Recently while once again hiking the Goose Creek Trail, I made my way to the top of the Fred Hartman Bridge, on the Hog Island side of the Houston Ship Channel. While enjoying the expansive and elevated view, I looked downward and what isn’t apparent to motorists, is a winding dirt road. On the opposite side of the bridge, the road splits and envelopes two giant retaining ponds.
By the way, folks repeatedly ask me about my safety and the legality of walking across the Fred Hartman Bridge and I tell them the truth; it is scary to have cars going past you at seventy-plus miles per hour, with no place to avoid being ran over, but perfectly legal to walk across the bridge. You can’t park on the bridge, but you can ride a bike or hike across it. I'm willing to take my chances up there, but use your own best judgment.
Seeing the road below the bridge, I thought how wonderful this would be for Exxon-Mobil to open it for jogging and cycling. It is a beautiful ready-made trail, meandering along the ship channel and Black Duck Bay, which a runner, hiker or bike rider could enjoy. I would love to expand my hiking distance and walk it. Birders, binoculars in hand, would have yet another place to observe the many shore birds our area affords.
Access to the roads would necessitate the building of a bridge to span the divided area that used to lead to the Baytown/La Porte tunnel. The Bayland Park parking lot could be used as a staging area for those who wished to use the new trail.
The more I thought about this possibility, the more excited I became, so much so, that I pecked off an email to City Manager Garry Brumback and our honorable mayor, Stephen DonCarlos. I told them I thought it would be a wonderful extension of the Goose Creek Trail, maybe as much as 5 miles.
That very day Mr. Brumback responded: "I think this is worthy of asking ExxonMobil. I am happy to put the question to them; as long as everyone understands that this is not City property and that we are not resourced to police or maintain it should ExxonMobil agree to open it up. Would a citizens group be willing to adopt it and be responsible for its upkeep"? Our Mayor also agreed it was worth looking into.
I assured Mr. Brumback that I would take on the project of raising support from local biking and running clubs, if ExxonMobil agreed to open the trail for us.
Within a few days I was contacted via telephone by ExxonMobil Human Relations person, Russ Roberts to discuss the possibility of making this project a reality and was told he would look into it and get back with me. He also pointed out that the wheels of decision making move very slowly on community projects commitment and to be patient while they study the impact and liability issues concerning opening it up to the public.
That was about a month ago and although I am patient, I couldn't keep from taking yet another hike on the Goose Creek Trail and this time walking up the opposite side (the side we use to go to La Porte) and taking a closer look at the improved dirt roads on the refinery side of the bridge. What I saw and photographed is an aerial view of beautiful dirt roads which wander around the giant ponds, Black Duck Bay and the Houston Ship Channel and collectively cover maybe as much as 5 or 6 wonderful miles.
This trail, if opened to the public by ExxonMobil, would draw riders, birding groups and joggers from the entire South East Texas area, as a favorite place to train, run, jog, hike, cycle and stage foot and bicycle races. It could be a major plus to our community; major as in something to brag about and not just for ExxonMobil, but our city and populace also. ExxonMobil could use this as a giant public relations and local community coup and rightly so. This could just be the shot in the arm the marina area needs to realize expansion also.
Local running clubs and cycle groups could adopt portions of the trail for routine clean up and ExxonMobil's roving patrol could close access at dusk and open it at dawn. It would also be very nice of them to provide occasional receptacles for removal of trash and debris picked-up by citizens and the groups charged with maintaining the cleanliness of the trail.
While security on the trail would certainly be an issue, citizens who hike, ride and jog would take the same precautions they do on any other trail or county road. Access to the trail could be accomplished by parking at Bayland Park and the city could improve the cement barrier feeder road portion to accommodate foot and bike traffic.
The Black Duck Bay Trail System combined with the Goose Creek Trail could effectively give Baytown a ten mile (estimated) trail and it would be a win-win for all concerned.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
What in the world was that noise?
The recent heavy rains have caused an explosion of wildlife in the back forty, or in our case, the back seventy acres. It sounds like what I imagine the boy Tarzan experienced when he first realized his parents had passed away and he was truly on his own. The cacophony of strange noises coming from the water-laden and swampy woods is almost frightening!
I know that sounds like an exaggeration and maybe it is, but case in point, my bride and I were sitting on the patio the other night when suddenly we heard what sounded like a cross between a woman screaming in terror/a banshee with rabies/a piece of cloth being viciously ripped apart/someone violently gagging and it all ended with a “who?” – I think.
My lady said, with a start “What in the world was that noise”? Now normally, I have an answer or a piece of wisdom to impart on almost any occasion or subject, but this time I was stymied. Then out of the deepest recesses of my mind, I remembered hearing this bird call years ago and was told by my Dad (who turned 80 today and is still a bastion of knowledge) that it was an owl, but I couldn’t remember which owl he said.
Now I’ve lived in this house for about fifteen years and haven’t seen a single owl, but the day of the last hurricane, while looking out the window of my dining room, I watched a Great Horned owl land on the telephone wire in my backyard. I always have my trusty Nikon binoculars, which I received for a 20th anniversary gift from the Plant where I work, setting on the garden window and my Audubon Handbook Eastern Birds edition handy and since it was lightning and raining like mad, I had the light off and the super alert and possibly frightened owl couldn’t see me watching it. Nevertheless, I moved very slowly, not wanting to reveal myself.
Now Great Horned owls are large two-foot tall predatory birds and absolutely a delight to watch. Every time the lightning flashed or the thunder rolled, it looked in that direction. It crossed my mind that almost any rodent or small bird was not safe at nighttime with this highly efficient and aerial meat-eater was on the prowl.
Anyway, this wasn’t the critter my bride and I heard, as they have a distinctive hooting sound. Now, I’ve considered the noise to be one of the many long-necked shore birds that frequent our Baytown area and it is surprising the variety of scary sounds they can and do make on occasion, especially if mixed with the cries of their prey and what we heard from the woods that night was surely a mix of both.
The rains have also caused an influx of snakes in the yard. My lady, who is normally timid concerning serpents, walked up on an open and white-mouthed, fat, and dark gray snake and with hoe in hand “chopped its liver and lungs out”. She is every bit the dainty lady, but will reach the perfect age of 49 next month and if you know anything about female mentality at this time in their life, you can read the message here. I know I don’t mess with her when she has that hoe in her hand. I had trouble identifying the offending snake as a cottonmouth moccasin later on in the day when I came in from work, as it was so utterly mangled.
Two days of rain later, I look across the patio only to see another snake and this one attempting to climb up onto the wicker furniture. Grabbing my wife’s favored tool of ultimate justice, I deftly and accurately severed its head with one stroke. It was diamond-backed and since twilight had descended, I did not make an accurate identification and destroyed it. The next day I researched the snake and realized I had killed a harmless diamondback watersnake. I won’t kill another, but will opt to relocate it instead. I have trouble allowing venomous snakes in the yard, but will tolerate all others, including the oft misidentified yellowbellied watersnake, which folks think are cottonmouths.
We have regular visits by garter snakes and I’ve had them crawl over my feet while I held perfectly still. To be honest, here in Baytown there are really only three venomous snakes that are of concern, with a couple of exceptions. The cottonmouth, the copperhead and the coral snake; all are distinctive in appearance and with a little education we can observe which is which. Most of the snakes that enter the yard are simply preying on the scads of tree frogs, toads, lizards, crickets and insects that our yard has in abundance anyway and who am I to deny them – minus the venomous ones of course. By the way, there are no poisonous snakes, just venomous ones.
Anyway, back to our mystery bird. While researching this fellow, I found a description which I think is as close as I’m going to get, minus the prey’s anguished cry and here it is: “A blood-curdling and quavering, dropping whinny” By all accounts my Dad was correct when he told me it was nothing other than a little 8 ½ inch tall Eastern Screech owl catching a nightly snack.
I know that sounds like an exaggeration and maybe it is, but case in point, my bride and I were sitting on the patio the other night when suddenly we heard what sounded like a cross between a woman screaming in terror/a banshee with rabies/a piece of cloth being viciously ripped apart/someone violently gagging and it all ended with a “who?” – I think.
My lady said, with a start “What in the world was that noise”? Now normally, I have an answer or a piece of wisdom to impart on almost any occasion or subject, but this time I was stymied. Then out of the deepest recesses of my mind, I remembered hearing this bird call years ago and was told by my Dad (who turned 80 today and is still a bastion of knowledge) that it was an owl, but I couldn’t remember which owl he said.
Now I’ve lived in this house for about fifteen years and haven’t seen a single owl, but the day of the last hurricane, while looking out the window of my dining room, I watched a Great Horned owl land on the telephone wire in my backyard. I always have my trusty Nikon binoculars, which I received for a 20th anniversary gift from the Plant where I work, setting on the garden window and my Audubon Handbook Eastern Birds edition handy and since it was lightning and raining like mad, I had the light off and the super alert and possibly frightened owl couldn’t see me watching it. Nevertheless, I moved very slowly, not wanting to reveal myself.
Now Great Horned owls are large two-foot tall predatory birds and absolutely a delight to watch. Every time the lightning flashed or the thunder rolled, it looked in that direction. It crossed my mind that almost any rodent or small bird was not safe at nighttime with this highly efficient and aerial meat-eater was on the prowl.
Anyway, this wasn’t the critter my bride and I heard, as they have a distinctive hooting sound. Now, I’ve considered the noise to be one of the many long-necked shore birds that frequent our Baytown area and it is surprising the variety of scary sounds they can and do make on occasion, especially if mixed with the cries of their prey and what we heard from the woods that night was surely a mix of both.
The rains have also caused an influx of snakes in the yard. My lady, who is normally timid concerning serpents, walked up on an open and white-mouthed, fat, and dark gray snake and with hoe in hand “chopped its liver and lungs out”. She is every bit the dainty lady, but will reach the perfect age of 49 next month and if you know anything about female mentality at this time in their life, you can read the message here. I know I don’t mess with her when she has that hoe in her hand. I had trouble identifying the offending snake as a cottonmouth moccasin later on in the day when I came in from work, as it was so utterly mangled.
Two days of rain later, I look across the patio only to see another snake and this one attempting to climb up onto the wicker furniture. Grabbing my wife’s favored tool of ultimate justice, I deftly and accurately severed its head with one stroke. It was diamond-backed and since twilight had descended, I did not make an accurate identification and destroyed it. The next day I researched the snake and realized I had killed a harmless diamondback watersnake. I won’t kill another, but will opt to relocate it instead. I have trouble allowing venomous snakes in the yard, but will tolerate all others, including the oft misidentified yellowbellied watersnake, which folks think are cottonmouths.
We have regular visits by garter snakes and I’ve had them crawl over my feet while I held perfectly still. To be honest, here in Baytown there are really only three venomous snakes that are of concern, with a couple of exceptions. The cottonmouth, the copperhead and the coral snake; all are distinctive in appearance and with a little education we can observe which is which. Most of the snakes that enter the yard are simply preying on the scads of tree frogs, toads, lizards, crickets and insects that our yard has in abundance anyway and who am I to deny them – minus the venomous ones of course. By the way, there are no poisonous snakes, just venomous ones.
