There was a time when I maligned the idea of text messaging at every opportunity. In fact, when I got my first cell-phone contract about six years ago — which alone was a huge step for me — I specifically opted against including text messages in my monthly plan. I truly did not understand the point of it: Why would I type out a message to someone when I could simply call the person and tell him or her what I intended to say? Especially when it takes many times longer to type out a text than it does to simply dial a number, the whole idea seemed like a waste of time. The only practical use for text messaging, in my mind, was scenarios where phone conversation was impractical — in a noisy bar, for instance, or in places that need to stay quiet. Neither scenario was compelling enough for me. I associated "texting" with 14-year-old suburban kids at the movie theater on a Saturday night.
I still don't have text messaging on my phone plan, which means it costs me extra to send or receive texts. Recently, though, I've discovered uses for the feature that I never would have considered in my formerly close-minded mentality. Sometimes I wish to communicate something, but the thought alone doesn't merit a full phone call, which necessitates standard pleasantries and small talk that a quick text wouldn't require. Or occasionally the nature of the communication recommends a simple text over a phone call: If I need to decline someone's invitation, it's easier to text my regrets rather than call and explain in person, which would require an extensive apology and potentially awkward conversation. Contrary to my previous assertions, text messages are sometimes more practical and time-saving than phone calls. Consequently, I've been using them a lot more recently than I ever did in the past.
Nevertheless, because text messaging still isn't included on my phone plan and still costs extra, I need to be judicious in my use of the service. Thus, I offer my apology to anyone who has sent me a text and hasn't heard back. Chances are, you're in that group if you sent me one that didn't directly call for a response. Please rest assured that my silence does not stem from personal animosity. At this point, I'd still advise an old-fashioned phone call as the best way to reach me — unless, of course, you're bitter that I haven't responded to your message and wish to avoid an unpleasant conversation. In that instance, another text may be the best way to go.
Perhaps the most controversial aspect of Tuesday's inauguration was President Obama's choice of evangelical Pastor Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at the ceremony. The debate was sparked by Warren's outspoken support of the repugnant Proposition 8, which passed in California last November, as well as some remarks he made recently in which he equated homosexual unions with incest, pedophilia, and polygamy.
If there's one benefit to being an American citizen that I cherish above all others, it's the constitutionally protected right to free speech and expression, even when the ideas being publicized are unpopular or even despised. Such a freedom is the ultimate measure of an open, democratic society. That's why I initially defended Obama's choice. I disagree completely with Warren's perspective on the issue of gay marriage — and frankly, found his comments disgraceful — but this alone does not entitle me or anyone else to censor the pastor's expression of those views. In fact, as the new president, Obama has an obligation to represent and be inclusive of all Americans, not just those who voted for him in greatest numbers. Whether we like it or not — and I don't — many or most Americans still oppose the idea of same-sex marriage. Let's not forget that Obama also invited the Rev. V. Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop, to deliver another invocation.
This debate came up last month while I was at home visiting family for the holidays. One of my parents' friends expressed her disdain for Obama's choice to include Warren in his inauguration, so I explained to her my perspective on the matter. She replied that she understood the need for diversity of viewpoints at an event as historic as Tuesday's inauguration, but that someone like Jim Wallace of Sojourners would have been a much better selection for that purpose. If Warren had made similarly questionable comments about blacks, or Latinos, or Jews, she argued, he never would have received such an invitation from the president-elect. Gays still exist on a social cusp, she contended, at which it isn't yet considered universally unacceptable to make disparaging comments about them — not in the same way that it would be if those comments had applied to a racial or religious group.
Admittedly, I hadn't considered such an argument, and its validity caused me to re-evaluate my entire opinion on the controversy. Later on, I also realized that Warren's inclusion at the inauguration wasn't a free speech issue at all: Even if he hadn't been invited to deliver an invocation, his constitutional right to express his view wasn't infringed upon in the least. He could have stood across the street and done so as Chief Justice John Roberts delivered the (botched) oath of office. Speaking at an official state function is entirely distinct from exercising free speech.
I am therefore genuinely torn on this issue. On one hand, America has suffered through so many years of polarization and hostility between groups that it seems critical to finally have a leader who legitimately attempts to represent everyone. On the other hand, giving the podium to someone like Warren — whose remarks stigmatized a group of the population that overwhelmingly supported Obama's candidacy — can and already has had unintended consequences.
Regardless of whether or not you supported President-elect Barack Obama in last November's election, I strongly urge everyone who reads this to take some time on Tuesday morning — or afternoon, depending on your time zone — to watch the inauguration of our nation's first African American president. If you see no other part of the event, at least watch his speech. I expect it will be one remembered for years to come.
