Kasich Threatens To Hold Breath
Ohio's strong-willed Republican governor, John R. Kasich, unleashed a new and unprecedented tactic in his ongoing campaign against the repeal of Senate Bill 5, which places severe restrictions on collective bargaining for public employees.
"You don't want to know what will happen if SB5 is repealed," Kasich told an audience of business owners at an event sponsored by the League of Wealthy Citizens on Thursday. "Because if this Issue 2 is defeated, so help me, I will hold my breath until I turn blue. I swear I will. Don't think I don't mean it."
Voters will have the opportunity to decide the fate of SB5 by voting on Issue 2 in November. As worded by the Franklin County Board of Elections, a "no" vote on Issue 2 is a vote to repeal SB5.
As If I Could Forget
I hesitate to add my voice to the clamorous din of narratives and opinions examining the legacy of the 9/11 tragedy on its tenth anniversary. The notorious event was born on the dawn of media saturation, and not even the enormous towers themselves could have contained the last decade's voluminous reporting about their destruction. It seems like every news organization, whether national or local, is compelled to produce copious coverage of the milestone, as though to do anything less would somehow be unpatriotic. It has reached the point where the mere mention of the words, "a look back at 9/11" is enough to make me tune out, and we haven't yet reached Sunday.
It reminds me of an item I saw buried in the back pages of a community newspaper several years ago. A pair of teenagers had come through town in the course of their marathon walk across the state. The purpose of their trek, according to the reporter, was to raise awareness about 9/11. That's a little like staging a publicity stunt in order to call attention to the heliocentric model of our solar system, but kudos to them anyway, as I'm sure their intentions were sincere.
A Great Summer
The rain in Maine falls mainly on the...um...rocks, I guess.
The school year is now well underway in central Ohio. Students have settled into familiar routines, teachers are dutifully plowing through the curriculum, and the specter of statewide standardized achievement testing is but a faint glow on the distant horizon. It's the season when the world of a teacher begins to contract like a closing camera aperture. Our collective focus is narrowed on academic objectives and the welfare of our students, leaving comparatively little time for our own extracurricular pursuits. That is why I am especially grateful that I enjoyed a totally fulfilling and restorative summer break.
If you are of the currently fashionable conservative ilk who resent educators as bloated, public-sector leeches sucking the monetary lifeblood out of taxpayer coffers, then read no further, unless you want to risk being provoked into a jealous and indignant rage. For while you were slaving away, trying to prime the sluggish circulation of our torpid economy, I was enjoying the better part of June, July and August in a leisurely existence free from the annoyance of a weekday clock alarm. Seething yet? You might just want to give this lucrative education thing a try.
Night Of The Hunter
Welcome Back To My Nightmare: Alice Cooper introduces Steve Hunter in Columbus.
It's a great time to be an Alice Cooper fan. Just last November, Alice wrapped up a 16-month world tour dubbed Theatre of Death, an over-the-top theatrical extravaganza propelled by his best band in years. In April, the original Alice Cooper Group was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with a bombastic celebratory box set arriving in the summer. Next month will see the release of Welcome 2 My Nightmare, a conceptual sequel that reunites Alice with legendary producer Bob Ezrin and includes contributions from the ACG as well as veteran solo career collaborators. It would surely be permissible for the rock icon to take the summer off and relax.
But no. Not only has he been canvassing Europe and both North and South America since May, he is doing so under the banner of a new tour called No More Mr. Nice Guy. As the concert filler between Theatre of Death and the forthcoming Welcome 2 My Nightmare tour, it could easily have been a minimally produced affair in which Cooper & Co. make a few bucks off an assortment of greatest hits, and few would have complained. But Alice is firing on all cylinders right now, and his current show is no mere stopgap, as Wednesday's date at the LC Pavilion in Columbus, Ohio proved.
Remember The Alamo? How About The Titanic?
You must take off your hat inside the Alamo, but next door you can buy Alamo Crackers.
As the tenth anniversary of 9/11 approaches, there is a lot of talk about the proper way to commemorate the tragedy. Foremost among many concerns is the desire to maintain a spirit of solemn reverence, and rightfully so. The thousands who innocently perished there would be grossly dishonored by any attempt to use the occasion for political or commercial gain. This is inherently obvious to us, as we are only a decade removed from one of our nation's darkest days, and the scope of loss has been enormous. It is difficult to imagine that the notorious incident will ever be regarded with any less gravity.
Yet our popular culture does have a history of repackaging tragedy as entertainment, and it is a phenomenon that goes well beyond the production of exploitative disaster movies. I am thinking of the sort of endeavors that would have been unthinkable to undertake within ten years of any catastrophe yet somehow became commercially viable later, the kind of projects that could never have overcome the offended sensibility of the collective public if they had been attempted too soon. It's a train of thought that leads me, inevitably, to San Antonio, home of the legendary Alamo chapel.
I Saw Him Standing There
Faster than a stolen base, more powerful than a grand slam, it's...
