Turning a blind eye

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That saying, "When it rains, it pours," I think it's starting to come true these past few days. Not to shed any personal baggage from the past week, but it all ties into together with the idea for this post.

So, last week, after a wonderful wedding shower for LK and I, (only two months to the big date), my right eye, the blind eye, starting having sharp pains. Now, I don't mean sharp like needles or anything like that. I mean sharp, like not sleeping for three days, moaning and driving LK crazy, kind of pains. Fortunately, it was in a blind eye, though quite an annoying thing none the less. Once I finally got the eye under control (thanks in part to lots of under-the-counter goodies), I then lost my front tooth, the one that I knocked out five times when I was a kid. Yeah, I had bad eyes then, too. Anyways, all this is going on while I'm trying to take on a new project for a client. So, I'm managing yself well, tyring to play it cool and not look like the front row of a Lynard skynard concert (with one tooth and one eye taken out). And in all this time, all I can think of is my frustration at the Internet.

All I wanted to do was find a little research on the whole painful eye thing. Instead, I had page after page on political books and articles that kept saying, "...turned a blind eye to the bla, bla, bla of the world"

So, what is this all about? Why is it that whenever we want someone to play dumb, or stick their head in the gorund like an ignorant person, we say, "Turned a blind eye?" Maybe it's the pain kilers, but I find offense in this. Over 75% of the legally blind in this country don't work. It's not because they can't work, but I would argue it's because society thinks they can't work. And I can see why when we use expressions like "turned a blind eye" to paint a picture of someone who is not in the real world. Blind people are, almost always, overdone in movies. sure, there are plenty of memoirs (mine included) that tell the tale of how strong persons who are visually impaired have to be to actually make it in a sighted world. But, look in the Bible, and we're still on the side of the road asking for money.

Ok, enough ranting for now. What I hope, though, is that maybe we can start a campaign, as small as it might be, to start saying, "And he turned a sighted eye..."

Can the beat go on?

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When the late hours on-air would drive my mind into oblivion, and the scratch of the record would start to sound like the concrete running beneath a greyhound bus, I would shake my head, slam down a Cherry Coke, and step into the archives of WUOG where I kept a rare LP of Duke Ellington rolling under the swinging percussion of Max Roach. Roach passed away this week, and there's a part of me that wonders if the beat can still go on.

Roach, remembered aptly here in this CMJ article, was one of the great drummers of all time. He introduced fused rhythms and timings during an era that swung like a metronome, never losing the 2 and the 4 on the snare. But Roach took the trap set to places it had never been, and helped build the sound of Bee Bop into the 1950s.

What was equally as significant for Roach was his dedication to the Civil Rights movement. I tried to think of musicians (or, artists of any kind) who have crossed such a great divide and reached such a large audience in today's corporate entertainment industry. His beat was heard all around the world, from the white snow drifts of Norway, to the muddy banks of the Congo. and in that space, Roach used his music to help break the divide between varying shades of flesh. When you close your eyes, you don't see a person's race, you just feel the beat.

Brian Lehrer, on WNYC aired an old broadcast today taken from an interview with Hip Hop artist Russel Simmons. He was plugging a book he wrote on success. It was nice to hear someone in the music industry speaking out. But Simmon's rhetoric was a little preachy for me. He kept talking about financial success and fusing in spiritual lingo. Yeah, I know. I once was a preacher. But as for the racial divide in this country, God is doing a pretty good job of fighting for the equal rights of humankind (Sharpton, Jackson, et al.). I was wanting to hear the musician shout out to the poverty and segragation that still goes on in this country. I wanted to hear it slung to a beat, the way that Roach to grab your body and soul and throw you down on the dance floor. But I can't find that beat anymore. If anyone hears it, let me know. Because now that Roach is gone, I'm listening hard for it.

I feel so dirty

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Sometimes, you just know. You know something isn't right. You know it's too good to be true. You know that we got to get out of this place, if it's the last thing we ever do. Today was one of those knowing days.

So, I've been on the job hunt lately, figuring that if Lisa Dog get's up so early, I might as well find something to do with my mornings (never ask what a freelancer is wearing when he/she interviews you on the tele). I answered an ad in Craig's list for entry level account execs. It was for a company called Pereira Marketing. They're out of White Plains, NY. And, myself being the hopeless romantic who dreams of catching the train out of Grand central, I thought it would be worth checking out. As a PR guy, I always wondered what marketing folk did. It's like chocolate milk wondering what the cow did to kill time on a sunny day.

