Although the mainstream media (not surprisingly) remains mute about the Pennsylvania Department of Revenue commercial I mentioned earlier, the blogosphere is heating up with articles about it. I like this one. The author makes the claim, as others have, that the people that produced the commercial used an actual map to show where the alleged tax dodging malcontent "Tom" lives. Needless to say, the actual residents of the house aren't too happy and I hope they sue both the producers of the commercial and the state itself. Another interesting assertion from the article is that the state spent $ 3,000,000 of our dollars to pay for this little slice of arrogance and intimidation.
The author notes how tone deaf the government of Pennsylvania must be as to the sensitivity of people to government intrusion and surveillance. The really don't get it.
03 May 2010
Obey the State - We know where you live.
The morally, and financially, bankrupt government of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania has produced and aired the above commercial in an effort to collect tax revenues. I saw this creepy commercial yesterday while watching a local network in Pittsburgh and nearly fell out of my seat. The ad shows a satellite reticle zeroing in on a Pennsylvania citizen's home who owes the state money with the slightly veiled threat that the state "knows who you are." The robotic female voice says "nice house, nice car" but "what's not so nice is you owe $ 4,212 in back taxes."
Oh you arrogant fascist bastards.
I find it incredibly offensive and hypocritical that a state government that wastes tens, if not hundreds, of millions of dollars of our hard earned wages would spend the money to produce this garbage. Who authorized this commercial ? Who produced it ? Is this how the government of the state views its citizens, as serfs that can be intimidated and shoved around ? Here's a better question- why is the state so deeply in debt ? Why is the capital of the state (Harrisburg) on the verge of bankruptcy ? Who are the idiots (of both parties) that have spent this state into financial disaster ?
I'm so pissed off right now that I could spit nails. This is a prime example of the arrogance of power and its abuse by the bureaucratic goons that run this state. The media and government whine about the rise in anti-government sentiment in this country and then they produce crap like this ? What do the expect ?
You shove people, they will shove back.
The commercial I would have written would have gone like this. I would have filmed it with Ed Rendell dressed in a clown suit and holding a balloon-
"Hi, I'm Ed Rendell, governor of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. We realize that most of you are working really hard, and sometimes multiple jobs, to make ends meet and might have come up short on the confiscatory taxes that we take from you. If you could please send us a little bit of cash so I can plug this pesky billion dollar hole in our state budget and keep lots of my political friends employed, I would greatly appreciate it. Hugs and Kisses, The Gov."
I wouldn't have even charged them to produce it. As soon as I'm done here, it's off to the phone to start calling some of the political hacks that represent my district.
Of Mice and Women
My wife is one of the most stable people I know- practical, incredibly intelligent, not prone to getting freaking out in a crisis, in short, everything that is a good counter-balance to me. So, it was with some concern that I walked in the door a few days back and was met with a stammering mess. "What's wrong ?" I rushed in the door as I saw the look on her face. My mind raced- fire, somebody in the family is sick, somebody died, nuclear attack warning on the television ?
"Mouse !" she cried, "the cat was playing with a mouse."
For some reason, my otherwise stable wife has a deep primordial fear of rodents. Nothing can set her off like the appearance of one of these otherwise harmless little creatures. We're not talking nasty NYC city 20 pound sewer rats- we're talking about the cute little field mouse variety.
My wife pointed into the living room where our youngest, and biggest, cat Whiskers was patrolling the room. Whiskers is a big Maine coon that we picked up in Maine a few years back. Although he leads most of his life in a sedentary haze, when mice make their appearance he suddenly decides it's time to earn his keep. "Where is he ?" I asked the cat, apparently forgetting he's not a dog or any other creature that would care what his owner had to say when I spotted a lump of fur on the carpet. I bent down and picked up a piece of mouse about the size of a large marble- it looked like hamburger with some tufts of hair and a small bone protruding from the side.
"Here's a piece of it, Whiskies must have winged him" I said helpfully to my wife. She looked ashen. "It must have crawled away, oh my God it's injured and it's going to crawl off to do or maybe into our bed...." I stopped her short. "Don't worry, it couldn't have gone far and I'll find it." Whiskers was licking his massive paws, looking completely unconcerned that a wounded, bleeding mouse missing a large proportion of its rib cage was at this moment crawling around the house.
For the next 45 minutes I checked every room in the house, used a flashlight to check every nook and cranny where it could have crawled off to. I told my wife I couldn't find it, she said keep trying, so I kept looking. Finally, I told her it probably crawled off to die outside using the same path it used to get inside. That seemed to mollify her and she went back into the basement.
A few seconds later after offering my hypothesis, it became obvious why the cat was unconcerned about the location of the mouse since he know all along where it was. I noticed Whiskers making all the motions of a cat about to hurl a hairball and then out it came- the mouse. It actually hit the floor as a mass of blood and fur with it's four little paws splayed out to the side and the tail sticking to the rear, appearing like a high diver that jumped into a pool with no water.
"Found it !" I gleefully yelled to the wife.
The cat, none the worse for wear, immediately started rubbing my leg. It was dinner time after all.
"Mouse !" she cried, "the cat was playing with a mouse."
For some reason, my otherwise stable wife has a deep primordial fear of rodents. Nothing can set her off like the appearance of one of these otherwise harmless little creatures. We're not talking nasty NYC city 20 pound sewer rats- we're talking about the cute little field mouse variety.
My wife pointed into the living room where our youngest, and biggest, cat Whiskers was patrolling the room. Whiskers is a big Maine coon that we picked up in Maine a few years back. Although he leads most of his life in a sedentary haze, when mice make their appearance he suddenly decides it's time to earn his keep. "Where is he ?" I asked the cat, apparently forgetting he's not a dog or any other creature that would care what his owner had to say when I spotted a lump of fur on the carpet. I bent down and picked up a piece of mouse about the size of a large marble- it looked like hamburger with some tufts of hair and a small bone protruding from the side.
