It's not a sure thing just yet, but Bertie Ahern is watching the numbers very closely. He's been returned to his seat in a landslide, but Enda Kenny's merry band is picking up the slack, making gains at the expense of the smaller parties. Everyone is dying to see a few snaps of Grandda and the Byrne twins, himself with Rocco and Jay, but Mr. Ahern may not be in much of a mood to pose with the little boys if his position as Taoiseach is not secured.
With counting not yet completed, it also appears that Mary Harney is returning, but the rest of her Progressive Democrat colleagues are taking a drubbing. Pundits are already proclaiming the end of the Fianna Fail - Progressive Democrat coalition, and Ms. Harney will be out of her ministerial post. One has to believe that the consultants and nurses are glad to see the back of her. Michael McDowell, the fearless leader of the PDs, has been deposed by his unhappy constituents, and he's saying he's going to resign from politics. Well, when the people don't want what you're offering, and your party has taken a drubbing, maybe it is time to stand aside and let someone else try their hand.
The Dail will be a dull place without Joe Higgins to rant and rave, spewing his Socialist Party prattle and lambasting the US government. That was always a tough position to take, what with so many emigrants living very comfortably in the US of A and sending money back home to aged parents. Knock on some doors and decry America and the old folks at home won't take kindly to the politician asking for their vote. Then there's all that Celtic Tiger prosperity, and socialism loses its luster when it's your pockets that Mr. Higgins is planning to pick and you know how hard and long you had to work to earn your lovely salary.
With transfers yet to be counted, Enda Kenny is so buoyant that he needs to be tied down like a large helium balloon. He's looking at the seats his lads have gained, and adding them in to the total held by Labour and the Greens, who would coalesce into a merry rainbow of politicians looking to run the nation and elect him Taoiseach if all goes well. If Fianna Fail doesn't pick up a second seat in Dublin, and if no more than two PDs remain, it will look bad for Mr. Ahern and his plan to be taoiseach for a third time. You know what form Mr. Kenny's prayers are taking.
But what if Fianna Fail does come out on top? The PDs are dead in the water, so who would go into government with FF? All those lovely ministerial positions, just waiting to be snapped up by ambitious folks. Could it be Sinn Fein? Never, not in a million years. Maybe some Labourites would be tempted, or the Green Party clan, drawn to higher office and a position with some real impact.
Something old, in the form of Fianna Fail, blended in with something new. The fun just goes on and on.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Excuse Me While I Gouge Out My Eyeballs
Turn on your television and you'll find a reality show. There's a man selecting a potential bride, and there's a woman picking out a husband. There are gangs of people surviving on islands, jungles, the back roads, and the inner city. It's all real. Gritty. Dirty. As it happens. Or, the contestants are singing and dancing and everyone's happy unless they've lost and then they're crying. Real tears. Real emotions. Reality.
Lauren Spicer looked over the program listings and realized that the world needed a reality show for authors. She also realized, at some point in her writing career, that the world needed her books so she published them herself. Assume what you will from that. In any event, Ms. Spicer has invented an on-line Writing contest, to find the Ultimate Author. Apparently no television program director would pick it up, so she's doing it herself!
Care to participate? Get yourself down to her digs in Florida and run through the various fun-filled scenarios of reality. Read the opening chapter of your manuscript, and all the judges in cyberspace will listen and vote. It's very American Idol, but without the music. According to the website:
So what's in it for you, the author? A book deal, wouldn't you know. Published by whom? In all likelihood, by Ms. Spicer. Lacks the cachet of HarperCollins or Simon & Schuster, though, and somehow it doesn't seem like it's quite worth the air fare to Miami.
How lame, exactly, is this reality show concept? The writing challenge tests your spelling and grammar. And you thought you were smarter than a fifth grader....but isn't that already on the air?
Lauren Spicer looked over the program listings and realized that the world needed a reality show for authors. She also realized, at some point in her writing career, that the world needed her books so she published them herself. Assume what you will from that. In any event, Ms. Spicer has invented an on-line Writing contest, to find the Ultimate Author. Apparently no television program director would pick it up, so she's doing it herself!
Care to participate? Get yourself down to her digs in Florida and run through the various fun-filled scenarios of reality. Read the opening chapter of your manuscript, and all the judges in cyberspace will listen and vote. It's very American Idol, but without the music. According to the website:
Within the half-hour, contestants compete as a group and individually. TheA touch of Weakest Link in there as well, it appears. So much excitement! So much anticipation! How could ABC or NBC or Fox not have jumped at the opportunity to snap up this bit of must-see entertainment? What would be more thrilling than watching people read? It's right up there with watching grass grow, but it could never compete with the sense of anticipation that comes with watching the kettle boil.
contestant with the least amount of points for that week will be asked to close
their laptop and leave the premises. The judges tasked with scoring the
contestants will be literary magazine publishers, veteran authors, journalists,
book store representatives, and creative development managers from publishing
houses. There will be three permanent judges and one guest judge selected who
excels in the chosen genre selected for that week or for the activity.
Additionally, viewers will get a chance to participate as a guest judge by
filling out the form on the website.
So what's in it for you, the author? A book deal, wouldn't you know. Published by whom? In all likelihood, by Ms. Spicer. Lacks the cachet of HarperCollins or Simon & Schuster, though, and somehow it doesn't seem like it's quite worth the air fare to Miami.
How lame, exactly, is this reality show concept? The writing challenge tests your spelling and grammar. And you thought you were smarter than a fifth grader....but isn't that already on the air?
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Cicada Watch: Still Waiting
There's something I've developed into a fine art -- waiting. Not content to wait for literary agents to contact me, and not content to wait for literary journals to review my submissions, I'm waiting on the cicadas.
Sure they promised to come out by 22 May, and here it is two days later and no sign of them. A friend about four miles away found that his trees were covered yesterday, but no one else in his neighborhood has seen any. We put it down to the landscaping crew having been there the day before, vibrating the ground with their big mowers and startling the cicadas out of their holes a bit early.
I've got my camera charged up and the memory stick has plenty of bytes left. I'll be waiting again tonight to catch the little critters in action.
Sure they promised to come out by 22 May, and here it is two days later and no sign of them. A friend about four miles away found that his trees were covered yesterday, but no one else in his neighborhood has seen any. We put it down to the landscaping crew having been there the day before, vibrating the ground with their big mowers and startling the cicadas out of their holes a bit early.
I've got my camera charged up and the memory stick has plenty of bytes left. I'll be waiting again tonight to catch the little critters in action.
The Right to the Rights
Literary agents are up in arms, as are published authors. For the rest of us, well, we've bigger fish to fry. The dust up in the publishing world doesn't affect us, not yet, and in all likelihood, never.
Simon & Schuster decided to change their contract terms, out of the blue. From here on in, the publishing house would hold the rights to a title in perpetuity. At least that's how agents read it, and the Authors Guild came to the same conclusion. There was a time when an author got the rights back to their book when it stopped selling. It might have gone out of print, or sales might have hit some low, low level and the publisher lost interest. "Here, go on, take it back, so," the publishers used to say. "I've no use for this title, and no one else has either. Fair play to you if you can find another house willing to print this old rag."
Sometimes, a resurgent interest in a particular author, or a serendipitous rediscovery of an old title, would mean new fame and fortune for a forgotten writer. Holding the reverted rights, said author could march down the road to another publisher and get the book sent out again, to make a little more money. All very good for the author, who maintained a bit of control over their intellectual property, but Simon & Schuster realized that they could be losing a little profit. Hence, new language was plonked into the contract.
Simon & Schuster plans to hold on to the rights for ever and ever, because with Print On Demand technology, a book is never really out of print. Sure, back before the POD revolution, it cost too much to run the presses for a single copy, so the book was declared out of print and the author could have it back. Now the publisher can claim that the book is never out of print, because if someone wants a copy, it's easy enough to produce a single book. That being the case, the author never gets the out of print rights reversion. And if, for some odd reason, the book garners a bit of interest, Simon & Schuster reaps all the rewards.
From an author's standpoint, Simon & Schuster has no incentive to promote a book after it's peaked, while an author would actively promote their little darling. As things now stand, literary agents have no incentive to sell manuscripts to Simon & Schuster, because it's not in the best interest of their clients. As long as the other big houses don't follow Simon & Schuster's lead, it's going to be tough sledding for S & S.
But you and I, we have no literary agent trying to sell our manuscripts to anyone. We're at the waiting stage, waiting for the twenty-five literary journals to make up their minds about the short stories we sent. We're waiting for the twelve literary agents to read the queries we've sent since the end of April, with no response. But that is the response now, isn't it? All this other business, about rights and such? I'm too busy worrying about my opening pages to care.
Simon & Schuster decided to change their contract terms, out of the blue. From here on in, the publishing house would hold the rights to a title in perpetuity. At least that's how agents read it, and the Authors Guild came to the same conclusion. There was a time when an author got the rights back to their book when it stopped selling. It might have gone out of print, or sales might have hit some low, low level and the publisher lost interest. "Here, go on, take it back, so," the publishers used to say. "I've no use for this title, and no one else has either. Fair play to you if you can find another house willing to print this old rag."
Sometimes, a resurgent interest in a particular author, or a serendipitous rediscovery of an old title, would mean new fame and fortune for a forgotten writer. Holding the reverted rights, said author could march down the road to another publisher and get the book sent out again, to make a little more money. All very good for the author, who maintained a bit of control over their intellectual property, but Simon & Schuster realized that they could be losing a little profit. Hence, new language was plonked into the contract.
Simon & Schuster plans to hold on to the rights for ever and ever, because with Print On Demand technology, a book is never really out of print. Sure, back before the POD revolution, it cost too much to run the presses for a single copy, so the book was declared out of print and the author could have it back. Now the publisher can claim that the book is never out of print, because if someone wants a copy, it's easy enough to produce a single book. That being the case, the author never gets the out of print rights reversion. And if, for some odd reason, the book garners a bit of interest, Simon & Schuster reaps all the rewards.
From an author's standpoint, Simon & Schuster has no incentive to promote a book after it's peaked, while an author would actively promote their little darling. As things now stand, literary agents have no incentive to sell manuscripts to Simon & Schuster, because it's not in the best interest of their clients. As long as the other big houses don't follow Simon & Schuster's lead, it's going to be tough sledding for S & S.
But you and I, we have no literary agent trying to sell our manuscripts to anyone. We're at the waiting stage, waiting for the twenty-five literary journals to make up their minds about the short stories we sent. We're waiting for the twelve literary agents to read the queries we've sent since the end of April, with no response. But that is the response now, isn't it? All this other business, about rights and such? I'm too busy worrying about my opening pages to care.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Byron Dorgan Defines Fiction
North Dakota Senator Byron Dorgan thinks he knows what fiction is. According to the anti-Immigration Reform Bill politico, it's a fiction that the jobs to be filled in the temporary worker program are jobs that Americans aren't willing to do.
There's no lettuce farms in North Dakota. They don't grow peaches or apples. Senator Dorgan would never hear from irate farmers, who know what the real fiction is. American people are not lining up, desperately in search of employment as fruit pickers. Down in Florida, it's a fiction to believe that Americans would jump at the chance to weed strawberry beds in the hot sun. It's a fiction to believe that Americans would take these jobs if immigrants did not.
The proposed guest worker program would depress wages, according to Mr. Dorgan. The wages that get depressed are in the low skill, back breaking, daily grind and misery sorts of jobs, and it's hard to imagine that the typical American would accept such employment at any price. The citizens who replaced the deported Hispanic workers in a southern chicken processing plant didn't last long, and the money was good. Better than the alternative, to be sure, which was unemployment and even less money on the dole, but in the end, welfare became more desirable than life on a chicken processing line.
Would Americans take jobs picking fruit and vegetables if the money was right? That's a story for the economists to write. But if the cost of growing, picking and packing food increased, the cost of food in the market would follow, and it's no fiction that Senator Dorgan would be hearing from his constituents when the price of a salad reached the sky-high cost of a prime steak, or an apple became an extravagance.
There's no lettuce farms in North Dakota. They don't grow peaches or apples. Senator Dorgan would never hear from irate farmers, who know what the real fiction is. American people are not lining up, desperately in search of employment as fruit pickers. Down in Florida, it's a fiction to believe that Americans would jump at the chance to weed strawberry beds in the hot sun. It's a fiction to believe that Americans would take these jobs if immigrants did not.
The proposed guest worker program would depress wages, according to Mr. Dorgan. The wages that get depressed are in the low skill, back breaking, daily grind and misery sorts of jobs, and it's hard to imagine that the typical American would accept such employment at any price. The citizens who replaced the deported Hispanic workers in a southern chicken processing plant didn't last long, and the money was good. Better than the alternative, to be sure, which was unemployment and even less money on the dole, but in the end, welfare became more desirable than life on a chicken processing line.
Would Americans take jobs picking fruit and vegetables if the money was right? That's a story for the economists to write. But if the cost of growing, picking and packing food increased, the cost of food in the market would follow, and it's no fiction that Senator Dorgan would be hearing from his constituents when the price of a salad reached the sky-high cost of a prime steak, or an apple became an extravagance.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Galileo, Galileo, Mamma Mia Let Me Go
What seems to be the problem, Mr. Jacques Barrot, EU Transport Commissioner? Why is Europe not poised to take the lead in outer space?
The parties involved can't agree? No surprise there, son. The proposed partnership between aerospace companies and governments didn't have the necessary patina of success that private companies look for. Businesses don't undertake projects that will lose them money, no matter how grand and glorious the goal may be. Go on, now, just hand the whole thing off to the EU and bill the taxpayers.
What kind of costs are we talking here? Eu400 million, you say? Or possibly higher. And that's the equivalent of 400 km of motorway. So if Europe doesn't build 400 km of motorway per year, they can take the money and fund the Galileo project? And then once Galileo satellites are up and orbiting, the revenue will come rolling in and one fine day the Galileo project will be making money for the EU.
Sure, why let the US have all the income from their GPS satellites. Who needs an American satellite to tell them where they are in Europe? Wouldn't a European satellite do a better job? If the private concerns had felt a bit stronger on the principle of the thing, Galileo would be operational by 2009, as originally planned. Now it's to be pushed back to 2012. Assuming, of course, that some fancy-pants American engineers don't invent a better system by then, making the Galileo project outdated before launch. The US is upgrading their system as it is, and it will most likely be as accurate or better than Galileo by the time Galileo is ready.
For three years, the individual member states of the EU argued over who would be in charge of the project, and then they argued over which country's factories would make the satellites. Once that was ironed out, wouldn't you know that the Spanish would put in for a control center in their country, and Germany already had two of them so it was a bit redundant.
All this squabbling, and Mr. Barrot is a nervous wreck. Everyone has become so highly dependent on America's GPS, but the Yanks could turn it off at any time. And the way European nations keep denigrating the President and the Republicans and Americans in general, well, it's only a matter of time before Europe really ticks them off and GPS screens across Europe go black.
Mr. Barrot can try an appeal to national pride, but he might try appealing to the US to start charging for GPS. When America gives it away for free to commercial users, it makes it awfully difficult for the EU to charge for Galileo's services. It's that whole 'why buy the cow when the milk is free' analogy.
The parties involved can't agree? No surprise there, son. The proposed partnership between aerospace companies and governments didn't have the necessary patina of success that private companies look for. Businesses don't undertake projects that will lose them money, no matter how grand and glorious the goal may be. Go on, now, just hand the whole thing off to the EU and bill the taxpayers.
What kind of costs are we talking here? Eu400 million, you say? Or possibly higher. And that's the equivalent of 400 km of motorway. So if Europe doesn't build 400 km of motorway per year, they can take the money and fund the Galileo project? And then once Galileo satellites are up and orbiting, the revenue will come rolling in and one fine day the Galileo project will be making money for the EU.
Sure, why let the US have all the income from their GPS satellites. Who needs an American satellite to tell them where they are in Europe? Wouldn't a European satellite do a better job? If the private concerns had felt a bit stronger on the principle of the thing, Galileo would be operational by 2009, as originally planned. Now it's to be pushed back to 2012. Assuming, of course, that some fancy-pants American engineers don't invent a better system by then, making the Galileo project outdated before launch. The US is upgrading their system as it is, and it will most likely be as accurate or better than Galileo by the time Galileo is ready.
For three years, the individual member states of the EU argued over who would be in charge of the project, and then they argued over which country's factories would make the satellites. Once that was ironed out, wouldn't you know that the Spanish would put in for a control center in their country, and Germany already had two of them so it was a bit redundant.
All this squabbling, and Mr. Barrot is a nervous wreck. Everyone has become so highly dependent on America's GPS, but the Yanks could turn it off at any time. And the way European nations keep denigrating the President and the Republicans and Americans in general, well, it's only a matter of time before Europe really ticks them off and GPS screens across Europe go black.
Mr. Barrot can try an appeal to national pride, but he might try appealing to the US to start charging for GPS. When America gives it away for free to commercial users, it makes it awfully difficult for the EU to charge for Galileo's services. It's that whole 'why buy the cow when the milk is free' analogy.
Monday, May 21, 2007
What Are The Odds
On the heels of a recent article in the New York Times about the crap shoot that is publishing comes news that a new on-line focus group is setting up shop. It's not about the votes of the book-buying public that Media Predict is after. They want to know what the odds are that a book will be a big seller.
No, you don't have to read slush or anything like that. Simon & Schuster has come on board, and hopes that you will look at what's listed and vote on whether or not you think a book could make it. Not that you'd buy it, or even read it yourself. They want your opinion on what you see as market worthy. Of course everyone will be entirely honest and above board with it. No one would ever in a million years post the first chapter and then find a computer hacker to skew the results. Never. No indeed.
