tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67092170250022896702024-03-05T11:12:04.119-05:00BrouhahaPhotos, Stories, Reviews, Folderol, and Notes Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.comBlogger54125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-9830058246197375062014-02-21T16:52:00.001-05:002014-02-21T16:52:04.605-05:00Solo -- A James Bond Novel by William Boyd<h2>
<b style="font-family: Cochin;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can 007 Only Live Twice?</span></b></h2>
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Since the death of Ian Fleming 50 years ago, there have be attempts to continue the James Bond legacy by various authors. Until now, according to a recent review I read in the Week, no one have been able to breathe life into 007. Until now. </div>
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Now finally, William Boyd, a Brit writer, have come remarkably close to creating a legitimate successor to Fleming’s novels. Being a dormant Bond aficionado for some 50 years, I had to buy the book.</div>
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Bond is, once again, on her majesty’s secret service. The writer has constructed timeline of events for Mr Bond and determines it is James’ 45<sup>th</sup> birthday at the onset of this story. </div>
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Every Bond story by Fleming always had common elements. Here are a few that Boyd continues in this book.</div>
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<li>Bond always meets beautiful women willing to “share” almost immediately,</li>
<li>Bond consumes hard liquor aplenty, wherever and whenever. His weakness here is bourbon by the bottle, not the glass. </li>
<li>Bond is continually prissy about the details of what he is to eat, how it is to be prepared, and how it is to be served.</li>
<li>Bond always must have the top of the line auto wherever he goes. Even when he is undercover, he still rents the most powerful, fastest, most obvious car.. </li>
<li>Bond is also finicky by what he smokes and a big deal about the brand he chooses. </li>
<li>Bond has a penchant for meeting people with unusual names. In this book we meet Christmas and Blessing. </li>
<li>Bond’s missions always involve taking super organizations down. In this book, it’s a country that this single agent must beat!</li>
<li>Bond encounters a truly horrible bad guy that cannot be defeated. </li>
<li>Bond finds himself facing inescapable, imminent death. </li>
<li>Luckily, the bad guys leave the room as James is within seconds of dying. Don’t they ever learn?</li>
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As you can see, all the elements are in place and this should be a book that carries on a great tradition. For me, it doesn’t. For one thing, many of the Bondisms that I admired as a youth seem like unsavory excesses to me now. Such as indiscriminant liaisons with so many women. Who goes into a bar for a drink and orders a whole bottle of bourbon? Smoking constantly. A tux for dinner? A car that can go 200 mph in a city like DC? All of this sounded super appealing to me in my 20's. Or maybe even 30's. Now,enough, Bond. Settle down a bit..</div>
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Also, I find the story itself to be choppy and in some regards, hard to make sense. The segues sre tough to follow at tines. I didn't "get" some of it because the story was a bit over the top. I should read the book twice to clarify some of these puzzles but the book doesn’t warrant a second reading, as far as I am concerned. </div>
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The bottom line: Author Boyd churned up a good bit of nostalgia for me, when I wanted to be like a Bond myself. But at 67, I believe that anyone who lived like Bond would be long dead now from too many cigarettes, whiskey, women, fast cars or super rich food. I can only live this once. Read it for old times sake. Skip it if your old times don't need summoning. </div>
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BTW, the Bond movies still carry the legend on for me. They have always been entertaining. Daniel Craig is the best Bond ever.</div>
Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-14988939432379725752010-08-29T13:52:00.024-04:002010-08-31T20:25:02.818-04:00What's the Difference Between Having A Baby and a Great Idea?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Where do these great ideas come from and who thinks them
up?" the young, curious recently newly minted MBA asked me, an old and wizened corporate dude. The MBA guy was referring to a new process our corporation just put into place that actually wasn't working too well. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought for a moment, wondering how much of the truth he could handle. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Many of the ideas are spawned in the executive offices on
the top floor. When they are conceived, I believe that there are at least two
people involved, but there can be many more," says I. His eyes widen. I watch as some of his
youthful academic beliefs shatter.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What about the Great Man theory?" he asks, referring to
the theory was popularized in the 1840s by Thomas Carlyle. Ignoring his masters degree, I answer,
"In the corporate world, there can be many fathers-- and mothers -- to an great idea. "</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Once the seed is successfully planted, more executives start
noticing and encouraging the idea to take form. When enough time goes by, and a
majority approve its potential, it's officially born." </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It then becomes an official member of the corporate environment, and communal teams swoop in from law, compliance, operations, systems and other areas to help raise it in in the corporate form it needs to be. They will nurture the idea, putting form and fabric on it so it can be tested. "</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"The idea then morphs into a project," I press on.
"At this point, it literally has a life of its own. It will grow up
becoming either a product or a process and in all likelihood, will look nothing like the original idea."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Then it can go through years of growing up. It gets tested, usually by people it won't ever have to use it. If the project fails a test or two, and may have to
go back a step or two for more study," I inform. "The idea either finally grows up, or
unfortunately dies in the testing phase.
The life of an idea is extremely fragile and could even have passed away
earlier."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I’m not certain why this one didn’t," the young
now-not-so-curious writer mutters as he walks away. "It sucks."</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-60138948542106588952010-08-13T18:00:00.005-04:002010-08-20T17:02:16.172-04:00The Red Renault<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">by Bob Beardsley</span></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjy-OtSykyCj_EGG8L1xhkrEKzb7n4golll-XylhkdvMaiTgWA9Cutj2SVv4NqKLuZqIiTLahRMz9_qZaKzVmIJWOi0UT4GYLL4ZeRZBPtGExAxSecV6lNc-K4rEnJSIi_mhCB3yTHMM/s1600/eRenault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKjy-OtSykyCj_EGG8L1xhkrEKzb7n4golll-XylhkdvMaiTgWA9Cutj2SVv4NqKLuZqIiTLahRMz9_qZaKzVmIJWOi0UT4GYLL4ZeRZBPtGExAxSecV6lNc-K4rEnJSIi_mhCB3yTHMM/s320/eRenault.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Simulated Photo of the Actual Renault!</b></td></tr>
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I once bought a 1965 Renault R8 for $300. The paint on the 1965 Renault was a dull, burnt red-pink. Really <i>burnt</i> because the original red had oxidized into its present unappealing condition. The paint even felt rutted to the touch. Not that a Renault with a good paint job would ever be characterized as good looking. I inspected the engine -- which was located in the rear of the car -- looking for serviceable life. As soon as I popped the hood latch I sniffed gas. The engine’s fittings and fissures were spotted with rust and oil. The car did not look roadworthy.<br />
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Once in the car, the smell of old, weathered seats – I think they were made of a type of a leather -- filled my nostrils. A relaxing odor reminiscent of very old leather chairs you might imagine in a British men’s club It gave me the sense this vehicle had provided years of comforting and faithful service. I was surprised that the driver’s seat felt very accommodating; warm, soft and welcoming. The entire interior, including the seats, carpeting, paneling and dash, displayed an non-offensive tan color.<br />
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The small dashboard peered out from behind the steering wheel. The odometer permanently registered 87,000 miles and never advanced, while the speedometer only registered speed in kilometers. The gas gauge appeared to be functional. There were no more instruments. This minimalist approach did not trouble me, and I found it rather reassuring that I didn't have to bother with much data. Driving the Renault would be like discarding your watch, freeing oneself from the conventions of society.<br />
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The black wooden gear knob rose from the center floorboard on a gangly metal stalk. This is where I discovered that the heart and soul of this Renault. The rounder, wooden knob was worn and soothingly smooth to my touch. Any instructive gear patterns stamped on the top of the knob were long ago rubbed out, but no matter. The shifter and transmission worked flawlessly together. Driving this apparent wreck of an auto was a pleasure. The car gave me years of good service.<br />
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In all the years since and considering all the cars I have owned, I never felt more safe or more at peace than in this unlikely auto that I paid $300 for in 1971.<br />
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<i>P.S. The car served me well for three years and I only parted with it after a major accident. A young lady ran a light and smashed into the front of the Renault, squishing and collapsing the trunk like an accordion closing. This absorbed most to the energy and spun the car around for 150 feet. I was uninjured because this odd duck of an auto had the engine in the back. Had it been in the front, the impact and result would have been much worse.</i></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-31849997479310836882010-05-27T19:20:00.013-04:002010-05-27T19:56:01.059-04:00They Served with Honor, Pride and SacrificeThanks to all the veterans who served and especially to the ones that gave up all their tomorrows that we may still enjoy our todays.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TgFkTL-koceUcE3Yw7_JC_aKPfOYqBxXjcY26EyHpCGpVPuTgH3VHFQKkrkuQHB2mgzXTpt95umVLVpvAaD5COdG_MAGXEwPaX9UWvTs9YYyDB8o0yJmcvke-fLAYEvx8CmN-IdPp-s/s1600/Memorial+Day.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7TgFkTL-koceUcE3Yw7_JC_aKPfOYqBxXjcY26EyHpCGpVPuTgH3VHFQKkrkuQHB2mgzXTpt95umVLVpvAaD5COdG_MAGXEwPaX9UWvTs9YYyDB8o0yJmcvke-fLAYEvx8CmN-IdPp-s/s400/Memorial+Day.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476099838316936338" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyJO5DwgjdD8-2wZtcahABda7iHuVyGJrsl0M0RTNhUxj1-MTxjbvwa7wHCMTOnryp149fhcUIbZewLTsl1C_4tziuAjBn7sJeXVtKoxPnDpa6l02reNp66ltIjwzHvXLE5i2FhG77_A/s1600/Scan10013.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPyJO5DwgjdD8-2wZtcahABda7iHuVyGJrsl0M0RTNhUxj1-MTxjbvwa7wHCMTOnryp149fhcUIbZewLTsl1C_4tziuAjBn7sJeXVtKoxPnDpa6l02reNp66ltIjwzHvXLE5i2FhG77_A/s400/Scan10013.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476098334266886482" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6PD5KKth41FO1GNKh-8Yw73houQZQzTXx-fMA6A9V_tNLz1gjSfk7XX_5r8xQtVuV2j6A1fPr88YSBSOy_AHhN053lDO7OQYzSQKzIHpTV0YtFOVXrbQ_ctqChvqbNlqfzcIdyk7RMs/s1600/Scan10008.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 302px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB6PD5KKth41FO1GNKh-8Yw73houQZQzTXx-fMA6A9V_tNLz1gjSfk7XX_5r8xQtVuV2j6A1fPr88YSBSOy_AHhN053lDO7OQYzSQKzIHpTV0YtFOVXrbQ_ctqChvqbNlqfzcIdyk7RMs/s400/Scan10008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476097622938625090" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SXljUhKI3fGU0H2hCUwzkBul6sj-RawzYsjIt2eTjIqmPsu5fCDCnx2uCmwQBnPJn-I44BxVlPRhVMSKkzZJB91axqWuQOQhyR7SHE2UM3XYYI9yHnABI0jqfX32z_ePjVOQAsGXEQo/s1600/Scan10007.