The Complaint Department

If I may immediately digress a moment - and I will - the late, great Johnny Paycheck sang, "Take This Job and Shove It." Now, old Johnny was a brawler and an alcoholic and probably spent more time in jail then I did in college, but there is much we can learn from him.

He was smarter than we thought or not as dumb as he thought we thought. Did that last sentence make sense? Anyway, even though it became the anthem of the 70's, "Take This Job and Shove It" was totally misunderstood. I got it. Few did.

In the song, if you listen close, you will hear the lyric "...Lord, I can't wait to see their faces when I get the nerve to say..." See? He, didn't actually say those things to his mean boss with the flat-top haircut. The song was a fantasy going on in his head. All the time, he continued to slug it out at work and lead a life of quiet desperation.

You know, kinda like you and me.

Actually, I don't have to "slug it out" anymore. I was laid off recently. Unlike good old Johnny Paycheck, they told me to take my job and... well, you know. Truth be told, before they showed me the door, Lord, I was getting pretty close to telling them... well, you know.

Getting laid off is never fun. Getting laid off without any severance is even less fun. After eight years as a consultant, being almost 100% "billable" at $100 per hour, more or less, I generated about $1,000,000 in profit for my now ex-company. That's one million US dollars my friends.

Like Paulie "Walnuts" in the Sopranos, I was a good earner.

Just like in the Mob, I hear in the world of business a lot of talk about committment and loyalty. In fact, in one interview, I heard the rough and tumble IT Manager say, "I see you were a consultant. We don't want consultants. We want loyal employees."

In my mind, the last two words sounded like, "indentured slaves."

In business today, loyalty is your next paycheck. Business expects a long-term committment (with a smile) from the employee but reserves the right to terminate "at will." New York state is an "at will" state. So, if the boss doesn't like your accent or the fact that you got pregnant or the fact that you are just smarter than he is, they reserve the right to make your life miserable until you quit - or terminate you.

The last bastion of loyalty in this country was IBM. Through the 50's and 60's and 70's, IBM had the reputation of never laying anyone off. Now, they may have offered early retirements and reassigned people to different locations hoping they'd quit, but they never actually laid anyone off. As a matter of fact, IBM relocated so many employees, the joke in the company was that IBM stood for I've Been Moved. The 80's changed everything however. Once the personal computer broke through into business, IBM's choke hold on corporate computing was broken forever, and they had to start cutting costs, i.e, people. You know, human beings with families and children and hopes and dreams. See ya.

The idea (or ideal) of the paternalistic corporation that took care of you until the day you died is gone. Pensions are thing of the past. Even some civil service jobs are being cut. Notice I said some. Working for the IRS or being a postal worker still confers a great deal more job security than most of the rest of us can ever expect.

Uh, oh... another digression is coming up.

Hey, wait a second. Did I just use the phrase "postal worker?" Did I mention the semi-automatic, Thompson sub-machine gun I bought as a young guy while working on a landscaping crew? What a beautiful piece of equipment that is. As fast as you can twitch your finger is as fast as you can fire that thing. Forget the sight at the end of the barrel. That thing was deadly accurate even firing from the hip. Ah, the smooth wooden handles; the blue steel finish. When you hold it, you're literally holding a piece of American history and a deadly, work of art.

Okay. I got that out of my system, Johnny Paycheck style - a nice fantasy.

At any rate, loyalty in the world of business is as much a fantasy as Johnny Paycheck's pathetic hero telling his boss to "take this job..." and so on. It doesn't exist. It never existed.

Do we live to work, or do we work to live? Working for a living... what a concept.

It does pay the bills.

This post originally appeared on an external website

A long time ago, some comedy bit, or some satirical article suggested that the reason some people were famous and successful had less to do with their talent, than with the pact they had signed with the devil to make them rich and famous. How else to explain Tom Cruise?

Tom Cruise is the most successful, highest paid actor in motion pictures today. At 20 million dollars per film, he never has to work again - but chooses to, much to my chagrin.

Except for ?Born on the Fourth of July? Tom Cruise essentially portrays Tom Cruise in his movies. Looking at him on the big screen, we all wish we had his self-assured air of confidence, and wait for him to flash that trademark smile, and tussle that full head of jet-black hair.

Hey, he is admittedly a likeable guy ? all 5?7? of him. But how in the world has he become the highest paid actor of all time? Is it talent? No. Let me just say this: No one is breaking down his door to do Broadway or Shakespeare in the round. Do I want to see him in "Death of a Salesman?" No. Let Dustin Hoffman do it ? again ? all 5?4? of him.

One movie per year? $20,000,000? obviously, he signed a deal with the devil.

Before Tom Cruise, Kevin Costner was the biggest star in Hollywood.

Even Costner admits he can?t act. Just listen to him. In every movie it?s the same monotone voice, no matter what the role. I liked "Field of Dreams", but he almost ruined it.

?And-there-was-my-Dad, as-he-looked, before-life-had beaten-him-down.?

Horrible.

Imagine ?Field of Dreams? with say, Tom Hanks: Instant, all-time, classic my friends.

They say in movie acting, ?less is more.? Costner provides so little in his roles, you almost want to check for a pulse.

Obviously, he signed a deal with the devil.

There are some women whose success you can?t explain either. Can you say Rene Russo? I knew you could.

You may not recognize the name, but she?s been in a lot of big movies: Showtime, Lethal Weapon 3, Lethal Weapon 4, Outbreak, Ransom, Tin Cup, Get Shorty, Major League, Major League II, In the Line of Fire, Freejack, One Good Cop, and Mr. Destiny.

It is a staggeringly impressive career achieved with little or no talent. Where is Sam Kinison when we need him: SHE? CAN?T? ACT. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH?.. AHHHHHHHHH!

Obviously. The devil.

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"Hi! I work for Sprint!"

All I wanted to do was buy a couple of new phones for me and my wife.

If you are a long-time Sprint customer like me, you get $150 off each new phone you purchase. The $150 off results in either a free phone or a big discount for one of those new-fangled picture phones.

The phone I am using now weighs about a pound and has an antenna about a foot long. Hey, time to upgrade right? Whoa! Wait a second! If I purchase online, I get an additional $30 off! I was sold. I logged on to www.sprintpcs.com.

What could I possibly have to complain about? After going through all the screens on the Sprint site five times trying to determine why sometimes I got the web discount and sometimes I didn?t; after finally getting to checkout page and going through more pages for billing information which is already on file (I?m a customer, remember); after finally getting a confirmation screen ? I see a message about activating my NEW phone numbers.

?Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second sock? as my crazy Irish neighbor used to say. I wanted to *keep* my old phone numbers. I just wanted to upgrade the phones.

I dreaded this: I had to call the 888 number.

To make a two-hour (Yes. Two Hour) story short:

1) I spoke to Christina, Melanie, Blue and Gene. I had to speak to so many people because I was disconnected three times and had to go through the phone menus over and over.
2) The customer reps named above use headsets with noise canceling microphones. The result? The end of every word and every sentence they spoke was clipped off. I had to ask them to repeat everything twice.
3) Everyone had different story as to what I should do, or had to do to cancel my order and do what I wanted to do in the first place ? upgrade my phone and my wife?s phone.
4) No one could cancel my order. The orders are taken on another site and orders don?t hit the main Sprint system until the next day.

Folks, I am a computer consultant. I haven?t written a system that needed a day to update orders since the 1980?s.

I am going to contact Sprint and see if they want my help.

Final note: I see in an email today that somebody by the name of Shavon B. did cancel my order, but not because I requested it. My order was cancelled because the SprintPCS web site allowed me to enter an invalid order. The email wasn?t clear (of course) but apparently, the system decided there were too many phones for the plan selected.

Nice of them to cancel my order ? even though I did not request that.

Well, in this case, I guess two wrongs do make a right.

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This past winter, I would tell everyone who would listen, that this winter was the worst in memory.

I hate being right.

We didn?t have the most snowfall this winter, only the second highest on record.

We didn?t have the most days under freezing this winter. In fact, the American Meteorological Society says this was the tenth warmest winter on record. That statistic is for the entire country. However, in a statistic I tried to research, I have to say, anecdotally, the number of days when the temperature was below normal here in the Northeast was, well, most days.

In point of fact, today is April 5 and we finally have a day with temperatures above normal. It was about 60 degrees today and I hit some golf balls in the sun. Nice.

Also, anecdotally, this was one of the cloudiest winters that I can ever remember. If you live in the Northeast, you remember that days would go by by - at least every other week - when we would not see the sun. Very depressing. No wonder those wacky Scandanavians have such a high suicide rate.

All in all, the weather this winter in New York was somewhere between Stockholm and London.

Thankfully, it?s over. I hope.

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(Editor's Note: X-rated song lyrics are quoted in this post. Chontel, stop reading this now. Thanks honey.)

I wrote a while back that I just couldn't understand how some actors become so popular. I just saw that Ice Cube is coming out with no less than two more pictures in 2005. Allow me to add Ice Cube to the "I Just Don't Get It" list.

Back in the day (God, I love that expression) Ice Cube was one bad, mutha...

...just talkin' 'bout Ice Cube.

Here is a guy that was a rapper in a group called N.W.A. - Nice Guys With Attitude - or something like that.

...just talkin' 'bout Ice Cube's group.

How "bad" was he?

"F**k tha police comin' straight from the underground, a young nigga got it bad 'cause I'm brown...

"Ice Cube will swarm, on any mutha f**ka in a blue uniform, just 'cause I'm from, the CPT, punk police are afraid of me. A young nigga on the warpath - and when I finish, it's gonna be a bloodbath. Of cops, dyin' in LA, yo Dre I got somethin' to say"

I may be old fashioned, but this was not the kind of guy you would want your daughter to go out with - unless maybe he had extra tickets to the Yankee game.

Now you may be thinking, what is my point? Okay, my point is this: When the hell did this guy become a major motion picture star? Okay, maybe not a major motion picture star, but a semi-major, B-movie motion picture star?

If I may digress a moment - and I will - I promise not to use the three dots ... again in this post. The ... is an ellipsis, by the way.

Ice Cube is now starring in another installment of the Triple xXx franchise made famous by the Neanderthal-like Vin Diesel. Great. Hey, why can't a black man be an action hero star anyway? I'll tell you why... because HE SUCKS. Ah, dammit, I used the ... again.

This guy?s filmography is long, but not impressive:

xXx: State of the Union (2005) .... Darius Stone

Are We There Yet? (2005) .... Nick Persons

Barbershop 2: Back in Business (2004) .... Calvin

Torque (2004) .... Trey

WC: Bandana Swangin - All That Glitters Ain't Gold (2003) (V)

Friday After Next (2002) .... Craig

Barbershop (2002) .... Calvin Palmer

All About the Benjamins (2002) .... Bucum

Ghosts of Mars (2001) .... James 'Desolation' Williams

Next Friday (2000) .... Craig Jones

Three Kings (1999) .... SSgt. Chief Elgin

Thicker Than Water (1999) .... Slink

I Got the Hook Up (1998) .... Gun Runner

The Players Club (1998/I) .... Reggie

Anaconda (1997) .... Danny Rich

Dangerous Ground (1997) .... Vusi Madlazi

Friday (1995) .... Craig Jones

Higher Learning (1995) .... Fudge

The Glass Shield (1994) .... Teddy Woods
... aka The Johnny Johnson Trial (USA)

Trespass (1992) .... Savon
... aka Looters

Boyz n the Hood (1991) .... Darin 'Doughboy' Baker
... aka Boys in the Hood

I did a Google search and I am pretty sure Mr. Cube was never nominated for any acting awards. Why is that you ask? Well, I'm pretty sure it is because HE SUCKS.

