The King Lives

Ladies and Gentlemen,

The King is alive!  I successfully rappelled down the side of a hotel and thankfully my friend Elizabeth was on hand to take some video.  Thanks to everyone for their support of the Special Olympics and me.  The only part I wish I had on video was after the jump when a woman walked up to me and asked if I was an Olympian.  I could understand her thinking that.

This video is of the interview I gave after my training jump.  (They make you rappel about 30 feet to get the hang of it)

Tomorrow, Elvis Leaves the Building.

This is the Crystal City Hilton.  At 1PM EST tomorrow, I will rappel down the side of it.  Thanks to the generosity of my friends and family, and I really am so grateful, I raised over $1500 for the Special Olympics of Virginia.  And I ordered a special outfit just for the occasion. You can see it below.  I do this for you, my people.

I like to think that I'm going for the "Elvis right before death" with the pill popping and the heavy sweating.  Not so much the Aloha Elvis with the pelvis.  I want to note two things.  First, the jumpsuit is open to the navel.  Not my choice.  Second, I'm not sure if they'll let me take the scarf when I rappel.

Anyway, if you haven't donated and you feel bad because you too want to be a part of this very special occasion, you can still give by clicking on the banner to the left.  I went to the hotel tonight to pickup my shirt and goody bag before the event.  Though with the temp set to reach 100 degrees tomorrow, I'm probably not wearing anything under the jumpsuit.

I got to hear a girl who is a Special Olympian talk today about what it meant to compete.  And while I originally signed up for this because it gave me the opportunity to rappel down a hotel, it was really nice to see how important this money is for them. She had us stand and recite the SO oath.

Let me win, but if I do not win, let me be brave in the attempt.

So I'll post tomorrow, and have photos of my descent.  My friend suggested some Elvis songs for the descent. Like Heartbreak Hotel, or perhaps Can't Help Fallin' In Love.  

Ain't no Party like a 28 Party....

Apologies for not blogging about this sooner.  I've been alternating heat and cold on my back for the past few days. On Thursday, June 10th, we held a 10-13 party for Natalie.  10-13 refers to the NYPD radio code for Officer Needs Assistance.  It's the most serious thing you can say over the radio, and in the macho culture of the Job usually never gets uttered.  Cops prefer to call a 10-85, or "an 85" which is supposed to be used for non-emergency requests.  And even then, most cops will call an "85 non-emergency) which means you're fighting but don't want to make a big deal out of it.  It's especially impressive when you're putting that out over the air and all you hear is screaming in the background.  A cop named Botta once told me when calling for help to "try and keep the bitch out of my voice" when I key the radio.  Sage words.  Thanks Tony.

However, 10-13 is also used to refer to parties and rackets where you raise money for a cop or a cop's family who are usually dealing with catastrophic medical bills.  This is the case for my friend George, who is taking care of his three sons without his wife.  So, I grabbed the Amtrak up to NYC in the morning, my partner Will picked me up.  He always picks me up, no matter where I come in. I'm not going to talk to much about it, because I'll jinx it.  But God bless that man.

We drove to the 28 up in Harlem.  And let me tell you, a lot has changed since I left there 8 years ago.  And when I say a lot, I mean white people.  Everywhere.  There's a new SPG hotel across from the precinct, which took the place of the slowest supermarket to ever make a sandwich and the only ghetto chinese place we would eat at.  Oh, and there's a gym for kids in a new building next to the precinct, literally a place for toddlers to work out.  Harlem is not Harlem any more, Toto.  I missed the old Harlem.

We then went up to Mount St. Michael's Academy which is a prestigious Catholic school in the Bronx.  Really nice.  Prior to that day, my only knowledge of that place was from my friend in college who went there, Pedro.  Back in the infancy of the internet, I went to the school's homepage and they allowed alumni to write in with updates.  So I wrote in as Pedro that I was married and studying chemical engineering and had a kid and life was good.  (None of this was true) His mother got the alumni magazine and had a heart attack and called him screaming.  Good times.

Anyway, there was a DJ (former 28 guy). 60 cases of beer. 50 cases of soda and water.  Enough trays of mac and cheese and chicken parm and baked ziti, that you could walk to Queens without touching water.  Banners and tables and chairs.  And it was all donated.  The local precinct sent guys to watch the cars parked out front.  It was a day that made me proud to be a cop.

Saw tons of people from the 28 and it was like a great family reunion.  The midnight lieutenant that no one likes was there, which earned him I'm sure a very begrudging respect.  My old XO (Executive Officer) was there.  He now works for a bank recovering ATM cards that people leave in the machine.  (Just kidding Kev.)  He's a bigwig, and it's awesome to call him Kev and he can't do anything about it.

George walked in and gave me a huge hug with tears in his eyes and thanked me profusely for everything.  Puh-leeze.  Seeing him smile while talking to guy's was the only thing I really wanted.  Besides, does he know how easy this is?  I got on a train to support a friend.  I stayed with Will and managed not to offend his wife by leaving my boxers in the kitchen like last time.  This is easy.  If being there brings him a shred of comfort, I'll never leave.

We're family George.  For better or worse.  I love you like a brother and Nat like a sister.  You need anything.  You want to take the kids to DC for a long weekend to get them out of the city, you call me, I hook it up.  I'll even pay for all the museums.  You can have my 1-bedroom and I'll crash with friends.  What's mine is yours.  Currently, that's a lot of Ikea furniture and beer, but I think you'll be fine.

Give because it's Tuesday!

So there are only a little over 1800 free Kiva loans left.

Click here and loan $25 to someone who needs it a lot more than you.  Well, I suppose you could use the $25, but you're probably not going to spend it on anything good for you.  Seriously, what can you buy with $25?  Fruit?  Well, okay that's pretty good for you.  But asides from fruit, you can probably only spend $25 on 2.4 minutes of mediocrity inside your car at the Hunts Point Market with "Sparkyles" (If she asks if you want it with hot sauce, I cannot explain how important it is that you say NO, in no uncertain terms)

So help someone on a Tuesday build a boat, or buy a cow.  And that cow doesn't require you to take a course of anti-biotics or apply topical creams anywhere.  Win win.

The Disease of Statistics: Part 3

Apologies for it almost taking a month to finish my three-part series.  In the first two parts, we talked about how statistics and the brass have changed the job, making it less fun to do and more prone to arm-twisting and cop hating.  However all of these things, while terrible aren't going to actually hurt any cops.  Ironically, the biggest danger is other cops.

So there is a program called Operation Impact.  I first heard of it when white people started moving to Hamilton Heights.  This is a neighborhood that is between Morningside Heights to the south and Washington Heights.  This area was called Harlem, before the real estate brokers got ahold of it.  Anyway, they put cops on foot posts on every block to make sure white people didn't get hit over the head and get their shit taken.  Pretty simple work.  Actually, the drug dealers up there kept felony weight on them, so they were quite nice and responsive when asked to move along.