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0SXljUhKI3fGU0H2hCUwzkBul6sj-RawzYsjIt2eTjIqmPsu5fCDCnx2uCmwQBnPJn-I44BxVlPRhVMSKkzZJB91axqWuQOQhyR7SHE2UM3XYYI9yHnABI0jqfX32z_ePjVOQAsGXEQo/s400/Scan10007.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476096666512304562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcytDTzr2xNNHXpP__BfGXwWDEXhM3TvoHXNC3m0VuRP5wiKmJcvGupemCxLFHAUwoo_urBH1r5O-nNky0K1XEQkEUg1QlT_3jhGxciDK6vCsXpOjd4nn39t0eGrby6eB2VMQqxrlSOh0/s1600/Scan10066.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 323px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcytDTzr2xNNHXpP__BfGXwWDEXhM3TvoHXNC3m0VuRP5wiKmJcvGupemCxLFHAUwoo_urBH1r5O-nNky0K1XEQkEUg1QlT_3jhGxciDK6vCsXpOjd4nn39t0eGrby6eB2VMQqxrlSOh0/s400/Scan10066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476096354197733298" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJd_-dCZAxNzehFHxeK0F_UoEQxBxnrjbL426bHdVJyPiW2y39xS11Od2I5tB60G8h-FEgZj8gVhIn41w1ENQComIZbqoh9xU58-EReQSBho9l91p6_-90exHZ499HHFWWpN-M-4RqAc/s1600/Scan10001.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJd_-dCZAxNzehFHxeK0F_UoEQxBxnrjbL426bHdVJyPiW2y39xS11Od2I5tB60G8h-FEgZj8gVhIn41w1ENQComIZbqoh9xU58-EReQSBho9l91p6_-90exHZ499HHFWWpN-M-4RqAc/s400/Scan10001.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476101020673543682" /></a>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-72622681468194177692010-02-25T21:15:00.007-05:002010-03-24T19:51:27.285-04:00Everyday Heroes Who Can't Be Seen<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande';font-size:11px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I came across this modern Helen Keller story and although I know many of you have heard of her before, I thought you might enjoy meeting Dr. Temple Grandin. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dr. Grandin didn't talk</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> until she was three and a half years old, communicating her frustration instead by screaming, peeping, and humming. She is autistic.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Today she is world renowned as a scientist and speaker. Perhaps her greatest accomplishment is that she has been credited as the person who has provided the greatest insights into understanding autism to date.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Grandin was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and was diagnosed with "brain damage" at age two. Her parents placed her in a structured nursery school with what she considers to have been good teachers. Grandin's mother spoke to a doctor who suggested speech therapy, and she hired a nanny who spent hours playing turn-based games with Grandin and her sister.</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">At age four, Grandin began talking, and she began making progress. She considers herself lucky to have had supportive mentors from primary school onwards. However, Grandin has said that middle school and high school were the worst parts of her life. She was the "nerdy kid", the one whom everyone teased and picked on. She would be walking down the street and people would say "tape recorder", because she would repeat things over and over again. Kinda like Dustin Hoffman's Rain Man.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">After graduating from Hampshire Country School, a boarding school for gifted children in Rindge, New Hampshire in 1966, Grandin went on to college. She received her bachelor's degree in psychology from Franklin Pierce College (also located in Rindge) in 1970, her master's degree in animal science from Arizona State University in 1975, and her Ph.D. in animal science from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign in 1989.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are many heroes in this story. Her parents did not give up on her at a time when many brain damaged children were not understood or even tolerated. With the help of teachers, mentors, doctors, speech therapists, nannies and family, she overcame great odds to become who she is today. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">For your enjoyment, here is a video of her speaking at a convention. Although she is standing alone on this stage, and although you can't see them, there are many, many average, everyday people that stand behind her. </span></span></div><div><object width="446" height="326"><param name="movie" value="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><param name="bgColor" value="#ffffff"> <param name="flashvars" value="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/dynamic/TempleGrandin_2010-embed-medium.mp4&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/TempleGrandin-2010.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=773&introDuration=16500&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=2000&adKeys=talk=temple_grandin_the_world_needs_all_kinds_of_minds;year=2010;theme=tales_of_invention;theme=how_the_mind_works;theme=new_on_ted_com;theme=a_taste_of_ted2010;event=TED2010;&preAdTag=tconf.ted/embed;tile=1;sz=512x288;"><embed src="http://video.ted.com/assets/player/swf/EmbedPlayer.swf" pluginspace="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" bgcolor="#ffffff" width="446" height="326" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="vu=http://video.ted.com/talks/dynamic/TempleGrandin_2010-embed-medium.mp4&su=http://images.ted.com/images/ted/tedindex/embed-posters/TempleGrandin-2010.embed_thumbnail.jpg&vw=432&vh=240&ap=0&ti=773&introDuration=16500&adDuration=4000&postAdDuration=2000&adKeys=talk=temple_grandin_the_world_needs_all_kinds_of_minds;year=2010;theme=tales_of_invention;theme=how_the_mind_works;theme=new_on_ted_com;theme=a_taste_of_ted2010;event=TED2010;"></embed></object></div></div></span>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-64348517681889553082010-02-25T19:44:00.020-05:002010-02-25T22:43:30.786-05:00Will Someone Speak for the 14 Million Children?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev-StBFCwuVVJiYB5u2B0Kh6b6fGiXwqHskxwUXojlHYXB06dRcB8_i716Kpc0DRVAcsrFtspUwyPHmlBWjybPHY4ljHRHKkWeXMmNl2gumjqMVWXQDO-wd3q3GwUd-MKJkKjA9ccSJc/s1600-h/Scan10006.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev-StBFCwuVVJiYB5u2B0Kh6b6fGiXwqHskxwUXojlHYXB06dRcB8_i716Kpc0DRVAcsrFtspUwyPHmlBWjybPHY4ljHRHKkWeXMmNl2gumjqMVWXQDO-wd3q3GwUd-MKJkKjA9ccSJc/s400/Scan10006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442386501692967234" /></a><div>The debate on national healthcare rages on in the legislative branch of our government and the party lines are firmly drawn. The Democrats say <i>let's get this done</i> and the Republicans say <i>no way</i>. Our taxes will be too much. The verbal exchanges are wild-eyed and vituperative. Socialists! Naysayers! Liars! Election focused ranting! Fascists! Hitler! This is all sickening. Is there a sane person in our congress? Is there a hero that can break this deadlock? </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Can someone speak up for the 14 million children (19% of the nation's children)</b> who live in poverty and can't afford basic life services like food much less medical care<b> </b>(these are 2008 statistics from <b>Feeding America</b>)? Will a Democrat stand up and sacrifice his pork barrel legislation to the health bill for the children's sake? </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Can someone in the Republican party come up with an alternate plan </b>to provide affordable medical care to the 47 million Americans who don't have any healthcare coverage? Or is there no hope? Or do we just tell the poor and the sick to go to the emergency room, knowing that some may never go or only go when they are so sick that major medical intervention is needed. BTW, who do you think pays for this in the end?</div><div><br /></div><div>And can someone tell the radio talk show hosts that it's too late. <b>America embraced socialism many years ago.</b> Even these bilious windbags will collect social security when they get old, take advantage of Medicare healthcare benefits when they need them, have their special needs children and grandchildren be given appropriate schooling by law, and they will even collect unemployment if they get fired from their jobs (not soon enough!). If these aren't "socialist" welfare programs, then what is? </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>C</b><b>an someone speak up and tell us? Can we get this done and do the right thing?</b></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-60633403999036042752010-01-28T21:15:00.004-05:002010-01-29T22:20:36.394-05:00I never thought I would see the day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f5N_HtHIuvjSTdrJV3XzDMeGRUQTKl-2JwoYt45-4pQb-i8cbj4lXP4aqcXGmSDu-2anYZlNi2qhdYalW-rmMilIgLkDPwUcEHxdAAv4jM7CjPTJEkVLUkVs2U8rn3eYlXuRwc1EpuU/s1600-h/CIMG0740.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7f5N_HtHIuvjSTdrJV3XzDMeGRUQTKl-2JwoYt45-4pQb-i8cbj4lXP4aqcXGmSDu-2anYZlNi2qhdYalW-rmMilIgLkDPwUcEHxdAAv4jM7CjPTJEkVLUkVs2U8rn3eYlXuRwc1EpuU/s400/CIMG0740.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429941861780775698" /></a>.<b>..that I would so enjoy the</b> sunsets and sunrises like we have here on the water almost daily. Right here is New Jersey! <div><br /></div><div><b>...that I would use </b>such wondrous and magical tools like the internet. With applications like Facebook, <b>the net eliminates the boundaries of distance and even </b><i><b>time. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">I have</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">traveled back in time to reconnect with long-lost friends<i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; ">. Friends from grammar school, high school, college, Air Force, my working career that has spanned 36 years. These renewed friendships enrich my life and provide an unique joy to this journey once again.</span></b></i></span></b></i></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><b>...that I would be shocked</b> that a man who once posed <i>totally nude</i> in a magazine could get elected to the Senate. He happens to be a Republican. What happened to "family" values that party is so proud of? By the way, there is great irony in this victory as the seat that was filled was Ted Kennedy's, the champion of Healthcare reform. </div><div><div><br /></div><div><b>...that I would be aske</b><b>d</b> to play Andy Rooney in an upcoming company video. OMG, do I look that old? Please don't answer! <i>Now what's this I found in my desk drawer? Carbon paper? </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>...<b>that I would hear</b> the vitriolic ranting that the conservative and liberal media hosts -- not to mention politicians -- offer to their listeners. Olbermann calls Scott Brown every foul name in the book on air just after Brown is elected. Limbaugh says "Haiti is tailor-made situation for Obama" as if Obama can score points from it. Hannity compares Obama to Hitler, the greatest monster in history of mankind. Does anyone else find this repulsive? Why the hell aren't sponsors bailing out on these guys? Free speech -- yes. Lying and slandering -- no. It's up to us to tune out and then advertisers to bail out fom these guys.</div><div><br /></div><div>.<b>..that I would be disappointed </b>that the seemingly smart and educated people we elect to represent us as Senators and Representatives turn into gang members in Washington, They join one of the two political gangs in Washington and they apparently swear allegiance to the red or the blue and they vote as if they share the same brain. When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>...and that I would be amazed</b> that Apple named its new tablet computer the <b>I-Pad</b>. There couldn't have been a woman in the room when they picked that name!</div><div><br /></div></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-36557066919142702192010-01-18T15:09:00.004-05:002010-01-18T15:09:00.277-05:00The Old Sun Just Keeps On Rising<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOELTUF-ESMWGReqilPyfWYCA2BTJpMEk9mnSS9p6PWpmW2ykLH_xXA8mmlujy4z4MHdiQzuhavGW7YOWGA_4_kqcILRYmNIazvhOs5ksj4fJXgdZToVzxhDXkQvYkTrQcGGRSl0XPyI/s1600-h/6203_004.