Onion Leadership “Not Taking it Seriously,” Former Staffer Warns.

            It wasn’t easy to find him. I had heard rumors of a disillusioned Onion employee willing to deal insider gossip, but it took weeks of phone calls and emails to track him down. Finally, after a few cryptic tweets, I was directed to a popular neighborhood bar in a large city. He arrived on a fixed gear bicycle, with mustache handlebars and electrical tape obscuring the brand name. As the bicycle leaned against our table, he told his sordid tale over the aluminum brim of a PBR.

            “In the old days, like ’07 or ’08, I’m sure it was a great place to be. They were all real serious about it. . . really into the irony. But now, it’s like they just want to be funny.”

            That’s the gist of his tale. Once a grassroots publication distributed for free, The Onion earnestly probed the ironic foibles of American culture. It was precisely this love of tradecraft which drew my young source to the company. However, after several months on the job, it became clear that his employer had lost its passion.

            “All the time it was like, ‘We’ve got this thing that needs published, and it’s got to be funny. So, irony is nice, but we need something from you now.’”

            These accusations come from a man with a credible history. Raised by a wealthy family near an Ivy League school, he refused to use his education fund to “play the game.” Rather, he took the money and relocated to an emerging urban neighborhood where he felt he could best fight the prevailing systems of societal injustice on the back of his two-wheeled transportation. The Onion job seemed like the perfect opportunity to ironically reveal the lies of “the machine.” However, the young crusader was crushed when he discovered that it was all, quite literally, one big joke.

            I hoped he would provide some insight. Perhaps he had a vision for restoring passionate irony to the media institution. But, with the chime of his iPhone, he was gone, off to another bar meeting to sip PBR while  fighting the growing intellectual void of that is our culture.

The Ferocious Mentor

I recently spent a few weeks' worth of bedtime stories reading Rudyard Kipling's classic, The Jungle Book, to my son. In it a young human boy, Mowgli, is separated from his parents during a tiger attack, and is raised by jungle animals. Among these beasts, Mowlgi has two designated mentors, Baloo the Bear and Bagheera the Panther. These two are charged with teaching Mowgli the necessary laws and skills to not only survive, but thrive, in the jungle.

As I read the story to my son, I became uncomfortable with the way Mowgli was treated by Baloo and Bagheera. Occasionally they were unkind, scathing, even physically abusive. Yet, they always did these things for the stated purpose of preparing Mowgli to survive the harsh realities of the world in which he lived. I began to think about this relationship and my experience with mentorship. I've had a number of would-be "mentors" in my life. Often, these were individuals who would praise my giftedness in an attempt to secure greater commitment to a specific ministry or cause. That isn't mentoring. However, I have also encountered those rare individuals with the talent and courage to rip open my soul with one question and cause me to face realities in myself I would rather have ignored. They pushed me to go places and do things that made me uncomfortable and fearful. Yet, despite all of the ferocity they unleashed on my developing character, they reserved a good deal for my support, protection, and edification. Much like Baloo and Bagheera, they often behaved in ways I initially believed unkind, even hurtful, but remained by my side, guiding me through the experience and leading me to a place where I was more acquainted with Truth and better equipped to mature in life and ministry.

Baloo and Bagheera have taught me that, while a mentor should be caring and attentive, he must also sometimes be ferocious, for he doesn't aim to raise up a "man cub" who ekes out a living, but one that thrives and lives victoriously in this, often brutal, world.

This post is part of Evangelical Seminary's Leadership Synchroblog.

One of the Great Dilemmas of Life

On a recent Facebook quiz (where else does one encounter probing questions about life?) I was presented with the following option: Pirate or Ninja? This is one of those questions that every adult in the western world must eventually answer for themselves, but let me aid you in your quest by taking you down the road that eventually put me at ease with this issue.



Let's look at the two based on their merits. Ninja's have a number of positive qualities on their side. First, is toys. Ninja's have a wide array of amazingly awesome weapons at their disposal, which have equally amazing names: nunchuk, katana, star. Their uniform, although resembling an adult form of footsie pajamas, is also appealing. Who doesn't want to be clad in black, slinking across a midnight rooftop to assasinate a foe? The uniformity of the ninja uniform adds safety. There is no way of knowing which ninja killed your father. Finally, the ninja has mystery. No one knows who the ninja is or where he lives. In an odd way, this makes the dream somewhat attainable. Anyone of us could be a ninja in our free time and no one would know.



Pirates also have toys. Most importantly, they have a ship and all the enjoyment that comes with sailing and the sea (including canons!). Add to that the cutlass, dagger, and pistol and the pirate has a toy chest that rivals the ninja. The pirate uniform is the opposite of the ninja, but equally appealing in its own way. It isn't really fair to call it a uniform, because pirates really just wear whatever they wake up in. It lacks conformity, but is incredibly easy to wear and maintain. Even if we exclude the Dread Pirate Roberts, pirates also have an air of mystery surrounding them. Who wouldn't want the high seas to tremble with the rumors of their cruelty? The problem with pirate mystery is that it never ends well. Eventually the pirate is caught, imprisoned, hung, or otherwise publicly shamed. The pirate life isn't easily accessible. Unlike the ninja, you can't just be a pirate on the weekends, it requires more of an intense commitment.



So, both pirate and ninja have some positive qualities, and both are very appealing (that is what makes the decision so hard), but ultimately I think this great dilemma comes down to a question of lifestyle vs. capability. Ninja's are highly capable, thus their reputation, but you never see them charging into battle with their beard on fire or ending the day with a beer and a wench. Ninja's don't seem to have any fun. Pirates do have fun. In fact, I would argue that pirates are fun. Theirs is a life of leisure on the high seas, punctuated by breif moments of intense battle. The problem with pirates is that they aren't very capable. While the ninja trains for battle, the pirate lounges between battles, and therefore has to pick his fights carefully and often flees from his most challenging foes.