Impact proved successful and soon they had rookies from precincts all over the city doing Impact tours at crime hotspots in the city.  This started as a once or twice a week and then expanded.  Currently, rookies can get assigned directly to Impact from the Academy where they are assigned to a footpost.  They aren't allowed to handle radio runs, which is job parlance for the calls that come in from 911.  Handling jobs is how you learn to be a police officer.  Working in a radio car with another officer is how you grow as a cop.  And these officers are learning nothing about that.  They are simply ticket writing machines who are a police presence.  Much like the police car with the dummy at the bottom of the hill to dissuade speeders.

And these officers, who don't work out of a precinct and don't have the benefit of senior officers who treat them like crap but watch out for them and tell them when they're doing things wrong or right, they take promotional tests.  And they become Sergeants.  And as Sergeants, they don't have any idea of what they're doing.  They don't have the confidence or the backbone to make tough calls on the street, leaving the officer to hang in the wind.

Recently, I heard a story from a detective who I knew as a cop who said he showed up at the scene of an officer involved shooting.  The shooting was "good" meaning the cop was justified.  And a supervisor showed up to the scene and noticed that the officer was wearing exposed handcuffs and a nylon belt instead of the fake leather one.  The nylon belt is much lighter and more comfortable, but not approved by the Equipment Section probably because it isn't completely flammable like their other wares.  They gave the officer a 10-day hit, which is to say he loses 10 vacation days.  5 for the cuffs and 5 for the belt.  Allow me to remind you that this guy who now has less vacation shot and killed a man about 30 minutes before this jackass decided to discipline him.

This is my fear for the job.  That a rookie boss with no concept of police work, orders his or her cops to do something dangerous, like not waiting for other officers.  Or, worse, is cowardly and leads from behind in critical situations.  This issue though is not on the radar of the NYPD.  To the city, low morale isn't a problem, but higher crime is.  However, lower morale results in poor interactions with the public.  Also you get cops willing to lock up citizens for things like videotaping them or other legal actions.

There are days I miss the job terribly.  But then I remember that I kept the best parts, the people and the stories, and the City of New York can keep the rest which is not worth keeping.

The Disease of Statistics: Part 2

So we left off talking about how CompStat humiliated Captains and made grown men terrified of statistics for the first time since 10th grade.  But to show you that Compstat isn't all bad, observe this graph.

So, as you can see from the graph, 1990 was not a good year for the City of New York.  The spike has been attributed to many factors, but the main one is drugs, specifically crack.  Berkley researchers gave this explanation for why crack became such a violent drug.


Evidently, crack cocaine use and distribution became popular in cities that were in social and economic chaos such as Los Angeles and Atlanta. 'As a result of the low-skill levels and minimal initial resource outlay required to sell crack, systemic violence flourished as a growing army of young, enthusiastic inner-city crack sellers attempt to defend their economic investment.' (Inciardi, 1994) Once the drug became embedded in the particular communities, the economic environment that was best suited for its survival caused further social disintegration within that city. An environment that was based on violence and deceit as an avenue for the crack dealers to protect their economic interests


2,245 murders.  That's a lot.  It's more than some natural disasters.  I remember being in high school and the Daily News running a Gun Clock on one of the pages, counting all of the people killed by handguns.  So CompStat certainly had something to do with the sharp decline.  But there are other theories Steven Levitt, author of Freakonomics, said that though over 50% of Americans believe that innovative policing strategies had something to do with it, it really didn't.  He listed 4 alternate reasons, being more police officers, larger prison population, the wane of the crack epidemic, and finally Roe V. Wade.  That last one landed him in hot water.  You can read the report here.  


Regardless, crime plummeted, making a terrible mayor for New York*, a golden hero for busloads of tourists from Kansas.   And here we are in 2011 with 515 murders.  In a city of 8.5 million people.  Amazing.  In an FBI chart of cities greater than 250,000, looking at murder rates per 100,000 people, New York places between Lexington, Kentucky and Long Beach, California.  Well below other places like Boston, Columbus, Buffalo, and the very dangerous Tulsa.  


So with Compstat, you're always fighting a number.  Let's take a look at this form: 

This was pulled off the web from a GIS.  You can actually go to the NYPD home page and look at the most current stats citywide and precinct-wide.  So this document, or more accurately, the numbers contained within are the gospel.  So as a Lieutenant, you'd be chasing numbers.  In this case, your number is 17.  I've literally have bosses come to roll call on a Friday and say "The number is 18, and right now we're at 14." In English this means that we could record no more than 4 felonies through the weekend to be level with where we were last year.  The reason you focus so much on the week to date is that with that secured, the 28 day will follow. 


So crime in New York City is an an all-time low, and yet there's constant pressure to keep it where it is or make it lower.  In a city of 8.5 million people, crime will happen and will rise and fall in cycles.  Surely, you can use tools to keep it under 2,000 murders a year, but this process eventually feels like squeezing blood out of a stone.  I've personally seen all kinds of chicanery, like bosses waiting to input reports until after midnight on a Monday so they don't count against the week-to-date total.  The worst was the reclassifying of crimes.  I once had a felony arrest I had made and finally got down to court on it to speak to the ADA, and I had to call and ask the precinct to fax down the report.  When the fax came through, the crime had been downgraded to a misdemeanor.  This is not good.  Because with the strike of a pen by a gentleman in a white shirt, my sworn and signed statement to the ADA was garbage.  If this went to trial, which it clearly didn't, (PROTIP: Nothing goes to trial.  Everyone pleads.  Seriously), then I'd be screwed and look like a moron.  

How, you may ask, do you reduce felonies?  Well, asides from murder, it's pretty easy.  Let's say you get burglarized.  And a real burglary, as opposed to the one I had where the guy insisted that someone climbed in his 3rd floor window and stole 2 pairs of pants and that was it, but I digress.  So your stuff gets stolen.  I arrive and ask if you have receipts for the things that were lost to prove their worth?  Oh, you don't have receipts for the jewelry you got as a gift 10 years ago?  Or the laptop?  Then, this really isn't a burglary....it's more of a criminal trespass and a petit robbery.  How convenient that both of those happen to be misdemeanors.  Let me stop here and give the definition of burglary.  To enter a premises unlawfully with the intent to commit a crime therein. You don't even need to steal anything.  If I enter a house and kill you, technically I'm charged with burglary and murder.  But clearly, this definition fits the above case, no matter how much stuff was stolen.  But what do I know.  I'm just a silver shield.  


