Light My Fire (originally published July 3, 2005)

As I lay in bed, realizing how it must have been to try to sleep in Beirut in the 80's, I can't help but think of the mentality that abounds in this day and age. I've said it before: Humans have this serious mental deficiency that causes them to be attracted to things that are dangerous. In nature, bright colors say "hands off!", and every animal or insect understands this, says 'okay' and gets on about its business. Humans are attracted to bright, colorful things like, dare I mention, the average moth and its apparent sexual attraction to fire.

Of course, my topic tonight is fireworks.

This is a perilous time for most adventure-loving, non-instruction reading humans, because there is no shortage of excuses for igniting customized pyrotechnic devices. Canada Day has come and gone, the counterpart to the American Independence Day, which not only provides for five (yes, five) days of filled trauma units and burn wards, but gave Bill Pullman the chance to play in a fighter jet and quote Dylan Thomas. Amid all the excitement of the holiday, which is magnified by the fact that it makes a three-day weekend, AND is accompanied by the generous ingestion of alcoholic substances, the simple phrase 'light fuse and get away' becomes more of a personal challenge than friendly advice.

Fireworks aficionados fall into three groups: Professionals, Hobbyists, and Organ Donors. Professionals are highly skilled, well trained, and well paid individuals who operate large public displays with expert precision, though still manage to set themselves on fire from time to time. Hobbyists, quite unlike the name suggests, are no more than the occasional user of pyrotechnics, but tend to view safety as their primary concern. These are the people you see lighting their fuses with propane torches, who always keep a bucket of water nearby for the children's sparklers, and usually cause a rather alarmingly high number of grassfires. Both experience danger to varying degrees but, thanks to the different levels of experience, mistakes made by both are usually rectified with a healthy fire extinguisher.

I find myself surrounded by Organ Donors. These are the select portion of society who truly believe in the idea, "Celebrate the birth of your nation by blowing up a small part of it". These are the people who enclose firecrackers in jars, just to see what's going to happen; the people who bury M-80s just to see how large a crater they can make. These are the same people I observed one summer, launching bottle rockets from their hands, only to have one double back and fly through the open window of their van, setting the upholstery on fire. The same people who live down the street from me, who think it's a pretty great idea to accompany their nightly bombardment of yard and street with several rounds of gunfire from numerous types of firearms.

So, as usual, I'll spend my Fourth of July at home, diligently protecting my tiny piece of suburbia from the hail of 'friendly fire' that seeks to set alight my drought-stricken lawn. I will listen for the silences, as I am ensconced in now, which are usually followed shortly after by the wail of ambulance sirens.

. . .Yep, there they are, now.

Sounds like the neighbors gave two thumbs up for this year's fireworks display. Literally.

By the People (originally published June 11, 2005)

"I pledge allegiance to the Flag
Of the United States of America,
And to the Republic for which it stands,
One nation, under God, indivisible,
With liberty and justice for all."

A nation founded on lofty goals . . . Where has it gone?

The Pledge of Allegiance was first scripted in 1892 by Francis Bellamy. It originally read as "I pledge allegiance to my Flag and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all".

Francis Bellamy was a socialist.

When the cold war kicked into high gear, the "Red Scare" emerged from the United States' intense fear and hostility toward communism. It was at this time, in the mid-fifties, Senator Joseph McCarthy took advantage of the situation and began the greatest witch hunt this country had ever seen since Salem, 1692. Playing on the fears of the masses allowed a few elected officials to manipulate the populace. Being a true patriot meant being as opposite the communist way of life as possible, so Congress added the line "under God" as a poke at communist atheism.

Little has changed since those days. In the wake of the September 11 attacks on U.S. soil, the world was behind us in our hunt for those responsible, and we took action. Shortly thereafter, though, the line began to blurr. Suddenly, we were hearing about Iraq and Saddam Hussien. In a wonderful example of manipulative journalism, the average American actually believed Iraq was behind the terror attacks, even though the words were never spoken. We went to war without the support of the United Nations, and as such, the word 'Iraq' has become the new Arabic word for 'Vietnam'.

These days, the fear of terrorism is the fuel for the fires of government manipulation. Even as the public is easing out of its long paranoia sparked by the September 11 attacks, our President, the man elected to lead our nation simply because he was the lesser of two vacuous evils, is trying to make permanent the Patriot Act. Both parties are critical of this law, as it undermines basic freedoms of law-abiding Americans. The President's recent speech on the matter, of course, ignored these more controversial aspects of the Act.

Our Republic has, figuratively, lost a lot of ground since its inception. What would the founding fathers say to such restrictive laws and regulations? Over the course of the next few years, our borders are going to be tightening like never before. In 2006, a passport will be necessary to reenter the country from the Carribean and central and South America. In 2007, one will be required for reentry from even Mexico and Canada, our true neighbors in the world. By 2008, travel into the U.S. from any point on the planet will require passport identification. How far off are we from needing papers to fly from State to State?

