"Return of The Abominable Snowpack Man"

Flirtatious: "How'd you like to try on my snow shoes for size?"

Real Mood: Advanced state of "TOLD YA SO!"

Prediction: Most of that snow will melt.

That's a 14,000 foot peak in the Rockies from 50 miles away. Still it's obvious there is a bunch of white stuff on the top of that mountain.

A few of my media friends knew this was coming.  I've gone on a rampage in newsrooms for decades over the annual winter snowpack measurement. Like lemmings, reporters and photographers follow this guy, Mike Gillespe, up to 11,300 feet(the last quarter of a mile on snowshoes).

We stand around in a clump while Mike jams his dipstick into the snow.  We are in rapt anticipation as he pulls us the dip stick and makes such incredible revelations as, "Things are looking pretty optimistic right now."

According to the Rocky Mountain News that's exactly what he said yesterday. Mike has convinced the media, at least newsroom managers, that this trip is big news for the entire west.  What Mike doesn't tell anyone is there are more than 600 electronic sensors all over the West that automatically provide the snowpack meansurements twenty four seven.

Some years Mike boldly uses words like "Drought," or "Flooding." But a guy that can con people in to joining him on his annual snow shoe trek is no dummy.  He always gets in a word or two like these quoted by Rocky yesterday, "They could be looking at severe water shortages IF things don't turn around."

For the record, things quite often do turn around.  I don't want to belabour (U.S. spelling of belabor went missing) (inside joke for regulars) this issue. The sequel seldom lives up to the original. I would refer you to Archived Posting titled "The Abominal Snowpack Man," dated June 17th, 2005.

I, too, don't wish to belabour the fact that all local media will arrive at Boulder Reservoir early tommorrow to chronicle an annual event.  Between 50 and 100 human beings, suffering from "Seasonal Affect Disorder," will stupidly strip down to near nakedness.  Then they will dance around like preening peacocks, after which they'll promptly jump into the one degree above freezing water. Most years a reporter gets overly involved in the story and leaps into frozen fame.

There is typically a large turnover in the list of regular reporters that cover both the "snowpack" and "polar bear" events.  For most of us, once was enough. 

I hope you have a great New Year's celebration. I gotta go watch me some football games.

Okay, it's a 500 millimeter telephoto lens. But it's still 50 miles away.  

Charge!

Flirtatious: "Don't let my 'horny' reputation scare you off."

Real Mood: Flirtatious

Prediction: One day a Rhino will learn to count to ten. ( I saw one count to five at a zoo once. No, really!)

In case I or Peggy 'Instant Message' any of you, don't be surprised if a goofy Rhinoceros greets you.  It's another one of those life enhancing extras AOL tosses into the package. Those of you old enough to remember the Groucho Marx show will remember the little game of , "say the secret word and win a hundred dollars?"

Well there are 18 secret words that If we inadvertantly type, will produce some bizarre "never gonna happen" Rhino expressions.   "A Rhino that's embarrassed?"  I don't think so. ( AOL offers  more Rhino expression options than it does human moods. Go figure.) 

I don't know if I've told you the whole story of my Rhinoceros connection, hence "prhinos" screen name?

Well it's one of those things that tells you in life that you've made it.  It's a nickname. Good or Bad a nickname acknowledges you exist.  You belong.

I picked up the label while I was in high school.  One's first assumption might be the closeness of an animal in name,  to my surname.  Reinertson.....Rhino? Well that makes sense.  But it wouldn't be accurate. 

I became Rhino when I was playing football.  I played right tackle and you might think, "oh, of course. He blocked like a rhino."

No!  But "Rhino" did have an athletic origin.

A bunch of my buddies were basketball players. Once in a while they would let me play in summer league games. My prowess in those games was to just go in and knock everybody down underneath the basket.  That would include my own team mates. 

"He plays like a ____Rhino."

So that's the origin of the nickname as I remember it.  It was a long time ago. What's clearer in my memory bank is what happened to that nickname. It expanded like a virus throughout my family. My sister had to live her entire high school years socially known as "Baby Rhino."   My parents became "Mama and Papa Rhino." And as a family, in many circles, we were simply known as "The Rhinos." Many people had no idea we would appear in a phone book known as Reinertsons. 

Only my older sister escaped the label.  She'd already graduated from high school and didn't get snared in the label trap.  ( I've never really asked her if she was relieved or felt left out. Well, Theda?) 

I've learned a great deal about Rhinos since that time. Without getting specific, let me tell you they are likely the most dramatic and enduring lovers on the planet. Strange reputation for what we think of as "frightening, charging beasts." 

Here's a little TV style tease for you.

"Would you believe the Rhinoceros is the World's Greatest Lover. Tune in on Valentine's day and find out WHY?"

Let me spice that up a little bit for you.  "It's a story you almost CAN'T tell on TV."

You might ask yourself why oriental cultures consider ground "Rhino Horn" to be an aprodisiac?

