Las Vegas: Twinkling lights and a memorial for the dead

Vegas Strip remains bright and dazzling despite recent tragedy.

The first surprise when stepping onto the Las Vegas strip in early October is the weather. The blast furnace of summer has clicked off in recent days and been replaced with moderate temps that hover in the low 80s. It's still warm, but not unbearably hot, and crowds of tourists are out and about like bees in search of nectar.

For first-time visitors, getting around can be an unexpected challenge. The massive scale of the hotels and casinos that line Las Vegas Boulevard -- Caesars Palace and Circus Circus; the Luxor and MGM Grand; Bellagio, the Venetian and a dozen or so others -- give the impression that a festive playground is easily within reach. It's not.

The resorts are huge and trekking about is a tiresome and time-consuming affair. The illusion is only magnified when the sun goes down and the Vegas lights come fully alive, offering up a dazzling, multi-colored fantasy land.

Memorial honors 58 people killed by deranged gunman.

It's this twinkling world, filled with dreams of hedonistic delights that adds weight and meaning to the city's marketing slogan, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!" Tragically, the dream morphed into a nightmare earlier this month when a deranged gunman opened fire from his suite in a high-rise hotel, the Mandalay Bay, raking a nearby concert venue with thousands of rounds of gunfire.

In just a little over 10 minutes, the shooter managed to murder 58 people, injuring hundreds more in the deadliest mass shooting in modern American history. Police report that in the midst of one 31-second span, the shooter fired a staggering 280 rounds, roughly nine bullets every second.

I'm in Vegas to meet up with two of my brothers and  nephew, a brief stop and gathering spot for a trip that will take us across southern Utah to Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park. But for the moment I have joined with dozens of other tourists to walk about a temporary memorial resting at the foot of the neon-soaked sign welcoming visitors to "fabulous" Las Vegas, Nevada!

And off in the distance a yuuuge golden blemish.

The space is filled with a jarring mix of balloons and banners, flowers, candles and personal notes and prayers for the victims. A line of wooden crosses, one for each person killed, cuts across the grounds, a sobering remembrance and reminder of this most recent madness.

This isn't the first such memorial I've visited. Last year I was in Orlando only weeks after 49 people were murdered at Pulse, a gay bar on the southern fringes of the downtown area. The Vegas memorial echoes the melancholy vibe found there and, sadly, in another few days, perhaps a week or two, the lawn here will be swept clean and Las Vegas will become yet another painful memory of a place where evil once visited.

The names of the dead and injured in attacks stretching back decades are mostly forgotten in a world moving at the speed of light. Inevitably, the locations are what we recall: Columbine, Blacksburg, Newtown, Aurora, Fort Hood and Charleston; San Bernadino, San Ysidro, Washington, D.C. and Tucson.

City a jarring mixture of hope, greed and really expensive cars.

The full list spans the country. No region is immune to the momentary madness of mostly boys and men directed by hate, fear and a grotesque anger fueled by job and personal issues, teen angst and mental illness.

Our political leaders, starting with the yamster-in-chief in the Oval Office, have offered their thoughts and prayers while, yet again, failing to take any sort of legislative action to deal with the problem. Their tepid response, a predictable show of institutional madness, is simply to ignore the issue. It's a rancid position -- bought and paid for by the NRA -- that will certainly result in additional slaughter, thoughts and prayers!

Some "patriots" argue the lack of gun control, the shootings and mass murder, is the price of freedom. If that's the case then the cost is too high. That becomes clear in the heartbreak that hangs heavily above the Vegas strip this day and the knowledge that other innocent victims will be picking up the check in coming years.

Obama and Romney: Let the games begin

All is quiet it would appear in the political world – at least for the moment. Perhaps we’re treading water in the calm before the storm; but it seems the candidates and their high-profile surrogates are mostly on holiday or quietly going about the business of reinforcing their political foundations.

For months the Republicans spent their time ripping into one another, doing all sorts of harm to their cause and hopes of regaining the White House in November. Romney, the guy with the really nice hair, seems to have the Republican nomination sewed up, even though two other candidates have yet to call it quits.

A rich menagerie of bloviators, meanwhile, continues ranting about this and that, mostly thumbing their noses at both Romney and the President. But their rants seem to be on auto-pilot, just more of the drivel they’ve been spewing out across the cable landscape for months – Romney can’t attract the Conservative base and Obama is the devil; Romney is too rich and Obama is the devil; Romney needs to get in touch with his inner dude and Obama is the devil.

If you grow bored, all you need do is tweak the remote and you can find a whole new set of commentators – and I use that word oh-so-loosely. The game is the same but the venom is tossed about by a fresh and different cast of characters. Many on-air personalities doing the ranting are toady broadcasters who’ll do anything for a buck, others are political ideologues who are just plain nuts.

What I don’t understand is where do all the low-level surrogates come from and who decides that they’re qualified to speak for the candidates? Do they have to go to some sort of political indoctrination center for surrogates and do they carry sophisticated high-tech gizmos that provide them with special political powers of persuasion?

Given the insatiable appetite of 24-hour news channels, major networks, cable and web programs and podcasts, I get the need for warm bodies to defend and promote the party line. Out of such need comes much hackery, quackery – and big-league problems!

Recall what the veteran surrogate Hilary Rosen had to say about Ann Romney? If not, google Romney and “never worked a day in her life”. Then, just to be fair, search for Eric Fehrnstrom and Etch-A-Sketch. Rosen and Fehrnstrom are both still attempting to remove their feet from their mouths.

I’m guessing there will be more such gaffes along the trail once the presidential campaigns put the pedal to the metal. We can only hope! 

And then it flickered and all went black …

Just returned from the computer doctor and, for the moment, I’m back in business. My mostly trusty laptop has been puttering about nicely for several years, but in recent months has been showing its age.

Most recently I’d noticed a little flickering at the bottom of the screen. No problem, right? After all, there’s a little bit of flickering when I look out on the world these days. Unfortunately, the little problem – that would be the computer, not my eyes – became a big issue when the flickering morphed into an expansive black screen.