A site visitor is asked to register, and they then receive virtual money to 'invest', like picking a stock. If the book you select does indeed get a publishing contract, you win. It's all very game-like, this picking, but Simon & Schuster is going to look at the vote tally and then look at the manuscript. If enough people have selected a particular story, maybe it's like a focus group telling the marketing department that this one is going to be well received by the world out there. The acquisitions editors haven't been having the best run of luck, so why not expand the circle of editors and make the participants at Media Predict an adjunct of the publishing house?
The web site is all about the winning, for you, the participant. Would you select the book that you think will be published based on quality of writing, or will you make your pick based on the desire to win the game? This is the sort of shite that S & S usually publishes, you might say, and there's your vote for something you think is worthless and would never buy. Something like Paris Hilton's memoirs or a celebrity cook book. Then your choice makes the cut, victory is yours, and Simon & Schuster puts out another loser of a book that doesn't earn back the advance.
Would you find a way to cheat if your novel was in the running? Sure you'd be a fool not to, with a publishing contract on the line. Why trust to luck, or trust to other site participants being able to estimate the tastes of readers? And what if there aren't quite enough voters involved in the whole process? Wouldn't it be wise to create a load of fictional members and vote yourself in?
In theory, it sounds legitimate and even reasonable, but the books themselves aren't being judged for quality or readability by a real focus group of people who would sincerely consider buying the novel if it were available. Publishing is a crap shoot right now, but is there any sense in turning it into an interactive Internet game?
No, you don't have to read slush or anything like that. Simon & Schuster has come on board, and hopes that you will look at what's listed and vote on whether or not you think a book could make it. Not that you'd buy it, or even read it yourself. They want your opinion on what you see as market worthy. Of course everyone will be entirely honest and above board with it. No one would ever in a million years post the first chapter and then find a computer hacker to skew the results. Never. No indeed.
A site visitor is asked to register, and they then receive virtual money to 'invest', like picking a stock. If the book you select does indeed get a publishing contract, you win. It's all very game-like, this picking, but Simon & Schuster is going to look at the vote tally and then look at the manuscript. If enough people have selected a particular story, maybe it's like a focus group telling the marketing department that this one is going to be well received by the world out there. The acquisitions editors haven't been having the best run of luck, so why not expand the circle of editors and make the participants at Media Predict an adjunct of the publishing house?
The web site is all about the winning, for you, the participant. Would you select the book that you think will be published based on quality of writing, or will you make your pick based on the desire to win the game? This is the sort of shite that S & S usually publishes, you might say, and there's your vote for something you think is worthless and would never buy. Something like Paris Hilton's memoirs or a celebrity cook book. Then your choice makes the cut, victory is yours, and Simon & Schuster puts out another loser of a book that doesn't earn back the advance.
Would you find a way to cheat if your novel was in the running? Sure you'd be a fool not to, with a publishing contract on the line. Why trust to luck, or trust to other site participants being able to estimate the tastes of readers? And what if there aren't quite enough voters involved in the whole process? Wouldn't it be wise to create a load of fictional members and vote yourself in?
In theory, it sounds legitimate and even reasonable, but the books themselves aren't being judged for quality or readability by a real focus group of people who would sincerely consider buying the novel if it were available. Publishing is a crap shoot right now, but is there any sense in turning it into an interactive Internet game?
All For One But Not For Eire
The point of a union of European nations was to make them equal, or at least as equal as necessary to achieve some sort of financial might. And it's a work in progress, this European Union, which means that the highest hurdles are being reached. And being stumbled over.
Ireland set its corporate tax rate at 12.5%. Multinational firms flocked to Ireland to set up shell companies to become sinks for profits, which could then be taxed at the low Irish rate and there's more for the executive bonuses come Christmas time. The knock-on effect of a low tax rate has been nothing less than dazzling for Ireland, with a resultant boom in the economy that turned the country around so fast that heads are still spinning in Clondalkin and Bunratty.
Peer Steinbruck, EU finance minister and dour German, has looked across the water and seen that Ireland is making hay while the sun shines, but it's cloudy weather over the rest of the continent. So there's one EU member that's doing head and shoulders better than the rest, and isn't that what the union of European nations was supposed to prevent? Time to put a stop to it, and bring Ireland back into line with everyone else.
Mr. Steinbruck is calling for a tax equalization scheme, so that all EU members are charging the same amount and once again they could all be equal. There should be no winners and losers, therefore there must be harmonisation, a single corporate tax base for all. Wouldn't that be better, Berlin suggests, because this would boost the single market and companies could avoid dealing with 27 different sets of laws. Berlin is surely aware that companies avoid dealing with 27 different sets of laws by going to one place, Dublin, but it doesn't look very nice to come out and begrudge your neighbor's success.
The Irish Taxation Institute is hard-core against any such tax harmonisation, which they say will not reduce costs for companies but increase them. Clearly, the taxes paid by Dublin based shell companies would be increased if the tax harmonisation scheme goes through. And when the bean counters finished calculating, those same companies will close up their little offices and move on to the next tax haven, taking their profits with them. It's all to lose for Dublin, and they'll be fighting like savages to hang on to the engine that drives the Celtic Tiger. As for the rest of Europe, well, it's obvious, isn't it? Don't try to inflict your continental short-sightedness on the rest of the member nations. Lower your own tax rate and join the party.
Ireland set its corporate tax rate at 12.5%. Multinational firms flocked to Ireland to set up shell companies to become sinks for profits, which could then be taxed at the low Irish rate and there's more for the executive bonuses come Christmas time. The knock-on effect of a low tax rate has been nothing less than dazzling for Ireland, with a resultant boom in the economy that turned the country around so fast that heads are still spinning in Clondalkin and Bunratty.
Peer Steinbruck, EU finance minister and dour German, has looked across the water and seen that Ireland is making hay while the sun shines, but it's cloudy weather over the rest of the continent. So there's one EU member that's doing head and shoulders better than the rest, and isn't that what the union of European nations was supposed to prevent? Time to put a stop to it, and bring Ireland back into line with everyone else.
Mr. Steinbruck is calling for a tax equalization scheme, so that all EU members are charging the same amount and once again they could all be equal. There should be no winners and losers, therefore there must be harmonisation, a single corporate tax base for all. Wouldn't that be better, Berlin suggests, because this would boost the single market and companies could avoid dealing with 27 different sets of laws. Berlin is surely aware that companies avoid dealing with 27 different sets of laws by going to one place, Dublin, but it doesn't look very nice to come out and begrudge your neighbor's success.
The Irish Taxation Institute is hard-core against any such tax harmonisation, which they say will not reduce costs for companies but increase them. Clearly, the taxes paid by Dublin based shell companies would be increased if the tax harmonisation scheme goes through. And when the bean counters finished calculating, those same companies will close up their little offices and move on to the next tax haven, taking their profits with them. It's all to lose for Dublin, and they'll be fighting like savages to hang on to the engine that drives the Celtic Tiger. As for the rest of Europe, well, it's obvious, isn't it? Don't try to inflict your continental short-sightedness on the rest of the member nations. Lower your own tax rate and join the party.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Cicada Watch - Getting Closer
Handsome, isn't he? They're still below ground, a good three to four inches, and with the recent chill the cicadas may not make their grand debut precisely on 22 May.This one is clearly a male -- can you not see the tiny bottle of Axe body wash in the lower center? Besides, you'd never get a girl to sit still this close to the big dance....they're all off getting their hair and nails done.
In a hole about 12 inches in diameter, I found twenty to twenty-five of these lads, ready to go as soon as things heat up. The hormones are raging in these seventeen year old bugs, and it's not much longer before the cicadas are having it off like the sex-crazed beasts that they are.
Breathtaking Humility
The worst President in history? Jimmy Carter is pushing the label on George W. Bush, and we're admiring Jimmy's great humility, trying not to be at the head of the table. But when it comes to the worst President, ah now, Jimmy, you'll never shake the label.
You were hands down the worst man to hold the office. The most incompetent, no one can touch you there. Runaway inflation, the crisis in Iran, you've got those on your record. I'll never forget my neighbor whose husband lost his job during the economic downturn that was the highlight of your administration. She found a way to re-use emery boards, looking to cut corners at every turn. The Carter years...mortgage interest close to 20%...stand proud, now, Jimmy and wrap your arms around your legacy.
Jimmy "Turn Down Your Thermostat" Carter will be remembered as the wimp in the White House, donning a lovely warm cardigan during the height of the energy crisis. Long lines at the gas stations, such is the lasting legacy of Jimmy Carter, the peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia who was far out of his league as President. And he insists that George W. Bush is the worst President? If it weren't so laughable it would be pathetic.
You were hands down the worst man to hold the office. The most incompetent, no one can touch you there. Runaway inflation, the crisis in Iran, you've got those on your record. I'll never forget my neighbor whose husband lost his job during the economic downturn that was the highlight of your administration. She found a way to re-use emery boards, looking to cut corners at every turn. The Carter years...mortgage interest close to 20%...stand proud, now, Jimmy and wrap your arms around your legacy.
Jimmy "Turn Down Your Thermostat" Carter will be remembered as the wimp in the White House, donning a lovely warm cardigan during the height of the energy crisis. Long lines at the gas stations, such is the lasting legacy of Jimmy Carter, the peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia who was far out of his league as President. And he insists that George W. Bush is the worst President? If it weren't so laughable it would be pathetic.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
New Book Section
Today is the day that the Chicago Tribune debuts their new book review section. There's been plenty of hand wringing and angst over the decline in the newspaper book department, but the Chicago Tribune's new version is much longer than their old Sunday review insert.
Not a lot has changed. They continue to list the Publishers Weekly best sellers, and there's still the top five sellers from a local bookstore, to show what Chicagoans are reading. And it doesn't match up completely with the Publishers Weekly version, either. Nice to see a flash of independence.
An interview with author Walter Mosley continues the tradition of a brief Q and A. Seems the man's gone and written a book on how to write a novel. There's something to watch for on the shelves of the book dealer's fine emporium.
Turn the pages, and there are book reviews. A lot of book reviews, full page reviews, and right there on page 5 is Tony Romano's debut novel. He's a teacher at Fremd High School in suburban Palatine, and look at that picture. He's not a twenty-something man-scaped specimen at all. Sure there's hope for us all, those who don't hail from New York and know their way around the island of Manhattan and don't have a wrinkle or a grey hair.
As promised, the Chicago Tribune is taking a look at books from local authors, home grown literary gems that may not get noticed on the coast. Isn't that what the town paper should do? It's not all about shopping at Bloomingdale's and affording to live in the trendiest part of town without losing one's soul. There are stories that are set in the Midwest, good stories that are worth the time to read, and the Tribune means to highlight some of them.
The debut edition of the Saturday book section is a winner. More reviews, with the same features that were part of the old Sunday version, make for a lovely part of the Saturday paper. Pity that more people don't buy the paper on Saturday. They'll be missing out on some news that's very much fit to print. Ah well, there's always the Internet.
Not a lot has changed. They continue to list the Publishers Weekly best sellers, and there's still the top five sellers from a local bookstore, to show what Chicagoans are reading. And it doesn't match up completely with the Publishers Weekly version, either. Nice to see a flash of independence.
An interview with author Walter Mosley continues the tradition of a brief Q and A. Seems the man's gone and written a book on how to write a novel. There's something to watch for on the shelves of the book dealer's fine emporium.
Turn the pages, and there are book reviews. A lot of book reviews, full page reviews, and right there on page 5 is Tony Romano's debut novel. He's a teacher at Fremd High School in suburban Palatine, and look at that picture. He's not a twenty-something man-scaped specimen at all. Sure there's hope for us all, those who don't hail from New York and know their way around the island of Manhattan and don't have a wrinkle or a grey hair.
As promised, the Chicago Tribune is taking a look at books from local authors, home grown literary gems that may not get noticed on the coast. Isn't that what the town paper should do? It's not all about shopping at Bloomingdale's and affording to live in the trendiest part of town without losing one's soul. There are stories that are set in the Midwest, good stories that are worth the time to read, and the Tribune means to highlight some of them.
The debut edition of the Saturday book section is a winner. More reviews, with the same features that were part of the old Sunday version, make for a lovely part of the Saturday paper. Pity that more people don't buy the paper on Saturday. They'll be missing out on some news that's very much fit to print. Ah well, there's always the Internet.
Fast Peddling
The Tour de Ireland is about to get underway, with teams from Germany, the US, Estonia, Czech Republic, Australia and the Netherlands competing against Ireland's best. The Iranian team was supposed to come, but things took a rather odd turn and there's no Iranians racing after all.
Several members of the team have gone missing since landing on the shores of the Emerald Isle. Event organizer Dermot Dignam had worked long and hard to get them clearance, five cyclists and four support personnel, thinking that he was dealing with a legitimate official of an official Iranian team. He thought he was talking to Ali Zangi Abadi, vice-president of the Cycling Federation of the Islamic Hell of Iran, but he was talking to a complete impostor. Who could have known? When a man tells you he's the bronze medal winning cyclist from the 1982 Asian Games, you take him at his word. There's that commandment about not bearing false witness, except it's a Judeo-Christian thing and the Iranians will have nothing to do with either Jews or Christians. Except to persecute them, of course, but that's going off on a tangent.
Mr. Dignam started to get suspicious when four of the group turned up a week early, and when it was time to check in to their hotel, they were nowhere to be found. When two more Iranians trotted off a plane in Dublin a few days ago, Customs officials refused to allow them into the country, and one presumes that they were shipped straight back to Iran. This was after someone placed a call to the Iranian embassy, to see what was up, and then the whole scam was revealed. Apparently, the entire Iranian cycling team was shown to be a complete fiction.
Where are the four cyclists who made it in? While the legitimate teams spin across 1200 km of Irish countryside, there are four Iranian nationals on the loose. Will they show up and ask for political asylum? Will they attempt to enter the US and engage in terrorist activities? Will they discover that a key component of the Irish national diet is bacon and other pork products, and thus starve to death?
And do you suppose that the Department of Homeland Security in Washington DC is all over the story? And could it be that security's been tightened at Shannon Airport, where troops on their way to Iraq and Afghanistan stretch their legs at the lay-over?
Several members of the team have gone missing since landing on the shores of the Emerald Isle. Event organizer Dermot Dignam had worked long and hard to get them clearance, five cyclists and four support personnel, thinking that he was dealing with a legitimate official of an official Iranian team. He thought he was talking to Ali Zangi Abadi, vice-president of the Cycling Federation of the Islamic Hell of Iran, but he was talking to a complete impostor. Who could have known? When a man tells you he's the bronze medal winning cyclist from the 1982 Asian Games, you take him at his word. There's that commandment about not bearing false witness, except it's a Judeo-Christian thing and the Iranians will have nothing to do with either Jews or Christians. Except to persecute them, of course, but that's going off on a tangent.
Mr. Dignam started to get suspicious when four of the group turned up a week early, and when it was time to check in to their hotel, they were nowhere to be found. When two more Iranians trotted off a plane in Dublin a few days ago, Customs officials refused to allow them into the country, and one presumes that they were shipped straight back to Iran. This was after someone placed a call to the Iranian embassy, to see what was up, and then the whole scam was revealed. Apparently, the entire Iranian cycling team was shown to be a complete fiction.
Where are the four cyclists who made it in? While the legitimate teams spin across 1200 km of Irish countryside, there are four Iranian nationals on the loose. Will they show up and ask for political asylum? Will they attempt to enter the US and engage in terrorist activities? Will they discover that a key component of the Irish national diet is bacon and other pork products, and thus starve to death?
And do you suppose that the Department of Homeland Security in Washington DC is all over the story? And could it be that security's been tightened at Shannon Airport, where troops on their way to Iraq and Afghanistan stretch their legs at the lay-over?
Friday, May 18, 2007
Making Money The Old-Fashioned Way
As a chef on a cruise ship, Paul Humphreys probably made a respectable salary. Not enough to live a life of luxury, but enough to be comfortable. Comfort was not enough for Mr. Humphreys, however, and he probably grew weary of the peripatetic lifestyle that was the fate of anyone working on a cruise ship. All that back and forth on the water, sure who wouldn't want to reside on dry land?
He found another line of work, one that brought in money by the boat load. Unfortunately, owning and maintaining a string of brothels in Dublin is not entirely legal. Pity, as he was operating such a lovely set of premises.
Mr. Humphreys was counting money when gardai came to call at his home at Harty Court on the Lower Ormond Quay. Stacks of money, in the vicinity of Eu30,000, to be precise, and that's a very nice profit for any business. In court, it was revealed that the businessman had earned as much as Eu780,000 per year, and there's no chef in the world who can claim that sort of income from cooking alone.
He occupied five buildings that were used for prostitution, employing up to five ladies who worked two shifts of ten hours each. At a cost of Eu150 per 30 minute session, they kept half and paid Mr. Humphreys half, which sounds fairly equitable all things considered. None of the women were underage, he said, and the houses were kept very clean and neat, probably accounting for the four hours of down time that could have been used to air the mattresses. No one being taken advantage of, none of that, according to the defense, in a 'no harm, no foul' sort of way.
The brothel owner kept meticulous records, as would any sensible entrepreneur. The prosecutor had plenty of evidence to show that 47 clients were made happy in one shift, to the tune of Eu8,730, shared with the employees as per an agreement that was steadfastly maintained.
In his defense, Mr. Humphreys noted that he came from a good family, and showed no past inclinations to entering such a profession. Apparently he was not the sort of pimp to swagger about the streets in furs and large hats, overloaded with bling. A respectable gentleman, he ran his business like a respectable concern.