So, Lisa and I get to White Plains after a three hour adventure. I put on my best interview face, showing up just in time for my 2:00 pm appointment, and I felt like I had stepped onto the 7 1/2 floor of a corporate office building right on Main Street.

The interview only lasted about ten minutes, and it was very vague. I was told that they would make their calls later that day for the second interview, which would last a whole day. The whole thing sounded strange, and when I asked them for a good place to eat in the nieghborhood, and the guy just said, "Oh, anywhere," I knew I wasn't dealing with a ligit local business that markets itself as "White Plains leading marketing company."

Turns out that Pereira falls into the same pile of marketing companies around the country that sucker in job seekers with visions of grandeur. Can't figure out if they're owned by DSMAX, one of the leaders in this misleading marketing sceme. But, its scent was as strong as polcat shooting Jagemeister at a Pittsburgh pool hall.

went for an interview in White Plains, NY this afternoon, and the job was a set-up for a popular hiring scam. The below links offer more insight into the way the company draws in job seekers and uses them for free labor during what they call a "2nd interview." The first interview I had today was exactly the same as the below links outline. I did not get a call back for the 2nd yet; probably because I'm blind and wouldn't fit into their targeted job seeker profile. Thought you guys might like to know that they're out there. Thanks, if this comes to any sort of banning them from these misleading posts. I listed the post IDs below as well

Best Regards,

Tony

DATE/POST ID from NY Craig's List--
Aug. 12, 2007 -- POST ID: 395217320,
July 26, 2007 -- Post ID: 382335171
July 24, 2007 -- Post ID: 381237685
July 17, 2007 -- Post ID: 375731863

Below are some links that I found uncovering more on these scams:
Rip Off Report
Some guy named Eric gives more loew down

Someone really does read those papers

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New York magazine reportered that Eliott Kalan, a producer for the Daily Show, received the ax after preaching the demise of newspapers in his NY Metro column.

Kalan, who wrote that nobody reads the papers anymore, as atested by the way the Metro is shoved into your hands while descending into the subways, wasn't sure what happened when he received word that his humor column was dropped. It seems the CEO of the Metro's parent company, Chris Spalding, read the article and Kalan's humor was lost in translation.

Looks like somebody actually does read the paper. It's a shame that it happened to be the guy who can have you fired. So much for editorial freedom. We'll have to see how Murdock treats the Journal now.

Never-ending wednesday

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I've been out of town for the past week and finally got back to New York last night at 3am, after one of the longest trips I had taken in quite some time.

What made the trip so special is that I broke an old promise to never take the Greyhound bus again. That followed a crazy 20 day excursion, covering 10,000 miles in 2001, and a great number of trips between Atlanta & Detroit several years ago. Greyhound is notorious for having poor customer service. Consumer Affairs lists some of their horror stories here. Though I can say that I've seen much worse for the more than 19 years that I've travveled on Greyhound (I hate not being able to drive sometime).

Yet, for reasons that only codependent penguins can understand, I found myself excited that I could save over $200 by riding Greyhound at the last minute instead of flying from Atlanta to New York (Amtrak was, as always, sold-out). Unfortunately, as I arrived at the Raleigh bus station, having secured a ride with friends to Raleigh helping to take some of the bit out of my trip, I was soon thrown into the hell that Greyhound is so good at recreating.

LK (soon to be LS) hates hearing me say it, but they are the perfect paradigm of "There's just got to be a better way..." And as I sat beneath the blaring CNN news round-up, which I had heard several times over and over during my four hour wait for the bus that I thought I was late for, all I could think of is how tragic it is that america (land of opportunities & dreams) bills this mode of transit to International travelers as a way to see our country. Though, what do we see? Well, since nobody who works for Greyhound seems to care about it's consumers (who pay their saleries), you see the inside of bus stations that haven't changed in 30 years, because you never know when your bus will pull up. You can't leave, or less you lose your place in line. You also see the class divide in our country, of those people who don't have credit cards and can charge their travels. Instead, they're left to an agonizing mode of transit that constantly reminds them to "stay in their place" and "don't rock the boat (or bus)."