At the end of the day, I have to choose the pirate. Mostly because of the lifestyle, but also because of the fame. Ninja's are really cool, but they all look alike. I can't imagine how frustrating it must be for them to assasinate the local shogun, but then have all the credit taken by some kid down the street who sits around eating wonton all day. Ninja's are anonymous. Name one. Now name a pirate. Name three. True, the deeds of the ninja live long after his death, but the name of the pirate lives along with those deeds. That is why, when faced with the question Pirate or Ninja? I must always respond "Pirate."

Riffing

I was talking to Proteinstar about starting some sort of riff competition on the blogs. You get a random subject and have 24 hours to post on it. I'm also working on an article/paper on the Twilight series and can't quite seem to get the words out, so I thought "now is the time to riff." Here is it is, my random thoughts on why Twilight is so appealing to teens.

On the surface, the popularity of Twilight might be surprising. Few vampire tales gain much more than a cult following, and one that crosses into mainstream culture is almost unheard of. The real appeal of Twilight is that it isn't actually about vampires. It is about a teenage girl and her feelings of loneliness, inadequecy, and mediocrity balanced with her desire for independence and a place to belong. This is a theme that resonates with every teenage girl in the western world because it is about them. But Meyer (the author) didn't stop at connecting with teenage girls on their level, she made all of their wildest dreams come true. When Bella (the main character) moves to a new, smaller, high school she suddenly finds that she actually is everything that she always thought she wasn't. She is set upon by a number of boys looking to make her their own, including Edward, the hottest guy in school. At first Bella finds this hard to believe, as Meyer's writing, perfectly designed for the teenage girl, demonstrates:

Of course he wasn't interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging. . . I wasn't interesting. And he was. Interesting. . . and brilliant. . . and mysterious. . . and perfect. . . and beautiful. . . and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.

After he miraculously saves her from a car accident, Bella begins to suspect that there is more to Edward than meets the eye. She soon finds out that she is correct, and that her lonely, inadequate, mediocre self has attracted something more amazing than she ever could have imagined. A vampire. As we will discuss later Edward's "family," the Cullens, also provide a safe and loving community where Bella finds meaning and belonging. Another desperate desire of teenagers today.

The actual romance with Edward is pure teen gold. The two meet and fall hopelessly in love in a matter of weeks. Their relationship has relatively few internal hardships beyond Edward's desire to drink Bella's blood. This is also appealing to teenagers. Edward is the ultimate bad boy, one can hardly imagine someone more dangerous for Bella to get involved with, but she alone is enough of an incentive for him to behave. Edward even takes extra steps to ensure that he will not overcome with desire when near Bella. What girl doesn't want to be the one to turn the bad boy good?

Meyer's grasp of this "Girl World" that so many teens live in has led some to suggest that she hasn't matured much beyond the level of a teenager herself. In fact, Meyer drew from her own experiences in high school and college when writing the books. This, along with the romantic aspects of the story, may be why so many adult women have become fans of the series.

Ok, I think that's enough for me to keep moving along. Sorry that I didn't have something more interesting to riff on (the intellectual relationship between zombies and jazz would be fun. . . bonus points for quoting Nietzsche), but this is my life. If my prof likes the paper it might get published in a local youth culture journal. I'll keep you posted.

PS. I spelled Nietzsche right on the first try!

Philosophizing and the State of the Perpetually Worthless.

When Jesus talked about Hell he used the word "Gehena," which was actually the formal name for a garbage dump just outside of Jerusalem that was perpetually on fire. when you think about this, it is possible that Hell isn't some remote geographic region, but is actually located near a land of great wealth. Where would the piles of smoldering refuse come from if not from a place constantly creating new and wonderful things, thus rendering old things worthless? Gehena itself was located outside of the regional center of culture and religion. If the concept is true, then perhaps Hell doesn't specifically have any geographic boundaries at all, it is merely a state of worthlessness. Your keys, for example, are valuable to you, but if you lose them they suddenly lose thier value. You may search for them, because they still have the potential to be valuable, but as long as they remain lost they are not. It doesn't matter where they are lost at. They could be under your couch, in your jacket, or as far away as the city dump, as long as they are lost they are in Gehena, the land of the perpetually worthless. Their geographic location matters little, but their status in relation to the land of great wealth does. Because they are lost they are in Gehena. Hell could actually be described as the State of the Perpetually Worthless.

That was the straight forward part. Stick with me for a quantum leap of logic (also, prepare to be offended). This past weekend Protienstar had some family visit from Rhode Island. On their trip, they briefly got off of the highway in New Jersey and got lost because they were in Jersey and didn't know where they were. I would argue the opposite. I think that they were in New Jersey because they were lost (don't get ahead of me now!). What is New Jersey other than a vaguely described state located between lands of great wealth, New York, the shore, and Philadelphia (ok, Philly's a stretch)? Who among us hasn't heard some grand tale of being lost in New Jersey? Could it be, that New Jersey isn't so much described geographically for what it is, but for what it isn't when related to the lands of great wealth? Think about it. When people get lost in New Jersey they do so because they have left or avoided a regional center for culture and entertainment. They have rendered themselves worthless to the places that matter in the world and are condemned to fester in Gehena. So the next time you find yourself on some shell of a road, trying to find your way home from the beach, remember, you aren't lost because you are in New Jersey. You are in New Jersey because you are lost.

Coming Out

It didn't take long did it? His first week in office was barely over before the media was declaring that Obama's "honeymoon" was over. Now we're finding out that some of his political appointees are in fact politicians (the shock) and have engaged in all of the unsavory activities that politicians seem drawn to, like not paying taxes. Some people seem generally distraught by this, some outraged, some overjoyed. "The Chosen One" has turned out to be imperfect after all (so much for living life according to Oprah).