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXOELTUF-ESMWGReqilPyfWYCA2BTJpMEk9mnSS9p6PWpmW2ykLH_xXA8mmlujy4z4MHdiQzuhavGW7YOWGA_4_kqcILRYmNIazvhOs5ksj4fJXgdZToVzxhDXkQvYkTrQcGGRSl0XPyI/s400/6203_004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428135387700822626" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, sans-serif;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Editors note: I have often wondered what it is like to grow up as a young person these days. So much has changed since I was that age that I can't imagine what pressures people in their twenties and thirties endure now. Consider this economy, the technology, and the changing standards and mores over that past 40 years. Life was so much simpler then.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><i>I received the following submission from one of my most loyal blog readers. It's a review of a decade in her life as she travels through her thirties. She reveals her own challenges, joys and sorrows, sometimes stated obviously and sometimes between the lines. There is much said in this to indicate to me that maybe the moral, technological changes haven't altered growing upp as I have imagined. We all have looked for ourselves through the decades. And I think each of us continues that quest throughout much of our lives.</i></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b>A Decade of Reflections by Kris </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">December 31, 2009</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>It's the the end of a decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, as it’s New Year’s Eve as well, it’s fitting to review the year, as well as the last ten years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Oh my, how much my life has changed as I think back to the beginning of the last decade, which was the end of the previous one – December 31<sup>st</sup>, 1999.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was 28 years old and had just gotten out of the Army on December 2, after serving nearly 7 years of Active service, essentially ending my officer’s career that began at West Point, in 1989, which in fact, had been another 10 years earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As a quick review of the 1990s, my 20’s had been consumed primarily by Army operations, field exercises, and assignments in Georgia, North Carolina, California, Korea, and Egypt and the beginning of my first long-term relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The decade also marked the receipt of one of the greatest gifts I have had in my life – my first dog, Murphy, a determined, anxiety-filled, but playful schnauzer, who was my most reliable and steadfast companion through most of the 90s and the 00s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In my career in the Army, I had been an ambitious officer, full of persistence and drive, while less in touch with the emotional side of things. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I threw myself into succeeding and had done fairly well at that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Back then, on December 31<sup>st</sup>, 1999, I had really no clue what was in store for me in the next decade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It began with a short stint with Siemens manufacturing company in a little town outside of Raleigh, North Carolina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I started in customer service but quickly found myself being called to help on the manufacturing line, which had all for all intents and purposes completely stopped shipping switchgear and circuit breakers due to a huge information technology upgrade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Soon after a new production manager took over, he hired me to be responsible for one of the largest lines in the plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This is where, as a supervisor of 40 individuals, I began my transition from an officer, where I had relied mostly on issuing orders and the punitive effects of the Uniform Code of Military Justice, to supervising individuals who cared less about following commands and management who relied less on disciplinary measures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This was a significant shift for me, and I began to create a new view of myself as a leader, one that continues to grow even today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>After my two-year gig with Siemens and primarily due to the horrific events that occurred on September 11, 2001, the FBI started hiring, and in January, 2002, I began New Agent Training at the FBI Academy and officially started my career as a Special Agent, reporting to my first assignment in Los Angeles, CA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I remember receiving my orders during New Agents’ class - my heart literally dropped when I saw “Los Angeles” in bold font on the piece of paper, as I had been hoping to see “Washington DC.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In fact my Dad thought there had been a bad cell phone connection when I told him I was going to LA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>While it had been terribly upsetting to move my entire life from the East Coast to the West Coast and be so far away from family, make terms with the ending of my first long-term relationship that had lasted eight years, and finally start therapy to deal with a great deal of unattended emotions that had been left over after my Mom died in 1989, Los Angeles turned out to be a spiritual reawakening. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> I learned meditation, yoga, and fell in love with a beautiful woman and the adventures of being in a wild, untamed California, all of which helped me to find the old philosopher my friends back in high school had known so well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We moved to Topanga, a magical and religious experience in itself, and I put in for and was awarded an assignment as the FBI Weapons of Mass Destruction Coordinator in LA, which ended up to be another blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When I left LA in 2007, I had achieved some of my most proudest life moments, as I had directly impacted the welfare of the communities I had served and had received an LA County official scroll in a ceremony presided by the LA County Public Health Officer and one of the LA Board of Supervisors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The 00s also marked me coming out to my entire family, including my grandfather (who received the news rather positively), bringing my girlfriend to my brother’s wedding in Richmond, Virginia and meeting my terrific new sister-in law Stacey, and, most notably, my father marrying Rita, who has become a second mom to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>With the marriage, I also inherited a new sister and brother, who I could not imagine loving any more than I do today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But this is not all – I got a promotion as a Supervisory Special Agent with an assignment to the FBI’s Bioterrorism Prevention Program at Headquarters in Washington DC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The new job has brought some amazing experiences – advancing and formulating national policy at the White House, debriefing the Amerithrax (2001 anthrax letters) investigators and developing lessons learned to improve biosecurity at US labs, and conducting bioterrorism response training throughout the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the US, I have trained local responders in Washington DC, Florida, California, Indianapolis, and Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>On the international front, I have conducted training in the United Kingdom, the Philippines, India, Paraguay, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Arab Emirates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Additionally, I have traveled to and participated in international and bilateral meetings in Lyon, France and Berlin, Germany.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This decade ends quietly for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have dealt with some significant losses in the 00s: my second long-term relationship, a life-changing experience for me, ended after three years; I lost Tosca, an incredibly free-spirited cat during a road trip across the continent; Murphy died in October 2007, only three months after moving into my new home in Takoma Park, Maryland; and on Thanksgiving Day this year, an 11-month relationship with my most recent girlfriend ended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once being most proud of my drive to succeed, my life as a “thinker,” and my taking command and providing results to tough projects at work, now I am much more appreciative of my emotional side: I cry more easily, listen more deeply, and love more intensely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>With these losses and with all of my life experiences that have led up to me welcoming this New Year of 2010 as a 38-year old woman, I know I have a great deal for which to be grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have two awesome cats, Jasper and Tarzan, both of which are in good health. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"></span>I live in the amazingly liberal and community-oriented town of Takoma Park, Maryland, right across from Sligo Creek; the closest I can come to living in place that resembles Topanga.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I have the most wonderful friends and family I could ever hope for and have recently become an aunt of cute, adorable, little baby Aubrey (good job Dave and Stacey!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My job is enormously rewarding as I am able to impact emergency response planning both within the United States and internationally, and this gives me a sense I am contributing to a larger life purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am able to enjoy my favorite activities such as meditation, yoga, hiking, and running, on a regular basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>And, I have traveled to some of the most incredible places in the world and experienced a variety of different cultures and sights while not paying a dime of my own money!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>With all that said, here’s to hoping 2010 brings good things to my family, friends, and to our planet and its sentient beings; and for me, I really have no clue what’s around the corner.</o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </span><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-4307939235081460422009-12-31T14:10:00.001-05:002010-01-01T09:42:31.803-05:00Ghosts of Christmas Past<div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Editors Note:</strong> We received this very nice essay from one of our favorite correspondents - Dr Bob Gallagher. Many of us will have our memories jogged a bit by his recollections of his Christmas's past. I think most of us will read this and be able to share a smile -- or even a melancholy moment or two -- reflecting on the magic of being a child in holiday seasons past. </span></em></span><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"><strong>Christmas in Pittsburgh</strong></span></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;color:#ff0000;"></span></strong></div><div align="left"><br />Christmas has past and today I sat around thinking of the images of the Christmases of my youth. Yes, it was a LONG time ago, but the mind is still sharp enough to bring back memories.<br /><br />A week or so before Christmas our family would drive the 25 miles to the “big city” (Pittsburgh) to take in the Christmas sights. All the department stores would convert their outside display windows into scenes of the season, with electric trains in action, snowy villages and Santa’s workshop showing elves hard at work making Christmas toys.<br /><br />The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers on their way to find that perfect gift. On every corner would be a young boy with his stack of newspapers for sale. The hustle and bustle of the big city always put us in the Christmas mood.