Weather At Eleven

Repent!
                                                      Hoard.
Coming from the sky.
                                                      Flakes like white pizzas.
Bottled water.
                                                      Canned goods.
Live! From Babylon.
                                                      Flying ice.
Fallen trees.
                                                      Skidding Toyotas.
Chains!
                                                      Runways shut down.
School closings.
                                                      Actual Spam.
Creatures with shovels.
                                                      Stephen King-sized plows.
Wet? We'll show you wet.
                                                      At least six inches.
Foot-high drifts.
                                                      Record breaking ad revenue.

                          
                        

Greece, Rhymes With Fleece

1)  One day about two years ago I was riding downtown on the Number 4 train. One of the regulars came through the car looking for some generosity. I hadn't given him anything in a while, so I gave him a dollar. I am not telling this story so anyone will think that I am charitable. I no longer believe in Charity as we usually practice it in our age. It is frequently accompanied by its brother Guilt and its cousin Superiority.

As I was leaving the train at 14th St. that day to change for the Number 1, a lady tourist stopped me. I could tell she was a tourist by the brand new very white running shoes she wore. She was about five feet tall and quite wide; her shoes had never seen a gym, just come out of the box,  and were getting their first experience of concrete and dirt.

She said, "Where I come from, we don't give them money, because it just encourages them not to get jobs."

"He has never struck me as a particularly encouraged human," I responded, "And as far as can tell, this is his job."

She waddled away, having lost interest in finishing her sermon. Soon she would be back in her land of common sense, baking pies for the church picnic. But, perhaps, that's an overly-generous thought.

2)  I was reminded of that earlier scene this morning while passing through Grand Central on the way to the Shuttle. I passed a man who had just squatted by the door and unfolded a hand-printed sign about needing bus fare to get home Upstate.

One could tell, by even a casual glance, that this was not a "typical" down and out inhabitant of GCT. His clothing and haircut were too neat. He wore fairly fashionable eyeglasses. A few minor adjustments and he could have been on his way to make a Power Point presentation. I  back-tracked and gave him two dollars. He looked like someone with whom I had worked; he could have been one of my tennis partners last summer.

Besides, on principle, you have to help anyone getting on a bus Upstate; few go there by choice.

3)  Will we soon see Greece represented on Grand Central's floor?  This is a country which apparently has two calendar systems. One is the usual 12-month version; the other is 14-months. The latter represents the number of months for which the government pays its employees. Throw in vacation and "sick" time and many Greeks actually work only about 10 months per year for 14 months pay.

Maybe they should call it Detroit instead of Greece.

The Times and the Germans are already rounding up the usual banking suspects who invested in credit default insurance while shorting Greece. It seems like someone actually figured the math that suggested paying for 14 months work , when you get only 10 might be a bad idea over a long period of time. Not to mention that Greece cooked the books (shocking) to hide all of this. Is Madoff a Greek name?

Poor GoldiSocks, they just cannot catch a break. It looks like they too shorted Greece, then helped devise a complicated  way for the Greeks to hide all that bad stuff.

I wonder what that white-sneakered lady thinks about Greece? Probably thinks its a long-running show.

Please be generous when you see Greece, democracy's cradle,  in Grand Central. After all, without them we wouldn't have Congress or the Senate. Hmmmm?

4) Speaking of which, today is the Healthcare Tea Party. You might think that Washingtonians and Tea-Partyers don't have much in common, but you can bet your Beck and Sean that they do indeed.

Washington's stupidity,  incompetence and unlimited borrowing habit are based on the concept that we must keep the US number one in the world forever, or, at least have its citizens believe in that concept.

Tea-Partyers, as disgruntled as they are about everything from evolution, to aliens to the IRS, think the same way. The whole point BeckSean are trying to make is that we better get our money back from Washington so we can buy some big cars, eat some big food, shoot some big animals and smoke our small brains out. That's the way we can beat the Chinese and stay on top forever.

Same story, different methods. Be generous, but short both of them.

If you think that both are right, and that we really can stay number one forever and ever, I suggest you take a good look at....Greece....as you pass through Grand Central.

