Search

I Hate Howard Stern

July 20th, 2012 by Michael Tabor

Today is Thursday, July 19, 2012 and my desk calendar has Faustian as the word of the day. The definition is satanic; or having sold one’s soul to the devil – in exchange for wealth and power. I’ve spilled more ink in the past on this blog than I  really should have on this marginally-talented fake phony fraud but he managed to “piss me off “again. I, and millions of other people, stopped listening to Stern when he left free radio; who in their right mind would ever pay for radio? –  And furthermore make the genetically challenged “Big Bird” richer than he already is. Anyway, I happened to stumble upon an article that stated that Howard Stern is a professional photographer and that his photographs have actually been published by reputable magazines. Initially, I was surprised and thought that Stern was actually finally growing up and selecting a noble hobby. Well no surprise here 1. His photographs are awful and 2. If you go onto his website, it’s just one big advertisement; he’s selling everything from lenses, to books on photography, you name it. That’s the problem with Stern, he never does a single thing without first being paid for it. ENOUGH – I hate him and I don’t want to waste my time thinking or writing about this Faustian no-talent pig.
So WhaDaYaThink ? What do you think ? Does anyone still like Howard Stern? Do you think he sold his soul to the devil?

line01

KNEE JERK REACTION

July 17th, 2012 by Michael Tabor

Written by guest blogger Le Duke de Fromage
I must clarify the idea that I am a fan of the late Joe Paterno. My personal feelings for the man, coach and at times living legend has never been favorable. I always felt that in deifying a man a counter balance must take place. Yet thousands of fans felt and would strongly defend the thought that Joe Pa was such a person. “Blasphemy,” they cried when criticism was leveled at their coach, and for 50 odd years, this myth held sway. Yet there were always signs that Joe Pa was human, always loath for criticism Joe would not tolerate those who would question his decisions. If you were not an unquestioning supporter then you were an enemy. He built a power base second to none in college athletics. An empire that will probably never be duplicated again. His domination of the university was so complete that at one point he dismissed the president and his staff from his home when they came to ask him to step down. How many college coaches have amassed that much power?
Yet he was a giving man and in today’s inflated salaries of sports coaches he was not at the top level of salaries. His contributions to Penn State are well documented with both monies given and always-promoting Penn State’s attributes. He lived modestly on campus in a small ranch for his entire tenure. Alternately, he also owned a $3.5 million dollar beach house at the shore, a statue was erected on campus in his honor, and a library for which he donated the money bears his name. No small accomplishments. Then came the fall, the “esteemed” board of trustees is being pressured to remove the statue and take his name from the library. Why? Because Joe Pa was human after all? Because he didn’t live up to the myth that they helped perpetuate? Was it because at a critical moment he did not react the way the image so carefully constructed was supposed to act? Or is it just another knee jerk reaction from a group of people who are still trying to maintain the myth that it is Penn State proud?
Many former players stoutly defend that the guidance, leadership, and council he gave them were unparalleled in their careers both on and off the playing field. It is also possible that this was just a man who stayed far too long on the job because he had nothing else.
Recently the halo surrounding Joe Pa’s statue was painted over. Why a living man was given a halo highlighting his figure remains questionable, but such was the power of the myth. Ultimately, history will decide which Paterno will be remembered. Removing his statue or renaming his library will not be Penn State’s proudest moment nor will it erase the injustices that the university has allowed.
The evil that men do lives after them
the good is oft interred with their bones
Mark Antony

