HinesSight

Allison is one hot Tango girl

Oh, yeah. After watching last Wednesday’s “So You Think You Can Dance” episode on Fox, I agree with the high decibel assessment of judge Mary Murphy: You are one hot tamale, girl! You are hot!

She was speaking about Allison, a lyrical dancer who steamed up the floor with her partner Ivan, a hip-hopper. It blows me away that they were able to nail the Tango choreography after just a few days of instruction.

My wife, Laurel, and I have been taking Tango lessons for six months. I spotted only a few Allison and Ivan moves that we could duplicate. Which wouldn’t include this one.

Or this one, a highly sensual number in which Allison’s high heeled foot slowly teased its way up Ivan’s leg to his shoulder and down again. Hot tamale!

Tango is an amazing dance. To me the waltz is romantic but not sexy. Hip hop is sexy but not romantic. Tango has it all. Especially when highly skilled dancers like Allison and Ivan do their thing.

But not only then.

Browsing through the “tango” selections of YouTube, I came across this video of a couple doing a simple, sensuous Tango walk. In front of some elevators, no less. It shows how Tango still can be muy romantic and sexy without the high octane moves Allison and Ivan showed off.

Here are some more photos of their A+ performance. I’ve watched every episode of So You Think You Can Dance over its two seasons. I’ve seen many Wow! moments, but Allison and Ivan’s 100 seconds on the dance floor topped them all.

Burn the American flag. Why not?

Thank god. Yesterday the Senate rejected a proposed constitutional amendment to ban desecration of the American flag. This has to be one of the stupidest ideas Congress has come up with recently. And that’s saying something.

What tempers my enthusiasm for this rare display of congressional common sense is that the amendment failed by only one vote. Sixty-six Senators voted for it, thirty-four voted against it. That’s a disturbing indication of how symbolism is trumping substance in the political arena.

If you’re married, take a look at the ring on your left hand. Do you love your wedding ring? Would you give up your life to keep it intact? If someone tried to destroy it, is it worth fighting tooth and nail for?

Most of us would answer “no” to all three questions. As we should. A wedding ring is a symbol of the love and commitment we have for our spouse. That’s all it is: a stand-in for the real meaning that our marriage has for us.

Similarly, the American flag is a symbol that means something to many people. To others, like me, it means little or nothing. I have no problem with someone burning the American flag. Burn away. Be my guest.

This country means a lot to me. The United States is substantial. I live and breathe on its soil. However, I don’t have any attachment to a colored piece of cloth with stars and stripes. Yesterday I threw away some old shirts with no compunction. I’d trash the American flag just as easily.

When the ability to distinguish what is really important from what isn’t is lost, we’re in trouble. This is the main point of Major General Robert Scales’ (Ret.) essay in TIME this week. He advises, “Forget flag burning.”

Some in Congress appear to be taking a sabbatical from the long war on terrorism to introduce a constitutional amendment banning the burning of the flag. The debate over such an amendment may or may not be worth having, but one thing is clear: at a time when the country is at war, now is not the time for such tertiary considerations.

I agree. But would go further. There never is a good time for tertiary considerations such as the proposed amendment. Symbols should never become a substitute for the real thing. Those ridiculous yellow “support the troops” magnets that adorn so many American automobiles only benefit the Chinese factories that make them.

I support the anti-magnet manifesto:

We believe that there is strong possibility that the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan might be a little far away or maybe even a little too busy to be checking out the pseudopatriotic magnet on the back of a 1986 Geo Metro as it drives down I-95 or sits in an Olive Garden parking lot.

We don't hate America, we hate that people think slapping a stupid magnet on the back of their car has meaning. Mostly everyone in this country supports the troops and hopes they will return safely. Maybe you should be telling them directly in person, on the phone or in a letter and not driving around with a big magnetic banner you probably got at Wal-Mart that simply attempts to prove to everybody but the troops that you support the troops more than everybody else.

Ditto for American flag pins, which are equally obnoxious displays of meaningless pseudo-patriotism.

This evening I was listening to conservative talk radio and heard a caller say, “If you believe that the American flag is just a symbol, then you should throw away your wedding ring.”

Well, when my daughter was five she threw it away for me. I handed it over to her when she said, “I’m going to wrap some presents for you and Mommy. Take off your ring and I’ll give it back to you.” Bad idea. It disappeared into her room and never appeared again.

Our marriage survived. For another thirteen years, at least. So, yes, I do believe the flag is just a symbol, and I’ve got no problem with people throwing away symbolic wedding rings. Patriotism doesn’t have anything to do with a flag, and love doesn’t have anything to do with a ring.

David Morris equates flag worship with blasphemy. He’s got a point. When people talk about “desecrating” a piece of cloth, it’s pretty clear that the worship of graven images is alive and well in supposedly Christian America.

Belly dancing on a hot day

Beautiful girl with a sword: a great combination. God, I love to watch belly dancing. Even on a hot day. Here are some other photos taken yesterday during the Americanistan peformance at the Salem World Beat Festival.

