Disappointment At 30,000 Feet

I’m away on my semi-annual trip to visit with family on the east coast. And while I don’t usually give out the top secret details of my personal comings and goings, this time something occurred on the flight that, while not life-altering, was depressing enough to make me consider walking across the country next time.

The whole thing is a classic study in shattered expectations.  Having been in the first group of passengers that boarded the plane, I sat there watching as those who followed proceeded down the aisle to find a seat.  Now this is where a speculation game begins with most travelers.  You carefully study each person who approaches, and wonder which of them will end up sitting in the seat next to you.  Will it be the one with that grouchy look on his face, or that overweight woman who will unknowingly poach part of your seat with her overhanging girth, or that rather suspicious looking guy you can picture being a lunatic terrorist who will end up holding a nail file to your carotid artery as he tries to hijack the plane?

Anyway, as I was conducting my own personal “profiling” of each individual, down the aisle walked an absolutely stunning young woman in her mid twenties.  She was trim and petite, with dark long hair and a smile that seemed to illuminate her face.  Now, beautiful females like her have been on my flights in the past, but each has always ended up walking past me to sit somewhere where I can’t even admire her from afar.  So I figured this would be the same deal.  I mean, why would an attractive young chick purposely sit next to an old fart like me?  To my surprise, however, she stopped.  And whether it was because she just couldn’t see any other available seats, or she noticed the “Oh, PLEASE” expression on my face, she placed her bag in the overhead compartment and sat down next to me.

Now, if any of you romance novel readers are about to visualize a steamy fantasy, you’d better take a cold shower before you continue reading.  At my age, the only realistic steam that might have materialized is if the galley coffee machine blew up after a filter gasket failure.  Despite that, my expectations were that I would get to spend a few hours with an attractive female chatting companion, while all the young guys on the plane sat there wishing they were me.  As it turned out, we exchanged a few amiable words when she first sat down, but by the time we had taken off, she was sound asleep.  So much for conversation, or anything else for that matter.

As I looked over at her, there were a number of very interesting things about her body.  One was that the more deeply she slept, the more limber it became.  And it wasn’t long before she slumped to her right and morphed onto the shoulder of an older woman sitting in the aisle seat.  Immediately the lady jabbed her arm with an elbow, causing the girl to wake with a start, then readjust her sleeping position.  But as she faded away again, she slowly drooped back onto the lady’s shoulder a second time.  This time she got a sharp shot to the ribs, and awoke to a “dirty look” that could only grace the face of an irritated senior citizen.

This was good.  After all, “Sleeping Beauty” had been rebuffed twice by elbow strikes and a scalpel-like senior stare, so falling asleep again seemed out of the question.  That said, let the conversation begin… right?  Wrong!!  The dark-haired damsel quickly fell into another coma-like stupor.  This time, however, she slumped to the left and her head landed on MY shoulder.  Wow, with our cheeks only inches apart, my mind began to wander backwards in time to when this sort of configuration would not only be pleasant, but reserved for someone with whom I had some “history.”  Anyway, it didn’t take long for the daydreaming to end as I realized this dainty female’s head weighed about twenty-five pounds, not to include the added downward pressure of gravity and sleep-induced dead weight.

Now, I am truly a gentleman in the old-school sense of the word.  So rather than poke the girl as had the senior on her right, I sat there patiently waiting for the plane to hit an air pocket or something “sudden” that might cause the girl to wake up.  But it never happened, and her head continued to bore into my shoulder for the next hundred or so miles.  Slowly my right arm began to fall asleep, and my back started hurting because I couldn't adjust my sitting position.  A number of times the older lady on the isle looked over and gestured that I should use her strategy and  employ body blows to wake the girl up, but I really didn’t have the heart to resort to physical violence.  So, for what seemed like a lifetime, I endured the anvil weight of the sleeping damsel’s head, as well as her muffled snoring and strands of a.w.o.l hair that kept tickling my right ear.

I guess the greatest indignity occurred as we were making the final descent into Fort Lauderdale.  The young lady woke up, yawned, and after righting herself in her seat looked over at me as if to say, “Oh, are YOU still here?”  Then she began fixing her makeup and straightening up her clothes, never once saying “thank you” for my supporting role her comfortable flight.  Truthfully,  I felt cheated and violated.  And while I’m convinced I would have made a superb chatting companion, all I ended up being was a vintage head rest with a very sore shoulder due to impaired circulation.  What a gigantic disappointment!! 

