#393 Builds Strong Bones And Teeth
They've got so much calcium in the water now that it makes spots on stuff that "can't" get spots. Like stainless steel cookware. Spots on the pots, and you can't scrub 'em out. You boil a pot of tea and the inside of the kettle is adolescent acne spotted for life. Try Brillo, lemon, soaking, even Clorox. It's there for life.
Those new stainless steel kitchen sinks? They aren't stainless. Either that or we have the world's strongest calcium.
Funny part about all this is that people have been running to get those filter gadgets, the ones that remove calcium and other stuff. Sometimes they even have plumbers and "water specialists" and water "consultants" come over and install special systems and under-sink filters and pumps to get rid of the calcium.
Once the calcium is removed, they promptly head to the vitamin store -- for calcium supplements.
Most of us think of water and, well, water.
But it isn't. It's as varied as there are places that produce it.
New England is getting a nice rep for good water. Poland Spring and others fill their bottles in places like Maine and New Hampshire. It's really no purer than the stuff that comes out of your tap, but we now have water snobs joining the wine snobs.
It won't be long before someone starts publishing "Water Spectator" or "Water Enthusiast" magazines to compete with the wine magazines.
And we can get into heated discussions about whether the waters of France and Spain and Italy are really better than the waters of California or New York.
In addition to wineries, there will be wateries. Boutique bottlers will spring up along side boutique vineyards on Long Island. Colorado will have to chime in with mountain spring waters. Hot Springs will bottle microwaveable servings of their stuff.
A whole new industry. But no calcium.
Water theme parks will charge more for admission to slosh rides that are fed by, say Niagara Falls, than they will for rides that are fed with water by pipes and plumbers.
And still, no calicum.
A war between Puget Sound and Long Island Sound, perhaps?
And desalinated water from (check as many as apply)
--The Red Sea
--The Dead Sea
--The Atlantic (choose north or south, please.)
--The Pacific (choose south or "regular," please.)
--The Mediterranean Sea
--The North Sea
Sooner or later, there's going to be a water cartel, OWEN, the Organization of Water Exporting Nations.
And you know who's going to be behind that one, right? Nestle, the Tennessee Valley Authority, the City of Newark and PepsiCo.
But it's not as dumb as it sounds -- or as dumb as you think.
Half the world is short of water. Especially some people who have more oil than brains.
Maybe we can get even.
And while we're at it, we can get rid of some of that nasty calcium that's been building up on our pots and in our filter systems.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
Friday, May 02, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
#391 Hooray for Bureaucracy
#392 Hooray for Bureaucracy
Bureaucracy is the secret weapon of the productive. Oh, yes, it can be misused. But it also can be a valuable weapon in the arsenal of getting stuff done.
Take Klopnick from the paving contractor. He's in charge of buying raw materials and getting it to the job site.
It's pretty cut and dried stuff. You buy tar or concrete or whatever, according to the job specs. Then you get it loaded on your truck and send it to where the work is being done. Sounds simple enough. But you don't know Amalgamated Builders, where Klopnick has worked for the last 30 or 35 years.
Used to be he'd read the specs, call the supplier and supervise the receiving. No more. Now, they have an order department, a receiving department and a distribution office. And Kloppy. as they call him, reports to the Supervisor of Orders, the Supervisor of Receiving and the Supervisor of Distribution, three guys who don't get along. Well, it's not that they don't get along. They don't even talk to each other.
The whole plant stops for lunch each morning at 11:45. The three supervisors all eat in the company cafeteria. Each always picks a table that's at the greatest possible distance from the other two. Bonus points if all three backs are facing each other -- so no one even has to look.
Kloppy never can get a straight answer about anything from any of the supervisors because there's always what the shrinks call a "sub text."
When Kloppy goes to the Supervisor of Receiving, for example, and asks a simple question like "can you get in 40 metric tons of 'crete into the house if it arrives after 3PM tomorrow?" The supervisor doesn't hear that question. What he hears is "I've been ordered by the Supervisor of Orders to buy 40 metric tons of concrete and he expects delivery at 3 tomorrow afternoon. How can we screw him up? Close early? Get short-handed? What?"