Perhaps you leave your purse in the Bank of America ATM and 10 seconds later you remember and rush back.  Grand Larceny?  Noooo.  Lost Property.  You can't prove that someone stole it.  You can't prove that your purse didn't become a sentient being and walk out of the ATM lobby.  And let me tell you that if anyone tells you they're filing a lost property report for your stuff, you can kiss that shit goodbye.  I have no idea where those complaint forms go, but I'm guessing some room in the bowels of 1 Police Plaza.  


But let's say that you just can't get the magic number lower and you're over....what happens then?  Well, you need to show that you're doing something.  For example, you're stopping and frisking people for guns.  Funny story about this.  The NYPD started using the UF-250 which is the Stop and Frisk form at the request of various groups to show who they were stopping and why.  So soon the bosses wanted 250 forms to show that the precinct was doing something to fight crime.  This led to tons of people being tossed (cop speak for being frisked) Again, this is a frisk, so I can only look for a gun or something that could hurt me.  No drugs.  No search.  Just a pat down and a waistband check.  This surge in 250 forms eventually led to a lawsuit, go figure.


Cops can also write criminal court summonses or "C" summonses.  These are given out for urinating in public or drinking in public or riding your bike on the sidewalk.  These became popular to for the bosses to show action.  So listen up kids, when you get pissed at the pigs for writing you a ticket for some bullshit like your bicycle didn't have a bell or something, the cop writing you that summons has a lot of things he or she would rather be doing.  Unless of course you're a loud mouthed DYKWIA liberal, then we actually enjoy writing you a lot of tickets.  


That's all for now.  In the third and final part of this series, I will discuss the real danger to the Job, much greater than statistics, is from within.  


* I would be happy to explain in a later post why I think Rudy Giuliani was a terrible mayor and a petulant child for 7.75 years of his mayoralty.

The Disease of Statistics: Part 1

A friend of mine who is still on the Job (That's cop jargon for being an NYPD officer) posted an article from NY Magazine on his Facebook wall.  It was really well written and talked about the malaise that the rank and file of the department are feeling under Commissioner Kelly.  It talks about Compstat, but also goes deeper.
Everyone should click here to read it, if you haven't already.   Here's my take on this whole thing, for what it's worth....

Way back in time, in a NYPD far, far away, there was crime.  Lots of crime.  And you sent out uniforms on patrol to prevent it and respond to it.  And you had detectives try and clean up after it.  But if someone asked the Commanding Officer of a precinct in Brooklyn why the murders were so high, they were apt to get a response like "What can you do?  These freaking people are animals." In short,  crime was sort of like a ride you were on.  This is not to say that specific crimes, like pattern rapes or the Son of Sam for example, weren't handled without care or attention.  But the day to day crimes like burglary or assault were just a fact of life.

Fast Forward to 1994.  Bill Bratton is Police Commissioner, having spent spent time working in Boston and NYC in their transit police departments.  Bratton promoted a lieutenant named Jack Maple from Transit to Deputy Commissioner in charge of Crime Control Strategy.  Why?  Maple, in addition to being a hell of a character, loved maps.  He used them to pinpoint crimes and then moved resources based on what the patterns and maps showed him.  And thus COMPSTAT was born.  While the idea of tracking crimes by location wasn't new, there were some things that put the department on its ear.

First, the data from all crimes were fed into this centralized database and then plotted on a map.  The program allowed them to break down every possible parameter, like robberies of women over 65 between the hours of 2PM and 5PM in a particular neighborhood.  So Maple and his team would crunch these stats and then, here's the new part, call the precinct C.O.s up to explain why this crime was going on.  In front of their peers.  Literally, these guys were on the hot seat.  And it gets worse for them, because Maple who ran the sessions at first, had an earpiece that fed him answers to the questions he wanted to know.  So picture this:

You're in a room with giant screens showing your crime statistics, standing at a podium in front of the department's command staff and your colleagues and you have about 500 pages of reports and stats and anything you think they might want to know.  Maple asks "Captain, can you tell me how many criminal court summonses your precinct has written in the past month?  You start shuffling through pages and pages looking for that info.  Maple, who has the answer in his ear, "158. And can you tell me how many have been written on 118th street where the robbery pattern is?" More shuffling and sweating by you, the C.O. Maple, omniscient as ever, "1.  Captain. don't you think that we stand of better catching your suspects if we start stopping criminals in the area?" And so on and so on.

Not surprisingly, this led a lot of senior leadership to retire, as they didn't want to look stupid or be held to a standard they felt they couldn't meet.  The brass at CompStat would give you anything you wanted to fix your problems.  You could get horses, extra patrol officers, helicopters, really sky's the limit.  But in one month, God help you if your numbers haven't come down.  You could and probably would lose your command.  And in case it's not clear, losing your command is pretty much a career death sentence in the NYPD.

There's a dirty secret about Compstat.  The system only cares about the "7 Majors" which are the seven major crimes that are tracked and reported by the FBI.  And they are:

• Murder
• Rape
• Robbery
• Felony Assault
• Grand Larceny
• Grand Larceny Auto
• Burglary

So basically, if you commit another crime it doesn't make the list.  Funny Story Time:  Working in Harlem, a guy walked up to another guy at Popeye's on 125th St. and St. Nicholas Ave, and said "Die, Motherfucker, Die" and fired a handgun multiple times.  This being a Harlem shooting, none of the rounds struck the intended victim, instead ending up through windows and the front of the restaurant.  Patrol cops pull up, conduct an initial investigation, and determine that this was an attempted murder.  Commanding Officer arrives and says that its Reckless Endangerment, which is a silent felony.  True story.  

In the next segment I'll talk about how this laser-like focus on crimes and other things has made the Job a shell of its former self and turned officers into lackeys.  

_________________________________________________________________________________

In other news, I did make it to Natalie's funeral and got to hug George before he left for the burial.  Incredibly sad, but I was very glad to have made it and seen so many old friends, and a few retards. The redeye and the bus back late that night made for a looong travel day, but it was totally worth it.  

Fare Well Natalie Couluris

Dear Readers,
The beautiful woman in the middle of the photo to the right is Natalie Ramratan. I stole this from her Facebook page, but I don't think she'd mind.  Natalie worked with me in the 28 Precinct when I worked for the NYPD, what seems like lifetimes ago.  When I first met her, I was totally scared of her.  We were brand new and bumping into everyone and saluting statues and running to calls on foot, and no one really liked us.  I came to find out later, that out of the two field training squads, I was placed in the Special Ed one.  But that's another story. 

Natalie could cut you down with a verbal tongue lashing or a look like no one's business.  I learned that when I made the mistake of wearing a Mount Gay rum t-shirt when we went out drinking one of the first nights.  This was a mistake.  You should understand that the subtle and intellectual humor of the NYPD does not shy from the hilarity of calling me gay.   

