just this guy's opinion

Facebook’s IPO pokes back

2012-01-31T21:19:00.000-08:00

This week’s sign the apocalypse is near comes from the front page of the business/tech section and not from the usual suspect, the news section. Well, unless you live in Silicon Valley, then it’s often both, as is in this particular case. You see, Facebook’s inevitable IPO is quickly approaching, and many onlookers see it as the first volley in a whole new tech bubble. The tech community hasn’t had its collective panties in this much of a bunch since 1999.

While numbers are difficult to project in this “quiet period” in front of the stock offering, strong buzz on the street says we can expect $10 billion to be instantly raised, bringing the total valuation of the company to about $100 billion.

$100 billion.

That’s a lot of acres in Farmville, pokes to old high school friends, and status updates ranging from boring to boorish.

Facebook’s celebrity entrepreneur Mark Zuckerberg has been hesitant to go public in the past, and for pretty good reason. First, who wants to invite the scrutiny of Wall Street and its expectations? Moreover, who wants to share so much money when it could be all mine, mine, all mine (insert maniacal, evil laugh here)?

Of course, employees what some of those riches too, and speculation abounds as to that being the root of this week’s activities, and for good reason. When Facebook stock starts trading publically, fully one-third of Facebook’s 3,000 employees stand to become instant millionaires. At the same time, we’ll see a double-digit increase in number of the world’s billionaires.

Millionaires and billionaires, $10 billion and $100 billion. Before long, we start talking about some real money, huh?

Who knows what happens to the stock after it goes public. It will certainly be interesting to see its revenue streams fully disclosed, as well as its sure-to-be-staggering profitability. Who’s to say it’s not a $100 billion dollar company. But, what does that mean, anyway.

As a comparison, as of today the top of the corporate valuation mountain sees Apple and its market capitalization of $425 billion, with Exxon Mobil trailing along with a paltry $401 billion (note: market capitalization is simply the number of shares outstanding multiplied by the share price, and is a true representation of a company’s valuation, or worth). What’s notable is that both Apple and Exxon make something tangible and have lots of assets. Exxon alone carries almost $200 billion in Property, Plant, and Equipment on its Balance Sheet.

Compare that to Facebook, already 1/4th the size of the biggest of corporate titans. From outside, looking in, what exactly is it? 3,000 employees sitting at 3,000 desks, with a piece of real estate in cyberspace that is exactly like everyone else’s piece of cyberspace real estate, only much more visited. More visited to the tune of 800 million active users, with over 400 million of those hitting the site every single day, sharing 900 million objects that other Facebook users interact with.

Damn! And I thought the dollar amounts were big.

So, that’s what it has become. Our Facebook addiction has really grown into quite the beast, as well as a monkey on some of our backs. It’s not just a time-suck that destroys our relationships with the real people who live and work with us every day while we superficially keep up with the “friends” we haven’t actually seen or spoken to in decades, it’s actually the fuel that drives the engine that is destined very soon to be one of the most valuable companies on Earth.

It’s enough to make one stop playing Mafia Wars just long enough to ponder the next technology apple that will be piled on the technology apple cart, for that’s just what we do – pile on the apple cart. Soon, very soon, the valley will be rife once again with unshaven, T-shirt and jeans clad techies and entrepreneurs, all riding Razors and Segways to work, raising money on the shakiest of business plans - and sometimes just a catchy name, logo, or mascot - pandering to the get-really-rich dreams of the American and international venture capitalist.

Don’t believe me?

Three words.

Pets. Dot. Com.

Like we didn’t see that one spiraling down the toilet from day one. Well, I mean we would have if we had bothered to think about the folly of buying heavy bags of dog food and having it shipped to us instead of just stopping by the store and buying it cheaper and taking it home that same day, when our dog was hungry.

Facebook is truly an international cultural phenomenon and a true Americana example of entrepreneurism and risk taking, and who am I to begrudge that, even if I am just a wee bit jealous and can’t help but think, “Why didn’t I think of it, and why didn’t I think of it first, and if I did think of it first, why didn’t I do something about it?” No doubt, it’s here to stay, and stay in a big, big way.

But, what of the pretenders that follow, the other apples on the apple cart? One thing history illustrates is that apples tumble from upended apple carts, and they not always Apple, if you know what I mean. Do you have your shrewd investing eye, and wallet, on technology stocks? While there can be more than one, there usually is only a select few. Buyer beware the rest, particularly those not in first, for eventually someone holds the Pets.com bag and it’s filled with you-know-what.

Of course, I guess I could be wrong, as it’s just this guy’s opinion.

If you can’t find me on Facebook, hit me on Twitter @RayHartjen.

A Fair Shot Heard ‘Round the World

2012-01-28T11:38:00.000-08:00

State of the Union addresses have never been my thing, from the artificial standing ovation that eventually spreads to both sides of the aisle to the shameless, pompous politicking of not only the President, but of the many after speech commentaries provided by politicians for and against, as well as the almost infinite number of TV talking heads that think they’re smarter than us. Keith Olbermann or Bill O’Reilly, anyone? Child, please.

As a kid, I used to tell my parents that if a network had the stones to put entertainment programming on against the State of the Union, they would kill in the ratings. Sure, such a move would severely hamper the reputation of a network’s news division, but since when does the news pay the bills at a network?

President Obama’s address on Tuesday night didn’t disappoint my low expectations. He certainly got my attention, although perhaps not in the manner that his team of speech writers might have intended. “We can restore an economy where everyone gets a fair shot, everyone does their fair share, and everyone plays by the same set of rules.”

Cue record scratching.

What was that? (Hit rewind on DVR)

Fair shot?

Have we collectively sunk so low as to where we’re bemoaning needing a “fair shot?” Seriously, since when do Americans sit back and cry about wanting a fair shot? This country was built by people who proactively took the shots and called the shots. That’s why most of us moved here, and more of us do every single day.

Our American heroes, both real and fictionalized, are ones who overcame seemingly insurmountable obstacles and persevered, fighting through, and eventually accomplishing goals and fulfilling dreams. From Walter Mitty to John Wayne, from Henry Ford to Warren Buffet, from Famous Amos to maybe you, we’re a country about go-getters and action, accountability and responsibility. For the love of God, we didn’t collectively sit through six Sylvester Stallone portraits of Rocky for nothing, did we?

Now, this isn’t a Republican versus Democratic in an election year rant, although full disclosure will have me tell you I didn’t vote for our current president last time around. Full disclosure will also suggest that doesn’t mean I won’t vote for him this time around, for there’s ample time to decide who’s best prepared to lead our country to where it needs to go, and at this point in time I am very open minded and undecided. But, this I’m certain of: we don’t need any talk about “fair shots.”

You get no more fair shot in this world than in America. If you don’t believe it, get yourself some luggage, perhaps a U-Haul or something, and get out and try it someplace else. Just do yourself the favor of not burning your bridges, because you most likely will be coming back.

America has been, and continues to be, the land of opportunity. Only, there is one requirement to seize upon all the potential out there waiting for you. It’s simple. Go grab it. Get off your lazy, pampered, self-entitled ass and work hard.

Sorry to break it to you, but Andy Warhol was wrong. Everyone is not going to be famous for fifteen minutes. You won’t have a camera crew follow you around like you’re a second-coming of the Kardashians. You won’t answer the door one day and open it to a letter informing you that you just inherited $100 million from a long-lost relative.

Success is predicated on smart, hard work. Now, “occupying” some place is certainly hard work – who wants to live in a cardboard box in the middle of winter, relieving yourself in the bushes, and searching daily for an AC outlet? But, it’s not smart. Instead of using your iPad - poor, pitiful, hopeless disenchanted 99%-er, with your glorified toys and 4G necessity of a phone – to poke your network of not-so-friendly friends into joining a pointless protest, how about using it to network for a … wait for it … a job? One that pays you for your work. Use those same skills of organization and communication and put them to work in a productive manner.

Making your own shot, calling your own shots, and making success happen will allow you to one day pay taxes to accommodate the next generation of even more self-righteous, self-entitled knuckleheads who embark on costly protests of the mean, hard, un-fair life of Americans.

President Obama, if you want to earn my vote, you need to change your messaging, and actually just slightly. I don’t want to give anyone a “fair shot,” for I don’t want to further a habit of giving. Give a knucklehead a fish, feed the knucklehead for a day; teach the knucklehead to fish, feed the knucklehead for a lifetime. Forget talk about giving a “fair shot.” Rather, let’s equip our citizens with the tools and go-get-‘em attitude to take advantage of the plentiful shots, opportunities, that are so readily available, there for the taking save for a little work ethic and determination.

And for those you waiting for your “fair shot,” please, grow up and take a little responsibility. Don’t be afraid to scrap your knuckles and strain your back. Go find your passion, reach your potential, and live your life. It’s not going to be given to you by a benevolent, paternalistic government. Rather, it’s already there, like a buried treasure. It’s up to you to pick up the shovel and find it.

I’m waiting to take you best shot on Twitter @RayHartjen

Crossing the border with Borderline Personality Disorder

2011-10-23T10:01:00.000-07:00

The other day I read with interest an article on Miami Dolphins receiver Brandon Marshall, a talented football player with a penchant for on- and off-field issues. His antics aren’t exactly “news,” as they seem common place for the divas that play wide receiver in the National Football League – surly attitude with the media, a “me first” disposition, arguments with coaches about how many “looks” he gets each game, and the increasingly occasional legal run-in, including domestic disputes with significant others; in Marshall’s case actually getting stabbed by his wife.

Yes, the typical ho-hum, every day story of an over-paid, pampered athlete, save one noticeable addition. You see, recently, Marshall announced he has been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.

WTF?

“Borderline” personality disorder? By name alone, it’s defined as not being a full-fledged personality disorder, or maybe not a personality disorder at all, just creeping up towards disorder, but staying tantalizingly just south of the border. “Borderline” connotes an uncertainty, a maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, and seems like the ultimate clincial hedging of bets.

There’s no “borderline” in science, outside of hypotheses being put to the test and either proven or disproven. How ridiculous would “borderline pregnant” be? Or, maybe borderline diabetic? Borderline heart disease any better?

Child, please.

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD for those who think it actually exists) could possibly be the ultimate 20th/21st century creation designed to make people feel comfortable by shirking responsibility, blaming something, anything, even if made up on the spot, for their boorish, anti-social, uncivilized behavior. It is the euphemistic way of saying, “I’m a douche bag with no personal accountability.”

In clinical terms, “disorder” and “disease” are often used interchangeably by doctors, of which I’m not one, of course, although my hand writing and proclivities toward inflated self-worth and egotism make me qualified, if not actually board certified in many states. Neither term implies underlying causes, although “disease” implies permanence, invariance, and non-subjectivity; hence, therefore, Borderline Personality Disorder, not disease.

Disorder is the new wave term of recent popularity. Disorders relieve sufferers of the stigma of having a disease, as if having a disease made one a member of the untouchable caste. WikiAnswers will tell you that “disorders” are often used for illnesses where the origin, duration, or physiological basis is relatively unknown.

Okay, to be fair, what do I know about medicine, other than what I’ve learned from watching “House” and learning terms like “lumbar puncture?” I might not know much of medicine, but I do know about branding, and BPD’s biggest problem is branding.

The National Education Alliance Borderline Personality Disorder (NEABPD) – uh, see what I mean about a “branding problem” – is tasked with educating the public on the “disorder’ and advancing both diagnoses and treatments. In the words of the NEABPD, Borderline Personality Disorder was officially recognized by the psychiatric community in 1980 and is more than two decades behind in research, treatment options, and family psycho-education compared to other major psychiatric disorders.

You know, real disorders.

According to the organization, BDP affects up to 5.9% of adults (14 million Americans), is more common than schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, and is prevalent in 20% of inpatients at psychiatric hospitals and 10% of outpatients. Brandon Marshall himself cites research that 35% of male prison inmates suffer from it.

If the NEABDP really wants to raise the profile of BDP, might I suggest first changing the name – you got to do something about the “borderline” part. For anybody not looking for an excuse for his or her behavior, the name suggests a reach at best, a sham at worst. I mean, c’mon, if BDP was a real disorder that affected the psychological well-being of individuals, wouldn’t we have given it a way better name, something with credibility and appropriate severity, not something that just begs people to discount as a bunch of rubbish?

Moreover, aside from the branding opportunity, there’s the need for a public relations campaign to dig out of the hole BDP’s national celebrity spokesperson, Mr. Marshall, relentlessly shovels, for him and his fellow afflicted. A skeptical, cynical society – okay, forget society, it might just be me – will be prone to dismiss a diagnosis of BDP as an easy out for social misfits like Marshall to make excuses for their behavior, the safety net of “it’s not my fault, I have a medical condition, or least a disorder, or, rather, perhaps a ‘borderline’ disorder” ready-made excuse.

Brandon, regardless of whether you have BDP or not, don’t think it’s a waiver freeing you from responsibility. Excuses are like asses; not only does everyone have one, but also using the former is being the latter. What you do, your behavior, is who you are, and it’s as simple as that. The eleven calls Douglas County (Colorado) deputies made to you home between January 2006 and July 2008 gives us hints as to your character. Your five arrests and driving without a license incident, all since 2004, tell even more.

True, the world is not always black and white. But, it’s a lot more darker and lighter gray than our society often cares to admit. No “borderline” about it.

Of course, as you know, I’m often mistaken; that’s just this guy’s opinion.

Diagnose my many disorders on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Guilty of guilty pleasures

2011-08-06T14:14:00.000-07:00

It used to be through all the trials and tribulations life brought, the collective American psyche was calmed with one reassuring thought - the next generation would be better off than the current. From the first settlers at Plymouth Rock to Tom Brokaw’s “greatest generation” and beyond, it was proven true, as the mean and median standard of living grew, and America became the land where dreams came true.

No longer. Modern day America has lost that once soothing antidote and is now faced with the very real possibility that the next generation will actually be worse off than its predecessors. Those who are parents, try sleeping well after reading that.

Yesterday, Standard & Poor’s downgraded its rating of the United States’ credit to that of AA+. It’s the first time ever that the U.S.’s credit rating has not been AAA. Some knuckleheads might think, “Hey, AA+ isn’t bad.” Let me remind them that AA+ is the same rating Spain has. Now, don’t get me wrong, for I love Spain. It’s a beautiful country with beautiful people, with the exception, perhaps, of some of the mouth breathers around Bilboa. But, as great a place as Spain is, its economy has it teetering on becoming the Greece of Western Europe. Oh, wait a second, I suppose the title of “the Greece of Western Europe” is rightfully taken by Ireland. So, maybe Spain can aspire to be Ireland South.

Nonetheless, I digress.

S&P’s rating came one day after the Dow cratered, losing 512 points on Thursday and wiping out all the gains of the year thus far, the worse one day showing since the global economic crisis of 2008. So, what prompted all the bad economic news? Believe it or not, it was the “good news” of our federal legislative leaders coming to an agreement on a debt ceiling. As S&P stated in its report, “The political brinkmanship of recent months highlights what we see as America’s governance and policymaking becoming less stable, less effective and less predictable than what we previously believed.”

In our culture, we certainly love our heroes. But more so than admiring heroes, we practically live to stick it to our villains, and love to attach blame whenever we can. We’re finger pointers – if not always directly at someone/some group, then the finger is straight upright in self-righteous defiance.

Economists, or at least most of them, will tell you that deficit spending by government is a good economic stimulus and an engine for growth, but only when done somewhat in moderation. Now, you don’t need me to tell you that the United States has never been particularly adept at moderation.

Ever.

In anything.

As citizens, we should be wary of pointing fingers of blame toward politicians. We need to remember the politicians in Washington are just like us, if maybe a bit more stupid and morally bankrupt, and certainly more conniving and shirking of personal accountability. Remember, we vote them into office, for crying out loud.

You see, as we point a finger toward Washington D.C., we neglect to see the three other fingers of our hands pointing backward to us. How can we blame the President, the Senate, and Congress for not being able to make tough choices and curtail spending when we can’t seem to do the same ourselves?

Behold, we collectively pledge our allegiance to the United States of Consumers.

Now, consumerism can be good, and it can bring a certain degree of comfort. That’s okay if we happen to consume the things we in turn make. Our problems stem in both sides of the equation – we consume much, much too much and we make … well, do we make anything at all anymore?

Take a look around at all your stuff. Is any of it made in America? If it is, say like a shitty car, do you secretly, or not so secretly as the case may be, harbor desires for a nicer competitive product made overseas?

Deficit spending is easy and a self-fulfilling prophecy when we don’t make anything anymore. Most Americans are “paper pushers,” but, guess what, there’s not even paper anymore. We’re really just email senders and receivers. About the only thing we do really well is check in on Foursquare when we go shopping. Oh, and serve each other over priced meals and drinks.

One simple statistic to show us just how messed up our country is. It’s $100,000. That’s the pay some barely functional retard named Snooki gets per episode of Jersey Shore. Why? Because 10.7 million other barely functional retards in the US actually watch each episode, what when they’re not busy keeping up with whoever the f&*$ the Kardashians are.

I feel depressed and more than a bit dirty just typing that paragraph.

I know, I know. Some of you Jersey Shore, Kardashian-loving lunatics are thinking we all deserve a guilty pleasure.

My one word retort: Starbucks.

Starbucks (NASDAQ: SBUX) is a $27.5 billion company built upon nothing but guilty pleasures. Yes, dear reader, a $4 coffee is a guilty pleasure a-plenty, and many Americans have their “guilty pleasure” quota box pleasure checked off by 9:30 am. By the way, Starbucks is only a $27.5 billion company because it shed over $3 billion in market capitalization as the financial markets shook last week. Anyway you cut $27.5 billion, that’s a lot of guilty pleasure.