Sorry. I don't mean to shout.

I mean, this guy makes Kevin Costner look like Sir Laurence Olivier. Anyway, I have heard you had to see Olivier in the theater. His talent never really came through on the big screen. But I digress - again.

Ice Cube is not a bad guy. He just can't act. His facial expressions are grim, and not so grim. His emotional range runs the gamut from angry, to less angry. A disciple of Thespus, he is not.

Now, another "Ice", Ice-T has done even more movies in the last 15 years - a little over 50 if you can believe it. It appears when Ice-T is not available for a crappy B-movie, Ice Cube gets the call.

Ice Cube. Movie star. Go figure.

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(Tired of the current steroid controversy? Do you remember the 2004 Summer Olympics? Do you remember the steroid controversy there? The following is a Kontos Klassic reprint from last year.)

Recently, I got to wondering, while watching the Olympics, if there was footage available on the Internet of track legend, Jesse Owens. Of course, there was.

You can go to a nice site called eFootage and do a search on Jesse Owens. You can view a video clip here.

I wanted to see if my memory of video I have seen was correct: The smooth running style and humble smile of the greatest track athlete ever. Of course, outside of sports, he was also one of the great human beings ever, too.

The performances of Jesse Owens in the 100 and 200 meter dashes and the long jump (then called the broad jump) in the 1936 Olympics, rival those today, almost 70 years later! His 10.3 time in the 100 meters would have won the Olympic 100 meters as recently as 1980. His 26' 5-1/4" leap in those Olympics would win many meets today.

Here was an athlete with smooth, muscular, graceful lines who won four gold medals and set four world records in one afternoon in 1936 and who did not have the benefit of good track shoes, modern start blocks, modern training techniques or modern diet and "supplements." When I put "supplements" in quotes, of course I am referring to performance-enhancing substances.

Before I continue, having said all that, and considering the primitive nature of training back in the 1930's, is there any question that Jesse Owens has to be the greatest track athlete to walk (or run for that matter) on the face of the earth?

Today, I look at Maurice Greene,

and the other sprint stars, with their impossibly big shoulders and bodybuilder physiques and wonder how they got that way. Does having huge pectorals and big arms contribute to a sprinter's speed down the track? I wonder.

You see, having been a bodybuilder, having seen other bodybuilders in the gym, I can say that I have a good idea of what a natural physique looks like versus the other kind: A physique built through substances such as anabolic steroids, cortisol blockers and growth hormone. The short opinion: A lot of the male sprinters in the Olympics (and some of the female) are on "the juice."

The problem with this, if it is true, is not just that these people are cheaters. The problem is that all their tainted accomplishments, and all of their drug-enhanced world records take the focus away from the athletes from a gentler time - a time when how you competed was just as important as the result. It was a time when one man stood a little taller than all others.

That man was Jesse Owens.

To see some images of Jesse Owens, courtesy of Google, click here.

This post originally appeared on an external website

Of bits and bytes, nothing is cheaper.

Let's talk MP3 music files. People can download music files legally at places like iTunes and Napster for .99 cents per song. Many people choose to download these files illegally from services like Kazaa and Limewire. Non-computer literati, Luddites and record company executives look on in abhorrence. There has to be a reason why people disobey the law. There is. Please allow a member of the Geekdom Confederacy to explain why.

For a fifteen song album, it might cost someone $14.85 to download all the songs. Not bad, right? Oh wait, amazon.com has tons of popular albums for $12.99 - with a case, cover art and liner notes. Gee, I got ripped off.

To duplicate a CD, with the label, cover, liner notes and packaging might cost a dollar. To put a music file on a server for people to download repeatedly, ad infinitum, might cost a penny. iTunes charges .99 cents. Gee, I got ripped off.

Let's talk software. More and more software is available for download. Not too long ago I downloaded PaintShop Pro 8.0 for $59.00. It seemed like a great deal saving me a lot of money over the packaged version. But, the same rule applies to this download as with other downloads. It costs pennies to keep a file on a server. I paid 59 bucks. Gee, I got ripped off.

Yes, I know it costs money to develop, market, package and ship software. I am a software developer (on a good day). But after that first CD is stamped or the file is put on the server for download, and after the breakeven point has been reached, it's pure profit for the company. How much profit is enough? If creating software wasn't so hard, more people would do it and get rich. Why else is Microsoft sitting on a 30-40 billion dollar cash reserve?

Let's talk wireless providers. Once the network is set up - no trivial task to be sure - the cost to own and operate (given the reliability of the electronics involved) is basically the cost of electricity. So, tomorrow, when a million people go to Starbucks with their PDA's and laptops and connect to T-Mobile's wireless signal for $6.00 a day or upwards of $50 per month depending on the plan, T-Mobile will have made a mini-fortune on the bits and bytes traveling through the air. They make that fortune every day. But, don't download too much, or you'll have to upgrade your plan. Wow! Not fair! This is like my cable bill getting bigger with each hour of TV I watch. The same principal applies to cell phones. Don't use too many minutes or download too many bits and bytes or you'll have to upgrade your plan or pay the overtime charges. Not fair.

The technology providers want to price the flow of bits and bytes like utilities price the flow of gas and electricity. It's not the same. It requires manpower, natural resources and electricity to generate electricity. The more you use, the more it costs the utilities to generate and the more you pay - and that seems fair. To broadcast a cellular signal requires little or no manpower - just electricity and computers. I know a lot of people work for Sprint PCS, but I am pretty sure most of them are administrative folks or in customer service and sales. There is no one out at the transmitter. The data centers around the country are probably well-staffed, but, the costs are fixed - whether one million people are using the network, or ten million.

The cable companies seem to have the right idea and the people have responded. According to a Wall Street Journal article from April 28, cable is in 74 million homes and is responsible for 60% of the broadband market. They charge a flat rate for TV. You can watch as much TV as you want. They charge a flat rate for internet use. Go crazy and surf as much as you want - even add other computers in your home for free (if you have a home network). They're even is, in some areas, unlimited phone usage for a flat fee. Bravo. That's the way it should work.

Cable companies did a smart thing in the 90's by upgrading their networks with fiber optic cable. They bore the costs of going from analog copper wire to digital fiber optics when nobody had digital equipment. Today, they reap the benefits of that decision. My cable bill is still way too high, but at least they recognize that whether a million bits are flowing down the fiber or ten million - their costs are the same.

What's the bottom line? I do not see why music downloads should cost more than a nickel per song. I don't see why cell phone or wireless internet usage shouldn't be one, low, flat rate. That low rate could even be free, or almost free! Here's why:

Do you remember broadcast television with the antenna on the roof that your old man risked life and limb to put up? No? Go ask your grandfather you whippersnapper. Television was free!
Wow, what a concept: Free TV! The catch? There was (is) advertising. I can live with that. Make my cell phone free. I can see and hear it now:

"The next five minutes of usage are being brought to you by Budweiser, the King of Beers!"

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What has happened to The Yankees?

After the worst post-season collapse of all time (against the Red Sox, no less) the New York Yankees, in an effort to improve, now have a player payroll of over $200,000,000 dollars. If you add salaries for the executives, secretaries, janitors, other expenses and what have you; the minor league player salaries and expenses; ancillary overhead and Mister Steinbrenner's salary - what you have is a budget greater than many third world countries. Hey, nothing against third world countries, but they, like the Yankees, have not won a World Series in recent memory.

Tonight I am watching the Yankees get beat by the Tampa Devil Rays 10-8 in the eighth inning - The TAMPA BAY DEVIL RAYS! Sorry. I did not mean to shout. The Yankees had a losing record for April. Has the Earth tilted off its axis?

In the last week or so, I have watched the Yanks trot out to the mound, pitchers Sean Henn (who?) and Chien-Ming Wang (who?) in an effort to replace aging, injured millionaires; and two, try and spark some life into an old and lifeless ballclub.

It ain't working. As former New York Knick, Michael Ray Richardson once said, "The ship be sinking."

God, I love that line.

If I may digress a moment - and I will - another great New York sports line belongs to Graig Nettles, former third basemen for the Yankees. When responding to reporter's questions about the trading of Cy Young award winning relief pitcher, Sparky Lyle, Graig concluded, "He went from Cy Young to 'Sayonara'."

Okay. Back on message.

Basically, a record of 11-16 is not a good thing. Stanley Womack (who?) is in left field. Andy Phillips (who?) is at first base. Hideki Matsui is now in center field.

While Matsui-san is a polished, solid player, no one will confuse him with Joe Dimaggio or Mickey Mantle... maybe, Bobby Murcer.

It is a long, one-hundred and sixty-two game season as the managers and players say. There is still time to right the sinking ship.

I for one am thinking a very sacrilegious thing for a Yankee fan to think:

Let's Go Mets!

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At the beginning of the personal computer revolution, all we talked about was the hardware - the computers themselves. Which was better: The Altair or the Apple II; the VIC-20 or TRS-80 (Trash-80); the Commodore 64 or the Atari? The IBM or the Osborne?

The reason we talked about hardware was because there was no software. I mean there was *no* software. The very earliest "hobbyists" wrote their own operating systems, languages and programs in machine language - the primitive language understood and executed by the CPU or central processing unit. Later on, we wrote things in Commodore BASIC or ATARI BASIC - a high level language. To people like me, BASIC was a good choice for developing simple games and utility programs. It was easy to learn and not as cryptic as the operation codes and hexadecimal (base 16) numbers used in machine language.

Lurching ahead now, into the present, hardware is once again the front page topic of discussion.

The May 23rd issue of Time magazine, in their feature article on the Microsoft X-Box 360 game system, said that this new product (due out before Christmas 2005) is bound to become the "next killer app."

With apologies to William Safire, it appears the dumbing down of America and misuse of language has now intruded upon the offices of Time. "Killer app" is short for "killer application software." The X-Box is hardware. Though they couldn?t be more wrong, Time is on to something here.

Going back in time, the first universally recognized ?killer app? was Lotus 1-2-3. This was a spreadsheet program, created totally in machine language by Mitch Kapor and Jonathan Sachs. By 1982 standards, it was lightning fast. Accountants (and companies) now had a real tool to do complex calculations and reports. Once there was an application to do real work in real businesses, the sales of personal computers - in particular, the fledgling IBM PC, took off.

Software drove hardware sales. For years, sage counsel informed a person to pick the software they wanted to use, and then go buy a computer that could run that software.

Fast-forwarding to the present again, the X-Box 360 game system is really a sophisticated multi-media computer with capabilities for beyond those of the original, mortal X-Box. This new system promises to bring a movie viewing experience to the game player: Picture quality resolution; 5.1 surround sound and smooth, fine, crisp video that, well, looks like a movie. But wait ? as they say in the Ronco commercials ? there?s more!

The X-Box 360 plays CDs. It plays DVDs. You can show pictures from your digital camera through it. You can play your iPod through your surround system with it. Even an old guy like me has a reason to buy this: It's the Swiss army knife of home entertainment. I'm not a "gamer" anymore, but this is truly a big first step towards what we used to call "convergence." We are witnessing the convergence of all digital entertainment into one unit. Plus, I'll be able to play Tiger Woods PGA Golf 2006 on my 42 inch HDTV. Cool.

There isn't any killer app software anymore. At the risk of sounding like one physicist at the end of the 19th century who said that everything had been discovered, I say - there is no new software - it's all been written. Newer, better, cheaper, faster hardware will drive software sales. In some cases, new hardware will drive hardware sales. Take the iPod, for instance.

