WEB LOG

Polls and other stuff that Disturbs me right now

Sun, 28 Sep 2008 20:02:59 -0500

The BBC World Service recently polled adults in 23 countries to determine the effect of “The War on Terror” on Al Qaeda. I don’t really feel like writing about the results of the poll, but if you really want to know, go here - http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7638566.stm.

Keep in mind that this was not a poll of military personnel or politicians, but of “adults”. Somebody’s going to have to explain a couple of things to me. I’m serious. Really explain these things to me because I want to know why I spend most of my life feeling like I come from space.

How do adults know how the war has impacted Al Qaeda?
What is the value of polls like these?

Isn’t it true that the results of this sort of a poll say a lot more about the way media influences public perception than it necessarily says about what’s really happening in the world? Certainly determining the media’s impact on public perception was not the purpose of the poll. So what is the purpose, I wonder. Is it to inform policy makers? Should people with decision making authority weigh the results of polls like these in their policy deliberations? I hope your answer is no and I hope the answer is no.

Which presidential candidate do you think would be more influenced by the results of polls like these? Think of the adults you know. Do you trust them to influence the course of foreign policy as a result of their having answered a survey? Stuff like terrorism is really scary and important business. Polls like this seem meaningless and potentially dangerous (if relied upon).

Here’s another question. Do you think it’s easier to get votes by promising the people healthcare, college educations, and a higher minimum wage or do you think it’s easier to get votes by not promising a whole truckload of crud to people and saying it is time to take a good hard look at the weigh this country spends its tax dollars? Now, do you think it’s the government’s responsibility to provide the whole truckload of crap or do you think it’s the responsibility of individuals, their families and churches, and charities? Let me tell you something that I know from experience...The government is neither an effective or efficient provider of services.

There was a day when people could depend on their families, churches, and charities. These days it seems like we can only rely on them in the immediate aftermath of tragedy (think 9/11, tsunami, Katrina). But after a few minutes, we turn away from each other and stick our hand out to the government. What happened?

The minimum wage in the US is currently $6.55 per hour. I understand that one of our presidential candidates would like to raise that wage to $9.50 per hour. I have some questions that I hope you will answer so I can understand.

What is the average age of a minimum wage worker in the US?
Does the average minimum wage earner need to make more than $6.55 per hour?
Do some minimum wage earners bag groceries at supermarkets?
If the minimum wage increased by 50%, what would happen to the price of milk and other necessities?
Would the real wage of minimum wage earners increase if the gross minimum wage increased?
What would happen to employment levels in the country if supermarkets experienced a 50% wage increase for most of its workers?
Would a family making $80,000 a year likely see a wage increase if the minimum wage increased?
In real dollars, would it be more expensive for the family in Question 7 to buy milk and other necessities if the minimum wage skyrockets?
When a politician suggests that the minimum wage should increase by 50%, is he really interested in the welfare of the masses or is he a simple panderer? If he is a panderer, I hope he also turns out to be a liar. I don’t believe the country can afford for him to be honest.

Rant over.

I Sat on Some Urine

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 21:32:31 -0600

The following was transferred from my former blog - www.larryfeathers.blogspot.com. Because the time period in which this was written is far less important than what actually happened to me, I’m going to post this (and probably several other old blogs) using present dates. For those of you who have already read this, I’m sorry. For those of you have not, I’m sorry. Anyway...

