Season's Greetings!

Happy Holidays!

See you in 2013!

Get Out and Vote!

A quick reminder to all citizens U.S. citizens legal U.S. citizens legal U.S. citizens who are registered voters:

It's a MAILBOX, not a BALLOT BOX. Stop stuffing it!

GET OUT AND VOTE SO I CAN FIND MY BILLS!

A Morning Cup of Coffee

(Ed. Note: What you're about to read is true. Okay, the part about me wanting a cup of coffee, and other people being there, and me waiting in line is really true and the rest truly occurred in my head while I was waiting. This is what happens when a granule brews in the filter too long.)

I was on the road, early in the morning, and wanted a cup of coffee. Actually, I needed to get off the highway because traffic was pissing me off. Okay, not traffic...the drivers causing the traffic. So, get off the road and get a cup of coffee. I stopped at a coffee shop. I won't divulge the name of the place because they aren't paying me to advertise for them. And the name really doesn't matter anyway because they're all the same. I parked my car, went inside, and got in a line that was just like the traffic I got out of - everyone creeping forward slowly with their faces locked onto their smartphone screens.

Behind me, a man in his mid-40's with a bluetooth device wedged in his ear is in a conversation with some other jackass standing in a crowd somewhere else talking to himself, too. The guy is going on about his golf game, and how much better it's gotten since he started taking lessons from a golf pro. He's hitting straighter, but as far, so his scores are still around where they were when he was slicing every other ball into oblivion. But he hopes the scores will start dropping soon so he can justify the lessons, which likely cost him as much as he was paying for replacement golf balls. The talk turns to cars and the new penis on wheels he's been test driving. He'd buy it but the dealer's hassling him over the financing, meaning his ex-wife owns his credit score and he can't secure a low enough interest rate to make the payments. I'm fighting the urge to turn around and start mimicking him like a seven-year-old, repeating everything he says just to annoy him because he's annoying me. Immature, sure, but he started it.

Over his shoulder, I see five guys on bicycles roll to a stop outside and unclip their feet from their pedals. They're all dressed in the same bike outfits like they're a road racing team. Their matching shirts have corporate logos all over them creating the pretense they are team sponsors, which is bullshit. The shirts were on sale at Sports Authority and one of the guys thought it'd look cool, so he bought five thus ensuring he'll still be on the "team." These guys talk the bike lifestyle, but they are phony from their padded-ass shorts to their fingerless gloves. Two of them can't even pronounce "Cinzano" correctly. They've been riding the two-lane roads in the foothill getting in the way of traffic since the asscrack of dawn, making commuters who have trouble passing even one of these idiots on a narrow road have to pass five. But these cyclists have the right to use the roads, and nothing's going to stop them as they cruise along in their little peloton, each one taking turns in the lead as they dream about being in "The Tour" or get to fulfill their Breaking Away fantasy.

From of the cost of your cup of 

coffee, this little girl gets 3 cents.

Not per cup of coffee, just for that

 one cup. Enjoy your sad cubicle.

One of the two ladies in front of me tells the other she's really happy that Jen-Gret is working this morning. Jen-Gret is the barista whose real name is Jennifer Gretchen. The names apparently weren't butch enough to go with her chosen lifestyle, so she chopped them up and bolted two parts together with a hyphen. Jen-Gret is working at this particular coffee house because they only use coffee beans from Central and South American countries that don't clear-cut rainforests for their plantations. Not that the 13-year-old girls slogging through the mud to pick the beans for next to nothing might be an issue. (Whoa, one noble cause at a time!) Jen-Gret's devotion to protecting this particular endangered habitat is displayed in the form of a shoulder-to-wrist sleeve of rainforest tattoos along her left arm, which goes great with the jungle growing from under her armpit. She's also working here because it's hard to find conventional employment with a triple-pierced eyebrow, a bullring in the nose, a tongue bolt with matching chipped tooth, and a stud between the lower lip and chin. Her natural fiber R.E.I. discard wardrobe is also limiting. But Jen-Gret is great at making specialty drinks, and she can cut a million designs into latte foam...palm trees, fern fronds, hearts. She's always been artistic, say her parents who still have the hand-shaped outline of the turkey she drew and colored in elementary school on the refrigerator. Yes, a reminder of their daughter's talent, as well as a reminder of the $35,000 a year for four years they spent on college, where that sociology professor got into their daughter's head that one could make $100,000 a year and pay into a tax-based system, or one could make $20,000 a year and draw from it.

In the seating area, a man of about 60 is holding court. He's reluctantly retired, telling everyone he could have stayed with the company longer but the guys in corporate, which he says like the "guys" are his good ol' buddies, gave him a retirement offer he couldn't pass up. The actual offer was called "We're downsizing, and you can either get laid off with a severance check and no benefits, or take an early pension." He spends his time managing his retirement portfolio by watching CNN and MSNBC financial programs, hypnotically watching the ticker scroll by, waiting for word that his Apple stock will split yet again. He hopes owning four shares is as exciting as the 2005 split when his one share turned into two shares. He talks about his Facebook I.P.O. buy, and yeah, he paid $35 a share, but he's confident it has potential and that it'll eventually double. He shares his opinions about the stock market ad nauseum to his group, who sit looking at him with the same blank stare his three cats give him when he talks to them. His friends humor him, smiling, nodding and wondering silently which of the two, the old man or the Facebook stock, will ever reach 70.

Yeah, the line's moving. Slowly. I'm next, but a woman of size is holding up progress because she can't decide on the cinnamon roll or the low-fat, reduced calorie oat bran muffin. After a a minute of hemming and hawing, she caves and sheepishly goes for the cinnamon roll with her often used "Oh, maybe I'll just treat myself today" default excuse.