Apple Computer sold 5.3 million iPods in the second quarter of their 2005 fiscal year. Apple posted record earnings and revenue due primarily to the 558 percent increase in iPod sales and the sales from their music distribution business, iTunes (which provides the songs that fill up the iPods). iTunes will sell their 500 millionth song sometime this summer. At .99 cents a song, well, even I can do the math on that one.

The iPod is so popular, it has spawned an entire industry of copycat products from Dell, HP, Sony, Rio and others. Further, there is whole new industry making add-on hardware for the iPod like speakers to turn the iPod into a mini stereo system; home stereo connection kits; car stereo connection kits; carrying cases; microphones to turn the iPod into a voice recorder and so on.

In addition to iPod music, iPod Photo was recently released. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out what's next. Coming soon, we may see: iPod Movie; iPod TV; and iPod Streaming Video.

Hardware rules again. And it is not just individual devices. It is networks. The local cable company in your area has probably updated its copper wire network to fiber optic cable. You?re probably already getting, if you want to pay for it, internet access, movies on demand, HDTV channels and commercial free music stations. There's no reason on this network, like other networks, why I couldn't play games on the game server with a local 10 MBPS connection, or transfer files at that speed, or watch TV or share application software like Microsoft Office. Again, we are seeing convergence from another perspective.

But why do we limit ourselves to wires, be they made of copper, or optical fiber? Why isn't all of the above goodness and coolness available, sans cable, on our wireless multimedia stations? Think about it: DVD anywhere, anytime; all your music; all your games; your phone messages; your email - anywhere, anytime.

Convergence. Cool. All made possible by the next generation of computer hardware, network devices and networks.

Yup. Once more, hardware rules.

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With all due respect to the late, Linda Lovelace, this post is not about her.

Everyone with a political bent or agenda is blogging about Mark Felt, former number two man at the FBI, also known as, Deep Throat.

I hate politics. But unlike the 20 and 30-something bloggers out there, I lived through that period. What a trip. I got to see the contortionist Rosemary Woods re-enact of how she mishandled "the tapes." I got to hear, live, "What did the President know, and when did he know it?" I saw Haldeman - the Nazi-like, crew-cut wearing, nut. I got to see Ehrlichman - the balding, Nazi-like, nut. I got to see Gordon Liddy, who was, I mean is - beyond nuts.

If I may digress a moment - and I will - Linda Lovelace's book "Out of Bondage" was (is) a titillating thrill ride. Apparently, she was sexually and professionally dominated and beyond that, just plain abused. Sad. But her anecdotes about dozens of celebrities of the era and their sexual exploits were (are) just hilarious. My my my - we should have suspected what really goes on at The Grotto in Hugh Hefner's Playboy mansion.

Here's my take on that Watergate mess:

It's a push. On the one hand, one informer, secretly and probably illegally, leaking information, can bring down a legitimately elected president. This seems like more power than one man or woman should have. Nixon was and is the only President ever to resign the office.

On the other hand, when there is wrong-doing going on - whether it is in your bridge club, your company or in government - thank God - some people have the courage to let the truth be known. If you don't agree with that statement, then go live next to a nuclear power plant. Thank you very much.

What is beyond dispute is the power of the press in this country. Beyond Mark Felt, it was the research, phone calls, visits and interviews by the press, in particular, the nearly famous Woodward and Bernstein who helped bring down the President and several others in his inner circle.

In grade school, we learned about the checks and balances in our American system of government. The three branches balanced each other with their powers: The executive branch (the President and his cabinet); the legislative branch (the Senate and Congress); and the judiciary branch (the Supreme Court). Now, I submit, there is a fourth and very powerful branch: The Press.

Bill Clinton might have continued buggering interns without a care in the world if weren't for those pesky journalists. Gart Hart might have been elected President. Cendant, Enron, WorldCom, et al, might still be cooking the books.

The current President might be ready to send troops into North Korea and Saudi Arabia if not for those those tattle-tale reporters telling us about the debacle in Iraq.

The pen has never been mightier.

This post originally appeared on an external website

The 16th Lord of the Manor of Gardiner's Island in New York, Robert David Lion Gardiner, is dead and they are auctioning off his stuff. No, that?s not a headline you will read in the New York Times, but it?s sadly true. What am I talking about? Okay, wait a second.

Speaking of The Times, and if I may digress a moment ? Where is Jayson Blair when we need him: Writing accounts of the whacky goings on at Guantanamo (or ?Gitmo? as journalists are now jauntily calling it); the beatings; the dog collars; the naked piles of Iraqis; the mistreatment the Koran? Wait, we don?t need Mr. Blair for that. It?s all true. Yes, I digress, also with sadness.

So, regretfully, I must report that the historic ?stuff? of Robert David Lion Gardiner, the 16th Lord of the Manor, is being sold off. It would be even sadder if he wasn't dead - but he is. Old chap was in his nineties.

His obituary on the net can be found here.

Some history is here.

The news regarding the auction of his stuff is here.

Yours truly actually met his lordship. I was a skinny young dude of 18 or so, and the field trip chairman of the Moraine Audubon Society in Suffolk County on Long Island. I know - can you spell nerd? I knew you could. Through a long correspondence by letter, and later by phone, I somehow won over Mr. Gardiner with my enthusiasm and the promise to help, via the Audubon Society, to preserve Gardiner's Island, that amazing piece of land, nestled between the North and South forks of Long Island, for all-time.

Needless to say, when I introduced myself at the dock, he was shocked that I was so young, and maybe a little angry that he had inadvertently been misled - I mean, hoodwinked. (I never misrepresented myself. I just never mentioned my age. And, I WAS an officer in the Moraine Audobon Society - of course, not THE Audubon Society.)

The Lord was "a trip" as we used to say back in the day. His bearing was imperious and somewhat regal. He was unflappable and unfailingly polite, though appearing a bit irritated and confused as he surveyed the group of motley birdwatchers on his dock. We took his yacht to the island. He drove us himself.

Once there, we were treated to a personal tour of the island and the manor house. Gardiner strutted around barechested on this hot summer day and singled out one of the females in our group to make constant eye contact with and smile after every bon mot. Some of the members came away later with more remembrances of the Lord's charm and wealth. I had to remind them that they were witness to land blessed by God (and the Montaukett Indians) and frozen in time - just the way it was almost 400 years ago.

Forget about the miles of pristine white sand beach and the pirate treasure buried there (in the late 1600's by one William Kidd.) Inland there was mature, 400 year old forests and streams. There were grasslands and mud flats and swamps and bogs. There were wildflowers and trees of every variety. Wild turkeys roamed the edge of the forest like something from pre-history. Overhead, Ospreys circled and soared - and this was at a time when Ospreys were almost extinct in the Northeast, primarily due to pesticide use. The ingestion of pesticides could kill the birds directly, but most often led to fertility problems in the species and soft-shelled, fragile eggs that often did not survive. Here, on Gardiner's Island, they were DDT free, healthy and abundant.

The abundant greenery, the wildlife, the flowers and birds were all magnificent. I don't get a chance to use the word 'magnificent' too often, but now is the time. Gardiner's Island was, matter of factly, the land that time forgot.

So, even though I digress, I usually have a point, and the point is this: It was with great sadness I read of the auctioning off of the Lord's furniture and personal effects. This can only mean that Gardiner's Island is in peril once more. Old wealth not-withstanding (the Gardiners pre-dated the Rockefellers by about 200 years for example) - it takes a lot of money to own a 3500 acre island. Trust me on that.

Having said that, the temptation will be for the current crop of Gardiner's and their heirs to sell to a Richard Branson or Butch Stewart type for a couple of billion dollars. I hope that doesn't happen. To the federal or state officials that might like to preserve it and want to know why they should - they just have to visit - like I did. Imagine the finest beach you have ever seen; the densest forest; the most beautiful wildflowers; the clearest streams; the most secluded park or nature preserve teeming with wildlife: This is Gardiner's Island.

Here's hoping that the next Sandal's will not be located there anytime soon and I won't have to say, "This WAS Gardiner's Island."

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I learned a long time ago, the hard way, that one should never discuss politics or relegion at work. I can't give you the details right now, but trust me - forego any political or relegious debates at work. For now, allow me to share some revelations regarding a re-reading of the Book of Genesis - the very beginning, and the heart of the Old Testament: The foundation of Christianity and Judaism.

God created the Earth and the heavens in six days and rested on the seventh: Okay. Cool.

God created Adam out of the dirt and dust.

God created woman (Eve) out of Adam's rib. Hey, that's better than being created out of the dirt, right?

God created the Garden of Eden that was paradise on this Earth so that Man and Woman would not want for Beauty and for food.

God had one tree in the Garden of Eden, the Tree of Knowledge, that was forbidden to be touched. Okay, fine. The knowledge within the fruit of the tree was the God-like knowledge of Good and Evil (as God Himself described it).

A serpent convinced Eve that eating the forbidden fruit would be cool. Hoooahh! Learn and enjoy!

NOT COOL!

Gentle reader, this started a chain reaction of events that convinced me that:

One, God is a procedural programmer AND an event driven programmer: The ultimate programmer. I guess you have to be a programmer to get that one. Oh well.

Two, he was not a guy you or I would warm up to. Sure, I know he was not a guy... but... you know what I mean.

The poor sepent was banished to spend the rest of his days crawling on his belly tasting dirt. Whoa. Mean. Who knew snakes had legs back in those days.

Eve was punished by being condemned to painful childbirth "for the rest of her days." I know, yes, the implication is that childbirth didn't have to be painful, but Eve screwed up.

Now, Adam lived over 900 years and with Eve (and Eve alone we assume) created an indeterminate amount of children. Wow! 900 years of pain! "Get away from me Adam!"

Adam was punished by being evicted from the Garden of Eden where he would have to toil and tend the ground and grow whatever was needed so he and Eve and their children could live. Talk about stress.

Wait it gets worse.

During this time when God had a personal relationship with humans, and talked to them, he demanded a sacrifice from Cain and Abel - the sons of Adam and Eve. Abel was the keeper of sheep. Cain was a tiller of the ground.

Alright. Know where I am going here? Abel offerred up one of his young sheep to the Lord. Gentle reader, that's a biblical euphemism for blood sacrifice. Cain offerred his finest fruits and vegetables. God was pissed at Cain's offerring, but favored Abel's. Cain was so distressed and disturbed about this that he killed his own brother. God was now totally pissed.

Generation after generation of evil was conceived (at least in God's eyes). Finally, the Lord could take no more and decided he had made a mistake and devised a plan to wipe everything out - except Noah, and the passengers on his boat. The Lord would commit genocide and drown every sentient being on the planet. Nice.

Here is a god who punishes serpents, men and women alike. A god who sets up Paradise and then snatches it away. A god who favors blood sacrifices and implicitly, damns vegetarians. A god who sanctions the killing of an innocent lamb, but equates evil Mankind at a level that apparently negates a virgin sacrifice (we hope). A god who made a mistake and then tries to correct it by wiping everything out.

This is also a god, based on simple logic, that allowed incest to occur - and maybe that's why he had to wipe everyone out and start over. Oh gee, God screwed up. How could that be? Well, if Cain and Abel had children (and they did - lots - people lived a long time back then - just ask Methuselah) - then who did they procreate with? I'll tell you: Their sisters, their nieces or their mother. There was nobody else around.

That's when I stopped reading Genesis.

I realize as my wife said that this was a parable for the people of that time. The message was simply: Fear God or be punished. Obey.

Fine, but...

Bless the Creator. Bless Mother Nature. However, the god in Genesis is not my God. It almost makes me think the coming of Jesus was spin control to portray a kinder and gentler God. Look, I give you the life of my only Son for all of your sins. Don't worry. Be happy.

Yeah. Uh huh. Fine. Next.

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The personal computing revolution is over.