I went back to the Festival around noon on Sunday, hoping that I’d find it more upbeat than the desultory late Saturday afternoon vibe. It was. A few degrees of coolness seemed to make a lot of difference to both attendees and performers.

These Samoan dancers were wonderfully colorful and enthusiastic. Audience members had just gone out and thrown dollar bills around, which accounted for a lot of the enthusiasm (and prone positions).

The Falun Dafa folks even had a visitor to their booth. On Saturday it was completely deserted when I walked by.

Body suits and black masks on a 90 degree day. These fencers earned my admiration as I watched them in shorts and a t-shirt, and still felt like I was roasting.

Only one thing left to say: Go Beavers!

I haven’t been much of a baseball fan since my 1960’s San Francisco Giants obsession. This year’s Oregon State team has rekindled my enthusiasm for the game, however. Game 2 of the College World Series was a gem. Hopefully the Beavers will sparkle as brightly today.

Salem World Beat Festival ’06: hot!

This blog reporter can sum up the first day of the 2006 Salem World Beat Festival in one word: hot! I’ll add some additional verbiage, but will let my photos do most of the talking.

Longest line was at this booth. Not surprising.

By contrast, this booth was deserted. Truthfulness, benevolence, and forebearance isn’t a big draw compared to shave ice.

The spinning bunny is at the festival every year. I like his (or her) mellow attitude.

Sadly for the main stage performers, Oregonians weenie out when it hits the mid 90s. Colores del Alma played some nice World Beat music and deserved a bigger audience.

The amphitheatre “crowd” reminded me of cows huddled under the only bit of shade in the pasture. Laurel and me were part of the herd.

We got to see some hair that usually isn’t par for the Salem scene. Nice.

Even nicer: some spontaneous belly dancing. Damn that hat.

I call this shot “Dancing in the shade.” Maybe Bruce will pick up on the title and write a song about it.

The Willamette River looked cool and inviting—an underappreciated side of Salem.

Oregonians know how to make use of their umbrellas on a cloudless hot summer day.

Leaving the festival, we were forced to engure a view of the butt-ugly Boise Cascade building that provides such an architecturally disastrous transition between downtown Salem and the riverfront. When the military gets back from Iraq, I’ve got an idea for how to dispose of several 500 pound bombs.

Democrats underwhelm me again

Like I’ve said before, “Politics, my dear, the thrill is gone.” The Democratic and Republican parties are equally skilled at squashing my enthusiasm. I’m much more left-leaning than right. But when the Dems don’t take a stand, how can I line up with them?

Today’s vote in the Senate on Democratic proposals for withdrawal from Iraq was a farce. Per usual. Even with Bush’s approval ratings so low, it’s becoming more and more evident that once again the Dems will find a way to snatch defeat from victory in November.

The conventional wisdom is that the Democratic Party is indecisive and weak, a la Kerry’s “I voted for it before I voted against it.” So what happens? Not one but two alternatives to Bush’s failed Iraq war policy are put up for a vote in the Senate.

Both fail, naturally. The Kerry proposal to withdraw all combat troops by July 1, 2007 gets just 13 Democratic votes. A nonbinding resolution calling on the administration to begin withdrawing troops with no timetable fared better, losing 60-39.

Still, six Democrats voted against the wishy-washy Democratic initiative. Including Joe Lieberman.

The Dems have a knack for losing political battles without even having established a firm frontline. It’s one thing to take a stand and be knocked over. But when you’re wobbling back and forth it’s difficult to tell when you’re up and when you’re down.

Wow. Bush should start bringing troops home sometime. If he feels like it. Just a suggestion. Even that flaccid notion was too strong for six Senate Democrats.

I’m so underwhelmed.

Spring on the Metolius

Yes, it’s one day away from being summer. But spring is in full bloom on the Metolius River in central Oregon, since warm weather arrives later in these parts. Here are some photos I took on a late afternoon walk along the Metolius’ upper stretches today.

For some reason I never get bored walking the dog while we’re in Camp Sherman.

Here’s a natural bridge over untroubled waters.

The wild roses look just like those at our Salem home, though in bloom much later.

Lounging on the Metolius, TV not needed.

Abstract wood sculpture. Artist: Nature.

Water pump and the only camper in the Riverside (walk-in) campground.

Wild flower.

Changing locale seven miles or so, and the day to yesterday, here’s me, Laurel, and our fellow Black Butte Ranch stables trail rider at Glaze Meadow with the Three Sisters watching over us. Laurel is a better rider than I am, but somehow my horse ended up in a better pose.

I’ve forgotten the other woman’s name. I remember she’s from Oakland, because that’s emblazoned on her t-shirt. She and I brought up the rear of our four horse posse (including the trail guide).

We had a great philosophical/metaphysical discussion for a good part of the two hour ride. This is the first time someone quoted Epictetus to me while on a horse. Well, also while not on a horse.

