We're a fearful people.
Americans have lived through decades of fear. We sailed to this land hundreds of years ago, partly out of fear. We fought a revolution, we fought a civil war...we crossed the big pond and fought the two big wars. We went to the jungle in Asia and the desert in the east. Out of fear.
.
For the last 10 years, millions of Americans have lived in an Age of Fear.
Beginning at the millennium, many people cocooned themselves in fear...our leadership was in question, and we knew it. In September 2001 that fear went to a deeper, darker, scarier place. Our physical safety had been damaged-- we had yet to see what was to come.
Americans have long been aware Big Brother is Watching. We knew that even before Orwell published 1984 in 1949. Orwell was not shy in setting forth his fears of an intrusively bureaucratized state of the future. It took a littler longer than the writer thought, but we now live in a nation where cameras and computers spy on everything we do!
In the minds of many Americans, the Bush Administration used 1984 as a how-to guide, rather than the warning about despotism it was meant to be.
The U.S. Patriot Act, referred to by Congress as legislation to "Protect Life and Liberty," gave government agencies and law enforcement agencies the right to track, intercept and obstruct terrorism. Yet, it impacts beyond terrorism. It touches any American citizen. Under this Act, telephone conversations, e-mail, medical, financial and other records are no longer personal or private. What I check out of the public library can be put under scrutiny! The checks and balances guaranteed by our Constitution have been reduced. Big Brother is truly watching!
Many Americans feel this act is contradictory to protections of life and liberty. Instead, it has eroded our basic civil rights. For a people who believe in democracy and who have been proud of a 221-year-old Constitution pledging justice, tranquility, and liberty, the absolutism of government today is cause to shed tears.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
True Pharts
Nothing But The Truth...
....and all that razmataz!!
Always be a journalist who runs a factual story and refuses to out her source. Especially if you're the journalist who outs a CIA agent who has leaked the truth about a war that shouldn't be--and the obsessed falsehoods behind that war. Go to jail on contempt first.
That's the premise of this 2008 film.
Should be a good movie.
Should be a really moving flick when the outted-CIA agent is killed to silence more information leaking out.
It was based on fact...up to a point.
The fact is the press shield law...a journalist is protected against giving up a source or confidential information leading to a story. Fact of the law is: a reporter can not be forced to give up a source.
The reporter in this film went to jail for three years. Divorce, loss of job, threats, abused in prison. She stayed true to the ethics of the shield law. Fiction entered the flick after about a year in the slammer. No judge is going to hold a journalist that long on contempt.
Well, not until we got the Patriot Act! The Big Brother Sneaks Into Your Life....With License and Without the Original Constitution!
The movie fell short...I was bored. You can only show prison life, divorce, loss of job...and loss of a Pulitzer so long. Move on, there was a murder of the CIA agent here.
We ignore that? To protect a lie?
The movie was about truth and lies and paranoid government.
Great premise....gets a C+
....and all that razmataz!!
Always be a journalist who runs a factual story and refuses to out her source. Especially if you're the journalist who outs a CIA agent who has leaked the truth about a war that shouldn't be--and the obsessed falsehoods behind that war. Go to jail on contempt first.
That's the premise of this 2008 film.
Should be a good movie.
Should be a really moving flick when the outted-CIA agent is killed to silence more information leaking out.
It was based on fact...up to a point.
The fact is the press shield law...a journalist is protected against giving up a source or confidential information leading to a story. Fact of the law is: a reporter can not be forced to give up a source.
The reporter in this film went to jail for three years. Divorce, loss of job, threats, abused in prison. She stayed true to the ethics of the shield law. Fiction entered the flick after about a year in the slammer. No judge is going to hold a journalist that long on contempt.
Well, not until we got the Patriot Act! The Big Brother Sneaks Into Your Life....With License and Without the Original Constitution!
The movie fell short...I was bored. You can only show prison life, divorce, loss of job...and loss of a Pulitzer so long. Move on, there was a murder of the CIA agent here.
We ignore that? To protect a lie?
The movie was about truth and lies and paranoid government.
Great premise....gets a C+
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Peeved Phart
Mindless reality TV grinds my gears.
What happened to television with meat, meaning and merit--or even sane comedy? Why is it today, when I brave turning on the television, I feel I've been sucked into the mind of some drug-addled, undisciplined, horny adolescent?
Who gives a rat's ass about the tempest of The Kardashians, Gene Simmons's Jewels, Donald Trump's arrogant outbursts, or a Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé? I'm not interested in who trips and stumbles on the runway, who lost five pounds this week, who gets an alien hair style, or who can or can't dance!