I had to run a check in to our district office before lunch today, so I bailed out of the office around 11, got halfway to my car before realizing that I didn't actually have the check. Had to turn around and go back. That got me thinking. Why did this happen? I couldn't very well blame the check, because it was exactly where I had left it. I couldn't blame my car, becuase it really wasn't involved in any meaningful way. Couldn't blame coworkers, I was the only one around. Couldn't find a way to chuck it on the layout of the building. I did have to pee really bad, but that's because I drank way too much water after working out today. I probably spent a good twenty minutes thinking about how this happened when I finally though, "Holy s--t! Barack Obama's not perfect!" This really liberated my worldview. If the leader of the free world, and the hope for every generation until the end of time, isn't perfect than maybe I'm not either. Could this be? It took me a few hours to come to grips with the thought, but now I'm at ease with the fact and am ready to come out publicly. People of the world, I am not perfect. Not only am I not perfect, but I am challenging you to embrace this imperfection. Join me in publicly declaring your imperfection to the world!

PS. My church is bringing back revival meetings to be more outreach oriented. How retarded is that?

What I'm Not Watching.

The "Super" Bowl. Why? Because I really fail to see what is so "super" about it. I don't know why. Watching fat guys smash into each other at top speed should rate high on my list of entertainment options, and I actually find football to be exciting. However, I also find football to be largely unintelligent and mildly homosexual (ask me about my "tights and twirling" rule). Instead, Roverine and I went to see Slumdog Millionaire and I think we'll watch a video or something. Slumdog was really good, you should check it out. Bollywood seems willing to push the visual envelope a little more than most US films. American films do this, but it's an all or nothing thing like 300. So anyway, I am taking a few breaks to check the score so I'm not a complete cultural idiot. I'm also taping it to watch the commercials later. I think that's the end of my thoughts for now.

I'm Back Baby!

After years of absence, I have decided to resurrect the old blog. Why? Allow Rage Against the Machine to speak for me:

"It has to start somewhere. It has to start sometime. What better place than here? What better time than now?"

I hate those guys, but when they're right, they're right. I've spent most of the last two years raging against my own machine while neglecting some things that truly brought pleasure to my life. I'm not doing that anymore. Some dude in some book I read said that if all we knew about God was the first chapter in the Bible we'd only know that he liked to make things. God is creative, why the heck can't I be? So here I am, back on my high horse, and offering you whatever creative whims flow from my mind. I don't promise that they will be good, I only promise that they will be here. Catch you later. Rover.

Niagara Falls: Where America Gets Screwed.

I initially meant to do all of these posts on my Niagara Falls trip in a row, but life got in the way. So without further delay, some ranting. It is popular, or at least common, in certain circles these days to bash America. The general argument seems to be that we are selfish, pushy, rude, and pretty much take what we want without regard to anyone else. I'm not going to attack that argument on its merits because of, well, New Jersey. What I am going to do though is demonstrate, through a simple geography lesson, that we are not all like that. This lesson takes place at, you guessed it, Niagara Falls. It is a running joke amongst our fellow countrymen that, when it comes to the falls, America got the short end of the stick. This is based upon the fact that the Canadian, or Horseshoe, side of Niagara Falls is significantly larger than the American side. That is an accurate statement, but I for one believe that the American Falls are adequately prestigious and beautiful in their own right. I also happen to believe that, despite what our President's ear size might indicate, Americans do not need to have the largest of everything. You may now be asking yourself, "If he doesn't think that America got the short end of the stick, why is this post entitled 'Niagara Falls: Where America Gets Screwed?'" Read on.

At Niagara Falls, America didn't get the short end of the stick. We got flat out screwed. Not because we got the lesser of the two falls, but because, from America, you can't even see the falls. You can't even see the American Falls from America! Sure, you can walk right up to the edge of them and watch the water fall of, but that is about it. All of those grand pictures you see on postcards and such are taken in Canada, where you can actually see the entire water falls. That is how America got screwed.

So what does any of this have to do with the whole perception that America is filled with a bunch of Imperialists? Quite obviously, the fact that we allow our weaker, more annoying, monopoly money using, neighbor to both possess the nicer of the two falls and all of the prime property for viewing said falls shows that not all Americans are greedy land grabbing jerks. Some of us are quite happy to visit the scene of America's greatest screwing, cross the border, and get screwed again on the exchange rate for money that we could have stolen out of a board game at our local Wal-Mart. Why? Because we like Canadians. They are nice to have as neighbors, and we really don't care that they made out well on the whole Niagara Falls deal. They are quite happy to let us look at them whenever we like. So in the end, perhaps only a few Americans (New Jersey) are a bunch of self centered jerks. If all we were, Benedict Arnold wouldn't have marched on Quebec two hundred years ago. He would have marched on Niagara! Thus ends my rant. Look forward to my next post on the falls, where I will plagiarise (and badly at that) Herman Melville.

Leave 'Em Wanting More

I've said a lot of goodbyes this week. I quit my job, not spur of the moment, and stood-by as Roverine buried her Grandmother. Both were bittersweet moments that held more than smidge of hope. The Grand Roverine had been battling Alzheimer's for the last seven years and by the time I came on the scene five years ago, her personality was all but gone. From family stories she seemed like a grand old lady. Her parents rode a steamship over from Ireland in the early 1900s. She married a pilot in 1944 and boldly waited at home as he flew missions over "The Hump" in Burma. He came home and they lived that American dream for many years. They bought a brand new home in suburbia and raised six children. One fought in Vietnam, one was held hostage by Saddam Hussein in 1991, one is a doctor, one is a lawyer, they all loved her fiercely. So I stood there, watching what could be any family in our country say goodbye to a woman I never knew, and was both sad and happy. I was sad because everyone was sad. She marked the end of a great generation for them, and in many was was the defining member of the family. I was happy because she left many letters and instructions behind, and made it very clear that she knew exactly where she was going after death. That was awesome. When I first met her I saw her struggle as her mind went away and she struggled to understand the world around her. In the last years she sometimes struggled to function at all. It is painful to think of the hell she lived with when she had such a firm hope in heaven. In the end her death was a release for everyone, and it is encouraging to watch someone who has struggled so much pass away filled with so much hope.