More guilty pleasures? How about TVs? It used to be TVs were passed down from generation to generation, literally written into last wills and testaments. Now, we have industries, foreign of course, built on providing us new TVs to buy every four and half years. I would dare say all of us know of at least one neighbor or friend, if not ourselves, that has a TV in the garage.

If you have more than one TV for every person in the household – that’s a guilty pleasure.

Cars. Ever see a home foreclosed but a relatively new luxury car or sports sedan in the driveway? Guilty pleasure.

More cars than licensed drivers in the house? Guilty pleasure.

Think I skipped over the foreclosed home? Not so fast, my friends. Since 2007, news stories of strawberry pickers taking out, and defaulting on, jumbo mortgages have become rather commonplace.

Not all defaulted loans result in foreclosures. We’re seeing some rather new phenomena as evidenced with some southern California fires. Remember in decades past there would be news footage of homeowners sitting on their houses fighting the encroaching flames with garden hoses? We tend not to see such video footage anymore. I would like to think it’s because we have gotten a whole heck of a lot smarter. But, come on, you know the skeptics and realists of us are thinking homeowners want their upside down homes burned to the ground, alleviating their financial problems.

Come to think off it, fires might provide all of us reason to take a deeper, introspective look at how we live and what is really important. With brush fires in California, we often have warnings, and those warnings result in evacuations. Homeowners grab what they can and then flee toward safety.

Quick, you have 30 minutes to take what’s important and leave – what do you take? All that other stuff you are willing to leave behind, do you need it? Do you even want it?

Why do you have it?

We can’t blame D.C. lawmakers for everything, for they are simply we. In a land of plenty, we want even more, damned be the costs and the consideration for what we can afford or what might have to be paid later, by others. U.S. consumers – all 300 million of us – had a collective $2.4 trillion of debt in 2010. Let’s just assume that figure has risen over the past 8 months.

A little look at the news and a quick read of the financial section of the newspaper should be required reading for all citizens. But, we’ll need to do it on our smart phone or tablet, so we can do it on the run to back-to-school shopping, or better yet Black Friday after Thanksgiving – nothing like standing in long lines to spend money we don’t have on stuff we don’t need. It’s the great American way in our United States of Consumers.

Then again, I could be wrong – it’s just this guy’s opinion.

Tweet me between visits to Starbucks @RayHartjen

The first three strikes should have been an out

2011-05-01T19:19:00.000-07:00

Moammar Gadhafi’s son was killed by a NATO missile yesterday, along with three grandchildren, furthering his own personal tragedies as the entrenched strongman of Libya. You might recall that he lost another son in the 80’s, at the hands of a U.S.-led airstrike.
You’d wonder how much of it would be enough, right? Seemingly forever, the crazed madman has been the pimple on the backside of everybody in the geopolitical community, the burr under the proverbial saddle. Even Libya’s friends don’t like or trust him, and nearly everyone this side of Kim Jong-il would rather see him step down, if not for a jail cell or a hangman’s noose, at the very least a secluded country exile estate in the middle of nowhere.

That’s what 30 years of state-sponsored terrorism will get you – seclusion and isolation, and no friends to turn to when your subjects – er, citizens – begin their rebellion.

That it’s taken this long to have him on his heels and scrambling to maintain control is a wonder. It’s not like the entire world couldn't realize something was amiss from the very start. The clues were overpowering.

First off, the name, naturally.

Ol’ Moammar burst on the scene as Gadhafi, Gaddafi, Qaddafi, Khadafy, and Khadafi. Never before had more people been more confused, save the first world-wide telecast of the World Cup soccer tournament, when viewers wondered aloud if the Dutch and Holland were different teams than the Netherlands. And, of course, that was just his surname. Forget that Moammar can also be Muammar. Or that it’s perfectly fine, apparently, to put an “al” in front of any of the last names, ala al-Gadhafi.

Frankly, it’s poor branding. Who cares that the root of the problem lies in the translation of Arabic? You got to use what the customers use, or in this case, the rest of the world. A good PR team, probably executed on his rise to power, would have settled on one spelling. A great PR team would have settled on just one lasting, iconic name. It worked for Elvis and Madonna, and in politics, it’s worked recently in the U.S. for W, Bill, and Barack. You hear, you know. A bad name dooms the regime form the start.

Aside from the name, there’s a bigger problem. When you’re the dictator, the ultimate ruler, what title do you bestow on yourself? For me, I’m going with Your Highness, Extreme Excellency, etc. Even the demure title of President is cool. But, Colonel? Please, you can’t get global respect among your tyrannical peers with the title of Colonel.

For crying out loud, Colonel Klink was a Colonel, and he didn’t know what the fuck was going on in the tunnels underneath him.

Think about it - Moammar has officers in his own army that out rank him. Well, at least technically. He doesn't seem the sort to not get his way, and a bullet, as it has for centuries, continues to be one heck of a persuader.

The third strike the global community seemingly missed was his fashion sense, those words being used in the most liberal of all possible meanings, I'm afraid. Moammar, really? Now, the fatigues on occasion, while awfully Fidel-esque in general terms, are a little pussified with some unnecessary color and bling. However, it is a uniform, and there’s something about that, so I’ll cut you some slack on that account.

But, the Vegas/Barney pajamas - c’mon man. The last time we saw something like that was Reuben in the Clooney/Pitt remake of “Ocean’s Eleven.” Oh, Moammar, it should be pointed out that Elliot Gould’s character, and his wardrobe, was a parody; you know, for laughs.

So, when you break it down to its core elements, the worldwide community should have known that Moammar was a troubled guy who not only needed to go, but probably need not ascend to power in the first place. Now, he’s dug in deeper than a tick on a Tennessee bloodhound, and is giving no indication of leaving gracefully.

The people of Libya will continue to suffer; Gadhafi himself will continue to suffer. But, the end will come, and it will likely come soon. Afterwards, we can only hope the UN passes a resolution and makes the “three strikes” inrrefutable doctrine; a criteria for instant dismissal of a country's leader.
Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.
Tweet me @RayHartjen

What Next After Egypt’s Internet Revolution?

2011-02-11T18:19:00.000-08:00

After weeks of digging in like a Tennessee tick on a hound dog, Egypt’s de facto President/Dictator emeritus, Hosni Mubarak, hightailed it out of the country and turned the reigns over to the military. In what was widely viewed as the Internet’s first revolution, proclamations of victory for the people resonated from Twitter feeds around the globe. Yes, shouts of victories from the Twitterverse and blogsphere, the vast majority of whom aren’t Egyptian. I shit you not.

Oddly, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad hailed the victory for the people, fresh off using military hit squads to murder protestesr and opposition supporters in his own country just a couple of years ago. Again, I shit you not.

Of course, Ahmadinejad cloaked his proclamation as a victory over the “satanic” influences of the West (read: the United States of America). Unconfirmed are rumors that he celebrated by going out and buying a new, ill-fitting, not-so-stylish brown suit.

So, okay, internet citizenry, what’s next? We can’t just go haphazardly overthrowing governments in the name of democracy without executing a good follow-up plan. Where’s the follow-up plan for Egypt?

First, it better entail cleaning up all the mess of the past few weeks and making the country safe for tourists. Without tourism, Egypt is forced to fall back on its secondary and tertiary industries of … yeah, I’m stumped on that one too. Textiles? Sure, that’s just the sweatshop industry to bring hope of prosperity to a country with double-digit unemployment, a GDP per capita of just $6,200 US, and over 20% of the population living in poverty.

Listen, before we go get the internet up in a storm over some other country, let’s finish the job in Egypt. That entails, my friends, doing some big-time praying and crossing of fingers, for the ambiguity of the near- and long-term future of the country opens the doors to some not-so-pleasant outcomes.

For the United States, and pretty much all of the non-Muslim world, there are two major question marks surrounding Mubarak’s exit, primarily:

1. What’s the status of the Suez Canal? Said differently, will it stay open to American warships and international commerce vessels?

2. What’s the status of Egypt’s peace treaty with Israel? Said differently, what are the odds of the entire Middle East being eventually nuked into a sheen of solid glass?

Did you wonder by Ahmadinejad was so happy today? He sees an opportunity – a door open for him to stick in his toe and the toes of the Muslim Brotherhood. With that door open, there’s lots of room to come in, rearrange the furniture, raid the refrigerator, and fondle the maid.

The best case scenario involves an open and public debate and conversation in Egypt, with the people choosing moderation and common sense, freedom and liberty. The worst case scenario involves replacing a corrupt dictatorship with a radical Islamic regime, providing no economic or political gain to the populace and doing nothing more than pushing worldwide defense systems closer to DefCon 1.

An interesting couple of months are ahead for all of us, Twitter and Facebook accounts notwithstanding. The internet revolution is the easy part. The internet reconstruction is a hell of a lot more difficult.

Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.

Tweet me up at @RayHartjen

The Price to Pay to be American

2010-10-30T17:53:00.000-07:00

Being American – or, at the very least, living in America – is great. In one afternoon stroll through a Safeway, we see more food than some people see in their entire lifetime. We have healthcare. Sometimes expensive healthcare, but healthcare nonetheless. Pizza delivery? Check. Internet porn? At our fingertips.

Truly, we have an abundance – our cups often runneth over. C’mon, think about it: the swimming pools in our very own backyards are filled with perfectly good drinking water.

We have so much in America, that we hold a weird spot in the view of the rest of the world. Oh, they love to talk crap about America and the people who live here. Some even hate us. Hate. That’s a pretty strong word. That is until an earthquake rumbles, a volcano erupts, or typhoon sweeps. Aside from being the world police deterring freak jobs from cracking off AK’s in streets from Timbuktu to unnamed villages too, our military is the first to deliver aid and care to every helping hand that’s extended.

By the way, big thanks to those in the armed services.

And for you haters out there, you’re welcome. Now shut your cakehole.

Yes, living in America is great. We enjoy – and sometimes take for granted – freedom and liberty that are unimaginable in many parts of the world. Heck, I can even criticize the government and not have to worry about the next knock on my door.

Of course, living in America is a liberty that doesn’t come free. The bill does come due every so often. I consider it the price to pay to be American.

The first bill comes due with jury duty. To live in the best country with the best judicial system created thus far (in the absence of the “whatever-Ray-says-is-law” system, that is), we have to, on very rare occasions, serve as jury members to provide judgment on our peers.

Now, is that really that tough to do? Hell, no it’s not. While it might not be the ultimate in convenience, if that’s the price I have to pay to enjoy the liberties of living in this country, then so be it. Too many others have fought and sacrificed to provide me that liberty – and occasional obligation.

What others are thinking, I don’t understand. In some cases, they should feel flat out embarrassed. I’m talking about the jury duty dodgers, of course. There’s the usual dodging of even showing up in the first place – letters of bogus hardships, etc.

A whole new level of dodging then takes place during the jury interview phase. It often goes something like this:

Judge: Any reason why you should be considered to be dismissed from jury consideration for this trial.

Douche: Oh, hell no, judge. I’m dying to flip the switch on the electric chair for that person. She should fry, I don’t care what her crime is. And, is she a minority too? That settles it!

Judge: That will be all. You can be excused.

We should have those potential jurors clean our sewers instead.

Jury duty is just one of the prices we have to pay. The bigger bill comes due the first Tuesday of November. Election Day. Or, rather, the weeks leading up to election day.

The good is the democratic election of our leaders. Can’t beat that. The bad is the campaigning leading up to the democratic election. For crying out loud, wake me when it’s over.

This last week, I’ve been bombarded with phone calls from various campaigns. Whatever happened to the “Do Not Call” list, anyway? Wasn’t that the purpose in the first place?

Not to outdone, I’m pretty sure a nice-sized parcel of rain forest has been cut down to create the campaign junk mailers I’ve received this month. Today, alone, nearly 50% of the items in my mailbox were campaign materials – three from one guy alone (David Harmer, running for U.S. Congress)!

Ah, but that’s just “snail mail.” Don’t get me started on the junk email I’ve been getting. Rather, don’t get me too started, since I’ve already started.

Despite a rigorous junk mail filter, the annoying emails with subject lines ranging from panhandling to fear-provoking, trickle in constantly through the course of the day. It’s odd that we’ve legislated laws condemning “spamming,” as it’s often a cause of great expense to organizations and individuals alike. Well, I mean there’s nothing odd about that legislation or the reasoning behind. It’s odd that it seems to apparently not apply to candidates and political parties.

Have you ever asked to “unsubscribe” to the emails? First, it’s rather unsettling you have to ask to unsubscribe to something you never subscribed to in the first place. But, what’s more aggravating is the spam continues on, only from different people. Instead of receiving a message for the Chair of the Republican National Committee, you’ll instead receive one from the Secretary, and so on down the line.

It’s not just a Republican thing either. Same goes with the Democrats, who are even more e-savvy, what with the internet invented by Al Gore and all.

I’m of the mind to shoot off an email to both parties telling them that if I receive one more email from them, I’ll vote straight party ticket for the other party.

Ah, what am I thinking – that will never work. Even a dumb-ass politician would be smart enough to figure out how to send an email under an alias naming the other party, thus “earning” my vote.

Oh well, it’s the price to pay to enjoy being an American, I suppose. Guess I just have to suck it up. But, I have to tell you – that Harmer fella better have one helluva platform, because I’m about set to go out and campaign for his opponent.

That’s me passing judgment in the jury of just this guy’s opinion. Of course, there’s a small chance I might be wrong.

Tweet your vote @RayHartjen.

4 Reasons American Culture Will Always Reject Soccer

2010-07-10T20:23:00.000-07:00

The FIFA World Cup Final takes center stage around the world on Sunday – finally. Now, I love the World Cup. At least I want to. Really. I dig “the beautiful game” when countries are playing. I’ll wake up in the early morning and watch any country – even North Korea – square off against another. I’ll activate my vuvuzela app on my iPhone and root for the team with the coolest jerseys (I favor ones with vertical stripes and little collars).

As much as I love the World Cup though, I have to say – I hate soccer. Again, I want to like it. After all, how can 7 billion people around the globe wrong about something?

Well, after many hours of dutiful research, I’ve come to the conclusion that they are wrong about soccer. Dead wrong.

Every four years, the talk across the United States is that this will be the year, finally, that the United States becomes a soccer country. Nope. It will never happen, for there are four simple reasons why America culture will always reject soccer.

Reason #1: Play acting. For the love of God, the amount of acting in a soccer match makes it more theater than athletic contest. As if that’s not bad enough, we’re stuck with the fact the acting is horrible; so bad that it makes the acting in pornos look good. Players are addicted to the play acting. Get touched, or even close to being touched? Stop moving your feet, throw your arms up in the air, and fall down, as if shot by a sniper. Get hit in the leg? Fall down, grab your face, and feign mortal injury by re-enacting the death scene from Othello. Miss the goal by a mere 10 meters as your shot goes twenty rows into the stands? Turn to the cameras, raise your hands to heavens, and prepare for your super slow motion spot on TVs around the world.

Ugh. I thought Charlton Heston was the master of overacting and “chewing the scenery.” Turns out every prima donna in a No. 10 jersey has him beat.

Reason #2: The stretcher. Really, it’s part of the play acting, but is so egregious it deserves its own callout. When you see a stretcher carried out on the field during an American football game, or a hockey rink, or any other sport around the world for that matter, you can rest assured bad, bad things are going on down there. Soccer? Not so much.

99% of the players carried off on a stretcher return to action in minutes. Apparently soccer trainers and doctors have invented a miracle healer that they have carefully hidden in water bottles. A quick spray over the affected area – typically either the head or one of the legs – and the player is up off the stretcher and signaling the referee that he wants to return to the pitch.

C’mon. Really? Are you serious? Either you’re faking it and acting – again, more poorly than a porn star - or your doctor is hiding a miracle cure from the entire world, which means you’re all complete douches. Take your pick – neither is good.

In America, we love heroes, particularly those who stand tall and proud, and persevere through all obstacles, including a little cleat mark. You know, John Wayne and all. As long as soccer players keep acting like pussies, our collective sporting attention will continue to be drawn to the NFL and other – yes, I’m about to say it – real sports.

Reason #3: Playing referee during the game. The typical soccer player spends more time during a match with his hand in the air trying to capture the referee’s attention than a rented mule tends to licking his wounds. How many times have you seen a player during this World Cup get caught out of position because he’s trying to sell a foul or an offsides call to the referee rather than playing full tilt?

Dudes, enough already. Just shut the f up and play.

Sure, this World Cup has been plagued by some high-profile, poor officiating. Who cares? That’s sports. Players are supposed to play. In American sports, we love the players and teams who out perform the other. If they’re getting screwed by the officials, that’s even better. There’s more honor in overcoming and persevering than there is in whining and having a dude in a striped shirt be the deciding factor. Bring the honor back to soccer (see play acting, above), and maybe we care a little bit more.

Reason #4: Playing not to lose. What? Play for a tie? Absolutely, positively, undeniably un-American! The old saying “a tie is like kissing your sister” is an old saying for a reason – it’s based in truth. Ties suck and no one wants to see them. As much as Landon Donovan and his mates on the US team mustered up a bite-sized bit of enthusiasm for soccer this last month, snooze fests like Brazil and Portugal’s nil-nil draw brought it back twice as far. One step forward, two steps back.

Everyone likes a winner. Many even love the “lovable loser.” Nobody likes a neutralized, neutered “tie-er.” Our American sporting legends are either time-honored champions or equally as time-honored warriors who “went out swinging” or “carried out on their shields.” There’s honor and glory in both winning and losing. In between, nothing but regret – for playing, for watching, for everything.

So, there you have it. It’s all so easy when you conduct scientific research and break it down to the facts – four reasons American culture will forever reject soccer.