Hello from the Quail Springs Holiday Inn Express in Oklahoma City.   I used to have an insane barber. When I was very young, he was an amateur boxer. He used to challenge me to matches. As I grew larger and larger, he stopped boxing and started manufacturing homemade shotguns. He liked pointing them at me during my haircuts (these days I get my hair “styled” by a beautician). His name was John Merrick. So was the elephant man’s.  I remember a time when I first got my dog, Albert. Albert liked eating Robert’s poop (Robert was also a dog). I tried and tried to get him not to eat the poop, but he kept eating it anyhow. One day I asked the Barber John Merrick if he had any ideas for keeping Albert from eating up all of the poop. He said I shouldn’t worry about it on account of poop is just “changed food”. I thought to myself that John Merrick is right! Robert died and Albert stopped eating poop. Nowadays, Albert is fresh. I guess every cloud has a silver lining.  Anyway, upon checking into this Holiday Inn Express, I did something a little out of the ordinary by laying down on the bed without first removing the comforter. After laying around for about an hour and forty-five minutes, I decided to remove the comforter. Then I sat on the edge of the bed for a minute. Suddenly, I started feeling soggy in my pants. I reached down to where my body met the bed and it was soaked. I smelled my hand and I’ll be damned if I wasn’t sitting in a pile of somebody else’s urine!  I stood up and thought about things for a while. Then I started to almost throw up. Then I remembered that if poop is changed food, then all I’d sat in was changed drink. For a second, I almost stopped starting to throw up. Then I realized that John Merrick’s poop theory was way off. Sitting in urine is disgusting.  So I picked up the phone to call the front desk. Then I hung it up. I was afraid they’d think I was the guy who made the adult butt-sized pool of urine in the bed. I kept thinking about everything. I knew I couldn’t sleep in a toilet. I decided to call the desk…  Worker: Front desk. Me: Hello. You probably aren’t going to believe this, and, anyway, it didn’t come out of me, but I was just relaxing on your bed when I realized I was sitting on a very large amount of urine.  Worker: (silence) Me: It’s really gross. Somebody who isn’t me went in the bed! Worker: You can’t be serious. Me: I’m serious. I don’t make up stories about sitting in waste. I really don’t think I can sleep in this bed.  Worker: (silence) Me: Do you think I could possibly move to a different room? Worker: Yes. Come to the front desk.  I hung up and decided to account for how wet I was. When I sat in it, I was wearing my work shirt, shorts, and underpants. My shirttail was soaked through, as were my shorts and underpants. I felt my butt. It was moist. It occurred to me that, in my adult life, I’ve never had a wet butt in bed. Have you?  I went to the front desk and the lady apologized. I told her that it was okay for she was neither the one who did the urinating or the one who failed to change the sheets. I recommended that whoever “cleaned” the room be fired immediately. They moved me to a new room where I kept imagining that the new bed also had wet spots. Finally, I settled down enough to sleep albeit poorly.   What diseases can I catch from sitting in that stuff? Who would do something like that? I figure it was an old, a sicko, or the person who cleaned the room. But why would anyone leave the bed in such a mess? I think it’s pretty weird.   People wonder whether I’m going to ask for compensation. I tell people that I don’t yet want anything. If they give me my room for free, they’re really giving the government (who pays for my room) the room for free. But the government didn’t sit on the urine. I did! I’m going to write a letter to the Holiday Inn once I go home. What do you think they should give me?

Pretending

Mon, 3 Dec 2007 23:24:08 -0600

Lately I’ve been taking mass transit back and forth to work. I take the light rail downtown, and then transfer to a regular train that takes me the rest of the way to the office (see the “Appearances” link for more specifics).

As a baby, my favorite TV show was Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. As a result I like to pretend.

The other day on the regular train I decided it would be fun to pretend that instead of being propelled by whatever makes regular trains go (coal?), that the train was being pulled along by the world’s most powerful unicyclist. Since I could see out the front window of the train, I also pretended that I couldn’t see the unicyclist, but knew he was there on account of the bowling pins that would fly up into view from time to time. Like many of his co-unicyclists, the guy pulling the train was also a juggler. Then I decided to pretend that the juggling unicyclist was recently married to a pinata. Then I stopped pretending about what made the train go because it was getting weirder than a Robyn Hitchcock song.

I managed to put the unicyclist out of my mind, but couldn’t help continuing to think about the pinata. I wondered if I fell in love with a pinata if the people in this world who claim to care about me would show up at my wedding. I concluded that most people probably would not show up, and that I probably need to focus on getting some new friends and maybe even a new family.