Still, prostitution and pimping are illegal, and Mr. Humphreys' hard earned gains have been sequestered. The court is looking into his other assets, with an eye to confiscating the lot. As Judge Frank O'Donnell said, Mr. Humphreys has no business walking around with his pockets stuffed with money now that he's been caught. So it's off to jail for the highly successful Mr. Humphreys, there's a fine of Eu40,000 to be paid, and he's going to lose his lovely holiday home in Cyprus along with anything else the Criminal Assets Bureau can locate.
Sometimes the best laid plans do oft times go astray.
He found another line of work, one that brought in money by the boat load. Unfortunately, owning and maintaining a string of brothels in Dublin is not entirely legal. Pity, as he was operating such a lovely set of premises.
Mr. Humphreys was counting money when gardai came to call at his home at Harty Court on the Lower Ormond Quay. Stacks of money, in the vicinity of Eu30,000, to be precise, and that's a very nice profit for any business. In court, it was revealed that the businessman had earned as much as Eu780,000 per year, and there's no chef in the world who can claim that sort of income from cooking alone.
He occupied five buildings that were used for prostitution, employing up to five ladies who worked two shifts of ten hours each. At a cost of Eu150 per 30 minute session, they kept half and paid Mr. Humphreys half, which sounds fairly equitable all things considered. None of the women were underage, he said, and the houses were kept very clean and neat, probably accounting for the four hours of down time that could have been used to air the mattresses. No one being taken advantage of, none of that, according to the defense, in a 'no harm, no foul' sort of way.
The brothel owner kept meticulous records, as would any sensible entrepreneur. The prosecutor had plenty of evidence to show that 47 clients were made happy in one shift, to the tune of Eu8,730, shared with the employees as per an agreement that was steadfastly maintained.
In his defense, Mr. Humphreys noted that he came from a good family, and showed no past inclinations to entering such a profession. Apparently he was not the sort of pimp to swagger about the streets in furs and large hats, overloaded with bling. A respectable gentleman, he ran his business like a respectable concern.
Still, prostitution and pimping are illegal, and Mr. Humphreys' hard earned gains have been sequestered. The court is looking into his other assets, with an eye to confiscating the lot. As Judge Frank O'Donnell said, Mr. Humphreys has no business walking around with his pockets stuffed with money now that he's been caught. So it's off to jail for the highly successful Mr. Humphreys, there's a fine of Eu40,000 to be paid, and he's going to lose his lovely holiday home in Cyprus along with anything else the Criminal Assets Bureau can locate.
Sometimes the best laid plans do oft times go astray.
Don't Quit Your Day Job
For all the illegal immigrants, the grand announcement of a tentative deal to normalize their status has left them scratching their heads. Is it good news, this bargain struck in Congress, or is it more of the same? Talk, followed by news headlines trumpeting a breakthrough, has been heard before.
The full Senate has yet to decide on whether or not to cobble together a program to allow those here illegally to come out from behind the wall and stand proud in the sun. To hear the news reports, one might think that a solution to a thorny issue had been tackled and wrestled to the ground. Hot on the heels of the announcement, however, came the first bleatings of protest. It's an amnesty, some Senators were heard to say, and we'll not have it.
It's not one political party or the other that's ready to attack and tear the legislation to shreds. Much depends on where the politician comes from and what the locals think. In these parts, where Mexican immigrants bus tables, clean houses, cut lawns, paint, dry-wall, and so on ad infinitum, voters agree that something must be done to change the law, but whatever happens don't make these people go back. Who'll mind the babies, for the love of God? Who'll bag the groceries? Not our local youth -- they've no need of jobs.
Some parts of the country don't even know what an illegal immigrant looks like. They've no need of cheap labor because there's not much doing where they live, and they fear an influx of foreigners who might come in and snatch up the few jobs that exist. It's "No Irish Need Apply" once again, and it's the same fear of change that's behind it. Can you look at Boston and say it's the same city as it was when shots were fired at Breed's Hill?
Under provisions of the proposed bill, 400,000 guest workers could come to call, and they can't settle down permanently. Those with skills, like computer geeks from India who would work for less money than their American counterparts, would get priority while the lovely Irish gentleman who's putting the addition on your house would have to take a back seat. 'Sure we'll have the dry wall up by next spring, missus, if I can get back in the country' will become a handy excuse for delays in construction.
Then there's the fines and requirements to leave the country before obtaining a green card. That's a bit of a problem for the illegals working for cash, at less than minimum wage, and who would be willing to go back home with no guarantee that you'd get back in? What happens to a person's business if they're not in the country to run things? Think you could bring in your brother to lend a hand, or get your oldest son over to wield a hammer or a saw? Not with the new program that guts the traditional methods to build wealth through a family business.
So don't be quitting your day job, illegal immigrant. This new plan won't take effect any time soon, and it certainly won't look the same when it's passed.
The full Senate has yet to decide on whether or not to cobble together a program to allow those here illegally to come out from behind the wall and stand proud in the sun. To hear the news reports, one might think that a solution to a thorny issue had been tackled and wrestled to the ground. Hot on the heels of the announcement, however, came the first bleatings of protest. It's an amnesty, some Senators were heard to say, and we'll not have it.
It's not one political party or the other that's ready to attack and tear the legislation to shreds. Much depends on where the politician comes from and what the locals think. In these parts, where Mexican immigrants bus tables, clean houses, cut lawns, paint, dry-wall, and so on ad infinitum, voters agree that something must be done to change the law, but whatever happens don't make these people go back. Who'll mind the babies, for the love of God? Who'll bag the groceries? Not our local youth -- they've no need of jobs.
Some parts of the country don't even know what an illegal immigrant looks like. They've no need of cheap labor because there's not much doing where they live, and they fear an influx of foreigners who might come in and snatch up the few jobs that exist. It's "No Irish Need Apply" once again, and it's the same fear of change that's behind it. Can you look at Boston and say it's the same city as it was when shots were fired at Breed's Hill?
Under provisions of the proposed bill, 400,000 guest workers could come to call, and they can't settle down permanently. Those with skills, like computer geeks from India who would work for less money than their American counterparts, would get priority while the lovely Irish gentleman who's putting the addition on your house would have to take a back seat. 'Sure we'll have the dry wall up by next spring, missus, if I can get back in the country' will become a handy excuse for delays in construction.
Then there's the fines and requirements to leave the country before obtaining a green card. That's a bit of a problem for the illegals working for cash, at less than minimum wage, and who would be willing to go back home with no guarantee that you'd get back in? What happens to a person's business if they're not in the country to run things? Think you could bring in your brother to lend a hand, or get your oldest son over to wield a hammer or a saw? Not with the new program that guts the traditional methods to build wealth through a family business.
So don't be quitting your day job, illegal immigrant. This new plan won't take effect any time soon, and it certainly won't look the same when it's passed.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Bill Clinton Campaigns
He's not busy enough touting the missus, apparently. Now the former American president is speaking on behalf of Bertie Ahern, the man who would be Taoiseach again. Going for a record third term, Mr. Ahern has brought out the heavy guns, and doesn't Mr. Clinton have quite the reputation when it comes to campaigning?
He's looked on as the golden boy, an attention-getter with a smooth delivery and charming persona. "If it hadn't been for Bertie Ahern," Mr. Clinton said in a recent election broadcast, "we would never have had the Good Friday agreement."
How's that for a hearty pat on the back? You'll not hear the same said about Enda Kenny, the other man who would be Taoiseach (in this case, for the first time). Sure 'tis Bertie himself who brought about peace in the north, and isn't he the statesman? No less a political light than Bill Clinton is his friend and admirer, and as for that other fella....Edna, was it? A woman? No? Pity.
The Fine Gael leader is not impressed by Bertie's buddies. They're on the way out, as far as Enda Kenny is concerned, and not worth a second glance. Has-beens, the Clintons and Blairs who touted Mr. Ahern's contributions to the world, and Mr. Kenny doesn't believe that a single Irish voter is going to be swayed by such a promotion. And didn't Fianna Fail make fun of Fine Gael for swanning about with a letter from German Chancellor Angela Merkel? Funny how the shoe pinches when it's on the other foot, Fine Gael wants the voters to know.
So it's back to the campaign promises, the hundreds of hospital beds and shorter work hours and more pay and the economy will keep bubbling along and don't pay any heed to the economists when they talk about decreasing productivity leading to inflation and further gloom and doom. Remember, it could be a lot worse. Sinn Fein could win enough seats to come into Government in a new coalition.
He's looked on as the golden boy, an attention-getter with a smooth delivery and charming persona. "If it hadn't been for Bertie Ahern," Mr. Clinton said in a recent election broadcast, "we would never have had the Good Friday agreement."
How's that for a hearty pat on the back? You'll not hear the same said about Enda Kenny, the other man who would be Taoiseach (in this case, for the first time). Sure 'tis Bertie himself who brought about peace in the north, and isn't he the statesman? No less a political light than Bill Clinton is his friend and admirer, and as for that other fella....Edna, was it? A woman? No? Pity.
The Fine Gael leader is not impressed by Bertie's buddies. They're on the way out, as far as Enda Kenny is concerned, and not worth a second glance. Has-beens, the Clintons and Blairs who touted Mr. Ahern's contributions to the world, and Mr. Kenny doesn't believe that a single Irish voter is going to be swayed by such a promotion. And didn't Fianna Fail make fun of Fine Gael for swanning about with a letter from German Chancellor Angela Merkel? Funny how the shoe pinches when it's on the other foot, Fine Gael wants the voters to know.
So it's back to the campaign promises, the hundreds of hospital beds and shorter work hours and more pay and the economy will keep bubbling along and don't pay any heed to the economists when they talk about decreasing productivity leading to inflation and further gloom and doom. Remember, it could be a lot worse. Sinn Fein could win enough seats to come into Government in a new coalition.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
The Joys Of Deregulation
The cost of living has skyrocketed in Ireland, making the small country one of the most expensive places to live in Europe. Fine Gael, if they can get into office, will make things all better.
High prices in certain sectors are due to Government regulations, according to Richard Bruton of Fine Gael. He blames all the fees and added costs, which do nothing but bring in more money which acts as a sort of tax that isn't called a tax. FG will put an end to this sort of nonsense. They'll set fees in accordance with an international benchmark, all very efficient with rate hikes in line with the rate of inflation. However, if Government is using the inflated fees to pay for Government, then how will FG pay for Government without the fees? By cutting programs? By raising taxes? It has to be one or the other.
And let's look at utilities. Specifically, let's tackle the high cost of electricity. FG will introduce competition into the marketplace. It's been done in Illinois, and from experience I can tell you it's been dazzling. Consumers pay more now than they ever did before, thanks to deregulation and the removal of government control. The newly privatized companies are making enormous profits, and their shareholders are thrilled to bits.
Deregulation sounds lovely. Competition, that's the ticket. New firms will spring up to take advantage of a highly desirable commodity. New firms will want to invest billions in construction of power lines, electric production facilities.....oh, wait, no they don't. That's the gaping hole in the plan. The cost of starting up a company to generate and distribute power is cost-prohibitive, therefore, deregulation does not bring about a decrease in consumer costs. Take the electric grid away from ESB, like the State of Illinois removed Commonwealth Edison, and companies will arise to buy existing power plants, and companies will arise to buy the electricity and distribute it, and consumers will have to pay more than before for the extra layer of bureaucracy.
To Fine Gael's advantage, and in spite of the quality of Irish education, few voters have taken a course in microeconomics and don't know much about the laws of supply and demand. Makes for fewer questions to answer.
High prices in certain sectors are due to Government regulations, according to Richard Bruton of Fine Gael. He blames all the fees and added costs, which do nothing but bring in more money which acts as a sort of tax that isn't called a tax. FG will put an end to this sort of nonsense. They'll set fees in accordance with an international benchmark, all very efficient with rate hikes in line with the rate of inflation. However, if Government is using the inflated fees to pay for Government, then how will FG pay for Government without the fees? By cutting programs? By raising taxes? It has to be one or the other.
And let's look at utilities. Specifically, let's tackle the high cost of electricity. FG will introduce competition into the marketplace. It's been done in Illinois, and from experience I can tell you it's been dazzling. Consumers pay more now than they ever did before, thanks to deregulation and the removal of government control. The newly privatized companies are making enormous profits, and their shareholders are thrilled to bits.
Deregulation sounds lovely. Competition, that's the ticket. New firms will spring up to take advantage of a highly desirable commodity. New firms will want to invest billions in construction of power lines, electric production facilities.....oh, wait, no they don't. That's the gaping hole in the plan. The cost of starting up a company to generate and distribute power is cost-prohibitive, therefore, deregulation does not bring about a decrease in consumer costs. Take the electric grid away from ESB, like the State of Illinois removed Commonwealth Edison, and companies will arise to buy existing power plants, and companies will arise to buy the electricity and distribute it, and consumers will have to pay more than before for the extra layer of bureaucracy.
To Fine Gael's advantage, and in spite of the quality of Irish education, few voters have taken a course in microeconomics and don't know much about the laws of supply and demand. Makes for fewer questions to answer.
Frankly My Dear
Every day, literary agents reject manuscripts that they may like, but feel that they cannot sell. Literary agents approach editors at publishing houses with manuscripts, and even they get rejected. Can't have anything that's too different, from an author that hasn't been published, and don't you have something like the blockbuster from last summer? Bring us something that's been done, and proven itself, but it can't be a duplicate. Different but the same.
As if there aren't more than enough good manuscripts out there, St. Martin's has settled on the tried and true. Hasn't Gone With The Wind proven itself? It still sells, it still generates buzz, and the sequel that came out a few years back was a big seller. The critics savaged it, but they're not buying copies of the book anyway so who cares what they think. Please don't publish something that's new and fresh -- go with a rehash of an old story with some comfy and familiar characters.
Margaret Mitchell refused to write her own sequel, but she's dead so who gives a toss what she wanted. Lawyers for Ms. Mitchell's estate turned to a known commodity, the woman who had written a sequel to the very deceased Jane Austen's beloved novel Pride and Prejudice. If anyone could channel Margaret Mitchell, they reasoned, it was Emma Tennant. Got to keep the original voice, tone, etc., and so Ms. Tennant let fly with the words and now she's the proud owner of a manuscript that can never be published. It turns out that her version of Gone With The Wind For A Third Time was a bit too British, wasn't acceptable, and can never see the light of day thanks to the machinations of her contract with Mitchell's people.
But there's money to be made. Why bother rifling through the manuscripts sent over by the literary agents? Find another author to pen the sequel to the sequel. Enter Donald McCaig, a novelist known for his Civil War tales. He was given a contract to produce a book, and he plunged into the necessary research. Coming soon to a book dealer near you: Rhett Butler's People. Haven't you been wondering all these years about the back story to Rhett's character? Now you can have it. Or at least that part of it that arises from Mr. McCaig's imagination.
Some will hate it, some will love it, but the fact remains that Margaret Mitchell didn't write it. There are countless hundreds of good manuscripts out there that may never be published because the big houses are afraid of the unknown. They churn out a repeat in the hope of success, and then ponder over their declining sales figures.
Will Rhett Butler's People maintain Margaret Mitchell's tinge of nostalgia for the good old days of slavery? Will the author take the modern tack and demonstrate the horrifying reality of lifelong servitude, or will he take a page from the Ku Klux Klan, which was lionized in Gone With The Wind? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
As if there aren't more than enough good manuscripts out there, St. Martin's has settled on the tried and true. Hasn't Gone With The Wind proven itself? It still sells, it still generates buzz, and the sequel that came out a few years back was a big seller. The critics savaged it, but they're not buying copies of the book anyway so who cares what they think. Please don't publish something that's new and fresh -- go with a rehash of an old story with some comfy and familiar characters.
Margaret Mitchell refused to write her own sequel, but she's dead so who gives a toss what she wanted. Lawyers for Ms. Mitchell's estate turned to a known commodity, the woman who had written a sequel to the very deceased Jane Austen's beloved novel Pride and Prejudice. If anyone could channel Margaret Mitchell, they reasoned, it was Emma Tennant. Got to keep the original voice, tone, etc., and so Ms. Tennant let fly with the words and now she's the proud owner of a manuscript that can never be published. It turns out that her version of Gone With The Wind For A Third Time was a bit too British, wasn't acceptable, and can never see the light of day thanks to the machinations of her contract with Mitchell's people.
But there's money to be made. Why bother rifling through the manuscripts sent over by the literary agents? Find another author to pen the sequel to the sequel. Enter Donald McCaig, a novelist known for his Civil War tales. He was given a contract to produce a book, and he plunged into the necessary research. Coming soon to a book dealer near you: Rhett Butler's People. Haven't you been wondering all these years about the back story to Rhett's character? Now you can have it. Or at least that part of it that arises from Mr. McCaig's imagination.
Some will hate it, some will love it, but the fact remains that Margaret Mitchell didn't write it. There are countless hundreds of good manuscripts out there that may never be published because the big houses are afraid of the unknown. They churn out a repeat in the hope of success, and then ponder over their declining sales figures.
Will Rhett Butler's People maintain Margaret Mitchell's tinge of nostalgia for the good old days of slavery? Will the author take the modern tack and demonstrate the horrifying reality of lifelong servitude, or will he take a page from the Ku Klux Klan, which was lionized in Gone With The Wind? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Campaign Speech
Bertie Ahern has made his statement about the Drumcondra house and how it was financed. Surely his way of making the purchase was the first time such a convoluted scheme was utilized, but there's always a first time for anything.
This afternoon, he'll set another precedent as he marches along the campaign trail. For the first time, An Taoiseach will address the British Parliament as a leader of a sovereign nation that battled for centuries to be free of the host country. We're doing well on our own, his presence will declare, and we're not your doormat any more. The Celtic Tiger, prosperity and new development are all present in the room as Bertie Ahern speaks. For the first time, Ireland and England are engaging as equal entities on the world stage.
