Flip-flops Are As Common As...Well, Beach Shoes

John Kerry took it on the chin for a few alleged "flip-flops" on political issues as did Mitt Romney this past year. Now nearly everyone with the ability to rub two words together is tossing out criticism of John McCain and his offshore drilling stance as well as Barack Obama's decision to forego public funding for his campaign. Depending on your persuasion, you will argue that your candidate's opponent is "flip-flopping" which, of course, is intended to mean they are indecisive, or worse - they change with the political winds.

I won't speculate on either candidate's motive but I will say that changing your mind on an issue is not all that bad. We all do it at times once we get more information, or talk to others, or even just ruminate on it a little more. The candidates get skewered when, after consideration and maybe some new information, they change their views on an issue. If we couldn't change our minds, or be influenced by other arguments, or see another's point of view, then any further discussion and discourse would ever be necessary.

I, for one, am glad that Obama has decided not to take the taxpayer funding. As he says, he is still getting "public" funding, only now it's voluntary. McCain's change of heart on offshore drilling is also a good one. He should go farther and push for more drilling in many places in the U.S. but that's a topic for another post.

Changing one's mind, even on major issues, should be looked at carefully to be sure that it is not just pandering but we should be glad that some are not stuck in their "hidebound" ideologies and can have the courage to admit their first stance may have been wrong, or at least wrong in the current times. That signifies a greater leader than one who will not budge from a view that is now out of touch. I think both candidates have this ability to listen carefully and maybe be persuaded to consider the other person's view.

Blind Faith should exist only as the name of a band.

"The Happening" Isn't - A Movie Review

I should have believed the few critics that panned this M. Night Shyamalan production but I convinced my wife to see it before we overheard the plot and any "secrets" before we actually saw it. Most films that we "may" want to see simply go on our Netflix list, but there are some with serious plot twists that if revealed would render the film impotent.

I am not exaggerating much when I say that this movie was the worst I have seen in a long time. Not only was the story lame from the very beginning, the acting was incredibly wooden from even the known stars. Mark Wahlberg would do better modeling more underwear for a career even at his advanced age (for a model, that is). As I watched I began to think that this might be a tongue-in-cheek send-up of M. Night genre movies rather than one to take seriously. Seriously.

I won't spoil the show for those who will "just have to see it" hoping, as I was, that M. Night might again hit his mark as he did with "The Sixth Sense". I still shudder thinking of that excellent movie and its chilling ending.

So my advice to my friends will be to skip this one. Don't even waste a Netflix spot. I'd rather rent "Gigli" or "Ishtar" and that isn't saying much. The critics panned this flick, and noted (which I disregarded) that M. Night's movies have been sliding further with each new production. It seems he peaked on his first one and is now making money on his (former) good name while he can. Shyamalan on you, M.

Ain't still ain't a word

This past week I observed two instances where everyday people were interviewed about their circumstances. One about the Iowa floods and one about a court verdict he didn't agree with. Both of the interviewees knew they were talking to reporters and knew their comments would likely get some air.

The first, a 20-something Iowa farm girl, noted that "It ain't fair" that these floods have caused such hardship. The second, a 30ish man commented in anger that "it ain't right" when the verdict went against his friend in a kidnapping/torture case.

Now most of us grew up knowing and frequently hearing that "Ain't" is not a word. That is not really true, of course, and die hard users will point to the dictionary where "ain't" does appear, never mind that the entry goes on to say 'colloquial" or "non-standard English".

So, snob that I have been accused of being, when I hear "ain't" used, I cringe and develop a vision of the uneducated. This may be unfair to some, but criminy, there cannot be one American that, when asked, would know that "ain't" is not acceptable. Especially in an interview. On television. In front of God and everyone.

OK, there are far worse things these days, but maybe if we could pick at a few easy ones, we might make some progress in cleaning up the language. Oh, them were the days.

United Kingdom - Part II

Settling into our coach seats, the little group of 19 slowly got to know each other as we started across the English countryside. We were all either Americans, Australians, Canadians, or New Zealanders. Of course, Phil didn't waste time and called us by the friendlier terms of "Yanks", "Aussies", "Canucks", and "Kiwis".

Phil, who turned out to be very knowledgeable about not only the customary and usual history, had many tangential stories which added greatly to our trip. Whether they were true or not, we would have to wait to Google his facts later.

We came onto the Salisbury Plain after a short ride eagerly anticipating our up close and personal visit to the monolithic stones at Stonehenge. Once parked, our group ambled over the site to see the 4500 year old assemblage of 30-50 ton carved stones. Like so many before us, our group pondered how those people 40-50 centuries removed, could have manipulated those stones into place. And the bigger question - Why?