A Good Cause

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 20:57:20 -0600

Normally I'm not a big fan of Bill Clinton or Oprah, but today I was flipping around the channels and happened upon Oprah's show. They were discussing Clinton's new book, Giving. Oprah also had the founders of an organization called Kiva (www.kiva.org) as guests.   Not only was the world a better place when it would've been okay for me to sit in the Children's Area of the Dallas Public Library (see "Sad Times at the Dallas Public Library"), but it was also better when hard working but less fortunate people relied more on their families, neighbors, churches, and communities and less on their government for support in times of need. Anyway, I'm certain that people are much more effective than governments when it comes to providing this kind of help.   I am fascinated by what Kiva does, and I encourage all who read this to check it out and see what you can do to help (once again, www.kiva.org). It's an extremely low risk (as little as $25, but the chances are very good that you'll get your money back) high reward opportunity to do something good for people who need something good done for them – mostly women (though men may participate as well) from impoverished countries who have an entrepreneurial spirit and a desperate need to feed and clothe their families.   In short, Kiva works with regional partners around the world to provide very small short-term loans (a concept known as micro-lending) to people who want to start small businesses. I don't want to get too much into the details because the website explains the program much better than I can. Please take a look. It's www.kiva.org. Also, if you want to learn about how micro-lending improved people's lives in Bangladesh, I highly recommend Muhammad Yunus' book Banker To The Poor. If you know me in real life, let me know if you'd like to borrow it.  Hope all of you had a happy Thanksgiving.

Smells

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 04:52:42 -0600

During 5th grade my favorite band was Duran Duran. Besides that, there was a kid in my class named Graham LeBron. Furthermore, Graham's dad, Archibald, was in the army. Additionally, the lead singer of Duran Duran was (and still is) called Simon LeBon.

One day Graham stole his dad's army jacket and gave it to me. I ripped the 'R' off the jacket leaving me with an army jacket that read 'LEB ON' (as in Simon LeBon). What a great jacket! I was Duran Duran's number 1 fan. In 5th grade I was also voted "Good Citizen of the Year". I guess the voters didn't realize that I went in cahoots with Graham to steal his dad's jacket. (Don't really like bragging, but might I also mention that I won the football long toss at 5th grade field day? I crammed all of my personal accomplishments into one year. What else did I have to prove?)

During 4th grade I got sent to the principal's office for rolling fake marijuana cigarettes during Math.

Let me get to the point.

As some of you may know, Duran Duran had a hit called "Hungry Like the Wolf". The other day on the way to lunch, we (Gaye, Matt, Brad, Todd, and I) heard "Hungry Like the Wolf" on the radio. Here are some example lyrics from "Hungry Like the Wolf":

"Do do do do do do do dodo dododo dodo"

and

"Burning the ground I break from the crowd
I'm on the hunt I'm after you
I smell like I sound. I'm lost and I'm found
And I'm hungry like the wolf"

I smell like I sound??? Hmmm. I'd never really thought about this line as hard as I should've until the other day. I asked the other people in the car to tell me:

1. If I smell like I sound, what do I smell like? and
2. How does that smell compare to my actual smell?

The other people wouldn't answer, but only laughed at me. I have no idea what that was supposed to mean (could they be jealous of my smell?). I think there's a big difference between how I sound (like garbage) and how I smell (pretty). What do you think?

Here are some people that it's fun to think about how they smell if they smell like they sound:

• Dikembe Mutombo
• TV's Mel Sharples (He probably smells like his famous chili if he smells like he sounds!)
• TV's Corky (Bologna?)
• Louis Armstrong
• Marcel Marceau (He probably smells rather gruesome these days because he is recently dead, but when he was alive I guess he would have smelled like nothing according to "Hungry Like the Wolf".)
• Midgets

Let me know about other people who sound like they'd smell goofy.

Finally, here is a list of smells that I'd like to meet some people who sound like (do you know what I mean?):

• Cinnamon
• Elephants
• Popcorn
• Pizza
• Morning
• Circle
• Pie

Can you think of more smells? Let me hear from you.