The housing issue will fade into the background as pundits dissect the deeper meaning of Mr. Ahern's appearance before Parliament. Will someone reflect on the ghosts of Charles Parnell or William Gladstone, or will the echoes of the debate over Home Rule be resonating from the past?
Enda Kenny will be present, but he is a minor player in the day's events. He's running for office, but Bertie Ahern holds that office and it is Bertie Ahern addressing Parliament and getting news coverage. Yes, yes, he's looking forward to working with the incoming British Prime Minister when he's taoiseach, of course he is. But it all sounds like a bit of a dream, the wishful thinking of the man in the back of the room who'd very much like to be up front.
Incumbents run on their records, and Fianna Fail has been touting the success of their policies in transforming the Irish economy. They point out that the Opposition promises won't work, don't add up, cost too much, etc. etc. Dry numbers don't captivate the audience, however. Much more intriguing to see an Irishman walking proudly through the halls of Westminster, being the head of state, making the nation proud of what's been accomplished. Enda Kenny can only follow behind at a respectful distance and dream a little dream.
This afternoon, he'll set another precedent as he marches along the campaign trail. For the first time, An Taoiseach will address the British Parliament as a leader of a sovereign nation that battled for centuries to be free of the host country. We're doing well on our own, his presence will declare, and we're not your doormat any more. The Celtic Tiger, prosperity and new development are all present in the room as Bertie Ahern speaks. For the first time, Ireland and England are engaging as equal entities on the world stage.
The housing issue will fade into the background as pundits dissect the deeper meaning of Mr. Ahern's appearance before Parliament. Will someone reflect on the ghosts of Charles Parnell or William Gladstone, or will the echoes of the debate over Home Rule be resonating from the past?
Enda Kenny will be present, but he is a minor player in the day's events. He's running for office, but Bertie Ahern holds that office and it is Bertie Ahern addressing Parliament and getting news coverage. Yes, yes, he's looking forward to working with the incoming British Prime Minister when he's taoiseach, of course he is. But it all sounds like a bit of a dream, the wishful thinking of the man in the back of the room who'd very much like to be up front.
Incumbents run on their records, and Fianna Fail has been touting the success of their policies in transforming the Irish economy. They point out that the Opposition promises won't work, don't add up, cost too much, etc. etc. Dry numbers don't captivate the audience, however. Much more intriguing to see an Irishman walking proudly through the halls of Westminster, being the head of state, making the nation proud of what's been accomplished. Enda Kenny can only follow behind at a respectful distance and dream a little dream.
Too Hot, Too Cold
My four green fields, covered in ice. The end of civilization in Northern Europe, buried under a sheet of ice, the land unable to sustain agriculture or human life.
Sorry, not quite it, actually, say the climatologists. All that mini ice age business? Not to be. They had it wrong. When the global warming crowd terrorized us all with the promise of an impending ice age in Europe, they cited all sorts of computer models that supported their dire predictions of impending doom. Meanwhile, the temperature in Northern Europe stayed warm. A bit warmer than it had been for the previous ten years. Looking rather foolish, the scientists went back to their computers, punched in some new numbers, and voila! A new model. Europe's not going to get colder after all. It's going to get warmer.
The Gulf Stream isn't going to collapse at all. Odd though it may seem now, after all these top notch brainiacs came to their conclusions, the demise of the warm ocean current that keeps Ireland green would be quite impossible. And as long as there is a Gulf Stream, Europe will be bathed in Caribbean warmth. No creeping ice sheets covering Antrim and Leitrim, no frozen farmers out in their frigid fields. Turns out that the North Atlantic Current and the Gulf Stream are quite stable, thank you very much, and the computer models that predicted the end of the world were wrong, wrong, wrong. But the new computer models must surely be correct.
Part of the old theory was based on the notion that melting ice on Greenland (called Greenland because it used to support agriculture) would dump fresh water into the Atlantic, dilute the ocean, and disrupt the Gulf Stream. As it turns out, such an event did happen about 8200 years ago, when our ancestors were merrily burning fossil fuels and pumping carbon dioxide into the atmosphere at a tremendous rate. The result was a cooling of temperatures for 160 years. And since it happened once before, it could certainly happen again. We must learn a lesson from our carbon dioxide spewing ancestors, and prevent such a catastrophe. Sure it was carbon dioxide emissions, wasn't it? Couldn't be a natural phenomenon, that warm spell.
Fear not, Europe. You'll not freeze up any time soon. The earth was warmer once, and it's on its way back, in a cycle that we cannot control. Eventually, the climatologists will figure out how to make their computers generate the right sort of data so that their predictions fit in with what is happening and they won't have to flip-flop repeatedly. They're not generating a great deal of confidence if they say one thing today and then say the opposite tomorrow. You might get the idea that they don't actually know anything at all.
Sorry, not quite it, actually, say the climatologists. All that mini ice age business? Not to be. They had it wrong. When the global warming crowd terrorized us all with the promise of an impending ice age in Europe, they cited all sorts of computer models that supported their dire predictions of impending doom. Meanwhile, the temperature in Northern Europe stayed warm. A bit warmer than it had been for the previous ten years. Looking rather foolish, the scientists went back to their computers, punched in some new numbers, and voila! A new model. Europe's not going to get colder after all. It's going to get warmer.
The Gulf Stream isn't going to collapse at all. Odd though it may seem now, after all these top notch brainiacs came to their conclusions, the demise of the warm ocean current that keeps Ireland green would be quite impossible. And as long as there is a Gulf Stream, Europe will be bathed in Caribbean warmth. No creeping ice sheets covering Antrim and Leitrim, no frozen farmers out in their frigid fields. Turns out that the North Atlantic Current and the Gulf Stream are quite stable, thank you very much, and the computer models that predicted the end of the world were wrong, wrong, wrong. But the new computer models must surely be correct.
Part of the old theory was based on the notion that melting ice on Greenland (called Greenland because it used to support agriculture) would dump fresh water into the Atlantic, dilute the ocean, and disrupt the Gulf Stream. As it turns out, such an event did happen about 8200 years ago, when our ancestors were merrily burning fossil fuels and pumping carbon dioxide into the atmosphere at a tremendous rate. The result was a cooling of temperatures for 160 years. And since it happened once before, it could certainly happen again. We must learn a lesson from our carbon dioxide spewing ancestors, and prevent such a catastrophe. Sure it was carbon dioxide emissions, wasn't it? Couldn't be a natural phenomenon, that warm spell.
Fear not, Europe. You'll not freeze up any time soon. The earth was warmer once, and it's on its way back, in a cycle that we cannot control. Eventually, the climatologists will figure out how to make their computers generate the right sort of data so that their predictions fit in with what is happening and they won't have to flip-flop repeatedly. They're not generating a great deal of confidence if they say one thing today and then say the opposite tomorrow. You might get the idea that they don't actually know anything at all.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Last Place In The Eurovision Song Contest
Dead last, in fact. If not for the five points from Albania, handed out in an act of sympathy and charity, Ireland's 2007 entry would not have garnered a single point.
And someone thought this was worthy of entering in a contest, to represent the Emerald Isle? Is it any wonder that the USA is the heart of the music industry, when Dervish puts together a music video with fire and ice, wolves, and some bizarre vision of prehistoric Finns.
Watch at your own risk, and don't say I didn't warn you.
Better that Father Ted submitted My Lovely Horse, all things considered.
And someone thought this was worthy of entering in a contest, to represent the Emerald Isle? Is it any wonder that the USA is the heart of the music industry, when Dervish puts together a music video with fire and ice, wolves, and some bizarre vision of prehistoric Finns.
Watch at your own risk, and don't say I didn't warn you.
Better that Father Ted submitted My Lovely Horse, all things considered.
Agent News
According to today's edition of Publishers Marketplace news, and I quote:
A check of Rolph Blythe's agency website, however, doesn't give a clue about his plans. Will he still be an agent, perhaps on a part-time basis? Is he giving up agenting all together and heading for the steady paycheck from Graywolf Press?
Graywolf Press has hired agent Rolph Blythe as marketing director and Anna Peterson will take on the new role of managing director. Most recently, Blythe has run the eponymous Blythe Agency. Peterson has been the program coordinator for the writing division at Columbia University for seven years.
A check of Rolph Blythe's agency website, however, doesn't give a clue about his plans. Will he still be an agent, perhaps on a part-time basis? Is he giving up agenting all together and heading for the steady paycheck from Graywolf Press?
An author could take a chance and send off a query, but it's anyone's guess if there would be a reply. And what happens to the stable of authors that Mr. Blythe represents? Will they be turned out into the cold, cruel world to find representation elsewhere?
Manhattan, The Edge of the Known World
They have no idea, all the literary agents and editors in New York City. It's all a crapshoot to them, their own industry. Will a book be a big seller or a flop, they ask, and they have no answers.
A recent article in the New York Times attempted to analyze this difficult situation. Why do the New York based publishing concerns have no idea what is going to work? For example, the recently released Prep had a very rough birth. Agent Shana Kelly of powerhouse agency William Morris thought it was brilliant. The editors she contacted didn't fall in love. A book about coming of age in prep school? However would that sell beyond the toney East Coast, where people actually go to prep school? Surely the folks in fly-over country could not relate to a story about prep schools. Would they even know what a prep school is?
The bean counters at the publishing houses poured over the numbers. How many books has the author sold? None? What's the likely audience? Very small? Sorry, but that just does not add up. We can only buy manuscripts from famous people with platforms and a long backlist of highly successful titles who write things that appeal to the masses. You know, all those people who don't live on the island of Manhattan and so are as foreign and unknown as the Yeti in the Himalayas. And we don't even know what they like.
They liked Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain, didn't they? Well then, they'll like his next book, so let's throw $8 million his way and we'll be rolling in money. Snake-eyes! Crapped out! Thirteen Moons only earned back $1 million, and it's fading away. Don't know why, those financial analysts at the big publishing houses. Hard on the success of Prep comes a second novel from author Curtis Sittenfeld, another coming of age novel. Not anywhere near as successful, but it's the same story again. Why oh why isn't it flying off the shelves like the first one? Repetitio est mater laurus, isn't it?
Big marketing campaigns certainly help, to get the word on the streets beyond the fringe of the known universe that is the island of Manhattan. But the suits in the offices that look out over the distant shore have no idea what all the rest of us are looking for in a book. What entertains those people out there in the parts of the country they know nothing about?
They see nothing beyond the ends of their own noses, and have no system in place to peer into the minds of those they would like to snag as buyers. Perhaps the time has come for the likes of Random House and HarperCollins to hire on some interns to surf the Internet. Want to know what people in the rest of the country are interested in, what they think of your books and what they would like to read? There's plenty of blogs out there that might give a hint.
A recent article in the New York Times attempted to analyze this difficult situation. Why do the New York based publishing concerns have no idea what is going to work? For example, the recently released Prep had a very rough birth. Agent Shana Kelly of powerhouse agency William Morris thought it was brilliant. The editors she contacted didn't fall in love. A book about coming of age in prep school? However would that sell beyond the toney East Coast, where people actually go to prep school? Surely the folks in fly-over country could not relate to a story about prep schools. Would they even know what a prep school is?
The bean counters at the publishing houses poured over the numbers. How many books has the author sold? None? What's the likely audience? Very small? Sorry, but that just does not add up. We can only buy manuscripts from famous people with platforms and a long backlist of highly successful titles who write things that appeal to the masses. You know, all those people who don't live on the island of Manhattan and so are as foreign and unknown as the Yeti in the Himalayas. And we don't even know what they like.
They liked Charles Frazier's Cold Mountain, didn't they? Well then, they'll like his next book, so let's throw $8 million his way and we'll be rolling in money. Snake-eyes! Crapped out! Thirteen Moons only earned back $1 million, and it's fading away. Don't know why, those financial analysts at the big publishing houses. Hard on the success of Prep comes a second novel from author Curtis Sittenfeld, another coming of age novel. Not anywhere near as successful, but it's the same story again. Why oh why isn't it flying off the shelves like the first one? Repetitio est mater laurus, isn't it?
Big marketing campaigns certainly help, to get the word on the streets beyond the fringe of the known universe that is the island of Manhattan. But the suits in the offices that look out over the distant shore have no idea what all the rest of us are looking for in a book. What entertains those people out there in the parts of the country they know nothing about?
They see nothing beyond the ends of their own noses, and have no system in place to peer into the minds of those they would like to snag as buyers. Perhaps the time has come for the likes of Random House and HarperCollins to hire on some interns to surf the Internet. Want to know what people in the rest of the country are interested in, what they think of your books and what they would like to read? There's plenty of blogs out there that might give a hint.
That Would Be Why
Tara Mark hasn't answered my queries. Why is that?
A check of the agency website might provide a big clue. She's not listed as part of the RLR team anymore. Could be that queries addressed to her are being tossed, or forwarded to her and she just isn't into the agenting business anymore.
Strike another agent off the list. But keep an eye open. There's bound to be someone new coming in to take her place. Someone who hasn't seen the query before, doesn't know the title and has never heard your name.
There's always another opportunity on the horizon.
A check of the agency website might provide a big clue. She's not listed as part of the RLR team anymore. Could be that queries addressed to her are being tossed, or forwarded to her and she just isn't into the agenting business anymore.
Strike another agent off the list. But keep an eye open. There's bound to be someone new coming in to take her place. Someone who hasn't seen the query before, doesn't know the title and has never heard your name.
There's always another opportunity on the horizon.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Bless Me, Father
No one outside of Chicago had heard about DePaul University until the basketball team made the news. Located in a very trendy neighborhood, the Catholic university and the athletic department staff put together some excellent teams and enjoyed a successful run, on into the NCAA Tournament.
With tournament appearances came money, lots of it, and the Vincentian Fathers who run the place sank the largesse back into the university. There was expansion, land acquisitions, buildings bought, new buildings constructed, and the corner of Belden and Sheffield has not looked the same since.
Having a basketball team on television on a regular basis provided the right sort of publicity, and before long the sleepy little private school was attracting more and more students. All to the good, for the purpose of the Congregation of the Mission is to teach. In spite of accepting federal dollars, DePaul held onto their Catholic philosophy, and the school is operated by priests. Where, in all of this, was there any training or preparation to handle a major dust up?
Allan Dershowitz, famous lawyer and frequent talking head, is out to get Norman Finkelstein. The DePaul University assistant professor is up for tenure, but Mr. Dershowitz will have none of it. Threats are flying right and left, while Father Holtschneider, university president, must sort through the babble and make a decision.
Mr. Finkelstein is controversial, taking the position of critic of the State of Israel and the notion of Jewish victimhood. He lashes the Jewish establishment, claiming that they are encouraging anti-Semitism by their actions. Wherever he goes, he attracts a crowd, and his students love his lectures. When a man titles a book The Holocaust Industry and has the likes of Noam Chomsky for a mentor, that man is a magnet for controversy.
To get tenure, college professors are expected to publish, and Mr. Finkelstein has done his bit, producing texts that have garnered positive reviews from scholars. But Allan Dershowitz thinks that the professor is an anti-Semite, and has no business getting tenure from any place. One might presume that Mr. Dershowitz was stung by Beyond Chutzpah, the Finkelstein answer to Dershowitz's The Case For Israel. Probably compared Amazon rankings and found that his tome was not selling anywhere near as well as Finkelstein's counter punch, and isn't there so much jealousy among authors? That, and Finkelstein called Dershowitz a moral pervert. A bit of an insult, and dueling has long since been outlawed, so they go after one another with the mighty word.
So what does the lawyer Dershowitz do? He threatened to sue Mr. Finkelstein's publisher if the 'moral pervert' business appeared in the new book. Just because the insult was not published, however, Mr. Dershowitz has not backed down or gone away. He's barraging the once quiet Catholic university, all in his protracted battle to deny tenure to his nemesis.
Father Holtschneider may be praying for divine guidance on this thorny issue. There's freedom of speech to consider, and freedom to express dissenting opinion. Yet there is a duty to respect the rights of others while upholding the rights of scholarly discussion. Some things they just can't teach a man in the seminary.
With tournament appearances came money, lots of it, and the Vincentian Fathers who run the place sank the largesse back into the university. There was expansion, land acquisitions, buildings bought, new buildings constructed, and the corner of Belden and Sheffield has not looked the same since.
Having a basketball team on television on a regular basis provided the right sort of publicity, and before long the sleepy little private school was attracting more and more students. All to the good, for the purpose of the Congregation of the Mission is to teach. In spite of accepting federal dollars, DePaul held onto their Catholic philosophy, and the school is operated by priests. Where, in all of this, was there any training or preparation to handle a major dust up?
Allan Dershowitz, famous lawyer and frequent talking head, is out to get Norman Finkelstein. The DePaul University assistant professor is up for tenure, but Mr. Dershowitz will have none of it. Threats are flying right and left, while Father Holtschneider, university president, must sort through the babble and make a decision.
Mr. Finkelstein is controversial, taking the position of critic of the State of Israel and the notion of Jewish victimhood. He lashes the Jewish establishment, claiming that they are encouraging anti-Semitism by their actions. Wherever he goes, he attracts a crowd, and his students love his lectures. When a man titles a book The Holocaust Industry and has the likes of Noam Chomsky for a mentor, that man is a magnet for controversy.
To get tenure, college professors are expected to publish, and Mr. Finkelstein has done his bit, producing texts that have garnered positive reviews from scholars. But Allan Dershowitz thinks that the professor is an anti-Semite, and has no business getting tenure from any place. One might presume that Mr. Dershowitz was stung by Beyond Chutzpah, the Finkelstein answer to Dershowitz's The Case For Israel. Probably compared Amazon rankings and found that his tome was not selling anywhere near as well as Finkelstein's counter punch, and isn't there so much jealousy among authors? That, and Finkelstein called Dershowitz a moral pervert. A bit of an insult, and dueling has long since been outlawed, so they go after one another with the mighty word.