"Here's a piece of it, Whiskies must have winged him" I said helpfully to my wife. She looked ashen. "It must have crawled away, oh my God it's injured and it's going to crawl off to do or maybe into our bed...." I stopped her short. "Don't worry, it couldn't have gone far and I'll find it." Whiskers was licking his massive paws, looking completely unconcerned that a wounded, bleeding mouse missing a large proportion of its rib cage was at this moment crawling around the house.
For the next 45 minutes I checked every room in the house, used a flashlight to check every nook and cranny where it could have crawled off to. I told my wife I couldn't find it, she said keep trying, so I kept looking. Finally, I told her it probably crawled off to die outside using the same path it used to get inside. That seemed to mollify her and she went back into the basement.
A few seconds later after offering my hypothesis, it became obvious why the cat was unconcerned about the location of the mouse since he know all along where it was. I noticed Whiskers making all the motions of a cat about to hurl a hairball and then out it came- the mouse. It actually hit the floor as a mass of blood and fur with it's four little paws splayed out to the side and the tail sticking to the rear, appearing like a high diver that jumped into a pool with no water.
"Found it !" I gleefully yelled to the wife.
The cat, none the worse for wear, immediately started rubbing my leg. It was dinner time after all.
02 May 2010
Prohibition & the poisoning of American citizens.
For all of you that feel my misgivings about the government are paranoid and unfounded, here's an eye-opening article from the Pittsburgh Post Gazette that relates how the U.S. government was responsible for the deaths of over 10,000 citizens during Prohibition.
From the article-
"Doctors were accustomed to alcohol poisoning by then, a routine of life in the Prohibition era. The bootlegged whiskies and so-called gins often made people sick. The liquor produced in hidden stills frequently came tainted with metals and other impurities. But this outbreak was bizarrely different. The deaths, as investigators would shortly realize, came courtesy of the U.S. government."
But that was then, this is now you argue. Well, the size, scope and power of the current federal government dwarfs its former self in the 1920's. It has permeated the daily lives of all of us in a myriad of ways, it watches us, it tracks us and it confiscates the fruits of our labors at the barrel of a gun. Every aspect of our daily lives is regulated by faceless bureaucrats in Washington D.C.- what we buy, the cars we drive, the jobs we toil at to pay our masters- at what point do we collectively stand up and shout "enough ?"
The government will continue to kill in the same oblique manner as it did in the 1920's though it will now do it through the massive bureaucracy of the new health care programs, the push for smaller less crash resistant vehicles and a variety of other new regulations headed for all of us. Always remember that Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot and every other power mad nut case in history could only achieve their evil goals with the assistance of large, well run, fed and funded bureaucracies- just like the one we have now. All it needs is the right psychotic to throw the switch.
From the article-
"Doctors were accustomed to alcohol poisoning by then, a routine of life in the Prohibition era. The bootlegged whiskies and so-called gins often made people sick. The liquor produced in hidden stills frequently came tainted with metals and other impurities. But this outbreak was bizarrely different. The deaths, as investigators would shortly realize, came courtesy of the U.S. government."
But that was then, this is now you argue. Well, the size, scope and power of the current federal government dwarfs its former self in the 1920's. It has permeated the daily lives of all of us in a myriad of ways, it watches us, it tracks us and it confiscates the fruits of our labors at the barrel of a gun. Every aspect of our daily lives is regulated by faceless bureaucrats in Washington D.C.- what we buy, the cars we drive, the jobs we toil at to pay our masters- at what point do we collectively stand up and shout "enough ?"
The government will continue to kill in the same oblique manner as it did in the 1920's though it will now do it through the massive bureaucracy of the new health care programs, the push for smaller less crash resistant vehicles and a variety of other new regulations headed for all of us. Always remember that Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot and every other power mad nut case in history could only achieve their evil goals with the assistance of large, well run, fed and funded bureaucracies- just like the one we have now. All it needs is the right psychotic to throw the switch.
30 April 2010
NHL Playoffs
A guy walks into a bar and asks the bartender for an Ovechkin.
"What's an Ovechkin ?" asks the puzzled bartender.
"Oh that's simple" says the guy, "it's a white Russian without the cup."
"What's an Ovechkin ?" asks the puzzled bartender.
"Oh that's simple" says the guy, "it's a white Russian without the cup."
27 April 2010
Can Buddha Help your Short Game ?
A good article from the Wall Street Journal regarding professional golfers looking at Buddhism to help them with their game.
23 April 2010
When the zoo drops you, you know you're in trouble.
In a further sign of his sagging popularity, the Pittsburgh Zoo has replaced a graphic of Ben Roethlisberger with one of Penguin great Mario Lemieux. Also, the Pittsburgh Post Gazette reports that he will be undergoing a battery of tests to try and figure out what is going on inside his head-
'The goal is to determine the extent to which Mr. Roethlisberger's violation of the league's Personal Conduct Policy during a night of bar-hopping in Milledgeville, Ga., was attributable to some underlying psychological, behavioral or neuropsychological disorder, and to map out a plan for intervention, psychologists say."
I'm glad the experts are on it- I just thought he was a self-absorbed asshole with a massive sense of entitlement.
'The goal is to determine the extent to which Mr. Roethlisberger's violation of the league's Personal Conduct Policy during a night of bar-hopping in Milledgeville, Ga., was attributable to some underlying psychological, behavioral or neuropsychological disorder, and to map out a plan for intervention, psychologists say."
I'm glad the experts are on it- I just thought he was a self-absorbed asshole with a massive sense of entitlement.
22 April 2010
Zen & the Art of Youth Ice Hockey Tryouts
Spring is a season of rebirth, the beauty of plants and trees sprouting buds and leaves, woodland creatures and birds looking for mates, longer days, soft rains and sunshine- in short, I hate it. Spring for me means an event is going to occur that will trigger 96 hours of anxiety, madness, hope, elation and dreaded disappointment. It’s time once again for my son to tryout for his hockey team.
My kid is 10 and is by all accounts a very good player. He’s big and strong for his age, a good skater and has been complimented many times by his coaches for his work ethic and ability to follow instructions. He’s playing on a select team right now, sort of like an area all star team, and scored a game winning goal in Toronto a few weeks back. So, based on his ability and past performance, he should easily make his regular amateur team, right ? We will know tonight at 5 pm if he made the top team or if he has to try out again next week for the 2,3 or 4 team for his age group.