Later I realized why Nat was so hard on us, acting like we were idiots.  It's because we were idiots.  If I ever write this book that I haven't started and is only in my head, I will point out that while the Academy does teach you many things, it can't prepare you for working on the street or inside the precinct house.  And in reality, there was so much we didn't know and they would grudgingly teach us. 
After I proved myself, I got to be treated to the real Natalie.  Quick with a smile and a laugh, always ready to lend a hand when you really needed it and still quite able to dispense the word "dumbass" when it was appropriate. 

Then she met George. George was a quiet guy who was, and is one of the nicest, gentlest men I know.  He had this super dry humor, which combined with him not talking that much, made him hysterical.  Guys used to go to Tom's Diner for food at times.  This, for those who watch  TV, is the diner they used in Seinfeld for the exterior shots.  Anyway, it was run by Greeks, and when George was there waiting for his order, he heard the waitress say something about "these fucking cops" to the cooks.  George leaned over and said in Greek, "You should be careful what you say, because you never know who can hear it." She turned white, and the owner was apoplectic.  George never taught me more than a few curse words, which honestly is all a cop really needs. 

Natalie caught pneumonia and a kidney infection in early March and was transferred from a hospital near their home to Mt. Sinai in Manhattan.  I was just going to offer up my parent's place for him to shower or change.  (I didn't ask, but I'm sure my parents would have understood) Last night, Natalie passed away in the ICU, surrounded by her family, and then mourned by her larger family of officers.  While I am not a huge Facebook fan, it's been really special to see all of these people that I worked with, sharing their grief together. 

I haven't spoken to Natalie in over two years, since the last 28 Reunion night.  I think what makes this such a hard loss is that working with her on the 3rd Platoon (So called because it's the 3rd shift of the day, with the first being the midnights) was some of of my fondest memories on the job.  Working with my partner and some great officers and a terrific boss, it made it fun to come to work.  I miss that time.  I miss Natalie.  I am flying to LA for work this week, but I'm waiting to hear about the funeral.  I will try my hardest to go.  And if I can go, I'll be in a suit, hopefully in formation with my brothers and sisters from the 28. 

I'm not sure if there's a heaven.  And I'm not going to say that it was her time to go, because that's a lie.  But I will say that I'll never forget her.  And she is an important piece of one of the most amazing puzzles I've ever encountered in my whole life.  I love you Natalie.  I love you George and your three beautiful kids.  Many of the people in this photo would do anything for you, myself included.  Just say the word. Fare well Natalie. 

So awesome

So as I type this, I am $60 away from my goal of $1,000.  If I can be honest, I knew I'd make my goal, mostly because I have awesome friends and family.  More impressive than me raising the money, are the kind of people who gave.  To summarize:

• Parents: No doubt that they would give, but I liked the message that my Mom offered to give me $1,000 if I didn't do it. 
• My girlfriend, Allyson, and her parents gave me money which was super generous.   
• Brother: He would love to see me stuck in the air, so this makes sense.  
• High School Buddies: Two of of my oldest friends each gave money which was pretty nice.  Jason, a friend who I haven't seen in years, also gave money
• College friends: A great guy who certainly isn't rolling in it, gave me cash-ola.  Along with the best baker psychologist in the world.
• Theater friends: An old friend who I studied theater with 18 years ago, and we've remained close ever since
• Vassar Grad: I met this woman when doing an admissions fair and was reminded of how awesome Vassar was and is, as she represents all that's awesome about people.  Cait is running for charity in the Boston Marathon, which makes her a true athlete.  Give her money too!
• Old work colleagues: My friend Mary from Public Health gave a large sum, which means I owe her a beer.  And my everlasting thanks. 
• 2 people from a website for frequent fliers that I'm on gave me money.  Which is totally unexpected, but we did spend time together at the Kiva Do in San Francisco and bonded there.  
• Firefighter buddies: My friend Eric, who I worked as a firefighter with in college gave me money.  He and his wife, Kelly, and his freakishly tall son are good people.  
• An anonymous donor who is an awesome person and will be there in spirit as I drink the first cold one after my feat of useless bravery.

All told it amounts to an incredible collection of people from many different circles. I'm incredibly lucky to have lived a life that brought me into contact with all of these people.  I think sometimes if I could go back and do things differently, I might, but then I think about all of these people I would never have met.  So overall, this life, with plenty of bumps in the road, is the only road I want to be on.  

Like Juno Beach, but Down

Friends and 8 readers,

Thanks to my friend Elizabeth, I recently found out about a charity event held by the Special Olympics of Virginia in early summer. 

This is the Crystal City Hilton in Arlington, Virginia. (Ironically located right near my old office)

I am planning on rapelling down the side of this very hotel on June 22nd and I'm trying to raise $1,000 to do it.  My Mom offered me a grand not to.  But that seemed to take the fun out of it.  So why rappel? 

I decided why not?  This activity combines charity with hotels and doing something insane.  I figure I can run a 5K or do a Polar Plunge anytime.  But how often do you get to climb down the side of a hotel and not get arrested.  You'll notice the widget (actual term) on the left of the page that chronicles my race to $1K.  If I get more, I can earn a night at the hotel or a dinner.  But if I get $2,000, I get another rapelling spot.  So someone can join me if I get enough.  So cough up a few dimes. I might spring for a costume....

If you want to give money, click here.

If you want to sign up and feel your manhood or lady parts crushed by a rigging harness, click here.

People Read This Apparently

So a funny thing happened last night when I was at Dinner Club.  Dinner Club is essentially a bunch of people getting together for dinner and drinking a lot.  You all probably call this "dinner" but this is DC and it needs to have an air of exclusivity.  And so one of the people there, Fareha, said that she would read my blog when she was working and overseas and feeling down to cheer her up. It was an odd moment for me.  Reminding me again that I'm glad I blog and its cool that people enjoy it as much as I do.

It reminds me of when I was a DJ in college.  Now unlike most DJs, who are hacks and sound like this:

But college radio is different.  DJs only have 1 show for a 2-3 hour time slot per week.  And the shows vary all over the board.  I used to have the show before the Polka Guys who were locals from the community who had the most popular radio show by far on the station. So there was no continuity and most people did a show because they liked playing their music.  I started with the amazing time slot of 6-8AM on Sundays, which I probably missed 30% of when I overslept. 