Anyway, back to our mystery bird. While researching this fellow, I found a description which I think is as close as I’m going to get, minus the prey’s anguished cry and here it is: “A blood-curdling and quavering, dropping whinny” By all accounts my Dad was correct when he told me it was nothing other than a little 8 ½ inch tall Eastern Screech owl catching a nightly snack.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Danger is my Middle Name
I was slap dab in the middle of one of the biggest adventures of my young life. I had no idea living could be this exciting and each day after school brought more drama than the previous. Not being a stranger to dangerous undertakings and being of sound mind and body, I welcomed the day's challenge. I guess you could say I was anxious to get on with it.
The year was 1970, I was seventeen and thanks to my sister I discovered J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Hobbit" and epic trilogy "The Lord of the Rings". These 4 books collectively were about 1500 pages and were a reading obstacle the size of the Great Wall of China in my young mind. However, as all readers of thick books learn, if it's worth reading, it is probably going to end all too soon.
Down the street from my home was an abandoned two-story house with overgrown shrubbery and deep fluffy buffalo grass. On the other side of the hedge row, it was totally private and removed from all but street noise and allowed me a rapid transition to Middle Earth. My routine was as deliberate as a speeding arrow on its way to a target. Each day after I got off the school bus, I would grab a quick snack and book in hand, head for the abandoned house.
Sneaking through a hidden divide in the wall of overgrown shrubbery, I would enter the world of Tolkien, which to us purists, probably should have remained accessible the old fashioned way, even though the movies were excellent and fairly accurate. Incidentally, watching the movie, versus reading the books is like riding a train to California and telling the guy who walked it, you made the trip. You made the trip alright, but you were simply an observer, not a participant. I was there with Gandalf in the Mines of Moria; I know.
I had a favorite place where I would hunker down against a tree, comfortable in the deep inviting grass. The aromatic and dense shrubs muffled almost all city sounds and I would hide myself away for hours each afternoon and…read. On the weekends, I imagine I would spend five or six hours with hobbits, elves, dwarfs and orcs. At the time I realized this was probably going to be regarded as a special niche in my life. It was.
I've never experienced this feeling of separation while watching a movie or video. Streaming audio-visuals are no match for imagination brought on by the written word. When I read great literature, I ponder the meaning of the words, which causes me to read slower and slower, as I mull over what the author is attempting to tell me. A good fat book may take me a couple of weeks to read and I may read it three or four times over the years, getting more and more out of it each time.
I do believe that one of the reasons I tend to shun man-made entertainment venues is because reading books has made these places seem cheap and superficial to me. They are no match for the places I've been, through reading books. Books have also helped me develop mentally and spiritually, learning right from wrong, from so many situations that when a real-life drama develops, I usually have encountered something like it in one of the books I've digested.
Let's look at Louis L'Amour's many books as an example of right and wrong social behavior. Mr. L'Amour wrote Western's for the most part and I'll be the first to admit they are light-weight reading, but chock full of lessons for everyday life. Most of his books follow the same theme of a loner who has seen the trail from both sides of the law, but at this point in life are leaning towards doing the right thing. The hero always encounters a bad bunch of side-winding bad guys and eventually sets the record straight. The situations which develop in his books, parallel modern living when it comes to human relations and problem solving, but his character's solution to the problems usually ends up with the acrid smell of gunpowder hanging in the air, not because the good guy wanted it that way, but because he was forced to defend himself. Regardless, the reader learns both solutions – right and wrong.
Throughout his many excellent short stories, all suitable for the young entry-level reader incidentally, as well as the seasoned reader looking to expand their boundaries, are life-directing thoughts and expressions that carry over to us personally. I remember a line from one his books which I read over twenty years ago and it went something like this: "When you think killing a person will remove all your problems, just wait a year and they won't even be in the picture". His character had an evil overbearing boss who daily abused the hard-working hero, who was himself a rough and dangerous man, but was trying to do right and abide by the law. The cowboy hero thought about calling the bad boss out into a gunfight and just getting it all over with, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that all he had to do was wait and the boss would probably be gone from the picture by natural events. This was a great lesson to me when I read it and I've quoted this line many times since.
My current reading goal is to finish the top one hundred Science fiction novels. It's an unexplored and possibly hazardous area with many mishaps and adventures ahead and thus I've decided to change my middle name to Danger, at least for the time being.
Now, does anyone know where I can find a good tree with thick fluffy buffalo grass under it?
The year was 1970, I was seventeen and thanks to my sister I discovered J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Hobbit" and epic trilogy "The Lord of the Rings". These 4 books collectively were about 1500 pages and were a reading obstacle the size of the Great Wall of China in my young mind. However, as all readers of thick books learn, if it's worth reading, it is probably going to end all too soon.
Down the street from my home was an abandoned two-story house with overgrown shrubbery and deep fluffy buffalo grass. On the other side of the hedge row, it was totally private and removed from all but street noise and allowed me a rapid transition to Middle Earth. My routine was as deliberate as a speeding arrow on its way to a target. Each day after I got off the school bus, I would grab a quick snack and book in hand, head for the abandoned house.
Sneaking through a hidden divide in the wall of overgrown shrubbery, I would enter the world of Tolkien, which to us purists, probably should have remained accessible the old fashioned way, even though the movies were excellent and fairly accurate. Incidentally, watching the movie, versus reading the books is like riding a train to California and telling the guy who walked it, you made the trip. You made the trip alright, but you were simply an observer, not a participant. I was there with Gandalf in the Mines of Moria; I know.
I had a favorite place where I would hunker down against a tree, comfortable in the deep inviting grass. The aromatic and dense shrubs muffled almost all city sounds and I would hide myself away for hours each afternoon and…read. On the weekends, I imagine I would spend five or six hours with hobbits, elves, dwarfs and orcs. At the time I realized this was probably going to be regarded as a special niche in my life. It was.
I've never experienced this feeling of separation while watching a movie or video. Streaming audio-visuals are no match for imagination brought on by the written word. When I read great literature, I ponder the meaning of the words, which causes me to read slower and slower, as I mull over what the author is attempting to tell me. A good fat book may take me a couple of weeks to read and I may read it three or four times over the years, getting more and more out of it each time.
I do believe that one of the reasons I tend to shun man-made entertainment venues is because reading books has made these places seem cheap and superficial to me. They are no match for the places I've been, through reading books. Books have also helped me develop mentally and spiritually, learning right from wrong, from so many situations that when a real-life drama develops, I usually have encountered something like it in one of the books I've digested.
Let's look at Louis L'Amour's many books as an example of right and wrong social behavior. Mr. L'Amour wrote Western's for the most part and I'll be the first to admit they are light-weight reading, but chock full of lessons for everyday life. Most of his books follow the same theme of a loner who has seen the trail from both sides of the law, but at this point in life are leaning towards doing the right thing. The hero always encounters a bad bunch of side-winding bad guys and eventually sets the record straight. The situations which develop in his books, parallel modern living when it comes to human relations and problem solving, but his character's solution to the problems usually ends up with the acrid smell of gunpowder hanging in the air, not because the good guy wanted it that way, but because he was forced to defend himself. Regardless, the reader learns both solutions – right and wrong.
Throughout his many excellent short stories, all suitable for the young entry-level reader incidentally, as well as the seasoned reader looking to expand their boundaries, are life-directing thoughts and expressions that carry over to us personally. I remember a line from one his books which I read over twenty years ago and it went something like this: "When you think killing a person will remove all your problems, just wait a year and they won't even be in the picture". His character had an evil overbearing boss who daily abused the hard-working hero, who was himself a rough and dangerous man, but was trying to do right and abide by the law. The cowboy hero thought about calling the bad boss out into a gunfight and just getting it all over with, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that all he had to do was wait and the boss would probably be gone from the picture by natural events. This was a great lesson to me when I read it and I've quoted this line many times since.
My current reading goal is to finish the top one hundred Science fiction novels. It's an unexplored and possibly hazardous area with many mishaps and adventures ahead and thus I've decided to change my middle name to Danger, at least for the time being.
Now, does anyone know where I can find a good tree with thick fluffy buffalo grass under it?
Saturday, August 09, 2008
America and the Olympic Spirit
Friday night millions of people around the world tuned in to watch the 29th Olympiad/2008 Olympic Games opening ceremony. I was right there with them, as to me, this is true athletics. I hardly watch professional sports, I confess, but when the Olympics are in progress, I am all eyes and ears. My youngest brother, Bruno, is a past torch-bearer.
Unbelievable and jaw-dropping was used by television co-host Bob Costas to describe the 300 million dollar opening ceremony. Using tens of thousands of unpaid Communist volunteers in incredible (and almost scary) unison the Chinese sent the world a message that they are unified enough to take on the world and this point was driven-in a thousand fold. Seventy-five thousand fold to be roughly exact and the Chinese government had the tough job of culling-out the other four million who wanted the unpaid tedious voluntary jobs.
In a stadium built for this initial purpose we saw a technological demonstration unmatched in size, cost and splendor that due to overall cost will probably never again be repeated. Words fail to describe how incredible this ceremony was. Using gigantic LED screens extending over a quarter of a mile and 15000 plus performers in perfect unison I saw the determined spirit of a country on the move which to me resembles an unstoppable tidal wave of awesome and unbeatable power.
And thus, the world’s top athletes have descended into the Bird’s Nest National Stadium of the Forbidden City of Beijing, China to compete. China’s coming out party is a better description of this ultra-extravagant Olympic ceremony. Everything is on the line for the athletes as always, but watching the ceremonies, effort, expense and choreography; I can’t help but think that heads will roll in China if gold/silver/bronze medals aren’t produced by their determined athletes.
This past week American runners apologized for wearing protective masks due to the oppressing smog and this is a country with a government which strong-handedly shut down most automobile traffic and smog-producing industry just to clear the air for the Olympics. Try that in the United States and our citizens would rightly laugh out loud.
We do not understand the Chinese. Their concept of state-enforced unity is foreign to us freedom loving people. Their philosophy in life was exemplified by the 2008 Tai Chi Masters who in unison exhibited precision movements in the Bird’s Nest Friday night. Chinese people do not mind doing everything in unison, which incidentally is scary and threatening and defies the concept of freedom of choice we Americans demand. I can’t even imagine finding 28 martial arts masters in America of any style, coming together to practice for eight months for a one night exhibition, performing it flawlessly and then footing their own bill. Heckfire, Matt Lauer even referred to it as karate, to show how little he understands the importance of Chinese martial arts to the Chinese. Karate is Okinawan, which is part of Japan, the ancient enemy of China.
We do not understand how much is at stake for the 639 Chinese athletes in this Olympics. We do not understand how determined they are to please their government. We do not understand that China has over 600 million citizens fit for military service and the money, thanks to us Americans, to fund this Army. We do not understand that the greatest passion the Chinese know is revenge.
Words cannot exaggerate or adequately describe the splendor of the opening ceremony and I do not want anyone to think I did not appreciate the effort and splendor. I just couldn’t get past China’s economic drive, Communist doctrine of freedom suppression and the feeling I was watching a Chinese commercial for future global expansion and ultimately - domination.
We Americans hold the key to success for our own destiny, destruction and/or survival. The Olympic spirit we exhibit, as the greatest free country on earth, can and will trump the Chinese, or justify them. Our 647 American athletes must uphold the spirit of the Olympics above all other nations. We simply must and it’s important to win of course, but win without controversy and this friend, will justify our way of life to the Chinese.