Klopnick knows this, so he doesn't bother with the Supervisor of Receiving. He gets the order from the Engineer in Charge, fills it, and has it delivered. The Supervisor of Orders gets post-facto notice. The Supervisor of Receiving gets a receiving bay full of trucks, but no notice, and the Supervisor of distribution has to go question the other two supervisors about where the stuff is supposed to be distributed. He has to do this through an emissary because, as you know, he doesn't talk with the other two guys.
Eventually, one by one, they'll sidle up to Kloppy's desk and ask how the stuff got bought, came in or went out. Kloppy will smile and say he's only a clerk, that they'd better ask the other two supervisors because all he does is follow orders. And, of course, this they won't do.
The head guy at Amalgamated knows this is going on. And he knows two things about it. Thing one: Kloppy won't live forever, so these guys have to have at least some knowledge of how this all works and thing two: the job will get done, despite the supervisors of ordering, receiving and distribution.
If Kloppy had to work through the bureaucracy, no job would get done.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
Bureaucracy is the secret weapon of the productive. Oh, yes, it can be misused. But it also can be a valuable weapon in the arsenal of getting stuff done.
Take Klopnick from the paving contractor. He's in charge of buying raw materials and getting it to the job site.
It's pretty cut and dried stuff. You buy tar or concrete or whatever, according to the job specs. Then you get it loaded on your truck and send it to where the work is being done. Sounds simple enough. But you don't know Amalgamated Builders, where Klopnick has worked for the last 30 or 35 years.
Used to be he'd read the specs, call the supplier and supervise the receiving. No more. Now, they have an order department, a receiving department and a distribution office. And Kloppy. as they call him, reports to the Supervisor of Orders, the Supervisor of Receiving and the Supervisor of Distribution, three guys who don't get along. Well, it's not that they don't get along. They don't even talk to each other.
The whole plant stops for lunch each morning at 11:45. The three supervisors all eat in the company cafeteria. Each always picks a table that's at the greatest possible distance from the other two. Bonus points if all three backs are facing each other -- so no one even has to look.
Kloppy never can get a straight answer about anything from any of the supervisors because there's always what the shrinks call a "sub text."
When Kloppy goes to the Supervisor of Receiving, for example, and asks a simple question like "can you get in 40 metric tons of 'crete into the house if it arrives after 3PM tomorrow?" The supervisor doesn't hear that question. What he hears is "I've been ordered by the Supervisor of Orders to buy 40 metric tons of concrete and he expects delivery at 3 tomorrow afternoon. How can we screw him up? Close early? Get short-handed? What?"
Klopnick knows this, so he doesn't bother with the Supervisor of Receiving. He gets the order from the Engineer in Charge, fills it, and has it delivered. The Supervisor of Orders gets post-facto notice. The Supervisor of Receiving gets a receiving bay full of trucks, but no notice, and the Supervisor of distribution has to go question the other two supervisors about where the stuff is supposed to be distributed. He has to do this through an emissary because, as you know, he doesn't talk with the other two guys.
Eventually, one by one, they'll sidle up to Kloppy's desk and ask how the stuff got bought, came in or went out. Kloppy will smile and say he's only a clerk, that they'd better ask the other two supervisors because all he does is follow orders. And, of course, this they won't do.
The head guy at Amalgamated knows this is going on. And he knows two things about it. Thing one: Kloppy won't live forever, so these guys have to have at least some knowledge of how this all works and thing two: the job will get done, despite the supervisors of ordering, receiving and distribution.
If Kloppy had to work through the bureaucracy, no job would get done.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
Monday, April 28, 2008
#391 The Stimulus Checks
#391 The Stimulus Checks
Jed Clampett, eat your heart out. You may have found oil on your rural slum and made a fortune, but that's chicken feed. We have stimulus checks from our Esteemed Leader and all is well in the land.
The government is giving back more than $100 billion to us peasants. And we are so grateful.
Now, maybe we'll make the June rent. Or we can top off the tank, buy a couple of potatoes. Even pay down part of the Master Card.
Six months ago, Our Fearless Leader was telling us the stimulus checks would put the economy back on track. It would cause investment and that would create jobs. Only one guy believed that, the President. And maybe he only pretended to.
No one believes that now, not even Dubya. Nope. Now he's saying we can fill up the tank a couple of times and maybe have steak once this quarter.
Stimulus, my nose.
The checks really were a double edge bribe. Edge 1: Remember this president fondly, because he gave you money. Edge 2: Since the president is a Republican and generous, you should vote for McCain. McCain means money in your pocket.