Granted, unscripted television isn't new. Decades ago, Candid Camera, Beat The Clock and Godfrey's Talent Scouts blazed the way for today's line-up of slapdash, brainless entertainment. But, in my opinion, the schedule of programs today has crossed the line of ridiculous into complete lunacy.
Bravo network leeches our minds, maybe even leading the networks with nonsense television. One afternoon--out of total boredom--I briefly watched The Real Housewives of New Jersey. The gang of girdled, make-up dripping, nasal-whining bimbos were having cocktails, and they were in a heated mud-slinging frenzy. Before I could jab the remote, I watched as one hussy leaped from her chintz chair and bitch-slapped another big-haired broad. I'm not sure, but I think big-hair had been shagging the hussy's boy toy. And the Joisey shit hit the fan! That was some noteworthy afternoon diversion.
The Live Out Loud network is not going to sit back and let Bravo claim the prize for idiocy. Oxygen boasts a whole new arena in absurdity.
The Bad Girls' Club. Or could that be The Ho House?
Those seven halfwits may have issues, but the issues go deeper than anger, control and trust. They're living their slut-driven insanity out loud and--apparently--for millions of viewers to see.
Television is no longer free entertainment; I pay good money to watch television, and when I see these kinds of programs I want to chew nails and spit out spikes!
What happened to television with meat, meaning and merit--or even sane comedy? Why is it today, when I brave turning on the television, I feel I've been sucked into the mind of some drug-addled, undisciplined, horny adolescent?
Who gives a rat's ass about the tempest of The Kardashians, Gene Simmons's Jewels, Donald Trump's arrogant outbursts, or a Big Fat Obnoxious Fiancé? I'm not interested in who trips and stumbles on the runway, who lost five pounds this week, who gets an alien hair style, or who can or can't dance!
Granted, unscripted television isn't new. Decades ago, Candid Camera, Beat The Clock and Godfrey's Talent Scouts blazed the way for today's line-up of slapdash, brainless entertainment. But, in my opinion, the schedule of programs today has crossed the line of ridiculous into complete lunacy.
Bravo network leeches our minds, maybe even leading the networks with nonsense television. One afternoon--out of total boredom--I briefly watched The Real Housewives of New Jersey. The gang of girdled, make-up dripping, nasal-whining bimbos were having cocktails, and they were in a heated mud-slinging frenzy. Before I could jab the remote, I watched as one hussy leaped from her chintz chair and bitch-slapped another big-haired broad. I'm not sure, but I think big-hair had been shagging the hussy's boy toy. And the Joisey shit hit the fan! That was some noteworthy afternoon diversion.
The Live Out Loud network is not going to sit back and let Bravo claim the prize for idiocy. Oxygen boasts a whole new arena in absurdity.
The Bad Girls' Club. Or could that be The Ho House?
Those seven halfwits may have issues, but the issues go deeper than anger, control and trust. They're living their slut-driven insanity out loud and--apparently--for millions of viewers to see.
Television is no longer free entertainment; I pay good money to watch television, and when I see these kinds of programs I want to chew nails and spit out spikes!
Friday, March 5, 2010
Default Phart
In 2015 I'll be five years older, and I'll still be wondering what I'm going to do when I grow up.
Coincidentally, when the journalism student suggested the blog topic this week, another student was doing an interview with me for a career reflection essay for one of her teacher education courses. The blog topic begs a look forward; the interview focused on past events, addressing how I got to my current career.
Damn good question!
My spending 30 plus years in education was not by desire or design. It was by default. I knew when I was 12 years old what I wanted to do, and it wasn't working in the field of education. My plan was to be a journalist, and that plan held strong until the summer after high school graduation. To make a long story short, I changed my mind based on immature thinking, enrolled at Northeast Missouri State (letting my enrollment at the University of Missouri go), and graduated four years later with a bachelor's degree in psychology. I had no idea what I was going to do with the degree.
I stumbled through one job, and then another, then returned to school--twice, earning two additional degrees--before I eventually took a job with an Iowa school district in counseling psychology. All the while knowing I was not in the career I wanted, but I was stuck. I did have to pay the bills and I'm not one to go without food! I've always said I made the move into education for three reasons: June, July and August. There is some truth to that! There was never any true passion for the career, there was a true passion for boating, and I needed my summers free to do that!
