My son informed us that he is taking his family to Disney World soon, and will be able to stop over in Augusta to visit us in our soon-to-be new home. Normally, I would be pleased that he is going to stop and stay with us for a few days, or even overnight. But there is a problem... He’s going to Disney World!
If you haven’t followed my columns for at least five years, you won’t know about my long-standing aversion to the Magic Kingdom. I won’t go into detail about it, but I can summarize the source of my disgust with Disney.
In July of 2004, my wife, daughter, son-in-law and grandson and I went to Southern California. We started in San Diego, visiting Sea World and the San Diego Zoo, both fine attractions. Then we headed north for what was to be the best attraction of the trip, Disneyland in Anaheim.
We arrived at the gates to Disneyland just before the opening, and were pleasantly surprised to be able to get on the first two rides with no wait. Then the trouble began... Of the five premier rides at Disneyland, Space Mountain was closed for renovation until 2005, and Thunder Mountain Railroad was closed for the day. Then, after a 40-minute wait to get into the Indiana Jones Adventure, we were turned away and it was closed indefinitely due to some technical difficulty. It never reopened that day.
Pirates of the Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion were operational and as good as ever. However, our troubles weren’t over. When we stopped at a cart to buy some pretzels at about 10:30 AM, the kid running the concession said, “We’re out of that one right now.” He gave no apology, no courtesy, just a bored response.
His attitude seemed typical of most of the personnel in the park. They just weren't the cheerful and friendly people I remember from past visits. Other than the Disney characters in costume, everybody with a badge on seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere and smiles were a rare commodity.
The capper of the day was an innovation that was new at that time called “Fastpass.” It is a means of signing up for a ride and getting a guaranteed time to enter without standing in a long line.
Anyone can apply for a Fastpass once you are in the park, although nowhere is there any written or verbal notice of that. You have to ask park personnel about Fastpass, and my initial impression was that it was a special type of ticket that you could buy at a premium price.
In fact, they were free and were dispensed at kiosks throughout the park. Once you have one, you merely go to any ride where there is a waiting time posted, visit the Fastpass person there and get a ticket stub with a time on it. You return at the time shown and are given access to a separate queue that bypasses the waiting line of riders.
The problem is that the Fastpass path goes parallel to the waiting line. Not only does it give the appearance of line cutting, but also some of the Fastpass riders are prone to taunting those in line as they go past. This does not create a pleasant atmosphere in which to wait for up to an hour and a half. The Fastpass concept is okay, but the practice leaves something to be desired.
Well, I tried to condense my poor experience at Disneyland, but I managed to use two pages to recap it anyway. I tried to lodge a complaint at the park, but found no desk or office to do so. I did write a letter and sent it to the Disneyland address after I arrived home from the trip. I never got any response at all.
Ever since that trip, I have tried to discourage people from going to Disney World or Disneyland. Maybe some people have good times there, but I was sorely disappointed and felt it was not worth all the money I paid to get the five of us in. I intend to boycott Disney for life.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Taking Credit
This morning (Friday, October 30, 2009), Judy and I went to an attorney’s office with our landlord/real estate agent to sign the papers and become the proud owners of a brand new town home here in Augusta. What an ordeal it is to do that!
We had to sign about two-dozen documents relating to deeds, termite inspection, closing costs, warranties, survey and releases. And that was a small stack of papers, only because we aren’t carrying a mortgage on the property. If we had applied for a loan, it would have entailed at least twice as much paperwork.
We’ve had to transfer a lot of funds around in order to get enough in our bank account to get a cashier check for the total amount due. And when we went to the bank yesterday to have the check issued, they acted like it was their money that we were taking away.
It took longer to have the check issued than it did to close on the property.
We have been renters for the past three years, but it always hurt to have to pay rent every month and not have anything tangible to show for it. In addition, with the economy in the doldrums and the dollar falling in value, it seemed like we were on the short end of a losing proposition.
Then the government came along with the first-time home buyer tax credit… Just in case you have been on a desert island for the past year, here is a recap of what the credit is.
Anyone buying a home for the first time, or anyone who has not owned a home in the past three years, is entitled to a refundable tax credit* of up to $8,000 or ten percent of the value of the purchase (whichever is the lesser of the two). The credit is available for any home purchased before December 1, 2009, although there is a move in Congress now to extend that date and possibly to increase the amount of the credit to $15,000.
