Rudeness Automated (or "Who's Going to Pay for My Social Security?")

"In Olden Days, the six-shooter sidearm was as common as the cell phone today.'

"And equally as annoying when it went off in the Theater."

- David "Grasshopper" Carradine

Ponder that.

Every generation has Complaints of Great Magnitude. Time moves on, and "Progress" progresses. It is remarkable how similar our complaints, when boiled down to their essence, duplicate those of a generation ago, or those of antediluvian times ( Cliff Note: Those times are before the American Civil War, or to which one of my diverse group of friends refers as " The War of Northern Aggression". He is "Definitely From the South". ).

Technology, however, has solved all of that for us. Isn't Science Grand?

A cell phone being as egregious as a hand-held, single-action, revolving multi-chamber repeating firearm ( developed circa 1850s - in its time, a New Thing and "The Cat's Pajamas" )?

You betcha.

Work with me here - "I can explain . . . "

I ride motorcycles. While I allow that this activity is not risk-free, many other activities are not without their risks as well. Some activities, one must admit - such as riding horses - are far more dangerous, if one is going to be objective about it at all. The fact that horses are more dangerous than motorcycles becomes apparent if one reviews the available data ( certainly in consideration of injuries or severity of injuries per "passenger mile" - "passenger mile" being defined as, in the case of motorcycle travel, the total number of miles ridden by a population of motorcyclists multiplied by the number of motorcyclists, whether pilot or passenger, riding these miles, or in the case of horses, simply the number of miles that the horse let you stay on its back - usually a much smaller number ).

Or the risk ratio between riding motorcycles vs. riding horses can be inferred, or even deduced from observational data. For example: I have never seen a motorcycle "pop a wheelie" spontaneously when a gum wrapper blew across the road. Nor have I seen a motorcycle, parked at the curb, spontaneously start itself up and jump the curb, running over those unfortunate beings on the sidewalk.

But we were considering cell phones as compared to sixguns.

Clearly, any one of us could imagine, and I have certainly experienced situations in which the use of a cell phone while performing another task - such as navigating a 2-and-1/2 ton SUV on a main arterial highway in a major metropolitan area - may, albeit unintentionally, be the unjustifiable use of lethal force. Especially to a motorcyclist.

As a motorcyclist, I am a little sensitive about these issues. I recognize that I am in the minority in this case, not of the motorcyclists, but of the technology-embracing population.

The fact is: No matter where I ride, the era of the cell phone has added a new level of challenge ( Read: "Risk" ) to this ( riding motorbikes ) pastime.

But let us take a look at not just the dangerous ( as that term deals with obvious things such as death or dismemberment ), but to the annoying and ultimately "Detrimental to Society" effects of technology, including, but not limited to the cell phone.

First, some background:

The First Phone Call in the History of the World was made on March 10, 1876 by Alexander Graham Bell to his assistant, Thomas A. Watson. It may have been - the transcript of that conversation being subject to some interpretation - simultaneously the first "obscene" phone call of record:

"Mr Watson — Come here — I want you."

The guy ( Tom Watson ) was just in the next room.

At the time, this was a Toll Call ( for the younger audience, sort of like "Roaming Charges" today - it cost money ).

In the present time, if one wishes to avoid the humiliation of inadvertently making a call that could be considered "obscene" by many ( including, but not limited to the FBI ), one should avoid returning calls on their "Caller ID" ( more on this technology later ) to any numbers beginning with an area code beginning with the numeral "9".

Apparently, then, technology has "progressed" to the point that we need advice as to how to avoid it. And I've just given you some. Free , Gratis, and for Nothing.

A little more background, so that we might compare experiences of old with the Modern Era of Communication:

In times past, say the 1950s and '60s, in order to place a telephone call, one would actually walk to the location of the phone, as the phone, being tethered to the wall by a hard wiring system without which it would not work, was certainly not going to come to you. Then, one would pick up this certain part of the phone. I can't remember for sure what that part was called, but you didn't pick up the whole phone, just this one part of it. The hand-held part was then oriented so that the speaker was aligned with the dominant ear ( most people have a dominant ear for neurological reasons, but sometimes the default is the ear that can hear ) and the microphone was aligned with the mouth.

Are you with me so far?

One would, after hearing a steady tone, actually dial the desired phone number on a round wheel-like thing with holes in it on the base of the phone. After hearing some ringing, indicating that a phone on the other end was ringing, one might hear the word "Hello?". If you never heard "Hello?", the person you were trying to reach was not at home. That simple. Your feelings were not hurt, and you had the option of trying again at another time when somebody might be home.