But when you're in the small studio with carpet on the walls and ceiling, and talking into a microphone and playing songs from the actual DC Cab soundtrack on LP, you could quite easily forget that people were out there.  I mean I had friends who might set their alarm and then snooze through the show, or a girlfriend who might listen out of pity, but that was about it.  Everyone one else was unknown to me.  So when we asked people to call in and the phones lit up.  (Literally the phone is connected to a strobe light so the DJ can see it when the music is really loud)

That sort of feels like this blog.  Which I must admit makes me usually feel like the end of Doogie Howser when NPH is typing away on his monchrome screen.  Except people do actually read this.  So thanks for reading and sharing.  I realize that between Facebook and Lobster Porn, there's a lot of places you could be on the Internet and I appreciate you stopping by my small head space. 

P.S.  Fareha and her fiancee Chris are getting married and their union is like an awesome force of good in the universe.  So on Memorial Day weekend, if the air seems a little cleaner and the people a little nicer, its because these two do gooders, probably covered in henna, have just said I do. 

Downward Spiral of Office Locations

Good Afternoon.  I'm writing to you from a non-descript building in McLean, VA. Not because I'm doing secret work but more because all of the buildings here look the same.  This place is terrible.  But let's start from the beginning.

18th and K NW
When I first arrived in our nation's capital, my office was located at 18th and K St.  Right in the heart of DC.  If K St. sounds familiar its because it's known as the home of lobbying in DC.  There was an NGO in our building which took most of the building and they once had a Sherpa conference.  I thought that was pretty cool.  Though I wondered if the attendees had to bring the podium, speakers, chairs and water glasses with them.  I was able to walk to my office in about 15 mins.  Not since my one year in the North End, did I get to walk to work.  It was awesome.  And because it was awesome, it only lasted about 10 months.  The office, which used to be Henry Kissinger's after he left government, apparently cost $20,000 a month.  And our new corporate overlords were not really excited about paying that.  So, then we went to.....

Crystal City
As an area, this place isn't terrible.  I now was driving, but it was a reverse commute and it was right across the river from DC, and there was parking.  So overall I didn't really complain.  I had a great view too, of the Capitol, the Washington Monument, and the approach path of DCA as well as the railroad and I-395.  It was a kickass view.  But overall, Crystal City is a terrible place.  It was designed in all its concrete glory by an evil mastermind named Charles E Smith.  You can read his obit here.  The buildings are all interconnected, which is great if you live in Duluth or Minot, ND.  But in DC, there's no reason to have to walk from your office to your car or to Potbelly.

I really do think that the place, built in the late 60's, was an answer to some sort of nuclear winter.  There's restaurants, a supermarket, a theater company, doctors, dentists, shrinks, and most importantly a Dunkin Donuts.  If you want to feel like a commuter in a rat race, work there.  Later I got moved to an office with a terrible view.  In my company, as in others I'd guess, more senior people get window offices.  I would trade all of these windows for the cube I had at 18th and K.  Finally, due to a transfer I landed in McLean.

McLean
This is a really rich (per capital income around $83,000) and white (80%) area.  The CIA is located in the Langley area of McLean.  And of course, there's Tysons Corner, which is actually two malls that are huge.  One for normal folks and one for diplomat's wives who are trying to get rid of blood diamond money and the like.  Thank God we have stores for that.  Anyway, McLean is part of Northern Virginia that has seen a population explosion as people have been pushed further out to find homes.  There's no mass transit here, but in VA that's almost a given.  The Silver Line which is supposed to connect to Dulles is being built, snarling traffic in every direction.

But this place is an Edge City, a term coined by Urbanist Joel Garreau in 1991.  I read his book in college, and it was pretty interesting.  Basically an Edge City is a conglomeration of uninteresting glass or steel office buildings that spring up outside major cities that usually combine mixed-use commercial and some residential.   Garreau has five requirements to be an Edge City:

• It must have more than five million square feet (465,000 m²) of office space. Such an area can accommodate between 20,000 and 50,000 office workers - as many as some traditional downtowns.
• It must have more than 600,000 square feet (56,000 m²) of retail space, the size of a medium shopping mall. This ensures that the edge city is a center of recreation and commerce as well as of office work.
• It must be characterized by more jobs than bedrooms.
• It must be perceived by the population as one place.
• It must have had no urban characteristics 30 years earlier.

I don't know about you, but that sounds terrible.  And it is.  To even call this a city is insulting as no one walks anywhere and there's no diversity or mass transit or real identity.  I had to go to the mall to get fitted for a suit for my brother's upcoming wedding and ran into these people from some office who had driven there to have their exciting lunch at P.F. Changs.  I wanted to smother them with my jacket, to ease their pain.  Blech.  

Hoping to return to living and working in a city, soon.  

The Power and Problem with Passion

I was trying to see if I could get one more "P" word in there, but I just couldn't.  So sorry.  Today is an interesting day.  Technically, the contract I'm working on is ending today which puts me out on the street.  However, I should be able to switch over to an existing client that I've been working with.  I gotta get out of here. Pondering billable hours is not fulfilling.

But back to passion.  So I have realized that passion is like a drug, or a girlfriend.  You can feel the highs of highs and everything is roses and unicorn farts.  But then when you crash, things suck, like really suck.  And you want to get back that passion to feel it again, but eventually you crash again.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

So I have heard back from all of the Kivans (their term) I emailed and I'm feeling quite good.  I have a conversation with their VP of Marketing on Monday to discuss an idea I have for a Kids program, which I think is pretty cool.  As typical with someone with ADHD, I am great with ideas.  And great at operations.  But horrible with implementation.  It reminds me of one of my favorite South Park episodes.

Anyway, so in talking to these people from Kiva and Opportunity Fund over the course of this week, I'm just learning to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment.  I'm trying to find a balance that allows me to get paid and work and yet also be fulfilled and passionate about things.

Still totally hooked on Kiva.  You can even see the people I loaned money to on the blog, in the left column.  Maybe it will inspire you to give some coin.

It's 80 degrees in DC in mid-March.  I fear that July might be hot enough to melt the sidewalks.  Pray for us.  Or try and stop carbon emissions with a cap.  Probably have better chance of praying though.

Thanks

So it's been really nice reading the comments and emails that have come in, and I appreciate the support.  I would like to ask people to spend $25 of someone else's money, which sounds pretty easy. 

Just click here:
http://www.kiva.org/invitedby/graham6611

And then find someone in a country of interest or in an area of interest and loan away..... Do make sure to give Kiva a little something for the effort though. 

A Really Great Weekend.

In many ways, I struggle with what this blog is.  How do I combine my personal interests, like transportation and flying with my work, which is currently consulting?  More often than not, this blog also serves as my personal journal, which is weird because it’s public.  And my story isn’t very exciting or interesting, like people who are going through difficult times or working in the foreign service and looking to share their experiences.  But with all of the social media outlets that I use like Yelp, LinkedIn, Facebook and increasingly Twitter, I have found that while these provide outlets, they rarely provide a release or vent for my feelings or concerns.  I realize that this means that a reader base is hard to accumulate because this thing veers all over the place, but in a way I think that makes it more interesting. 