Anyway, Peggy and I travel the planet now collecting Rhinos. The beast really does inspire a wide range of artistic visions. You can do a lot with a head that big.

So that's the Rhino story. You get it for FREE. No CHARGE. 

Hard Times

Flirtatious: "Can I help you with that tire maam? Got my lug wrench right here?"

Real Mood: Catharsisticated

Prediction: Some media outlet will come up with a really bizzare choice for man or woman or pet of the year.

There will be people who will tell you there are easier and more satisfying ways to erase a "hard drive."  But don't you believe it.  At least wait until I tell you the whole story to decide.

We've been going through the house looking for things we should give or throw away.  There are chairs, pillows, shirts, blouses, AB workout rollers, room coolers and other stuff.

Among the "other stuff" category is an old (maybe three years) computer. Well, every time I try to give that thing away Peggy yells, "NOT until you change the hard drive. I don't want people getting into all our personal stuff."

We generally disagree on the level of interest anyone might have in our personal data.  Still, I always capitulate.  Well this time I'm getting ambitious.  I've watched technicians play inside of computers. I can identify a hard drive. And just in case, I ask Peggy to pull up a drawing of one on the NEW computer.  Just in case.

So I'm thinking I can probably just  find a way to get everything off it electronically.

If that doesn't work, I'll just pop the thing out of "The Tower" and replace it with a blank.  Then if anybody really wants the thing they can have a fresh start.

Well it doesn't take long to discover I "KNOW NOTHING' about bulk erasing a hard drive.  So I must move on to option two.  I unscrew a few screws, preparing to just lift that "little puppy" out of there.  Well you know what? They don't make that easy!

Soon the screws are all over the floor. Disc drives, and circuit boards are strewn throughout the kitchen.  (Don't ask me why I pick the kitchen.) Finally I have a really good view of the hard drive and I reach in for the final "Yank."  Well, I yank, and I yank, and I yank. Nothin'.  Maybe that's why they call it the "HARD drive.

(Let's pause here for a side note.  No matter how well you plan and work, holidays seldom play out smoothly.  There are always frustrations.  And since this is the end of the year, we genetically tend to get introspective. While we count our blessings, we also mull over a year's worth of frustrations. We need a catharsis. We need some extreme physical, emotional event to get rid of the "baggage.")

So to top all your other 2005 frustrations you can't even disassemble a computer.  Metal, and straps and screws, and circuit boards are dancing before you like banshees. You think you'll go mad.  Then it happens.  You say to yourself, "Paul, go get a HAMMER."

Still in the kitchen, I am banging away at the hard drive trying to loose it from it's moorings. Finally I am at least able to wiggle it like a tooth that doesn't want to come out.  Then one full swing with a follow through whack and little unscrewable screws go flying. And seconds later I am standing there with a hard drive in my hand.

"See dear? Looks just like the picture."

"Yeah, but it still has all our personal information on it? What are you going to do about that?"

I'm not sure any data can have survived my whacking.  But I want her to feel secure.  

"Take it out in the garage and bang on it while it's on the concrete."

Well, that's not a bad idea except I'm sure it will crack the concrete. She has no idea how hard this thing really is.

 So anyway I'm obediently heading out to the garage.  As I step down to the floor, I accidentally step on some of that packing plastic that goes off like firecrackers.

Ah, insight! Brilliant Idea!  I will lay that HARD drive down on the plastic.  I will then raise my hammer high over my head.  With all my might I will bring its iron face on to the surface of the hard drive.  KABOOM, KAHARUNK, SLUGHBLUY, CHUHKING, BLASTOLEUM.

Oh, the release! Oh, the joy of my own force blasting a Hard drive to smitherenes. Oh, the surge of blood that rushes to my brain as the Hard drive begins to give up the (data) ghost.

Watch the tension fly away. See the warm, tender smile return. See the love. Now we are ready for what 2006 has to give.  Bring it on.

Oh, by the way. Good news for you who gave up working on your cars when they started putting in circuit boards and hiding spark plugs? Peggy and I just discovered it's possible for us to replace light bulbs.  She needs a brake light. I need a turn signal.  Took us ten minutes total on our toyotas.

So here's what I'm gonna do for you.  You have one of those bulbs go out? Don't call your mechanic.  He's got a minimun he has to charge to cover his overhead (aka pool).

You just call me. I'll drive to you. I'll change that bulb in a tenth the time. I'll charge half the price. And I swear to you.  With any luck I won't have to use the hammer.  

Merry Christmas

Okay. Not that it's unusual, but I'm humbled by "sighlemacabba." She reminds me of those first hours of a snow storm. There is that quiet peaceful blanket that gently covers us.  But, you know, I can only appreciate that now? That's because that quiet, peaceful blanketing was always interrupted by the dreaded phone call.

"It's snowing. Get your _____in here now!"

Now I can usually just sit at home, look out the window, pause, and say, "hmmm. Nice!"