At the risk of stating the obvious, there’s not too much you can do with a computer when you can’t see what you’re trying to type. I could tell that the computer – the innards of the machine with all the magic dust – was still functioning and that all manner of neat and nifty things were going on behind the black screen that had taken center stage on my laptop.

For a day or so, I managed to work around the problem by rebooting the system. The screen seemed a-ok each time it came back up to play. But, eventually, all would go black at some point.

What’s worse – or at least as bad – as being told by your neighborhood computer geek that your laptop has gone belly up? How about being told that all seems right with the computer and that if there is a problem it’s gone into hiding.

So, here I am, pounding away, pushing, pulling and shaking my little high-tech toy, daring it to blink. So far, it’s playing along, holding true and offering up a vibrant, colorful screen for my enjoyment. Stay tuned!

High tech hijinks: John saves the day!

It was all a very high-tech puzzle to me, but John, weekend pal and IT guru extraordinaire, managed to work a little magic the other day and re-introduce my lame printer to its high-tech host. For at least a week or so I had been searching about my computer’s innards in a futile effort to fix the problem.

Truth to tell, in this case – and many more involving the digital world we live in – it’s not what you know, but who you know! I’ll explain.

My problem began quietly enough earlier this month when I attempted to access the Internet on my laptop and got that irritating page that announces something is amiss and the web is now outside your reach. Generally that has meant I need to start pulling wires from modems and routers, shutting my network down and, when all else fails, tossing a bunch of chicken bones into a paper sack and waving it around my head while reading a few verses from the Book of Lamentations!

Despite my best efforts, nothing seemed to fix the problem and I realized I had little choice but to call my Internet provider. An hour later, after yet again pulling wires from my modem and router, typing in secret IP addresses that only IT specialists on the mother ship know, and zipping about the control panel of my hard drive, I was back to square one.

It was about then that the Internet rep suggested we try changing out the modem and router that has been part of my network and my life for the last few years and update the system with a combo modem / router that had been sent to me a few weeks earlier. I, ahh, acquiesced. Big mistake!

After spending another hour updating everything and still not being able to access the Internet, I heard Priscilla – that would be the IT specialist on the other end of the phone – say a word you never want to hear an IT specialist say – oops!

She then explained that she had just checked out the status of Internet service in my neighborhood – that would be my entire neighborhood – and it turns out that, well, the service was down! Can you say %&&$ %&$# *& %$ *@#%&!

Service was expected to be out the rest of the day and Priscilla said she’d be back in touch the following afternoon to help me setup the network she had me rip apart moments earlier. Check please!

Priscilla did, in fact, get back in touch the next day. We did manage to get my network up and running and, relatively quickly access the Internet. One itty-bitty problem remained; re-establishing contact between my printer and my new, updated Wi-Fi network.

Here’s something else you don’t want to hear your Internet provider’s specialist say: “We don’t have any documentation on printers.” Apparently that cute little aphorism that suggests if you break something, you own it doesn’t apply to high-tech idiots!

Thankfully, John – feeling good and atop his digital game after a quick visit to Five Guys – was willing to swing by my neighborhood and see if he could work up enough magic to bring my printer back to life.

I’d like to say it was a simple fix; just a little twist here and wiggle there. But, alas, John was forced to jump out onto the web and search for specialized documentation that he went about reading with gusto. I mostly stood about nodding my head, occasionally murmuring a few digital-centric words – cache, firewall, Microsoft and Apple – to offer my support and show my deep understanding of the problem.

The problem is we couldn’t seem to find the oh-so special program that would allow the printer to find and reconnect with my network. Despite John’s best efforts, the program remained hidden, just a little electrical impulse that seemed content to play hide-and-seek. And then, after an hour or so of searching, John suggested we take a look for the thingy on my laptop. And, as the saying goes, the rest is history.

I’m thinking there’s some sort of deep meaning behind all this high tech hijinks – perseverance, friendship and the importance of having a good burger joint in your neighborhood! I’m also thinking, as I already mentioned above, often it’s not what you know, but who you know; which essentially makes this entire posting a long and windy way of saying, “Thanks, John!”

Freedom of religion: Obama, God and politics

Blogger’s note: I got an e-mail from a friend in New Zealand recently who had received a document blasting President Obama and his administration’s attack on Christianity. She readily admits she knows little about Obama and American politics, then asked my opinion. I responded that I generally follow the old adage that it’s a really good idea not to discuss politics and religion with friends, then spent several hours framing my response. Here’s what I wrote.

Barbara: I could write pages on the issue of Obama, religion, Separation of Church and State, and attacks by Obama’s enemies on the political and religious right. The polemic you forwarded, pulled together by David Barton, is filled with misinformation; half-truths and flat-out lies.

Barak Obama is a U.S. citizen. He was born in Hawaii; he’s a Christian and he’s a firm believer in The U.S. Constitution and the First Amendment that details, among other points, the Separation of Church and State. It’s a concept that became the law of the land when the U.S. Constitution was adopted in 1787.

Much of what Barton details in his step-by-step look at Obama and his administration (the full document can be found here) go to the heart of what’s found in the First Amendment and the U.S. Bill of Rights. I’ll grant that the origins and intent of church and state separation is open to debate; it’s a heated issue that often serves as a Rorschach test that is supported or abused depending on one’s political and religious beliefs.

Let’s be clear on one point. Christianity is alive, well and thriving in the U.S. Christians can practice their religion today openly and freely. It is not under attack. None of my neighbors are worried about soldiers carrying them away because they are Christians. They can pray in their churches and, despite what some political opportunists would have you believe, Christians can pray in schools, at meetings, sporting events, private gatherings – and in the White House!

There is, however, no national religion or national prayers. Prayer meetings cannot be sanctioned by the state, nor should they be. Why? Once upon a time, back in the 1950s when I was just a little lad attending elementary school in small-town Georgia, we would begin the day with a morning devotional. Each day a different child was expected to read a line or two of scripture from the New Testament. There were no exceptions. So I was essentially forced to read from the New Testament, lines of scripture I didn’t believe in or understand. We finished up each morning by reciting the Lord’s Prayer – a Christian prayer.