Going into tryout season, I told myself that this year was going to be different. I didn’t care what team he made, it’s all irrelevant and the main thing is that he is getting lots of exercise and having fun. “Impermanence” I kept repeating to myself over and over. I was calm, relaxed, my mind open and free…right up to the point where we were in the locker room getting ready.
“Keep your feet moving” I implored to my son, “stick on the ice, keep your head up” I mumbled, “look at the size of these kids, take it to them” I whispered so that none of the nearby parents could here. “Remember body position, use your size around the net” I continued “you’re faster than anyone in this room.” My kid looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then said “Dad, why are you so nervous ? I’m not nervous.” With that, he went back to playing his handheld Nintendo, half his gear on, half of it strewn about with the confidence of a 10 year old version of Clint Eastwood.
“Because !” I wanted to yell, “this is serious business, this is a huge commitment in terms of time and money for this family, you need to take this seriously, the people picking the team are not your regular coaches, they don’t know you, jeez it smells in here, don’t you remember when I was your age and I got cut from a team and…..” With that, I caught myself surrounded by a thick wave of guilt. “Just do your best” I muttered and walked out of the room.
I walked up into the stands and sat down with the dozens of other neurotic hockey parents. There are 15 roster spots on the team and 34 kids are trying out. 19 kids are going to be disappointed, 19 sets of parents will be screaming and bitching that the process wasn’t fair, their kid is awesome, how could you do this to us. I could be one of the 19. You could read the body language of the parents in the stands as their kids were on the ice- twitches, winces, clapping, head in hands, smiles. Sort of like an immediate feedback loop tied to their kid's performance. I was trying to stay under control, barely, and limit my outward anxiety to a furiously bouncing knee and nervous facial tics.
Hockey parents are a different breed. I sneer at soccer practice when I hear a parent complaining about the $ 30 registration fee (wouldn’t even buy one glove) and the fact that they have to practice on Saturdays at 9 AM (try 6 AM when it’s snowing.) The season starts in August, and doesn’t really wind up until June. 3 or 4 practices a week, games, tournaments, another night, another rink- the entire family is soon walking zombies who’s lives are slaves to the hockey schedule on the fridge. Hundreds of dollars here, thousands of dollars there…pretty soon it adds up to real money. I've paid hockey bills before the car payment, before the mortgage payment, sold stuff to pay for fees in the bad times. Any rational person would look at this from the outside and label it madness. They're probably right.
I tried to think about why I was acting this way. I think it has to do with wanting the best for our kids, not accepting that they are anything less than handsome, brilliant and incredibly athletic. We try to shelter them from disappointment, hurt and judgment and keep them close to us for as long as possible (sort of like The Buddha's father, but I digress.) It seems incredibly unfair that some stranger can judge them, rate them, categorize them and place them on a team just on the basis of watching them play for a couple of hours. But then again, isn’t that how life works ? Life can be brutal at times, incredibly joyous at others- up, down, sideways and always impermanent.
My kid came off the ice and I met him in the hallway to the locker room. He was drenched with sweat, a huge smile on his face and his big blue eyes flashing. “How do you think I did ?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter buddy, I said. You did your best and I’m very proud of you no matter what.”
I think I need to write that down for next year.
My kid is 10 and is by all accounts a very good player. He’s big and strong for his age, a good skater and has been complimented many times by his coaches for his work ethic and ability to follow instructions. He’s playing on a select team right now, sort of like an area all star team, and scored a game winning goal in Toronto a few weeks back. So, based on his ability and past performance, he should easily make his regular amateur team, right ? We will know tonight at 5 pm if he made the top team or if he has to try out again next week for the 2,3 or 4 team for his age group.
Going into tryout season, I told myself that this year was going to be different. I didn’t care what team he made, it’s all irrelevant and the main thing is that he is getting lots of exercise and having fun. “Impermanence” I kept repeating to myself over and over. I was calm, relaxed, my mind open and free…right up to the point where we were in the locker room getting ready.
“Keep your feet moving” I implored to my son, “stick on the ice, keep your head up” I mumbled, “look at the size of these kids, take it to them” I whispered so that none of the nearby parents could here. “Remember body position, use your size around the net” I continued “you’re faster than anyone in this room.” My kid looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then said “Dad, why are you so nervous ? I’m not nervous.” With that, he went back to playing his handheld Nintendo, half his gear on, half of it strewn about with the confidence of a 10 year old version of Clint Eastwood.
“Because !” I wanted to yell, “this is serious business, this is a huge commitment in terms of time and money for this family, you need to take this seriously, the people picking the team are not your regular coaches, they don’t know you, jeez it smells in here, don’t you remember when I was your age and I got cut from a team and…..” With that, I caught myself surrounded by a thick wave of guilt. “Just do your best” I muttered and walked out of the room.
I walked up into the stands and sat down with the dozens of other neurotic hockey parents. There are 15 roster spots on the team and 34 kids are trying out. 19 kids are going to be disappointed, 19 sets of parents will be screaming and bitching that the process wasn’t fair, their kid is awesome, how could you do this to us. I could be one of the 19. You could read the body language of the parents in the stands as their kids were on the ice- twitches, winces, clapping, head in hands, smiles. Sort of like an immediate feedback loop tied to their kid's performance. I was trying to stay under control, barely, and limit my outward anxiety to a furiously bouncing knee and nervous facial tics.
Hockey parents are a different breed. I sneer at soccer practice when I hear a parent complaining about the $ 30 registration fee (wouldn’t even buy one glove) and the fact that they have to practice on Saturdays at 9 AM (try 6 AM when it’s snowing.) The season starts in August, and doesn’t really wind up until June. 3 or 4 practices a week, games, tournaments, another night, another rink- the entire family is soon walking zombies who’s lives are slaves to the hockey schedule on the fridge. Hundreds of dollars here, thousands of dollars there…pretty soon it adds up to real money. I've paid hockey bills before the car payment, before the mortgage payment, sold stuff to pay for fees in the bad times. Any rational person would look at this from the outside and label it madness. They're probably right.