This is not simply the beginning of change in Washington, as Obama was fond of promising during his campaign. It is an event that will be written about in the history books read by our children and children's children. It will likely become one of those historic moments that conjures up memories for years into the future: All of us who watched Barack Obama's inauguration will remember where we were and what we were doing at the time. It is a defining moment for my generation — and, no doubt, an equally remarkable one for older generations, who also saw the work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but never thought they'd live to see anything like this.
Beyond its historical significance, Tuesday's festivities are a source of national unity and pride, as evidenced by the millions of people who have flocked to America's capital from all across the country and world to be part of the experience. I wish I could be there — but regardless, I know I'll be joining with people all across the globe in observing this shared celebration. Let's seize this event and remember what it represents: The dawn of a new chapter in history whose relevance extends far beyond the borders of this great nation.
I've never before broached this subject on this blog. Nonetheless, I've always had a strong and consistent position on the matter. I don't have even a marginal interest in ever fathering children.
In past conversations with family members and friends on this issue, I've been told that many people who are opposed to the idea of having children as young adults tend to become more receptive to the notion as they grow older. Perhaps that's true, but I'm unconvinced it will be the case for me. I realize this may limit my prospects for finding a future spouse, since many women do desire to have children at some point in their lives. I find this deeply regrettable, but I can't compromise my personal opinion on that basis alone. After all, differing perspectives on the possibility of parenthood isn't necessarily a deal-breaker for marriage.
There are several reasons why I don't understand the appeal of having children. I do realize the joy and fulfillment that it can bring — but from my point of view, this is far outweighed by the indescribably enormous responsibility, stress, and loss of freedom that it entails. I've observed an increasing number of people my age who have had a baby and abruptly given up their youth — some of the best years of their lives, and years that will never return. Suddenly, going out for drinks, dinner, or a movie becomes an ordeal because they can't find a babysitter. The ability to travel is greatly limited. Spontaneous activity becomes almost impossible. Twenty- and thirty-somethings who once loved to spend time with friends outside of work suddenly need to go straight home to watch their kids. They're the ones who often barely made ends meet before parenthood; add children to the equation, and it'll be years before they have any money saved.
Yes, children are a massive financial commitment. But they're an equally huge commitment of time and emotion. The notion of fathering a child fills me with anxiety — anxiety over the reality that I'd be responsible for the very survival and development of another human being for at least the next two decades of my life. The responsibility of parenting a child is unlike any other; it isn't simply a job you take care of, move on and forget about. It's a job in which you spend every waking hour worrying about every facet of your son's or daughter's life. And in the current state of this world, I'd have serious reservations about bringing another person into it. What kind of conditions will he or she face as an adult? The thought sometimes makes me shutter. Some might call me a pessimist for this reason; I'd prefer to describe myself as a realist.
Some might also read this and conclude two other things: 1) that I'm selfish; and 2) that I'm ignorantly and inaccurately painting parenthood in a purely negative light. On the first point, I'd argue the opposite: It's selfish to bear children and then decide that you don't want the responsibility, stress, or loss of freedom. Making that determination ahead of time is simply a smart choice. On the second point, I'll again concede that parenthood can be a joyful and rewarding experience. In fact, I'm convinced it is — otherwise, no one would choose to raise children. What might be perceived as a negative tone is simply the point of view of someone who has always viewed parenthood with deep reluctance. Nevertheless, I'm not so confident in my own intellect as to presume that I'll never change my tone on this matter. It isn't likely — but I've learned that when I try to shut doors on possibilities for myself, life sometimes has a way of forcing them open. I will find out.
At the dawn of this new year, I'm starkly reminded of the passage of time and how it seems to accelerate in speed with each year that I grow older. We now find ourselves in the depths of winter, when it seems like just one week ago I was marveling at the bright days and late sunsets of mid-summer. Shortly before that, I was pondering what 2008 would have in store. Now, that year is history, and before we know it, 2009 will be, too.
The passage of time and the aging that comes with it are two fundamental aspects of human existence. In the past year, I received a variety of lessons on these points — seeing family members, friends, and acquaintances coping with the hardships of growing older, and in some instances, coming to terms with the one inevitability we will all face at some point: death. Observing this has been particularly profound: At my relatively young age — and at the peak of my physical and mental health — it is exceptionally easy to develop an illusion of invincibility. Like most people of my generation, I don't yet deal with arthritis, chronic fatigue, short-term memory loss, or general physical deterioration. Given the human tendency to overlook realities beyond one's present circumstances, it's easy to assume I never will face those things.