And then there's my job. About two years ago I decided that it was time to move on. At the time it was apparent where I was going to move on to, but that came with time. Sunday was my last day of work, and it was pretty hard. For a significant piece of time I was so focused on getting out that I didn't think about what I would leave behind when I finally left. I had formed a pseudo family at work the members of which I had worked with in various capacities for nearly ten years. Many of them have been heroes of mine as far back as High School. Sunday turned out to be a good day to end it all though. I spent most of the day sitting with a mentor who had been one of those High School heroes and we had a really good talk. He shared a lot of hopes and fears that I never knew existed in such grand men. Anyway, enough of that sentimental crap. I will still hear from those with whom I was tight, and that's all that matters. Tomorrow I move into my new office where I will explore the land mine ridden world of youth ministry. It is so exciting going from a job where I felt like I was locked in a cage to one where the only limitations are the ones that I make myself. Later.

A Little Slice of America

This past weekend, having some free time and money, Roverine and I set off for the great white north of Canada and the allure of Niagara Falls. Some of you know that I have a rocky relationship with MapQuest, and that pillar of ineptitude disappointed yet again when I saw that it couldn't come up with any "good" way to get me to Niagara Falls. When I travel I want highway, big, broad, straight, fast, highway. What MapQuest provided me with was a smattering of Interstate, secondary routes, and rural byways. There were more unbelievable twists and turns in this route than even Dan Brown could comprehend. But, alas, it was a busy week and I didn't have the time to plot out my own route, so on Saturday morning we loaded up the car and headed North. Just North of Harrisburg we crossed over the Susquehanna River, and began to follow US 15N. It was surprisingly pleasant, cutting a path through the heart of Pennsylvania while following the curves of the Susquehanna. We past a number of rundown, but somewhat charming, river towns which contained a disturbing amount of adult video stores. It was a beautiful day, and the first leg of the journey didn't seem all that bad at all.

After sixty some miles we past Selinsgrove and the river and the roadway parted ways. Normally this would sadden me as the presence of a waterway always adds a little charm to life, but I didn't have time to be disappointed because 15N turned into some real highway and began to dive and twist and wind through the mountains of northern PA. It really was an exhilarating drive as I didn't see another car for miles and divided my time between hair raising mountain switchbacks and broad expanses of beautiful mountain highway where 85mph seemed to only be scraping the surface of possibility.

After passing Mansfield and entering New York the mountains flattened away and the signs of industry and development began to appear again. 15N eventually butted into Interstate 86 and we took a short eastbound detour into Corning for the Corning Museum of Glass. The museum itself is fairly decent, probably excellent if you are into glass spanning two thousand years, but its real charms are the glass blowing show and the "Studio" where guests create their own glass works while being guided by students of the Museum's glass blowing school. Roverine and I made flowers.

After the variety of 15N, Interstates 86 and 390 were monotonous at best, but then MapQuest threw me another curve. We left the highway for the rural routes of New York 63 and 36. With the mountains of PA and the light industry around the finger lakes gone, we settled into the gentle rhythm of farm lands and town squares. This was Americana at its best. Each town was different, yet the same. Each main thoroughfare was decorated to honor the glory of the local football team or the valor of fallen soldiers from years ago. While this was a nice change of pace, I was glad when the continual barrage of country markets and general stores ended, and I turned onto the merge ramp for I90, the New York State Throughway.

Despite having the largest toll ticket I have ever seen, the New York State Throughway also had some of the worst driving I have ever seen. I'm normally a fast lane driver. I believe that, on the freeway, speed equals power. Not insane or reckless speed, but enough speed to control your own destiny. I90 forever destroyed that myth. I was initially uncomfortable when 75 mph wasn't sufficient to keep pace with traffic. By the time I hit 80 mph and was being tailgated by a man in a minivan who was reading a book, I decided that this game was not for me, and retired to the right hand lane. Fortunately, I soon came to I290, then I190, and found myself crossing over the Niagara River with the mist from the falls in the distance. Our "romantic package" in Canada didn't start until Sunday night, so we dove off into the US before crossing the border and spent the night in some low rate motel on the American side. That brings me to the topic of my next post "Niagara Falls: Where America Get Screwed."

I really have to thank MapQuest for this one. I haven't enjoyed a drive so much in a long time. I find it a bit ironic that I found such an enjoyable slice of America on my way to Canada. My only regret is not stopping at Reptiland, but what can I say, Roverine is evil. If you ever find yourself hankering to go to Niagara, take the MapQuest Route. It will be worth your time.

If you do decide to make the trip, Here's your playlist:
15N - Redemption Songs Jars of Clay
O Brother Where Art Thou Soundtrack.
I86 and I390 - Anything Techno
NY 63, 36, and 90 - Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits.
I90, I290, I190 - Go back to the techno, or some very heavy metal.

"Save Mr. Hershey's Dream" or Feel My Rage!!!

So, if one takes a drive around Hershey, Pa they will find clusterings of little orange yard signs reading "Save Mr. Hershey's Dream." Presumably, these signs are in response to The Hershey Company's plan to relocate a number of jobs to plants in Mexico and, if rumors are to be believed, a number of other countries as well. This has angered numerous people in the general Hershey area. Obviously, the employees of the company have reason to be concerned as they may lose their jobs, but the plan has also angered a group of local elitists who have little interest in The Hershey Company beyond its ability to maintain the bubble of elitism that they have surrounded themselves with. To this egotistical, and apparently uneducated, rabble of lemmings, I have this to offer.

