It was $48, if you care. In fact, that was the only thing that went right on Thursday.
I don't consider myself particularly naive, but I'm constantly amazed at how nasty and vile people can be towards one another. When I was a little younger, I thought that everyone was basically good, and that if we could only know why bad people were behaving badly, we would understand them, and be able to help them.
I've concluded that's a bunch of liberal bleeding-heart claptrap. Some people, I've decided, are basically nasty. Maybe they have reasons for doing bad things, but I don't care. The end result of their actions are the same: They hurt people and they make life just a little bit lousier for the rest of us.
It's amazing to me that I've come to what is a pretty conservative world view --- almost fundamentalist Christian, in a way, since it acknowledges evil as a real, present thing in the world. But it's not entirely incompatible with other things I believe --- namely, that people have a right to live their lives unmolested by others.
Speaking for myself, I just don't want to deal with jackasses any more. Life is difficult enough without dealing with people who are the human equivalent of sand in your underwear. I've resolved not to try to reason with them any more, or understand their problems; I'm just going to excise them from my life.
After all, if you get a splinter, do you worry about the splinter's motivation? No. You yank it out.
All this comes to mind after a week of dealing with someone who has been the sand in the underwear of a volunteer organization I belong to. I've been involved with non-profit groups since my freshman year of high school, and I've noticed they tend to have some common traits.
First, a handful of people tend to do all of the work. The vast majority are there to socialize and have a good time. There's nothing wrong with that, but you have to be careful that the 10 percent of the group members who do 90 percent of the work don't burn out.
Second, strong leadership goes a long way toward making the group successful and coherent. Groups run with a "collective" mentality tend to stagnate and falter --- since no one is in charge, that's exactly who takes responsibility (no one).
Third, a bully or an otherwise obnoxious person can quickly destroy the morale of a group, especially if it doesn't have strong leadership. Besides making the group unpleasant --- which chases away the 90 percent of the people who are there to have a good time --- these jackasses will snipe at the 10 percent who are doing the work.
I assume they do it to make themselves seem more important. Left unchecked, having someone in the back row fragging the leadership results in certain things happening:
Some of the people in the 10 percent doing the work will get gun-shy and quit doing things, in hopes of making themselves less prominent targets. Some of them drift away from the group permanently in search of more constructive projects. A few usually decide to stay and fight --- which ends up with people choosing sides (some behind the jackass, some behind the victim) and splitting the group.
In the case of the volunteer group in question, one particular member has been the sand in everyone else's underpants. I bear at least part of the responsibility for inviting this person into the group in the first place, but nobody (least of all me) realized that this person would spread all over the place like a rash.
Without going into too many details, this person flaunted long-established rules, waged personal attacks on numerous members of the group, and spread false information in an apparent attempt to discredit the group's leadership.
I started out trying to be friendly and helpful with this person. When my helpfulness was thrown back in my face, I regrouped and resolved to be professional and distant. When this person continued to get in my face, I became officious and finally dismissive.
The funny thing is that all along, this person was treating other members of the group badly, but no one realized the extent of the problem until we started comparing notes. And that only happened when some of the private attacks by this person began to become public attacks.
By then, unfortunately, one active member of the group abruptly quit in disgust, and others began withdrawing from the group.
Finally this week, after numerous warnings and attempts to reason with Sand-in-the-Pants, the leader of the group told the person that they are no longer welcome. Sand-in-the-Pants, as could have been predicted, attempted to rally support from other members of the group by tacking together several unrelated issues and claiming that he was the victim of a vendetta.
That started a minor feces-throwing campaign among different factions of the group that raged fast and furious in angry emails, carbon-copied to all of the members.
The leadership's reasons for removing Sand-in-the-Pants are gradually leaking out (puns intended), and the furor has subsided to a dull roar, though several people are still trying to patch the knife wounds in their backs. No doubt the group leader could have communicated the reasons for Sand's dismissal the other members of the group sooner; though how that could have been done without defaming Sand, I'm not sure.