Change the game with some minor adjustments, and the tune might be sung differently. Until then, I’ll watch the final on Sunday and forget about soccer for another four years. It’s not like I’ll be missing a boat load of action. In those four years, there’ll probably be only 12 to 14 goals scored.

Total.

At least that’s this guy’s opinion.

Tweet your soccer hatred @RayHartjen

When Being the ‘Ho Means Making the Dough

2010-04-11T09:55:00.000-07:00

This week brings us the Masters golf tournament and Tiger Woods’ return to the most boring spectator sport the world has ever known – and, I’m including cricket and even gardening in that statement. Without a doubt, there’s more excitement standing in line for a Disneyland attraction. I remember one study of sports found that there were a few minutes of action in a baseball game. I’ll suggest there’re a handful of seconds of action in a typical round of golf.

No, this week, I’m much more interested in the return of Tiger to the public eye – that’s much more compelling theater, and as his past has proven, inclusive of much, much more action.

Tiger is another in a line of celebutards who have made a very public misstep. Unfortunately, he’s also one of a growing list of celebutards who seems to think redemption is as easy as pleading “addiction.” You can’t really blame him – it’s a tactic that might actually be working.

It all started on fateful night in 2006 with Mel Gibson. Fuelled with more alcohol than an NHRA dragster, Mel got pulled over for and arrested for DUI, whereupon he went on a drunken, hate-filled tirade that included anti-Semitic comments.

Mel – or rather his PR team – quickly deployed the addiction defense, as Mel apologized, proclaimed a long-standing battle with alcoholism, and checked himself into an outpatient rehabilitation clinic. Pundits thought his career was essentially over – and his next production, Apocalypto grossed only $50 million domestically, seemingly proving his critics right.

I don’t know. That film, as beautiful as the cinematography was, was long and subtitled – a double, open-mouthed kiss of death at the box office. Of course, Mel’s 2010 release, Edge of Darkness, followed with only $43 million at the box office. Still, I think that’s a good number – let’s not forget, Mel is a 54 year-old actor, 31 years removed from Mad Max, and more than 23 years past Lethal Weapon.

Tiger famously offered up the addiction excuse after his many late night escapades came to life. Right on his heels, West Coast Choppers bad boy Jesse “Mr. Bullock” James entered rehab for addiction too, this after his very own extramarital affairs came to light. Unlike Mel, Tiger and Jesse both pled addiction not to alcohol, but to another apple in the Garden of Eden, that being sex.

News flash here: All men are addicted to sex. It’s not a disease, and for that matter, it’s not even news. Thank goodness all men are addicted to sex, for our survival as a species is literally dependent on it.

Using the addiction claim as an excuse is ludicrous. As a guy who’s seen more than his share of the bottom of a bottle, Mel, let me offer you this - alcohol didn’t make you hate-filled. Rather, it simply greased the skids on your mouth, allowing you to let out what was already inside you. Tiger and Jesse, same goes for you two. Addiction to sex didn’t make you drop your pants – opportunity did.

Addiction aside, in the Tiger and Jesse stories, there’s one thing that’s got my mind running in circles. Since when has being a slutty "other woman" in an extramarital romp in the sack become a springboard to a new career?

Our celebutard-crazed society seemingly can’t get enough of the bimbos on parade outside of Tiger’s hotel room and Jesse’s office door. You don’t think so? Consider the following:

Jesse’s featured sleeze bag is the heavily tattooed Michelle “The Bombshell” McGee. Since this story broke, McGee has been featured on numerous television shows, magazines, and newspapers. Hell, her ex-husband has even been interviewed on TV. Not to look a gift horse career opportunity in the mouth, The Bombshell has recently launched a commerce web site, where for a monthly fee of $9.95, you can look at naughty pictures of her. Michelle, honey, I’m thinking that’s about $50 a month you can expect – you’d be better off buttering the pole down at the local Déjà Vu.

Tiger’s Joselyn James isn’t giving up on the chance to collect some fat coin either. Interestingly, she’s at Augusta this week too. As befitting someone of her particular skill set, she’s spinning on the pole at the Pink Pony, just down the road from the golf course, desperately seeking anyone from the media willing to stick a microphone or camera in front of her face. As a porn “actress,” this is Joselyn’s one chance for the mainstream, that is if you can call the Pink Pony mainstream. [As an aside, let it be known I fully recognize the folly of the term "porn actress," but I absolutely refuse to write "porn star."]
Mindy Lawton and Loredana Jolie Ferriolo are both featured prominently in a Vanity Fair article, chronicling Tiger’s “eccentric” behavior, including romps in cars, hotel suites, etc., including a story whereupon Tiger earned his "red wings." Today Vanity Fair, tomorrow a spread in Playboy (which Loredana has already done, pre-Tiger), and the day after that … perhaps a guest appearance with The Bombshell on her site?
Keep in mind, I can't give you the entire rundown on Tiger's and Jesse's mistresses - in total, there're over 20, and I fear the onset of carpal tunnel syndrome if I list all the sleeze-market opportunists. But, one bears mentioning ...
Perhaps the queen of the hoochie momma parade up the career ladder is Tiger’s Rachel Uchitel. Pre-Tiger, Rachel was a party girl – a “VIP hostess,” whatever the hell that is. What do you have to major in college to get that job? Maybe you just have to graduate from Chico? Anyway, widespread rumor is that Rachel was paid $10 million by Tiger to keep her yap shut. Oh, but wait – there’s more. Rachel’s made a nice, soft landing by scoring a repeating gig on the TV magazine show “Extra.” No more working on your back now, Rach. Well, except, of course, if you get locked in Extra host Mario Lopez’ dressing room.

I don't begrudge these women staking their claim to their Warhol-esque 15 minutes of fame, and the varying degrees of fortune that come with it. More power to them. The weird part is none of this market would exist if we, the consumer, didn't create a demand for it. Ever wonder why we give a crap?

I know what you're thinking. You thinking, "I don't care." Yeah. That's what we all say. So, who's that leave buying subscriptions to web sites, buying papers and magazines, watching tabloid television, etc. Ugh, I feel dirty - think I need to take a shower.

One other noticeable component to the Tiger and Jesse stories. Notice these sex scandal stories are alway about men (see Elliot Spitzer, et. al)? Coincidence? Ha! I think not. For the love of God, for Rachel Uchitel's reported payout, I'm sure there are men out there thinking, "you know, Tiger's not a half-bad looking dude."
Naturually, that's just this guy's opinion.
Tweet me up @RayHartjen

Denoting Lenten Sacrifice One Brownie at a Time

2010-04-04T13:37:00.000-07:00

Easter Sunday brings us to the end of “Holy Week,” or rather the start of the new season of “The Great Fifty Days,” as Holy Week proper is the last week of Lent, and includes the holy “big ones” of Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday, but ends on Saturday, the day before Easter. Of course, that’s just the Christians. Those of the Jewish faith just completed the celebration of Passover, commemorating the Hebrew’s escape from enslavement in Egypt. This year, we saw a coincidental overlap, which always brings good times. [Not knowing anything of substance about the Islamic calendar, I can't offer up any additional quirky scheduling conflicts] There’s simply nothing like dueling religious headlines in the paper; some celebratory, some scandal-ridden; and all clouding the coverage of March Madness.

Lent is a peculiarly odd church season, at least in this guy’s eyes. Well, not so much the church season, but how so many of its celebrants choose to recognize it. Traditionally Lent’s purpose is the proper preparation of the believer, through prayer, penitence, almsgiving, and self-denial, and the season takes place beginning Ash Wednesday (40 days prior to Palm Sunday) and concludes either on the Ninth Hour of Holy Thursday (44 days) or on Holy Saturday (46 days).

Now, back in the day, and whenever those days were, they certainly pre-dated me, Lent was marked by fasting, both from foods and festivities, and accompanied by other acts of penance. Traditionally, leading up to Easter, the faithful reinvigorated their practices of prayer, justice towards God, fasting, justice towards self, and almsgiving, justice towards neighbor. That, as I said, was “then,” in the old days.

Today, of course, is the “now,” and cursory observation suggests a new traditional offering of devotion.

Today, Lent is preceded, and celebrated almost globally, regardless of religious affiliation, by Mardi Gras, the literal translation of which is “Fat Tuesday.” Well, truth be told, Mardi Gras has always preceded Lent; it’s not just today – the whole idea was to indulge yourself in the fatty foods that you’d be cutting out over the next 44 to 46 days. You know, like the fat dude who will stuff his face the day before undergoing a gastric bypass surgery. Eat, baby, eat, ‘cause those days are about to be lost forever!

For Mardi Gras now, most people don’t even know Lent follows – it’s just another excuse to get completely shit-faced and have a rollicking good time. Nothing wrong with that, as I’m sure you’re aware of my particular proclivities. What strikes me as a bit weird is the self-denial part.

Let’s think about this. For the Christian believer, Easter is the celebration of the rise of Christ from the dead, and his ascension into heaven, three days after he died for the sins of the many.

Read slowly: Jesus’ sacrifice was dying a prolonged, agonizing death staked to a cross for over 6 hours in the searing sun to atone for the sins of others.

Now, that’s a sacrifice. On the scale of things that really suck, with 0 being a cooler of free, cold beer, to 10 being sentenced to standing on your head in six inches of foamy diarrhea for an eternity in Hell, I’d rank that a solid 9.

So, with an eye toward Lenten traditions, what might constitute a sacrifice, an act of self-denial, that would be a symbolic tribute of such an unselfish act? Look, I’m hardly the poster boy for either angelic behavior or the supreme provider of social well-being, but really, does cutting out deserts from your diet for 40 days really rate?

Really?

Religious observance is up to each of us individually, and my mindful eye is always careful to distinguish between organized religion and spirituality. I’ve got nothing against organized religion – in fact, I’m grateful for it. Without religion, which has always been about humans trying to control our own self-destructive behavior, each and every day would be like a Friday night bachelor party in Las Vegas – within two generations we would devolve to a complete idiocracy.

Ever the optimist, I’m holding out hope in humankind. One of the faithful or not, we all have much more in common than we do in difference. The foundational concepts of Lent are somewhat solid – we could certainly follow much more self-destructive behaviors. Coupled with the principles of giving and providing to those in need – damn, we could really get some good done. Maybe it’s something we should try every day!

Of course, that’s a big change. I’m going to have to build up to that slowly. So, until next February, I’m going to treat every day like Fat Tuesday. That way, I can beat the rush.

Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.

Tweet me up @RayHartjen

Progress and the Continued Pussification of Society

2009-11-27T21:49:00.000-08:00

Visit your family practitioner doctor and ask her why her patients come to see her. Ready for the top two reasons? Okay, in order, here it goes:

Depression
Back pain

Okay, so you're expecting me to go off on what a shame this is. These are genuine medical conditions, people, and they certainly deserve the attention of our finest medical minds! Of course, that last statement precludes 99.9% of all general practitioners and the entire HMO industry. However, as far as going off, who am I to disappoint?

Depression. It's an age-old problem. People don't like to feel bad. Sure, if you have the talent, you can write a great blues tune or paint a picture that literally tells a story of a thousand totured words. But, for the rest of us untalend lot, we want to feel good - or at least better. Over time, we've changed the way we go about it, particularly those of us in the United States. In the 1920's, Americans drank themselves stupid to feel good. In the '60's and '70's, they smoked pot and dropped acid. In the '80's, there was the collective turn to cocaine. The '90's saw heroin fuel the Seattle grunge music scene. The 2000's though, well, it's all about the antidepressants.

Now, depression takes its hold in people from all parts of the globe. However, in America, we make an art form out of it. In 2004, Americans took 71% ($9.9 billion) of the antidepressants sold. Sold globally, that is. In contrast, all of Eurpoe accounted for just 19%. [With Japan taking it's fair share of 5%, that leaves just another 5% for the rest of the world.]

Now, why would Americans be so depressed? We enjoy unparalleled freedom and live in a society with democratically elected leaders. We have grocery "super stores," where each store contains more food than the entire country of Somalia. We have disposable income, pizza delivery, a robust internet pornography industry, sports sedans, houses, and too many more luxuries to consider. Turn on the news and see reports of people across the globe eating rock and dirt soup - that is if they can find the water to make it. Worst case scenario for us, we can at least make tomato soup out of Ketchup packs gathered from ubiquitous face food restaurants.

No, we're pampered little bitches in America. We have everything, and it's still not enough. Forget the basics of food, shelter, etc. True, not everyone enjoys the riches, and there are a few very unfortunate souls. But, on average, we're so much better off than everyone. As our country has grown and prospered, we've raised generations of increasingly pampered little bitches. Here's a time line of the evolution of that great American tradition, a child's birthday party:

1940 - Mom makes cake from eggs, flour, and sugar. Cost: $0.10.
1960 - Mom makes cake by mixing an egg into boxed mix. Cost: $1.50.
1980 - Single mom buys cake at bakery. Cost: $10.00
2000 - Stepmom creates birthday "experience," either with entertainment or offsite location. Cost: $150.00
2005 - MTV introduces My Super Sweet Sixteen, chronicling the outlandish birthday parties thrown for rich kids. Cost: Approximately the annual GDP of Puerto Rico

Yeah, it sucks here.

It sucks more when you have a bad back. The question you might want to ask is why do we have so many people with back pain, so much so that it's risen to the number two symptom requiring a doctor's visit? It's not like we're a country of manual laborers. Not too long ago, a typical work day went something like this:

Wake up at dawn
Work ass off for 3 hours
Eat a huge breakfast
Work ass off for another 4 hours
Eat a pretty big lunch
Nap for one hour
Work your off for another 6 hours
Eat dinner
Go to sleep

For most Americans now, here's the typical work day:

Wake up and eat breakfast
Drive to work in your four-seater car with 18 cup holders, get a latte at Starbucks on the way
Grab a donut within 2 minutes of arriving at the office
Sit on ass for 3 hours reading emails
Eat a greasy, fatty lunch
Sit on ass for two hours
Starbucks run!
Sit on ass for another 2 hours
Drive home
Make some poor slob cook for you as you dine out in a restaurant

Doctors' offices are filled with back pain "injuries" suffered while we play golf or sit on our fat asses, getting out of shape, while we watch the gardener mow the lawn in the mid-day heat.

Okay, no one can argue - reasonability - that we're not, collectively, a wee bit pampered. The only way to attack it is to address the root cause. For me, it's as plain as the nose on the late Karl Malden's face.

Wheeled luggage.

Since when did it become okay to admit you can't physically lift and carry your own stuff when you take a trip? Okay, you might argue that one can carry it, but chooses not to. Touché! To which I counter, since when did it become okay to broadcast exactly how lazy you are by pulling your suitcase behind you instead of carrying it?

Oh, and it hasn't stopped with wheeled luggage. Pampered society demanded, and received, more. How many of you have seen wheeled briefcases? What's next, wheeled wallets?

I wonder what John Wayne would think if he walked thorugh his namesake airport in Orange County. All of us minions, sipping our $4 coffees, cleaning our hands with cucumber/melon scented antibacterial hand gel, complaining that the flight that is going to take us clear across the country in just five little hours has the audacity to take off 15 minutes late, all the while dutifully toting all our important stuff behind us in a "roller bag." The level of pussification in our society is staggering.

Of course, that's just this guy's opinion.

My roller bag, by the way, is a nifty blue and gray number, easy to spot on the baggage carousel.

Tweet me up at @RayHartjen

The Worst President Ever?

2009-10-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

If you've spent any time lately on Facebook, you've undoubtedly noticed one of your "friends" and his/her vote on whether George W. Bush was the worst President ever. Worst. Ever. Gets you to thinking, doesn't it? I mean, what's the criteria for being the worst President ever? Those are two words with quite a stigma, "worst" and "ever."

For Presidents, there's a long list of factors to consider, evaluate, and ultimately judge - domestic and foreign policy, economic stability and growth, human and civil rights, education, health care, national security, and international leadership, just to name top of the list. It's easy to forget a President doesn't do it alone, and I'm not just talking about cabinet Secretaries. Our "Checks & Balances" government includes the Legislative (Congress and Senate) and Judicial (Supreme Court) branches. It's far from a one-man show, but that clouds our sound bite attention spans and one-liner appetites.

You want the office, you (and your family) has to bear the scrutiny. Yeah, it's a bit unfortunate, but all candidates know the game.

Now, for the matter of G.W. No question, he had a tough row to hoe. September 11, 2001 knocked the luster off his inauguration faster than you can say "Osama is a sniveling little bitch hiding in a cave." Despite how bad ass our military is, public opinion never embraces a modern war for long - the graphic pictures from the frontlines are just too much for many of us to stomach. Bookend the wars with the global economic meltdown. In between is a shit sandwich of failed diplomatic relations and a variety of other woes. Tough eight years, no doubt.

But, worst ever? For that, you have to compare, and to do that, we need to flip back the pages of history just a wee bit.

Andrew Johnson was a white supremist who opposed Reconstructionist efforts to extend the most basic of civil rights to freed black slaves. Richard Nixon visited China, yes, but he also rode roughshod over the Constitution and abused the power of the Presidency, eventually getting implicated in the Watergate burglary. James Buchanon divided our country into the North and the South, where brothers fought brothers. Calvin Coolidge oversaw wide-spread corruption and the dawn of the Great Depression. James Polk attacked Mexico unprovoked and took one third of its land.

And I'm just getting started.

I don't want to defend W. I also don't want to indict him. Smarter people than me will debate the merit of his Presidency and its rank among the others. Key words above are "smarter people" - in those I trust, and I look forward to reading their opinions. No, what, or rather who, I want to indict are the less than smarter people who serve up opinions like Courtney Love serves up eight balls to house guests.