P.S. Marcel Marceau was a mime.

Sad Times at the Dallas Public Library

Mon, 12 Nov 2007 10:20:03 -0600

Today I am at the Dallas Public Library working on some stuff. As I've spent practically my whole life in the greater Dallas area, I'm sort of embarrassed to admit that I've never been to this library before today.

All of the tables on the first floor were taken. Plus, I needed a plug for my computer and the first floor tables didn't have plugs. So I found some stairs that took me up to the west end of the second floor. This is the children's area. There wasn't another set of stairs within eyeshot, so I was glad to find a table that gave me a nice view of City Hall and the Convention Center (if a nice view is attainable through a window that apparently hasn't been cleaned during all of the years that I never came here). Anyway, there was a plug nearby enough for me to work. This was going to work out just fine. If only I weren't a prospective pedophile.

I totally understand why the library has a policy keeping guys like me off of that second floor. And if I were a parent of a kid who likes going to the children's area, I'd probably be glad that I was profiled. Still, I felt a little, oh, I don't know, like a dirtbag when the librarian came over to explain that I wasn't welcome in the children's area. Predictably, the librarian waited until I was all set up to work and in a groove before she came to tell me that I was too much of a threat to be on the second floor and that I'd need to leave (my words, not hers – she was actually quite polite about it).

I asked the librarian where someone of my ilk (i.e., sickos) could work within the library. She told me that I could go to the first floor (no plugs) or the third through eighth floor. Now I'm on the eighth floor (the genealogy section). There are plugs. I wonder if Jean Larson from work will see me. She comes up here a lot, I think. Sometimes I wonder if Jean would like genealogy so much if her name were Stephanie or Constance. Doubt it. It's one of those "chicken and the egg" things.

If I can't re-find my groove in fairly short order, I think I'll make scary faces at all of the genealogists just to make the point that I can be at least as menacing on the eighth floor as I can in the children's area (especially considering that all of the potential victims from the second floor are currently in school; there's a smorgasbord of possibilities up here in genealogy).

Speaking of genealogy, I should remember to tell my sister that my family's coat-of-arms has three little birds on it. She really likes birds – probably too much.

The world was a better place when parents didn't need to be worried about me being on the second floor. I'm nice.