Anyway, I will NEVER allow this type of indignity to happen again, you can bet your boarding pass on that.  Next time a fine looking female appears to be interested in occupying the seat next to me, I’m going to tell her I’m holding it for someone else, then invite a guy who looks like a terrorist to sit there.  At least he won’t fall asleep on my shoulder, and might even talk to me until it’s time for him to pull out his nail file and hold it to my throat.

Hey, Weight Just A Darn Minute……!!!

For years I’ve been wondering who in the heck makes up those “ideal” weight charts that pop up in books and magazines every now and then?  For every time I compare their poundage to the actual weight displayed on my trusty bathroom scale, I’m never even close to what they say I should weigh to meet reasonable health standards.

I’m bringing this whole thing up because recently I got back the results of a medical test that oldsters like me are subject to  take every now and then.  And though it was not meant to be  weight related, in a box at the top of the page next to my height and weight, was the label, “OBESE.”  Now, I’m no fashion model by any stretch of the imagination.  If anything, I’m more like a Model T Ford.  But obese???  The nerve of whoever prepared that report!  I mean, they’ve never even seen me in person.  They drew their conclusions using one of those “ideal weight” charts that were devised in Bangladesh using patients who suffered through decades of famine.

In anticipation of this post, then, I checked out about a dozen weight charts on-line.  Looking under the maximum allowed weights with a “big frame,” (whatever that means), the range of difference between their lowest number and 150 pounds, was SHOCKING!  (I used 150 pounds as my weight, because though I’m more than that now, it’s what I weighed when I got out of the Army fifty years ago.  And at that point I was in the best shape of my life… strong, lean, and without an extra inch to pinch.)  Worst scenario, then, at 150  I was still overweight by 32.3 pounds according to the one chart.  Best scenario, I was 12 pounds over my ideal weight on the heavier chart, even with the presumption that I had one of those “big“ undercarriages they mentioned.

Of course, to all of this I say, “Bologna!” This whole thing is downright scandalous.  I mean, if I was that badly overweight, my ever vigilant doctors would rough me up like they were loan sharks back in the old neighborhood, “reminding” me I had missed my last couple of payments.  Not only that, even though I am short in stature , I still wouldn’t seem so shrimpy in a crowd of my fellow citizens, who these days are more “full figured“ than not.  And I certainly wouldn’t be totally blocked from sight when almost any one of them happened to pass in front of me.

So, could I stand to lose a few pounds?  Absolutely.  But even at my present weight, by every other measure besides those charts, I’m OK.  I guess that’s the problem when humans try to find the “ideal” state of anything.  We tend to get carried away, and often set the bar at somewhat unrealistic levels.  Besides that, in the case of weight charts, the wide variance in the numbers they present as fact, tells me they’re probably based on someone’s opinion rather than specific medical criteria.

Anyway, not to sound self-righteous here, but if the charts are correct and I truly am obese, then new weight categories must be established to account for the growing number of folks I see, whose growing girth and rotundity make me look reasonably slim. Perhaps the chart makers could just keep it simple by adding a column called, “obeser,” another labeled, “obesest,” and a super classification for the very largest of our friends and neighbors called, “obeast.”  But even if they do, I have a plan to circumvent  future attempts to fit me into ANY of these corpulent categories.  I’m going to move to The Republic of Nauru in the South Pacific, and start taking my medical tests there.  Since 95% of their population is overweight, it won’t be long before I’m known as the “Puny” Paisano.      

A Tribute To Patience and Love

When I was a kid, patience was one of those things that families like mine worked hard to develop in the emerging personalities of their offspring.  It was considered a virtue, and accompanied other traits like honesty and hard work as important ingredients in a person’s character.  Today it seems that patience is viewed as less and less important in the life of individuals.  And thinking about it, it’s probably not their fault.

Consider how the world works these days.  With technology being  such an integral part of our lives, everything seems to be quick and accessible in mere seconds.  For example, unlike the days when you had to write a letter on paper, put it in a stamped envelope, and walk it to the mailbox, now we plop down at the computer and our message is instantly transmitted to its destination anywhere in the world.  Were that not enough, in seconds we can bother people all around us with the insignificant minutia of our humdrum lives, using a multitude of networking tools that make such inane communication almost instantaneous.