Hope you have a wonderful day blanketed with snow or sunshine.

" 'Twas the Night Before Christmas."

Flirtatious: "Santa! You get me that Mercedes and we might be talking a little more than milk and cookies when you slide down that chimney."

Real Mood: Retroactively relieved.

Prediction: Some TV reporter will be standing out  in the middle of a blizzard tommorrow, wishing she'd listened to her mother's advice to become a financial advisor.

" 'Twas the Night before Christmas, and all around the house, most creatures were stirring, save maybe a grouse."

What's the deal with everybody wanting a "White Christmas?"  You know there is a reason most of us have migrated to temperate climates.

It's 60 degrees here today and I hear a lot of people whining about not having any snow.  Now I've got nothing against snow that stays in the mountains on ski slopes. I think snow in wilderness areas where Moose and Snow Hares thrive is cool.  I like to watch them on the National Geographic Channel.

I like snow in Alaska, Norway, Greenland, Antarctica with those cute little penguins. Those pictures look really great on calendars.

I know it smacks of sacrilege, but I don't like "White Christmases." If you spend any time doing TV news you might line up on my side. First of all?  Unless you are a seasoned anchor with a great attorney, you'll be working Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day.  If it's snowing you'll be out freezing critical body parts trying to smile on camera.  If you are doing live shots, your lips will freeze up. Few people will have any idea what you are saying.

People who don't like you will be taping your stories because you will look disgusting.  Your hair will be in wet ringlets, your eyes will be half closed to keep the snow from freezing up your pupils. Ice cycles will be hanging down from your nose. No matter how hard you try, you will not look happy. And while you're standing there with the tips of your fingers about to fall off, your feet numb, and your bladder about to explode some anchor says, " Well, Paul, why don't you give us a little tour, and show us how to survive a blizzard?"

Well my idea of how to survive a blizzard? Don't have one.  Have 60 degree weather with birds chirping, cattle lowing, geese munching, people singing Christmas carols with thawed lips. I love doing stories on Winter drought.

All my genes are Nordic, but my early life experience is  Mediteranian. I don'twant to go Ice Fishing in December. I want to go surfing, maybe deep sea fishing. While some of you in those warm Clime's dream of a "White Christmas?"  I dream of a brown one.  I'll take my Christmases in New Zealand, thank you. I'll take Christmas in Southern California, Texas, Florida where a Tee Shirt and a Light Jacket will get me through winter.

Let me rail just a bit more.  White, you know, is the absence of color. Why should that be a situation desired. I'm not sure who I'm talking to here. I think it's those of you who are wishing for a "White Christmas," who've never had one. Stop it! Count your blessings. Be happy with your circumstances. No snow in Winter is good. Watch all the wildlife taking their Winter baths.

 Enjoy walking to your car. You won't  have to scrape ice off the windows. Your ignition won't grind, begging for mercy. You won't slide into a ditch on your way to work.

One of my personal gripes about a White Christmas is having to "layer." I feel claustrophobic.  And I end up with so many pockets and things to put in them?  I typically lose half of them until I can start emptying those pockets in Spring.

But let's forget about me and my "White Gripiness" for a bit.  Let's consider the plight of that wonderful man we all wait for this time of year.

Kris Kringle hasn't seen the better side of 30 degrees all year long.  Then we ask him to GlobeTrot at supersonic speed without a roof on his vehicle.  We ask him to set his sleigh runners down on icy shingles that at any moment could send Rudolph plunging to a frozen earth that will not give.

Presents will be scattered all over the street. Donner and Blitzen will be lying there in pools of blood, while paramedics speed read their reindeer anatomy handbooks.

Meantime at station W H I T?

Assignment editor to Producer:

"'Dju hear that on the scanner?"

"What?"

"Santa and his reindeer crash and burn at 30th and Oak."

"Holy ___! Get a photog out there.  Call Paul at home, get him out of bed and on his way.  THIIIS ISSS BIIIGG."

"I'm on it."

"Oh, man. We're going to get an Emmy for this one."

"Sorry Paul, you're closest."

"What'd 'e say?"

" He's not happy!"

"Tough. That's why he gets paid the big bucks."

This could go on for a while but I'll wrap it up with a true story.

 They had a huge airport fuel farm explosion and fire here. It went on for days in the middle of a blizzard.  It came my day to do reports for stations around the country. I'm set to do one for a station in Chicago. Their producer sees me on camera and says, "you can't wear that jacket. It looks just like our competition's. You need to take it off."

It's ten degrees, five below zero with the wind chill. The snow combined with ash is blowing laterally right into my face, and she says, "you need to take it off!"

Well I muttered, grumbled, cursed my fate, and then took off the only jacket I had with me.  I blabbered on the air with frozen lips and MAY have been looking into the camera lens.  I have no idea. There is no way any one could have understood what I said.  But I understood the Chicago producer's response after the live shot.