*I will digress for a moment to define a “refundable tax credit.” There are two kinds of tax credits, refundable and non-refundable.
A non-refundable tax credit is one that only refunds a tax amount that you would otherwise owe to the IRS after you get to that line on your 1040 that is labeled “Taxable Income” and the subsequent line labeled “Tax.” An example of a non-refundable tax credit is Child Care Tax Credit, because you can only take the credit up to the amount of tax liability you owe. Any amount over your current tax liability is forfeited.
A refundable tax credit is one that can exceed the amount you owe the IRS, and will get you a check from the government even if you don’t owe any tax at all. A prime example of a refundable credit is the earned income credit available to low income workers with dependents. The first-time home buyer credit is also a refundable credit, so a qualified buyer can get back more than is owed to the IRS.
Since we had sold our last home in El Paso on September 24, 2006, we had a window open to claim the credit between September 24th and November 30th of this year. That was too good to pass up.
Another plus that helped us to decide on buying was that our landlord, who was also a real estate agent, promised us that if we used his services to buy a house, whether or not it was the rental property we lived in, he would not charge us for breaking the lease. That usually amounts to an extra month’s rent, and was paid up front as a security deposit when we first rented the town home.
It took us about a month to find what we wanted, and we were frankly just about ready to give up when we found a new town home in the early construction stage in a somewhat rural area. We were able to get an allowance for upgrades taken off the price, and used it to upgrade the carpet, purchase three ceiling fans with lights and a full set of high quality blinds for the windows.
The only miscalculation we made was in redeeming some shares in my IRA to assist in the purchase price. I took out enough to put me into a higher tax bracket, and it cost me part of that nice $8,000 credit. But I still cannot complain too loudly. All that money I redeemed is now invested in a real tangible asset.
Maybe I’ll put some pictures in one of the future columns after we get moved in.
We had to sign about two-dozen documents relating to deeds, termite inspection, closing costs, warranties, survey and releases. And that was a small stack of papers, only because we aren’t carrying a mortgage on the property. If we had applied for a loan, it would have entailed at least twice as much paperwork.
We’ve had to transfer a lot of funds around in order to get enough in our bank account to get a cashier check for the total amount due. And when we went to the bank yesterday to have the check issued, they acted like it was their money that we were taking away.
It took longer to have the check issued than it did to close on the property.
We have been renters for the past three years, but it always hurt to have to pay rent every month and not have anything tangible to show for it. In addition, with the economy in the doldrums and the dollar falling in value, it seemed like we were on the short end of a losing proposition.
Then the government came along with the first-time home buyer tax credit… Just in case you have been on a desert island for the past year, here is a recap of what the credit is.
Anyone buying a home for the first time, or anyone who has not owned a home in the past three years, is entitled to a refundable tax credit* of up to $8,000 or ten percent of the value of the purchase (whichever is the lesser of the two). The credit is available for any home purchased before December 1, 2009, although there is a move in Congress now to extend that date and possibly to increase the amount of the credit to $15,000.
*I will digress for a moment to define a “refundable tax credit.” There are two kinds of tax credits, refundable and non-refundable.
A non-refundable tax credit is one that only refunds a tax amount that you would otherwise owe to the IRS after you get to that line on your 1040 that is labeled “Taxable Income” and the subsequent line labeled “Tax.” An example of a non-refundable tax credit is Child Care Tax Credit, because you can only take the credit up to the amount of tax liability you owe. Any amount over your current tax liability is forfeited.
A refundable tax credit is one that can exceed the amount you owe the IRS, and will get you a check from the government even if you don’t owe any tax at all. A prime example of a refundable credit is the earned income credit available to low income workers with dependents. The first-time home buyer credit is also a refundable credit, so a qualified buyer can get back more than is owed to the IRS.
Since we had sold our last home in El Paso on September 24, 2006, we had a window open to claim the credit between September 24th and November 30th of this year. That was too good to pass up.
Another plus that helped us to decide on buying was that our landlord, who was also a real estate agent, promised us that if we used his services to buy a house, whether or not it was the rental property we lived in, he would not charge us for breaking the lease. That usually amounts to an extra month’s rent, and was paid up front as a security deposit when we first rented the town home.
