Things to ask the surgeon before you're under

I've had a few procedures that I've been out for, but the only operation I've ever had was when I had my wisdom teeth yanked. That was back in the day when you went into the hospital to have your wisdom teeth out. I believe the reason was that insurance covered a hospital stay (and full anesthesia in an OR), but didn't cover the dentist's office. I don't even know whether dental insurance existed back then. I was 18.

Anyway, I don't have a lot of first person experience to draw on here. Most of my surgical experience is second hand, hanging around the family waiting room, waiting to hear from whoever was operating on my husband.

Over the years, Jim underwent three major surgeries, and as far as I know not one of his surgeons abandoned the OR while my husband was under their care. That's as far as I know. Two of the three surgeons became pretty friendly with Jim, and the other guy seemed great, so I pretty much trust that they were there throughout. I did get to talk to all of them afterwards, and never had an inkling that any of them went AWOL.

But every once in a while, there's a story about a surgeon going taking off. One I remember was a drug-addicted spine surgeon who took off midway through surgery to deposit his paycheck in the bank. (This doctor, David Arndt, was just all-round bad news, and ended up losing his license and in Federal prison.)

Then there was the hoopla a few years back when it was revealed that some orthopedic surgeons at Mass General Hospital were performing multiple surgeries simultaneously, waltzing back and forth between ORs. Teaching hospitals often schedule surgeries with a slight overlap, in which Dr. Big leaves it to a resident to close a patient up while they move on to their next. But what was uncovered at MGH was surgeries scheduled to overlap for a number of hours. 

Anyay, there's now another scandal: a surgeon who left the OR at Boston Medical Center prior to performing an emergency ankle operation. Dr. Tony Tannoury grabbed something to eat, went to eat it in his parked car, and conked out, missing the procedure entirely. Fortunately, the chief resident was able to take care of things. 

But Tannoury has received a reprimand and a $5K fine for his lapse in judgement. 

In a recent ruling, the state board [Massachusetts Board of Registration in Medicine] concluded that Tannoury, who was the attending surgeon for orthopedic trauma emergencies that night and had escorted the patient with the resident into the operating room, had “engaged in conduct that undermines the public confidence in the integrity of the medical profession.” (Source: Boston Globe)

Tannoury will also be required "to complete five continuing education credits in “professionalism” and review regulations for supervising residents."

Fortunately, the outcome of the Tannoury-less procedure was successful. The patient was fully informed about what happened, and all charges were waived. 

I can't imagine the pressure that surgeons are under, and how exhausting their work is. But let's use a little common sense here.

If you're too tired to perform an operation, shouldn't you, like, tell someone? Surely, there are policies and procedures that address situations like this. 

I can understand wanting to grab a quick snack before operating - I sure wouldn't want my surgeon's energy drooping while I were under their knife - but if you're feeling at all groggy, for god's sake, don't go sit in your car to eat it. That's a recipe for nodding off. Eat in the hospital caf, and if your head hits the table while you're eating, there's someone around to shake your shoulder, wake you up, and get you on your way to the OR. 

Still, although I'm not sure I'd want it to happen to me, Tannoury's infraction seems forgivable. Stupid, yes. Careless, sure. But forgivable. 

Meanwhile, in the aftermath of the simul-surgery brouhaha - which Tannoury, although not at MGH, was lightly caught up in - the rules have changed. 

In 2019, the state medical board tightened regulations for surgeons who leave operating rooms before operations end, including when they are managing overlapping procedures...

The revised regulations, which medical experts described as among the most-far reaching in the country, require doctors to provide more information to patients beforehand about who will be participating in an operation. They also require hospitals to document each time a lead surgeon enters and leaves the operating room.

Surgeons used to carry pagers. Not sure whether cell phones have replaced this old technology, but maybe there needs to be a checkstep in which, when the chief surgeon is gone for a bit too long for a bio break or snack attack or whatever, the second-in-charge buzzes them. Maybe all Dr. Tannoury needed was a little bit of a jolt.

Me? I'm unlikely to get out of life without having an operation of some sort. I always have questions for doctors. I'll just add a question or two for the surgeon about whether they're planning on being around for the entirety of my operation, and in whose good and steady hands they'll be leaving me if they need to check out for a bit. 

As long as they're not taking off to deposit their paycheck, I'm cool with grabbing a bite or a bio break. I just want to know what the plan is. Even if I'll be under and clueless about what's going on in the conscious world.

Welcome to Elfland

Like most kids, I was fascinated by all things miniature.

Toys are, of course, for the most part life writ small. They need to be scaled down so that kids can actually play with them. Most dolls aren't life sized. Good thing, because then they wouldn't fit it a doll house. Toy cars and trucks aren't life-sized, either. Kids play with miniature pots and pans, tiny bats and balls. They build mini-villages around their mini railroad tracks and mini trains. That stuffed hippo? Not exactly hippo sized. 

Merry Toys were popular in the 1950's and 1960's. They were miniatures within miniatures: tiny little stores selling tiny little products: supermarket, drugstore, hobby shop... I adored Merry Toys, an endless source of fascinating and delight. 

And who didn't love charms? No, not the fancy silver ones you wore on your charm bracelet. The ones you got, if you were lucky, when you put a penny in a gumball machine. That teenie-tiny mirror, that teenie-tiny drum...

Apparently some things don't change.

Which is how Elfland came about.

Elfland is the brain child of an eight-year-old boy from Somerville, Massachusetts, who spied "'a bunch of invisible things'" pottering around an abandoned lot in his neighborhood last summer. 

Those invisible things, as it turned out, were elves. 

And those elves wanted help from the local humans to build their village.

And so became Elfland:

In August, the boy and his parents started building Elfland from the ground up, giving new life to a vacant dirt lot filled with chunks of rock and overgrown

weeds. But a month later, as word of the fairytale village spread, neighbors who discovered the secret realm started quietly making additions of their own. (Source: Boston Globe)

The lot was formerly occupied a gas station and repair shop. "An eyesore", the boy's father dubbed it. And while it will no doubt be developed - they aren't making any more land in Somerville and demand for housing there is extreme - the boy's family decided to have some fun. 

They started small, with a few houses. Then added birdhouses, a hospital, a library, and a wondrous dinosaur farm. 

Then other folks started adding things. More houses. A skating rink. Solar lights. A swing set, a water town, a garden, a church.

Sure, it's not going to last forever. Land in Somerville is just too damned valuable. But how wonderful while it does. 

Wish we had an Elfland in my neighborhood!

Pizza Pizza

With 1.2 guns per capita, the U.S. has the highest gun ownership level in the world. That's 120 per hundred Americans. Roughly one-third of all Americans own a gun - many of them have more than one, which accounts for the fact that we have more guns than we have capitas. And 44% of all Americans live in a house where there's a gun.