The Olympics should be without politics and I apologize for making it so, but it’s also important to realize the Chinese do not look at these games the way most of the rest of the world does. The Japanese in the past have referred to China as “the sick men of Asia” and make no mistake; the Chinese government and the determined and self-sacrificing unified nation behind it, have every intention of setting the record straight.
This is without doubt, the most important date in modern Chinese history. With all this said, I pray the best athletes win, regardless of country origin, for that after all, is the true spirit of the Olympics.
Unbelievable and jaw-dropping was used by television co-host Bob Costas to describe the 300 million dollar opening ceremony. Using tens of thousands of unpaid Communist volunteers in incredible (and almost scary) unison the Chinese sent the world a message that they are unified enough to take on the world and this point was driven-in a thousand fold. Seventy-five thousand fold to be roughly exact and the Chinese government had the tough job of culling-out the other four million who wanted the unpaid tedious voluntary jobs.
In a stadium built for this initial purpose we saw a technological demonstration unmatched in size, cost and splendor that due to overall cost will probably never again be repeated. Words fail to describe how incredible this ceremony was. Using gigantic LED screens extending over a quarter of a mile and 15000 plus performers in perfect unison I saw the determined spirit of a country on the move which to me resembles an unstoppable tidal wave of awesome and unbeatable power.
And thus, the world’s top athletes have descended into the Bird’s Nest National Stadium of the Forbidden City of Beijing, China to compete. China’s coming out party is a better description of this ultra-extravagant Olympic ceremony. Everything is on the line for the athletes as always, but watching the ceremonies, effort, expense and choreography; I can’t help but think that heads will roll in China if gold/silver/bronze medals aren’t produced by their determined athletes.
This past week American runners apologized for wearing protective masks due to the oppressing smog and this is a country with a government which strong-handedly shut down most automobile traffic and smog-producing industry just to clear the air for the Olympics. Try that in the United States and our citizens would rightly laugh out loud.
We do not understand the Chinese. Their concept of state-enforced unity is foreign to us freedom loving people. Their philosophy in life was exemplified by the 2008 Tai Chi Masters who in unison exhibited precision movements in the Bird’s Nest Friday night. Chinese people do not mind doing everything in unison, which incidentally is scary and threatening and defies the concept of freedom of choice we Americans demand. I can’t even imagine finding 28 martial arts masters in America of any style, coming together to practice for eight months for a one night exhibition, performing it flawlessly and then footing their own bill. Heckfire, Matt Lauer even referred to it as karate, to show how little he understands the importance of Chinese martial arts to the Chinese. Karate is Okinawan, which is part of Japan, the ancient enemy of China.
We do not understand how much is at stake for the 639 Chinese athletes in this Olympics. We do not understand how determined they are to please their government. We do not understand that China has over 600 million citizens fit for military service and the money, thanks to us Americans, to fund this Army. We do not understand that the greatest passion the Chinese know is revenge.
Words cannot exaggerate or adequately describe the splendor of the opening ceremony and I do not want anyone to think I did not appreciate the effort and splendor. I just couldn’t get past China’s economic drive, Communist doctrine of freedom suppression and the feeling I was watching a Chinese commercial for future global expansion and ultimately - domination.
We Americans hold the key to success for our own destiny, destruction and/or survival. The Olympic spirit we exhibit, as the greatest free country on earth, can and will trump the Chinese, or justify them. Our 647 American athletes must uphold the spirit of the Olympics above all other nations. We simply must and it’s important to win of course, but win without controversy and this friend, will justify our way of life to the Chinese.
The Olympics should be without politics and I apologize for making it so, but it’s also important to realize the Chinese do not look at these games the way most of the rest of the world does. The Japanese in the past have referred to China as “the sick men of Asia” and make no mistake; the Chinese government and the determined and self-sacrificing unified nation behind it, have every intention of setting the record straight.
This is without doubt, the most important date in modern Chinese history. With all this said, I pray the best athletes win, regardless of country origin, for that after all, is the true spirit of the Olympics.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Sweating the Goose Creek Trail
I tell folks I ain’t built for speed, but I can still lift heavy stuff, providing I get under it and get a good grip. Actually, this is only partly true, as these days I realize I have little to prove by exhibiting past Herculean effort and never having had a hernia, I figure there is no sense in getting one now. The speed part is totally true, as I have stubby legs and a corpulent girth.
My brutish, but fairly common body build is good for endurance though and this is where I shine, so to speak. It serves me well when I do the stuff I like to do, like hike, stroll, jog, or tote heavy stuff.
Friday morning, I looked out the kitchen window and having watched the weather report the day before, I knew we were heading into another hot and humid Texas day. Male cicadas calling out to each other filled the air and even though I could hear the steady hum of air registers in my air-conditioned home, the tree-crawling bugs trill reminded me of just how much I love to be out in the heat of our summers.
Because we cicadas do their most spirited humming when it is hottest outside, I too began to get the itch to crawl along a trail. Gathering up a full compliment of accouterments and trail gear, I hopped into my fuel-efficient hooptee and drove down to Garth and Decker to walk the Goose Creek Trail. I was still thinking about the cicadas as I entered the trail close to El Toro’s and even though folks around the world regularly eat these fellas, I just could not figure out how I would go about cooking up a mess of those bugs, when the smell of Mexican food around me seemed so much more appetizing.
For starters, each time I walk this trail I pass a couple of cars parked right on the trail behind El Toro’s beside the sign that reads “No Parking at any time” and wonder how this is possible that the owners of the cars feel free to block the trail and ignore the sign. Maybe they are blinded to the sign by visions of delicious food? Who knows – I keep walking.
This particular day, I was on a mission. A mission to walk to Bayland Park and back in the heat and not fall out like a heat-crazed lunatic. It was about 9AM, hot, sunny and humid and I was carrying about 15 pounds of gear, which included 3 pounds of water. I like to carry a lot of stuff when I hike and get a good workout. Some of the stuff I never plan to use, but in the event I need it, I want to have it with me, if you catch my drift.
Behind the old San Jacinto Hospital, I passed a longhaired fellow working the pebbles in the playground area with a metal detector and a sharpshooter shovel. Beep, beep – beeeep! He was finding coins alright, real treasure to be sure and even though he would probably have to find a bag of quarters a number of times to pay for his electronics, I’ve lived long enough to realize the fiscal expenditure is secondary to the amount of joy he probably receives through his hobby.
Now some folks will tell you that any sane person will not be walking, hiking or jogging in the middle of a hot Texas day and they may be right…but, the key is to know your limitations. Just the day before I jogged about 2 miles at 2pm and enjoyed every bit of it, so a 2-hour hike in the heat was within my limits. I read the other day that a certain 1930’s era Texan worked all day, then walked 10 -15 miles to attend a dance, walked home afterward, bathed, grabbed a bite to eat then went back to work. Not me. It passes my limit of endurance.
I set a good 15-minute per mile pace and kept planting the heels of my $22 Payless sneakers. The sweat was flowing and I had a red bandana to mop my face, trying to keep from rubbing the SPF-50 off in the process. Nary a soul did I pass on the trail, which is sad, but just as well, as I am a lone trekker for the most part. I did however scare up a brace of coneys in two locations. Two were cottontails and two were swamp rabbits. They made good company.
The bridge over the slough close to Robert E. Lee high school always has a good variety of shore birds and this day was no exception. The heat was such that they were sluggish and allowed me to get quite close as long as I kept moving along, which I did.
It appears that an industrious city employee on a brush hog cut back and forth all across the trail while cutting the grass and deposited a lot of mud and debris on it and over close to West Main and the icehouse “Softails” the tractor ran slap into a cement drain culvert, knocking it off its pedestal. Pretty sloppy work by that fellow in my opinion, but what do I know, I’m just walking the trail. I’ll drop Scott Johnson an email anyway so some kid doesn’t fall into it.
By the time I arrived at WC Britton Park, the fellow with the metal detector was hard a work over there and we shared pleasantries. Passing through the park, I arrived at Bayland Park and toyed with the idea of walking to the top of the Fred Hartman Bridge again, but passed on the idea as my bandanna was totally soaked and half of my water was depleted, so turning around I retraced my steps.
Another day hike completed and I felt the deep satisfaction I always experience when I push myself to get off my duff and out into the Texas heat.
My brutish, but fairly common body build is good for endurance though and this is where I shine, so to speak. It serves me well when I do the stuff I like to do, like hike, stroll, jog, or tote heavy stuff.
Friday morning, I looked out the kitchen window and having watched the weather report the day before, I knew we were heading into another hot and humid Texas day. Male cicadas calling out to each other filled the air and even though I could hear the steady hum of air registers in my air-conditioned home, the tree-crawling bugs trill reminded me of just how much I love to be out in the heat of our summers.
Because we cicadas do their most spirited humming when it is hottest outside, I too began to get the itch to crawl along a trail. Gathering up a full compliment of accouterments and trail gear, I hopped into my fuel-efficient hooptee and drove down to Garth and Decker to walk the Goose Creek Trail. I was still thinking about the cicadas as I entered the trail close to El Toro’s and even though folks around the world regularly eat these fellas, I just could not figure out how I would go about cooking up a mess of those bugs, when the smell of Mexican food around me seemed so much more appetizing.
For starters, each time I walk this trail I pass a couple of cars parked right on the trail behind El Toro’s beside the sign that reads “No Parking at any time” and wonder how this is possible that the owners of the cars feel free to block the trail and ignore the sign. Maybe they are blinded to the sign by visions of delicious food? Who knows – I keep walking.
This particular day, I was on a mission. A mission to walk to Bayland Park and back in the heat and not fall out like a heat-crazed lunatic. It was about 9AM, hot, sunny and humid and I was carrying about 15 pounds of gear, which included 3 pounds of water. I like to carry a lot of stuff when I hike and get a good workout. Some of the stuff I never plan to use, but in the event I need it, I want to have it with me, if you catch my drift.
Behind the old San Jacinto Hospital, I passed a longhaired fellow working the pebbles in the playground area with a metal detector and a sharpshooter shovel. Beep, beep – beeeep! He was finding coins alright, real treasure to be sure and even though he would probably have to find a bag of quarters a number of times to pay for his electronics, I’ve lived long enough to realize the fiscal expenditure is secondary to the amount of joy he probably receives through his hobby.
Now some folks will tell you that any sane person will not be walking, hiking or jogging in the middle of a hot Texas day and they may be right…but, the key is to know your limitations. Just the day before I jogged about 2 miles at 2pm and enjoyed every bit of it, so a 2-hour hike in the heat was within my limits. I read the other day that a certain 1930’s era Texan worked all day, then walked 10 -15 miles to attend a dance, walked home afterward, bathed, grabbed a bite to eat then went back to work. Not me. It passes my limit of endurance.
I set a good 15-minute per mile pace and kept planting the heels of my $22 Payless sneakers. The sweat was flowing and I had a red bandana to mop my face, trying to keep from rubbing the SPF-50 off in the process. Nary a soul did I pass on the trail, which is sad, but just as well, as I am a lone trekker for the most part. I did however scare up a brace of coneys in two locations. Two were cottontails and two were swamp rabbits. They made good company.
The bridge over the slough close to Robert E. Lee high school always has a good variety of shore birds and this day was no exception. The heat was such that they were sluggish and allowed me to get quite close as long as I kept moving along, which I did.