line01

PENN STATE PROUD

July 16th, 2012 by Michael Tabor

Written by guest blogger – Le Duke de Fromage

After reading the Louis Freech report concerning the Sandusky-Paterno -Penn State scandals, disgust and revulsion set in. I consider myself a cynic and skeptic concerning decisions made by large institutions but this is a new low even for our so-called centers for higher learning. The myth that these institutions are serving the education and growth needs for students has been shattered by the cruel light of day.What evolves is a picture of self-serving,status quo administrators whose only goal is to self protect themselves and the myths they have carefully cultured. We see a group of pink faced slightly overfed administrators who supposedly are well educated and yet have no concept of what reality and truth is. Their main goal is to perpetuate the myth and maintain their tight knit control on the concept that they are all knowing and wise. The reality is they at all costs do not want their positions threatened.
The cruel fact that a vicious predator has shattered lives of youths does not seem to matter as long as the myth of the institution in maintained.Yet this fact is not confined to Penn State alone. The abuses of colleges and universities continues to thrive throughout America.In fact, some might say that the system demands it. COLLEGE SPORTS IS BIG TIME MONEY and no one is going to upset the golden cart. There are factories in China working 24/7 turning out millions of dollars worth of college memorabilia just so the fan can wave a banner or wear a jersey. Guess who gets a piece of the pot? Now comes the real pot of gold T.V. money. Can you imagine any administrator with his pension and tenure and golden perks sacrificing that for a reported case of child abuse? Those green covered walls on the quaint buildings are not covered by ivy those are dollars.
But there is a ray of hope on the horizon the N.C.A.A. has announced that it will conduct an investigation.Gosh I guess that means that like every other problem they have faced the answers coming will be confused, self serving and inconclusive. Why would any one believe they could actually solve a problem? Is it the fact that the rumors of this tragedy which have been surfacing for years now have become national news? Are they nervous that the affair might effect the millions of dollars pouring in to their convoluted system of completely meaningless bowl games? Or are they too busy dogging exploited college players from excepting a $25.00 lunch from an over zealous alumni? Whatever revelations they may release you can be sure they will be of self interest. More than likely they will do what historically they always do, make some headlines then nothing.
So there we are, shattered lives, self interest, but the dollars keep rolling in and you can still watch your favorite team every Saturday.

line01

Perils Of Wisdom

July 14th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor
I love the great outdoors. City born and bred, I quickly became enamored with country life early on by our many family outings to (a once wilder) Long Island and the deep woods of upstate New York. I vowed to one day move to the country and have had my dreams realized once or twice in my lifetime. Whatever circumstances intervened to keep me from my idyl, the thought of permanently returning is never far from my mind.
Lovely as it is, outdoor life has its dangers; poison ivy, bee stings, sunburn, getting lost in the woods, getting snowed in, mud slides (twice our dirt road was washed out by torrential rains that affected the entire upstate region causing a state of emergency). The majority of most of these perils can generally be avoided with just a little foresight (or hindsight if you’ve already had the misfortune to misjudge), while others are simply unavoidable. Common sense however, is the saving grace in all things. I’ve experienced all of the situations mentioned and have questioned my sense of judgement more than once to ascertain if my calamities were brought on by carelessness or happenstance. The conclusion is, invariably, both. But this is how we learn and the mistakes made never bear repeating. And if they do, we are at an advantage as to how to better handle them the second time around.
My biggest fear is an encounter with a wild animal such as a bear or a bobcat. Though both are said to be elusive, nature is unpredictable. I have never seen either one in its natural habitat, but they’re there all right. They see you . One deterrent is to make noise. Quiet by nature, I find this behavior a little out of character for me but my fear of coming face to face with a ferocious version of Smokey will prod me to do some things any sane person witnessing would find alarming. First Rule: Never venture out of doors without your hiking stick, though I tend to think of myself running in the opposite direction rather than actually poke Smokey in the nose with it. Rule Number Two: Make noise. My idea of making noise is to sing a ridiculous song at the top of my lungs in an over zealous manner. That should send Yogi and Boo Boo hightailing to Canada along with a good majority of the human population. Unfortunately, all I’ve thus far managed to do is send poor little Peter Rabbit scurrying for cover. Awww….and he was so cute too.
In years past, there was no threat of bears in our area but they’ve made a recent comeback in prolific numbers. Then again, how do we know they weren’t there before? Maybe we just didn’t see enough of them and what we’re seeing now is the baby boomer generation of bears. I shudder to think of my teenage hiking days, traipsing off into the woods by myself. I’d be quiet as an Indian to try and spot as many wild creatures as I could when all the while there’s old Bigfoot with his eye on me, salivating at the thought of a teen burger. Really, Mister Bigfoot, I’m too skinny, I might have protested. On the other hand, my younger cousin was entirely fearless. Come dusk, she’d grab her sleeping bag and head for the forest, all alone. I never thought that was a very wise thing to do then, and especially not now.
I think of my many foolish moments off on my own. Once I found a small cluster of black flowers growing at the base of a huge tree in the woods. I was intrigued. I had never seen black flowers before. I crouched down to examine the sharply pointed petals on their long smooth stems. There were only 3 or 4 of the flowers and none others nearby. I decided to bring them home and place them in a vase. Home, at the time, was just a short walk up the road. The moment the flowers were placed in the water filled vase, they drooped. As in, died. As if the most abhorrent thing in the world to them was water. It was like the scene in The Wizard Of Oz where the water gets thrown on the witch and she starts melting. I was perplexed and a little bit frightened. What flower doesn’t like water? What was this mysterious plant? I have searched the internet and have never found any wildflower remotely like it. It could have been the poisonous creation of Merlin the Wizard for all I knew.
The point to my ramblings is this; If you have any misgivings on what your foragings have to offer, heed them. Don’t touch anything that’s not familiar to you. Learn as much as you can about your surroundings and don’t go nosing around unless you know what you’re doing. Be alert to what’s happening around you. If you hear a humming sound and you’re in God’s Country, it’s probably not the drone of an airplane, but a swarm of bees that are not necessarily airborne but may very well be where your next step lands; on the ground. No matter how much we think we know, there will always be moments of wonder.
Happy Trails and have a Safe and Happy Summer!
line01

