Newsbriefs you May Have Missed: Bringing the Heat

stevieslwaw

Senate Republicans announced today through their spokesperson, Byon Bleef, that the immigration deal will require a little more than a seven hundred mile border fence costing nearly 30 billion dollars, if it is to have bipartisan support in the senate. They will introduce an amendment to the bill, first thing Monday morning, that will guarantee the border area will be carpet bombed, using B-52’s and B-2’s from Guam, at least once a day.
“This,” Byon stated, “Will probably guarantee Republican support.”
The cost of the measure is not yet known. A spokesperson for Raytheon Corporation, builder of the popular Tomahawk cruise missile would only say, again and again, “Oh Boy!, Oh Boy! Rumors of loud moans and what might be the sound of a body rolling over, near Dwight Eisenhower’s final resting place in Kansas could not be confirmed.

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Stevieslaw Book Review: Unleashing Corporate Compassion

In her new book, “Profit of Privatization,”(Fascion Press, $29.95 or company script, 343 pps) the conservative Becky Rishlim writes of a modern utopia in which the tyranny of unions and local and national government has been replaced by the benevolence of corporations. No one can deny the timeliness of this tome. In today’s CDT, for example, there were two articles about privatization: the first about selling the State owned liquor stores; and, the second about the clearly unexpected consequences of slashing the budget for public schools— the subsequent layoffs of State employees. This is, of course, just the tip of the iceberg, illustrating how a seamless merging of corporate and government function may proceed. Ms. Rishlim (the thinly disguised amalgam of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck) presents the case for complete corporate control—with the profit motive providing the “AynRandian” fostering of the common man. He, she, or they argue that we place a heavy burden on common people by forcing them to find suitable work, housing and markets for their needs, considering their ever declining education and training. They suggest that well-being would be better provided by company run housing, stores, education and medical care. Security could be easily provided by identifying employees and their families by innocuous numerical tattoos and by fencing in—with the newly learned anti-immigration technology, the corporate cities of the future.
Becky suggests a simple start to the inevitable process. We must stop calling our corporate heads, CEO’s, which somehow has acquired a negative connotation. She suggests we try, “Dear Leaders.”

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Stevieslaw: Cousin Myron and the Corned-beef Conspiracy

Cousin Myron and the Corned-beef Conspiracy
We all knew that Myron, our fiery red-headed cousin, had met his match in marrying Marsha. Myron had made a fortune using his untutored math skills to bet on the ponies. He had taken on the IRS, had struck fear in the hearts of tough New York City waiters and waitresses, and had defended the poor and innocent against the rich and powerful—particularly, our cousin Marvin—but the most he could manage in response to any statement from Marsha—and this only on his best days, was “Yes, Dear.”
So it came as very little surprise when a miserable Myron called late last night to tell me he had just finished dining on lentil and chia seed stew.
“She’s killing me,” he said.
Marsha had gotten a subscription to Prevention Magazine, sent by an anonymous donor, on her birthday.
“Marvin,” we said in unison.
His wife had taken to it like a fish takes to water. After reading and rereading the first issue to the point of it falling apart, she had announced to Myron—
“You will eat like you are planning to live forever, or I will murder you.”
“Sadly,” Myron continued, “My teenagers are at just the age when they believe all this stuff. “They spy on me.”
Myron described his horror as his stash of Yankee Doodles and Devil Dogs, potato chips and Doritos and all candy devoid of dark chocolate were confiscated and tossed. His refrigerator was cleaned just short of sterilization to rid any presence of meat or animal fat.
“They gave the pound and half porterhouse I was saving for my birthday to the Anne and Arthur next door after they promised to feed it to their dog” he whined. “I caught a whiff of them grilling it last night.” “Some friends.”
Myron, who weighs in at 110 pounds sopping wet sobbed, “It’s not like I have bad health problems,” he continued. “And, this diet advice changes every hour.”
“Bingo,” he said and slammed the phone down.
Later in the week, I was pleased to learn that Dr. William Jeffson, in The Nutrition Department, had received a grant from something called the “Corned-beef Consortium” to study the health inducing effects of a traditional kosher deli diet.
Keep your eyes on Prevention Magazine where, I’m betting, Dr. Bill’s research will be published very, very soon.

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Stevieslaw: As Is- The LAGuide to Your Best Sale Yet.