In contrast, Massachusetts is tied with New Jersey for having the lowest percentage of folks in the United States who live in a gun house. Only 14.7% of us Massachusettians - or, as we're so affectionately known, Massholes - live in a home where there's a gun close at hand. (Of course, when I see a stat like this, I do have to ask myself why we're the assholes.)

Not surprisingly, the most gun-toting states are places like Montana and Wyoming, where roughly two-thirds of all the folks live in a household with a gun presence. Of course, these are states where people go hunting, and that's fine with me. It may not be of interest to me, but I eat meat and wear leather, so I can't exactly object to someone who wants to fill their freezer with venison. 

If people want to play at target practice or sport shoot or whatever it's called, have at it. 

And although there'll never be a gun in my bedstand, a responsible person who has a gun for "protection", a gun that they know how to handle and to keep safe from others, is free to enjoy their 2A as far as I'm concerned. Just include me out.

What I really loathe and despise, however, are the ragers, the punks, the morons, the thugs, who can't strut out of their house without being strapped. Who worship at the gun nut altar. (More on that topic coming soon.) And who revel in open carry.

I am not going down the path of child-sociopath Kyle Rittenhouse. Or even the path of Gregory McMichael, Travis McMichael, and Roddie Bryan, the goons accused of murdering Ahmaud Arbery for the crime of running in a white neighborhood while Black, without fancy running shoes and shorts on, and - as one of the defense attorneys pointed out - with dirty toenails.

Or down the path of the many upon many evil-doers who shoot up schools, churches, business, stores, factories, and malls. 

But I am going down the path of one Charles Doty, Jr., a 53 year old maroon from Knoxville, Tennessee - a state where gun ownership is high - who recently "held up a Little Caesars in Cedar Bluff with an AK-47 rifle after being told his pepperoni pizza order would take ten minutes."

Okay, there is certainly a non-zero chance that Charles Doty, Jr., suffers from mental illness. But there's certainly an equal chance that he's a garden-variety moronic thug who needs an AK-47 to feel like a man, and who has no problem threatening others with it. Even if it's over a slowpoking pizza. (I advise that Charles Doty, Jr., if ever in Massachusetts, stay out of Tatte. The time it takes them to make a roasted cauliflower and caper sandwich. Let me tell you, it is not for the faint of waiting heart.)

Anyway, the scene at Little Caesar's must have been something. 

Doty placed his order and was told he'd have to wait that extra long ten minutes. Some pique is understandable. Who wants to wait 10 minutes for a bad pizza? So initially, Doty made a somewhat modest demand for his trouble: free bread sticks.

Turned down, he went outside to wait. Or not.

Soon enough, he was back in the shop. His hands not

occupied with the free bread sticks he wasn't granted, Doty was now holding his rifle, which he pointed at an employee and at a woman picking up her $6 pizza pizza. She offered him hers if only he'd leave.

If only...

Remarkably, and without getting a few rounds off, he did leave.

But he didn't leave for long:

According to the report, police later tracked him down and arrested him. He is charged with aggravated assault and especially aggravated kidnapping. (Source: Raw Story)

I would assume that Doty'll do some pizza- and gun-less time, but you never know. Tennessee may have some obscure law that allows an aggravated man to point a gun at someone if his pizza takes too long. Justifiable imbecility, or something. Maybe there's even a jury of his peers that'd let him off. ("Can't blame a fellow...")

After all, 

Tennessee's Republican-controlled legislature recently enacted what is known as a "permitless carry" law, allowing people to carry handguns without any training or licensing from the state — although that law does not apply to long guns like the AK-47. Federal background check laws still apply, although these can be circumvented by buying guns through private sales without the involvement of licensed dealers; websites like Armslist.com exist to facilitate these unchecked gun sales.

Okay. So the law doesn't apply to guns like AK-47's. I'd make that a "yet." Because, why not? Why not up the ante, and let unlicensed, untrained yahoos carry a military grade fully automatic assault rifle? 

What could possibly happen?

Nothing, that's what.

Just ask the pizza pizza guy at Little Caesar. Charles Doty didn't even get away with a free order of bread sticks, let alone with murder.  

Still Thankful for Thanksgiving Day

I've always loved Thanksgiving. It's a holiday which, unless you're the one doing the heavy-lifting on the cooking (which, blessedly, I never have to do: light-lifting only!), is relatively painless. (Unless your relatives are relatively pain-inducing. We have our moments, but I'm pretty fortunate when it comes to family. Thankful, too.) There's not all that much crazy run up and commercialism associated with it - other than the spin-off into The Holiday Shopping Season. 

Ah, Thanksgiving.

It has a very New England-y feel to it, which I like. And even though things turned out terribly for the native Americans - and I am in no way discounting this - and even though there are many elements to the Thanksgiving Day backstory that are a crock, as a foundational myth there parts of it that are worth hanging on to. 

The Pilgrims may have been crazed zealots, but they were brave to get on the Mayflower and go. (I've been on the replica. That journey across the Atlantic was nasty, brutish, and long.) The Wampanoags did help the Pilgrims survive their first grim winter here. The Pilgrims and the Wampanoags did - at least at one moment in time - peacefully break bread. 

The story of how the indigenous peoples were treated by the white man has been shameful. There's no denying that. Anyone who's driven through the West knows when they're on a reservation: the land is no good for farming or ranching. 

But conquering land, to the loss and detriment of those who were already occupying it, is nothing new. (And it's not uniquely the province of white people. Most of history is made up of stories about about who conquers whom. And that's never been pretty.)

Yes, much of our history is terrible, especially when viewed through a modern lens. (Come to think of it, a lot of the present is pretty terrible, too.) And I believe that we absolutey owe the American Indian tribes plenty.

But there was never any way that the North American continent was going to sit there, with its vast riches and relatively sparse population, when all those huddled masses, all that wretched refuse of those teeming shores - originally my ancestors, now someone else's - needed a place to go. 

Me? I don't want to see all the awful things that have happened throughout our history eliminate the good that we should cherish. And part of that good is that part of the genius of this country is that it could take immigrants and, in a generation, turn them into Americans. Which still happens. And which is just plain brilliant.

I could go one. And I will at some point be writing about "what white privilege means to me." But this is just a simple little blog, and since it's Thanksgiving, we'll stick to a directly related topic. One that has recently made the local news.

If Massachusetts has a liberal/lefty-ish capital (other than Cambridge - make that Somerville), it would be Northampton. A charming small city in Western Mass. Home to Smith College. A significant LBGTQ population. 

In the 2020 presidential election, Joe Biden got 65.6% of the vote in Massachusetts. In Boston, he took 82.9%. Northhampton gave Biden 87.5% of their vote. 

It's a city where people are concerned about things like equity. Things like diversity and inclusion. I hate the word woke, but Northampton is woke. 

