Tuesday, August 16, 2022

The Bigger, The Better. (Yacht, ahoy!)

One of my not particularly guilty pleasures is watching Succession and Billions.

Succession, for those who haven't had the not particularly guilty pleasure, follows the scheming Roy family as the three adult offspring, Don Jr., Ivanka, and Eric Kendall, Siobhan (a.k.a., Shiv), and Roman go to cut-throat war with each other and their father, Logan, to determine who'll gain control of the family's media empire when and if Logan passes on. 

The show is ridiculous, compelling, insane...And one of the best features is peeking in on how the mega ridiculous, compelling, insane mega-rich live. Some of the best peeks take place on Logan's yacht as it moseys around off the coast of Croatia. 

Money, money, money, money.

I resisted Billions for years, but once I unresisted, I was all in. Like Succession, Billions is ridiculous, compelling, insane. Instead of a family "squabble," Billions pits hedge-fundie Bobby "Axe" Axelrod (and, later in the series, another hedgie: Mike Prince) vs. wiley U.S. Attorney Chuck Rhoades. 

Naturally, Axe has a yacht.

Money, money, money, money.

I have no desire to keep company with hedge fund billionaires, fictional or non-fictional. 

Still...

While it's not likely to happen, and it's not exactly a bucket list item (good thing), I wouldn't mind being helicoptered onto a luxe yacht off the coast of somewhere and spending a few days lounging around sipping mimosas. 

The closest I've come to seeing one of these puppies IRL was occasionally spotting the relatively modest yacht, the Iroquois, of billionaire Red Sox owner John Henry  docked in back of Boston's Four Season Hotel. (I think he's upgraded to a larger yacht - 217 ft. vs. 164 ft. - the Elysian.)

Money, money, money, money.

Admittedly, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about yachts. But I do spend a little. So I was very interested in a recent New Yorker article on the rise (or is it the lengthening?) of the super yacht. 

It seems that, with the emergence of mo' "better" billionaires, it's boom times for superyachts and super-duper-yachts that can exceed 500 feet in length.

Yachts have become the "must have" indicator of wealth. 

Back in olden times - the Gilded Age - the most wanted was fine art, Old Masters etc. Interest in fine art lasted quite a while, only to be replaced by antique furniture (often pieces that survived the French Revolution, not meeting the fate of their owners who were tumbrel'd off to the guillotine). In more recent memory, the private plane became the "it" acquisition. 

And now, it's the superyacht. The bigger, the fancier, the longer, the more tricked out the better.
In any case, an airplane is just transportation. A big ship is a floating manse, with a hierarchy written right into the nomenclature. If it has a crew working aboard, it’s a yacht. If it’s more than ninety-eight feet, it’s a superyacht. After that, definitions are debated, but people generally agree that anything more than two hundred and thirty feet is a megayacht, and more than two hundred and ninety-five is a gigayacht. The world contains about fifty-four hundred superyachts, and about a hundred gigayachts....

For the moment, a gigayacht is the most expensive item that our species has figured out how to own....
Nobody pretends that a superyacht is a productive place to stash your wealth. In a column this spring headlined “a superyacht is a terrible asset,” the Financial Times observed, “Owning a superyacht is like owning a stack of 10 Van Goghs, only you are holding them over your head as you tread water, trying to keep them dry.”

Speaking of Van Goghs, some yacht owners hang pricey paintings on each floor of their yachts so that guests can help orient themselves. 

Length is one of the most important aspects of yacht competition, but it's "not usually length for length's sake." It's what you can do with that length.

One thing you can't do with that length is invite more friends to join you for a sea cruise. 

In most cases, pleasure yachts are permitted to carry no more than twelve passengers, a rule set by the International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea, which was conceived after the sinking of the Titanic. But those limits do not apply to crew. 

You can easily end up with multiple crew members per passenger. 

As yachts have grown more capacious, and the limits on passengers have not, more and more space on board has been devoted to staff and to novelties. The latest fashions include imax theatres, hospital equipment that tests for dozens of pathogens, and ski rooms where guests can suit up for a helicopter trip to a mountaintop. The longtime owner, who had returned the previous day from his yacht, told me, “No one today—except for assholes and ridiculous people—lives on land in what you would call a deep and broad luxe life. Yes, people have nice houses and all of that, but it’s unlikely that the ratio of staff to them is what it is on a boat.” After a moment, he added, “Boats are the last place that I think you can get away with it.”

Hmmmm. I'm guessing that there are plenty of assholes and ridiculous people in superyachts. Wild guess, I suppose.

...Even among the truly rich, there is a gap between the haves and the have-yachts. One boating guest told me about a conversation with a famous friend who keeps one of the world’s largest yachts. “He said, ‘The boat is the last vestige of what real wealth can do.’ What he meant is, You have a chef, and I have a chef. You have a driver, and I have a driver. You can fly privately, and I fly privately. So, the one place where I can make clear to the world that I am in a different fucking category than you is the boat.” 

MONEY, MONEY, MONEY, MONEY... 

Oh, what a world we live in.


Monday, August 15, 2022

A Holy Day of Obligation in the United States

I don't spend a lot of time pining for my lost days as a Catholic. I remain a staunch cultural Catholic - there's no escaping the way I was brought up, which included 16 years in Catholic schools - but I consider myself a natural born atheist. If I'm in a church, it's for a funeral or a wedding. Period.

Oh, once in a while, a little weird residual Catholicism will pop out.

After my husband died, I washed his body with "holy water." (In preparation, I'd brought a little vial into a downtown Catholic church and filled it from the holy water dispenser.) I actually don't consider this an act akin to "no atheists in foxholes," but rather as an atavistic little whatever, akin to my irreligious grandmother's sprinkling holy water around during a severe thunder storm. As much Druid, as much pagan, as anything. So. There.

Anyway, I'm enough of a cultural Catholic to know that today is the Feast of the Assumption, a Holy Day of Obligation in the United States.

I don't know what the current rules are, but when I was a kid, a Holy Day was like a Sunday: you had to go to Mass, under pain of mortal sin.

Having a Holy Day in the middle of summer was a colossal drag.

Who wanted to get up on a weekday, during the waning weeks of summer vacation, and schlepp off to church? 

Nobody I knew.

The one good thing about it was that it signaled that school would be starting soon. Don't get me wrong. I loved do-nothing summers hanging out - reading endless books, running through the sprinkler, all day game-playing sessions (Monopoly, Clue, Sorry...) on my father's old Navy blanket, under a tree in the backyard. Trips to a local lake for a dip. Evening "spins" that ended in an ice cream stop at the Cherry Bowl. But I was a nerd, and although grammar school involved an awful lot of sheer terror and sheer boredom, I loved school, and always looked forward to going back.

If you were in a Catholic grammar school, one of the best things was that, unlike the public schools, our schools were off on Holy Days of Obligation. 

A couple didn't count. Christmas. New Year's Day (Feast of the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God). Everyone got those days off.

But November 1st? All Saints' Day?

What could be more perfect that having the day after Halloween off of school?