I know, ?Tell me something I don?t know -expletive deleted-.?

During the last several years we have seen quite a few refinements, faster processors and cheaper units, and so on, but nothing really new.

The processors in computers are faster than ever, but are developed seemingly more for marketing purposes, rather than for any real value they bring to the average PC user. Will a 3GHz unit balance my checkbook any faster than a PC with 2GHz processor? Nope.

Disk drives today have a slightly greater capacity at a lower price. All computers are a little smaller and lighter than they ever were. Displays seem to be stuck at a resolution of around 1280 x 1024 pixels, though the prices of flat panel monitors are falling. More people have computers today thanks to the falling prices. However, there is just nothing new, no new ?killer app? to drive the next generation of hardware ? nada, zippo, zilch.

The iPod seems new, but ask yourself: ?Were there mp3 players before the iPod?? You betcha there were. The iPod is just a refinement upon what was. It?s a really super-cool refinement, but a refinement only.

Where are the virtual displays projected directly upon my retina? Where are the virtual 3D glasses? Where is the foldable LCD film display to save weight? Where are those 2 pound notebooks anyway?

Why can nothing replace a keyboard and mouse? Where is the ?magic glove? that lets me ?mouse? in mid-air and ?press? keys on a virtual keyboard? Why are we still waiting for speech recognition software to finally arrive?

I could stream video eight years ago? Why is streaming video still so choppy, fuzzy, and small? Okay, that one I can answer.

Even the finest high speed internet access in the country, Optimum Online can only deliver 1,000kbs downloads and a streaming download rate of 300kbs, give or take. I?ve seen it faster, but it is often many times slower. Where is the promised 100mbs (1,000,000 kbs) pipelines we were told that were coming so that we could actually watch high definition videos on our two pound notebooks with the retinal projection glasses?

Why isn?t everything wireless? Why do I still have so many cables under my desk? Alright, I?ll guess we?ll always need power cables... but why? Why can?t a battery last more than 4 hours? Why isn?t there a solar-powered PC? How about a hydrogen fuel cell powered PC? Hey, why isn?t this space program stuff filtering down to me, the common man, like NASA said it would?

It?s kind of sad that the heady era of computer innovation and advance is over. It?s sad because a lot of us were there near the beginning, actually there: Buying our Atari 2600 game consoles; writing blackjack programs in BASIC on our Commodore 64s; carrying stacks of punch cards to the card reader at school or work; learning Lotus 1-2-3 and dBase.

The first revolution in computing was actually making the building-sized, water-cooled behemoths actually do anything useful for any extended period of time.

The second revolution was bringing this computing power out of the military and the universities and into corporations.

The third revolution in computing was bringing this processing power to the desktop and into the home.

The next revolution in computers will be bringing that power into - us.

The human brain is an organic computer. Whoever can figure out how to network my brain with my Dell, well, now you have something.

Accessing my computer via a ?wireless brain interface? eliminates the need for input-output devices; therefore the ability to network with my computer (or any computer) requires no hardware on my end. Further, since my brain is just another computer in the network, I could be, in theory, connected to everyone and every thing.

So, there?s nothing really new in the world of personal computers. I?m not so terribly bothered by that.

I think I?ll go outside and have a beer in the sun.

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I have done everything I wanted to do with my website stevenkontos.com that I set out to do. It still looks like the work of a beginner, but along the way, I became proficient using FrontPage 2002, learned HTML, CSS, Microsoft IIS, a little ASP and a little Java.

The site now has a navigational structure, a consistent look and feel, and believe it or not, some good content in the fitness section that is as good as anything I have seen on the net. That's not saying much, but I think it's true.

Recently, I offerred my services to three small business owners I deal with. The offer was setting up a website for them for free. Let me repeat: I WILL SETUP YOUR WEBSITE FOR FREE! Sorry, didn't mean to shout.

I wanted to do this because these businessmen (and businesswoman) had no online presence and had no web development experience, plus, I just wanted to get more experience designing and developing.

My answers were in order: No, no and no.

The oil burner guy has no interest and can't see why he would need a website. He has all the business he can handle.

The hairshop owner has a friend of her daughter's that can "do that stuff."

The carpenter has a cousin.

Obviously, my entry into the field of Web Development was not successful using my free pricing strategy. Donald Trump would say, "You're Fired." I don't know. Maybe I could give them money to get the experience.

If you see me on the street someday, looking bedraggled, holding up a sign that says, "WILL CODE HTML FOR FOOD" - try not to step on me as you walk by.

(Note: This was a Kontos Klassic reprint from April 2004)

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Some idiot host on ESPN radio (1050 AM in New York) had to to mention, over and over today, that although he is proud "as an American" that Lance Armstrong is "kicking European butt" in the Tour de France, "Lance is nowhere near the athelete that the average football player is - say, Michael Vick."

Forget the fact that this ESPN guy refuses to call Lance Armstrong "courageous" for beating cancer - his reasoning being that everyone who endures cancer is courageous - this announcer person doesn't even deserve a name, lest he get any more publicity than he deserves. Let me tell you why.

As a former amateur cyclist, a former fencer, a former paddleball player, former raquetball player, hell, even former jogger (who once spent an afternoon jogging 12 miles because it was a nice day) - I can tell you that I have been "fit" - but I have never been anything close to Lance Armstrong.

Olympic level road cyclists are different from you and me. They have heart and lung capacities far beyond those of mortal men. In other words, their bodies can deliver more oxygen to their working muscles for longer periods of time than anybody else on the planet: Yes, you heard me right - The Planet.
In addition to that, Lance's body allows him to work hard without feeling the soreness from lactic acid build-up, that you and I would feel...

Cycling two hours per day...

At full-speed...

Up a mountain....

For three weeks.

That, mes amis, is, Le Tour de France.

Michael Vick? Don't make me laugh.

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"Not too shabby" as Adam Sandler might say.

Now, I would like you to picture in your mind, the same woman above, thirty pounds heavier.

Ooofah.

This fashion trend of low-riding, low-cut pants is one shared by both the firm and the flabby, and is one with "legs" - so to speak. I was kind of hoping this fad would have died out by now. If you're a woman and you don't have an absolutely firm figure and a flat stomach, these pants are not flattering.

Back in the day, bell-bottoms - another hideous fashion trend - gracefully died out after a couple of years. No such luck with the low-cut pants. Worse, I'm even seeing low-riders with bell-bottoms.

If you're a woman - even if you're in great shape - there is only one place for your low-rider pants to go when you bend over - down. The person behind you gets an eyeful of your purple panties and well, your behind. Silly.

Another unflattering factor of low-riders is the fact that they give the illusion of short little, legs and a long torso. Can you say mesomorph? I knew you could.

High-waisted pants and high-heels - I love the 70's.

Please, women, put down the denim, low-riders, and back away from the rack.

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On good days, I consider programming - writing computer programs; slinging code; hacking, etc. - something of an art.

Having said that, there's a lot of struggling artists out there. I might be one of them.

I have been programming for well over... ah, nevermind. That's not important. What is important is that the people who employ people like me still believe that the fastest solution is the best. They'll proudly proclaim that "quick and dirty" is what the customer wants and all they are willing to pay for. "We don't have time to learn" or time to find the elegant solution. "We're hack artists."

Thinking is not allowed, let alone "thinking outside the box" or thinking about "the big picture" when trying to arrive at a correct solution.

Now, call me wild, call me whacky, but I have always believed that the correct solution is the best solution. There is no other solution. The phrase "best solution" is redundant, of course... just like the phrase "hack artist" is an oxymoron.

When has writing redundant code that can withstand any condition, now and in the future - gone out of style? When has trying to learn a new coding technique, to perhaps arrive at a "best practice" solution - now and in the future (when other programmers have to look at my code) - gone out of style? When has the decision to rewrite all or part of program that takes an hour to run so that it only takes one minute to run - gone out of style?

I guess I'm just not stylish.

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Robinson Cano of the New York Yankees and Jose Reyes of the New York Mets both have an on-base percentage about 25 points higher than their batting average - a little over .300. Let me tell you why this sucks - real bad.

On-base percentage is the number of times a player reaches base divided by the number of times they come up to bat. Now, considering that a "walk is as good as a hit" - as they say - 100 walks is the equivalent of 100 hits as far as OBP is concerned.

For players like Cano and Reyes who hit the ball consistently well (both batting around .280) - 100 walks would mean an OBP of over .400.

Cano has only 10 walks in 336 at bats. Reyes has an unbelievable 16 walks in over 490 at bats. Really bad.

Both players are aggressive at the plate, but the lack of patience - the inability to "take a pitch" - especially when the game is on the line - hurts their teams, over and over.

Guys. Take a pitch.

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We had a long, cold winter here in the Northeast.

Yeah, I know, it's summer.

If I wasn't so hot and tired, I would actually do some research to prove that this past winter had more days below freezing than I can remember. That would be about 40 years of remembering - or not remembering as the case may be. Oh, we didn't go sub-zero or anything like that, but it was consistently cold, day after day after day. It was cloudy too - a lot. I was beginning to understand why Scandinavian countries have some of the highest suicide rates.

If I may digress for no reason - and I will - Mark Twain complained that everybody talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it. Ha ha. Very funny. Hey, not too shabby for a literary giant.

Now we have had, since late June - again, no record-breaking temperatures - but consistently hot, humid, tropical-like weather. That would be all of July and August here on muggy Long Island.

According to the brain cells and synapses that have not been damaged by alcohol, this weather pattern does seem like the ones I remember as a kid. But what I don't remember is the consistent high temperature. During July we were in the 90's - seemingly every day. In August, we haven't dipped below 80 for the daily high. This would be great if I was on vacation, but sadly, unlike many of my friends, with their savvy investments and years of high, six-figure income - I still have to work for living. And my next car will not have leather seats. Was that a non-sequitur?

Thankfully, my life is blessed with air conditioning. I remember that old commercial from the 70's where the husband and wife started dancing around the living room after they switched on their new air conditioner: "We've got air contioning! We've got air conditioning!"

To this day, I remember the summer day way back when when my wife-to-be switched on the A/C in her garden apartment and I started dancing around, "We've got air conditioning, we've got air conditioning!" She was my first love and it was my first experience with a beautiful, noisy, frosty cold Fedders air conditioner.

"But Steve, you don't have to run the air conditioner all the time. And, why do you keep it so cold? We have to save on the electric."

"Screw the electric. I want it cold - freezing cold. I want to see frost on the windows. I want icicles hanging out of my nose. We've got air conditioning! We've got air conditioning!"

Now, that psychotic outburst was followed by a maniacal laugh. But Madelyn just shrugged and put on a sweater.

Here's to a dry, moderate, sunny and pleasant fall.

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Blogger sucks. No one reads the damn blog. That's why.

Look, I know my blog is crap. On the other hand, if I see one more unreadable political blog; if I see one more teeny-bopper blog going on about the absurdities of being a teenager; if I see another blog about the single, young guy going on about the absurdities of being a single, young guy - I'll puke. I will rolf, or ralph or do a "Ralph Buick" as my colleague once said. You know: A technicolour yawn; talking to the toilet; praying to the god of porcelain. I will. And, those people and those even crappier blogs get comments! That means people are reading Julie's Rants, or George's Absurd Existence.

But no one reads me.

Maybe it's because Blogger is so popular and has so many blogs. Maybe it's is because I have few relatives and no friends. Maybe that's why no one reads this drivel. I like that word: Drivel. It sounds sort of like what it means. I think my junior high school English teacher Mrs. Chalmers called it "onomatopoeia." I still dream about her. Boy was she hot. But I digress.