The city's arts council runs a biennial juried show at the local library.  One of the works chosen for this year was that of a 70 year-old retired librarian, Doris Madsen,

...whose work “400 Years Later, no. 4” portrays the Mayflower as it floats through a fog of spectral figures she’d previously described as Indigenous “ghosts.” (Source: Boston Globe)

Madsen's work was based on an embroidery piece of her mother's, which depicts the Mayflower. She was trying to make a point about white supremacy (her words), and was certainly not trying to denigrate American Indian peoples. 

That wasn't good enough for artist and poet Jason Montgomery, a native Californian of Chicano and Indigenous descent. He took quite a bit of offense over the inclusion of Madsen's work. It was cultural appropriation, genocidal art. It was chosen by a white jury, centering whiteness. 

Well, actually, the jury was composed of a white man, a Latina, and an Asian American woman. 

Mattered not.

“The idea that you would disregard Indigenous voices and Native voices, especially now, in favor of old white women . . . it’s reprehensible,” artist and poet Jason Montgomery told the told the Northampton Arts Council before it voted to cancel the biennial.

And, while they were canceling the biennial, they apolgized for having chosen Madsen's work - which they labeled genocidal art - to begin with.

The entire affair has blown up, sides taken, gauntlets thrown.

Montgomery, who sounds to me like a pretty sour-grapey jerk - although it had been in the past, none of his work was chosen for this year's biennial -  has dug in:

“I would face 1,000 Trump supporters rather than a roomful of progressives in Northampton,” he said. “At least I know where I stand.”

Well, you probably couldn't find 1,000 Trump supporters in Northampton, so there's that.

Madsen? She's just perplexed and saddened by the matter. As, I guess, us old white women are wont to do.

Personally, I believe that, when it comes to any of the arts, there's no such thing as cultural appropriation. Exploring cultures, themes, events, personas that are not your own is a critical part of the creative process for many artists and writers. Sure, they should be open to criticism if they don't get things right, but what they're producing is a work of the imagination. And that imagination should be able to take them anywhere.

As for Madsen's piece, it's not Chief Wahoo, the recently retired mascot of Cleveland's baseball team, with his grinning buck teeth. It's not Princess Summer-Fall-Winter-Spring on Howdy Doody. Madsen's not trading in stereotypes. She's not belittling anyone, making fun of anyone.

Madsen's work may not be great art, it may not even be good art. But it's the work of a creative (and empathetic) mind. And it really was good enough for the Northampton biennial.

Look, we could all use a critical examination of our history. We should all know about how we got to where we are today, and that means while we're learning about the good - the things that the Founding Fathers, however flawed, got right; our long history as an immigrant nation; the inventive, the creative genius that has flourished here; our country's beauty, it's occasional goodness - alongside, we should also be learning about the bad and the ugly. The treatment of the Indigenous peoples. Slavery. Jim Crow. Know-Nothingism. Racism. Violence. Polluting the natural environment. Unequal justice. 

Denying the bad is a terrible idea. Owning up to the not so great aspects of our history will only make us stronger. (Think of how the Germans teach their Nazi past.) But denying that there's anything good about our history is complete and utter nonsense. 

There just doesn't seem to be any middleground anymore. Everything has to be over to top. (GENOCIDAL ART!) 

I love Thanksgiving. I want to keep celebrating it. And I want to do so without flogging myself for being an old white woman.

Oh, what a world we live in.

Happy Thanksgiving! (Sigh...)

A tisket, a tasket, a Warby Parker of caskets.

Every time I turn around, there's another buzzing entrepreneur just dying to disrupt some industry or other. 

Nothing new here. There've been disrupters as long as there's been an industry to disrupt.

Henry Ford disrupted the horse wagon business. Jeff Bezos disrupted book stores. Uber's Travis Kalanick disrupted taxis. Mark Zuckerberg disrupted matchmakers. Warby Parker is going after eyeglass shops. 

And now Scott Ginsberg, after two decades peddling caskets to Massachusetts funeral homes, is hoping to "upend the funeral business" by selling caskets online.

So he co-founded Titan Casket — which bills itself as “the Warby Parker of caskets” after the hip online eyewear business — selling caskets directly to consumers, cutting out funeral home middlemen, and saving people hundreds of dollars to bury their loved ones.

“Funeral homes enjoy a 200 to 400 percent markup” on casket sales, he said. “I thought to myself, ‘There is got to be really a better way than this.’ I mean, really, this industry really hasn’t changed in over 100 years. And most people don’t shop funerals.” (Source: Boston Globe)

Sorry, Scott, but there've been others at the casket disrupter game for a while. Way back in the way back, in 2009, I posted about Walmart's casket and urn offerings. And in 2006, when my mother-in-law was dying, she asked me to do some online research on ordering a DIY casket kit for her. (Don't ask.)

Personally, I don't plan on ever needing a casket - I'm strictly a cremation kind of gal - and, while I have a small urn with a small amount of my husband's ashes in it, all of my ashes will be buried in Mt. Auburn Cemetery or scattered in a few spots. Which, other than hanging on to a few, is exactly what I did with Jim's.

With or without me, with or without Walmart, it looks like Titan is doing alright for themselves. 

Today, Titan claims to be the largest seller of caskets on Amazon, and sells on other online platforms, including Costco and Sam’s Club. Its own direct-to-consumer website offers everything from simple pine boxes for $800 to “the ultimate in luxury,” “fully featured,” Era stainless steel model for $2,000.

And with or without Titan, the funeral business is changing. The traditional two-day, 2-4 p.m. and 7-9 p.m. wake of my youth, followed by a funeral the next day, has already been cut back to a one evening wake 4-8 p.m.  - which my brother Rich calls "the fabulous four" - plus funeral. Sometimes it's even just a quickie morning-of wake the day of the funeral. In obituaries - and, yes, I do read them on occasion - I often see "burial will be at the convenience of the family." Which means that people are doing away with the trip from church to the cemetery. 

And then there's all the folks who've been doing their own thing for a while. (We had a memorial service for my husband a month afer his death: a wonderful secular celebration of Jim's life, held in a Unitarian church, and a party to follow.)

Covid, of course, has put a further pall on traditional funerals.

Still, although funerals ain't what they used to be, I was a bit shocked by the comments of of one Louis Tobia Jr. "whose family ran the New England Casket Company for three generations until a fire closed its East Boston factory in 2019."

“People are looking for alternative ways to have a funeral and really trying to get a bang for their buck,” Tobia said. “Cremation is much more prevalent than it was 10 years ago, so people don’t find a value in a traditional burial, casket, and a wake. I think people just want to get it done and over with for the cheapest price they can get it at this point.”

I think people just want to get it done and over with for the cheapest price.

Wow. 

