In the years since the invention of the internet by Al Gore I've noticed that my book reading has dropped off dramatically. Early on when newspapers were starting to worry that the web may cut into their business profits I laughed. Surely no one in their right mind would choose reading off a television screen over a newspaper. That turned out to be flat wrong. I can't remember the last time I paid money for a newspaper. Why should I, when there's a world of news literally at my fingertips, and mostly for free? There's conservative news, liberal news, middle of the road news, sports, entertainment, lifestyle, fashion, music...click a link and you're instantly bombarded by an ever increasing number of links, each one taking you farther and farther from your original point of interest until eventually you can't remember what you signed on for. And if you're not careful you will come to your senses at 4 in the morning, bleary eyed and stiff but with your mind racing so fast from information overload that there really is no point in going to bed. So you make a pot of coffee and go back to checking Lady Gaga's album sale numbers or examining the mating rituals of the red billed oxpecker. (That's a real bird...you can google it.)
So yes, the internet is a colossal time waster unless you have the clarity of purpose and self control of a Buddhist monk. And show me a guy who has that kind of self control and I'll show you, well, a Buddhist monk. Example...a few days ago I went online with the sole purpose of finishing some work that would eventually result in a paycheck which would allow me to purchase things I like, such as food and electricity. The screen hadn't even come on good when I veered off course to check my email. There were a few work related messages which I ignored, instead opening the latest from a friend of mine. This one was all about an upcoming band gig he was playing with a guy who played a cajon. Having no idea what a cajon was I googled it and discovered it is a wood box used as a percussive instrument which originated in the Andes Mountains of Peru, I believe. Curiosity aroused, I YouTube'd it and spent the next half hour listening to various cajon drummers showing off their skills. In my friend's email he had mentioned that he would be playing an acoustic bass. That reminded me of once hearing a young beatnik poet reciting some sort of nonsense that he and the audience thought was profound but I couldn't make heads or tails of. The accompaniment was an upright bass and a drummer. I YouTube'd it and found a weeks worth of videos, one of which led to a clip of Mike Myers in the movie So I Married An Axe Murderer where he played beat poet Charlie McKenzie who believes he's married to, yes...an axe murderer. That led to the scene where Myers played his drunken kilt wearing Scottish father singing If You Want My Body, with a guy playing bagpipes. Another link related to bagpipes led me to a clip of Sean Connery. That in turn took me to the 2006 AFI Awards where Connery was awarded a lifetime achievement award by Harrison Ford. From there, having relatively little interest in Harrison Ford I chose a video of Mike Myers giving a speech about Connery at the AFI show. He was wearing a kilt. And he referred in a roundabout way to his axe murderer movie where he played Charlie McKenzie, beat poet. I don't think I got any work done that day.
So my point is, while the web is a wonderful source of information, and yes, you can find anything on the internet, if you can't focus you'll never accomplish anything productive. There's just too much information, and it's all available instantly. Where once we'd actually get up to go to the library or the bookstore where we would be forced into at least a little human interaction, we now sit in front of a lit electronic screen like drugged zombies, frantically googling trivial subjects until our eyes are numb. That can't be a good thing.
I've got a stack of books on my shelf I've been meaning to get around to reading. I think I'll start just as soon as I've finished downloading those pictures of the red billed oxpecker.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
GA's New Immigration Law
Georgia's new immigration law, HB 87, which goes into effect on 1 July, 2011, is already being challenged in court with critics claiming that only the Fed can determine and set immigration policy. Specifically cited as unconstitutional by opponents is the provision allowing law enforcement to detain individuals while determining immigration status. Essentially the suit is a copy of the one brought against Arizona after the adoption of their similar law. Both the Arizona and Georgia laws include an E-Verify provision which calls for a federal system to check the status of workers; this is not being challenged.
Other opposition to the law is coming from oddly, some churches, who fear they might be charged with a crime for performing what they see as "regular ministries". Supporters of the law counter that the law exempts activities which might otherwise be illegal as long as the services provided by the church are for "infants, children, or victims of crime".
The agriculture lobby also opposes the law and claims an 11,080 person labor shortage (pretty specific number there, Big Ag...) since the passage of the bill. However, Georgia currently has the seventh largest population of illegals while being the ninth largest state in the country in total population. A more likely explanation for the perceived shortage may be the recent economic recession and the overall lack of jobs available, especially in construction which has borne the brunt of the downturn.