Barbara, I’m not a Christian. I was and remain an observant Jew. What I was forced to do by the state was simply wrong. To this day, I wince whenever I hear the Lord’s Prayer; I refuse to bow my head when attending a public meeting when a prayer – even a non-denominational prayer – is offered. God is very personal to me and I certainly don’t want my government telling me that one religion is better – or truer – than any other or sanctioning any form of public prayer. That’s a very slippery slope in my opinion. If I want to pray, I’ll attend a prayer session at my synagogue or simply find a quiet spot in my house, along the river in my neighborhood or, when traveling, at the airport. Prayer, for me, is both an inward journey and a process that connects me with my faith community.

But I digress. I have absolutely no desire to spend much time with The Rev. Barton’s nonsense. Just about all that he includes in part 4 of his article, poorly labeled and painfully spelled out as “Acts of preferentialism for Islam” is simply false. Let me repeat that point. Everything dealing with Obama and Islam is false! Much of the rest of Barton’s 50-point note is open to interpretation and argument.

One example. Under the heading, “Acts of hostility toward people of Biblical faith”, Barton reports that “The Obama administration (released) new health care rules that override religious conscience protections for medical workers in the areas of abortion and contraception.” Although I’m not exactly sure what all Barton is referencing here, one contentious area that falls in this area has to do with pharmacists refusing to honor prescriptions for birth control and “morning after” meds. So, for instance, Barton is bothered that a pharmacist who opposes any form of contraception as a matter of “conscience” has lost the right to ignore legal prescriptions. I don’t consider this a “hostile” act, but a hearty and welcome defense of the Separation of Church and State.

Much the same argument could be used when exploring all the Sturm und Drang surrounding the Obama Administration’s recent proposals to have religious-based institutions – specifically, the Catholic Church – through their insurance providers, offer coverage for contraceptive meds and devices. Barton, and others like him, sees this proposal as an attack on Christianity and religious freedom. I see it as an issue of women’s healthcare and reproductive rights and, yet again, a defense of the U.S. Constitution and the Separation of Church and State.

A final note. Barton, if handed a magic wand and told he now has the power to create a “perfect” government and country, would most certainly trash the Constitution and immediately go about setting up a Christian theocracy. Children once again would be reading New Testament scripture and reciting the Lord’s Prayer in schools. Jews, Muslims, gays, socialists and commies would be prosecuted and persecuted. The religion police would be running the country and within a generation the United States would start to look a whole lot like Saudi Arabia.

I’m thinking George Washington got it right when he said that "Every man, conducting himself as a good citizen, and being accountable to God alone for his religious opinions, ought to be protected in worshiping the Deity according to the dictates of his own conscience." I’m also thinking that Thomas Jefferson was right when he declared “I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should ‘make no law respecting establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,’ thus building a wall of separation between church and state."

Super Tuesday means booze on Sunday – finally

It was Super Tuesday here in the Land of Cotton today, but there was nothing super about the turnout at my polling place. There were at least a dozen or so vacant voting machines and only one other person waiting to vote when I showed up around noon.

I’m thinking the hardest thing to do for the half-dozen poll workers at my precinct was simply staying awake – so much for all the excitement being generated by the mushy field of GOP candidates. You’d think if there was much fire in the belly of the conservative base, they’d be showing it off in my little corner of the world – one of the most conservative regions in the country.

Truth to tell, the primary reason I showed up for this primary was to help bring my county into the new century – finally! I have little interest in the political warfare being waged by the loons on the political right but have a great deal of interest in being able to buy booze on Sundays.

The state legislature last year agreed that counties across the Land of Cotton should have the right to decide if retailers can sell alcohol on Sunday. Much of the state has already OK’d the Sunday sell of alcohol – beer, wine and liquor – and I’m thinking that once the vote is counted in my home county we’ll be joining the rest of the state, nation and most of the civilized world in finally putting the kibosh on the last of the blue laws. Can I get an Amen?

Meanwhile, the nutty right will probably continue to implode no matter which candidate manages to grab the majority of victories and delegates today. In fact, I don’t think I’m going very far out on a limb to suggest we’ll have the same guy in the White House following the general election in November. Here are 10 reasons why I’m willing to make such a wild and crazy prediction.

Santorum, Gingrich, Boehner, Cantor, Limbaugh, Limbaugh, Limbaugh, Limbaugh, Limbaugh, and, ah, Rush Limbaugh. ’Nuff said!

Adler’s Jewish Times a shanda for Atlanta

Last week Andrew Adler was little known in the world of Jewish publishing. Today, the owner and publisher of the Atlanta Jewish Times has become a blemished footnote.

A column Adler penned earlier this month has gone viral. It was an idiotic essay focusing on three ways to deal with the threat of Iran going nuclear – strike Hezbollah and Hamas, strike Iran or assassinate the President of the United States.

Making matters even worse is Andrew’s fantasy-fueled notion that Israeli leaders share his naïve and dangerous ideas. Here’s his thinking in his own words: “… Give the go-ahead for U.S.-based Mossad agents to take out a president deemed unfriendly to Israel in order for the current vice president to take his place, and forcefully dictate that the United States' policy includes its helping the Jewish state obliterate its enemies … Think about it. If I have thought of this Tom Clancy-type scenario, don't you think that this almost unfathomable idea has been discussed in Israel's most inner circles?”

Well, ah, no Andrew, I don’t really think that Benjamin Netanyahu and other Israeli leaders are in favor of offing Barak Obama or that fiction – even fiction once on the New York Time’s bestseller’s list – is part of the geo-political conversation in Jerusalem.

Andrew has embarrassed himself. Far worse, he’s opened a can of worms that anti-Semites, loony liberals and right-wing kooks are using to bash Israel, raising questions about U.S. foreign aid to the Jewish state, and re-examining the world of “Israel Firsters” – Americans who promote Israel’s position on Iran and other issues over those of the U.S.