I'm no traditionalist, and I didn't hold a wake for my husband (other than the get together after the memorial service and the quasi-shiva I sat in the week after Jim's death), yet - whatever you end up doing when someone you love dies - there's a reason why there are rituals associated with death. It honors the dead and, more important, it gives people something to hang on to, something to focus on, something to do, when they're going through those first days of raw and palpable grief. It gets you through. And I'm all for it.

As for Warby Parker, when it comes to glasses, I've gone for many years to a small indie eyeglass store in downtown Boston. But this fall, since my niece Caroline was helping me pick out something more hip and happening than my norm, and since she does Warby Parker, and since their store - and, yes, they do have some brick-and-mortar business - was more convenient for Caro, I shopped at

Warby Parker. 

I like the new glasses, and they did cause less than I normally pay, but they weren't "brand name", either. (By the way, they're a lot more green than they look in the picture.)

I've been getting lots of complements, but I'm not sure if I'll be back to Warby or return to my old guys.

Am pretty sure I'll never be casket shopping at Titan, or anyplace else for that matter. 

Shakedown Non-Cruise

A month or so ago, there was an article in The Boston Globe that showed a new, ocean-going cruise ship being christened. In Boston, of all the places I so don't associate with being a cruiseline hub. But unbeknownst to me - and there's really no reason why this would beknownst to me, a non-cruiser - we are the home to Vantage Deluxe World Travel, which specializes in, well, deluxe world travel. Their cruises have historically been riverine. But their newly minted Ocean Explorer is a small luxury ship (build cost: $70M) that will be taking to the seas.

Anyway, in the afterglow of the puff about their champagne-bottle-smashing christening, Vantage made it into the news for a less puffy reason: an article about a disgruntled customer who's been trying

to get a refund of a covid-canceled safari excursion that had been scheduled for August 2020. An excursion which Vantage had canceled in June of 2020. 

For TheresaStablewski (72), and her husband, sister, and brother-in-law, the safari was going to be a once in a lifetime adventure. $46K worth of adventure. Which is a lot of money. But, what the heck, what's once in a lifetime for? Especially for Theresa, who a decade ago had a near death experience: a heart attack brought on by a rare viral illness. 

When their dream trip was called off, Vantage tried to steer the couples into taking a rain check, and using the $46K worth of safari at a later date. 

Understandably the group said 'no thanks.' Who knew back in the summer of 2020 how long covid was going to be with us? When travel would get back to normal? Not to mention whether people were going to survive. Stablewski & Co. wanted their cash back. Seventeen months later, they were still lookikng for their money. And Vantage wasn't exactly treating them like first-class guests on the Love Boat. 

Three days after her cruise was canceled, Stablewski applied for a refund.

Since she first started trying to get her money back, Stablewski has amassed a thick file on her activities, inluding complaints that she and her sister filed with Massachusetts Attorney General Maura Healey. 

[Her] office has received almost 500 complaints about Vantage, mostly from customers seeking refunds for trips canceled due to the pandemic. (Source: Boston Globe)

The AG's office hasn't made a ton of leeway:

“So far, we have secured 50 refunds totaling more than $870,000,” the attorney general’s office said. “We continue to advocate on behalf of Vantage consumers awaiting their refunds.” 

No surprise, then, that a nationally-syndicated travel writer, Christopher Elliott, has cited Vantage as "one of the most complained-about companies," according to the records he keeps on his travel troubleshooting work.

Sean Murphy, The Globe's consumer columnist, to whom Stablewski finally appealed for helped, has himself received more than a dozen complaints about Vantage. 

A review of those dozen complaints shows Vantage tried to placate customers with “sincere apologies” and appeals for “continued patience and understanding during these difficult times,” but no refunds.

Ah, weasel words.

For Stablewski, the weasel words included this:

 “You are getting closer to the refund,” Vantage said in an e-mail in February. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an exact timeline but the refund was finally approved yesterday.”

That was nine months ago - eight months after "Stablewski had been led to believe the refund had been approved eight months earlier." The refund turned out to be nothing more than a Fata Morgana. (In Vantage's defense, I do understand that you can lose all track of time when you're at sea.)

But Stablewski wasn't losing track of time. She was just trying to keep up with the weasel word "any day now" communications from Vantage. This fall - especially after seeing the galling announcement of the fancy, costly new ship Vantage was launching, she threw her hands up and turned to Murphy. 

Murphy, no surprise: he is, after all, the Globe's consumer compliant go-to, got some action:

A Vantage executive replied: “Upon careful review of Theresa Stablewski’s file, we see that she was approved for a refund and this will be processed within 10-15 days.”

A week ago, the refund arrived.  

Stablewski's happy, but if she had:

"...known beforehand about the dockside gathering for the launch...she would have shown up at the press-attended event to pressure Vantage executives into finally making good on its promised refund."

Vantage has another luxury ship in the works. Better make good on all thosse othe refunds, or there could be a nasty little demonstration when they go to christen that baby.

I'm sure that covid has been terrible for Vantage's business. Not a lot of luxury African safaris set sail in the last couple of years. But presumably, Vantage had some insurance and/or some reserves to see them through a bad spell. They seemed to have had enough to go for luxury ocean cruiser #2. And I'm pretty sure that the over $4 million they secured in PPP helped tide them over when it came to payroll.

But, hey, if you can secure an interest free loan from your customers, why not go for it. Except for one thing: the Stablewski family won't be vacationing with Vantage anytime soon. Make that never. Who wants to risk another shakedown non-cruise?

No, Tannenbaum!

The people in the house next door already have their tree and lights up. In the past, they've had a green tree - I have no idea whether it was real or artificial; I'm not on their Christmas party list (as far as I can tell these super-richies only live in the magnificent house next door a few weeks a year: around Christmas and around the 4th of July - but this year their tree's an obvious fake: all-white with white lights. Political statement? Aesthetic one? I'm not a big fan, but if you're going to have a white-on-white tree, as least you should go full 1960's and have a rotating color wheel trained on it.

I remember white Christmas trees from back in the day. Alumnium ones, too. 

Not that we ever had one. Nor did anyone I know. And I didn't know anyone with an artificial balsam or Douglas fir, either. 

But I did see white trees in mags like Life and Look, where they competed for page space with the likes of poodles dyed pink or blue.

If I had ever had a white Christmas tree, I would have wanted one like this. Because blue. Only I would have gone with ultra-sophisticated turquoise decorations. Which might have helped pep this poor woman up a bit. Her blue-blue-hoo-hoo Christmas motif is a bit of a downer. 

On closer look, those blue decoratoins could be blue roses, so maybe she was a fan of The Glass Menagerie, a play that even by Tennessee Williams standards is overwrought. If you had to read it in high school - as folks of a certain age most likely did - you will recall that the "gentleman caller" called Laura "blue roses", his mishearing of "pleurosis," which Laura suffered from. 