It took us about a month to find what we wanted, and we were frankly just about ready to give up when we found a new town home in the early construction stage in a somewhat rural area. We were able to get an allowance for upgrades taken off the price, and used it to upgrade the carpet, purchase three ceiling fans with lights and a full set of high quality blinds for the windows.
The only miscalculation we made was in redeeming some shares in my IRA to assist in the purchase price. I took out enough to put me into a higher tax bracket, and it cost me part of that nice $8,000 credit. But I still cannot complain too loudly. All that money I redeemed is now invested in a real tangible asset.
Maybe I’ll put some pictures in one of the future columns after we get moved in.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Gone But Not forgotten
My column last week, “I’ve Got a Secret…” spurred a wave of responses greater than any I had ever seen in ten years of writing My Weekly Wisdom Column. I was truly touched by the expressions of sympathy all of you sent. And I wanted to thank all of you in some meaningful way.
I can think of no better means of saying “Thank you” than to tell you something about my brother. First of all, I don’t mourn for Don. He will surely be missed, but he didn’t want a lot of moping and sadness. Instead, he wanted those who knew him to celebrate his life. We did that last Friday with a Champaign toast and a lot of remembrances.
Since most of you never knew my brother, I will give you a brief biography.
Our family consisted of Mom and Dad, three boys and two girls, seven of us in all. Don was the second oldest of the children, but he was also the creative genius among us. He never failed at anything he tried, and he tried many different things. At various times during his life he was an accomplished musician, an actor, a director, a screenwriter, a builder, a furniture designer and maker, and the list goes on.
One of the talents I envied in Don was that he could do something naturally without any formal training. For instance, our father was a concert pianist, a graduate of Eastman School of Music. He used to play classical music on our upright piano almost every Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, after Dad had finished playing one of the classics, Don sat at the piano and played the same piece. He had never taken a single lesson on piano, yet he was able to play a very difficult song without any mistakes. That was just the way Don was. If he thought he could do something, most likely he could do it, and with little or no learning curve.
Part of Don’s life was a mystery to me. He married while I was away in the Air Force, and I never really got to know his wife, Katie, that well. They had two daughters, Gwen and Kelly, but the marriage eventually ended in divorce. He was geographically separated from the girls after the divorce. However, he later brought them back into his life, and spent a lot of time with his children and grandchildren, sometimes traveling cross-country from California to North Carolina to be with them.
Don liked to ski, so he left a promising career in television and lived for about three years in Vail, Colorado so that he could indulge his love of skiing. In order to support himself, he went to work helping to build some of those magnificent chalets that grace the hillsides of Vail. But he wasn’t building walls and ceilings and such. No, Don was a finish-carpenter, doing all the fine touches on the interiors.
When Don decided to get back into television and movies, he left Vail for Los Angeles, where he was a news director for one of the network affiliates. About that time, the TV spoof on soap operas, “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” was running on his channel. Don took the theme from that show and applied it to his venue. He created, produced and directed a local show called “Metro News, Metro News.” It ran after the nightly news, and was an impromptu parody of all the stories reported that evening.
“Metro News, Metro News” was very popular with the LA audience, and it earned Don a very important life-changing event. He met his future wife, Penny, whom he married in 1986. That is a story in itself, and I won’t tell it here except to say it was one of those instances of simultaneous love at first sight.
Don always worked behind the scenes in Hollywood, so you probably never saw his name unless you read the credits, but he was there. One of his accomplishments was the production of what he called, “newswraps,” short films that promoted movies and were shown on TV stations. One that I recall vividly was a short half-hour film about the making of “The Cannonball Run.” It was almost as funny as the movie that starred Burt Reynolds, Roger Moore, Farrah Fawcett and many others.
The newswraps included outtakes and bloopers, and a lot of film that would have wound up on the cutting room floor. They probably helped spawn the “TV Bloopers & Practical Jokes” shows that Dick Clark and Ed McMahon hosted, since they were very similar in content and predated the bloopers show.
Several years ago, after attending one of our biennial family reunions, this one held in Winston-Salem, Don and Penny decided to move from Los Angeles to North Carolina. Don made yet another career change, and after a yearlong apprenticeship, became a designer and builder of furniture. Once again, he was successful, and many of his friends and clients have treasured pieces in their homes.