One of my problems is that I mean to blog much more and get behind and then the thing I wanted to talk about becomes the three things I wanted to talk about or 10 things.  Well, this past weekend I had an experience that requires blogging.  As a matter of fact, I’m typing this from 35,000 feet to a Word document just to make sure I get all of this down.

So I am a member of an online community called Milepoint.  The site was created by frequent flier guru Randy Peterson, who’s an incredibly kind man originally from Iowa.  The site allows people who belong to travel affinity programs (Starwood Preferred Guest, US Airways Dividend Miles, Hertz #1 Club Gold, etc) to talk with each other and answer questions and share ideas.  These questions can get really detailed, like what the best seat on a United 757 in the international configuration in First class.  These are people who love flying and travelling and will build up miles just so they can fly to Canada to see a friend for a weekend, because with this group, you’re friends can be all over the globe.  But this story isn’t really about Milepoint, per se.  Its about Milepoint’s relationship with Kiva. 

Maybe you don’t know about Kiva, or are vaguely aware.  Kiva.com is a site that allows you to microlend.  This means that someone, in a country that has no financial system (Zambia) or a country where banks won’t give small loans to persons without a decent credit history (United States), cannot get money.  A typical loan on Kiva would be $700 for Marisol in Paraguay who has a food stand near a factory and wants to purchase a refrigerator to increase the types of goods that she can sell.  So I would go onto Kiva and lend her $25 (default donation) I can also see who their field partner is, which is the NGO that is providing them the money and support in country, in addition to the repayment terms of the loan.  Generally the repayment terms are 6-18 months.  And I would get my $25 back in my account in random increments like $2.75 in April and $4.50 in May. The video below is called Intercontinental Ballistic Missile Microfinance and it's pretty wild.  

Now, unlike DonorsChoose, which is another fascinating and awesome website that allows you to donate money to classrooms so they can buy supplies that aren’t covered by the budget, you are loaning the money in Kiva.  With no interest.  And the chance that the loan might default because Marisol’s food stand might be destroyed or she might have a death in her family and be unable to repay the loan.  Which means you don’t get your money back.  But most of the people I know consider their loan more of a donation anyway.  You have the option of withdrawing your Kiva funds as they are repayed, but over 90% of users choose to recycle or reinvest them in other loans. 

Various groups form Lending Teams on the Kiva website and they “compete” to see who can recruit the most members in a month or who can raise the most money.  It’s not really a competition because the act of giving is the reward, but people do like to see their team do well and get some attention.  Milepoint has a team.  An active team.  A really active team.  In the last 2 months, I’ve made about $400 in loans.  Sounds like a lot.  However in context, the Milepoint team of 650 people has raised $2.1 million dollars over 12 months.  Fastest growing team in Kiva history.  So, there was a meeting this weekend in San Francisco, where Kiva is headquartered that brought members of the Milepoint Team who could attend and Kiva Leadership and employees together.  We of course, wanted to meet these people and answer some questions we had and talk to them.  They wanted to find out who the hell we were that raised 2 million bucks in a year and wanted to talk to us.  It felt like two odd groups sizing each other up. 

Pause story…..

I think that passion is one of the most amazing things in this world.  Passion can allow people to do things for little money, sleep or food or water forever.  It’s like Maslow’s hierarchy gets slapped.  I had passion twice in my life.  I can tell, because my voice catches in the back of my throat and I start to sound like Bill Clinton asking people to picture a world…. The first was in college when I was working on this concept called the Poughkeepsie Institute that was going to bring students from Marist, Vassar, SUNY-New Paltz, Duchess Community College, the Culinary Institute of America and Bard all together.  It currently existed in a class that had students from all six schools and focused on issues in the local area.  But I envisioned a think tank, and a foundation that could bring in capital from these schools, intellectual and monetary, to help revitalize a city that had fallen on hard times.  I saw a building where students would come from all of the schools and mix with each other, which didn’t happen normally.  I also imagined a place that could help the City of Poughkeepsie with human capital in everything from investing to marketing.  A mini-consulting firm pro bono consisting of students and faculty who could help the city.  I even went so far as to meet with the Mayor, the Economic Development Director to look at spaces in the city that were vacant and that the city was interested in getting rid of for a song to get them developed.  But then, the Vassar advisor put the kibosh on the whole thing, angry that I’d struck out on my own and scared that the program was getting out of his control.  And it was…people were believing.  It was a beautiful thing.  But it didn’t last and and ended up with me yelling “Go Fuck Yourself” and storming out of the advisor’s office in tears. 

The next time I felt passion was when I had this idea about changing the way colleges raise money by being much more connected to their alumni.  I won’t go into it now, but it lost steam when people didn’t return emails or calls, and those that did basically said it wouldn’t work because the college gets decent money now without much work. 

Unpause…….

So about 45 of us met with Kiva on Friday and Saturday.  I was already in San Francisco and so I got to tour their office and attend a happy hour.  It was over $3 cask ales at the Public House that I began to suspect this weekend was going to be different.  The people from Kiva I was talking to were just amazing people.  Many of them had left their jobs paying a lot more in the private sector.  They were fun and committed and I wondered if I lived in San Francisco, if we would hang out, even if I never worked at Kiva. 

Over the course of the 2 days, we brainstormed with them and they shared with us their visions and their concerns about growth and remaining true to their mission while expanding into new areas.  Kiva introduced the ability to microlend to the United States a few years ago, and that caused some anger among their lender base who thought that the U.S. with it’s large collection of wealth should be the last country that Kiva should launch in.  However, as the Occupy Wall Street movement has shown, that awesome amount of wealth is quite poorly distributed, no pun intended.  The manager of their US portfolio, spoke about how unlike international microfinance, the goal in this country was to get people loans to help them establish credit and a history of strong repayments and then to graduate them to the existing financial system.   She was pretty kick ass.  She got extra points for knowing about the Eastern Shores of Maryland and Virginia. 

People are really generous on our team.  So generous in fact that Kiva has had to modify their systems to allow for greater lending.  One of our members, was tired of clicking the $25 when he really just wanted to fund all agriculture loans in Africa for $100,000.  Think about that.  Even more awesome is that as a team we concentrated our money lending over the weekend for maximum effect, dubbed a money bomb.  This bomb was devastatingly effective.  It brought in $300,000 in 48 hours.  As an international team we benefit from being able to count the days by starting in Asia and ending in Hawaii.  It’s cheating, but I don’t think anyone minds.  That $300,000 is more than any team has loaned in a month! It’s staggering to think about actually.