The myth that is generally proposed is a tale of the incredible loyalty that Mr. Hershey had for his community, such overriding loyalty that he would never do anything as harmful and deceitful as outsourcing. This myth is so off base that it is almost not worth debunking at all, but since I'm that kind of jerk, here it goes. 1916. That single year destroys the Hershey elitist myth. In 1916, Milton Hershey took a trip to Cuba. He loved Cuba for its weather, its people, and its vast amounts of cheap sugar. Within six weeks, Hershey had purchased his first sugar plantation in Cuba. Within a decade, Hershey, Cuba consisted of multiple sugar plantations, a railroad, a model town, and an orphans school. Sound familiar? The fact is that Milton Hershey was incredibly loyal. He was incredibly loyal to cheap labor and abundant resources. These were the determining factors in his decision to base his new chocolate factory in Derry Church, PA in 1903. The location was ideal because it combined a large number of milk producing dairy farms, an ample supply of freshwater from a local creek, and a readily available work force. His choice of Derry Church was, wait for it, a business decision. The elitists conveniently forget that Hershey actually started a number of businesses nationwide in Denver, Chicago, and Lancaster (to name a few) before his move to what is now Hershey. I'm sure he had some sentimental attachment to the place where he grew up, but he didn't start his business there until he realized that it could make him money. It is true that Milton Hershey was loyal to his workers and treated them well, because it made good business sense. Happy workers work better. At the end of the day, Milton S. Hershey was a capitalist, he did good things for the community because they were ultimately good for him, which brings us to my next argument.

While we are on the topic of loyalty, lets discuss the local chocolate workers' union. Since Milton Hershey's death there have been strikes and threats of strikes. The most recent strike was over a proposal by The Hershey Company to have employees contribute towards their own health care. Let's consider for a moment the nature of labor unions. The idea of labor unions is socialist at its core, and therefore frequently at odds with capitalist goals. I'm not trying to fault either system here (both are imperfect), but merely pointing out facts that are often overlooked. The modern labor union in fact is seldom true to socialism, but has morphed into a pseudo-socialism. True socialism strives for the good of all. Labor unions strive for the good of all who are members, the rest be damned. So considering the self-centered (dare I say ethnocentric?) nature of our local chocolate workers' union, is it really a surprise that they have found themselves at odds with the, also inherently self-centered, leadership of The Hershey Company? Not at all. Both organizations exist solely for their own benefit. Here's the rub. All of the member of the chocolate workers' union are employed by The Hershey Company. When the employees band to together to make demands that are solely in their own interest, only one thing occurs. Labor is no longer cheap, it is expensive. Not only is it expensive, but the expensive workers are no longer happy because they always want more, and they want it at the expense of the company. In the end, one of the key factors that led Milton Hershey to start is plant in Derry Church has been removed. This leads me to one inevitable conclusion. Not only is The Hershey Company justified in relocating jobs, but doing so does not violate "Mr. Hershey's Dream" because Milton S. Hershey dream of a viable, even dominant company. I will even go so far as to say that Milton Hershey himself would relocate jobs if he were running the company today.

Now for some random thoughts about the relocation plan in general. 1) Relocating jobs is ultimately better for the Hershey community than not relocating jobs. A healthy and viable Hershey Company is the only hope that the Hershey community can hold for the company. Refusing to recognize economic trends and adjust to them would lead the company to is demise, which would also have the Hershey elitists bemoaning corporate mismanagement. 2) In the long run, relocating jobs to Mexico may be good for America. While border security is a popular topic among talking heads these days, few recognize the fact that the best, and most difficult to attain, solution for our border problems is a strong and stable economy in Mexico. Until the benefit of living and working in Mexico outweighs the risk of crossing the border, security will continue to be a problem. When profitable and stable companies do business in Mexico we all move towards that goal. Let's face it, the chocolate that will be made in Mexico is going to be sold in the US. People need to be employed here to sell that chocolate. If The Hershey Company grows, our economy still grows, and it will grow in a manner that more aptly fits our service based economy rather that the production based economy of yesterday. 3) Despite the fact that The Hershey Company will always maintain its headquarters in Hershey, the Hershey community doesn't need them. Organizations like Hershey Entertainment and Resorts, the Penn State Milton S. Hershey Medical Center, and the Milton Hershey School are growing by leaps and bounds and combined employ far more people in the area than The Hershey Company does.

So there are my thoughts on that. I really do love the town of Hershey, and I think it has a great legacy. It just annoys me when a bunch of self righteous jerks try to high jack that legacy to boost their own egos.

An Honorable Death

For many years our people had lived by the sea in relative peace. They farmed and fished while we, the chosen few, handled the occasional minor skirmish that arose with the neighboring Bjorkman Clan of Romans. Our Samurai grew fat and old during this time, and recruits became fewer and fewer. Only the rumors of a strange mountain people far beyond the river kept enough fear in the minds of the people to allow us to continue the old ways of the Ninja. The Shogun was pleased with our methods, and we were allowed to live and train amongst the ruins of the old hill fortress.

But then things changed. A new clan appeared and began constructing a fortress along the river. It was massive. It threatened our farmlands along the river. It threatened the Bjorkman Clan's access to the northern lake. It threatened the foothills of the mountains. As the fortress neared completion a banner was raised on it ramparts emblazoned with the letter "P" and a star. Sentries with muskets, robots, and an elf with a bow were seen patrolling the walls. All emissaries to the fortress were fired on. This was unacceptable. Soon messengers came to offer an alliance with the Bjorkman Clan. Strange men came from the mountains representing "Thurstan." These negotiations did not go well. Thurstan and Bjorkman did not respect our people and they mocked our traditions. They saw our ways as old and slow. It required great humility to hold the alliance together. We could not defeat the fortress alone.

There was much discussion on tactics. The other clans wanted to hold back, attack from afar, and settle into a longer siege. This is not how our people wage war. Shogun Rover thought it best to send the Ninja at night to kill the enemy in their sleep, and end the war before it began. The other clans did not agree and distrust grew. While the debate raged the Samurai grew strong and numerous once again. During this time ships appeared on the horizon, the English had come to trade again. With them came Sir Hawthorne, The Black Knight. In his country there were many large fortresses, and he had waged many battles against them. He united the alliance, and while he didn't fully understand the ways of our people, under his leadership we felt that the war could be won. His battle plan was simple, and respected all of the clans. The others would hold back and fire from afar, while Rover's Samurai and Hawthorne would charge the fortress gate. The Ninja would be held in reserve.