Finally at the front, and being waited on by a very cute girl named Mariann. That's right...so cute she spells her name with an "i" instead of a "y" and dots the "i" with a hand-drawn ladybug. Sure, it looks more like a tick, but she's cute so she gets a pass. She's all perky and eager to take my order, but first she asks me if I want to try one of their cranberry-bran bars in the tray next to the register. They look like shit swept up from the floor and pressed together with rubber cement. While I'm sure they're delicious, Mariann's not that cute and needs some rejection in her life. "No, thanks. Just a large coffee," I tell her. She gets my coffee, sets it on the counter and says, "That's $2.40." Mariann's been handling debit, credit and gift cards, so when I hand her a $5 bill she stares at it blankly until she realizes there is such a thing as cash. Thankfully the register told her how much change to give me back because God knows how long it would have taken before the math skills portion of her G.E.D. test kicked in. She gave me two one dollar bills, paused, and then silently mouthed the math calculation to one quarter plus one nickel plus dime, dime, dime. She'll be fine; she's cute.

Heading out? Not on your life. There are two women chatting up in the middle of the aisle like there's nothing else going on around them. I'm certain at some point in the day either or both will do the same thing in a grocery store aisle, the sidewalk outside a school, or anywhere else a conversation exists that requires someone to excuse their way by/between/around. They move - no break in the stride of the converstation and, of course, no apology - and I make my way to the counter to get some sugar, which would have been quick except for the chemist taking up the entire counter searching for the right mix of sweetener and half-and-half or maybe whole milk or soy that'll make his $5 custom half-caf caramel mocha latte cure cancer. Not waiting, I reach around his lab coat for the sugar dispenser. That's right...bleached white processed cane sugar. The F.D.A. hasn't pulled it from consumption and I'm using it...if I can get it out of the container because it's all clumped together and...

I just wanted a cup of coffee.

Senseless Sensibility

Picture from Grainiums #1: Why a Blog.

See, it’s there! Right where I said it was!

In that big red circle! See it?
USE IT!!

Common sense is defined as "sound and prudent judgment based on simple perception of the situation or facts." It is a definition that is as subjective as the object it defines. It has to be, because common sense, in an objectively applied and substantive form, does not exist.

In a previous post, Words, Part 5 (August 29, 2012), I questioned the sense of school administrators and a public official in Prague, Oklahoma, for refusing to give the 2012 class valedictorian her diploma because in her speech she said "hell" in place of the school district-approved word "heck." One of the points I touched upon was the "rules are rules" mindset voiced by officials in their own defense. My response to that was, yes, rules are rules, but within the letter of the rule is the spirit of the rule. There aren't many rules that cover every circumstance affected by any particular rule, thus it's this in-between area when the concept of "common sense" should come into play. But it doesn't, because people are reluctant to use the gray matter that exists between their ears when encountering the gray matter that exists within the "black and white" of the rules.

Take the case of the 68-year-old Iowa man who was fired as a customer service representative by his employer, Wells Fargo Home Mortgage, because he was convicted of operating a coin-changing machine by false means. What this man did was get caught using a cardboard cutout of a dime to operate a washing machine. For anyone wondering if coin-operated washing machines even accept dimes, they did back in 1963 when this crime occurred. 1963. Almost fifty years earlier. The man, 18 at the time, was caught, convicted and served two days in jail, which didn't preclude him from being hired by Wells Fargo. Fifty years later, Wells Fargo fired him - as all banks have similarly fired thousands of employees - because of a regulation that was put in place in the financial industry that "forbid the employment of anyone convicted of a crime involving dishonesty, breech of trust or money laundering."

The regulation, created in the aftermath of the financial meltdown that crippled the U.S. economy and designed to focus on executive-level employees who engaged in transactional crimes, has been applied across the board to all employees retroactive to their date of birth because the banks are afraid the FDIC will fine them for noncompliance by keeping them employed. The spokesperson for the American Bankers Association said that because of "public clamor for tighter regulation...the safest route is to fire the employee and let them pursue the FDIC waiver." The FDIC waiver process takes six to twelve months for approval. So this 68-year-old man loses his job for up to a year, loses his benefits and possibly his retirement, because no one had the common sense (a.k.a. balls) to step up and do a common sense thing like let the man stay employed and assign him non-transactional jobs until the waiver gets approved. Instead, they took the "safest route," meaning the decision made was not a sensible decision but one that covers an ass at the expense of someone else's ass because "that's the rule." But, hey, the banks used such great judgment deciding how best to manage the country's financial backbone, so why question how they use their judgment now?

Then there are the parents of a three-year-old deaf boy at a preschool in Grand Island, Nebraska, who became embroiled in a dispute with the school district's administrators because they claim the boy's sign language gesture for his name violates the district policy that encompasses "mimicking a weapon." The boy's name is Hunter, and the sign gesture he uses for his name is an actual, registered symbol with S.E.E. (Signing Exact English). In spite of that, the school is apparently afraid that someone will mistake a 3-year-old deaf boy's hand gesture as a lethal weapon and wants the parents to change the boy's sign language name. The parents don't seem to be inclined to do this and, to their credit, the community of Grand Island supports the family's decision.

Freedom of speechlessness

It's shameful to me that an adult or group of adults who are charged with overseeing an education system aren't mature enough, compassionate enough or, dare I say, educated enough, to comprehend how their decision not only emotionally impacts this child and his family, but also reflects poorly on the community they represent. That they can't differentiate between a deaf kid using his hands to speak his name vs. using his hands to pretend shoot someone leaves me speechless.

Understand, this isn't about rules or the need for rules. This is about the sensible application of rules. People seem to be less and less inclined to look at an exception to a rule and judge a sensible way to deal with it. Not the best way, a sensible way, because the best way isn't necessarily sensible. The desire has become to fall back on the easy answer - the rule - and take comfort believing one's absolved of any real responsibility for enforcing it even when knowing it's being wrongly applied. But as the official from Prague High School said, "...there's ways (sic) to change rules if you don't think they're right." Exactly. But it doesn't have to be a prolonged battle after the fact. It can start with sound and prudent judgment at the first point of having to enforce it.

I'd like to see the Iowa man gets his job back, and every person who passed the buck because they thought they were protected by the letter of the rule should get fired for doing unto others in the spirit of the golden rule.