Circling back from my Cliff Notes diversion, artificial trees are more common these days. And apparently white ones are making a comeback. None of this fake greenery. Say it loud, say it proud: THIS TREE IS NOT REAL.

But for as long as I put up a tree, mine will be.

I have already ordered this year's edition, and it will be delivered - sight unseen - and set in the stand on December 8th. Last year, I went in person to this place - Evergreen in the Seaport District - picked out my tree, and had them deliver and stand it up. This year, forget the trip over there to examine trees. They had a good selection when I stopped by, and the tree was very fresh and didn't shed much at all. (In past year's I've had trees that must have been put on the truck from Canada on May Day, and were completely denuded by the time I took themdown.) But I'm not particularly fussy about what the tree looks like. I'm not one who examines dozens of trees to find the perfect one. As long as it's not Charlie Brown sparse, I'm fine. Bare spots can be filled with large hanging ornaments and/or twirled to the back. 

Besides, for what I paid for this Christmas tree (including delivery fee, put it in the stand fee, and tip for the tree putter-upper), they should also be decorating it. 

Not that I don't like decorating my tree. I do. I'll put on my Christmas albums and sing along while stringing my lights and hanging my bulbs. (Come to think of it, I'm guessing that only half of my tree decorations are bulbs, but you get the picture. Or will when I post a picture of my tree next month.)

Anyway, I ordered my tree late last week after seeing an article on this year's tree shortage.

No Tannenbaum? Oh, no!

After record-breaking demand for Christmas trees in 2020, local growers and retailers are gearing up for what they expect to be one of their busiest and most challenging seasons yet, as a tight labor market, rising wholesale prices, and a continuing shortage of trees create seasonal uncertainty. (Source: Boston Globe)

That record-breaking demand was the result of all those families sheltering in place who wanted to deck their halls, and their living rooms, and the kids' rooms. Because there was such heightened demand in 2020, "many local Christmas tree farms opted to cut and sell trees they normally would have left in the ground." Which seemed like a good idea at the time, but which has helped produce this year's scarcity situation: fewer trees, and younger - and thus punier.

Last year's tree blowout meant that tree lot folks had to order earlier for their 2021 supplies - as early as January, or just about the time that the 2020 trees were being picked up for their final ride to the woodchipper. Some tree providers couldn't afford the pre-pay being demanded. Others just felt that selling trees was becoming too much of a pain in the mistletoe and decided that they were no longer going to be selling trees. 

While a proximate cause of the tree shortage is the pandemic and last year's over-consumption, the root cause goes back further. To the Great Recession of 2008. 

“Many farms planted less baby trees 8 years ago because the demand was soft and therefore there are less mature trees to harvest now,” John Dzen Jr., owner of Dzen Tree Farm in Connecticut, wrote in a Nov. 12 Facebook post.

Great Christmas trees from little baby trees grow, so that's why we've got fewer trees today.  

Scarcity causes wholesale prices to rise. (I can't really remember what I paid for my tree last year, but I do know that the tree cost accounts for about 1/3 of what my total cost will be.) Factor in labor shortages (especially in trucking) and gas prices, and it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas trees - if you find one - will be costlier than they were last year. 

Of course, it wouldn't be a Boston Globe article if it didn't include a ration of fear-mongering tempered by a soothing it'll be all right headpat ending. Thus, we have the wisdom of Tim O'Connor, executive director of the National Christmas Tree Association unbiasedly assuring us that we will not have to resort to purchase of an artificial tree - white, green, or aluminum. 

...while localized shortages are being felt in certain parts of the country, O’Connor emphasized that there are plenty of Christmas trees for the holiday, it’s just a matter of getting them where they need to be.

“We as an industry have never run out of Christmas trees,” he said. After years of planting too many trees, the market has “righted itself” to be in line with demand.

Well, never say never, but what's an industry flack for if not giving us the feels?

Still, the article ends on a cautionary note: buy early.

I did. 

Long week, heading into a long weekend

For whatever reason, this has been a very long week. Lots of little disparate things popping up, with an overlay of many more hours than I anticipated being devoted to Christmas in the City, a Boston-area organization that brings "comfort and joy" to families in need of a little of both around the holidays. I do miscellaneous stuff throughout the year for CITC, but things are really revving up now.

We're in the throes of prepping for our Christmas-related activities, while also taking a side trip to provide Thanksgiving food assistance to hundreds of families, which we'll be distributing this weekend. 

So, wheeeee....

Which is just exhausting. 

Then there's today's haircut, followed by my escort services: checking my brother out after his colonoscopy. (Better him than me. Hope he enjoyed the non-red jello diet.)

It's getting darker, which always takes its toll.

And winter is icumen in. 

Actually, it's overdue. The fall has been pretty mild and pretty sunny. Fluke? Global warming? A combo?

I put on my winter parka the other day. I could have used gloves, too, but I guess that's what pockets are for.

All contributing to the sense that, even though I don't work anywhere near fulltime, I need a long weekend. 

Still, fall-into-winter does have its compensations. One of which is walking along the banks of the River Charles, where I snapped this soothing, melancholic scene on my late afternoon walk on Wednesday.

I'm not actually taking the day off. C.f., haircut, brother's colonoscopy. 

But I'm taking a bit of Pink Slip time off with this shorter-than-usual post.

Back on Monday. At least that's the plan.

On the road again

Last Saturday, I got behind the wheel of a car for the first time in over two years. Part covid, part I just don't have all that much need to drive anywhere. I walk. Take the T. Use other public transpo. Uber. I hitch a ride with a car-person who's going my way. 

I've only owned three cars in my entire life. (I'm un-American thatway.) And it's been 14 years since I bid farewell to what will likely be my last car ever: a bright blue New Beetle that I very much enjoyed, right down to the fake daisy in its vase. 

Anyway, on Saturday, I used a Zipcar to get out to Central Mass for lunch with some grammar school friends. Although we skipped a year for covid, three of us have gotten together regularly for the past decade. On Saturday, our little group was augmented by my friend Rosemary's younger sister (by one year) and my friend Susan's older sister (by one year). 

We laughed a lot abut buying pagan babies, about crazy nuns, about the time Gunga N carved his initials in his arm and filled it in with ink, about the time John R hayfever sneezed while the class was saying the Rosary and his long strands of runny snot draped over everyone and everything within a six foot radius. (This may have been, we decided, Ground Zero for the concept of social distancing.)

We also talked about sadder matters. When we were all quite little - the core three were seven - a little girl visiting her grandparents was climbing a tree in their backyard, slipped and impaled herself and died. The grandparents' home was next door to Rosemary's, so she and her sister had a grim front row seat. Those of us who lived a couple of blocks away - me, Susan, Sue's sister Mary Ann, my sister Kath, our friend Elaine - walked over on a Sunday afternoon, pushing our doll buggies, to gape at the tree. And shudder at the thought of a little girl our age who'd died such a gruesome death.