To receive a phone call, all one had to do was to be at home, pick up the hand-held part of the phone when there was audible ringing ( an actual bell was used to make this sound ), orient the piece as noted above, and say "Hello?". Most people, if at home and hearing ringing would do just this, without necessarily worrying about who was calling or if they wanted to talk to that person.

There were some other quaint aspects to this system, like having to remember, or at least write down people's phone numbers for future telephonic contact. Or look up the number in a book that was put out periodically.

Sometimes, when you placed a call, you got an intermittent tone - the "busy signal" - and, without further analysis of the situation being required, you knew two things: 1) The person you were trying to call was at home, and 2) That person was on the phone with somebody else. The option remained to try to call at another time.

Over time, various developments, or "Progress" came to telephonic communication, presumably to make such an activity easier, faster, or more accessible. While some of these developments may be good, I would make the assertion that communication has been complicated and made more frustrating in the process, and common rudeness more common.

One good thing is that at some point, the government decided that the citizenry could actually be trusted to own a telephone. Previous to that, they had to be rented from The Phone Company ( there was only one ). To The Phone Company's credit, the rented phones were built like tanks in the old days, and there are stories of elderly customers given to longevity who continued to rent the same phone for 70 years. There was a 101-year-old lady who had spent $875,000 renting her phone before she died, and the great-grandchildren were understandably pissed.

Other developments in telephony came that may be, at best, a mixed blessing.

While certainly not an exhaustive list, these milestones of progress include:

- Touch-tone dialing

- Speed-dial

- Answering machines

- Voice mail

- 800 numbers

- 900 numbers ( see warning above )

- Fax

- Call waiting

- Caller ID

- Caller ID Block ( a byproduct of the "arms race " in telephone "Tag" and other telephonic games )

- Caller ID Block Block ( this blocks incoming calls whose Caller ID has been blocked - Is that cleaver, or what? )

- Call forwarding

- Call rejection ( and thus, personal rejection, if you are the caller )

- "Mobile" phones, originally the size of a suitcase

- Cell phones, now so small that one my age must wear reading glasses to see them, and enlist the services of a small child, or at least someone with very small fingers to "dial".

And, my personal favorite:

- Custom ring tones

The list goes on.

A female friend of mine relates an experience she had in her gynecologist's office. The nurse had just had her "assume the position" for her Pap Smear. As her doctor picked up the speculum and began to move in, his cell phone WENT OFF - and LOUD!

The doctor's custom ringtone? Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries". Now that really sets the mood, doesn't it?

A while back, I was at a funeral. Because of my line of work, I am expected to carry a cell phone and beeper at all times. Out of respect for the departed and their family, I set both of these modern marvels to the "Silent" mode - on "Vibrate". In this way, I could remain available for contact without disrupting the proceedings.

At a particularly poignant part in the eulogy, "Salsa" music broke out - and, of course, LOUD! Somebody else's custom ring tone.

And, as this were not enough, after digging through her purse ( a place that I would never go ) for an eternity, the woman actually took the call!

Now I was feeling all superior, what with having the couth to set my communication devices on "Silent/Vibrate" mode, and proud of myself for figuring out how to do this on my first try. I really don't much enjoy some of the newer electronic devices that have 674 menu options all operated by 2 buttons, but, by golly I got it right with my cell phone and beeper. And of course, both of the devices on my belt - beeper on the right, cell phone on the left - had fresh batteries for reliability's sake.

After the commotion settled, the eulogizer resumed speaking. At the end of his remarks, he asked for a moment of silence.

Apparently, at another location, a crisis had developed, and two people present at the scene felt very strongly that something very bad was going to result absent my immediate input. Availing themselves of the technology at hand, one paged me on my beeper, while the other dialed my cell number.

Not everybody knows this about me, and I hesitate to share it, but unfortunately, I am very ticklish.

The two devices on my belt, receiving radio signals simultaneously at the peak of the pregnant silence requested by the solemn eulogizer, caused me to jump up, do a little dance, and let out a sound that I am unable to describe, and again, LOUD! Nobody heard a phone or a beeper, and so it was assumed that I was merely competing for the "Most Inappropriate Behavior" Olympic Team, and that, for this Team, I was a sure bet.

Recently, I attempted to make a call from my home phone. After numerous rings, I realized I had misdialed, as the party I was calling should have answered immediately. So, of course, I hung up.

Moments later, my phone rang, and being old-school, I actually answered it.

"Who are you?", a voice demanded ( a female voice, I believe, but then one can never be sure ).

"Whom are you calling?", I replied.

"Why did you just call me?", the voice again demanded.