I tried to think about why I was acting this way. I think it has to do with wanting the best for our kids, not accepting that they are anything less than handsome, brilliant and incredibly athletic. We try to shelter them from disappointment, hurt and judgment and keep them close to us for as long as possible (sort of like The Buddha's father, but I digress.) It seems incredibly unfair that some stranger can judge them, rate them, categorize them and place them on a team just on the basis of watching them play for a couple of hours. But then again, isn’t that how life works ? Life can be brutal at times, incredibly joyous at others- up, down, sideways and always impermanent.
My kid came off the ice and I met him in the hallway to the locker room. He was drenched with sweat, a huge smile on his face and his big blue eyes flashing. “How do you think I did ?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter buddy, I said. You did your best and I’m very proud of you no matter what.”
I think I need to write that down for next year.
21 April 2010
Nature's Fury
Stunning photographs of the volcano in Iceland. The shots of the volcanic generated lightning are eerily beautiful.
Big Ben & The Court of Public Opinion
Although Pittsburgh Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger was recently cleared of sexual assault charges by the District Attorney in Ocmulgee County, Georgia, he may be facing a much tougher group of prosecutors as time goes on- the court of public opinion among Steelers fans. Slowly, but surely, I am beginning to see a chorus of voices in blogs, articles and article comments in the Pittsburgh area that are debating what the ultimate outcome of his actions should be- keep him, trade him or even cut him.
Two of the largest pro-Ben groups in the past few years have been women and children. Women wearing # 7 jerseys at Steelers games were a very common sight as they showed their support for this young handsome mega-star with millions in the bank and athletic talent to burn. I'm not a psychologist, but I think there was a good deal of post-adolescent high-school quarterback type crushes going on in the 'Burgh. Naturally, these women that had children passed this adulation on to their kids and little # 7 jerseys began springing up all over the place (my house included.) Big, strong, clean-cut and seemingly pious (if praying and gesturing to the heavens during games was any indication) who wouldn't want their little rugheads to look up to Big Ben ?
Well, hell hath no fury like a bunch of pissed off women. Big Ben's first mistake, a motorcycle crash without a helmet or motorcycle license, was passed off as unfortunate but nothing more than a youthful screw up. Strike two, sexual assault allegations in a civil suit, unnerved many of his followers but it could be dismissed, they asserted, due to the financial angle of the plaintiff and the "he said, she said" aspects of the case. Unfortunately for her, the plaintiff did not cut a very sympathetic figure. Strike three, however, was a too much for even the hardiest yinzer to bear- the creepy predatory nature of the charges, the sense of entitlement, the role of the bodyguards (one an off duty state trooper,) and the pattern of events that, unfortunately, seemed to have been practiced before. Moms who once sported pink Big Ben jerseys on their young daughters were now forced to think about their own kids being caught in the same situation.
Already, groups have begun campaigns to mail his jerseys back to the Steelers, and in some cases, fans are actually burning and disposing of them. Even Steelers fans, it seems, can only tolerate so much loutish, frat boy behavior.
20 April 2010
Anarchist Pig Investment Advice for April 20th
As I mentioned in my last Anarchist Pig update, I liked the prospects for Citigroup (NYSE: C) and was in position for a good jump after earnings were released on April 19th. Citigroup was, of course, battered by the financial meltdown and could rightfully blamed for precipitating the crisis itself. Still, I'm not here to point fingers, I'm here to make money.
My strategy was to go long on Citigroup shares so I opened the position about a month ago by purchasing 500 shares at $ 4.14 per share. At the time, Citi's book value of around $ 5.00 made this a compelling value play and I also felt that the bank's new management was making good strides to streamline their business groups and return to profitability. A few weeks after taking the long position, I further reinforced my optimism by buying 10 call contracts on the strike price of $ 4.00 expiring in September 2010, and 5 call contracts on the strike price of $ 5.00 expiring January 2012. Currently, these positions have yielded the following returns-
500 Shares Long + 17 %
Sept. 2010 call options + 62 %
Jan. 2012 call options + 22 %
Overall, this was a pretty risky bet on Citigroup. Not only was I long on shares, I also took option positions that could have been rendered virtually worthless. The call options clearly show how when you are firm in your decision they can accelerate returns above and beyond the underlying share value.
At this point, I will probably take profits on the September 2010 options position and move that money into the January 2012 options position. I am making this move because I remain very bullish on Citigroup and will also retain the 500 shares that I am long on. My personal opinion is that if you can get in at anything less than $ 5.50, you should enjoy solid returns provided you can endure the inevitable dips and panics that come with owning a battered company this one.
Next week, I will review how I sold covered call options on my position in American Rail Car Industries (ARII.) When my position in ARII reached a profit of nearly 100 %, I sold a covered call option contract because I felt it couldn't go any higher- problem is, the damned stock price has done just that !
Anarchist Pig Investment Advice is just that- advice. I am not an investment advisor, broker or investment professional and if you use this advice, you are using it at your own risk. If you take my advice, you need to do the research to see if it supports your investment goals. In other words, if it doesn't work out, don't fucking call me.
My strategy was to go long on Citigroup shares so I opened the position about a month ago by purchasing 500 shares at $ 4.14 per share. At the time, Citi's book value of around $ 5.00 made this a compelling value play and I also felt that the bank's new management was making good strides to streamline their business groups and return to profitability. A few weeks after taking the long position, I further reinforced my optimism by buying 10 call contracts on the strike price of $ 4.00 expiring in September 2010, and 5 call contracts on the strike price of $ 5.00 expiring January 2012. Currently, these positions have yielded the following returns-
500 Shares Long + 17 %
Sept. 2010 call options + 62 %
Jan. 2012 call options + 22 %
Overall, this was a pretty risky bet on Citigroup. Not only was I long on shares, I also took option positions that could have been rendered virtually worthless. The call options clearly show how when you are firm in your decision they can accelerate returns above and beyond the underlying share value.