When a person poors their creative heart out in any endeavour (without pay), it's recognition that keeps them going. In this blog I have tried to be humourous, write about current events, write about music, about sports, about technology, about popular entertainment, my pet peeves and yes: The Absurd.

It ain't workin'. To quote Micheal Ray Richardson: "The ship be sinking."

I'll probably try submitting this blog to a smaller venue and see how that fares. I suppose there are ways to drive traffic to the site, but, if it involves reciprocal links, I don't want any part of that. If someone wants to link to me, fine. if not, fine. I'm not gonna bribe them with my links and banners or whatever is the protocol these days.

That Google (who owns Blogger) is to blame, would not surprise me. I'm sure it has nothing to do with posts like this one and other ones I have made. I wouldn't want to think that. But then again, why do very specific word searches not turn up any blog entries of mine. Google, supposedly, indexes everything. Apparently, not this blog. Prove me wrong.

So, I am very close to bidding a fond fondue or adieu or whatever to digital "publishing for the people." Yup. It's not happening, babe.

This post originally appeared on an external website

Blogger drives me crazy. No one reads the damn blog. That's why.

Look, I know my blog is crap. On the other hand, if I see one more unreadable political blog; if I see one more teeny-bopper blog going on about the absurdities of being a teenager; if I see another blog about the single, young guy going on about the absurdities of being a single, young guy - I'll puke. I will rolf, or ralph or do a "Ralph Buick" as my colleague once said. You know: A technicolour yawn; talking to the toilet; praying to the god of porcelain. I will. And, those people and those even crappier blogs get comments! That means people are reading Julie's Rants, or George's Absurd Existence.

But no one reads me.

Maybe it's because Blogger is so popular and has so many blogs. Maybe it's is because I have few relatives and no friends. Maybe that's why no one reads this drivel. I like that word: Drivel. It sounds sort of like what it means. I think my junior high school English teacher Mrs. Chalmers

called it "onomatopoeia." I still remember her. This schoolboy was "hot for teacher" as David Lee Roth once sang. But I digress.

When a person pours their creative heart out in any endeavour (without pay), it's recognition that keeps them going. In this blog I have tried to be humourous, write about current events, write about music, about sports, about technology, about popular entertainment, my pet peeves and yes: The Absurd.

It ain't workin'. To quote Micheal Ray Richardson: "The ship be sinking."

I'll probably try submitting this blog to a smaller venue and see how that fares. I suppose there are ways to drive traffic to the site, but, if it involves reciprocal links, I don't want any part of that. If someone wants to link to me, fine. If not, fine. I'm not gonna bribe them with my links and banners or whatever is the protocol these days.

That Google (who owns Blogger) is to blame, would not surprise me. I'm sure it has nothing to do with posts like this one and other ones I have made. I wouldn't want to think that. But then again, why do very specific word searches not turn up any blog entries of mine. Google, supposedly, indexes everything. Apparently, not this blog. Prove me wrong.

So, I am very close to bidding a fond fondue or adieu or whatever to digital "publishing for the people." Yup.

It's not happening, babe.

This post originally appeared on an external website

The Game of course is Baseball.

Baseball is the national pastime in that it defines, more than any other sport, who we are as Americans, or at least who we were.

It is a pastoral game, played outside, in a park, where the main objective is to simply, go home.

It's a peaceful game (not always, of course) where skill, fair play and effort are, more times than not, rewarded.

A baseball game is not over until it is over. All other major sports have a clock and a time limit. Baseball does not.

Unlike other sports, in baseball, the defense holds the ball and controls the action, not the offense.

Baseball is a team sport, but has the unique centerpiece of the one-on-one match up between pitcher and batter.

Baseball has been described as a game of inches where small differences in location determine whether the ball is fouled back or driven into centerfield; where the ball is fair or foul; where the runner is safe or out.

Tim McCarver once described the baseball as a game of angles: The 90 degree angles of the base paths; the angles of a fielder moving towards a batted ball; the angle of the ball as it caroms off the outfield wall.

It has also been said that Baseball is a game of numbers. Baseball fans know we have more statistics than any other sport. We measure how the teams are doing; how players are doing; and how they have done in the past. We have wins and losses and winning percentage. We have earned run averages and batting averages and fielding averages. We count the walks and the strikeouts. We even count the balls and strikes. Stolen bases, on-base percentage, walks per innings pitched, runs batted in, runs scored - the list goes on and on. We compare the numbers from players past with players present.

We can't do that anymore.

To be an American means to be forthright, honest, and true; to work hard; to be driven to succeed, but to do it, fair and square. These are also exactly the qualities we expect from those who play the game.

Players who use steroids, or have used steroids have cheated. Cheating violates the integrity of the game. Trying to gain a physical advantage over other players through illegal means is wrong, professionally and morally.

The phrase "integrity of the game" became known in 1920. It was spoken by Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis. He was a forthright, honest, well-known judge who became the commissioner of Baseball - specifically because of those attributes. This was in the wake of the "Black Sox" scandal.

Some of the Chicago White Sox players cheated in the 1919 World Series, conspiring to lose the game for money. Mobsters made a fortune betting against the Sox. Baseball needed to restore its integrity and people's faith. Judge Landis was the start.

Because of the 1919 "throwing" of the World Series, consorting with gamblers is now forbidden, as is gambling itself when it involves Baseball. To this day, every dugout or clubhouse in the Major Leagues has a sign that says "NO BETTING" - courtesy of the 1919 Chicago Black Sox (nee White Sox).

Now I will digress and mention that is exactly why Pete Rose will never set foot on a baseball field ever again. Can you say banned for life? I knew you could. It is all because he consorted with known gamblers. Worse, he bet on baseball. Obviously, he didn't read the sign.

How does a player sticking a needle in his butt and injecting an oily, anabolic steroid that burns when it goes in, affect the integrity of the game?

Even if he is not working out, a player on anabolic steroids can recover faster and perform longer at a higher level. If he is working out, the player can build muscle mass and develop strength he ordinarily could not attain. The result? While Baseball is a skill sport, a stronger player is more productive. He runs faster. He can hit the ball further. Long fly balls become home runs. Line drive outs become doubles and triples when they fly into the gaps. Finally, whether it's a long game or it's a game towards the end of a long season - all things being equal - like endurance and eye-hand coordination - a stronger player will perform at or near his peak long after the "natural players" have faded into fatigue.

One of the most cherished records in Baseball is the single season home run record. Babe Ruth had 60 home runs in 1927. Roger Maris hit 61 in 1961. Mark McGwire shattered the record with 70 in 1998. Barry Bonds hit 73 in 2001.

Steroids did not exist in 1927. McGwire and Bonds have been strongly linked to steroid use, as well as human growth hormone and other exotic substances.

As far as I am concerned, Roger Maris is still the single season home run champion.

In a game of numbers, how can we ever compare 61 home runs by Roger Maris - all 200 pounds of him - with a couple of much bigger players "on the juice?" We can't.

If Bernie Williams of the Yankees - a nice player with a nice career - had been on the juice - could he have achieved 3000 hits and 500 home runs like Rafael Palmeiro?

Does Palmeiro, who has Hall of Fame statistics, really deserve to be in The Hall?

When admitted steroid abuser Jose Canseco won the MVP award in 1991, how would you feel if you were slender, Mike Greenwell of the Red Sox who finished second?

With Canseco and McGwire on the powerful Oakland A's teams of 1989 and 1990 that won the World Series and League Championship Series respectively, we must ask: Could they have done that without members of the team using illegal substances?

All the statistics for the last 20 years are in question. We have seen an explosion of offense during that time. Now with strict drug testing, home runs and runs scored are down across the board.

Is Barry Bonds as great as his godfather, Willie Mays, or is he merely a nice contact hitter who can hit 30 home runs a year - which is what he did - BS - Before Steroids. Is he even as good as his father Bobby Bonds who hit 30 homers and stole 30 bases in the same season six times?

We'll never know.

Some fans, sportswriters and sports commentators just don't get it. They argue that until very recently, steroids were not a banned substance in Major league Baseball. Yeah but... they were banned in regular society just like other, illicit drugs unavailable without a prescription.

They say, "The fans like offense and want to see home runs. They don't care if the player is on something or not."

Well, they haven't talked to this fan. And, this fan says that in Football, where everyone is "using,? okay, that makes for a level playing field, so to speak. In Baseball, it's pretty clear from the body types and the general nature of the sport that not everyone is "using." Therefore, those that do use have an unfair advantage.

Let me take another tact here. Former Yankee shortstop Tony Kubek once said that Mickey Mantle had "straight-away power,? meaning that most of his hits were out towards centerfield. Kubek estimated, that in the old Yankee Stadium (before remodeling in the seventies), with the fences 450 feet or more away from home plate, that Mantle had 20 or 25 fly ball outs each year that would have been home runs in any other ballpark. In other words, Kubek implied that hitting 70 home runs a year would not have been so improbable for someone like Mantle in another stadium. Now imagine what Mantle could have done "on the juice."

This wonderful, pastoral, scientific, exciting, exacting, tension-filled game of numbers called Baseball has been turned upside-down by steroids.

Could Mantle have hit 70 home runs a year? Could Aaron have hit 1000 for his career? Could Jose Canseco hit 40 home runs and steal 40 bases without chemical help? Is Rafael Palmeiro truly a Hall of Famer?

We will never know.

In a game of statistics, the statistics for the last 20 years are, more or less, meaningless.

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This wouldn't be a personal blog (or bog as I just misspelled it) if it didn't include personal facts.

Twenty-something years ago I had this nirvana-like experience while walking through the woods in the then named Prosser Pines in Suffolk County on Long Island in New York. Today it is a County Park with a different name, but then, the locals simply it called Prosser Pines.

In one section of this park, the White Pine trees soared up, seemingly, 100 feet or so, into the sky. As I walked along the deep bed of pine needles, in the early morning, and looked up into the sunlight streaming through the tree tops, and then looking down at the rays of light, illuminating the ground, I felt a shiver in the back of my neck, and an overwhelming desire to start laughing. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

In that moment, I understood everything. I felt connected to everything in existence. In that moment, I understood "the perfectness" of this world.

Fast forward 10 years later. I am "instant messaging" this much younger, voluptuos young lady about the possible solutions to her problems with her ex- (or soon to be, ex-) boyfriend. I saw the answer to her dilemmas and her woes in a moment of clarity. I have never felt more right. She had gotten my best advice. She was still unsatisfied and confused. I felt bad for her, but, for a couple of days, I have never felt more tranquil and more grounded. During that brief stretch, I had no issues or problems in my life - only paths - true paths - to follow.

Driving home recently, yet again, almost ten years later, with the sun very forceful in my face, even with sunglasses on - I had this "one with the Universe" experience again. This time (like the last time) it lasted for a few days. I don't think my wife quite understood what was going on. I appeared to be happy most of the time. That's not like me at home.

Today, that "connected feeling" - that "one with the universe feeling" - is gone.

I suppose, the only complaint today is that I wish I could get it back.

I know the answers.

We know the answers.

We either pretend the truth doesn't exist or we let ourselves become consumed by the petty.

I know (we know) these things.

But, it's tough to get there from here.

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People close to me have practically begged me, "Please do not put anything personal or embarrassing in your blog."

Complaint noted. Request denied.

First, it's my blog. Butt out.

Second, nobody reads the damn thing (as noted here) so maybe a little controversy would help (readership, that is).

Third, blogs by their nature, like diaries, are personal. What does it say at the top of the page? "A Blog by Steve Kontos." Got that?

It is understood that my colleagues at work might find it shocking that I like to rub Mazola oil all over myself and go sliding around on a plastic tarp after work. Duly noted. I'll try not to divulge that information, but, you can never can tell what I might do after a few glasses of Port - either in terms of writing or sliding.