"Hey, Paul, that was fantastic.  You just looked miserable."

Now I wasn't going to get into this, but sometimes I can't help myself. I've never heard anybody talk about the snow in Bethlehem?

I've got to get to bed. I need to be ready should Santa have any problems.

Don't forget the cookies and WARM milk.

 

It just Dawned on me!

A few things just "dawned" on me, but not "out of the blue." There are always outside influences that inspire insight.  My influences come from PaulsModestMusings feedback.

Without being condescending I need to remind myself that not everyone agrees with me. In fact a percentage of folks could care less what I think.

I can't assume that everybody is sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for Paul's next muse.

I need to remind myself of a lesson learned in journalism. We all hurt some people sometime. With our individual interests and agendas, that's just a given.

I've become surprised at the need for people to put other people (me in this case) into a category. 

Finally (at least for now), one needs to assume there are people who think you and your mind ought to be subject to some intense surveillance.

Tis the season to reflect, eh?

Advice? Don't BLOG if you've got thin skin. Some of my strongest critics have been my wife and sisters.  I think they just respond habitually. And they are all in fact, at the same time, my biggest boosters. And I am their's as well.

Recently I was talking with my long time (30 years) friend, Jeff Stroh. We've had plenty of time to sardonically explore each other's brains.  On reading my BLOG I doubt there were any surprises. But in a recent conversation he says, "sorry I don't get the "Flirtation" bit. That tells me I need to repeat myself once in while. Odd because that is a lesson learned early on in Education.

So for Jeff, and any other casual visitors, it goes like this.

AOL, bless their little soul, offers this BLOG space for free. However, their generosity comes at a price. You are sort of required to name the "mood" that currently possesses you.   Problem is they only give you a dozen choices. So in the most vicious sarcasm I can muster, I pick "Flirtatious" every time. Then by following that up with my real mood I am hopefully expanding AOL's  "Mood Pool."  Odds?

In case anyone is wondering about the predictions?  I predicted some earthquakes by chance, even nailing down the Richter Scale number. So, hey, if I've got the gift?  Okay, what's next.

Without being specific you can't do this kind of thing with out stepping on some toes. Those who "really" know me are aware that would never be on purpose. But every word ever written or spoken carries emotional baggage. And if we get too careful about people's sensibilities we don't talk at all.

I was talking to one of my soulmate cousins, Errol Woolen, yesterday.  He says, "You blogging?"

"Yeah."

"Kind of an Andy Rooney thing?"

"I guess."

I suppose I ought to be flattered. But I think Andy's "TOO" old. And I think he borders on "Bitter." I hope no one sees this BLOG that way. And I hope Andy is not offended. Whew! See what happens when you try to be careful?

Finally I've heard from an old high school chum who says she too has rambling, seemingly, non-connected thoughts.  However, she feels it's much safer to keep them to herself.  She thinks she has some relatives that might want to find her a comfortable room somewhere.

Well, here's where I'm lucky. I don't believe I have any relatives who would test higher on the sanity ladder than myself.  We are all meandering around the planet with similar idiosyncrasies. If you put one of us away, you might as well put us all away.  Just don't put us in the same room with Andy Rooney.

I've discovered a new joy in life BLOGGING. You find new soulmates. I hear from "sighlemaccaba" a lot. And I always like what I hear. Thanks!

Anyway, those are some of the things that have "dawned" on me lately. Feel free to share.

For the record the "dawn" photo is real.  No Photo Shop. No touch up. It was "Miraculous" at a time of year those things are supposed to happen. If it's your religion? Merry Christmas. Whoever you are?  Hope Santa is good to you!

Some days are Diamonds

Flirtatious: " Come on up to my place and I'll show you my "Bald Eagle" etchings."

Real Mood: Vindicated

Prediction: Now that we've had three planes land with faulty gear and everybody survive?  The next one won't get nearly as much coverage.

Let's get this on the table.  It's my birthday and I'll go on the record and tell you the year I was born the average annual household income in this country was under $2,000.00.  Quit lookin' for more zeroes.  The average price of a house that family could live in was under 4,000.00. Quit lookin' for more goose eggs. If you really want to know my age you'll just have do your homework.

Of course I'll never forget my age on this birthday 'cause it was pretty special.  I remember telling Peggy on my birthday about eight years ago that I saw a Bald Eagle. It was just about a mile from the house.   Her reply, which has some level of accuracy, is, "every time you see a bird you think it's an eagle."

Well today Peggy gave me my choice of where to have my "birthday breakfast." (I have a heck of a time staying up for "birthday dinner.")  I had decided on this quaint little place that serves something called "Notanomelette." But as we were enroute some strange voice told me, "Don't go there. Go to the Perfect Landing."  So I did. 

My reputation is salvaged.  About two miles from home it is Peggy who espys our living national symbol. Just sitting there on a post looking for a prarie dog snack was "Old Baldy" himself. She says, "Look at that huge bird.  I think it's....It is...It's an eagle....It's a bald eagle!"

