Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Leave the lens cap on



          Good evening, 919 Gang. Later on in this post you will read one person's nomination for words and phrases which should be eliminated. But photos can be clichés, too. As I scroll the wires, I read stories about the stock market, and they are often accompanied by photos of traders on the stock exchange floor. (Newspapers sometimes do this, too.) The photos have no significance. There are always traders on the floor -- up market or down. And if these people are so important, why aren't they named in the captions? Some editors feel every story needs a photo, even if the photo is meaningless. I suspect some of our photog members recall similar wastes of space.

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          BOB ELLEDGE writes:
          I haven't see this in and post-game write-ups yet, but ESPN pointed out that on KC's missed almost game-ending field goal, the Chargers had an extra man on the right side of the defensive line, which should have resulted in a 5-yard penalty, rekick, and the likely inclusion of the Steelers into the playoffs instead.
          However, as I still hold a grudge against the NFL for the holy roller debacle -- followed closely by Ed Hoculi in Denver a few years back -- that's just too damn bad.

          REBER: That uncalled infraction was reported in the U-T sports section Monday. There were several things about that game that told me the Chargers were just destined to win, no matter how poorly they played. But I will take the win.

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          DAVID FARMER writes:
          The company that manages our savings has decided that Hinda and I are worthy of their preferred client website. It lists special deals on Lexuses, Jaguars, cruises, elite small hotels of the world, etc. In other words, products that we buy at least once a week.
          The offer that really caught my eye was the Reserved Global Wine Club. For only $199 a month, we could taste many different premium wines (and maybe even some cheese and crackers). I don't know if this would take place in a nice restaurant, or only at our kitchen table. I'll have to find out.
          The price covers just six months of membership, but we would receive the seventh month free. I'm going to tell Hinda what a great deal this is, because the regular price for seven months is $1,393.
          On the other hand, we could buy about 150 bottles of our usual $8 wines by sticking with the Farmer Global Wine Club. (Don't bother to apply: membership is strictly limited to two aficionados.)
          I'm still wondering what made me and Hinda worthy of our elite status. Maybe our advisers have discovered that we positively turn up our noses at Two-Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's.

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          DAVID OGUL writes:
          Preston Turegano, I love you, (OK, maybe not) but that Monday item on Loren Nancarrow showed a lack of class.

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          RICK SMITH writes:
          David Farmer's reference to the athletic categories of his day were known as "exponents". The A's were reserved for the varsity. The use of exponents in high school sports in San Diego went out in the late 'sixties. Teams then fielded varsity and junior varsity squads, although there were "sophomore" teams in some leagues. And a happy, happy, 50th to you, Reber. Oh, shimminy!

          REBER: I continue to receive congratulations on our 50th anniversary. And I appreciate them all, although I suspect most people don't care to read them.

          DON SEVRENS writes:
          Congratulations to you and Mary, a half-century is quite a record.
          Jeannie and I are not far behind. We plan to celebrate our 50th in June with a destination dinner at a favorite restaurant, Sogno di Vino in Poulsbo, Wash.

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          DAVID FARMER forwards:

Words for the Dumpster
          WITH the last tick of 2013, let’s throw out the most annoying, overused and abused words of the year. A few of these terms, “twerking” or “stay classy,” die a natural death when someone like John McCain starts using them — the aural equivalent of a comb-over. Others need a push.
          Many of these words originated in the food world and would have been perfectly fine had they not migrated to the general population. Some came out of mid-management office talk. What these hapless clichés have in common is this: They have been so diluted by misuse that they’ve lost their meaning. And like bad holiday sweaters and Sarah Palin outrage, the following list is highly selective. To the Dumpster:
          ARTISAN Once the legitimate term for cheese makers with alternative grooming habits and creative body art, this word has been co-opted by all the wrong people selling all the wrong products. Toilet-cleaning chemicals. Convenience store “food” with pull dates measured in decades. This is what happens when farmers’ markets fail to sue for copyright infringement.
          BRAND A close second to artisan, used as a verb and a noun for self-promotion. It sprang from corporate marketing, and then went viral after every 9-year-old with a Facebook page or a Twitter handle began obsessing over how to shape random life events into a monetized narrative. It’s bad enough that politicians worry about their brand. But prisoners?
          GLUTEN-FREE It’s a public service to warn the less than 1 percent of the population who suffer from celiac disease that bakery products might contain something that could make them sick. But putting this label on things that have no connection is a cynical corporate play for clueless consumers who buy something simply because they think it’s healthy. Red Bull boasts of being gluten-free. So is paint thinner.
          WHATEVER Long ago, “whatever” was a cover for inexpressive ignorance — Hitler invaded Poland and then, whatever. Now this word reigns as a facile dismissive: I know it’s Mother’s Day, but whatever. For the fifth year in a row, “whatever” was just rated the nation’s most annoying word in a survey done by the Marist Institute for Public Opinion, beating out the hardy perennials “like” and “you know” and “just saying.”
          24/7 No longer a byword for helpful availability, 24/7 evokes bad hours, poor pay and some customer service rep in India trying to explain an HDMI cable at 3 a.m. My bank is 24/7, or so they say; after a half-hour discussion with someone from this stellar institution, the “associate” said I should Google the problem. Well, yes, because Google is 24/7 in the only way that this term makes sense: It’s robotic.
          END OF THE DAY A counter, seemingly, to the above dreary infinity. But think again: There is no end to the way that “end of the day” has been used to signify anything but a close of business. No doubt, the rise of 24/7 has made end of the day impossible, at least in the news and public affairs cycle. President Obama is a chronic abuser of “end of the day.” Most recently, he used it to describe how his health care law would be viewed. Raises the question: What day are you talking about?
          WORLD-CLASS Makes the list because Donald Trump, who is decidedly not, has almost single-handedly run it into the ground. All of his casinos, golf courses, hotels and other concentrators of showy square-footage are world class, even those that ended up in bankruptcy. He is also self-declared in that realm. “I am the evidence,” he said, attacking wind turbines in Scotland that threaten his golf interests. “I am a world-class expert in tourism.” He promised that his world-class private investigators in Hawaii would expose the shocking truth of President Obama’s birth. A better use for them would be back in Scotland, on the Loch Ness case.
          BEST PRACTICES Just below “world-class” in the category of crutch words used to enhance mundane tasks. As a rule, if you can imagine anyone in office casual using a particular term in a presentation, it’s best to keep it under the fluorescent lights of a meeting room. By some peculiar osmosis, what happens in management seminars keeps infecting normal speech. I asked my neighbor what kind of tomatoes to grow this year, and she went on a long discussion of “botanical best practices.” I put potatoes in the ground.
          A final thought: I’m as guilty as anyone in letting these banish-worthy words get into print. This column is both artisan and gluten-free, an extension of my brand in a 24/7 environment full of world-class competitors. Whatever. At the end of the day, I’ll try to use best practices and resolve to do better.
          In that spirit, I renew an earlier objection to “literally.” It’s become the most overused of phony emphasis words, as in I went to the store, and they were out of kumquats — I mean, they were literally out of kumquats!

          REBER: And I would add "all natural" and "chemical free." There is nothing in this world (with the possible exception of sunshine) that is not chemical. And instead of labeling something "all natural" please just tell me if it is "unnatural." I can't even imagine what that would be. Speaking of phrases that should be banned, check out this:

          NOEL OSMENT forwards:
          I thought this might cheer us up.

          TIM WILSON forwards:
          A fascinating look at abandoned places around the world:

          GENE CIECHANOWSKI forwards:
          It was started by two brothers as a place to show their hobby, it started growing by leaps & bounds. Soon they were joined by other "Model Railroad Clubs" and other craftsmen. Some were electricians, model makers, carpenters, computer programmers. One thing led to another.
          This was about five years ago. One of the breweries came and furnished all of the tables and chairs, serving counter. etc.
          Their latest finished area is the airport. Planes look like they are flying and landing.

          TIM WILSON forwards:
          A rare WW II warbird takes to the sky once again, after four years of loving restoration:



P.O. Box 2239
Ramona, CA 92065
U.S.A.