The inconvenience of having to go to Mass was well worth it.

And having December 8th off was great, too. Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Sure, whatever. (Most folks seem to think that the immaculate conception refers to Mary becoming impregnated without the help of a man. Amusing as that might be: Nope. Us catholic Catholics know full well that being immaculately conceived meant that when Mary was conceived by her parents, Saints Joachim and Anne, there was no original sin on her soul. This separates Mary the Mother of God from the rest of us, who were born sinners.)

On December 8th, there was a lot to do after you got the obligation part over with.

If it had been cold enough, you could go skating.

If it had been snowy enough, you could go sledding.

If you had saved up your allowance, you could go Christmas shopping at Woolworth's and get your mother a cutesy salt and pepper shaker set. (E.g., smiling turnips.) And buy your father a beanbag ashtray. And gifts for your sibs: a Nancy Drew book that you could read after; a rubber toy race car; a cap gun; a rattle. 

And if it was crappy out - sleety, nasty - you could lounge around the house watching game shows and inhaling the fragrance of the Christmas tree.

Ascension Thursday was another bonus day. 

Forty days after Easter, it almost always falls in May. Generally an excellent time of year for outdoor play: jump rope, baseball, or endless games of jacks on the sidewalk in front of your friend Susan's house.

Do Catholic schools still get Holy Days off? 

I have no idea.

Even if they do, today wouldn't be a school day anyway. 

But it did get me thinking of a prime benefit of going to parochial school. And that was having Holy Days off.

Kids who went to public schools? Those poor pubs...

Friday, August 12, 2022

Free stuff! Worth every penny!

I live in a small condo/apartment building. Because it's a small building, and because I've lived here forever (30+ years), I know all the other residents. Except - sometimes - I don't know all of the young women who live in Unit 4. For many years, this apartment has been rented out to a succession of twenty-somethings who come - job in Boston! - and go - job somewhere else! move in with BF! go to grad school! Sometimes I just can't keep up with all the moves.

Anyway, about a month ago, an Amazon package showed up for a Julie C.

Then another one.

I assumed that one of the "girls" (which is how I think of the young women in Unit 4) was moving on and Julie C. was moving in.

But no one picked the packages up, which surely someone in Unit 4 would have done if Julie C. was moving in.

So I texted Phoebe in Unit 4 and asked her whether there was a Julie C. moving in.

Nope! There were new "girls" coming - Phoebe and Erin are going - but neither of the newbies is Julie C.

Hmmmm.

Sometimes we get errant packages.

Sometimes the fix is simple. Walk it a couple of houses up or down the street and leave the package on the stoop.

Other times, there's a degree of difficulty involved.

A couple of years ago, there was a FedExed package being delivered to someone who didn't live here. Twice I returned it to FedEx, explaining that this was the wrong address. Twice the package landed back on the little mahogany table in our vestibule.

So I opened the package up and found the correct address on the inside. With this bit of info in mitt, I was able to get FedEx to deliver it to the right place. I'm sure the gentleman was delighted to get his several hundred dollars worth of essential oils.

Another time it was school uniforms for someone who lived at the same street and number as I do, but in another section of the city. That redirect was easy.

Then there was the expensive Patagonia windbreaker that I couldn't get Patagonia to reroute to the right person. I can't remember what, exactly, they wanted me to do with it, but the options I gave them were send me a new (correct) label OR I would donate the windbreaker. They told me to go ahead and donate it. Someone at St. Francis House got a nice new windbreaker.

For three Christmases after he decamped, a former tenant got a gift box of fancy cookies delivered to our building. I had no idea where John O. had moved to. Somewhere in DC, maybe. Anyway, the first two times I sent the cookies back to wherever they came from, explaining that John O. was no longer here. The third time, I kept them. Yum.

Back to the present, and the mysterious case of Julie C.

A few more packages drifted in.

I tried to look Julie C. up, but couldn't find anyone by that name in Boston.

I opened one of the packages to see if there was some further identifying info on the enclosed receipt.

No receipt.

Hmmmm.

I opened package two. Same. And three.

What was also the same was that the packages seemed to contain random junk. 

By now I was detecting a pattern.

A quick trip to the google and I found that these were likely unsolicited merchandise sent out by Amazon vendors that wanted to increase their sales by posting fake positive reviews by a "verified" customer. Which Julie C. would now be. This scam is called "brushing."

There was information on how to report shipments sent to wrong person/wrong place, but when I tried to file a report, I kept getting into an endless loop, leading me back to a page where I couldn't do anything.

If the packages had been addressed to me, I would have persisted. But they were coming to the mythical Julie C.

And, as it turned out, I was entitled to keep them.

Lucky me!

I am now the owner of five pairs of cat-eye fully false eyelashes, which retail for about ten bucks.

Then there's the engagement ring, with the marquis cubic zirconium "diamond." $16.99. Size 9. I'm no petite young thing, and that ring slid off my ring finger. 

I can celebrate my engagement with a fine selection of regular and mylar balloons. The package includes 13 mylar "inspire a smile balloons", including a champagne bottle balloon (Chateau Celebration - for vintage good times) and a champagne glass balloon. 

There was also an assortment of regular balloons - royal, aqua, cream with light blue polka dots, and silver.

The instructions were somewhat cryptic. Something about using tools to attach the balloon to the wall. And a suggestion that I "please retain packaging for further reference."

The most expensive item was what I assume is a likely fake Swarovski Christmas ornament. A tiny little red and clear glass Holiday Cheers Santa that would retain for $65 at Macy's. Not that I know what real Swarovski packaging looks like, but the packaging looked real-ish. For fake packaging, the web informed me that the color might be a bit off from the real thing. I couldn't tell. The ornament itself could be real, or a deep fake.

Not something I ever would have bought for myself, but it's going on this year's tree.

One of the items wasn't from Amazon, but came via USPS from an address in Cincinnati. Some folks who got this item received a clothespin. Others got an empty envelope. Some got a piece of paper with something that sounded like a fortune cookie message printed on it. I got a blue paper surgical mask. 

I'm kind of hoping that Julie C. gets a few more things before the stream dries up. Sure it's all junk. But it's free stuff. Worth every penny!

Thursday, August 11, 2022

Pretty on brand, I'd say

Lions Not Sheep is a clothing company in Utah that specializes in eponymous gear. While most of its stuff is branded Lions Not Sheep, they also sell plenty of explicitly right-wingy products. Much of it is of the Trumpian variety - a Trumpinator tee-shirt that says "I'll be back", the predictable "Let's Go Brandon" and FJB crap. Other stuff is macho nonsense: tee-shirts that read "No Beard, No Booty", or - and what does this actually mean? - "Give Violence a Chance." Come on man, where in our history have we not been giving violence a better than even chance?

The owner of Lions Not Sheep is a bearded (naturally) self-help guru, the author of How to Make Sh*t Happen: Make more money, get in better shape, create epic relationships and control your life!