<br /><br />When I was about eleven or twelve and in the Boy Scouts, we sold Christmas trees as a money making project. It had snowed, heavily, and we were able to just stick the trees into the snow to make our own forest. Trees 6’ and under went for 50 cents and those taller ones were 75 cents. Of course, the man who had the tree sales around the corner, wasn’t happy since he charged $1 per tree.<br /><br />At our house, we bought our tree and then left it on the back porch for Santa to put up and decorate. On Christmas morning it was such a sight to come down stairs and see the tree and Santa’s gifts to us on display under the tree. I remember that one year he put balloons in the tree as additional decorations.<br /><br />One of the gifts I always remember was a dart game. You loaded three or four darts into a box that had a reverse periscope attached to it and a lever to release the darts. You stood over the dart board, which was a map of Tokyo, and let those bombs go ! By now, you can figure how old I am.<br /><br />Another tradition at our house was that after opening all the gifts, my mom and dad would take a very long nap. It wasn’t until later, when I became part of the midnight visit from Santa, for my sister, that I discovered the reason for this traditional “family sleep time”. It seems that after doing all the “Santa” thing at our house, my parents went next door to help with our neighbor’s tree. Their Christmas tradition consisted of starting to drink after dinner and by the time their kids were in bed, the neighbors were pretty much wasted. If it wasn’t for my parents, there wouldn’t have been much of a Christmas next door. Hence the Christmas nap time at our house.<br /><br />Well, those are some of the Christmas memories I always think about from my childhood. I hope you can sit back and let the memories of your youth pass through your mind and bring a smile to your face.<br /><br />So, Merry Christmas, even though it’s late. </div><div align="left"><br />Bob Gallagher</div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-75695917447253275852009-12-24T12:24:00.004-05:002009-12-24T20:10:10.061-05:00The Decade Concludes with Jack Bauer vs Santa!Dear Brouhaha readers;<br /><br /><strong>My Christmas wish for you:</strong> despite the frantic pace and anxiety the season of peace brings, I hope you can take 5 minutes to reflect on how far you've come, and embrace the moments of peace you can hopefully find now, and renew your hope for the coming decade. <div><br /></div><div><strong>The past decade flew by.</strong> I was just getting used to it and it's gone already. Having seen a decade or two (ahem), I think this past one has offered the worst of times and yet the best of times. At least in my memory.</div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div>I just read somewhere that <strong>this decade has had fewer natural disasters</strong> than the previous one, for instance. Hard to believe calling to mind the tragic tsunamis, devastating earthquakes, horrific hurricanes that drowned and demolished major cities. Not to mention worldwide terrorist attacks and ongoing genocides. For Pete's sake, we've been <strong>at war</strong> for 8 years of the decade now with no end in sight. Not uplifting events.</div><div><br /></div><div>But what is <strong>uplifting is that this nation has actually elected a black man as President.</strong> I was a young child growing up in the 50's. In my lifetime African Americans couldn't use the same bathrooms as whites, the Ku Klux Klan still killed blacks and the whites who supported them with impunity, and basic human rights were intentionally denied to so many.</div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>So Obama's election is a major step forward in recognizing and honoring the uniqueness and basic equality of humankind. Don't unfurl the banner that says "Mission Accomplished" yet because the road ahead for human rights is still long. <strong>But this was a major victory for us all</strong>, no matter what kind of president he is. I think he will be a good one in that arena as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>As King Arthur said, this was "one brief shining moment" during a decade when so much hatred was exposed in the name of radical religious fanatics. <strong>But, oh, how that moment shines.</strong></div><div><br />But that is not the only thing to cheer about from this past decade. <strong>Science and technology gave us wonderful and affordable tools to the common man or woman.</strong> Almost any of us can experience and participate in art, photography, music and communication in ways no one could even imagined ten years ago. It makes our lives so much richer! I know the world has become much smaller and my network of fellow travelers/friends on this journey is now worldwide and growing thanks to the miracle of the Internet. Thanks Al Gore! :-) </div><div><br /></div><div><strong>What can we expect and hope for in the next decade?</strong> It looks like we'll make major medical advances because of projects like the Human Genome research will begin to yield results. <strong>Will we finally see the end of cancer as we know it now?</strong> I think this would be humankind's next great accomplishment. We all know someone who is suffering from cancer or has shuffled off our globe at an early age from the deadly killer. We need to pop open a can of whoop-ass on that bad boy. Also, a little prayer might help as well.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now for Something Completely Different</span> </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></b></div><b></b><div><b>In the most bizarre of throwdowns, we've found this wonderful little video on YouTube.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#cc0000;"> </span>It's the classic battle of evil vs. good in a mashup of everyone's favorite rogue agent vs the Jolly Old Elf, himself. Can you guess who wins?</b></div><div><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/tp19qiash2U&hl=" width="580" height="360" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" fs="1&rel=" border="1" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"></embed> </div><br /><br />Happy New Year!Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-35707314591232869202009-12-13T20:33:00.008-05:002009-12-16T14:04:54.057-05:00The Christmas Letter You Never GotEditor's Note: At one time or another we've all received the perfect holiday letter from the perfect family. You know the one. Everything is beautiful. The kids are all-star players and honor roll students, the parents are climbing career ladders at breakneck speed, the new custom built house has plenty of room if you want to visit, and the new shore house is just perfect. And in between all the volunteer work at the soup kitchen, not to mention the golf and tennis club charity balls, they want to reach out to you -- the little people they once knew.<br /><br />Yes, now they reach down to you <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">personally</span> -- even though it's obvious that they send the same letter to everyone. It's not even signed in real ink -- just a "love you -- the [family surname only]". You can't even tell who composed the damn letter so you would know who to blame.<br /><br />Well, here is <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Brouhaha's<span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"></span></span> answer to the perfect year end letter. If your life isn't all it should be, just copy this letter to send -- just fill in the names as appropriate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgrJtLEm5BDYuzqZqGutIdg8HsKHyLsumPgqQFDEQwqW0TIaF5-mq4lQHYo-JORvD_Flf38nediNFsg2OvKHBa9ZRstIA3F20Gwmtdn7Ez-fyf69qkhId15dwiCRSB6bJpt8TnIoJeEE/s1600-h/P1020690.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414906250108238610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgrJtLEm5BDYuzqZqGutIdg8HsKHyLsumPgqQFDEQwqW0TIaF5-mq4lQHYo-JORvD_Flf38nediNFsg2OvKHBa9ZRstIA3F20Gwmtdn7Ez-fyf69qkhId15dwiCRSB6bJpt8TnIoJeEE/s400/P1020690.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#ff0000;">Hello everyone!</span></span> Kisses and hugs to you all! Our family had another <em>really</em> great year and I want to share with you just how wonderful our lives are.<br /><br />If you are reading this family update, it's probably because we were very close with one at one point in our lives but either due to the shallowness of our previous relationship OR our change in social status, we have lost touch. Or maybe you are a family member that no one in the family talks to very often. Whatever! Time to catch up with the our f<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">amily </span>news!<br /><br />Not that "things" are the most important things in life, but we are proudest moment in 2009 was when the bank renegotiated our mortgage on our shore house. Thank goodness! I don't know what we would have done this summer! It can get a little warm in <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Short Hills </span>and you know how crowded the regular beaches get that time of year. Plus can you imagine the pain of having to travel that much farther to the summer country and pool club? Lord-ee me!<br /><br />Hey, but I still have a bluebird on my shoulder!<br /><br />Our daughter, Trudy, has just met a wonderful man! As you know she is a real go-getter! She is a management trainee at Hooters and when there was a big golf tournament in town, she met a dashing young man. He's a professional golfer known world-wide, according to her. But you know how modest she is -- she won't tell us who it is! But when the time is right, Trudy says, everyone will know about them! We are very excited for her and hope that wedding bells might be in the future!<br /><br />As for our son, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Butch</span>, is really doing very well in high school. He is the quarterback of the team and has a new girlfriend every week. He has a part-time job selling little boxes of Chicklets gum packs after school and, gosh darn it, it's a real money maker. Wow, are we surprised! He has more money to spend than we do, it's really amazing! But as you know, Butch is a natural salesman with a great personality and wonderful smile. He is saving up to buy a fancy SUV and is on track to earn it in early next year.<br /><br />By the way, my face lift went so well I've included a photo of how I look now. <strong>Don't be jealous</strong>, <strong>now!</strong> All <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Ralphie</span> can say is "wow, you look like a 25-year-old again." Such a big flirt, eh?<br /><br />Not everything is picture-perfect though. I want my America back!<br /><br />I know it's an "Obama-nation" now but enough is enough. We are becoming a socialist nation in the hands of these liberal do-gooding bleeding-hearts! Just when <spouse name="">and Ralphie and I are about to start collecting social security and go on medicare (who can afford health insurance - tee hee). Obama and his friends are trying to find new ways into our private lives to tax us. I say just give me my social security check, medicare and medicaid payments and keep big government out of our lives! We wish Ronald Reagan were alive so he could kick the bejabbers out of these do-gooders! Next thing you know, they'll want to take the food stamps away from grandma and grandpa!<br /><br />That's it for this year! Zip-pee-dee do-dah! Have a happy new decade! Your friends or relatives forever, love you, -- the <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">family</span>.<br /><br /><br /></spouse>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-19896647038357185592009-11-24T13:09:00.008-05:002009-11-29T15:56:09.244-05:00Leaving the Danger Zone BehindJohn and I became friends in the 4th grade of St Matthews Catholic Grammar school in 1955. Our friendship grew because we shared a mutual love of airplanes, of fighter pilots and their stories of derring-do. We often spoke of the magic of manned flight, of the allure of the open sky, or of the types of airplanes we had seen flying in the air space around New York City. Of anything aeronautical. Both of us were hardly daredevil kids, but we shared daredevil dreams of flying P-51 Mustangs of F4U Hellcats. We shared a romance with the wild blue yonder.