life took him to California. Turns out, the car followed.

Almost 37 years after the Corvette was stolen, Mr. Poster got a call last month that it had been recovered, just days before it was supposed to be shipped to a buyer in Sweden. It was flagged during a routine Customs Service check of the vehicle identification number, sending two New York City detectives on a long-shot search through thousands of crime reports to connect the car to its first owner. Amazingly nice of them to pursue it.

"We can call this a miracle," Mr. Poster said. "I stand in the shower going, 'Why me?' Has anything like this ever happened to you?" Sniff! I’m getting all choked up here…

The car is to be returned to Mr. Poster today, at a news conference in Carson, Calif. It is silver now, with a red interior, and the engine was replaced at some point. Inexplicably, it has no transmission. "Up until this moment, I thought it was chopped up and shipped away," Mr. Poster said. "It's in great shape, I understand." He said he does not plan to drive it much. "I am going to be a collector of a Corvette." GASP! What do you mean, great shape? It has little value now! That poor baby!

The 1968 Corvette represented a breakthrough for Chevrolet, created in the so-called Mako Shark design and ushering in the third generation of Corvettes. There were 18,630 Corvette convertibles made that year. One of which sits in my garage…

One of those convertibles, painted International Blue, rolled out of the factory and to a dealer in Great Neck on Long Island on July 16, 1968. Mr. Poster paid $6,000 for the car a few months later, he said. This is the shade of blue my car is currently, although it is coded for British Racing Green

"I didn't have a lot of money," he said. "I went out on a limb to get this thing. It was an egocentric muscle car that just came out. Back then, Corvette was hot as heck. That was an absolute fantasy of mine." Sob! More Kleenex, please. This is so moving…

A 1968 Corvette in mint condition would be worth anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 now, depending on the type of engine, according to Classic Corvettes and Convertibles in Tarpon Springs, Fla. Most of the 32 1968 Corvettes listed for sale yesterday on the Hemmings Motor News Web site were in that range, with some priced at more than $100,000. That’s for a big block. Ours aren’t so optioned.

He liked, in no particular order, to drive fast with the top down and impress girls. "I was dating back then," he said. "I used to drive up the West Side Highway to Jersey. Trips like that. For the little time I had it, it was fun." Joy is so fleeting.

On the night before the Corvette was stolen, Mr. Poster foiled an attempt to steal it from a curbside parking spot on the Upper West Side, he said. He was picking up a date and saw the car pulling away, but managed to pull the man out. "I let him go," he said, and he did not report the incident. The next night, a garage attendant went to get the Corvette, but returned and said it was gone. Mr. Poster did not have insurance against theft because he could not afford it, he said. He went years without owning another car. Well, what part of no insurance sounded like a good idea? (Or owning one in NYC, for that matter) Hello? That’s like child endangerment. You can afford years of payments with nothing to show for it? But not insurance? Didn’t think this thru, Mr. I ♥ NY, now did you?

"It was a wake-up call," he said. "It made me believe you can't fall in love with things. It was kind of an interesting awakening." Well, there’s a little epiphany you can forget me ever having. (Holding down intercom to garage) Isn’t that right sweetie? Beep! Beep!

The police report, dated Jan. 22, 1969, offered little hope that Mr. Poster was ever going to see his Corvette again. Oh, but they were incredibly concerned and polite, I’ll bet. Right after taking that $200 bribe from the parking garage attendant who said it vanished before his shift.

It stated, in full: "Comp reports that at the t/p/o his car below was taken from the above premises in some unknown manner." Did it have the anti-theft option? Or was that too costly as well?

If it seemed - full as it was with police abbreviation - that the officer was in a hurry, there was good reason: With 1969 just 22 days old, Mr. Poster's was the 6,620th car reported stolen in New York City so far that year, and one of more than 78,000 by year's end. On average, about 215 vehicles were stolen in the city every day - more than four times the current rate. Sheesh! No wonder insurance was so high. The subway is starting to look good.

He eventually left New York for California, founding the Ace Products Group, a company that makes cases for cameras and guitars, drums and other musical instruments. He settled in Petaluma, north of San Francisco. He is a single father with a 17-year-old daughter. He drives a Mercedes. I hope the little princess gets her hands on the Vette and comes visits me so we can go for a cruise together.

The National Insurance Crime Bureau keeps a database of stolen vehicles, a database that is routinely checked before a vehicle is exported. On Dec. 7 last year, Customs checked three cars being sold by a collector in Long Beach, Calif. One of them had been reported stolen in New York City on Jan. 22, 1969. No further information was available. No name of the owner, no address, not even a police precinct or borough. Lucky even that showed up as it was pre-computer-database info.

The case was given to two detectives in the auto crimes division in Queens, Cliff Bieder, 44, and William Heiser, 41. They went to police headquarters in Lower Manhattan, and to Room 300, the daunting records room, to search on microfilm. If they had not found the report by Jan. 1, the car would have been shipped to Sweden, they said. Where it would have been retro-fitted with a can opener, spoon and screwdriver and painted Neutrality Beige. Oh, wait, that’s Switzerland.