I digress.

Having said all of that, allow me to also say that my back hurts. It has every day of my adult life, since the age of 22.

I was a strapping young athlete when I ended up on disability for several months. I was bedridden for at least two months. I walked with a cane for about a month after that. I moved around in a "good amount" of pain, (like I have today) for another month after that. Finally, I was able to return to my job as a stock clerk (lowercase letters, please).

Working in the stockroom at Dorne & Margolin, I routinely had to lift 50, 80 and 100 pound boxes of nuts, bolts and screws. Man, that place went through a lot of hardware.

Digressing once more, I started there as an entry level, hourly employee. I was told straight-up that I would be lifting heavy boxes and if I had a problem with that, I should go someplace else.

Being a macho guy being interviewed by a macho guy, I said, "No problem."

Problem.

I was lifting a 100 pound box of something when I felt something go terribly wrong in my lower back.

I was able to finish out the day, but it was in a bent-over position. The pain was horrible. I couldn't stand up. I could not lie down. The worst of two worlds.

I am going to digress now, two more times, so stay with me, okay?

This little aerospace firm, Dorne & Margolin, was the domain of kinkiness. D&M was a den of S&M.

I knew nothing about this stuff at the time (and now, I'm not saying) but there was this "temp" (female) who worked with me in the stockroom who told me about these S&M parties in Patchogue where submissive couples were tied to each other in rope bondage as the "centerpiece" of the gathering. I forget whether they were tied front to front, or back to back. However, they were flogged during the course of the evening.

Holy shit! How decadent? How disgusting? Why aren't I invited to parties like this?

Second digression concerns my boss from back then. He was, apparently, quite a good athlete, especially in baseball. I filled in one time when the company softball team was short-handed and saw him play shortstop.

If you know softball or baseball, you know that shortstop is where, usually, the best athlete on the team plays. At shortstop you need speed, good reflexes, good instincts, soft hands and a good arm. Frank played short.

I saw after the game he was walking like a mummy. He had a bad back. He had worked in the stockroom just like me.

I'm a little mad now, thinking back. Yes, I was told I would be lifting heavy boxes. My mother and father would often tell me to lift with my legs, though, I wasn't quite sure what that meant. But... big but... nobody at work ever told me that. Nobody at work ever offered me a lifting belt.

Okay, I am digressing a third time here... stay with me. I have read that lifting belts, in studies, have not been shown to reduce the number of back injuries.

I disagree. Let me tell you why.

What I never read in these studies was how tightly the belts were fastened. I can tell you from almost 30 years of experience, a loosely fastened belt is as good as wearing no belt at all.

If the belt is tight, you'll be all right. The belt must be tight. I still wear a tight Valeo lifting belt to this day when I know I will be doing something that will stress my back. It works. But it has to be tight.

Okay, back on message. Where was I? Oh yeah - almost 30 years of pain.

I can't complain about my back (except here) because invariably, the helpful "complainee" advises me to see a doctor or chiropractor. To that, let me say: "Been there, done that" - several times, in fact.

My orthopedic guy is surprised I can walk. He said that after showing me the x-ray that clearly shows nothing between lumbar vertebra L5 and the first sacral vertebra S1. The disc has completely degenerated. He also said he's seen worse (spinal columns, that is) but, not much worse.

My prognosis is that I will continue to get worse as time goes on. At some point, I will be a candidate for disc replacement or spinal fusion-type surgery. Until then, I should keep exercising and stretching and take ibuprofen for the pain.

Hey, why can't I get good drugs for the pain like Elvis did?

Oops. Showing my age again.

So, in conclusion, to all my friends and family: If I seem different today then twenty years ago or ten or even five years ago; if I am a little grouchy (okay, a lot grouchy) in the morning; if I complain of insomnia; if I tend to weasel out of any chore or activity that involves lifting or long periods of standing or long periods of sitting or getting in and out of a car; if I have that second or third glass of wine in the evening to "take the edge off" - well, now you know why.

Day after day, year after year of discomfort and pain will change a person, I guess. But, I try, not to let it change me.

In some ways, trying to do that is just as hard as coping with the pain.

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The USTA proudly advertised in today's New York Times that, "... a record 659,000 fans" came to this year's United States Open.

Gee, could it be because none of the participants were on steroids?

Hmmmmm.

This post originally appeared on an external website

Dear Scott,

You recently wrote me and stated simply and directly, "I read you."

That was either an amazing economy of words, or perhaps, multi-syllabic constructs are not your forte. In any event, the thought was much appreciated. I also really liked the the I in italics. It struck me as a show of defiance. You know, like, "
I
like The Complaint Department - (even if no one else does)."

This is probably not Scott:

It is so gratifying to me to get one comment in six months, words cannot express the feeling - Until I look at another blog site like AOL Blogs and see that "Joey's Rants" gets 400 hits a month and dozens of comments. Then, word's do express how I feel:

Blogger, the biggest blog site on the internet, desparately seeking a profit model, just cannot, does not and apparently will not promote the people that make their site something special. It really is a shame.

So then, heres to sites like AOL Blogs and Type Pad where people count (and they get comments).

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If everyone could beat the odds betting on sports, nobody would have to work; the bookies would go out of business and then... well, I guess we would have to go back to work 'cause the bookies went bust. For a second, I thought I had a point.

Still, with great conceit I decided to conquer this year's office football pool. Not only would I be showing company spirit by joining in on something, I would be taking money from the saps who couldn't possibly know as much as me.

My bad.

I started off picking 9 winners against the spread. I only missed winning the whole thing by one. Geez, with a start like this, I had visions of retirement in the Carribbean, working a couple hours a day on my picks, clicking in the bets online and watching my offshore bank account swell like my ego. See, not only am I highly intelligent, I'm a computer programmer: I have cold, calculating logic on my side.

The second week, I won the pool with a mere 8 picks right. Hey, it was only eight, but I won. Wow, even on an "off week", I still won the pot. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby. I decided then and there, I would drop out of the pool if I won too much. I didn't want my co-workers getting angry with me.

From that week on I have struggled to get 5 or 6 winners - that is less than 50% percent right. If I threw darts at a chart to pick the winning teams, I would have done as well - probably better.

That was it. Something had to be done. Starting this week, I have come up with a system for predicting the winner in any NFL contest. Utilizing the awesome brainpower at my disposal, I came up with the following four criteria for picking winners, against the spread in football.

o The team's record against the spread
o Offensive ranking against the other teams
o Defense rank
o Takeaway to turnover ratio

The most important statistic in any sport is the won-loss record. In picking against the points (where betting establishments try to even the odds in picking a winner by giving extra points to the underdogs), the most important statistic would logically be a team's record against the spread. A team that wins against the spread ('ATS' on the betting sites) wins the games they should win and is close in games where they were underdogs.

That's pure logic my friends.

Offense and defense: How are the teams playing against the rest of the league? Over time, there is no luck involved here. The stats for each team stand out naked like... ah, nevermind.

Finally, a team that causes turnovers and itself and doesn't turn the ball over very often is a team with chance to win any game. This is a tough statistic to quantify, or put a value on, but it is one I feel is very important.

Further, I wanted to weight the value of these statistics in a way to come up with a number that was close to the spread. The difference in records against the spread (wins and losses) had full value. The difference againt the league, in offense and defense, was a number I divided by 2. Takeaways to turnovers was divided by 2, but when the difference was greater that 8, I divided by 4.

I did my research. I did my homework. I made my picks. Friday night rolls around. The Miami Dolphins are 1.5 point favorites over the Kansas City Chiefs. My impression, without any analysis, was how could the hapless Dolphins, with a quarterback named Gus be favored over the mighty Chiefs, a team that had some impressive wins early in the season? But, this is the new, scientific, cold and calculating Steve Kontos. To make a long story short, I picked Miami to win by at least a field goal because of an outstanding record against the spread and a much better defense.

Miami got killed 20-10. The Chiefs dominated.

What do I know, anyway?

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Duke Snider was the star of the team. He was a gifted athlete. He was "The Duke" of Flatbush.

Gil Hodges was the "Quiet Man." He exuded strength and dignity. He was a clutch hitter and a Gold Glove first baseman.

Pee Wee Reese, along with Phil Rizzuto, was the premier shortstop of his generation.

Johnny Podres pitched brilliantly in the biggest games, none bigger that the seventh of the World Series in 1955.

Wait 'til next year was the unoffical slogan of the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1940's and 1950's. During that time, the ballclub that called Ebbet's field

in Brooklyn its home was consistently among the best in baseball. During that period they went to the World Series five times, losing to the New York Yankees each time. Five subway series and five times beaten down by the overpowering Yankees - until 1955.

This year, this month, marks the anniversary of when "next year" finally arrived:

The Dodgers, finally, beat the Yankees in 1955.

Oh yes, lest we forget, a very great man by the name of Jackie Robinson for the team from Brooklyn.

And without a miraculous catch and throw by Sandy Amoros, perhaps the Bums never would have beaten the hated Yankees. To those that saw it in person, and those that saw it on a grainy, black-and-white Philco television, it was play that will live on forever.

Yes, it is with fond memories of my parents and my friend's parents telling me warm, misty-eyed stories of Brooklyn, Ebbet's Field and the heros that played there.

When the Dodgers left Brooklyn; when Ebbet's Field was demolished, grown men cried. It was the end of an era. It was the end of something very special. No team - Boston and Chicago included - has ever been as close to their team as the borough of Brooklyn was to their Dodgers.

So even though they went to the World Series again in 1956, only to lose the Yankees once more - enduring a perfect game against them by Don Larsen no less - there was still that satisfaction, the satisfaction of knowing their Beloved Bums had done good.

So, here's to Brooklyn, USA. Here's to the Brooklyn Dodgers.

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Sure, Bill Clinton lied.

But, nobody died.

This post originally appeared on an external website

You have to go back awhile. Folks that like rock and roll and a good melody - folks like my friend Frank, would like Chilliwack. But, you have to go back awhile.

This is one helluva song, even if we have to go back about 20 years to rediscover it.

A good melody is hard to find. "Gone, Gone, Gone So Long (My Girl)" is close to the ultimate rock song. Perfect A-B-A construction; thick harmonies that evoke the Beach Boys; tight instrumentals; slick production - you know, I give it an 87 - it has a good beat and makes me feel like dancing.

Where IS Dick Clarke when we need him?

Oh yeah... stroke... brain impairment... drool coming out of his left cheek corner... but I digress.

Be well, Dick.

How is it that a group from almost 20 years ago still sounds fresh? No, not the Bay City Rollers... I'm talking about
Chilliwack
.

But wait, there is "more" as they say in the Ronco commercials. Upon doing the obligatory Google search on Chilliwack I discovered that the band is named after a town in British Columbia, Canada.

It was a bit of a letdown after having learned that. But then I discovered Chilliwack - the real Chilliwack.

Chilliwack is perhaps one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Don't believe me? Okay, how about this:

So, here's to a quiet, dark Thursday evening, dreaming of another life, walking through the mist and drifting snow towards that inviting cabin in Chilliwack - the one with the warm, yellow glow, snuggled deep in serenity.

It's just snowflake fantasy to pass the time on a lonely night.

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I give thanks tonight, just before midnight, on the eve of Thanksgiving.

Tonight I contemplate Thanksgiving Day alone.

I think this situation probably happened once or twice when I was a young man, and back then, it was a quiet respite - and also an adventure trying to discover what WAS open Thanksgiving Day. Quite a lot was open, in fact: Movie theaters; restaurants; bars; and any business owned and operated by people not native to the United States. If you are ever in my position, trust me, you will not go hungry or be bored on Thanksgiving Day - especially if you like to watch football or live near a big city.