A fabulous Father’s Day present

It was worth being woken up from my Sunday nap to get a terrific Father’s Day present: a phone call from my daughter, Celeste. Our connection was all the way from urban hip Hollywood, California to rural laidback Camp Sherman, Oregon.

Today I felt that I’d earned a nap after rousing myself enough to take my bike into Sisters and get a flat tire fixed. After talking with Celeste I felt like I needed another nap. Listening to her passionate 34-year old plans for the future with my lethargic 57-year old psyche was a vicarious energy drain.

And also, hugely satisfying. Yeah, it’s a cliché, but I kept thinking, “The torch is passed.” The flame of my own life is burning less brightly now. Outwardly, at least. I’ve lost much of my youthful desire to change the world and make a name for myself. Celeste hasn’t. I couldn’t be prouder of her.

Not just because of what she’s doing: planning to start three entrepreneurial enterprises while still working as a highly successful manager with Oliver Peoples designer eyewear. My daughter told me that she intends to be a millionaire by next year. I’m confident that she will be.

Celeste already is priceless to me, though, for who she is. I love her creativity, her enthusiasm, her competitive drive, her sense of humor, her intelligence, her good looks. (Here she is in 2005 looking L.A. shopping stylish at the Prada store on Rodeo Drive.)

Gosh, she reminds me of a younger me, as unhumble as that may sound. Which is a large part of the joy of fatherhood. I’d like to live much longer than my allotted life span. Through Celeste, I will.

And if she ever has the child that I shamelessly urge her to bear so that the one and only child of her one and only father will not have to leave this earth grandchildless, then I’ll live on even longer. If the wheel of life continues to revolve through her progeny, forever.

Hanging up the phone a few hours ago, I was filled with emotions. One of which was relief. For over thirty years I’ve been burdened with a semi-subliminal worry about that baby-shaking episode (see reason #4). It’s gone now.

My daughter has survived all the mistakes her father and mother made raising her. Not only survived, thrived. What a great Father’s Day gift you are, Celeste. Thank you. There are no more words.

Panexa. Ask your doctor for a reason to take it.

I’ve got to get me a prescription for Panexa. It should only be taken by patients experiencing one of the following disorders: metabolism, binocular vision, digestion (solid and liquid), circulation, menstruation, cognition, osculation, extremes of emotion.

I qualify! And I’m not going to worry about the small percentage of squirrels who take Panexa and suffer from Excessively Floppy Tail Syndrome (EFTS). On the human front, the Panexa web site reassures me about the drug’s side effects:

Most patients (2%) tolerate treatment with PANEXA well, especially when compared with prisoners of war of comparable size and weight. However, like all drugs, PANEXA can produce some notable side effects, all of which are probably really, really terrific and nothing that anyone should be concerned about, let alone notify any medical regulatory commission about.

Most side effects of PANEXA, or their sufferers, are usually short-lived, and are rarely so fatal that the remains can no longer be identified, provided good dental records are available.

But seriously…this spot-on parody should remind us of how seriously, horribly, amazingly, disgustedly screwed-up the U.S. health care system is. Over-priced and over-dangerous pharmaceuticals are just a small part of the larger problem.

Which is, Americans pay much more for medical care than other industrialized countries, yet we’re less healthy. Over on R Blog my friend Randy points out that recent studies have found that people in Canada and England are healthier than us. They’re also satisfied with their health care systems, notwithstanding all the talk in this country about long waits to get treatment and rationing.

Medical tourism is a new symptom of how sick U.S. health care is. As TIME magazine reports in “Outsourcing Your Heart,” lots of patients are going to Thailand, India, Mexico and other countries for treatment. A heart bypass in the U.S. that costs an insurer at least $55,000 (the “retail” cost is $122,000) can be had for $12,000 in Thailand. And there’s little or no evidence that the quality of care is any less overseas.

But the Bush administration believes that everything is fine. It’s touting medical savings accounts. These are a handy way for people to put money away to pay for health care that is far too expensive and demonstrably ineffective in promoting health.

However, the U.S. health care system does do one thing well: funneling massive amounts of cash to politicians so they’ll keep the highly profitable system just as it is. Failing the public and enriching corporations.

Microsoft is my inscrutable Zen master

In a desperate attempt to make lemonade out of the Windows lemon, I’ve decided to look upon Microsoft as my Zen master.

Perhaps I will be able to attain satori through my frustrating struggle with the baffling enigmas of Windows XP in much the same fashion as Hui-K’O cut off his left hand in his search for the Way. That is, the psychological maiming that my Microsoft Zen master makes me endure may be the prelude to recognizing the futility of human logic in seeking the ultimate.

Which for me, in computer terms, would be to have an operating system that actually operates. Reliably, safely, simply. My seeking for such, however, is a manifestation of clinging. So Microsoft regularly shakes up my ego-centered desire for stability and sensibleness.

Consider the Windows Update Zen teaching that I was given last night. Having heard that a slew of patches to fix critical security flaws in Windows and Office had been released, I fired up my wife’s computer to carry out an update for her.