One day last year Don was doing some yard work and walked into a partially closed garage door, hitting his head and knocking himself flat on his back. The next day he was suffering from some neck pains and went to a chiropractor. During the preliminary exam, the X-rays showed some anomalies, and the chiropractor suggested that Don see his family doctor. Further examination revealed that there were tumors in Don’s lungs. He had smoked earlier in life, but quit back in 1981. The doctors thought that the cancer was in the early stages, and could be successfully treated.
What began as another obstacle to be overcome soon became the supreme battle. Though Don and Penny remained optimistic throughout the treatment, Don lost the battle. I had the good fortune to visit with him twice in the last few months, and he was as cheerful, funny and positive as ever.
I lost four people at once: brother, friend, mentor and co-conspirator. I would be remiss if I closed without relating a funny story involving Don and me.
My father once got angry with me and banished me from his house, probably deservedly so, but he also kept most of my clothes. Don learned of the incident and volunteered to help me regain my belongings. While I waited a few houses down the street, Don took his new car over to show to Dad and offered to have him test drive it with him.
The two of them drove off on their short test hop, while I stole into the house and recovered my clothing, which had been not only stored there, but also dry-cleaned and bagged in garment bags. I got them back in better condition than I had left them, and Dad didn’t discover the “theft” for a while, so Don didn’t even get into trouble over it. We eventually told him how I got my property back, and I think he was actually amused by the tale.
So thank you for the condolences, but I have many fond memories of Don that make it a lot easier to say goodbye to him. So, “Farewell, brother! You’re still my hero.”
I can think of no better means of saying “Thank you” than to tell you something about my brother. First of all, I don’t mourn for Don. He will surely be missed, but he didn’t want a lot of moping and sadness. Instead, he wanted those who knew him to celebrate his life. We did that last Friday with a Champaign toast and a lot of remembrances.
Since most of you never knew my brother, I will give you a brief biography.
Our family consisted of Mom and Dad, three boys and two girls, seven of us in all. Don was the second oldest of the children, but he was also the creative genius among us. He never failed at anything he tried, and he tried many different things. At various times during his life he was an accomplished musician, an actor, a director, a screenwriter, a builder, a furniture designer and maker, and the list goes on.
One of the talents I envied in Don was that he could do something naturally without any formal training. For instance, our father was a concert pianist, a graduate of Eastman School of Music. He used to play classical music on our upright piano almost every Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, after Dad had finished playing one of the classics, Don sat at the piano and played the same piece. He had never taken a single lesson on piano, yet he was able to play a very difficult song without any mistakes. That was just the way Don was. If he thought he could do something, most likely he could do it, and with little or no learning curve.
Part of Don’s life was a mystery to me. He married while I was away in the Air Force, and I never really got to know his wife, Katie, that well. They had two daughters, Gwen and Kelly, but the marriage eventually ended in divorce. He was geographically separated from the girls after the divorce. However, he later brought them back into his life, and spent a lot of time with his children and grandchildren, sometimes traveling cross-country from California to North Carolina to be with them.
Don liked to ski, so he left a promising career in television and lived for about three years in Vail, Colorado so that he could indulge his love of skiing. In order to support himself, he went to work helping to build some of those magnificent chalets that grace the hillsides of Vail. But he wasn’t building walls and ceilings and such. No, Don was a finish-carpenter, doing all the fine touches on the interiors.
When Don decided to get back into television and movies, he left Vail for Los Angeles, where he was a news director for one of the network affiliates. About that time, the TV spoof on soap operas, “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” was running on his channel. Don took the theme from that show and applied it to his venue. He created, produced and directed a local show called “Metro News, Metro News.” It ran after the nightly news, and was an impromptu parody of all the stories reported that evening.
“Metro News, Metro News” was very popular with the LA audience, and it earned Don a very important life-changing event. He met his future wife, Penny, whom he married in 1986. That is a story in itself, and I won’t tell it here except to say it was one of those instances of simultaneous love at first sight.
Don always worked behind the scenes in Hollywood, so you probably never saw his name unless you read the credits, but he was there. One of his accomplishments was the production of what he called, “newswraps,” short films that promoted movies and were shown on TV stations. One that I recall vividly was a short half-hour film about the making of “The Cannonball Run.” It was almost as funny as the movie that starred Burt Reynolds, Roger Moore, Farrah Fawcett and many others.
The newswraps included outtakes and bloopers, and a lot of film that would have wound up on the cutting room floor. They probably helped spawn the “TV Bloopers & Practical Jokes” shows that Dick Clark and Ed McMahon hosted, since they were very similar in content and predated the bloopers show.