Now, I think I should be the last one to assert that everyone isn't entitled to their own opinion - after all, I write a blog titled, "Just this guy's opinion." But, before spouting off, it's good to at least assume some degree of credibility. I'm not suggesting you have to be a Presidential scholar to weigh in on the debate, and you certainly don't need to know Tippecanoe (William Henry Harrison) and Tyler (John Tyler) too. But, there has to be some litmus test to serve as a qualified contributor to the discussion. I've never been one to shy away from proposing guidelines, so here it goes - the somewhat definitive criteria that must be passed before passing judgment, in at least the neighborhood of an educated opinion, on the "worst President ever" includes:

You have to know how many U.S. Presidents there have been. I'll cut you some slack if you don't know all their names. But, you absolutely must know the number. How many Presidents have there been, including President Obama? If your answer is a number other than 44, then resist your temptation to spout off - you're simply unqualified.
Second consideration: If you're over 18, not a convicted felon, and a citizen of the United States, you must be registered to vote. If you're too stupid to exercise your right to choose government representation, you're too stupid to afford an opinion; at least too stupid to offer one that anyone wants to hear.
Next, you must be able to name all the Presidents, in order, since you were born. This is a minimum requirement. If you want to judge merits relative - worst ever, after all - you at least need to know some names of the others in which you're comparing. Forget for the moment platforms and policies - all I'm asking for is names. Now, if you can't name names, you can't offer up "worst ever" or "best ever." You'll have to settle for just "good" or "bad."
Of the Presidents who held office before you were born, you have to know the names of at least 10%. C'mon, it's 10%. Are you smarter than a 5th grader?
You have to know the difference between Washington state and Washington, D.C. I'm not just talking geography either. I need to move this one to the top of the list.
You have to swear to never have voted a straight party ticket just for the sake of voting a straight party ticket. If you don't examine the individual merits of each candidate, regardless of party affliation, you do not make decisions on all the available data. Said differently, you don't make good decisions. Said even more differently, no one wants to hear the opinion of someone who doesn't make good decisions.

So, there you have it. Was George W. Bush the worst President ever? I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't care. I just want to make sure that the current President and all of the next Presidents don't become the worst ever. As for those of you compelled to express your opinion on history, I look forward to hearing them - but only if you first pass the minimum qualifications.

Then again, what do I know? That's just this guy's opinion.

Like what you read? Hate? Vote on Twitter @RayHartjen.

The Tallest of Trees for Polanski

2009-10-10T06:59:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the saddest part of our cultural "evolution" is our collective obsession with celebrity. We can't - we won't - get away from it. Are there really over three million people who care what Ashton Kutcher tweets? Simply, unbelievable.

It's everywhere you turn, our obsession with celebrity. Years ago, it used to be only the checkout aisle of the grocery store and its tabloids - half of which featured alien babies and "jackalopes." Over time, the newstand sprouted US Weekly and all the other glossy trash, to whereas now a shopper has to deploy a search and rescue team just to find a Snickers bar at the checkout aisle. Our stupid obsession with celebrity even gave birth to the absolute shittiest channel in television history, the E! network, where even bad shows won't go to die.

Somehow, over the past two decades, celebrities have grown in stature to shape the very opinions we used to develop on our own. Did you know that 50% of women 18-55 won't do anything unless Oprah tells them to do/believe in it? Okay, I made that statistic up, but I bet it's pretty close. As for politics, since when does the beacon of intelligence shine from none other than Alec Baldwin or Susan Sarandon, or some other idiot best known for entertaining us in little 30-minute to 2-hour segments?

Thankfully, we my be experiencing just a bit of a turn - for the better - away from our celebrity fixation. On September 26, famed director Roman Polanski was arrested as he entered Switzerland, on his merry way to being honored at an awards ceremony. We tend to forget, as we snatch up Blu-Ray copies of Chinatown out of the bargain bin, that Polanski is a fugitive from justice, running from a 1977 felony conviction for unlawful sexual intercourse with a minor.

As news of Polanski's arrest spread virally through the world media; including, presumably, through Kutcher's 140-characters-a-tweet-literary-brilliance; several members of the close-knit Hollywood community offered vocal support for ol' Roman, including renowned celebutard, Woody Allen.

I know - ridiculous. After all, what does Woody Allen know about taking advantage of a young, impressionable girl who ... . Uh, never mind.

Defending Roman Polanski and his past actions? Some of us ordinary non-celebrities almost fell for it too. Luckily, the facts of the case have re-emerged after 32 years and one somewhat off-base documentary (2008's Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired) suggesting Polanski has already served his punishment (yes, in many respects, living in exile in France could be construed as punishment). For those living far removed from both tabloids and Twitter, let's review the legal facts of the case, to which Polanski has confessed:

Used the false pretense of a fashion magazine photo shoot to lure a 13-year old girl to a friend's house (the friend being Jack Nicholson, no less)
Provided several glasses of Champagne to set the mood
Took topless photos of the child
Provided a now drunk adolescent with a Quaalude
Forced himself on the teen (that's euphemistic phraseology for vaginally and anally raping her)

13 years old. Collectively, the above would be designated multiple felonies if the victim was 31. No matter where you're from, it's wrong.

Polanski wrote in his autobiography that he remains bewildered that "I should be sent to prison, my life and career ruined, for making love." Are you kidding me, Roman? Yes, you should be sent to prison. And, it wasn't love, you douche bag, it was a rape of a scared 13-year old girl by a then 43-year old sexual predator. As for your career, your Hollywood buddies, the very ones who gave you an in-absentia raucous standing ovation when The Pianist won you an Oscar in 2003 - well, they don't seem too terribly put off by your crimes.

Over the past ten days or so, public support for Polanski has, for the most part, waned. Celebutard indignation may sprout privately over egg white omelets and vegan sausages at The Beverly Hills Hotel, but thankfully the loud and noisy proclamations have been re-targeted at the old standbys - the war(s), the environment, the price of "bling," etc.

We still have a nice political tug-of-war in determining if Polanski, a French citizen, will be extradited by Switzerland to the Unitied States, where upon Polanski would land in a Los Angeles courtroom. One can only hope that it works out - for the justice system, that is, not for Polanski.

Maybe it's because I'm the father of a 14-year old girl, I don't know. But me, if I can't see "short eyes" Roman swing from the tallest redwood in California, I would like to at least see him do a little well deserved time in the joint. It doesn't have to San Quentin, Pelican Bay, or any of the other gladiator schools. Rather, LA County lock-up would be good enough, where I'm certain one of our societal standouts would show Ro a whole new enlightened meaning of justice and "love."

Now, of course, I could be wrong - that's just this guy's opinion.

Tweet me up @RayHartjen

Blending Olympic and Presidential Seals

2009-10-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

So, did you hear about the one about the 4 international cities – Madrid, Rio de Janeiro, Tokyo, and Chicago – that each put up a bid to host the 2016 Olympics?

Oh, you did, huh?

Interesting story out of Copenhagen, Denmark today. The International Olympic Committee went through its series of secret ballots to determine the host country of the 2016 Summer Olympic Games. While not as mysterious as a papal election, an Olympic vote is every bit as much shrouded in intrigue, suspense, and secrecy. Delegates gather their votes in blocs (all of Africa voting for the same country, for example) and vote in rounds, with the lowest vote getter eliminated after each round until a single survivor remains standing.

The real intrigue begins after the first round. An entirely new election is held for each subsequent round. A country could vote for one city in Round 1, then, even if the city they voted for originally is still in the running, vote for any of the three remaining in Round 2. Blocs and alliances are built, and double-crosses are played, all in the protective enclave of a secret ballot.

Now, there was a better story in the good old days – and, by the good old days, I mean just a decade ago. Used to be votes were plied the good old fashioned way – bribery. Sure, there was the usual – and very boring, I might add – cash and gifts. Better yet were the storied, sordid forays into the debauchery of steak and lobster, scotch and cigars, and strippers and hookers. Nobody parties like an IOC representative, save maybe hair metal rockers from Los Angeles. Unfortunately, the bozos in Salt Lake City; who, as we know, are a bit inexperienced in hosting raunchy parties; got caught with their pants down with the whole bribery thing and ruined a good party for everyone. Never would have happened from a Las Vegas Olympic Organizing Committee, I’m telling you that now.

So, in the absence of strippers and hookers, scotch and cigars, steak and lobster, and cash and gifts, the big story of this Olympic voting process was the primping and pimping of the Obamas, President Barack and First Lady Michelle. In the midst of a national debate on health care and the economic recovery, the Prez went to Norway to sell the IOC on the relative merits of his adopted hometown Chicago.

By all accounts, the Obamas were a hit – some in the media described them as “rock stars.” Yeah, that’s what I want. I want the President of the United States (POTUS), not that long ago universally described as “the most powerful person in the world,” degraded to the level of a celebritard signer. You know what’s going to happen if Bret Michaels gets wind of all this, don’t you? I can see his candidacy speech on VH1 now, followed by a new episode of “Daisy of Love.”

Rio, today’s winner, is a good choice for the Olympics – in its history, the Olympics have never been held in South America. Hey, it’s not just going to be samba, boat drinks, and topless beaches, although all of that sounds great. Imagine the fun of watching Usain Bolt try to sprint away from a mugger on the streets of Rio. Or, the Brazilian police supplying the javelin throwers with equipment from their “let’s make the homeless children problem disappear” arsenal. But, if it hadn’t been Rio, I would have had no quarrel with any of the cities being named host.

I do have just a bit of a problem with the President working delegates for votes like a truck-stop waitress slinging hash looking for a wrinkly Washington so she doesn’t have to double-shift at the strip bar for baby formula money.

There’s supposed to be dignity in the Office of the President. Naturally, I mean after it was steam-cleaned after the whole Monica Lewinsky thing. We’re not supposed to cheapen the man (okay, okay, Hillary - or woman, someday) and his message – our message – by using the platform for anything less than the highest of public priorities. What’s next? Can we expect Obama to hit the trail for votes for some dim-witted, gorgeously hot bimbo on the next season of American Idol (quick word to Kelli Pickler – call me)? Will we start to see sponsorship of press conferences and speeches – “This segment of the State of the Union address is brought to you by Budweiser, the King of Beers?” Will Air Force One sport Home Depot sponsorship, making it an airborne version of Joey Logano’s racecar?

Interesting deficit reducers, mind you.

Some might describe Obama’s Olympic campaign as the ultimate in pork barrel spending, benefiting Chicago to the detriment of the greater United States. Collectively, we’ve hosted the Olympic Games recently – 1980 (Lake Placid), 1984 (Los Angeles), 1996 (Atlanta), and 2002 (the aforementioned Salt Lake City). Let someone else deal with the hassle and the incredibly large security bill – anyone take a look at Greece’s post Olympic financial situation lately?

As for you, Prez, we have slightly more pressing issues than committing to spending billions of dollars on hosting a two-week party. Enough with the pimping, time now for governing and leading. Losing was good – your charisma and charm couldn’t carry this day. Hopefully it humbled you a bit too, because if you haven’t noticed the polls recently, the post-G.W. honeymoon is coming to a close, and your charisma and charm aren’t likely to carry the day domestically much further.

Of course, I might be wrong - that’s just this guy’s opinion.

Tweet me up @RayHartjen.

Oh No, It’s Obama Care

2009-07-31T14:47:00.000-07:00

The clock is ticking until the start of the Armageddon – six weeks or so is all we have left. No, silly, I’m not referring to a plague of Biblical proportions, a really big belt from a rampaging meteor, or an eruption of the massive volcano under Yellowstone National Park. Rather, I’m referring to the pending health care legislation hanging over all of our heads – “Obama care,” if you will.

Now, before I go off on an ill-advised rant, please let me emphasize that what I’m about to write is not re-warmed partisan politics. True, I tend to side with moderate Republicans, but I don’t have anything against the President. He seems as if he’s a nice enough fellow, despite the “mommy jeans” he wore at the Major League Baseball All-Star Game – dude, they had a crease in them for crying out loud! It is a shame he’s tainted by his association with Nancy Pelosi, the wicked witch of the West, but I digress. No, the reason I oppose national health care is that I am a dyed-in-the-wool, free market capitalist. Where I come from, we have a saying (embellished greatly for these purposes), “Water’s for washin’, Dickel’s for drinkin’, free markets are for fixin’, and governments are for wastin’.”

In 2007, nearly 46 million Americans were without health insurance – that was about 18% of the under-65 population of the United States. With unemployment having sky-rocketed since, that number has surely gotten much worse. Any way you cut it, it’s a terrible statistic, for there might not be anything more critical to our Constitutionally-protected right to the pursuit of happiness, and more expensive, than health care.

Except for a Ferrari 420 Scuderia, of course.

Again, I digress - back on point.

The idea behind a national health care plan is reasonable and logical. If you’re not covered by insurance, the price of health care is prohibitively expensive. Prescription drugs are one thing, a hospital stay, for the love of God, something entirely different. Hey, I don’t know about you, but I think my co-pay for a routine doctor’s visit is too damn expensive!

However, I’m against national health care for a handful of reasons:
· When it comes to handling big programs with a big budget, the U.S. Government doesn’t own a terribly impressive track record – we all know the stories of outrageously expensive toilet seats and hammers. Health care is a big proposition – we’re looking at upwards of $1 trillion (that’s with a “T”) over the next ten years.
· The U.S. Government hasn’t exactly excelled with other health care initiatives. Quick question for those of you with health insurance: Would you trade your existing program for Medicare, Medicaid, or Veterans’ Administration care?
· When it comes to executing upon strategy, or in the case of government parlance, “policy,” again, the U.S. government doesn’t have a very good track record.
· When it comes to providing a high level of customer/consumer experience, … well, you get the point.

C’mon, if you were a hiring manager for the “business” of health care, would you hire the U.S. government? Would it even be a candidate for a screening interview? Seriously?

Okay, so it’s easy to poke holes at a plan, you say. How about some solutions? I’m glad you asked; here’re some things to consider:
· Americans are so out of shape we’re practically endangered! In October 2008, the Center for Disease Control and Prevention’s Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report projected the entire adult population of the United States will be overweight or obese by 2048 if current trends persist. Entire – that means every adult.
· Please, don’t tell me our overweight problem is caused by disease and disorder. Go to Disneyworld for a day. Count the overweight people. Then, go to Tokyo, Beijing, Copenhagen, Munich, Paris, Barcelona – hell, anywhere – and count the overweight people. Compare. It’s not disease and disorder for most. Rather it’s bacon and cheese and Krispy Kreme and Doritos, and lots and lots of other food.
· The New York Times reported, based on 2006 data, that obese Americans spend 42 percent more on health care than normal-weight Americans.
· New diagnoses of Type 2 diabetes rose from 4.8 per 1,000 people from 1995 to 1997 to 9.1 per 1,000 people from 2005 to 2007, not coincidentally mirroring the increase in obesity rates (the CDC states obesity is the leading cause of Diabetes).
· Almost 6 million Americans don’t even know they suffer from diabetes!
· We still have over 43 million adult American smokers of cigarettes or cigars – and, I don’t mean just at bachelor parties or on golf course smokers.
· According to Campaign for Tabacco-Free Kids (admittedly a less than objective source), $96.7 billion is spent on public and private health care due to tobacco use; additionally, each American household spends $630 annually in federal and states taxes due to smoking. Okay, let’s say those stats are greatly exaggerated. Take 25% of it – that’s still a lot of money for anyone not named Gates (Bill), Buffet (Warren), or Woods (Tiger).

My solution to the health care crisis:
· Everybody, and I mean everyone who does not suffer from bulimia or anorexia, losses 5 to 10% of their body weight. That makes us more healthy right away, lowering the amount of health care services needing to be provided.
· Impose the same “sin taxes” as found on alcohol and tobacco to every restaurant with a drive-thru window. If we’re going to eat unhealthy, at least let’s bring in some tax revenues to help off-set the cost of health care.
· As it relates to alcohol taxes, raise them up just a touch – off the Kennedys alone, we’ll likely float health care for the unemployed and their families.
· Outlaw cup holders in cars. It’s just a pet peeve and I thought I would throw it in to see if anyone notices. However, without a cup holder, maybe it will limit eating in cars, which would limit the need for drive-thru’s. [Note to self: this is promising – deserves more study – time for a beer run].
· Ban cigarettes, except for export, of course – might as well make a few bucks off the misguided impulses of others.
· I know, I know, a ban on cigarettes will never work – let’s just tax the living daylights out of them; $1 a cigarette sounds good. All of the tax revenue goes to subsidize health care.
· No new health care-related taxes for the people who don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t eat junk food, etc.
· Let private enterprise fill the void. Where there is a need and a value desired by the market, there’s an opportunity. What do you think explains Wal-Mart, after all?

A recent Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll shows that the American people are slowly coming to their senses as the post-Inaugaration honeymoon begins to wane – 42% of Americans think the proposed health care plan is a “bad idea,” up from 32% just one month ago. Unfortunately, if doesn’t matter what Americans think now. What matters is what they thought the first Tuesday of last November. It was on that day American voted all practical legislative political power to one party – the Democrats. With that, rest assured a health bill will be passed in September unless the public significantly raises the volume of its protests.

Damn that Democratic majority in the House and Senate! It makes killing national health care a tough row to hoe. Remember, years ago, when we thought Al Franken as a politician was funny? As the filibuster-proof 60th Democrat in the Senate, it’s not so funny now, huh?

Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.

What do you think? Further the dialogue on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Graduating With Honors

2009-07-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

May and June is a great time of year for students all over the United States. First off, it’s the start of summer break, and that means the world to kids. Students everywhere declare their hatred for school, then begin the time-honored ritual of sleeping late, hanging out with friends, and desperately trying to get Alice Cooper’s chorus, “School’s out for summer,” out of their heads. That’s for four days. Then, they moan to their parents about how bored they are.