Buying votes is as old as democracy. Bribes are older yet. Won't work this time. We're too savvy and too cynical. Not that we won't take the money. It's just that we think of it as our due, a bribe we've earned tenfold for putting up with this guy and his cronies and his wacky ideas.
The Bush war, the Bush recession? The checks should be a lot bigger. But we'll sell out cheap. No one will turn his back. Well, no one but Giacomo "Jack" Muscatelli from Seaford. He's got the envelope ready. Stamp and all. And he's got the letter written. He's just waiting for the check, which he will endorse "pay to the order of George W. Bush."
"This guy needs it more than me," says Jack. "Poor sonofagun's got the whole world mad at him, and I don't need it. I got tomatoes in the yard, I don't drive and I can manage the Visa bill. This guy's gonna be out of work in a few months. Let him have my share."
Jack may not be the only one. Lots of people are getting ready to sign their checks over to the President.
Most of us will take and use the money. And we'll be grateful for it. We will fill the gas tank, pay the electric bill, maybe take the kids out to dinner (Denny's? burger King?,) maybe stash a few bucks extra in the checking account.
But no one's going to hire anyone based on a one-time "gift" of a few hundred dollars. No one's going to buy any shares of GE or Citicorp.
It's all very stimulating. Jed, you've got company.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008
Jed Clampett, eat your heart out. You may have found oil on your rural slum and made a fortune, but that's chicken feed. We have stimulus checks from our Esteemed Leader and all is well in the land.
The government is giving back more than $100 billion to us peasants. And we are so grateful.
Now, maybe we'll make the June rent. Or we can top off the tank, buy a couple of potatoes. Even pay down part of the Master Card.
Six months ago, Our Fearless Leader was telling us the stimulus checks would put the economy back on track. It would cause investment and that would create jobs. Only one guy believed that, the President. And maybe he only pretended to.
No one believes that now, not even Dubya. Nope. Now he's saying we can fill up the tank a couple of times and maybe have steak once this quarter.
Stimulus, my nose.
The checks really were a double edge bribe. Edge 1: Remember this president fondly, because he gave you money. Edge 2: Since the president is a Republican and generous, you should vote for McCain. McCain means money in your pocket.
Buying votes is as old as democracy. Bribes are older yet. Won't work this time. We're too savvy and too cynical. Not that we won't take the money. It's just that we think of it as our due, a bribe we've earned tenfold for putting up with this guy and his cronies and his wacky ideas.
The Bush war, the Bush recession? The checks should be a lot bigger. But we'll sell out cheap. No one will turn his back. Well, no one but Giacomo "Jack" Muscatelli from Seaford. He's got the envelope ready. Stamp and all. And he's got the letter written. He's just waiting for the check, which he will endorse "pay to the order of George W. Bush."
"This guy needs it more than me," says Jack. "Poor sonofagun's got the whole world mad at him, and I don't need it. I got tomatoes in the yard, I don't drive and I can manage the Visa bill. This guy's gonna be out of work in a few months. Let him have my share."
Jack may not be the only one. Lots of people are getting ready to sign their checks over to the President.
Most of us will take and use the money. And we'll be grateful for it. We will fill the gas tank, pay the electric bill, maybe take the kids out to dinner (Denny's? burger King?,) maybe stash a few bucks extra in the checking account.
But no one's going to hire anyone based on a one-time "gift" of a few hundred dollars. No one's going to buy any shares of GE or Citicorp.
It's all very stimulating. Jed, you've got company.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
#390 Privatized Rationing
#390 Privatized Rationing
Corn crisis, rice crisis, fuel crisis, food crisis. We sure have a lot of crises these days.
The discount "club" stores are starting to ration rice. Four bags to a customer.
Is there a rice shortage? No. There's plenty of rice, and most of it's grown in the U.S. So what's with the rationing?
The so-called "clubs" don't make any money from the stuff they sell. I'll say that again. They don't make two nickels on all that stuff in the aisles. Not usually. They make money selling "memberships."
The price of rice has doubled. That puts it somewhere near 50 cents a pound. Sam's Club the others don't want to raise the price. They want to preserve the illusion of cheap stuff. So rather than buy more rice to sell, they're relying on the stock on hand and parceling it out. They don't want you to think that stuff is getting expensive. Even more so, they don't want you to think that THEY are getting expensive.