The notion of living in an intellectual bubble was reinforced for me last Sunday, when at church the pastor held up a newspaper during his sermon. It was peppered with news of the current fighting in Gaza; the ongoing civil war and mass rape of women in the Democratic Republic of Congo; the economic crisis in America; potentially catastrophic environmental degradation; and political corruption, both here at home and abroad. He asked the congregation to make a deliberate effort not to be removed from the plight facing our world — and to do something about it in whatever way each of us is equipped. It isn't enough to simply write a monthly check, he said, or to assume that there will always be more time to take action on the economic, social, and political crises and injustices we hear about every day.
Such a statement was particularly convicting for me. Like most Americans, I find it easy to forget about people on the other side of the world who face horrors I can't even fathom — war, disease, starvation, natural disasters, and political oppression, just to name a few — because I live in a society where I am well insulated from such tragedies. But I also forget about those who are suffering right here in our own backyard — those who are homeless or hungry, those who are on the verge of bankruptcy because of medical bills they can't pay, those who are jobless, and those who simply struggle to provide for themselves and their families. Likewise, I'm not personally affected by such problems, which makes it easy to overlook or even ignore others who face them. It's easy enough to make my monthly donation for my sponsored child, to occasionally make an extra donation for clean water projects around the world, and to say that tomorrow I might even do something beyond monetary contribution.
Of course, telling myself what I'll do tomorrow operates under the premise that there will always be more time — a false notion that, at my young age, I've gotten used to and comfortable with. Having seen people near and dear to me face the difficulty and pain of aging, I'm beginning to come to terms with the reality that time is not infinite, and neither is the blessing of good health that enables people like myself to live meaningful lives. At the end of his sermon, the pastor reminded the congregation of this fact and implored us not to treat human suffering — both locally and globally — as problems that can always be dealt with tomorrow. A look at the news these days reveals that action on the world's biggest crises cannot be delayed.
As this new year gets underway, and the ever-accelerating passage of time is evident, it's a good word to live by.
I just got home from a 4-mile walk in a snowstorm. My coat, stocking cap, and shoes are soaked and drying off over a radiator. Meanwhile, I'm sipping a hot beverage and reminding myself to be thankful that I had a warm place to go after that walk.
During my two-week holiday vacation in the Midwest, I explained to friends and family members how badly the city of Seattle is crippled by snow. It's rare here — except, apparently, this winter, in which the city has seen more snow than it probably has in the past ten or so years combined — and the geographical and political identities of this place don't lend well to such an event. Between the city's very steep hills and its refusal to use salt on the streets over environmental concerns, driving is an excellent activity to not be doing when flakes start to fall.
I'm also an environmentalist, so earlier on Sunday afternoon, I rode the bus to church — before I knew that we'd be having at least 2-3 inches of snow in the evening, which weather reports conveniently failed to predict. Ordinarily, it's a fairly easy, economical, and green alternative to driving. But when the streets get slippery, the city's public transit system essentially becomes incapacitated. On the way back, when I saw buses unable to navigate a relatively small hill — and because there was a much more formidable one between there and my apartment — I knew I'd end up walking. No cabs were in sight, and I'd be way too cheap to take one anyway, especially given the likelihood that it would become stuck somewhere just like the buses I saw.
So here I am, back at my warm pad and no worse for the wear, save a few articles of wet clothing. I intended to devote my first blog post of 2009 to a reflection on the year past and the year ahead, as has been my custom in years past. Frankly, though, I'm exhausted after the aforementioned walk and would rather simply watch a movie or do something else that requires equally little thought (like sleep). Therefore, I'll suffice it to wish everyone a happy New Year with the promise that more intellectually stimulating posts will follow in short order.
At the conclusion of my last post regarding the disgrace who is Rod Blagojevich, I noted two steps that needed to be urgently taken in response to allegations of illegal activity by the Illinois governor: First, he needed to resign or be impeached and removed from office; and second, the state Legislature needed to act immediately to prevent him from naming Barack Obama's senatorial successor.
Sadly, neither step has yet been accomplished, and in the case of the latter, it's too late. In a supreme yet unsurprising act of hubris, Blagojevich on Tuesday announced his selection of Democrat Roland Burris, former Illinois State Comptroller and Attorney General, as the man to fill Obama's vacant spot in the U.S. Senate. If that wasn't enough, he threw the race card on the table by explicitly daring Democratic senators to go on the record as trying to block the appointment of a black man.
Burris, who himself is now complicit in this horrendous situation by failing to decline Blagojevich's tainted offer, has done nothing to assuage the inevitable fury of Illinois voters. In an interview broadcast on NBC 5 News in Chicago on Tuesday night, the 71-year-old politician was asked about the prospect of entering the Senate when none of his colleagues would want him there. His response was quick and smug: "That's their problem, not mine." Clearly, this is a man whose concern is for his personal aspirations, not the hurting people of Illinois. He must not be seated in the U.S. Senate under any circumstances. Another African American senator would be a wonderful addition to Congress — but any appointment made by Illinois' corrupt governor is inherently unacceptable.
