Today's entry has almost nothing to do with Halloween, actually, except that it is Halloween Day. It was a fine Fall Monday with brilliant sun in the eyes of eastbound commuters like me this morning. Temps once again eased up into the sixties, soon to be a distant memory. Darkness has sent the mercury down a bit, of course, but it's still that rare and memorable no-coats-over-costumes night for trick-or-treating. The few splendid days of Fall that we do get here in Upstate NY must always be noted with the proper gratitude.
One bonus of great weather is the chance for bikers (the motor-kind) to enjoy a last ride or two. I volunteered on a charity dice-run a few weeks back, and we hit a nasty, drizzly day for that one. Sure hurts the turn-out when that happens. The boys were out today, though! One of them passed me this morning during rush-hour at something approaching 100 mph. I shook my head silently and prayed I wouldn't see him farther along the highway waiting for an ambulance (or worse). Much later, during the early afternoon, another motorcyclist (I assume it wasn't the same guy) ended up having a very bad day.
I heard the story on the radio news, and later on the traffic report. The accident was very near my home, on a section of highway I often travel. The eastbound lanes had to be closed, and the westbound traffic had slowed to a crawl in order to gawk at the wreckage. The details took a while to come together, but here's what apparently happened: a lone cyclist flew through a stop sign at a very busy intersection, directly into the side of a large tractor-trailer. Obviously the biker got the worst of this horrible encounter (the truck's driver was unharmed). Motorcycle and rider were separated on impact, and the bike burst into flames. The rider was dragged about one hundred feet, then airlifted to a hospital, with very serious injuries. The truck, filled with paper goods, also burned. I learned this evening, when I stopped in for my take-home coffee, that the truck was headed for my favorite Tim Horton's location. That delivery won't be made today. I hope the biker survives the day. It's far too beautiful a day to die.
Everyone knows that motorcycles can be dangerous. They have none of the modern safety systems featured on cars. No bumpers, no airbags or seatbelts, no roll-cage or steel doors. All a biker has in his favor is spectacular acceleration and maneuverability. The rest is up to the rider. This is not a lesson best learned by experience. Most days, after all, are too good for dying.
Taking a deep breath
Sunday is look-back day, time to reflect on the week and take a breather. I spent Saturday working, putting quite a few new miles on the truck, but enjoying the day's endeavors. Bright sun and milder temps didn't hurt a bit. It's been a very busy week (see The D'Zyne Zone), featuring long hours and multiple work-sites and too little time with my sweet boys.
Today was a nice change, with the sunshine and tee-shirt weather continuing. Lin and I enjoyed some rare hours together, some for work (winterizing the camper) and some for play (continued house-hunting). I've had a chance to put some start-up efforts into my companion work-blog, mentioned above. Wrote some checks to pay for bills not yet overdue (always a good sign). Watched a spot or two of football, mostly mis-matches, and even got to see some of the race. Carl Edwards has added a sweep at Atlanta to his already impressive resume. The kid's amazing, and should have a great future ahead of him. Later tonight I'll get to watch my Buffalo Bills try to win against the Patriots in New England. Good luck to 'em, but I'm not getting my hopes up for a win there.
The week now passed has been filled with changeable weather, early sunsets (soon to be even earlier), some physically demanding tasks and time spent with my favorite work partner, Mike. Got to see my oldest play in a wonderful concert (drums/percussion) and took my youngest to school one day, with a stop at Tim Hortons along the way. Did a ton of driving and lots of tool loading/unloading, along with several skipped meals (due to time and distances mostly). Spent some time with Pete Steltmann, who is moving on to a new position. He will be missed immediately. The coming week should be far less hectic. It's dark now and the warmth is bleeding out of the day quickly. Monday is nearly here, though an hour later than it would have been without the time change. Time to take a break from all this busywork, so I'll head for the couch now for a well-earned respite.
Today was a nice change, with the sunshine and tee-shirt weather continuing. Lin and I enjoyed some rare hours together, some for work (winterizing the camper) and some for play (continued house-hunting). I've had a chance to put some start-up efforts into my companion work-blog, mentioned above. Wrote some checks to pay for bills not yet overdue (always a good sign). Watched a spot or two of football, mostly mis-matches, and even got to see some of the race. Carl Edwards has added a sweep at Atlanta to his already impressive resume. The kid's amazing, and should have a great future ahead of him. Later tonight I'll get to watch my Buffalo Bills try to win against the Patriots in New England. Good luck to 'em, but I'm not getting my hopes up for a win there.
