weather/11/17/eastern.storms.ap/index.html">Deadly storms flood Northeast; hundreds saved
How come there's never a good news story about a "Friendly Storm That Dropped By For a Sprinkle and a Chat?" You never see a headline that reads "Much Needed Tornado Cleanses Area of Unsightly Debris."
Or, how about "Storm-Struck Residents Agree: Death of Neighbor Couple 'Probably for the Best.'"
Could it hurt to look for that silver lining? A little effort? Storms have feelings, too.
Over the weekend, one of the upper tier cable channels (I'm thinking it was HBO, but I'm not sure) ran a Star Wars marathon that featured all six of the Star Wars movies in chronological order, from the annoying Jar-Jar Binks mistake to the improbable stone age Ewoks decimating an entire legion of the evil emporer's finest troops.
And of course, I had to watch, bleary eyed, at least twice. After all, I am of the Star Wars generation. I owned (and still own, somewhere) a few dozen of the original Star Wars action figures, including a couple of the snow fortresses from the Empire Strikes Back, and even the Ewok village, which is a little embarrassing to admit. So, I was required by little-known Star Wars law to sit through all six episodes, back to back.
And you know what? I have to say, I have some serious problems with the movies now that I've seen them all in order, tweaked as they've been by George Lucas's warped sense of the Force. First off, as pretty much any hardcore Star Wars fan will tell you: Greedo did NOT shoot first. If you don't know what that means, well, there's nothing I can do for you.
But all Lucas quibbling aside, there's something far more fundamental about the Star Wars series that's bothered me for years. Namely, I really think Anakin Skywalker got off far too easy in the end. Oh, sure, he died and got all frizzled by the emporer's finger lightning, but that's about it.
After a couple of decades gorging himself on the excesses of the Dark Side power as Darth Vader, Anakin's given an "awww, shucks, welcome to the glowy trio party! All's forgiven!" greeting by Obi-Wan and Yoda. All because he finely, FINELY decided to throw an elderly crippled man down a ventilation shaft. Hey, I could do that after work; there's plenty of elderly cripples walking around the Mayo Clinic to choose from. At least one of them must be evil. If I push one in front of a bus, do I get a "Get Into Heaven Free" card?
I mean, come ON! Isn't there, at least, some sort of Force purgatory? Shouldn't Anakin have had to work off a couple hundred years of pennance, you know, for slicing and dicing a temple full of younglings? Shouldn't he have had to sit in the corner for a few centuries to really think about that one before he could join the Glow Force Trio?
Or, you know what? Hey, didn't he just stand idly by while Grand Moff Tarkin ordered the blowing up of an entire freakin' planet? He just stood there and watched, clutching his daughter. He didn't even consider putting a little Force pressure on Tarkin's trachea.
Shouldn't there be some penalty for allowing "millions of voices to cry out in terror, and then be suddenly silenced," all for the sake of TESTING a battle station's firepower? I mean, that's some pretty hardcore apathy, even by our standards. Yet, Anakin's given a pass on that, all because he suddenly realized that, maybe, just maybe, that was wrong. "Oops, my bad! But, I killed a geezer, so all's forgiven, right?"
As an additional "you know what?," I feel I should point out that he also went and sliced off his own son's hand. Now, child abuse in our galaxy, right now, is pretty solidly frowned upon, so you'd think that long ago, in a galaxy far, far away that was far more technologically-advanced than our own, there would have been some sort of child services agency that had a ban on lopping off a child's hand. Granted, Luke was considerably older than a mere child, but if I went home over the weekend, and my dad came after me with an axe, intent on lopping off my hand, I'd have the cops over there putting on a serious beat down.
All of this just means I watched way, way, wayyyyyy too much Star Wars over the weekend.
See if you can spot the word that's scrupulously being avoided here:
It has come to our attention that the Nov. 10 editorial "Americans need their Congress back" contained phrases that should have been attributed to Hendrik Hertzberg of the New Yorker. We owe readers an explanation of how this happened.
I'm thinking of a word here. It's a word that came up more than just a couple of times during my journalism classes. In fact, it was hammered into my skull in countless college classes that required me to write ANYTHING. Can you guess what that word is?
The writer, who properly attributed other views included in the editorial, took notes on the Hertzberg piece, intending either to directly quote him or otherwise include some of his views, which coincided with the editorial staff's opinions on problems in Washington. Later, in consulting these notes, the writer inadvertently failed to distinguish which parts were direct quotes and which were paraphrased ideas, resulting in the writing of phrases that included an unattributed, improper mix of the two plus other points about Congress.
Huh, still no mention of the word I'm thinking of. I'll give you a hint: it starts with a "P," and ends with a "lagiarism." I'm also thinking of the term "inability to think for oneself." Strangely, there's no mention of either of those yet. Instead, we've been given a pretty lengthy excuse for why plagiarism was kind of okay, because it was sort of a mistake, you know, in this case. Granted, if I had made that mistake even once in college, I would have been facing expulsion. I wouldn't have even been given the chance to plead my case that it wasn't plagiarism; that it was, in fact, an "improper mix." Plus, it would have been on my academic record, hounding me and keeping me out of pretty much most any university that didn't offer a free steak to enrolling students.