Burris has already implied that he'd legally challenge any attempt by fellow Democrats to block his entry to the Senate. This is truly tragic. With the seemingly insurmountable list of foreign and domestic problems this nation faces in the new year, such a distraction from those issues will simply plunge us deeper into crisis. Any respectable public figure who bears some semblance of grace or selflessness would recognize this and step aside for the greater good of his state and country. Burris — much like his friend, the governor — does not fit that description. Nevertheless, if a drawn-out legal battle is the only choice to prevent this appointment from going through, so be it. Perhaps Illinois voters will have had their chance to weigh in before the matter is even resolved. The main concern, of course, is quickly appointing a second Illinois senator who is credible and not corrupt.
Meanwhile, Blagojevich and his very few remaining allies keep repeating the concept of innocence until proven guilty. This standard is true in a criminal court of law, and he'll have an opportunity to defend himself just like any other American accused of a crime. But he can do so as a private citizen. Impeachment and removal from public office does not need to stem from criminal charges — it can be a remedy for a politician who has engaged in official misconduct or is simply unfit to serve in his or her role. Clearly, the current governor fits that bill, and with his unspeakable actions on Tuesday, he's demonstrated the danger he poses to our state and nation with each day he remains in power. He must be removed now, before the damage he inflicts to this already-ailing state becomes irreparable.
The Pacific Northwest, like many other parts of the country, has been hammered all week long with some unusually harsh winter weather. I ended up working from home on Thursday as Seattle was blanketed with at least 3-5 inches of snow. That sort of weather is exceptionally rare in these parts; heavy snow typically only falls in the mountains, and when it does hit the city and surrounding lowlands, it almost never sticks around for long.
Nevertheless, temperatures this week have been very cold by Seattle standards — 20s and 30s for daytime highs, and teens at night. That means the snow we got won't be going anywhere for some time. It also means that the city has been shut down. When I first stepped outside on Thursday morning to go grab a cup of coffee, I was greeted by a gorgeous winter wonderland and an eerie, quiet stillness that hung in the air — a stark contrast to the rumblings that woke me up just before dawn, which at first I feared was an earthquake. It turned out to be "thunder snow," accompanied by bright flashes of lightning that were magnified by the snow falling. Quite exceptional.
There's a few things to be learned about winter conditions in this area. First, they don't ever salt the roads — for environmental reasons, I hear — which sometimes makes the steep hills of Seattle non-navigable when freezing precipitation falls. If sand doesn't do the trick, they simply close the streets. Second, because residents of the area aren't used to this kind of weather, they tend to freak out about it much faster than Midwesterners would. If Seattleites must drive in snow, they chain up their tires as though they're preparing for a trip over the mountain pass (on some of these hills, they might as well be). Even still, they don't always drive well in it. As a pedestrian, I discovered quickly to ensure that a car has come to a complete stop before venturing into a crosswalk. Just because the vehicle appears to be slowing down does not mean that the driver will be able to stop in time. I saw too many cars today with locked tires that were nevertheless still moving uncontrollably.
My flight back to Chicago for Christmas is scheduled to leave on Friday afternoon. Between the messy weather here and even messier weather there, I doubt that it will depart on time. (My recent air travel experiences have left me with nothing but a cynical attitude toward the whole idea.) Regardless, I will be in the Midwest for the next two weeks. If you will be as well, let's plan to meet at some point.
We're experiencing a "deep freeze" here in Seattle, so I decided to cocoon myself in my apartment and watch movies for much of the weekend. One that I watched — on my Netflix instant viewing device, no less — was an indie film called "Broken English." It told the story of a 30-something single woman in New York with a dead-end job and a group of friends who all enjoyed successful relationships while she struggled with predictably bad luck in dating. Since this seemed like the sort of plot line I'd resonate with — minus the dead-end job and being a 30-something woman in New York, of course — I decided to go with it. (Warning: Spoiler coming. I'm sure everyone who hasn't already seen this movie is eagerly awaiting to do so.)
Nora, the main character in the story, eventually meets by accident a young Frenchman named Julien, and the two quickly become close. Alas, he ends up having to return to France, and the infatuated couple are separated. Nora ultimately decides to travel to Paris in search of the love of her life, but when she arrives, she loses the phone number he gave her and has no other way to locate Julien. Forlorn, Nora wanders the city aimlessly with a friend for a few days, until her friend has to return to New York and she stays behind. Finally, she comes to terms with the reality that she'll never find Julien in a huge city like Paris, so she boards a train to the airport to catch a flight back to New York. Shockingly, Julien happens to catch the same train Nora did, and just when the viewer might believe that the two characters would never reunite, they do — and, presumably, live happily ever after.