"It was the equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack, that report," Detective Heiser said. "One of the guys bet us a steak dinner we wouldn't find it." Can I offer you guys some venison?

With 44 years' experience between them, the detectives spent four days in Room 300, squinting at fine print - "Our eyes were hurting," Detective Bieder said - when Detective Heiser found the report on Dec. 23. He told his partner. "I thought he was going to pass out," he said. I think we owners should chip in and get them something nice for their efforts. Like a slow squad car to chase speeders with or something. This was far beyond the call of duty, and I’m guessing one or both were car enthusiasts to make that type of effort.

Finding Mr. Poster was easier. The detectives tracked him through the buyer of his last house in the New York metropolitan region, who said he lived in California. Mr. Poster said Detective Bieder called him at his office.

"He said, 'You had a car stolen in '69? A Corvette? What color was it?'" Mr. Poster recalled. "I said, 'Blue.' He said, 'We have your car.' " How did they know from that?

Less is known about what happened to the Corvette over the past 36 years than what did not happen to it: apparently no one ever tried to register or insure it, the detectives said, or the same flag from the database would have surfaced. Amazing.

"It's almost like it was just put somewhere and then pulled out a year ago and put up for sale," he said. The man who was selling the car to the buyer in Sweden is not suspected of any wrongdoing, the detectives said. The detectives are trying to trace the car's history backward. "It could have been through so many hands already," Detective Bieder said. "It's hard to find who's culpable." But fun to try and find out

Auto thefts in New York have dropped sharply, to 17,875 last year, the police said. The detectives have been gloating over their success since the day they found the report. "We came back and said after the new year, we'd be eating steak dinner," Detective Heiser said. "Somewhere nice. Not Sizzler." They could char some steaks over at the Ground Zero Café…

The whole affair put Mr. Poster in a reflective mood. So sad. Yet happy. No, sad, no, happy….

"Things don't happen by accident," he said. "Things come back to me. I have no idea why. Maybe it all comes back to you at some point."
Zen and the Art of Corvette Recovery?

Words to Live By

One man with courage makes a majority.

Andrew Jackson
1767-1845

Why Rush? I've got another 23 Hours to get started

Make New Friends!

I guess we always admire those with qualities we lack in ourselves – I mean, what other explanation can I offer for Mr. Right’s fascination with the TV show 24?

Does Jack Bauer have time to be a Procrastinating Perfectionist? Of course not. He needs to make lightening-quick decisions based on scant evidence in the blink of an eye. Which also begs the question: is the book Blink on the best seller list because people buy it with out thinking about it? Or because it’s good?

Anyhoo, while he’s wasting precious study time watching TV, I snuck in here to do a quick post. I’m too tired to get into the whole Million Little Pieces thing, but I promise to address it soon.

Saw a ‘statistic’ today that I just can’t believe. It said that over 80% of dual income households use some form of cleaning services. I find that impossible to believe because A) many homes with two working adults aren’t doing it to turn around and spend the money on a maid service and B) it was a book on how to start your own cleaning business.

There was also a book on starting your own coin-operated laundry. This is a dream I’ve always wanted to pursue! I’d call it “Happy Laundry – The only thing we agitate is your wash!”.

There’d be little faces printed on the machines and a real fun atmosphere. Monday night would be family night, with movies for the kids and free balloons. And lots of pinball machines – Heck, mom has some quarters, doesn’t she? Tuesdays could be Singles Night. I’d dub it Suds and Studs and have a Ladies Wash their Unmentionables Free promotion or something…Or I could call it Unmatched Sock night! Wednesdays could feature Lint Sculpture Contests and Funniest Thing in a Pocket. Maybe I could even get a liquor license for Saturday night Suds n’ more Suds mixers. Sunday could be AA night where your meeting token gets you a free dry or something…. It could be huge. I just know it!

I Have a Dream...

This blog is picked up for a book deal with Random House and Dreamworks makes an outrageous bid for the movie rights.

You have your dreams. I have mine.

Blogfession

TAVARES, Fla. --An 18-year-old passenger who caused a fatal crash by pulling on the steering wheel pleaded guilty to DUI manslaughter after prosecutors discovered a confession on his online blog. Ok, that’s just stupidity in action. But can we count on blogs to be factual? Wait until I jump into the “Frey” on that one in a future post!

Blake Ranking wrote "I did it" on his blurty.com journal three days after the October 2004 crash that caused a friend's death and left another seriously injured. He had previously told investigators he remembered nothing of the crash and little of its aftermath.
Disclaimer: This Blog is for Entertainment Purposes Only. As Al Franken said, parody is protected speech, whether the object of that parody gets it or not.

Blake was sitting in the back seat as he and then-17-year-old friends Jason Coker and Nicole Robinette left a party when he pulled the steering wheel as a prank, causing the car to somersault off the road. Ho Ho Ho. What a stitch. Let’s party with him!