As for the parents of Hunter, if they end up changing his name I hope they change it to Dick and teach him to drop his pants and wave his little pecker around every time he introduces himself...starting with every single shitbird Grand Island school administrator supporting the enforcement of the letter of the rule.

Words, Part 5: The Hell You Say

Blogger's note: "Words" is an ongoing feature in which I take a look at special qualities and misrepresentations of the English language, how much fun it is to play with its words, and why it reigns as one of the hardest languages to master.


An Oklahoma high school graduate has been denied her diploma for using the word "hell" during her commencement speech.

At Prague High School, you can’t say 

the word “hell,” but you can cheer 

your fucking heart out for the Devil.

In her 2012 Prague High School graduation speech, the young lady - the class valedictorian, who had a 4.0 grade point average - recounted her frustration at repeatedly facing the question as she neared graduation about what she wanted to do with her life. Her response: "How the hell do I know? I've changed my mind so many times." After the graduation ceremony, she went to pick up her diploma and was told she wasn't going to get it. The reason, according to the school district superintendent, was that she didn't present the speech as written and approved by the school. The draft of the speech she submitted to the school that was approved used the word "heck." Her use of the word "hell" instead was deemed "language that was inappropriate for a graduation exercise." Said the Prague city manager, "I don't think language like that should be used in school, and as society starts accepting stuff like that, it becomes your normal," adding, "...you gotta have rules, and there's ways to change rules if you don't think they're right."

Yeah, language rules. Those are important. Otherwise saying things like "gotta" and "there's ways" become "your normal."

Now anyone who has followed the topics in this blog, particularly the Words series, knows how I feel about the use of language. There shouldn't be a problem with any word as long as the content of what's said is in the proper context of being said and the user accepts responsability for saying it. Especially when it comes to profanity. And if the word "hell" qualifies as profanity in this day and age, it's bush league profanity at best. Located between "heck" and "fuck" on the progressive scale of interjections, "hell" is one of those words that allows you to push the vocabulary envelope while you're pushing the maturity envelope. It's just enough of an attention-getter to announce you're growing up, but not quite potty-mouth enough to get a bar of soap shoved down the back of your throat.

As for her speech, I didn't find anything particularly shocking in what the young lady said. Sure, she stepped away from her script, but it's not like she went Sarah Silverman-open mike on the crowd. All she did was replace one innocuous word with another. (Technically, she replaced two letters (c, k) of one word with one different letter (l) used twice (l, l), consecutively (ll), to form another word.) A student's commencement speech is supposed to be more than a regurgitation of yearbook memories and band room anecdotes. It's supposed to mark the final stage of the transition from the halls of the school's protective cocoon - can't say "womb" in Oklahoma schools - and, hopefully, nurtured by - nor can you say "after suckling at the teat of" - knowledge, children will emerge - "be reborn?" Nope - as adults ready to survive in the wilds of the world. Having sat through my share of graduation speeches, I can tell you that the best speeches were the ones that had some personality behind them, ones that were balanced with elements of seriousness and humor, with an occasional finger flick to the earlobe to keep your attention, you know, like a valedictorian saying "hell." Compared to the young lady's presentation, I'm sure the faculty speeches were akin to rubbing a brick back and forth against the forehead.

In my opinion, the school administration, the district superintendent and the city manager overreacted. Had they been paying attention they would have noticed through the light laughter and applause that nobody else cared. Not the audience. Not the student body. Just them. I understand the "rules are rules" concept, but I also understand there is the letter of a rule, and the spirit of a rule. This is not a case of a student who narrowly escaped attending a fifth year of high school spewing a publicly humiliating rant during the ceremony. This is an honor student who said something intelligent, articulate and socially acceptable - or at least acceptable outside Oklahoma. I'm sure a stern lecture with frowny faces expressing disappointment by the school administrators would have sufficed instead of them pulling the sticks out of their asses to hit her.

Now to be fair, it should be noted the school and district administrators aren't the only ones who used poor judgment. The young lady's father needs to be put in check, too, for citing the 1st Amendment in defense of his daughter. This isn't a freedom of speech issue, dad. She exercised that right when she edited her speech at the microphone. So stop waving the flag and the Constitution and the Bill of Rights and your whole "young men putting their lives on the line to protect those rights" pandering to condemn what this really is, which is a lack of sensibility issue. Standing up for your kid doesn't always mean opening your mouth for them. She's not twelve, so give her advice if she asks for it, counsel her if she needs it, but otherwise stand there, shut up and let her do her thing. A 4.0 GPA doesn't include life experience, so let her get some.

The school administration's remedy was to request a formal, written apology from the young lady in exchange for her diploma, which she's refusing to do. And good for her. She did all of her required writing assignments during her four years at the school. The diploma is only symbolic, anyway. She should just take the frame she was going to put it in and put a copy of the news story inside it instead, then just go on with her life after telling the school administration to go to "heck."

Lil' Smokies

21 burned in walk over hot coals at Robbins event - Associated Press, Sat, July 21, 2012

And in other news, thirty-four people drowned at a lakeside Christian retreat when they attempted to walk on water...

Okay, people didn't really drown, but at least twenty-one people were reportedly treated for injuries as serious as second- and third-degree burns on the soles of their feet after walking across a ten-foot long bed of hot coals during a Tony Robbins motivational seminar in San Jose, California. While I'm compelled to wonder why that number didn't stop at one, there are enough documented instances of punch drinking, sweat lodging and prayer healing to remind me that follow-the-leadership is alive and well in the world, and that P. T. Barnum provided a better reference for human existence than Darwin did.

For anyone who hasn't watched television during some 24-hour period in the past thirty years, Tony Robbins is a self-help coach and motivational speaker who has made millions of dollars helped millions of people by preaching that the proper mental approach to life can bring personal success. To them, too.

This is the only way I want my little

piggies over a bed of hot coals.

The firewalk was part of the "Unleash the Power Within" motivational seminar through which one can experience "the opportunity to 'understand that there is absolutely nothing you can't overcome.'" It was not immediately clear if that included overcoming severe burns in order to unleash the power of walking.