The day of the battle dawned, and the plan unfolded. Secret Krav Maga Agents descended from the mountains into the foothills at night. Early in the morning Bjorkman's Roman Archers were deployed on the plane by the northern lake. Almost in unison the Archers and the Agents opened fire on the fortress. Only the elf manned the ramparts, but he exacted a deadly toll on the Archers before the Agents cut him down. As he fell, the robots appeared on the looming walls of the fortress. Sir Hawthorne deployed the Samurai to assault the gate. A third of them were cut down as they crossed the river. The remainder charged under the shadow of the fortress and began to damage the massive door. Thurstan's Krav Maga continued to fire into the gate over the heads of the Samurai, but they were too far away to do much damage.

The battle looked to be a stalemate. The Archers were not able to inflict as many casualties as they received, and the Krav Maga Agents were killing the defenders on the walls, but were unable to damage the gate. The Samurai alone threatened the integrity of the fortress, but were quickly being cut down by the remaining robots above. At last only one small unit of Samurai remained at the gate. Sir Hawthorne himself ran towards the fortress to bolster the assault, but slain as he crossed the river. Colonial Musketeers appeared beside the robots on the walls and exacted even more harm on the Bjorkman Clan. Without Sir Hawthorne the attack appeared doomed to failure.

It was now, when things appeared darkest, that Shogun Rover remembered his original plan. He came to the Ninja and chose three. Lin, Kenjei, and I were to enter the fortress, slay its inhabitants, and hold it "for the honor of our people." It was a great plan that would be remembered for generations, but it was foolhardy. Alas, the Ninja exist to fight, not to argue. We set out across the plane in eagerness and soon arrived at the base of the fortress unnoticed. The Krav Maga were pushing their attack and large creatures began to appear from the mountains behind them. A lone paratrooper from the Bjorkman Clan had circled the far side of the fortress and was near to joining the Samurai at the main gate when we arrived. The defenders were either feeling bold, or had greatly underestimated the forces outside, because they opened the gate. We three Ninja quickly stole inside and Kenjei closed and barricaded the gate behind us, much to the surprise of the Samurai outside.

The robots had all been destroyed and the ramparts were manned by two Musketeers alone. However, they were able to fill the courtyard below with a hail of shot that required all of our skill and cunning to avoid. Lin quickly flew up a ladder and sliced one of the Musketeers in two. Then came the biggest surprise of the day. Our silent work was interrupted by a loud bang, and the final Musketeer crumpled to the ground. There, atop the rampart, stood Bjorkman's paratrooper, smoking .45 in hand. Somehow he had scaled the outside wall. Lin was the first to react and front flipped over the paratrooper's head while he buried another round into Kenjei's abdomen. The last thing the trooper heard was the tune of my singing Katana. With that the fortress of P Star had fallen.

As we removed the P Star banner it became apparent that betrayal of the alliance was not unique to the Clan of Rover. Our Samurai at the gate were easily slaughtered by by Thurstan's forces and the Krav Maga once again opened fire on the fortress. Lin and I had no ability, or desire, to defend a fortress against the large force outside. The failure of the Samurai to hold the gate sealed not only the fate of the battle, but the fate of our people. The Bjorkman Clan's army was destroyed, and handful of Ninja could do little to hold back Thurstan's forces if he chose to march out of the mountains and enslave our people. Rover's greed was the demise of all. In the end we could not give our people freedom or hope, but we could give them honor.

Recognizing that any attempt to hold the fortress would be idiocy, Lee and I decided to decimate the Krav Maga before the day was out. Prepared, we flung open the gate again, and were shocked to find the Krav Maga lined up on a hill behind and massive troll-like creature wielding a steel claw for a hand. Lee and I charged the beast and eluded its initial blows. I struck first, glancing my Katana off of its leg. I had done no damage. The beast caught me with a quick backhanded blow that sent me flying for yards. As I landed I felt my chest begin to collapse. fighting the coming darkness, I watched Lee thrust her sword towards the beast's chest. It shattered on impact. The beasts steel claw closed about her and crushed her body. All light faded away.

For those of you who weren't there, this is my account of a Heroscape battle that occurred at Protienstar's last night. If he lives up to his end of the bargain, we should have his take on things posted in a few days. That will be interesting because he played poorly, and as a coward.

I'm Back. . .Again

Since proteinstar has yet again demanded a post, here it is. Sorry I haven't been around lately, but things have been a tad busy, and I haven't felt like I have anything to offer. Here's today's dilemma though. Roverine and I are making a commitment to get in better shape over the next few months. Step one was having a goal. We chose the Five Boro Bike Tour in NYC. We are still hammering out a training program, but I was initially concerned with where I would find the time to fit a training program into my already "busy" schedule. Today I came to the realization that I actually have a ton of free time. I just don't manage it very well. I have a whole list of things that I would like to do "if I had the time." Among them are more reading, more exercise (specifically cycling), and more "good husband" time (which equates to more cleaning). So what exactly eats up my free time? Three things. Playstation, TV, and work. It isn't that I work all that much, but I do work a fair amount of bizarre mid-day shifts that eat up all of the daylight hours during the winter. I can't really do much about work (although I am working on a plan). That leaves TV and Playstation. Due to my Formula One obsession, I am unwilling to part with cable TV at this time. Playstation now falls under my crosshairs. Roverine and I use my PS2 almost daily for exercise videos, and we have also discovered the joys of Dance Dance Revoltution. So I think the console will stay, but I may sell off my game collection. Maybe not all of the games, but do I really need four different F1 games, a NASCAR game, rally racing, Gran Turismo 4, and Indy Car? I love my PS2 time, but I am pushing 30. Maybe it is time to move on. I think my life would be much more fulfilling if I found other uses for my time. So help me out here. PS2 games, stay or go?

Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie, and Toyota.