At this point, I will probably take profits on the September 2010 options position and move that money into the January 2012 options position. I am making this move because I remain very bullish on Citigroup and will also retain the 500 shares that I am long on. My personal opinion is that if you can get in at anything less than $ 5.50, you should enjoy solid returns provided you can endure the inevitable dips and panics that come with owning a battered company this one.
Next week, I will review how I sold covered call options on my position in American Rail Car Industries (ARII.) When my position in ARII reached a profit of nearly 100 %, I sold a covered call option contract because I felt it couldn't go any higher- problem is, the damned stock price has done just that !
Anarchist Pig Investment Advice is just that- advice. I am not an investment advisor, broker or investment professional and if you use this advice, you are using it at your own risk. If you take my advice, you need to do the research to see if it supports your investment goals. In other words, if it doesn't work out, don't fucking call me.
19 April 2010
If only air to air combat was really this cute...
Here's an interesting Chinese video from YouTube. I'm not sure what the underlying message is, but it is fun to watch. It follows the story of a Chinese J-10 fighter and its quest to hook up with an aerial tanker only to be thwarted by the evil imperialistic Americans or something like that- I especially liked the Pulp Fiction inspired soundtrack with Kool & The Gangs "Jungle Boogie" playing as the American B-52 and F-22 escorts rudely cut in line to fuel up.
"Fat drunk and stupid is no way to go through life son"
As I mentioned in an earlier post, 21 year old Matthew Clemmens (pictured above) allegedly vomitted on an 11 year old girl at a recent Philadelphia Phillies baseball game. (Editors Note- Yes, I know it seems redundant to mention that it was a baseball game but this blog now has international readers. Anyways, on with the story.) Inevitably, numerous follow-up articles are now coming forward including a defense of Matthew from his uncle. I can certainly understand family loyalty, but the defense offered by John Gonzalez of the Philadelphia Inquirer is a little harder to, errr, choke down. Mr. Gonzalez points out the massive media conspiracy that has labeled Philadelphia fans as boorish animals more interested in drinking and fighting than actually watching the game-
As we all know, Philadelphia has a reputation for harboring and enabling lawless savages masquerading as fans. The Clemmens arrest only added to that stereotype and allowed lazy, brainless outsiders to lump us all together thanks to the sins of a single cretin.
As the old saying goes, within every stereotype lies a grain of truth.
Mr. Gonzalez's defense of the Phillies and their fans sounds a bit like the excuses offered in 2009 after a fan was beaten to death following a game in Philadelphia-
"The vast majority of fans act well at games, act well outside of games. And are cordial with opposing fans, but it's a select group of knuckleheads that take it a little too far and then give the whole city of Philadelphia a bad name."
At what point do the excuses stop ?
I'm sure that life has become a living hell for Matthew Clemmens and I hope that this incident causes him to take a hard look at himself. That being said, if it wasn't Matthew becoming the poster child for barbaric behavior in the stands, it would be some other lost soul at some point doing something equally stupid. Although personal behavior and accountability are the issue here, we can't discount the Animal House atmosphere at many professional sports venues these days. The free for all, alcohol fueled atmosphere fosters and nurtures this type of behavior.
I don't know if some sociologist will ever do a study, but I just can't remember going to baseball games in my youth and seeing people tailgating in the parking lots. Sure, some people may have had a grill going and were enjoying a few pre-game brews, but nothing like the binge drinking frat boy free for all that you need to navigate on the way into the stadium. I'll say again that this problem is not just present in Philadelphia- it has spread to many other towns and sports.
Then again, is it really a big societal problem or am I just getting old ? Perhaps a bit of both.
18 April 2010
Among the Barbarians
Setting a new low for classless Philadelphia sports fan behavior (an incredible feat needless to say) 21 year old Matthew Clemmens allegedly (intentionally) vomited on an 11 year old girl at a recent Phillies game. Although the report does not say the reason for the spew attack, it can be inferred that the young girl committed the horrible crime of actually wearing another team's jersey to the game. The girl's father mentioned that they were sworn at before the incident and had beer thrown on them causing the young kid to cry- something that all parents reading this blog can understand would be a really painful thing to see. Fortunately for the offender, the girl's father (a tough looking police captain) didn't beat the living hell out of him although his mug shot does show him sporting a nice shiner.
Well, you say, that wouldn't happen in a great city with a great sports tradition such as....Pittsburgh ! Oh nay, nay. It does happen and I've seen it happen. I've seen it happen to such an extent at Steelers games that after many years of buying 3 or 4 games a year off of a friend, I am sitting this season out. I'm sick and tired of trying to go to a game and having to endure thousands of blind drunk "fans" hurling obscenities at the opposing team and fans, their own team and each other. I'm revolted by the parking lot tailgating scene that is starting to look like something out of "Mad Max" with rampant binge drinking, vomiting and fighting. I made the mistake of taking my 9 year old to the Steelers-Oakland game last season and instead of enjoying an afternoon out, was forced to explain why otherwise responsible people feel the need to get drunk out of their minds in order to watch a game.
Now look, I'm by no means a priss. I like to drink beer when I'm at sporting events (before, during and after) and enjoy hanging out with my buddies as we enjoy the ups and downs of our local teams. Having a mild buzz and sitting in the stadium or arena can be an enjoyable experience. What I don't get, however, is how people can pay a great deal of money to buy their tickets so they can get blasted in the parking lot and pass out in their seats. A more logical plan would seem to be save the money, get blasted at home and pass out on your couch but, hey, who am I to judge ?
The other problem at sporting events, particularly Steelers games, is the underlying nasty vibe that you get (even if you are wearing Steelers gear.) The crowd seems very edgy, very drunk and in need of just one little spark to completely lose it. On many occasions I've bumped into a member of the Steelers nation, said "sorry" or "excuse me" and been met with the classic "fuck you" hissed through beer sodden lips. I've seen fist fights break out over people having their feet stepped on, cutting the line at the bathroom (because they badly need to get rid of that 6 gallons they drank in the parking lot) and reacting to insults real and perceived. Something about putting on a Steelers jersey and drinking heavily before noon can turn a nerdy bank vice president into a raving lunatic ready to fight anyone, and everyone, that gets in his way.