Realizing the "Caller ID" scenario that had just transpired, I said "I'm sorry. I dialed the wrong number."

"What an A$#%&*e!", she said, and hung up.

I guess this is how people use modern technology like Caller ID. This "lady" saw my phone number on her Caller ID - not my name, mind you - I have that blocked ( I do employ some of the weapons and tactics developed in the Arms Race of Communication ). Not recognizing the number, she decided it was her prerogative not to answer. Then, within seconds, and being unable to carry through a vein of logic, she dialed me back so she could interrogate me. More than likely, she executed this call with a stroke of a single button.

Young people have mastered all of this newer technology far better than those of my advanced age. For everything that they have technology do for them, however, there is some skill or knowledge lost.

Like the ability to make change during a retail interaction without the benefit of electronics. Or the ability to read a map, start a camp fire, focus binoculars, bait a hook, entertain themselves without the benefit of electricity, or walk down a sidewalk without a cell phone up to their ear.

Their feet actually freeze in position until they receive the next call, or can figure out someone else to call. Then, and only then can they proceed down the sidewalk. These same people are under the impression that they can, however, operate a 2-and-1/2 ton SUV in traffic while text messaging or surfing the Internet.

This marvelous technology enables us to be rude more quickly and efficiently to more people and with more impunity - impunity borne of the ability to operate from remote location.

And, it would seem, that this technologically-savvy generation doesn't really need to know anything, aside from being able to navigate a 674-item electronic menu with 2 buttons.

Try this: Ask various Juniors and Seniors in High School ( or college, for that matter ) the following question ( I have actually done this ):

"How many fighter planes did the South lose during the Civil War?"

Overwhelmingly, by far the most common answer you will get is, "200".

Then ask, "Do you know when the Civil War was? And when the first manned flight by the Wright brothers took place at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina?"

Now, you're going to expect that none of these kids knows the last two answers, either. They never studied these topics, or classified History as useless information not deserving of space on their hard drive. But you would be wrong. This intellect thing is not just a matter of memory deficit.

Many of these kids will be able to ballpark the Civil War to the 1860s, and Kitty Hawk to about 1903. If they can do both, repeat the question about fighter planes lost by the South in the Civil War.

Now, the most common answer you will elicit is, "150?".

And these kids are going to be polite and pay my Social Security?

"Thank you for Calling the National Education Association. Please listen to our menu closely, as some of our options have changed. For Membership or Dues information, press '1'. For Political Action updates, press'2'. For NEA in the news . . .'

"And if you would like to speak to a live human being,'

"press: '# - S - A - N - D' ".

Peace

A Brief History of the New World (or Why the West Was/Is Wild)

I was raised in upstate New York, educated there, then worked in the Philadelphia area for 21 years. I am, as they say where I now live, "Definitely from Back East". These facts have been the source of some difficulty in my quest for a little bit of acceptance, but I have had no difficulty in finding tolerance - apparently for my differences. Where I now live, "Different" is "The Same", as many people here, actually most people here are "Different".

For the last five years, I have lived in the Great State of Montana. If you go to the website of Montana (http://www.montana.gov/, or something like that) you will be greeted by an image of the State Seal. If you look closely, it reads "The Great Seal of the State of Montana".

I'm sort of thinking that somebody meant to write "The Seal of the Great State of Montana".

In my humble opinion, the Seal isn't that Great. But the State is. I love Montana ( as did John Steinbeck, who said - and I paraphrase - "For many states I have admiration, even affection, but for Montana, it is true love." ).

I love this stuff, like the "Great Seal", or the sign, hand-painted with a spray paint can on the pavement outside my workplace by a friend of mine - a graduate of Montana State University Bozeman - that reads: "NO! Parking". I wish, for the last five years, that I had carried a camera around to capture all of the signs, plaques, etc. that I have encountered that have misspellings, malapropisms, inappropriate punctuation, etc. that have totally changed the intended meaning of the message. Or the signs that simply say something you don't see that often.

Like the sign on the door of my workplace that has a picture, inside a red circle, with a red slash through it of a Ruger SP101 .357 Magnum revolver with spurless hammer, and the words "No Weapons".

I work in health care, and had never worked in a place with such a sign on every door.

In way of explanation, a resident of Montana may carry a sidearm without a permit just so long as it is in plain view. One may carry a concealed firearm with a permit issued by the Sheriff's Department of the county of one's residence. To obtain such a permit, one must pass a firearms safety course (Hunter Safety would suffice), pass a federal background check, and be photographed and finger-printed.

So if an institution or place of business prefers that you not be packing while patronizing their establishment, they put a sign to this effect on the door. Interestingly, I have only seen this sign on the door to my workplace and nowhere else.