I feel guilty about my own share of responsibility --- could I have defused the situation earlier? Should I have recognized earlier that Sand was a danger to the group? Did I make things worse by forcefully standing up to Sand? (Chalk it up to 13 years of Catholic education --- I'm a constant brooding mess of self-doubt.)
Mostly, I still can't help but shake my head that Sand --- who is otherwise a respectable member of society --- would behave this way.
Is Sand-in-the-Pants a fundamentally evil person? Probably not. I'd like to believe that no one ever purposely goes out to hurt other people. I'm sure Sand had good reasons for various actions; no doubt, Sand truly and whole-heartedly believes that he or she is correct.
But I don't care about Sand's reasons. I don't care if Sand otherwise is the nicest person ever to walk the Earth, beloved by dogs and small children, and a candidate for sainthood.
In all but the most extreme cases, the end doesn't justify the means, and though Sand may have had the best of intentions, Sand was hurting the group and his or her own cause. (Several people who were sympathetic to Sand's stated goals tell me they were actually turning against the goals because of Sand's behavior.)
Well, Sand is off in the corner, grumbling about those big stupid heads who don't appreciate brilliance; the internecine war is slowly subsiding to a few scattered sniper attacks; and we trudge on, sorer but (maybe) a little bit wiser.
And I'm sorry that I'm so allergic to pets. The more people I meet, the more I quite frankly prefer dogs.
...
Turning to good news from the Mon-Yough area, an Irwin couple has "adopted" the members of a Navy Construction Battalion serving overseas, according to Patti Dobranski in the Tribune-Review.
Eleanor and Donald Swanson have a 23-year-old grandson, Angelo Woodrow, serving with the Seabees in Iraq. Dobranski writes that the Swansons first began writing to their grandson's comrades and sending care packages.
Now, they've convinced Irwin borough council to allow them to display flags throughout town and to stage a special ceremony on the unit's behalf at Irwin Park. Pretty neat.
(One councilman voted against the flag display because he's "against the war." You know, you can be against the war, but still support the people serving, councilman. Talk about sand in the pants!)
A Family Dollar store has opened in Braddock, according to the Valley Mirror and the Post-Gazette. That may not seem like much to you, but in Braddock, folks will take what glimmers of life they can get.
This item isn't necessarily good news or bad news, though it is from the Mon-Yough area: The founder of Republicans for John Kerry is from West Mifflin. John Bugay Jr. says he has "been a Republican all of my adult life," but feels a "sense of betrayal" over the current administration.
Finally, if you're looking for something to do this weekend, the Phantom Cruisers car club is holding a fundraising show from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Sunday for the American Cancer Society at the Fayette County Fairgrounds on Route 119 north of Uniontown. Charlie Apple will spin the oldies and a swap meet will also be open. Details in the Herald-Standard.
Short entry today, because I'm mighty busy, and spent much of the time I usually spend writing stupid essays riding on the bus.
Taking the bus means I have to leave for work an hour earlier, and of course, instead of spending 20 minutes in my comfortable car, drinking coffee and listening to the radio; I get to spend an hour in a lurching, heaving, smelly coach with stale air that smells of body odor and gives me a headache. Other than that, it's great! I don't know why everyone doesn't ride the bus!
The sleek, gray Mercury, of course, is in the shop for its annual state safety and emissions inspection, which is either going to cost me $48 or, if it needs new front brakes, about $200; or if it also needs tires (the cheap Korean jobbies on the front look like they're wearing out awfully fast on the edges) about $500.
That's put me in a wonderful mood, I assure you.
The political pundits have been chattering a lot about "red" states and "blue" states --- meaning those that are solidly Republican or Democratic, respectively. Who came up with this terminology? And why did it stick?
I'm kind of surprised that the Republican states wound up being called the "red" states, since the Republican National Committee has spent the last 10 years calling the Democratic Party everything up to and including "socialist."
Anyway, the Christian Science Monitor says that Pennsylvania is more accurately a "purple" state, since its margin of victory for Al Gore in 2000 was less than 5 percent:
Like most trends in politics, the red-blue divide has been oversimplified and overstated. ... And many Americans don't stand that far apart on the issues. While activists on both sides of the political spectrum may sharply disagree on everything from taxes to terrorism, polls show most voters see themselves as moderates.