As I ramble on, I realize the problem falls into the laps of the American people. Our version of democracy has become a joke. No longer is it possible for the common citizen to achieve a high office in this country. Gone are the days of Davy Crockett. The American people vote per party affilliation, and not by weight of issues, or even competency of the candidate in question (obviously). The citizenry muddles through its day-to-day existance, blissfully unaware of the government's daily workings, and the government is entirely happy with the situation.

Government "By the People" only works if the people are paying attention. How are we to learn from mistakes of the past if we do not take an active part in their solution? We need to keep ourselves informed, we need to keep an eye on our elected officials, because they do, in fact, work for us and, most importantly, we need to elect a president that can properly pronounce the word 'nuclear'.

Never Yell 'Theatre' in a Crowded Fire (originally published May 18, 2005)

As long as we're on the theme of retail home improvement, let's talk a bit about common sense. Retail sales is the very heart of our capitalistic economy, from the purchase of food and clothing to vehicles and motorhomes. We repair our cars and trucks with parts bought at retail, whether directly or indirectly, and the same is true for our home repair projects. With all that in mind, you would think that, as a society, we would be experts in the field; that the entire process would come as second nature.
Of course, you'd be wrong.
I spend most of my non-driving day completely surrounded by 'Do-It-Yourselfers', otherwise known as 'future insurance statistics'. People who take a simple job, like replacing a fifty-cent light switch, and turn it into an all-day $300 project, complete with a visit from the fire department, should not be allowed access to repair materials. This becomes obvious the moment they walk in the front door.
What is the first thing most people do when they enter a grocery store? They select a shopping cart. They know they will be purchasing many small to medium-sized items which would be difficult to carry, so they obtain an ambulatory container to make their job easier. Why, then, in a DIY store in which the average item weighs between 25-60 lbs, most everyone walks right by the mass of shopping carts at the front of the store to tell a moderately disgruntled employee, "I need that one, there," pointing to a 24 cubic-foot box on the top shelf. Of course, once the employee retrieves the item in question, knees buckling as he or she wobbles down the ladder, the customer almost ALWAYS says, "Oh, I need a cart, don't I? Would you find one for me?"
Continuing on through the store, this pattern repeats in every department until they reach the registers. Once paid, the customer engages in the ultimate form of tragic entertainment, the 'loading'. Usually help is requested, because the customer truly has no idea how they are going to fit six foot-long boards, sheet goods, and an 80,000 BTU gas grill into the trunk of their Ford Focus. They walk in blissful ignorance to the vehicle that dutifully carries them and their purchases to and from their local megastore, without giving a second thought to things like 'spatial mechanics' and 'displacement'.
Of course, the employee tries to semi-calmly explain that the task before them is impossible in this universe, and the customer grudgingly agrees (though usually after a few failed attempts) to purchasing the store's delivery service. Sometimes, though, this isn't the outcome, and the story ends with blown tires or a broken axle at the end of the parking lot.
Perhaps I'm not being fair. I am merely citing DIYers tonight, but 'professionals' are just as prone to bouts of senselessness, too. One instance that pops to mind is of a stern dressing-down I received from a dockbuilder who, after a trying time at the store's return desk, stormed to the hardware department to complain about the 'cheap (explicative deleted) garbage metal' that the stainless steel fasteners were made from. After enduring a five-minute tirade, I was finally able to ask how he had come to his conclusions. Was there a defect? Were there unthreaded screws in the packages (which DOES happen, sometime)? His response: "None of this cheap (string of explicatives deleted) would stick to a magnet!!"
If you fancy yourself a DIYer, I recommend you consult any of the numerous volumes of books and software that are available on just about any project you can think of before you embark on your adventure. Be safe, and remember, whether or not you do your job properly, someone will always be coming behind you down the road, be they trained professional, or just the next owner of the house. If you are a professional, watch what you're doing, do it well, and listen closely to the guys at the store. They may not make as much as you do in a day, but they do know that stainless steel isn't magnetic.

Isn't It Obvious? (originally published May 17, 2005)

To begin today's rant, I would like to thank the various Departments of Transportation in the odd state or two I travel regularly for their recent efforts at honesty. Travelling so many miles in a state whose official animal is the orange barrel, I must say that there is nothing so frustrating as having to wait for hours in a miles-long procession of slug-paced vehicles while being outwardly lied to by those working to improve our infrastructure, one crater at a time. When you encounter a sign that says, "Road Construction Next 250,000 miles" while cruising day after day at 4 miles per hour on a four-lane road bottlenecked into a two-vehicle wide pothole, you expect to see a bit of progress. That's what the word 'construction' makes us infer. . . progress. You expect to see something being built but, instead, all you are able to say after six or eight months of barrel dodging is, "That's a damn nice trench they've dug, there."