Several years ago, after attending one of our biennial family reunions, this one held in Winston-Salem, Don and Penny decided to move from Los Angeles to North Carolina. Don made yet another career change, and after a yearlong apprenticeship, became a designer and builder of furniture. Once again, he was successful, and many of his friends and clients have treasured pieces in their homes.
One day last year Don was doing some yard work and walked into a partially closed garage door, hitting his head and knocking himself flat on his back. The next day he was suffering from some neck pains and went to a chiropractor. During the preliminary exam, the X-rays showed some anomalies, and the chiropractor suggested that Don see his family doctor. Further examination revealed that there were tumors in Don’s lungs. He had smoked earlier in life, but quit back in 1981. The doctors thought that the cancer was in the early stages, and could be successfully treated.
What began as another obstacle to be overcome soon became the supreme battle. Though Don and Penny remained optimistic throughout the treatment, Don lost the battle. I had the good fortune to visit with him twice in the last few months, and he was as cheerful, funny and positive as ever.
I lost four people at once: brother, friend, mentor and co-conspirator. I would be remiss if I closed without relating a funny story involving Don and me.
My father once got angry with me and banished me from his house, probably deservedly so, but he also kept most of my clothes. Don learned of the incident and volunteered to help me regain my belongings. While I waited a few houses down the street, Don took his new car over to show to Dad and offered to have him test drive it with him.
The two of them drove off on their short test hop, while I stole into the house and recovered my clothing, which had been not only stored there, but also dry-cleaned and bagged in garment bags. I got them back in better condition than I had left them, and Dad didn’t discover the “theft” for a while, so Don didn’t even get into trouble over it. We eventually told him how I got my property back, and I think he was actually amused by the tale.
So thank you for the condolences, but I have many fond memories of Don that make it a lot easier to say goodbye to him. So, “Farewell, brother! You’re still my hero.”
Saturday, October 17, 2009
I've Got a Secret
I’ve got to tell you a secret...
When I left on June 17 for my great adventure in the Northwest Territories, I was convinced that it would probably be my last road trip.
I had a doctor appointment set for a few days after I returned, and I was certain that the doctor was going to find some incurable fatal disease that was hiding in my body.
Partly for that reason, I really went all out to see and do everything I could on the long journey. Of course, there were some constraints, like money, time and physical ability.
The reason I took that long and strenuous hike up the bluffs above the Columbia River to see those wonderful waterfalls, was that I figured it would probably be a good way to go if I wasn’t up to it.
Now, isn’t that poetic?
The trip up Mount Evans to over 14,000 feet altitude was another trek that I probably shouldn’t have taken. I know that I was really dizzy and out of breath when I walked around in that upper parking lot at the summit.
I took it easy and made several stops on the way back down the mountain to take my pictures, so it wasn’t as bad as I pictured it up there in the clouds.
Actually, I had experienced some internal aches and pains of undetermined nature prior to taking the trip, and that only made me more certain that there was something serious going on inside.
I was determined to do this one last thing, my “bucket list’ as it were, before I checked out.
When I realized, about halfway up the bluffs in Oregon, that my back and shoulders were no longer aching, I began to wonder if I was imagining the seriousness of the symptoms. There were other indications that my problems were not as bad as I had at first thought.
I completed my trip (alive, by golly) and kept my appointment with my doctor. I was completely honest and thorough with him about my symptoms.
The doctor, in turn, was unimpressed with most of what I told him, and suggested a few over-the-counter remedies to relieve the aches and pains. Things like vitamins, calcium and such were “prescribed” and I was sent on my way with no expensive tests, drugs or (God forbid) procedures.
So, here I am, four months past my “final sprint” to the finish line of life, with another two driving trips to Buffalo and Winston-Salem, and feeling pretty darned good for an old man of 70.
Heck, I already have plans to do another solo venture next summer, though it won’t be a far or as long as my “Don’t Fence Me In” sojourn. I don’t plan to climb any mountains in Michigan or Wisconsin, but I might climb some lighthouses, on the inside, of course.
There is a sad ending to my tale, however. My brother, Don, has been battling lung cancer for the past year. I received a phone call last Monday that he died peacefully in his sleep Sunday night.