His blood alcohol content after the crash measured 0.185, more than double the legal limit.
Robinette, who was driving and had no traces of drugs or alcohol in her system, was seriously injured. Coker lay in a coma at Orlando Regional Medical Center until he died Jan. 11
That’s refreshing, the driver was clean and trying to get her junky friend home safe. Nice to know no good deed goes unpunished.
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"It was me who caused it. I turned the wheel. I turned the wheel that sent us off the road, into the concrete drain ..." Ranking wrote in the blog. "How can I be fine when everyone else is so messed up?" The universe has a heck of a sense of humor

Ranking later retracted his words, deleting them from the blog and penning an explanation.
"People say I 'contradict' myself since I 'already admitting pulling the wheel.' I didn't 'ADMIT' anything. I went on a guilt trip, and I posted the story that I WAS TOLD . . . Nicole told me I pulled the wheel, I believed her," he wrote. Peer pressure and not thinking for yourself seems to be a theme here, eh?

Still, the confession forced him to lead guilty Monday to manslaughter charges. He could have gotten 15 years in prison, but defense lawyer John Spivey and Assistant State Attorney Julie Greenberg recommended five years in prison, 10 years of probation and a permanent license suspension. This is nothing compared to the pain and suffering (heck, death) of his friends

Circuit Judge Mark Hill agreed to impose the sentence Dec. 28.

Greenberg said she had planned to use the blog as evidence, a first for the office covering Lake, Citrus, Hernando, Marion and Sumter counties, but almost certainly not the last.

"Anytime a defendant confesses, that is very relevant and important," she said.
But I’m still not comfortable with this whole ‘go after the blog’ line of thinking. Little that is posted on personal websites is true. Just ask a few of those poor guys who thought they were meeting a hot fourteen year old girl only to find a police officer had been emailing them for months. At what point is it entrapment? No underage sex took place, only the promise of a meeting. I predict we will see some very different laws enacted when today’s tweens are the law-makers. They are growing up in an environment of fantasy video games and chat rooms that allow them to pose as anyone they wish. Would an online confession hold up in the courtroom of the future? I say no.

Ranking posted the lyrics to Eric Clapton's "Tears in Heaven" the day of Coker's funeral, but prosecutors said his remorse was not always apparent in his blogs, which included entries railing at Coker's mother because she asked him to stop calling and coming to the hospital.

"He lost the best friend he ever had," Spivey said in Ranking's defense.

Ken Coker, Jason's father, said his family never wanted prison time for Ranking, but they wished Ranking would stop writing about them because they felt the blog was insensitive.
He said Ranking would benefit more from psychiatric counseling.

"There's not enough forgiveness in the world," he said.


There’s so much talk now of employers checking out employee blogs and warning college students of the repercussions of having their on-line retellings of beer party exploits come back to haunt them.

Well, wild partying and mediocre college performance sure didn’t hurt the president, now did it? As for the employer checks, it is just one more example of Big Brother with nothing more productive to do. I’m not speaking of anyone who gives away the secret spices from their fast food job online, but getting fired for (without naming corporations or people) complaining about the boss and the perks they accept. Can you really hunt down and fire everyone critical of your organization? How bad of an employer are you? What of verbal comments? You’ve got the resources to hunt down an IP address but Sally complaining in the break room to a captive audience is OK?

I really take issue with pre-employment searches. Why? Because really, what are they searching for? Nothing positive. Just a reason to not hire a candidate. Can a company fire an employee for their religion? If they come to work and preach, disrupt the work environment, etc. you can certainly argue it is not conducive to business and should be stopped, and I’d be right there with you. However, should they fire you because someone saw you go into a certain church and told the boss? That would be discrimination, if you could ever prove it. Would they look the other way if you were a productive employee, even if you had some little “undesirable” points against you? Possibly.

But to run a background check on you (easy as Google) and decide not to hire, well, there’s a line that is very thin indeed. Pre-emptive discrimination. All those questions it’s illegal to ask during an interview could be easily on display. Candidate A writes about how busy she is with three children in ballet, soccer and karate. Don’t hire her, pick B who writes about every Star Trek episode. He has time on his hands.

Oh, so don’t put it in writing. Well if you’re an anarchist, that’s good advice. Or is it? Should it matter what you do outside of work? What if you’re running a website critical of community policy regarding swimming pool ordinances? Think an employer would see that as a real positive? Look how erudite and organized that person is! What web design! What community involvement? No, of course not. You’d be seen as a malcontent that doesn’t shirk from a fight. Someone who might know their legal rights and invoke them! Don’t hire that loose cannon!

Some halls of academia consider blogs a drain on time that should be spent on scholarship. Well, a family or a passion for golf could be considered such as well. Why the discrimination against we who like to type? Is every waking moment owed to your employer?

So here we sit, a few bloggers on the fringes of anonymity, typing away against injustice and not using our real names. Not that it matters. The government already knows my computer ID, listens to my calls and tracks how many sinus headaches I get a year. What next?

Words to Live By

"What is the use of a house if you haven't got a tolerable planet to put it on?"

Henry David Thoreau
1817-1862