Hundreds of news organizations and websites – Gawker, Huffington Post, ABC News, Fox, The Guardian, Haaretz – have picked up on the story, offering up an audience of millions literally around the world. The Atlanta Jewish Times, btw, has a weekly circulation of a few thousand.

The stories and commentary show Andrew to be a fool. Andrew is even quoted in several posts detailing how a few Atlanta-area rabbis have told him he’s meshuggah – crazy!

Andrew says he’ll be printing an apology next week. He says he actually supports Obama, believes deeply in Israel and was just trying to get a little response from his reading audience. Hey, Andrew, mission accomplished. Mazel Tov!

I’ve met Andrew a few times over the years. I’m thinking he’s harmless. Yet this isn’t the first time he’s embarrassed himself with his ill-conceived and poorly written columns.

Last year, after the death of a well-respected leader of the Jewish community, Andrew lashed out at others in Atlanta who he said, essentially, could never fill the void left by the man’s passing. The only problem with that notion is that Atlanta is fortunate to have many leaders – all successful, hugely supportive of the Jewish community in their philanthropic efforts – with vision and grit.

A bit later, Andrew offered up a nonsensical essay on how best to heal the economic problems of several iconic Jewish institutions by merging the organizations and their missions. All he accomplished was irritating and alienating his core constituency.

Truth to tell, it has been years – long before Andrew took over ownership – since The Atlanta Jewish Times has been a vital part of the local Jewish scene or wielded any clout. Andrew has been forced to sit on the sidelines, a peripheral figure mostly ignored and viewed as a silly crank.

Simply put, his recent splash across the web is a shanda. In a world that moves at the speed of light, where a tiny publication can momentarily find itself center stage, Andrew needs to put down his pen. He’s stuck it too deeply up his tush to ever get it out. It’s time that both Andrew and The Jewish Times simply go away.

Don’t look now, but someone’s watching

I saw that one of Bruce Willis’ films was going to be airing on the tube the other night. I couldn’t recall the plot, so being a high-tech sort of guy I googled the flick and was rewarded immediately with several sites that offered details – plot summaries, reviews, facts and gossip about the cast and crew.

I mention all this as preamble, a little context to give weight to my gentle reminder that anything – and I mean absolutely everything – you do on the web is being watched. So it was that shortly after my little research project on Willis and Die Hard: With a Vengeance was complete, I skittered over to Facebook.

The "free trial" offer above was waiting for me along the right hand rail. Big Brother’s digital cousin apparently had been watching when I clicked onto IMDb; stored the info and fed it through a series of algorithms that instantaneously found me on the web.

It’s not as if I didn’t already know that whatever happens on the web is pretty much available to anyone with decent computer skills or, more likely, any company with enough cash to hire tech geeks to do its snooping. It’s the speed, sophistication and pervasive nature of the eavesdropping that’s grabbed my attention.

If I do a little window shopping on Amazon, visit Orbitz, or try out a pair of shoes at Zappos.com, it doesn’t surprise me at all that for the next few hours – days, weeks – that I’ll be hit with a series of ads pushing stuff on Amazon, Orbitz and Zappos. The Netflix offer, however, caught me by surprise.

I didn’t go to the Netflix site; it came to me, casually winking and offering up a film that it thought I was interested in watching. Of course the folks at Netflix knew I wanted to watch the film; they had been watching me!

Can you imagine the number of hits – hundreds, thousands, millions – various movie sites get in a day; the give and take between these sites and Netflix – all, btw, at the speed of light!

Now factor all that by 10 – a hundred, thousand, kajillion – and you start to have a sense of all the snooping about on various sites, mostly attempting to sell goods and services. The really scary stuff is the snooping that’s stealing – social security numbers, bank accounts, credit card numbers.

I’m thinking that in our collective effort to jump into the future, we’ve been hurled back into the past. The World Wide Web – is that a phrase that’s used anymore? – is looking pretty much like the Wild, Wild West and the problem is there’s only one sheriff to corral a million grizzled cowpokes sporting black hats --and digital guns!

New high-tech toys need a dose of magic

Back in the dark ages of the mid-1990s, I was editing a story about Israel. I had a few questions and needed to reach the reporter who worked out of Jerusalem. So I picked up my phone, tapped in a few numbers and only seconds later was chatting with the writer on his cell phone as he was finishing up an evening jog to Bethlehem.

BTW, Bethlehem means house of bread! But I digress. I’ve forgotten the details of the story I was editing for that place with the printing press here in the Land of Cotton, but I still recall the sense of wonder I felt at being able to reach the reporter, dashing about on the other side of the world.

I have some vague idea how the whole communication network comes together – radio signals, cell zones, transmitters, receivers and satellite uplinks – and, well, pixie dust. Truth to tell, cell phones and other such high-tech gizmos are scientific wonders; but for me, it’s magic that makes them work!

I mention all this now, because the magic has lost its power in my little corner of the world – at least for the moment. I’ll explain.

The lovely Miss Wendy and I decided to jump into the 21st century recently. We dusted off and packaged up the ancient box televisions that had served us well for years and bought a couple of those ginormous, oh-so high-tech flat screen TVs.

Fortunately, there’s a magician in the family – that would be Josh, my son-in-law – who tossed about some pixie dust, waved his magic wand and, voila, our new TVs were up and running. Life was good!

For a week or so – and the timing was perfect – I was able to watch college bowl games and the NFL playoffs in a very up close and personal sort of way. My favorite programs were much more vivid, the color stronger, the acting sharper. Okay, the acting was pretty much the same; but everything was bigger and, for the most part, better!

All of this was playing out on regular cable; I had yet to upgrade to HD – that’s one of those new miracle thingies that provide sharper and clearer images. The new stuff had been ordered and several days ago I received all the upgraded equipment – HD boxes, a DVR, and HDMI connectors; a bit of mandrake root, toad spittle and saffron for coloring!

The family magician managed to get by over the weekend, set up the new components, tossed on a bit of pixie dust and stirred it all ever so gently. We stood by waiting for the magic to take hold and, ah, nothing! Well, actually there was something – an error code.