The week now passed has been filled with changeable weather, early sunsets (soon to be even earlier), some physically demanding tasks and time spent with my favorite work partner, Mike. Got to see my oldest play in a wonderful concert (drums/percussion) and took my youngest to school one day, with a stop at Tim Hortons along the way. Did a ton of driving and lots of tool loading/unloading, along with several skipped meals (due to time and distances mostly). Spent some time with Pete Steltmann, who is moving on to a new position. He will be missed immediately. The coming week should be far less hectic. It's dark now and the warmth is bleeding out of the day quickly. Monday is nearly here, though an hour later than it would have been without the time change. Time to take a break from all this busywork, so I'll head for the couch now for a well-earned respite.
BILLIONS RAISED FOR BIG OIL RELIEF FUND!
Labels:
Opinion
DATELINE 10/28/2005: ExxonMobil posts all-time record third-quarter revenue and earnings. (Source for all quoted statistics, IndyStar.com/Business/, Oct 28 ‘05). Corporate gross revenues and the resulting net profit for the world’s largest publicly-traded oil company set a new high for any single-quarter in industry history. Exxon is the first company to ever earn $100 billion in a fiscal quarter. The oil giant’s resulting profit from those sales, $9.92 billion, also marks a new line in the sand. While these numbers may not match the devastation wrought by hurricanes Katrina and Rita, they certainly provide ample fodder for conversation and consternation.
Millions of Americans, inspired by emotional news coverage of the Gulf Coast’s calamity, poured out their hearts and their hard-earned dollars to help aid enormous relief efforts there. More than one billion dollars has been donated by both private citizens and corporate boards, largely to the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army. Little kids and school groups held car washes and bake sales. Celebrities sang and entertained and answered phones on numerous televised specials. Rotaries and ministries organized major charity fund-raisers. Regular folks made small sacrifices in their daily routines to divert a few hours’ pay to Hurricane victims. People with deeper pockets wrote very large checks and sought minimal publicity for their largesse. The nationwide display of caring and generosity reassured us all: we are a country that takes care of its own. We answer the call, big time.
Meanwhile, Big Oil was raking in money faster than it could be counted, literally. Taking windfall revenues and profits from the same citizens who had already pitched in more than their fair share. Wildly escalating retail gasoline prices created high stress and market anxiety, sending ripples throughout the nation into every nook and cranny of our economy. Gas station operators and employees, ordered to raise retail prices as much as fifty cents per gallon each day, suffered the mid-directed wrath of frightened consumers. Small business owners desperately tried to figure out how to cope with uncontrollable fuel costs, knowing it would be nearly impossible to pass on such outrageous price increases to their equally-stressed customers. The entire U.S. economy see-sawed on the hard edge of panic. All the while, the oil conglomerates tallied-up the take.
After the two hurricanes had wreaked their havoc in no less than four states, in towns and cities big or small, thousands of people were left homeless and hundreds lost their lives. Power outages darkened whole regions, and unprecedented flooding saturated thousands of homes and businesses. Americans lost their homes, jobs, cars, pets, cherished possessions and priceless records. We watched heroic rescues and listened to heart-rending tales of trauma. Rich or poor, white or black or whatever race, young or old, single or married — no demographic escaped this tragedy, despite attempts by some in the news media to slant the story somehow. The rest of us, not directly affected by the storms, reached out with our hearts and our paychecks.
At the same time, consumers coast to coast poured billions into their gas tanks, without recourse. We still had to drive to work, to school and soccer practice, to the store or to Grandmother’s house. Deliveries still had to be made, busses and taxi services had to run, planes had to fly and trains had to keep their schedules. Factories burned fuel and made crude oil into the thousands of products we all need to live. Farmers tilled their fields and brought in their harvests. We do, after all, have a country to run.
The money had to be spent for the barrels of fuel we had to burn or consume. For the three short months following nature’s fury, the numbers posted by Big Oil boggle the mind. ExxonMobil gross sales grew more than 30%; profits soared 75%. Royal Dutch Shell, next in line, jumped 68% with $9 billion net for the quarter. BP banked $6.5 billion. ConocoPhillips (up 89%!) and Chevron (a 53% jump) each added more than $3.5 billion to the pot. The industry as a whole is on pace to earn nearly ONE HUNDRED BILLION DOLLARS for the fiscal year. That’s $100,000,000,000. It’s a number that won’t even fit in most spreadsheets. Furthermore, it’s a number most of us cannot even comprehend.
