Beloit College--which I once considered attending, by the by--assembles a Mindset List each year to aid faculty, staff, RAs and the like in understanding the frame of reference for incoming freshmen. Some goodies from this year's list, which notes that most students starting college this fall were born in 1983 (while I was in high school):
They were born the same year as the PC and the Mac
The Colts have always been in Indianapolis
Beta is a preview version of software, not a VCR format
I know, to it's hardly newsthat Susanna and I don't see eye-to-eye, but despite having grown up in the South (I consider Louisville a Southern city, albeit barely), I refer to carbonated beverages as "soda," and said so on this survey. (The survey page has a keen Java-powered map showing regional preferences.)
That's enough of this. If she really did have a rock of crack, Noelle Bush belongs in jail. She has blown any benefit of the doubt with this latest incident. And as this Salon article points out, the leniency Noelle Bush has already been shown is in marked contrast to many first-time drug offenders. The Constitution guarantees equal protection; it's time to stop coddling treatment for the well-connected.
Ampersand and Sisyphus both also react to the patent hypocrisy in Florida governor Jeb Bush's statement that Noelle's alleged posession of crack--a felony in Floriday--is a "private issue," but make a much more compassionate and compelling argument. Here's Sisyphus:
...if there's an honest bone in Jeb's body, he will stand up for a change in Florida's drug policies that will allow every addict the same chances his daughter has gotten. We know now what he genuinely believes is the best way of legally dealing with drug abuse. The only thing we don't know yet is if he wants what's best for his state and the people he governs.
There's a deep hypocrisy in American politics over drugs, and it's not limited to Republicans. Imagine that Chelsea Clinton were caught using crack; would the Clintons want her to face the harsh penalties ex-President Clinton signed off on for crack users? I doubt it. Probably they'd pull whatever strings they had to, to protect their daughter from prison. And so they should. And so Jeb Bush should.
But what's unjust for the daughters and nieces of presidents (and for the presidents themselves -does anyone doubt that both Bill Clinton and George Bush enjoyed illegal substances in their younger days?), is unjust for the rest of us. As Sisyphus says, we all deserve the chances Noelle Bush is getting.
Amen. I'd tend to argue that the proliferation of mandatory jail terms for drug offenses--while allowing a candiate to appear "tough on crime"--are not only useless but counterproductive. By desiring an exception for his daughter--who is already in trouble for previous drug offenses--Governor Bush's statement would seem to acknowledge that "go directly to jail, do not pass Go" is perhaps not the most desirable outcome.
When someone's assertion--blogged or otherwise--is questioned, there are, of course, a number of possible reactions. A popular one is to attack the questioner and then either repeat the original argument or change the subject. Another frequently employed tactic is to ignore the troublesome query altogether.
More admirable is when one takes the opportunity to re-examine the original statement and test it against the challenge.
Cartoonist Ampersand at Alas, a Blog takes the latter course in reflecting on a previous post that, uh, sharply criticized Garfield in favor of Peanuts. In a post of her own, Eve Tushnet didn't dispute Peanuts' superiority but felt Ampersand was unfair to Garfield. And upon reflection--and not without well-stated reservations--Ampersand agrees.
By now most people are familiar with "emoticons" or "smileys," little ASCII character strings that are intended to help text documents like email and USENET posts convey an emotional nuance they might otherwwise lack (in other words, you can tag a post with a grin to indicate that you're joking).
This article indicates that a recent search turned up an archived 1982 bulletin board post that proposes the use of smileys; this post is apparently the first documented appearance of emoticons on the Internet.
I certainly didn't expect to pass 3,000 hits today...3,100, no less...and would never have expected 151 hits by nine in the morning, and 1,100 this week. I'd be happy about it except that nearly all of them are on a futile quest for Rebekah Revels pictures. The part I don't understand is that the text in the search result says there are no pics here. Even though it doesn't seem to be working, I'm going to try again:
Way back in April I mentioned the discovery that a massive steel containment vessel surrounding a reactor at the Davis-Besse nuclear power plant near Toledo, Ohio had been corroded, leaving only the stainless-steel liner holding in the reactor's tremendous pressures in some places. In a follow-up, the Port Clinton News-Herald reports that the stainless steel liner, which specifications list as being three-eights of an inch thick, tested as being significantly thinner in places and showing signs of cracking to boot. Just swell.