Josh wiggled some stuff around, tossed on some more toad spittle and waved his, ah, magic wand yet again. And, wait for it, nothing! Unfortunately, the magician and his beautiful assistant had places to go and I was left staring at a blank screen.

I knew I had no choice but to skip down the yellow brick road and actually attempt to reach the, ah, wizard. It’s a scary proposition but sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do. So I screwed my courage to the sticking place and called my cable provider.

After working my way through the obligatory phone tree, I only had to wait 10 minutes to reach the wizard. She asked a few pertinent questions, had me dash around a bit in search of serial numbers hidden away on the back of the new component parts, punched a few buttons and, wait for it, nothing – again!

It was time, the wizard suggested to jiggle a few more wires and reboot. I suggested it was time to wave a white flag and send in reinforcements. The wizard laughed and arranged for an elf techie to drop by tomorrow.

Here’s hoping he brings along lots of pixie dust, a fresh magic wand and a whole bunch of patience. Stay tuned!

Why, it’s a house of a different color – almost!

So I’ve been hunkering down for the last week, waiting for the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel to shine in my direction. Unfortunately, the glimmer I spotted turned out to be a train – metaphorically speaking.

The lovely Miss Wendy and I have run into a few small roadblocks in recent days in our efforts to update and modernize our home. It’s been an adventure, dealing with a dozen workmen plastering and painting; installing appliances, new light fixtures and electrical outlets; ripping off the warm and comfy siding that has protected us for years and replacing it with new stuff that will be hanging tough long after I’ve called it quits.

The little issues – a cabinet door butting up too closely to our lovely new backsplash, some sort of putty glop spilling out of a drain in the kitchen sink, a slight crack in a small bit of crown molding – have been tidied up nicely and it’s time to address the one major problem that has been dogging Wendy and me for weeks.

Now that the house is covered in a fresh layer of siding we need to figure out what sort of fresh new color we’d like to paint our home. The good news is we have an embarrassment of choices, the full spectrum of colors that add zest and zing to life. The bad news is all those colors are giving both of us a monumental headache.

The living room carpet is covered in dozens of paint cards from at least a half-dozen different paint companies – greens and grays; browns, taupe and beige; at least a dozen different varieties of white! I feel like the kid who has stumbled into a candy store, has a quarter to buy one piece of candy and keeps changing his mind.

At least Mother Nature has come to my rescue for the moment, covering the Land of Cotton in gray, turning down the thermostat and offering up a little rain and a few more days to ponder our colorful future.

Right now it’s looking like Cincinnatian Hotel Briggs Beige, Light Raffia and Del Coronado Tequila hold an inside edge to cover our home – and, yes, those are real names of paint colors. Go figure – and stay tuned!

On the tube: Good, bad and a really hot actress

One of my absolutely favorite ways to spend Sunday evenings is with Alicia Florrick, Will Gardner, Kalinda Sharma and all the other characters of The Good Wife. The legal drama is smart, funny and always entertaining. It also helps that the role of Alicia is played by Julianna Margulies who is seriously hot!

Occasionally the show’s writers, producers and director also get me to think. That was the case Sunday when the firm of Lockhart & Gardner took on a client who was suing the feds for really bad behavior. He was essentially kidnapped and tortured because there was the slimmest of evidence that he had ties to a terrorist group in Afghanistan.

Basic rights are ignored by the government, and the accused and his attorneys find themselves momentarily tumbling down a rabbit hole that can only be described as Kafkaesque. Justice Department lawyers refuse to offer up any information, citing national security issues. They eventually are ordered to turn over all files related to the case and send over boxes of material that have been carefully redacted.

Once upon a time, simply because I worked at a place with a printing press that bought paper by the ton and ink in barrels, I had government documents cross my desk that had been edited by censors. As often as not, the info needed by editors and reporters was clear and blacked-out portions were of little import. Not so in the lawyerly drama.

Alicia and her colleagues had to piece together what they could from the info provided while maneuvering their way carefully through a byzantine government maze filled with arrogant bureaucrats and toads – the Man run amok!

The constitutional issues raised are the stuff of headlines in recent years – suspension of habeas corpus, warrantless wire taps, enhanced interrogation. It’s all a messy business that flies in the face of all those beliefs and rights that, like Superman, define truth, justice and the American way! But I digress.

The Good Wife’s fast pace, sharp dialogue, wit and humor remind me of The West Wing, one of my all-time favorite TV dramas. The show’s ensemble cast, Josh Charles, Archie Panjabi, Christine Baranski, Matt Czuchry and Julianna – I did mention she’s hot, right? – seems to have found its stride and offers a really nice break from the mindless mess of reality TV.

Sadly, life often seems like it’s become a mindless mess. Unfortunately, our collective problems and challenges can’t be neatly wrapped up in an entertaining hour. And so it goes.

Healing, redemption and absolute stupidity

It’s Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories and Facts. Today we visit Israel and open up a can of worms.

There are about 13 million Jews in the world today. For all sorts of reasons, only about a third are affiliated with synagogues. That means that two-thirds of the people who identify as being Jewish know little about the religion, its ancient laws, rituals and beliefs.

Meshulam Nahari is one of the reasons many Jews have no desire to join the faithful. He’s the leader of Shas, a political party in Israel that represents the Heredim, the ultra-orthodox in the Jewish homeland. He’s a nut.

His nuttiness made headlines recently when he lashed out at Gilad Shalit (photo above) for spending time with his father at the beach. Nahari thinks Gilad, the Israeli soldier who was kidnapped and held by Palestinian terrorists for over five years, should have been in shul on the first Shabbat after his release by Hamas.

Gilad, like the vast majority of Israeli Jews, isn't religious. He wasn’t observant before he was kidnapped and apparently his years of captivity hasn’t turned him into a shokeling believer – trust me here if you’re not a Member of the Tribe; it’s a Jewish thing.

The absolute gall and complete lack of sensitivity by Nahari is just the sort of nonsense you’d expect from a fundamentalist wacko. But it gets worse – or better, depending on your sense of whimsy!

The minister without portfolio, who spoke during a Shas convention earlier this week, said that the party's spiritual leader, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, has charged him (Nahari) with the task of bringing Shalit closer to Judaism.