When our 45 minutes were up, we were all dutifully on the bus checking our digital pictures and silently thinking about what we had just seen. As the bus began to move and we pulled away to head to the cathedral town of Salisbury, we watched the mysterious stones fade from our view.

Salisbury Cathedral was built in 38 years (a remarkably short time for such things) from 1220 to 1258 and still has the tallest spire in Great Britain, some 404 feet. This cathedral was built after the people moved from Old Sarum to be on higher ground. The tour group had barely enough time to see the cathedral, take a quick trip onto the medieval streets of the town, and be back to Phil for bus boarding, but like so much else on this tour we only got a sampling of the sights.

We arrived at our hotel in Plymouth where we had our first unremarkable dinner. Although we felt that the food on this trip was far less than gourmet, it was not the fault of Trafalgar, but unfortunately was the norm for most food in the U.K. There were a few exceptions, but darn few.

The next event was a boat ride along the River Tamar, first espying the Mayflower steps in the harbor where the persecuted pilgrims' Mayflower began its voyage to the New World. For Diana and me, it completed the circle as we had been to Cape Cod last year and viewed Plymouth Rock, where the same pilgrims allegedly stepped off the ship to begin their lives in America. The river cruise was entertaining with Cornwall on the far side and the Plymouth Royal Navy base on the other. Our bus met us downstream to continue a drive through the Cornish countryside to Land's End, then the St. Ives artists colony (of seven wives fame). We later rode onto the Bodmin moor where we stopped for a break at the "Jamaica Inn" , made famous by the Hitchcock-directed movie of the same name, based on the Daphne du Maurier novel.

We spent another night in the Plymouth hotel, and after an early full-English breakfast we headed for Glastonbury Abbey, or rather the ruins of. Seems when King Henry VIII wanted to dissolve the church, he had his men confiscate the wealth of the many abbeys, and then ravage some in the process.

Speaking of full English breakfasts, we were amused at the baked beans and bangers (sausage) that appeared daily, along with Black Pudding, which was the even more disgusting blood sausage. Pudding it was not, although the English seem to use the term wildly. Yorkshire pudding sounds like it will be sweet and milky and although much better than Black Pudding, was a disappointment unless you knew what was coming - a piece of fried batter. Sort of like drinking water from a Coke bottle. Not bad, but not what you expected.

This post is already a little long, so we'll pick up on the next stops in Bath, and then on to Cardiff, Wales in the next segment. Cheerio! (and that's not just a little round oat cereal either).

Obama vs. Clinton - Is It Over?

It appears that the two may have done some "talking nice" last night, however, the details are secret so far. I can imagine HRC offering to sacrifice herself to help and take the dreaded VP spot. Obama then ponders that while he might be able to abide her presence in the West Wing, he couldn't fathom having WJC dropping by to chat every day. Or wandering the White House anytime he pleases. I mean, how do you tell an ex-President he can't come into the White House. He probably still has his key.

No, I think Obama will let her think she is on the short list, but he won't tell her which list she is really on. He will NOT pick her as VP.

He may offer her a cabinet post, State is the most likely, although HHS might also be palatable for her to gain the bully pulpit for her health care. My money will be on offering no job at all, but if I had to pick, I would think a Presidential Special Assistant for Health care would be amenable to both. Oh, I mean both Barack and Hillary. Bill will be furious.

My United Kingdom Come - A Journal, Part I

My goodness. Everyone who knows me wants a full accounting of our recent trip to the U.K. Well, maybe not everyone. Maybe only a few, but still I might as well tell the tale for all to see.

Diana and I had planned this trip for some time and when we reached the Madison airport and found our flights were not cancelled or otherwise delayed, we knew that we were in for a treat. The short hop in a regional jet to O'Hare in Chicago was uneventful, so we looked for more adventure on our overseas flight.

The plane, a 767, was much bigger although leg room was set for the last group of vacationing pygmies. Knowing that, I had upgraded to "Economy Plus" and got about 4-5 more inches of leg room. Being 6'4" tall, this was a blessing for a 7+ hour flight to London Heathrow.

On arrival and after numerous passport checks, I was to look for the Trafalgar reps who would whisk us to our hotel in Chelsea. After wandering and reading the placards held up by many other souls who had no idea who they were looking for, I stumbled on to two lovely ladies with clipboards. Luckily they were looking for us as well, and got us planted near the shuttle office to await our coach.