May and June also brings around the graduation celebrations for high school seniors. It’s the last real school graduation celebration, for no one in their right mind celebrates graduation from college. After all, who wants to leave the comfort of two classes a day, a nap in the afternoon, a party every night, and scantily clad co-eds for the rigors of a 9-to-5 job for the rest of your miserable life? The only celebration is if you can talk your parents into a fifth year. If you get so lucky as to get a sixth year, you’re required to die right at the end, Logan’s Run-like, for it’s all downhill after that (plus, you’re almost thirty anyway, and that was the end of the line for everyone but Farrah in Logan’s Run).

I wrote high school graduation is the last real school graduation. Unfortunately, it’s not the first. Now, when I was going through school, we had only had one graduation celebration – that was for the completion of high school. Today, it seems every idiot in our recognition-starved society celebrates graduation or “promotion” from almost every single grade.

This spring, I had friends who actually had to take off work to celebrate their kids’ and grandchildren’s promotions out of pre-school. Are you fucking kidding me? Hey, congratulations! Over the course of the year, you learned how to stop shitting your pants and how to color within the lines. Next year in kindergarten, your teachers will instruct you on how to best pick your nose without being seen. Then, first grade – farting! Here, take your diploma, toss your little tassle to the other side of your mortar hat, and get the fuck out of the way – we have a schedule to keep and that angel food Bundt cake looks delicious.

For the love of God, getting out of pre-school, kindergarten, elementary school, or middle school shouldn’t be a cause for celebration. It should be an expectation!

It’s not just school either. Anybody have a kid who participates in youth sports? Every kid on every team gets a trophy. Everybody is a winner. Not so when I played. When I played, winners got trophies – really big championship trophies. Losers might get a little tiny one, which was quickly thrown away or hidden so as to stave off embarrassment whenever a winner came over to the house.

Now, I get that everyone should be recognized and supported. I also agree that it’s absolutely wonderful that every participant in the Special Olympics gets a medal and is declared a winner. But, folks, that’s the Special Olympics. If every child garnered the same treatment, no one would be special anymore.

This entire mess started about twenty years ago with grade inflation. Teachers started giving out higher and higher grades – to everyone. Standards crumbled. It’s supported by data. Grades are steadily rising, while standardized test scores are flat, or as in the shining case of California, declining. Getting a 4.0 doesn’t mean as much anymore, not when 20% of the class boasts of the “achievement.”

Celebrating every little achievement will have, or perhaps is currently having, a long-term detrimental effect on our society and way of life. We can’t continue to celebrate every time a mouth breather fogs a mirror. Eventually that leads to an unaccountable, unmotivated, slacker workforce that sits around and feels a false sense of entitlement.

Have you taken a peek at enrollments at an engineering or medical school lately? They are packed with foreign students who have worked hard and clawed their way to the top of their classes. In India, China, Korea, Japan, and Eastern Europe, students don’t get jack shit for “graduating” fifth grade. They get a hand-me-down coat, a loaf of stale, crusty bread (or noodles, depending on the nationality), and are shoved head-long into sixth grade.

You watch – twenty years from now, Korea, China and India will be the leaders in science, medicine, and business. Americans will have two choices for careers: either working at Wal-Mart, or working at Starbucks and serving lattes to those who do work at Wal-Mart.

Of course, it’s just this guy’s opinion.

I’m interested in what you think – feel free to leave a comment below or tweet me up on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Blowing Smoke Back at North Korea

2009-06-27T14:26:00.000-07:00

There have been interesting reports coming this week from North Korea. First off, any reading from North Korea, is by itself, interesting, for there is a dearth of information that flows from the dark country. There’s never any “news,” and rarely even propaganda. If it wasn’t for “Team America” reruns on cable, you could go months without even thinking of Kim Jong Il and his fourth world country.

Biggest shock on the news was the story of a 100,000 demonstrators marching, chanting for the destruction of the United States. Shocking! How could they possibly fuel the activities of 100,000 citizens in a famine-struck country? They must really be angry. That, or it was 100,000 political prisoners being forced to march by the pointy end of a bayonet pressed against the small of the back.

The politics involved in the situation is most fascinating. In North Korea, you have a brutal dictatorship of a truly backward country. This is a country that is literally in the dark, without reliable electricity for much of its territory. They have repeatedly shown an inability to grow enough food for their citizens, and its only cash crop for export is opium poppies, the profits of which they use to build crappy weapons (which, in turn, are sent to Myanmar for money to fund their nuclear research). Throughout all this despair – and believe you be, if you’re not Kim Jong Il or one of his cronies, you live in deprived disparity - somehow its government (read: Kim Jong Il) feels compelled to devote ever scarce resources to building rockets, and most probably, nuclear warheads.

All this for a country whose biggest wireless carrier is smoke signals.

The truly scary part of the entire story is the nuclear component. Earlier this week, Pentagon spokesperson Geoff Morrell dismissed North Korean threats as “silliness.” Still, the thought of North Korea; or Iran, for that matter; possessing nukes is as unsettling as having your teenage daughter locked in a sauna with the members of Motley Crüe. Nothing really good can come from it.

The reason it’s so scary is that we’ve been “trained” to think of the North Korean and Iranian regimes as being a bit crazy. We see wild happenings in the street and loud, angry proclamations we don’t fully understand. Crazy plus not understood equals scary.

What we need is scary too, and I’m not talking about the threat of the finest military in the world. No, I am referring to the unpredictable usage of the finest military of the world. We need to impress upon political leaders across the world that we’re a bit crazy too. Think of the signal we’d send if we just quickly invaded Toronto, tore the place up, then gave a big relief settlement to help with the rebuilding. We could state, “Look at us crazy motherf#*kers; look what we did up there. They’re our friends! We like them! Yeeee Haaaa!

That would send a signal, smoke or not.

Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.

Thanks for reading. Continue the conversation, either below in the comments or on Twitter @RayHartjen.

It Ain’t So Great for Jon, Kate and Their Eight

2009-06-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

Americans love a good train wreck. Not a literal train wreck, mind you, but rather the figurative disasters that so frequently flavor our news stories and water cooler conversations. We can’t take our eyes away from the wreckage. At the first screech of the wheels, our heads turn and necks crane, our toes rise us up by their tips, and our mouths hang open aghast.

Okay, so maybe jaws only gape open for the mouth breathing adults who continue to wear Osh Kosh B’Gosh overalls despite their falling out of favor about the same time the Star Trek movie came out - the first Star Trek movie.

I’m not sure why we’re fascinated with the downfall of others. Despite being pretty damn well off in this country, we like to see the failures. It’s not so much who wins, but more often who loses. How else can you explain the galling popularity of reality television, where “fans” turn in to see who gets dissed, voted off, kicked off, etc.? Except fans of Bret Michaels’ “Rock of Love” franchise, who, naturally, tune in to catch scantily clad skanks vying for the fleeting affection of an aging, pudgy rock star.

I try to escape the nonsense, I really do. It seems, however, that I’m one of the few diehards who picks up a newspaper anymore (sales of newspapers declined an additional 7% last year, as America grows more stupid by the hour). Seems most everybody else is settling for picking up a mirror or a double-tall, non-fat latte, or as fate would have it both. Thus, while I wait in line at Starbucks for my latte, I have to listen to the yammering stupidity of what passes for news these days; and these days it’s impossible to break clear of either that mousy Scottish singer or Jon & Kate Plus Eight.

To get you caught up to speed, Jon & Kate Plus Eight is the television show that chronicles the lives of Jon and Kate Gosselin and their eight, yes eight, children – twin girls and a split set of whatever the hell you call a gaggle of six babies (sextuplets?). The show appears weekly on the TLC network. Remember when TLC went by “The Learning Channel” and ran shows that actually taught you something? Well, now, with Jon & Kate, all it seems to be teaching is planned parenthood.

If you’ve seen one show, you’ve pretty much seen them all. With eight kids, it’s not difficult to imagine a complete madhouse every day – hey, big surprise, that’s what you get! Viewer numbers have grown gradually over the years, but have skyrocketed this season, all in eager anticipation of the train wreck. You see, Jon has repeatedly been seen out and about with female “friends,” and the tabloids (I wonder how their readership stands) proclaim a split is in the works. Without question, TLC loves the attention – never has the network reaped the benefits from such a highly rated show. Last week, despite a big fall off from the premiere a week before, the show drew almost 6 million viewers, becoming the top rated show – broadcast or cable – for women and persons 18-35. Unbelievably, it was even the number 2 show for men, behind only pro wrestling (see: comment above, America growing more stupid by the hour).

Jon has gotten more than a bit pissy lately. I’m sure it has its foundations in Kate being an unadulterated shrew. Compounding matters is Kate attracting all sorts of attention – Kate has the book deal, the book tour, the incredible luxury of being away from the zoo (aka the house) for days and weeks at a time. Jon, Jon, Jon, you know how I feel about accountability. You want a book deal, dumb ass? It’s simple, get off your lazy, whiny butt and write a book. Stuck for something to write? Let me tell you, all of us guys out here are dying to know your secret – write a book on how to pick up hot college girls while being both married AND having 8 kids!

There’s a lot that bothers me about Jon and Kate. Don’t get me wrong, I love their kids – they’re the innocents in the whole deal. The parents are another thing entirely. No violins here for the pity party complaining of the media, paparazzi, and fans invading personal space. Hey, here’s a solution – stomp pimping your kids like they’re $5 hookers pounding the pavement Friday night of Fleet Week. Quit the bitching and sniping at each other – you have 8 freakin’ kids, so don’t you suppose your spouse feels exactly the way you do? Give each other a break, for crying out loud.

But, maybe most of all, there’s just one thing I have to know. Kate, honey, I’ve seen enough of the show to know you are some piece of work. And as you are as vain and pretentious as they come, I know you watch the show. So, as you see yourself on television, which totally beats a mirror and its reversed image, share with me this one thing. How do you explain that hair?

As always, it’s just this guy’s opinion.

All you Tweeples, tweet me up on Twitter @RayHartjen.

US Terror Detainees – Prison or Frat House?

2009-05-21T21:55:00.000-07:00

I find it peculiar to read, yet again, ad nauseam, about U.S. treatment of detainees in facilities in Guantánamo Bay, Abu Ghraib, and super-secret CIA-operated prisons across the globe. The epicenter of the discussions, of course, radiates from Washington, as members of Congress and the Senate race to take their positions, get their names in the paper, and pad their campaign contribution funds. After all, politicians are in the business of getting re-elected.

I’m resigned to having to put up with the topic in the press for another 12-18 months, though, as it looks like House Speaker Nancy Pelosi is going to run this through the public hopper in an effort to cleanse herself of that dirty feeling she wakes up with every morning. The Washington “Gang of 4,” and what they knew, when, will be debated in a public forum, and it won’t be short and sweet. Pelosi is viewed considerably less favorably than President Obama and the rest of the Democratic Party – a recent Wall Street Journal/NBC News poll of Americans showed favorability ratings of Obama at 64%, the Democratic Party at 45%, and Pelosi at 31%. This data suggests the Democratic party will be happy for Pelosi to be the face of this public battle; they’ll allow it to stretch out and have her bake in the heat of public indignation while they smoke contraband Cuban cigars and sexually harass young pages and interns.

It’s the public indignation part I’m beginning to wonder long and hard about. Waterboarding, I’m sure, is a real bitch. I imagine even fish don’t like it. But, in the relative context of a post-9/11 world, I’m not going to stand up and say its evil. If one just one life was saved by having one bad guy feel for a minute like he was drowning, I think I’m probably cool with it (it’s important to note that the bad guy doesn’t actually drown – he just feels like he’s going to until he coughs up more than name, rank, and serial number, or, as is more likely the case in the war on terror, the name of the tailor who makes custom-fitted, suicide bomber vests).

However, you never see pictures of waterboarding; ditto for pictures of sleep deprivation. What you do see are pictures like those below:

Okay, before you react, stifle that angry sneer (or amused chuckle). There’re a couple of very important points that need to be made.

First and foremost, it’s PRISON. Prison is not supposed to be dinner and drinks at The Plaza. It’s supposed to suck, and really suck badly at that. It’s supposed to send a message to wannabe scumbags everywhere – that message being, regardless of your circumstances right now, you do not want to be here. As the theme song to Baretta stated, “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

Now, I’ve not been in prison. Yet. But, I have seen Midnight Express and a number of episodes of Oz on HBO – enough to know, or, rather, suspect, that there’s a whole host of pretty bad things that happen in prisons – in Turkey, in the United States, wherever. It’s not an evil U.S. government thing. It’s a prison thing. If you don’t want to be stacked in a buck-ass naked human pyramid, don’t do bad things and get tossed in the clink.

Second point that needs to be made, is the very real fact that many of us have similar photos in a shoe box hidden under our bed, either from bachelor parties, honeymoons, weekends in Las Vegas, or our 4 (or more, and you know who you are) years spent matriculating in campuses of higher education all around the world. Don’t look up – just think back to the pictures above. Every fall, those scenes, and worse, are repeated all over the United States. People actually pay for the privilege of being victimized, knowing down the road, they get to be the headmaster at this particular school of humiliation. It’s call “Pledging,” and it goes on beyond closed doors at fraternities everywhere.

Now, I know some of you reading this are shaking your heads and thinking, “No it doesn’t.” Just keep telling yourself that, particularly you mothers of teenage boys.

There is one hope that maybe all of this goes away as a nasty bit of “family business,” something that we just don’t talk about at family gatherings. As you’re aware, in his first week in office, President Obama ordered Guantánamo closed. Yeah, even his Democratic buddies are beginning to fight that now. Where are the “bad guys” going to go, the mainland U.S.? Sent back home to fight us again? Maybe Gitmo is the right place afterall?

There are no good answers to the quandary, which can mean only one thing – break out the restraints, edible undies, and digital cameras – we got a party on our hands!

Now it’s possible I could be wrong – it’s just this guy’s opinion.

Hey Tweeples, tweet me up on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Messy Divorce in the Works: GM's Arranged Marriage

2009-05-15T20:54:00.000-07:00

Soon after taking over the helm at General Motors, CEO Fritz Henderson introduced the GM of the future – “Lean, flexible, and customer-focused.” During the same “rally the troops” announcement, he also introduced its new largest shareholder, the United States government. Hmmm. Something seems out of place there: Lean, flexible, customer-focused, and the United States government. Can you pick out the one that doesn’t fit the series?

I’m not saying the government is not exactly the best equipped to literally stick its nose into someone else’s business. Not yet; I’ll get to that in a minute. Before I do, let’s build a bit of a case by taking a look at some recent headlines:
- In the first quarter of 2009, General Motors saw its revenues fall by nearly half to $22.4 billion. Remember, that’s a drop of nearly 50% off a less-than-stellar first quarter ’08.
- Those $22.4 billion in revenues did absolutely nothing to stem GM’s hemorrhaging $10.2 billion negative cash flow over the quarter. Think about that - $22 billion in sales, yet $10 billion more went out of the company than came in. No household, run by us ignorant tax payers, would dare spend 50% more than it takes in. Nobody with any financial responsibility and wherewithal would.
- Uh oh. The U.S. government is currently sporting a nifty $11.2 trillion national debt (that’s $11,200,000,000,000. Assuming a U.S. population of 305 million, per person that’s – uh, never mind, my calculator won’t accept 11.2 trillion as a value).
- Let’s call a mulligan on this year; what about next? Oops, the new federal budget for fiscal 2010 weighs in at a hefty $3.6 trillion. At a minimum, that ’10 budget will add $1.2 trillion to the national debt. That’s in addition to the record $1.9 trillion (again, a minimum) that the debt will grow in fiscal ’09.
- By the time the Iowa presidential caucus rolls around in 2012, the projected national debt will be $17 trillion. If you take the New York Yankees’ opening day payroll this season of $202 million and kept it unchanged, the national debt in 2012 could pay for the next 84,158 seasons of Yankee baseball, with just a pinch left over to cover the first half of the next season. [The good news is that over the next 84,000 or so baseball seasons, the Yankees will probably figure out how to sell their $2,500 front row seats]
- Okay, budget aside, how about the “lean” aspect? Let’s see here, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, some 5 million private-sectors workers have lost their jobs in the last year, and the unemployment rate in that sector tops 9%. On the public-sector side, government, employment has grown in nearly every month of the current recession, and its unemployment rate is just 2.8%. I know what you’re thinking - you’re thinking those aren’t all federal government jobs; that they include state jobs. Yes, but many of those jobs are funded by federal economic stimulus grants.
- Good luck with the federal influence in union negotiations, GM, where your healthcare benefits for retirees and workers add an additional $2,500 in cost per car (Prescription drugs alone cost GM $1.9 billion.). Remember those jobs referenced in the public sector – lots of union influence. In California, unions spent $50 million in 2005 to help defeat ballot measures that would cap government spending (i.e.; protect public-sector jobs). The school system of Los Angeles County faces a $600 million budget deficit this year alone. Too many votes for politicians to not spend tax payer money there.
- As far as austere spending, GM is not going to learn a whole lot from the U.S. government, those famed purchasers of thousand dollar toilet seats. Remember the outrage on Capital Hill and in the public eye when the heads of the Big Three (what a misnomer, huh?) auto makers each flew to Washington on private planes? Well, you’d never catch a fat cat Washington politician flying in a private aircraft – particularly on junkets sponsored by campaign contributors.
- Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi regularly flies coast to coast on “business” at tax payer expense in a military aircraft (read: private). By the way, for you “greenies,” each one of those flighst produce an estimated 80,000 pounds of carbon, much more than the average American produces in a year.