And it’s like that with a growing number of transactions we take for granted in our modern lives.  Recently I was with my aunt when she called “OnStar” to get an update on how her car was running.  In mere seconds an operator did a full analysis of her engine, and let her know that everything was functioning correctly.  Simply amazing!  No driving to a service station where a mechanic has to lift the hood while you wait a substantial amount of time as he checks out each component by hand.

Whether it’s ATM machines that do away with you having to walk into a bank to transact business, or it’s coffee machines that brew a perfect cup of coffee in a matter of seconds, the list of things that require patience these days is becoming shorter and shorter.  And when you can cook something in a microwave in five minutes that would have taken thirty using a traditional stovetop, or Google something to get information that might have taken hours to research at the library, or GPS a location without having to consult a map (which the refolding process alone, took almost ten full minutes), you know we’ve developed a “quick fix” mentality with little tolerance for delay.

All that considered, and despite the sad fact that patience no longer seems to be a virtue widely valued or deemed relevant, I recently experienced something that, at least for me, demonstrates it remains an important and worthwhile life skill. The picture that heads this post is a gardenia bush over which a beloved uncle of mine patiently toiled for many years.  When he first encountered the plant, it was scrawny and in need of care in order to survive.  So he began to  prune, feed, and protect it from harm just like it was a vulnerable child. He did this faithfully for fifteen long years, and slowly…… ever slowly, it grew stronger and larger.  Still, during all that time, it was never quite ready to produce buds and bring forth flowers.

Well, my uncle died a few months ago, leaving behind not only those of us who loved him, but the little bush he had faithfully tended for SO many years.  And while we were distracted by the grieving process, something absolutely wonderful happened.  For the very first time ever, his bush BLOOMED!  And the beautiful white flowers it produced were like silent words uttered directly to Uncle himself, saying, “Thank you for never giving up  on me. While these first precious flowers are the only way I can show my appreciation for your patience and faith in me, I offer them to you and your family with my sincerest thanks and deepest affection.  They are indeed a tribute to your character and quiet strength as a man.”

Jaywalking On History Street

As you can see from this poll, Americans don’t seem to be too swift when it comes to knowing their History.  I guess it’s not surprising, since at this very moment thousands of High School students are secretly texting, tweeting, or updating their Facebook profiles beneath their schoolroom desks, as a less than engaging History teacher drones on about the “stuff” of which polls are made.

Some of the most entertaining examples of historical “faux pas” (that don’t necessitate the reading of boring polls, that is), come from the old Jay Leno “Tonight Show.”  In his classic “Jaywalkers” segment, he interviewed people on the street to find out how much they knew about History, as well as facts which fell under the category of “general knowledge.” What resulted was both hilarious and tragically sad at the same time.  Why it was so funny is demonstrated by the some of the clueless responses I’ve used as examples, below.  Why it was sad, is because unless these folks were pretending to be intellectually challenged, their answers either painted an unflattering portrait of the demise of American intellect, or the failing of the educational system in which that intelligence was allowed to die.

Anyway, real or fake, here are some of the responses that Leno got from the “Jaywalkers” he questioned on the streets of Hollywood.  If you think they’re genuine, then take a moment to slash your wrists after reading this post.  If you think they’re just attempts to be funny, raise a glass to these folks whose quick and  creative minds came up with some great late-night entertainment.

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Q:  What is the name of the ship the Pilgrims sailed on?  It’s the same name as the famous moving company.
A:  U-Haul
 
Q:  What was the Gettysburg Address?
A:  (long pause)
Q:  Have you heard of it?
A:  Sure, but I don’t know the exact address.
 
Q:  How many stars on that American flag? (points to nearby flag)
A:  It’s moving too fast to count them.
 
Q:  Finish this phrase:  “Fourscore and seven years ago, our forefathers……?”
A:  Who are in Heaven…
 
Q:  What politician was called, “Tricky Dick?”
A:  Bill Clinton.
 
Q:  In what country do they speak Gaelic?
A:  San Francisco.
 