Gee, who doesn't want all those good things? Surely putting on a Lions Not Sheep tee-shirt would be a good start! Or maybe even this grownup hooded onesie. Good thing the model is bearded, because I don't think a guy wearing that get up is going to be in line for a ton of booty. But this might just be my East Coast elite old lady snobbery at work and play. Maybe if you're a lioness, not a ewe, this outfit is a turn on.

Anyway, the folk(s) at Lions Not Sheep are, as you can surmise from the use of the stars and stripes for the onesie, and the rifle in the backdrop, very pro-America. In fact,
“Lions Not Sheep” loves America so much that it’s made plenty of hullabaloo about its clothing being made in America. So much so that a free copy of the U.S. Constitution was included in every order. (Source: Political Flare)

Nice patriotic touch there. Just what you'd expect from gun-totin', flag-wavin', 'Merica lovin' real Americans. 

And because real Americans selling stuff want real Americans buying stuff to know that we're all in this together, they made sure that all the clothing they sold was stamped "Made in the USA." That, despite the fact that the clothing was, in fact made in China, Bangladesh, Vietnam, and other locations that aren't - last time I looked - part of the United States. 
The Salt Lake Tribune reports that the owner has agreed to pay a $211,335 fine to the FTC.

And as part of the legal settlement, Lions Not Sheep has agreed to stop committing label fraud and will stop promoting foreign-made products as U.S.-made and will also contact everyone who has purchased clothing from the company since May 2021 to let them know about the company’s little fib.

If you go to Lions' website - You have two choices: to lead or to be led. We are a generation of leaders. We are a generation of lions. - they do some contorted bearded mansplaining about how the parts may be made elsewhere, but the goods are thoroughly 'Merican-ized right here in the good old US of A.

The original un-printed/embroidered blank garments are sourced from international and domestic suppliers.

In our effort to keep as many jobs as possible inside the USA, our blank garments/items that are purchased internationally are shipped to the USA to be printed, embroidered, laser engraved, tagged, and bagged all inside the USA... before being shipped to the Lions Not Sheep headquarters in Utah, USA to be fulfilled to our customers. With all these touchpoints being done inside the USA, this allows us to label our garments as "Produced In The USA with Imported Materials."

I'm guessing this info is a relatively recent (post FTC fine) add to their FAQ...

Amazing to think that there are folks out there who'd wear something proclaiming their lion-hood when it seems to me that they're more sheep-like in their willingness to fall into a self-help guru's $$$ trap. Talk about led, not leader.

But all perfectly on the Trump-adjacent Grift 'R' Us brand, that's for sure. 


Wednesday, August 10, 2022

Note to Boston bicyclists: this isn't Amsterdam

Over the last decade or so, there've been two major changes in Boston's bicycling culture. One is the proliferation of bikeshares. In my completely non-scientific, occasional observation view, bikeshares have been pretty darned successful. With bikeshares, you grab a bike from a location where rent-a-bikes are parked and pedal off for business, pleasure, or good old point A to point B locomotion. I'm not sure what it costs - a few bucks an hour, I think - but I see an awful lot of people (many of them tourists) accessing these bikes from the two rental locations in my immediate 'hood: Beacon Street at the corner of the Boston Public Garden, and Beacon Street at the foot of the Arthur Fiedler footbridge, which leads to the Esplanade along the Charles River.

I'm out walking every day, and I see lots of folks on the blue bikes. Many of them are riding along the Esplanade, on the bike paths, which are a resource shared with walkers, runners, and bladers. And it all seems to work out pretty well.

The only issues I have with the rent-a-bikers is that some of them ride on sidewalks (boo!) and that some of them ignore the sign on the Arthur Fiedler footbridge (which I use most every day) that tells bikers to walk their bikes on the bridge.  

Other than that, YAY, RENT-A-BIKES!

As I mentioned, a lot of the folks I see on these blue bikes appear to be tourists, but I do know there are locals that use them, including a friend who buzzes back and forth from the South End and downtown all the time. 

I haven't rented one. Yet. I'd need to get myself a bike helmet, since it's BYOH. Maybe some nice weekday this fall...

The other bicycling change, which is more recent, is the creation of bike lanes. These are lanes dedicated to bicycles (or, in some Boston cases, shared by bikes and buses). These lanes are takeaways: they take a lane away from cars.

I'm not a car owner. If I woke up tomorrow and there were no cars in Boston (other than Ubers and Lyfts), I'd be in clover. I'm not a car owner. I walk. I take public transpo. I Uber. And, when I absolutely need a car - which, since Uber, is just about never - I rent one. 

Car owners, however, are miffed about the bike lanes. My sympathy is limited. But it's not nonexistent. 

So are bicyclists, who are mega-miffed about how few bike lanes there are. And they're getting more and more assertive in their demands for more and more bike lanes. The bicycle activists insist that having more bike lanes will decrease pollution, improve health, decrease stress, save lives. 

Perhaps that's all true, but, as someone who's out walking every day, for an hour or two, and as who has a bike lane running on my street, across from where I live, I see damned few bicyclists using them. 

Yes, this is more of my completely non-scientific, occasional observation view. But still, this does kinda-sorta make it an informed opinion, doesn't it?

The bicycle activists predict that if there are more bike lanes, more folks will bike, that "if they build it, we will come." Hmmmm.

One of the places they want to build it is on Cambridge Street. This is the main artery leading to the Longfellow Bridge, which connects Boston and Cambridge. I see plenty of bikers on Cambridge Street and on the Bridge, which I frequently walk on and which does have bike lanes. 

Cambridge Street has a ton of traffic, including ambulances (MGH is just off of Cambridge Street) and fire engines (there's a large firehouse on the street). To me, it makes sense to have bike lanes. 

Another street they have their eye on is Charles Street, the main drag through my neighborhood. 

Personally, if there were a way to make Charles Street pedestrian-only, I'm all in. It's a charming little thoroughfare. Nice little gift and twenty-something or hardcore preppy clothing shops - and practical stores like an indie hardware store, an indie drycleaners, an indie drugstore - and restaurants. To make Charles a pedestrian paradise, they'd have to figure out how deliveries could be made to the stores and restaurants, and how movers could move folks into and out of the apartments over all those nice little shops. But making Charles pedestrian only? Woo-hoo! A girl can dream, can't she. (Maybe we could at least do it on weekends...)

Charles Street has two parking lanes and three traffic lanes. Having commuted for a number of years, I learned early on that, thanks to double parking, sometimes it's actually one lane. I always drove down the center. What happens when a driving lane is removed?

Also on Charles: since covid, in some spots, the parking lane has given way to outdoor dining, which is great.

I don't know what a bicycle lane would do. Take away outdoor dining? Take away parking spaces? Anyway, the local merchants are agin' it. But the bicycle activists were out in full force the other day, seizing the center lane on Charles Street. 

Admittedly, I'm not wild about non-blue bike bicyclists. In my experience, many of them follow their own personal set of rules, running red lights - and buzzing through when the pedestrian "walk" sign is on - when it's convenient for them to do so. I rarely see them in the bicycle lanes, and when I see them, as often as not, they're pedaling in the wrong direction. 

