#429 The Number

#429 The Number


(Stroudsburg, PA) -- It always pops up. Has for more than six decades. The number is 109. First street address in queens: 4109. First street address on Long Island, 109. Many other instances as well. And now, room 109 in the Stroudsburg, PA Central Fleabag. Luck of the draw. But it must be the hundred-ninth time this figure's show up uninvited.

It isn't REALLY a fleabag. But Pocono ski country in mid-summer is not exactly a hotbed of activity. (Well, yes it sort of is, more about which later.) So, while the lobby is beautiful, and the bar is fully stocked and near empty, the restaurant is closed and covered with signs that say "Coming Soon. Indian Restaurant. That's going to go over bigtime in this cosmopolitan center. Nice pool, if you don't look too closely. Nice hallways, just don't walk on the carpet barefoot (what's going on inside that rug?)

Peeling wallpaper is a nice decorative touch in the room. So is the TV set with a picture so dark you can't see most of what's on the screen. One hundred nine different movies with titles like "Wild College Sluts" and "Dumbo." (Whatever happened to "Wild College Dumbos?") at $10.99 some were a bargain. (There's that number again.) Others at that price would double their first run box office triumphs with two pay-per-views.

The walls are thin. Found that out the hard way.

Now, about that hotbed: It was 4:45 am and the woman in 107 squeeled once, loud but unappealingly. It was hard to resist the urge to say "do it again." But presence of mind isn't always there when awakened at 4:45. No matter. Their alarm (I assume it was a "they" and not only a "she") at 5AM. Just enough time to get back to sleep. And she/they must have hit the snooze button, because it went off again at 5:07.

Across the street is a 24-hour "family" restaurant. But no one seemed to be working there. There were a few patrons sitting at empty tables, two more who were waiting at the register and no employees in sight. Either time.

Fortunately, there was a "Pump and Pantry" gasoline station and convenience store next door, where this conversation took place:

Visitor: "This Calzone? Was it made this week?"

Clerk: "What? No, it was made a month ago and has been sitting here ever since."

Visitor: "Great, I like 'em aged a bit."

Clerk: "Yeah. fresh is overrated."

In reality, it was probably 109 hours old. Which is about right for a Calzone. One hundred nine days would have put it into the gourmet single-malt Italian dish mode and raised the price 200%

Shrapnel:

--Favorite road sign on this trip. "Mile Run, Two Miles." Huh?

--Who says plastic's no good? The spray shower head will last for 109 years. The metal hose springs leaks starting after the second year of use.

--Now, something from the sexist language department. Why is it "his and hers?" It might be either "hers and his'" or even "theirs'."



I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008

#428 Mustang Solly

#428 Mustang Solly

Don't confuse him with Mustang Sally. Another story, entirely. Anyway, here's Solly, maybe 80 years old and he pulls up to the curb in his 1964 1/2 Mustang. Yes. A 1964 1/2 Ford Mustang. Pitch black. You can comb your hair by looking in the paint job. Pitch black (you ever see pitch? It's really black!)

Red maybe-leather seat. V-8. Not a single piece of plastic on the exterior. Chrome bumpers, real chrome, too. Not "brightwork," but gen-yu-wine chromium.

Solly gets out of the car to ask directions. The door opens wide enough for this old guy to exit without imitating a pretzel. Says he's looking for the place where his buyer lives. It's down the block.

"Who restored this baby for you?" he's asked.

"I take my detailing seriously he says."

I'll say.

Lee Iaccoca would be proud. Better than when it left the factory floor in Dearborn.

Yeah, it's just a tricked out Ford Falcon. It wasn't a cult car in 1964. Just a compact with a big engine and fancy trim.

But that's when cars were cars, not rolling living rooms. No air conditioning. Didn't need it. The engineers figured out the air flow back then, and you were usually pretty cool. (Now you'd be VERY cool.)

No power steering or power brakes. Just a car. But WHAT a car.

So, we ask Solly, "how much the guy paying for this ancient bucket of tin?"

"Ten grand," he says, "probably asked too little."

In this shape, he's right. Fourteen-ish is more like it. But he wants to be rid of the thing. Needs the garage space to restore an Olds convertible.

Maybe he figured because the 'stang has a new gas tank, it's not all original. Some stuff just didn't hold up. And only Iaccoca would notice the difference. And only if he looked closely. Oh, and the lining in the trunk. It's new, too. But it looks like an oil cloth table cover from around the time the car came off the line.