It appears that an industrious city employee on a brush hog cut back and forth all across the trail while cutting the grass and deposited a lot of mud and debris on it and over close to West Main and the icehouse “Softails” the tractor ran slap into a cement drain culvert, knocking it off its pedestal. Pretty sloppy work by that fellow in my opinion, but what do I know, I’m just walking the trail. I’ll drop Scott Johnson an email anyway so some kid doesn’t fall into it.
By the time I arrived at WC Britton Park, the fellow with the metal detector was hard a work over there and we shared pleasantries. Passing through the park, I arrived at Bayland Park and toyed with the idea of walking to the top of the Fred Hartman Bridge again, but passed on the idea as my bandanna was totally soaked and half of my water was depleted, so turning around I retraced my steps.
Another day hike completed and I felt the deep satisfaction I always experience when I push myself to get off my duff and out into the Texas heat.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Black Duck Bay trail system?
Recently while hiking over the south side of the Fred Hartman bridge, I looked down on the dirt road that envelopes 2 giant retaining ponds and thought how wonderful this would be for Exxon-Mobil to open it for jogging and cycling.
A simple bridge spanning the broken road that used to lead to the tunnel is all that is needed for access.
Update: I think this is worthy of asking ExxonMobil. I am happy to put the question to them; as long as everyone understands that this is not City property and that we are not resourced to police or maintain it should ExxonMobil agree to open it up. Would a citizens group be willing to adopt it and be responsible for its upkeep? Garry Brumback
Update: I was contacted by Russ Roberts (ExxonMobil HR) to discuss the real possibility of making this project a reality. 7-31-08
Saturday, July 26, 2008
What do you want on your Tombstone?
I was driving to work yesterday and as I exited SH-225, I was passed up by a commercial truck with the Pizza slogan "What do you want on your Tombstone?" and I began to ponder this company's slogan and marketing strategy. Now I realize this may be an odd rumination at 3:30am, but nevertheless with my golden years steadily creeping up all over me, I find I do more thinking about the possibility of my own demise than I did as a robust and invincible man of, say forty-five.
What do I want on my tombstone, or rather as my final hurrah? Should I request actual swans be released into the air for my swan song? Do I want an accurate depiction of my life, a flowery tribute with gushing hyperbole, or a gritty tale of exploits and adventures? By the way, while I'm thinking about it, should I go ahead and write it now, so I can be sure I am accurately portrayed?
Here lies Baytown Bert
Our last words together were:
"This won't hurt"
"Are you sure?"
Will I be remembered as "that loudmouthed know-it-all forum-destroying guy" who always wrote in the paper exposing his incorrect and twisted version of wrongdoing and who found fault with everything and everyone? The self-righteous (and dashingly handsome) icon and self-appointed bastion of self-promotion who had no interest in making a contribution to society, but was preoccupied with making a fancy-schmancy name for himself by pointing out everyone else's failures? I hope not, but that would be better than nothing. My apologies to the regular "letters to the editor" contributors if anyone thinks I'm drawing a comparison.
Will someone submit to my stone engraver that I tried to make a difference in a positive way? "He made people stop and think" would be a good one in my book. "He exposed weakness in the system and then suggested a solution" is another that hopefully is accurate. "The man made a positive difference in my life," sounds pretty good. "He sure could whistle" would be a stretch, but would sound nice in the end.
Maybe I could have something humorous like "I told you I was sick!" or "I made an ash of myself". Maybe my bride will finalize my epitaph with a humorous poem:
Here lies my hubby:
Here let him lie!
Now he's at rest
And so am I!
I would like that and it would be partially true too. Sometimes I'm mean to her.
I'm thinking it might be well received if at the foot of my grave I have a pressure plate installed and when some unwitting passerby steps on it, a howl of anguish blasts forth, or maybe an obnoxious flatulence noise would rip through the reverent silence. Now that would be something original. "Ouch! Get off my feet! You're killing me all over again"! Poot!!!
Maybe I could have a loud speaker installed at the cemetery and at the touch of a button a person could hear me read each of my columns in succession, even if it took hours. I guess I should request the cemetery furnish a covered area with ample seating and each article could have a prologue by writer-extraordinaire Jim Finley to give it that extra touch of sober credence.
I might need a very large grave marker, something like those sepulchers over in New Orleans, if I'm going to get everything on there I will need. An extravagant building with lots of room for the many visitors that will come to leave stuff, like old newspaper clippings, photographs and pieces of art - and food for the hereafter, like peppered bacon and stuff. They say the food offerings ease the transition into the cosmos and I wouldn't want to take any chances on being hungry.
Music playing in the background would be a nice touch too, something multiethnic to reflect the diversity of Baytown and maybe an occasional Grito to keep folks moving along and to discourage looters. These kinds of things only work well if folks keep moving. I might have some Baytown Jaycee gospel fiddles too. In between it all, I think there will be room for Pink Floyd and Mean Gene Kelton and the Diehards. The sky is the limit… man.
I might as well set aside a little cash to retain the other Baytown Sun Columnists Jane, Ray, Natalie and Hilda to write at least one column a month (for a few years) mentioning my virtues as a writer and crediting me as their mentor. I figure this will be a welcome and profitable addition to their healthy Baytown Sun monthly stipend.
Last but not least, I would like Wanda Orton to dig up interesting historical facts on my many accomplishments in and around Baytown for a number of years. I want to be remembered with cold hard facts - like the stuff on Wikipedia. Am I asking too much? I don't think so.
What do I want on my tombstone, or rather as my final hurrah? Should I request actual swans be released into the air for my swan song? Do I want an accurate depiction of my life, a flowery tribute with gushing hyperbole, or a gritty tale of exploits and adventures? By the way, while I'm thinking about it, should I go ahead and write it now, so I can be sure I am accurately portrayed?
Here lies Baytown BertOur last words together were:
"This won't hurt"
"Are you sure?"
Will I be remembered as "that loudmouthed know-it-all forum-destroying guy" who always wrote in the paper exposing his incorrect and twisted version of wrongdoing and who found fault with everything and everyone? The self-righteous (and dashingly handsome) icon and self-appointed bastion of self-promotion who had no interest in making a contribution to society, but was preoccupied with making a fancy-schmancy name for himself by pointing out everyone else's failures? I hope not, but that would be better than nothing. My apologies to the regular "letters to the editor" contributors if anyone thinks I'm drawing a comparison.
Will someone submit to my stone engraver that I tried to make a difference in a positive way? "He made people stop and think" would be a good one in my book. "He exposed weakness in the system and then suggested a solution" is another that hopefully is accurate. "The man made a positive difference in my life," sounds pretty good. "He sure could whistle" would be a stretch, but would sound nice in the end.
Maybe I could have something humorous like "I told you I was sick!" or "I made an ash of myself". Maybe my bride will finalize my epitaph with a humorous poem:
Here lies my hubby:
Here let him lie!
Now he's at rest
And so am I!
I would like that and it would be partially true too. Sometimes I'm mean to her.
I'm thinking it might be well received if at the foot of my grave I have a pressure plate installed and when some unwitting passerby steps on it, a howl of anguish blasts forth, or maybe an obnoxious flatulence noise would rip through the reverent silence. Now that would be something original. "Ouch! Get off my feet! You're killing me all over again"! Poot!!!
Maybe I could have a loud speaker installed at the cemetery and at the touch of a button a person could hear me read each of my columns in succession, even if it took hours. I guess I should request the cemetery furnish a covered area with ample seating and each article could have a prologue by writer-extraordinaire Jim Finley to give it that extra touch of sober credence.
I might need a very large grave marker, something like those sepulchers over in New Orleans, if I'm going to get everything on there I will need. An extravagant building with lots of room for the many visitors that will come to leave stuff, like old newspaper clippings, photographs and pieces of art - and food for the hereafter, like peppered bacon and stuff. They say the food offerings ease the transition into the cosmos and I wouldn't want to take any chances on being hungry.
Music playing in the background would be a nice touch too, something multiethnic to reflect the diversity of Baytown and maybe an occasional Grito to keep folks moving along and to discourage looters. These kinds of things only work well if folks keep moving. I might have some Baytown Jaycee gospel fiddles too. In between it all, I think there will be room for Pink Floyd and Mean Gene Kelton and the Diehards. The sky is the limit… man.
I might as well set aside a little cash to retain the other Baytown Sun Columnists Jane, Ray, Natalie and Hilda to write at least one column a month (for a few years) mentioning my virtues as a writer and crediting me as their mentor. I figure this will be a welcome and profitable addition to their healthy Baytown Sun monthly stipend.
Last but not least, I would like Wanda Orton to dig up interesting historical facts on my many accomplishments in and around Baytown for a number of years. I want to be remembered with cold hard facts - like the stuff on Wikipedia. Am I asking too much? I don't think so.
Monday, July 21, 2008
What happened to the Baytown Concerned Citizens group?
Less than a year has passed since planning our first meeting at El Toro's new restaurant and it appears the BCC - Baytown Concerned Citizens, in our zeal to accommodate BPD, has lost track of its original intent. We started out determined to hold the police department management accountable for stemming and controlling crime. We were angry and wanted results.
What we have evolved into, as a group, is a flag-waving patriotic police support group with a quasi-religious zeal instead. Log onto the website designed to report and discuss crime and mildly suggest anything negative concerning the police department, or heckfire - any police department and you will be angrily rebuked, chastised for being unsupportive and your patriotism will be questioned.
What happened? Let's back up to August 11th, 2007 where I wrote: "Citizens are sick and tired of the wave of increasingly violent and bold crime we are experiencing and if there is indeed strife inside the ranks of our police department, it needs to come to a halt immediately. We need cohesion inside BPD for it to be effective, especially at a time like this".
"The goal of Baytown Concerned Citizens will be to work with City Council and the Baytown Police Department to stop crime in its tracks. At no time are we advocating violence or vigilante justice. We are however actively recruiting vigilant and observant citizens, who are willing to make that 911 phone call to stop crime and make our city a place felons are reluctant to visit".
I want to go on record right off the bat and say I am in full support of our police department and in all fairness; they are working their hocks off to provide a secure city. Captain David Alford and I are in frequent communication and he is very sincere in his efforts towards satisfying our crime watch group. However, history is full of examples that police departments are at their best when citizen groups hold them accountable and sometimes that means criticizing them. My complaint today is more about us citizens, then about BPD.
For this growing city to prosper, we citizens must be vigilant and do our part to maintain and abide by its laws. That's a given. We must police our own actions, by stopping at stop signs, driving the speed limit and calling 911 when we see something amiss. Don't scream foul when a cop gives you a ticket because you did not come to a complete halt before you turned right on red, or failed to strap your kids down while driving. You broke the law and it's their job and duty to enforce the law.
One year ago, I made many Baytonians very angry when I headed up the first town meeting to confront the police department and ask them why crime was out of control. The reason I made citizens madder (they were already mad at the police's inability to stop crime) is because I asked everyone to write down their complaints and I would post them on the Web AND give the police department time to post a response, instead of blind-siding them with angry verbal outbursts.
I stated over and over that our intent was to work with the police department through the formation of crime prevention groups, but we had every intention of holding them responsible in the future. Our defense against crime is to make phone calls – as many as it takes. Nothing has changed in our strategy.