Perhaps my premonition was not about me, but rather about my brother. It was fortunate that I was able to visit him twice in the past few months to say goodbye, but I will miss him terribly.
When I left on June 17 for my great adventure in the Northwest Territories, I was convinced that it would probably be my last road trip.
I had a doctor appointment set for a few days after I returned, and I was certain that the doctor was going to find some incurable fatal disease that was hiding in my body.
Partly for that reason, I really went all out to see and do everything I could on the long journey. Of course, there were some constraints, like money, time and physical ability.
The reason I took that long and strenuous hike up the bluffs above the Columbia River to see those wonderful waterfalls, was that I figured it would probably be a good way to go if I wasn’t up to it.
Now, isn’t that poetic?
The trip up Mount Evans to over 14,000 feet altitude was another trek that I probably shouldn’t have taken. I know that I was really dizzy and out of breath when I walked around in that upper parking lot at the summit.
I took it easy and made several stops on the way back down the mountain to take my pictures, so it wasn’t as bad as I pictured it up there in the clouds.
Actually, I had experienced some internal aches and pains of undetermined nature prior to taking the trip, and that only made me more certain that there was something serious going on inside.
I was determined to do this one last thing, my “bucket list’ as it were, before I checked out.
When I realized, about halfway up the bluffs in Oregon, that my back and shoulders were no longer aching, I began to wonder if I was imagining the seriousness of the symptoms. There were other indications that my problems were not as bad as I had at first thought.
I completed my trip (alive, by golly) and kept my appointment with my doctor. I was completely honest and thorough with him about my symptoms.
The doctor, in turn, was unimpressed with most of what I told him, and suggested a few over-the-counter remedies to relieve the aches and pains. Things like vitamins, calcium and such were “prescribed” and I was sent on my way with no expensive tests, drugs or (God forbid) procedures.
So, here I am, four months past my “final sprint” to the finish line of life, with another two driving trips to Buffalo and Winston-Salem, and feeling pretty darned good for an old man of 70.
Heck, I already have plans to do another solo venture next summer, though it won’t be a far or as long as my “Don’t Fence Me In” sojourn. I don’t plan to climb any mountains in Michigan or Wisconsin, but I might climb some lighthouses, on the inside, of course.
There is a sad ending to my tale, however. My brother, Don, has been battling lung cancer for the past year. I received a phone call last Monday that he died peacefully in his sleep Sunday night.
Perhaps my premonition was not about me, but rather about my brother. It was fortunate that I was able to visit him twice in the past few months to say goodbye, but I will miss him terribly.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Superman in Metropolis
I believe you’ve all seen my photo journal of my recent trip through the Northwest. However, there were other photos and stories that I left for future columns. This is one of those columns.
On my way up to my starting point for my trip, I passed several places that I had seen before, and so I didn’t bother to stop and take pictures. There was one town that I had passed many times without getting off the interstate and going to see the main attraction there.
On my way home, I again passed the little town in southern Illinois named Metropolis. Now, any town with that name brings an image to most of us of the fictional character, Superman, who lived and worked in the equally fictitious city of Metropolis.
Who among us can forget how we watched and worshipped Superman in our youth? I will admit that I even tried to emulate the Man of Steel in my youth by becoming “Ken Kenmore” (the town I grew up in) and saving numerous damsels in distress in my imagination. I know, I was weird!
There is a water tower next to I-24 outside of Metropolis, IL, that promotes the Superman mystique by showing a huge painting of the hero and letting travelers know that his likeness is preserved in the form of a statue in the town square.
I took the bait and left I-24 for the center of Metropolis to see Superman. I wasn’t the only one to do so, either. There were several visitors in the square to see him.
Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense... Here is the Superman statue in his classic pose, with the inscription on the base, “Truth, Justice, The American Way.”
You can see the size of this statue by measuring it against the woman in the background. Also, notice the floodlights that illuminate Superman at night like a national shrine.
Across the street there is also some glitzy tourist stuff in and on what probably used to be a drug store, complete with a sidewalk photo stand with the bodies of Superman and Superwoman and appropriate notches where you can rest your chin to have your head superimposed on the torso for a photo op. In the center left of the picture you can see, painted on the brick wall, the famous phone booth, Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
If you’re ever in the vicinity of Paducah, Kentucky—the closest city of any size near Metropolis—take a half-hour to stop by and visit with Superman. It’s about as kitschy as you can get.