I love the U.S. government – I wouldn’t want to live under any other kind of system. It does a lot of things well. But, looking to the government to help managing a lean, flexible, and customer-centric organization is like hiring Courtney Love to protect your liquor and medicine cabinets. By June 1, General Motors will propose a sweeping business reorganization plan to Uncle Sam, whereupon, the government’s economic wizards (I know, I’m laughing too), will, if the proposal so convinces them, grant the company a new lifeline of federal dollars. That money, in the billions, won’t be used to create a sustainable enterprise; rather it will be used to float GM as it enters bankruptcy.

With our high powered journalistic machines at every media outlet in the U.S. fixated on whether Ms. California was going to loose her crown over a couple of booty call photos this week, you probably missed a juicy tidbit that slipped in under the slamming car door. General Motors decided to push up its next scheduled payment to suppliers. Ordinarily, its key suppliers would be paid June 2. GM is pushing that date up, sooner, to May 28. Now, you might be asking yourself, why would a company that so desperately needs cash look to spend their hard earned, or rather hard begged, cash early? GM is doing so because it knows it’s declaring bankruptcy on June 1, and wants to ensure that suppliers will continue to ship needed parts – needed so GM can continue to build cars that no one particularly wants or needs.

Bankruptcy is going to be a mess, just like the Chrysler bankruptcy is currently. A couple of GMs will eventually emerge: A “bad” GM with outdated brands and defaulted debt, and a “good” GM with union ownership, even more outdated brands, and an uncompetitive offering in an already overcrowded car marketplace.

An arranged marriage not exactly made in heaven – is it too late to stand up and object?

The government – you and I, and all the other tax payers – have already floated billions of much needed working capital to companies. It’s a necessary evil to keep companies afloat and workers employed. It’s an investment. When it’s an investment in a company with a somewhat promising future – in the banking industry, for example – it’s likely a good investment. When it’s an investment in a company that saw its glory days fade decades ago, it’s a “learning experience.”

Okay now, learning! Now that’s something the U.S. government can teach the private sector.

Just this guy’s opinion.

Like what you read? Hate what you read? Either way, I’d like to hear from you - tweet me up on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Yo Ho Ho, It’s the Pirates’ Life for … Them

2009-04-28T08:41:00.000-07:00

It seems every time you turn on the TV or pick up a newspaper, a pirate story is right there, front and center, like a “Ho Train” at a Bret Michaels’ concert. Used to be when you thought of pirates you thought of Johnny Depp and Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. Or, if you’re old, you thought of the actual Disneyland ride. If you’re just plan goofy, you thought of September 19, international “Talk Like a Pirate Day.” All those good times are ruined for now, for these days when you hear or see the word “pirate,” you likely think of one other word: Somalia.

The pirate attack on the Maersk Alabama this month was a good, old fashioned pirate tale – forceful takeover of a vessel, a crew versus crew throw down, and hasty retreat with a hostage. Just like the Blackbeard era, only with automatic weapons, diesel engines, and a heretofore unheard of and almost inconceivable complete lack of rum. Drama galore on the high seas, the final act of which saw 80 meters of night time rolling seas, three US Navy Seals, three Somali pirates, three shots, and three kills. A quick heads up to bad guys everywhere: You don’t want to mess with the US Military. You don’t want there to even be rumors of you thinking about it in passing.

Last week, papers around the world showed one Abdiwali Abdiqadir Muse. Not familiar with him? Well, he’s the sole surviving knucklehead of the pirate crew that took on the Maersk Alabama and barked at the big dog on the porch. Catch his picture, below:

As a picture is worth 1000 words, or so they say, it seems most of those words are forming themselves into questions. Questions like, what’s Abdiwali’s age? [His parents claim he’s only 16] Why is his name spelled sometimes Abdiwali, sometimes Abdewali? Isn’t piracy the same as terrorism? Good questions all, but, to me, this picture speaks one question in particular - Why is this jackass smiling like that? Me, I think it’s because he wants to show the world that despite being dirt freakin’ poor, Somalis have better teeth than the English.

I’m kidding.

You think.

No really, the real reason Abdiwali is smiling is because he’s about to enjoy a number of years living the high life of the US penal system. Oh sure, there’s a dark side of the federally- and state- funded gladiator schools that are in session every hour of every day – of which constant danger of getting shanked for a pack of smokes and having to put out to another dude to get your own copy of Barron’s are the least of one’s worries. You see, for no matter how tough life is behind bars, it sure beats the crap out of living in Somalia. If you’re down and out, and feeling a bit blue, just thank your lucky stars you weren’t such a miserable bastard as to be born in Somalia.

If you don’t know much about Somalia, go check it out on the CIA website and it’s World Fact Book. Some lowlights for you to consider:
- No real, viable government since the authoritarian, socialist regime of Mahamed Siad Barre collapsed in early 1991. That’s 18 years of the wild, wild West.
- As there’s no real government, there’s no real surprise that Somalia does not have a national legal system.
- Not a whole lot of domestic issues, that is if you don’t count famine, contaminated water eroding human health, deforestation, overgrazing, soil erosion, and desertification.
- Speaking of desertification, arable land makes up just 1.64% of Somalia’s territory.
- But, even with that, permanent crops make up only 0.04% of land use.
- Median age of the Somalia population is 17.5 years. Said differently, over half of all Somalis have never known a viable, national government.
- 45% of the population is 14 or under, making one wonder what you call a Pirate ROTC program.
- Of course, you need schools to have an ROTC program, and something tells me there aren’t a lot of schools when the national literacy rate is 37.8% (only 25.8% for women). Good thing it isn’t particularly difficult to spell “AK-47.”
- Life expectancy is only 50.
- The Gross Domestic Product of the entire country is $5.5 billion ($600 per capita), or roughly the amount Oracle’s Larry Ellison spends annually on polishing his ego.

An increasing number of Somalis take to the open seas and piracy for two reasons. One, it’s pretty lucractive, acccounting for somewhere upwards of $150 million in 2008. Secondly, there’s not a whole lot of alternatives, save knocking off an occasional aid truck stocked with food. But, if you do that, where’s the money in it – who’s going to pay for stolen food and medical supplies in a country with no economy?

Of course, we can’t just have pirates frollicking on the oceans and disrupting our shipping, which if you consider what’s carried in cargo holds every day, is really messing with the very fabric of our civilized society. But, arming ships to the teeth and siccing the US Navy Seals on pirates is not the answer. No, the fight against piracy starts on land. Fix Somalia, you fix the Somalia pirate problem.

Ah, but fixing Somalia. Now, that could be tough. But, here’s an idea. While the water is polluted and over-fished, it’s a helluva lot less polluted than the water off Dubai. Additionally, the beautiful coast of Somalia stretches as far as the eastern seaboard of the Unitied States. You thinking what I’m thinking? We annex that bad boy. Bring in truckloads of sandwiches, water, and construction supplies. Build us another vacation paradise.

We did it once in Nevada, and if you can do it there, you can do it anywhere.

Just this guy’s opinion.

Tweet up my bad self on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Bossnapping and the Neglected French Art of Persuasion

2009-04-10T15:01:00.000-07:00

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I get all that, I really do. I can imagine how desperate one might feel when faced with the prospect of losing a job, your livelihood, and, maybe soon after, your Citroen coupe, your Dogue de Bordeaux, and more. It must be incredibly frustrating. It probably ranks right up there with, but just behind, having one of your most basic human liberties taken away.

There’s an interesting phenomenon sweeping Western Europe. Okay, I’m too kind. Enough of the charades - it’s not Western Europe at all, but rather the purveyor of long, skinny bread, sauces for sauces’ sake, and a glass of wine or two for good health, France. And, it’s the biggest thing since Marie Antoinette let her breasts be used as the mould for the champagne coupe glass. When desperate times come a knockin’, there’s really only one logical thing to do, and that’s to simply kidnap the boss. Or, if you’re lucky and they’re “in season,” maybe bag a whole bunch of bosses.

I know, it sounds so stupid as to be an April Fool’s Day joke. Au contraire, mon petite cheri, for it’s certainly not a joke to anyone who fills a managerial position anywhere in the country. In the last month, bosses have been held against their will – bossnapped, if you will, a new word in the language uncovered as a media-fuelled euphemism for kidnapping and false imprisonment – at French manufacturing plants belonging to Sony, Caterpillar, 3M, Continental AG, and, most recently, Scapa Group PLC.

When examining this new centerpiece of iconic French culture a bit closer, you might be inclined to think that it’s just a couple of isolated incidents, the folly of under-educated, over-worked, blue-collared Jean Claudes and Francoises. Ah, if it was only the case. Alas, a new poll for Le Parisien reports that, overall, 45% of the French population thinks bossnapping is acceptable. Astoundingly, but not surprisingly, that percentage rises to 56% among the rank and file blue collar set. Most unbelievably of all, the acts, as repeated as they have become, have not been condemned by French President Nicholas Sarkozy. That’s right, have not.

What?

Okay, Nick – can I call you Nick? Or, maybe since you’re just 5’5” tall, maybe lil’ Napoleon? Oh, you prefer Nick? Alright Nick, I can see how the situation might not interest you, as you’re too busy trying to figure out how to keep hush hush the naked photos of your smokin’ (third) wife, former model, Mick Jagger play toy, and all-around Italian hottie, Carla Bruni. But, c’mon, Nick. Kidnapping? It’s just so … so … gauche. Like serving poorly kept Beaujolais Nouveau with a choice chateaubriand.

Has socialism so gotten you down that you tolerate, even implicitly endorse, kidnapping? It’s not like businesses are shuttering because it’s a load of fun or that they’re bored. No, they’re consolidating business efforts because it’s fundamentally the right thing to do given these current economic times. Now’s not the time for foreign companies to subsidize your complacent, unionized, escargot chewing labor force. No, your all-for-one, one-for-all society needs to fall back on its own stalwarts of industrial might. You know, legendary French businesses like … uh … uh … Michelin. Yes, Michelin! Never mind the fact, Nick, they disgraced themselves by failing miserably – and publicly – at the 2005 Formula One United States Grand Prix. Michelin was pretty competitive up to that point, unlike other legendary French institutions, like your armed forces, for instance.

Do you find it interesting, Nick, that all of the above hostage taking incidents were at French subsidiaries of foreign companies? No, not coincidental at all, for the French citizenry seem to love to blame everyone else for ills your own state policies have incubated over time. Social conditions suffering? Blame the French Muslim immigration. Crime up? Blame the Gypsies. Come up empty in the Le Tour de France? Blame Lance Armstrong.

Do everyone a favor, Nick. Stop the kidnapping thing. It’s old news and it just wastes time. And, over time, it’s going to escalate to something serious that’s not going to go away with a wave of a French-cuffed arm or a nod from a beret-clad head – someone is going to get hurt. Tell them to stop. Now. Actually arrest people when they break the law. And, instead of all this back-and-forth nonsense, maybe you all can sit down and solve for the bigger problems.

With wine and bread, of course. C’est la vie.

Just this guy’s opinion.

Tweet me up on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Gee, Now There’s 20?

2009-04-03T17:12:00.000-07:00

I know I’m getting old. I remember G6, G7, and G8. I even remember G8+5 and G22. G19+1, anyone? Yep, remember that too. Now, G20 takes a bow in the sun, figuratively speaking, of course, since this week’s carnival was in London. I’m thinking we might benefit from lowering the panel to 19. Why’s Italy in there? Let’s be serious here; like we’re really going to take economic and business consultation from the Italians.

Perhaps the most interesting note coming out of the G20 meeting is they are planning on reconvening in November. Yeah, and how do you suppose the host city is selected? Whoever pulls the short straw out of the hat has to host? At which point, some country’s poor bastard of a leader will have to burden one of his (sorry, women, but look around the conference room – it is what it is) cities with hosting duties, and the accompanying guaranteed riot, wide scale destruction, and civil unrest. And the best part? All the chaos doesn’t come from the fun-loving denizens of the host city, rather from semi-professional, anarchist protesters from around the globe.

Ah, good times.

Saw a clip on the news the other night. Young British lad, bleeding from a cut on his forehead – not a bad cut, mind you, but a cut nonetheless. He’s incredulously shouting at the reporter, “I’m 18 years old. Look at me, I’m bleeding. They hit me in the head. I’m just 18 years old!”

What?

Dude, so you’re 18. All that means is that you’re legally an adult, and therefore, a prime target to get your ass whupped, in a completely legal fashion mind you, by other adults. And, if you don’t watch out for your whining, you’ll likely be getting your ass whupped quite regularly, so prepare yourself accordingly. Oh, and while it’s not exactly a “law” of evolution, it is a pretty generally accepted rule-of-thumb guideline: If you don’t have a baton in your hand, you shouldn’t get in the grill of a London bobby that does have a baton in his hand. Consider yourself fortunate that you’re not in someplace like Pulaski county, Kentucky, where you’re libel to taste 20 inches of a polished persimmon hardwood nightstick for simply omitting the “Sir” after saying “Good morning” to the local sheriff when getting your morning donut and tin of Copenhagen at the convenient store.

The protesters are quite the sight, don’t’ you think? One out of thirty is of the Berkeley societal dropout classification - dressed in hemp clothing, malnourished due to the fickleness of a vegan druggie lifestyle, and at the conference simply to fill all the emptiness of the calendar since the Grateful Dead stopped touring after Jerry Garcia’s death. However pitiful, that minority of protesters at least adorns itself proudly with its cloak of integrity. It’s the other clowns – the vast majority and those very easy to spot. Anarchists protesting the greed of free enterprise and capitalism, all the while finely attired in the latest styles from Benetton, Abercrombie, Boss, and Nike. Un huh, yeah.

That said, the official participants of the conference (those inside the ornate palaces and bastions of mahogany tables and overstuffed leather chairs) have no better standing in the hypocritical lineup, either. I love that the Germans and French are united in their stances. Germany and France? Wow, what a difference a few short years makes.

The big G20 takeaway for me is the American bashing that is so in vogue around the world, despite our immigration offices being jammed to capacity every day. I guess we’re an easy target, and that probably comes with being the straw that stirs the world’s economic drink. Maybe, and that’s a “maybe,” not a concession, we precipitated the global crisis with lax regulations of a free market economy. Fine, call us the first ones to blame; hell, you can even call us evil and question our collective moral being. But, how about a little balance on the other side too? Whenever there’s a natural disaster, anywhere in the world, whose fucking boat or plane packed with aid shows up first? You can’t have one without the other. There’s a bushel basket full of things wrong with this country. There’s also a whole heaping shitload of stuff that is really great, the first of which is that I can post that previous sentence on an internet forum without fearing government reprisal or jail time [try even accessing a politically charged internet forum in China, one of the G20 delegates joining in on the US-bashing – you probably can’t even open the page – if you do, and actually get your post up, don’t answer the knock at the door – if you’re in Tibet, turn yourself in just for reading about it].

So easy to point a finger – not raise a finger, as that’s something completely different, albeit just as easy. It seems we all fail to recognize that when pointing a finger, there’re three other fingers pointing back the other direction. Go ahead, try it. See?

So, G20 crowd, politicos and protesters alike - Watch the frequency and ferocity of your finger pointing. A little, and done with a degree of diplomacy and tact, is spark for great dialogue. Done repeatedly and with ill temper … well, you’re likely to get a big red, white, and blue single raised finger in return.

Just this guy’s opinion.

Continue the conversation - follow me on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Why Chrysler Must Die

2009-03-29T12:02:00.000-07:00

It’s a lesson we all learn, sooner or later, usually as kids. Be it a bicycle, a skateboard, or simply trying to grow into feet already two times bigger than necessary for your body, a tragic fall occurs – right smack dab in the middle of a patch of concrete. As far as world tragedies, it doesn’t rank that high – a bloody knee and/or elbow. [Although, I am reminded of a Mel Brooks’ quote, which goes something along the lines of “Tragedy is when I cut my finger; Comedy is when you fall down an open sewer and die.”] The lesson is not how to prevent another fall. Rather, it deals with the dreaded Band-Aid removal. It’s gonna yank hair, and it’s gonna hurt like the dickens. So, pull it all at once, really fast.

Okay now, enough is enough. Brace yourself people. It’s going to sting, and maybe a good deal longer than just a bit, but it’s necessary. We have to let Chrysler wither and die. No more bailout, no more heroic rescue efforts. It’s a lost cause. No sense throwing good money after billions and billions of bad. It’s time to cut bait and fish elsewhere.

Letting Chrysler go the way of the Dodo bird and Pan Am airlines is no little lark. We’re looking at thousands of employees and families. But, does it really make sense to poor billions and billions of dollars into the company? Chrysler has already received $4 billion in bailout money. Despite that, they still have their tin cup out waving for an additional $5 billion just to survive – not thrive, mind you, but survive. I think it’s important to keep in mind that the owners of Chrysler, Cerebus Capital, only have $7.4 billion invested, the price they paid Daimler AG for the American icon of ineptness.

Pulling the plug on Chrysler is probably not politically appetizing, particularly for those seeking electoral votes in Michigan. Additionally, labor union membership across the country will be literally crapping their pants. However, when putting aside emotions for logical, rationale reasoning, some pretty compelling evidence pops up to support other possible options for economic recovery.