Let’s think about all these zeroes for a minute. Third quarter, 2005: oil profits totaling somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty billion bucks. Is that really so much money? Aren’t they entitled to a fair profit, just like anyone else in business? Yes, and yes. We live in a free-market economy, where money-in-your-pocket is the reward for taking risks and tying up capital. But, thirty billion dollars? My fifth-grader can do the math: that’s THIRTY times all the money raised by all the big hearts and open wallets in America for disaster relief. Profit. Bottom line. Net Income. That thirty billion is what’s left over after all expenses and write-offs. It’s an amount greater than the GNP of smaller countries like Zimbabwe or Cameroon. Yeah, that IS a lot of money.
What could you do with $30 billion? You could commission and deploy six brand new aircraft carriers, and pay the salaries of all six crews for a year. (No other country on Earth can do that.) You could build an entire city for 10,000 residents, from survey to streetlights. City Hall, firehouses, schools, hospitals, factories, malls and movie theaters, and even a couple of adult bookstores; houses for everyone. Cars for everyone. With money left over to pass around. You could pay out a $150 million Powerball Jackpot: two hundred weeks in a row! You could buy a new Chevy Silverado (much nicer than the one I own) for one million of your closest friends. You could buy-out Donald Trump, Mark Burnett (creator, "Survivor" etc.), and Martha Stewart, too. Or you could finance research into cures for cancer, AIDS, MD, MS, CF, and heart disease, and have enough left to run a national advertising campaign for The United Way for a year. You could send more than one and a half million kids to an Ivy League school for four years. (There isn’t room for that many.) You could give every single person in the United States a crispy new $100 bill, and still buy an aircraft carrier with the change.
OK, it’s a lot of money. It’s an insane amount of money. Even Donald Trump would be impressed. The rest of us should be outraged. We all gave to this cause, willingly or not. We gave until it hurt, and still kept giving. I gave today, and I’ll give again next week. So will you. If I was the Chairman of the Board of any one of these gargantuan oil firms I would feel shame at the level of greed I had fostered. I would give some of it back. I would vote to give most of it back. I’d build a few new refineries first, and give my employees raises (not just the bosses), pay out some dividends, bank some capital for the future, and then give the rest back to the country that donated so much. I’d help rebuild New Orleans, along with a hundred other devastated communities. I’d help a few thousand displaced, distressed storm victims rebuild their lives. I’d buy them some ice cream, and some blankets. I would do all that and more, long before Big Government stopped by with insincere indignation and demanded I pay some sort of stupid Windfall Profits Tax. Because one thing is true about thirty billion dollars: it’s just a drop in the bucket to the raging monster that collects our tax dollars. But for the rest of us, it’s enough to make a difference.
[Copyright 2005 all rights reserved, Jim Bessey -Spencerport, NY 10/29/2005]
Millions of Americans, inspired by emotional news coverage of the Gulf Coast’s calamity, poured out their hearts and their hard-earned dollars to help aid enormous relief efforts there. More than one billion dollars has been donated by both private citizens and corporate boards, largely to the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army. Little kids and school groups held car washes and bake sales. Celebrities sang and entertained and answered phones on numerous televised specials. Rotaries and ministries organized major charity fund-raisers. Regular folks made small sacrifices in their daily routines to divert a few hours’ pay to Hurricane victims. People with deeper pockets wrote very large checks and sought minimal publicity for their largesse. The nationwide display of caring and generosity reassured us all: we are a country that takes care of its own. We answer the call, big time.
Meanwhile, Big Oil was raking in money faster than it could be counted, literally. Taking windfall revenues and profits from the same citizens who had already pitched in more than their fair share. Wildly escalating retail gasoline prices created high stress and market anxiety, sending ripples throughout the nation into every nook and cranny of our economy. Gas station operators and employees, ordered to raise retail prices as much as fifty cents per gallon each day, suffered the mid-directed wrath of frightened consumers. Small business owners desperately tried to figure out how to cope with uncontrollable fuel costs, knowing it would be nearly impossible to pass on such outrageous price increases to their equally-stressed customers. The entire U.S. economy see-sawed on the hard edge of panic. All the while, the oil conglomerates tallied-up the take.
After the two hurricanes had wreaked their havoc in no less than four states, in towns and cities big or small, thousands of people were left homeless and hundreds lost their lives. Power outages darkened whole regions, and unprecedented flooding saturated thousands of homes and businesses. Americans lost their homes, jobs, cars, pets, cherished possessions and priceless records. We watched heroic rescues and listened to heart-rending tales of trauma. Rich or poor, white or black or whatever race, young or old, single or married — no demographic escaped this tragedy, despite attempts by some in the news media to slant the story somehow. The rest of us, not directly affected by the storms, reached out with our hearts and our paychecks.