Q:  Who was the first man on the Moon?
A:  Armstrong.
Q:  What was his first name?
A:  Louie
 
Q:  What does “D.C.” stand for in Washington, D.C.?
A:  Duh capital.
 
Q:  Who fiddled while Rome burned?
A:  Fiddled with what?
 
Q:  Who lives in the Vatican City?
A:  The Vaticans.
Q:  No, he wears a big hat.
A:  Abraham Lincoln.
 
Q:  How many Commandments are there?
A:  Ten.
Q:  Can you name one?
A:  Freedom of speech.
 
Q:  What was the first major battle of the Civil War… the Battle of Bull………?
A:  Winkle
 
Q:  Who was J. Edgar Hoover?
A:  He invented the vacuum.
 
Q:  Where would you find Long John Silver?
A:  On West Third and 22nd Street.
 
Q:  Finish the name of this famous painting by Leonardo DiVinci.
“The Last……?”
A:  Straw
 
Q:  What is the opening line of the Bible?”
A:  A long time ago in a galaxy far far away…
 
Q:  Finish this sentence:  From little acorns, mighty (blanks) do grow…?
A:  Squirrels

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Note:  If you’d like to see the video from which these responses were taken, check out “The Best Of Jaywalking” found at:  www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/80691723/

Learning From Firsthand Experience

Today’s post is a very old letter I wrote to parents of my Second Grade students way back when I still had a full head of hair. In it I tried to explain an incident that had occurred that week in the classroom, as well as clarify why their students might have come home reporting that “terrible” things were going on at school with Mr. Paisano.

The letter is self-explanatory, so there’s no need to offer commentary here. The one thing worth mentioning, however, is that receiving regular teacher letters from me, was something upon which every parent could count throughout my long career. Sometimes they were business-like in style, often light-hearted with attempts at humor, but always with the intent of keeping them current about their child's life at school.

That said, here are the words of a frustrated young teacher as he struggled to find a way to reach EACH of his students, with learning he felt too important to be left to chance.

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IF YOU LIVE IT, YOU LEARN IT…… (or so we hope!)

Dear Parents,

There is more than a small chance that your child came home this week grumbling about the unfairness of life, and Mr. Paisano in particular. Let me explain.

On Tuesday I initiated a mini unit on Martin Luther King to lay the historical basis for Monday’s holiday. I began by reading a book to the class which described Dr. King’s life, and his goal to insure justice for all Americans. Ten minutes into the lesson it was apparent that, true to form, only a minority of the students were truly focused on the lesson. The others were engaged in a variety of silent activities… from alternate listening (one minute on, one or more minutes off ), to wishing for miracles (“Oh, if only I could be at recess”), to interior decorating (arranging eraser dust particles into decorative patterns on their desks). I suddenly became “weary,” and decided I couldn’t bear continuing to such a limited audience. (I also knew from experience, that stopping to lecture about the virtue and benefit of “focusing,” would only gain 85% attention for 2.7 minutes, and a final result of only 2 more involved students.) So, I stopped ! I announced that we were going to play a game.

The word “play” brought everyone to attention. I began the “game” by designating each student as either an “X” or an “O.” I sent the O’s back to use activity tubs, and got the X’s started on writing math facts. During the next half hour I lavished my attention on the O’s. I gave them additional rewards, while remaining stern and business-like with the math group. Quickly stress levels went up and grumbling began. The “X” group soon became an angry mob of indignant citizens, mad at both me and their “O” counterparts. Tears appeared along with threats of moving to a fairer classroom. There were few, if any, smiles. We closed the day by writing an evaluation of how we felt in our new status. In short, the “X” group told me what a bum I was!

On Wednesday I finished reading the Martin Luther King book, and announced we were going to play another game. The kids were given a number which seemed random. It wasn’t, however. I rigged the numbers so that Tuesday’s “X” group got even numbers, and the “O” group got odd ones. I announced that the even numbers could go back and use the activity tubs while the odds did math facts. While the odd numbers complained, most figured out this was a kind of payback because they had had the fun the day before. For that reason, at first they weren’t feeling the true emotion of being treated unfairly like their counterparts had the first day. So I changed that by lavishing the even group with MORE fringe benefits than I had given the others. Within seconds the odd numbered kids forgot it was a continuation of the “game.” An amazing mixture of anger and despair erupted. More tears appeared with a new threat of physical confrontation to right the wrongs suffered by the odds. It got far more ugly than day one. I was truly surprised!