What the opponents of the law do not seem to be able to grasp is the fact that legal aliens are already required to possess and carry proper identification in the form of a green card, and must upon demand present this ID to law officers. Additionally, since Terry vs. Ohio, the court found that state law enforcement is allowed to question identity with only reasonable suspicion.
Other opposition to the law is coming from oddly, some churches, who fear they might be charged with a crime for performing what they see as "regular ministries". Supporters of the law counter that the law exempts activities which might otherwise be illegal as long as the services provided by the church are for "infants, children, or victims of crime".
The agriculture lobby also opposes the law and claims an 11,080 person labor shortage (pretty specific number there, Big Ag...) since the passage of the bill. However, Georgia currently has the seventh largest population of illegals while being the ninth largest state in the country in total population. A more likely explanation for the perceived shortage may be the recent economic recession and the overall lack of jobs available, especially in construction which has borne the brunt of the downturn.
What the opponents of the law do not seem to be able to grasp is the fact that legal aliens are already required to possess and carry proper identification in the form of a green card, and must upon demand present this ID to law officers. Additionally, since Terry vs. Ohio, the court found that state law enforcement is allowed to question identity with only reasonable suspicion.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Death of Junior
The best dog I ever had was named Skeeter. Skeeter was a little feist dog, which is a nice way of calling him a mutt. I guess his predominate ancestry was Rat Terrier and he may have had some Jack Russell thrown in there somewhere. He was jam up on squirrels...hated them with a passion. He was hands down the best tree dog I ever had, actually out-treeing a $1500 dog on one occasion. I think I paid fifty bucks for him. Best investment I ever made, in a dog anyway.
Over the years Skeet fathered a few litters of pups, mostly with another feist we had named Pookie. (Her name is a story for another time but suffice it to say it started out as a joke and snowballed.) Unfortunately, none of Skeeter and Pookie's offspring ever turned out to be worth a damn. Junior was no exception.
Junior was born in a litter of three. The others were mostly black with a little white, but Junior had the predominate white coloration of his father, hence his name. He was the only one of the litter we kept, and only for that reason. It sure wasn't because he was a good squirrel dog. Or brave, or loyal, or even intelligent for that matter. No, Junior grew up to be just about the laziest, sorriest excuse for a consumer of expensive dog food that there ever was. He wouldn't bark half the time when someone came up in the yard. He was scared of his own shadow. He showed no interest whatsoever in hunting and treeing squirrels. In fact he showed no interest in them even when they would hop by in the yard, practically right in front of his nose as he lay on the porch, too lazy to even lift an ear to flick the gnats away from eyes.
The whole Junior debacle became a bone (no pun intended) of contention between my son and I. When Skeeter died the year before Matt had sort of taken to Junior, I guess because of the resemblance between the two. Although I had my suspicions about Junior's lack of character, I didn't have the heart to voice my concerns, at first anyway. Over the next few months though, Matt would get married and move to Savannah, leaving me an empty nester, truly alone for the first time in two decades...except for Junior.
One thing Junior really liked to do was go running with me. We'd usually go late at night when it was cool. However, nighttime by nature is dark and that makes it difficult to see anything sneaking up on you like wild hogs, bigfeet, space aliens, or attacking dogs. So it became Junior's job to be my security on those late night runs through the country. Even this task he performed with varying degrees of success.
The first incident occurred late one summer night about a half mile into a 4 mile run. Junior was darting back and forth ahead of me, stopping occasionally to investigate interesting smells and then lifting a leg to add his own. As the woods on the right opened up into a cut hay field Junior suddenly began barking wildly and charged into the field. About 30 yards off the road I could see a low black shape standing its ground as Junior approached. Suddenly I heard a grunt and the black shape ran at Junior who, well before the last second, decided to retreat. Unfortunately he retreated directly back at me bringing a seriously pissed off boar hog after him. Luckily I was able to stay in the lead while Junior fought a rear delaying action. The rest of the run was finished uneventfully and the boar was long gone by the time we got back.