At the same time, consumers coast to coast poured billions into their gas tanks, without recourse. We still had to drive to work, to school and soccer practice, to the store or to Grandmother’s house. Deliveries still had to be made, busses and taxi services had to run, planes had to fly and trains had to keep their schedules. Factories burned fuel and made crude oil into the thousands of products we all need to live. Farmers tilled their fields and brought in their harvests. We do, after all, have a country to run.
The money had to be spent for the barrels of fuel we had to burn or consume. For the three short months following nature’s fury, the numbers posted by Big Oil boggle the mind. ExxonMobil gross sales grew more than 30%; profits soared 75%. Royal Dutch Shell, next in line, jumped 68% with $9 billion net for the quarter. BP banked $6.5 billion. ConocoPhillips (up 89%!) and Chevron (a 53% jump) each added more than $3.5 billion to the pot. The industry as a whole is on pace to earn nearly ONE HUNDRED BILLION DOLLARS for the fiscal year. That’s $100,000,000,000. It’s a number that won’t even fit in most spreadsheets. Furthermore, it’s a number most of us cannot even comprehend.
Let’s think about all these zeroes for a minute. Third quarter, 2005: oil profits totaling somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty billion bucks. Is that really so much money? Aren’t they entitled to a fair profit, just like anyone else in business? Yes, and yes. We live in a free-market economy, where money-in-your-pocket is the reward for taking risks and tying up capital. But, thirty billion dollars? My fifth-grader can do the math: that’s THIRTY times all the money raised by all the big hearts and open wallets in America for disaster relief. Profit. Bottom line. Net Income. That thirty billion is what’s left over after all expenses and write-offs. It’s an amount greater than the GNP of smaller countries like Zimbabwe or Cameroon. Yeah, that IS a lot of money.
What could you do with $30 billion? You could commission and deploy six brand new aircraft carriers, and pay the salaries of all six crews for a year. (No other country on Earth can do that.) You could build an entire city for 10,000 residents, from survey to streetlights. City Hall, firehouses, schools, hospitals, factories, malls and movie theaters, and even a couple of adult bookstores; houses for everyone. Cars for everyone. With money left over to pass around. You could pay out a $150 million Powerball Jackpot: two hundred weeks in a row! You could buy a new Chevy Silverado (much nicer than the one I own) for one million of your closest friends. You could buy-out Donald Trump, Mark Burnett (creator, "Survivor" etc.), and Martha Stewart, too. Or you could finance research into cures for cancer, AIDS, MD, MS, CF, and heart disease, and have enough left to run a national advertising campaign for The United Way for a year. You could send more than one and a half million kids to an Ivy League school for four years. (There isn’t room for that many.) You could give every single person in the United States a crispy new $100 bill, and still buy an aircraft carrier with the change.
OK, it’s a lot of money. It’s an insane amount of money. Even Donald Trump would be impressed. The rest of us should be outraged. We all gave to this cause, willingly or not. We gave until it hurt, and still kept giving. I gave today, and I’ll give again next week. So will you. If I was the Chairman of the Board of any one of these gargantuan oil firms I would feel shame at the level of greed I had fostered. I would give some of it back. I would vote to give most of it back. I’d build a few new refineries first, and give my employees raises (not just the bosses), pay out some dividends, bank some capital for the future, and then give the rest back to the country that donated so much. I’d help rebuild New Orleans, along with a hundred other devastated communities. I’d help a few thousand displaced, distressed storm victims rebuild their lives. I’d buy them some ice cream, and some blankets. I would do all that and more, long before Big Government stopped by with insincere indignation and demanded I pay some sort of stupid Windfall Profits Tax. Because one thing is true about thirty billion dollars: it’s just a drop in the bucket to the raging monster that collects our tax dollars. But for the rest of us, it’s enough to make a difference.