"Yup, told you they were around here."

Now you need to know I'm no stranger to these majestic birds. My photographer friend Jen and I got to participate in the banding of three chicks some years ago.  But everybody knew where the Eagle's nests were. There was no surprise, no challenge.

So....instead of heading off to breakfast I think....odds are incredibly against us, but?

I say, "suppose we try to go home, get the camera and tripod, and drive back here and try to get a picture of THE bird. You know nobody is going to believe us if we don't?"

"Yes, yes, yes," she says.  "Turn around."  And you need to know that is not like Peggy at all.  So we do the round trip, switch to the telephoto lens on the way, and by golly the "old bird" is still there.  Never got as close as we wanted, but close enough you can clearly make him out.  We got about 10 shots off  while he was on the post, and just one of him in flight.  The pictures are not going to win any photo contests. But next time either one of tells you we saw a "Bald Eagle?"

Our condolences to the family survivors of the devoured prarie dog.

My birthday was filled out with breakfast at the Perfect Landing, a field trip to see TV Chopper pilot Rich Westra ( I didn't know it, but it was Peggy's first close up look at a helicopter), a brisk aerobic walk through a muddy golf course, a steak sent in the mail by my step-daughter Rhonda, and some huge undeserved but desired concoction from "ColdStone."( If you don't have one in your neighborhood it's an ice cream parlor where they tenderize your ice cream with a sledge hammer before they hand it to you.)

I'm not going to sit here and tell you it was the "Best Birthday" of my whole life. ( My short and long term memories don't allow me to rank things over a week's period of time.)  But I can guarantee you this.  It was better than my 21st birthday where I ended up going to see a movie by myself.  It was better than my 30th which I was sure was the average life span of  that time. And thanks to "Old Baldy" I am going to remember which one I just had.

Some days are diamonds.  And that's not a clue.  You'll still have to do your homework.

"Happy Birthday to me. I'm so glad I'm ____ three."  Tee Hee!

 

"What's good for the goose?"

Flirtatious: "Like them tail feathers, do you, Big Boy?"

Real Mood: Flighty

Prediction: We'll see and hear stories this week about credit card debt, holiday weight gain, most requested toy of the season,  recycling Christmas trees, and office Christmas parties.

"Oh? You've already seen them?"

Here's a word to ponder. RECIDIVISM  The most common use of the term relates to criminals just doing the same crimes over and over again. They do their time, get out of prison, and just go right back to the crime. And over and over again, they do the time.

But in it's purest form RECIDIVISM just means returning over and over again to a previous behavior. And that seems to be what we do in journalism. In my last entry I predicted there would be a whole bunch of stories aired this week on some fairly typical holiday themes.  Well, and I'm not joking, I surfed the T.V. the next morning and saw every single one of them.

Over the years I developed a little of my own recidivist behavior I'd like to share with you. I can't think of a single one of my journalist years I didn't work in a story on geese.

They are hard to ignore this time of year. They gather in huge gaggles as they migrate.  They get in their little 'V' formations and all 'honk' in unison.

To tell you the truth I really had pretty much put them in the back of my mind the past few years.  Then Peggy came home after tennis one night and says, "we've got to go out by the airport at 5 p.m. tonight and watch the geese. I've never seen so many in my life."

Well that set off my recidivism like a firecracker. I grabbed my Nikon and away we went.  By the time we got to their evening resting place, it was too dark to shoot. But the fever had set in. So at 5 A.M.  this morning I start wondering if I should get up and go get pictures of them waking up. Think about it. I'm kind of retired. It's 5 A.M. It's 9 degrees outside.  There is enough wind it likely feels like 1 degree. But the geese are calling (aka honking).   

I got some incredible pictures by my standards. I know I can't show them all to you.  But recidivism loves company. So I'm going to share some information with you about geese you may or may not know.

First of all they are thriving.  I don't think any goose family is threatened at present. While as a rule they migrate, they don't all do the round trip thing.  They tend in large numbers to take up residence around any metropolitan area with a lot of grass. (Why fly down to Mexico when you can munch on blue grass all year long.)  They adore golf courses. And that grass runs through goose digestive systems like paper through a shredder. I've done a lot of stories with "Joggers" and "Golfers" infuriated with the proliferation of "Goose Poop."

If you are looking for geese at night in the winter, look for a body of water that doesn't totally freeze.  They like to sleep in the middle of the pond 'cause "Wily Coyote" can't get to them there.

If you want to catch a goose wait until Spring when they are molting. For about a month they all become EMUs. They can't fly.
But here's a WARNING! First of all they can waddle about 20 miles an hour. And they are incredible fighters.  I've seen many a macho man get the "crap" beat out of him by a ticked off goose.  The professional wildlife people use nets.