I remember one time, alone on Turkey Day, I decided to eat out. I shunned the special turkey dinner on the menu in favor of a juicy burger and a beer. The waitress commiserated with me on being alone and I commiserated with her on having to work.

If I may digress - and I will - I have always had the utmost respect for waitresses. Some say it is the world's oldest profession. I know what you are thinking, but trust me, the world's oldest profession had to involve serving food... not that "other" world's oldest profession. They (waitresses) work hard for less than the minimum wage and literally live on the tips from their customers. Many people don't know that waitresses, because of their tip income, are "allowed" to earn less than the minimum wage (which of course nobody can survive on to begin with).

Waitresses are on their feet all day. They carry stuff all day. They deal face-to-face with customers all day long. They work hard for the money.

My Mom was a waitress.

I always tip big. You should too.

Anyway, this waitress and I hit it off and it was a wild ride for a few weeks. We rode at her place, my place, the movies, my car, the park... She was an uncomplicated, easygoing, free spirit. She loved, and she loved hard. I won't ever forget you Maria or your penchant for Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum and Coke.

To put this holiday in perspective, the spirit of Thanksgiving goes back to the people who crossed the ocean - at a time when that was like going to the moon - and who fought for survival on a strange and new and hostile continent. They basically celebrated the fact that they didn't die. They even invited some Native Americans they were so thankful.

So, in that spirit, I say that even though divorce has landed me in a basement apartment, it is a nice basement apartment with a landlord I have known for a few years. It's starting over, but it's freedom, too.

I am thankful this divorce, while not amicable, was uncontested and that our son and his well-being is what we both care about the most. And even if it turns out that it is only what I care about most, he will know that I will always be there for him.

I got your back, son. (And your's too Stephanie).

I am thankful that despite constant back pain, I am active. Nobody likes pain, but there are worse things like not being able to walk.

In spite of divorce and having to move, I also have a new job that is fulfilling, rewarding and fun. I haven't been able to make that statement... forget about "in a while" - maybe "ever."

Life has been hard for me recently, and I really miss seing my son everyday. But here I am in my apartment, sipping wine, editing my blog and remembering that I have things and can do things that many others cannot. So, yes. I give thanks.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

This post originally appeared on an external website

I recently bought my first high-definition TV.

Going back almost 40 years...

I remember when my father brought home our first color TV. It was used. It didn't work so good. The people looked green. I took a peek inside the set and saw that some tubes appeared to be burnt out. We got them replaced by a TV repairman who actually came to the house. They did that in those days. Then we figured out we could save money by just looking for the tubes that weren't glowing, buy them and replace them ourselves.

I became the family's official tube spotter. I would take out the bad tube, go to the drugstore (of all places) and match up the pins on the bottom of the tube to a chart and then order the correct part.

Dad and I (mostly I) risked life and limb on the roof, straightening out the antenna, pointing it in the direction of the Empire State Building and yelling down the chimney, "Howzit look now!"

We constantly fiddled with the brightness, contrast and the red, yellow and blue controls to get the best possible picture. We especially had to battle with the knob marked Vert Lin. The slightest touch in the wrong direction would start the screen "flipping." I hated it when we couldn't stop the flipping.

When we got it right though, we were mesmerized. Wow! Color TV! Even if what we were watching was crap, we watched it anyway ?cause it was in color.

?Green Acres is the place to be??

High-definition television is the same. You'll watch something just because it is widescreen and in high-def. CSI is an okay show for example, but, widescreen, even standing right in front of the set, you can?t even see the pixels. That?s how fine the detail is. The blood looks so real. I am, well, mesmerized.

?Farm livin? is the life for me?.?

This particular purchase had a ?throw in? DVD player that up-converts its output to 1080i or 720p high-definition format. Again, the result is unreal because it is so close to reality.

?Land spreadin? out so far and wide, keep Manhattan just give me that countryside.?

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Attachments are not made to be broken. In fact, when love is the glue, they seem to get stronger over time. I have a deep attachment for my son Christopher. It gets deeper every time I see him. It becomes more apparent every time I have to leave.

You see, I do not get to see him every day, like I used to - before the divorce.

Now, I see him twice a week ? one evening during the week and one day on the weekends. When I am alone in my new apartment, I miss him so much it hurts. It hurts my heart.

When my son was born, he was a bit premature. The delivery had to take place or Mom would have been in trouble. So, Christopher was born screaming and crying ? screaming the instant he was removed from his warm, wet home and brought into this cold, new, bright universe with all its strange sounds.

I was the first person to touch Chris in a gentle way. With my hand on his head, I whispered to him, over and over, ?It's okay Chris. It?s okay. It?ll be okay. I love you.?

I held him. I brought him to Mom and then Mom held him. We both held him and all of us cried.

Psychic bonding is not the domain of twins and I will tell you now that I have this special bond with my son. I trace it back to the delivery. I feel his emotions. I can sense them. I can feel when he is down, or agitated, or elated and bouncing with joy. He can sense these things in me. He has definitely been out of sorts since I left. I know he hurts too. I know he misses me.

So, it?s my job now to smile and pick-up my little buddy because I know when he is old enough, he will do the same for me ? in his own way, in a child?s way, naturally, without thinking about it ? just by being himself.

I love you Chris.

Be good. I?ll see you soon.

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Have you ever been doing something, or watching something, and suddenly had an insight into another thing, entirely different?

?They mean to take us as their prize. Greed will be their downfall.?

?They are a threat to England. And even though we be on the far side of the world? this ship is England.?

?Alright men? Quick is the word, and sharp is the action. After all, Surprise is on our side.?

In watching
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
it occurred to me that women will never fully experience what is encapsulated in the phrase ?brothers at arms? or ?the camaraderie of men.?

If you?re a man: Whether you?ve played in a band; bowled in a league; played ball; served this country, or yes, been on a ship at sea with other men - the concept of a teammate, comrade, or brother in battle, is a concept intuitive.

To serve together; sacrifice for another; fight; compete, and concomitantly, celebrate together, or commiserate together ? well, these are things, while not entirely the province of men, are to women, concepts slightly foreign.

The closest many woman get is the corporate world - the world of business. In the business world, being a team player and also, excelling individually, are highly esteemed. In this novel environment, women can become overly aggressive thinking that to succeed in a Man?s World that they have to be Super Men. Of course, they don?t.

What I have seen in these last 30 years in the corporate world are women belligerent; brusque; women talking tough and using the F word at every opportunity.

Memo to all the director level (and higher) corporate women: You don?t have to communicate hard, or even curse to be effective. Be yourselves.

Vive la difference.

This was written with Nomi in mind. Nomi, if you are reading this, you are a woman among men.

But you know that.

This post originally appeared on an external website

Have you ever been doing something, or watching something, and suddenly had an insight into another thing, entirely different?

?They mean to take us as their prize. Greed will be their downfall.?

?They are a threat to England. And even though we be on the far side of the world? this ship is England.?

?Alright men? Quick is the word, and sharp is the action. After all, Surprise is on our side.?

In watching
Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
it occurred to me that women will never fully experience what is encapsulated in the phrase ?brothers at arms? or ?the camaraderie of men.?

If you?re a man: Whether you?ve played in a band; bowled in a league; played ball; served this country, or yes, been on a ship at sea with other men - the concept of a teammate, comrade, or brother in battle, is a concept intuitive.

To serve together; sacrifice for another; fight; compete, and concomitantly, celebrate together, or commiserate together ? well, these are things, while not entirely the province of men, are to women, concepts slightly foreign.

The closest many woman get is the corporate world - the world of business. In the business world, being a team player and also, excelling individually, are highly esteemed. In this novel environment, women can become overly aggressive thinking that to succeed in a Man?s World that they have to be Super Men. Of course, they don?t.

What I have seen in these last 30 years in the corporate world are women belligerent; brusque; women talking tough and using the F word at every opportunity.

Memo to all the director level (and higher) corporate women: You don?t have to communicate hard, or even curse to be effective. Be yourselves.

Vive la difference.

This was written with Nomi in mind. Nomi, if you are reading this, you are a woman among men.

But you know that.

This post originally appeared on an external website

Chuck Norris is 65. Can you believe it? He truly is super-human, and he is still kicking... literally. Herewith, are my favorite Chuck Norris, internet factoids:

Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Chuck Norris came out feet first so he could roundhouse kick the doctor in the face. Nobody delivers Chuck Norris but Chuck Norris. Shortly thereafter, he grew a beard.

Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.

When he was only five, the United States sent Chuck Norris to Germany to find Hitler. Chuck Norris found the bunker where Hitler was hiding and roundhouse kicked him to death.

After much debate, President Truman decided to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima rather than the alternative of sending Chuck Norris. His reasoning? It was more "humane".

As a teen Chuck Norris impregnated every nun in a convent tucked away in the hills of Tuscany. Nine months later the nuns gave birth to the 1972 Miami Dolphins, the only undefeated and untied team in professional football history.

To prove it isn?t that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.

Although it is not common knowledge, there are actually three sides to the Force: the light side, the dark side, and Chuck Norris.

A duck?s quack does not echo. Chuck Norris is solely responsible for this phenomenon. When asked why, he will simply stare at you, grimly.

Chuck Norris once tried to defeat Garry Kasparov in a game of chess. When Norris lost, he won in life by roundhouse kicking Kasparov in the side of the face.

Chuck Norris? roundhouse kick is so powerful, it can be seen from outer space by the naked eye.

Chuck Norris has never blinked in his entire life. Never.

Chuck Norris doesn?t need to swallow when eating food.

Ironically, Chuck Norris? hidden talent is invisibility.

Chuck Norris invented a language that incorporates karate and roundhouse kicks. So next time Chuck Norris is kicking your ass, don?t be offended or hurt, he may be just trying to tell you he likes your hat.

Chuck Norris went looking for a bar but couldn?t find one. He walked to a vacant lot and sat there. Sure enough within an hour an a half someone constructed a bar around him. He then ordered a shot, drank it, and then burned the place to the ground. Chuck Norris yelled over the roar of the flames, ?always leave things the way you found em!?

If you unscramble the letters in "Chuck Norris" you get "Huck corn, sir." That is why every fall, Chuck travels to Nebraska and burns the entire state down.

When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women.

Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse? horses are hung like Chuck Norris.

Chuck Norris can make a woman climax by simply pointing at her and saying "booya".

Chuck Norris once ate three 72 oz. steaks in one hour. He spent the first 45 minutes having sex with his waitress.

Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds till what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face.

There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Chuck Norris.

When Chuck Norris's wife burned the turkey one Thanksgiving, Chuck said, "Don't worry about it honey," and went into his backyard. He came back five minutes later with a live turkey, ate it whole, and when he threw it up a few seconds later it was fully cooked and came with cranberry sauce. When his wife asked him how he had done it, he gave her a roundhouse kick to the face and said, "Never question Chuck Norris."

Those aren't credits that roll after Walker Texas Ranger; it is actually a list of people that Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked in the face that day.

Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

A man once asked Chuck Norris if his real name is "Charles". Chuck Norris did not respond, he simply stared at him until he exploded.

Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.

Chuck Norris often asks people to pull his finger. When they do, he roundhouses them in the abdomen. Then he farts.

Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death.

Aliens do exist. They're just waiting for Chuck Norris to die before they attack.

Chuck Norris appeared in the "Street Fighter II" video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to do a roundhouse kick. When asked about this "glitch," Norris replied, "That's no glitch."

Chuck Norris does not hunt because the word hunting infers the probability of failure. Chuck Norris goes killing.

According to Einstein's theory of relativity, Chuck Norris can actually roundhouse kick you yesterday.