Hot Fact: Human skin will begin to burn at approximately 130 degrees Fahrenheit. The reported temperature range of coals for the Robbins firewalk was 1,200 to 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Math.

Firewalking is a stunt. It's not a miracle, and it's not supernatural. There are various scientific reasons why one wouldn't suffer burns or blisters while walking across a bed of hot coals. So put the cape away, Superman, 'cause it's not necessarily a high-risk activity. If done correctly, it can be done successfully and consistently. That's why it's an activity that a Mr. Robbins-type self-helper would employ in a motivational program as opposed to something really challenging like, oh, walking blindfolded across a four-lane highway. Or something even more difficult, like saying "No." What makes it a risk or a challenge to be triumphed is the belief it is just that. We are taught to fear fire, and overcoming that fear is a huge psychological boost. A boost that, say, someone who wants to guide you to the next price level would use because now you believe they can further help you.

I have no doubt the mind has the ability to control pain, but no state of mind can prevent the physical properties of an outside source (intense heat) from causing damage to your body (burned flesh). There are only two parts of one's mental state that is tapped for this or any other risky exercise that opposes conventional wisdom: believing that it can be done, and making the decision to do it. Nothing more, nothing less. And neither of those is immune to failure.

In Robbins' defense, his organization claims to have been providing this experience for more than thirty years and takes precautions to "ensure this event is always done in the safest way possible." Those precautions include having medical staff at the ready and providing warnings to participants "they might get burns or blisters." There was no mention if liability release waivers were signed by participants prior to attempting this stunt, so I'm going to go out on a burning limb and assume they were so potential litigation against the organization could also be handled in the safest way possible.

But even with assurances by organizations that these stunts, these tests of faith, such as walking on hot coals, can be safe by simply employing the proper state of mind, I have to question the state of mind of people thinking it's okay to provide a risk to others and then shrug off an injury when it occurs by saying, "Hey, we didn't make them do it." Yes, you did. You and your program got a notion into their heads - motivated them - to make them believe they could face whatever challenge you put before them by equating not doing it with failure. So when this activity - which is touted as a metaphor for succeeding in life - fails, guess what's reinforced?

I've seen video of Mr. Robbins clearly stating during his performance that walking on fire is not the goal of the seminar, that it's only presented as a metaphor to demonstrate overcoming life's challenges. But some people attending the seminar apparently aren't getting that message, as noted by the quotes below:

           "The purpose of the event is to get your focus and your attention
             away from that (potential for injury) and look into the power within
             yourself and focus on just walking on the fire."
 
           "I did it before, didn't get into the right state and got burned. I knew I
            wasn't at my peak state. I didn't take it as serious."

           "...after crossing the coals while chanting (my) mantra of  'Cool moss,'
            (I) felt powerful."

Really, Mr. Cool moss-man? Let's see how powerful your "more money" mantra makes you during your next employee evaluation at work, okay? If Robbins' message didn't get across to these people that no focus, no state of mind, no mantra will protect them from getting burned, what other "life changing" messages were missed during the seminar? How about the message that by putting the right precautions in place (footwear), you minimize the perceived risks you face in life (hurting your feet) and develop the confidence to make decisions (putting on said footwear) that help you achieve success (crossing a fire pit)? Anybody get that one?

Mr. Robbins and his kind probably do a great service to those who need to understand they aren't alone in their fears. But these professional messengers should be able to communicate to their followers that they have the ability to step forward, confront the challenges in their lives, and become successful without the need to go circus-sideshow and have a person risk injury crossing a bed of hot coals barefoot to understand this.

Balloons = Happiness

Presenting the Grainiums (relatively) Safe Life Metaphor Challenge: Get a balloon. Start blowing it up. Keep blowing it up until you worry about it popping in your face. Do you feel tension build as the balloon gets bigger? Keep blowing. And the heightening anxiety with each breath as you wonder when it will pop? Keep blowing! Afraid it will hurt when it pops? Keep blowing!! Do you want to stop? NO!! BLOW!!

Did it scare the shit out of you when it finally popped? Are you still breathing? Then you aren't dead, you weenie, so go get another balloon and start blowing it up.

The point of the metaphor is this: As long as you're breathing, you still have the ability to affect change in your life and the opportunity to try again when things in your life pop.

And you get a balloon.

The 2012 Grainiums Staff Vacation

2012 Grainiums Staff

Me (standing, far left), and

(from left to right) the rest

of the staff.

In response to the hard work and dedication provided to the Grainiums blog over the past year, I graciously (as is my nature) rewarded the ENTIRE staff with an almost-all expenses paid road trip to the southwestern United States. Our trip included stops in Zion National Park, Utah, and the Lake Powell area in Arizona. Our travel dates coincided with a heat wave that kept temperatures in the high 90°F's up to 115°F** during the day, and at times a mere 80°F at night. This provided my staff with the opportunity to get the real feel for the desert lifestyle, as well as an education in how important humidity isn't.

**For Grainiums' international travelers preferring their temps in °Celsius, the conversion formula is ((°F-32)(5))/9. Do your own math.

One of the few debates that did
not end up in my favor was in how
to interpret this sign.

Activities during our trip included hiking above ground and underground, sweating above ground and underground, finding air conditioned places to sit, profuse sweating, a boat excursion on Lake Powell, continuous hydration to have something to sweat, souvenir shopping, and sweating while not moving. 

To keep expenses down, my staff and I shared sleeping quarters. (The signed consent form allowing me to do this is on file in a records office in Clark County, Nevada.) We also stayed in places offering complimentary breakfasts, which when serving bagels and whole fruit can turn into complimentary lunches, too!

They asked me if I would

take their picture, so I

did…with my camera

(which I thought was funny).

  One bonus of being an American is that spending time in popular vacation spots in the U.S. is like going to Europe without leaving the country. Foreigners love visiting our country, the historic landmarks, and national parks where they can get a taste of the American lifestyle, along with a sense of what living here would have been like for them had a few wars gone their way. Of course, the downside to vacationing in American parks is the foreigners. The subtleties of American English don't always translate well, nor does our sense of humor (or humour).