So what does the lawyer Dershowitz do? He threatened to sue Mr. Finkelstein's publisher if the 'moral pervert' business appeared in the new book. Just because the insult was not published, however, Mr. Dershowitz has not backed down or gone away. He's barraging the once quiet Catholic university, all in his protracted battle to deny tenure to his nemesis.
Father Holtschneider may be praying for divine guidance on this thorny issue. There's freedom of speech to consider, and freedom to express dissenting opinion. Yet there is a duty to respect the rights of others while upholding the rights of scholarly discussion. Some things they just can't teach a man in the seminary.
Cicada Watch
Cicada larvae, freshly emerged.
Imagine hundreds of them crawling up the trees on a warm spring night. Glistening in the lamp light...silent....preparing to molt into sexual maturity.
Counting down to Cicada Day.....
....Ten days to go....
Are you ready?
Friday, May 11, 2007
A Missing Step
In a recent blog entry, Jessica Faust of BookEnds describes the steps to obtaining an agent as she breaks down the responses an author might get from their queries. It's an evolutionary process, starting with the bad news and developing into the good. She left out one step, however, and it's a relatively new way station on the road to publishing.
Send out queries and get form rejections, that's the start of the process. That's how it used to be, at any rate, and how it was when I first stumbled into the querying process about four years ago. For all the query letters I mailed in the first couple of years, only five were never answered. Considering how many letters were posted, that's a fairly insignificant number.
Where do things stand today, on the rejection front? BookEnds never responded to a query mailed last August, which contained a SASE for the rejection letter to be stuffed into. Lost in the mail, possibly? Michele Beno of Curtis Brown, Tara Mark of RLR, Melanie Jackson, and Melissa Chinchillo of Fletcher & Parry never responded at all. The SASE was there, following proper agent approaching protocol, but the 'no response is a no' appears to have evolved into a suitable reply to snail mail queries.
Who else doesn't respond to snail mail queries? Alex Glass at Trident Media, Kelly Harms at Jane Rotrosen, Elizabeth Winick at McIntosh & Otis, and Anna Ghosh at Scovil Chichak Galen have added the 'ignore' step to the query process. It worked so well with the e-mail queries, got the authors trained, and now they can kiss their SASEs good-bye. There was a time when snail mail practically guaranteed some sort of response, so that the author at least knew that the letter arrived, but the times they are a-changin'.
With the introduction of the Forever Stamp, those pre-paid envelopes will be perfect for mailing correspondence to an agent's signed authors, and come Christmas time, the photo greeting card will fit perfectly in those #10 envelopes. In a way, anyone approaching an agent with their snail mail query will be paying for the agent's time to open the letter, glance at the first sentence of the query, and then ignore the whole thing. One hundred queries a week? That's enough stamped envelopes to buy bagels and coffee for the week.
Sure there's a black market in New York City, with literary agents selling SASEs at a discount to businesses in need of stamped envelopes. There's a new industry that's sprung up, making the rounds of the agencies and paying 85% of the face value. The agent, of course, keeps the other 15%.
Send out queries and get form rejections, that's the start of the process. That's how it used to be, at any rate, and how it was when I first stumbled into the querying process about four years ago. For all the query letters I mailed in the first couple of years, only five were never answered. Considering how many letters were posted, that's a fairly insignificant number.
Where do things stand today, on the rejection front? BookEnds never responded to a query mailed last August, which contained a SASE for the rejection letter to be stuffed into. Lost in the mail, possibly? Michele Beno of Curtis Brown, Tara Mark of RLR, Melanie Jackson, and Melissa Chinchillo of Fletcher & Parry never responded at all. The SASE was there, following proper agent approaching protocol, but the 'no response is a no' appears to have evolved into a suitable reply to snail mail queries.
Who else doesn't respond to snail mail queries? Alex Glass at Trident Media, Kelly Harms at Jane Rotrosen, Elizabeth Winick at McIntosh & Otis, and Anna Ghosh at Scovil Chichak Galen have added the 'ignore' step to the query process. It worked so well with the e-mail queries, got the authors trained, and now they can kiss their SASEs good-bye. There was a time when snail mail practically guaranteed some sort of response, so that the author at least knew that the letter arrived, but the times they are a-changin'.
With the introduction of the Forever Stamp, those pre-paid envelopes will be perfect for mailing correspondence to an agent's signed authors, and come Christmas time, the photo greeting card will fit perfectly in those #10 envelopes. In a way, anyone approaching an agent with their snail mail query will be paying for the agent's time to open the letter, glance at the first sentence of the query, and then ignore the whole thing. One hundred queries a week? That's enough stamped envelopes to buy bagels and coffee for the week.
Sure there's a black market in New York City, with literary agents selling SASEs at a discount to businesses in need of stamped envelopes. There's a new industry that's sprung up, making the rounds of the agencies and paying 85% of the face value. The agent, of course, keeps the other 15%.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
This Year's Christmas Gift
Barbara Holland must surely be the wisest woman on the face of the earth. Her new book was recently reviewed in the New York Times, and never has a work of non-fiction been more intriguing and well worth every penny of the cost.
I'll be buying The Joy of Drinking come November, multiple copies in fact, to give away to the many friends and relations who are in need of proper gifting at the holiday season. Has a more perfect gift book come along these past few years? Grand indeed to place that on the coffee table and let guests know where we stand on the issue. There's liquor in the house, and we're delighted to share. Will you have a drink?
Ms. Holland describes drink as the glue that holds society together, and her words ring true. The no-smoking rule in effect in rural pubs in Ireland has had a very detrimental effect on society there, with some choosing to stay home on the farm rather than travel to the local because they can't pair a cigarette with their pint. It's a point that's been highly debated, with a very real concern about social isolation. The local pub is the center of life in small towns, where gossip is traded and farm issues discussed, and even the politicians in Dublin are worried about losing the very necessary meeting of neighbors that happens in the local. It's not all about the drink, but the interacting.
The book covers such diverse topics as the nutrient values in beer, which we all know are quite high. There was a time when new mothers in hospitals were issued a bottle of Guinness a day, to build them up after childbirth. And didn't your mother tell you it was medicinal? Why else would she have given you a few spoonfuls when you were under the weather?
A woman after my own heart is Barbara Holland. The review describes her relative distaste for the current trend of drinking as an elite sport, with all the wine touring and cork sniffing and microbreweries with their product so rare. If you're hosting a drinks party and your guests are having a grand time of it, they won't much care if you're serving some fancy wine or the ten dollar barrel wash. As Ms. Holland points out, drinking has become a snob's game that has lost the fun of sharing a jar with friends, to become an opportunity to show off one's financial might and vast store of obtuse knowledge about vintage and grape. To make matters worse, the current trend of alco-pops and fruit flavored drinks has added a certain childish aspect to the mixed drink, a trend that was put in train by alcohol purveyors to sell more product to those raised on Coca-Cola and Kool-Aid.
But the very best part of the whole book is saved for last. What you've been wanting and needing for all these years is now available....directions on how to make a still. Can you smell the poitin brewing?
I'll be buying The Joy of Drinking come November, multiple copies in fact, to give away to the many friends and relations who are in need of proper gifting at the holiday season. Has a more perfect gift book come along these past few years? Grand indeed to place that on the coffee table and let guests know where we stand on the issue. There's liquor in the house, and we're delighted to share. Will you have a drink?
Ms. Holland describes drink as the glue that holds society together, and her words ring true. The no-smoking rule in effect in rural pubs in Ireland has had a very detrimental effect on society there, with some choosing to stay home on the farm rather than travel to the local because they can't pair a cigarette with their pint. It's a point that's been highly debated, with a very real concern about social isolation. The local pub is the center of life in small towns, where gossip is traded and farm issues discussed, and even the politicians in Dublin are worried about losing the very necessary meeting of neighbors that happens in the local. It's not all about the drink, but the interacting.
The book covers such diverse topics as the nutrient values in beer, which we all know are quite high. There was a time when new mothers in hospitals were issued a bottle of Guinness a day, to build them up after childbirth. And didn't your mother tell you it was medicinal? Why else would she have given you a few spoonfuls when you were under the weather?
A woman after my own heart is Barbara Holland. The review describes her relative distaste for the current trend of drinking as an elite sport, with all the wine touring and cork sniffing and microbreweries with their product so rare. If you're hosting a drinks party and your guests are having a grand time of it, they won't much care if you're serving some fancy wine or the ten dollar barrel wash. As Ms. Holland points out, drinking has become a snob's game that has lost the fun of sharing a jar with friends, to become an opportunity to show off one's financial might and vast store of obtuse knowledge about vintage and grape. To make matters worse, the current trend of alco-pops and fruit flavored drinks has added a certain childish aspect to the mixed drink, a trend that was put in train by alcohol purveyors to sell more product to those raised on Coca-Cola and Kool-Aid.
But the very best part of the whole book is saved for last. What you've been wanting and needing for all these years is now available....directions on how to make a still. Can you smell the poitin brewing?
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
Obsessive Compulsive Fun
Must get published to be published. Must publish. Publish or perish.
I love my account at Duotrope. Whenever I like, I can bring up my page. I can study it. I can examine it. I can analyze it. I can compare. I can spend hours obsessing over statistics and data and I can drive myself mad with it. Sure that's what heaven is like.
I have 38 submissions logged so far, of which 14 are rejections. Forever and ever, I can see where I sent something and how long it took to get a reply. Was my rejection faster than average? The information's all there. Was my rejection slower than average? Simple to see, with a click of the mouse.
Has anyone heard back from Painted Bride Quarterly since last November? There's the answer, all very neatly set out for my obsessive pleasure. Yes, there is some activity there, for they have a new website, updated from last July when I sent them a submission. Someone else who subscribes to Duotrope has gotten a reply from them on 7 May. But they sent their material in October! I sent my short story in July. Has the journal lost my submission? Is it put aside in the maybe pile, to be examined more closely? Will I ever hear back from them?
Duotrope thinks I should follow up with The Greensboro Review and The Southeast Review because it's been ages since I sent material to them. The first one has had my submission for 203 days, but they usually get back to Duotrope users within 130 days. What are they waiting for? Did they lose the SASE and can never get back to me? As for the second journal, the editor was pretty clear about my sending them something else after he rejected my other short story. Now it seems that I'm either forgotten or under consideration. So it's 177 days and counting, compared to the more typical 85 days for a response.
The questions burn in my brain, occupying every thought process for hours, for days, for weeks. I'll have to check Duotrope again, searching for a clue. Lost or on the verge of acceptance or on the verge of rejection after being passed around the English Department; any and all options are open. Until, that is, my SASE turns up and the one true answer arrives...but the postage rates are going up next Monday and those SASEs only had $0.37 stamps because there was no talk of a rate increase that summer when I originally sent the manuscripts and will I ever get the letters or will they be returned for postage due?
So much to obsess over. So little time.
I love my account at Duotrope. Whenever I like, I can bring up my page. I can study it. I can examine it. I can analyze it. I can compare. I can spend hours obsessing over statistics and data and I can drive myself mad with it. Sure that's what heaven is like.
I have 38 submissions logged so far, of which 14 are rejections. Forever and ever, I can see where I sent something and how long it took to get a reply. Was my rejection faster than average? The information's all there. Was my rejection slower than average? Simple to see, with a click of the mouse.
Has anyone heard back from Painted Bride Quarterly since last November? There's the answer, all very neatly set out for my obsessive pleasure. Yes, there is some activity there, for they have a new website, updated from last July when I sent them a submission. Someone else who subscribes to Duotrope has gotten a reply from them on 7 May. But they sent their material in October! I sent my short story in July. Has the journal lost my submission? Is it put aside in the maybe pile, to be examined more closely? Will I ever hear back from them?
Duotrope thinks I should follow up with The Greensboro Review and The Southeast Review because it's been ages since I sent material to them. The first one has had my submission for 203 days, but they usually get back to Duotrope users within 130 days. What are they waiting for? Did they lose the SASE and can never get back to me? As for the second journal, the editor was pretty clear about my sending them something else after he rejected my other short story. Now it seems that I'm either forgotten or under consideration. So it's 177 days and counting, compared to the more typical 85 days for a response.
The questions burn in my brain, occupying every thought process for hours, for days, for weeks. I'll have to check Duotrope again, searching for a clue. Lost or on the verge of acceptance or on the verge of rejection after being passed around the English Department; any and all options are open. Until, that is, my SASE turns up and the one true answer arrives...but the postage rates are going up next Monday and those SASEs only had $0.37 stamps because there was no talk of a rate increase that summer when I originally sent the manuscripts and will I ever get the letters or will they be returned for postage due?
So much to obsess over. So little time.
Bury My Heart In HBO
Books are rarely good enough for screen adaptation. Audiences who sit in front of glowing screens want to be entertained. If they wanted to learn something, they'd read a book.
Dee Brown's incredible history of the American Indian, Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, was a blockbuster best seller when it came out in 1971, and it remains the quintessential non-fiction treatise. In page after page, the book is highly informative, educating people who had never before heard of the Lakota's side of the story and opening up many eyes to the harsh realities of Manifest Destiny and America's western expansion. This is the history of the loser, the other side of the coin.
HBO is going to make a movie of the book, but the book's just not sexy enough. In Hollywood's judgement, a character is sorely needed, one to appeal to the largely white audience. So bring in a fictional character into the non-fiction story, a half-native half-white, Ivy League educated gentleman. They plucked a somewhat similar person from history, a Santee who was sent away to boarding school back east, and plopped him in the middle of the Little Big Horn. The non-fiction story is set in a specific place, and HBO is trying to follow the historical narrative and adhere to the timeline of the events as much as possible. So they lift a real person, shake him out, dust him off, and put him where he never was in real life, all to make for a lovely story.
Dee Brown never allowed his book to be given the Hollywood treatment, no doubt because he expected the entertainment industry to do exactly what they have done. The esteemed author has passed away, however, and a project that was floated near the end of his life will soon come to life on the small screen.
Professor Raymond Wilson of Fort Hays State University is the leading authority on the real Ivy League native American, Mr. Charles Eastman. He's having a top laugh over Eastman's presence in the Dakotas, as per HBO's version, when in actuality Mr. Eastman was in Nebraska at the time of the battle at the Little Big Horn river. Watch HBO's version and you'd think Charles Eastman was there, watching events unfold. Read Professor Wilson's book, however, and you'll find an entirely different story, but reality is not as much fun as a writer's imagined scenario.
There has to be a love interest in any good movie, and HBO has warped time to put Elaine Goodale, who really was involved in native American education in the Dakotas, at a place she was not at with Mr. Eastman who was not there. Nicolas Proctor, the grandson of Dee Brown, is mourning this bastardization of a well crafted piece of history. As he has observed, the historical narrative, which is interesting in its own right, has been morphed into nothing more than a love story.
By resurrecting a book published thirty years ago, HBO may be doing something positive. Sales of Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee may shoot up as viewers turn into readers and discover that there was far more to the story than the few hours of entertainment presented on television.
Dee Brown's incredible history of the American Indian, Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee, was a blockbuster best seller when it came out in 1971, and it remains the quintessential non-fiction treatise. In page after page, the book is highly informative, educating people who had never before heard of the Lakota's side of the story and opening up many eyes to the harsh realities of Manifest Destiny and America's western expansion. This is the history of the loser, the other side of the coin.
HBO is going to make a movie of the book, but the book's just not sexy enough. In Hollywood's judgement, a character is sorely needed, one to appeal to the largely white audience. So bring in a fictional character into the non-fiction story, a half-native half-white, Ivy League educated gentleman. They plucked a somewhat similar person from history, a Santee who was sent away to boarding school back east, and plopped him in the middle of the Little Big Horn. The non-fiction story is set in a specific place, and HBO is trying to follow the historical narrative and adhere to the timeline of the events as much as possible. So they lift a real person, shake him out, dust him off, and put him where he never was in real life, all to make for a lovely story.
Dee Brown never allowed his book to be given the Hollywood treatment, no doubt because he expected the entertainment industry to do exactly what they have done. The esteemed author has passed away, however, and a project that was floated near the end of his life will soon come to life on the small screen.
Professor Raymond Wilson of Fort Hays State University is the leading authority on the real Ivy League native American, Mr. Charles Eastman. He's having a top laugh over Eastman's presence in the Dakotas, as per HBO's version, when in actuality Mr. Eastman was in Nebraska at the time of the battle at the Little Big Horn river. Watch HBO's version and you'd think Charles Eastman was there, watching events unfold. Read Professor Wilson's book, however, and you'll find an entirely different story, but reality is not as much fun as a writer's imagined scenario.
There has to be a love interest in any good movie, and HBO has warped time to put Elaine Goodale, who really was involved in native American education in the Dakotas, at a place she was not at with Mr. Eastman who was not there. Nicolas Proctor, the grandson of Dee Brown, is mourning this bastardization of a well crafted piece of history. As he has observed, the historical narrative, which is interesting in its own right, has been morphed into nothing more than a love story.
By resurrecting a book published thirty years ago, HBO may be doing something positive. Sales of Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee may shoot up as viewers turn into readers and discover that there was far more to the story than the few hours of entertainment presented on television.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Unionism's Last Legs
No, no, no, the Big Man said for years on end, no to the Catholics and no to change. The IRA went to war and the Big Man said no, no, no to those who follow the Anti-Christ that they call the Pope. Today Ian Paisley, the paper-mill diploma reverend, took the oath of office as First Minister of Northern Ireland, the head of the self-governing body that was promised back in the days of Home Rule. It has come at last. Unionism is on its last legs, a slow death.
Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, wrapped in the Drumcondra housing scandal, was in attendance at Stormont when the oath of office was taken. Outgoing Prime Minister Tony Blair was there as well, to witness one of the key items of his legacy. They were present when Martin McGuinness took the oath; they sat through the nomination of the ministers during this first sitting of the Stormont Assembly, to witness history being made.
"...on a road which will bring us back to peace and prosperity," Mr. Paisley said, because he sees that time has caught up to him at last. A bastion of sectarianism, a corner of the globe where hatred thrives, is not the stuff of which Celtic Tigers are made. The economy in the Six Counties is in a shambles, with a bloated public sector and no private industry to speak of. The Republic of Ireland passed them by, raced along on corporate investments and economic policies that created wealth. In the long run, that's what people really want. Unionism is grand for a talking point, but it never put a pound in anyone's pocket, and surely it rankles to see the Catholics to the south flouting their new found prosperity. Not unlike a Klansman looking at black folks driving Range Rovers through Atlanta on their way to jobs in banking and investment houses, while Mr. KKK is hard-pressed to buy a loaf of bread.
Gerry Adams spoke, remembering those who lost their lives in the Troubles, fighting for political rights. He talked of a united Ireland, of building a new relationship between Ireland and England. Sinn Fein has backed the police force and the rule of law, now that they have some say in those laws, but they're not about to support the United Kingdom of England and Northern Ireland.
What caused this earth shaking event, this complete reversal for Ian Paisley? As he himself admitted, he was driven into Stormont by the threat of London's Plan B. Go into government with Sinn Fein, he was told, or the Republic of Ireland will be involved in ruling the north, in conjunction with London. It will never be the same as it was, with direct rule; there will be a role for Dublin if you don't cooperate. And so he did.
Sinn Fein has won, in spite of Paisley's insistence that they were defeated when they accepted the rule of law. He thinks that the Shinners are accepting the United Kingdom as well, but he forgets Irish history. The Easter Rising of 1916 did not bring about the Republic of Ireland. It grew out of an election, to be driven by politicians who got into office and then took to governing as if England was not even there. After listening to Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness, it looks as if history may be about to repeat.
Taoiseach Bertie Ahern, wrapped in the Drumcondra housing scandal, was in attendance at Stormont when the oath of office was taken. Outgoing Prime Minister Tony Blair was there as well, to witness one of the key items of his legacy. They were present when Martin McGuinness took the oath; they sat through the nomination of the ministers during this first sitting of the Stormont Assembly, to witness history being made.
"...on a road which will bring us back to peace and prosperity," Mr. Paisley said, because he sees that time has caught up to him at last. A bastion of sectarianism, a corner of the globe where hatred thrives, is not the stuff of which Celtic Tigers are made. The economy in the Six Counties is in a shambles, with a bloated public sector and no private industry to speak of. The Republic of Ireland passed them by, raced along on corporate investments and economic policies that created wealth. In the long run, that's what people really want. Unionism is grand for a talking point, but it never put a pound in anyone's pocket, and surely it rankles to see the Catholics to the south flouting their new found prosperity. Not unlike a Klansman looking at black folks driving Range Rovers through Atlanta on their way to jobs in banking and investment houses, while Mr. KKK is hard-pressed to buy a loaf of bread.
Gerry Adams spoke, remembering those who lost their lives in the Troubles, fighting for political rights. He talked of a united Ireland, of building a new relationship between Ireland and England. Sinn Fein has backed the police force and the rule of law, now that they have some say in those laws, but they're not about to support the United Kingdom of England and Northern Ireland.
What caused this earth shaking event, this complete reversal for Ian Paisley? As he himself admitted, he was driven into Stormont by the threat of London's Plan B. Go into government with Sinn Fein, he was told, or the Republic of Ireland will be involved in ruling the north, in conjunction with London. It will never be the same as it was, with direct rule; there will be a role for Dublin if you don't cooperate. And so he did.
Sinn Fein has won, in spite of Paisley's insistence that they were defeated when they accepted the rule of law. He thinks that the Shinners are accepting the United Kingdom as well, but he forgets Irish history. The Easter Rising of 1916 did not bring about the Republic of Ireland. It grew out of an election, to be driven by politicians who got into office and then took to governing as if England was not even there. After listening to Gerry Adams and Martin McGuinness, it looks as if history may be about to repeat.
Monday, May 07, 2007
If You Can't Say Something Nice
Finally got around to cracking open this month's book club selection. There's a little sticky note attached, calling for comments. I'm not the first club member to have the book. There's not one comment on the comment sheet.
First stop is the acknowledgement page, to find a mention of an agent's name. Some agents like to be told that you've discovered them through one of their client's books. It means you've read something, done some research, made an effort. Should you be able to stretch the truth enough and make your query sound like your novel is a good fit for the agent, you've got a personalized query letter for yourself. So who is the agent here? Oh, the horror. The author published the book herself, set up her very own publishing company to put this book out.
Amazon ranking? Somewhere on the far side of 1.7 million, clearly not a best seller by any means. Who is the author? Same last name as another book clubber....what if it's R---'s sister-in-law? And I can't ask, because if the answer is yes, the next question will be 'How did you like it?'
The book's bad. Really, really bad. Nothing happens until page 14, when the narrator is given a key to open a mysterious case, with the implication that Grandmother's hidden past will be revealed. That's the stuff of page turning, the stuff that goes at the beginning. Page 14 is too far beyond that. Fourteen pages of backstory, including a sizable info dump that does nothing to advance the story, is enough to dissuade the most intrepid reader. The start of the story is buried in extraneous material, and that's not a good sign.
But this is for book group, and I carry on bravely. What's this on page 18? Does it really say, in black and white, "As you know"? As you know, the narrator's parents were married fifteen years before she was born and she's an only child and what does that have to do with anything? It's drivel. It wastes space and my time. A good editor would have pointed this out, but the author printed up these things on her own and a good editor never had a chance to slice and prune.
By page twenty, it's obvious that this is an epistolary novel. One letter after another, all very chatty. The day was warm; the day was cool. I went for a walk up Road A and crossed at the intersection with Road B (as the author demonstrates her knowledge of the town in which the novel is set. I'm handy with Mapquest, and I don't need such extravagant directions even if I didn't live in the town. It's excess verbiage.)
On to page 26, where the author displays more historical research. We went to the theatre, saw a talking picture named this which starred them. It was a good movie. Did it move the narrator, make her think about her own situation? The next paragraph is just as boring, a litany of activities performed by the narrator that serve no purpose other than to show that the author did her research and she's going to share it with the reader. Does it matter that the women got together to talk about books and had chicken salad for lunch? What does that have to do with conflict, character, and all the rest.
And where is the conflict, anyway? After page 41, we can presume that the conflict is between the narrator and financial pressures that forced her to give up the man she loved to marry a man with money. Rather late in the day to set up that premise, as most readers have long since fled. The relative lack of conflict is not the worst part of the book. The major drawback is that it is a story that is told, and never once shown. The result? A shopping list of events that fall flat.
The author states in her acknowledgements that she wanted to do the book her way, so she went the vanity route. That's fine, but don't expect readers to follow along behind. Sometimes there's reasons for the rules, and reasons for editorial suggestions. It's shocking to discover that the author has taught writing classes at a local community center. She's had essays published in the town's weekly newspaper, but that's not at all the same as penning an engaging work of fiction and creating dynamic characters. The grammar in the novel is impecable, proper syntax, no head-hopping, but there's no life on the pages.
The comments sheet is blank, and it will remain unmarked. Everyone is too courteous to say something because there's really nothing particularly positive to say. Except for the front cover, of course. The photo of a bench and the lake at dawn is spectacular.
First stop is the acknowledgement page, to find a mention of an agent's name. Some agents like to be told that you've discovered them through one of their client's books. It means you've read something, done some research, made an effort. Should you be able to stretch the truth enough and make your query sound like your novel is a good fit for the agent, you've got a personalized query letter for yourself. So who is the agent here? Oh, the horror. The author published the book herself, set up her very own publishing company to put this book out.
Amazon ranking? Somewhere on the far side of 1.7 million, clearly not a best seller by any means. Who is the author? Same last name as another book clubber....what if it's R---'s sister-in-law? And I can't ask, because if the answer is yes, the next question will be 'How did you like it?'
The book's bad. Really, really bad. Nothing happens until page 14, when the narrator is given a key to open a mysterious case, with the implication that Grandmother's hidden past will be revealed. That's the stuff of page turning, the stuff that goes at the beginning. Page 14 is too far beyond that. Fourteen pages of backstory, including a sizable info dump that does nothing to advance the story, is enough to dissuade the most intrepid reader. The start of the story is buried in extraneous material, and that's not a good sign.
But this is for book group, and I carry on bravely. What's this on page 18? Does it really say, in black and white, "As you know"? As you know, the narrator's parents were married fifteen years before she was born and she's an only child and what does that have to do with anything? It's drivel. It wastes space and my time. A good editor would have pointed this out, but the author printed up these things on her own and a good editor never had a chance to slice and prune.
By page twenty, it's obvious that this is an epistolary novel. One letter after another, all very chatty. The day was warm; the day was cool. I went for a walk up Road A and crossed at the intersection with Road B (as the author demonstrates her knowledge of the town in which the novel is set. I'm handy with Mapquest, and I don't need such extravagant directions even if I didn't live in the town. It's excess verbiage.)
On to page 26, where the author displays more historical research. We went to the theatre, saw a talking picture named this which starred them. It was a good movie. Did it move the narrator, make her think about her own situation? The next paragraph is just as boring, a litany of activities performed by the narrator that serve no purpose other than to show that the author did her research and she's going to share it with the reader. Does it matter that the women got together to talk about books and had chicken salad for lunch? What does that have to do with conflict, character, and all the rest.
And where is the conflict, anyway? After page 41, we can presume that the conflict is between the narrator and financial pressures that forced her to give up the man she loved to marry a man with money. Rather late in the day to set up that premise, as most readers have long since fled. The relative lack of conflict is not the worst part of the book. The major drawback is that it is a story that is told, and never once shown. The result? A shopping list of events that fall flat.
The author states in her acknowledgements that she wanted to do the book her way, so she went the vanity route. That's fine, but don't expect readers to follow along behind. Sometimes there's reasons for the rules, and reasons for editorial suggestions. It's shocking to discover that the author has taught writing classes at a local community center. She's had essays published in the town's weekly newspaper, but that's not at all the same as penning an engaging work of fiction and creating dynamic characters. The grammar in the novel is impecable, proper syntax, no head-hopping, but there's no life on the pages.
The comments sheet is blank, and it will remain unmarked. Everyone is too courteous to say something because there's really nothing particularly positive to say. Except for the front cover, of course. The photo of a bench and the lake at dawn is spectacular.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
A Twist In The Money Trail
Like unwanted guests that will not leave, some bundles of cash have been lodged in Bertie Ahern's political house and they simply won't go away.
In October of 1994, several wads of cash came calling. Evidence given to the Mahon tribunal indicated that this was a form of aid, when Mr. Ahern was getting out of a failing marriage and friends came through to help him get on his feet. Friends in Manchester passed the hat as well, and sent Mr. Ahern back home to Dublin with 8,000 stg. to see him through a rough patch. Mr. Ahern admitted to lodging 24,500 stg., all proceeds from private assistance.
According to the tribunal, at the exchange rate in use on the day the money arrived at the bank, Mr. Ahern had actually received the equivalent of 25,000 stg. A few pounds up or down, this is hardly an "Ah ha!" moment. Anyone using this one transaction to pillory the Taoiseach will be accused of over-reaching, splitting hairs over slight differences that fall within reasonable limits of memory.
That was not the only questionable transaction of cash, however. Michael Wall gave Mr. Ahern 30,000 in pounds sterling, yes, but that was turned over to Celia Larkin to manage. She placed the money at AIB, right there on O'Connell Street in the heart of Dublin. But sir, said the Mahon Tribunal, the amount that was lodged in the account was equal to $45,000, based on the rate of exchange on the day the money was tucked away. Mr. Ahern denies that he ever worked in dollars, and of that he is quite certain. Until more information is released, we are all left to ponder this particular exchange. Is the tribunal looking at bank records, and observing a transaction that exchanged dollars for Irish pounds? Why did the tribunal mention an exchange rate of dollars rather than British pounds? What's going on, exactly?
The money trail takes a decided turn further down the road, in June and December of 1995. According to the tribunal, the total sum that entered the bank did not add up, based on rates of exchange for Irish and British pounds. How did that happen? The Irish pounds left Mr. Ahern's bank account, 50,000 of them, and they were exchanged for the equivalent sum in pounds sterling. Mr. Wall was buying the infamous Drumcondra house, and Mr. Ahern was going to give him the money to pay for some work that Mr. Wall wanted done on the house. A designer kitchen could easily have run into the tens of thousands of pounds, and isn't the kitchen the heart of any home?
Wouldn't you know, but Mr. Ahern never did get around to giving Mr. Wall that money right away, so he kept it in a safe for a time. Mr. Wall did indeed receive some of it, not all of it, and the remainder was lodged back in the bank, mingled in with other sources of revenue that were lumped together in the same transaction. Hence, the numbers don't add up because there was more than one source. Rather like emptying out the trouser pockets at the end of a busy day and dumping all the change into one pile. After a week, there's five euro there and you couldn't say where exactly it all came from.
Somewhere in all this jumble is information that has the Progressive Democrats on edge. They've been in coalition with Bertie Ahern et al. and have been campaigning on their joint success. Do they want to be tied to a political party whose leader has some explaining to do? But if the voters don't turn against Fianna Fail, would they take it out on the PDs for turning against an innocent man?
So Bertie Ahern kept money in a safe -- what man doesn't try to hide assets from the wife he's leaving? It's all about the separation from Mrs. Ahern, and doing his best to hang on to the money that he didn't think she deserved after putting up with him for all those years. Better to dance around and hope the voters are more concerned with their own wallets than the Ahern billfold. It's far more politically damaging to be seen as a wealthy man who hid assets from the soon to be ex-wife than to be viewed as a Finance Minister who couldn't keep track of his own funds.
The Mahon Tribunal's gone home until after the election, delaying further investigation into the Ahern finances. If only the bundles of cash would do the same.
In October of 1994, several wads of cash came calling. Evidence given to the Mahon tribunal indicated that this was a form of aid, when Mr. Ahern was getting out of a failing marriage and friends came through to help him get on his feet. Friends in Manchester passed the hat as well, and sent Mr. Ahern back home to Dublin with 8,000 stg. to see him through a rough patch. Mr. Ahern admitted to lodging 24,500 stg., all proceeds from private assistance.
According to the tribunal, at the exchange rate in use on the day the money arrived at the bank, Mr. Ahern had actually received the equivalent of 25,000 stg. A few pounds up or down, this is hardly an "Ah ha!" moment. Anyone using this one transaction to pillory the Taoiseach will be accused of over-reaching, splitting hairs over slight differences that fall within reasonable limits of memory.
That was not the only questionable transaction of cash, however. Michael Wall gave Mr. Ahern 30,000 in pounds sterling, yes, but that was turned over to Celia Larkin to manage. She placed the money at AIB, right there on O'Connell Street in the heart of Dublin. But sir, said the Mahon Tribunal, the amount that was lodged in the account was equal to $45,000, based on the rate of exchange on the day the money was tucked away. Mr. Ahern denies that he ever worked in dollars, and of that he is quite certain. Until more information is released, we are all left to ponder this particular exchange. Is the tribunal looking at bank records, and observing a transaction that exchanged dollars for Irish pounds? Why did the tribunal mention an exchange rate of dollars rather than British pounds? What's going on, exactly?
The money trail takes a decided turn further down the road, in June and December of 1995. According to the tribunal, the total sum that entered the bank did not add up, based on rates of exchange for Irish and British pounds. How did that happen? The Irish pounds left Mr. Ahern's bank account, 50,000 of them, and they were exchanged for the equivalent sum in pounds sterling. Mr. Wall was buying the infamous Drumcondra house, and Mr. Ahern was going to give him the money to pay for some work that Mr. Wall wanted done on the house. A designer kitchen could easily have run into the tens of thousands of pounds, and isn't the kitchen the heart of any home?
Wouldn't you know, but Mr. Ahern never did get around to giving Mr. Wall that money right away, so he kept it in a safe for a time. Mr. Wall did indeed receive some of it, not all of it, and the remainder was lodged back in the bank, mingled in with other sources of revenue that were lumped together in the same transaction. Hence, the numbers don't add up because there was more than one source. Rather like emptying out the trouser pockets at the end of a busy day and dumping all the change into one pile. After a week, there's five euro there and you couldn't say where exactly it all came from.
Somewhere in all this jumble is information that has the Progressive Democrats on edge. They've been in coalition with Bertie Ahern et al. and have been campaigning on their joint success. Do they want to be tied to a political party whose leader has some explaining to do? But if the voters don't turn against Fianna Fail, would they take it out on the PDs for turning against an innocent man?
So Bertie Ahern kept money in a safe -- what man doesn't try to hide assets from the wife he's leaving? It's all about the separation from Mrs. Ahern, and doing his best to hang on to the money that he didn't think she deserved after putting up with him for all those years. Better to dance around and hope the voters are more concerned with their own wallets than the Ahern billfold. It's far more politically damaging to be seen as a wealthy man who hid assets from the soon to be ex-wife than to be viewed as a Finance Minister who couldn't keep track of his own funds.
The Mahon Tribunal's gone home until after the election, delaying further investigation into the Ahern finances. If only the bundles of cash would do the same.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Saving Face, Changing Heart
Oh, all right, Miss D can go and get her abortion if she wants it so badly.