Laurel’s laptop runs Windows XP with Service Pack 1 (SP1). When SP2 was released I tried to install it on her computer. Two times I came face to face with the blue screen of death. After each near death experience I was able to get things going again by restoring a full backup from an external USB drive.

Not surprisingly, that soured me on SP2. So I’ve been dutifully ignoring the Windows Update pleas to install SP2, choosing only the critical security updates for SP1. After the new updates were installed yesterday, a new message popped up in the system tray: after October 10, 2006, Windows Update won’t support SP1.

Ah! How marvelous is the inscrutability of my Microsoft Zen master. Staring at the message I was reminded of Tokusan’s famous declaration: “Thirty blows of my stick if you have something to say; thirty blows just the same if you have nothing to say.”

In other words, “you’re screwed either way.” For the Way lies beyond logic. Microsoft is trying to lead me beyond the narrow confines of the rational mind.

I guess.

How else can I fathom the Windows XP koan I’ve been given? If you upgrade to SP2, the computer will stop working. Stick with SP1 and soon you will be unable to get new security updates. Eventually a cyber-attack will succeed, and the computer will stop working.

Tigers above me. Tigers below me. Mice gnawing on the vine that holds me. How sweet is the strawberry within my reach! Microsoft, thank you for enabling me to experience a Windows XP Zen story.

This is, of course, only one example of the many marvelous Zen lessons that Microsoft teaches me. Recently on my new ThinkPad laptop I have been encountering the wonderful utterance, “spooler subsystem app has encountered a problem and needs to close.”

Every time I read these words I am struck by the mystical genius of Windows. Words cannot point directly at the truth. They can only gesture in its direction. We must discover the Way ourselves, not through another.

Sure, Microsoft could have directly told me, “for some reason none of your printer drivers can be found; check your USB connections or restart the computer.” But how would I grow through such a common sense explanation?

Does a dog have Buddha nature? What is the sound of one hand clapping? All things return to the One; what does the One return to? What is a spooler subsystem app and why does it need to close?

Through such koans, may all sentient beings attain enlightenment. Except Macintosh users.

Presidents of Iran and U.S. both believe in apocalypse

Oh, great. We’re screwed. The president of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, is aiming for apocalypse. And there’s good reason to believe that George Bush has an Armageddon obsession.

This confluence of insane Islamic and Christian fundamentalism is going to make for some interesting foreign policy, and, if the crazies are to be believed, even more interesting theological battles.

For a recent U.S. News & World Report article says that Ahmadinejad’s “Twelver Shiism” anticipates a Last Days that is quite different from the Christian version:

This tradition holds that there were 12 legitimate successors (imams) to the prophet Muhammad, the last of whom did not die but went into hiding in the 10th century. The 12th Imam, who is also called the Mahdi, shall return in the Last Days to reign over a just world in which Islam is universally embraced.

Well, I hope the Mahdi and Jesus Christ get together and schedule their second comings so they don’t conflict too much. I’m thinking that maybe the Mahdi and Islam could rule the world for a good long while, then Jesus could come and depose the anti-Christ.

It’d be like a professional wrestling match, where both guys know who is going to play the role of hero and villain. When Jesus shows up, he throws the Mahdi out of the ring. Then a few millennia later, they can change roles. Sounds fair to me.

And also, it sounds crazy. Not only the idea of simultaneous Islamic and Christian second comings, but the whole notion of an apocalypse or Armageddon. Fundamentalists who hold weird beliefs like this should be banned from leading a nation. It’s just too dangerous for the rest of us who want to live in touch with reality, not fantasy.

For the U.S. News & World Report article says that some Islamic Twelvers believe that “the Mahdi will come back only after chaos has erupted and the apocalypse has begun, intervening just in time to save righteous believers from total destruction.” Just the sort of belief you don’t want the president of a nuclear weapon-seeking nation to hold.

Similarly, many Christians believe that Jesus will return to collect the faithful via the rapture before a tribulation period. Thus the more misery here on Earth, the better, if you’re part of the fundamentalist rapture-ready. There’s a helpful Rapture Index that keeps track of nasty events like earthquakes, famine, global turmoil, and the like.

When things get really bad, that’s good in the twisted world view of a disturbingly large percentage of Christian fundamentalists.

I hope George Bush isn’t among them. But plenty of evidence suggests otherwise. As Bill Moyers points out:

One of the biggest changes in politics in my lifetime is that the delusional is no longer marginal. It has come in from the fringe, to sit in the seat of power in the Oval Office and in Congress… So what does this mean for public policy and the environment? As Glenn Scherer reports in the online environmental journal Grist, millions of Christian fundamentalists believe that environmental destruction is not only to be disregarded but hastened as a sign of the coming apocalypse.

Ditto for conflict in the Middle East. The Rapture Ready web site practically drools over the delicious Iraq War. I’m sure they’ll be even more ecstatic if Bush attacks Iran.