A blind man once stepped on Chuck Norris' shoe. Chuck replied, "Don't you know who I am? I'm Chuck Norris!" The mere mention of his name cured this man blindness. Sadly the first, last, and only thing this man ever saw, was a fatal roundhouse delivered by Chuck Norris.

When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack. Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes ever.

Chuck Norris counted to infinity - twice.

Chuck Norris can divide by zero.

Chuck Norris sleeps with a night light. Not because Chuck Norris is afraid of the dark, but the dark is afraid of Chuck Norris.

This post originally appeared on an external website

Ah, The Grammy Awards, or, as I like to call it: The Night of the Living Dead.

Did you see Neil Young? He was appearing, apparently, straight from the county morgue. How old is Neil anyway - 82? ?Hey, hey, my, my. Rock and roll will never die ?? But, perhaps Neil will eventually. Harsh words I know, but, I?m in a lousy mood.

Sly - of Sly and the Family Stone - appeared on-stage in a gold Mohawk with enough makeup and leather skin to make me think Sly spent last night in a sarcophagus. God bless him. Before the set was over, he turned his back on the audience and walked off-stage. I guess daylight was approaching.

At first glance, Paul McCartney looked pretty good and performed a killer set. When he did ? Helter Skelter? I?m pretty sure he must have told his mates, ?Let?s let them know I can do more than pretty love songs.? And he did. It?s just that it sucked. Also, if you have HDTV, the apparent youth of McCartney gave way to a heavily lined and lizard-like appearance.

Burt Bacharach, Les Paul and George Duke: How old can you go?

I?m an old guy and I could not help but think: Let Green Day, Maroon 5 and Kanye West enjoy the day.

Besides the old geezers, please allow me to remark on the following in my drunken stupor:

Christina Aguilera: Why do you want to look like Lana Turner and ruin a perfect jazz piano performance by Herbie Hancock?

Gwen

Stefani: Why are you trying to look like the Marilyn Monroe of the new century? It?s getting old. Drop the white, silk, slip-like gowns, the pancake makeup and the day glow red lipstick.

What about Mary J. Blige? All she was missing with her black cat suit and leather corset was a whip. Please don?t punish me Mistress Blige.

Madonna looked great, but let?s face it: She has evidently opted for the Science Fiction Young surgery. God bless Madonna.

Grammy Night also appeared to be a night of contrasts: Fiona Apple with a couple of rappers; Jennifer Love Hewitt with a couple of rappers; and so on. Hey, how about giving us presenters from the same musical style as the nominees? Wouldn?t that be more substantive and real?

Reality sucks? apparently.

Kelly Clarkson: How the f__ does this tart beat out Mariah Carey, Bonny Raitt and Sheryl Crow? To quote Al Pacino from Glengarry Glen Ross: ?I don?t care whose cousin you know, whose dick you?re suckin? on - You?re goin? out?

Alas, she wins the Grammy.

Oh yes, memo to Mariah Carey: Just say no to bon bons. Two words for you Maria: Salad bar. How long before Mariah, once again, is photographed staggering around the local mall speaking gibberish?

I told you I was in a bad mood.

This post originally appeared on an external website

I promised myself I wouldn't write this because a couple of my colleagues do in fact drive minivans. They are of course, excepted. Also excepted are full-sized cargo vans and camper vans. However, it is my opinion that every minivan sold in this country should come with a warning sticker that says: "Caution: Minivan Driver."

What drove me to break my promise above was a trio of incidents within a 15 minute period, today at lunch.

Leaving the parking lot at work, I swerved with uncanny reflexes to avoid a blue minivan backing up, oblivious to the presence of my red, two-ton SUV.

As the light turned green for me to get on the main road, a minivan ran the red light.

Coming back to work after getting lunch, I swerved slightly as a minivan came speeding up to a STOP sign on a side street and finally skidded to a stop about 6 feet past the sign.

In truth, I have not encountered on the roads of Long Island, or anywhere really, a more tortured and truculent group than minivan drivers.

They drive their shoebox on wheels like it was a Porsche Carerra. On the plus side, many minivans score high in crash tests - which is a good thing considering the way their owners drive.

I attribute all of this to the fact that minivan drivers do not choose their vehicles based on desire, they choose it based on need and practicality.

As proof, what young, single person for example, that could purchase any vehicle they want, would choose a minivan? No one. Not a one.

Minivans are forced on individuals by virtue of family and obligations. You need a minivan to transport "the kids." That's right soccer Mom's and scout troop Dad's - you made the logical choice. I'm sorry if you really wanted the BMW 3 Series Convertible. Just don't drive the damn van like it was a BMW.

"Hey, we got a V-6, a DVD player, and a five speaker stereo system."

Great. Just obey the speed limit, the other traffic laws and try not to hit me, okay?

This post originally appeared on an external website

What did I do on my vacation?

One of the things I did was go to the Kennedy Space Center where I saw how we sent men to the moon on <strong>1969 technology</strong>.

Scary stuff.

I was also reminded of a young, 26 year-old software engineer by the name of Steven Bales who, along with Neil Armstrong, Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin and Michael Collins, won the <strong>Presidential Medal of Freedom</strong>.

You see, the navigational computer on the Lunar Module (with all it's 74 kilobytes of memory - about the same as a cell phone) came up with a 1202 alarm while the LEM was off-course and hurtling a little too fast towards the lunar surface. For all their training, Armstrong and Aldrin did not recognize a 1202. All eyes at Mission Control turned towards Bales, including those of Flight Controller Gene Krantz whom everyone simply called, <em>"Flight."</em>
 
Since the Mission Control staff had been trained to analyze all scenarios - even impossible ones - responses were usually given in about three seconds. Too bad Bales had never seen this alarm either. The navigational computer was absolutely needed to put the LEM into a position to land on the moon before Neil Armstrong could take over and land the LEM like a helicopter.
 
An unknown navigational computer alarm was probably going to abort the lunar landing.
 
Frantically twirling his hair, talking to his backups on his headphones and looking into his tiny computer screen, young Steve Bales finally, after almost 20 seconds, stammered out, "We're... we're GO on that Flight! We're GO!"

<a href="Hear'>http://www.apollostory.com/sounds/a3.mov">Hear it, now!</a>

You see, the 1202 and (1201/1202 alarms that followed) were simply old debugging codes indicating the computer was just too busy at the moment and had to wait to complete the current task before it could handle a new one. The technical term in those days for you techies was "executive overflow." Bales made the correct decision - with the help of his backups Jack Garman and Gran Paules.
 
Medal of Freedom, baby!
<a href="http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/bobhope/images/bh0178s.jpg"><img src="http://www.loc.gov/exhibits/bobhope/images/bh0178s.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>

What did I do on my vacation? One of the things I did was go to the Kennedy Space Center where I saw how we sent men to the moon on 1969 technology. Scary stuff.

I was also reminded of a young, 26 year-old software engineer by the name of Steven Bales who, along with Neil Armstrong, Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin and Michael Collins, won the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

You see, the navigational computer on the Lunar Module (with all it's 74 kilobytes of memory - about the same as a cell phone) came up with a 1202 alarm while the LEM was off-course and hurtling a little too fast towards the lunar surface. For all their training, Armstrong and Aldrin did not recognize a 1202. All eyes at Mission Control turned towards Bales, including those of Flight Controller Gene Krantz whom everyone simply called, "Flight."

Since the Mission Control staff had been trained to analyze all scenarios - even impossible ones - responses were usually given in about three seconds. Too bad Bales had never seen this alarm either. The navigational computer was absolutely needed to put the LEM into a position to land on the moon before Neil Armstrong could take over and land the LEM like a helicopter.

An unknown navigational computer alarm was probably going to abort the lunar landing.

Frantically twirling his hair, talking to his backups on his headphones and looking into his tiny computer screen, young Steve Bales finally, after almost 20 seconds, stammered out, "We're... we're GO on that Flight! We're GO!"

Hear it, now!

You see, the 1202 and (1201/1202 alarms that followed) were simply old debugging codes indicating the computer was just too busy at the moment and had to wait to complete the current task before it could handle a new one. The technical term in those days for you techies was "executive overflow." Bales made the correct decision - with the help of his backups Jack Garman and Gran Paules.

Medal of Freedom, baby!

It?s Mothers Day. I am back home from the supermarket, I have schlepped in the bags and darn it ? I forgot the newspaper. Reluctantly, I grab my car keys and head back out to the car. It?s a little cool and damp today, but I decide to walk to Ronnie?s Deli for the paper, and for the exercise. Shouldn?t be too bad ? a mile there, a mile back. Plus, the deli overlooks a lake.

It?s amazing how quiet and deserted these suburban backstreets are on a Sunday morning. It?s a little eerie actually. There?s the lake. There?s the deli. The counter lady eyes me suspiciously as if they don?t get a lot of foot traffic in this deserted little outpost. ?Is that it ? just the paper?? Before I answer, I check out the cigarette rack to see if they have my brand (they do) and deciding if I?ll be bad and buy a pack. I do not.

?Yup. Just the paper.?

I haven?t smoked since I was a young guy, but I still get the urge at the strangest times.

Even on this cool, damp day I am overdressed for a brisk walk. I am starting to sweat, but settling into a good walking rhythm. My mind is basically in neutral and now I start to notice things that maybe I wouldn?t ordinarily notice. First, in this neighborhood, there are 100 year old homes, most of which have been renovated. There are also more recently built homes that are rundown and in need of renovation.

Here is this one property: It has just an amazing amount of space, maybe ? of an acre in an area where some sites are ? of an acre. There is a detached garage towards the back of the property with a screen room attached to the left side of the garage. I have never seen a screen room attached to a garage. Many of the screens are torn and show big holes. Sad. I theorize that maybe 50 years ago, folks would put there Adirondack chairs against the side of the garage and look out over the property and the setting sun. Building the screen room formalized that experience, but damn ? fix the screens and spring for a couple of gallons of paint.

The roof looks like the original roof. I see these old-fashioned asbestos roofing tiles that were used on my home growing up. That house was built in 1950. This house with it?s roof, broken shingles, peeling paint and rotting wood looks to be as old. Not one renovation ? ever. Sad.

Now here is one of those 100 year old cottages that now has a second story, bough windows, vinyl siding, vinyl fence and fancy, vinyl door. Total renovation. But no soul.

As I walk I see that most of the lawns in this neighborhood, in mid-May, are in need of a mowing. I mean I am talking about Dandelions that look like sunflowers. Wow. Is everyone that busy these days that they cannot mow the lawn? Maybe. I don?t know. I rent.

The lawns are lousy too: Big empty patches with rocks and pebbles; scattered patches of clover; scattered patches of onion grass; scattered patches of rye (good to put between your teeth and chew on like Tom Sawyer); and of course the crabgrass, dandelions and assorted weeds. As I walk, my mind flashes back to geology class and I remember that this exact area where I am walking is where The Glacier from the last Ice Age stopped advancing, melted and deposited all of it?s rocks and gravel it had accumulated during it?s trip south. It is a tough area to grow anything really. Okay. I forgive the homeowners with their overgrown, lousy lawns - but not the broken shingles, dilapidated structures, oil-stained driveways, broken lawn chairs and dirty, unused children?s toys in the yard.

It reminds me of what my mother used to say about the lower east side of Manhattan. Ghettoes did not mean slums. Ghettoes were where people of a similar ancestry lived together. They swept the stoops and cleaned the sidewalks and took care of their apartments. But later, ghetto and slum became terms that were interchangeable.

Finally, I hear a lawn mower start up. As I get closer, I see this woman in her 30's mowing the crab grass with an angry look on her face. Is she a mother? I wonder.

I guess her old man decided to sleep in this morning.