Rocker Warren Zevon has been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Looks like along with Planet of the Apes I'll be spinning a little Zevon tonight. The author of such hits as "Werewolves of London," "Roland the Headless Thomson Gunner" and "Lawyers, Guns and Money" responded with his trademark black humor: "I'm OK with it, but it'll be a drag if I don't make it till the next James Bond movie comes out."
If you've ever used Photoshop or been involved in desktop publishing, you are probably familiar with Pantone colors--a set of predefined hues that businesses from printers to paint manufacturers to cosmetic companies use to ensure that the colors they select can be reproduced accurately. Wired News has this fascinating profile of Pantone and how it hopes to use its influence as a reference source to help define the hot colors of the future.
I'll be offline for the next couple of hours as I have a project to complete. No sweat, but I need to tend to it. I hope to resume posing later today or tomorrow at the latest. In the meantime, please visit one of the fine folks on my blogroll.
I meant to post this yesterday, but I forgot. Still, it's well worth a look. Since last year, the Urban Legends Reference Pages have been keeping track of the myriad rumors and hoaxes regarding 9/11 and the aftermath floating around the Internet, doing their best to debunk the false ones. An unscientific survey (I scrolled down the page) shows at least as many provably false reports as true or ambiguous ones. Here are a couple of highlights: True:
Album covers and other media depicting the WTC were altered after the attacks
Some bonehead at Starbuck's overcharged rescue workers for water intended for the victims (and while the article points out that the action was that of a single employee, the company's response to inquiries was less than positive)
The Sesame Street Muppet Bert appears on photo-montage posters of Osama Bin Laden (apparently someone dreated a Web site designed to depict Bert as evil and Photoshopped the Muppet into pictures of various other nefarious figures; that picture was later used in posters)
Basically, I detest forwarded messages. I love email, but I'd rather have two sentences someone actually wrote to me than a lengthy list of 400,000 other recipients with some L4m3 poetry, cutesty graphic or turgid "inspiring" thought. Sorry if that makes me seem cranky, but that's the way it is. But as Barbara and David P. Mikkelson of the Urban Legends Reference Pages could tell you, many of the claims and rumors forwarded via email (to say nothing of posted on Web logs) deserve at least a moment of thought, if not careful scrutiny.
Football Hall of Famer Johnny Unitas, a former Universiry of Louisville standout who won three championships and numerous passing records with the Baltimore Colts, died Wednesday. He was 69.
I'm back from giving blood. The local blood services organization had closed all its branches in favor of a massive donor party in the Conseco Fieldhouse. Turnout was great--the technician who drew my blood told me they had close to 1,000 units by 3:30 p.m. That's absolutely spectacular.
My blood is, I hope, going to help someone. That person may be young or old, male or female, black, white, Asian, Latino, American or foreign. I don't care, and neither do any of the hundreds of people who turned out. They practiced instead a random act of kindness. That's why we are winning the war on terror, and why we will win.
I had intended to post only about 9-11 today, but this news is just so awesome I have to mention it. Superman star Christopher Reeve, who was totally parylized from the neck down in a 1995 riding accident, has regained limited motion and sensory abilities in his limbs. An experiemental therapy has given the actor an absolutely unprecedented--although far from total--recovery from total paralysis and vastly improved his bodily strength and quality of life: he can now breathe for up to an hour without a respirator, feel his son holding his hand, and move his fingers. A possibility, although remote, exists that Reeve may even one day walk again. And of course, Reeve's improvement holds incredible promise for other victims of paralysis.
Even without his incredible degree of recovery, Reeve's story is inspiring. Since his accident he has both directed and starred in movies. I have no doubt Reeve has experienced countless hours of discomfort, frustration and even despair, but he has displayed a remarkably indomitable spirit. As we remember the events of last year, it's wonderful to be reminded that heroism takes many forms.