By the time Solly got his directions straight, half the guys in the neighborhood were out there gawking at this thing. One brought along a shaver; muttered something about his bathroom mirror out for repair.

Hope he brings that Olds around when he finishes with it. But if he really does take his detailing seriously, it's going to be awhile.




Shrapnel:

--Last year we had a zillion Gypsy moths, raising huge complaints. This year, we had a spraying program and almost no caterpillars. And people are complaining about the spray.

--There's a lot of calcium in the water here. People go to great lengths and expense to get rid of it. And then, they go out and buy calcium supplements which they dutifully take three times a day.

--Some people just can't grow stuff. We had some flowers on the deck and despite loving attention, they died. We threw them into the woods, and now, with no care at all, they're thriving.


I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008

#427 Acoustic Writing

#427 Acoustic Writing

A little pipsqueak mail order catalogue company is offering a typewriter for sale. Prediction: sales will not be brisk.

Many of a certain age long for the days when the typewriter was the best way to process words. (Still unsure here to what process word processors subject words. But that's another story for another time.) They long for the clack clack clack of the keys. They long for the "feel of the road" as you typed -- be it with nine eight fingers (the thumb is not a finger,) or two. They long for the days when there were only enough keys to put words on papers -- the days before "F1" or "num lock" or "PrtSc," "Ctrl" and "alt."

But they fail to remember the downside of typewriters and the upside of "Word" or "Write" or "WordPerfect" software. They fail to remember what it was like digging the eraser droppings out of the typewriter keys. They fail to remember the break-in-thought that happened every time you had to push the carriage return. They fail to remember the week of black fingers after you changed a typewriter ribbon, which you never did often enough.

So, yeah, you can buy a typewriter. It's a great paperweight. If you still use paper.

It's hard for an older writer to admit this, but the fastest path from your brain to your fingers to your page is a computer program. And the fastest way to revise is without an eraser.

There will always be a place for acoustic writing. The clack of the keys, the pen on paper, the scratch of the quill on parchment. But not for everyday use. The clip clip clip sound of fingers on computer keys will never replace the steam-hammer sound of typewriter keys. But it's a lot easier on your fingers. Same with the pen or pencil. After awhile you get writer's cramp.

Plus, portable typewriters are like early portable televisions. You need real muscle to port them.

Further, you can use your notebook computer in Starbucks or McDonald's without causing a fuss. Can you imagine the double-chocolate-half-calf-frappacino crowd in the coffee shop when you set your 1949 Royal on a table and go clackityclackityclack for half an hour?

They'd take away your whipped cream privileges and ban you for life if you did that.

Typewriters are cute and nostalgic. But even in today's world of anything-goes, they're rude.










Shrapnel:

--A new report says little airports have a better record for on-time arrivals and departures than the big ones. That's fine. Except at most of those smaller airports, you can't get there from here.

---Here's the next big thing in criminal defense. And the shrinks say this is real. You have a delusion in which you believe you're the subject of your own, personal reality TV show.

--Hint to the mentally fit: You are NOT the subject of your own reality TV show. It's not reality TV. It's a soap opera.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008

#426 Trade Imbalance

#426 Trade Imbalance

Pew Research says we're seeing less and less news from overseas. Less time on TV, less space in the papers. So, howcome when everything else is imported, this stuff stops. You think we have a trade imbalance with China and Japan? Nothing to match this one. All our news is domestic. And most of it takes place right around home.

Not totally a bad thing. But lacking.

It's great to know the firefighter next door rescued a kitten from a drainpipe. It's wonderful to read the minutes of the local county legislature or board of alderpersons, or whatever they call it where you live.

It's even good to know that neighbors think there ought to be a traffic light on your corner.

But even though stuff like this has a place in the paper and on TV, there needs to be more and we're not getting it.

There are just so many "we value your opinion" surveys about the price of gasoline. There are just so many pictures of blackened-buildings-still-smoldering on TV. After that, we need a little perspective.

Tip O'Neill said "all politics is local." Most editors will tell you the same about news. They're all wrong.

In a globalized world, we need a globalized viewpoint, a perspective that extends beyond the kitten in the tree, the aftermath of a house fire and even the graft in the state capital.

The only time we get "foreign" news is when China sends us a lead-infused Barbie or Mexico (or was it the Republic of Texas) sends us a diseased jalapeno, or we send a presidential candidate to a war zone.

