Regional Prejudice

It’s really not that funny anymore.

I mean, it used to be funny that the only real “acceptable” prejudice in polite society was against people in the southern United States. It was a triumph that we still had an outlet for humor that did not assault the sensibilities of African-Americans, the Poles, fat people, skinny people, blondes… all once considered the targets for humor, and now not considered polite.

Well, we can still joke about Southerners, right? I mean, anyone who likes Larry the Cable Guy must be an ignoramus (and probably can’t spell it, either.) Those beer-swilling NASCAR fans, if they are entitled to vote should it really count more than 3/5? Do they really count their IQ scores on fingers and barefoot toes, and dream of indoor plumbing?

It’s all well and good, until you start to wonder what people really believe about the South and the people who live here.

I stumbled across a Freakonomics write-up of an energy efficiency study, and the gist of the study was that some states aren’t producing as much wealth for the amount of electricity they consume. The authors of the study appeared to go out of their way to take economic activity and climate into account, but their results are flawed by the assumptions they made. For instance, Southerners are far more likely to use electricity to heat their homes (which counts against us), while Northeastern residents use natural gas or other means which don’t count against their energy consumption.

Regardless, I found the following comment from “Steve” amusing:

Just sell Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas, Louisiana, and several other low productivity southern states to Mexico. Their energy use will decline rapidly once the subsidies end. Any auto plants there, will relocate back to the US too, once their ability to gain subsidies to employ low productivity workers stops with the end of federal largess. Once the cretins in these places start to earn Mexican wages, they’ll be plenty of work for them. They may eventually regret their lack of interest in education, but there is no guarantee of that.

Gee Steve, ever get around much? I can only assume the subsidized energy he is talking about is in the Tennessee Valley Authority service area, which is just a small part of “the South.” I can also assume he’s not concerned about the massive amount of subsidy that goes into bringing water to arid regions in the West.

Let’s ignore for a moment the preposterous bits for a moment, and look at the underlying psychology:

  • Southerners are, by definition, stupid
  • Southerners have auto plants because they cheated economically (as though states aren’t allowed to compete for manufacturing, but entire nations are)
  • Southerners deserve “Mexican” wages (do I detect racism there, Steve, or are you just an enlightened xenophobe?)
  • Southerners are not interested in education

I thought it might “edjamacate” him to hear from one of the “cretins” that he is so eager to sell off:

Actually, those of us in the South were really considering selling off Michigan. If we do so before all those automotive bailouts are paid, we can really get out from under a bad debt. You guys are costing me boatloads of cash.

Granted, with your surplus of $7,000 homes on the market, now would not be the ideal time to sell, but I’m not sure that you haven’t bottomed out already.

This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered elitist regional snobbery:

(Note: I was very deliberate about linking the New York Times to the anchor word “edjamacate.” If more people do the same, then the New York Times will become the top search result for “edjamacate,” and I learned this without going to any fancy Big 10 state college.)

We can still joke about lawyers, right?

Minor tweaks and fixes

I’m still fixing a few things here, trying to get the most out of the new features while recapturing some of the neat look-and-feel of the last incarnation of Occam’s Razr.

I took down the Thoughtful Blather page, as it really was no longer high enough to be thoughtful nor low enough for blather. I did succeed in getting the “My Quotes” to display as they had been intended.

Enjoy.

Loyalty

A Kids’ Guide to Casinos

History in Black and White

I need help, and this is one of those occasions when both my memory and my search-engine gymnastics have failed me.

There was a movie that was shown in schools when I was growing up in the 1970s. I remember it being shown in the gymnateria at Sawtooth Elementary, in Twin Falls, Idaho. (The gymnateria was that all-purpose room that had just enough of a stage to make it not-a-cafeteria, and flooring that was just hard and dangerous enough so as not to be a true gymnasium.)

The movie was an animated short of unremembered length, done in the style of black and white pencil sketches. The little stick figures proceed to advance from Stone Age to Space Age, and the visual conceit is that of a tower of knowledge being built. Each layer of technology and civilization built upon the next, starting with agrarian advance to military technology, to medicine, you name it.