<br /><br />In school we drew pictures of aircraft until the nuns slapped our hands. We built plastic WWII model airplanes when we could scrape a little money together, painted them up and admired them. We created airplanes from paper and again, got in trouble with the nuns. <br /><br />We assembled and flew balsa wood airplanes that cost 10 cents at Herman's Gyp Joint and Sweet Shop. We mended them with tape when they splintered. And sailed and crashed them until they would fly no more. In later years, we flew gas engine aircraft in never ending circles on the end of a tether.<br /><br />We remained close friends throughout high school and college. The Vietnam war split us up as he joined the Army and I the Air Force. Then marriage came along, kids, and true to our conservative natures, we both found jobs with major insurance companies.<br /><br />We remained friends for more 50 years. Our lives diverged but always intersected again and again, many times if you don't mind me being redundant. We shared a lifetime of wondrous joys and great sorrows during these years, and always stayed in touch throughout. We could tell you some stories. But long story mercifully shortened, I am happy to say that John did fulfill his childhood dream of flying when he earned a pilot's license. I became an avid birdwatcher.<br /><br />These last 5 years have not been kind to John, his health failing over that time. He would rally and appear to be headed in he right direction when another health issue would emerge to knock him down again. This last year has been particularly harsh. The last time I spoke with him 3 weeks ago, I noted a resignation in his voice that I had not heard before. He expressed concern for his wonderful wife who supported and endured with him every step of the way. But he was just tired. His decline mercifully ended last week when he passed away.<br /><br />I think John would enjoy the following video as tribute to our mutual childhood dreams and our life-long friendship. This one's for you, Maverick. You are out of the danger zone now. God speed.<br /><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/V8rZWw9HE7o&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/V8rZWw9HE7o&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x402061&color2=0x9461ca&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-45125433545006536152009-11-07T10:04:00.003-05:002009-11-07T10:21:25.992-05:00Now for Something Completely DifferentSomething struck me about this.<br /><br /><object width="400" height="230"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=4052334&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=4052334&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="230"></embed></object><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/4052334">faltjahr 2010</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user1034414">yohann</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-12744820052048562052009-11-06T12:54:00.001-05:002009-11-06T13:18:53.908-05:00The Summer of 65A long time ago, I met a girl in my high school years who became the object of my first serious crush. Being young and unsure of myself, I let her go without revealing my "true" feelings about her. That's always been a regret. I have never forgotten her and you can imagine that I was very happy to find her somewhat accidentally 35 years later on the internet. A miracle of sorts in itself. We reconnected via email.<br /><br />Her life and mine has taken many a twist and turn over that time, but I found that we still had much in common after so much time. Somewhat surprising but not really. More than I knew than, we shared a lot in common in that brief time and in our lives to follow.<br /><br />This story does not end badly where someone falls in love with a 17-year-old who no longer exists and runs off leaving current life and family, I have heard of such stories. There is more than a little something about capturing your youth through your memories of days long gone.<br /><br />This is a story about realistically connecting to days gone by in a life-enhancing way. She helped me through a very difficult period in my life and helped introduce me to my new life -- a very happy one.<br /><br />One of my favorite all time songs that bring her to mind whenever I hear it. God bless her and her family and may He keep her in His bosom.<br /><br /><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6MkI5tOClkU&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6MkI5tOClkU&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object><br />Chad and JeremyBob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-66928213910709061552009-10-25T10:54:00.000-04:002009-10-25T19:58:14.077-04:00Little MiraclesMiracles occur every day and all around us. They are so commonplace that I think we don’t even stop to notice them. I recently was inspired to write about a few of those that I have seen in my lifetime because I was motivated by the recent canonization of one Fr. Damien. In doing a little research of the good Father (Joseph de Veuster), I stumbled upon his story and that uncovered another little "miracle" for me. That it took 120 years for the church to recognize this man!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PvqEbAK9yLG6UhuiH6xC60ZZQMdgwqiuOkbG57dzSLIP84zgSQFBA8gRBrNrwvTqkR6VSmY0bacl4W3Pf-xDsUjG3Y5Me58TzIbzugh_BqYbibGe7fGE5y7uDqZf9ErSdRLxqop4m0Y/s1600-h/446px-'Portrait_of_Father_Damien',_attributed_to_Edward_Clifford.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4PvqEbAK9yLG6UhuiH6xC60ZZQMdgwqiuOkbG57dzSLIP84zgSQFBA8gRBrNrwvTqkR6VSmY0bacl4W3Pf-xDsUjG3Y5Me58TzIbzugh_BqYbibGe7fGE5y7uDqZf9ErSdRLxqop4m0Y/s400/446px-'Portrait_of_Father_Damien',_attributed_to_Edward_Clifford.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396684544844675218" /></a><br />Damien was a Belgian missionary priest who left his homeland forever to minister to the Hawaiian Islands natives. Not bad duty at all. If you are going to save the heathens, then why not save them in a place like Hawaii? This was in 1863. He spent the next 10 years building churches with his own hands and, no doubt, saving scores of pagan babies.<br /><br />On 10 May, 1873, Father Damien, at his own request, went to Molokai Island where the Government kept segregated all persons afflicted with the loathsome disease of leprosy. There were then 600 lepers. For a long time, Father Damien was the only one to bring them the help they so greatly needed. He not only administered the consolations of religion, but also rendered them such little medical service and bodily comforts as were within his power. He dressed their ulcers, helped them erect their cottages, and went so far as to dig their graves and make their coffins. After twelve years of this heroic service he discovered in himself the first symptoms of the disease. This was in 1885. He nevertheless continued his charitable ministrations, being assisted at this period by two other priests and two lay brothers. On 28 March, 1889, Father Damien became helpless and passed away shortly after, closing his fifteenth year in the service of the lepers.<br /><br />Damien spent a third of his life with lepers who, prior to his arrival and shunned by society, and lived in miserable conditions. Under his leadership, basic laws were enforced, shacks became painted houses, working farms were organized and schools were erected. At his own request, and that of the lepers, Father Damien remained on Molokai. President Obama recently praised Damien who “gave voice to the voiceless” and dignity to the sick.”<br /><br />The Catholic Church does nothing quickly or often logically. Damien was sainted over 120 years after his death based on the evidence of two separate events that occured over one hundred years apart and half a world distant. The miracles, in his case, were that two women suffering hideous illnesses would pray to him, a non-sainted priest. One had a horrible intestinal disease and the other was growing fist-sized tumors and had lung cancer. Both were inexplicably cured after interceding with Fr. Damien through prayer. Whether Damien had anything to do with the cures is really irrelevant. I submit that he earned his sainthood here on earth. It's a shame that it takes so long for his church to recognize it as well.<br /><br />It’s a another miracle in itself that there are people among us like us. Those that give up everything for what appears to be nothing in it for them or worse. Pat Tillman comes to mind. Mother Teresa. Mohandas Ghandi. Jack Bauer. Well, maybe not Jack.<br /><br />But there are so many more that we never hear of, or hear of just for a moment in time. On January 30, 1994, Aris Espinosa, a 13-year-old boy from Lanao del Norte, Philippines, did something for his friends. A grenade on the ground was about to explode near the children, Aris quickly jumped and covered the grenade with his own body. The children were saved by the courageous and unselfish act.Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-24720443321865270172009-09-15T18:22:00.005-04:002009-09-15T18:22:00.101-04:00The American Dream and MSgt Vandy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRXo3eYjsAK6jiC7chOIcyDFPJ_P9_-qFkiaXo4iIsMNKirwQYX-2r4t5iGyoW48PiPrTtB-MM4l7kCJTkPkskFihl4ggbs7VnHCnEEI-TFLvW8c7OdoZCTT2m3OXWzOrRi843bO3Cfg/s1600-h/Scan10016_2.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRXo3eYjsAK6jiC7chOIcyDFPJ_P9_-qFkiaXo4iIsMNKirwQYX-2r4t5iGyoW48PiPrTtB-MM4l7kCJTkPkskFihl4ggbs7VnHCnEEI-TFLvW8c7OdoZCTT2m3OXWzOrRi843bO3Cfg/s400/Scan10016_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374419811023917314" /></a>In early 1969, this was my American Dream come true. My 1966 Mustang Convertible. I was 23 when I bought it. I think I paid $1400 for it. It wasn't new but it was brand new to me! <br /><br />I thought it was so cool to have a convertible. I fantasized that all the girls would would want to ride in it. That dream abruptly ended as I discovered that although all the girls admired the car, none of them really liked to ride in it when the top was down! Those were the days of the big hair just so. <br /><br />When I bought the car, I was brand new Air Force Lieutenant stationed in Little Rock, Arkansas. As green as could be. Lucky for me, wise old Master Sergeant Vandy took me under his wing and went car shopping with me. Back in the day, wise veteran sergeants often took us wet-behind-the-ears under their wings. And so it was with Vandy and me. Long story shortened, Vandy saved me from the Arkansas car salesmen more than once, and I ended up with a fair deal on the Mustang I wanted. I hope he is well and resting peacefully somewhere.<br /><br />So, when my 23-year-old daughter was shopping for her first car purchase, and in the spirit of Sgt Vandy, my wife and I went with her. Not really expecting any shenanigans in this day and age, we went as interested observers rather than guardian angels. <br /><br />It turned out that our attendance didn’t stop the dealership from employing some pretty slimy sales maneuvers, resulting in somewhat of a scene at the end of a long evening. In a carefully constructed sales practice, they did not disclose the true cost of the car behind the monthly payments numbers they presented. <br /><br />When we pressed for more detail at total price at any point, the salesman was evasive, kept going back to the "monthly payment." Even when negotiating the price down, they would simply come back with a lower monthly payment-- not a new bottom line. After a couple of hours, we all agreed on a price. But as it turned out, not the same price.<br /><br />This only became obvious when we finally saw the written contract. And it was the last document shown to us, after many other documents were presented. The total was almost $4,000 more than what we thought we were paying! <br /><br />In the spirit of the old Sarge, my wife and I stepped up to the plate. Before we were done that evening, we had raised quite a ruckus, attracting the attention of several members of the dealership team. The price was readjusted and they made concessions. At one point both Rita and I told them the deal was dead and we were leaving. It was then that Meredith interceded for "private family moment." She really liked the car and wanted it. She could more than afford the monthly payment. So we settled on it to close the deal.