Six years into the career and the desire to work as a journalist was still niggling in my head. The desire had never really left, I had merely settled. But, I was fortunate--I was close to the University of Iowa, they had a graduate program in journalism, and I had a little cash. I jumped on the chance, and after the first semester was awarded a scholarship that did help defray some of the tuition cost. I wasn't flush with money, so I did have to maintain my school position: I was working 40-hour weeks and taking classes over summers, evenings and during weekend seminars. It took four years, but I finally was awarded the degree I wanted all those years before.
I left education and moved into a job as a feature writer with the Cedar Rapids (Iowa) Gazette. I felt the excitement of doing a job I enjoyed.
Family circumstances, however, eventually made it necessary for me to return to Missouri. Although I was offered a job with the local newspaper, I had moved on from minimum wage jobs, and I had to fall back on my counseling psych education and experience. I was back as an educator.
Looking forward, I have two projects I hope to complete: a fiction novel and a true crime novel. The idea for the fiction novel I've played with for several years and have one completed very rough manuscript; recently, the true crime novel literally fell into my lap! My thesis in grad school was new journalism and the true crime novel. I was that enthusiastic high school kid again when I stumbled on the local case that has all the ingredients for a great book. Currently, I'm working with a CNN trial consultant, hoping we can bring the trial (if the case(s) gets to trial in my lifetime!) to live court television.
I made some mistakes in my career selection, and I spent three decades regretting that. However, in five years I hope to have both writing projects completed. I can then say: "I did it!"
Coincidentally, when the journalism student suggested the blog topic this week, another student was doing an interview with me for a career reflection essay for one of her teacher education courses. The blog topic begs a look forward; the interview focused on past events, addressing how I got to my current career.
Damn good question!
My spending 30 plus years in education was not by desire or design. It was by default. I knew when I was 12 years old what I wanted to do, and it wasn't working in the field of education. My plan was to be a journalist, and that plan held strong until the summer after high school graduation. To make a long story short, I changed my mind based on immature thinking, enrolled at Northeast Missouri State (letting my enrollment at the University of Missouri go), and graduated four years later with a bachelor's degree in psychology. I had no idea what I was going to do with the degree.
I stumbled through one job, and then another, then returned to school--twice, earning two additional degrees--before I eventually took a job with an Iowa school district in counseling psychology. All the while knowing I was not in the career I wanted, but I was stuck. I did have to pay the bills and I'm not one to go without food! I've always said I made the move into education for three reasons: June, July and August. There is some truth to that! There was never any true passion for the career, there was a true passion for boating, and I needed my summers free to do that!
Six years into the career and the desire to work as a journalist was still niggling in my head. The desire had never really left, I had merely settled. But, I was fortunate--I was close to the University of Iowa, they had a graduate program in journalism, and I had a little cash. I jumped on the chance, and after the first semester was awarded a scholarship that did help defray some of the tuition cost. I wasn't flush with money, so I did have to maintain my school position: I was working 40-hour weeks and taking classes over summers, evenings and during weekend seminars. It took four years, but I finally was awarded the degree I wanted all those years before.
I left education and moved into a job as a feature writer with the Cedar Rapids (Iowa) Gazette. I felt the excitement of doing a job I enjoyed.
Family circumstances, however, eventually made it necessary for me to return to Missouri. Although I was offered a job with the local newspaper, I had moved on from minimum wage jobs, and I had to fall back on my counseling psych education and experience. I was back as an educator.
Looking forward, I have two projects I hope to complete: a fiction novel and a true crime novel. The idea for the fiction novel I've played with for several years and have one completed very rough manuscript; recently, the true crime novel literally fell into my lap! My thesis in grad school was new journalism and the true crime novel. I was that enthusiastic high school kid again when I stumbled on the local case that has all the ingredients for a great book. Currently, I'm working with a CNN trial consultant, hoping we can bring the trial (if the case(s) gets to trial in my lifetime!) to live court television.
I made some mistakes in my career selection, and I spent three decades regretting that. However, in five years I hope to have both writing projects completed. I can then say: "I did it!"
Monday, March 1, 2010
Day-Tripper Phart
Ambien doesn't treat acid reflux disease.
Recently, a long-time member of the Brew Crew learned that lesson when she swallowed two Ambien thinking she had taken two Nexium with her morning medications. Later, she said she wondered at the time why those ARD (acid reflux disease) tabs were pink and not little purple pills. By then, it was too late.
She was on a magic carpet ride!
For a while during her trip she stayed with her routine: she left her home, drove through McDonald's, got a yogurt with granola and drove--or sailed, or hallucinated, or floated on a magic carpet--to work. Once at work, her routine went wildly out of control.