I know all this 'cause I used to cover a local spring "goose round up" every year.  The Division of Wildlife would round up a couple thousand geese and ship them off to other states that ( bless their wildlife loving hearts) didn't have their fair share. (It was never mentioned that those other states didn't have enough geese to blow away with their shotguns.)

Well I'm not going to tell you everything I know about geese. If I did, then what would I talk about next year. A good "recidivist" must protect some of his territory.

Oh, one more thing.  In an earlier posting I may have mentioned I ate my first goose this year. ( I never name my geese)  I'm not kidding. This is no joke.  Goose does not taste like chicken.

Pat your Head and Rub your Tummy

Flirtatious: "Mind if I drink my coffee while we kiss?"

Real Mood: Multi-pronged

Prediction: Stories will be done this next week on "Putting Christ back in Christmas"; Gifts being stolen from Mall parking lots; Feeding the Homeless; The constitutionality of Manger scenes on public sites; "Kwanza"; "Hanukkah"; Jews filling in for Christians at the office; A family burnt out of it's home and all it's presents destroyed; Tracking Santa Claus from the North Pole; Cutting your own Christmas tree; Christmas light safety. And a whole bunch more.

SONICARE can send me a check if it likes, but I am giving them this publicity free of charge or obligation.  I do believe, however, that the BLOGs of the World are going to eventually suck up a lot of the "Ad Revenue Pie" with casual product mentions. I mean the movies get a lot of wampum just for showing the PEPSI machine. (No checks PEPSI. I'm not a cola man and couldn't in good conscience endorse your product.)

 But I'm off message here, which I hope, oddly will become the point here this evening. 

We didn't call it multi-tasking at the time, but we used to marvel at those amongst us who could effectively do two things at once. Patting one's head while rubbing one's tummy is just one example. Today two things are nothing. We've been bamboozled into believeing we can concentrate on any number of tasks at one time.

In my Broadcast Journalism Television class I challenge the students to make sense of what they are hearing or seeing on any one of the Cable News Channels.  In case you've never given this a shot, see if you can watch everything on the screen for ten minutes, while listening to everything that is being said in that same time period. Then test yourself. What did you learn? In case you've never thought much about it, here is what you are being asked to absorb.  In addition to the anchor, the reporter and any video they are referring to, you are being asked to watch a CRAWL. That's a ticker tape like message running along the bottom of the screen. It typically is telling an entirely different story than the anchor or reporter. 

There should be no doubt which media outlet you are getting your information from. That's thanks to a little identifying logo in one of the corners of the screen called a BUG.

Generally just above the bug there is something I don't really have a namefor. I'll have to ask.  But it's a small character generating device that is alternately giving you STOCK MARKET NUMBERS and the TIME in at least two time ZONES.

Underneath the anchors or other faces appearing on the air you'll find the CG (chyron graphic) or FONT which visually identifies who you're watching and/or listening to.

Now above the anchor you'll often find a fancy sign  that let's you know visually what the heck the anchor is talking about.  That's called an OTS, or "over the shoulder" graphic.

 Now if this is a really big story a huge BANNER sweeping across the screen may emerge announcing a THEME.

As far as I can tell the only reason networks (and local stations) are giving us all this information at once is because they CAN. The research is telling them the current human mind cannot absorb all this stuff at once. Attention efficiency suffers in every area up there. Our species may evolve to the point this makes sense, but we ain't there yet.

So what does that have to do with Sonicare? Well here is a toothbrush that pretty much takes over the business of getting the gunk out of all the little nooks and crannies of our mouths. So I'm thinking it's time to do a little multi-tasking.

Holding the brush in place with one hand, I employ the other to pick up my deodorant stick and apply it under the opposing arm. I then switch my tooth brush hand.  I put the vibrating brush in an area my dentist says I've got a little too much plaque.  Then I apply deodorant under the opposite arm at which time I discover I can actually bite down on the Sonicare holding it in place freeing up my other hand.  With that hand I hold my aftershave bottle with the thumb and little finger. I use my index and middle finger to unscrew the top.  Once off, while still brushing my teeth, I splatter on the aftershave. Mind you I'm still  applying the deodorant to the underside of that alternate arm.

Then I look in the mirror and notice I've not yet parted my wet hair.  So I put the aftershave bottle over into the hand holding the deodorant. That frees up the other hand to grab the comb. A few quick sweeps through my locks and by golly the deed is done.

Look how many things I could do at once which I used to have to do in sequence. Now that's multi-tasking.

"How do I look honey?"

"Are you kidding? You got a razor cut just below your lip. You got some white gunk caked on the side of you mouth. You got a whole glump of hair sticking up in the back.  What's that stain on your shirt? Your shirt tail is half in and half out. Make up you mind if the collar is going to be up or down? You need to make a choice! Is there a reason you don't use all the belt loops in your pants? You're not going to work looking like that!"

"Oh Yeah, well I'll bet you can't hop on one leg, rub your belly, and pat your head at the same time. Well can you?"