<br /><br />There was one special moment during that evening. At one point, I thought the deal was solid and announced I was going to go on home while the girls finished the final paperwork. The salesman gave me a look that told me I ought to stay for the entire negotiation. I look back at that as a "Vandy" moment and the "tell" that maybe this deal wasn't done. Tired as we were, we stayed.<br /><br />I sincerely thanked the salesman as we were leaving for that moment, although he played his part well in the sales process, including "mis-remembering" some of the things he told us. <br /><br />Is there a point to this story? Maybe two points. Although things have changed so much in the past 40 years, the art of the sale has not. Let the buyer always be aware. Be Vandy for your young adult children when they make major life choices.<br /><br />And secondly, there is a bit of the spirit of Sergeant Vandy in all of us, even in the well-practiced salesman who tipped us off to stay -- even though it almost cost him the deal.Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-42435639807453029472009-08-28T21:33:00.029-04:002009-08-29T19:04:57.234-04:00Five Star Dining in the City!Also baseball.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJeHk5wk4-W2tY0RAkLKPQwSWxhollIaR0R2IIU2k88cVx4lheUTXpMhtmIbQPvx8C_76nPx5r2Xjof3mhau-qRCDujOD0NiIzhESi64t9HSZcGAlUL0PjnQo_cihHZgoh-Ngmx5SAbJs/s1600-h/CIMG0754.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJeHk5wk4-W2tY0RAkLKPQwSWxhollIaR0R2IIU2k88cVx4lheUTXpMhtmIbQPvx8C_76nPx5r2Xjof3mhau-qRCDujOD0NiIzhESi64t9HSZcGAlUL0PjnQo_cihHZgoh-Ngmx5SAbJs/s400/CIMG0754.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375195217114831874" /></a>Phil and I had the great pleasure to be the dining guests of my brother-in-law John and his son Luke in NYC recently. We ate at the Legends Suite Club in the Bronx and what an experience it was! Photos won't do this place any justice. <br /><br />When we first arrived, we were escorted to our comfortable outdoor overstuffed seats in this park-like setting. The seats were large and comfy. On the way to our seats we passed open unguarded open barrels of soft drinks and giants tubs of candy bars and other treats. Grab as much as you liked. We did.<br /> <br />We sat down to watch batting practice. It was then I noticed a young man -- obviously another type of server here -- with an electronic tablet. He was taking orders from the other "guests" around us for bit more standard ballpark fare. I say "standard" but things like sushi were on this menu. There was also pizza, popcorn, ice cream, nachos w/cheese, pretzels etc. After you placed your order (never leaving your seat) food runners brought it out to us. Amazing! I imagined I wanted a pretzel. Two minutes later a pretzel was delivered to me by a panting food runner. <br /><br />But after a bit, we realized that if this went on much longer, we'd never be able go to the sit down dinner awaiting us inside out of the heat of the day. Yes, there was a special dining room back inside the stadium. And we walked back past the tubs of free food to eat more food inside a grand dining room.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-EJC_IMSPDn7-XXCsx7Sfnx8EBxaOJ5eUlby5gBg1VKIzg16rdi24l_4VE4vTC0EFEBLtLPljihplayVyl5vua12bVcL9MDIt_aCS9Xb8N7bF8tZb9aSWAbI-F3Q0JRjMhDhyZkiM0fc/s1600-h/CIMG0755.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-EJC_IMSPDn7-XXCsx7Sfnx8EBxaOJ5eUlby5gBg1VKIzg16rdi24l_4VE4vTC0EFEBLtLPljihplayVyl5vua12bVcL9MDIt_aCS9Xb8N7bF8tZb9aSWAbI-F3Q0JRjMhDhyZkiM0fc/s400/CIMG0755.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375201619422781154" /></a><br />Although it was buffet style, each table still had its own server awaiting our instructions to fetch us whatever liquid refreshment we desired. With the exception of alcohol, all drinks were complimentary. And the buffet tables were incredible, much better than anything I have ever seen on Mothers Day anywhere. There was a Mediterranean food table, a Tex-Mex table, a Steak/Prime Rob/Rib setup. A Polish table. A fish table. A exotic salad table. A dessert table. There were chefs carving the meat, sushi chefs preparing their fare. Servers and table cleaners and moe chefs were everywhere Wow. There were even hot dogs and kraut (which my young nephew chose). Phil, my stepson, went for the duck (yes, duck), ribs, lamb and prime rib all on the same plate. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8k5WOSNQYvn0vS5Sy3iUY5EOe7JYivdBTptELZVctRTcR7BcaFopnKrkxRcI-iCQpOcz0qX8aUnx5f-B9UtAiD3R72-WZqrK88bsf8tvy6oSiLE8IRYx1c06LgGbAadP78fTnZoDMGU/s1600-h/CIMG0758.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8k5WOSNQYvn0vS5Sy3iUY5EOe7JYivdBTptELZVctRTcR7BcaFopnKrkxRcI-iCQpOcz0qX8aUnx5f-B9UtAiD3R72-WZqrK88bsf8tvy6oSiLE8IRYx1c06LgGbAadP78fTnZoDMGU/s400/CIMG0758.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375204231209783698" /></a><br />This is what that looked like.<br /><br />And this was just his first plate of several for Phil. I tried to be more reasonable in my approach so I chose an anchovy salad, a shrimp enchilada and some sushi. I wanted to save room for more of the treats outside. Although there was dessert inside as well. This was truly a bacchanalian feast unto itself. One would have not been surprised to the the Ghost of Christmas Present carving the beef. There was just excess to the nth degree. We finished our dinner. And if we wanted to come back in an hour and be re-seated to have a second or third dinner, I'm sure we could have.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVNBv4et8X6WtcDreXmWHHvsLlT5T0SIQte_W5AkSO7-gqrFJHHVYAyXbVeE3k9tleyqv7W5RxFw6gBe_0fvz3LMmxHW0JkN3nxz62F3Fk6-NlfzgZZXGSQDxOU89kACQ0W8qvvbfyls/s1600-h/CIMG0751.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXVNBv4et8X6WtcDreXmWHHvsLlT5T0SIQte_W5AkSO7-gqrFJHHVYAyXbVeE3k9tleyqv7W5RxFw6gBe_0fvz3LMmxHW0JkN3nxz62F3Fk6-NlfzgZZXGSQDxOU89kACQ0W8qvvbfyls/s400/CIMG0751.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375524866164678994" /></a><br />Back to our seats. The order takers and runners were still circumspect in their duties and eager to feed us and remained so that entire game. Under our chairs piled up nacho boxes, pizza boxes, sushi plates, sausage and pepper remains and various type of ice cream wrappers and half empty containers of drinks or all types. We were truly treated like royalty and we acted like we hadn't eaten in a year!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_b5osK-BYHkWy6gBmZxY7lIQDbidKYoW-Ywj_YpNoI7TApM6rh1qTouKJ1MSSnV4G3KkZVMB2KfpKRqUkc8r5rMwZuthpl6N-KUwn-Ls9TUJEAtVTssmN4zaL6qFrnPqOnxe2TpuvcA/s1600-h/CIMG0764.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8_b5osK-BYHkWy6gBmZxY7lIQDbidKYoW-Ywj_YpNoI7TApM6rh1qTouKJ1MSSnV4G3KkZVMB2KfpKRqUkc8r5rMwZuthpl6N-KUwn-Ls9TUJEAtVTssmN4zaL6qFrnPqOnxe2TpuvcA/s400/CIMG0764.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375518337055286226" /></a><br />Yes, there was a game in between all the food but it almost seemed secondary to the experience. I think the Yankees lost.Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-50212939842306726402009-08-07T21:38:00.001-04:002009-08-09T19:34:17.837-04:00And so it goes...It happens all the time. All over the world. People shuffle off this mortal coil. I walked by a television this morning at work and noticed the bright, age-free-but-not-old, newswoman clone that hosts so many of the daytime news programs. She sported a bright, beautiful smile for us average folks out here. However, the news crawl below her read "Over 600 people have died in India in floods..." <br /><br />Something is wrong here. Have we become so jaded and impervious to death in large numbers that reports like that have no impact on us? Can we no longer intellectually process the impact these mass tragedies have? It's no wonder that there are people who don't believe the Holocaust occured. Who can imagine 10 million people murdered? <br /><br />A tragedy occurred in our town this past week. A 19 year old girl was killed in a car accident in a kind of freakish way. She was sitting in the back seat behind the driver. He lost control of the car on a wet, country road and it skidded sideways into a utility pole. The other three people in the car exited under their own power. The girl, whose fate was decided by the seat she chose in the car earlier that night, was mortally injured. <br /><br />This kind of event attracts everyone's attention, especially parents with teenagers. And even more especially when the girl is a friend of your daughter's.<br /><br />Words can't express the feelings I went through all at once. Not that any of these events ever make any sense, this one seems to make even less sense and more random than usual.. She was sitting in the backseat. There were four passengers. Three exited the car under their own power. She was hopelessly injured and she only survived for a short time. It was 3 a.m. on a dark back road when the car spun out of control, the rear door striking a utility pole. The driver is only 20 years old and it's not clear whether he had been drinking or not, although the police did charge him. And it's only safe to say that he lost control of the car. If tox screens show he had any alcohol in his system at all, because he was underage, he will serve time in jail. This makes this tragedy even more tragic -- if that's the case.<br /><br />Of course the collateral damage from the accident is immeasurable. The parents of the victim and the driver now find their lives changed in previously unimaginable ways.<br /><br />As for myself, I am just tired trying to figure out why these things happen, and what parents can do to help prevent them. Having raised four people through a teenage years, we have survived relatively unscathed. But we were just lucky. The facts are that children must grow into adults and there are times when they do things that are unsafe, unwise and sometimes downright stupid. Some of the same things we did growing up. I think, and there are plenty of modern parents who disagree with me, that parents should never condone underage "safe" drinking. In my little mind, our late teens are already in jeopardy enough by allowing them to drive at 16 and 17. Can't we wait until 21 to add drinking -- another risk factor -- into the mix?<br /><br />Back to my original point of our anesthetic view of the death in large numbers -- I think that we may be just employing a self defense mechanism to shield the true nature of such a large number of lives lost in tragedy. The horror of those events can only be truly appreciated by examining each life lost one at a time. It's only then we can even begin to imagine the weight of the loss. <br /><br />And so it goes...peace, out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglt7yX2bCkLjMPh2HsZHSXKSFkPZ9rBHoQMg88N-RQd_83rP3l3zYdzxD3DXswVfnULpS4lK_R3_vv_-RStl1OG929929s0sakc7FD6XmT-Pg1P2eljRco8v3Ji3Te_jZjkTU_0DaiVP8/s1600-h/Peace.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 480px; height: 360px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglt7yX2bCkLjMPh2HsZHSXKSFkPZ9rBHoQMg88N-RQd_83rP3l3zYdzxD3DXswVfnULpS4lK_R3_vv_-RStl1OG929929s0sakc7FD6XmT-Pg1P2eljRco8v3Ji3Te_jZjkTU_0DaiVP8/s400/Peace.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367393555615715826" /></a><br />.Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-72042404606856809402009-07-27T16:49:00.007-04:002009-07-29T19:30:10.733-04:00Will It Float?I wanted to do a column on "Will It Float?" subject. But first some explanation. I am not stealing Letterman's lame idea of dropping random items in a giant bowl of water! My idea is more sophisticated.