A week or so later we set off down the driveway and Junior almost immediately peeled off into the woods barking, maybe after a possum or a cat but more likely after a figment of his imagination. As I was finishing my warm up walk on the dirt road I heard the sound of a dog running hard toward me. Thinking it was Junior I almost didn't turn around but then suddenly realized that unless Junior had all of a sudden gained a substantial amount of weight that this dog was definitely not him. I whirled around and snapped my SureFire flashlight on just in time to blind the snot out of a humongous slobbering hound from hell who apparently thought I was on the supper menu. The light stunned him and he slammed on the brakes coming to a stop not 3 feet from me. The standoff ended when Junior, unaware of the situation, came happily bounding out of the pines. Upon seeing the hound from hell the look on Junior's face could be described as classic "oh s#*t!". He immediately dove back into the woods with the hound from hell in hot pursuit. I continued my run and Junior met me on the back porch when I returned.
The third incident was very similar to the last except this time it was a very large Rottweiler that made it through a closed farm gate with the obvious intention of eating me alive. This time I knew Junior was well ahead of me so I was ready with my light and a small can of pepper spray. Again, the dog stopped 3 feet from me, head low and drooling. I readied my pepper spray.
I should interject here. If you ever decide to bet your life on a cheap can of pepper spray you should really try it out before you actually need it.
Pointing the nozzle of the can at the dog I pressed the lever or tab or whatever you call it. Nothing obvious happened. I neither saw nor felt any liquid leaving the can. The dog didn't either as he just stood there snarling. Thinking I might not have it lined up right I tried again and succeeded in spraying my opposite hand. Then here came Junior, again clueless as to the seriousness of the situation. The Rottweiler decided he was the more attractive target and they both left me there trying to figure out how to work my can of pepper spray. I was still standing there a few moments later thinking I had figured it out when the Rottweiler returned. Highly pissed at this point I just ran at him and tried to spray him again. An anemic stream of watery crap came out and fell short of the dog by a good 5 feet. I guess he was tired of the game at this point as he just turned away and trotted off leaving me cussing in the dark.
The evening was not over however. Nearing the end of my run, with sweat pouring off my brow, I unthinkingly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Another interjection...pepper spray does not go away until you actually wash it off your hand. If it gets in your eyes though, no amount of washing will stop the burning until the burning is ready to stop on its by God own.
The night before last I was on the tractor and noticed Junior up at the end of the driveway just running around checking his circuit of interesting scents. After I while I decided to head up to the store for some hog feed. On my way back instead of turning off at the first road to the house I decided to go on down to the next turn off. I hadn't gone too far when I noticed a white and black shape lying on the side of the highway. I turned around came back by. It was Junior, dead, hit by a car. Still warm. I put him in the back of the truck and he made his last ride back to the house. I buried him over by the fence line, not too far from his daddy.
I can't honestly say I felt too bad about it. I did call him an idiot a couple of times while I was planting him. Having called him that on a regular basis pretty much every day I figured that was a fitting enough epitaph. Later on that night I headed out on a run. It was uneventful. Except a few times I'd forget and look up, listening for the sound of Junior running along with me.
It was quiet.
Over the years Skeet fathered a few litters of pups, mostly with another feist we had named Pookie. (Her name is a story for another time but suffice it to say it started out as a joke and snowballed.) Unfortunately, none of Skeeter and Pookie's offspring ever turned out to be worth a damn. Junior was no exception.
Junior was born in a litter of three. The others were mostly black with a little white, but Junior had the predominate white coloration of his father, hence his name. He was the only one of the litter we kept, and only for that reason. It sure wasn't because he was a good squirrel dog. Or brave, or loyal, or even intelligent for that matter. No, Junior grew up to be just about the laziest, sorriest excuse for a consumer of expensive dog food that there ever was. He wouldn't bark half the time when someone came up in the yard. He was scared of his own shadow. He showed no interest whatsoever in hunting and treeing squirrels. In fact he showed no interest in them even when they would hop by in the yard, practically right in front of his nose as he lay on the porch, too lazy to even lift an ear to flick the gnats away from eyes.
The whole Junior debacle became a bone (no pun intended) of contention between my son and I. When Skeeter died the year before Matt had sort of taken to Junior, I guess because of the resemblance between the two. Although I had my suspicions about Junior's lack of character, I didn't have the heart to voice my concerns, at first anyway. Over the next few months though, Matt would get married and move to Savannah, leaving me an empty nester, truly alone for the first time in two decades...except for Junior.
One thing Junior really liked to do was go running with me. We'd usually go late at night when it was cool. However, nighttime by nature is dark and that makes it difficult to see anything sneaking up on you like wild hogs, bigfeet, space aliens, or attacking dogs. So it became Junior's job to be my security on those late night runs through the country. Even this task he performed with varying degrees of success.