The Rising By Bruce Springsteen Title track of The Rising
Can't see nothin' in front of me Can't see nothin' coming up behind I make my way through this darkness I can't feel nothing but this chain that binds me Lost track of how far I've gone How far I've gone, how high I've climbed On my back's a sixty pound stone On my shoulder a half mile of line
Come on up for the rising Come on up, lay your hands in mine Come on up for the rising Come on up for the rising tonight
Left the house this morning Bells ringing filled the air Wearin' the cross of my calling On wheels of fire I come rollin' down here
Come on up for the rising Come on up, lay your hands in mine Come on up for the rising Come on up for the rising tonight
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
There's spirits above and behind me Faces gone black, eyes burnin' bright May their precious blood bind me Lord, as I stand before your fiery light
Li,li, li,li,li,li, li,li,li
I see you Mary in the garden In the garden of a thousand sighs There's holy pictures of our children Dancin' in a sky filled with light May I feel your arms around me May I feel your blood mix with mine A dream of life comes to me Like a catfish dancin' on the end of my line
Sky of blackness and sorrow (a dream of life) Sky of love, sky of tears (a dream of life) Sky of glory and sadness (a dream of life) Sky of mercy, sky of fear (a dream of life) Sky of memory and shadow (a dream of life) Your burnin' wind fills my arms tonight Sky of longing and emptiness (a dream of life) Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life
Come on up for the rising Come on up, lay your hands in mine Come on up for the rising Come on up for the rising tonight
One year ago, I had just started with the consulting firm I work for, and my contract was with Simon Property Group, whose offices were in the heart of downtown next to the Circle Center Mall. My entire professional career I'd worked in corporate campus-type buildings out in the 'burbs, and I so dug working downtown, where I could take the bus to work and walk to get something for lunch if I chose.
That morning I woke up as usual, hitting the snooze button a few times as is my bad habit. (Indianapolis at this time of year is an hour behind the East Coast.) I know how much time it takes me to get ready, and so I got out of bed, showered, shaved and dressed in time to catch the bus. One of the things I liked about the bus is it let me relax and listen to NPR on my headphone radio.
Earlier that morning, a bunch of people I'd have otherwise never heard of went through pretty much the same routine--waking up, showering, dressing, grabbing that morning cup of coffee, groggily groping their way towards work, and saying goodbye to their spouses and kids, never dreaming that it's be for the last time. Others may have been grumbling at the discomfort and inconvenience of having to catch an early flight to the Coast.
And a handful of murderous fanatics were in the check-in lines, in the boarding queues, in their seats surrounded by the faces of the people they were about to murder in the name of their god.
I arrived at my office high up in the National City complex, which houses offices, shops, restaurants and a Hyatt hotel. I poured my morning coffee and turned on my computer as I do every day. The Web portal on the start page carries headlines, as many do, and one terse line caught my eye right off the bat: plane hits World Trade Center.
My first thought was that it must have been a small plane that wandered too close to the building. It wouldn't have been the first time a New York skyscraper got hit--in the '40s a B-25 bomber, lost in fog, slammed into the Empire State Building; fortunately it was in the evening and casualties were relatively few.
That first headline had no details attached, but soon it became clear that this was no minor accident. Meanwhile, more and more people in the office were becoming aware that something terrible had happened, but even then we hardly realized an attack was in progress. As it dawned on us, we soaked up as much information as we could get. We tried a TV in a conference room, but its reception was poor; the same with a co-worker who had a portable TV--even so, we could see smoke billowing from the stricken North Tower. So many Web browsers were tuned to CNN that morning that we could hardly get thru, but I found that the Voice of America's audio stream was workable, and thus learned of the scale of the atrocity. Needless to say, we didn't work--we were too shocked.
Since it looked like we were going to hunker down together for a while, a co-worker and I decided to make a bagel run. Looking back, it seems incongruous, but I think we wanted something to comfort us. Leaving the building and crossing the street, I saw a beautiful blue sky and tall buildings, and even then the contrast with the smoky New York sky struck me. We didn't exactly expect Indianapolis to be a target, but we couldn't be sure we weren't, either--no one knew. I brought my portable radio and kept my co-worker up to speed on whatever details came through.