Scary and hilarious at the same time is this clip, “George Bush on the Apocalypse,” from The Daily Show. The president of the United States is asked, “Do you believe this? That the war in Iraq and the rise of terrorism are signs of the apocalypse? And if not, why not?”

If you voted for Bush, watch his response and then honestly tell me that you made the right decision. I dare you.

Oregon Cougar Plan starts needless killing

The Oregon Fish and Wildlife Commission is hard at work spending taxpayer money on a nonexistent problem. Contract employees using hounds will be used to kill 66 cougars in three areas.

These 66 cougars aren’t problem cougars. They’re just plain cougars. They haven’t been caught killing livestock or otherwise causing a nuisance to humans.

In its idiocy, the Fish and Wildlife Commission came up with a cougar management plan that doesn’t seek to control problem cougars, but rather kills the animals en masse in areas where cougar complaints and purported cougar predation exceed 1994 levels.

Gosh, what a great concept. Let’s apply it to traffic in Salem, where I live. I often complain that there are a lot more cars on the road now compared to when I moved here in 1977. So let’s thin the herd of automobiles so I can drive around as freely as I used to.

I recommend starting with any car that either has an out-of-state plate or a “Bush-Cheney” bumper sticker. They may not be causing any problem when the tow truck comes to take them away, but I feel like they might. And besides, I’ve got a right to keep Salem traffic jams at 1977 levels.

Another obvious problem with the cougar plan is that many reported sightings of “cougars” are mistaken. But if you call in a sighting to the Fish and Wildlife Commission, it counts as a complaint. Even if the animal was really a kitty cat. I wouldn’t be surprised if some ranchers already have the complaint number on their speed dial and are phoning in phony sightings while they watch Fox News.

Cougar phobic Oregonians in the red counties, don’t you feel a bit funny calling on big government to save you from a problem? Especially when the solution you’re getting isn’t much of a solution. And the problem isn’t much of a problem.

If you’re losing livestock regularly to a problem cougar, that’s a problem. However, killing cougars indiscriminately likely isn’t going to help much. Men commit most of the crimes in this country. But if government starts randomly killing men the crime rate won’t go down much.

You see, it’s certain types of men who commit crimes. Most men are law abiding, just as most cougars don’t kill livestock, and most pit bulls don’t bite people. Profiling entire groups that are considered dangerous just to deal with a few problem individuals doesn’t work.

Malcolm Gladwell talks about this in his The New Yorker article, “Troublemakers: what pit bulls can teach us about profiling.” The Oregon Fish and Wildlife Commission must not have read it. Or if they did, ignored it.

Gladwell points out that, as a breed, pit bulls aren’t a problem. Particular pit bulls do become problems, however, just as particular German Shepherds, Dobermans, and dogs of any other breed do. He says that it possible to figure out what combination of dog, owner, and environmental (like being chained up) factors leads to a dog attack.

“But,” Gladwell says, “it’s always easier just to ban the breed.” Or, the species.

I think it’s time for a voter initiative that would ban the indiscriminate hunting of cougars with hounds by government bounty hunters. Oregonians have already made their wishes clear (see “Oregon cougar plan a slap in the face to voters”). Unnecessary cougar thinning wasn’t one of those wishes.

As several commenters to a Salem Statesman-Journal story about the cougar killing plan observed, it’s crazy that the government is now paying contract employees to kill cougars in a manner that was banned by the voters in 1994. What is it about “don’t use hounds to hunt cougars” that the Fish and Wildlife Commission doesn’t understand?

For another perspective on this issue, check out Loaded Orygun’s “Is ‘Cougar Madness’ Leading to Unnecessary Kills?”

Short answer: yes.

Fred Meyer’s “Family Friendly” check out lane

Yesterday I noticed that the south Salem Fred Meyer store had added a Family Friendly check out lane. Since I was by myself, and one does not make a family, I passed it by. I’m a stickler for check out rules. Always count the items in my cart before I turn into “Ten Items or Less.”

I asked my cashier if what made the Family Friendly lane so FF was the absence of tabloids and magazines like the “National Enquirer” and “Cosmopolitan.” “Yes,” she said. She assured me that I could use the lane even if I didn’t have a couple of toddlers in tow.

“Good to know,” I told her. “But I’ll be sticking with the Un-Family Friendly lanes. I really enjoy thumbing through the tabloids.” Where else am I going to find out that Angelina flies into a rage over Brad’s secret calls to Jen?

Personally, I think kids should be exposed to this sort of stuff. It’s part of life, just like Cosmo’s “Seven Hot Bedroom Games to Play Tonight.” (Darn, the scavenger hunt is going to have to wait; we’re out of chocolate syrup!)

This country is starting to go insane. Check that: more insane.

Too many people get all aflutter about what doesn’t matter much and ignore what does. Children aren’t going to have their precious little psyches thrown for a loop by seeing a beautiful busty woman in a low-cut dress. Or even the bust itself, a la Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction.”