As Is: The LAGuide to Your Best Sale Yet.

Trust me. Here in Central Pennsylvania, there is many a morning in early March so raw that it sends all sensible people back to bed with a hot water bottle and a copy of an early P.G. Wodehouse novel, so they might pass the time studying the meanderings of the Empress of Blanding as she is poised to win the big prize In the “fat pigs” category at the local Agricultural Show. Until May, we say here—meaning that’s when you are likely to see me outside voluntarily. We say it often. And yet each year around the start of Daylight Savings Time, yard sales sprout like wild mustard greens and a hardy bunch of souls trawl for trinkets in other peoples’ garages.

My great Aunt and Uncle, Marlene and Matthew, are stout, seventyish and usually so gentle and mild-mannered that they might be poster people for kindness personified. In fact, they were thrice named grandparents of the year by AARP magazine. And yet, come “the season,” they become garage sale warriors and heaven help anyone that comes between them and their treasure. Marl and Matt, as they are known on the circuit, spend weekends immersed in the culture of the garage sale. Thursday finds them at their kitchen table with maps and markers and our local newspaper plotting their routes and schedules with the precision of the fascist railroaders of the Thirties. Friday and Saturday they strike—setting off before dark, with their pockets full of small change and their ancient Volvo station wagon filled with gas and packing materials— attacking each sale as if it were the last. They move with the agility of the young, are fiendishly efficient at separating the wheat from the chaff, and together are able to bargain in an astonishing seven languages.

Here at Stevieslaw, we believe that garage sales, like all good scavenger hunts, should be challenging and worthy of the talents of M&M and others like them. And so with a challenge in mind, we are very pleased to publish “As is,” the Less-intelligent-than-average-American guide to your garage sale. In the guide you will learn about:

Advertising—Your ad must be the largest in the paper—much bigger than the one for the sale at the local church with 114 dealers. Remember to put items in the ad that are odd and unusual. Also remember that you do not have to have the items. You can always tell the furious early arriver, “No, we sold the baby goat last night as we were setting up.” “Had six offers for it and in the end couldn’t stand to disappoint little Mary, who wanted it so badly.”

Opening time—Set the opening time for your sale at least a half an hour earlier than the earliest time you have ever been awake on a Saturday. That way, hordes of frustrated garage salers can watch your silhouette parading around in pajamas, clutching a steaming cup of coffee and casually setting prices.

Stock—Where do you think you can buy jigsaw puzzles missing one or two pieces, tea pots without handles and garden forks short of teeth? Shop for your junk at Good Will, flea markets and, of course, other garage sales. Who knows—the junk might actually sell. You bought it didn’t you?

Pricing—Price anything decent you might accidently have at under a dollar. Price all the other stuff at the high end—say, antique mall prices. Then bargain, bargain, bargain. Think of the great fun you can have arguing for an hour over whether or not you will sell a slightly stained Naugahyde pocketbook for 50c or a dollar. Always label one item as rare. At this year’s sale, I found a button on the floor of the garage that I am labeling as rare and will price at $50. On that one item, I will refuse to bargain.

Setting up: Have your most scatterbrained cousins or your Aunt’s twin toddlers set up the stock at your sale.

Offer additional services: My neighbor loves his flower garden. At one sale a few years ago, I made all my profit on 50c guided tours of my neighbor’s garden. He was surprised, but happy, to show people around.

Set a Reasonable Goal—My wife and I consider a successful sale one that earns sufficient profit to buy a medium pizza at our local that night. A great sale gets you pepperoni. We had one banner year, in which we earned a pizza with pepperoni and green pepper and two small side salads. We had almost enough to split a beer.

THE GOLDEN RULE—Do unto…no, not that. The rule is that nothing comes back into your house. At the end of every garage sale, you must pack up the remaining junk and drive it to some Good Will or Salvation Army store. Sure, you may buy the same junk again on Monday in preparation for you next sale, but at the end of the sale on Saturday afternoon everything must go.

Buy the guide. Worse comes to worse, you can always sell it at your garage sale.