So, I'm sitting this one out. I'm tired of worrying about getting punched, kicked or shoved while trying to actually watch the game. In fact, I'm so tired of Steelers nation that I'm not even going to watch them on television. Screw 'em, the team and their fans have become a damned disgrace. No more hero worship for women beaters and sexual predators. You want me back in your stadium ? Clean up your act. You can start by cutting a few big names on your team. Next, reign in the zoo in the parking lot and quit quietly looking the other way at underage binge drinking, public exposure and drunk driving. Pull season ticket holder's tickets if anyone using theirs gets out of line and make them pay a fine of $5,000 to get them back with money going to charity. Do these things and I might just come back. Maybe.
Well, you say, that wouldn't happen in a great city with a great sports tradition such as....Pittsburgh ! Oh nay, nay. It does happen and I've seen it happen. I've seen it happen to such an extent at Steelers games that after many years of buying 3 or 4 games a year off of a friend, I am sitting this season out. I'm sick and tired of trying to go to a game and having to endure thousands of blind drunk "fans" hurling obscenities at the opposing team and fans, their own team and each other. I'm revolted by the parking lot tailgating scene that is starting to look like something out of "Mad Max" with rampant binge drinking, vomiting and fighting. I made the mistake of taking my 9 year old to the Steelers-Oakland game last season and instead of enjoying an afternoon out, was forced to explain why otherwise responsible people feel the need to get drunk out of their minds in order to watch a game.
Now look, I'm by no means a priss. I like to drink beer when I'm at sporting events (before, during and after) and enjoy hanging out with my buddies as we enjoy the ups and downs of our local teams. Having a mild buzz and sitting in the stadium or arena can be an enjoyable experience. What I don't get, however, is how people can pay a great deal of money to buy their tickets so they can get blasted in the parking lot and pass out in their seats. A more logical plan would seem to be save the money, get blasted at home and pass out on your couch but, hey, who am I to judge ?
The other problem at sporting events, particularly Steelers games, is the underlying nasty vibe that you get (even if you are wearing Steelers gear.) The crowd seems very edgy, very drunk and in need of just one little spark to completely lose it. On many occasions I've bumped into a member of the Steelers nation, said "sorry" or "excuse me" and been met with the classic "fuck you" hissed through beer sodden lips. I've seen fist fights break out over people having their feet stepped on, cutting the line at the bathroom (because they badly need to get rid of that 6 gallons they drank in the parking lot) and reacting to insults real and perceived. Something about putting on a Steelers jersey and drinking heavily before noon can turn a nerdy bank vice president into a raving lunatic ready to fight anyone, and everyone, that gets in his way.
So, I'm sitting this one out. I'm tired of worrying about getting punched, kicked or shoved while trying to actually watch the game. In fact, I'm so tired of Steelers nation that I'm not even going to watch them on television. Screw 'em, the team and their fans have become a damned disgrace. No more hero worship for women beaters and sexual predators. You want me back in your stadium ? Clean up your act. You can start by cutting a few big names on your team. Next, reign in the zoo in the parking lot and quit quietly looking the other way at underage binge drinking, public exposure and drunk driving. Pull season ticket holder's tickets if anyone using theirs gets out of line and make them pay a fine of $5,000 to get them back with money going to charity. Do these things and I might just come back. Maybe.
16 April 2010
When in doubt, just get more people to gamble.
The Pittsburgh Post Gazette reported recently that State Representative Paul Costa (D-Wilkins) has proposed legislation that would enable the state to plug a massive hole in the transportation budget with tax revenues gained from the legalization of video poker machines. Mr. Costa’s idea is further proof that once the barrier to legalized gambling was broken in Pennsylvania, the flood of casinos, proposed casinos and now gambling machines permeating local neighborhoods that many predicted has come to pass.
Anyone who has step foot in bar in Pennsylvania has seen these machines for years. Although signs might warn that they are merely for entertainment, not gambling, any regular customer quickly learns that he, or she, can receive payment from the bartender if they win. As such, the machines occupied a place of legal limbo for many years- the state would make the occasional raid on an establishment and confiscate machines if gambling was observed, but mostly just looked the other way. Now that Pennsylvania, like many other states, is faced with massive deficits, lawmakers are turning to gambling in order to close the revenue gap. Pennsylvania has gone very quickly from a state that had little legalized gambling (mostly off track betting) to one that has approved a raft of new casinos, planned casinos, and now legalized machines in non-casino locations.
From my point of view, I could care less if people gambled or not. Although I consider it a waste of time and money, I have to admit to filling out the occasional March Madness bracket and buying a powerball ticket when the prize amount reaches ridiculous levels. Live and let live, as long as it isn’t hurting me. My opposition arises, however, when it appears that the state is taking a lazy shortcut to raise revenue (instead of, God forbid, cutting the state budget) that preys primarily on the poor and elderly. Who will be the primary customers for video poker machines in bars ? Professionals ? Tradesmen ? No, it will primarily come from down and out people drinking in the middle of the day and praying to hit a jackpot big enough to get them through the end of the week. State sponsored and approved gambling is the ultimate regressive tax being paid by people that can least afford it. In many cases because these people may also receive public assistance, their gambling revenues provide the ultimate means of recycling- money from taxpayer “A” is given to taxpayer “B” by the state “PA.” Tax payer “B” blows the money on gambling and the money is returned in the form of gambling machine taxes back to “PA.” The state “PA” then uses said tax money to build an even larger bureaucracy to monitor gambling in the state and passes another hefty chunk to assorted political strap hangers and flunkies in the construction business who are contracted to fix our decrepit infrastructure.
While we are at it, let’s quit using the euphemism “revenues” when it applies to gambling. They aren’t revenues, they are losses. Money lost by citizens who can’t afford to lose anything. Although we like to think they are just the occasional customer that enjoys playing a machine while drinking a beer on a Saturday afternoon, we need to admit that the primary customer for this type of enterprise is the degenerate gambler (quite possibly an alcoholic to boot) that is blowing everything he or she has on the slim hope that they will hit it big. Quite often, the degenerate gambler is in turn stealing from friends and family, or their place of employment, in order to support their habit. Families are destroyed, relationships shattered, children are neglected- hey, but at least we can fix more potholes on I-80 (the grand old lady of Pennsylvania highway construction incompetence.)