Lots of parents seem to want to throw an excessively dense protective cocoon over their children. This mother is happy that the Family Friendly lane is purged of magazines, but wishes that trinkets and candy bars were absent too.

Well, I’m of the opinion that just as many doctors say that exposing babies to germs helps them fight allergies and asthma later, it’s good to expose children to a generous dose of knowledge about what exists in the adult world. Reading a few tabloid headlines about sex, divorce, adultery, drugs, and plastic surgery introduces kids to the reality that, all too soon, they will be entering.

Back in the late 1950s and early 60s, the library in the small central California town where I grew up had “adult” and “children” sections. I was the only elementary school student whose mother gave him permission to read or check out any book he wanted. If my friends wanted to know what was in “Lolita,” I was their source for literary “good parts.”

My mother didn’t believe in censorship. She thought that forbidden fruit is envisioned as being sweeter than it really is. She was right. Efforts to keep children from seeing a naked body or hear a swear word won’t make them into Puritans. The opposite is more likely, Libertines.

I agree with this woman's “Family Friendly or Freakin’ Futile” post. She deplores how over-coddled American children have become.

Why is a magazine which treats sex as something healthy and enjoyable so frightening? Kids can play violent video games, and listen to music with lyrics exhorting sex and violence, but Cosmo is apparently the work of the devil.

So my contribution to ending the coddling of today's children is that I'm going to start wearing a giant badge that reads:
I have sex
Ask me how!

I'll be a one-woman sex education machine. And don't forget to take a pamphlet about the hot monkey lovin'.

Right on, sister. If I see you with your button in Fred Meyer I’ll be sure to stop you and get some learnin’. I liked what you said in your blog post about how violence is accepted in this country but sex rings all the alarm bells of the “family values” folks. They forget that without sex, they wouldn’t be alive to have their bells rung.

Europe is a lot more enlightened. While the U.S. Congress passes legislation that will multiply broadcaster indecency fines by ten times, nudity is commonplace on European television.

And while the south Salem Fred Meyer store bans the display of racy women’s magazines from its Family Friendly check out lane, in Paris an ad for a fashion magazine featuring a beautiful bare breasted model graces a busy street.

Ah, America: the land of the repressed and the home of the uptight.

Lenovo’s unfair ThinkPad rebate game

[June 15 update: I just heard from Denise, the Lenovo customer service representative who has been considering my complaint. She agreed to send me $200, the amount of the rebate that I would have gotten if I'd bought my Z60m ThinkPad in June rather than May.

That's great. I still believe I'm entitled to $250 but justice has been mostly served. Thank you, Lenovo. I still like the computer a lot. The IBM/Lenovo software and security package is excellent. Driver and other updates happen with a click of a button, and the built-in backup system is transparent and easy to use.]

Get heavy on the tricks and lighten the treats. That’s how the rebate game is played. As “The Great Rebate Scam” says, companies do their best to keep you from successfully completing a rebate form.

I’m used to playing computer Rebate Scavenger Hunt. Scurry around the house looking for the bar code on the packaging, the original sales receipt, and proof that you owned an earlier version of the product.

Then, at midnight under a full moon, prick your index finger. Let three drops of blood fall on the rebate request. Make a perfectly legible red thumbprint on the rebate form while hopping on one foot and chanting, “I really want this rebate, I really do.”

Mail everything off. Your check might come in three months. If the clarity of the thumbprint meets with a peon’s approval.

I exaggerate. Barely. Consider my experience today with Lenovo, the current purveyors of “IBM” ThinkPad computers. I ordered a ThinkPad last month. It wasn’t difficult to convince myself that I needed a new laptop. Hey, my Emachines was two years old, close to 100 in computer years.

And it was orphaned. Emachines doesn’t sell laptops anymore. I wanted to jump into the embrace of a solid, reliable, businesslike computer company. Someone who would stand beside me when I needed help with balky hardware or software. Being a blogger, I require constant computer uptime. My loyal regular readers, the whole handful of them, deserve no less.

So in May when I lusted after a ThinkPad, “The Ultimate Business Machine,” on Lenovo’s web site, an 11% off sale and $250 mail-in rebate were all I needed to seal the deal on a Z60m.

At least, I thought I was getting a $250 rebate. Every Z60m model featured had a mention of the rebate, from the cheapest to the most expensive. I customized the higher end model, opting for a slightly smaller hard drive and more memory. I also bought an external USB drive for backup and an extended in-home repair warranty.

The computer is sweet. But Lenovo’s rebate game, which borders on a scam, left a sour taste. “Where is the mail-in rebate form?” I asked a customer service rep this afternoon. “It didn’t come with the computer.” “You need to download it from the Lenovo web site,” I was told.

OK. No problem. Except, my Z60m model wasn’t listed on the form as qualifying for a rebate. There are eight models, and only four of them qualified. I bought a 2529R3U. A 2529RCU gets a rebate. A 2529E3U gets a rebate. But not a 2529R3U. I was one goddamn number or letter off.