In Montana, it is said that "Gun Control" means using both hands.

But, mind you, real Montanans see the intended message on first viewing the sign, plaque, newspaper article, or whatever else. And it takes them less time to figure it out than it takes me - I have to translate before I can understand. They (the real Montanans) are adapted to their environment, and get on quite well.

These are not unintelligent people, but many more Montanans (by percentage when compared to my experience "Back East") may have varying degrees of Dyslexia, Dysgraphia, Visual Perception Disorder, Auditory Perception Disorder, Attention Deficit Disorder, Attention Deficit/ Hyperactivity Disorder, Depression, Bipolar Affective Disorder, or a variety of these, or other things that "Intellectuals" have decided are "Learning Disorders" or "Psychiatric Disorders".

It should be noted that native intelligence has no relationship whatsoever to learning disability. There are very intelligent people who have learning disabilities. (It is, however, a most cruel myth that all learning-disabled people are of above-average or exceptional intelligence. There are those of above-average native intelligence that are learning-disabled, and those that are not learning disabled. There are also those of lower native intelligence who are learning disabled, and those who are not.).

Some characteristics, such as beauty, intelligence, or strength are in large part hereditary. The rules say we cannot change our (biological) parents, so we are given what we are given, and can't rightfully take credit for possession of these traits.

Some of these combinations may be seen as a "Bad Thing".

They should not. They just "happen", or exist. Nobody's fault. But, unfortunately. there are those in other categories that would exploit the "Bad Combination" people.

Fortunately, these "Bad Combination" people are more tolerated in Montana, or even loved rather than exploited. They fit in here. It has been my experience that there are just not as many Mean People per capita here as I had encountered "Back East".

Why, one might ask, are there so many of these people with the "Disorders" mentioned above - and whom I love so dearly - here "Out West" as compared to "Back East"?

Here, after a long and tedious preamble, we get to the subject matter as stated in the title to this piece.

A Brief History of the New World:

The human species, homo sapiens, got its start in Africa.

Some of these people were wanderers, so they walked up to southern Europe, along the southern, then the eastern coast of Asia, across the Bering Strait (mind you, this was before Global Warming) to North America. This took them a very long time, and they did it a very long time ago. They still got here a long time before the Africans that walked up to Europe and faded.

Some of the early humans in Africa, as noted, walked up to Europe. Their skin faded, and they became Norwegians and Germans and Italians and such.

Over time, some of these people in Europe got itchy to go somewhere or do something else. The ones that actually acted out and moved to North America were not your average bland, careful people. They were a subset of the population that took risks, committed crime, adopted off-beat religious beliefs, were hyperactive, etc..

These people were "one bubble off level", and they moved to the East Coast of North America.

After some time, others emerged on the East Coast that were two or three "bubbles" off.

They moved West, had children who had children, and so on, producing the people that I know and love out here.

There, in a nutshell, is all you need to know about the history of the New World.

And I no longer use a spirit level. I've decided to stay.

Peace

My Father's Ship

My father died six years ago tonight.

He was fortunate, in that he died suddenly, and 21 years later than would have been predicted in the year of his birth - 1922.

He was also fortunate to live 57 years after the largest engagement between the Allied naval forces and the combined Imperial Japanese Navies during the the entirety of the Second World War. This battle was bigger than Midway, and let me tell you, there were allot of chips on the table, and allot of heroism displayed.

Veterans Day has come and passed - November 11, 2007. On this day I reflect on the life of my father, a World War II veteran, his service, and the service of countless others who have served not only our country, but the peoples of the world.

The link below gives some history (and a photo) of my father's ship, the USS Melvin - a Fletcher Class Destroyer - DD 680. It is incomplete, for instance not mentioning the three Japanese submarines she sank in the "Marianas Massacre". The Japanese had been sinking Allied ships attempting to resupply our forces in a shipping lane over the deepest part of any ocean on earth, and with some regularity. The USS Melvin, and others, were deployed to correct this situation. Three subs in five days is not a trivial accomplishment.

Note that this destroyer, about as long as a football field and as wide as a tennis court (pretty much a "canoe" by Navy standards) ( and thanks to my cousin Pete on the dimensions), was the only destroyer to sink - single-handedly - a battleship (the "Fuso") during WW II. She used one 24-ft torpedo - the last torpedo in the group - at an engagement distance of about 6.25 miles and ran a zig-zag pattern in retreat. The ship was out of oil to make a smoke screen.  All of this at about 3:15 in the morning.