1) The Numbers. Chrysler auto sales are off over 40% year over year. 40%! General Motors is in the same boat. Ford and the other manufacturers are off another third. Simple supply and demand here folks. There’s not enough demand – not by a long shot – to accommodate the manufacturing capacity. Will there be demand when the global economy recovers? Good question. Here’s an answer for you. Did you like the economy of the past five years, up to October of 2008? Did you own shares of Ford, General Motors, or Daimler AG (owners of Chrylser up until the summer of ’07)? How did you like your performance vis à vis the general market? Ha! You didn’t, did you? If you’re lucky enough to not be familiar with those “returns,” you can find them graphed here – Ford, GM, Daimler AG. Note how the market felt about Daimler kicking Chrysler to the curb. C’mon, you weren’t surprised, were you?
2) The Cars. Are you kidding me? When was the last time Chrysler hit it big on design? Sure, they’ve had some big wins. Remember the Ram trucks and their Peterbilt-esque front ends? Yeah, that was the late ‘80s. The minivan? Even older. Durango? Jeep? Don’t think so. Sure, there’s little bumps of innovative design – the Viper, the Prowler, and the Magnum come to mind – but those cars were designed and built for niche markets, and were certainly not the financial cornerstones on which to prop up the business. About the best new car design related to mass appeal was the PT Cruiser. Puh-leeze. But, regardless of the outside of the car, there’s one thing common to all Chryslers, and that is the very cheap, u-g-l-y, you ain’t got no alibi interior. Comparable to a European car? Yeah, like a movie director compares Pamela Anderson to Meryl Streep – one’s made of plastic and good for a night or two of bouncing around; the other is a timeless classic, delivering outstanding performance year over year. [My wife is never going to believe that I compared my dream girl Pam less favorably to anybody. I’m getting old.] Let’s cut to the chase by asking this: When was the last time you heard of someone considering buying a Chrysler car? If it wasn’t for fleet sales to rental car agencies and corporate cars, I’d already be writing about something else.
3) The Terms. Okay, selling crappy cars means you better come up with some good promotions. Look at what Chrysler is reduced to offering today. “Employee Pricing Plus” is what they call it. The company is willing to sell the car for essentially no profit, with a money back cash bonus eliminating the need to put anything down. Not exactly a recipe for healthy free cash flow, now is it? They want another $5 billion to support this business model? Okay, now what will it really take to create some degree of sustainability? Give us a real number.
4) Robert Nardelli. Aside from the entire history of the airline industry, perhaps no one has been personally responsible for the erosion of more shareholder value than Mr. Nardelli. Don’t worry about Bob though, for he has a certain ability to land on his feet. With Home Depot crumbling around his autocratic throne, he slid out the door with a $200 million plus package. I can’t figure out what Cerebus/Chrysler was thinking, but for whatever reason they offered him the helm of Chrysler. Fast forward a couple of years to today. Whether Chrysler lives or dies, we should soon be rid of Bob forever. I do know this, if he gets another job at a publicly traded company, I’m immediately shorting the stock. I’ll do so on the mere rumor of that company beginning the recruitment effort. Oh, and please don’t evoke Bob’s experience with GE. Giving him credit for GE’s past growth is like giving the rooster credit for the dawn (with all due apologies to Ann Richards for stealing her quote referencing G.H.W. Bush). Advice to Bob: Next time you drive past a neighborhood lemonade stand, stop, look, and listen. Take it as your B-school education.
5) The Options. The U.S. government can give money to Chrysler. But, we’d be better off lighting a big stack of $20 bills and using the heat to provide energy for Detroit during the cold winter months. The best option for the company is Fiat leaping to the rescue. Yes, that Fiat of “fix it again, Tony” yore. You know times are bad for your car company when Fiat is positioned as your savior. What Fiat has going for itself is a variety of small car models, something Chrysler has a noticeable dearth of. Bad news is that it will take upward of two years to get Chrysler up and running stamping those out of U.S. factories. Two years? Yeah, at the rate of $9 billion a year, that’s not going to do.

Bailing out Chrysler just doesn’t add up. The company is doomed, plain and simple, and life lessons tell us it’s better to pull quickly, all at once. Better to take the $5 billion and pay it out to the employees right now – a super severance, so to speak. Or, maybe this: You know the real figure is more likely $10-15 billion to make Chrysler survive long enough to indebt the entire country, and still ultimately fail. How about using that money to seed new industry for Detroit? Maybe fund some software startups; a couple of biotechs perhaps? $10 billion is a lot of venture capital – a lot of innovation and creativity. At any rate, any option is better than a bail out rescue. The question is, “Will we have the guts?”

Hey, just this guy’s opinion.

Like what you read? Hate? Either way, follow me on Twitter @RayHartjen

Risking Our Returns

2009-03-26T22:47:00.000-07:00

No real surprise here, but most of the world hates America. You don’t think so? Really? Well you’re wrong, simple as that. The majority of the world’s population (outside the United States, that is) hates us for any number of reasons. Let us begin to count thy ways:
1. We swim in pools that hold thousands of gallons of perfectly drinkable water
2. We sleep indoors every night we want to
3. When we sleep indoors, we often do so with animals; we call those animals “pets;” others throughout the world – nearly all of Africa, a great deal of Asia, and big chunks of Central and South America – would call those same animals “livestock”
4. We actually spend money to feed those pets of ours, all the while much of the world struggles to feed their children
5. We have skinny, blonde celebutard actresses who actually dress their pets in tiny clothes
6. When we turn 40, our mid-life crisis entails internal debates of “Corvette or Mercedes convertible;” elsewhere, if they’re lucky enough to turn 40, it’s the muni bus or maybe a less stinky yak
7. We have pizza delivery

That list can go on and on, and it does. I haven’t even brought up big screen TVs, high speed internet porn, booze, or really any of the seven deadly sins – although admittedly this sentence toes the line. But, when you dig deeper, all those reasons are “symptoms” of the hatred; the “root cause” is really just one. The Typhoid Mary, so to speak, is money. We’re rich. We’re swimming in it. And, as such, we are afforded the luxuries that so many in world do without. They’re jealous, and that’s not a fault. Who wouldn’t be?

Now, we’re rich primarily because we’re willing to take risks. It’s a basic tenement of a free market, entrepreneurial, capitalistic society – the greater the expected risk, the greater the expected rate of return. The good ol’ risk/return ratio. And, watch out – we’re in danger of screwing the whole thing up.

Note: That loud noise you’ve heard since October is Adam Smith, John Maynard Keynes, and Milton Friedman rolling over in their graves.

It’s in vogue these days to rip Wall Street – the beacon of greed and excess in the storm that is the world-wide recession. We tend to forget that those losses are inextricably tied to Main Street. The reason those collateralized debt securities of Wall Street are in default? It’s because people – not just companies, but people – over-extended themselves. Typical scenario in a typical town – for argument’s sake, let’s call it Phoenix – goes something like this:
1. Dude, whose job is cutting grass, buys a $200,000 house, putting a down payment of 10% or $20,000
2. Real estate market goes mad, and house has a market value of $400,000
3. Dude refinances his house, putting no more money in, but taking out a big chunk of equity, say $100,000
4. Dude buys a Lexus and a Range Rover
5. Real estate market goes mad again, and house goes up in value to $600,000
6. Dude refinances again, takes out another $100,000 – vacations in Europe and buys a Porsche
7. Real estate market collapses. House is worth $220,000. Dude has a mortgage balance of $380,000. Oh, and he also has a used Lexus, a used Range Rover, and a used Porsche, now collectively worth $18,739.
8. Dude loses his job and mails his house keys into the bank – after first flushing 18 bags of concrete down his three house toilets.
9. Dude drinks beer at the bar and bitches at the AIG bonuses and blames Wall Street for his troubles.

Yep, always someone else’s fault.

That’s when things go sour. But, what if things go like they did in numbers 1-7 above, only this time the dude doesn’t get greedy and hog material, tangible assets (like luxury automobiles)? If he doesn’t take equity out, he’s still paying on an original $180,000 mortgage on a house now worth $220.000. Dude has doubled his equity, and doubling ain’t bad.

He took a risk, and was hoping it would turn out to pay big bucks. For a while, it did. In the end it hurt him. Who’s fault? His. Just playing the game, he was, and that’s cool. More risk, more potential return. But, keep in mind, the ante of the game is more risk. Risk. Dude, look it up in the dictionary.

In battling out of the recession, we have to be sure not to take the risk premium out of the market. Any market, for risk brings the promise of potential high returns. Not a promise of guaranteed returns, mind you, but potential returns. And potential returns are enough to drive bold creativity, innovation, entrepreneurial spirit, ingenuity, and that good old “just freakin’ get it done” mind set. It’s the promise of riches that helps us advance and evolve as a society; without it, we’d have one step in the cave, another on a banana peel. Simple proof: Russian automobiles of the mid-70’s. ‘Nuff said.

I said we’re in danger of screwing things up, and we are. We have to be super careful with bailouts. Said differently, not everyone can get one. We saw it with the investment banks in the autumn. Why were some helped and others (Lehman, anyone) left to die? Because, if we bail out everyone, there’s no threat of failure, that’s why. No threat of failure leads to taking hugely irresponsible risks in a game of “one upmanship” to make the highest of all possible returns and allow us to build over-the-top, glass and steel skyscraper phallic symbols to our greatness (see dude in Phoenix, above). Bail out enough to stave off panic from the masses. Let enough fail to keep the game in check.

Okay, investment banks down, automobiles up next. GM will get a lifeline, just to save some jobs. But, jobs be damned – and you heard it here first – Chrysler gets hung out to dry (that’s after being ridden hard, hard into the ground). Two shaky U.S. auto manufacturers are better than one shaky company and two shitty ones. To keep the risk/return ratio relevant, someone has to hurt. Cerebus Capital, how’s that $7.4 billion investment in Chrysler paying off for you? You took the risk to potentially make billions. It didn’t work out. Don’t bitch about it. You knew what you were doing. [Oh, and Bob Nardelli, don’t expect a golden exit package like the one you swindled from Home Depot.]

Speaking of bitching, here’s one final word. Words, rather. Quit bitching about the AIG bonuses, people. You want to make big bucks too? Here’s a prescription. Get off your lazy, pompous asses and take a risk. You can always quit your relatively safe job in a cozy corporation and jump into the shark-filled waters of the American dream – start your own business, draw nothing in salary for years, work your ass off daily – every day. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be the next Famous Amos. Or Ben and Jerry. Or Merrill, Lynch, Pierce, Fenner, and Smith. There’s no different rules for the elite and the rich. Only opportunity, and there’re the same opportunities for everyone. Take the risk. It will pay off big for a few, and it will crush a few on the way. It’s our game. If you don’t like the rules, there’s still a handful of socialists regimes around – have you tried the good life of Boliva lately?

Hey, that’s just this guy’s opinion is all.

If you like what you read, follow me on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Pay for (under) Performance

2009-03-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

Interesting read in The Wall Street Journal today – front page, right hand side. AIG (American International Group Inc.), now 80% owned by the U.S. government after receiving a series of monetary aid packages (the the tune of just north of $173 billion, thank you very much), is paying out bonuses of about $165 million. The best part? The bonus payments are planned for employees at AIG’s Financial Products business unit, which was responsible for about $40.5 billion in losses last year.

You read that right. $165 million in bonuses for losing $40.5 billion.

Losing $40.5 billion!

WTF?

One can only imagine what the bonus payment would have been if the unit had stepped up and worked its way to a $50 billion loss. Makes one wonder what their goal is for this year.

Of course, bonus shenanigans are nothing new in the finance community. I’ve even benefited from some of the absurd practices, so who am I to spout off about it? Naturally, that’s not going to stop me, as I’ve never been one to be short on giving opinions.

One thing everybody needs to know right away is this: In the investment business, the people always find a way to carve out their more-than-fair share of the money. Oh, and when I say “people,” let me clarify – that’s not the customers or even the rank and file employees, but rather the “rain makers” that make the deals happen. It simply doesn’t matter if the deal makes money or loses money, whether it’s a buy or a sell, a bearish position or a bullish position, the market goes up or down; the “chop” is always there for the taking. In fact, in the business, they even personalize it and refer to it in almost human terms – my dearest and bestest friend, “Max Chop.”

Don’t get me wrong, there’s incentive aplenty for making some money. But, making money is certainly no requirement. Ever hear of State Street Corp.? Of course you haven’t – it’s a money management business that provides services to the securities industry, but it does provide us a neat little tale. You see, State Street’s CEO, Ronald Logue got a raise in 2008. State Street’s “accomplishments” over the year included taking $3.6 billion in losses, receiving $2 billion in TARP funds from the government, and seeing its stock price fall from $83 to $ 22. Those “highlights” are, admittedly, not that great, so it’s no real surprise to find that Logue’s raise was a measly 1.4%. That’s the bad news for Logue. The good news is that the 1.4% raise equated to $400,000, raising his pay from $28.3 million to 28.7 million. Hey, a guy has to eat.

Such tales of regal compensation are not just recent phenomenon either. You might remember one Stanley O’Neal, former CEO of Wall Street stalwart, er, rather, former Wall Street stalwart and now Bank of America subsidiary, Merrill Lynch. In October 2007, in a “how the hell did I miss that” precursor to the financial crisis that hit the fan a year later, Merrill took a write down of some $8 billion due to losses on crappy subprime mortgage investments. [Hello! Big clue! Bloody knife found on the floor! That and Bear Stearns a couple of months later? If I only had a time machine!] Merrill posted a big loss for the period, and the stock sagged. In the age of accountability, heads had to roll, and the company decided to make a big statement and sever the head at the top. The even reported out publically, almost thumping their chests – O’Neal was not going to receive any additional severance or bonus beyond his $161.5 million package.

Sucka, wha?

Remember, that was for losing a couple of billion. A billion here, a billion there – pretty soon, it adds up to some real money.

It’s not only investment banking, you know. Home Depot paid Robert Nardelli over $200 million to leave, also in 2007 (otherwise known as “the year of the golden parachute”). Interesting to note how that might have been a wise move by Home Depot, as Nardelli has done such a bang up job since then in his new post at the helm of Chrysler. Now, I don’t begrudge these kinds of compensation practices. If we’re stupid enough to tolerate it and pay that kind of money, kudos for them stepping up and cashing those paychecks. Remember, we’re the same society who will actually nod our heads in agreement when hearing a $20 million plus actor bemoan about the “brutal,” “grueling,” and “exhausting” shoot of a feature film. Hey out of touch actor, you’re hardly scrubbing toilets or picking cotton.

No, free enterprise and capitalism will ensure you are paid relative to the value the market places on you. The higher the perceived value, the higher the pay, and that’s a nice correlation that fits so snuggly together, like peas and carrots. The dudes above who got PAID? Good for them, either for having the foresight to write such terms into their employment contracts or for having the good fortune to work for a bunch of knuckleheaded bosses and shareholders. We don’t need to get mad, or for that matter, to get even. We just need to learn from the experience and ask ourselves one little question – How do I get my piece of this seemingly big pie before there’s nothing left but crumbs?

That’s just this guy’s opinion.

If you like what you read, be sure to follow me on Twitter @RayHartjen.

Love, One Reality Show at a Time

2009-03-08T20:41:00.000-07:00

This last week, a television tragedy seemed to throw all women for quite the loop. No, Oprah is just fine – thank goodness for that! Same with all the ladies on The View. No need to despair, Desperate Housewives is still on the air. The real big news – OMG, can you believe what happened on The Bachelor!

You have got to be kidding me.

I don’t even know what night it happened. Maybe it was Monday of last week, because about Tuesday, the outcome of the show was the buzz everywhere I turned – on the floor of a show in Las Vegas, in the airport, on a phone call with my wife – and, all that was just Tuesday! Then, there was the radio, more TV, hearing my wife talk on the phone about it, and then having her pepper me with questions about it. It’s never ending, and it doesn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. At least my wife says it’s not going away until Bonnie Hunt has the final say on her show.

For those of you unaware, apparently the bachelor, on the final day of taping, selected one of the two finalists to be his enduring love, thus eliminating, of course, the other. But, on the live wrap up show some weeks later, he dumps his chosen one for his real love, the aforementioned spurned one. And, that’s where it all started.

“I can’t believe he would do that on national television!”

“How hurt that poor girl must be.”

“How can the second girl possibly accept the guy back?”

“What was he thinking?”

“Would you ever do something like that?”

Wait! Forget all the other questions. Let’s just focus on that last one. No. No, I wouldn’t ever do something like that, although, as a guy, I’m inherently capable of just such an act. No, I wouldn’t do that primarily because I would never go on one of those shows looking for love. People, that just doesn’t work, for either the one who has to make the selection – let’s see, since that person sort of puts the cast/candidates/applicants or whatever they are through a certain amount of tests, let’s call the selector the “tester” - or for the pool trying to be chosen as “the one” – naturally, we’ll call them the testes.

Yes, with one “e.”

Now, I’m far from being an expert on all things love-related. But, I think we can all agree that attempting to find true love on a reality show is a pretty bad idea – a bad idea as far as finding love, that is. It’s a great idea for other goals though, which I’m fairly convinced is the true motivation for most of the testes.

Through my extensive research on the subject, I’ve determined the testers and testes, budding celebutards all, have the following goals when appearing on any of the “looking for love” shows (The Bachelor, The Bachlorette, A Shot of Love, that one with Flava Flav, I Love New York, and all the other trash of “must not see TV”), in order of increasing priority:
1. Be on TV
2. Be on TV and make out with a hottie or two
3. Be on TV, make out with a hottie or two, and win some money
4. Be on TV, make out with a hottie or two, win some money, and make such a spectacle of oneself as to ensure your participation in a spin off show, such as VH1’s I Love Money
5. All of the above, but go so far over the top that you get a entire TV show of YOUR OWN, ala I Love New York, and the spinoff of that spinoff, Real Chance at Love

As I tell my wife, don’t feel sorry for anyone who gets his or her feelings hurt on shows like those – I highly doubt the testes were there in the first place to sincerely get their feelings stroked and find their soul mate. Or, rather, at least most of the testes. There’s probably the odd knuckleheaded one or two who actually thought they’d find love in a reality show – well, they’re just a bit on the ‘tarded side, and I guess they do deserve a bit of pity for that.