The kitten in the tree is the same story whether it takes place in East Hills, New York or Warsaw, Poland. We need to know that, because the kid in East Hills is essentially the same kid as in Warsaw. We need to know THAT.

Today, we have instant satellite communication with nearly everywhere on earth. And everyone has a video camera. And what are we doing with this technology? Nothing. We've dug a hole and we're living in it. And that's dangerous. Until we figure out that the guy in the cave in Afghanistan and the guy in the trailer in East Nowhere and the guy in the co-op on Madison Avenue are the same guy, we are going to stay stuck in that hole.

And the view stinks.





Shrapnel:

--How they get to be "fair and balanced." Do a news item about a liberal or middle of the road position, and follow it with the conservative angle. People remember the punch line, not the lead.

--No fine for Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction." That's good news for CBS. Now they can REALLY do something to boost the ratings of the "Evening News."

--Alternative fuels may eventually take their place in the transportation field. That's not what we need now. What we need now is wind-up cars.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008

#425 Return to Moote Pointe

#425 Return to Moote Pointe

We ambled through the old stomping grounds recently. A lot has changed. A lot hasn't.

The traffic on Long Island remains miserable. The heat remains miserable. The cholesterol pipe still runs among Taco Bell, Burger King, crosses the street to Wendy's and zigzags back to McDonalds. All those cholesterol fill up stations in a row. Makes the supply chain fast and easy, no small feat in days where gasoline costs more than beer.

The Gangland Amusement Park and the combination donut shop and gun store next to the elementary school have closed. And they've redone some of the sidewalks in "art brick." Art brick? The Moote Pointe Chamber of Commerce points to the sidewalks with pride. Thing is, grass grows between the bricks. Not on many of the lawns, mind you. But the Chamber has had to hire a landscaper to mow the sidewalks once every two weeks.

And a new business has come to town, a used shoe store. What? Yes, a used shoe store. But they're very picky about what they sell. Plenty of Manolo Blancos. A scattering of Jimmy Choos. When you look at their stock, you see absolutely no wear on the soles or heels.

"Are you sure these are used?" a visitor asked. "Yes," said Alan Silverman, proprietor of Moote Pointe Used Shoes. "You have to remember the feet of the residents of Moote Pointe never touch the ground." Good point. Nothing for men yet, though. No manly man from Moote Pointe wants to give up his Mephistos. At least, not until winter.

The fun part of the trip was trying to fall into the gap between the LIRR cars and the platforms. But try as we will, old commuter habits prevented it. Some of those gaps are wide enough to accomodate a small horse. Unless you take a Giant Step. Commuters (and apparently ex-commuters) have trained themselves over the decades to take Giant Steps when boarding or leaving a LIRR car.

The library has more DVDs than books. The town center four-faced clock is still wrong -- four different ways.

The food at the retro diner, greasy as can be, remains among the best-tasting in America, maybe in the northern hemisphere. The Russian barbers remain classy, fast and cheap.

The leaf blower symphony continues unabated. So do the pedestrian fatalities on Sunrise Highway. Some things never change.

(Additional reporting by Slip Chard and Herbert Taryton)


Shrapnel:

--US News has cut its publication back to every other week. Newsweek can't follow. It would have to change its name to "News Every Other Week," which isn't nearly as snappy, and doesn't fall off the tongue as easily.

--Time can't do it either. No name change needed here. But they'd have to face all those jokes about watches running slow, "Time-Out" and the like.

--Newspapers, struggling to use less paper also could cut back. That, too would require name changes. "The New York Every Other Daily News?"

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008

#424 Car Wars

#424 Car Wars

If you're a regular reader or listeners you know this space regards the automotives as the single most important business in America. But it's time to get real.

With GM cutting white collar jobs (why do they have those people in the first place?) and cutting back on models, it's time to rethink what this business does and has done since the era of Henry Ford and Alfred Sloan.

Start here: there are a bunch of brands we don't need. (The world did not end when Chrysler stopped making Plymouth. Nor did the ice caps melt when GM spiked Oldsmobile.)

Here's a list of cars we don't need: Pontiac, Saturn, Mercury, Dodge, Hummer and maybe Buick. Just fold 'em up and concentrate on the brands that still work. Chevy, Ford, Lincoln, Cadillac, Chrysler. The excess brands exist in name only. Their stuff differs only insignificantly from their corporate siblings.