And sometimes there are so many foreign travelers that bumping into another American takes one off guard. My staff photographer (see above staff photo, second from left), who looks German, surprised another photographer who, upon discovering my photographer was American, said she was the first American he'd spoken to all day. He went on to talk a little between-you-and-me shit about foreigners, clearly unaware that the two blonde, teenage boys standing nearby were not her American kids but German tourists.

Notwithstanding the photographer's faux pas, having guests from other countries not beginning with the letter "F" and rhyming with "dance" gives us an opportunity to showcase what a wonderful place the U.S. can be. And beyond the financial gain of tourism dollars, the mixing of cultures allows us to experience our country from the perspective of people who generally abhor our politics and our "Number One" foam finger attitudes. I have taken a look at a few of our more prominent international visitors and rated them. Please note the opinions expressed are completely subjective, based solely on my experiences with them, and are not indicative of the entire nationality or culture. Except for the French.

        No!                           No!                       Oh, hell, no!

French - When I hear French being spoken, I have this incredible urge to find the person speaking it and punch them in the mouth. The language sounds gutteral and condescending, like they're talking shit about everyone and everything. They carry an air about them that I find obnoxious, and in some cases that air is due to a lack of personal hygiene. And as one of the so-called fashion capitals of the world, there should be an expectation the French would show a little more fashion sense when traveling. Note to French men: In the U.S., Speedos aren't cool to wear in public unless women are shoving dollar bills into them.

German - Germans rank second only to the British in terms of likability as tourists. First and foremost, they aren't French. They are polite, they know how to dress appropriately, and they have a wilderness quality through which they tend to exhibit enjoyment of outdoor activities (hiking, biking, skiing, etc.). And let's face it, when you're around people who are enjoying themselves, it rubs off a little and makes ein glücklicher tag für alle. The only negative is that it can become somewhat unnerving being surrounded by a large, organized group of people wearing khaki and hovering over maps marking travel routes while speaking German.

Hispanics - Yeah, uh, hard to tell who's working and who's visiting, especially in Arizona. The closest I came to figuring out who's who was this:
 
     City park with picnic benches, ice chest full of beer, soccer ball = locals
     State/National park with fee-based entry = tourists
     Bureau of Land Management property = "tourists"

British - Wonderful people for many reasons, including that they aren't French. Plus, they speak English with a refined, noble quality that adds a touch of elegance to dirt. Nice people to chat with. Very low key and proper. Not pushy. Golly gee, they're nice people. So much so that I really don't have anything bad to say about them. 

Okay...their teeth. Look, if you have the money to travel abroad, you have the money to get your grill aligned. No excuses.

Japanese - The Japanese are the model of efficiency in the world of tourism. They run tours with the precision of operating an assembly line. They all get off the bus together, eat together, take photos together, and leave together. And except for the one asshole with the schedule barking instructions, they do all of this quietly. I used to cringe whenever I saw a tour bus roll into a parking lot because I knew a stream of camera-clutching humanity was going to spill out and crowd prime viewing areas. I'd be like everyone else wanting to avoid the masses and pack up my shit to leave. But then I noticed everyone else leaving, so I sat back and waited. My patience paid off! Sooner than I expected, the bus would load up, be gone, and I owned hours of unobstructed views. You see, because the Japanese run on an incredibly tight schedule, I found I can avoid them from stop to stop just by getting their travel timing down. Five minutes to get off the bus, fifteen minutes of pictures, five minutes to get on the bus...twenty-five minutes of lead time is an insignificant delay to get to commune with nature virtually alone. And because I'm following behind them, they're clearing out the stops ahead of me and finding parking's a breeze!

And that's a tip you won't get on the Travel Channel.

Messing With Sasquatch

As reported by the Santa Cruz Sentinel newspaper (6/9/2012), the Bigfoot Museum, the one located in Felton, California, is one of a handful of registered Santa Cruz county businesses under threat of the auctioneer's gavel for being delinquent in paying their property taxes. I didn't even know there was a Bigfoot museum, which saddens me because here I was going about my life thinking I knew everything when I actually didn't. My wife will no doubt rejoice to learn I was wrong. For once.

Something I do know is Bigfoot does not exist. I state this boldly, without reservation, based on the fact Bigfoot hasn't been proven to exist. This preface, by the way, is necessary to counter believers who point out the numerous, previously unknown animal species being discovered on a regular basis in places like remote rain forests. Apples and oranges, folks. I get that there are species of life yet to be found in the world. But there is a difference between a two inch arboreal frog living undetected in the tree canopy of a rain forest where people aren't and an eight-foot, foul-smelling, bipedal primate rocking your truck in a campsite in the middle of the night. It's also hard for me to buy into the notion of mysterious creatures living for hundreds of years in close proximity to modern humans that have not been killed or tamed, let alone have not been captured on a camera made with technology available after 1970. We have cell phones that can take clear, convincing videos of police beatings on dark streets, yet we can't seem to get a clear shot of some monstrous hairy fucker walking along the side of a highway? Something, I dare say, is amiss.

In hindsight, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised

to discover that all of my pictures of the Bigfoot Museum

came out grainy and blurred.

I've driven by the Bigfoot Museum, but never set my big feet inside. While I'm sure the interior holds many curious "artifacts" supporting the theory that this beast lives, I don't know if my mind is open enough to a Bigfoot enthusiast's explanations of how there can be so much physical shit - literally, they claim to have Bigfoot feces - that can only be speculated as coming from the animal. Shit and hair and recordings of wild screams in the night and rancid smells and...nothing absolute. The premise central to the phenomenon is the "fact" that Bigfoot has yet to be disproved, therefore it exists. Bigfooters are good at doing this, as are Area 51ists, Kennedy assassination conspiracy theorists, people who work for SETI, and every known religion. That's the predominant argument. No one can prove Bigfoot or UFOs or a grassy knoll shooter or alien life or God doesn't exist, therefore...