I'm sympathetic to their desire for greater safety. A couple of times a year, some bicyclist is killed because they were in the blind spot of a truck. Just awful. And I'm sympathetic to the fact that we'd be better off environmentally if more people biked and fewer people drove. 

But the bicycle activists always strike me as really not giving a damn about anyone other than themselves, and as given to exaggerating the need for bicycle lanes, even when there's no evidence that there are as many bicyclists out there as they claim. 

My opinion is, of course, colored by the fact that, as a pedestrian, I'm at some risk from getting plowed into by someone on a bicycle hurtling through a light, going the wrong way, or pedaling away on a sidewalk. (Many years ago, a close friend of a friend was hit by a bicycle messenger who was running a light. He suffered major head trauma and spent months in rehab. He never fully recovered.) Maybe bicycle lanes will result in better behavior on the part of bicyclists. Maybe if they're feeling protected, they'll be more protective of others. 

Maybe.

I'll be interested to see whether a) the bicyclists get what they're demanding; and b) whether that results in more folks bicycling - and less pollution, less congestion, etc.

Personally, I'd rather see the money go to public transportation, which is not in great shape in these parts. But I do get where the bicycle people are coming from. It's just that I think that the Boston bicyclists have got to accept the fact that Boston isn't Amsterdam, where pretty much everyone bikes. And it's probably never going to be.

Tuesday, August 09, 2022

Rage rooms? Noooooooooo.....

Apparently they've been around for a while, but the first I heard of a "rage room" was a few days ago. 

Rage rooms (smash rooms, wreck rooms) are spaces - typically replicas of living rooms, offices, or kitchens - that people rent out for the purpose and pleasure of destroying all the stuff - TVs, crockery, etc. - contained in them. Patrons can also bring their own goods to destroy. 

Sure, it's better to take your rage out on inanimate objects than it is to take it out on animate humans, but I can't help but think this is a not such a great idea - even if, at one point or another, even the most even-tempered among us has, at least once every 72 years, had a moment when they felt as if they were going to lose it. And of course it's better to lose it by smashing a teacup than smashing someone in the nose. 

But aren't there techniques for deraging?

I really wouldn't know, because I am - for better or worse - one of those even-tempered folks with scant experience flying off the handle.

But despite my lack of experience, even I can come up with ways to defuse without resorting to punching, kicking, smashing, wrecking, raging: 
  • Take a deep breath
  • Count to 20
  • Follow Peter Pan's advice and think lovely thoughts
  • Slam a door
  • Swear your head off
  • Bury your head under a pillow
  • Just walk away, Renee
  • Make a donation
  • Eat ice cream
  • Write a note/email and DON'T send it
  • Prep your home for a renovation (assumes you can afford the reno)
But that's just me.

I couldn't get an exact number of American rage rooms, but from what I can tell, there are hundreds. (If there's a Rage Room Trade Association, I couldn't find it.) And however many there once were, I'm guessing a few fell out of business during the height of covid. When, of course, people were most in need of a good, restorative rager.

I visited (virtually) a couple of them, and they all seem to promote visiting a rage room for a birthday party, as a date night, for a corporate outing. 

I suppose a date night outing, pre-marriage, would let you gauge whether your prospective mate was a rage machine. (Run, don't walk to the nearest exit, and change your phone number.)

Corporate outing? I think not. I've done the Escape Room with colleagues. And a really benign team event where we learned how to paint our own versions of Van Gogh sunflowers. (Mine turned out pretty well. I wonder whether someone picked it up when I put it out on trash day.) But I really don't want to see my co-workers with their full rage on display. Scary enough when it occasionally happens at work - and I witnessed a few rage episodes over the years. 

Most of the places I checked out can equip you with a golf club, sledgehammer, or baseball bat. Which seems mighty homicidal to me.

A local place, the eponymous Just Smash Shit, offers a Heart Break package. They provide "a room with a mannequin and two crates of smashies!" And suggest that you "bring your own smashables (ex's picture, trinkets, gifts, etc.)." Ugh.

Note that while a crate sounds like a lot of smashables, but the crates I saw are actual milk crates. Just so you know. (I was thinking crate-crate.)

Smashit2, which says that it's "Worcester County's only smash room," solicits donations from restaurants and bars, contractors, storage facilities, and trash removal outfits. They're looking for a range of smashables: vases, laptops, chairs, end tables, ceramics, figurines, small appliances, glasses, lamps...

I can understand someone wanting to donate, say, their eminently smashable Thomas Kincaid angel figurines. But it seems like a lot of the things on the want list might actually be better used by someone who got to buy them on the cheap at Goodwill. One person's trash lamp may be another person's treasure lamp. And electronics can be recycled. Sigh...

Anyhow, I don't imagine I'll ever participate in a rage-a-thon. And unless you can prove to me that, say, a mass murderer intent on shooting up a grammar school can be persuaded to put down his AR-15 in favor of demolishing a toilet with a sledgehammer, I don't think that rage rooms are all the great an idea.

Neither does Psychology Today. (Or at least that was their thinking way back in 2017.)
Rage rooms offer a place to go for people who are feeling the impulse to become physically violent, but they do not want the mess that comes with attacking others. Is this a good prescription for chronic ragers?
Unfortunately, many people still subscribe to the “aggression as a pressure cooker” model of human behavior. According to this logic, if you don’t let off some steam or release your aggression in a timely manner, it will manifest itself in dangerous, weird, and inappropriate ways. Do not hold it in for too long or you will eventually go berserk and lose all control. Hence, the rage room. For a few bucks, you can spend time liberating pent up hostility by annihilating coffee cups with a baseball bat. It certainly sounds fun, but does it work?
Here is the problem: When you spend time thumping an inanimate object, like a pillow, or beating nonliving things in a rage room, you are conditioning yourself to quickly become aggressive next time your anxiety levels rise. So instead of opening up the escape valve on a pot of steam, you are rewarding your distressed feelings with the instant and ephemeral pleasure that comes from throwing dishes against a wall.

...We should be working towards minimizing aggression and violence in society, not encouraging it even if it is dressed up as a fun afternoon demolishing things normally off-limits. 

Amen to that.  

Me, I prefer to eat ice cream and/or think lovely thoughts. 

Monday, August 08, 2022

I'm all for volunteering, however...

I ate at Chik-fil-A. Once. At Dallas-Fort Worth Airport. 

And I have to say that the chicken sandwich was pretty darned good.

But I don't patronize them on general principles (and fat avoidance), so I haven't been to the one that opened in January, just a quick walk away from my home. No big sacrifice on my part. Ask me again if I'm stuck in DFW at some point. 

(Chik-fil-A, by the way, gave in to pressure a few years back and stopped making corporate donations to anti-gay organizations. But the chairman and co-owner, Dan Cathy, continues to support radical conservative organizations.)

Chik-fil-A gets along just fine without my patronage, of course. It's extremely popular and lucrative, the Cathy family worth billions.