That’s a juicy bit of news I spotted on a blog recently and verified on an Israeli wire service, Ynet. I’m thinking Nahari, Rabbi Yosef and Shas have a little fence mending to do before they’re going to manage to show Gilad the light.

I’m also thinking that after spending five years in a hole, away from family and friends, suffering an assortment of physical and emotional problems, that God was smiling when he spotted Gilad with his dad at the beach.

Fundamentalists, no matter their religious affiliation, are convinced God only spends time in their particular house of worship, probably focused on their individual pew. They’re wrong and they’re sucking the spiritual life out of Judaism.

Here’s an idea. Just maybe Nahari and some of his followers ought to be spending more time on the beach. They might be surprised what they discover in the Synagogue of the great outdoors.

I guess it was my lucky day; youngsters, too!

So I was out running a few errands this afternoon when I decided to satisfy my craving for a cup of Joe. There was a coffee shop nearby on one of the main thoroughfares here in the Land of Cotton; that place with the fried dough that once called my name.

As I neared the shop, I noticed a group of youngsters walking along the sidewalk with two adults. I’m thinking the children – giggling and playful – were probably students at a pre-school housed in a nearby church and were off on a little adventure.

I mention the kids simply because I was forced to halt in my tracks and wait for them to happily parade by before I could make a right turn into the coffee shop’s parking lot. I glanced into my rearview mirror and was happy to see that the road was empty.

That changed in an instant. After noting there were a few stragglers attempting to join the other students, I glanced once again into my rearview mirror. Several cars were headed in my direction; a white sedan leading the pack.

Instead of slowing, the sedan accelerated and I realized that even if I jammed on the gas there was no way I was going to be able to outpace the couple of tons of metal headed in my direction. In a panic, I started to tap my accelerator and pull to the right, only to jam on my brakes because several kids blocked my path.

A surge of adrenalin shot through my body and I braced for impact, thinking this might be the last seconds of my life. Worse, I was certain my car would be hurled into the children and we’d all be whipping by the pearly gates of heaven in a moment.

Instead, the white sedan just managed to cut off a car in the left lane and whip passed me in a blur. I’m not certain, but I think I heard a sonic boom. Then again, the noise could have been my heart thumping away, merrily announcing that I was still alive.

All of this happened in an instant, but this much I know is true. The driver of the white sedan was a young girl with longish hair, holding, as the Swedes might say, a mötherförken cell phone in her hand. I hate to end any posting with a cliché, but the only thought that comes to mind at the moment is “there but for the grace of God, go I” … and those happy youngsters!

The Heebs among us; and happy New Year!

The lovely Miss Wendy and I are deep into home remodeling mode at the moment. Our collective wish list includes updating the kitchen, adding crown molding in the living and dining rooms, ripping down wallpaper in the foyer and breakfast nook and adding a few fresh coats of paint from, ah, here to there.

We’re also planning to replace the wooden siding that has lovingly caressed our castle with a happening new covering – HardiePlank. It’s a move, we’re hoping, that should add value to our home while protecting us from the elements for years to come!

So it was that a salesman from one of those mega-home construction firms came knocking at my door this morning. He was big, burly and filled with good cheer. He introduced himself, made a little small talk about the Falcons and Braves, then asked where I was from.

I mentioned that I had lived in the Land of Cotton for decades, but grew up a hundred miles south of here in a little village nestled along the Chattahoochee River just this side of the Alabama border.

“Didn’t know there were any Heebs around these parts,” he said. Ah, right. Check please!

For a moment I felt like I had tumbled down Alice’s rabbit hole in some sort of alternative universe where up was down and down was up. We both continued talking, the sales guy detailing the merits of HardiePlank, me mostly nodding my noggin in a distracted fashion.

The anti-Semitic blip continued to echo in the background as we walked around the house, checking out gutters and soffits, discussing various options for updating and beautifying the house. Mr. Sales Guy took a few measurements, called for a timeout and played around with a calculator in his van before presenting me with a formal bid.

He spent a few moments talking up the merits of his company, wished me a grand day and said goodbye. Five minutes after he’d left, all I recalled of the visit was his belief that there weren’t any “Heebs” living in the Land of Cotton.

For the next hour I tried to make sense of what he’d said. Did he really say what I thought I’d heard – was he serious; was he joking; was he a raving anti-Semite hiding out in the burbs? Then I spent another hour playing out how I should have responded. That conversation usually began with “beg your pardon” and ended with me showing him the door!

Finally, I simply picked up the phone and called him. I explained there was something he’d said when we first met that was troubling me, then outlined the bit of small talk we shared. When I asked if he recalled his comment after I mentioned growing up in the South, there was a moment of dead silence, then a whispered “oops!”

What was the Heeb thing all about, I asked, and Mr. Sales Guy revealed that, well, ah, he was also Jewish! Strained laughter, then he offered a rush of words – silly, stupid, unprofessional, sorry, strange sense of humor.

We both chuckled, then played a little Jewish geography before he apologized yet again. Just after saying our goodbyes and just before hanging up the phone, Mr. Sales Guy-itz added, “Happy New Year.”

And so it is – now !

A-mazing: Finding friend turns into journey

I spent the early afternoon today visiting Anita, a friend and former colleague from my days at that place with the printing press. She’s a patient at Emory University Hospital, a large and sprawling medical facility here in the Land of Cotton.

The university campus was teeming with students and the hospital area was filled with doctors and nurses; patients, their families and friends. Traffic was heavy and I only had a slight idea where I was headed. I spotted a sign pointing to a parking area, made a swift left turn, then dipped into the bowels of a mega-parking deck.

I passed through a floor or two reserved for health care professionals, then ignored a sign that said there were absolutely no available parking spaces for, um, regular people. Somewhere deep below the surface, dank and dark, I circled about hundreds of cars in search of an empty spot. When I spotted it, I said a little prayer, parked and then realized I had no idea where I was or how to make my way back to the street.