The curators of local, tax-burdened Bigfoot museums are only running small chapels compared to the BFRO, the Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization, whose website makes you think they're like the Vatican. Similar to the catholic church, the BFRO is the "largest organization of its kind." Want to join? It's membership is strictly controlled via invitation, which to me means only die-hard cultists believers can participate. There's a mandatory initiation rite to test your faith expedition in locations where the group has had time to set up evidence the existence of evidence of Bigfoot has previously been found. And, oh yeah, send them an "organizational fee" of $300-$500 with your application.

Among other things, the BFRO investigates and classifies reported Bigfoot sighting/encounters. As I picked through the reports on their website, I became rather unimpressed with what I found was a common theme: the witnesses believed they saw or heard something they couldn't identify, and the investigators verified the witnesses believed they saw or heard something that couldn't be identified. One investigator began a report with "the witness is a close family friend...she is as candid and frank as they come." How's that for establishing credibility? If I don't know how credible you are, how does that make your witness credible? In the legal profession, that's called hearsay, which is inadmissible as evidence, making the report nothing more than a biased opinion. Overall, these investigators, based on how I read their follow-up reports, appear genuinely qualified as experts in the field of applying subjective language to possibly indicate that maybe an encounter of some kind could have occurred that might not conclusively disprove the probability an animal that resembles a bear, but isn't, is real.

The BFRO classifies encounters into one of three classes - A, B or C - based on this rather loose criteria:

Class A reports involve clear sightings in circumstances "where misinterpretation or misidentification of other animals can be ruled out with greater confidence."

Class B reports involve possible sasquatch observations "at a great distance or in poor lighting conditions and incidents in any other circumstance that did not afford a clear view of the subject."

Class C reports are "second-hand reports, and any third-hand reports, or stories with an untraceable sources" which have a "high potential for inaccuracy."

I found a noticeable omission here. There's no class for a confirmed sighting. If I devised a classification system for anything, I think I would have one designation that confirmed whatever it was I was classifying. Could be an oversight, or it could be that the BFRO doesn't want to show a statistical reference that consistently has a big "0" next to it.

The BFRO  and other Bigfoot organizations claim to have had successful expeditions, yet never produce anything concrete to publicly tout their accomplishments. They have thermal imaging and high-res video equipment, but all they provide are blurry, color shadows and a bunch of Blair Witch videos. I'm not impressed with unfocused snapshots, footprint casts that may be, strands of hair that could be, etc., I want something substantive. I'm not suggesting they go out and capture a Bigfoot, but you'd think with a state-of-the-art, motion sensitive digital camera and a case of Jack Link's Beef Jerky they could at least get a clear photo of it.

I'd like to believe Bigfoot is real, but I have difficulty with concepts where the only supporting argument is "you can't prove it otherwise," where any purported artifact eventually explained away is off-handedly dismissed with "okay, that one wasn't, but others could be." Believers will always find one more reason, one more answer, one more thing that can't be proved or disproved. And when they run out of reasons or answers or things, they say, "Obviously there's nothing I can say or do that will convince you, so let's just agree to disagree." No, let's agree there is something you can do to convince me, and that you are incapable of doing it. But Bigfoot organizations don't seem to be too inclined to take that next step beyond supposition. They seem content spending their time and energy arguing against the naysayers rather than backing up their own claims with proof. On the other hand, I have scientific proof Bigfoot doesn't exist: the mainstream (read: legitimate) scientific community doesn't care. If they did, you bet the bottom dollar of whatever government grant was available they'd be out in force. 

Regardless of how much is disproved, Bigfooters will always keep looking, probing, tracking, interpreting, justifying for the sake of their belief. While these people appear to be confident in the existence of Bigfoot, I have to think there's a part of them that doesn't want to know. It'd be like a kid finding out the truth about Santa Claus. I, for one, am glad Bigfoot doesn't exist. Judging by the way man has messed up religion and politics and Santa and just about every other social, environmental and existential thing he's been involved with in my lifetime - passively or actively - in the name of a belief, a Bigfoot would be better off.

Happy Birthday to Grainiums!

Believe it or not, it's been a year since Grainiums began spewing it blog posts roughly twice a month into the toilet bowl that is the Internet back on June 6, 2011. As the writer of the blog, I'd like to express my sincere thanks to those of you who lifted the seat up and held its hair back.

Yes, one full year. At times it was difficult. There were some painful moments, but they eventually passed without having inflicted any significant damage. While that sounds more like a kidney stone than a milestone, the passing of both are cause for celebration. Therefore, it seems only fitting that a little time is spent looking at the expired 365 days to see what benchmarks have been established for the next 365*.

*Apocalyptic Note: In the event of the December 2012 rapture, Grainiums reserves the right to prorate any statistical data accumulated up to a confirmed end of days into calculations for a completed year, with credit for a full, 24-hour day given if  more than 12 hours passes after the start of the date said rapture occurs (GMT).

For the year, there have been thirty-one blog posts (excluding this one). That means that not counting taking showers, I have been compelled to respond to at least thirty-one somewhat cognitive thoughts during the past twelve months. Not quite an intellectual orgy, but it's slightly better than having Alzheimer's.

At first glance, it might seem like the posts gravitate toward common targets - airlines, lawsuits and fat people. However, having tabulated the stats the number of posts about "general stuff" outnumber all three of those topics combined, even when counting the fat flyer-airline-lawsuit post "Jumbo Jet Set" three times. I think that's pretty fair considering the country is overwhelmed with lawyers, TSA employees and mayors who want to limit the size of sodas. Fortunately for this blog the world is a Cheesecake Factory menu in which can be found an endless selection of people who are homophobic, buy Japanese "diet glasses," leave their babies on the roofs of their cars, etc., etc, ad nauseum. And dessert.