All aboard knew that this was a suicide mission, and that the numerous shells fired by the Fuso, each about the size of a trash can and hitting the water within 30 yards to each side of the Melvin would surely do them in as they turned and withdrew after deploying the torpedo. Battleships are about the size of a medium-sized city in Montana, such as where I once lived in Havre, Montana.  The IJN (Imperial Japanese Navy) Fuso was about 20 - times the size of a Fletcher-Class Destroyer, and the USS Melvin sank it. A David-and-Goliath, Loaves-and-Fish sort-of-thing.

My father, Lt. Junior Grade Edward Ludlam Blossom, Jr. was the officer who surrendered the Melvin when she was decommissioned at San Diego May 31, 1946 - nine days after his 24th birthday.

Interestingly, the USS Melvin was named for a Navy officer of the same rank as my father: Lt. Junior Grade. Lt.(jg) John T. Melvin was the first Naval officer to be killed during World War I on the first U.S. Naval warship sunk in World War I (November, 1917).

When I was a kid, I asked my father what he did during the war.

He said, " I ran the movies on Thursday night."

I last spoke to my father on November 11, 2001, at about 11:00 PM. The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month - originally "Armistice Day" (after WW I), but we kept having wars, so ""Veterans Day".

My father died suddenly on December 16, 2001.

My father abhorred war and violence, as should we all.

When I was a child, I had no idea that he could have been killed, and that I wouldn't have been born, because, after all, how dangerous could it have been to load a movie projector on Thursday nights?

I guess true heroes don't identify themselves as such.

One should never miss an opportunity to talk with a World War II veteran - they are rarer with each passing day.

For that matter, one should never miss the opportunity to talk with a veteran of any war.

I recently ran across the following remark:

"If you can read this, thank a teacher.'

"If you can read this in English, thank a soldier."


Peace

Learn more about the USS Melvin (as they say on public television) at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Melvin_(DD-680)

Hannah the Newf: October 9, 1995 - March 20, 2007

Hannah

October 9, 1995 - March 20, 2007

Hannah, a most extraordinary Newfoundland dog, died peacefully at my home in Billings, Montana early this morning.

She had suffered a myocardial infarction ( a "heart attack" ) in mid - December of last year, but recovered for a time.

She never quite recovered her legendary strength, however, and was forced to stop using the stairs in her final months.

After much consideration, and consultation with a friend, Amy Lam, D.V.M.,
I decided to provide Hannah with the type of care about which I am so passionate in my vocation:

Hospice.

Hannah was maintained in comfort. It was remarkable that she would still lift her head to me, even after 14 days without food, and 7 days without water.
A tough dog.

Hannah, if human, would have been nearly 92 years old.

Hannah was born in Doylestown, Pennsylvania, her mother from Arizona, and her father a world champion out of one of the two most famous Newfoundland breeders -
Pouch Cove Kennels in New Jersey.

She was black, but with a white blaze on her chest proving her lineage.
One of her relatives won "Best in Show" a few years ago at Westminster.

Hannah served, without compensation, as the model for Captain Meriwether Lewis' Newfoundland Dog, "Seaman", for Montana artist Don Greytak's
series of prints commemorating the 200th anniversary of the expedition of Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery.

She lived in Gulph Mills, PA, then moved with me to West Chester, PA.
There she met her best friend - the late Mr. Murphy - the most exceptional Golden Retriever on the planet, and owner of my best friend, Carol Nevulis.

In February of 2003, Hannah bravely rode 2,200 miles in our Volkswagen Camper, "Miriam" with me when we moved to Havre, Montana. There, she experienced
rattlesnakes, gophers, badgers, coyotes, mule deer, antelope, and even an adolescent mountain lion, as well as temperatures ranging from 47 degrees below zero
to 111 degrees above zero -
all in our back yard!

In her early days, she would come to my office in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.
She accompanied me on numerous canoe trips in the Adirondacks in upstate New York - Hannah took the bow position,
and would actually help balance the canoe so that I could stand up in the canoe and propel it upstream or in shallows with a pole.
Hannah was an avid walker, and in one day, would do 13 miles - with pack - on the Appalachian Trail in Maine.

She climbed Mt. Marcy, the highest peak in New York State.
There she took a nap on the US Geological Survey marker on the peak. Twenty minutes in to her nap, about 30 Japanese tourists arrived, but being afraid of a 130-pound
dog ( they thought she was a black bear! ), not one of them got to stand on the absolute top of Mt. Marcy.
On this particular occasion, as you could imagine, several hundred photographs of Hannah were taken - photographs that now reside in Japan.