The best of all worlds. They hold the price down and start privatized rationing. It's more American than, oh, say, welfare and get-rich-quick seminars, phony wars and intentional depressions.
We're talking pennies, here, folks.
Sam's Club holds the price on rice and looks like a hero. Plus they sell the stuff in trillion-pound bags, not the little boxes you find on the supermarket shelves. So everyone gets enough, and some enterprising merchant takes a new step toward self-regulation, or as some folks call it, anarchy.
Rice is pretty important to the diet. Half the world survives on little else. Sometimes that's a choice, sometimes it's the only answer. But there IS no "rice crisis."
But why stop at rice? Privatized rationing is the wave of the future.
Start with something subtle, like information.
The 24-hour news networks could cut back to 12 hours.
The daily paper could cut back to publishing three times a week.
The library could hide half its books.
How about air? Ration air. Of course, first you'd have to sell the air industry to private owners. Then, they could control how often you inhale and exhale.
The phone companies could ration talk time. (Oh, wait, don't they do that already?)
And we kind of have that with gasoline, now. Oh, Exxon will sell you as much as you want. But they're working toward intense conservation by keeping the prices artificially high. They're big, but they're chicken. They don't want to CALL it rationing.
Sam's Club should be congratulated for naming and starting this new trend. And you can help support their patriotic effort by forking over forty bucks and joining.
You get to learn the secret handshake, and get a free Sam's De-coder ring as a bonus for joining.
Of course, you join as a low ranking neophyte member. But if you are ambitious, you soon will rise through the ranks. They have degrees, like the Masons, the Boy Scouts and the dictatorship of the proletariat.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
Corn crisis, rice crisis, fuel crisis, food crisis. We sure have a lot of crises these days.
The discount "club" stores are starting to ration rice. Four bags to a customer.
Is there a rice shortage? No. There's plenty of rice, and most of it's grown in the U.S. So what's with the rationing?
The so-called "clubs" don't make any money from the stuff they sell. I'll say that again. They don't make two nickels on all that stuff in the aisles. Not usually. They make money selling "memberships."
The price of rice has doubled. That puts it somewhere near 50 cents a pound. Sam's Club the others don't want to raise the price. They want to preserve the illusion of cheap stuff. So rather than buy more rice to sell, they're relying on the stock on hand and parceling it out. They don't want you to think that stuff is getting expensive. Even more so, they don't want you to think that THEY are getting expensive.
The best of all worlds. They hold the price down and start privatized rationing. It's more American than, oh, say, welfare and get-rich-quick seminars, phony wars and intentional depressions.
We're talking pennies, here, folks.
Sam's Club holds the price on rice and looks like a hero. Plus they sell the stuff in trillion-pound bags, not the little boxes you find on the supermarket shelves. So everyone gets enough, and some enterprising merchant takes a new step toward self-regulation, or as some folks call it, anarchy.
Rice is pretty important to the diet. Half the world survives on little else. Sometimes that's a choice, sometimes it's the only answer. But there IS no "rice crisis."
But why stop at rice? Privatized rationing is the wave of the future.
Start with something subtle, like information.
The 24-hour news networks could cut back to 12 hours.
The daily paper could cut back to publishing three times a week.
The library could hide half its books.
How about air? Ration air. Of course, first you'd have to sell the air industry to private owners. Then, they could control how often you inhale and exhale.
The phone companies could ration talk time. (Oh, wait, don't they do that already?)
And we kind of have that with gasoline, now. Oh, Exxon will sell you as much as you want. But they're working toward intense conservation by keeping the prices artificially high. They're big, but they're chicken. They don't want to CALL it rationing.
Sam's Club should be congratulated for naming and starting this new trend. And you can help support their patriotic effort by forking over forty bucks and joining.
You get to learn the secret handshake, and get a free Sam's De-coder ring as a bonus for joining.
Of course, you join as a low ranking neophyte member. But if you are ambitious, you soon will rise through the ranks. They have degrees, like the Masons, the Boy Scouts and the dictatorship of the proletariat.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Artie The Hustler
#389 Artie The Hustler
Artie the Hustler is sitting at the window in suite 2301 on the 22nd floor of the Hotel Especial and he's looking out at Central Park and wondering if there's a way he can call Kylie of the DeLuxe Escort Service and put the thing on his expense account.