Note: Upon returning home through GCT in the evening, I noticed that the same man was, unfortunately, still there. He had moved perhaps twenty feet. He was asleep.

Just This

Ms. Stein, my career counselor/life coach, wants me to be like the Energizer Bunny. This is an hysterical joke to anyone who has ever known me, yet Julia Stein persists. My meditation teacher, Lung Ta, wants me to be the cat on its window sill, just being the cat. The fact that I have never liked cats very much has made no impression on the Tibetan Rinpoche.


Just Do It.

Just Don't.

I can get revved up big time and do it: send out the letters, emails, and make follow-up calls. What happens? All of the HR folks and so-called hiring managers are acting like the cat on their sills. Nothing, no movement, not a word. Bunch of Just Don'ts.

Just wait.

This "outcome" is, naturally, grist for my Rinpoche's mill: that is, if he had a mill. Tibetan teachers do not have mills, just sills, as it happens. "As long as you are waiting for an outcome," Lung Ta tells me, "you are lost." Evidently, this is the kind of thing that passes for great wisdom in Tibet. No wonder the Chinese want to crush it.

Just sit.

I've almost forgotten a time when, according to the evidence, I had many actual outcomes. I sit in a big house, pay big tuition, have big debt, and, once, I had a big job. Or, maybe not so big according to certain annoying relatives. But, where did that career go?

I wonder in a David Byrne-sian kind of way, "This is not my house. This is not my car. How did I get here?" Yet, here I sit, if not exactly on my sill, at least gazing out the window with absolutely no real job outcomes having occurred in some time.

Just gaze.

"We must not waste precious Bunny-time feeling sorry for ourselves," says Stein.

"One feeling just as good as another: worthless," says Rinpoche.

Just go away.

There is a nice man who will go nameless here, who moderated a forum I attended in lower Manhattan in late fall. I was impressed with the way he handled himself and later heartened by the fact that his consulting firm happened to be in my former line of business.

I wrote to him, proposing a meeting. He accepted. ( "Big deal," said Stein, "One big meeting. Ho-hum.").  I prepared for days: had my pitch ready. We met in Starbuck's, of course, near City Hall and things went very well. At the end he asked whether I'd like to be get contract assignments or be hired. Yes, he actually used the H-word, and I don't mean, hypothetical.

Hired, I answered (duh). He invited me to make a proposal and we agreed on a one week delivery date.

I made my proposal. Then, by pure chance a friend, the President of a company I'd done business with for years, called. Proposal Man's wife worked for him. Would I like him to make a call? Can't hurt we agreed. Perhaps the stars were aligning at last ("Stars don't align," said Ta, "they just orbit round and round." Oy).

Just wait.

Finally, an email, saying how busy Proposal Man had been and he hadn't yet read the proposal. Then another week. I called and left a message. Ten more days have passed. Nothing. Not a word.

Just a minute!

This process repeats itself millions of times a day. We Seekers begin to ask ourselves, "Did I imagine the forum, the man, the meeting, the proposal, the h-word?" Was the proposal truly so bad or unclear that it actually insulted the reader? Just remind me, why do we keep keep knocking on these firmly-closed and sound-proofed walls?

Just cram it.

"Fine," says counselor Stein, "so starve."

"Still looking for outcomes," opines Lung Ta Rinpoche.

Just-ifiable double homicide?

The Nearly Last Great Healthcare Debate

You say....
                                      We say....

lumbago
                                       break a leg-o
femur
                                       tumor
Fever!
                                       "In the mornin"
liquids only
                                       make ours doubles
pre-existing
                                       don't bring God into it
low premiums
                                       high debt loads
low sodium
                                       iron deficiency anemia
fractured
                                       bed-ridden
hospital
                                       bed pan
single payer
                                       bedlam
house call
                                       bedside manner
check your prostate
                                       now cough
drowsiness in some
                                       stroke in others
expire
                                       straight-line
FSA
                                       DOA
                                  

Column A/B: Assembly Required

      