It’s like Toyota advertising a $1,000 rebate on Camry’s. However, if you order leather seats and a sunroof, you’re out of luck. Didn’t you know that a car with these features doesn’t qualify for the rebate? Well, you would if you had read the rebate form before you bought the car.

Most of us don’t. We assume that a company is playing fair—within the bounds of the Rebate Game, at least. I’d taken for granted that my model was included in the rebate offer since it differed only slightly from the models prominently featured in the “$250 mail-in rebate” promotion on the Lenovo web site.

I called Lenovo customer support again. I told my tale. I expected a sympathetic response for several reasons, including…

ThinkPad laptops come in five series: Z, R, T, X tablet, and X basic. I had bought one of the Z series. A Z60m. At this level of computer detail, I figured I was rebate safe. Lenovo is to Toyota as laptops are to cars, as Think Pads are to sedans, as the Z series is to Camry’s, as the Z60m is to a hybrid Camry.

I told the Lenovo representative that it never occurred to me that of two almost identical (and costly) Z60m’s, one would get a rebate and one wouldn’t. Again, this would be like offering a rebate only for a hybrid Camry with a cloth interior. It would be misleading to prominently advertise rebates on hybrid Camry’s and not tell buyers who wanted certain specific features on their car that they wouldn’t qualify for money back.

The response: silence. Not agreement. Not disagreement. Just silence. When I said, “Well…” I heard, “Your computer isn’t on the list of models that qualify for the rebate.” “Yes,” I replied, “I know that. What I’m asking you is whether you can do anything about this, given how misleading your advertising was.”

More silence. I was face to face with the robotization of modern corporations. I’m sure that the person I was talking to had no authority to do anything but respond on the basis of a script. I was asking questions that drifted beyond the “if…then” training she’d received.

I wanted a human response. I knew that I wasn’t going to get it. I hung up. And tried the rebate center. With the same result. Silence. Now I likely was talking with someone from a hired gun firm, not Lenovo itself, so my chances of getting a non-scripted reply were even less.

If someone from the Lenovo direct sales division ever reads this, here’s a message from a first time ThinkPad buyer:

I’m sure that you put a lot of thought into your May anniversary sale promotion. You had meetings where you brainstormed about sales and profit projections given various mail-in rebate scenarios.

Eventually you decided that if you made it look like a buyer of any Z60m would get a rebate, but only include half of the models on the rebate form, you’d generate more sales while having to pay out fewer rebates.

Brilliant. You lured me in. Congratulations. You sold a $2,000 Think Pad without having to pay a $250 rebate. I didn’t attend to the fine print. You win the game.

But here’s the thing. When you treat customers in this sort of mechanical fashion, calculating what misleading marketing inputs will generate the maximum profit outputs, you’re forgetting that the person who trusted you with his VISA number isn’t a machine.

He will remember how you manipulated the Rebate Game. He will tell his friends how much he likes his new computer, and how little he likes the Lenovo sales approach. And he will write a lengthy blog post about it.

That sort of advertising you can’t buy. You have to earn it. And you have.

(Final irritating irony: Lenovo now has a $200 rebate offer on every Z series “2529” model bought in June. I bought in May. So if I’d waited for a few weeks, I would have gotten the $200 for sure. I told the Lenovo rep that I could return my computer within 30 days, buy a new one, and save $200. So why couldn’t she just give me the $200 rebate now? Predictable response: silence.)

As Oregon strawberries go, so the state

Oregon strawberries are special. Research has proven that they’re sweeter, redder, and simply better. But they’re on the decline. Just like our state. Like a canary in a coal mine, the Oregon strawberry reflects the health of our previously vaunted livability.

I’ve been doing my best to keep Oregon strawberry growers in business. Almost every day I buy a carton or two from Roth’s Sunnyslope Market in south Salem, which admirably sells quite a bit of local produce.

It isn’t hard to decide between the delicious Oregon variety and the tasteless (by comparison) California berries. The latter travel better, so most of the country has never tasted a real strawberry.

Sadly, I’ll bet that a disturbingly high proportion of Oregonians haven’t either. Every year I get depressed when I open up the newspaper and read that Oregon strawberry acreage continues to fall. From the 1970s to the 1990s, Oregon’s share of national production fell from 14 to 5 percent. The trend surely has continued.

When I moved here from California in 1971 I was blown away by the Oregon strawberry. To be able to drive a few miles from Portland, park the car next to a berry-filled field, and be able to pick (and eat) as many as I wanted for an eminently reasonable price, heaven!

Times have changed. Too many Oregonians take for granted what makes this state special. They are happy with a cardboard, plasticized Oregon, not realizing what a loss it will be to lose a sweet, tasty state. Mediocrity, like California strawberries, never is endangered.

What surprises me is how eager many Oregonians are to embrace average. Or worse—less than average. Every time I go into Roth’s I expect to find the Oregon strawberries sold out. But it seems that many or most shoppers aren’t willing to pay a bit more for a clearly superior local product.