Artie checks his wallet and he's got a coupla hundred cash, which is more than enough to have dinner even at The Especial Chalet, which is the main floor dining room.
Okay, so he can pay for his own food, and still voucher it. But a couple of hundred for dinner is going to raise an eyebrow or two and that's still not enough for Kyie. But maybe he can hustle something. Looks in his luggage. Good stuff in there. Calls Kylie. She's not there, but everyone who answers at DeLuxe knows Artie.
"How about sending Kylie over? I got maybe 200 dollars."
"Aw, Artie, you know we can't do that."
"Well, how about 200 and I'll throw in a Dualite CD player, complete with batteries, charger and special advanced digital headphones?"
"Artie... cash or credit card. No CD player. Just cash or credit card."
"Well, how about the 200 and the CD player and two tickets to Bela Fleck at South Street Seaport. You can scalp those for at least another couple of hundred."
"Artie, no one in New York will pay more than face for Bela Fleck."
"Alright. My final offer. 200 bucks, the CD player, the accessories, the Bela Flek tickets AND a year's subscription to my website."
"Ferchrissakes, Artie, okay, but don't keep her more than half an hour. And that Player better work."
Kylie is as good a hustler as Artie and when she shows up an hour later, she gets the cash, the player, the tickets, the web subscription, plus Artie's suitcase, his credit card, three bath towels a couple of water tumblers and a portable iron from the closet.
(This is a previously unpublished excerpt from "Tiny Tales." ©1996, 1997, 2008 WJR It's a couple of hundred words shorter than usual, but #385 was a double, so we're even.)
Artie the Hustler is sitting at the window in suite 2301 on the 22nd floor of the Hotel Especial and he's looking out at Central Park and wondering if there's a way he can call Kylie of the DeLuxe Escort Service and put the thing on his expense account.
Artie checks his wallet and he's got a coupla hundred cash, which is more than enough to have dinner even at The Especial Chalet, which is the main floor dining room.
Okay, so he can pay for his own food, and still voucher it. But a couple of hundred for dinner is going to raise an eyebrow or two and that's still not enough for Kyie. But maybe he can hustle something. Looks in his luggage. Good stuff in there. Calls Kylie. She's not there, but everyone who answers at DeLuxe knows Artie.
"How about sending Kylie over? I got maybe 200 dollars."
"Aw, Artie, you know we can't do that."
"Well, how about 200 and I'll throw in a Dualite CD player, complete with batteries, charger and special advanced digital headphones?"
"Artie... cash or credit card. No CD player. Just cash or credit card."
"Well, how about the 200 and the CD player and two tickets to Bela Fleck at South Street Seaport. You can scalp those for at least another couple of hundred."
"Artie, no one in New York will pay more than face for Bela Fleck."
"Alright. My final offer. 200 bucks, the CD player, the accessories, the Bela Flek tickets AND a year's subscription to my website."
"Ferchrissakes, Artie, okay, but don't keep her more than half an hour. And that Player better work."
Kylie is as good a hustler as Artie and when she shows up an hour later, she gets the cash, the player, the tickets, the web subscription, plus Artie's suitcase, his credit card, three bath towels a couple of water tumblers and a portable iron from the closet.
(This is a previously unpublished excerpt from "Tiny Tales." ©1996, 1997, 2008 WJR It's a couple of hundred words shorter than usual, but #385 was a double, so we're even.)
Monday, April 21, 2008
#388 She's a Grand Old Pin
#388 She's a Grand Old Pin
Picture this. George Washington comes back to life and the first thing he does is get one of those flag pins and sticks it in his lapel.
Don't hold your breath for that one. George didn't need one. He was a walking symbol of patriotism, and try to imagine ABC's Charlie Gibson trying to make George look small by asking him about one.
The flag pin has been around a long time, but it was Richard Nixon who made the thing popular. Great Patriot Nixon, who brought us Watergate, was the first guy to make a fashion statement out of the American flag.
Nixon was the least secure individual in American politics in the lifetime of anyone reading or hearing this. And the people who wear them are cut from almost the same cloth.
Digression: do you know why the 9/11 attacks failed? It's because the nutcase terrorists confuse symbolism with reality. the brought down two of the ugliest structures ever built. They killed a lot of people. They killed the symbol. They did not kill the spirit behind it.