Well, today the lesson ended. There were no more games… only discussion of what it feels like to have no choice about your status, and how frustrating it is to be treated with obvious unfairness due to no fault of your own. Today there were no more games… only discussion of how hard it is to handle your anger when you feel you have been wronged, but have little power to change your plight. Today there was no more reading about the unfairness that motivated Martin Luther King to become an activist for equality and civil rights… only a chance to reflect on how he might have felt as one who suffered injustice. Hopefully, that feeling is the lesson the kids learned. Perhaps, though unplanned, that ended up being the most effective learning of all!

Mr. Paisano

Abbot and Costello Discuss Government Math

As I’ve said before, once and awhile I get an e-mail that I wish I had authored myself. The most recent is a clever example of how our less than transparent government takes math to a new level of “fuzziness,” for the sole purpose of making itself look better than it really is. And, of course, this is how career politicians keep themselves in office, and maintain their seats at the public trough… thus giving pigs a bad name.

Of course, I’m not really surprised. I’ve heard said that you can make statistics show just about anything you want. All you have to do is start with your desired conclusion, then apply whatever arbitrary statistical parameters and carefully selected data you need to “prove” your point is true. And, that is exactly how our government economists came up with the latest unemployment figures, hoping to convince the American electorate that things are getting better thanks to the cronies in Washington D.C.

The genius of this e-mail is that it points out this “math manipulation” in a creative and humorous way. A play on the old Abbott and Costello comedy routine, “Who’s On First?” it substitutes current employment numbers for the baseball players originally used in the classic shtick. And after a bout of almost confusing, convoluted banter, the irony of those government figures becomes clear. They end up being nothing more than political “smoke and mirrors.”

Hats off, then, to the original author of this e-mail. I’m a big fan of the way you think, and especially the way you communicate!

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COSTELLO: Let's talk about the unemployment rate in America.

ABBOTT: Good Subject. Terrible Times. It's 8.3%.

COSTELLO: That many people are out of work?

ABBOTT: No, that's 16%.

COSTELLO: You just said 8.3%.

ABBOTT: 8.3% Unemployed.

COSTELLO: Right 8.3% out of work.

ABBOTT: No, that's 16%.

COSTELLO: Okay, so it's 16% unemployed.

ABBOTT: No, that's 8.3%...

COSTELLO: WAIT A MINUTE. Is it 8.3% or 16%?

ABBOTT: 8.3% are unemployed. 16% are out of work.

COSTELLO: IF you are out of work you are unemployed.

ABBOTT: No, you can't count the "Out of Work" as the unemployed. You have to look for work to be unemployed.

COSTELLO: BUT THEY ARE OUT OF WORK!!!

ABBOTT: No, you miss my point.

COSTELLO: What point?

ABBOTT: Someone who doesn't look for work can't be counted with those who look for work. It wouldn't be fair.

COSTELLO: To whom?

ABBOTT: The unemployed.

COSTELLO: But they are ALL out of work.

ABBOTT: No, the unemployed are actively looking for work... Those who are out of work stopped looking. They gave up. And, if you give up, you are no longer in the ranks of the unemployed.

COSTELLO: So if you're off the unemployment roles, that would count as less unemployment?

ABBOTT: Unemployment would go down. Absolutely!

COSTELLO: The unemployment just goes down because you don't look for work?

ABBOTT: Absolutely it goes down. That's how you get to 8.3%. Otherwise, it would be 16%. You don't want to read about 16% unemployment do ya?

COSTELLO: That would be frightening.

ABBOTT: Absolutely.

COSTELLO: Wait, I got a question for you. That means there are two ways to bring down the unemployment number?

ABBOTT: Two ways is correct.

COSTELLO: Unemployment can go down if someone gets a job?

ABBOTT: Correct.

COSTELLO: And unemployment can also go down if you stop looking for a job?

ABBOTT: Bingo.

COSTELLO: So there are two ways to bring unemployment down, and the easier of the two is to just stop looking for work.

ABBOTT: Now you're thinking like an economist.

COSTELLO: I don't even know what the hell I just said!