Off in the distance I spotted an exit sign, then spotted yet another sign pointing in the opposite direction. Fortunately before trekking in either direction, I saw another “regular” person popping into a nearby concrete bunker that turned out to be an elevator. When I reached the lobby, I walked over to the information desk and told the clerk my friend’s room number. She smiled and handed me a printed note. I offer its contents here with no editorial comment other than, WTF!

 Press “T” on elevator
 Make 2 Lefts off the elevator
 At the end of hall, turn Right towards EUH
 Dead end at Emergency in EUH
 Receive further info from Guest Services on the L

Up to this point I hadn’t realized that I was in search of buried treasure or, perhaps, on a holy quest. I managed to find my way up a few elevators, then along the halls and corridors before, yet again, I found myself chatting with another “Guest Services” worker. She offered up another half-dozen directions and, voila, only 30 minutes after parking I walked into my friend’s room.

Anita and I go back together lots of years. She’s battling cancer; filled with courage, hope and humor. Inspiring. I was feeling a little sad as we said our goodbyes, but energized by her good cheer and willingness to continue the good fight.

A few moments later, headed back to my car, I realized yet again I had no idea at all where I was. It would take another half hour, roaming around endless halls and corridors, then strolling about the campus before I managed to spot the mega-parking complex where my journey had begun. Exit signs were still pointing in two directions and I had to backtrack more than once after driving into an area that came to an abrupt dead end.

As I finally made it to the main thoroughfare on the campus, I couldn’t help but wonder if Rube Goldberg had worked as an architectural consultant when Emory planned out its hospital complex. The place is filled with more twists and turns then a Daniel Silva novel.

When next I visit, I’ll make sure to drop bread crumbs along the path. My only fear is that other visitors, lost for days in the dark and dank parking area for “regular” folks, will gobble up my trail markers.

Moment of madness transforms the world

The few blind spots that linger around my memories of 9/11 were filled in over the weekend as the media focused on the 10th anniversary of the destruction of the Twin Towers in New York. The day has remained part of my life, a defining moment of the madness unleashed by terrorists across the world as we entered the 21st century.

I have little to add to the mix of remembrances from those on the scene – survivors, first responders, area residents, spectators and tourists. Meanwhile, a colorful assortment of bloviators – commentators, essayists, columnists and bloggers – have spent the last several weeks exploring and examining the impact of 9/11 and how the world has changed.

There’s been lots of arm waving and talk; politics as usual from the usual suspects and a few memorable, poignant scenes and memories from family and friends of the thousands who died on that cool, crisp morning exactly 10 years ago today.

About the only words lingering in my noggin at the moment about 9/11 and what's followed is a short chat between Tom Brokaw and Brian Williams during a segment on NBC’s evening news last Friday. Asked if 9/11 had the same sort of impact on the country as Pearl Harbor, Brokaw captured something painfully true about the epochal events that informed and defined two different generations of Americans.

Pearl Harbor, he said, was the opening salvo of World War II for the United States. The entire country was mobilized and the impact of the Japanese attack on the U.S. Naval base was immediate and sustained. The sleeping giant had been awakened and virtually the entire country became part of the war effort – men were drafted into the armed forces, industries retooled to produce war materiel, food and consumer goods were rationed; there was a sense of national purpose and unity.

After 9/11 there was also a sense of national purpose and unity, Brokaw said. It lasted for about a month or so. Today, about the only people making a real sacrifice are the soldiers and their families actively involved in the war on terror. They represent less than 1 percent of the country.

It took allied military forces about five years to destroy the axis powers during World War II. To use a silly analogy, it was like ripping off a sticky band-aid – intensely painful, but quickly done. The war on terror, meanwhile, is akin to gently pulling away a bandage from the skin of the world – a painful process that seems to go on forever. My greatest fear is that a decade from now we will still be yanking away at a soiled bit of sticky stuff that is barely covering a growing and festering sore.

It’s been 10 years. I mourn and remember the victims, salute the heroes and offer my thanks and praise for those putting themselves in harm’s way. These warriors, let's not forget for an instant, are all that stand between us and the evil that remains a palpable force in the world today.

Hot coffee, cold reality and crossing the street

I can file this away under the heading “Will he ever learn?” Despite my rant just yesterday about the poor service at the place with the golden arches, I still stopped by this morning for a cup of Joe. Big mistake!

After standing about at the front counter, waiting for someone to take my order, I was put on hold when the cashier opted to wait on one of her colleagues. While I cooled my heels and the line behind me grew – both in length and impatience – the McBurger putz first told her friend to input his order in a nearby register, then left us all dangling to handle the chore herself.

In fact, what should have taken only a moment, turned into clerking 101, the cashier explaining in detail to her friend how best to place an order on McBurger registers and, in the doing, how best to tick off paying customers.

After five minutes or so she returned to take my order, took my money, let the register figure out my change, then informed me that the coffee pot was empty and it would take only a few moments to brew a fresh batch! For an instant I thought all this was being taped and I was part of a new reality TV show.

I sort of smiled, then explained I didn’t have any more minutes to wait around and asked that she return my money. That of course involved her calling her manager, getting the boss to open the register and fiddle around with the gizmo so it would register that someone – that would be me – interrupted a transaction in process.

I took my buck and change, drove across the street and stopped at QuikTrip (see Tuesday’s blog posting), said hi to the cashier who greeted me with a smile, then poured my own cup of coffee. I was in and out in less than two minutes and can now report that, yes, I have finally learned my lesson!

Winning formula: Good service with a smile

I spotted a news brief recently that reported service station convenience stores are stealing customers from fast food chains. In fact, the story suggested that even some family restaurants offering moderately prices meals – Applebees, Chili’s, Houlihan’s – are losing business to folks chowing down on nachos and burgers at corner gas stations.

Of course such neighborhood gas stations include mini-marts featuring fruit, veggies, candy and snacks; hot dogs, hamburgers and sandwiches; coffee, lattes, espresso and all manner of sodas and frozen treats. And, at least the one I visit regularly, cheap prices and great service.