Mostly, though, the talk was given over to more pleasant shared memories and updates. 

It was worth the drive. 

And it was while I was heading out the Mass Pike that I realized how much I actually enjoy driving. It's cars that present the problem.

Saturday's Zipcar was pretty straightforward. Just two teeny tiny issues. 

One, I couldn't figure out how to adjust the side mirrors. Nothing obvious in that automotive user interface, that's for sure. Fortunately, the passenger side mirror was fine as is, and I just needed to tilt my head a little to make use of the driver-side mirror.

I couldn't find the gas tank release, either. This turned out not to be a big deal. You need to fill 'er up if the gas gets below 1/4 of a tank, but when I returned it it was still above half. I do prefer to be a good Zipcar zipper and generally stop to fill the car whenever I take one out. I had plenty of time and would have been happy to top the tank off. Alas, the release was nowhere in sight. Sure, I could have gone to the google to figure it out, but that's a drag.

I don't see why car interfaces aren't more universal in design.

Which led me to my second mini-epiphany. With a nod to Linus Van Pelt, I realized that I love to drive; it's cars I can't stand. 

Every time I get behind the wheel, there's always a certain frisson. Not quite up to the level of existential dread. More like casual anxiety. Still...

Why aren't all headlight controls in the same place? Windshield wipers? Defrosters? Mirror adjusters? Gas tank releases? 

Different does not necessarily equate to better. Harrumph. 

And why don't the shifts all work the same? 

The last time I had tried to use Zipcar, they upgraded me to some fancy-arse Mercedes. This was a couple of years ago. I can't remember the peculiarities, but figuring out how to put the car in reverse wasn't all the intuitive. I gave up.

The year before, in renting a car to get myself to a wedding in the Catskills, the first car Avis gave me had some goofy gear shift on a disk that you had to rotate. Shades of the push-button automatics of the early 60's - an "improvement" that never quite took hold. For the obvious reason that people were perfectly happy with four on the floor or three on the tree. Anyway, no thanks. I made them get me something more normal.

And years ago, after I resigned from membership in the car owners club, but when everyone I knew was still driving a manual, I borrowed my brother's car. He parked in front of my house, handed me the keys, and took off. I knew how to drive a manual. All three of my cars were stick sfhits. But I couldn't figure out for the life of me how to get the car into reverse, an essential gear for getting yourself out of a tight parallel-parked parking space.

Anyway, I tried to hail some passersby for help. Americans were useless: most didn't know how to operate a manual. Then I managed to ask a couple of Irish tourists. Turns out, they had the wrong-side version of the same car. The mister hopped right in and showed me how. Ah, to get into reverse you have to move the gear shift forward. Makes sense. Sure.

I know that once you get used to how your very own car operates, once you figure where everything is, it's just fine. It's being an occasional car borrower/renter/zipper that sucks. No two alike!

Mostly, before I take off, I make sure I know how to work the most important features: lights, wipers. But each new borrow/rent/zip is unique. It's own experience. I love to drive; it's cars that I can't stand.

From the fleet they have parked in the Common Garage, which is where I pick up my Zipcars, it's pretty apparent that Zipcar is moving towards EVs. Which I think is great. I just haven't summoned up the will to step up to this next challenge to my episodic car driving. 

I know I'll have to at some point.

Then, blessedly, this too will pass and we'll all be buzzing around in autonomous vehicles. 

Sure, I'll miss the fun of driving. But I also love just plain riding. And there'll be fewer worries about how it operates. At most, I'll have to voice activate things: Lights! Wipers! Defroster! Open sesame, driver's side window! Radio now!

Until then, I'll just have to learn to live with learning to live with the intricacies of all sorts of different cars. Not something I look forward to, but the price I'll have to pay to get on the road again. 

Disappearing Act

In July 1969, Ted Conrad, a twenty-year-old bank employee from Cleeland, ripped his bank off. He made off with a paper bag full of cash - $215K. A lot of money then - worth $1.9M  in today's dollars. And though it's not as big a deal as $1.9M, even by today's standards, $215K is a ton of cash. 

He robbed the bank late on a Friday, and the theft wasn't discovered until the following Monday. This gave Theodore Conrad plenty of time to pull his disappearing act. Which he did, quite successfully.

The story's in the news now because a U.S. Marshal from Cleveland has finally tracked their man down.

Turns out, Theodore Conrad was living in a nice little Cape Cod house, on a nice little street, in a nice little town outside of Boston. That was until last May, when he died of lung cancer. Only he was no longer Theodore Conrad. For decades, he'd been going by the name Thomas Randele. That was his name when he got married in 1982, and Randele is the last name of his only child. Before he died, Randele confessed to his wife and daughter that he had quite a past. They didn't pass this info onto the authorities, but somehow those authorities managed to figure out it was him anyway.

The US Marshal who was most intently focused on this case was Peter Elliott. He had taken up the mantle from his US Marshal father, John, who had been involved in the case since the get go, remained obsessed with it, and with his son, had become a cold case hobbiest after he retired. John Elliott died last year without making the big solve.

I haven't seen any info on the definitive bit of evidence that helped solve the case. There was mention of a 2014 Massachusetts bankruptcy petition that Thomas Randele had filed, that showed that Theodore Conrad and Thomas Randele had the same signature. But how in god's name did they come across that without have more leads pointing to Thomas Randele as Theodore Conrad.

There were plenty of breadcrumbs, many revealed in the obituary.

Thomas Randele added two years to his life, changing his year of birth from 1949 to 1947, but keeping the same July 10th birthday. He used the same place of birth: Denver. The same college: New England College, which he attended for a while, where his father taught at one point. And the same first names for his parents. No big deal for his father. There are a lot of Edwards out there. But his mother's maiden name was Ruthabeth Krueger. And there aren't all that many Ruthabeth Kruegers out there.

The obituary was likely the key to the discovery that Theodore Conrad had gotten away with the heist for over 50 years. Presumably, Peter Elliott searched for keywords like the date of birth, New England College, and Ruthabeth Kruegers.

(Interestingly, I found the obituary of Theodore Conrad's father. It mentions other children, but not his son Theodore. The one who pulled the disappearing act.)

One of the more interesting aspects of this story is Conrad's love affair with the 1968 movie, "The Thomas Crown Affair," which is set (and was filmed) in Boston and its surrounds. I haven't seen it in years, but - of course! - saw it at the time: Boston setting, Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway. Say no more. But never became obsessed with it. 

The year before Conrad's well-executed robbery, he had become obsessed with the 1968 Steve McQueen film, "The Thomas Crown Affair," about a millionaire who robs banks for the sport of it.