I was OK with the premise of this movie until I saw its ending, at which point I was reminded of how lame some story lines can be, even in independent films. I have a strong preference for movies that contain realistic plot elements — but even I'm perfectly willing to suspend disbelief in some cases. This, however, was over the top. It got me thinking about how many movies I've seen that contain conclusions that simply satisfy the expectations of the audience. That's precisely what "Broken English" did. The ending was predictable for the simple reason that it wasn't realistic, but even so, the producers of the film went with it most likely because they knew it was what their audience would want. Let's face it — how many viewers would walk away from this movie satisfied if Nora never again found her love?
But such an ending is profoundly unsatisfying for a viewer like myself — and, in fact, it tarnished my perception of the entire film. Happy endings are fine when they are plausible; but reality is too stark for movies that always conclude with the lovers being reunited, or the bad guy being caught, or the crisis being averted, especially when it happens under such unlikely circumstances. Surprises — both of a positive and negative nature — are part of the thrill of following the plot of a movie, and when a story ends predictably just for the sake of pleasing the viewer, the entire presentation falls flat and becomes a disappointment. Too many movies are like that. I'd much rather see a thought-provoking film with a less-than-cheerful or even depressing conclusion than one with an unrealistically happy ending that leaves me yawning the entire way through.
Today, Illinois residents would probably scoff at the notion that there will ever be any salvageable aspect of Gov. Rod Blagojevich's legacy. But they may end up surprised. Even in the near future, the now-infamous Democratic governor may be looked upon as a case study and cautionary tale on the shocking extent to which power corrupts.
It is, after all, hard to imagine how such a high-profile public official could carry out illegal activity of this caliber with such brazenness, arrogance, greed, and most of all, stupidity. Blagojevich knew that he had long been under investigation for campaign and hiring fraud and that federal agents were watching him closely. But profanity-laced excerpts of his phone conversations reveal open discussions about the potentially lucrative nature of his authority to appoint a senatorial replacement for President-elect Barack Obama, and the leverage he could use to achieve the firings of Chicago Tribune editorial board members who had been critical of his administration. Such carelessness on the governor's part in the commission of his crimes is reflective of a man drunk with power beyond reason or common sense and to the point of self-delusion.
Blagojevich's arrest on Tuesday was hardly surprising. A completely inept governor with a historically low approval rating, he has managed to isolate himself even from members of his own political party, which controls the Illinois General Assembly but has routinely stalled on state budgets and legislation because of fights with him. Couple that with a dubious moral character and arrogant style of governance that was widely scrutinized long before this week's developments, and there should be no question as to how this Illinois politician ended up where he did.
Sadly, however, he's hardly the first Illinois politician in recent memory to travel such a road — though, incredibly, he may have even gone farther than his predecessors. Republican George Ryan, Illinois' preceding governor, is currently serving time in federal prison after being convicted of racketeering and fraud for selling driver's licenses for bribes as secretary of state. Two other former Illinois governors — Otto Kerner in the 1960s and Dan Walker in the 1970s — were convicted of bribery and fraud, respectively, and both served time as well. In the 1990s, former Illinois Rep. Dan Rostenkowski pleaded guilty to mail fraud. In a state whose largest city has a long-lived reputation for machine politics, another crooked public official is hardly what the Land of Lincoln needs to improve its image. As a native of that state, I'm embarrassed and appalled by this week's developments.
Two things need to happen in short order. First, Blagojevich needs to resign. He's likely way too arrogant to do that, so the Illinois Legislature should begin impeachment proceedings immediately. Second, the state law needs to be changed so that the governor alone is not charged with appointing senatorial replacements. Such appointments either need to require legislative confirmation or should simply be decided by the state's voters. The bottom line is that any measure necessary to prevent Blagojevich from selecting Obama's successor should be taken quickly — and the lessons learned from this mess should be applied to prevent similar malfeasance in the future. Hopefully, Blagojevich's misdeeds will finally be the straw that broke the camel's back for the citizens of Illinois.
As many have probably already heard — because he's so good at getting his name and face in the headlines — Bill O'Reilly is angry about an atheistic message on display at the Washington State Capitol in Olympia. The main target of his ire is Gov. Christine Gregoire, who has refused to order removal of the sign that religious groups across the country are protesting. Her office has reported being deluged with phone calls and e-mails in the days since this clip was aired on the Fox News Network.
I disagree entirely with the message conveyed by this sign. However, let's be clear on one point: The group responsible for the content of the sign can publicize its message for the exact same reason O'Reilly and his audience can protest that message. They can do so for the same reason I can give my own perspective right here on this blog. The constitutionally guaranteed right to free speech and expression is not limited to messages that are universally agreeable or appealing. In fact, speech widely regarded as offensive or even repugnant is exactly what the First Amendment was intended to protect. Would the Fox News commentator like to be subject to censorship just because his program leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of many Americans?