After three days of hearings in Mr. Justice Liam McKechnie's court room, the Health Service Executive has had a slight change of heart. No wonder, now that they've been made to look like heartless bastards or brainless idiots, depending on your perspective. The ward of the state, referred to as Miss D, discovered that she was pregnant but the fetus she carries is anencephalic. Even if she were to carry to term, the malformed infant would survive no more than three days outside of the womb. Common medical practice is to perform an abortion, to safeguard the mother's health and fertility. Unless said woman is a ward of the Irish State, in which case a male case worker will ring up the Garda station and tell them not to issue her a passport under any circumstances, and don't let her go to England for that abortion.
But we only have the seventeen-year-old girl's best interests at heart, they said. When the judge asked them to elaborate, to explain how putting her through a horrendous ordeal was in her best interest, the folks of the HSE couldn't quite put together a cogent argument.
Very well, the HSE grumbled, we won't block her travel to England for an abortion. But, hold on just a minute, she'll have to jump through a few hoops so that the HSE can save face. First, Miss D will have to go the District Court and a judge will have to hear all this blather again, and then decide if Miss D has fully considered her decision. Can't be making these sorts of plans on the spur of the moment. Surely she might like to hold the deformed baby after undergoing labor, well aware that the child is going to suffer and die, and can the obstetrician please point out where the head would be on a normal baby. Oh yes, the decision must be completely, totally and fully considered.
Then Miss D's mother would have to promise to continue to support her daughter's wishes. That would be the alcoholic mother who lost custody of her daughter, it's her support that's needed. After that, the court will have to determine if Miss D's journey to England is lawful, as she is a ward of the State and all. And the court, being as well versed in medicine that it is, will decide if travelling to England for an abortion is appropriate.
After Miss D has some counseling under her belt, only then would HSE agree that she could get her abortion. She has all the time in the world to get all that done, as she is in her fourth month of pregnancy. Perhaps a judge could order the fetus to cease all further development until such time as the court deems it appropriate to continue gestation.
HSE isn't to blame in any of this, if one were to believe their excuses. Why, when Miss D said she wanted an abortion upon learning that her fetus was anencephalic, the HSE didn't have the luxury of time to consult with a battery of lawyers to find out what they should do. Miss D is to blame, in a way, for putting HSE in this awkward situation.
Could they have taken five minutes, do you think, to ring up an ob-gyne and put the question to a physician?
After three days of hearings in Mr. Justice Liam McKechnie's court room, the Health Service Executive has had a slight change of heart. No wonder, now that they've been made to look like heartless bastards or brainless idiots, depending on your perspective. The ward of the state, referred to as Miss D, discovered that she was pregnant but the fetus she carries is anencephalic. Even if she were to carry to term, the malformed infant would survive no more than three days outside of the womb. Common medical practice is to perform an abortion, to safeguard the mother's health and fertility. Unless said woman is a ward of the Irish State, in which case a male case worker will ring up the Garda station and tell them not to issue her a passport under any circumstances, and don't let her go to England for that abortion.
But we only have the seventeen-year-old girl's best interests at heart, they said. When the judge asked them to elaborate, to explain how putting her through a horrendous ordeal was in her best interest, the folks of the HSE couldn't quite put together a cogent argument.
Very well, the HSE grumbled, we won't block her travel to England for an abortion. But, hold on just a minute, she'll have to jump through a few hoops so that the HSE can save face. First, Miss D will have to go the District Court and a judge will have to hear all this blather again, and then decide if Miss D has fully considered her decision. Can't be making these sorts of plans on the spur of the moment. Surely she might like to hold the deformed baby after undergoing labor, well aware that the child is going to suffer and die, and can the obstetrician please point out where the head would be on a normal baby. Oh yes, the decision must be completely, totally and fully considered.
Then Miss D's mother would have to promise to continue to support her daughter's wishes. That would be the alcoholic mother who lost custody of her daughter, it's her support that's needed. After that, the court will have to determine if Miss D's journey to England is lawful, as she is a ward of the State and all. And the court, being as well versed in medicine that it is, will decide if travelling to England for an abortion is appropriate.
After Miss D has some counseling under her belt, only then would HSE agree that she could get her abortion. She has all the time in the world to get all that done, as she is in her fourth month of pregnancy. Perhaps a judge could order the fetus to cease all further development until such time as the court deems it appropriate to continue gestation.
HSE isn't to blame in any of this, if one were to believe their excuses. Why, when Miss D said she wanted an abortion upon learning that her fetus was anencephalic, the HSE didn't have the luxury of time to consult with a battery of lawyers to find out what they should do. Miss D is to blame, in a way, for putting HSE in this awkward situation.
Could they have taken five minutes, do you think, to ring up an ob-gyne and put the question to a physician?
Not Dead Yet
Pat McDonagh, owner of Supermacs and investor in the Claddagh chain, may have a solution to the Claddagh bankruptcy. Somehow or other he wants to recoup the $21 million owed him, and it could happen if he buys up Claddagh. But wouldn't that cost him even more money?
According to Mr. McDonagh's attorney, the investor is working with creditors and the court appointed trustee to keep the restaurants open and operating. Now that Kevin Blair is out of the picture, after getting the sack through Mr. McDonagh's behind the scenes efforts, the restaurants are doing a fine business, churning out pub grub and pints. The parent corporation is floundering at the moment, with $33 million in debt to be covered, but obviously McDonagh still has faith in the concept and its viability. If he can only stave off the creditors, let the profits flow in so that there is enough in the kitty to pay them back, the Claddagh chain just might make it.
There's back taxes owed, and government officials are pressed for cash these days. Mr. McDonagh will have to do some fancy talking to make them understand that they will be better off in the long run if they give him time to raise the money, rather than push for a court-ordered sell-off of assets, partial payment of taxes owed, and the death of Claddagh. The same goes for the myriad creditors, from food vendors to construction companies, who have been waiting for payment for a long time and may not be willing to wait even longer. After all, something is better than nothing, when getting nothing could stretch out over years before the whole debt is paid in full.
The phone lines are buzzing between Galway and Cincinnati, as Pat McDonagh wheels and deals with the Claddagh creditors. If everyone can compromise on what they say they are owed, the seventeen restaurants and hundreds of employees will get to keep their jobs and Supermacs will have its foot in the door of the American restaurant industry. A good deal all around, except of course for Kevin Blair, whose dreams of riches as the guru of Irish dining have come to naught.
If he can come to an agreement about the $21 million due him, Pat McDonagh will come up with another chunk of change to buy up the struggling restaurant chain, and surely that demonstrates his faith in the business. The survival of Claddagh will depend on Pat McDonagh's ability to woo the creditors. The employees of Claddagh hope he's a smooth talker.
According to Mr. McDonagh's attorney, the investor is working with creditors and the court appointed trustee to keep the restaurants open and operating. Now that Kevin Blair is out of the picture, after getting the sack through Mr. McDonagh's behind the scenes efforts, the restaurants are doing a fine business, churning out pub grub and pints. The parent corporation is floundering at the moment, with $33 million in debt to be covered, but obviously McDonagh still has faith in the concept and its viability. If he can only stave off the creditors, let the profits flow in so that there is enough in the kitty to pay them back, the Claddagh chain just might make it.
There's back taxes owed, and government officials are pressed for cash these days. Mr. McDonagh will have to do some fancy talking to make them understand that they will be better off in the long run if they give him time to raise the money, rather than push for a court-ordered sell-off of assets, partial payment of taxes owed, and the death of Claddagh. The same goes for the myriad creditors, from food vendors to construction companies, who have been waiting for payment for a long time and may not be willing to wait even longer. After all, something is better than nothing, when getting nothing could stretch out over years before the whole debt is paid in full.
The phone lines are buzzing between Galway and Cincinnati, as Pat McDonagh wheels and deals with the Claddagh creditors. If everyone can compromise on what they say they are owed, the seventeen restaurants and hundreds of employees will get to keep their jobs and Supermacs will have its foot in the door of the American restaurant industry. A good deal all around, except of course for Kevin Blair, whose dreams of riches as the guru of Irish dining have come to naught.
If he can come to an agreement about the $21 million due him, Pat McDonagh will come up with another chunk of change to buy up the struggling restaurant chain, and surely that demonstrates his faith in the business. The survival of Claddagh will depend on Pat McDonagh's ability to woo the creditors. The employees of Claddagh hope he's a smooth talker.
Free To Be Stupid
Sometimes, when you're typing up those query letters, you let your mind wander, to dream of your first book signing. Friends and family will be there as you read an excerpt, your voice smooth, your delivery as impassioned as the finest stage actor. Strangers look up at you with their eyes wide with wonder, in awe at your talent. And then, the crazy people at the back of the room explode.
Debut author Margaret Ajemian Ahnert didn't expect that last part, either. She was attending her own book signing at a New York City Barnes & Noble, with friend and former governor Hugh Carey and Manhattan district attorney Robert M. Morgenthau in the audience. Ms. Ahnert spoke of her recently published memoir, a tale of her mother and the Armenian genocide. Then the brouhaha began.
In Turkey, it is illegal to talk about this genocide -- one that never happened if you should chance to be living in Turkey. For the rest of the world, the murder of almost one million Armenians is a documented fact, and one that France would like to make illegal to deny. The Turks have an unpleasant habit of bristling whenever the genocide is mentioned, to the point that a Turkish author was arrested and put on trial for making the barest mention of the genocide in one of her novels. A Nobel Prize winning author was hassled for having the audacity to mention the genocide in the course of an interview.
Turkey would like very much to be admitted to the European Union, to take advantage of the many benefits that would come their way. So many things have impeded progress, with pressure from member nations to adopt Western values aggravating some of the more religiously fanatical. Recognizing the atrocity commited against the Armenians will be required if Turkey is ever to have the slightest chance at EU membership, but it is official history that the Armenians were not murdered, they didn't die off in vast numbers, and the whole thing is a cod and whoever says otherwise is lying. But can we come over and play in the EU just the same?
Up steps Erdem Sahin, a Turk from Staten Island, to disrupt the book signing with his demonstration against Ms. Ahnert's premise. The author said her mother survived this genocide, cited specific anecdotes, and Mr. Sahin shouted that it didn't happen. He and some of his friends tried to pass out leaflets denying the Armenian holocaust, but what exactly were they protesting?
Mr. Sahin and crew are upset with France. Not the author, not American policy, but they were protesting the French plan to make it illegal to deny the Armenian holocaust. So they ruined Ms. Ahnert's book signing to fight for "freedom of speech..." because historians say ..."there is no genocide."
If the historians in Turkey are as lost as that, then it's no wonder that Mr. Sahin was in New York City instead of Paris, protesting French legislation. Poor man must never have learned how to read a map.
Debut author Margaret Ajemian Ahnert didn't expect that last part, either. She was attending her own book signing at a New York City Barnes & Noble, with friend and former governor Hugh Carey and Manhattan district attorney Robert M. Morgenthau in the audience. Ms. Ahnert spoke of her recently published memoir, a tale of her mother and the Armenian genocide. Then the brouhaha began.
In Turkey, it is illegal to talk about this genocide -- one that never happened if you should chance to be living in Turkey. For the rest of the world, the murder of almost one million Armenians is a documented fact, and one that France would like to make illegal to deny. The Turks have an unpleasant habit of bristling whenever the genocide is mentioned, to the point that a Turkish author was arrested and put on trial for making the barest mention of the genocide in one of her novels. A Nobel Prize winning author was hassled for having the audacity to mention the genocide in the course of an interview.
Turkey would like very much to be admitted to the European Union, to take advantage of the many benefits that would come their way. So many things have impeded progress, with pressure from member nations to adopt Western values aggravating some of the more religiously fanatical. Recognizing the atrocity commited against the Armenians will be required if Turkey is ever to have the slightest chance at EU membership, but it is official history that the Armenians were not murdered, they didn't die off in vast numbers, and the whole thing is a cod and whoever says otherwise is lying. But can we come over and play in the EU just the same?
Up steps Erdem Sahin, a Turk from Staten Island, to disrupt the book signing with his demonstration against Ms. Ahnert's premise. The author said her mother survived this genocide, cited specific anecdotes, and Mr. Sahin shouted that it didn't happen. He and some of his friends tried to pass out leaflets denying the Armenian holocaust, but what exactly were they protesting?
Mr. Sahin and crew are upset with France. Not the author, not American policy, but they were protesting the French plan to make it illegal to deny the Armenian holocaust. So they ruined Ms. Ahnert's book signing to fight for "freedom of speech..." because historians say ..."there is no genocide."
If the historians in Turkey are as lost as that, then it's no wonder that Mr. Sahin was in New York City instead of Paris, protesting French legislation. Poor man must never have learned how to read a map.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Royal Protocol
Should I wear a hat, asks Virginia first lady Anne Holton. Hosting Her Royal Highness, you see, and my, my, my whatever's to be done to do it all properly? What should the ladies wear? Can they wear pants?
The State Department has sent an official to Virginia to assist the locals with proper protocol for a visit from the Queen of England. I hate to break the news to them, but, well, she's not the Queen over here. Not since 1776, and her late great ancestor King George was not entirely pleased that the Americans chose to leave the fold.
Proper protocol? Don't ask the Irish. The Queen's not been to visit since Victoria popped in, and her visit during the height of the Great Famine is the stuff of legend...none of it complimentary. There's no invitation in the works, either, and no popular push to ask her to tea.
So how to behave in the presence of royalty. Act like a feckin' American, be proud of your democratic heritage, and don't be twisting yourself in knots trying to be British. She's someone else's royalty, and all that's needed is the sort of polite manners that any head of state or visiting dignitary would be granted. And don't curtsy, for Christ's sake.
The State Department has sent an official to Virginia to assist the locals with proper protocol for a visit from the Queen of England. I hate to break the news to them, but, well, she's not the Queen over here. Not since 1776, and her late great ancestor King George was not entirely pleased that the Americans chose to leave the fold.
Proper protocol? Don't ask the Irish. The Queen's not been to visit since Victoria popped in, and her visit during the height of the Great Famine is the stuff of legend...none of it complimentary. There's no invitation in the works, either, and no popular push to ask her to tea.
So how to behave in the presence of royalty. Act like a feckin' American, be proud of your democratic heritage, and don't be twisting yourself in knots trying to be British. She's someone else's royalty, and all that's needed is the sort of polite manners that any head of state or visiting dignitary would be granted. And don't curtsy, for Christ's sake.
Give The Lady What She Wants
Walk into the Macy's in downtown Chicago, fire off a canon, and you'd hit no one. That sound in the corridors? That would be the crickets chirping, all alone in the massive building. Not quite as cheery as the sound of cash registers ringing, and the suits at Federated Department Stores, Inc. are trying to turn things around. Fast. There's $11 billion invested in the venture that is failing.
What does a corporation do to turn things around but cut costs? They've started out at the low end, unfortunately, by bringing in cheaper goods that aren't selling. A step below that and one might as well shop at Kohl's to get the same quality at a lower price. Where else can a few dollars in savings be found?
Rumor has it that a large warehouse on the city's North side is about to be shuttered. Although company spokesman Jim Sluzewski says that Federated is looking for a new, modern facility, the odds are, Federated already owns one elsewhere in the country and will consolidate warehouses rather than open another one. That would eliminate 350 jobs or so, a little bit of a savings for the corporation. Alderman Ray Suarez, in whose ward the warehouse is located, is not at all pleased with the pending closure and the subsequent loss of jobs. He was told, he says, that Macy's wanted to keep that warehouse open, and isn't that just the way these out of towners do things?
How about shuttering a store or two? Macy's could easily start with the shop in Lake Forest, a town familiar to anyone who has read The Great Gatsby, or the more recent Gatsby's Girl. To say that Macy's quality of apparel does not meet the demand in the high-end suburb is quite the understatement. Considering the fact the the Marshall Field family has resided in Lake Forest for a long time, and people in Lake Forest are closely bonded, the town would be quite happy to see the backs of the Macy's people as they walked away. The building is owned by Broadacre Management, the lease is up at the end of the year, and the space is being shopped around to other tenants. So, that's another one for the credit column.
How to get shoppers into the remaining stores, that is the question. Chocolates, ladies. Come in. Chocolates. Look, it's the Frango mint. Everyone loved Frango mints, back when they were hand-dipped by real live people up on the eighth floor of the Loop flagship store. Then Field's was bought up by Dayton Hudson and the candy factory was shut down. No longer made in Chicago, the Frango mint was no longer so beloved. Federated will bring it back.
Not all the way back, of course. They have no intention of investing in candy-making facilities, as that would be cost-prohibitive. There is talk that Federated will strike a deal with a Chicago chocolatier, someone like Cupid Candies of Dove Bar fame, to make Frango mints for them. At least it's in the same city, which makes for a nice bit of publicity for the failing Macy's Chicago branch. Frango Mints were once the souvenir of choice, an iconic Chicago product that could only be had in Chicago. And they tasted very, very good.
Frank Guzzetta, Macy's North Chairman, will be making an announcement about the return of the Frango Mint within the next month or two. He envisions hordes of shoppers, all the tourists herding down Washington on their way to the 'Bean' sculpture, making their way into the Macy's on State Street, to pick up their Frango Mints and browse the aisles. Now if he can only erase the collective memory that ties Marshall Field's name to Frango Mints, and implant a happy connection between the Macy's label and Frango Mints. That will take a lot more than a box or two of mint-flavored chocolates. Is there a patron saint of business executives? Perhaps it's the same one as the patron saint of sea captains at the helm of sinking ships.
What does a corporation do to turn things around but cut costs? They've started out at the low end, unfortunately, by bringing in cheaper goods that aren't selling. A step below that and one might as well shop at Kohl's to get the same quality at a lower price. Where else can a few dollars in savings be found?
