I don't think this is what the Founding Fathers had in mind with freedom of the press

Found this on http://www.townhall.com/ a right wing, neocon web site.

Friday, November 20, 2009

AP Studies Palin's New Book, Health Care Bill

Posted by: Meredith Jessup at 3:16 PM

James Taranto has a bit today in the Wall Street Journal where he looks at the Associated Press' "fact-check" on Sarah Palin's new book and the attention they are devoting to the Democrats' health care overhaul:

An Associated Press dispatch, written by Erica Werner and Richard Alonso-Zaldivar, compares the House and Senate ObamaCare bills. We'd like to compare this dispatch to the AP's dispatch earlier this week "fact checking" Sarah Palin's new book.

Here goes:

Number of AP reporters assigned to story:
• ObamaCare bills: 2
• Palin book: 11

Number of pages in document being covered:
• ObamaCare bills: 4,064
• Palin book: 432

Number of pages per AP reporter:
• ObamaCare bill: 2,032
• Palin book: 39.3

On a per-page basis, that is, the AP devoted 52 times as much manpower to the memoir of a former Republican officeholder as to a piece of legislation that will cost trillions of dollars and an untold number of lives. That's what they call accountability journalism.



Since this info is provided by a rightwingneoconwebsite I don't believe that the healthcare bill would cost "untold number of lives". Plus I am not able to verify the numbers of reporters allegedly assigned to the task of reading Ms. Palin's book. However, even if you cut in half the number of AP reporters covering the book, I still find the ratio of reporters of bill to book to be an excellent example of the prostitution of main stream media.

I'm also not saying that Ms. Palin would make a good president for the United States. Frankly, I would prefer a president who looks less cute, and doesn't drop so many Gs from one's vocabulary.

I am saying that I resent the fact that it is so difficult to gain an accurate perspective of certain presidential candidates via today's main stream media. I naively consider such object reporting to be part of their job.

I am saying that our Founding Fathers, while working hard to assure the freedom of the press, did not expect our "watchdogs of democracy" to devolve into such media whores.

.

Smack Down!!!!

I was involved in a contest of wit with a former college cheerleader a while back, and found out I was unarmed.

In order to not embarrass the young lass, let's just call her “Jessica”, okay?

So anyway, one night at the fire station I'm hanging out with a buddy of mine, Dan, who comes into town once in a while to run the ambulance with me. Dan is a terrific guy, very smart and a most capable EMS provider. He also has a wicked sense of humor. So wicked in fact that when the crew Captain makes up the duty roster, if Dan and I are running together the Captain sends out an email warning the rest of the crew. I am not making this up.

So, there I was trading jokes with Dan when a relatively new member of our crew, the former college cheerleader, wanders over and encroaches upon the volunteer fire department comedy channel. She starts complaining about how difficult it is to have a boy friend because boys mature SO much slower than girls. Dan and I, in sync and with no need of rehearsal, start saying "Oh yeah, they sure do!! SNORT! SNORT!! SNORT!!!!”

Basically making complete asses of ourselves, because, you know, we're BOYS!

Besides, to be fair to Dan and me, Jessica WAS warned.

Anyway, as Dan and I are snorting away Jessica rolls her eyes like a typical mature girl and walks away.

Shortly after that the former college cheerleader wanders back, probably because of Dan and my magnetic personalities.

She continues her lament and then says something that triggers my response of "Well ... you know ... boys DO mature slower than girls.", which I thought was incredibly witty. Dan and I prepare to begin our famous snorting routine once again when we are ambushed by Jessica as she opens her eyes wide, stares at me and says in a slightly brittle tone of voice (If I do say so myself):

"YEAH?!? WELL YOU'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!".

Ouch.

Body slam.

Cheerleader - 1

Seasoned EMS provider - 0

Attached is a picture of the former college cheerleader. We had just run two calls, one including a difficult extrication from a car wreck. It was near midnight and we still had six hours of shift left. We are all tired with bags under our eyes.

She doesn't look like a perky college cheerleader NOW, does she?!?

So there.

I know that’s probably petty of me, but then again I’m a boy.

Love, actually

One of my lovely wife’s favorite movies is “Love Actually”

It is a Christmas movie, except this particular movie is seen many times a year in our household, unlike my Leg Lamp. But that’s another story.

Anyway, the movie begins and ends with a wonderful collage of people greeting each other in an airport. The touching scenes seem genuine, and indeed they are. The director secretly recorded families and friends greeting each other and if they caught a particularly good greeting, ran out and asked the participants to sign a waiver.

The scenes, as well as the movie, are heart warming.

However, it makes you wonder: who are these people? From where did they come? Where will they go next? What is their relationship to one another?

What is their story?

Ironically the same applies to volunteering as hosts in the USO lounge.

Every once in a while, not on an infrequent basis, someone will come into the lounge, drop a donation into the kitty, smile, and walk out.

Not a word is said, except of course our “Thank you”.