She was also fond of pulling children in a wagon - you could see the excitement in her action when I would pull out the wagon harness or the doggy backpack.
Hannah pulled two children about 3 miles in the annual parade in Havre.
True to her breed - the oldest domesticated breed, and the only truly American breed - she loved to work.

Hannah was gentle and naturally protective ( she never bit anyone, and a two-year-old could walk her on a leash ). She would always position herself between traffic and a child when walking along a road. She always perked up and came to attention at the sound, no matter how distant, of a child crying.
I once found her protecting a nest of baby rabbits outside our home in Gulph Mills, PA.
Not a hunting dog.

She was also brave. She once saved the life of a Llasa Apso being mauled by a 160-lb Rottweiler, intervening without hesitation or command.

Hannah was tolerant of three dog rescues and temporary adoptions that I forced upon her - another Newfoundland, a demanding Golden Retriever, and a neurotic German Shepherd.
She was also tolerant of living with me, spending too many hours home alone during my long work shifts and call schedule.

Hannah was willing to spend her time with me, conducting our lives like an expedition with all of the uncertainty that such involves.

Hannah also had an infinite capacity for sleep, and would always do so in the place most likely to interfere with my passage should I try to change location.

She looked beautifully, peacefully asleep this morning.

I thank you all for indulging me in this reflection on an incomparable being.

meb

Acquired Optimism

I recently had a discussion with a friend in which he allowed that he had read a book about acquiring, or learning Optimism.

Now, one of the reasons that this man is my friend is that I would never - at least previously - characterize him as an Optimist. I have always found him to be much smarter than that.

He went to an Ivy League school ( not the best one - I went to that one - Hah! ), has an advanced degree, and is the best at what he does in four-or-more states. He works in a human service field, and has never compromised the people he serves because of a personal belief or trait that is anything but Optimistic.

My friend shows up to work every day (a fact that, one could argue, given his line of work, is evidence of at least a modicum of Optimism) and does his job. He does it well, with skill, attention to detail, compassion and humor. Alright - the humor is at times a little dark.

I don't know if this book was a gift or if he purchased or borrowed it. I do know that it would be found in the "Self-Help" section of the bookstore. I think he gave it a serious read with all intention of "improving" himself in a given aspect.

A sort-of "Cliff Notes" piece about this book, and another (probably a re-hash of the first) by this author can be found at the following link:

http://pos-psych.com/news/doug-turner/2007011536

There are numerous other links at this site, possibly including information on how to acquire the author's books. The site itself is called something like "Positive Psychology News Daily" - I don't know, but I think it may have ties to a cult or something. Prophets and profiteers have been pushing "The Power of Positive Thinking" since the beginning of time (Witness the existence of Amway, Mary Kay, the Branch Davidians, etc.).

At any rate, peruse the above link at your own risk. If you are going to get caught up in its content and chase down its every link, you need not return to this blog to finish reading this piece. I will be unable to help you.

After reading this book, my friend came away with a few points.

The book listed and scored various characters through history as to their degree of Optimism or Pessimism, then noted how things worked out for these individuals.

My friend related that Optimists, when compared to The Others, were more successful (however one would choose to measure that), made more money, had bigger houses, more beautiful spouses, etc. . They also were healthier, had fewer infections, less cancer and lived longer. Quite a bit of benefits to this Positive Thinking thing.

And what possible benefits befall the Pessimist you might ask?

As it turns out, the Pessimists were right more often.

While this may not seem like a whole boat load of benefit when compared to the Utopian life to which the Optimists are obligated, there are those to whom being right is very important. My friend, it would seem, is just such a person. It is an element of his personality. And, bless him, he is not arrogant about it. On the contrary, a gentler or more humble person you will not find. But he is right allot.

My friend, I believe, did not think he benefited much from this read. He did not think that he learned or acquired optimism, but I think he's OK with that. Perhaps he would find the conscious and premeditated act of changing his thought processes - so that he would be wrong more often - counter intuitive.

We are all the victims or beneficiaries (I suppose the Optimists would say "the beneficiaries or victims", reversing the order, or leave it at "the beneficiaries".) of our heredity and our experience, our genetic makeup and our environment. I will be the first to acknowledge that there will be those that disagree with this theory about the interaction between gene and experience. These people are called "Optimists".

My point is that there are different sorts of people in this world, and some of their views and methods of life are ingrained in them from the get-go. The difference between, for example, the average citizen and a fighter pilot is that when faced with a seemingly dire situation - say being in an aircraft in a steep dive at high speed, 10 seconds before impact with the ground - is that the average citizen is going to say something like "Oh my God! We're going to die!", while the fighter pilot would say "I still have 10 seconds to work on this problem."

These two types of people have a fundamentally different take on life.