Remember when a digit was a toe?

Flirtatious: See me? Text or IM? Cam on?

Real Mood: Scrambled

Prediction: We will be forced to return to calling fingers and toes fingers and toes.

So a few of you have asked where I've been, and what's up, and why haven't I posted in a week, and is anything wrong, and am I mad at you, and am I working on something big, and did I get hit with a  computer virus? Well, in a word, no!

I did get a virus, but it was of the human variety and I got tired of sneezing over the keyboard.  But I'm back.

This is finals week. It's a week I love because I learn so much from final presentations.  Today I watched and  listened to projects in my Intro class that are kind of freaky. A group working on media convergence got us all up to speed topically on new mixed media developments.  It was their group opinion that we are getting very close to having just about everything we need in our laps. We'll watch MPEG movies in our sunglasses. Everything we could possibly want to say or have said, sing or have sung, read or be read  to any and or everyone will be on our cell phones. (Then I come home and watch a network feature on using cell phones instead of credit cards to buy just about anything in Japan.  Now I'm not talking about calling some company and giving them your credit card number and expiration date.  No, in Japan you just pass your cell phone over a scanner and the deed is done. Word is US Phone companies are in the labs working overtime playing catchup.  Stop the planet. I want to get off.)

To their credit and my jubilation,  the students are clearly worried about what all this digitization is doing to our socialization skills. At least they're thinking about it. I think we are going to have to look up from our laps or we'll go mad. And if we do?  I think it might be fun. I still remember being in my Cardiologist's office and asking him about some new drug I'd heard about.  He picks up his PDA, pushes a few buttons, and then says, "let's let them get a few more trials before we mess with it. It's really new." And then he adds, "Hey look! That new Angelina Jolie movie opens this week. Boy she's hot."

Maybe, just maybe, if we use it and share it right, all this "1984" stuff will heighten our socialization. But I think we're going to have to be thinking about it to make it happen.

We were out playing with my digital camera this afternoon. And I'm thinking, " I can take the digital shots, run home and download them. Then with PhotoShop I can crop them, sharpen the focus, perfect the color balance, and then erase them. Why keep "em? Where's the challenge? 

But then I remember all the shots I've missed with my SLR Camera because I'd run out of film, or light, or lens. I was out of film when a Golden Eagle dropped down ten feet in front of me, wrapped it's talons around a ten foot long snake, and lifted into the air.  I mean I had my camera in my hand. My eye was on the eye piece. All I've got to show for it is the tale I'm telling you now.

 Now I can just shoot to my  "heart's content." I, me, can get  the shot I want, the angle I've been imagining, the light just where I need it. I can actually have my lens say what I want it to say. I could have had 30 shots of that eagle.

That has to be the secret. We've got to keep the human heart in all this stuff. We just have to. And my observation is that so far there are still more students with digital hearts than with heartless digits. I hope it stays that way in their world.

I won't be so serious tommorrow. :)

Modest Pride?

Flirtatious: "What's it do to you when I cross my eyes like this?"

Real Mood: Pre-Nostalgic

Prediction: When Kathryn tells the kids to get out of the pool, they'll get out of the pool.

You're looking at one of my Announcing students, Kathryn. ( I have her verbal permission to use the picture.) I'd like to tell you that she came to me a shy little flower bud. And with the proper attention she has now blossomed into the  "Venus Fly Trap" you see above.   But you'd guess I was lying, and I would be lying. 

Kathryn, when we were all pretending to be Demosthenes, projecting our treatises over the cascading waters of the Platte River, could be heard 6 blocks away with the roar of planes and trains in between.  Kathryn will never suffer from depression, hypertension, or any of the diseases we attribute to holding it all inside. Whatever she decides to do in life, we're going to know she's in the room.

I don't  know if it would feel good to be able to say, "taught the girl everything she knows." I don't think so. I do know that would be false pride.

What I'm kind of proud of, is setting a tone that lets Kathryn show us what she can do. 

But what makes me feel both sad and glad this time of year, has nothing to do with pride. It's witnessing the growth of each and every student, of their own initiative. I'm gobsmacked. To see potential energy become enertia is pretty special.

This was the last day of regular class.  We warmed up our voices  with everybody offering a new sound we hadn't shared before. Kathryn does this great dolphin squeal.  Ricki Lee comes up with this strange thing you do with your thumb and index finger. It makes your voice sound like it's trying to break through helium.

They never disappoint me. They are the teachers. I'm the student. 

It's going to be a week now before I see them all again for their final exam. Some of them I may never see again after that. I can't tell you how sad that is.

Let the pre-nostalgia begin.

I just hope Kathryn doesn't change her mind and hire a lawyer. I'm not sure I have a witness to her tacit approval to include the picture.

WARNING: Kathryn can be a very attractive young woman unless her date lies about his age. Do that? Prepare to run!

Stow the Tank Tops

 

Flirtatious: "You know you look just as cute in that flannel shirt as you do in your tank top?"