Keeping that in mind, O'Reilly's rants aren't even worth entertaining unless he can devise an argument more compelling than the notion that the atheist display is inappropriate or offensive or an alleged attack against national tradition. He calls Gregoire "cowardly" — but truly, the only cowardice observable in this scenario is someone who advocates stifling other perspectives while simultaneously expecting that the right to express his own remain intact. Suggesting that free speech of any kind be infringed upon is an extraordinarily dangerous road to travel.
Here's some comic relief, courtesy of Saxby Chambliss, the Republican victor in Georgia's senatorial runoff election held this week:
"People all around the world truly had their eyes on Georgia, and you [Georgia voters] have delivered tonight a strong message to the world that conservative Georgian values matter."
Yes, Saxby. I'm sure that the entire international community had Georgia on its mind on Tuesday night. I'm sure that locals at wine bars in Paris were poised on the edge of their seats. I'm sure that city dwellers quaffing vodka in St. Petersburg were doing so out of anxious anticipation. And I'm sure that Aussies riding the waves near Sydney took a break to find out the answer to the burning question: Just which way did the enviable wisdom of Georgia voters tilt this time around? Forget about last month's presidential election — this was the moment the world was really waiting for.
In all seriousness, though: "Saxby"?? Was this a kid routinely pushed into lockers during high school? Or perhaps that's not an unusual name in Georgia. Maybe we could ask Sonny, the state's governor. Or Johnny, the state's junior senator.
Saxby, Sonny, and Johnny. Don't they sound like a trio of small-town misfits?
As I shared my thoughts last night on the dismal status of the air travel industry, I started thinking about other industries and companies I don't like. One of the first that came to mind was cable television.
I don't have any cable channels — and, by extension, no network channels either — and that's completely fine with me. I read all of my local, national, and world news online, and if there is a televised event I genuinely want to watch — for example, the presidential debates of this fall — I can easily stream it live on the Internet. Other television programs that I watch, such as "The Office" or "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart," can also be viewed online.
There's good reason why I decline cable service providers: They're generally a waste of money, and they must think their customers are idiots. I routinely receive offers in the mail from Comcast, proclaiming some excellent deal in big, bold print, such as four months of service for only $24.99. Of course, what isn't in giant font is the microscopic print at the bottom of the card, which notes that after the four months have expired, the price is hiked somewhere to the ballpark of $50 or higher. That's a classic bait-and-switch tactic that must work well, because they use it all the time. I don't want them telling me the price they'll use to lure me to purchase their lousy service; I want to know the standard price I'll be forced to pay after the introductory period is over, which is usually a rip-off, especially when I won't even watch most of the included channels. It might be a different story if channels could be purchased individually — but, of course, cable providers wouldn't earn nearly as much money that way.
A much better deal for my money is a combination of online viewing and Netflix, a service to which I've subscribed for more than three years. Recently, Netflix developed streaming devices that can be connected to one's television and the Internet. Mine is pictured above. I can use it to stream movies and programs directly from Netflix's instant online viewing service to my television. The service contains an ever-improving selection of TV series and movies, both new and old. The Roku device, as it's called, costs $99 to purchase and comes with the cables necessary to connect it to a television. Thereafter, it's just a matter of paying your monthly Netflix subscription fee. Mine is $15, which also continues to provide me with two DVDs at a time on an unlimited basis per month. The instant viewing service is also unlimited. With such a deal provided by Netflix, why would I bother with cable — or, for that matter, even a satellite dish?
Of course, I have to note that none of the services described above affords me access to the Lifetime Movie Network. I consider that to be a serious drawback. I'm sure several others who read this would as well.
Air travel these days is a total disaster. I'm reminded of that every time I fly — especially this past week when I went home to Illinois for Thanksgiving.
On the flight from Seattle to Chicago last Tuesday, I sat aboard a motionless plane at the gate for two hours after boarding. The explanation? Some maintenance work was being done on an engine, and the issue was resolved, but they needed to submit some "paperwork" on the incident. During those 120 minutes, I pondered in irritation why they had boarded the aircraft in the first place if it hadn't been ready to go. (I would have much rather sat in the terminal for that time period, sipping coffee with room to stretch my legs, instead of being stuck on a cramped, stationary plane with nothing to eat or drink. I'm sure I wasn't alone.) Then, of course, there was the mysterious "paperwork" question: Why did such a technicality prevent our departure? Couldn't someone staying on the ground take care of filing the report while my already-delayed flight moved on? It's probably some ridiculous FAA regulation that causes more headaches than it solves.