           A
                                                           B

a nine-page form
                                             23 pages of instructions
a visit to the doctor
                                             14 people to pay the bill
a war in one country
                                             62 agencies to reconstruct it
one IRS
                                             14 trillion small IOU's
one idea: sub-prime
                                             millions up a creek
a Tea Party
                                             10,000 pots calling 10,000 kettles
two parties
                                             no cake
Senate
                                             floor-play
House
                                             foreclosed
Election
                                             foretold
Assembly
                                             required

                                        
 

News Summary: To Half And Half Not

You wake one morning to find that your country is the functional equivalent of an airline, and that this airline is, unfortunately, not named Southwest. You read that Beck and Newt still believe it's morning in America, but it is a hungover morning; they will fix it with an aspirin made of our anger and their ability to make a lot of money from that anger.

After eight years the Taliban are on the run again, a good opportunity for our European "allies" to begin quitting and plan their trips home. You learn that New York's legally bland Governor is not a quitter, which is truly a shame.

On the front page you learn about chronic unemployment. You read that economist Allen Sinai says," American business is about maximizing shareholder value. You basically don't want workers...." and you hear about one unemployed woman who "....sends out dozens of resumes a week and rarely hears back."

Mr. Sinai has obviously never worked for a large corporation or he would know that he was making a joke. American business is really about maximizing wealth for a very small group of people in finance, law, education, senior corporate management and government: about 2% of the US population. We'll throw in some Media elite as well, like Beck and Newt. Many of the other 98% are indeed individual shareholders, but they get left holding the empty bag. This isn't a complaint, merely a clarification.

As for the woman sending out resumes, her library bookshelf probably contains 300 titles that propose to help her find a new job or career. Funny thing, but nobody ever writes a book for HR and other execs about creating effectual, respectful hiring practices. Consequently, they owe applicants nothing: no respect, no dignity, no returned letter, call or email. As you have mentioned to a few CEO's of these "hiring" companies in follow-up notes:  they need to understand that their own hiring practices are extensions of their brands to applicants who are also consumers. Duh.

Each week Sunday Business contains "Corner Office," in which the paper profiles an executive and describes their hiring philosophy and skills. This should be labelled Fiction, based on the same paper's unemployment report. Some might say this is like the left hand not knowing what the other left hand is saying at this particular paper.

Finally, you read that thousands of out of work journalists and editors get gmail accounts, start blogs, Tweet, and try to earn a living online. Just like you. When they succeed, they make about half what they made when on staff. You think it might be time to try something else, maybe dust off that novel in the desk drawer.

All of this brings up a question: if everyone winds up making half of what they use to make and receiving half the benefits, does that mean the country's glass is half-full or half-empty?

Or, maybe we really are becoming a country of halfs and half-nots.

Note: stories referenced above: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/21/business/economy/21unemployed.html?th&emc=th
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/21/world/asia/21afghan.html?ref=world
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/21/business/economy/21unemployed.html?ref=business
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/21/business/21cornerweb.html?ref=business

Column A, All The Way

       


       A
                                                    B
       
                                          
small beach
                                             large boat
Wonder Bread
                                             stale baguette
Campbell's Tomato
                                             any Warhol
a frayed ego
                                             afraid to go
a woman won
                                            Wonder Woman
host of troubles
                                            being hostage
failed love
                                            love of failure
bad railroad
                                            good airport
cash
                                            college                                      
rainy London
                                            sunny Paris
Paul/John
                                            Mick/Keith
                              

Winter Olympics III: L'Oignon D'Or

Two French rivers, the Saone (above) and the Rhone, conspire to create the city of Lyons. Like Geneva, Lyons' waterways and bridges separate the nouveau from the vieux. But, it is Lyons' food that separates it from just about anyplace else in the world.

There are many ways to know a city; I have found hunger to be the best guide. By hunger, I do not mean famished: that will get you into trouble and guarantee indigestion, especially in a city you are just beginning to know. Instead, I am talking about the kind of hunger that develops after a hard day's work: having your hotel lose all your laundry, guiding Olympic guests through a crowded French airport, finding their lost luggage, or not, and hauling them up and down steep mountain roads.