Monday, December 30, 2013

Cheer the underdogs



          Good evening, 919 Gang. After the Charger game today, you know sports is/are on my mind. And I love this story.

          DAVID FARMER writes:
          I've already described in this forum my athletic prowess at Ramona High School in the 1950s. There's no need to go into the details, which are immortalized in the annals of the Southern Prep League. The league consisted of half a dozen San Diego County high schools with fewer than 200 students each. (Ramona had 100.)
          Today's item is not about my sports heroism, but instead is an athletic oddity. First, some background: for basketball, the boys were divided into categories according to such factors as age, height and weight. The A team consisted of the oldest, tallest, heaviest kids. The B team came next, and then the C team.
          Finally, there was the D team, composed of really scrawny, short boys, usually freshmen. I was one of these. In the whole school, there were only six of us. We played the D teams from other Southern Prep schools.
          The year was 1952. We were appearing at home in front of a small but devoted crowd of student Bulldog fans. We always played in the afternoon, and I think kids got out of class early to attend. This may have been an inducement.
          So there we were, playing our scrawny hearts out, five of us on the floor and one on the bench. We had one foul-prone teammate who soon accumulated enough misdemeanors to be ejected from the game. Our eager substitute reported to the scorer's bench and was sent onto the floor. (I want to make one thing clear: I was always a member of the starting team. The second team, of course, consisted of one boy.)
          We were near the end of the game when disaster struck. A second member of our team fouled out (not me). What to do? The other school demanded that we forfeit the game. The shame of it!
          The two referees were Ramona men who could take time off from their business affairs on a weekday afternoon to officiate. One of them may have been a guy who drove a Ramona school bus (we had two buses). I think the other ref was our school janitor.
          To the delight of the home crowd, these impartial referees ruled unanimously that playing with only four team members was not against the rules. We resumed the game, and in the final few seconds, we scored! We won! Pandemonium in the stands, 30 kids screaming and jumping in victory.
          To this day, I'm not certain that the referees' decision was correct. But at the time we didn't care. It was a triumph for six skinny, short boys. I credit the experience with giving me the grit to continue my athletic career despite my modest qualifications.
          Sadly, it was a career that ended with my graduation. It turned out that no college, not even a jaycee, was looking for a class-D basketball player, no matter how determined.

          MICHAEL GRANT writes:
          If there ever was a metaphor for a Chargers fan celebrating his fiftieth wedding anniversary, it was today’s game. Ups, and downs, and win in the end. Go Rebers! Into the playoffs . . .

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          BARRY BLOOM writes:
          I thought the discussion regarding the lost object was funny. If something is lost of course it's whereabouts is/are unknown. Department of redundancy department. Here's a shout out to my old friend Don Norcross, whose piece this week in the UT on the kidney donation was very well done and well-timed to run around Christmas. For what better gift can anybody give? And finally, the death yesterday of San Diego TV reporter Loren Nancarrow from brain cancer hit too close to home. It starkly and sadly reminded about the death some 15 years ago of UT colleague Drew Silvern of the same affliction. Like Drew back then, Loren's death at 60 is devastating. It comes only a month after the baseball world lost a vibrant 51-year-old Michael Weiner, the executive director of the players association, because of the same thing. As a two-time cancer survivor myself it underscores the notion of enjoying every day and everybody close to you because no one knows what lies ahead. It's great that our own Nick Canepa has rebounded so well this year to return to a modicum of good health. Well, enough from me. Happy 50th to you, Jack, and here's hoping that 2014 is a better year.