We Americans know the difference between symbol and spirit.
The Trade Center towers were a symbol of America. They were a government sponsored monument to American Capitalism. They were destroyed. American capitalism lives.
The Trade Center collapsed. What it represented did not. We're still Americans, we're still capitalists. We mourn our human losses and rebuild our destroyed buildings. the symbol matters only to the extent that we were attacked and lives were lost.
The attackers didn't understand this about us then, and they don't now.
The ultra-conservative US Supreme Court has said burning the flag is protected communication. It's reprehensible, but legal. That's because we don't need the symbols.
The symbols and what they symbolize are two different things, and even this court understands that.
So what of the flag pin?
They're hammering Barak Obama for not wearing a pin. And what does that mean? That he's unpatriotic? No. It means he understands the differemce between a pin-on button and real patriotism.
You want to wear a flag pin? Fine, wear it. You're in good company, symbolically: Osama Bin Laden and Richard Nixon.
It's not your flag pin that makes you a patriot. It's your thinking.
Does any sane American question Obama's patriotism? Does any sane American believe that jsut because you wear a flag pin you're a patriot?
Wearing a flag pin is like driving a Hummer and keeping an Uzi under your bed.
It shows you're a Real Man and a Real American. And it also shows you have a "size" problem.
I'm Wes Richardws. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008
Picture this. George Washington comes back to life and the first thing he does is get one of those flag pins and sticks it in his lapel.
Don't hold your breath for that one. George didn't need one. He was a walking symbol of patriotism, and try to imagine ABC's Charlie Gibson trying to make George look small by asking him about one.
The flag pin has been around a long time, but it was Richard Nixon who made the thing popular. Great Patriot Nixon, who brought us Watergate, was the first guy to make a fashion statement out of the American flag.
Nixon was the least secure individual in American politics in the lifetime of anyone reading or hearing this. And the people who wear them are cut from almost the same cloth.
Digression: do you know why the 9/11 attacks failed? It's because the nutcase terrorists confuse symbolism with reality. the brought down two of the ugliest structures ever built. They killed a lot of people. They killed the symbol. They did not kill the spirit behind it.
We Americans know the difference between symbol and spirit.
The Trade Center towers were a symbol of America. They were a government sponsored monument to American Capitalism. They were destroyed. American capitalism lives.
The Trade Center collapsed. What it represented did not. We're still Americans, we're still capitalists. We mourn our human losses and rebuild our destroyed buildings. the symbol matters only to the extent that we were attacked and lives were lost.
The attackers didn't understand this about us then, and they don't now.
The ultra-conservative US Supreme Court has said burning the flag is protected communication. It's reprehensible, but legal. That's because we don't need the symbols.
The symbols and what they symbolize are two different things, and even this court understands that.
So what of the flag pin?
They're hammering Barak Obama for not wearing a pin. And what does that mean? That he's unpatriotic? No. It means he understands the differemce between a pin-on button and real patriotism.
You want to wear a flag pin? Fine, wear it. You're in good company, symbolically: Osama Bin Laden and Richard Nixon.
It's not your flag pin that makes you a patriot. It's your thinking.
Does any sane American question Obama's patriotism? Does any sane American believe that jsut because you wear a flag pin you're a patriot?
Wearing a flag pin is like driving a Hummer and keeping an Uzi under your bed.
It shows you're a Real Man and a Real American. And it also shows you have a "size" problem.
I'm Wes Richardws. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©WJR 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
Regional Vices
#387 Regional Vices
There aren't many left. Walking down Eighth Avenue in the 1980s, there was a hand lettered sign in a grocery store window, "Coors Beer." Wow! The great flavor of the Rockies, right here in Midtown. Previously, Coors was available only in Denver and a few other mountain western cities. Who, then could resist, especially since it was illegally transported across state lines? Guess what? Coors is no better than Bud, and, back then, a lot more expensive. Now, you can get it at any gas station, supermarket or beer hall within 10-thousand miles of the Rockies.
It tasted better when it was contraband.
Lone Star Beer is following in Coors' footsteps and it was no big deal to begin with, except to a few thousand Texans with a sense of local pride.
In New York, we had our own regional beers. Knickerbocker, Rheingold, Piels, Schaeffer. No more. Those brands that still are made are made nowhere near the original breweries. And if you ask the supermarket for Schaeffer today, they'll look at you funny.