To correct the record, the following should have been attributed to Hertzberg: the phrases "festival of bribery" and "the subcontracting of environmental, energy, labor, and health-care policymaking to corporate interests; ... efforts to suppress scientific truth," as well as a phrase that was paraphrased, "a set of economic and fiscal policies that have slowed growth, spurred inequality, replenished the ranks of the poor and uninsured, and exacerbated the insecurities of the middle class."
Great googily moogily. If that's not plagiarism, then plagiarism doesn't exist. But, they still won't call it that.
We take issues of journalistic ethics and practice very seriously.
All current glaring evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.
We have addressed this issue with the writer and sincerely regret that it occurred.
And, since it was an ANONYMOUS editorial, we're not privy to even know who that writer IS. Wow, I don't know about you, but I'm just floored by the journalistic ethics on display here.
Say it with me now. What was on display here, but never actually mentioned, and was attempted to be explained away by a lengthy bunch of nonsense?
PLAGIARISM.
Via.
So, the other night, I was trying to watch television, which has always required a laser-like focus on my part; any extraneous noise totally distracts me. It was while I was trying to focus on "Cindarella Man" that I became aware of Melissa's cell phone ringing in some other room in the house. It was faint, but very much there.
Mel didn't believe me. I had to practically plead my case in front of a grand jury to get her to go check her phone, and when she finally did, she had to admit that, yes, her phone was ringing.
All of which got me to thinking: why was I able to hear that when she couldn't? A little known fact about me is that I've been fearing for years that my hearing may be sub-par, because I have a lot of trouble focusing on conversation when there's a lot of ambient noise. If I'm with a crown of people all carrying on conversations, I can't for the life of me focus on any one of them. Conversation, for me, has to be one-on-one and dedicated, with little or no surrounding noise.
I started to really think about this, and I realized that it's a problem that hounds me all over. In Jiu-jitsu, for example, when the instructor is demonstrating techniques, I can barely make out what he's saying because I'm also hearing the sound of the boxing speed bag, the fighters in the practice ring, the fighters working the heavy bags, the God-awful Rochester music on the radio, etc. It's nearly impossible for me to focus.
And then I started to realize that I may, in fact, be unusually attuned to ambient noise. For example, my former office mate's carrot crunching drove me to absolute distraction, whereas most people would probably just shrug it off. Similarly, the sound of Mel chewing potato chips or peanuts also irritates me to no end, which is just plain irrational, unless you take into account the possibility I'm particularly attuned to it.
All of which makes me wonder how much of my life has been affected by this. I mean, is it mild ADD? I've managed to cope with it now for 31 years, so it can't be that debilitating, beyond being a slight annoyance.
But still, I really wonder.
A life got in the way
Is a moose's life worth so little?
Long answer: Yeah. Short answer: Yep.
The Department of Natural Resources decided to shoot the wayward moose dead instead of tranquilizing it because the tranquilizer would take 15 to 45 minutes to work and the moose might cause traffic problems during the wait (Star Tribune, Nov. 10).
A moose is a very large animal. A moose is a very dangerous, unpredictable, very large animal. It is an animal that can cause considerable damage to vehicles and presents a hazard to those who are driving said vehicles. 15 to 45 minutes waiting for a moose to take a nap is an eternity in Interstate time.
Isn't it worth a little inconvenience to save an animal's life? I am appalled that people think so little of taking a life if it gets in the way of human activity. We all share this planet.
Christ on a cross! These are the kinds of people who make me want to vomit thumb tacks. This reminds me of one of my first ever blog posts:
This deer insisted on going back on the interstate as if daring motorists to hit it. Of course, motorists kept opting to swerve and eventually some motorists stopped their vehicles and got out because "they wanted to help the deer." Now, I rarely stop on an freaking interstate, because cars go really fast on the interstate, and I certainly wouldn't expose my frail frame to oncoming traffic in the name of assisting a deer stupid enough to get hit by a car and then stick around for more. And yet, that's exactly what these folks were doing. Imagine if you will, a throng of about 10 morons running around in fields and on the interstate in a surreal game of wildlife tag. What would they have done had they caught the deer? Ride it? Put it in the trunk? I don't know if you're at all familiar with deer hooves, but they're as sharp as scissors and one good kick to the mid-section could disembowel our governor. So, my buddy arrives on the scene and promptly gets his squad car stuck in the median. So, he's not a happy man to start with. He grabs his shotgun and gets out of his car, careful to keep the shotgun hidden alongside his leg, lest the crowd of deer-chasing idiots realize what he's about to do and try to stop him. He yells at everyone to get back to their cars while he trudges across the field to meet personally with the deer. He gets within 25 feet, draws his shotgun, and, two blasts later, Bambi is no more, much to the shock of those watching who had no idea my buddy was carrying a shotgun. Well, now everyone is just horrified and offended, demanding to know why he used such excessive force, as if a wounded deer somehow should at least be read its miranda rights or given a last supper. Everyone wanted to know my buddy's name so they could report his abuse of power and write scathing letters to the editor for any newspaper that may listen. A little reality check, folks. The deer was a danger to traffic. It was wounded, and despite all the cries to save it, the DNR would have arrived later and done the same exact thing. Wounded deer are not tranquilized and carted off to petting zoos. They are destroyed. That's what is done with wounded deer. Get over it, get back in your cars, and stop being so stupid.
Honestly, people, stop being so utterly stupid. It bears repeated repeating.
RUTH "Deserves A Good Moose Trampling" PARSONS, VICTORIA
According to my most recent Google ads, "Democrats Suck." I have no confirmation on this one way or the other.