Oh, and dealership organizations. That's really where the problem is. What do you do with all those Pontiac, Saturn, Mercury, Dodge, Hummer and maybe Buick dealers? Buy them. The car companies are sitting on enough cash to pay off the national debt. If there's no Pontiac, the guys on the production line can stay busy making Chevies and Caddys.

You want to wax nostalgic about the cars of olden times, go right ahead. Kaiser, Frazer, Tucker, Hudson, Nash, Studebaker, DeSoto, Franklin, Checker, LaSalle, REO, Oakland, Maxwell, Packard, Rambler International Harvester, Baker Electric, Stanley. Go ahead and get all teary.

Give it one minute per brand.

Okay. Time's up.

Now, think about the wood and metal and plastic, the electronics and glass, cloth and wire that it takes to build even the skimpiest of what's left. And think of what it would mean if THESE went away.

There ARE problems beside bad planning and bad marketing. Ford and GM took what they thought would be a short term gain by spinning off their parts divisions -- but did it without escaping from liabilities that went along with the sale. They're paying for it, bigtime. GM sold a good chunk of its lucrative financial arm, GMAC, also for a short term gain.

The Three (they used to be the "big" three,) need to concentrate on what the public wants and needs now and not worry about the margins. And, unfortunately, the margin is anything that doesn't sell well or shouldn't.


Shrapnel:

--They're putting advertising on the backs of airline boarding passes. Not a bad idea. Probably going to be effective if anyone flies again.

--Obama is a poker player. McCain likes the craps table. This is one case where "the house always wins" is untrue, because WE are the house.

--A local restaurant advertises its location by keeping an enormous plaster of paris cow on the roof. There's something they don't tell you. That's where they got your dinner.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008

#423 FLASH: AP KILLS SELF

#423 FLASH: AP KILLS SELF

The Associated Press doesn't use the "Flash" anymore. When it did, the definition was "A story in three or fewer words that no one will misunderstand." Often, it took only two words. Here are some examples: "Japan Surrenders." "Kennedy Shot." "Nixon Resigns." Sometimes, it took only one word: "Liftoff!"

If you think journalism is in bad shape, you're righter than you know. What's killing it? Is it the 24 hour news cycle? The obsession with political minutia or celebrity gossip? Is it the right wing wacko blogs? The internet? The price of newsprint? Declining readership/listenership/viewership? Preoccupation with the bottom line instead of the customer? None of the above.

It's the AP's decision to abandon a 162 year tradition of neutrality and let reporters "call it like they see it." This is called "accountability journalism." Translation: hold public officials' feet to the fire, using as tongs your own viewpoint. Nothing wrong with the first thought. The second has no place in the AP, which is, after all, the spine, nervous system and circulation system of news, worldwide and without which no other news organization could survive.

Accountability Journalism? How about Opinion Journalism. We have plenty of that on TV and in the blogosphere. We don't need it from the Kings of Neutrality, or maybe, more accurately the former Kings of Neutrality. We do not need some yutz from the AP telling us how the government screwed up the economy, Iraq and Katrina relief. We have radio talkshows for that. We need to be presented with the facts and given the time and space to make up our own minds.

The so-called Accountability to which the AP says it wants to hold public officials is fine. Who will hold the reporters and editors there accountable. How will we know we're getting a complete picture.

And what will come next? Now that every piece of news -- other than cats stranded in trees and drunks getting traffic citations while driving their riding lawnmowers through traffic -- is an opinion piece?

How do we know that a piece on, say, cancer research, isn't written by the public relations office of a pharmaceutical manufacturer. Or even worse, from a peddler of pyramid scheme multivitamins and homeopathic potions?

How do we know that a piece on nuclear waste disposal isn't written by the public relations office of a nuclear fuel maker?

How do we trust their reporting on global warming or Wall Street or even Britney Spears?

This is, at best, an invitation to sloppiness, and an end to the single most important component of neutral reporting: leg work.

(Disclaimer: your correspondent served as a writer and editor on the Associated Press National Broadcast Desk from 1971 to 1975.)



Shrapnel:

--Look at the label on your small serving potato chip. You may think they've reduced the fat. But no, they've changed the portion size so you get 1.5 servings, not just one.

--Here's an investment tip. Buy uninhabitable sand dunes in Arizona or Florida or Nevada. Iraq war reenactments will soon be all the rage and property values will skyrocket.

--Beer woes got you down? Now that both Bud and Miller are in foreign hands you don't know what to drink? There's plenty of the stuff still made in USA, but you have to look.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.(R)
(C)WJR 2008