The company runs on a version of franchising - low entry fee for the operators, but Chik-fil-A largely retains ownership. And one of their franchisees, a store in North Carolina, has come up with an interesting new approach. Rather than hire employees, the outfit went looking for volunteers to staff their drive-through:

“We are looking for volunteers for our new Drive Thru Express!” the store in Hendersonville, N.C., wrote in a Facebook post on Tuesday that has since been deleted. “Earn 5 free entrees per shift (1 hr) worked. Message us for details.” (Source: WaPo)

Yikes!  

I'm all for volunteering. And sometimes it's true that having volunteers means that an organization doesn't have to pay staff to perform some tasks, especially when the tasks aren't "nice to haves" but are at the core of the organization. 

I volunteer with two organizations. One is "all volunteer", with all the chaos and meshugas that comes with that claim. But being "all volunteer" does mean that the money donated goes to support our mission (helping families experiencing homelessness, especially during the holidays), not to the payroll. (It's also a key element of our fundraising.)

My other volunteer gig is with a large homeless shelter. Volunteers do a lot of different things there, but we're especially central to the organization's being able to feed hundreds of hungry folks every day. When we're short on volunteers, staff members pitch in, spending their lunch break serving our guests. A lot of the other things that volunteers see to are "nice to haves" (a poetry workshop, a sing-along...) that support the organization's mission, but much of the work taking care of routine tasks the free the paid staff up to have deeper interactions with the guests. Some of it's pretty pedestrian stuff. For example: on Thursdays, I sign people up for showers and hand out soap and toothpaste. This gives the Resource Center manager more time to mingle with the guests and figure out what we can do to improve their lives.

And sometimes the volunteers let the organization do more better. For instance, volunteers help with workforce development by conducting practice job interviews. 

What the two places I volunteer with have in common is that THEY ARE NON-PROFITS. 

Volunteering my time with a profit-making organization? N.F.W. 

Oh, I suppose if I were a big theater buff I wouldn't mind being an usher if I got to see the show for free. 

But free labor for the likes of Chik-fil-A? Once again: N.F.W.

The store has been met with backlash for appearing to ignore the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA), the long-standing federal law that states how employers must pay their employees for all of the hours they work. The Hendersonville location, which is run by a franchisee, responded to the online blowback by saying the “volunteer-based opportunity” was intended for people who “think it’s a good fit for them,” and argued it was different from full- or part-time employment.

“We’ve had multiple people sign up and enjoy doing and have done it multiple times,” the store wrote in a separate post. “People who sign up for this chose it voluntarily.”

People "chose it voluntarily?"

Well, duh. I can't imagine that even in the backwoods of North Carolina, a fast food joint could dragoon people off the street to serve chicken sandwiches in the drive-through. The store has defended their operation thus:

“...there’s an expression of desire from the community to be more a part of what that brand is doing,” said the manager, Ryan, who declined to give his last name to the media outlet. “We get people all the time that want to be a part of what we’re doing. This is designed to be an opportunity for that.”
 This I just do not get. 

Admittedly, I just paid a lot of money - many Chik-fil-A sammies worth - for Springsteen tickets, but I really do not get someone who identifies with a profit making company and wants "to be more a part of what that brand is doing."

I do identify with St. Francis House. I often wear my apron - a gift when I hit the 1,000 hours volunteering level. And I have a collection of Christmas in the City tee-shirts accrued over the years that I wear when I'm out walking, and often when I'm working in the St. Francis House kitchen.

And on the profit-making side, god knows I've got enough Red Sox caps around here - enough so that I know that they can afford to sign Xander Bogaerts and/or Raffy Devers. 

So, yes, I guess I'm someone who identifies with a brand.

But working for "free", in exchange for five sandwiches, at a Chik-fil-A. That's a hella big NO.

The Hendersonville volunteer "will work for food" program has ended. And they're hiring. 

Until this time, the Hendersonville Chik-fil-A was "perhaps best known for employing Madison Cawthorn as a cashier, years before he was elected as a Republican member of the U.S. House of Representatives."

Having lost his primary, come January, Cawthorn will be looking for work. Chik-fil-A pays $19 an hour. Go for it, Madison! I understand that, if you work for a Chik-fil-A, you even get lunch...

Friday, August 05, 2022

Yes, the Anne Frank meme was terrible...

When I was in fifth grade - ten years old - a boy in my class (a boy I spent half of my grammar school years crushing on) told me a terrible joke. I remember the joke quite clearly, and I remember not getting it.

It was in the spring of 1960, and Israel's Mossad agents had just captured Adolf Eichmann in Argentina, where he'd been on the Nazi down low since the end of World War II. The punchline of the odious joke, which was about Eichmann, was: if I knew you were coming, I'd have baked a kike.

I'd never heard the word "kike," so I didn't get the joke. But I knew enough about the war, and about the Holocaust (I'd read Anne Frank), to know that the joke wasn't funny. That it was off-color, nasty. 

Did I say anything to Billy M when he told me the joke? Probably not. Did I pretend laugh at it? Maybe. I hope not. Did Billy M figure out I didn't get it and make fun of me for being so dense? Maybe. Maybe not. Billy M was a smart, cute, and funny kid. A little edgy, but never bullying. Not someone who was mean. Where did this joke even come from? (If I ever run into him, I'll ask. But this is highly unlikely. I missed an opportunity a few years back when one of my cousins went to her 50th high school reunion. Billy - now Bill - M was a classmate. If I'd thought of it, I'd have asked her to ask him. She did report back that he was a lawyer, and still smart, funny, and cute.)

So, a terrible joke. An unfunny joke. An anti-Semitic joke. 

In 1960. Way too early for a Holocaust joke. 

It's still too early. 

It'll always be too early.

But someone working at a Rhode Island restaurant thinks that a Holocaust joke, meme-edition, is knee-slapping funny. So on a hot day a while back, they posted a picture of Anne Frank on the restaurant's Facebook page with this message:

“It’s hotter than an oven out there … And I should know!” The image was captioned “#ohboy.”

...The post quickly went viral. After initially dismissing concerns on Saturday, the restaurant deleted the post and then, a few days later, its entire Facebook page (Facebook has a policy against hate speech and started banning and removing posts that denied the Holocaust in 2020). (Source: Boston Globe)

No surprise that this story took off. 

No surprise that the "explanations" were muddled, confused.

The owner posted it. No, some unknown worker. The manager/chef (not clear if he's also the owner) posted it, but didn't even know who Anne Frank was, blaming his ignorance on family poverty that forced him to leave school at the age of 13. It was also reported that the manager/chef thought it was funny. (Why would you think it was "funny" if you didn't know who Anne Frank was? The meme wouldn't make any sense.)

For the record: Not that there's any bottom to Nazi depravity, but - while some Jews and other victims of Nazism were  thrown into burning hits, the ovens were actually used to burn the bodies of those gassed with Zyklon B. And Anne Frank did not die in a gas chamber. She died of typhus in March 1945, a few weeks before the concentration camp where she was imprisoned was liberated. 