That kind of well-earned hunger.

Late in the afternoon on such a day in February 1992, I asked my friend, the manager of Lyons' Saint Exupery airport, for a restaurant recommendation. Without hesitation, he directed me to his favorite spot, run by his friend in Vieux Lyons. By a miracle I was able to guide my Espace through an unusually cold night, decipher which river was which, find a legal parking spot, and go to the food equivalent of heaven.

I will leave detailed recipes and reviews to Julia and Michelin. I simply walked out of that cold night and into the proverbial warm well-lighted place and was greeted as family by the owner, a short exuberant femme Lyonnaise.

A saintly waiter made telemark turns around crowded tables and brought me a glass of local beaujolais , the kind that never reaches our shores. Slowly the gamay warmed me. I began to forget that the clothes I wore were now my only set. The wine replaced the whine of Gatorade Guy, The World's Most Ungrateful Guest, and his babyish pleas about his lost luggage. 

 I am fairly certain that I had a delicious salade verte to begin, but, honestly I cannot remember precisely. The reason for that is that I very distinctly do remember having that night perhaps the best single thing I have ever eaten. 

Une tarte a l'oignon.

Perfectly round, steaming in its hot shallow tin, just-browned cheese, then sweet l'oignon and more cheese in the center. Strike up an anthem!

Once more, I had earned Olympic Gold.

Before you say, "Oh, I've had that a million times, big deal," let me just say arreter! 

As Gisele is to Brazil to you, this tarte is France to me. And, when you are speaking of France and food, you are getting mighty close to the core of human experience in my estimation, my Friends. The French may not understand Americans, but they very definitely understand food and more than one way to get warm and stay that way on a frigid February night.

Note: we highly recommend Waverly Root's Food Of France, if you have to settle for reading about food. Otherwise, you'll have to go to Lyons. No, we won't tell you the name of that restaurant; best to discover your own.

Winter Olympics II: La Fille En Or

1.

On the evening of February 8, 1992, I was racing my Renault Espace van up the mountain expressway from Lyons in order to make Opening Ceremonies. I had four nervous VIP magazine advertising clients in the back seats. I thought that they were nervous about the possibility of missing the ceremony, but later they confessed to have been nervous over the ride, steep road, and my speed.

The young ad execs, who had landed with the clients and who were supposed to accompany us, had abandoned us in favor of their own taxi for the 2-3 hour ride. They weren't going to miss anything, even if it meant losing a client or two. I'm betting they were a whole lot more scared by that ride than my passengers.

As we approached Albertville at dusk, I could see the new stadium on my left. We were running late, but we were going to be okay. As we approached the exit ramp, the road began to shake, the van seemed to let out a tremendous roar. We all held on tightly thinking that perhaps we were going to break down within sight of the event.

As I began to pull over, five French Air Force jets emerged overhead and  to our left, heading full blast  into the stadium. They had just passed directly over our van by a couple of hundred feet, shaking it and us to the core. 

2.

The opening celebration was staged as if it were a medieval circus: the kind that may have visited Albertville annually hundreds of years before. Nobody can celebrate themselves like the French, and who has more gifts to celebrate?

Just after President Mitterrand's arrival, the celebrants cleared the middle of the icy stadium. Slowly, a small high-pitched voice could be heard, as if out of nowhere. The ice opened up, and, rising ever so slowly up from it came a small girl. She rode her pedestal singing La Marseillaise all the while. She kept rising, all alone up into the cold night high above everyone. Even Rumsfeld would have shed a tear at that sight.

3.

Later, gathered with the guests at the Hotel du Golf in Courchevel, I was amazed to hear the American reaction to the same ceremony. They all hated it. Their companies had paid big bucks for the ads in the magazine. Then the same companies had to pay extra for these Olympic packages. Then the same  people who had committed to the ads thought it was completely ethical to attend the Games as "guests." For people like that, trashing what the French had spent years producing was all in a day's work.

I have seen several Opening Ceremonies in person since that night, but never saw a more beautiful spectacle that that jeune fille rising in the night. She gets the gold.