Now granted, there has been major changes in the police department in the last year and I'm convinced it will take time for all the changes to iron out and all the vacancies filled, however the general attitude of the BCC group has changed from a group of citizens holding their police department accountable to one of a grandstand full of cheerleaders.
At the original town meeting Barrett Goldsmith quoted me as saying: "We don't care how we got here. What we care about it how to get us out of here, If there have been problems at City Hall or the police department, we don't care about it. We want to fix it. We're not going for a long-term score; we just want to get the ball rolling. We've done it in the most civil way possible, but we really do need some answers."
We still need answers and we can't get them if we are eating at the table of those we should be holding accountable. We cannot get so involved in the inner workings of the police department, or so chummy that we become critical of anyone who asks for accountability. We still don't care if the police department is understaffed – that is not our problem. Fix it. We do not want to hear that our crime watch group is calling too often and bleeding off resources – we just want it fixed. Nothing has changed in our strategy.
Last year I met with Charles "T-Bone" Schaffer and gladly listened closely to his advice and there was talk at the time of bringing him into the BCC leadership as an advisor, however, I was against it and told him I could not see it happening, as he was obviously pro-police biased and there may come a time when the citizens would have to be critical of the police. I consider him a friend and I listen whenever he talks.
Over and over the message generated by the police department and myself has been personal accountability in our own behavior and at our homes if we want to stem crime. We are told to organize crime watch groups and call, call and call again whenever anything is suspect. Our neighborhood, Chaparral Village has taken this to heart and we have a large active group who communicate on a mailing list. We drive our streets at night, see stuff and phone it in.
Over the last 10 months, we have been very vocal online and to the news media about our drag racing, street racing or just fast car driving problem and almost everyone has heard about it. Some of the racers live in this neighborhood, but many do not. Word on the street is we are simply crying wolf and that we really don't have much more than exaggerated hysterics going on here by a couple of individuals, even to the point where an officer responding to the deadly crash of a 34 year old man on a high-speed motorcycle implied we CV residents were leaching off assets over our constant whining.
I sarcastically semi-quoted our police chief (from a Baytown Sun article) on the crime watch website "Of course, we don't really have a racing problem in CV, just some high school kids celebrating school being let out" and one of our police officers responded "Looks like someone is trying to capitalize on a tragedy to satisfy their own agenda" and this, fellow Baytown Concerned Citizens is an example of how the BCC crime website has been turned into nothing more than a place where only high-fiving our police department is acceptable and has lost all objectivity in my book.
I am all but through posting on this web site and recently told the Webmaster (and original "Fab 5" leader) the reasons for my reticence was the web site's obvious deviation from the original intent. We citizens need to do our part and for the most part, we are, but we also need a web site that remains objective and which holds our public servants accountable.
Many of us are exasperated and frustrated over something as criminally innocuous as racing (and tragically deadly) and we are told to call and call and call and if that is our only recourse, then we do not want to hear an officer suggest we are stripping the available police department resources with our many calls. We will not take matters into our own hands, so if we need more cops, then dagnabit, we need to get more. Nothing has changed in our strategy.
What we have evolved into, as a group, is a flag-waving patriotic police support group with a quasi-religious zeal instead. Log onto the website designed to report and discuss crime and mildly suggest anything negative concerning the police department, or heckfire - any police department and you will be angrily rebuked, chastised for being unsupportive and your patriotism will be questioned.
What happened? Let's back up to August 11th, 2007 where I wrote: "Citizens are sick and tired of the wave of increasingly violent and bold crime we are experiencing and if there is indeed strife inside the ranks of our police department, it needs to come to a halt immediately. We need cohesion inside BPD for it to be effective, especially at a time like this".
"The goal of Baytown Concerned Citizens will be to work with City Council and the Baytown Police Department to stop crime in its tracks. At no time are we advocating violence or vigilante justice. We are however actively recruiting vigilant and observant citizens, who are willing to make that 911 phone call to stop crime and make our city a place felons are reluctant to visit".
I want to go on record right off the bat and say I am in full support of our police department and in all fairness; they are working their hocks off to provide a secure city. Captain David Alford and I are in frequent communication and he is very sincere in his efforts towards satisfying our crime watch group. However, history is full of examples that police departments are at their best when citizen groups hold them accountable and sometimes that means criticizing them. My complaint today is more about us citizens, then about BPD.
For this growing city to prosper, we citizens must be vigilant and do our part to maintain and abide by its laws. That's a given. We must police our own actions, by stopping at stop signs, driving the speed limit and calling 911 when we see something amiss. Don't scream foul when a cop gives you a ticket because you did not come to a complete halt before you turned right on red, or failed to strap your kids down while driving. You broke the law and it's their job and duty to enforce the law.
One year ago, I made many Baytonians very angry when I headed up the first town meeting to confront the police department and ask them why crime was out of control. The reason I made citizens madder (they were already mad at the police's inability to stop crime) is because I asked everyone to write down their complaints and I would post them on the Web AND give the police department time to post a response, instead of blind-siding them with angry verbal outbursts.
I stated over and over that our intent was to work with the police department through the formation of crime prevention groups, but we had every intention of holding them responsible in the future. Our defense against crime is to make phone calls – as many as it takes. Nothing has changed in our strategy.
Now granted, there has been major changes in the police department in the last year and I'm convinced it will take time for all the changes to iron out and all the vacancies filled, however the general attitude of the BCC group has changed from a group of citizens holding their police department accountable to one of a grandstand full of cheerleaders.
At the original town meeting Barrett Goldsmith quoted me as saying: "We don't care how we got here. What we care about it how to get us out of here, If there have been problems at City Hall or the police department, we don't care about it. We want to fix it. We're not going for a long-term score; we just want to get the ball rolling. We've done it in the most civil way possible, but we really do need some answers."
We still need answers and we can't get them if we are eating at the table of those we should be holding accountable. We cannot get so involved in the inner workings of the police department, or so chummy that we become critical of anyone who asks for accountability. We still don't care if the police department is understaffed – that is not our problem. Fix it. We do not want to hear that our crime watch group is calling too often and bleeding off resources – we just want it fixed. Nothing has changed in our strategy.
Last year I met with Charles "T-Bone" Schaffer and gladly listened closely to his advice and there was talk at the time of bringing him into the BCC leadership as an advisor, however, I was against it and told him I could not see it happening, as he was obviously pro-police biased and there may come a time when the citizens would have to be critical of the police. I consider him a friend and I listen whenever he talks.
Over and over the message generated by the police department and myself has been personal accountability in our own behavior and at our homes if we want to stem crime. We are told to organize crime watch groups and call, call and call again whenever anything is suspect. Our neighborhood, Chaparral Village has taken this to heart and we have a large active group who communicate on a mailing list. We drive our streets at night, see stuff and phone it in.
Over the last 10 months, we have been very vocal online and to the news media about our drag racing, street racing or just fast car driving problem and almost everyone has heard about it. Some of the racers live in this neighborhood, but many do not. Word on the street is we are simply crying wolf and that we really don't have much more than exaggerated hysterics going on here by a couple of individuals, even to the point where an officer responding to the deadly crash of a 34 year old man on a high-speed motorcycle implied we CV residents were leaching off assets over our constant whining.
I sarcastically semi-quoted our police chief (from a Baytown Sun article) on the crime watch website "Of course, we don't really have a racing problem in CV, just some high school kids celebrating school being let out" and one of our police officers responded "Looks like someone is trying to capitalize on a tragedy to satisfy their own agenda" and this, fellow Baytown Concerned Citizens is an example of how the BCC crime website has been turned into nothing more than a place where only high-fiving our police department is acceptable and has lost all objectivity in my book.
I am all but through posting on this web site and recently told the Webmaster (and original "Fab 5" leader) the reasons for my reticence was the web site's obvious deviation from the original intent. We citizens need to do our part and for the most part, we are, but we also need a web site that remains objective and which holds our public servants accountable.
Many of us are exasperated and frustrated over something as criminally innocuous as racing (and tragically deadly) and we are told to call and call and call and if that is our only recourse, then we do not want to hear an officer suggest we are stripping the available police department resources with our many calls. We will not take matters into our own hands, so if we need more cops, then dagnabit, we need to get more. Nothing has changed in our strategy.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Residents say fatal crash bound to happen
By Kari Griffin
Baytown Sun
Published July 19, 2008
Some Chaparral Village residents who haven’t witnessed the “racing” reported by their neighbors insisted the mountain of an issue was merely a molehill.
But the folks keeping watch at night, writing down license plate numbers and following “racers” to their hangout predicted Thursday’s fatal accident months ago.
This was bound to happen, they just didn’t know when, residents said.
Around 9:20 p.m. Thursday, a Packsaddle resident called 911 to report that a motorcyclist had driven through a wooden fence and into a backyard. The man, 34-year-old Baytown resident Christopher Ramon Shaw, was unconscious — his leg torn off.
Life Flight was contacted and en route when Baytown police officers arrived at the gruesome scene and found that Shaw was dead.
Skid marks are visible two blocks away from the fence Shaw struck when he lost control of the 2008 blue Yamaha R1 he was driving westbound in the 1300 block of Packsaddle Lane. Shaw was separated from his bike and found some distance past the fence of the corner house, one of three homes sitting where Chaparral Drive curves into Packsaddle.
Lt. Eric Freed of the Baytown Police Department said the preliminary accident investigation reveals, “speed was a factor in this accident.”
Officers estimated that the helmet-less Shaw was traveling at about 100 mph when he crashed the vehicle. Shaw was also operating the motorcycle, (which neighbors say he didn’t own), illegally.
“He should not have been operating the motorcycle without a Class-M endorsement,” which he did not have, Freed said.
Freed also confirmed that not only was Shaw not the registered owner of the motorcycle he was operating, the Baytown man was driving with a suspended license.
Shaw’s driving privileges were taken away after he was found driving without insurance and without a valid license.
Freed said Shaw had an “extensive driving history” that included 36 entries on his license – meaning documentation such as citations and notices of surcharges or various infractions.
“It’s a lot more than usual,” Freed said. “Driving histories don’t usually have this many entries.”
Freed could not confirm that Shaw had been reported racing in Chaparral Village, or that the accident was connected to the reported street-racing, but residents who have been keeping track of the activity believe Shaw was the first Chaparral street-racing victim.
Chaparral Village resident Barbara Deanda, who has witnessed the “street-racing,” was at the fatal scene.
“He was racing,” Deanda said. “He wasn’t racing anybody,” but he was racing just the same.
Since summer started, Chaparral residents have hosted meetings to address the street-racing situation. When they see it going on, they call the police.
But by the time officers get there, the racers are long gone.
“It’s horrendous,” Deanda said of the racing problem. “We have all said that it’s an accident waiting to happen.”
Resident Tom Cottar has also watched as vehicles ignore stop signs and travel through the residential area at high speed, and was disappointed by the lack of support citizens have had in ending the dangerous activity.
Those trying to fight the problem have said all along that somebody was going to get killed, Cottar said.
Other residents said they feel the issue has been “played-down” and they’ve been treated as though they were crying wolf.
But in many of their minds, the odds of someone dying as a result of the “racing” were so high that Shaw’s death, while tragic, really came as no surprise. This tragedy is what residents have feared since they first started losing sleep from sounds of screeching tires nearly a year ago.