I seem to have this ongoing and tumultuous relationship with NASCAR. Ideally I would like to be able to say that I love all forms of motorsport, but NASCAR keeps holding me back. I really do have a diverse love for all forms of racing. I can get excited about everything from Formula One to off road rallying to dirt track sprint cars. For some reason I can't get excited about NASCAR. Each season I get all hyped up for the Daytona 500 and all the little races that surround it but then fall into a disillusioned boredom as the season wanes away into a legion of races that all appear to be identical. This season hold little hope of being any different, save one thing. This year, in an attempt to break out from their rural (read redneck) roots, NASCAR has allowed Toyota to enter the sport. This decision has sparked vigorous opposition from some of the established "rural" team owners. A barrage of ethnocentric idiocy has been thrown into the media. The basic argument appears to be that NASCAR is an "American" sport, and Toyota is not an American company. The funny thing is that the people levelling these accusations appear oblivious to the fact that in many facets Toyota makes more cars in the U.S. and employs more American workers than the "American" companies that the accuser represents. The secondary accusation that the established teams make is that Toyota will enter the sport with such a massive budget that they will buy up all of the good talent and build such high tech cars that they will effectively buy championships. This is also funny because, as I understand it, one of the appeals of NASCAR is that the cars are so tightly regulated that they are basically identical, therefore making it impossible to build a "high tech" car. A knowledge of recent history would also serve the NASCAR good old boys well. In 2002 Toyota entered Formula One with much fanfare. Their F1 team has spent an estimated $400 million each season (the largest budget in F1) and have yet to win a single race. That's right, they have invested somewhere around $2 billion into sport with no success for five years.

So it appears that the NASCAR boys have nothing to worry about, or do they? Toyota does have a massive amount of money to spend, and money sometimes leads to championships. Toyota also has a wealth of racing history and experience to draw from. The real concern for the NASCAR establishment has less to do with Toyota itself than it has to do with the idea of Toyota. The doors to the sport have been opened up to new companies, who knows who will come knocking? One company that is at the forefront of my mind is Honda. Honda has a huge market in America and has an even larger rivalry with Honda. Toyota's entry into F1 in 2002 was largely due to a desire to take on Toyota in popular forum. Don't be surprised if Honda decides to return the favor in NASCAR. That could mean serious trouble for the American teams.

While a Honda/Toyota NASCAR rivalry may be a pipe dream, I have found my point of interest for this year's NASCAR season. I want to see Toyota thrash the dickens out of those backwoods NASCAR boys. It probably won't happen this year, but a man can hope,

. . . And That Was Fun.

In High School I once told a Navy recruiter that I thought it would be fun to be a Navy SEAL. He asked me if I liked being wet and cold. I said "No." He told me to pursue other careers. I don't know why, but for some reason that conversation didn't pop into my head back in October when I was recruited for the Law Enforcement Eskimo Plunge. It seemed like a great idea at the time. It was October, almost seventy degrees outside, and the event benefited the Special Olympics. I thought it would be a good way to make up for all of those "short bus" jokes I've made in my life, and how cold could it get in February anyway? To add to the incentive, I would be participating as part of a team that had a designated Fund Raiser who didn't take the plunge, but raised money instead. I was all out of reasons not to go plunging. That was, of course, until last week when I realized that the Eskimo Plunge was no longer in the distant future. My enthusiasm was additionally lessened when I was told that the event location, Harrisburg's City Island, was in question due to "ice flow issues." Ice! I didn't sign up for ice!

At noon today I became painfully aware that our unseasonably warm autumn had turned into a seasonably cold winter. I stood on the northern tip of City Island and shuddered with my three teammates (and McGruff the Crime Dog) as we listened to the ice crackling by us as it flowed downstream. I was already cold and I hadn't even stripped to my swimming trunks yet! Side note: If you ever undertake an Eskimo Plunge, Corona board shorts and a Navy watch cap will not be appropriate attire. A least it was a dry cold, that humid cold really drains you. After groaning and mumbling for a few minutes we all trudged to the section of the "beach" designated for our endeavor and began to disrobe. Apparently we were a tad slow in our preparation because, without warning, a stampede of nut jobs sprinted past us and into the water while hooting and hollering along the way. We timidly began to follow behind, but gradually got caught up in the hoopla as we approached the river. The water was shockingly cold. My legs numbed almost immediately as we charged forward. It really was a bizarre scene, a mass of humanity charging forth to the waterfront, only to experience shock and pain. It was like Melville and Poe had collaborated to create some sort of sadistic tale. As I waded deeper and deeper into the water I felt a thousand ice fragments bumping into my legs. Fortunately, I had been advised to wear shoes on this adventure. As the water passed crotch level, myself and two teammates decided that we would like children to continue to be a future option, and turned back. The fourth team member charged forth, not content until an official in a dry suit turned him back.

Leaving the water, I was beginning to think that things hadn't gone all that bad. I could have stayed in longer (thus the genius of hypothermia)! Then the wind hit me, and the real race began. The three of us charged through the crowd, laughing, as the most extreme cold I had ever felt assaulted my body. Why were we laughing? I have no idea. There was nothing funny going on. As I returned to where Roverine was awaiting with warm clothes she pointed to my legs and cried, "What happened?" My lower body was covered in small trickles of blood, cut by razor sharp ice that I had barely felt. It wasn't just me, three of our team suffered the same fate. The fourth? The one who charged neck deep into the abyss? Unscathed. Fortune favors the bold.

Upon grabbing my clothes we (now down to two) ran for the heated changing tents, only to find them full. This was to our fortune, as we later discovered that the overcrowding had led to a heater igniting the clothes of some poor soul, who escaped uninjured. Instead of waiting in line we chose to hide "behind" an RV to change. I say "behind" because it was only so to humans. To the wind it was "along the way." Naked except for a beach towel, my numb fingers struggled with shoelaces that had frozen as stiff as electrical cable. How I got my trunks off before my shoes I still don't know, but I soon found them frozen to the ground beside my backpack. I eventually managed to get some warm clothes on in a haphazard manner that included an inside-out shirt and unzipped blue jeans. A stranger was kind enough to point out the open fly, but only after mocking my bloodied feet. He later also pointed out that I was eating my napkin along with my hot dog. What would we do without strangers? After getting fully dressed, fed, and filled with hot chocolate the team gathered again to laugh at our stupidity, and make plans for next year's event.