After the half-hour wait and the almost hour drive, we pulled up to the Copthorne Millennium Hotel at Chelsea Football Club. Long name, but would turn out to be consequential. We checked in and then not knowing anyone or anything I searched for the Trafalgar rep (another one) with no luck. The helpful concierge noted in his big notebook that the T-rep would be in the hotel tomorrow from 2:00 pm to 6:00 pm. How helpful. By 2: 00 pm tomorrow we should be in Plymouth, England looking at ruins or ships or pubs or something.

We settled in to our room and later found that the rep was indeed there and I was called to meet her in the bar. She apologized for the hotel not knowing where she was, and then gave me our needed times for the next day. Up at 6:00 am, luggage in the hall, by 6:15 am, breakfast by 7:00 am, and then meet our Tour Director (TD) and coach at 8 am. This was to be the schedule, give or take 15 minutes, for the rest of the trip. Very well organized but also very early.

By 8:00 am and group of people were milling outside, chatting as couples, and not mixing well with others. I astutely surmised that these were our fellow travellers, our coach mates, our quixotic partners in the Kingdom's lore. We all smiled at each other, no one wanting to be the first to speak, until we saw our TD walking toward us. He calls out, "Jansen's, where are the Jansen's?" I immediately freeze wondering what calamity could already have visited us.

"Your luggage has holes" said the strange and stern man who would be Phillip Rodney Anthony Horne, the Tour Director and our host, companion, and even friend for the next 11 days.

Diana looks worried until I say, "Holes, you mean the little pokes in the sides?"

"Yes, you have holes and I check this luggage carefully and don't want to be blamed for holes" said Philip.

"Those were there from many prior trips so you don't have to worry", I said trying not to appear embarrassed in front of 15 others in the group who no doubt had new designer luggage. "It's tough stuff", I offered further.

Philip smiled, harrumphed, and moved on to others.

After boarding our quite nice Trafalgar coach, we settled in when we found our that our group was only 19 (a pair if New Zealanders to be picked up at Park Lane). We could each have our own double seat and although no one claimed another seat at first, as the trip progress fewer couples troubled to sit together.

We roared into traffic in Chelsea heading westerly to begin our exciting journey across England, Wales, and Scotland. The day was sunny, our partners seemed jovial, and our TD lost a little of his gruffness within about 10 miles. It was a facade, of course. Start tough and ease up later.

Except when it comes to being on time. Philip's rules were short and succinct. "When we arrive at a stop, I will give you a time to be back on the bus. That is not a suggestion, it is the time to be back on the bus. This is not your personal tour, this is a group tour. If you think you are special and need a few more minutes than anyone else, we will wave at you as we go by. You can then arrange your own private tour. It is rude to be late and to waste the time of your fellow travelers, so I won't. I have had a few complaints from those I have left behind, but as you can see I am still working here."

None of us moved as we waited to hear if there were more rules, like not laughing, or not taking pictures, or maybe even not talking. Luckily for us, the rules were not that draconian; in fact most of us agreed with the time limits as we all had stories to tell about other "entitled" people who would arrive 10 or more minutes late with a giggle and a muttered excuse. For the next 11 days, not one person was late for anything. In fact, the rest of us would "tsk-tsk" at the last person back on the bus even when there was five minutes until the Phil Deadline.

Onward toward Plymouth, and the subject of the next post. Come back again to read about Stonehenge, Salisbury, the Mayflower folks, the British naval base, and the awful pub food we had to endure in Cornwall.

Ta ta for now (TTFN).

Coining a New Word - Eddress

Eddress, a neologism compressing "e-mail address" to a quicker, niftier form, as in "Give me your eddress so I can send you the document", needs some support.

I can't claim to have created this useful word but enjoy using it. It is so efficient. In fact, it looks like the first use was way back in 1991 but it apparently has not had widespread popularity. New words appear everyday, and being the purist that I am, I am often resistant to these new formations that I will never, no never, use. I still avoid using "prioritize" although I guess it has made the cut and is now accepted as corporate jargon. Harrumph.

But "eddress" I like. It is efficient and understandable. And its prevalence will grow only through usage. So I ask all readers to begin to use it in their writings, their e-mails, and their Christmas cards (I also used to refuse to use Xmas, but I'll save that for later).

The reason for this post is that I use eddress on my editing web site (http://www.jeraldjansen.com/) and I got an e-mail from a surfer who pointed out that my use of such a non-acceptable word might erode potential customers confidence in my editing and writing abilities. I doubt it and hope that others will see the word and say, "hey, this is really efficient and clear, I will use it 14 times today alone". Something like that anyway.

So good readers, see if you can integrate eddress into your writings and correspondence. We have to get this word out so that in a few years, even Webster's will add it to the dictionary.