<br /><br />Some of you hipsters might know there is a running internet <strong>You Tube </strong>series called "Will It Blend?" For the rest of you that knows not, the joke is that a nerdy middle aged guy named Tom Dickson tries to "blend" all sorts of items in a high-powered blender. He does this on video, of course. <br /><br />Some of the items that he attempts to blend include pork and beans (in the can, of course), marbles, Bic lighters, glow sticks, a WII controller, and most famously, a working iPhone. His investigations to find definitive scientific answers about what blends defies reason, of course. Tom may have gotten the idea from Dan Akroyd's "Bass-o-matic" advertisement from the 1st season of SNL. Guess what he blends in that commercial? <br /><br />Just to bring everyone onto the same playing field, I've included one of Tom Dickson's videos. <br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DLxq90xmYUs&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DLxq90xmYUs&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><br /><br />Now, my take on this is to create a "Will It Float?" series. Why you ask? Because I can't believe some of the flotsam and jetsam that washes up on our beach. The funny thing is some of this stuff really doesn't look like it can float. Like giant truck tires, huge metal bars, very large pieces of everything you can imagine. <br /><br />But here's the really funny thing. Invariably, the next day that everything that was there yesterday is gone! Disappeared! But the stuff has been replaced with a new assortment! It's almost like God has a truck tire day one day, and a Busch beer keg day the next, and then a giant unrecognizable wood day! The beach is always different.<br /><br />I took my camera to the beach this afternoon and hoped the giant tire that was there yesterday would still be there. I wanted to photo it with the clever caption "Will It Float?" under it. It doesn't look like it should. And then maybe shoot photos everyday of things that appear to be unlikely floaters on the beach. <br /><br />Alas, no tire today. In fact, the beach was pretty dang clean. God must have declared a "clean the beach" day. Kills my "will it float joke" and series. <br /><br />Instead there was this. A fisherman with a very large Bluefish. Come to think of it, this fish is definitely a floater now.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPO2uP6lhsPjL1lmS1VOXLDeoyW3bY4Q1yQnnDUupxBeUHZmHCVk6B16Lndc7pMTZL6oKhe3Hms8axd-1Q8TRjcfkTPCYUVsAD7PcufpfX7S0KfszSGx9yC8eZ79ucOQIjHugpTV2aaxw/s1600-h/IMG_1252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 367px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPO2uP6lhsPjL1lmS1VOXLDeoyW3bY4Q1yQnnDUupxBeUHZmHCVk6B16Lndc7pMTZL6oKhe3Hms8axd-1Q8TRjcfkTPCYUVsAD7PcufpfX7S0KfszSGx9yC8eZ79ucOQIjHugpTV2aaxw/s400/IMG_1252.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363252559805913618" /></a>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-70663440006016184682009-07-07T18:37:00.001-04:002009-07-07T19:11:27.346-04:00Who Was the Man in the Mirror?How can the death of Michael Jackson become such a focus for so many? So many others have died having lived much more noblely and were more worthy of our interest and sympathy. Farrah Fawcett, for one, fought all the way out. Her celebrity pales in comparison to MJs. His courage pales in light of hers. Michael just "eased on" down a ruinous road. So why all the uproar about Michael?<br /><br />Was it that he dazzled— <span style="font-style:italic;">really dazzled</span> — us as a performing artist like no one else ever did?<br /><br />Was it that he was such a freak show — especially for the past 25 years? <br /><br />Did his life peak too early in 1983 with the release of the music video “Thriller?”<br /><br />Was the low point reached during the trial for child molestration?<br /><br />Was it that we could see ourselves in his brilliance?<br /><br />Or did we recognize his failures all too well?<br /><br />Was he a hollow man in the end ?<br /><br />Has he lived in a drug-dream all his life?<br /><br />Did he leave here with unfulfilled dreams?<br /><br />Did his life intentionally parallel that of Elvis – the King of Rock and Roll? Even to go as far as to marry Elvis' daughter?<br /><br />Was he anorexic? Did he really have a skin disease? Was he in chronic pain all the time?<br /><br />Does anyone really pity the Jackson family? Does Michael, himself, deserve our pity?<br /><br />Did Michael ever really grow up?<br /><br />What did Michael see in the mirror? What did he see?<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-style:italic;">I'm starting with the man in the mirror<br />I'm asking him to change his ways<br />And no message could have been any clearer<br />If you wanna make the world a better place<br />Take a look at yourself and then make a change</span></blockquote>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-80416507874764469832009-06-16T19:18:00.009-04:002009-06-16T22:04:11.604-04:00Views From Our Backyard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEEbbv-JOrY9bM-meVoV7sTr8I7EbUIHduRRHjIv0AlkwuMZzhIb33aMX9E53M8e5Ad0SOIC4d1hLlOEPLNQFxwvy2nm1OwmiaawlHgSbj9LebzK0QTBXbXif2pPA8-DhbNziNHCYXJGU/s1600-h/Verrazano-Narrows-Bridge-New-York-City_web.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 528 px; height: 352 px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEEbbv-JOrY9bM-meVoV7sTr8I7EbUIHduRRHjIv0AlkwuMZzhIb33aMX9E53M8e5Ad0SOIC4d1hLlOEPLNQFxwvy2nm1OwmiaawlHgSbj9LebzK0QTBXbXif2pPA8-DhbNziNHCYXJGU/s400/Verrazano-Narrows-Bridge-New-York-City_web.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348107147934773890" /></a><br />The adventure begins. It's moving day and some 12 hours after we started we are in. There are boxes aplenty everywhere but we are now sitting on the balcony during the evening. We've moved from the Princeton, NJ area to the Port Monmouth, NJ area. <br /><br />Our back yard is a dune and beyond that is the New York Harbor. One of the striking features of we can plainly see across the water is the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Pardon me for not taking this photo, but my camera equipment is buried in the piles of boxes somewhere. This is the view from our balcony.<br /><br />Giovanni da Verrazano (c.1480–1527) was an Italian navigator in the service of France. He was the first European to enter New York Bay in 1524. The bridge itself is the 2nd longest suspension bridge in the world. It spans "The Narrows" that separate upper NY Harbor from the Gateway and connects Staten Island from Brooklyn.<br /><br />Fun fact: Rita and I once bicycled across the bridge!Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-25558999327483892562009-05-27T21:11:00.006-04:002009-05-27T21:46:25.162-04:00Our Backyard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQd7O90L6zSFwbOfquOQ9T5F19oSFomUMehVsHDQg8AjgdLea0l4YR8OkMPQHJD0xdH1bQudZQVsZPT8Lc245SzaJB_DY8ObokD_nvyh2fGqClOg4B9Mt9rGCpKFQMsDAenaoxNh8ecq0/s1600-h/CIMG0363.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 800px; height: 600px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQd7O90L6zSFwbOfquOQ9T5F19oSFomUMehVsHDQg8AjgdLea0l4YR8OkMPQHJD0xdH1bQudZQVsZPT8Lc245SzaJB_DY8ObokD_nvyh2fGqClOg4B9Mt9rGCpKFQMsDAenaoxNh8ecq0/s400/CIMG0363.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340676455987730706" /></a>It's been quite some time since I've posted and this is the reason why. We're renting a home on the beach. For a year! The photo above is a view of our boardwalk backyard. It's Port Monmouth, NJ and that's the New York Harbor bay. Looking a bit to right, I can see the NY skyline. The Gateway National Park is about 5 miles behind us as I took this photo.<div><br /></div><div>Rita and I are looking at this as a "life list" dream come true. We're selling our house in Central Jersey (although nowadays its never sold until the closing day), and we are going to rent a townhouse right on the beach. It's something we could never afford to buy, even in this economy, but is very rentable because of the depression we are in. We'll have 4 bedrooms, so there will be room for everyone! </div><div><br /></div><div>This will be part "A" of our retirement plan. We do hope to end up farther south eventually. But for now, it's sunning on the beach, fishing on the shore, boating on the bay, sitting on the deck with a cold beverage watching the shore birds and ships passing by and maybe a little bicycling on Sandy Hook. And there is a ferry about a half a mile away directly to Manhattan. Sounds like heaven to me!</div><div><br /></div><div>Right now though we are still going through a grueling sales process. We were on the market for about 60 days and had a lot of lookers. Only two bidders though. We ended up with a satisfactory sales price, and a short closing date in the middle of June. The home inspection was scary, but we emerged from that OK as well. There is still much to do (we've been packing boxes on weekends) but we have a pretty good jump on that as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have a lot of stories about the home sales process, and not many are good for the seller. But a little pain will lead to a lot of gain!</div><div><br /></div><div>My intention is to post daily once we move the shore. Obviously, there will be shorter postings but I think there may be lots to write about our experiences there.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-70011359658583132902009-04-23T07:00:00.004-04:002009-04-24T08:40:11.405-04:00The Great Colonoscopy Sweepstakes? Can the End Be Near?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWZj5EEc_n9Bnk7YB0FLhaICSSZGU95ioYGvGsamn1YowAf9i1EGaVNfUxRP8neesU02AtwVz05NJFAZAGjmVSc4tnXNIB8kzOubKQJNncaMTeDymljNHNnv-QmZiFZZLP1wAWNJ2YC4/s1600-h/6203_027.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327664812757000274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWZj5EEc_n9Bnk7YB0FLhaICSSZGU95ioYGvGsamn1YowAf9i1EGaVNfUxRP8neesU02AtwVz05NJFAZAGjmVSc4tnXNIB8kzOubKQJNncaMTeDymljNHNnv-QmZiFZZLP1wAWNJ2YC4/s320/6203_027.JPG" border="0" /></a> <div>Some mighty peculiar things are going on out there. Have you noticed? I don't know if its the economy, global warming, the democrats, the pirates or even the republicans, it is downright crazy. For instance:<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Sunset on the Ocean in New Jersey? </span>Seemingly impossible, I snapped this photo at Sunset Beach in Cape May, NJ. Yes, that's the ocean. The sunken concrete ship can be seen in the water. One of the few places on the east coast where you can see the sun set on the ocean.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><a href="http://www.cbscares.com/">The CBS Colonoscopy Sweepstakes</a></span></span></div><div>You probably think I made this colonoscopy thing up. Really, what kind of crazy, sick people would come up a major sweepstakes where the first prize is a colonoscopy?? Probably the same funsters who came up with the employee of the month grand prize of lunch with the company executives. That's a sure bet to drive performance down in most organizations. </div><div><br /></div><div><div>As for the Great Colonoscopy Sweepstakes, they're real and they're spectacular! Go to "<a href="http://www.cbscares.com/">CBS Cares</a>." for details and to enter. But there's more (only if you act NOW!).</div><br /><div></div><div>In addition to the free colonoscopy, CBS will fly you to New York City and put you and one guest up in a fancy hotel for 3 nights. Of course, one of those nights you'll be parked in a beautiful bathroom experiencing the joy of "colon blow" laxative. I speak from personal experience. After 24 hours of enduring this cleansing, you'll be wondering why you brought your best friend/date/spouse with you to share in this adventure, considering the racket you've been causing in the bathroom. Not to mention you'll have spent most of the first day in your glamorous NYC hotel, never wandering too far from the toilet. </div><div><br /></div><div>You'll emerge from this purifying experience a better person -- and you may even have lost a few pounds! Not just from the colon blow, but you haven't eaten anything for two days now. You'll not allowed. Oh, I guess that means you won't be visiting any of the hundreds of great NYC restaurants the first day and a half or so. </div><br /><div>Soon, hopefully, on day 2, after checking in with a renowned NYC gastro doctor, and completing a few brief hours of paperwork and preparation for the procedure, you'll be stretched out on a table with what looks like a garden hose rammed up your butt.<br /></div><div><blockquote></blockquote>The "whole" event will be "simulcast" on a monitor near you (and hopefully NOT over the internet). Anything that was hiding in there is then removed by a super suction thing, which I could plainly hear even in my half awake condition. Within a half hour or so, they will have had enough of this and be done with you. Out to the recovery room you'll go. </div><br /><div>After somewhat of a wobbly wakeup and dress up, you (and your guest if they are still with you) will finally be on your own to enjoy a bite of the Big Apple . Assuming there was good news from the test.