          PRESTON TUREGANO writes:
          Off camera, local TV news figure Loren Nancarrow, who died over the weekend of brain cancer, had some anger management issues back in the late 1990s when the owners of KFMB/Channel 8 were seeking to rid the station of personnel who were represented by the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists. At the time, Nancarrow was the station's weather reporter, who during the AFTRA strife screamed and hurled profanities at me when (as local TV and radio writer) I called him to ask (for a column about TV weather forecasters) why so many TV prognosticators tended to stand right in front of satellite maps of weather systems making their way to Southern California. As I recall, it was an El Nino weather year with numerous rain and wind storms had been heading for our usually sunny and dry winter realm. "I think viewers want to see what's on its way," I said. To wit, he said I should be writing about the labor troubles at Channel 8 instead of "some f------g story about weather maps!" I assured him I would get to AFTRA and 8 at an appropriate time. He yelled some other things at me, but I shook it off. After all, some of us in the UT arts and entertainment department were used to getting yelled at. Before he died, Nancarrow was plying his trade at Fox 5 (KSWB), which has become an elephants' burial ground of many reporters and anchors (some aging before our eyes) who used to be on other San Diego TV news stations. Among the lot are Paul Bloom, Aloha Taylor, Kathleen Bade, Susan Lennon and Chrissy Russo.

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          JERRY SCHULTZ writes:
          Belated congrats to Mary and you, Jack. Especially enjoyed reading notes re your golden achievement. Peter Kuhrt's comments were of particular interest. My bride and I met in Berlin in 1959. We celebrated our 52nd anniversary last June. Been back to Berlin twice. Once during the wall and once after. It went up a couple months after I left Berlin in '61. Also enjoyed Gene C's take on the St. Andrew's quest. I got a chance to play it a few years back with a lad from Fife. His caddie was his pregnant wife. Our third was an obnoxious fellow from Phoenix. My goal was to break 90. I failed, but managed to break 100. I was perfectly healthy, but very damp by the time we finished thanks to a storm that came in sideways off the Firth of Forth and stayed with us nearly the entire round. Even the little bit of money I had in my wallet was wet. Thankfully, it was still accepted at the little pub just off the course.

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          MICHELE DAVIS writes:
          I have a subscription to Amazon Prime and get free two-day shipping as well as a wide assortment of free TV programs and movies which I can view on my Kindle Fire. There is one aspect to Amazon Prime that is not widely explained. If you are a member you can add up to two additional persons to use the free two-day shipping benefits. These folks do not have to live in the same home as you. I have my sister, who lives in Bonsall, and a cousin who lives in Georgia as the two I wish to allow to use the shipping benefit. My sister sends stuff to her son, who lives in Long Beach, and my cousin sends stuff to his in-laws, who live in Florida. You have to tell Amazon whom you want to add and the people you are adding need to know your email address and your birthdate. At only $79.99 per year, the free shipping and videos as well as the benefit to others, makes this a pretty good deal.


P.O. Box 2239
Ramona, CA 92065
U.S.A.

Sunday, December 29, 2013

The second 50



          Good evening, 919 Gang. Many thanks to all who wrote congratulating Mary and me on 50 years of marriage. No need to print all the messages, but here are a few which might interest the group.
          By the way, also thanks to Jerry Rife and others who have recently sent Jacquie Lawson digital cards. For some reason, I no longer am able to reply to those cards, but I find them beautiful.

          PETER KUHRT writes:
          Wholehearted 50th anniversary congratulations from Berlin to you and Mary! Quite an achievement in this day and age! Rose-Marie and I should know because, as it happens, we also celebrate a "Hochzeitstag" tomorrow, though three years ahead of you. (Our kids predict we will be stuffed and put in a museum when the time comes.)
          I had known Rosie, sweet 16 then, for nearly two years before embarking, at age 19, for the States on an immigration visa. The boat departed Bremerhaven on Dec. 29, 1956. In August 1960 I returned to Berlin for a two-month visit. Actually it was a combined vacation/paid leave of absence from the Trib, thanks to my gracious bosses then (Larry Sisk, Leo Bowler and Jack Gregg). In my bag was a to-whom-it-may-concern letter signed by Ray McHugh. It said CNS would appreciate "any courtesy" extended to me in the pursuit of my writing a series of stories "for possible publication." Well, the stories were written (mostly East-West Cold War stuff), and they did find favor at CNS.
          On the private side I apparently still had remained in favor with my old flame Rosie as well, and we became engaged. Though not without consequences. Because some three months later, back in S.D., I had to beg my superiors again for a few days off. Miraculously they consented, most likely with clenched teeth. And this is how it came that Rosie and I tied the knot on December 29, 1960, at West Berlin's city hall. To the day exactly four years after I had left the Old Country.
          Postscriptum: our daughter Susanne (now a news editor with a national German TV network) was born six months later. In October of that year Rosie joined me in San Diego, along with our baby girl. Since then we've been exposed to plenty of wear and tear. But the knot has held. As has yours evidently.
          Again, congratulations to both of you!