If there are supermen among us, one of them showed his strengths last night in the ordinary metropolis of Cincinnati. Paul McCartney, age 69, demonstrated extraordinary endurance while plowing through a setlist that mere mortals would sell their souls to have written. While there is no question that the old Beatle is a living legend, Sir Paul surely put to rest any speculation that his talents have waned. He is as captivating as ever, delivering nearly three hours of flawlessly performed classics with as little apparent effort as that which you and I expend sitting on our talentless bums.
So influential is McCartney's catalog that selections from it successfully comprised the entirety of the pre-show music. As concertgoers wandered the breezy concourse of Great American Ball Park and swarmed numerous swag stands, they were treated to a diverse array of cover tunes, from a Hammond organ instrumental of Eight Days A Week to a reggae version of Blackbird. For half an hour before the show began, a scrolling video collage of McCartney memorabilia was accompanied by an infectious remix mashup featuring Coming Up, Twist and Shout, Goodnight Tonight, With A Little Luck, Temporary Secretary, We Can Work It Out, Back in the USSR, and inevitably, The End. Then, with audience anticipation at its zenith and the video screens displaying a sparkling silhouette of the iconic Hofner violin bass, McCartney and his band opened with Hello Goodbye followed by Junior's Farm.
On Baldness
Once upon a time, I had plenty of hair.
One of the biggest laughs I have ever provoked came from a group of men assembled for a weekend retreat. As a means to level the societal playing field and eliminate prejudices from interfering with honest conversation, we were forbidden to discuss our occupations. The idea was that we would be less likely to unconsciously ascribe wisdom to successful professionals and to casually dismiss the opinions of common laborers. At the end of the event, however, were were at last permitted to reveal what we did for a living. It was an entertaining and revelatory exercise that included more than a few surprises. One by one, we announced our positions within the marketplace, giving our mutual regard an entirely new dimension.
When it came around to me, I discerned that the group was listening to me intently. Due to my various responsibilities and actions throughout the weekend, I had become known to many of my new friends as something akin to a comic relief. I think they were utterly baffled as to what role I might play as a productive member of society. Sensing their attentiveness, I could not resist playing one more joke. I lowered my voice into a register of deep sincerity and scanned their eyes.
Taking A Giant Step For Granted
In an age of scientific miracles and technological wonders, familiarity breeds indifference. Consider the diminished esteem of NASA and the U.S. space program. According to the 2010 Census, the median age of our population is 37.2 years, which means that a majority of our citizens have never known life before manned space exploration. It's an immense demographic wedge that has never pondered the impossibility of putting a man on the Moon, because the mission was already accomplished. For most Americans, the visage of astronauts hopping across the lunar surface is not a personal recollection but rather the stuff of history books and grainy documentaries. Given the poor performance of U.S. students in math and science, and acknowledging the lack of curricular emphasis on the history of space exploration, it's a safe assumption that most of our population does not fully appreciate the enormity of our accomplishments.
It is nearly inexplicable that our nation should invest in, develop, and implement the technology necessary for manned lunar exploration only to abandon its application a mere three years after the first moonwalk. Today's children, upon learning of the heroic feats of Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins, are understandably puzzled by this intuitively backwards progression. They are aware that modern technology far surpasses that of the past, which leads one to wonder why we are not doing bigger and better things on the Moon. Of course, there is an explanation, and it is primarily the issue of money and the degree to which our representative government is willing to allocate funds toward further exploration of the Moon.
Great Albums: A Parodic Quartet
I love music, and I have a special affection for cleverly written, expertly performed, lovingly produced tunes that not only deliver the musical goods but also take a satirical jab at convention with a dry sense of humor. Fitting that bill perfectly are the songs on four very different albums that never fail to amuse me.
The Rutles was released in 1978 as the soundtrack album for Eric Idle's All You Need Is Cash, a television mockumentary that parodies the rise and fall of The Beatles. The show itself is uneven, but its incredible attention to detail is mirrored in 14 songs written and produced by Neil Innes, a founding member of the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band and Monty Python collaborator. Innes and a group of session musicians manage to emulate the Beatles as faithfully as any tribute band while slyly stretching a variety of Fab Four styles into the absurd without so much as a wink or a nod.
That’s Right, I Said “Autumnal”
I have just become aware of a popular trend in seasonal nomenclature that threatens to upend millennia of tradition and, more importantly, thumbs its nose at my personal preference. It concerns the term by which we ought to refer to today's astronomical event, when the center of the sun can be seen to pass directly overhead (90° off the horizon) as observed at the equator, thus signaling a change of season. It is my habit to call this occurrence the Autumnal Equinox. I also accept the use of Fall Equinox, inasmuch as autumn and fall are synonyms. However, there is a movement afoot to hereby replace those cherished monikers with September Equinox.
This is apparently the term that is preferred by many astronomers and other scientists, and in that particular regard, it is a reasonable replacement, for it is more precise. After all, one hemisphere's Autumnal Equinox is another hemisphere's Vernal Equinox, and scientific terminology demands the absence of ambiguity. Fair enough. You scientists may exercise your right to specificity, and I may carry on using a name that works for me and everyone else in the Northern Hemisphere. But do a little poking around on the Internet, and you'll find some members of the lay public adopting September Equinox for a totally different reason.