When the news of the meme went viral, people did what they always do. They jumped on Yelp to give the restaurant scathing reviews. They posted comments, some calling for the restaurant to be shuttered and the owner and/or the meme poster to be jailed. Others suggesting that people just chill.

The situation went viral: NY Post, Daily Mail, The Jerusalem Post...

I've been to Dachau. I've been to Auschwitz. I've read (and read and read) the fiction and non-fiction of the Holocaust. I've met a couple of survivors - parents of colleagues - and have seen the numbers on their forearms. I've been to the Amsterdam

warehouse annex where Anne Frank and her family hid from the Nazis. 

I don't think jokes about the Holocaust are funny. I believe we should approach the Holocaust trembling. It's still so near, so close, so raw. So terrible that millions were massacred for their religion. Massacred by people like us, in a country not entirely unlike ours. Approach trembling.

But should this restaurant be pilloried, forced out of business, because some knucklehead who may or may not be anti-Semitic, who is more than likely an ignoramus, posted a foul meme and that someone else at the restaurant who may or may not be anti-Semitic, who is more than likely an ignoramus, thought it was funny?

The restaurant has apologized. I hope they've kicked the employee who posted the meme in the arse, explained to them why the Anne Frank meme is foul and unfunny, maybe done a bit of education about the Holocaust. If the person who posted the meme is an awful person who no one wants to work around, fire them. But maybe they're just a stupe, with the maturity of ten year old Billy M., repeating a "joke" that they may not even have understood. 

Enough. 

The meme was awful. Maybe all the hoopla will expose more people to awareness of Anne Frank, of the Holocaust. Which is a good thing. 

I'm not racing down to Rhode Island to order scallops there, but I think it's time to give it a rest. Time to move on. Not from Anne Frank. Not from the Holocaust. But from killing this restaurant's business.

And not to be too corny about it, I'm guessing it's what Anne Frank would have wanted. 

Thursday, August 04, 2022

You oughta be in movies. (Hurray for Hollywood!)

I'm pretty sure that, at some point in my childhood, I wanted to be a movie star. Or at least a television actor. I don't recall the details, but I'm pretty sure I wanted to swan around in ball gowns. And when I wasn't swanning around in a ball gown, I wanted to smooch cute cowboys or Dr. Kildare. 

Then I grew up, reached the age of reason, and realized that acting would be a tough way to make a living, and that if you got famous at doing it, your life would not be your own. So acting? Hard pass.

Which isn't to say that if I were asked to be an extra in a film being shot locally - passenger on a swan boat, diner at the next table in the restaurant - I wouldn't get a kick out of if. (Years ago, I did sit next to Jessica Lange and Sam Shepard in a local spot. Alas, they weren't being filmed, just eating out, so it wasn't an opportunity to be an extra. But it almost counts, doesn't it?)

Still, there are plenty of folks who do want to be actors. Or who may even be content as extras, maybe with a line or two, maybe just blending into the background to make a scene seem more authentic. And for them, Boston has become an okay place to try to make it happen. That's because, thanks to our state's largesse, and the fact that writers do set a lot of stories that turn into films set in the Boston area, there are actually quite a few movies filmed here.  

Mostly, of course, it's the money, honey. 

...Hollywood is hunkering down, enticed by the tax breaks approved by the Legislature in 2006 and made permanent last year. More than 30 major film and TV projects were shot in the Bay State last year, compared to just one or two a decade ago. (Source: Boston Globe)

Not sure I'm all that wild about my tax money going to give breaks to big Hollywood machers, but I do enjoy watching movies filmed here, and don't mind stumbling upon the filming, even when it impedes my walk or otherwise disturbs my peace. And there are a lot of extras out there I might stumble upon.

While the stars of a movie are usually cast in New York or Los Angeles, smaller speaking roles and extras are locally sourced, often by Boston Casting owners Angela Peri and Lisa Lobel, who have an inventory of 100,000 actors to choose from.
100,000 extras? 100,000 actor wannabes? Wow!

One of them is Chelsea Hueter. She was an art teacher before her shoulder appeared in the rework of "Ghostbusters." And that was enough to give her the bug. She quit teaching and now pieces together a living through gigs as an extra or stand-in. She's hoping that at some point the extra appearances will lead to a speaking part or even beyond.

Dale Appel is in her 70's and retired, but likes working as a background actor to supplement her Social Security. It beats, she says, putting on the vest and greeting shoppers at Walmart. And she has no illusions. “At my age, I don’t expect to suddenly be the next Meryl Streep.”

Anyone can sign up with a casting agency. But getting a job as an extra depends on what’s needed in a particular movie. Sometimes the background roles are nondescript, like senior citizen or bartender, and sometimes they’re specific, like men with mustaches or, in the case of the Civil War-era “Little Women,” amputees.

Senior citizen? Ahem. Look no further, Hollywood.

Amputee? Man with a mustache? Keep on going. 

Not that it's an easy way to piece together a living, but the pay can be good, especially if you get a speaking part. Even if it's a brief one.

Actors with at least one line of dialogue make $1,056 for an eight-hour day, while extras in the union are paid $187 a day, or twice that if filming runs long, or takes place at night or in bad weather.

Plus there are benefits: 

You’re eligible to join the union [Screen Actors Guild] after one day of principal work or three days of background work.) Membership isn’t free — there’s an initiation fee ($1,800) and annual dues ($230) — but the union provides health insurance.

Sometimes extras do hit the big time. Viola Davis started out as a background actor ("NYPD Blue") and she went on to win an Oscar. Brad Pitt was milling around at a party in "No Way Out" before he went on to do all sorts of Brad Pitt things.  

Still, most extras keep their expectations closer to the ground:

“I never expected to be a star,” said Stew Replogle, a South Shore resident who was an extra in “Manchester by the Sea,” among other films. “But it’s like when you’re on the bench on a sports team. You know the coach could, eventually, turn and yell, ‘You!’ ”

Extras also get fed and, if they're starstruck, they do get proximity to the stars. You just can't talk to them. Unless, of course, they speak to you first. Just don't count on it. (When Replogle was filming Manchester, he did sit at a table with Casey Affleck. Affleck nodded Replogle's way. Almost friends.)

It must be sort of a bummer when Mr. or Ms. Big won't even make eye contact with you. (Not that I can blame them.) There's also the disappointment that comes when an extra's bit is cut. (That can happen even to a real actor. Kevin Costner's career was not yet fully baked when he had a role in "The Big Chill." All of his scenes were cut, other than the one where he's laid out in the casket, playing the friend who's death brought the big chillers back together.)

Anyway, next time I come across a film being shot nearby, I'll be sure to take a look and see if I can figure out who the extras are. In the big scheme of movie-making, they also serve who only stand and wait. 

Wednesday, August 03, 2022

Brava, Olivia Julianna!

What's an antonym for pantheon? I saw 'den of iniquity' burble up from a google. I'm thinking rogues gallery, but that may be a tad too jaunty (think David Niven in a caper movie). Maybe just bad actors?