But I had hardly experienced the worst. Chicago was hit with its first major snowstorm of the season on Sunday night, so I was incredulous when I arrived at the airport on Monday morning and saw that my return flight was listed as being on time. Indeed, we did board the aircraft at 8 a.m. as scheduled. This time, however, we sat motionless at the gate for four hours — yes, four hours — while the crew waited for the plane to be de-iced. The pilot advised us that regulations require all passengers to be boarded with the doors closed before the procedure commences. He didn't mention how long it would take for the de-icing equipment to arrive. Unfortunately, we were to find out.
Aside from mammoth departure delays and airport incompetence, there's the increasingly stingy nature of airline industry. This past week, flying on American Airlines, I had to pay $15 each way just to check one piece of luggage. And, of course, they stopped serving food on domestic flights long ago — if you want so much as a snack on board, you can expect to pay at least $5. One complimentary beverage is generally served, but I don't even expect that to be long for this world. This time around, I didn't even receive one of those small bags of trail mix or crackers with my drink.
I understand that the economy is in the tank these days, that bad weather was involved in one of the aforementioned instances, and that it was a busy week for travel. But these experiences represent a pattern; they aren't isolated cases and certainly can't be attributed to any of those factors alone. It's unfortunate that air travel has become so miserable; now that I live in the Northwest, it has become an essential part of visiting anywhere outside of this region.
Following a very enjoyable and relaxing week back in the Midwest with family and friends, I'm scheduled to fly back to Seattle on Monday morning — but of course there's a snow system moving through the Chicago area on Sunday night that's apt to delay or even cancel my flight. When I actually depart is anyone's guess. I'm fairly certain it won't be on time.
Earlier this month, voters in Washington state approved Initiative 1000, also known as the Death with Dignity Act. The measure, placed on the ballot by public petition, allows terminally ill adult patients to request and self-administer lethal medication prescribed by a physician when the patient is medically predicted to have six months or less to live. A similar law is on the books in neighboring Oregon.
I-1000 was spearheaded by former Washington Gov. Booth Gardner, who suffers from Parkinson's Disease but will not be affected by the new legislation because his ailment is not terminal. Voices from both sides of the debate were strong; in the final month before the election, actor Martin Sheen appeared in advertisements in which he personally urged voters to reject the initiative. (Apparently, we were supposed to follow his advice simply because he's a celebrity, not because he has any connection whatsoever to the state of Washington. But that's an entirely different blog post.) In the end, some 58 percent of voters said "yes."
I won't use this space to indicate how I voted or to advocate for either perspective. Frankly, I've never had to deal with an end-of-life decision such as the one this ballot measure sought to address, so I don't claim to be an expert. Furthermore, I heard compelling arguments from both sides. On one hand, there are factors associated with a terminal illness that, in some circumstances, create misery that renders an independent and dignified life impossible. If I reached a point at which I could no longer leave my bed, eat food, or perform bodily functions without assistance, I would probably see little value in carrying on — particularly if I knew that I had a mere six months to live anyway. And I'd likely be resentful of those who would presume to make decisions on my behalf when, in all likelihood, they have no experience with the agony I'm facing.
On the other hand, there are legitimate concerns associated with such a proposition. What if profit-hungry health insurance companies target terminally ill patients, rejecting their treatment claims on the premise that it would be cheaper to simply facilitate the inevitable and end it all? What if these patients make a rash decision because they are clinically depressed? What about incorrect diagnoses? (For purposes of clarification, this initiative does require that the patient make two requests — one verbal and one written — with a 15-day waiting period between the two and another 48-hour waiting period before issuance of the prescription. It also requires the diagnosis and verification of two independent physicians.)
With the "live-and-let-live" culture prevalent in this part of the country (or, perhaps in this case, "live-and-let-die"), the success of this ballot measure isn't surprising. It does, however, raise some serious questions that merit discussion about end-of-life choices, regardless of where you stand on the issue.
This article reports that it's not illegal to be naked in public in Seattle. It apparently only becomes so, according to the article, when wearing your birthday suit is done with "the intent to alarm and offend." Last summer, I saw the naked bikers and revelers at the Fremont Solstice Festival — but in that instance, I assumed that it was OK because police were simply looking the other way, not because it was legally sanctioned activity. Very interesting.
Perhaps I'm stating the obvious, but such an ambiguous and vague policy raises more questions than it answers. For instance, when is public nudity alarming and offensive, and when is it not? Does one's physical composition have anything to do with this? Without going into too much detail, I'd suspect that the naked appearance of some people is more alarming and offensive than it might be with others. And is denial an acceptable defense? If I choose to shed my attire in public and someone complains, can I apologize to the responding officers and say that I didn't mean to offend anyone? Would they document this and then decline to arrest me?
Most importantly, is this a legal standard worth testing?