“Maybe now they’ll believe us,” Deanda said.
Baytown Sun
Published July 19, 2008
Some Chaparral Village residents who haven’t witnessed the “racing” reported by their neighbors insisted the mountain of an issue was merely a molehill.
But the folks keeping watch at night, writing down license plate numbers and following “racers” to their hangout predicted Thursday’s fatal accident months ago.
This was bound to happen, they just didn’t know when, residents said.
Around 9:20 p.m. Thursday, a Packsaddle resident called 911 to report that a motorcyclist had driven through a wooden fence and into a backyard. The man, 34-year-old Baytown resident Christopher Ramon Shaw, was unconscious — his leg torn off.
Life Flight was contacted and en route when Baytown police officers arrived at the gruesome scene and found that Shaw was dead.
Skid marks are visible two blocks away from the fence Shaw struck when he lost control of the 2008 blue Yamaha R1 he was driving westbound in the 1300 block of Packsaddle Lane. Shaw was separated from his bike and found some distance past the fence of the corner house, one of three homes sitting where Chaparral Drive curves into Packsaddle.
Lt. Eric Freed of the Baytown Police Department said the preliminary accident investigation reveals, “speed was a factor in this accident.”
Officers estimated that the helmet-less Shaw was traveling at about 100 mph when he crashed the vehicle. Shaw was also operating the motorcycle, (which neighbors say he didn’t own), illegally.
“He should not have been operating the motorcycle without a Class-M endorsement,” which he did not have, Freed said.
Freed also confirmed that not only was Shaw not the registered owner of the motorcycle he was operating, the Baytown man was driving with a suspended license.
Shaw’s driving privileges were taken away after he was found driving without insurance and without a valid license.
Freed said Shaw had an “extensive driving history” that included 36 entries on his license – meaning documentation such as citations and notices of surcharges or various infractions.
“It’s a lot more than usual,” Freed said. “Driving histories don’t usually have this many entries.”
Freed could not confirm that Shaw had been reported racing in Chaparral Village, or that the accident was connected to the reported street-racing, but residents who have been keeping track of the activity believe Shaw was the first Chaparral street-racing victim.
Chaparral Village resident Barbara Deanda, who has witnessed the “street-racing,” was at the fatal scene.
“He was racing,” Deanda said. “He wasn’t racing anybody,” but he was racing just the same.
Since summer started, Chaparral residents have hosted meetings to address the street-racing situation. When they see it going on, they call the police.
But by the time officers get there, the racers are long gone.
“It’s horrendous,” Deanda said of the racing problem. “We have all said that it’s an accident waiting to happen.”
Resident Tom Cottar has also watched as vehicles ignore stop signs and travel through the residential area at high speed, and was disappointed by the lack of support citizens have had in ending the dangerous activity.
Those trying to fight the problem have said all along that somebody was going to get killed, Cottar said.
Other residents said they feel the issue has been “played-down” and they’ve been treated as though they were crying wolf.
But in many of their minds, the odds of someone dying as a result of the “racing” were so high that Shaw’s death, while tragic, really came as no surprise. This tragedy is what residents have feared since they first started losing sleep from sounds of screeching tires nearly a year ago.
“Maybe now they’ll believe us,” Deanda said.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Being dubbed my Dauber name
Last week I told you a little about Ken "the Dauber" Pridgeon and how he exited the Air Force and began painting billboards to make ends meet. This week, I once again sat down with Ken at his studio – KTD Signs on Morrell Street and we dug a little deeper into his passion, which is, of course – painting and painting he does well. He had just put the finishing touches (dauber-style) on his story of struggle and armed conflict, covering the wounding of Sgt. Nick Marshall in the war torn hell of Iraq and we discussed the future of art in Baytown.
This finishes up a two-part story on Ken, but hopefully the best part of his story is yet to be told.
"Many good artists lost their lives on those billboards and this story is just one of many and probably won't help anyone remember the loss. Anyway, I was fortunate to end up with my own sign business and in fact, quite a few businesses altogether. You see I am a good designer, but not a good businessman. (Ken laughs) Somehow I've stayed in business over thirty years, starting with lettering on barges for Hollywood Marine.
Here I was, more artist, than athlete, in another hazardous job! Each day, I would ride a tug out into the Gulf. They would hang me over the side and I would commence to letter those barges, waves lapping up around me. It was good money and I kind of felt like my own boss, but one day I lettered a barge and the thing blew up the next day, letting me know that this was as dangerous as billboard painting. That helped me make up my mind to try something else.
So here I go lettering helicopter pads on offshore oil platforms for my next adventure. The crew loved the fact that I could custom letter logos and all kinds of things. One day I was painting a landing pad with a heavy brush – daubing, as the material was thick and had sand in it to keep the helicopters from sliding off into the Gulf. Mr. Powell of Powell Industries watched me working and asked why I painted like that and I explained the only way to make the paint stick was to daub it on. He laughed and told me from this day forward, he was christening me "Ken the Dauber" and well, the name stuck.
Forty years have passed and I made some good and some bad business decisions, but I've continued to learn and paint and these days I'm solid as steel in my desire to teach budding artists and continue my own education. I just want to be a fine arts painter and have folks stop and stare at my art and the stories each one tells. I am so truly blessed to get up each day and paint. Someone mentioned that I may get rich from my paintings and I just looked them in the eye and said - I already am. Each day I can paint makes my life richer.
Enter the Baytown Art League and Baytown's rich history. City Council has purchased a wonderful building at 110 Texas Avenue for us to have an Art Gallery and School and now it is up to us to justify their faith in us as artists, photographers and anyone who loves art.
I am just a paint dauber, but as I've said, it's my dream to grow into a fine arts painter. One time I heard that there are over a thousand styles of painting and I think I know about 300 of them and I want to learn more. I want to share knowledge and we seasoned artists want to paint our knowledge onto the canvas' of young artists minds. That is what the Art League is all about – sharing. Artists, painters and photographers sharing technique, ideas, experience and the simply joy of our individual artistic endeavors.
With our new building at 110 Texas Avenue we have room to grow. All we need are budding artists. Membership is very reasonably priced and yes, we will gladly accept any and all help we can get to make our new building represent the future generations of artists. We need folks to join and we need a little help from those who are supportive. In fact, a membership would make a wonderful gift for someone you love.
I'm just a dauber, but I want to thank our city council for making this dream come true. I was at one of the town meetings and I'm sure it wasn't easy bringing everyone into agreement on this project, but I know why they did it – to preserve our history through developing the artistic abilities of our budding artists, young and old(er). Our developing artists will record tomorrow's memories, but first we must make a platform for them to grow.
It's my personal dream to paint a large multi-pane mural of the history of Baytown and I am asking to copy any and all old photos that showed the Tri-City area of Pelly, Goose Creek, New Town, Wooster, Baytown and Cedar Bayou, to name a few. I can be reached by phone at 832-514-1452. Come on by for a visit".
Sunday, July 13, 2008
My Life As A Billboard Artist
I met Ken "the Dauber" Pridgeon this year at the Baytown Fine Rides car show on Texas Avenue. He was seated comfortably on a folding chair, artist's pad on his lap, doing what he does – sketching in preparation to paint. He's a friendly, approachable artist, humble man, avid teacher and a local treasure, to be sure.
Recently Ken and I met at Starbucks on Garth road to discuss his painting depicting Iraqi Freedom Purple Heart Recipient, Sgt. Nick Marshall and "Dauber" in his usual entertaining and charming way began to expand on this particular painting's" story. Ken is a passionate veteran artist and his visions come to life in his paintings. This is his two-part story in his own words and his emotion-laden telling brought tears to our eyes.
"Well, I started out as simply Ken Pridgeon, USAF 10 years - electronics technician and artist to the boys. You see we didn't have color photographs in 1953 so I would make Sepia tone wedding pictures into color photos for the guys wives and families when I was in Germany. I was 17 years old and it seems like yesterday that I spent my 21st birthday in Paris, France - bleep! (Editors note: He laughed at this point)
I got out of the Air Force in 1963 and did not know how to talk civilian. I must skip some things and go straight to what I had dreamed of doing, from when I did my first sketch – become a billboard artist (be careful what you wish for!). My first day painting, (wow, what a day!) they put me on a ball hanging from a crane, with a 25-pound hook on each shoulder and hoisted me up 75 feet to the top of a billboard over on I-45. Let me explain, normally, instead of hooking onto the painter, they put the hooks 20 feet apart on each side of the boardwalk and hung what was known as "Falls" onto them, so we could pull the "Stage" which was another word for the walk-board that painters pulled up to stand on, while they laid out the sign.
We painted automobiles, cigarettes packs, whiskey bottles, Marlboro cowboys and waterfalls for Kool cigarettes. We also did all the Old Grandad whiskey ads. Every year we painted the new automobile billboards and nobody even knew we were there or cared and we painters got zero recognition for laying our lives on the line every day. We were invisible in our trade and the hazards were many. We painted one billboard each day for about $7 an hour. It was dangerous work and we lost many good artists in the time I was painting billboards due to fatal and crippling falling accidents and it was quietly talked about in hush tones by us painters and then hidden away in the backs of our minds.
If people are interested in why I paint so rough I guess it is because we painted up 65-feet above the ground using rags for brushes. Grabbing a rag from the box we'd just daub onto the red, black and yellow paint for the wood grain backgrounds. We would mix up a good background color on the rag and go horizontally across the board wiggling as we went for the wood grain, then daub into the black and red for the knotholes. You get the idea.
For the Kool cigarette waterfall we would do almost the same thing except use the blue, white, and tallow to make the pretty water bubbles and pat-pat-pat for the foam at the bottom. By the way, we were good artists! When it was raining, we would paint the signs inside with brushes because "the bid boys" (sponsors) were watching. We painted some fine portraits of the Mist Scotch girls and the KIKK disk jockeys and people running for mayor and other political offices.
Well, I did this for a few years and even bought a family plot at the cemetery so my folks would have a place to put me. There were so many ways for a person to lose their life doing this kind of work and I didn't want to be a financial burden if I fell. The biggest problem with working up high like that is even if a bomb goes off under you, you have to stay focused on what you are doing or you will over react and if you do - you are a goner. Speaking of distractions, the day I finally quit painting billboards, I was working my way around a monster-sized billboard staying real close to it, as it is a very narrow walk board up there. I startled a pigeon nesting under the board. He flew up through my jacket and out under my chin with lots of flapping, flopping, and scratching. I looked down 65 foot to the railroad tracks below and of course it could have been a feather bed and I would not have survived the fall. To make a long story shorter, I climbed down thanking the Lord for every step and went home never to return to the dangers of being a billboard artist".
Note: Next week Ken will tell us about his "Dauber" nickname, his dreams about teaching young artists and the future of the Baytown Art League's new building on Texas Avenue.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Motorcycles or Mobile Organ Donors?
I was driving home from work this past Saturday, July 5th, enjoying the slower freeway speeds that the weekend's pokier pace allows and saw a sight that raised the hair on my neck. I literally said "Oh, my God" for a full minute afterward.
I was heading north on SH-146, still referred to as "the Loop" by us Baytonians and was closing on West Main when out of the corner of my eye, I spied a Café Racer-type motorcycle heading south on the far lane opposite the north side. These bikes are made for speed and are more commonly known as "Crotch-Rockets" or "Mobile Organ Donors" and for good reason.