Cigarettes? Same story. Try to find Wings or Picayunes anywhere these days. They've been bought out and destroyed. (Picayune was regional to Louisiana. It was kind of a cross between Camel and Gauloise. Gauloise itself is no longer made in France. Production has been moved to Spain.)
You can hardly find a TV show that's regional, anymore. Anyone heard from Ugly George lately? Nah.
Regional magazines still abound. But they're not vices. Nothing that lame is a vice.
Even the lowly burger. Long Island had a chain of fast food stands called Wetsons. Greasy, high-calorie, high-sodium and delicious. One day, the closed and soon after, magically become Dunkin' Donuts, just like the Dunkin' Donuts on your corner, no matter where you live.
We have no regional vices anymore.
Even the massage parlors are franchised.
Record stores? Out of business unless you think of Barnes & Noble as "regional."
Radio? It's the same junk no matter where you go.
It's surprising that no one has tried to franchise white lightnin' -- unless you count Fleischmann's. And even that's not the vice it used to be since they reduced the proof to 80.
Our vices have become as institutionalized as our virtues.
The United States has become one monotonous thing from sea to shining sea.
Political corruption is no different in Georgia than it is in Maine. The same people are fixing horse races, boxing matches and basketball games in the same way, regardless of venue.
Maybe we can blame this on the original anti-regionalists, the dairy industry. That's who put the term "homogenized" into our vocabulary. They meant milk, not beer, cigarettes or fixed sporting events. But they're the ones started this whole thing.
Regional differences are a throwback to an earlier time.
It's no wonder everyone has to undergo diversity training. Else, there'd be no diversity at all.
Now, pass me a Picayune and a Coors, please.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
There aren't many left. Walking down Eighth Avenue in the 1980s, there was a hand lettered sign in a grocery store window, "Coors Beer." Wow! The great flavor of the Rockies, right here in Midtown. Previously, Coors was available only in Denver and a few other mountain western cities. Who, then could resist, especially since it was illegally transported across state lines? Guess what? Coors is no better than Bud, and, back then, a lot more expensive. Now, you can get it at any gas station, supermarket or beer hall within 10-thousand miles of the Rockies.
It tasted better when it was contraband.
Lone Star Beer is following in Coors' footsteps and it was no big deal to begin with, except to a few thousand Texans with a sense of local pride.
In New York, we had our own regional beers. Knickerbocker, Rheingold, Piels, Schaeffer. No more. Those brands that still are made are made nowhere near the original breweries. And if you ask the supermarket for Schaeffer today, they'll look at you funny.
Cigarettes? Same story. Try to find Wings or Picayunes anywhere these days. They've been bought out and destroyed. (Picayune was regional to Louisiana. It was kind of a cross between Camel and Gauloise. Gauloise itself is no longer made in France. Production has been moved to Spain.)
You can hardly find a TV show that's regional, anymore. Anyone heard from Ugly George lately? Nah.
Regional magazines still abound. But they're not vices. Nothing that lame is a vice.
Even the lowly burger. Long Island had a chain of fast food stands called Wetsons. Greasy, high-calorie, high-sodium and delicious. One day, the closed and soon after, magically become Dunkin' Donuts, just like the Dunkin' Donuts on your corner, no matter where you live.
We have no regional vices anymore.
Even the massage parlors are franchised.
Record stores? Out of business unless you think of Barnes & Noble as "regional."
Radio? It's the same junk no matter where you go.
It's surprising that no one has tried to franchise white lightnin' -- unless you count Fleischmann's. And even that's not the vice it used to be since they reduced the proof to 80.
Our vices have become as institutionalized as our virtues.
The United States has become one monotonous thing from sea to shining sea.
Political corruption is no different in Georgia than it is in Maine. The same people are fixing horse races, boxing matches and basketball games in the same way, regardless of venue.
Maybe we can blame this on the original anti-regionalists, the dairy industry. That's who put the term "homogenized" into our vocabulary. They meant milk, not beer, cigarettes or fixed sporting events. But they're the ones started this whole thing.
Regional differences are a throwback to an earlier time.
It's no wonder everyone has to undergo diversity training. Else, there'd be no diversity at all.
Now, pass me a Picayune and a Coors, please.
I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.®
©2008 WJR
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