 

So here I sit, at 35,000 feet, having finished my breakfast in First Class.  (Review: Frittata A-, Potatoes: B, Sausages: C+) On the way to the airport at 5:45 AM, I had already sent emails to the Kiva founder, Matt Flannery, and the Kiva President, Premal Shah, and their Development Manager, Erin Geiger trying to keep the conversations and relationships going and to let them know that I’m all in.  I’m a relationship person and just like in work, I believe you can tell a lot from a person by who they surround themselves with. The stunning thing to me about this weekend is that before Thursday, I supported Kiva to help Marisol buy a refrigerator. And now I want to support the organization that is Kiva.  I want to help Chelsa and Betsy and Josh and Martin, and Maika and Ali and all of them.  I have no idea what this means, to be honest.  I’m not sure I would want to work for them.  I’m not even sure what I could do for them, asides from being someone in the office that everyone liked, but in that way, I might as well be a dog.  I have skills but they generally revolve around dealing with people and managing people, which Kiva seems to have under control. I’m not even sure that have any interest in keeping a connection with me that’s more personal than my relationship as a lender to their borrowers and MFIs(Micro Finance Institutions).

I just know that based on my previous signs like my voice kept catching in my throat, and crying as I type this, that I’m hooked.   But there are much, much better tears than they were 13 years ago.  I feel like the Double Rainbow guy.

 

So worst case, I don’t get responses from Matt, Premal or Erin.  And I end up just connecting to them through one-way methods like their blog or their Twitter handle.  I’d be okay with that, because they have given me something so magical, even for such a short time.  They have reminded me that there is nothing I can’t do.  And they have reminded me how it feels to be with like minded people.  And to bring it back to 13 years ago, I’ll need profanity again.  It feels really fucking awesome. 

P.S. I have this post topped out at 4 pages.  I’m curious if anyone got this far, and if they did, what were their thoughts on the story.  Was it too long?  Did it make sense.  This has sort of been a kind of stream of consciousness thing, so I’m not sure that it is interesting to anyone, besides me.  And even I simply needed it as a place to put my feelings into words.

    

P.P.S. I need to tell you about Charlie Schumacher, but that will be another post.  I gotta wrap this up.  The woman across from me is wondering why this business guy is working on a document for the last hour and has suddenly begun to cry.  Thank God I’m not brown.  They’d probably detain me.  

P.P.P.S. (Seriously, this is actually gramatically correct) Premal emailed back, thanking me for the friendship.  I got it when I landed at the Charlotte Airport.  I also got the last seat for First Class on my next flight. I'm taking all of these things as a sign that I'm on the right track. 

The Instant Deal Clubhouse

In keeping with the randomness of my posts, I wanted to share my activities last night at a place that I see as a game changer.  Living Social threw a wine tasting event with free cheese and meats from Cowgirl Creamery, which is where white people spend a lot of money on cheese in DC. However, the thing that made this different is that Living Social threw the event in their own space.

They recently gutted and renovated a building at 918 F St. NW in the District.  The bottom 4 floors and the basement are for programming, while the top two floors are for staff offices.  LS is headquartered in DC, which I didn't know.  So last night, while we were drinking wine, there was a beer tasting going on and a painting and wine class and they also have a pop-up restaurant of Mike Isabella, who is expanding his Graffiato empire in DC.  The point being that there's a lot of options for them with all the space and configurations.  This to me is the next step.

Instead of the deals at the manicure place or the restaurant places which have mixed reviews by their owners on how effective they are, LivingSocial can program it's own events using outside people but not having to worry about poor tippers or overwhelming small businesses.  As LivingSocial expands their Adventures line, I think people will feel a lot closer to them as opposed to just a place that allows them to eat cheaper.  It helps their brand.

Not to mention that Google Offers has a better system for figuring out what deals I want.  They even asked me to tell them what I was interested in, which means I don't get offers for pedicures  anymore, which is great.  I think they will eventually own that deal space.  Groupon is old news and I think they made a big mistake by not taking Google's insane $6 billion dollar offer.  If that doesn't define greedy, I'm not sure what does.  I hope that Google crushes them.

Hot Tip: Ramblings has learned that Google Offers has inked an exclusive deal with Major League Baseball for 500,000 tickets for next season.  They will be the only place you can get tickets to games.  Not LS, Groupon, Goldstar, etc. 

Overall I like the step that LivingSocial took, I look forward to more events there and I would be even willing to part with more money on occasion for more intimate or interesting experiences there.

The Silent Epidemic

Most of you don't know who Matthew Schindler was.  He was a NYPD cop who worked highway safety in the 115 Precinct in Queens North.  He had 14 years on the job with 6 to go.  He had a wife and three kids.  And on Monday, February 13th, on his way home to Long Island from his day tour, he pulled his car over to the side of the LIE and shot himself in the head, dying instantly.  He is the fourth NYPD officer to kill himself in the last 30 days.  Let me restate that another way, last year 4 officers died in the line of duty, which equals the amount of officers dead in this past month.

Let me be clear, I didn't know Matt Schindler.  Nor did I know the other officers who committed suicide, but their stories are just as tragic:

• P.O. Terrence Dean, 28, who was having suicidal thoughts and had actually placed his service weapon in his mouth in front of his father, killed himself in January.  His girlfriend had called his precinct to ask a hypothetical question to the officer on the T/S (Telephone/Switchboard) about what would happen if she reported that her boyfriend was suicidal.  She hung up and then called Terrence and relayed the gist of the conversation and he immediately thought that she had told his superiors that he was a danger to himself.  He was on the scene of a car burglary and calmly removed his weapon from his holster in front of the the victim of the robbery and shot himself in the head.  
• P.O. Patrick Werner, 23, got into a vehicle accident and fled the scene.  A rookie, he was on the phone with his girlfriend when he got into the accident.  He drove home and killed himself.  Possibly for fear of losing his job while still on probation.  Who knows...
• P.O. Brian Saar, just 8 days before Schindler's death go into an argument with his wife on Super Bowl Sunday and killed himself, leaving 5-year old twin girls.  

Suicide is a silent killer.  The department doesn't like to talk about it.  The families and friends might feel shame and so they don't speak of it, and thus it flies under the radar.  You better believe if the NYPD had lost 4 officers to someone else's gunfire in one month, you would be hearing all about it.  The only place to gather for these friends and colleagues and family in the immediate aftermath is the funeral.  However, the New York City Police Department doesn't give these fallen officer's an Inspector's Funeral, which is what you think of when you think of police funerals (Motorcycles, helicopters, honor guard)

I worked in the 28 Precinct for 5 years and in that time we didn't lose a single officer in the line of duty, however we did have an officer take his own life.  His name was Will Joynes and his death was devastating. Like many of these guys, we was quite nice and helpful to us rookies and he also seemed to be the only person who knew what a book looked like in the 28.  I remember drinking on the night we found out, and knowing that alcohol wasn't the solution, but it was a treatment that felt pretty good surrounded by friends. 