Who reads Grainiums? We're still working on data collection to establish a basic profile of the readership. The data collected thus far, however, indicates Grainiums is global, amassing 2,327 page views world wide as we blow out the candle. When broken down by country, it looks like a projected medal count from the U.S. Olympic Committee:

United States               2,063

Russia                              73

Germany                           23

Denmark                           19

United Kingdom                 19

Canada                             11

France                              10

                        Burkina Faso                      8 (Thanks, Billy!)

Jamaica                              8
Malaysia                             8

Grainiums has also had single views in numerous other countries, such as Brazil, China, Ireland, Chile, and the territory of the U.S. Virgin Islands. But a single view is like a third world country's surprise medal in a track and field event. Even though it counts statistically, it's nothing more than a novelty. (Editor's note: It still counts). Our goal: Total world domination. In all, Grainiums has had page views in 45 different countries. That's more countries than a Risk game has. We're looking for a page view in all 195 countries - 196, if the 23 million people of Taiwan ever get recognized. As for continents, we've been viewed in six out of the seven, so if that lonely guy in McMurdo Station, Antarctica, can cut back on the Internet porn, we just might have a chance to hit them all.

How about the Grainiums' readership? We know it's broad-based because the blog strives to break down barriers to reach out to all, regardless of one's educational background. For example, Newton's Third Law, seen below on the left written in scientific notation (for those with college degrees), states the mutual forces of action and reaction between two bodies are equal, opposite and collinear. A variation of this law, Grainiums' First Only Postulate, below on the right translated into what can only be described as "blackboard graffiti" (for those with two years of college or less), states that for every extreme act of stupidity there exists a response that can be just as stupid in the opposite extreme.

Newton: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Grainiums: Fuck you. Yeah? Fuck you, too.

As you can see, we are capable of communicating at a high, academic level, and by including pictures we can simultaneously bring it down a couple of notches through which we eliminate literacy as a prerequisite for understanding our blog topics. This also coincides with our elimination of any prerequisite for good taste. And maturity. And political correctness, too. And because a picture is worth a thousand words, I get extra credit for writing more than I actually do.

Where will Grainiums go from here? Well, forward would be nice. As one who hasn't yet subscribed completely to either God or Darwin, I find it only fair to say I have faith the blog will evolve. I've already added the Granules photo album. I'd like to add more features, perhaps an "Ask Grainiums" column wherein readers seek answers, advice or simply wish to stimulate conversation. But no matter which forked road feeds us in our travels, there will no doubt be potholes-a-plenty to hit...and we will do our best to fill them.

So Happy Birthday to us, and thanks for the gift of your time.

Jumbo Jet Set

Not too fond of airlines, and not too fond of personal lawsuits. This was a gimmie...

A woman is upset because she was told she was "too fat to fly." Had the woman been a student in a classroom, the person who said this a physics professor, and the comment in conjunction with a lecture on gravitational effects related to aerodynamics...no problem. Unfortunately, the woman was an airline passenger, the person who said this was a gate agent for Southwest Airlines, and the offending remark, while a scientifically correct, was rude and inappropriate for any airline employee to have done openly in public. The agent allegedly said this with respect to Southwest Airlines' policy regarding passenger size and the requirement that this woman would have to purchase an additional seat. The woman countered that the airline's policy is too vague and inconsistently applied, therefore she has filed a lawsuit against Southwest.

The woman in this case is not suing for monetary damages, which I find curiously un-American. Instead, she is seeking to have an industry standard put in place that sets rules "for flyers who have to buy a second seat." She stated in a T.V. interview that she's "not opposed to paying more if you (the airline) tell me what I have to pay and I know at the point of purchase." Fair enough. Here's a portion of the current Southwest Airlines boarding guideline for fat people Customer Size Policy:

"Customers who encroach upon any part of the neighboring seats(s) should proactively book the needed number of seats prior to travel. The armrest is considered to be the definitive boundary between seats and measures 17 inches in width."

I want to know what part of "17 inches in width" she thinks is vague. I checked other airlines' policies, and they're more vague than Southwest. By and large (no pun intended) they generally enforce additional seat purchases on a case-by-case basis with the litmus test being the ability to lower the armrests and buckle the seat belt. As far as I can tell, Southwest is the only airline that puts an actual figure on your figure...17 inches. The woman knows how big she is, and she knows what the restriction is. I don't understand the problem. Can't measure yourself? Then let's do what they do at theme parks and put up a cartoon character to size everyone before they reach the gate.

This little piggy says, “If you’re wider than this,

you need to buy a second seat.”

From the interview and from the woman's blog (she has a weight-loss blog where she talks about this lawsuit and other weighty issues), it's clear to me her argument is with the consistency in Southwest's application of the rule as there have been times her size when flying was not an issue. Reading into that leads me to conclude that she knows how big she is, and that she flies enough that she should have an expectation there may be a question about her size before she gets to the airport. Knowing this, she should either pay for the second seat at the point of purchase ("proactively book" - see vague policy) or be prepared to fork over additional cash at the gate. Seems like any inconsistency in the application of the policy would be in her favor.

Knugget of Knowledge: Not widely known, the issue of flyer size dates back to the early flying days of the Wright brothers. Prior to Wilbur Wright's well-known 5-minute flight on November 9, 1904, Orville had several opportunities to test-pilot the craft. His best flight lasted a mere 12 seconds. This came after other attempts by Orville, some culminating in minor crashes. In this photo, taken the morning of November 9 as the brothers walked to their airstrip, Wilbur, upset at Orville's inability to maintain a sustained flight, allegedly told his brother, "You can grab a seat back in the hanger, fat ass. I got this one."

I can't help but assume that this woman has been getting away with not paying extra more often than she has been asked to pay extra if the policies were enforced. In fact, she has an apology letter from Southwest from the first time she was stopped that she used to avoid paying for a second seat the last time she was stopped. But winning this personal battle isn't enough. She wants a policy that's consistent and applicable to everyone, so here you go...