Conrad saw the film more than half a dozen times and told friends he planned to take money from the bank, bragging about the ease with which he could get away with it.(Source: DW)

And taking the name Thomas for himself.

Over half a century, investigators were unable to crack the case, which was featured on American true crime shows such as "America's Most Wanted" and "Unsolved Mysteries." There were leads into the case across the country from Washington, D.C., to Inglewood, California, western Texas, Oregon and even Hawaii. 

But no one looked in Massachusetts. 

Other than the bankruptcy hiccup, by all accounts "Thomas Randele", post heist, lived a pretty normal middle class life. He worked as a golf pro, then in luxury car sales. He married his "beloved wife" Kathy and raised his "cherished daughter" Ashley. He mowed his lawn. He was a good neighbor. An all-round good guy.

One might ask why no one ever checked his references and discovered that Thomas Randele hadn't gone to New England College. But the world was a less suspicious place during his career. I don't know whether my college and grad schools were ever checked, or even the past employees I had on my resume. And maybe country clubs and fancy car dealerships were never that concerned. 

But what must it have been like, walking away from your life? 

Did he ever see his parents again? Have any contact? How do you do this to your parents? Did he know that his father - his parents were divorced - had other children? What about his other relations? His friends?

I can't imagine.

We all compartmentalize and put things away, but was there ever a day when Thomas Randele/Theodore Conrad didn't wonder about those he left behind? Was there ever a day when he didn't fear, at least for a fleeting moment, that there would be a knock on the door?

The statute of limitations has long run out on his bank robbery, although there may be some wiggle room given that he was a fugitive. Obviously, they can't try Theodore Conrad for his crime. He's dead and buried. But can they try to claw back the money he stole by seizing his home? 

I hope not. His unknowing wife should be left in peace. Bad enough she has to deal with all this at this stage in her life. 

What an interesting story, though. 

Fifty-two years on the lam. Quite the disappearing act. 

Nope. Necesssity really doesn't have to be the mother of invention.

Social media is full of vapid ninnies, a number of who seem to be making a handy living for themselves by making pouty faces, partying with their entourages, and influencing vapid ninnies who don't have lots of followers to go out and buy stuff that they don't need. Ah, the circle of American consumer life in the rip-roaring twenties. The vapid ninnies don't seem to provide much of value, other than stoking the consumption engine, which I guess is something. Mostly what they do strikes me as meritless, valueless - even if some of them have managed to amass vast followings and fortunes.

And then there's Matty Benedetto, self-desribed "Evil Genius of Unnecessary Inventions" who, with his wit, verve, creativity, and engineering know-how, manages to be wildly amusing and entertaining in ways that the vapid ninny brigades really don't manage to achieve. (Not that they care to...)

I'm going to use Matty's Linkedin profile, because, God knows, I just couldn't do it justice on my own:

Unnecessary Inventions is the brainchild of inventor and evil genius Matty Benedetto. In 2.5 years, he has designed and built over 280 inventions that solve problems that don't exist. Each week from his design studio in Burlington Vermont, Matty develops 1-3 brand new fake consumer products using diverse production methods from 3D printing, sewing, mold making, wood working, laser cutter, and whatever else he can get his hands on.

Each invention lives across Unnecessary Invention's social profiles which have grown to a community of over 6+ million followers. Each post mimics a real marketing campaign with their signature product photos and commercials alongside behind the scenes videos on how the inventions get built. Similarly he has developed a collection of inventions that are inspired by some of the biggest brands in the world for key marketing campaigns.

I solve problems that don’t really exist by creating products that no one is asking for.

Got to love that I solve problems that don’t really exist by creating products that no one is asking for. During my career, I often worked on products that did, in fact, exist - no vaporware on my resume - yet all too often solved problems that didn't really exist. Or didn't exist quite yet. And which I can definitely say no one was asking for. (Try marketing that for a living.)

Through producing my inventions and developing the content within the Unnecessary Inventions world, I have built a highly engaged online community, @unnecessaryinventions on all platforms, including: 4,000,000+ on TikTok, 1,10,000+ on Instagram, 213,000+ on Facebook, 761,700 on YouTube (Named Creator on the Rise by YouTube in August), 38,000+ on Twitter, 23,000+ on Snapchat, and 285,000 on the Ui Subreddit.

Those are some mighty impressive credentials. 

Sure, they're no comparison to the 200+ million followers that the likes of Kylie Jenner and big sis Kim Kardashian caommand. But I bet Matty Benedetto has more fun than they do, and he's sure a ton more imaginative and entertaining.

By using diverse methods of rapid prototyping from 3D Printing, Sewing, Mold Making, and more, I create each unnecessary invention from my studio from idea to physical product at a rate of 1-3 new inventions per week. Each product is editorially shot to resemble a real marketing campaign for a product you can not get your hands on.

This is way too funny for mere words. Not to mention pretty damned impressive. I don't care if these products are fake or not. He's churning out "1-3 new inventions per week." Maybe he's no "Wizard of Menlo Park" in terms of giving us light bulbs and record players, but that is some creative genius at work. 

Unnecessary Inventions explores creativity, experimentation with design & processes, and parodies the real products people will actually purchase online.

I have built new inventions in collaboration with brands such as Bud Light, DoorDash, Call of Duty/Activation, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Three Mobile, Babe Wine, Canon Cameras, Shopify, Synders of Hanover, Energizer, Dunkin' Donuts, General Mills, TikTok, Old Spice, Cup Noodles, California Almonds, Swagtron Scooters, Lifx, New Republic, and more.

Other notable achievements including getting a cease and desist from Crocs, creating the 15th most upvoted post ever on Reddit, 4x guest on the Kelly Clarkson Show, launched a book titled 101 Unnecessary Inventions nationwide with Urban Outfitters, and much more to come.

I will admit that I just tried to buy this book on his website, where at first it appeared to be Sold Out. Or just plain unorderable. Maybe, I thought, it was a joke sort of thing that I'm not enough of a Burlington, VT hipster to get. After all, Unnecessary is a .co not a .com. 

While I was initially discouraged, nevertheless, I persisted in ordering the book. Good thing. I like the idea well enough, but I was not willing to pay $195, which is what the "ask" is on Amazon for some reason. (I paid $22.)

I'm not sure how I stumbled upon Matty Benedetto - likely on Twitter - but once I found him (or he found me), I did some looking around and came across a post by Molly Reynolds on Parent Influence that pulls together a number of his inventions.

There are so many great ones, it's hard to pick a favorite or two. But I'm game to give it a try.