[Copyright 2005 all rights reserved, Jim Bessey -Spencerport, NY 10/29/2005]
Friday Song: Strait shootin'
Labels:
Reviews Music
It's Friday again, and time for my Friday Song nomination. This week I'm going to backtrack slightly to mention the latest release from George Strait (the Chairman of the Board, Country music). Mr. Strait generally has no less than one song working its way up the Billboard Top 100, and this month is no exception. What is exceptional is this record's message. The song's called "She Let Herself Go," which superficially might seem to be another sad ol' country ballad. This one has a bit of love-gone-wrong in it, but steers immediately toward a happy ending. We don't know for sure who "she" is, but we do find out just how far she has let herself go: to New York City, to Vegas, to the beach, to a new adventure with a new friend. She's doin' just fine, thank ya. But what is a man doing singing this song? It's exactly what we might expect from Terri Clark or Jo Dee Messina, or maybe Reba or Martina. The fact that Mr. Strait chose this composition for himself makes this up-beat Anthem for a Modern Woman all the more compelling.
Country music is filled with songs by men whose ladies left them, and likewise by tunes from girls whose guys have done 'em wrong. It's all very familiar, even comfortable. When the man who sets the bar for male country vocalists releases a powerful work in support of women he shakes up that comfy familiarity. Strait isn't breaking any new ground here. There has been a real trend lately for established artists to tackle more difficult subjects from fresher angles. Kenny Chesney has done a superb job during the last couple years, tempering his Unkle Kracker combo with some solid social messages. It's refreshing to see Mr. 50-Number-Ones (the title of Strait's current CD) join the movement. Strait's voice lends credibility and repectability to whatever "cause" he might choose to sing about. She Let Herself Go reminds us all that life can bring us good things on the heels of bad times, whatever the circumstances. That's a good thing to remember when you feel like your own life is stuck in a bad groove on a worn-out record.
Country music is filled with songs by men whose ladies left them, and likewise by tunes from girls whose guys have done 'em wrong. It's all very familiar, even comfortable. When the man who sets the bar for male country vocalists releases a powerful work in support of women he shakes up that comfy familiarity. Strait isn't breaking any new ground here. There has been a real trend lately for established artists to tackle more difficult subjects from fresher angles. Kenny Chesney has done a superb job during the last couple years, tempering his Unkle Kracker combo with some solid social messages. It's refreshing to see Mr. 50-Number-Ones (the title of Strait's current CD) join the movement. Strait's voice lends credibility and repectability to whatever "cause" he might choose to sing about. She Let Herself Go reminds us all that life can bring us good things on the heels of bad times, whatever the circumstances. That's a good thing to remember when you feel like your own life is stuck in a bad groove on a worn-out record.
Tuesday Trivia: Music miscellany
Labels:
Reviews Music
I was thinking about "one-hit wonders" and wondering what happens to artists who don't keep it coming. Then I got off-track a bit, listening to my favorite radio station ("The Bee, WBEE" here in Rochester NY: see Links, at right). A new song came on, one I had only heard once before, a week or so ago. It's a catchy little number by Ray Scott (new to me, never heard of him). His song's called My Kind of Music. The gist of it is, he meets the "perfect" girl, got the ring picked out and all, until he finds out... She doesn't like country music!
The best verse in this song goes something like this:
(almost, but not quite, to the tune of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer")
I asked her if she'd ever heard of Alan Jackson.
She said, "doesn't he sing that 'Where Were You?'?"
I said, yeah, but girl, that man's a living legend!
She said, "Really, I thought he was new."
I can relate to this verse from both sides of the coin. Five years ago I knew almost nothing about country music. I was pretty sure I didn't like it. At the time, I had no idea just how "country" some of my favorite artists were: bands like The Eagles and Lynyrd Skynyrd and such. A couple of pretty serious life changes led me to change my entire music-listening concept, and I ended up very much caught up in modern country music. Not the older stuff, which still seems way too twangy. I started with the obvious crossover artists like Faith Hill and Lonestar, and got deeper into it from there. I have to admit that until 9/11 and "Where Were You?" I didn't really know who Alan Jackson was. Now I can only laugh at the verse I quoted above, thinking about how ignorant I was then. If you want to get me started, ask me about Allison Kraus and Union Station... man, they are just amazing!
Which brings me back to Trivia, the long way around. You wondered where all this was leading, didn't you? Here's my question: Is Rap and Hip-Hop really as bad as I think it is? Or am I just as ignorant about these genres as I was about Country? Twenty years from now will there be "Oldies" stations playing Kill the White Bitches and Gang-rape your Motha? Will there be a whole slew of dudes with -daddy attached to their names in some sort of Hall of Fame? Will The Game Show Network play "Name That Tune" in three F-bombs or less? Should I just go ahead and let my little boys (well, not so little anymore...) listen to this, um, crap? Or is it genius? So tell me, and be honest, do I sound just like my father when I tell my kids, "That's not real music!"? Is this just one more example of the Circle of Life swinging 'round to bite me in the ass?
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