<br /></div><div></div><div>BTW, I signed up for the drawing. Ne'er having won anything of significance my entire life, I feel this could be the one.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">More signs of the times:</span> Walking the dog one morning recently, I noticed the newspaper delivery guy driving through the neighborhood. What was so unusual about that? He was flinging newspapers out the window of a late model BMW. </div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">That's the ticket</span>: One of the more active seminar/training communications shops in the nation is offering free airfare to fly to its upcoming 2-day seminar to make it "easier on your corporate budgets." We need to show some love to our downtrodden<br /></div><br /><div><strong>On the Bone:</strong> A new restaurant is opening in Princeton on Route 1. At least I think it is a restaurant. Not sure what kind of clientele will be attracted by this uniquely named establishment. Fred Flintstone types? Canines? Morally defunct persons of questionable character? Also, I wonder what's on the kids' menu? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-36756159893676990982009-04-06T22:26:00.007-04:002009-04-08T22:26:34.986-04:00Letter to Aubrey<div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUZ2NlbmzbKFPvR8NJy-CN3qLSEUfoiplaDLmUmgcsTXP9hHbUnM9UIQHpkrgVmpSJVuPdGOuRlLowlBTAUFE-zmRz48Xb028hfDk2dNZKRn2Jrn0iEVRyVzbTycJoUJC0Q70loNd0wg/s1600-h/IMG_1181.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319498616528522450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUZ2NlbmzbKFPvR8NJy-CN3qLSEUfoiplaDLmUmgcsTXP9hHbUnM9UIQHpkrgVmpSJVuPdGOuRlLowlBTAUFE-zmRz48Xb028hfDk2dNZKRn2Jrn0iEVRyVzbTycJoUJC0Q70loNd0wg/s400/IMG_1181.JPG" border="0" /></a>Hey there! You are a day old in this photo and it's about time Grandpa gave you a public hearty Blog welcome to Richmond, Virginia, USA, Earth. Yes, I know you've been around for several months now, but I think you'll agree it is a lot different out here!<br /><div><br /></div><div><div>You probably noticed it's much colder and louder and -- oh-- those lights! Who turned on all these lights? Ouch.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'll bet you a binky that the cafeteria service was a lot more convenient in your last location. There was even free home delivery at Mom's Restaurant. But now you have to work to get your milk on.</div><br /><div>Aubrey, I hate to tell you but there is a lot more that's different out here. Some of it is good, some of it isn't too swell. In fact, dear granddaughter, some of it is downright nasty.<br /></div><br /><div>But all in all, I think you'll enjoy the trip. I know I have. </div><div><br /></div><div>OK, its not all going to be the cream of the milk, if you know what I mean. But. you'll find that there is lots to play with and you'll be able to experience some of the modern marvels soon enough. Something called the "internet" and something else called "miniaturization" has led to all sorts of marvels, I wonder what your Dad's I-phone will look like when you are a teenager. Whatever it looks like or can do, you won't even be amazed like we are now. You will grow up hand-in-hand with tech and you won't know life without it.<br /></div><br /><div>So much has changed since Grandpa took his first trip to the world, it makes my head spin. I can't begin to tell you, and you wouldn't believe, what life was like when I grew up. Someday, when you can pay attention better, Grandpa will regale you many old time stories such as "Did you know we had to walk 12 feet to change the channel on the TV?" Yes, life was harder then.<br /></div><br /><div>But there are some things that have changed from when I grew up that Grandpa thinks aren't so good. For instance, you'll have to make decisions about some very serious things at a very early age. Grandpa never found out about most of that stuff until he went to college! Really. College! I'll tell you about some of those escapades later when Mommy and Daddy aren't around. As for you, I hope when you are faced with those choices, you'll draw upon the values your Mom and Dad teach you over the next few years and do the right thing. </div><br /><div> </div><div>Oh, just reminded myself to tell you later. Aubrey, sweetheart, the North did win the war ... no matter what your Mommy tells you! :-)</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">What's It Like to be a Grandpa?</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Many people have asked me this question and I haven't found the right answer to this question yet. More than anything, when I try to express an answer, nothing comes out.</div><div><br /></div><div>I guess that's because there is no good answer. I feel a little bit of everything. The most overpowering emotion was how much joy I felt when I say Aubrey for the first time. Another moment was when Rita said to me that "the replacements are here." Yikes, what a feeling of mortality<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "> that</span> brings on. Mos def, I have entered a new stage of life which will be a really great stage. I look forward greatly to seeing Aubrey grow, and for me to retire, to do more things that I like to do, to enjoy a simpler life. </div><div><br /></div><div>And for doing some new things, I don't know what those things are yet. We'll see what comes around the bend.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div> </div></div></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6709217025002289670.post-64315396274778972642009-03-09T20:37:00.004-04:002009-03-13T13:07:58.213-04:00Snowbound and the Six Hundred<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My daughter-in-law asked me how I feel about being a Grandfather-to-be</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. I am not sure, uneasily. I had not thought about the prospect in that way exactly. Of course, I am thrilled, excited, joyful, fearful, cautious, and even saddened in a way. But I could not verbalize these feelings. I am saddened because a grandmom and a grandpa won't be here to meet their first grandchild. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">That same weekend, 10 inches of snow hit Richmond,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Virginia.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> It virtually closed </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">down the town. This amount of snow </span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310957632095502274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZbbVfSYF4xSQDoFvjS68AJ5Zd4f1qmBoVFTwEaMZ0Svqo6h_qCWKn-N_V8nuy02FALE7_5A9x7w8bcLugMaFel8EpwZjXEgfOtakm-X159wfu58XCdN5p6I58ymq1Qt8QJT8TQGLfOA/s400/STG_1153.JPG" border="0" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">there was very unusual. See the photo taken out my son's door.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Confederates took it all in stride though.</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Since the neighborhood streets weren't getting plowed anyway, all the kids got their sleds and saucers out and since the street is quite hilly, formed quite a nice sledding run down the road. The adults came out as well and they soon were helping the kids build a more elaborate run out of a steep driveway onto a banked, snowpacked sled run that gave the kids some extra speed down the hill.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Then the neighbors brought out a portable firepit, set it down in the road next to the run, and surrounded it with lawn chairs. We didn't stay but I'll bet something good was cooking before long and there was hot chocolate and a Bud or two enjoyed as the kids sped down the hill/road. These folks know how to have a good time. Just don't mention the war.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">During that same weekend </span><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I found myself in a sandwich shop with my 35 yr old son,</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> Dave. Flashback: I recalled a similar scene just 4 or 5 years earlier in a very similar setting. My father and I would have Saturday lunch on many a weekend in Edison before he passed away. The routine was always the same.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Dad and I used to go to a pizza shop on a Saturday at about 11:00 in the morning often arriving before it opened. He liked to eat early. In fact, he liked to do everything early. I recall that once he showed up at 10 a.m. for an 1 p.m. barbeque at my house. We were still in pee jays, hadn't even started to clean up the house for the festivities.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Well, back to our pizza lunches, we would invariably be the first people at the shop. We'd saunter in to order a couple of slices and some sodas. I always hated the way my father spoke to the shopkeepers. His food order always sounded like a demand and even somewhat accusatory. "Are these real mashed potatoes?" he always asked the waitress in the diner.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It occurs to me that I have become him at least to some extent. Both Meredith and Kristine -- not to mention Rita -- have said I speak rudely to the restaurant help. When they point it out, I see they are right. I am turning into Dad in some strange ways. And I don't even mean to be that way.</span></span></div><div><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><em></em></span></span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"></span></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Your Assignment Today: Compare and Contrast</span></em></span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><strong>Fortune 500 Company Town Hall<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvmZwOsXm36FwdEDShpSgMmul1Vbn-zjVSve7zcjuPmq_l2d_YMRHxnU3zQSQy06OwvSaBZREI1BTSARRcnPS77Q3OaJBGh1xkqDwoowc4vN2INd_sqBtvEBqBxLdt1a0WRTUTc05j8A/s1600-h/downturn.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311243857988365026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 310px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 255px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvmZwOsXm36FwdEDShpSgMmul1Vbn-zjVSve7zcjuPmq_l2d_YMRHxnU3zQSQy06OwvSaBZREI1BTSARRcnPS77Q3OaJBGh1xkqDwoowc4vN2INd_sqBtvEBqBxLdt1a0WRTUTc05j8A/s400/downturn.jpg" border="0" /></a></strong></span></span></div><div><strong></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold;font-family:arial;" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic">My Translation of an actual Town Hall I Heard on the Net</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /><div>We must move forward now,</div><div>Even knowing what's facing us. </div><div>Our stock is worth less than 10% of what is was a year ago</div><div>We owe the government billions in loans</div><div>But we still and always will owe our best effort to our customers and to our families and to ourselves.</div><br /><div>We will face challenges at every turn,but we will do our utmost to meet each one.</div><div>We will all be proud of that. </div><div>It's true that not all of us will make it to the other side of this journey, </div><div>but each of us will know we gave our best </div><div>when our customers and company needed us the most. </div><br /><div><strong>Charge of the Light Brigade</strong></div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310989416393265458" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 360px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 205px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYYvDbK3_YBPvblI73M_MzIy6wpAEVnIzn-ApaGwMwYtIOMETULsU2l6O84lhRemrEjEP5-dySguhmkOXh3AkHCH5QagAiJozGQZdZFU_x_T6-bh13CpWsEJiZqKXnNgzCMEUFfHCRKDU/s400/CatonWoodvilleLightBrigade.jpeg" border="0" /></span></span></div><div>by Alfred, Lord Tennyson</div><br /><div>'Forward, the Light Brigade!' </div><div>Was there a man dismay'd ? </div><div>Not tho' the soldier knew </div><div>Some one had blunder'd: </div><div>Theirs not to make reply, </div><div>Theirs not to reason why, </div><div>Theirs but to do & die,<br />Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. </div><br /><br /></span><div></div>Bob Beardsleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08850240467439147767noreply@blogger.com4