Voice of Bruck News Service

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Thursday, November 23, 2006

Poison Control and a Very Strange Conversation

Last Saturday, I had what I think must be the strangest conversation of my life. Here’s an excerpt:

Battery Control: “What kind of battery was it?”

Bruck: “It was an alkaline battery, number CR2032.”

“Do you still have the battery? Can you send it to us?”

“No, I’m sorry, we disposed of it. What do you need it for?”

“We’d like to know the condition of the battery and the state of charge.”

“It was completely discharged. We checked that.”

“What about the condition of the battery itself, was there any pitting or rust on it?”

“The surface appeared to be tarnished or rusted, but there was no pitting.”

In your friendly editor’s humble opinion, every parent should post the number for Poison Control in a convenient location in the house, and I also recommend storing it in the cell phone directory. Here’s their national hotline number: 1-800-222-1222. Actually I recommend that everybody keep the number handy – you just never know when you’ll need it, AND sometimes you get to have really, really odd conversations.

Poison control has come to our rescue several times, mainly while the kids were small - eating non-food items, spider bites, etc. BTW, Poison Control is a non-profit organization. I’m not sure how they’re funded, but apparently not directly by taxpayers. In any case, I commend them for the good job they do. BTW, you can ask them about pet poisoning issues as well.

We had to call them a few years ago about some bread made by the extraordinary mother of Bruck during a family vacation. She had made some rosemary bread using fresh rosemary from the herb garden. The bread had a rather peculiar taste and we discovered that the plants we thought were rosemary were actually lavender. After several of us had tried it, we decided to call Poison Control to determine whether or not we all had just inadvertently participated in a suicide pact. They informed us that we hadn’t, and that in fact some recipes actually call for lavender. We didn’t want to know which ones.

More recently, young David, (teenaged) son of Bruck, through some unfathomable circumstances, swallowed a battery. It was a small one, a disk battery used in items such as TV remotes. He tried to make himself barf it out to no avail. Poison Control advised medical attention, so Mrs. Bruck took him to the emergency room, where an X-Ray revealed that the battery was indeed still in his stomach. This was fortunate, as the doctors would have indicated surgery had the battery still been in the esophagus, but since it was in the stomach they said it should pass through his system without harm.

That was the good news. The bad news was that young David had to check his stool for batteries over the next few days. So dutifully he dropped his stool into a bucket, and checked them with a paint stirrer. The stench was of course overwhelming so we compelled him to perform the examinations outdoors, which only helped a little. After a couple of days of this, the battery finally did emerge, much to the relief of all of us. Ever inquisitive, young David actually cleaned the battery off, and tested it in the TV remote, and confirmed our expectations that it was completely “discharged.”

Meanwhile, we were getting regular calls from the caring folks at Poison Control, looking for updates on the situation, which we provided. The last call was from a woman from the “Battery Control” office, which I assume is a department of Poison Control. Either that or she mistakenly said “battery” instead of “poison” on our answering machine. At any rate, she left a callback number with a DC area code, and a case number.

After the foreign object was eliminated, I called Battery Control back to report digestive success. Since it was a Saturday, I fully expected to get voicemail, in fact, I would have preferred it, but no, I got a live operator, with whom I had the conversation excerpted above.

Upon hanging up, it struck me how patently absurd it was that there was someone in Washington (on a Saturday!) that was keenly interested in the condition of a battery extracted from my teenaged son’s stool, and actually wanted the digested battery. I observed to Mrs. Bruck that I think I had just had the strangest conversation of my life.

PS. Yes, we did get a copy of the X-Ray! Click on the pic for a larger view.



Thursday, November 16, 2006

Deconstructing the 90's

VOB readers: This one is a little long, but please bear with me - as they say, those who fail to learn history are condemned to repeat it. Well guess what, we're going to repeat history anyway, so let's have some fun while we’re at it!

The 20th century saw changes and progress unimagined by prior generations throughout the millennia of recorded history. We went from horse-drawn carriages to moon landings and planetary exploration. We went from Morse code telegrams over flimsy wires to instant global communications. We went from blah blah blah okay, you get the picture. But what an inauspicious way to wrap up this remarkable century - the 90's!