Next up in the Olympic Series: Gatorade Guy, the best meal I ever had alone, Henri's hotel loses my laundry, and the Famous Editor's ski accident, and more, if I can remember.

Winter Olympics I: Gold At Albertville, '92

Thankfully, I have only taken one police-administered breath-a-lizer test in my life. This happened in France in January 1992. I had driven up to Courcheval 1650 from Albertville, and toured what would become our group's Olympic home one month later, the Hotel du Golf. Naturellement, I lunched outside in the sun with Henri, the hotel's owner. It is my recollection that we sampled some local beaujulais, which Henri cooled in the snow.  The yellow scarf pictured above witnessed the whole thing.

I wanted to return to Albertville before dark, because I was inexperienced at driving those vertical roads with their constant twists and turns. I had only begun to learn the art of alpine driving, having negotiated sleet and fog coming up to Albertville from Lyons.

I remember little about that first descent, except that it was wonderful to come down through the pretty towns, like Moutiers, below Courcheval. But, exiting one of the the last sharp turns I ran into du lineup gendarmes: a surprise alcohol level test.  This is great, I remember thinking: big time corporate events leader arrested in France on a DWI. That would make a nice pre-Olympic headline.

But, Friends, this was pre- Olympic France. I do not know what my score was that day, but they did not retain me or even scold me. I had a gold in my first Albertville event.

Later, my Olympic job became Chief Driver, since all of the Renault Espace vans had standard shifts located on the column. I was one of very few who could drive them, making many trips to and from the airport in Lyons and the train station in Moutiers, not to mention Albertville itself.

One sunny afternoon, my colleague John and I watched hockey in Meribel. Afterwards, we stationed ourselves at a bistro, where we could watch the ski-jumpers high above us across the road and sip our wine. 

When we got back up to Courcheval, I realized that I had left my yellow scarf in the bistro, and John wanted me to go right back and retrieve it. Instead, I said we'd try the next day. This was typical of our respective working styles. John, a former army Colonel and MP never left anything undone or unplanned. My somewhat looser system could annoy him, but he had slowly come to trust me anyway.

Late the next day, on our way to watch the ski-jump finals in Meribel, I stopped by the bistro, made my way through the crowded tables filled with attractive brightly-clad skiers and spectators. There, hanging on its peg, exactly where I had left it, was my scarf.

As we crossed the road, John just gave me one of his looks and a slight shake of his head, amazed that  nobody had walked off with the scarf.

I had learned not to say anything to him at times like these, but to just enjoy the moment.

 I had won my second gold at Albertville.

Note: for a look at the trois valees area above Albertville, please go to:  http://www.courchevel.com/img/plans/plan_pistes3v.pdf

This piece is running concurrently on our style blog:

http://rareburghers.blogspot.com/

Odds and Ends, Mostly Odds

This is Wednesday, which means it's time for some odds and ends: mostly odds.

Now that's a paddy-wagon!....Iran's Islamic government has decided that its occasional crackdowns on the opposition have been ineffective and inefficient. Consequently, they have decided to arrest the entire population of the country.

Arrested Development.... China has vetoed a UN resolution condemning Iran's national arrest. In its statement, China said that it had been able to make huge economic leaps after arresting its entire population twice: in 1949 and 1989. China sees no reason why Iran could not make similar post-arrest leaps, especially if it continues buying arms and nuclear equipment from China.

You may need it!....Nigeria's new Acting President's name? Goodluck Jonathan. True.

Qat got his tongue....Thomas L. Friedman reports from Yemen in the Times that he "took part in a qat chew" with Yemeni officials, referring to a mild halucinogenic. The resulting qat column proposes that the US " build 50 modern schools" for Yemeni boys and girls for every Predator missile we fire at Al Qaeda targets in Yemen. Perhaps this strange man could also chew some qat with some Wash. D.C. officials and get the Pentagon to build 50 modern schools for DC boys and girls. Did Yemenis spike that qat? Calling Dr. Leary!