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Stevieslaw: Global Warming Gets Personal

Stevieslaw: Global Warming gets Personal
Smokey Diamond, our intrepid reporter, practically shredded the main section of our local newspaper, the CDT, this morning—even before she finished her first cup of coffee. “Hold on,” I said, “I haven’t even looked at the Sudoku yet.” For those of you who have never seen a copy of our local, you can trust me when I say Sudoku and the remnants of the comics are the by far the highlights.
Still, you do not want an angry Smokey around, so I asked cautiously, “What’s wrong?” Smokey tossed me the CDT and there on the Obituary page in bold letters was the headline, “Blight Sweeps Coffee Plantation.” The article, written by Tim Johnson of McClatchy News, has some of the worst news ever reported on a Monday morning. Tim writes, “The orange, dust-like fungus sucks nourishing sap from coffee leaves killing the bushes.”
My heart sank and all feeling drained from my feet and hands. Rust, as the fungus is called, has been around for decades, but the constant warming of the planet has allowed it to infect the coffee bushes at a much higher altitude than ever before—up to 5000 feet above sea level. The loss of the coffee crop is predicted to cost a half million jobs, increase crime, immigration and promote the substitution of narcotics producing crops.
From Johnson, “Central American growers usually cultivate Arabica coffee rather than the intense and harsher Robusta coffee. In blend, Central American beans often are mixed in to lend flavor.”
“Lend flavor,” I thought, “Oh no.”
“What’s next,” mused a heartbroken Smokey. “Tuna?”
I hadn’t the heart to tell her.

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Stevieslaw: Eye Contact-Voices Column for May

Eye Contact: The LAguide to Becoming a Human.
Last Thursday night at a dinner at my Cousin Myron’s house, our Uncle Arthur was using all of his verbal skills to try to convince the assembly that maintaining the minimum wage at $2.13 an hour for employees receiving tips (think waiters and waitresses) was essential to preserving the economic well-being of the nation. Arthur should be an expert in economics. After all, he has an awful lot of money—all of which he inherited from two hardworking and doting parents. Arthur is the owner of a number of franchise restaurants and wears his bias like a badge. As the verbal assault continued, Myron kept trying to engage his daughter, Marta, by raising his eyebrows two or three times and following it with a wink—a universal symbol, he believed, for “what a crock.” But, it was not until Arthur finally finished his monologue and his son Marvin came up and said, “You should have your eyes checked dad, you have a funny twitch” that he realized his kids were not getting it. By the time Myron had engaged me with a look that I recognized as both wistful and quizzical, both teens had returned to their I-lives.
We’ve all seen the photo of six or seven young people walking along in a line like ducklings, each concentrating on messaging someone through the latest app. A photo we have enjoyed, I might add, because someone had, instead of laughing, recorded it on his I-Phone. In Dear Abby this week a man lamented the loss of his wife to an I-phone addiction. And just today on Facebook, Google invited all of us to join a virtual dinner—with virtual diners, virtual food and virtual conversation. Sure, it might be more fun than sitting next to Cousin Martha, who insists on chewing each morsel thirty times while not giving up on conversation. But Martha is real. She is filled with a quirky humanity not neatly communicated by text. Is it any wonder that we, as a nation, have turned to the “I got mine,” politics of the Tea Party or embraced the singularly cold philosophy of Ayn Rand, whose dismal world view is best expressed in her 80 page book “The Virtue of Selfishness?” Our connections—human to human, it seems, are in danger of being permanently broken. To save the day, we at Stevieslaw, are pleased to publish, “Eye Contact*: The Less-intelligent-than-average American Guide to Becoming a Human.” To construct the guide contacted experts in fields as diverse as psychiatry, psychology, mammalian physiology, and extraterrestrial life. We even were in touch with the “not a robot” Mitt Romney prep team. In the guide, you will learn to distinguish DNA based life from forms based on electromagnetic radiation and “senses” from probes. You will then go on to become human through serious study and exercise in the areas of:
1. Eye Contact: Use your facial expressions and learn to read the facial expressions of others—not constantly wired—to silently connect, human to human. Learn to smile, frown, and wink. With practice, you will learn to use your face to express a wealth of human emotions—joy, sorrow, boredom and exasperation, in a manner other humans can cue into. Learn to read the facial expressions of others—providing you with more time to duck for cover.
2. Body Language: Learn to attune yourself to the subtle signals other humans emit just by the way they hold their bodies while sitting, reclining or standing. Learn to send signals of your own. Just imagine the power in knowing that you are boring a dozen people to death—by observing their twitches, yawns and body positioning— when telling that story about your grandfather’s childhood for the fiftieth time.
3. Listening: Come to realize that the buzz you hear above the voice of your instant messenger—what you have thought of as background noise—is the sound of others trying to communicate. We term such sounds “speech” and though you will quickly learn that some people abuse speech by talking to little or not enough, speech is the way you and others can express your thoughts, without the need for finger motions. Speech between two or more humans is sometimes called conversation and this advanced concept is also thoroughly covered in the guide.
4. Touch: Yes, it is possible to reach out and touch another human, without the fear of being indicted and sent to a prison devoid of electronics. A hand shake, a pat on the back or the head, even a hug can express a human to human connection that can last even longer than your battery charge. Perhaps, forever.
5. Field Work: At the end of a month of study, we will send to your home or office a person, who you can call Phyllis, (recently laid off from your public library) so you can practice human emotions such as compassion, empathy, rage and boredom with a real human companion.
Be a mensch. Pick up “Eye Contact” wherever the guide is sold and be on your way to becoming human.