          JACK WEBB writes:
          Congratulations to you and Mary on your 50th anniversary.
          I recently wrote a poem about love in later years. Our mutual friend Lew Little and his talented wife Mary Ellen loved it. Perhaps others might.
          I haven't yet published the poem, so I put the copyright symbol on it.

Why My Soul Returns to You
          The strange ghosts of the dead appear to me.
          Yes, the earth has changed, the music of our lives
          fades almost beyond hearing ...
          listen, my love! Try to remember!
          You who were with me in sorrow and in faith:
          we were nothing til we sought each other,
          there among the ghosts and brief angels
          we created to know ourselves.
-- John Webb
(©) 2013

          JOHN KOWALCZYK writes:
          I always have the greatest admiration for couples who manage to stay together through thick or thin for the long haul and take that for-better-or-worse vow thing somewhat to heart. It takes something special to ride through that much of life together and still keep your wits about you and your sense of humor. I suspect you both have managed that with grace and ease, knowing what kind of people you are. My most sincere congratulations to you, and may the next 50 be happy enough that you will want to continue to manage the 919 blog as a sidelight.

          PRESTON TUREGANO writes:
          Congratulations, Jack and Mary, on 50 years of togetherness!
          I'm a confirmed believer that while love is essential in a marriage, liking your partner is equally important. Bet you probably know that

          BETTY PEACH-TSCHIRGI writes:
          Congratulations to you both on reaching your 50th wedding anniversary. It is a remarkable achievement to have survived 50 years in this day and age without one or the other getting shot in the head by some loud wild-eyed youth with more guns than brains. My china doll who is my primary physician thinks I will live to be 100 and when I next see her I will ask her what are your chances of reaching your 100th wedding anniversary. Good luck. I will come dance at your anniversary party if you do.
           Best wishes, Betty Peach 97 and counting

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          JOHN SWEENEY writes:
          I've enclosed an example of the bowed trees that I mentioned last night. This was this morning (Saturday). These ice-laden trees and unknown numbers throughout Maine have been stuck in this position since last Monday, with another storm due tomorrow night.


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          DAVID FARMER writes:
          I was reading an essay by Christopher Buckley in The New York Times. The piece mentioned an object that had been lost, and went on to say: "Its whereabouts is unknown." Of course, that's not a mistake by a prominent author or an even more prominent newspaper.
          I learned many years ago from The Associated Press style book that whereabouts is singular. It certainly yields some singular sentences. And the AP usage simply looks wrong.
          But not to worry. I've checked several dictionaries, and most stated that you can employ either a singular or a plural verb with whereabouts.
          I would have thought that common usage would long ago have settled the issue in favor of are. But since the word's been around since the 14th Century, it looks as if we'll face a choice every time we try to describe where someone or something is. Or are.
          If you want to be all hoity-toity like The Times, go with is. If you prefer to be a regular Joe or Jane, choose are. Personally, I'll stick with is, because that'll make me look erudite. Or possibly stupid.

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          DEAN WARINER writes:
          You need look no further than The New Yorker and Vanity Fair to find journalism alive and well. McPhee, Packer and Gladwell deliver the goods. As for local writing, there are good online contributors and a number of old hands still slogging in the trenches. For me the saddest part of the news media is the consolidation of outlets and Reader's Digest version of public affairs reporting.

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          REBER: These are the last birthdays I know of for 2013. Happy Birthday (Dec. 29) to Don Bartletti, Jim Box and Merrie Monteagudo.

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          GENE CIECHANOWSKI forwards:
          Emotional Story of Quest for St. Andrews.


P.O. Box 2239
Ramona, CA 92065
U.S.A.