In my little corner of the world, right across from that place with the golden arches, is A QuikTrip. The clerk behind the register always smiles and says howdy when I visit, actually makes eye contact when I step up to pay or ask a question, then – and this, I know, is hard to believe – manages to handle cash and make change using his noggin instead of a computer.

The clerk does all this while handling a slew of other chores – printing out gas receipts and lottery tickets, monitoring the dozen or so gas pumps out front and making sure the shop is clean, neat and fully stocked.

If three or more customers back up at one register, another clerk automatically – I swear I’m not making this up – stops whatever he might be doing, opens up a second register and keeps things moving smoothly along. I’ve never waited more than a minute or two at a register. Obviously, the bosses at QT’s corporate headquarters know something about customer service.

It’s a lesson the toads running the golden arches have forgotten – and it’s costing them money. Everything that QuikTrip does right, the burger drones across the street get wrong – no smiles, no eye contact, no service.

I actually like the coffee at McBurgers. As often as not, however, when I stop by in the late morning they pour out the last dregs from the pot then sheepishly tell me they’re out and need to make more. Ah, that never happens across the street at QT.

Now, if filling stations can just figure out how to make decent fries, cheap apple pies and start offering plastic action figures with kid meals, I could fill up my tummy and my tank in one quick stop!

More attacks and the world remains silent

It’s Friday, time yet again for another posting of Interesting Jewish Stories & Facts. Today we glance at the news and see that Israel is once more under attack.

Israel once again is mourning the loss of life, victims of Palestinian terrorists striking at civilians in the southern region of the country. Seven people were killed and over 40 wounded earlier this week in five separate attacks.

The terrorists slithered out of Gaza and made their way south along the Egyptian border, slipping into Israel just north of Eilat on Thursday. Around noon they opened fire on an Egged bus that was traveling from Be’er Sheva to the resort community.

Over the next several hours, the terrorists managed to pop up in several different areas, firing an anti-tank missile at a sedan carrying civilians, setting off an explosive device next to an IDF patrol and exchanging small-arms fire with Israeli troops.

Those are the facts. Now let’s suppose for a moment that all this loathsome activity was happening closer to home. What if you or I, family or friends were headed south along I-75 to Florida? Our car is packed with luggage and good cheer, the AC set on chill and a CD blasting out our favorite holiday tunes.

Just South of Valdosta, as we cross into Florida, we spot a Toyota Tacoma in our rearview mirror, a silver blur advancing wildly in our direction. Hanging out of the passenger window we can just make out the metallic glint of a weapon and then we see two thugs, their heads wrapped in keffiyehs, standing in the cargo bay.

We notice a puff of smoke blossoming in our direction and then suddenly the asphalt to our right explodes. We press down on the accelerator and our family sedan lunges forward just as a few bits of shrapnel ping off the back bumper and crack a side window.

Despite our best effort, the Toyota pulls alongside. We glance quickly to our left and in sheer terror spot the front end of a Rocket Propelled Grenade (RPG) launcher. Time slows and we can actually see the first fiery exhaust of the weapon being fired. Absolute madness!

And it is – madness. Of course life in the Land of Cotton is often hot, but not deadly. Politics here can get rancorous but we don’t often have to worry about our neighbors trying to kill us off. Just imagine if they tried – the immediate response from civil authorities; the media coverage and headlines; outrage and support from around the world.

Yes, the world has taken note that Israel was attacked – again. The international press has printed a few stories and television networks have offered a few minutes of coverage. But where’s the outrage and condemnation. Even though it’s been two years since the last major attack, it all feels like business as usual in the Middle East. Madness!

A footnote: Exactly a week earlier, a friend of mind was a passenger on the Egged Bus that was attacked on Thursday. David P is a retired NYC policeman who is in Israel to take part in a program, Sar-El, that places volunteers on IDF bases to help with menial chores. He, like the injured civilian passengers, was headed to Eilat for a weekend holiday.

Big banks, the IRS and training porpoises

Nothing gets my dander up more than dealing with the minutiae and incompetence of big banks and big government. Just being one of the little people that make up this very large country, I only have to wade through a smallish amount of red tape each year.

That said, I recently received a notice from my ginormous bank ordering me to expeditiously fill out a form – a request for my Taxpayer Identification Number and Certification – that was needed by the IRS. I’ve had several accounts with the bank for years and been filing taxes for decades. So what’s changed and why the urgency?

The IRS form, btw, is indecipherable. I imagine there are accountants and tax attorneys who can make sense of the rules, regulations, penalties and instructions detailed in 8 point type. But it mostly reads like gibberish to me.

When in doubt, I always like to be able to sit with a real, live, breathing bureaucrat who can explain what’s needed. So last Friday I dropped by a local branch of the ginormous bank and met with an assistant manager. She glanced at the form, checked my account in her computer, then scratched her noggin in puzzlement.

She said my Taxpayer Identification Number was already included in my account information. She suggested I go ahead and fill out the form or call the bank’s toll free number and provide the information again.

That’s what I just attempted to do, after working my way through a 10-minute phone tree that left me stumped and confused. The robot at the other end wanted an account number that I attempted to input on my phone. Something was amiss and the metallic voice repeated its request again, then yet again. Finally, it suggested that perhaps I might want to talk with a bank representative – please say “yes” if that’s the case.

A moment later I was talking to Maggie in Mumbai. She greeted me with great enthusiasm, then announced that our conversation might be monitored for quality control and training porpoises. I immediately had this image in my mind of Maggie in full SCUBA gear, holding tightly to a floating desk off the coast of India.

Despite her willingness to help, Maggie’s advice was all wet. She didn’t quite understand what sort of form I was struggling with and didn’t seem to know much about U.S. taxes and identification numbers.

The good news is she was able to help me figure out the account number the robotic voice was in search of earlier. We said our goodbyes and I tried the automated system once again. This time the metallic voice allowed me to enter his home turf, asked a few questions about my account and then announced that my Taxpayer Identification Number and Certification was accepted – that I was now a good and loyal citizen.

The robot also added that if I had provided false information I was subject to hefty fines, years in jail and deportation to Mumbai where, I assumed, I would hook up with Maggie for training porpoises.