The only objective practice I can think of for buying a ticket would be if airlines set their prices based on a passenger's weight. Grocery stores price fruits and vegetables and meat per pound. The Postal Service and UPS and FedEx charge by weight. Why not airlines? Price per pound with a generously included buffer of 5 pounds if you book your flight in advance in case you put on a couple of pounds or want to enjoy that Cinnabon while you wait for your flight. Exceed the weight on your ticket, pay extra for every pound over. And everyone gets sized at the gates. No exceptions, because everything in the world should be applied to everyone exactly the same way. Come in under weight...rebate! Flying with kids on the family vacation? That adult-sized $250 seat is now about $100 for little Timmy, so go upgrade that hotel room, dad!

Of course, fat people won't view this as fair, but if life was fair, no one would be fat. With the obesity epidemic in this country, perhaps saving $20, $30, or more on a plane ticket might be a positive step towards a healthier population. And those with medical conditions...sorry. I'd allow a medical exemption except I've seen too many people walking comfortably away from handicap parking spaces to give a crap about the validity of a doctor's note. Nope, crack open the wallet a little wider because that's what your seat needs to be.

For me, this isn't about defining people as fat, obese or large. It's not about the arbitrary enforcement of policies by the airports, airlines or TSA. No, this is about me being tired of reading about people suing the world because it doesn't fit them or their concept of fairness. Guess what? The world doesn't always fit me, either. I don't care if it's clothes or airplane seats, if you want a tailored fit, you gotta pay extra.

But here, again, we have one individual who feels personally disadvantaged and is seeking an across-the-board remedy through the legal system. And the fallout from that remedy could be someone else or some other group gets impacted. This will ultimately end in a win for the airlines. Airlines don't like empty seats unless they're paid for. I can recall only two times I've flown when I've seen vacant seats, and they weren't next to a fat person. They were just empty. If a size standard is enforced, there will be a lot more empty seats, and I guarantee the airlines will make sure they're all paid for. And in the end, by pushing a lawsuit for an absolute standard to make the airlines do what she feels is right for her, all this woman may accomplish will be to punish passengers who are big like her by forcing airlines to make them pay for what they may not have had to pay for before.

Because that's fair.

Four Things Better Left Unsaid

I'm not one to point out peoples' irritating speech patterns, but there are things people say that would be better left unsaid. I don't need to hear your personal disclaimer for what's about to come out of your mouth, nor do I need you to preface your words with self-importance to complete the delusion in your mind that your advice is somehow better for me than my own. There are too many examples for me to include in one blog post, so to make a long story short, here are four of them. I know you probably know more than four, but if I were you I'd want me to keep your reading manageable. It's the least I can do.

“X” marks the spot where some of your

little treasures are better left buried.

"I'm not [insert what you think you're not here], but..." It's the opening line of the hypocrite's exemption. I'm not one to complain, but here's my complaint. I'm not an expert, but here's my expert opinion. I'm not against gay marriage, but... I'm not a racist, but... I'm not a doctor, but... The list is as endless as things you're not. It's a defensive preface someone uses like it's some kind of free pass to express ignorance or bias on a particular subject, and especially when it comes to giving advice. If you're "not," close your mouth so I can listen to the person who "is." You are allowed to exhale without words coming out, so stop multi-tasking, because you know what you're not? Helping.

"..., so to make a long story short, ..." Nope, I'm afraid you can't. This is most often heard toward the end of a story, so if you got it to this point...well, you can't unburn a candle. All you did by saying this is reveal that a shortened version of this masterpiece already existed and the listener just happened to be lucky enough to get the director's extended cut instead of the Reader's Digest edited version. In fact, the shortened version was probably so boring there was a need to include more words in a vain attempt to make it sound interesting...even to you. Don't confuse the listener remaining in that chair as being completely engrossed in your every word. They've simply developed a motor skill paralysis that is keeping them from getting up and walking away. If you really want to make your long story short, then just do it from the start. We don't really need to know how many phone calls you made, how many different supervisors you spoke with, and how your "threat" to cancel your cable service got you that $20 credit on your next bill. Cut to the chase before our eyes glaze over and all we can hear from you is the grown-up voice in a Peanuts cartoon.

"If I were you..." And yet, you aren't. Generally speaking, if you were me you wouldn't think of suggesting what you'd do in my place. You're only doing this because you don't have to suffer the consequences of being me if I do as you suggest. There's not much difference between "If I were you..." and "I dare you to..." Like I'm really going to get in the face of some guy twice my size for cutting in front of me in line because that's what you would do if you were me. How about I let you be me so we can see how that scenario plays out. You can be me all the way up to my health insurance co-pay. I'd probably piss myself laughing just imagining all of the things I would do if you'd be held responsible. I'd love to hear an attorney argue, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client committed this crime because my client's friend said that that's what he would do if he was my client. Therefore, I stipulate that my client's friend should be found guilty and do the actual jail time." So be glad you're not me and keep your mouth shut. Besides, I know better than to heed your advice because I can think of a laundry list on reasons from Alimony to Zero credit why I wouldn't want you to be me.

"It's the least I can do." It isn't. Usually someone says this when offering a token amount of help out of guilt to whomever's doing a majority of the work. Let's say it's making dinner...two pots on the stove and something in the oven, the cook trying not to add finger pieces to the food while working the cutting board and measuring ingredients. Then there's that stable point in the process to break free and set the table, balancing plates and silverware to make it in one trip in order to get back to the stove before something boils over. Then some jackass asks something like, "Do you want me to get the napkins for you?" The response is, "Yeah, that would be great," which comes out courteously, but if listened to closely has an unmistakable sound of friction that rolling of the eyes would make if rolling eyes made noise. Then jackass says, smiling, "No problem. It's the least I can do." Is it? That's the least you can do? Really? You mean standing there for an hour nursing that beer and bitching about how busy your day was while watching someone else bounce around the kitchen wasn't already pretty close to the least you can do? Apparently it was a mistake thinking you had set the benchmark for "least you can do" when you put the bottle opener on the counter and your mobility in neutral. Technically, the least you can do is nothing, which means no matter what you do that you think is the least you can do, you will always have another lower level inactivity to fall back on.