I'm Down to One Pants and It Smells Like Weed

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 23:10:23 -0500

Well tomorrow wraps up another episode of flying by the seat of my pants. Too bad those pants smell like weed.  Last Thursday I had just about had it with Texas, so I decided to take a short break from it. So I used some airline miles and came to New York City. I've been here a few other times, but never alone. This time the goal was to pretend that I am a regular person who lives here, and - despite my hotel's rather close proximity to Times Square - I think I did a nice job of not being too touristy.   Since I'm tired, let me give you the top 4 and bottom 3 from this trip. Then I'll review the Morrissey concert I went to a little earlier tonight.  Top 4 1. Hotel was out of king sized beds and had to give me a queen instead. For these 4 inches of difference, they took $60 off my room rate. Thanks Residence Inn! 2. "Dan In Real Life" is good like I hoped it would be. A little too sweet for someone like me (I am a jackass), but good nonetheless. Steve Carell makes everything better. 3. I met former major league pitcher of the 60s Lindy McDaniel on the flight up. He was nice to me and volunteered his autograph at the end of the flight. Thanks Lindy McDaniel! 4. I found out I could definitely survive here. Manhattan doesn't wear me out like it used to.   Bottom 3 1. The flight here was difficult (delayed, bumpy, long). 2. As much as I like NYC, I could never live here because I am too poor.  3. I think I ate too much pizza and not enough meat.  Tonight I went to see Morrissey at the Hammerstein Ballroom. Here are some random observations:  1. The Hammerstein Ballroom isn't very good. The sound isn't great, and they let way too many people in there. 2. Morrissey exceeded my expectations. Recent live recordings made me think he's lost it, but he sang well. 3. If you want the crowd to go wild, make negative generalizations about Republicans.  4. Is it okay to say "midget"? Well, since I don't know what else to call them, let me tell you that I haven't seen any real midgets in quite a while. That all changed tonight! I stood next to a couple of midgets during Morrissey. And they didn't even know each other! They were two independent midgets and I happened to be standing there right next to both of them. Weird. I knew Mexicans like Morrissey, but I hadn't heard about the midgets.  5. I came pretty close to a fist fight tonight when this normal-sized 80s looking dope pushed through the crowd and stood right in front of the two little midgets. I took it upon myself to throw a giant elbow right into the chest of the 80s guy at which point he and his two other normal sized friends started yelling at me. I told them to "Shut Up". After the show, I apologized for A) throwing the elbow and B) saying "Shut Up". I told them that I didn't know what came over me (which was a lie since I knew that I was mad at their audacity for standing in front of the two tiny midgets).  Finally, let me just tell you two things about the jerk who stood right in front of me. First, I was a couple inches taller than him. Problem was that he was wearing a baseball cap improperly. His bill formed about a 90 degree angle with his forehead (it pointed practically straight up). This made him about 4 inches taller than he should have been, and I couldn't see over his stupid tall bill. Second, although the venue was non-smoking, this guy just couldn't not smoke. No, this tall-billed jackass had to smoke weed. And its all over my pants. I have to wear these pants on the airplane tomorrow. Hopefully I will make it through security.  Next blog will be better than this.  To those of you who have been nice enough to try to call or e-mail lately (those three or four of you), I'm sorry for not being very good at staying in touch. I've never been so busy. I will do better soon. I like everybody. That isn't the problem.   Bye bye New York. Thanks for giving me fun.

Letter to the Pope

Sat, 4 Aug 2007 21:14:35 -0500

Dear The Pope,

Does your cable get Animal Planet? The other night they were showing something about anacondas (an anaconda is a variety of snake; I doubt your guards let snakes get near your Pope body, so I doubt you've seen an anaconda in person). Anyway, it seems that when anacondas go to Venezuela they like eating the meat of these 150 pound rodents called capybaras. Not only that, but the Venezuelan Catholics like eating them too.

According to Wikipedia, 16th century Venezuelan Catholics appealed to the church to include capybaras as fish for purposes of Lent. The Church granted the Venezuelans' wishes. Tell me, does this look like a fish to you (and don't lie!)?

Evidently, the Venezuelans gave The old Pope from the 16th century some pretty crap information about what the capybara actually is. And, as a result of their lust for giant rat meat, they've made a mockery of everything you stand for!Pope, obviously the issue of whether the capybara is a fish needs to be revisited. Will you make sure to move this to the highest priority on your agenda sheet?

As long as I have your attention, what exactly have you done so far? No offense, but it just doesn't seem like you're as proactive as the real Pope who died a couple years ago. Maybe you're the kind of Pope that doesn't feel a big need to immediately put your stamp on things. Who knows? I hope you don't become known as the Do Nothing Pope. Maybe you can use this capybara thing to help jumpstart your Popehood (?). If you really wanted to make your mark, may I recommend excommunicating those deceitful Venezuelans who told all those lies during the 1500s? You're not getting any younger, Pope. Let's get this pizzarty started!

Your friend,
L. Feathers

P.S. In case you haven't read my other blogs, I think it's funny to think about you eating nachos. Especially on a teeter totter.

Larry Feathers Interview

Sun, 11 Mar 2007 10:29:59 -0500

I was interviewed (by my cousin) for his blog. If you like reading interviews with interesting people, take a look - http://beanblog.com/?b=533.