Real Mood: Less congested

Prediction: Katie Couric will crash and burn if she takes that evening news gig. I'm sure it's all based on focus group data where they asked all the wrong questions. I'll be happy to be wrong.

"How Cold Is It?"

"It's so cold I'm puttng my head in the refrigerator to warm up."

A "group groan" would be appropriate. I just wanted to make one up, and that's the best I can do right now.

I exchanged e-mails with my graduate friend Sarah Williams. Sarah is anchoring and reporting in Fargo, make that Bismarck, North Dakota. I broke my own homework rule. I assumed Fargo without checking myself. While certainly a small community, we may be able to look towards Bismarck (and maybe Fargo too)  for a solution to the energy crisis.  Sarah tells me it's so cold there!" "How cold is it Sarah?" "Why it's so cold people just turn on their car engines and leave them running." OPEC is not the problem. It's Bismarck and maybe Fargo, too.

When the roads get icy, why is it that SUV drivers don't notice? Why is it they are the ones I see in a ditch on top of the Ford Focus they slid into?

I predicted last entry that meteorologists are going to start using "wind chill factors" in their reports.  It was a pretty easy prediction. Half the country is in a deep freeze right now. I don't really mind weather people using the "wind chill factor" in their reports.  I do mind when they try to explain it to me. I also have no interest in grasping metric conversions. True confessions time.  I got  "C"s in all my high school math classes, a "C" in chemistry and a "D+" in physics. (the teacher told me he gave me the plus 'cause he thought I had potential.)

Skipping ahead to freshman in college and an apptitude test. Results?  High interest and potential in complex math. Low interest and potential in word fluency. Hmmm?

I actually got a B in statistics when I was working on my  "teaching credential" in California.  So here I am, rookie teacher at Warren High School. I've just rushed to the teacher's lounge after giving my first exam. I carefully arrange the number scores out on a piece of paper, and then had an early onset of Paul'sHeimers. I lean to my left. In a tone I'm sure exposes  my anxiety I ask the man sitting nearest me, "Excuse me can you help me out? I'm trying to remember the formula for the co-efficient of reliability?"

There were a few seconds of stunned silence and then the entire lounge population broke into eardrum puncturing laughter. Rumor is they still laugh about it at social gatherings. It's nice to be remembered for something, I guess.

Anyway, some of you may want to know all that stuff. For me, just keep your old formulas and tell me how cold I'm going to feel today. I'll fill in the blanks with "word fluency."

I drove by that dorm under construction with  it's highway ramp view today. It's even more bizarre when you see all the snowy slop from the highway flying towards the pent house windows. My advice? Don't sign a lease, site (sight) unseen.

"It 's so cold I can't see out my dorm room window."

Whew! We made it.

Flirtatious: "I think that story deserves a big kiss, don't you?"

Real Mood: Who cares? I gotta cold.

Prediction: Meteorlogists will start using the wind chill factor in their reports.

So the fall TV ratings period is over. Stations and networks will soon start easing up on the promotions and teases.  Main anchors will start taking vacations. They'll be running out the "time off" door right behind the news director and general manager.  If holidays are really important to you? Be a news director, a general manager, or sales manager.

If you're looking for stories to do with a short staff, here's a suggestion. Another "media made myth" drove me to do this one twice. You always hear that this can be a very sad time of year for people who are alone.  Logic would lead us to the conclusion that there will be a high number of suicides between Thanksgiving and New Year's day.  Well, at least by the numbers in the past, that's not true. On the two occasions I was assigned that story, turns out people were not sad. Turns out they were mad. Homicides go way up. Suicides actually go down.

Now you shouldn't assume that's still the case.  Check the numbers, and if they match up, you'll have a sad holiday story no one else will have.  On  a personal note level, this may not be the best time of year to buy someone a "gag gift."

I had sound bites in both stories from shrinks that say in essence, "suicides come in the Spring when people's expectations are not realized." Go figure. Let's see. Spring? Doesn't it usually  start about a week after April 15th? This is starting to make sense.

This is always a good time of year to test out new talent on the air.  Look for a lot of unfamiliar faces. If your looking for something to do, keep track of the new ones.  See how many of them are still around in the spring. Let's see, that's about a week after April 15th, isn't it? 

If you see me first today, turn and run in the opposite direction. That's not because I'm angry and carry a big stick.  It's because I'm sick. Anything here your read and don't understand can be attributed to the effects of Benedryl.

If you're a student I'm going to make it easy for you. I'll avoid you. This is final exam, final project time, isn't it? I'm no dummy. Well at least not all the time.  

That reminds me. Want a suggestion on how to silence a politician? I was in the middle of one of these dreaded colds while being assigned to talk to a governor about something. As we sat down a few feet from each other I suggest, " don't kiss me." Was it the threat of the kiss, or getting a cold that made him mute? I suppose that's one answer we'll take to our graves.