Island Guy

July 13th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor

line01

Campfire Memories

July 12th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor
Years ago. our little cabin in the woods had a campfire pit built nearby, composed of rocks dislodged from the walls assembled by farmers when there were fields instead of the now surrounding forest. Three trees were felled to use as “benches” around the campfire where we’d huddle roasting ears of corn or marshmallows long into the night. The familiar faces of family members glowed with warmth in the firelight and at the stories they told filling the night air. Since then, some have passed on, our circle broken; the rocks removed and scattered to the wilds. Our rustic seating area disintegrated over time, meshing back into the earth from which it sprang. Even so, the memories remain. Star studded nights call them back to this place, sequestered from all else. I wanted it back. The people along with the memories. At the very least, the campfire in its rightful place once more. A primeval force rekindled by a tribal instinct.
Last summer, I attempted to do just that. While Michael napped in mid afternoon bliss, I trudged up the hill to borrow my brother’s wheelbarrow. No one else was around for the weekend. I was on my own. I knew just the place to garner the rocks needed to recreate the pit. Wheelbarrow in gear, I barreled down the hill to the old stone wall that ran along the roadside. The wall was in a state of partial collapse and I would help it along by removing only as many rocks as needed. In an effort to get as close as possible to the wall which was situated up the other side of the ditch, I had to get down into the ditch itself. It was full of water but no matter. I splashed the barrow into it where I promptly became stuck. In the country, flip flops are not the wisest choice in footwear. The mud sucked at the soles. Squoo-utch! Squoo-utch! One for each foot, thus rendering me immobile. I was like one of those dolls with the suction cups stuck on a dashboard of a car. In attempting to disengage myself from the mud sucking ditch, I fell over sideways into the muck. Great! I heard myself laughing at my own foolishness. I struggled to my feet, slipping out of my flip flops which held fast to the mud as I tugged at first one and then the other, releasing its grip from the mud monster. I began again, this time carefully avoiding the ditch, and climbed up to the wall. I dropped rocks into the barrow with a satisying resounding thud at each collected prize. Filled to the brim, I jumped back down (barefoot) and gripped the handles of the barrow that proved too weighty to move. It buckled and shifted to one side, toppling into the ditch very much as I had done earlier. I had to remove some of the rocks to lessen its load. This done, and still with considerable effort, I forced the barrow out of the ditch and up onto the road with a grunt. Then went back for the remaining rocks with which to refill the barrow.
I was now ready to haul my load of rocks to its intended site. It wouldn’t budge. I removed some rocks yet again. Ugh! Still too heavy but I somehow managed to inch my way up the road, and I do mean inch in its every literal sense. I was determined, with all the backing of my deceased relatives cheering me on, to labor at my task like a demented workhorse. I began to break into a sweat, not having had the foresight to realize how….very….far….my destination lay. I….just….couldn’t….do it. Abandoning the wheelbarrow in the middle of the road, hoping a car wouldn’t happen along, I walked the rest of the way to get help. Now, the road is a private one, composed of dirt, and just as natural a country road as one could imagine; wide enough for just one car, that dead ends after a mile or so. It wasn’t likely that a car would come along; the only houses were a couple of vacation homes and a neglected campsite or two. But with the way my luck was running, I didn’t want to chance it. I went back. Tried again. And again. And a ….gain. Until eventually, I came within sight of my destination. Close enough.
Now for the fun part….
I would assemble the fire pit. Fairly soon however, I ran out of rocks. It wasn’t even half done. I couldn’t go back and repeat the insanity. Instead, I grabbed rocks wherever I could, even risking entering the forbidden (ja, das ist verboten) poison ivy area where everyone is repeatedly warned to steer clear. Certain I was immune to the unassuming little plant, I plodded on. Still….not enough rocks. By this time I was overcome by an overwhelming desire to squash the project in favor of something less arduous. In exasperation, with no energy left to wave a flag of defeat, I simply gave up. Someone would help me next time. Michael. My brother (maybe not, if he ever finds out I bent the frame underneath his wheelbarrow and frantically bent it back into shape weakening the entire structure). The main thing is, I made some new memories; in the form of an itchy, scratchy, miserable rash on both legs that lasted for weeks and grew progressively worse as time wore on, defying every conceivable remedy. Never underestimate the power of a tiny little plant with three very distinctive leaves. When (if) the fire pit is finally built, I’ll be itching (pun, most definitely intended) to tell this story around the campfire. It needs no embellishing.
line01