Rumor has it that a large warehouse on the city's North side is about to be shuttered. Although company spokesman Jim Sluzewski says that Federated is looking for a new, modern facility, the odds are, Federated already owns one elsewhere in the country and will consolidate warehouses rather than open another one. That would eliminate 350 jobs or so, a little bit of a savings for the corporation. Alderman Ray Suarez, in whose ward the warehouse is located, is not at all pleased with the pending closure and the subsequent loss of jobs. He was told, he says, that Macy's wanted to keep that warehouse open, and isn't that just the way these out of towners do things?
How about shuttering a store or two? Macy's could easily start with the shop in Lake Forest, a town familiar to anyone who has read The Great Gatsby, or the more recent Gatsby's Girl. To say that Macy's quality of apparel does not meet the demand in the high-end suburb is quite the understatement. Considering the fact the the Marshall Field family has resided in Lake Forest for a long time, and people in Lake Forest are closely bonded, the town would be quite happy to see the backs of the Macy's people as they walked away. The building is owned by Broadacre Management, the lease is up at the end of the year, and the space is being shopped around to other tenants. So, that's another one for the credit column.
How to get shoppers into the remaining stores, that is the question. Chocolates, ladies. Come in. Chocolates. Look, it's the Frango mint. Everyone loved Frango mints, back when they were hand-dipped by real live people up on the eighth floor of the Loop flagship store. Then Field's was bought up by Dayton Hudson and the candy factory was shut down. No longer made in Chicago, the Frango mint was no longer so beloved. Federated will bring it back.
Not all the way back, of course. They have no intention of investing in candy-making facilities, as that would be cost-prohibitive. There is talk that Federated will strike a deal with a Chicago chocolatier, someone like Cupid Candies of Dove Bar fame, to make Frango mints for them. At least it's in the same city, which makes for a nice bit of publicity for the failing Macy's Chicago branch. Frango Mints were once the souvenir of choice, an iconic Chicago product that could only be had in Chicago. And they tasted very, very good.
Frank Guzzetta, Macy's North Chairman, will be making an announcement about the return of the Frango Mint within the next month or two. He envisions hordes of shoppers, all the tourists herding down Washington on their way to the 'Bean' sculpture, making their way into the Macy's on State Street, to pick up their Frango Mints and browse the aisles. Now if he can only erase the collective memory that ties Marshall Field's name to Frango Mints, and implant a happy connection between the Macy's label and Frango Mints. That will take a lot more than a box or two of mint-flavored chocolates. Is there a patron saint of business executives? Perhaps it's the same one as the patron saint of sea captains at the helm of sinking ships.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
O'Bama Of The Auld Sod
How Irish is Barack O'Bama? If Church of Ireland rector Stephen Neill is correct, then the politician is truly entitled to wear the green.
Mr. Neill rummaged through church records going back to the late 1700's, working in tandem with Latter Day Saints genealogists in Salt Lake City. The CoI canon is fairly confident of his conclusion, that Mr. O'Bama is descended from one Fulmuth Kearney, born in Moneygall, County Offaly, hard by the border with County Tipperary.
The great-great-great-grandfather was the son of Joseph, a shoemaker, meaning that the family was actually rather well off as they were skilled tradesmen. They worshipped at the Anglican Church, which was converted into a private home about thirty years ago. Not much call for Anglican services in post-Treaty Ireland, yet it's good to know that the historic building still stands. Besides the former church, the little town can boast of a pub or two, a few shops, and a Catholic church that serves the local populace.
Fulmuth Kearney sailed for New York in 1850, a young man of 19. He was not without family in America, however, as Canon Neill's research has discovered evidence of other emigrations by the Kearney family, going back to the 1790's. It gives Mr. O'Bama some very deep, well developed roots in the United States, almost from the country's birth.
So when it's St. Paddy's Day, and the Chicago River has been dyed green, Barack O'Bama can justifiably take his place in the parade, to march with the other Sons of Eire and know that he is one of them, and perhaps more one of them than they are themselves.
Mr. Neill rummaged through church records going back to the late 1700's, working in tandem with Latter Day Saints genealogists in Salt Lake City. The CoI canon is fairly confident of his conclusion, that Mr. O'Bama is descended from one Fulmuth Kearney, born in Moneygall, County Offaly, hard by the border with County Tipperary.
The great-great-great-grandfather was the son of Joseph, a shoemaker, meaning that the family was actually rather well off as they were skilled tradesmen. They worshipped at the Anglican Church, which was converted into a private home about thirty years ago. Not much call for Anglican services in post-Treaty Ireland, yet it's good to know that the historic building still stands. Besides the former church, the little town can boast of a pub or two, a few shops, and a Catholic church that serves the local populace.
Fulmuth Kearney sailed for New York in 1850, a young man of 19. He was not without family in America, however, as Canon Neill's research has discovered evidence of other emigrations by the Kearney family, going back to the 1790's. It gives Mr. O'Bama some very deep, well developed roots in the United States, almost from the country's birth.
So when it's St. Paddy's Day, and the Chicago River has been dyed green, Barack O'Bama can justifiably take his place in the parade, to march with the other Sons of Eire and know that he is one of them, and perhaps more one of them than they are themselves.
Yes You Can, No You Can't
No you can't, the Health Service Executive told the seventeen-year-old girl in their care. Referred to as 'Miss D", the girl in question comes from a broken home, and was taken from her alcoholic mother for her own good. Not that the HSE did much better for her, because the young lady is now four months pregnant. Sadly, the fetus is anencephalic and the prognosis is grim. If Miss D should manage to carry to term, the baby will live for three days at the most.
Considering the ultimate outcome, Miss D wants to go to England for an abortion. That's the typical procedure in cases of anencephaly, a neural tube defect in which the skull fails to fully form, and large parts of the brain never develop. Of course, as Miss D is an Irish lass, she has to cross the Irish Sea for treatment. Can't be performing abortions in Ireland, even for medical risk cases like this one.
No you can't, the Health Service Executive told Miss D. You'll not be travelling out of the country, unless, of course, you can prove that you'd kill yourself otherwise. A suicide risk would make all the difference to the HSE. But Miss D isn't suicidal at all. She's distraught, as one might expect, knowing that the baby that she wants is so deformed that it cannot possibly live. We've warned the gardai, the HSE told her, and you'd best not even try to board a ferry.
Yes you can, says Donal O'Donnell, speaking on behalf of the Attorney General. The HSE has no legal power at all to order An Garda Siochana to restrain Miss D, just because the HSE happens to have a care order. But the HSE only wants what's best, says their solicitor Gerry Durcan, just looking after her welfare. And she should be looked at by a psychiatrist as well. That will make all the difference, won't it, to have a psychiatrist treat the mother of an anencephalic fetus. Will it miraculously change the outcome? What possible good can a psychiatrist do in this situation? Cover the HSE's arse, most likely, by producing a diagnosis of 'suicide risk' so HSE can put a good face on a bad situation.
This is not the first time that HSE has been asked to pay for an abortion in England, in a case of fetal malformation inconsistent with life outside the womb. Why now, when the precedent has been set, is HSE calling in the gardai to prevent Miss D from equal treatment? As the HSE will not comment on individual cases, we're left in the dark.
Mr. Justice Liam McKechnie (of Dr. Foy fame...my but he's busy these days) has granted leave for the case to be heard, and he's put a rush on it. Gestation does not conform to the court's schedule, after all, and time is running out. Tomorrow, then, HSE will try to argue that they meant well, while the State will argue that the HSE is talking out of its collective arse. There'll be backtracking, hemming and hawing, and Miss D will make her way to England before much longer. In the process, the abortion debate will be visited once again, and once again, nothing will change.
Considering the ultimate outcome, Miss D wants to go to England for an abortion. That's the typical procedure in cases of anencephaly, a neural tube defect in which the skull fails to fully form, and large parts of the brain never develop. Of course, as Miss D is an Irish lass, she has to cross the Irish Sea for treatment. Can't be performing abortions in Ireland, even for medical risk cases like this one.
No you can't, the Health Service Executive told Miss D. You'll not be travelling out of the country, unless, of course, you can prove that you'd kill yourself otherwise. A suicide risk would make all the difference to the HSE. But Miss D isn't suicidal at all. She's distraught, as one might expect, knowing that the baby that she wants is so deformed that it cannot possibly live. We've warned the gardai, the HSE told her, and you'd best not even try to board a ferry.
Yes you can, says Donal O'Donnell, speaking on behalf of the Attorney General. The HSE has no legal power at all to order An Garda Siochana to restrain Miss D, just because the HSE happens to have a care order. But the HSE only wants what's best, says their solicitor Gerry Durcan, just looking after her welfare. And she should be looked at by a psychiatrist as well. That will make all the difference, won't it, to have a psychiatrist treat the mother of an anencephalic fetus. Will it miraculously change the outcome? What possible good can a psychiatrist do in this situation? Cover the HSE's arse, most likely, by producing a diagnosis of 'suicide risk' so HSE can put a good face on a bad situation.
This is not the first time that HSE has been asked to pay for an abortion in England, in a case of fetal malformation inconsistent with life outside the womb. Why now, when the precedent has been set, is HSE calling in the gardai to prevent Miss D from equal treatment? As the HSE will not comment on individual cases, we're left in the dark.
Mr. Justice Liam McKechnie (of Dr. Foy fame...my but he's busy these days) has granted leave for the case to be heard, and he's put a rush on it. Gestation does not conform to the court's schedule, after all, and time is running out. Tomorrow, then, HSE will try to argue that they meant well, while the State will argue that the HSE is talking out of its collective arse. There'll be backtracking, hemming and hawing, and Miss D will make her way to England before much longer. In the process, the abortion debate will be visited once again, and once again, nothing will change.
Review It Yourself
The New York Times is bemoaning the loss of the newspaper book review, and I join them in mourning the loss. Not that I read whatever is listed on the NYT Top Ten. Whether or not a particular book is popular or has garnered rave reviews does not matter. I am looking for something new to read.
I can't afford to buy a lot of books, so I can't justify stopping in at the local indie book seller and using up the owner's time to get recommendations, only to walk out the door empty-handed. The librarian is a fine source, and will often comment on something I've pulled off the shelf. That's very good, she might say. This one bogs down in the middle, but the ending makes up for it, he might note. But often times, I've selected the book because I remember the title from reading a book review.
As I said, I don't read the reviews for content. I'm looking for the story, the plot, what sort of characters are to be found. If the reviewer hated the writing, I don't care, because I'll make up my own mind. Through information gleaned from the review, I can decide if I want to read the book or not. Saves time at the library, reading book flaps to see if the intriguing title matches up with what's on the inside.
It's the bloggers that are taking the blame for the end of the book review as we know it. Non-professional writers are putting out the coverage, like some democratic movement in literature. Michiko Kakutani might be the big name in reviewers, but without a book reviewer in the newspaper, readers may find out about new books from some anonymous blogger who has an entirely different perspective than the famed New York Times columnist. Is that a good thing? Has the blog replaced the local, and has the Internet become the discussion group to talk over something you've read and want to recommend to your mates?
The main problem with bloggers, of course, is that they are out there in the ether somewhere, and it's not all that easy to find what you're looking for. The benefit of the weekend book section is simple. It's right there in the newspaper you picked up off the driveway. You can find it easy enough, turn the pages, scan through the material and make up a list of books you'd like to read when they're available at the library. As Oscar Villalon of the San Francisco Chronicle has pointed out, the newspaper review is going to reach a lot more people than a blog, no matter how popular the website may be.
People don't much read newspapers anymore, or so goes the notion to explain away the decline in sales. Costs must be cut as ad revenues decline, so where does one chop? The features are the first to go, to keep the hard news stories and editorials available, so the book review editor gets the axe and some nationwide feed gets substituted for local coverage. But does the avid reader in Macon, Georgia really benefit from a review out of Los Angeles? Wouldn't someone at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution have a better feel for what books will be preferred by the local populace? Or does none of that matter, because someone has to go to get costs down.
The Chicago Tribune is modifying their book section, wrapping it up into the Saturday paper, the least read edition in the week. Will it help their bottom line to put the reviews in the smallest print run, thereby saving paper? It can't be that they expect book readers to start buying the paper on Saturday to get the review section, to boost circulation. The editors promise great things, but the jury's still out. If they find a way to publicize new authors, focus a bit on the local scene and not try to be the New York Times, the new version could be better than the old.
You'd think that people who read newspapers regularly like to read, and would most likely be reading books as well. Why are newspapers trying to make it more difficult to combine the two?
I can't afford to buy a lot of books, so I can't justify stopping in at the local indie book seller and using up the owner's time to get recommendations, only to walk out the door empty-handed. The librarian is a fine source, and will often comment on something I've pulled off the shelf. That's very good, she might say. This one bogs down in the middle, but the ending makes up for it, he might note. But often times, I've selected the book because I remember the title from reading a book review.
As I said, I don't read the reviews for content. I'm looking for the story, the plot, what sort of characters are to be found. If the reviewer hated the writing, I don't care, because I'll make up my own mind. Through information gleaned from the review, I can decide if I want to read the book or not. Saves time at the library, reading book flaps to see if the intriguing title matches up with what's on the inside.
It's the bloggers that are taking the blame for the end of the book review as we know it. Non-professional writers are putting out the coverage, like some democratic movement in literature. Michiko Kakutani might be the big name in reviewers, but without a book reviewer in the newspaper, readers may find out about new books from some anonymous blogger who has an entirely different perspective than the famed New York Times columnist. Is that a good thing? Has the blog replaced the local, and has the Internet become the discussion group to talk over something you've read and want to recommend to your mates?
The main problem with bloggers, of course, is that they are out there in the ether somewhere, and it's not all that easy to find what you're looking for. The benefit of the weekend book section is simple. It's right there in the newspaper you picked up off the driveway. You can find it easy enough, turn the pages, scan through the material and make up a list of books you'd like to read when they're available at the library. As Oscar Villalon of the San Francisco Chronicle has pointed out, the newspaper review is going to reach a lot more people than a blog, no matter how popular the website may be.
People don't much read newspapers anymore, or so goes the notion to explain away the decline in sales. Costs must be cut as ad revenues decline, so where does one chop? The features are the first to go, to keep the hard news stories and editorials available, so the book review editor gets the axe and some nationwide feed gets substituted for local coverage. But does the avid reader in Macon, Georgia really benefit from a review out of Los Angeles? Wouldn't someone at the Atlanta Journal-Constitution have a better feel for what books will be preferred by the local populace? Or does none of that matter, because someone has to go to get costs down.
The Chicago Tribune is modifying their book section, wrapping it up into the Saturday paper, the least read edition in the week. Will it help their bottom line to put the reviews in the smallest print run, thereby saving paper? It can't be that they expect book readers to start buying the paper on Saturday to get the review section, to boost circulation. The editors promise great things, but the jury's still out. If they find a way to publicize new authors, focus a bit on the local scene and not try to be the New York Times, the new version could be better than the old.
You'd think that people who read newspapers regularly like to read, and would most likely be reading books as well. Why are newspapers trying to make it more difficult to combine the two?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Turn The Page
As Nicolas Sarkozy prepares to take on Segolene Royal for the presidency of France, pundits take note of the slow decline of the French communist. The communists were the stars of the French Resistance, but time has done them no favors. This season's crop of presidential candidates grew up after the war, were not shaped by it directly, and possess a different outlook from those who went before them. It's not all about France and the stout-hearted resistance. It's a little bit about what the Americans did for France, a few notes in the anti-American symphony that may be reaching its climax.
Marie-George Buffet (communist) and Dominique Voynet (green) made pathetically poor showings in the election. The Trotskyists hit a 25 year low, but it's not their policies that are to blame. No indeed, the smart voters knew that these candidates were going to lose so they voted for Ms. Royal to ensure her presence in the run-off. Convoluted reasoning, but it's hard to deal with rejection (as any author knows).
What of the anti-globalists, the anti- EU constitution contingent, the communist revolutionaries and all the rest? They can proudly point to the success of their policies, of course. The EU constitution met its death in France, and it does not look likely to be resurrected any time soon. The free market in all its cold and callous disregard has not been kind to the short work week, the mandated holidays, and job creation. In the ghettos, young Arabs have little hope of finding work in what the left would think of as a worker's paradise. Rioting, unrest, but you've been granted a long week end if you happen to land a job.
The last Israeli kibbutz to practice socialism has gone over to the dark side, embracing capitalism because socialism doesn't work. The people of France are beginning to make the same move, to leave the happy dreams of socialism behind because they are living with the results and they are not happy. They would like France to take the lead in Europe, to reclaim its once lofty post as the dominant nation. Getting back there is going to be very, very painful.
Marie-George Buffet (communist) and Dominique Voynet (green) made pathetically poor showings in the election. The Trotskyists hit a 25 year low, but it's not their policies that are to blame. No indeed, the smart voters knew that these candidates were going to lose so they voted for Ms. Royal to ensure her presence in the run-off. Convoluted reasoning, but it's hard to deal with rejection (as any author knows).
What of the anti-globalists, the anti- EU constitution contingent, the communist revolutionaries and all the rest? They can proudly point to the success of their policies, of course. The EU constitution met its death in France, and it does not look likely to be resurrected any time soon. The free market in all its cold and callous disregard has not been kind to the short work week, the mandated holidays, and job creation. In the ghettos, young Arabs have little hope of finding work in what the left would think of as a worker's paradise. Rioting, unrest, but you've been granted a long week end if you happen to land a job.
The last Israeli kibbutz to practice socialism has gone over to the dark side, embracing capitalism because socialism doesn't work. The people of France are beginning to make the same move, to leave the happy dreams of socialism behind because they are living with the results and they are not happy. They would like France to take the lead in Europe, to reclaim its once lofty post as the dominant nation. Getting back there is going to be very, very painful.
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