Who is this person? What is their relationship with the USO that would make them pop in, donate, and then move on in a Lone Rangeresk like manner? (Pity the reader who doesn’t recognize the reference. “Tonto, do NOT go into town alone! OOOOHHHHH!!!! I’ll bet that’s going to leave a mark”).

So, one wonders about this kind individual who supports the cause of the USO in such a stealthy manner.

For example, one day, a tall, lean gentleman stops in and donates, leaving as quietly as he entered.

Salt and pepper hair. Nice looking. Pleasant face.

Why?

Who?!?

Former military with good memories about the USO?

Family member current military? Friend in the military? Distant past relative current/former military?

Is he a fan of the Lt. Dan Band?

Does he listen to the local radio host Jack Diamond, a fantastic supporter of the USO?

Did he think of the deserving troops when he saw the USO sign?

Was he a Vietnam Veteran with thoughts of challenging service? Was a childhood friend a Vietnam Veteran?

Does he have a child in the service?

Is he just grateful, like me, to live in the land of the free because of the brave?

Alas, we have no waiver to which to refer for more information. No point of reference. Just a fleeting moment when a stranger, now a friend, stops in to support the cause.

And there you have it.

This particular story has no end. This particular story will remain untold.

Intriguing.

Mystifying.

Just as warm hearted as the movie, but not a movie. It’s real this time.

This one is face to face.

Certainly there are other Mysteries of the Universe, but this mystery feels good, like a warm quilt across one’s lap on a chilly Christmas Eve.

I suppose, in its own way, it is love actually.

.

Two trapped, one fleeing, one fighting and a "WTF"

Halloween is considered a national holiday by my thirty-nine year old son, Ross.

In celebration of this holiday, Ross and family will decorate the home, yard and garage with scary stuff. He and his garage band also play some incredible tunes to entertain friends and family alike. They really are good and fun to watch (and listen).

As this national event approaches, Ross's lovely wife clearly states:

- only so many dollars will be used for new, terrifying displays

- decorating may not commence before October 1st, allowing just barely enough time to get ready for October 31st.

Despite these limitations Ross is as diligent now as he was as a kid, and his Garage of Terror has become a work of art as well as a central feature for the whole neighborhood, including a stop on the local hayride.

Of course, the front yard is duly decorated with the giant blow up spider, complementing the spider webs and headstones.

However, the piece de resistance is his two car garage. For Halloween, the garage is fully decorated including an entrance and, if the kids make it out, an exit. The path to follow is well defined by black sheets hanging from the ceiling, forming a Corridor to Hell. The garage is all blacked out except for the seizure inducing strobe lights. There are severed limbs, spiders, a casket, and ghouls; some in mannequin form, some family members and some local neighborhood kids who apparently hold a grudge against other kids, or are just bullies.

Included in the family of volunteers are Ross’s big brother, Jimbo, my lovely wife with a dark green witch's face and a large mole encased nose, family children, in-laws and, this year, my brother and his wife who currently live in an RV, unless you’re from the IRS in which case they live in South Dakota.

The Garage from Hell is designed with hiding places that are built in at strategic locations, allowing us to jump out and scare the snot out of children of all ages. As a group, we judge the success of our efforts by the decibel level of the screams, the number of kids (of all ages) that start to cry, the number of mothers who pull their children from the arms of the naive fathers as they start to enter the Garage with a Reputation, and finally, the amount of candy that is strewn about the floor of the Hades Garage, left behind by terrified children as they make a break for the exit (only to be ambushed by my brother one last time within sight of survival).

We all have individual stories of success. Mine include:

The two adults whom I trapped against the wall of the garage. An adult man and an adult woman. The woman was too terrified to scream, while her male protector could just stand there and yell “help! Help!! HELP!!!” It got to be so boring to me that I finally moved WAY over so they could make a break for it (only to be ambushed within sight of the exit by my brother).

The teenage girl (our favorite category of victim) who could just scream as she back up towards the recently vacated garage wall. As she screamed and took a step back, I screamed and took a step forward. It went on like that for quite some time. Scream … feminine step back. Counter-scream …. Ghoulish step forward. Scream …. Feminine step back. Counter-scream … ghoulish step forward. And on and on and on. I finally let her go. The kid with her complimented me on my style and gave me a high five.

Alas, one young teenage lady, given the option of “flight or fight” chose the wrong one and smashed my nose with her bag of candy. Felt like rock candy. She got away, and after seeing what happened to me I think my brother pulled back under his rock and let her escape.

Then there was the fearless teenage boy who struted through my kid’s garage, throwing his chest out in order to display his masculinity. My oldest son attempted to scare this kid but the kid just kept walking. As he turned the corner I leapt out with my ghoulish mask. I give him credit, he didn’t officially flinch, but I did detect a crack in the veneer of manhood as he froze in his tracks, eyes growing wide and uttering “What the fuck?!?!”. Regaining his composure, he then strolled past. Heh … heh … heh…. I’ll count that as a win.

Punk.