But if voters often lean instinctively toward the middle, they are also sorting themselves into parties that are growing more ideologically pure, which is having a polarizing effect.
Say this for the Bush campaign: It casts a wide web. It's only been a week, but its litany of criticisms concerning John Edwards is well known. He's a trial lawyer. He's too inexperienced. He's too smooth. And the wonderfully weird: He's too good-looking.
Too good-looking? That's a bit like being too rich, which, of course, is another problem the Bush folks have with Mr. Edwards. If only John Kerry had chosen a poor, ugly, seasoned political pro who had a long voting history to pick apart and who couldn't speak well. Man, that guy would have been great.
taxidermist waifs of 73
embrittle codeword verdi vortices glamor esteem
who've escalate clearheaded tidbit conferrable
now that i am holbrook kelp
tell me about it fake larsen
live large bogy saudi
now that i am blank escapade
started swelling again unexpectedly
all i want is ... riven bothersome
extra size is better aleck traumatic
except for me bichromate cobweb
this is the best swollen bedevil
not this time brownish marx
lucky man-see me playing with my rectum
Things I found on the Internet while I was looking for other things:
Wilson Baum Agency, based in Our Fair City, has a nifty Web page that gives summarized demographic and economic information for most Mon-Yough area communities. I can't vouch for the accuracy of the data, but it seems plausible enough. (This isn't an endorsement of Wilson Baum, by the way. I've never had any contact with them.)
...
The Grauniad sent a 17-year-old in the UK to several concerts by aging rock stars (Paul McCartney, The Who, Brian Wilson) to get his impressions of them. He was non-plussed:
(My) world view hasn't really changed. I still think that music from the '60s and '70s sounds like a less evolved, rather slapdash version of the music made today, like the first draught of an essay done at three in the morning.
Rocketeers up and down the skill-level range are feeling the pinch of post-9/11 regulations promulgated by the federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. Today, thousands of people fly model rockets that range in size from about 12 inches to more than 30 feet tall. But since the ATF imposed new rules, some hobbyists have abandoned their pastime, and the next generation of engineers and scientists, some fear, is being driven away.
"If we're in an environment where the government says you've got to get fingerprinted and background checked, and spend three to four months to do it, (adults are) not going to participate in my hobby," said Mark Bundick, president of the National Association of Rocketry. "We need more kids. It helps them learn technology. It's the technological base here in the country that we need to protect, and this hobby is a good introduction for kids that are interested in technology. If I lose those adults, then I will not be able to train those kids."
Urban train buffs report being surrounded by police cars and customs agents. A Haverford College student of South Asian descent was detained last year by SEPTA police after he photographed a station --- homework for an urban-history class, as it turned out.
Abraham Lincoln, whose name is often invoked hereabouts, declined to call off the presidential election of 1864, or even tinker with the date, in the midst of civil war when the threat of disruption was real and when his re-election prospects were in considerable doubt. We expect the people of Iraq, backed by none of the democratic traditions that undergird our own government, to conduct their elections under the threat of terrorism. Why shouldn't we?
Does anyone else think that the new carrier at Pittsburgh International Airport should be Air Force One? It's flying in and out of Pittsburgh often enough.
Rumor has it that if Cheney and Dubya spend any more time in Pennsylvania, Rendell's going to make them file state income tax returns.
First, another Tube City Almanac speedtrap warning: Dravosburg public works crews were out this week repainting the VASCAR lines on Richland Avenue (aka "Dravosburg Hill"). Get the lead out of your feet. You have been warned.
Now, onto weightier matters.
I am of the firm opinion that the bright people in Detroit, Stuttgart, Tokyo, Coventry and Seoul who design cars ought to be forced to service them. Preferably in their own driveways, using tools from Sears --- or better yet, Chinese tools from the flea market.
No engineer who was forced to change a set of spark plugs that were buried under a hot exhaust manifold, or replace an oil filter that can't be removed without disconnecting the starter, would ever design another vehicle with those problems again.