Examining The Milgram Experiment

July 10th, 2012 by Michael Tabor

How is it possible that at times, ordinary, decent, law – abiding citizens can uncharacteristically inflict the most unthinkable and unconscionable acts upon one another?  Per the Milgram Study, the notable psychological study conducted by Yale psychologist Stanley Milgram in 1961, (3 months after the start of the trial of the notorious Nazi war criminal – Adolph Eichmann) all that is needed is a little prompting by a perceived authority figure. YEP – that’s it. The millions upon millions of average German citizens carried out the most heinous acts upon an imaginary enemy (the Jewish populace) and the results from the Milgram experiment concluded that: 1. ordinary Americans are also capable of doing the same thing and 2. It is possible that it can happen again.
In a nutshell ordinary people from Connecticut administered (perceived) life-threatening electrical shocks to other regular folks for not answering a question correctly. Though the subject doling out the pain was reluctant and felt uncomfortable, he or she continued nonetheless because the mediator or authority figure (person running the experiment) simply issued a series of commands such as: Please continue, the experiment requires that you continue, it is absolutely essential that you continue, or you have no other choice you must go on. And so MOST of the subjects continued –  COULD YOU BELIEVE THAT ?  (For more details just go onto Wikipedia or Google the Milgram Experiment).
I vaguely remember hearing about this study back in college, but I recently came across an article which prompted me to look further into this (I suggest everyone look at all the details – it’s unreal). After finishing my research, I asked myself – what would I do ? I really believe that I would walk out and not inflict pain upon an innocent person just because someone in authority told me to. Keep in mind, this was not Nazi Germany where if you said no, you may very well end up in a concentration camp. No, this was just a laboratory – all the person had to do was refuse and walk out.
So Whadayathink ? What do you think? How do you think you would react if you were a subject taking part in an experiment like Milgram ?

line01

Brow Of The Earth

July 8th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor
If I could brush
The brow of the earth
As do the clouds.
And feel the bristle
Of its chin
If allowed.
And drift in lazy
Idleness
In my shroud
Of airlessness.
What is heaven to me
If I could brush
The brow of the earth?
line01

Island Guy

July 6th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor

line01

Island Guy

July 4th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor

line01