Speaking about luck....The New York State Senate has expelled Senator Hiram Monserrate of Queens for his domestic assault conviction. Reportedly, the expellee took in all in stride, using his generous severance and pension package to form a new gaming company. Monserrate and his partners will apparently bid on the troubled Aqueduct "video gaming" (wink-wink) center, as a result of questions surrounding the current bid by Gov. Paterson's friend, Floyd Flake.

Gaming Center? What Gaming Center?....Speaking of that $200-300 Million video slot machine center at the site of the former Aqueduct racetrack: does anyone remember who came up with this idea, how it passed in the first place and why we need it?  Were these guys/gals in the Senate and Assembly sitting around with Friedman and Paterson chewing on the qat again! Meanwhile, St Vincent's Hospital has to close and Yemeni boys and girls are sharpening their pencils. Does the concept of a mass arrest in Albany appeal to anyone?

The early worm gets the bird....Finally, on those rumors about Gov. Dave's party habits and pending resignation. The Gov has reminded people that he doesn't need to sneak women into the Governor's Mansion; he's the Governor, for goodness sake, he can invite anyone at anytime he pleases without sneaking. Give the guy a break, have you ever tried to live in Albany? No elected officials actually live in Albany. It's a place you go to pick up a pay check and another and another and one more, until you, your sister and your cousins  get your pensions. Singling out one guy up there for unethical or immoral behavior is like identifying one particular cornstalk in Iowa for having a worm.

Note: please remember our lifestyle/design blog, http://rareburghers.blogspot.com/  and don't forget cousin Adam Haslett's new novel, Union Atlantic (Nan Talese/Doubleday), which is now in stores/online.

A Hire Power

       
          1.

The thing
to remember is:

we’re  at the beginning

of our ropes.

          2.

The early bird

and the late

measure their results

as one more day.

Not so,

the worms.

         3.

Each strategy

holds a trick

within it:

fruit inside

a pit.

        4.

I’d like

to surrender

to a Hire Power

If only.

      

Any Three From Each

                            

                                 A                                        B


                             never  
                                                                       surrender
                            practice
                                                                         perfect
                             Might
                                                                         might
                              right
                                                                       might not
                               rain
                                                                           sun
                               soup
                                                                          salad
                               meet
                                                                         leave
                             pound                            
                                                                          slice
                              lost
                                                                      mod squad
                             beatles
                                                                        stones

                                                                      
                        
                                                          
              

RuiNation Ruminations

• President Harry S. Truman famously had a sign on his desk reading: "The Buck Stops Here." His successors have added an addendum: "....until we can borrow another one."
• In the Fifties, when you said "Red" in Washington, you were speaking about dirty rotten commies. In the Sixties, when you said "Black," you were referring to civil rights. Now, they refer to compulsive spending and constituents' mood back home.
• They used to administer a simple arithmetic test to incoming members of Congress: addition and subtraction. Now, they just do subtraction. Seems to work just as well.
• Washington D.C. is the only place left in the country still talking about "bi-partisanship." Dems think it's a new Gay Marriage Bill and Republicans are opposed despite not knowing its meaning.
• Oh, how quickly we long for the good old days, before BankBash, before NewJobBank, and TeacherPetEd. We already long for those ancient times when Max, Nancy and Harry were putting the finishing touches on the National Health Reform Bill. Was it just a dream?
• Washington's version of the Hatfields and McCoys: the Do Everything Nows and the Never Do Anythings. This is no longer a zero-sum game. Voters have become the Get Rid of 'Em Alls.
• Wouldn't it be funny of we had an election in November and no voters showed up? Well, maybe not. Perhaps we should take a cue from recent advances in education and pay voters like students. Oops, Republicans just shot that one down: too bad. 
• The Peoples' Representative from Hubei Province has suggested that henceforth China celebrate July 4 each year as Cha-Ching Day, in reverence for our country's collective stupidity.

Note: Doubleday/Nan Talese will soon publish cousin Adam Haslett's novel Union Atlantic. Surely Adam is the only U. of Iowa writer with expertise on the Federal Reserve: must have been the Yale Law School training. Sorry to admit that he's the best writer in the family. Read his book; it's going to be huge, as in Oprah-type huge.