But who, in this scenario, is the Optimist? And who is right?

Another friend (Yes, I have more than one!) points out the paradox in the relationship between being a Cynic and being a Pessimist. On the face of it, both are considered "Negative People". But they are not one-in-the-same.

The Cynic - the Negative Person - is the one pointing out what is wrong in a given situation, with a given policy, approach, etc.. Many find such people to be distasteful, and feel that they should just knock off the bad attitude, or simply just shut up. Far better to be a Positive Person, to accept things as they are, and realize that things are not going to change. "Don't worry - be happy!". Positive People also believe that being Positive is a choice one makes, while Negative People do not feel the opportunity to choose at all - another difference between these types.

The Positive Person vs. the Negative Person (the Cynic) - who, then, is the Optimist? The one who believes that things cannot change, so be happy about it? Sounds Pessimistic to me.

Or perhaps the true Optimist is the Cynic, who takes the time and the effort -at some peril of infection, cancer, shorter life, or passover for promotion -to point out that which is wrong, in the belief that things can be made better.

As for myself, I am not sure I can buy into this thing about relentless positive thinking being entirely a matter of choice. And even if it were, I am not sure that I would always choose it.

There is some value in being prepared for a less-than-optimal outcome - avoiding physical or psychic hurt, avoiding disappointment, etc., but in the statistically less-likely scenario where things turn out better than I had predicted, I am more than willing to be happy that I was wrong - just so long as it doesn't happen too often.

"I cannot prevent the rain. But I can carry the best umbrella."

- Author Unknown (at least to me)

And the best umbrellas, the Brigg brand, made by hand to this day in London, always seem to be black, don't they?

And finally, yet another friend provided me some years back with another quotation, author again unknown to me:

"A Cynic is nothing more than a disappointed Idealist."

I agree. And for that I will never apologize.

Peace

Jury Duty

Most people live in dread of being summoned for Jury Duty. It can be a great inconvenience. Murphy's law and all of its corollaries, of course apply. You will be called at the busiest time of the year, at a time when your boss will least appreciate your absence, or you will cancel important plans, only to find that the case was settled and your service is not needed. This last scenario of course puts you at the Top of the List to be called for Jury Duty in the next cycle (they seem to like people who showed up).

In my line of work, I am frequently asked to manufacture a medical reason why an individual cannot serve on a jury.

In some instances, this is a no-brainer: The individual is sedated, on a mechanical ventilator in the ICU in the hospital. Or the individual is Bipolar and not reliably taking their medication, or they died four-and-one-half years ago (I was once asked by the court to render an opinion that a potential juror was actually dead. Many jurisdictions use voter registration records to compile a potential-juror pool, and apparently this man, dead for several years had continued to perform the citizenly duty of voting.).

Some individuals, seeking to avoid Jury Duty, have somewhat lesser "medical" reasons not to serve, and no qualms asking me to risk my reputation and licensure in the fabrication of "The Note" that excuses them from Jury Duty (or work, or school, etc.).

"I itch allot." (But do you scratch allot?)

"It hurts when I sit." (This person just sat comfortably for 45 minutes imploring me to write
" The Note".)

"I have acne." (So?)

"I take medication." ( One aspirin a day.)

"I have etc. . ." (I have to admit, etcetera - in some forms - can be a very bad disease.)

My father, rest his soul, felt very strongly about his duty to serve Jury Duty. For 35 or more years, he answered every call (about three times a year where he lived - more than 100 times).

He was never chosen for a jury in more than 100 sorties. You see, he was trained as an engineer - had a Masters in Electrical Engineering - went to Lehigh University with Lee Iaccoca even. But he always wanted to be a Lawyer (Yes, Virginia, the practice of Law was once a good thing, and there was such a thing as a Good Lawyer. My father was of that era, but his father insisted on Engineering.). And in spite of the fact that he worked for IBM for 35+ years, he could still THINK.

That's funny! The "House Organ" or "News Letter" (more of a magazine for IBM employees) was called "THINK". My father had a sign over his desk, as did all IBM employees, that simply said "THINK". My father also had, over his desk at home, a sign that said "THIMK" - apparently worked up by somebody in the print shop at IBM's headquarters then located in Endicott, NY. This sign, aside from the "typo", appeared as the real deal. Pretty cool.

Ah, but I digress.

My father was not chosen for Jury Duty because Lawyers (defense or prosecution, plaintiff or defense) will not choose a potential juror that the Lawyer suspects is capable of Independent Thought.


When asked a question during jury selection, my father was analytical. Especially when asked hypothetical questions, my father would answer, "It depends. If you mean this, then I would say this, but if you mean that, then I would say that . . ."