One peculiar and perhaps frustrating aspect of touring Mount Rainier National Park here in Washington is that, on any given day, visitors only have about a 50-percent chance of catching a glimpse of the massive, glaciated volcanic peak for which the park is named (more like a 10-to-20-percent chance for those who visit during the winter months). That's because the peak is often obscured by clouds. In fact, it serves as a bit of a weather gauge for Seattle. Either the mountain is "out," and the weather is good, or it isn't (out or good). Pretty simple.
The day of this hike back in September wasn't an "out" day. Still, even when Rainier is hidden, this is a place of spectacular natural beauty. Old-growth evergreen forests meet expansive alpine meadows decorated with wildflowers, and deep blue, crystal-clear lakes are framed by vistas of rugged peaks and hidden valleys. Low-hanging clouds and mist in the air that blows between ridges like smoke help create an atmosphere that is indescribable by words but amazing to experience.
Photos of this trip can be viewed here. Just to clarify, my group didn't actually climb on Mount Rainier — or really even anywhere close to it. This was simply a day hike on the north end of the park that, on clear days, supposedly affords stunning views of the mountain. Oh well.
I read this excerpt from a local news site, warning of the potential for flooding in Western Washington following some heavy rainfall amounts we've been having around here (highly surprising for November in Seattle, I know):
"Over a dozen rivers in Western Washington are now under a flood warning, meaning flooding is imminent or already occurring. Included in the flood warning: the Satsop, Nooksack, Skagit, Stillaguamish, Skykomish, Snohomish, Tolt, Snoqualmie, Cedar, Carbon, Puyallup, Nisqually, Cowlitz, and Chehalis Rivers."
Anyone who is able to pronounce each name in that list — and who is not familiar with the area — immediately earns my respect and admiration.
There's a saying applicable to the debate over same-sex unions that I've seen on Facebook, bumper stickers, and elsewhere, and it almost perfectly summarizes my perspective: "Against gay marriage? Then don't get one and shut the ___ up."
I can respect those who oppose homosexual relationships on a personal level for religious reasons or otherwise. I can also respect those who publicly voice their opposition. In a great nation like ours, citizens are guaranteed the right to free speech and expression, even when the message is outrageous. Church pastors can preach judgment against gay people for the same reason that I can publish almost anything I want on this blog without fear of governmental reprisal.
But in a great nation like ours, citizens also have the right to privacy and dignity in their personal lives without interference. For this reason, I cannot respect the use of the vote to impose one's moral standard on others — particularly when that vote presumes to govern or restrict someone's personal, private affairs, and when those affairs have no bearing on public well-being.
Indeed, gay marriage bans have nothing to do with public safety, health, or peace. They have everything to do with the base emotion of fear. In every state whose voters have approved such a ban (and thankfully, I've never lived in one), the proponents of the ban have used advertisements that attempt to warn people of what might happen if the initiative failed. The reason for this is simple: Without falsely scaring people — and consequently influencing their votes — gay marriage ban supporters have no viable argument to support their case. In Massachusetts, whose high court legalized homosexual unions in 2004 and whose citizens have enjoyed that right ever since, the sky has not yet fallen. Anarchy has not taken root. No plagues have decimated the population.
I've heard the contention that, because issuance of marriage licenses is a public, legal matter, voters have every right to weigh in on the established criteria for obtaining one. But if that reasoning is to be accepted, then by the same measure, voters should be allowed to decide whether homosexuals are eligible to obtain driver's licenses. Or run for public offices. Or apply for professional licenses of any kind. All of the aforementioned are public, legal matters. Restricting rights or freedoms on that basis alone is a very slippery slope.
I don't believe that sexual orientation is a choice, but even if it is, such a factor should be irrelevant. In this free nation, citizens deserve the right to pursue happiness in their personal lives without meddling by others who may disapprove of the decisions they make. Let's not forget that there was a time in American history when voters would have "disapproved" of desegregating schools or granting suffrage to women or blacks. With these examples in mind, it's clear that California (and yes, Arizona and Florida) chose to join the losing side of history this past week. Let's hope that its residents realize this quickly and reverse their decision. Until then, it will be part of the growing list of states whose most sacred document is stained.
There was a time when I maligned the idea of text messaging at every opportunity. In fact, when I got my first cell-phone contract about six years ago — which alone was a huge step for me — I specifically opted against including text messages in my monthly plan. I truly did not understand the point of it: Why would I type out a message to someone when I could simply call the person and tell him or her what I intended to say? Especially when it takes many times longer to type out a text than it does to simply dial a number, the whole idea seemed like a waste of time. The only practical use for text messaging, in my mind, was scenarios where phone conversation was impractical — in a noisy bar, for instance, or in places that need to stay quiet. Neither scenario was compelling enough for me. I associated "texting" with 14-year-old suburban kids at the movie theater on a Saturday night.