As mentioned, the Job* didn't provide anything for the funeral.  So our Commanding Officer, DI Dolan, used his pull within the Emerald Society to get Aviation to send one helicopter and Highway to send a motorcycle or two.  One of our guys was in the Ceremonial Unit, so they asked guys in the unit on their own time to come and help . We even had a trumpet player from the 28, to play taps.  It was a small showing, but it was a family and quite personal.  

I sent a check for $50 to a cop in the 115 for Matt Schindler's family, as they will need the funds.  I found this article when I was researching this post, which is eerily familiar.  It was from 1994, when a staggering 12 NYPD officers killed themselves. Every officer has a means to end their lives at a moment's notice.  In some cases, like P.O. Dean's, perhaps the outcome was inevitable.  But for some of these, you wonder if they had a little more time or someone to talk to, if they would rush to pick up the gun.  Every cop lives in fear of NYPD's Bureau of Psych Services, because these are the people who take your guns.  And a cop without a gun is just a person.  A gun and a badge are really all that's needed to be a lawman.  Just watch a western.  

So the Job and the job exerts stresses both internally and externally on a person, which then scares them into   thinking that if they're open about their fears or thoughts, that they'll be branded a psych case and never return to active duty again. 

There has to be a middle ground.  One where the NYPD acknowledges that depression is fairly common in people.  That the shift work and brutal things one can see on patrol can wreak havoc on family life and one's liver.  To accept those facts instead of insisting that it's not their fault and offer posters of numbers to call.  Calls that might lead who knows where.  If the NYPD is supposed to be a family, then the parents (Brass) are supposed to take care of their kids.  Instead, what happens are absentee parents and the siblings looking after themselves, which is incredibly helpful, but not enough.  

As there is no memorial to these fallen officers, I'm happy to allow thoughts in the comments section.  Let's chase this out of the darkness.  Let's own it and the pain and heartbreak that comes with it.  Let's take care of each other.  The family of Matt Schindler and my brothers and sisters in the 115, you are in my thoughts and prayers today. 

* The Job is jargon for the department. Example: The Job screwed that guy and took all his vacation time because he lost his prisoner

I Miss College Outrage

So while many of us were watching the Super Bowl, those viewers in Michigan were treated to an ad by Pete Hoekstra.

It's not clear what bothered me more. The broken English? The fear mongering? Or the fact that they had this actress pedaling a bike through a rice paddy, like something out of Platoon, instead of her sucking on truck exhaust in a major city with cranes everywhere. I will say that there's been a bunch of outrage about this ad, including from Republicans who clearly feel this makes them look bad as well.

However, a trip to the website was what got me angry.  If you think the video is bad, the website will make your head asplode.   Now I don't know Ms. Stabenow, and I'm sure she's a terrible politician who in fact has done similar things, see....

"According to a 2006 op-ed in the Detroit Free Press, Democratic Party chair Mark Brewer provided fortune cookies to reporters with messages that said GOP candidate Dick DeVos "would outsource your jobs to China."

But 2 wrongs don't make a right, while two Wongs clearly make a political ad.

I was lucky enough to go to Vassar College which had a really opinionated student body, that was uniquely attuned to diversity issues.  There was even a multi-cultural center, built as a safe space for students of color to go and feel themselves.   And among the cultural groups on campus, the Asian Students Alliance (ASA) were known for two things.  Great parties. Brilliant organization and political skill.  They even got my roommate who was insanely elected Auditor to look the other way while they bought booze on official funds.  Of course he wasn't really looking the other way, he was more drunk in a corner.

I want ASA right now.  To come marching in and raise holy hell.  I want the people who loved the E-Trade baby commercial to wake up and realize that there are more important things in this country.  Understand I'm not talking about our relationship with China, I'm talking about the lack of decency and civility in politics and our discourse.  I want Mo Chin, Ken Wong and Mark Llobrera* to break down the door of Pete Hoekstra's office and just say "What the fuck?" Because seriously, what the fuck.  People need to be outraged, and not just the Democrats or the Asian Associations and groups that all the media asked for comment.  But white people, like me.

The fact is that if Debbie Stabenow was a Chinese-American, this would never have happened.  But because she's white, this is apparently okay.  If I ran against a woman for Congress who supports giving money for AIDS relief in Africa, could I have photos of National Geographic boobies and the lady with the rings around her neck and get away with it?  Hells no.

I understand that people are busy and working and trying to make payments.  But indignation is free.  And everyone can afford to be indignant about things that clearly aren't right. There are days I miss the outrage that could blow up in seconds on a college campus like Vassar.  This is one of those days. 

* These fine gentlemen were in ASA, and clearly have no knowledge of any booze for bribes scandal.

The Traveling Hero

I realized today that I change when I travel.  Let me state here, for those who are not aware, that I'm into transportation.  I could talk about the aviation industry or US high speed rail for hours and not get bored.  There is even a film about people like me who fly for no reason but to get more miles.  So I know travel, and yet it amazes me how I travel differently.  For example:

• When flying first class, as I sometimes get upgraded, I am constantly aware of the fact that I get booze for free.  Don't get me wrong, I love a good gin and tonic on an evening flight.  However I generally order alcohol no matter what because it's free and I want to take advantage of my upgrade.  Contrast this with the first class regulars who get water with no ice.  At dinner tonight a colleague said when he gets in first class, he considers it his duty to drink on behalf of those in coach who have to pay.  Brave man.
• I use toiletries that I don't normally.  I'm a shampoo guy.  I go to a barber and got my hair cut by telling the lady what number trimmer blade to use (3).  I'm not high maintenance at all.  So when I used conditioner tonight smelling of roses, I laughed.  They offer it, so I take it.  
• Tonight, after dinner, I left my group and wanted ice cream.  Ben and Jerry's was closed (Yelp lies!) and so I was walking back home.  I saw a pizza spot and ended up grabbing a slice and a soda.  I have no idea why.  It just seemed like a good idea.  

Travel questions?  Email me.  I can help you. I'm a geek like that.

Running Update

Still hate running.  I subscribe to the theory that you're supposed to get 30 minutes of moderate exercise a couple times a week.  I've discovered that the route I run clocks in at around 20 mins.  Most people would find a longer route.  However I've always been one to believe in working smarter and not harder, so I just slow down.  Now I'm doing it in 23 minutes, even with walking when not necessary.  My next step is to do slam poetry on various corners.  Or stop for a cup of coffee and jog in place.