Eggs

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 20:34:21 -0500

This morning I took the train to work. Since I live near the beginning of the line, it’s always easy to get a seat. However, by the second or third stop, the train nears standing room only. I like paying attention to how the seats fill up. In general, the trains here go four seats across with an aisle down the center. As you would expect, the pattern is for everybody to try to sit in a seat without anyone next to them. Some jackasses sit on the aisle and refuse to move to the window when the train starts getting full. The rest of us sit down at a window and wait for people to sit down beside us.  Here are descriptions of the people without seatmates as the train approaches capacity: * Guys with cuts on face * Jackasses who sit on the aisle and refuse to move toward the window * Smelly people who talk to themselves * Me  I can remember a day when I’d sit there hoping with all my might that nobody would sit next to me. Not anymore. It’s not that I want to sit by anybody. Instead, it’s that I can’t figure out why they don’t want to sit next to me. I am nice and usually don’t smell horrible.  The same thing happened this morning. Every seat was full except for two – mine and that of a man with scabbed up stub arms with open sores on face. Then a woman came on board. When she got to the section with the human infection and me, she stopped, surveyed the both of us, and with a look of complete desperation plopped down in the seat next to me.  She was wearing a name tag. It seems that her parents decided to name her “Every”. I thought, “What a nice name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it before.” Then I remembered that I have heard it on account of it’s a word I use every day!  I started smelling stuff as soon as she sat down. When I sniffed her real close, I determined that her smell was eggs.  For the longest time I’ve had a love/hate relationship with eggs. On the one hand, I love the way they taste. On the other, I can’t think of anything less appealing than putting into my cakehole the reproductive cells from which a new chicken should have developed had I not become hungry.  Every’s egg smell grew and grew. The stronger the smell became, the more I wanted to smell her. I’d never smelled anyone like Every. I leaned over for an extra big smell when I realized that it wasn’t that Every smelled like eggs, but that the guy across the aisle was eating a Tupperware container full of leftover chicken.  I know it was leftover because it was 6:30 in the morning, and chicken places aren’t open that early.  At that point I was feeling sort of guilty for accusing Every of smelling like some eggs. I tapped her shoulder and said, “I’ve been thinking to myself that you smell like eggs, but it turns out that it’s just that man’s chicken. For all I know you might smell normal. By the way, is that a real name? Every.” She didn’t respond to my compliments and decided to move over next to Scabby for the rest of her ride.  I’m pretty certain I’ve never seen a man eat chicken so early. (P.S. The man eating the chicken did not have an “away-from-the-face” beard. I think this proves the latest addition to my beard theories. That is, bearded men don’t eat chicken for breakfast.)  I’m disturbed that my olfactory system confused eggs with chicken. I think it’s weird that something that came out of a chicken smelled so much like a chicken. That’s certainly not the way it works with stuff that comes out of people.  By the time my stop came, I was about to throw up from the chicken/egg smell. The weird thing about it is that when I thought it was eggs, I wanted to smell it real hard. Once I realized it was some chickens, I started getting sick.  Are other people like me? If I smell or taste something taken totally out of its normal context, it’s liable to make me kind of sick. For example, I can’t drink Coke (which I normally enjoy) out of a translucent green cup. It just doesn’t look right, and I think it tastes different.  Here’s another example…When I was in high school some of the other kids and I went to Mr. Gatti’s after final exams. While I was at the buffet re-loading my plate, my friend Brandon put a piece of spaghetti in my straw. When I sucked out the spaghetti, it nearly made me throw up. But I like spaghetti! I just wasn’t expecting it. I thought I was getting a drink, but got food instead.  I was expecting the smell this morning to be eggs. When it turned out to be chickens, I got thrown for a loop. I’m still trying to cope with what happened, and haven’t yet determined whether I’ll ever be able to eat eggs or chickens again. You can think I’m an idiot if you want, but I’m serious. Today was the first time when ordering fajitas that I didn’t either get chicken or combo. Instead, I went with the steak. Chicken was more than I could take.  P.S. I have a real niece now. Her name is Daphne and she is correctly proportioned. Evidently those sonograms distort head size on fetuses quite a bit. She came with orange hair and seems to enjoy being alive so far. The picture at the top of this is her. When she yawns, her mouth goes crooked. While I’m unwilling to tolerate much in the way of imperfections, this is one that I think gives her character.