I can’t remember the name of the movie. I’ve been all over YouTube with a variety of keywords:

  • animated
  • animation
  • short
  • history
  • civilization
  • innovation
  • invention
  • black and white
  • educational
  • film

…and several others.

Any ideas? Any teachers out there know what I am talking about?

Early morning journalism

I was up early, documenting the procession of Alabama Power crew vehicles headed north to restore service to those affected by the ice storm in Kentucky.

Instead of bringing in a video crew, I shot this from my phone’s camera.

Good enough for web-work.

Rearview Mirror

I started “blogging” a little over five years ago. I was leaving the daily grind of television news, and didn’t want to lose my chops as a writer. I also needed to process some of the angst and trepidation that comes from a career shift, particularly for a person that many assumed would die in a television studio, conveniently just after signing off.

This is the first piece I posted, and it was intentionally vague. I was expressing notions and feelings and impressions, and I wanted it to be as relevant to the future me as it was to the present me. I don’t read it very often, but it still seems to hold some value. I also had to be careful, as I was trying to preserve my anonymity online.

I reprint the piece here, and over the next week or so may republish a few others. Especially the ones with insights into the state of communications and broadcasting, just to see how they measure up to today’s reality.

Smacking the Ship

There’s an awful lot of work that goes into building a boat. Most people who care about sailing, and have the time, also have the disposable income to just lay out the cash and buy one.

Who builds boats these days, anyway?

Those trapped on islands.

Desperation breeds ingenuity, resolve, and all of those other positive character attributes that boy scouts require, since the organization doesn’t offer ship-building merit badges.

Badges — we don’t need no stinking badges. Just give me some tools, or some sharp rocks to make rudimentary tools, and let me chip and chop some bamboo and coconut trees. If Gilligan can make a raft, I can make one with shade. I’ll lash the posts together, boil my own rosin, and make this sucker seaworthy.

So. Why am I so crazy?

Turns out, there’s boatload after boatload of people trying to get onto my island. So many people, eager for their day in the sun, and ready for the life of splendor and luxury that goes with it. It’s only after a four-year cruise they find out it’s a one-way trip, and the locals pay you with sand.

Sand. Nothing but ground quartz. If there was a way to heat it up, you could make some glass, or maybe a mirror. Then all of the self-made refugees on my island might figure out what they really look like, instead of relying on their own absorbed self-images.

Poor kids. They spent so much time trying to beach themselves, they can’t bring themselves to ask whether they should be trying to go home, or someplace more fulfilling. Because island life is hard. You can only live for so long on cocounts and weed salad. And Tom Hanks made spear-fishing look easy.

The recent arrivals marvel at my survival skills, but I dare not show them the boat I am building. I’m not worried about anyone taking it for a spin — It’s just easier to deal with the rest of the lost if you don’t remind them how lost they are. They just get angry at you.

Building a boat isn’t easy — and it’s even harder when you have to do it in quiet.

The key is concentrating on the boat. You can’t look out at the waves, because there’s another fear that grips you. The fear your boat somehow won’t handle those waves. The fear you’ll find little to eat and less to drink out there than you’ve got right here. The fear the others will laugh at you when you float back to shore, in your red shirt and white Gilligan hat.

I made up my mind that I was going, but hadn’t put a when on that plan.

The siren did that for me.

Now, I really was worried about my boat, because the siren called my name before I was ready. At least, before I thought I was ready. All those fears, all those insecurities, all those doubts… you know what the hardest part was?

Smacking the ship.

Because when you do, you have to give the craft a name. It becomes a relationship. It becomes personal. If it fails, you’ve failed.

Don’t ask me how, but I wound up smacking my ship anyway. And I launched. And I’m off. And I’m relieved. And I can’t thank the siren enough.

I’ve still got a little owing to do.
I’ve still got a little rowing to do.
I’ve still got a little growing to do.
But at least I’m off the island.