On my way up to my starting point for my trip, I passed several places that I had seen before, and so I didn’t bother to stop and take pictures. There was one town that I had passed many times without getting off the interstate and going to see the main attraction there.
On my way home, I again passed the little town in southern Illinois named Metropolis. Now, any town with that name brings an image to most of us of the fictional character, Superman, who lived and worked in the equally fictitious city of Metropolis.
Who among us can forget how we watched and worshipped Superman in our youth? I will admit that I even tried to emulate the Man of Steel in my youth by becoming “Ken Kenmore” (the town I grew up in) and saving numerous damsels in distress in my imagination. I know, I was weird!
There is a water tower next to I-24 outside of Metropolis, IL, that promotes the Superman mystique by showing a huge painting of the hero and letting travelers know that his likeness is preserved in the form of a statue in the town square.
I took the bait and left I-24 for the center of Metropolis to see Superman. I wasn’t the only one to do so, either. There were several visitors in the square to see him.
Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense... Here is the Superman statue in his classic pose, with the inscription on the base, “Truth, Justice, The American Way.”
You can see the size of this statue by measuring it against the woman in the background. Also, notice the floodlights that illuminate Superman at night like a national shrine.
Across the street there is also some glitzy tourist stuff in and on what probably used to be a drug store, complete with a sidewalk photo stand with the bodies of Superman and Superwoman and appropriate notches where you can rest your chin to have your head superimposed on the torso for a photo op. In the center left of the picture you can see, painted on the brick wall, the famous phone booth, Clark Kent and Lois Lane.
If you’re ever in the vicinity of Paducah, Kentucky—the closest city of any size near Metropolis—take a half-hour to stop by and visit with Superman. It’s about as kitschy as you can get.
Friday, October 2, 2009
You Cannot Unmake The Soup
The idea that we can go back to a world where nuclear fission and/or nuclear fusion do not exist is not just ridiculous; it is sublime! It is no more possible to unlearn the secrets of nuclear reactions than it is to mix ingredients together to prepare soup and then change your mind and separate all of the ingredients back into their component parts.
In short, you can’t unmake the soup, and you certainly cannot unlearn the science that we used to create and develop nuclear reactions.
Much like the well-used statement, “If you ban guns, the only people who will have guns are the criminals,” we can now correctly state, “If you ban nuclear weapons, the only people who will have nuclear weapons are the rogues who ignore the rules.” Unfortunately, there are a lot of criminals and rogues out there in the world.
You might consider our current bad guys, Osama Bin Laden, Hugo Chavez, Kim Il Jong, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Raul Castro, and a number of others, incapable of any threat to us in the nuclear arena. They don’t have the delivery systems, or so it seems, to place a nuke on our soil.
That may or may not be true, based on recent development and testing of intermediate-range missiles in both North Korea and Iran, but it isn’t really necessary to have intercontinental missiles in order to attack us. There are a number of scenarios that posit a nuclear attack without any sophisticated delivery at all.
We are at risk regardless of any diplomatic agreements to destroy and quit making nuclear weapons. If the technology is there—and it cannot be unlearned—then there will always be evil people who will use it to further their ends. They are not necessarily associated with any government, and are unanswerable for breaking any “treaty” with the rest of the world.
If President Obama gets his wish and is able to negotiate with the other nuclear powers to completely ban nuclear weapons—an impossibility from the get-go—I will give us about ten years maximum until we will have that dreaded nuclear war that we have deterred for over sixty years. It might signal the end of civilization as we know it.
Thank you, Mr. President. You are a true idealist, and I wanted to stop short of saying that idealists are fools, but then... I cannot unmake the soup either. So there, I’ve gone and made it official. I consider you a fool as well. And I truly hate to have to think that about our president, the most powerful man in the world. The seat of power is no place for a fool to sit.
In short, you can’t unmake the soup, and you certainly cannot unlearn the science that we used to create and develop nuclear reactions.
Much like the well-used statement, “If you ban guns, the only people who will have guns are the criminals,” we can now correctly state, “If you ban nuclear weapons, the only people who will have nuclear weapons are the rogues who ignore the rules.” Unfortunately, there are a lot of criminals and rogues out there in the world.
You might consider our current bad guys, Osama Bin Laden, Hugo Chavez, Kim Il Jong, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Raul Castro, and a number of others, incapable of any threat to us in the nuclear arena. They don’t have the delivery systems, or so it seems, to place a nuke on our soil.