The first incident occurred late one summer night about a half mile into a 4 mile run. Junior was darting back and forth ahead of me, stopping occasionally to investigate interesting smells and then lifting a leg to add his own. As the woods on the right opened up into a cut hay field Junior suddenly began barking wildly and charged into the field. About 30 yards off the road I could see a low black shape standing its ground as Junior approached. Suddenly I heard a grunt and the black shape ran at Junior who, well before the last second, decided to retreat. Unfortunately he retreated directly back at me bringing a seriously pissed off boar hog after him. Luckily I was able to stay in the lead while Junior fought a rear delaying action. The rest of the run was finished uneventfully and the boar was long gone by the time we got back.
A week or so later we set off down the driveway and Junior almost immediately peeled off into the woods barking, maybe after a possum or a cat but more likely after a figment of his imagination. As I was finishing my warm up walk on the dirt road I heard the sound of a dog running hard toward me. Thinking it was Junior I almost didn't turn around but then suddenly realized that unless Junior had all of a sudden gained a substantial amount of weight that this dog was definitely not him. I whirled around and snapped my SureFire flashlight on just in time to blind the snot out of a humongous slobbering hound from hell who apparently thought I was on the supper menu. The light stunned him and he slammed on the brakes coming to a stop not 3 feet from me. The standoff ended when Junior, unaware of the situation, came happily bounding out of the pines. Upon seeing the hound from hell the look on Junior's face could be described as classic "oh s#*t!". He immediately dove back into the woods with the hound from hell in hot pursuit. I continued my run and Junior met me on the back porch when I returned.
The third incident was very similar to the last except this time it was a very large Rottweiler that made it through a closed farm gate with the obvious intention of eating me alive. This time I knew Junior was well ahead of me so I was ready with my light and a small can of pepper spray. Again, the dog stopped 3 feet from me, head low and drooling. I readied my pepper spray.
I should interject here. If you ever decide to bet your life on a cheap can of pepper spray you should really try it out before you actually need it.
Pointing the nozzle of the can at the dog I pressed the lever or tab or whatever you call it. Nothing obvious happened. I neither saw nor felt any liquid leaving the can. The dog didn't either as he just stood there snarling. Thinking I might not have it lined up right I tried again and succeeded in spraying my opposite hand. Then here came Junior, again clueless as to the seriousness of the situation. The Rottweiler decided he was the more attractive target and they both left me there trying to figure out how to work my can of pepper spray. I was still standing there a few moments later thinking I had figured it out when the Rottweiler returned. Highly pissed at this point I just ran at him and tried to spray him again. An anemic stream of watery crap came out and fell short of the dog by a good 5 feet. I guess he was tired of the game at this point as he just turned away and trotted off leaving me cussing in the dark.
The evening was not over however. Nearing the end of my run, with sweat pouring off my brow, I unthinkingly wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Another interjection...pepper spray does not go away until you actually wash it off your hand. If it gets in your eyes though, no amount of washing will stop the burning until the burning is ready to stop on its by God own.
The night before last I was on the tractor and noticed Junior up at the end of the driveway just running around checking his circuit of interesting scents. After I while I decided to head up to the store for some hog feed. On my way back instead of turning off at the first road to the house I decided to go on down to the next turn off. I hadn't gone too far when I noticed a white and black shape lying on the side of the highway. I turned around came back by. It was Junior, dead, hit by a car. Still warm. I put him in the back of the truck and he made his last ride back to the house. I buried him over by the fence line, not too far from his daddy.
I can't honestly say I felt too bad about it. I did call him an idiot a couple of times while I was planting him. Having called him that on a regular basis pretty much every day I figured that was a fitting enough epitaph. Later on that night I headed out on a run. It was uneventful. Except a few times I'd forget and look up, listening for the sound of Junior running along with me.
It was quiet.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Writing 101
Holy cow, this is hard. Almost as hard as the very, very, remedial math class I've been stuck in thanks to the all seeing, all knowing Compass test which, after most likely gasping in horror at my score, laughed sadistically as it unceremoniously booted me into the arithmetic hinterlands along with all the other certifiable math morons.
But writing...writing has never been particularly hard. Sure, I do routinely have problems formulating what I want to say, that is, when I actually realize I HAVE something to say. Sometimes words, or the right words, elude me and I go off on a fruitless search for them, somewhat akin to a blind man looking for his glasses in dark room on a moonless night without a flashlight. Occasionally I find them, or some of them, but usually only after stubbing my toe on the furniture numerous times.