Not long after we returned, we got the word that we'd been sent home for the day. I don't know if it was a decision to clear out downtown--they definitely evacuated the government buildings--if they realized no work would get done, if they wanted us to go home to our families or a combination thereof.
(I can say that CEO David Simon, who lost several friends in the WTC, took the news very hard and rose magnificently to the occasion in the following weeks, making several moving statements and launching a fundraising drive even as revenues in his shopping malls started to drop.)
I called my wife, who agreed to come pick me up. (I'd completely forgotten we'd given my co-worker Minghua--also called Mike--a ride home until my wife's recollections refreshed my memory.) I was very grateful to be home with my wife and daughters. We turned the TV on to CNN in the living room and banished the girls to the back bedroom with Sesame Street or something. I remember standing in the living room--I couldn't sit--and watching the smoke pour from the buildings, watching the towers fall. I distinctly remember a ground-level camera's recording of the moment the towers fell, with pedestrians scurrying for cover as bricks and dust scattered everywhere. The contrast with the familiar street-level perspective downtown really made an impression.
I really don't remember much of the subsequent events. I know my wife and I held each other, and I called my parents in Louisville to tell them I was home and OK. I think we eventually took refuge in the routine of necessity--making dinner, getting the girls ready for bed.
Even a year later, though, the emotions are still strong. Anger, of course, and sorrow, a gratitude for my life that makes me feel like falling to my knees at times.
But one thing I've been very happy to share with millions of Americans is pride. I think about how the first reaction of many of the people at the center of the destruction was not anger and not hatred and in many cases not even panic, but that so many ordinary people cooperated in helping others out of the buildings--some at the cost of their own lives. And of course, the first official reaction was not war, not speeches, but hundreds of police and firefighters converging on the site--many instinctively, with no official call to duty--and their efforts to help. (It's since been discovered that some firefighters actually made it to the floors hit by the first aircraft, a feat no one had suspected. And of course, though they tried to do what they could for the injured, none of them made it out.)
I'm still awed that even as the attacks were unfolding, a group of 40 Americans were already making the attacks a partial failure. Again, one of the first reactions to the terror was a diametrically opposite one that the hijackers obviously never considered possible--that the passengers and crew of the plane would take control from them. And their main weapons were things that no metal detector can reveal and no terrorist affect--information, in the form of cell phone calls to loved ones who were themselves informed by a free press, and an inborn belief that this great nation is worth fighting for no matter the odds.
I contend that the terrorist strikes a year ago were an abject, miserable failure. They may have achieved some operational success--the hole in the ground where the WTC once stood attests to the fact--but they failed to break the spirit of Americans; indeed, the very act kindled that spirit to a burning flame immediately. Many more could have died in the WTC if the reaction had been panic as well as fear, but the terrorist's earlier failure had led to the establishment of evacuation procedures. Even as the attacks were unfolding, one out of the four planes failed to reach its objective, thanks to the bravery of its passengers and crew.
Hijacking has long been a favorite tactic of terrorists, but bin Laden's gang of thugs has now denied that weapon to terrorists forever. Never again will a hijacking succeed. They did before because terrorists once wanted to negotiate, but never again will we give them the benefit of the doubt. And I can't imagine a cabin full of passengers allowing it to happen ever again.
I've said before that bin Laden, like fellow savage Charles Manson, harbored delusions that his atrocity would herald a new age in which they would hold absolute power. Not only did that not occur, but American resolve is renewed, while the odious regime that hosted al Qaeda has received the unceremonious boot--and demonstrated clearly that for all their self-delusion as warriors, terrorists are no match at all for real soldiers--and bin Laden, if he lives, is in hiding rather than presiding over a new caliphate. The Palestinian/Israeli conflict bin Laden uses as a pretext is hardly solved, but Arafat knows that terror is counterproductive, even if he has not yet gone so far as to say so in public.
Not all of our responses to September 11 have been positive, but overall we have shown our strength. There's no doubt that the day is the subject of numerous blog posts, many of which disagree--but the mere fact that this discussion can occur here, that different arguments can be made, advocated, disputed and discussed on their merits--is an embodiment of the same strengths that prevented the fourth airliner from reaching its target.