Now, in at least a slight play for honesty, the signs say "Road Work Next 250,000 miles". This is technically true, in that they are working, but they are not claiming any progress in the working. They are merely stating the obvious.

I used to think that the human talent for stating the obvious was merely borne of a need for 'small talk', in the constant effort to fill every bit of silence with some inane banter of sorts. After many years of dealing with the public at large, both in retail home improvement and construction, I believe it has become some sort of psychological reinforcement; a bit of compensation for the fact that most humans do not seem to have the ability to see the obvious.

When you stop and consider the environment in which I had this epiphany, the idea becomes rather terrifying. Construction. . .Home improvement. . . People who have access, not only to power tools, but many, many miles of pressurized pipes and energized wiring systems, all wrapped in a very flammable shell of lumber and drywall, who are unintentionally ready to kill or be killed.

One of my favorite stories on this road of discovery came when I was still in college, working for a small retailer in Kentucky. An older gentleman came in looking for a light for over his front door, and was carefully regarding a wall full of brightly-illuminated fixtures when I approached.

The encounter went something like:
"Can I help you, sir?"
"I'm looking at lights."
"Okay," I say, smiling inwardly. "Is there any particular type you were looking for?"
"Well, these look interesting," *long pause* "Are these electrical?"

Of course, I managed to get out a 'yes' before my lesser-controlled brain cells kicked in and made me say something like "Well, sir, most of them are magickal," and then wave to turn on one of the motion lights. Even in the time before my enlightenment on the subject (no pun intended), I chose not to torment or ridicule. That, and, getting fired wouldn't have been very conducive to making my tuition payments.

So remember, when someone says "It's a nice day," or "Road Construction Ahead," it's not because they want to be annoying, they're merely fulfilling a psychological need to show they get the blatantly obvious, and help those along who don't. If someone rattles off a question that makes you wonder just how boneheaded a species we are, be polite and accept them for their little flaws. Just smile and nod, remembering that they are the majority, and they have all the bulldozers and nuclear weapons.

Let's Talk About Prioritizing (originally published May 7, 2005)

A few days ago, a friend and I were discussing 'priorities'. Of course, it was a political discussion, spanning such issues as the deep American dependancy on Middle East oil and our attempts at conservation projects on a national and international level. Oh, I could just rant on and on. . .

Later in the day, I happened to be rifling through the refrigerator, when I chanced upon a bottle of Catalina dressing with some, er, seniority. Of course, by 'seniority', I mean it had an expiration date of May 1999. Everyone has a 'junk drawer', or 'catch all shelf', or some other form of black hole that just tends to accumulate the things we think are too usefull to throw away, but not important enough to organize or find a proper place for. Like a junk drawer, this particular shelf on my 'fridge door just happened to contain a bottle of salad dressing that was four months older than my daughter, and well on the way to developing some rather intricate language skills as it establishes its territorial boundries with the other condiments.

We all prioritize, whether consciously or not, every day. We decide to hit the snooze button rather than getting up early, we decide to take a shower and cram a cereal bar rather than waste the time on waffles and eggs, and we decide which route is the best to get to work after all that procrastination. Perhaps, then, we can truly say that prioritization is synonymous with procrastination. We can't be bothered to sort out our junk drawers, and I can't spare the ten seconds it would take me to pick up that bottle and toss it into the garbage can right next to the refrigerator. Of course, that doesn't explain why it moved across two states with us, but let's deal with one mental illness at a time. We'll call this one 'procrastiprioritizing'.

In recent news, President Bush met with Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia concerning the problem of supply issues for American oil consumption. The United States consumes somewhere in the neighborhood of 130 billion gallons (~500 billion liters) of gasoline a year. One would think that all eyes would be on methods of conservation and technological developments to reduce our dependancy. Rather, the President is reviewing Saudi plans to increase the production of oil by 1.5 million barrels a day. Why? It's simply easier, and lower oil prices improve his approval rating.

As a nation, we are rather wasteful, and procrastiprioritizing is at the very heart of the matter. The average american produces 3.5 pounds of garbage a day and we consume about 25% of the world's petrolium, though we only total about 4% of the world's population. We throw things away rather than sorting and recycling because it takes less time. We burn gasoline because we absolutely have to race to work at twice the speed of sense, when we could have simply left a bit earlier and driven slower and safer. No, that would mean not using the snooze alarm. Who cares if we careen off the road while shaving with one hand and talking on our cel phone with the other? We got to sleep in and the state's budget doesn't allow for enough police to patrol the roads.

Humans are creatures of habit, falling into patterns as hard to break as any diamond. Until time's end, we continue putting off until whenever that which we should have done six years ago. I could go on, but I have to break up a border skirmish between the salad dressing and the mayonaise.