At the end of it all the Eskimo Plunge was exactly the type of adventure I've been yearning for. A few months back I realized that I hadn't had any really good excitement for awhile. A body goes stale if goes without bruises for a time. I needed a good knocking about. like the time I tried to learn to play rugby, or the time it tried to ride my bike down four flights of stairs, or the time I wrestled a Marine. You get the point. Though I dreaded it, and always will dread it, I really enjoyed the Eskimo Plunge and might just make it a yearly event. On with the pictures.

The Team

I hate McGruff the Crime Dog.

The River.

The Ice.

The End (I'm the shirtless guy behind Scary Elvis).

Wating For Audrey.

Last night Roverine and I watched Just My Luck, the latest offering by Lindsay Lohan. I was surprisingly entertained, but still disappointed at the same time. Several years ago I was very impressed by the remake of The Parent Trap that Lindsay starred in. As she aged and burst into the Hollywood spotlight she was touted as the next Anne Margret. I never really liked Anne, but saw in Lindsay the potential for the next Audrey Hepburn. In my opinion Audrey Hepburn was the ultimate movie star, she embodied grace in way that others only aspire to. Granted, Audrey wasn't perfect, but she left us with the feeling that perfection just might be attainable. I wasn't alive when Audrey was in her prime, but I live in the hope that someday another star will rise that oozes class like Audrey did. As I said, several years ago I had hopes that Lindsay Lohan might be that star, but sadly I've sat by and watch as her life has spiralled into a nightmare of drunken parties and drug use. Her acting has suffered because of it. The Parent Trap remains the highlight of her career, which is pretty sad. Granted, she is still young and can turn it around, but I'm not holding my breath. My hopes for the next Audrey Hepburn remain unfulfilled.

In the Formula One world Renault has released their 2007 contender, the R27. You may view it below, but may need to shield your eyes. It looks like a Cadbury's Cream Egg had a bad encounter with Willy Wonka. It's a shame that the color scheme is so bad because they've done some really neat aerodynamic work with the rear view mirrors.


Adding to the 2007 field is Honda's RA107 (pictured below). I love the all black scheme on this car. It looks like something from Speed Racer. Sadly the team only uses the black for winter testing and revert to a white base with brown and red highlights for racing. Despite having only been out in public for a few days, the RA107 has already set an off season record. It exploded after just three corners, beating McLaren's record of just under one lap. I'm still waiting to see the new Red Bull.

Different

I don't like weddings. I think I've established that pretty well over my blogging history. I find it sad that we express our sincerest hopes for the future by engaging in our most materialistic tendencies while paying little more than lip service to the big guy that makes it all possible, but off of my high horse right? I spent the better part of this weekend in Baltimore for a wedding that, no surprise, I wasn't looking forward to. It was for one of Roverine's cousins, it was out of state, I had to rearrange my work schedule, and it was a wedding. It isn't that I don't like Roverine's side of the family, I do, but I don't feel the same connection that I do with mine. I realize that attending family events like weddings will increase our common history together and foster stronger relationships, but knowing that and wanting to put effort into that are two different things. What can I say? I'm kind of a grump. Anyway, considering all of this you can imagine my surprise when I realized that I was actually enjoying myself. As the bride walked down the isle my thoughts drifted back to that beautiful summer day when I watched my own bride coming toward me. I couldn't help but smile. It was actually a surreal experience. I had had a little bit of a rough day at work when we were called to assist at the death of a local woman. It made so much sense to take a day that began in death and end it with two people beginning a new life together. The reception was nice and, aided by some red wine, I was able to further my relationship with the extended in-laws. Unfortunately, I also had to further relationships with two very bizarre strangers that were seated with us. Anyway, when I awoke this morning I was mystified by my enjoyment of the past evening. I had just attended a wedding and liked it. All was not right with the world. I mean, I had liked my own wedding. It is actually one of the highlights of my life, but liking other weddings seemed to go against my rover "-ness." Even more bizarre was that this wasn't the first wedding I had been to since my wedding. It was wedding 2.5 since my big day (I was late for one so I only count it as half), so it wasn't like being married had suddenly transformed me into a wedding lover. At the end of the day I am left with this undeniable fact, I went to a wedding and enjoyed it. That is very different. There isn't another wedding on the schedule, so I won't be able to see if this was a freak occurrence or not. I'm not sure that I want it to be.

He Never Stops

Yesterday I was sitting at my desk minding my own business while my coworker was perusing some internet news site. He came across a story about Muslims requesting to use the Qur'an when being sworn in to testify in court. He promptly exploded yelling, "Those (insert random string of profanities) Arabs! We should take them all out and (insert any profanity not already used) shoot them! They don't have any respect for the Bible!" Seriously, where do the Arabs get off with spreading their message of violence and hate? We really need to appreciate people, like my coworker, who are willing to kill people of differing viewpoints to defend the message of the Bible. Today he informed me that he doesn't like Jehovah's Witnesses because they try to tell him about God. How dare they force their religion on him! I really need a new job.

Ha!!!

I don't usually post on Ferrari's opposition, but I thought this was pretty entertaining, especially after a conversation I had with proteinstar about this car. Below is the new Mclaren-Mercedes MP4-22. As usual, there has been a large amount of hype around the release of the new Mclaren, especially since it will be driven by the reigning world champion, Fernando Alonso. So why is this entertaining? Yesterday Alonso got his hands on this shiny little trinket, and just prior to completing one lap in the car it exploded. Complete engine failure. Looks like those boys a Mclaren have some work to do. While that was going on in Valencia, Fisichella managed to launch the new Renault off of the track in Jerez. If this is any indication of how the rest of the year will go we should be in for quite the show.