Nor would they force the motoring public to use the lousy jacks that are supplied with the spare tires in most cars.
I was thinking about this last night as I lay alongside the sleek, gray Mercury, holding my bloodied knuckles and muttering dark imprecations in the general direction of Dearborn, Mich., home of the Ford Motor Company.
In retrospect, some of the things I said were foolish. I don't even know Bill Ford's mother.
Anyway, the sleek, gray Mercury is due for its annual state safety and emissions inspection --- or as we like to call it, Uncle Ed's Revenue Enhancement Plan --- at the end of this month, and my mechanic has promised to take it on Thursday.
The thought occurred to me yesterday that I'm not sure if it's going pass the safety inspection; I've had the car for about nine months and have never replaced the brakes. (My previous sleek Mercury went through brake pads like Marlon Brando went through pizzas.)
Well, I figured, I can always pull the wheels and look at the brake pads. Since it was getting dark by the time I got home, I decided I wouldn't waste time changing clothes. I was just pulling a wheel; I wouldn't get that dirty. And since FoMoCo thoughtfully provided a jack in the trunk, why bother dragging out my hydraulic floor jack? Besides, this would give me a chance to make sure the spare tire jack worked! And it would save more time!
There are at least three serious errors in my logic, as stated in the above paragraph, as we'll soon see.
I pulled off my tie, chocked the front wheel, opened the trunk, retrieved the jack and the tire iron (or as we say in the Mon Valley, "tahr arn"), and popped the hubcap off of the right rear wheel.
Instantly I was covered in filth.
Well, too late now. I broke the lug nuts loose, placed the jack under the car frame, and began cranking it up.
And cranking it up.
And cranking it up.
And cranking it up.
My previous Mercury came with a bumper jack, possibly the worst thing Detroit ever foisted upon the unsuspected masses besides the Chevrolet Vega and Kid Rock. I have no idea how many people were killed or maimed by bumper jacks when their cars fell off of those wobbly contraptions, nor do I know how many cars came crashing down onto their undercarriages during routine tire changes. OSHA records show six fatalities and one amputation caused by bumper jacks, though their statistics only show people hurt or killed on the job. Doubtless there were many more.
I used the bumper jack on the old Mercury only once before saying "never again" and buying a cheap bottle jack for the trunk. (I also bought a cheap bottle for the driver, haw haw haw.)
The present Mercury comes with a scissors jack. And while using the bumper jack was like playing Russian roulette with bullets in five chambers, at least it did one thing: It lifted the damned car off the ground. (Usually, the car then fell on your foot, but you can't have everything.)
Apparently, in their haste to invent something less dangerous than a bumper jack, engineers designed a jack that works incrementally slowly. Maddeningly so. Cranking the little swivel on the jack 3,120 times, for instance, lifts the car about 1/100th of an inch.
Which wouldn't be so bad if the jack handle stayed in the little swivel while you were cranking. Instead, the swivel is almost --- but not quite --- deep enough to clamp onto the jack handle, so that as you furiously crank, the swivel presents enough resistance to allow you to bear down with all your might ....
... and then the jack handle slips out of the swivel, tossing you off balance, so that you fall onto the jack handle and gouge a dime-sized chunk of skin off of your finger.
A smarter man would have done this once and said, "Well, this piece of junk doesn't work, it's time to get the floor jack." But by gum, I was hell-bent to show this scissors jack who was boss. They haven't yet invented a car repair tool smarter than me (though they're awful close).
Two dollars' worth of skin gouges and 10 minutes later, the car's right-rear wheel was off of the ground. I had sweated through a nice pinstripe Oxford shirt, turned its rolled-up cuffs into a filthy mess, and let loose a stream of profanity that knocked bluebirds from their nests two blocks away and woke babies from their cribs.
Never let it be said that I don't, eventually, learn my lessons: After lowering the rear of the car, I used the floor jack to lift the left front wheel off the ground.
"And what of the brakes?" I hear you ask. Ah, yes. That was the point of this whole miserable exercise.