The cold war ended with the demise of the Soviet Union and the fall of the Berlin Wall in the late 80's, and we had a great economy throughout most of that decade as well. The 80's saw Islamic terror as conveniently remote and sporadic, political correctness primarily confined to college campuses, and while pink dress shirts and pickup trucks enjoyed brief popularity, metro-men nowhere to be found. So what happened? I think we're sufficiently removed from the decade known as the 90's to look at it objectively, so let's take a walk down the path of recent history, through the neural lens of the VOB:

On the economic front, the 90's started in a recession. It wasn't too bad of one - your friendly editor managed to land a good professional job in 1991, and held onto it for many years thereafter. Before I get too far into the economy though, I just want to introduce the principal engine for change and progress, namely the Almighty Internet. It was a fledgling in the early 90's, mainly the purview of geeks and hobbyists, with cumbersome text-based applications such as "Gopher" and Usenet newsgroups. But over the next couple of years, the worldwide web, coupled with affordable PCs and servers plus improvements in software, blew the doors open on the information superhighway. There are now an estimated 6 billion web pages, approximately 2/3 of which are devoted to pornography.

The recession was short-lived; we were drawn out of it by a potent mix of fraud and greed in the form of "dot com" investments. A few early dubious successes in web-based business ventures spurred greedy and ignorant venture capitalists, day traders, and other assorted grifters to dump bales of cash into quickly-contrived companies with preposterously flimsy or nonexistent business plans, which in turn ended up wasting most of it and confiscating the rest. So a lot of investors got soaked and a few new millionaires were created by this phenomenon, but the multiplier effect of this released capital (did you pay attention in your macroeconomics class?) raised the whole economy up a few notches for several years - home ownership was up, car sales were sky-high, the stock market broke new records regularly, unemployment was down to record lows.

But all good things come to an end, and by the late 90's the venture capitalists woke up with a big hangover, realized they'd been had, pulled what little they could back out of the worthless dot coms, and invested in more stable scams. Stocks plummeted, the economy went into a recession (a correction IMHO), and all the computer "gurus" and day traders sought respectable work. Of course politics and economics go hand in hand, and although he had little to do with it, the occupant of the oval office was all too happy to take credit for the booming economy of the 90's. I will commend him for one thing in this regard - knowing a good thing when he sees it and keeping his grubby hands off of it. On the other hand, I don't recall him apologizing when it went south.

Speaking of politics, under the skillful watch of ex-president #42, our culture hit new lows of respectability. I won't drag you through the sordid details again, but I just want to point out the following:

1) Despite what Geraldo would have you believe, the president's sexual misconduct at work is not normal.

2) The populace being subjected to the gory details of the president's sexual misconduct is also not normal.

3) The president's sexual misconduct necessitating a criminal investigation is way not normal.

That having been said, our lexicon was broadened by the words "arkancide" and "lewinsky," but somewhat diminished by the introduction of some uncertainty regarding the meaning of the word "is."

Global diplomacy was not exactly an unqualified success during the 90's either. In Somalia, we somehow managed to get a bunch of our guys killed and all we got was a good movie out of it. We did manage to free Kuwait from Iraq, but the seeds of our current conflict with Iraq were sown, and then nurtured throughout the decade. Regarding Kosovo / Bosnia / Herzegovina / Yugoslavia / Serbia / Czech Republic, I think I speak for the entire human race, living and deceased, when I politely inquire, what the #$*&%@! was that all about???

Perhaps the biggest irony of the decade, if not the entire century, is that the inventor of modern terrorism, one Yassir Arafat (MHRIH), was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1994 along with the Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and the Israeli Foreign Minister Shimon Peres. The most absurd image burned into my consciousness is a picture of Arafat and Rabin shaking hands in front of the Philanderer-in-Chief on the White House lawn following the short-lived Oslo Accord of 1993. The "peace," like every other peace following mideast talks, lasted about as long as Britney Spears' marriages.

But speaking of terrorism, while the 9/11 attacks have pretty well eclipsed every other terrorist act before or since, the 90's certainly held their own in that department, so let's take a closer look: The World Trade Center bombing - a lot of us have forgotten that it was actually bombed almost 10 years before it was brought down by box cutter-wielding adherents to the Religion of Peace. The first WTC bombing was by all accounts a failure, fortunately, with far less death and carnage than Mo's kids intended, and the actual bomber was caught through his own breathtaking ineptitude - he tried to get the deposit back for the truck he used to deliver the explosives! Other significant events include attacks on the US embassies in Tanzania and Kenya, and the suicide bombing of the USS Cole in Yemen (actually this happened in 2000, but 2000 is technically the last year of the 20th century). If the first decade of the 21st century is experiencing the maturity of modern terrorism, then the 90's were certainly its adolescence.