So, back to answering my wife’s question - no I wouldn’t do that; pick one girl over the other, then, on national TV, pull the ol’ switcheroo and hook up with the other one instead. No, I wouldn’t do that. That being said, I would trade places with Bret Michaels and appear on Rock of Love. [Honey, that is, of course, if I didn’t already have you J]

Okay, is she gone?

Alright then. Now, where was I? Oh yeah.

Rock of Love is simply the reason I picked up the guitar in the first place. Let’s see, best I can tell, the format of the show is something like this: First, pick an aging rock star. Then, through some selection process I would LOVE to be privy to, somehow choose sixteen or so bimbos of every hair color, ethnicity, and race – diversity is great, except for one necessary commonality that cannot, and will not be negotiated – big, surgically enhanced, augmented breasts. Sixteen girls, sixteen flowing locks of “stripper hair,” sixteen pairs of long, slender legs balanced atop stiletto heels, sixteen pairs of breasts struggling mightily to stay under the skimpiest bits of cloth, and sixteen pairs of eyes buried under enough gaudy makeup to be the envy of every teenage girl in Indiana.

Now, I don’t know what’s in it for the girls, but I can certainly see the attraction for Bret. You ever wonder what the negotiations were like to get the first show started? My crack research staff uncovered the actual call, a portion of which I have transcribed below:

Producer: Okay, Bret, the concept is that we put a bunch of sexy groupie types in one house. You get to hang out with them all, play kissy face, go on “dates,” and then pick different ones out to go behind closed doors, off camera. How’s that sound?

Bret: Uh, that sounds pretty good.

Producer: Great, now about the financial terms, …

Bret: Hey, I’ll have to check with my banker, but I think I’d be prepared to pay up to $100,000.

Currently, Bret is halfway through his third season of the show. Hmm. I wonder what happened to the first two girls Bret picked?

Hello! It’s no big freakin’ surprise that ol’ Bret is on the third edition of this show. You think he’s going to find true love this time around? Ha! If you think so, I’ve got some Citigroup shares that would make a sound investment for you. It says right here Bret’s going to ride this for as long as people watch and sponsors buy ad time – he’s a guy after all. He’s living the guy dream, and he doesn’t even have to work for it. They’re working for him!. I don’t think Bret’s dead, but every guy 13 to 87 is convinced he is in heaven.

Of course, that’s just this guy’s opinion.

Super Bowl for Women

2009-02-26T22:35:00.000-08:00

Last weekend was the “Super Bowl for Women,” the Academy Awards. Man, do they go all out for that. I’m talking about the entire production and the endless media attention. First, there’s the announcement of the nominees a month or so out. Then, there’s the build up to the big show, with media stories anointing favorites and dark horses, and contests where you and I – mere commoners, mind you, to the royalty of George Clooney’s Hollywood – can speculate on who will walk off with Oscars, from Best Picture down to Animated Short. Game day, Sunday, is non-stop. First, there’s the warm-up show, with previews of parties and behind-the-scenes glances at folks getting ready. Of course, there’re the arrivals on the red carpet – thousands of screaming fans (all chicks, of course), Ryan Seacrest (who’s practically a chick, no?), Oprah, and those award winning journalists, Joan and Melissa Rivers (okay, I’m not certain they’re chicks, but they are a train wreck waiting to happen, and that’s just good television). An interesting collection of pretension, insincerity and cattiness, all televised on cable stations I didn’t know were included in my Comcast package. What do they show on those channels the rest of the year? Finally, we get to the Academy Awards show itself (yawn!). Okay, well then finally, finally, we get the post-award show news. Then, finally, finally, finally, the Today Show on Monday, still on location.

The “Super Bowl for Women” is one helluva accurate description. What really bugs me though is that the Academy Awards are at the end of “awards season.” It’s an endless string of awards – film festivals, Golden Globes, Viewer’s Choice, SAG Awards, Grammys, CMAs, whatever. Crap, it goes on seemingly forever! Every time I want to talk to my wife, she shushes me, sips her chardonnay, readjusts herself on the couch, and continues watching. At least with football and the real Super Bowl, she doesn’t have to go through a whole bunch of … lead up to … the … oh, ah, er, never mind.

Okay, so I’m barely smart enough not to go there. I’ll give my wife the awards shows, all the skinny actresses (plus Queen Latifah) in gowns that cost more than my jumbo mortgage, and I’ll even toss in American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. [Alright, I know that Queen Latifah comment was cheap, but it’s not as if she’ll be reading. D’uh!] If doing so will keep her out of my hair during football and hockey games, as well as the Indy 500, then I’m all for it. It’s a fair trade. But, where I really want to go is the brilliant scam that is the award show in the first place. It’s like one of those Hallmark-invented holidays, for crying out loud. Absolutely, freakin’ brilliant!

My exhaustive research uncovered the actual sequence of events that led up to the creation of the Academy Awards. Staying true to inspiration of the Hollywood dream machine, I’ll report out below in the format of a screenplay.

EXT. BEVERLY WILSHIRE HOTEL PATIO – NOON, SPRING DAY IN 1927

BILL and TED, two fat, cigar-chomping movie moguls, sit across one another at lunch. They’ve just ordered – off menu, of course.

BILL
(pensively, whilst biting into his crab-filled, egg white only omelet)
I’m worried about this crazy film business. It’s really hard to get people to see movies that don’t have a bunch of brazen nudity and gratuitous violence in them.

TED
(in agreement, with concern, aerating his third glass of Bordeaux)
I hear you. It won’t be long before we run out of ditzy, blonde girls here in southern California willing to take their top off to get into the movies. There’s no future in this business, I tell you

BILL
(nervously brushing aside the Peruvian flake off his napkin)
I was thinking, though. What if we formed a group, made up entirely of our friends in the movie business. Then, we get that group to pick a bunch of our very own films for awards. We publicize those awards like crazy, which, in turn, leads all those stupid customers of ours into theatres, jumping over one another at the box office just like lemmings leaping into the sea.

TED
(happily slapping his thigh and motioning for the hooker at the bar to join them at the table)
By golly, old man, I think you’re on to something there. That’s the best idea I’ve heard since those MGM boys invented the casting couch.

Is it just me, or are awards, presented to members by fellow members of the very same members-only organization, like the greatest thing ever? Not only do the Academy Awards give an annual goose to box office receipts for a number of films, from a number of studios, but the little geniuses have even found a way to profit off of television rights. Oh, and the best thing – to be a member of the Academy, you have to be invited AND you have to pay dues! I do love a country built on the foundations of free enterprise, capitalism, and entrepreneurial ingenuity.

Ah, so you’re wondering why that shining light bulb is appearing over my head just now?

I’m going to start my own members-only academy. The membership will be middle-aged, mid-manager asses broken over years of not reaching their once promising potential [MAMMA BOY]. Membership dues to be borne solely by corporate employers and sponsors, with an occasional government grant thrown in. Annual meetings at the Atlantis Hotel & Casino in the Bahamas. The highlight of the annual conference, of course, will be the presentation of the prestigious “Dickie” awards. We’ll have cart-loads of booze everywhere and syndicate a reality show featuring all access coverage and plenty of tomcatting and buffoonery on the Spike Network. I figure if the American – scratch that; the world-wide public - is silly enough to fall for the “Super Bowl for Women” -harder and harder every year - it seems the sky is the limit for the next wacky idea. Time for me to get mine.

At least that’s this guy’s opinion.

Follow me on Twitter @RayHartjen

Taken Aback with Shopaholics

2009-02-22T16:11:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago, some family friends went to the movies and saw Taken, starring a post Obi-Wan Liam Neeson. As they are parents of a thirteen year old daughter, they recommended the movie to us and told us it was a flick to definitely share with our own thirteen year old daughter – teach her about the evil of men preying on the naivety of young women and making a fortune selling them into the sex industry. You know, how young girls are to never talk to strangers or share taxi cabs. Well, we thought it was a bit heavy for our daughter at this time, but my wife and I went to it. It’s a good, action-packed movie. I liked it. I do worry that it will become too popular and too well viewed – it’s really going to hamper my pickup lines at airport taxi stands.

But, I digress. You see, as we went to Taken, my daughter and her friends took in Confessions of a Shopaholic, and that’s where this guy has a problem. No, not with the movie – I’m sure it’s a fun way to spend two hours without providing any social benefit at all. My beef is with “shopaholism” and calls for it to be formalized as a disease or disorder. Please.

Okay, fairness in full disclosure – I’m not a doctor. However, I do feel qualified to offer a medical opinion based on these three facts: 1) my sister is an M.D. and my father is a Ph.D., 2) my handwriting is absolutely atrocious, and 3) thanks to my DVR and numerous USA network marathons, I’ve viewed virtually every House episode. C’mon, you and I both know that makes me qualified to be a department head at any HMO in the United States. As such, my medical qualifications are airtight.

If only the case for compulsive shopping as a disease could be.

Currently, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, known by my fellow medical practitioners and researchers as simply the DSM, or the “bible of psychological disorders,” does not recognize compulsive shopping as a disease. Ah, but there’s a subset of maverick physicians and therapists who are campaigning for inclusion. The leaders of this merry band are the doctors of the German psychiatric community, who argue compulsive shopping is a subset of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

The first argument against Compulsive Shopping being a disease or disorder is its peculiar adherence to geography. It’s certainly not uncommon for diseases to be more prevalent in one geographic region over another – valley fever (Coccidioidomycosis), for example, is endemic to the American southwest and northwestern Mexico. But, for this professional medicine man, I find it odd that Compulsive Shopping seems so centered on the United States and Western Europe. What, no sub-Saharan Africa? It’s odd that Compulsive Shopping is absent from countries with a GDP smaller than the amount of money Bill Clinton spends annually on 1-900 calls.

Secondly, we’ll assume Compulsive Shopping isn’t caused by some strange toxin that has been recently introduced to our environment, although that would make a pretty cool storyline for a movie, and would maybe explain those plastic clogs, Crocs. With no toxin responsible for the sudden onset of Compulsive Shopping, we’re free to assume the “disease” we have today was around in – oh, I don’t know – let’s say 1840. So, how would Compulsive Shopping present at the little house on the prairie? I can’t see it happening. What, an undeniable urge to barter baby pigs for buffalo hide? A walk in barn closet housing a collection of designer dungarees – one for every day of the month? Endless labor under the hot sun so as to further the collection of Manolo boots? Nope, not buying it.

Not buying it. That’s funny, don’t you think?

No, my extensive medical research has proved that Compulsive Shopping is not a disease. Now, it could very well be a symptom – perhaps one for depression or OCD or whatever – and maybe I’ll explore that when my beer expenses don’t take so much out of my research budget. Compulsive Shopping is, for the vast majority of “sufferers,” a behavioral problem brought on by the easy availability of credit. People want, people can, and therefore, people do. Then, they feel bad about it. They want to feel better, and nothing alleviates discomfort more than a good, liberal application of “it’s not my fault.”

So, if you spent all your money on useless crap, Compulsive Shopping is not the disease you suffer from. Rather, it’s most likely a symptom of advanced Acquired Intelligence Deficiency Syndrome, the most prevalent planetary disease with the acronym AIDS. The treatment is simple – stop buying shit. It goes back to the advice a friend’s father once gave him – if, when in an argument, you find your position is digging yourself a bigger and bigger hole, the first thing you need to do is PUT DOWN THE SHOVEL. Cut up your credit cards, pay with cash, avoid the mall, and get off ebay.

And the guilt over destroying your family’s credit and spending your kid’s college fund? Forget about it! As the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, your kid wasn’t likely going to college anyway.

At least that’s this guy’s opinion.

Tweet me @RayHartjen

Michael Phelps and His Life Aquatic

2009-02-21T21:24:00.001-08:00

“News” out of Richland County, South Carolina says that Sheriff Leon Lott won’t file marijuana charges against Michael Phelps due to a lack of evidence. It hard to believe the amount of “legs” this news story has had. It’s even harder to believe that a Japanese auto manufacturer (Mazda) had this American swimmer (Phelps) issue an apology to the Chinese. Dude! This is America. We simply don’t apologize for our drug or petroleum usage – it is what it is.

What’s the big uproar about the photos of Michael Phelps allegedly (allegedly – that makes me smile) smoking pot? He’s young and rich, but has never once been confused with one of the sharper tools in the shed. He gets a DUI after 6 gold medals in Athens. Four years later, the pot smoking pictures – alleged pot smoking pictures I mean! - come after 8 gold medals in Beijing. Following this stream of progression, I guess he’s looking at 10 gold medals in London, followed quickly by a tappin’-the-vein-heroin habit. I’m telling you now, don’t be surprised when, in four years, you see him grow his hair long, learn to play guitar, wear leather chaps and a torn up T-shirt, and become a full-on rock star. Or, maybe like River Phoenix’s brother, a rap “star.” Don’t get me wrong – that’s all cool; to each his own. More pressing issues abound – primarily, the question of “Why is swimming a sport?”

Okay, now settle down. Let’s hear this out logically and rationally.

No argument here, swimming is definitely an athletic endeavor. Have you ever tried swimming as a workout – damn! But, in its present sporting form, it’s completely ridiculous. A swim race makes perfect sense. First one to the end of the distance – be it 50 meters, 100 meters, 800 meters, whatever – wins. It’s simple. But, why the four different strokes at a swim meet? The freestyle is clearly the fastest stroke – over 200 meters, the men’s breast stroke world record holder (Kosuke Kitajima of Japan) is over 24 seconds behind the men’s freestyle world record holder (one Michael Phelps). In the four lengths of a pool that make up a 200 meter race, that’s over one length slower. Phelps could be out of the pool, dried off with his itsy, bitsy chamois, and headed for the opium den by the time Kitajima touches up. Why insist on spreading out the swim meet with three other strokes?

To test the how-absurdly-is-it-to-have-four-strokes theory, let’s examine how this would play out in another Summer Olympic sport, track and field. We’ll take the running events – all of them, from 100 meters to the marathon. Clearly, the fastest way to run is forwards, in a straight line. But, borrowing from our shaved bodied and head cap wearing aqua-friends, what about the other strokes, er, I mean strides? We could add the backwards run. Maybe the sideways run? Oh, and of course, my personal favorite, the skip. Can you imagine the “Bird’s Nest” in Beijing, packed to the rafters, eagerly awaiting the stud Jamaicans getting in the blocks for the Friday night marquee event, the 100 meter skip? Of course you can’t – it’s a stupid idea. And, so are the slowest three swimming strokes.

And, then there’s the swim suits. We’ve all seen the high-tech suits that cut water drag to next to nothing. Now, the typical suit for the freestyle is a full-bodied suit, covering the torso. Fair enough. But, for the slower, and as argued, completely unnecessary, strokes, the fashion statement du jour is the “jammer” or “legskin” suit - essentially a pair of long shorts. After careful observation, here’s how the men fit their jammers. First, find the bottom of your pelvic bone with your thumb. Then, go one to two inches lower. There! A micron above your willy. There’s where the jammers should come on your “waist.” Of course, proper etiquette requires close attention to shaving, lest you give all the television viewers a bird’s nest surprise.

Jammers. The final argument against the three slowest strokes in swimming. They’re silly, and with the Phelps pot smoking – alleged pot smoking! – story as proof, we have enough silly things in the world already.

At least that’s this guy’s opinion.

The Vagaries of English (and the English)

2009-02-15T22:40:00.000-08:00

I remember sitting across from colleague and Facebook friend Scott Clarke at lunch a couple of years ago. His consulting gig was winding down, and our two teams went out to grab a nice lunch, reminisce over some hard-fought victories, and lick the wounds suffered in other, less glorious defeats. With another Brit at the table, somehow the conversation got turned to the renowned, er, “gourmet” culinary delicacies of England – bangers and mash, spotted dick, blood pudding, etc. From those highlights, we then detoured into the dark space of various internal organs, to which I expressed my eternal loathing. Scott looked at me with a grin, an eyebrow askew, and said, “Don’t care for the sweetbreads, huh?”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, now! “Sweetbreads?” WTF? No, I don’t care for the sweetbreads, but to each his own. What I really object to is its name.

What genius came up with the idea of referring to the thymus glands of veal, lamb, and pork as sweetbreads? Look, I’m no scientist here, but this I know – there’s nothing neither sweet nor bread-like about sweetbreads. Where I grew up, sweetbreads were something like banana bread or pumpkin bread. You know, loaf-like things that had enough sugar in them to be somewhat sweet. Getting sweeter, a Danish could be a sweetbread, along with perhaps the ultimate sweetbread, the common donut. Heck, taken from a source none other than that great philanthropic humanitarian, philosopher, and all around Palace hottie, Marie Antoinette, cake is a sweetbread. Who’s going to argue with Marie Antoinette? The mere fact the champagne glass was modeled after her bosom makes her opinion irreproachable. [On an aside, I’m hoping that bit of folklore refers to the champagne coupe glass, not champagne flute glass. Of course, after four kids … nah, couldn’t be – no way she was a breast feeder(er?). She was Queen, for crying out loud!]

Whatever. Back on point, it would really help this father of two squeamish kids (and, truth be told, me too) if we just named our foods what they really were. Of course, if it’s a foreign language, I’ll expect a word I don’t understand – after all, those foreign languages seem to have a different word for everything. It’s the English we’ve got to get a hold on. Pig’s feet are pig’s feet, damn it – no sense putting the figurative lipstick on the pig. It’s just so much easier that way, and will go a long way to preventing the disasters waiting to happen with such tasty sounding, yet not exactly descriptive, dishes like lamb fries, Rocky Mountain oysters, and prairie oysters.

At least that’s this guy’s opinion.