My Take On HBO’s “Game Change”

HBO’s highly anticipated movie, “Game Change,” finally aired a few weeks ago. A dramatized look at the Republican campaign for President in 2008, it focused on the GOP’s choice of Governor Sarah Palin as their Vice Presidential candidate, and the attempt to make her a “game changer” in the uphill campaign against then Senator Barrack Obama.

Knowing that just the name “Sarah Palin” generates bitter controversy in political circles, I wasn’t sure what to expect from the movie. The one thing I did know, is that the Left would hope it painted her as the blundering, unintelligent soccer mom they saw her to be… woefully inadequate as a national political figure, and scary as someone who might end up being just a heartbeat from the Presidency. The other thing I knew for sure, is that the Right would want her to be portrayed as a charismatic political prodigy who was unfairly defamed and caricatured by not only progressives, but rendered unelectable by a partisan liberal media. The one thing I didn’t know, is in which political direction the movie might tilt.

In truth, I don’t believe either side was fully satisfied with how the Palin story was told. That’s because, at least in my opinion, the presentation seemed reasonably objective in its characterization of the Governor. As such, both sides got only some of what they wanted. For Democrats, the movie made clear that Sarah Palin was a political neophyte, a “not ready for prime time” candidate with a rather shallow understanding of national and world politics. It also made clear, that at that moment in time, she was more a soccer mom holding elected office than a seasoned political figure ready and capable of dealing with the rigors and complexities of running for national office.

On the other hand, the movie portrayed her as having a charismatic connection with the conservative wing of the Republican party unlike anyone since perhaps Ronald Reagan. It showed she had the potential qualities to become a political star, being verbally quick on matters she knew, and believable as a “maverick” who would help shake up the Washington establishment. And while it’s true her unraveling did begin as she interacted with the national media, it was mainly due to her lack of experience and preparation, not intelligence.

That said, I came away with two major thoughts about the movie, “Game Change.” The first was that the Republicans showed great ineptitude in selecting Sarah Palin as their Vice Presidential candidate. Had they been more thorough in their vetting of the Governor, they would have seen she was the right choice, but at the wrong time. By acting impulsively and almost in desperation, they not only ended up losing the election, but cut short the political career of one who might have someday shined on the national political stage.

My other impression was sad, but not unexpected. The movie reinforced my strong belief that politics, not prostitution, is still the world’s oldest and dirtiest profession. Campaigns are all about WINNING, and have little if anything to do, with finding political leaders who are the best for this country and the American people. It’s not about a Sarah Palin or any other candidate. Political campaigns do whatever they must to seize power, and they do it by running anyone they think can win those annual popularity contests known as “elections.” Unfortunately, the result for us all , is reflected in that phrase which originated in the early days of computer technology: (In a political sense), “Garbage in, garbage out.”

Is It Authentic, Or A High Tech Forgery?

Recently I learned of a high tech gadget that can duplicate one’s signature as perfectly as if it was hand written. It seems the President was in France on one of his “Emperor’s New Clothes” world visibility jaunts, and unavailable to sign an extension of certain Patriot Act provisions passed while he was gone. So, he simply authorized the bill to be “signed” using the White House autopen.

Costing up to ten thousand dollars, the autopen uses plastic templates of the President’s various signatures, and a mechanical arm that moves a pen which accurately copies his name. This machine signs letters at about the same pace as if he were doing it himself. And it can sign around five hundred signatures per hour, rendering them as accurate as handwritten originals. Some say that the autopen is the second most guarded thing in the White House after the president himself. Duh… I wonder why?

As with all new technology, I would imagine there are negative implications in the fact that nowadays some of the documents “signed” by the president and others of note, are fake. I mean, if you’re hobby is collecting autographs, and you’re unknowingly paying for certain signatures you think to be authentic, you’re getting ripped off. The most dangerous implication is, however, that a machine like the autopen now gives our often “questionable” government another tool to dupe the American public. I’ll let you imagine what that could mean, depending, of course, upon your level of trust in the body politic.

Think of it this way. What mischief could a device like the autopen hatch if a kid had his mother’s signature template and a hate relationship with school? How about if an employee had a perfect way to forge the signature of his boss? What if a person of “weak” character had a few of their rich relative’s blank checks and a way to sign them convincingly? Sounds to me like the autopen might be the “auto” that transports persons of questionable honesty to the “pen.”