Imagine what would happen if the Saudis, the Palestinians, the Egyptians, the Iraqis, the Iranians and others were able to participate in a vigorous discussion--online or otherwise--of whether their government's objective and tactics are aligned with their own. When that discussion is able to occur, our victory will be complete.
You're Missing By Bruce Springsteen from The Rising
Shirts in the closet, shoes in the hall Mama's in the kitchen, baby and all Everything is everything Everything is everything But you're missing
Coffee cups on the counter, jackets on the chair Papers on the doorstep, but you're not there Everything is everything Everything is everything But you're missing
Pictures on the nightstand, TV's on in the den Your house is waiting, your house is waiting For you to walk in, for you to walk in But you're missing, you're missing You're missing when I shut out the lights You're missing, when I close my eyes You're missing, when I see the sun rise You're missing
Children are asking if it's alright Will you be in our arms tonight?
Morning is morning, the evening falls I got Too much room in my bed, too many phone calls How's everything, everything? Everything, everything You're missing, you're missing
God's drifting in heaven, devil's in the mailbox I got dust on my shoes, nothing but teardrops
...One of the things that strikes me as profound about this song is that it could apply to any of the men or women who lost a spouse or loved one on September 11 last year.
I woke up this morning I could barely breathe Just an empty impression In the bed there you used to be I want a kiss from your lips I want an eye for an eye I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets Blood flowin' down I hear the blood of my blood Cryin' from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of Jordan I cut my bow from the wood Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good I want a kiss from your lips I want an eye for an eye I woke up this morning to the empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky Empty sky, empty sky I woke up this morning to an empty sky
The company I work for has numerous TVs scattered around in celing mounts, which the company uses to transmit its video bulletin board system (compnay-related news, benefit information, stock quotes, weather, that sort of thing). This morning as I was arriving, I noticed that all the TV sets--and there are quite a few--were tuned to CNN's coverage of the memorial services. Kudos to the company for that.
Update: The CEO just made an announcement over the intercom (I didn't know we had them), making a brief statement and requesting a moment of silence. Cool.
Into the Fire By Bruce Springsteen from The Rising
The sky was falling and streaked with blood I heard you calling me, then you disappeared into the dust Up the stairs, into the fire Up the stairs, into the fire I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength May your faith give us faith May your hope give us hope May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength May your faith give us faith May your hope give us hope May your love bring us love
You gave your love to see, in fields of red and autumn brown You gave your love to me and lay your young body down Up the stairs, into the fire Up the stairs, into the fire I need you near, but love and duty called you someplace higher Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength May your faith give us faith May your hope give us hope May your love give us love
May your strength give us strength May your faith give us faith May your hope give us hope May your love bring us love
May your strength give us strength May your faith give us faith May your hope give us hope May your love bring us love
It was dark, too dark to see, you held me in the light you gave You lay your hand on me Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave Up the stairs, into the fire Up the stairs, into the fire I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
May your strength give us strength May your faith give us faith May your hope give us hope May your love bring us love...
I asked my lovely wife, Crystal, to set down what she remembered about a year ago, and she generously agreed. Here are her recollections:
Gregory asked me to write some of my thoughts and memories of 9-11-02.
It was Tuesday and the second week Cecilia was in preschool. She was 2 years and one month old. Naomi was 2 and a half months old. It was also the second week of the fall semester at Martin where I teach voice. I was scheduled to go into work that afternoon. We had spent the morning around the house, playing, watching public broadcast TV The first I knew about the towers was when Gregory called me from work and told me. We just continued what we were doing. I am not one of those people that sat all day in front of the TV I did not have the image of the towers collapsing drilled into my brain from watching it over and over. Gregory called a little later and said that work was sending him home. Since he had ridden the bus to work, the girls and I went downtown to pick him up. I remember feeling angry and knowing I was angry because I was driving a little recklessly. We also took another employee home since he lived on the way. I got my first look at the footage of the towers collapsing once Gregory was home and could watch the girls, then I went on to work.