"You are excused." That is the answer my father heard more than 100 times, yet he still kept trying. He wanted to serve on a Jury.

Finally, one day, he was actually chosen to be on a jury. He was retired, so it was no inconvenience. About a two-week trial. In Federal Court.


The only problem was that it was a Mafia trial.

"Dad! Thirty-five years you can't be chosen for a jury, but when you finally are, I have to change my name, those of my children, and of (at the time) my wife? And relocate to East Treestump, Pennsyltucky? What were you thinking?"

So lets get down to brass tacks. It is your obligation as a United States Citizen to serve your duty, if called upon, in our judicial system as a Juror. Even if it is an "Inconvenience". Someday, your future might depend on those chosen to sit as Jurors in a civil, or possibly criminal proceeding against you. It is at least feasible that, in certain situations, you may not actually be guilty. In this country, at least in a criminal trial, you ostensibly have the right to a trial before your peers. It has been said that in fact, you have the right to be tried before a jury of twelve people not smart enough to get out of Jury Duty.

But if you wish to discount these possibilities, and simply do not want to serve Jury Duty, here are some approaches that have been taken or recommended. These approaches or views are not necessarily those of the author, nor can I condone them. In fact, if not well executed, some of these approaches may result in a "Contempt of Court" fiasco. If you pretend to be crazy, or bigoted, or simple (strike that, the Lawyers are looking for "simple"), and you are found out (e.g. you are actually the coherent CEO of a multi-national corporation among the Forbes 500), you may be in BIG TROUBLE.

So, here we go:

You are called for Jury Duty.

As usual, wear a custom-fitted helmet, constructed of multiple layers, to be ROBUST, of aluminum foil. This helmet should not cover your eyes, but protect the back of your neck, and at least cover part of your ears. An aluminum foil "spike" at the forward part of the skull, or at the vertex of the skull (the posterior, superior aspect of the head) is optional. Also optional is whether or not you choose to use this spike for communication, e.g. as an antenna, or whether or not you choose the pipe cleaner option, or the already-burned Sparkler core (a soft metallic wire left after the burning of a sparkler on July 4th) projecting out from your helmet.

It has been some people's experience that the simple use of a pipe cleaner raises suspicion as to the authenticity of one's inappropriateness as a Juror. Always be willing to consider other materials in the construction of you special head piece, or that of the antenna, giving consideration to your locale and the regional biases or norms (for example: the aluminum foil helmet may be very acceptable in much of California, and may actually Increase your chances of having to serve Jury Duty).

Consider, whether-or-not wearing an aluminum foil helmet, this: Having a copy (or a stack) of "American Cheerleader" magazine in your lap. This will not work for sub-forty Babes, as they might be thought to be legitimate coaches of cheerleading squads. But for "Older Ladies", or for any male between the ages of 6 and 150, this could be disturbing to any Lawyer, defense or prosecution/plaintiff Lawyer attempting to choose a panel of jurors. This could get you out of Jury Duty.

Another option to be excused from Jury Duty is the "Fugue".

This is simply being "one off" from the interrogator's questions .

In response to the Lawyer's first question, for example " How long have you been a resident of Schlobotnick County?", one must start with an answer to a question the Lawyer has not asked, one that you have thought up in advance, for example: " How long does it take a male Bengal tiger to copulate?" The correct answer to the question - yours, not his - is "Six seconds". The Lawyer may excuse you at this point, but may persist in the questioning. For every time the Lawyer repeats the first question, repeat "Six seconds".

Should the Lawyer persist, and move on to other questions, it is a simple matter to be totally honest, answering truthfully, but one question behind. This will drive the Lawyer nuts, and usually, it's a very short drive.


For example, the Lawyer asks about the duration of your residence in the County. You answer the prepared question about intimacy amongst great felines in Asia (of course, unbeknownst to the Lawyer) - "Six seconds."

Repeat as necessary.

Should the Lawyer move on, as they are want to do when stymied or frustrated, and ask you if you are a registered voter, answer "12-and-1/2 years." (That's how long you have been a resident of Schlobotnick County). The Lawyer will think that you have been a registered voter for some time. The Judge will probably buy this, too. Now you have them where you want them.

If the Lawyer then asks you " Have you ever been charged or convicted of a misdemeanor or felony?" : Answer "I am a registered Republican" ( or "Democrat", or "Libertarian", or "Independent", or "Green Party" - it doesn't matter. You are still being honest, and technically not in Contempt of Court).


If, at this point, you have not been excused of Jury Duty, simply repeat the answer to the question about the intimacy of the Bengal tiger.

Peace.