The US's response to these attacks was pretty anemic and profoundly unsatisfactory to many of us, particularly when you consider the results of not catching some of the bad guys when we had the chance. But, ...and this is a big but, hindsight is 20/20, and I think we need to keep this in perspective with regard to the issue that loomed much larger on the social landscape during the 90's, namely homegrown terror. The 90's homegrown terror hat trick consists of the Unabomber, the Oklahoma City Federal Building bombing, and the bombings of abortion clinics and the 1996 olympics in Atlanta (it wasn't confirmed until much later that these last two were linked). Fortunately, the perpetrators of these cowardly crimes were all apprehended, prosecuted, and imprisoned or executed. It won't bring their victims back to life, but it does make the pill a little easier to swallow.

Also, though not technically terror, three other tragic events helped shape the national psyche, namely Ruby Ridge (shootout between separatists and FBI), Waco (armed standoff with and incineration of a religious cult compound), and Columbine (armed attack on a high school). Volumes have been written and otherwise broadcast on these topics so I won't belabor them, other than to note that they contributed to, and had some of the same effects as, the homegrown terrorism. All this is to say, hey man, if we didn't pay enough attention to terrorism on the international scene, it's a bit more understandable when you consider what was going on domestically.

Let me digress into process improvement methods for a moment. Have you ever heard of the term "visual factory?" Not necessarily referring to an actual factory, it's a general term for using a visual means to represent a system or process that is inherently difficult or impossible to observe directly. It is used in many disciplines including law enforcement; you've probably seen crime shows on TV where the detectives put pins in a map showing where a serial criminal has struck, in an attempt to predict where he will stike again. This is an example of the visual factory.

Luke Helder, a young man from Pine Island, MN, may be considered the quintessential man of the 90's , having spent his formative years, ages 9 through 19 in them. He was a big fan of Nirvana, and a member of a grunge rock band himself, "grunge" being a significant movement in the pop music scene in that decade. Fully embracing 90's post-modern, post-Christian thinking, he held, and wrote about, his strange views on death, religion, and society. You can google his rantings if you want - they're pretty much the nonsense you'd expect from a creative but misguided high-school and college student of that era. And he was acquainted with the concept of the visual factory. No long after 9/11, in the Spring of 2002, bombs started appearing in mailboxes, some of which detonated, the others discovered and defused by bomb squads. The bombs started appearing in Illinois, then in Iowa, then Nebraska, then Colorado, then in Texas. Through tips and good police work, Helder was apprehended after a chase in Nevada, and cheerfully (!) confessed to the crimes. In all, six people were wounded by the six mailbox bombs than detonated, and 12 other bombs were discovered along a 3400-mile route. Mr. Helder was found incompetent to stand trial and currently languishes in a federal medical facility in Minnesota. The motive for his bombing spree? He was trying to make the FBI produce a smiley face of map pins across the middle of the continental United States!

Sunday, November 12, 2006

(another) update on FM Radio in DC

WBIG (100.3 FM) must have read the VOB (check out the FM radio in DC entry)! WBIG is the station, you may recall, that says they play the greatest rock and roll of all time but actually play pretty wimpy but pleasant stuff.

The other day they actually played a tune by Aerosmith - Walk This Way, from their Toys in the Attic album. I was really feeling like I had made a difference! Of course it was followed by Come Sail Away by Styx, probably for the nineteenth time that week. I need an IPOD!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Karaoke – Statute of Limitations

“Whipping Post” by the Allman Brothers came on the radio the other day while we were in the car. Mrs. Bruck said, “I’ll never forget that time….”

A somewhat tedious course of events that I won’t bore you with, led Mrs. Bruck and your friendly editor to a Karaoke bar one balmy summer evening last year in Ferndale, a working class / gay friendly suburb of Detroit. Prior to this trip I could honestly and forthrightly assert that I had never sung Karaoke. I’ve done plenty of singing, some of publicly, but never Karaoke… until that fateful summer night.

Karaoke is a strange pastime. Did I say strange? I mean strange. I think we all know what the basics are, right? The DJ plays an instrumental version of a song over the PA, and you sing the lead part, and if you’re in a really high class joint, you can watch the lyrics with a bouncing ball on a video monitor so you don’t get lost. Nothing too strange about that right? Well here’s the strange part – nobody appears to have a good time. They take it really seriously. They don’t smile and laugh, or bow or anything you’d expect. It’s like they’re marking time in purgatory. Occasionally they’ll be supportive to one another, but not in any kind of real encouraging way.