I think the legislature should next consider offering our fellow citizens their own player's cards so that they can qualify for a massive state funded buffet in Harrisburg.
Anyone who has step foot in bar in Pennsylvania has seen these machines for years. Although signs might warn that they are merely for entertainment, not gambling, any regular customer quickly learns that he, or she, can receive payment from the bartender if they win. As such, the machines occupied a place of legal limbo for many years- the state would make the occasional raid on an establishment and confiscate machines if gambling was observed, but mostly just looked the other way. Now that Pennsylvania, like many other states, is faced with massive deficits, lawmakers are turning to gambling in order to close the revenue gap. Pennsylvania has gone very quickly from a state that had little legalized gambling (mostly off track betting) to one that has approved a raft of new casinos, planned casinos, and now legalized machines in non-casino locations.
From my point of view, I could care less if people gambled or not. Although I consider it a waste of time and money, I have to admit to filling out the occasional March Madness bracket and buying a powerball ticket when the prize amount reaches ridiculous levels. Live and let live, as long as it isn’t hurting me. My opposition arises, however, when it appears that the state is taking a lazy shortcut to raise revenue (instead of, God forbid, cutting the state budget) that preys primarily on the poor and elderly. Who will be the primary customers for video poker machines in bars ? Professionals ? Tradesmen ? No, it will primarily come from down and out people drinking in the middle of the day and praying to hit a jackpot big enough to get them through the end of the week. State sponsored and approved gambling is the ultimate regressive tax being paid by people that can least afford it. In many cases because these people may also receive public assistance, their gambling revenues provide the ultimate means of recycling- money from taxpayer “A” is given to taxpayer “B” by the state “PA.” Tax payer “B” blows the money on gambling and the money is returned in the form of gambling machine taxes back to “PA.” The state “PA” then uses said tax money to build an even larger bureaucracy to monitor gambling in the state and passes another hefty chunk to assorted political strap hangers and flunkies in the construction business who are contracted to fix our decrepit infrastructure.
While we are at it, let’s quit using the euphemism “revenues” when it applies to gambling. They aren’t revenues, they are losses. Money lost by citizens who can’t afford to lose anything. Although we like to think they are just the occasional customer that enjoys playing a machine while drinking a beer on a Saturday afternoon, we need to admit that the primary customer for this type of enterprise is the degenerate gambler (quite possibly an alcoholic to boot) that is blowing everything he or she has on the slim hope that they will hit it big. Quite often, the degenerate gambler is in turn stealing from friends and family, or their place of employment, in order to support their habit. Families are destroyed, relationships shattered, children are neglected- hey, but at least we can fix more potholes on I-80 (the grand old lady of Pennsylvania highway construction incompetence.)
I think the legislature should next consider offering our fellow citizens their own player's cards so that they can qualify for a massive state funded buffet in Harrisburg.
15 April 2010
14 April 2010
Lysander Spooner on Taxation
I have been reading quite a bit of Lysander Spooner's works lately. He was a 19th century abolitionist, anarchist, proponent of natural law and entrepreneur- sort of a civil war era renaissance man. When I read Spooner, the words seem to jump off the page and his arguments are clear and easily followed- unlike the muddied and mind numbing treatises of many European anarchists. Spooner's philosophy of individualistic anarchism is also culturally more aligned with my background and upbringing and favors a pacifistic spread of ideas through debate and education rather than by the gun and revolution.
In honor of tax day tomorrow, here is an excerpt on taxation in the U.S. from Spooner's "No Treason." Spooner compares the methods of tax collection by the state with the methods of the common highway robber. Not surprisingly, the robber comes off as a more sympathetic character-
"It is true that the theory of our Constitution is, that all taxes are paid voluntarily; that our government is a mutual insurance company, voluntarily entered into by the people with each other; that that each man makes a free and purely voluntary contract with all others who are parties to the Constitution, to pay so much money for so much protection, the same as he does with any other insurance company; and that he is just as free not to be protected, and not to pay tax, as he is to pay a tax, and be protected.
But this theory of our government is wholly different from the practical fact. The fact is that the government, like a highwayman, says to a man: Your money, or your life." And many, if not most, taxes are paid under the compulsion of that threat.
The government does not, indeed, waylay a man in a lonely place, spring upon him from the roadside, and, holding a pistol to his head, proceed to rifle his pockets. But the robbery is none the less a robbery on that account; and it is far more dastardly and shameful.
The highwayman takes solely upon himself the responsibility, danger, and crime of his own act. He does not pretend that he has any rightful claim to your money, or that he intends to use it for your own benefit. He does not pretend to be anything but a robber. He has not acquired impudence enough to profess to be merely a "protector," and that he takes men's money against their will, merely to enable him to "protect" those infatuated travellers, who feel perfectly able to protect themselves, or do not appreciate his peculiar system of protection. He is too sensible a man to make such professions as these. Furthermore, having taken your money, he leaves you, as you wish him to do. He does not persist in following you on the road, against your will; assuming to be your rightful "sovereign," on account of the "protection" he affords you. He does not keep "protecting" you, by commanding you to bow down and serve him; by requiring you to do this, and forbidding you to do that; by robbing you of more money as often as he finds it for his interest or pleasure to do so; and by branding you as a rebel, a traitor, and an enemy to your country, and shooting you down without mercy, if you dispute his authority, or resist his demands. He is too much of a gentleman to be guilty of such impostures, and insults, and villanies as these. In short, he does not, in addition to robbing you, attempt to make you either his dupe or his slave.
The proceedings of those robbers and murderers, who call themselves "the government," are directly the opposite of these of the single highwayman.
If you would like to learn more about Lysander Spooner, and read more of his works, I highly recommend going here.