Anyway, in my Congressional anti-pantheon, Matt Gaetz (R-FL) is, at least for the moment, holding pride of place.

God knows the competition is plenty steep: Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-GA), Jim Jordan (R-OH), Lauren Boebert (R-CO), Paul Gosar (R-AZ). What a crew!

Matt Gaetz has come to the fore of late because of his attack in general on women who support reproductive rights, and his attack in particular on Olivia Julianna, a young activist who's half his age.

In addressing a Turning Point USA gathering, Gaetz resorted to using a frequent right-wing meme: that liberal/progressive women are unattractive. (Not to go all looks-ist here, but those deploying this meme seem never to have taken a close look at the typical MAGA rally crowd.) 

“Why is it that the women with the least likelihood of getting pregnant are the ones most worried about having abortions? Nobody wants to impregnate you if you look like a thumb,” he told the crowd of young conservatives... “I’m thinking, march? You look like you’ve got ankles weaker than the legal reasoning behind Roe v. Wade.” (Source: Teen Vogue)
Olivia Julianna called Gaetz out on Twitter: 

“Its come to my attention that Matt Gaetz—alleged pedophile—has said that it’s always the ‘odious.. 5’2 350 pound’ women that ‘nobody wants to impregnate’ who rally for abortion,” Texas activist Olivia Julianna tweeted. “I’m actually 5’11. 6’4 in heels. I wear them so the small men like you are reminded of your place.”

This esteemed member of Congress responded by posting a picture of Olivia, implicitly body shaming her. 

And when asked by a reporter whether it was Gaetz' intention to suggest that women who attended abortion rallies are all ugly and overweight, he answered "Yes." And what would he tell those who might be offended by his comments. "Be offended."

(By the way, I've been to abortion rallies and the women aren't any uglier and more overweight than you'll find anywhere. And if we are, so fucking what.)

Anyway, Olivia Julianna says that she was "shocked" that a member of Congress would single her out in such a crude way. (She must not have been all that familiar with Matt Gaetz.) But she wasn't upset. 

Instead, she saw an opportunity to raise funds for Gen Z for Change, an organization dedicated to this purpose:

We leverage the power of social media to educate our generation, encourage and mobilize civic participation, shift the political debate, and enact change.

That's Olivia, who's the organization's political strategist, in the center of the picture. Yes, she's a bit zaftig - but so fucking what? She's perfectly fine looking, and seems comfortable in her own skin.

She's also pretty damned good at what she does.

Olivia decided to direct donations to Gen-Z for Choice, looking for money to:
Assist in this mission by donating to nationwide abortion funds here, ensuring access to critical reproductive health care. This fund splits all donations evenly among 50 local abortion funds across the United States.

As of last Saturday morning, the donation amount was closing in on $2M.

Never underestimate Gen Z!

Brava, Olivia Julianna. (Suck it, Matt Gaetz.)

Tuesday, August 02, 2022

Super dodger? So far, so good.

There was an article the other day in the Washington Post on super-dodgers, i.e., those who have managed to avoid coming down with covid. 

There are no winners in a pandemic. That said, if you’ve made it to the summer of 2022 without yet testing positive for the coronavirus, you might feel entitled to some bragging rights. Who’s still in the game at this point? Not Anthony S. Fauci. Not President Biden, who tested positive this week. Not Denzel Washington, Camila Cabello or Lionel Messi. Not your friend who’s even more cautious than you but who finally caught it last week. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimated that nearly 60 percent of Americans had contracted the virus at some point — and that was as of the end of February, before the extremely contagious BA.4 and BA.5 variants became rampant.

I'm "still in the game at this point," but who knows for how long?

Like most of my friends and family members, I've been cautious. Not insanely so, but cautious still.

Even during the early days, I never shut down 100%. I went grocery shopping. I ran other errands.

But I didn't see friends and family, other than in masked drive-bys. The shelter where I volunteer sent us all home, and I went happily. 

For those first few months, my brother was the only person in my bubble. We had dinner (in: I cooked) once a week. Brother as Plus-One. Who'd a thunk it?

My sister Kath and I have the same hairdresser. In June 2020, she had Rita come to her backyard to give us haircuts. We all kept our distance. We all stayed masked. We didn't go into the house.

Meanwhile, I let my hair go gray. (An excellent decision.)

By fall, things had opened up a bit. I had a cautious, masked visit with a couple of cousins. I took walks with a friend (masked). I saw a little of my sibs and nieces. 

On Christmas Eve, I had a smaller-than-usual celebration.

Let there be vaccines!

And then there were, and things got better.

I saw folks. I went out to eat - cautiously, if the restaurant was outdoors. I went back to volunteering at St. Francis House. With my mask on, my N95.

Although my friends and family were similarly cautious, a few of them got covid. My friends Peter and Tony. My niece Molly (but not my sister Trish.) My cousin Ellen and her husband Mike. 

I've had a few scares. 

Right after last Christmas, I shared an elevator with someone at St. Francis House who went home later that day with covid. We were both masked, but just in case, I didn't go up to my sister Trish's for New Year's Eve.

I was fine. 

This spring, my friend K attended her 50th college reunion. Everyone was vaxxed. Everyone was masked. She came back with covid. We had lunch (inside) and later that day she tested positive. 

I was a bit nervous. We'd been masks-off to eat. We were eating Chinese, so sharing the dishes. 

I was fine.

A couple of weeks ago, I spent three hours in a small, poorly ventilated room at St. Francis House. I was N95'd. My colleague wasn't. That day, he tested positive. I was hoping that the N95 would protect me, and damned if it didn't. I laid low for a five days, testing every other day.

I was fine. 

Other than wearing a mask (N95) whenever I'm in a store, on public transportation, in an Uber, or at St. Francis House, I'm not being super cautious. I'm not eating out a lot, but I'm mostly back to normal. 

I don't think I have any magic touch. 

So far, I've been no more cautious than a lot of the folks I know who've gotten it. Just lucky, I guess. 

Scientists have found no conclusive evidence of innate genetic immunity. “It would be extremely unlikely that any innate immune system properties could protect against all infections,” said Eleanor Murray, an epidemiologist and professor at the Boston University School of Public Health.

Maybe someday they'll figure it out.

And maybe someday, I'll get covid. I'm vaxxed and doubled boosted, so I hope it'll be mild.

If I'm going to get covid, I just hope it doesn't get in the way of my trip to Ireland in September. 

To be on the safe side, I'm pretty much shutting down for a couple of weeks before I leave, hoping to keep my super dodger streak going.

I'll be fine. At least I hope I will be. 

Super dodger? So far, so good. 

Monday, August 01, 2022

There is something seriously wrong with this country.

The other day, a tweet appeared in my timeline from Hannah Grieco. She's a writer, and in the tweet I saw, she wrote:

Just got a PR email asking me to write about these new classroom safety pods. I hate everybody.

I don't blame her. 