That may or may not be true, based on recent development and testing of intermediate-range missiles in both North Korea and Iran, but it isn’t really necessary to have intercontinental missiles in order to attack us. There are a number of scenarios that posit a nuclear attack without any sophisticated delivery at all.
We are at risk regardless of any diplomatic agreements to destroy and quit making nuclear weapons. If the technology is there—and it cannot be unlearned—then there will always be evil people who will use it to further their ends. They are not necessarily associated with any government, and are unanswerable for breaking any “treaty” with the rest of the world.
If President Obama gets his wish and is able to negotiate with the other nuclear powers to completely ban nuclear weapons—an impossibility from the get-go—I will give us about ten years maximum until we will have that dreaded nuclear war that we have deterred for over sixty years. It might signal the end of civilization as we know it.
Thank you, Mr. President. You are a true idealist, and I wanted to stop short of saying that idealists are fools, but then... I cannot unmake the soup either. So there, I’ve gone and made it official. I consider you a fool as well. And I truly hate to have to think that about our president, the most powerful man in the world. The seat of power is no place for a fool to sit.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Radio Blooper
This has been a very busy week for me. I sing in a barbershop chorus here in Augusta. We have a big show coming up this Saturday, and I have been doing a lot of the publicity for it.
If you opened the link I sent out Friday morning, you already know the story of the woman whose private telephone number was inadvertently printed on about 3,000 flyers for our upcoming show as the box office number for the theater where we are to perform. If not, here it is again: http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/2009/09/25/met_549499.shtml That’s me on the left, the old guy with the gray hair, but at least I have some hair, unlike the other guys in the photo.
In addition to that publicity, I was called on to be the spokesman for the chorus on a local radio show. We had another quartet singing on that show, and the host asked me to introduce them prior to their performance of the songs. I started off okay, but when I got to the second fellow, Vern Lunsford, I drew a mental block and pronounced his name, Vern Lundquist.
That caused a lot of laughter in the studio, and also made my situation worse. I knew I had given the name wrong, (Verne Lundquist is a television sportscaster who broadcasts SEC college football games) but I couldn’t then think of our Vern’s last name. It was one of those moments of embarrassment that sometimes happen.
After Vern introduced himself, I was able to continue, and the next name (thank God) was George Brown. I needed an easy name at that point, and I got through the rest of the introduction without incident.
Someone taped the interview and the two songs for Southern Blend, the quartet that sang them, so I was able to listen to the whole thing later in the day. It all came out pretty darned good.
One thing that happened, probably because of nerves, was that I got a tickle in my throat just prior to going on air, so my voice came out sounding a little raspy. I was, in fact, one of those “gravel-voice” announcers I wrote about in last week’s column. That’ll teach me not to be critical of others.
If you opened the link I sent out Friday morning, you already know the story of the woman whose private telephone number was inadvertently printed on about 3,000 flyers for our upcoming show as the box office number for the theater where we are to perform. If not, here it is again: http://chronicle.augusta.com/stories/2009/09/25/met_549499.shtml That’s me on the left, the old guy with the gray hair, but at least I have some hair, unlike the other guys in the photo.
In addition to that publicity, I was called on to be the spokesman for the chorus on a local radio show. We had another quartet singing on that show, and the host asked me to introduce them prior to their performance of the songs. I started off okay, but when I got to the second fellow, Vern Lunsford, I drew a mental block and pronounced his name, Vern Lundquist.
That caused a lot of laughter in the studio, and also made my situation worse. I knew I had given the name wrong, (Verne Lundquist is a television sportscaster who broadcasts SEC college football games) but I couldn’t then think of our Vern’s last name. It was one of those moments of embarrassment that sometimes happen.
After Vern introduced himself, I was able to continue, and the next name (thank God) was George Brown. I needed an easy name at that point, and I got through the rest of the introduction without incident.
Someone taped the interview and the two songs for Southern Blend, the quartet that sang them, so I was able to listen to the whole thing later in the day. It all came out pretty darned good.
One thing that happened, probably because of nerves, was that I got a tickle in my throat just prior to going on air, so my voice came out sounding a little raspy. I was, in fact, one of those “gravel-voice” announcers I wrote about in last week’s column. That’ll teach me not to be critical of others.
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