According to the Snell Memorial Foundation, a nonprofit, helmet-safety organization, the risk of death per vehicle mile is about 20 times higher for motorcyclists than for passenger-car occupants in a traffic accident and that is precisely why I sold my last bike, way back in 1981. My wife announced that we were going to have a baby and I did not want my family to be fatherless.
I love motorcycles as much as the next person and I still dream of the day when I buy another one, but there is going to have to be a change in a number of areas before I buy another bike. Anyway, back to my story.
The Racer was crossing the southbound side of SH-146 over West Main and was going fast enough that his bike was at an extreme angle. I remember the fellow was dressed in what appeared to be full black leathers and he had a helmet on also, in case anyone wondered. I looked out my left drivers window to get a better look at him, but he had overtaken and was passing a full-sized pick-up, so the truck blocked my view of him. This made me realize he was most likely going even faster than I previously thought.
Seconds passed and as I approached the West Main overpass, I looked in my side mirror (the traffic on my side was very light) just in time to see the racer over-correct from the curve, cross his lane and come close to the shoulder and in this particular place there is a severe twelve inch road hump on the shoulder. He clipped this road hump and the bounce sent his legs up over his head in a wildly out of control flailing motion. The bike went into a semi high-speed wobble and somehow, the Racer maintained contact with both hands to the handlebars.
What happened next and all of this took place inside a ten second timeframe, was nothing short of a miracle. The fellow, somehow, landed squarely back onto the seat and the bike continued on towards the Missouri Street overpass. I was onto the West Main overpass by this time and lost sight of the situation, but am confident the rider did not lose control, but was able to stop and assess the damage, or continue on.
I however, continued to replay the scene over and over in my head and mutter "Oh my God" for a while yet. Now, I can't speak for the Café Racer rider, but let me say that seeing one of these incidents on television or the Internet puts us in the spectator seat and we can watch and re-watch these wrecks and calamities with amusement and relative safety, but seeing it in real life is a different story.
It shook me up a bit. It made me examine my own driving habits and yes, my mortality. If that guy would have hit that road hump in a small compact car, he would have suffered nothing more than a blown tire or a misaligned front end and that is about it.
By the way, I am going to approach the State to remove that hump as soon as possible. I took a good look at it the next day on my way to work and it is covered with rubber and scrape marks.
If I were that young man, I think I would realize I had just burned one of my lives and park that bike or sell it. I think he would make a trip to his church's altar and rededicate himself to the Lord or at the very least, purchase one lottery ticket on the Mega Millions – something!
Personally, I do not believe in luck, but I do believe in divine providence, so I would take this incident as a signal to recommit myself to making wiser decisions while driving and if I did keep the bike, I would surely begin riding it at a reasonable and safer speed.
Bob Leiper, Assistant City Manager took it upon himself to follow through on getting the State of Texas to remove this hazard. Today, July 29, 2008 TXDOT removed the hump and my hat is off to Bob and Garry Brumback for going down there and marking it so the State could find it.
Thank you also TXDOT for making this a priority.
I was heading north on SH-146, still referred to as "the Loop" by us Baytonians and was closing on West Main when out of the corner of my eye, I spied a Café Racer-type motorcycle heading south on the far lane opposite the north side. These bikes are made for speed and are more commonly known as "Crotch-Rockets" or "Mobile Organ Donors" and for good reason.
According to the Snell Memorial Foundation, a nonprofit, helmet-safety organization, the risk of death per vehicle mile is about 20 times higher for motorcyclists than for passenger-car occupants in a traffic accident and that is precisely why I sold my last bike, way back in 1981. My wife announced that we were going to have a baby and I did not want my family to be fatherless.I love motorcycles as much as the next person and I still dream of the day when I buy another one, but there is going to have to be a change in a number of areas before I buy another bike. Anyway, back to my story.
The Racer was crossing the southbound side of SH-146 over West Main and was going fast enough that his bike was at an extreme angle. I remember the fellow was dressed in what appeared to be full black leathers and he had a helmet on also, in case anyone wondered. I looked out my left drivers window to get a better look at him, but he had overtaken and was passing a full-sized pick-up, so the truck blocked my view of him. This made me realize he was most likely going even faster than I previously thought.
Seconds passed and as I approached the West Main overpass, I looked in my side mirror (the traffic on my side was very light) just in time to see the racer over-correct from the curve, cross his lane and come close to the shoulder and in this particular place there is a severe twelve inch road hump on the shoulder. He clipped this road hump and the bounce sent his legs up over his head in a wildly out of control flailing motion. The bike went into a semi high-speed wobble and somehow, the Racer maintained contact with both hands to the handlebars.
What happened next and all of this took place inside a ten second timeframe, was nothing short of a miracle. The fellow, somehow, landed squarely back onto the seat and the bike continued on towards the Missouri Street overpass. I was onto the West Main overpass by this time and lost sight of the situation, but am confident the rider did not lose control, but was able to stop and assess the damage, or continue on.
I however, continued to replay the scene over and over in my head and mutter "Oh my God" for a while yet. Now, I can't speak for the Café Racer rider, but let me say that seeing one of these incidents on television or the Internet puts us in the spectator seat and we can watch and re-watch these wrecks and calamities with amusement and relative safety, but seeing it in real life is a different story.It shook me up a bit. It made me examine my own driving habits and yes, my mortality. If that guy would have hit that road hump in a small compact car, he would have suffered nothing more than a blown tire or a misaligned front end and that is about it.
By the way, I am going to approach the State to remove that hump as soon as possible. I took a good look at it the next day on my way to work and it is covered with rubber and scrape marks.
If I were that young man, I think I would realize I had just burned one of my lives and park that bike or sell it. I think he would make a trip to his church's altar and rededicate himself to the Lord or at the very least, purchase one lottery ticket on the Mega Millions – something!
Personally, I do not believe in luck, but I do believe in divine providence, so I would take this incident as a signal to recommit myself to making wiser decisions while driving and if I did keep the bike, I would surely begin riding it at a reasonable and safer speed.
Bob Leiper, Assistant City Manager took it upon himself to follow through on getting the State of Texas to remove this hazard. Today, July 29, 2008 TXDOT removed the hump and my hat is off to Bob and Garry Brumback for going down there and marking it so the State could find it.
Thank you also TXDOT for making this a priority.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Can you hear me now?
Want to shed about forty pounds of ugly fat in time for Christmas, quit smoking in one hour, or run a 10K race in say - a month? Well in the near future, you'll simply make a trip to your doctor to begin the process of getting a neural implant. A neural implant - what the heck is that? Will it hurt? What if I don't have a neural?
Brain or neural implants, are technological devices or chips that connect directly to your brain - usually placed on the surface of the brain, or attached to the brain's cortex. Properly programmed this will allow us to lose weight safely and without discomfort. We're talking day surgery, so hey! It's no big deal folks and is the next rage - like steroids, except legal. All aboard!
Say you have a real everyday craving for the bane of all fun loving eaters – sweet glazed Honeybuns, but a little tweaking of the programmable chip and all desire for that sugary delight is gone. I'll ask that my chip have a back-up battery and will top out at 1500 consumed calories per day max. Why not? I've got the flabby glutes to spare and if later on after I look like a professional body builder, I might ask that they shut it off, so I can pig out again. Presto change-o!
I can hear Granny Adcox now: "By the way, Baytown Bert, I hear they are running a special on chips next month – buy three for the price of two and get free tweaks for the next 6 months – no extra charge! Fire up my Rambler"!
Folks might as well get the exercise chip while at the doc's office and the stop smoking/drinking/addiction chip will be free! Insurance will cover 80% of it and after all, it's about time we changed our lifestyle to match our new awesome bionic selves.
Programming will be completely painless and administered wirelessly and have built-in safeguards to keep us from abusing ourselves, not that you and I would. I mean, some of us would go on a 25 calorie a day diet, run 100 miles the first day and give up who knows what if it were left strictly up to us. We'll have to have adult supervision with all this technology – but it will be worth it!
So what if you enjoy that ice cold 24 ounce can of Foster's beer after a hard day laboring over a paperclip at your desk, but have trouble cutting it off after two, or four? Well, there's hope for you too my Aussie beer-swigging friend. Have them adjust your chip so the first one is enough. It's just going to be that danged easy mate.
Worried about Alzheimer's? No misremembering in your future. You don't have to have Roger Clemen's money to get the memory chip and for a small additional fee, the good doctor will upload the Encyclopedia Britannica or if you are not a purist, Wikipedia, pictures and videos free gratis. They may even throw in your old High School annual photos so you can shine at the next reunion.
Hearing not what it used to be, eh? An adjustable range cochlear implant will allow you to hear stuff old Fideaux would envy. A trip to Uruku Salon to remove all those bushy ear hairs afterward and you'll hear like a 12 year old again! Treat yourself to a new "Do" while you're there, because baby, the new you deserves it.
Don't want to shrink in stature as you age, and folks confuse you for Yoda, because of osteoporosis? Well, who does? The vitamin/mineral implant that came as a bonus to your "new eyes" day surgery carefully monitors your blood and bone content to alert your dietary neural implant to have you crave the stuff your body needs, so like the memory chip – forget it! You're covered my friend - stand tall.
The "New Eyes" lens implant with GPS capabilities and night vision ocular elements are a real blessing and since we live in bright and shiny Baytown, Texas the extra money spent for the "multiple shade adjuster" make sunglasses so last century and now you can change eye color to match your outfit. Free shoes with every purchase!
The new Tongue Drive system lets persons with disabilities operate powered wheelchairs, computers, automobiles and lead lives free of last year's problems. The system uses a rice-grain-sized magnet implanted in or attached to the tongue. Movement of the magnet is detected by an array of magnetic field sensors mounted on a headset outside the mouth or on an orthodontic brace inside the mouth. Thank you Georgia Institute of Technology.
Tired of those mood swings associated with road rage, PMS, anxiety, anger and stress? Put down the 9 iron and get the Doc to write a prescription for the Intel-based mood chip. If you think America's Funniest Home Videos is funny now, just wait!
You may have to get the bladder-control chip…
Brain or neural implants, are technological devices or chips that connect directly to your brain - usually placed on the surface of the brain, or attached to the brain's cortex. Properly programmed this will allow us to lose weight safely and without discomfort. We're talking day surgery, so hey! It's no big deal folks and is the next rage - like steroids, except legal. All aboard!Say you have a real everyday craving for the bane of all fun loving eaters – sweet glazed Honeybuns, but a little tweaking of the programmable chip and all desire for that sugary delight is gone. I'll ask that my chip have a back-up battery and will top out at 1500 consumed calories per day max. Why not? I've got the flabby glutes to spare and if later on after I look like a professional body builder, I might ask that they shut it off, so I can pig out again. Presto change-o!
I can hear Granny Adcox now: "By the way, Baytown Bert, I hear they are running a special on chips next month – buy three for the price of two and get free tweaks for the next 6 months – no extra charge! Fire up my Rambler"!
Folks might as well get the exercise chip while at the doc's office and the stop smoking/drinking/addiction chip will be free! Insurance will cover 80% of it and after all, it's about time we changed our lifestyle to match our new awesome bionic selves.