In honor of tax day tomorrow, here is an excerpt on taxation in the U.S. from Spooner's "No Treason." Spooner compares the methods of tax collection by the state with the methods of the common highway robber. Not surprisingly, the robber comes off as a more sympathetic character-
"It is true that the theory of our Constitution is, that all taxes are paid voluntarily; that our government is a mutual insurance company, voluntarily entered into by the people with each other; that that each man makes a free and purely voluntary contract with all others who are parties to the Constitution, to pay so much money for so much protection, the same as he does with any other insurance company; and that he is just as free not to be protected, and not to pay tax, as he is to pay a tax, and be protected.
But this theory of our government is wholly different from the practical fact. The fact is that the government, like a highwayman, says to a man: Your money, or your life." And many, if not most, taxes are paid under the compulsion of that threat.
The government does not, indeed, waylay a man in a lonely place, spring upon him from the roadside, and, holding a pistol to his head, proceed to rifle his pockets. But the robbery is none the less a robbery on that account; and it is far more dastardly and shameful.
The highwayman takes solely upon himself the responsibility, danger, and crime of his own act. He does not pretend that he has any rightful claim to your money, or that he intends to use it for your own benefit. He does not pretend to be anything but a robber. He has not acquired impudence enough to profess to be merely a "protector," and that he takes men's money against their will, merely to enable him to "protect" those infatuated travellers, who feel perfectly able to protect themselves, or do not appreciate his peculiar system of protection. He is too sensible a man to make such professions as these. Furthermore, having taken your money, he leaves you, as you wish him to do. He does not persist in following you on the road, against your will; assuming to be your rightful "sovereign," on account of the "protection" he affords you. He does not keep "protecting" you, by commanding you to bow down and serve him; by requiring you to do this, and forbidding you to do that; by robbing you of more money as often as he finds it for his interest or pleasure to do so; and by branding you as a rebel, a traitor, and an enemy to your country, and shooting you down without mercy, if you dispute his authority, or resist his demands. He is too much of a gentleman to be guilty of such impostures, and insults, and villanies as these. In short, he does not, in addition to robbing you, attempt to make you either his dupe or his slave.
The proceedings of those robbers and murderers, who call themselves "the government," are directly the opposite of these of the single highwayman.
If you would like to learn more about Lysander Spooner, and read more of his works, I highly recommend going here.
13 April 2010
Movie Review- Hot Tub Time Machine
I fondly remember the 80's. For me, it was the decade in which I entered my teens and enjoyed all kinds of new experiences- driving for the first time, high school, prom, joining the Army and going to college. These ten formative years also encompassed many important firsts in my life- first time I got laid, first time I almost died of alcohol poisoning, first time in a strip bar, first time I woke up drunk in the bushes beneath a Holiday Inn sign....well, you get the point. The 1980's covered by life from age 13 through 23 and looking back with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, were some pretty damn fun years. No responsibilities, at least until I was in the Army, then no responsibilities right after that when I went to college besides dragging my ass into class at the crack of noon.
Since I heard that Hot Tub Time Machine was based on a group of friends travelling back into time to this most holy of decades, I persuaded my wife to go see it on our first night out without kids in about 50 odd years. It was crude, sophmoric, obnoxious, juvenile and really, really funny. We both enjoyed it immensely from wardrobe nods to the neon clothing of the 80's to the soundtrack that made me drift back to days of yore. Hearing "Safety Dance" at one point in the movie brought back a wave of nostalgia that is probably similar to a Woodstock veteran hearing "Purple Haze." John Cusack and Craig Robinson were excellent as two of the three friends but it was Rob Corddry as Lou, the semi-suicidal alcoholic manic depressive who steals the show. In a line that all guys loyal to their idiot friends will understand, Cusack and Robinson describe Lou as "he may be an asshole- but he's our asshole."
All in all, a good film. Next time I go to the movies (probably around 2025) I'll post another review.
Since I heard that Hot Tub Time Machine was based on a group of friends travelling back into time to this most holy of decades, I persuaded my wife to go see it on our first night out without kids in about 50 odd years. It was crude, sophmoric, obnoxious, juvenile and really, really funny. We both enjoyed it immensely from wardrobe nods to the neon clothing of the 80's to the soundtrack that made me drift back to days of yore. Hearing "Safety Dance" at one point in the movie brought back a wave of nostalgia that is probably similar to a Woodstock veteran hearing "Purple Haze." John Cusack and Craig Robinson were excellent as two of the three friends but it was Rob Corddry as Lou, the semi-suicidal alcoholic manic depressive who steals the show. In a line that all guys loyal to their idiot friends will understand, Cusack and Robinson describe Lou as "he may be an asshole- but he's our asshole."
All in all, a good film. Next time I go to the movies (probably around 2025) I'll post another review.
12 April 2010
RIP Upper Big Branch Miners
A good piece from the Pittsburgh Post Gazette regarding the recent mine disaster in West Virginia and the public perception of miners and the mining industry. The author is correct that it only seems when disaster strikes that the public appreciates the sacrifice of miners, their communities and families. Like many other poor states that are rich in natural resources, West Virginia, and Appalachia in general, has been raped for generations by greedy corporations that have scarred the land and exploited the populace as labor for this incredibly dangerous profession. Like the very coal itself, the profits of their labor has been exported away from their communities and enjoyed instead in far away places like Wall Street. If you can find a copy, I highly recommend viewing Harlan County USA, an excellent film on the 1973 miners strike in Harlan, Kentucky to put it all into perspective.
11 April 2010
They Read Me ! They Really Read Me !
Despite the fact that few, if any comments are posted here (except for my old pal The Snick who lives in the land of coffee, grunge music and chicks with hairy legs) I found out this week that lots of people actually visit this site. Through the wonders of some analytics software, I found that people from 14 different states, and 5 foreign countries, actually visited this site since Wednesday. I also found out that my visitors spend between 5 and 9 minutes reading my ramblings and most of the new users found my blog through search engines. More amazingly, most of my visits are from repeat users. So, thanks for stopping by. Visits to this site lead to advertising revenue that I donate to Buddhist charities so every click counts.
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