Laidlaw, who owns greyhound, is a company that has strived to make a profit. They have filed for bankrupcy in the past. Though I can't figure out where they lose all their money. Bus stations always seem full with long lines. Atlanta, one of their busiest stations, is in a temp. building for eleven years (so, they're not blowing their money in construction costs). I've found cheaper flights on Airtran than I've found for routes to the same town that take twenty-two hours. And I've ridden on plenty of coaches that have leaks in the ceiling, broken AC, busted bathrooms, and employees who lack in common curtious public relations skills (affirming a lack in staff training). So, where does all their money go?

Greyhound goes against the notion of a profit company in today's free marketplace. I'm surprised that other countries, where mass transit is funded by the government, there is such a high quality of travel when riding the bus.

If making the world green is the way to go, we should start funding a national bus system. It could be something like Amtrak--hopes that we might return to funding them as well. We've allowed Greyhound to corner the market on bus travel in this country. So maybe it's time to just take them over. They could use some of the same quality of service that we get at our national parks or at the post office. Sure, Amtrak has had its share of problems over the years (mostly after the congress cut funding in the 1990s). But the first thing I did when my bus hit Washington DC last night was run to Union Station, with minutes to spare before catching the last train out that night. Big seats, drinks from the club car, and a conductor with a friendly manner made a two hour nap a wonderful end to a two day sega. Almost as good as the two arms waiting for me at home.

I broke the heat of New York by heading south to Atlanta for a couple of days, where the temp climbed a few more degrees, but my mother has air conditioning in her house (a treat for a New York apartment city dweller. I'm blown away down here by the fact that kids begin school this Monday in Georgia (NYC not starting for another month and a half). What blew me away more was the article run in this weekend's Wall Street Journal.,shaming my own childhood and memories of 1st days of school.

the article (wich forgive me as I heard it on Audible, so I don't have it linked here) was this year's review on the hottest lunch boxes to hit the shelves. Reviewed by 2 children, the boxes rose to the top depending on their versatility and use of space.

What ever happened to the shamless and over-marketed metal boxes with your favorite cartoons? They were all the exact same box, but with different painted images on the front that would peal off on a hot summer day when school busses would line up in the K-Mart parking lot as I left with my new shoes and Six Million Dollar Man lunch box. I didn't care if it had extra pockets for snachs, or if it could fit in my book bag (why would you want to hide such a wonderful display of Yoda or the Dukes of Hazard?). Lunch boxes where a symbol of artistic taste. Didn't matter if the Six Million Dollar Man came on after my bed time. He just looked cool picking up that giant rock that shielded my juice box and Jiffy & jam sandwich. He was strong, powerful, and worth a whole lot of money. I was short, with glasses the side of my head, and lanky. I didn't care about ergonomics in my lunch box. I just needed it as a weapon against would-be lunch thiefs on the playground. And that thing could leave a bruise.

Ah, the good 'ol days... And thus is born another meek, four-eyed kid who saw the pen as something mightier than the sword. And if you didn't have a pen, get a lunch box that could leave a bruise.

It Never Ends

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My love for public broadcasting came at an early age, when I was four-years-old, and I received a letter from the newly acquired WTBS-17. The letter read something like this (it's been lost for some time, but burned in my memory):

Dear Anthony,

We are sorry that the new WTBS-17 no longer broadcasts your favorite show, Flipper, during our afternoon Fun House. We would hope that you will be please, however, with our new line-up of fun and entertaining programs aired on our station. Our decision to remove Flipper was a difficult one. But we felt that the new line of programs were superior. And we are sure that in time they will become your new favorites. Thanks for your concern, and we hope you enjoy the new CH17, WTBS.

Sincerely,

Ted Turner

Of course, that's a rough adaptation of the actual letter received (I think the first letter I ever got, other than birthday cards).
Nevertheless, I loved Flipper, and was never the same after that, becoming bitter and jaded toward the corporate media from that point forward.

On this morning's Page Six of the Post, found here, it was reported that Pulitzer Prize author Robert Butler, a professor at Florida State, had his wife run-off with the multi-billionaire Ted Turner. Professor Butler, in an e-mail to his students and staff, explained the whole separation, siting his wife's abusive grandfather for the split-up. Quite a strech if you ask me. I would have just blaimed the dolphin.