Most of my writing has been in the form of emails, or work related, or just personal musings meant only for me. I admit, I have started and never finished two or three or seventeen great American novels, the latest after a good amount of unpleasant prodding from a published author friend of mine. Sadly that one too came to nothing. Not because it wasn't a good idea (I guess, maybe, ok, i don't know) but simply because other things got in the way. That and I'm a world class procrastinator. But that writing is not generally all that hard. This college writing however is a goose of a different color and I've been sitting here trying to figure it out. I think I'm getting a handle on why.
Unlike my former attempts at writing, I know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever I put down is going to be read by other human beings. And not nameless, faceless human beings either, which is my typical audience when writing work related stuff, but people I will actually have to see and interact with in person. That puts a little different spin on it. What you might write in an email to a trusted friend, or late at night to yourself after one too many NoDoz tablets chased by a couple of Monster energy drinks may not be considered acceptable by idle acquaintances or fellow classmates. And that is the crux of it. When you write for public consumption you are opening yourself up to scrutiny. Not just your writing, but by extension your very soul. Essentially you are flinging open the doors and inviting all the neighbors in to poke and prod through the deepest darkest nooks and crannies of your brain. That can be unsettling. Do I really want to shine a spotlight on the way my mind works? What will they think? Will I be exposing myself as some kind of monstrous freak of nature? Will mothers quickly herd their children indoors while casting nervous glances over their shoulders at me?
On the other hand, should I care what others are thinking? Isn't it better to allow your mind to go where it will? It seems to make sense that greater accomplishments can be made when the mind is free of social constrain and is allowed to explore where it will. Also, people by nature are pretty self-absorbed. Probably 99% of what you say and do is NOT being overly analyzed by others, if it's even registering as a tiny blip on their radar at all. I'd say it's a good bet that while one individual is stressing about how others are going to perceive him or her, lots of other him or hers are stressing about the exact same thing. So what does it matter?
Of course, I could be completely and totally wrong and they really ARE out to get me.
But writing...writing has never been particularly hard. Sure, I do routinely have problems formulating what I want to say, that is, when I actually realize I HAVE something to say. Sometimes words, or the right words, elude me and I go off on a fruitless search for them, somewhat akin to a blind man looking for his glasses in dark room on a moonless night without a flashlight. Occasionally I find them, or some of them, but usually only after stubbing my toe on the furniture numerous times.
Most of my writing has been in the form of emails, or work related, or just personal musings meant only for me. I admit, I have started and never finished two or three or seventeen great American novels, the latest after a good amount of unpleasant prodding from a published author friend of mine. Sadly that one too came to nothing. Not because it wasn't a good idea (I guess, maybe, ok, i don't know) but simply because other things got in the way. That and I'm a world class procrastinator. But that writing is not generally all that hard. This college writing however is a goose of a different color and I've been sitting here trying to figure it out. I think I'm getting a handle on why.
Unlike my former attempts at writing, I know without a shadow of a doubt that whatever I put down is going to be read by other human beings. And not nameless, faceless human beings either, which is my typical audience when writing work related stuff, but people I will actually have to see and interact with in person. That puts a little different spin on it. What you might write in an email to a trusted friend, or late at night to yourself after one too many NoDoz tablets chased by a couple of Monster energy drinks may not be considered acceptable by idle acquaintances or fellow classmates. And that is the crux of it. When you write for public consumption you are opening yourself up to scrutiny. Not just your writing, but by extension your very soul. Essentially you are flinging open the doors and inviting all the neighbors in to poke and prod through the deepest darkest nooks and crannies of your brain. That can be unsettling. Do I really want to shine a spotlight on the way my mind works? What will they think? Will I be exposing myself as some kind of monstrous freak of nature? Will mothers quickly herd their children indoors while casting nervous glances over their shoulders at me?
On the other hand, should I care what others are thinking? Isn't it better to allow your mind to go where it will? It seems to make sense that greater accomplishments can be made when the mind is free of social constrain and is allowed to explore where it will. Also, people by nature are pretty self-absorbed. Probably 99% of what you say and do is NOT being overly analyzed by others, if it's even registering as a tiny blip on their radar at all. I'd say it's a good bet that while one individual is stressing about how others are going to perceive him or her, lots of other him or hers are stressing about the exact same thing. So what does it matter?
Of course, I could be completely and totally wrong and they really ARE out to get me.
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