As a daily consumer of ice cream/froyo, the Sizzling Scooper is right up my alley. By combining a spoon with a mini-flamethrower, Benedetto is actually solving a real problem: how to get at ice cream/froyo that's frozen solid. While wrestling with a pint or quart container is nowhere near as difficult as it used to be trying to scoop ice cream in the 5 gallon tubs that were delivered to the campus snack bar where I worked in college, which seemed to have come straight from Siberia. An ice pick couldn't get at a freshly opened tub. Still, even though my pints and quarts aren't that solidly frozen, the options are either hack at it with a spoon or soften it up in the microwave (12 seconds). For years, I went the hack at it with a spoon route, and have the bent spoons to prove it. Seriously, take a look in my silverware drawer and you might believe that Uri Geller has paid a visit.

So this invention is for me!

And what's not to like about Jiffy Cuts, which lets you clip a full hand of nails in one motion. Unless you have Edward Scissorshand PTSD. 

Then there's the Swiss Army Knife of gloves: The Glovetensils.

Which you could use to butter your Elon Musk toast. If you so desired. 

The blanket with the slit in it so you can sleep with one leg out and one leg under. The ice cream cone holder that catches the drippings - which would have been ideal for me as a kid, as I really like to bite the bottom tip of the cone off first. The cell phone platform bed (mid-century modern!). The little umbrellas that attach to your shoes. (Who needs rubber or rainboots?)

Matty Benedetto is an absolute genius. 

If nothing else, he's proving that necessity really doesn't have to be the mother of invention. 

High crimes in Florida: high school homecoming queen voter fraud

I don't normally watch Good Morning America, but the other day, when I was volunteering in the Resource Center at St. Francis House, a Boston day shelter (and a lot more) where I've been involved for many years, they had it on. And in between signing guests up for showers and handing out toothbrushes, I caught a segment.

The story involved a Florida woman, Laura Carroll, and her teenage daughter Emily Grover, who have been accused of using the mother's systems access - the mom is - make that was - an assistant principal at an elementary school in the district - to rig the vote in last fall's homecoming queen election at Pensacola's J.M. Tate High School.

Emily Grover won.

Investigators found that in October, hundreds of votes for the school's homecoming court were flagged as fraudulent, the news release said. There were 117 votes from the same IP address within a short period of time, the investigation found.

That's when investigators found evidence of unauthorized access to the system linked to Carroll's cellphone and computers at her home. There were 246 votes cast for homecoming court from those devices. (Source: ABC-NY)

Don't get me going on homecoming queen to begin with. Maybe I don't get it because I went to an all-girls high school. Make that an all-girls high school in Massachusetts, where things like high school homecoming queen weren't exactly a thing. Even if I had been the sort of girl who was interested in being homecoming queen. 

But can you imagine stuffing the electronic ballot box for homecoming queen? Not to mention being in a school system that does fraud investigations of homecoming queen elections?

Yowza!

I guess it could be worse. Remember the Texas cheerleader mom who tried to hire a hitman to do in the mother of the girl who edged out her daughter for the final spot on the cheer squad?

Still, it is just unfathomable to me that someone would be so eager to win an election for homecoming queen that they'd do this.

Mother and daughter deny their guilt. Legal analysts suggest that it will be difficult to overcome evidence like hundreds of ballots cast from Laura Carroll's phone and computers.

And there's also the matter of the multiple statements the prosecutors have from students who claim that Emily Grover had, for years, bragged about poking around the personal files of fellow students. (There are no allegations that Emily changed grades or copied exams. At least none that I've seen.)

There are many elements to this case that strike me as absurd - beyond the ludicrous notion that someone would cheat to be crowned homecoming queen.

For one, although Emily Grover was "only" 17 when the virtual ballot box was stuffed, prosecutors and Florida have decided to try her as an adult. And she and her mother are facing felony charges that could put them both in prison for years.

Each is charged with offenses against users of computers, computer systems, computer networks and electronic devices; unlawful use of a two-way communications device; criminal use of personally identifiable information and conspiracy to commit those offenses.

This is likely a tactic to get the duo to plead to a lesser charge. Even for Florida, it would seem ridiculous for either of them to do jail time. (Unless there's more to this than has been revealed.) So far, they're both digging their heels in, proclaiming their innocence, and demanding a trial. One point that they have made is that Emily had enough votes to win even without the fake votes. (Not that much of a defense...)

It's certainly possible that Laura Carroll and Emily Grover are being framed. The IP address in the home does point to an inside job. Cherchez a jealous sibling?

It's also possible that Lauara Carroll had no idea that her daughter was being a jerk messing around with the login credentials that assistant principal mom carelessly left around. (Seriously, what kind of assistant principal would give her kid her professional userid and password and tell her to browse to her heart's content?)

In any case, Emily was kicked out of school; Laura was fired. If they do go to court and are acquitted, they'll no doubt be in fighting form. Bring on the lawsuits. If they did it: shame on them. And there's sure plenty of shame coming their way.

Meanwhile, if Emily Grover did, indeed, hack into the system and nose around where she shouldn't have been, if she did, indeed, cast some insurance votes to ensure that she'd be crowned queen, another incident at J.M. Tate High School suggests that she'd not the only nasty piece of baggage at that school:

Since this happened, another controversy has hit the school that involves the yearbook. It was released weeks ago and a controversial photo was printed in the yearbook showing Emily Grover in a photo with numerous other girls with an image of a horse’s backside superimposed over her face. (Source: News4Jax)

Maybe Emily Grover is a horse's ass. But so are the a-holes who made this edit to the yearbook. And what's with adult supervision at this highschool? Jeez Louise.

My class wanted to dedicate our yearbook to "The Fat Lady." 

If you recall your J.D. Salinger, in Franny and Zooey, Seymour Glass tells Zooey that, whenever he's faced with a difficult or irritating task, he should "do it for the Fat Lady."

And who is this Fat Lady?

There isn't anyone anywhere that isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. Don't you know that? Don't you know that goddam secret yet? And don't you know — listen to me, now — don't you know who that Fat Lady really is?... Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy. 

Our class in general, and the yearbook club in particular, were very much into J.D. Salinger and Christ. So our dedication was a natural.

But the nuns wouldn't let us do it. Not only would they not let us say "goddam". They also told us that if we used "Fat Lady" that some alumnae might be offended.

Whatever. We ended up dedicating our yearbook to Everyman. (Remember: all girls school. Our school song also talked about "lighting the light of brotherhood.") As in Everyman = Christ.

Not in a million years - even without the nuns looking over our shoulders - would we have superimposed a horse's ass over anyone's face. 

Nasty pieces of work, those yearbook kids. Despicable. They all need a kick in the ass. 

And unless mother and/or child changed grades or something truly nefarious, I don't see why either one should be saddled with a felony conviction. Especially a world where there's a reasonable likelihood that teen killer Kyle Rittenhouse will go free, this sure seems unreasonable. 

What a world...