Programming will be completely painless and administered wirelessly and have built-in safeguards to keep us from abusing ourselves, not that you and I would. I mean, some of us would go on a 25 calorie a day diet, run 100 miles the first day and give up who knows what if it were left strictly up to us. We'll have to have adult supervision with all this technology – but it will be worth it!
So what if you enjoy that ice cold 24 ounce can of Foster's beer after a hard day laboring over a paperclip at your desk, but have trouble cutting it off after two, or four? Well, there's hope for you too my Aussie beer-swigging friend. Have them adjust your chip so the first one is enough. It's just going to be that danged easy mate.
Worried about Alzheimer's? No misremembering in your future. You don't have to have Roger Clemen's money to get the memory chip and for a small additional fee, the good doctor will upload the Encyclopedia Britannica or if you are not a purist, Wikipedia, pictures and videos free gratis. They may even throw in your old High School annual photos so you can shine at the next reunion.
Hearing not what it used to be, eh? An adjustable range cochlear implant will allow you to hear stuff old Fideaux would envy. A trip to Uruku Salon to remove all those bushy ear hairs afterward and you'll hear like a 12 year old again! Treat yourself to a new "Do" while you're there, because baby, the new you deserves it.
Don't want to shrink in stature as you age, and folks confuse you for Yoda, because of osteoporosis? Well, who does? The vitamin/mineral implant that came as a bonus to your "new eyes" day surgery carefully monitors your blood and bone content to alert your dietary neural implant to have you crave the stuff your body needs, so like the memory chip – forget it! You're covered my friend - stand tall.
The "New Eyes" lens implant with GPS capabilities and night vision ocular elements are a real blessing and since we live in bright and shiny Baytown, Texas the extra money spent for the "multiple shade adjuster" make sunglasses so last century and now you can change eye color to match your outfit. Free shoes with every purchase!
The new Tongue Drive system lets persons with disabilities operate powered wheelchairs, computers, automobiles and lead lives free of last year's problems. The system uses a rice-grain-sized magnet implanted in or attached to the tongue. Movement of the magnet is detected by an array of magnetic field sensors mounted on a headset outside the mouth or on an orthodontic brace inside the mouth. Thank you Georgia Institute of Technology.
Tired of those mood swings associated with road rage, PMS, anxiety, anger and stress? Put down the 9 iron and get the Doc to write a prescription for the Intel-based mood chip. If you think America's Funniest Home Videos is funny now, just wait!
You may have to get the bladder-control chip…
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Innovation and the American Spirit
Innovation and the American Spirit
I am very optimistic about the future of America. I think there are exciting times in innovation and invention ahead of us. However, our present problems and struggle for prosperity may be on the shelf sooner than we realize, as the price of maintaining this lavish lifestyle languishes in the doldrums, but let's look at our past to see the possibilities of our future.
As I've said many times before, we diverse and resilient Americans blindly box ourselves into a corner and after we've had our collective heads pummeled into mush, we suddenly awaken and come out swinging and that is exactly what I see happening and in our future. We truly are the champions of the world, but we are going down folks and the way back to the top will be difficult and full of challenges.
We are used to being on top Рon top of everything and we refuse to acknowledge our pinnacle position is precarious at best and all but gone at worst. We see ourselves as the creme de la cr̬me of fancy spring waters and everyone else is just white generic cans marked "Cola". Tough love; this is the way we roll - world.
We unashamedly see ourselves as better than the rest of the world because we are Americans and we have the strength of our ethnic and cultural diversity, freedom, privilege, democracy and lots of guns. We are unstoppable and arrogant, but hey – when you got it – flaunt it, right? It's our way or the highway and the way we prove we believe this to the world, is by borrowing, spending and accumulating cool recreational stuff. We alone get in our personal (usually multiple occupancy) transportation vehicle weighing 3 to 5000 pounds and go wherever we wish, whenever we wish and damn the torpedoes. We got it all, baby.
We are users/consumers first and since we are all about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it's perfectly okay to keep using, consuming and dumping. We are defined by what we eat, read, watch and where we spend our quality time and folks, to the rest of the world we can be summed up in one word: gluttons. We are first and foremost in the global game of life and a man's worth is measured by how many barns he has stuff stored in…and we like it that way. I too am an American and all of this describes me to a certain degree, as sad as that may be.
Now, let's take a look at the future of our country and each and every one of us fortunate enough to be a part of the solution and a self-imposed successful change.
I see a cultural paradigm shift on the horizon. A paradigm is nothing more than a set of assumptions, concepts, values, and practices that constitutes a way of viewing reality for the community that shares them, especially in an intellectual discipline.
I see a general mentality adjustment or movement in our future where Americans will lead the rest of the world in doing things the right way and have our precious righteous fun also. Imagine a new America where efficiency in personal transportation becomes "cooler or hipper" than how much horsepower your vehicle delivers to the drive train or where the general population delights in Zen-like recycling - because they want to, not because it's forced on us. It's what we will do because we are Americans.
Organic vegetable gardening becomes the rage and folks forsake conventional lawn maintenance for xeriscaping. Endless trips to the supermarket will be reduced in lieu of fresh homegrown veggies. New homes will be built with functionality in mind instead of past aesthetics and the quality of life in America in general will be about its timbre, not bulk quantity, size, speed or accumulation. Can you imagine how wonderful this would be?
Capitalistic entrepreneurs whose vision is not confined to fossil fuel-based propulsion systems will best solve the current energy problem by inventing and investing in alternative ways to travel. In other words, who says we have to continue using Henry Ford's antiquated internal combustion engine to get from point A to point B? Loose the creative dogs of efficiency on America and let them market solutions that make a real difference. The Smart car is one such new option that challenges convention.
Drilling for oil so we can keep consuming like there is no tomorrow should be given the green light – but, we should also jump head first into alternate methods of transportation, because there will be a tomorrow. Finding alternative fuels to keep burning our hydrocarbon-hungry engines is still the old school way of looking at the problem. We need exciting and creative solutions to free ourselves of the dependency on this mode of conveyance.
In the future, we Americans must demand better quality and efficiency by making wiser purchases. Who says we have to settle for what is offered? I say boycott junk and encourage good quality by smart purchasing and with that said we have to do our share to make this a better country too.
We foolishly have empowered greedy corporations and encouraged inefficient outdated technology and shoddy workmanship on everything from deplorably slow high-speed Internet/cable service to only having the choice to buy about five of the nine hundred plus varieties of bananas grown globally. We've bought $40,000 four-seat chunks of metal and plastic with miserable MPG and warranties and we almost felt blessed to own it. Why? Regardless of how much a dealer cuts off the buying price, for most of us this mode of transportation is too fuel-costly to maintain and some fat cat, our money in his pocket, leans back and blows Cuban cigar smoke through his toothy grin.
As my Pastor of many years, L.S. Marcus used to say, I said all that to say this: We Americans will be the only obstacle to change and ultimately - survival. We are our own worst enemy…or friend.
I am very optimistic about the future of America. I think there are exciting times in innovation and invention ahead of us. However, our present problems and struggle for prosperity may be on the shelf sooner than we realize, as the price of maintaining this lavish lifestyle languishes in the doldrums, but let's look at our past to see the possibilities of our future.
As I've said many times before, we diverse and resilient Americans blindly box ourselves into a corner and after we've had our collective heads pummeled into mush, we suddenly awaken and come out swinging and that is exactly what I see happening and in our future. We truly are the champions of the world, but we are going down folks and the way back to the top will be difficult and full of challenges.
We are used to being on top Рon top of everything and we refuse to acknowledge our pinnacle position is precarious at best and all but gone at worst. We see ourselves as the creme de la cr̬me of fancy spring waters and everyone else is just white generic cans marked "Cola". Tough love; this is the way we roll - world.
We unashamedly see ourselves as better than the rest of the world because we are Americans and we have the strength of our ethnic and cultural diversity, freedom, privilege, democracy and lots of guns. We are unstoppable and arrogant, but hey – when you got it – flaunt it, right? It's our way or the highway and the way we prove we believe this to the world, is by borrowing, spending and accumulating cool recreational stuff. We alone get in our personal (usually multiple occupancy) transportation vehicle weighing 3 to 5000 pounds and go wherever we wish, whenever we wish and damn the torpedoes. We got it all, baby.
We are users/consumers first and since we are all about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, it's perfectly okay to keep using, consuming and dumping. We are defined by what we eat, read, watch and where we spend our quality time and folks, to the rest of the world we can be summed up in one word: gluttons. We are first and foremost in the global game of life and a man's worth is measured by how many barns he has stuff stored in…and we like it that way. I too am an American and all of this describes me to a certain degree, as sad as that may be.
Now, let's take a look at the future of our country and each and every one of us fortunate enough to be a part of the solution and a self-imposed successful change.
I see a cultural paradigm shift on the horizon. A paradigm is nothing more than a set of assumptions, concepts, values, and practices that constitutes a way of viewing reality for the community that shares them, especially in an intellectual discipline.
I see a general mentality adjustment or movement in our future where Americans will lead the rest of the world in doing things the right way and have our precious righteous fun also. Imagine a new America where efficiency in personal transportation becomes "cooler or hipper" than how much horsepower your vehicle delivers to the drive train or where the general population delights in Zen-like recycling - because they want to, not because it's forced on us. It's what we will do because we are Americans.
Organic vegetable gardening becomes the rage and folks forsake conventional lawn maintenance for xeriscaping. Endless trips to the supermarket will be reduced in lieu of fresh homegrown veggies. New homes will be built with functionality in mind instead of past aesthetics and the quality of life in America in general will be about its timbre, not bulk quantity, size, speed or accumulation. Can you imagine how wonderful this would be?
Capitalistic entrepreneurs whose vision is not confined to fossil fuel-based propulsion systems will best solve the current energy problem by inventing and investing in alternative ways to travel. In other words, who says we have to continue using Henry Ford's antiquated internal combustion engine to get from point A to point B? Loose the creative dogs of efficiency on America and let them market solutions that make a real difference. The Smart car is one such new option that challenges convention.Drilling for oil so we can keep consuming like there is no tomorrow should be given the green light – but, we should also jump head first into alternate methods of transportation, because there will be a tomorrow. Finding alternative fuels to keep burning our hydrocarbon-hungry engines is still the old school way of looking at the problem. We need exciting and creative solutions to free ourselves of the dependency on this mode of conveyance.
In the future, we Americans must demand better quality and efficiency by making wiser purchases. Who says we have to settle for what is offered? I say boycott junk and encourage good quality by smart purchasing and with that said we have to do our share to make this a better country too.
We foolishly have empowered greedy corporations and encouraged inefficient outdated technology and shoddy workmanship on everything from deplorably slow high-speed Internet/cable service to only having the choice to buy about five of the nine hundred plus varieties of bananas grown globally. We've bought $40,000 four-seat chunks of metal and plastic with miserable MPG and warranties and we almost felt blessed to own it. Why? Regardless of how much a dealer cuts off the buying price, for most of us this mode of transportation is too fuel-costly to maintain and some fat cat, our money in his pocket, leans back and blows Cuban cigar smoke through his toothy grin.
As my Pastor of many years, L.S. Marcus used to say, I said all that to say this: We Americans will be the only obstacle to change and ultimately - survival. We are our own worst enemy…or friend.
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