So I guess it’s not the pastime that’s odd, it’s the people that partake in it. I saw this once before – our amateur radio club had an after-meeting meeting at a bar in Hazel Park, MI (more working class, less gay-friendly suburb of Detroit), where they were having Karaoke night. None of the people talked to each other there either. One guy wouldn’t even sit with anyone or even make eye contact. Maybe the FBI should quit looking for serial killers in post offices and stake out Karaoke bars instead.

One thing I’ve heard is that the Japanese Karaoke bars, including ones in the US, have a lot of fun with it, which is what you’d expect everywhere. My bro-in-law tells me he once saw a group of young Japanese guys after several drinks singing the Madonna song, “Like a Virgin.” But not us white Americans – we’re all business when we get behind that mike.

So here we are with a bunch of people we didn’t know well (like I say, long story), sitting around a table picking out songs that we’d like to try, listening to the Karaoke singers struggling away on the stage, with Bruck wondering (1) should I be watching them, nobody else is, and (2) how can I get out of actually doing this myself? But like all addicts and true believers, they weren’t going to let me off that easy. So one after another they got up and sang, and with increasing pressure, kept urging me to do the same. Mrs. Bruck was able to beg off, saying that she was patently unable to sing, but that option was unavailable to me, as the woman who invited us had heard me sing competently several times already.

But the guy who sang “Whipping Post” changed everything. Now mind you, none of these singers is going to make American Idol any time soon, but this guy, hoowee, what a howler! I don’t think he hit a single note, and to make up for it, he was loud. But he did it. The whole song. “Whipping Post” is not an easy song for anyone to sing well but I guess if you’re going to sing badly, you may as well do it in style! So after the Whipping Post guy sang, there was really no way for me to remain a spectator.

So I started pawing through the notebooks on the table, looking for something I knew, and finally came upon “Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys” by Willie Nelson, which I got up and sang, with little fanfare. I think I did okay, but who’s to say? I didn’t get a lot of feedback.

The drinks, did I mention the drinks? I think I must have missed something over the last few years. Weird stuff they were pouring into themselves! I played it safe with beer, but the rest of the table was having pineapple upside down cake, oatmeal cookies, Jaeger-bombs, I couldn’t watch. Let me just say this, if you’re walking through the parking lot of Warrilow’s in Ferndale, MI at night, watch where you step.

So what I’m wondering is, what is the statute of limitations on Karaoke? How many years do I have to wait before I can once again, honestly and forthrightly, assert that I have never sung Karaoke?

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Open Letter to Chipotle

We went to Chipotle last Sunday afternoon, my first time to a restaurant of that chain. It’s one of those made-to-order burrito places ala Qdoba, Habanero’s, etc. I’d heard good things about Chipotle so I thought I’d give it a try. It was your basic slightly upscale fast food experience – good meal, a little pricey, maybe a bit too much rice and not enough meat in the sandwich, no actual chipotle peppers or seasoning– false advertising! Overall not too bad, but it probably won’t make my A list.

Here’s what struck me about the place though – everywhere you look in the place you get hit with some message about how virtuous they are. Lord have mercy, I haven’t seen such over-the-top self-righteousness since I left Ann Arbor. When you’re standing in line, you’re treated to a sign featuring a lengthy discourse on their napkins. They’re brown, you see, which requires fewer chemicals & less processing. They’re also supposedly made from recycled materials, so be careful not to scrape your lips with part of a fender from an ‘89 Oldsmobile. In case you miss the sign, the napkins themselves are printed with a similar message, using, one would have to assume, organic soy-based ink that was not tested on animals or manufactured with underpaid third world labor.

Next to the menu boards, there’s a dissertation on how the livestock whose flesh fills the steam trays were raised - organic feeding, free range, no hormones, etc. I didn’t capture the whole message, but I do remember it as being awfully smug. It wasn’t mentioned anywhere how the animals were actually slaughtered prior to their conversion to carnitas and fajitas. I assume that Chipotle’s meat suppliers only butcher animals that they could convince to commit suicide (after registering to vote in Cook County, IL).

And in case you didn’t get the message while standing in line or ordering, the soft drink cups are emblazoned with even more propaganda. Mine had a bio of some guy whose mission it was to convince all Midwestern farmers to raise their crops organically. I assume he also provides counseling on how to cope with foreclosure.

So their marketing package seems to be focused on convincing guilt-ridden customers to pay $38 for four burritos, drinks, chips, and indulgences against the negative impact they just had on Mother Earth by eating a meal and living another day as an oppressive capitalist pig.

Anyway, here’s my open letter to Chipotle:

Dear Chipotle:

Get over yourself already!

Love,

Bruck