Can you imagine sending your little ones off each day to a classroom equipped with a safety pod? Or are you better off knowing your kiddos can sit out an active shooter situation in a safety pod, rather than cowering in a corner with their desks and chairs piled in front of them? Or hoping that they'll have the presence of mind of the quick-thinking and courageous little girl in Uvalde who survived because she thought to cover herself with her (murdered) best friend's blood and play dead. 

The safety pods were originally designed for tornado shelters, but that meant the market was limited to Tornado Alley (Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Missouri...). Fortunately for the fortunes of National Safety Shelters, which produces the safety pod, the market has expanded. Whether your school is ever going to find itself in the path of a tornado or not, there's always the possibility that there's a school shooter armed with an AR-15 lurking around the corner.

Dennis Corrado is National Safety Shelters' president wrote this to NPR:
 "After the Sandy Hook tragedy in December 2012, the shelter design was modified ... with the intent of offering them to schools as a dual-purpose safety measure to protect from tornadoes and active shooters." (Source: NPR)

So now there are two menu product choices on the National Safety Shelters website: Tornados and Active Shooters. 

The Active Shooter page is chocked full of good info: stats, lists, a map, and this bit: 

More people have died or been injured in mass school shootings in the US in the past 18 years than in the entire 20th century.

Now there's something to be proud of. 

The company must have a hard time keeping things updated. Too busy selling safety pods, which cost between $15K and $30K. That and making sure that the safety pods keep up with the challenges that Active Shooters present:
Corrado said the pods were modified "using NIJ ballistic Level III steel making them resistant to handguns, shotguns and semi-automatic high-caliber weapons including AR-15 and AK-47 assault rifles."

Given that the weapon of choice for school shooters is the AR-15, it's a good thing that the safety pod can resist the bullets spewing out from them.

Alabama's Quitman School District is very enthused about the safety pods:

The district says on its Facebook page, "Quitman Schools is a proud partner of National Safety Shelters! Student safety is our top priority, and that is why every classroom on the Quitman campus is equipped with a military grade, ballistic steel shelter capable of withstanding an F5 Tornado."

Of course, the safety pod will only work if you can get your kids into them fast enough.

If the shooter picks your classroom as his Ground Zero, you may be out of luck. No way if the shooter barges in - maybe you don't have prison-level security doors installed - that the teacher can get the kiddos into the pod and secure it. And what about the kid who had to do a restroom run, only to get back to their classroom and find that everyone's already shut away, secured. You're on your own, kiddo! Duck and cover!

A couple of years back - I can't remember which school shooting it was after: Sandy Hook? Marjorie Stone Douglas? Oxford Michigan? Santa Fe (TX) High? - I remember reading about bulletproof backpacks for children. And I thought that the world was coming to an end.

Little did I know...

There is something seriously wrong with this country that we need to worry about whether our children are going to get blown away while at school. When the provision of school equipment like bullet proof kiddie backpacks and safety pods is a growth industry.

Friday, July 29, 2022

Holographic circus animals? I'd say that's a big improvement.

As a child, I was an avid Mickey Mouse Club fan. Each afternoon, I watched the show, crushing on cutie pie Mouseketeer Cubbie O'Brien and Tim Considine of "Spin and Marty" fame. When I grew up, I wanted to be as perky and glamorous as Annette Funicello. 

The Mickey Mouse Club show was on daily, and each day had a theme - and a song to go with it. "Today is Tuesday, you know what that means? There's going to be a special guest." Friday was the Talent Rodeo, which was introduced by the lilting tune:
Saddle your pony, here we go
Down to the Talent Rodeo
Bring along Susie, Jack and Joe
Join the Talent Roundup

Round 'em up. Bring 'em in.
Everybody's sure to win.
Step right up, here we go.
Oh, what a rodeo!

(Sadly, my only talent is the ability to recall lyrics and tune I last heard in 1959.)

Thursday was Circus Day, and the song included the lines: 

Here comes the circus
Everyone loves the circus

Emphasis mine!

Even at the age of five, when I first began watching the Mickey Mouse Club, I knew that I was always going to be an oddball, an outsider. Everyone loves the circus? Not I! I'd never been to one, yet still I knew that the circus was not for me. I'd seen Toby Tyler on Disney. I'd watched Circus Boy. I was a regular viewer of Bozo, even though I despised clowns. But the circus? Hella no!

In the early 1960's, there was a show on Friday nights, International Showtime, that each week featured highlights from a different European circus. I watched it with my father, the two of us sitting there making fun of it. How, my father would ask, does someone learn that they have a talent for spinning plates? Why, he would ask, are they forcing those poor animals to act so unnaturally?

I finally saw a circus in person when I was a senior in high school.

During April vacation that year, my friend Kathy and I took the bus to NYC and spent the week on the pullout couch in the Queens living room of her career gal Aunt Mary, who worked for PanAm. Mary took us to the circus at Madison Square Garden. Between fear that the clown marauding around the stands was going to approach me, and loathing of the sideshow (still a thing, back in the day - this was 1967) which showcased "freaks", I did not enjoy myself in the least. The folks on exhibit - bearded fat lady, giant - all seemed so depressed and miserable. And the animal acts? Those poor, beautiful creatures. I pretty much vowed then and there that this would be my first, last, and one and only trip to the circus.

And it was, until I took my nieces to the Big Apple Circus when they were little. The Big Apple was quite a nice little circus. The aerialists were amazing, and Bello Nock, who was a highwire performer, was the only clown I have ever enjoyed. He was brilliant. The Big Apple didn't have any traditional circus animals. No lions, no tigers, no bears. Oh my! No elephants. Just rescue dogs, horses and ponies. The circus was actually lovely. 

We did make the mistake of taking the girls to the big kahuna, Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey. Too loud! Too much going on! Too many clowns. (Since one is one too many clowns, I was really out of my element.) Lots of wild animals that didn't look like they were loving the circus, that's for sure. 

The circuses have a controversial history due to circus animals being one of the most abused and mistreated animals in the world. Many circuses have had to shut down their operations in these last decades after rising voices of the animal activists brought the reality of circus life for animals into the spotlight. (Source: Interesting Engineering)

Well, there's some good news here, and technology's bringing it.

Circus Roncalli, a Germany-based circus troupe, became the first in the world to replace circus animals with holograms when it announced the change in 2019, becoming the pioneer of the futuristic hologram approach.
Circus Roncalli - wonder if they're any relation to Pope John XXIII, who's "civilian name" was Angelo Roncalli - stopped putting real live animals out there, and instead installed laser projectors. 
The high-tech projectors are circularly arranged around the ring and produce life-sized, partly oversized animal holograms on a specially developed, transparent, and circular projection surface.
Thanks to the 360° 3D stunning holographic images of the animals such as horses, elephants, and fish, the Circus has not had live animals in its ring for years.

Bravo, Circus Roncalli!

Not only are they not putting poor wild animals through cruel and unusual paces, they're also helping the environment by not lugging the animals around, feeding them, etc. 

And the audiences are loving it. 

I'm not the world's foremost virtual reality enthusiast, but I might even go to a circus that had holographic animal acts. And it'd be even better if the clowns were holographic, too!