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Stevieslaw: Uncle Tom

Man of the people, Governor Tom Corbett, was quoted in our local paper as suggesting that one significant reason the unemployment rate in Pennsylvania was lagging the nation was that people were not applying for jobs because they would fail the mandatory drug test. Tom went on to say:
“This is a significant problem for Pennsylvania.” “Today I am announcing a new State program, through which we will offer drug rehabilitation to anyone who wishes to work.” “The program is free to all residents of the State and people enrolled in it can begin to work as soon as they are enrolled.”
No. That would be the response of some other governor not just blowing reelection smoke.
Tommy went on to say:
“Of course, these drug addled, unemployed, desperate people are certainly still encouraged to buy assault weapons in the State.” “Lock and load for the NRA.”

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Stevieslaw: Recession Proof Income

Smokey Diamond, our intrepid reporter, has always been exceptionally good at “cat and mouse” games, so she seems a natural for the CIA. I fear, however, that this time she may have gone too far. She put an ad in our local newspaper that read:

Taliban Control. More than 15 years of successful control in Central Pennsylvania. Seeking to branch out—perhaps to Maui. Cash joyfully accepted. All currencies. Take advantage of our large mail slot for anonymous payments! Discretion guaranteed.

Smokey knows full well that the CIA is prohibited from operating in the United States— while delivering cash in brown paper bags to offices in Kabul is apparently perfectly legal. But you can’t kill hope. You can find her mostly days curled up in the sunlight beside our mail-slotted front door, lapping up milk and honey and flipping through the pages of Hawaii Life.

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Stevieslaw: Getting Out of Dodge

Stevieslaw: Getting Out of Dodge
Both the House and the Senate passed legislation today that would allow the FAA to transfer up to 243 million dollars from other programs to “prevent reduced operations and staffing” through September 30th. “No traffic controllers need be furloughed and inconvenience to the public can be avoided,” said House spokesperson, Wad Agy. The vote was bipartisan and was shepherded through Congress with blazing speed. “Imagine if other problems of national significance could be handled by Congress with even a tenth the cooperation and speed,” I mused. Smokey Diamond, our investigative reporter—who is never mild mannered, gave me a 20 second Bronx cheer. “The bums are going on vacation this weekend,” he said. “Of course they don’t want flight delays.”

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Stevieslaw: Representation

Stevieslaw: Representation
Smokey Diamond, our dynamic reporter, was still in shock over the Senate refusal to pass a bill with even a minor change to the rules governing gun ownership, when he came across the term “elected representative” in today’s paper. Smokey asked me what that might mean and frankly, although I thought the term might have had some meaning once, I couldn’t remember what that might be. Clearly, since about 93% of the population supported additional background checks, the Senate didn’t represent them. No, the folks who run the country “represent” corporations—say the oil and gas industry, or organizations—say the National Rifle Association.
After extensive research, Smokey and I were able to pin down reference. Apparently, there is an annual event—it’s always on a Tuesday, and this year it’s November 5—in which people are able to elect folks to represent them. The process is called “voting” and it seems that more than half the eligible population does not realize the process exists. They disenfranchise themselves. Is that crazy or what? And get this. In most of the States, women and minorities are allowed to vote, right alongside real citizens—although in some places, that is about to change.
Vote. Why not try it this year?

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