Um, I don't know. I looked at them, and I'm firmly not sure if they'll pass. The back brake pads looked OK, but the front ones were marginal. And since I won't have time to do a front brake job before Thursday, I'm at the repair shop's mercy.
So, basically, pulling the wheels was a waste of time, an exercise in futility, of railing against the forces of nature and man and accomplishing very little in the process, besides aggravating myself and making a lot of noise.
Somewhere in there is a metaphor for my life, I fear.
Postscript: Since the Mercury is going in for inspection, it was also time to renew the registration. I decided to do it online. Not only was it remarkably easy, it was quick: I filed the forms electronically on Thursday, and the new owner's card and validation sticker arrived Monday. Finally, a government service I like! Visit www.dmv.state.pa.us and click on the menu for "Online Vehicle Services."
Regular readers of this Web page (both of them: hi, mom!) know that I like nothing more than a good display of Mon Valley chauvinism. True residents of the Mon Valley may disagree on many things --- high school football, Steelers quarterbacks other than Terry Bradshaw, the merits of Iron City Beer --- but we are united against our common enemy: Pittsburgh. We may be on the treadmill to oblivion (to steal a phrase from Fred Allen), but at least we're all walking in the same direction.
That's why this Pat Cloonan story in Friday's Daily News did my pollution-contaminated heart good:
An aside to Charles Betters: Keep the name "Pittsburgh" alongside "Palisades Park" if you get that race track license for Hays. So said McKeesport officials who said they have been working for months to assure that, when people think "Palisades Park," they look to the Twin Rivers, not the Three Rivers.
"I would like to secure the Palisades name for McKeesport," Councilwoman Ann VanKirk Stromberg said at this week's McKeesport City Council meeting.
"We're going to be filing with the Department of State (in Harrisburg) to reserve the name 'Palisades Park,'" (Solicitor J. Jason) Elash said. "We've had this intention since the beginning of the year."
TL: Everyone's looking for the essential swing group this election season. Who do you think the Steelers-fan vote is going to go for?
DBR: It's going to go to the first candidate with the good sense to hold an open rally and post a big sign that says "Free Beer."
If there is anything that distresses me more than the passing of local radio as once known in so many area communities, it is the passing of local newspapers as once known in so many communities --- something I was reminded of the other night ...
We were passing a state liquor store built after the old Messenger building burned down some years ago. The Daily Messenger was a great newspaper for a town that once was a colossus of steel, but it started to decline even before the Homestead District Works declined. A strike in the late '60s accelerated the process, which ended with a daily going weekly, then dying, then being revived in the early 80s as a weekly News Messenger, then dying again on a day when the publisher told me to shut down my obit writing duties and go home, the paper --- and several other weeklies the woman and her husband had bought --- went bankrupt.
The Valley Mirror was one of two efforts to keep a community news medium going in the Steel Valley. One-time Messenger editor Earle Wittpenn founded the Mirror. He continues to write a column even though he sold the paper some years ago (to a gentleman who later swallowed whole the old Free Press of Braddock, circulating the Mirror now to both Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities). The other effort was a cable TV newscast, still done monthly on Adelphia Channel 7 by former Munhall Councilman Bill Davis ...
The list of deceased publications also is enough to send someone off the Grays Bridge (or, if you prefer, the Mansfield Bridge, or any other span around McKeesport).
I realized that I'm the exact "whippersnapper" mentioned by Bob. Small world, huh?? I distinctly recalled having the argument with him, one on one, about the recent (then, anyway) capture and arrest of "mook." I won't go into details, but rest assured, points were argued that really don't make any sense now ...
I've gone from an immature 22 to an ever-more cranky 26, and I'm going to admit my idiocy. Yes, taggers are among the scum of the earth, though I do believe that I have seen some out-of-the-way murals that could qualify as art. Keep in mind though, that what I'm talking about has nothing to do with the use of Sharpies, and does not concern domestic dwellings, signs, or other property generally accepted to be "owned" by some person.
On a side note, I've enjoyed the little bit I've read on your site. As a fellow McK (Grandview, fyi), I can identify with a lot of the stuff that pisses you off. I guess that's good.
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