The first indication something was out of whack was when a colleague heard what he thought was a high school student revving his big-muscle engine in faculty parking. Concerned--and a little angry--the coworker went to the lot--and found a staff member putting the pedal to the metal! In a big way! Luckily, she did have the car in park; she was just burnin rubber! Goin nowhere. Not knowing where she was. Not caring. Had she not had the car in park, her little blue SUV would've been parked in the main commons of the school, all beat and battered, waiting on the kids to come have breakfast!
After he realized this was no kid, the co-worker got the day-tripper into the building. Ah, but she got away from him. She was later found by another co-worker stumbling in the hallway and mumbling--poor dude had no idea what she was saying. But, that's okay, neither did she! He, too, came to her aid, and he managed to contain her at her desk until reinforcements--including her boss--came to help him. He might have talked to her about little blue men in silver suits riding in funny little ships with bright lights. Who knows. She will tell you, she sure as hell doesn't know! Mamma had a groove on!
Some 30 minutes after taking her meds, Brew Crew member was not only staggering, she was slurring, rubbery and, well, appeared slam-damn drunk as hell! She had a buzz, baby. Ain't no thang. Live and let live. Peace and love, not war. Is my red parrot still on my head?
Help--albeit shocked help--did finally arrive, and four people finally got her across town and back home. By this time, the buzz was full-blown. Oblivious. Gone, baby, gone. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. Glazed-eyes, staggering and nearly incoherent -- but not so far gone she had forgotten her yogurt and granola. She, by gawd, wanted her breakfast. There was, however, a problem: she couldn't hold the spoon. She couldn't find her mouth, evident after her first try at eating independently and smearing her breakfast across her face like an infant. One of the rescuers spoon-fed her the yogurt--after being told "haaaaaaaaaaaaay, the seral stuff goes in there, too!"
We love our P Rose. We laughed at this incident. We belly-laughed. Still, truth be told, this could've been a horrible tragedy. I think we all now know--check the damn medication bottle before swallowing pills!
Recently, a long-time member of the Brew Crew learned that lesson when she swallowed two Ambien thinking she had taken two Nexium with her morning medications. Later, she said she wondered at the time why those ARD (acid reflux disease) tabs were pink and not little purple pills. By then, it was too late.
She was on a magic carpet ride!
For a while during her trip she stayed with her routine: she left her home, drove through McDonald's, got a yogurt with granola and drove--or sailed, or hallucinated, or floated on a magic carpet--to work. Once at work, her routine went wildly out of control.
The first indication something was out of whack was when a colleague heard what he thought was a high school student revving his big-muscle engine in faculty parking. Concerned--and a little angry--the coworker went to the lot--and found a staff member putting the pedal to the metal! In a big way! Luckily, she did have the car in park; she was just burnin rubber! Goin nowhere. Not knowing where she was. Not caring. Had she not had the car in park, her little blue SUV would've been parked in the main commons of the school, all beat and battered, waiting on the kids to come have breakfast!
After he realized this was no kid, the co-worker got the day-tripper into the building. Ah, but she got away from him. She was later found by another co-worker stumbling in the hallway and mumbling--poor dude had no idea what she was saying. But, that's okay, neither did she! He, too, came to her aid, and he managed to contain her at her desk until reinforcements--including her boss--came to help him. He might have talked to her about little blue men in silver suits riding in funny little ships with bright lights. Who knows. She will tell you, she sure as hell doesn't know! Mamma had a groove on!
Some 30 minutes after taking her meds, Brew Crew member was not only staggering, she was slurring, rubbery and, well, appeared slam-damn drunk as hell! She had a buzz, baby. Ain't no thang. Live and let live. Peace and love, not war. Is my red parrot still on my head?
Help--albeit shocked help--did finally arrive, and four people finally got her across town and back home. By this time, the buzz was full-blown. Oblivious. Gone, baby, gone. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. Glazed-eyes, staggering and nearly incoherent -- but not so far gone she had forgotten her yogurt and granola. She, by gawd, wanted her breakfast. There was, however, a problem: she couldn't hold the spoon. She couldn't find her mouth, evident after her first try at eating independently and smearing her breakfast across her face like an infant. One of the rescuers spoon-fed her the yogurt--after being told "haaaaaaaaaaaaay, the seral stuff goes in there, too!"
We love our P Rose. We laughed at this incident. We belly-laughed. Still, truth be told, this could've been a horrible tragedy. I think we all now know--check the damn medication bottle before swallowing pills!
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