Which sums up the current political climate. It drives me nuts to hear Gov. Kulongoski crucified for proposing that Oregon should put on hold the ridiculous “kicker” law, which requires that tax revenues exceeding projections by 2% or more be refunded to corporations and individuals.

This law, the only one of its kind in the nation, proves that being special is worlds apart from being unique. Sometimes Oregonians take a perverse and misguided pride in being different.

Kicker law. No sales tax. Prohibition on self-service gas. This state needs to realize that sometimes our quirkiness is just plain stupid.

Often, though, it is what we must preserve at all costs. Like the Oregon strawberry. And public education, land use planning, health care, environmental protections. I’m willing to pay more for a higher quality berry. So should Oregon voters, for a higher quality state.

As I’ve noted before, Oregon is not a high tax state. Yet Republican gubernatorial candidate Ron Saxton and his conservative ilk are determined to make Oregon the Mississippi of the northwest, below average and under funded.

I want to keep on eating Oregon strawberries that put berries produced by the rest of the country to shame. If this state’s citizens have any sense, in November they’ll cast their votes for politicians who similarly desire to cultivate what is tasty about our state, not what is mediocre.

Even if it costs a bit more.

I’m busted for bare feet

[Update, June 22: I'm pleased to report that I've received a bare foot pardon from the Courthouse Athletic Club. The River Road location, at least. Gary, the manager, says that it is OK to be shoeless in the corner of the weight room where I like to do my Tai Chi and Yoga thing. Thanks, Gary.

I ordered some lightweight kung fu shoes before I got the news, though, and may end up wearing them at the club. Regardless, it's nice to have the bare feet option. I appreciate the support I received via comments from the bare foot community, all two or three of you. With every shoeless step, we move together toward open air freedom.]

This is a mug shot, so to speak, of the culprits. They’re what led a Courthouse Athletic Club employee to take me aside this afternoon and say, “Bare feet on the weight room wood floor aren’t permitted. If you want to do Tai Chi on a hard surface you’ll have to go upstairs.”

Busted! Where is the justice? The constitution gives us the right to bear arms; it seems like I should be able to bare feet. I doubt that the NRA is going to take up my cause. Maybe the Society for Barefoot Living will lend me support.

What surprised me is that I’ve been Tai Chi’ing and Yoga’ing along in bare feet for at least six months in a corner of the machine weight room. This area has mats and exercise balls and obviously is designed for stretching and such.

Granted, my barefoot “and such” has been unique. But countless athletic club employees have walked by while I’ve been doing my Tai Chi and Yoga thing, smiled, and never said a word about my lack of shoes.

Methinks I was turned in today by one of those fastidious women who wipe down every machine with disinfectant before they use it. I can picture one of them going up to the front desk and complaining: “There’s a man exercising in bare feet. Do something!”

I’m a victim of cultural bias. My comrades at the Society for Barefoot Living speak the truth when they say “the USA is one of the most anti-barefoot countries.” In Japan it is highly discourteous to wear shoes in a home, inn, temple, and many other places. In India I’ve seen thousands of people checking their shoes at a spiritual gathering and walking around barefoot or in socks to their seating places on mats.

We’re strangely bare feet-phobic in this country. Seemingly someone was disturbed about my clean dry feet stepping on a wood floor which they walked across on shoes. But they entered the athletic club after grabbing a door handle with their bare hand, which other bare hands had grasped after touching who knows what.

I can tell you: I’ve never covered my nose with a foot after I’ve sneezed. Nor have I used my foot to perform any toilet functions.

I was going to let this affront against bare feet slide and meekly either use Tai Chi slippers in the weight room or go upstairs to a proffered alternative hard floor. But I’m leaning toward taking a stand. Shoeless, of course.

My wife tells me that 80% of the people in her Courthouse Athletic Club Pilates class are barefoot. On a hardwood floor. Likewise, for nine years I took karate classes at the athletic club. We all were barefooted. On a hardwood floor. During warm ups we’d do push-ups and sit-ups on the floor that bare feet had walked on.

We survived.

This article, “Why Bare Feet?”, explains why the martial arts traditionally are practiced in bare feet. One reason is cleanliness. Shoes are a lot filthier than feet. Yet many people at my athletic club enter already dressed in their workout clothes. Their shoes may have walked across a gasoline and oil-soaked parking lot, or a pesticide-strewn lawn.

Those same shoes then walk across the hardwood floor that I’m lying on, doing my Yoga routine. Yuk! Shoes suck! Bare feet are neat!

I’m always searching for a cause that will give meaning to my life, yet not take up too much time or energy. Advocating for bare feet might be my thing, and Oregon the place to do it.

In this regard, the Society for Barefoot Living conducted a state-by-state survey of Health Department rules concerning shoeless feet. The Oregon response was positive. There is no statute or administrative rule that requires shoes to be worn in restaurants. A restaurant may require this on its own, but it isn’t a Health Department edict.

Oregonians, stand up for your right to be free. All we have to lose are our shoes.

Here is our manifesto.