Beer (Part 2 of 2 on "Under the Influence")

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Last week I wrote about alcoholism and had planned to discuss my special dislike of beer in that blog. Once I started writing about beer I realized it deserved a blog all of its own.

Almost every time I run an errand I see someone carrying a huge colorful, cardboard cube filled with beer cans. These cubes are very heavy and the bearer strains while lugging it down the street. Quite often these cubes are escorted all the way to someone’s home on foot. I’ve often wondered if the person lives near the store and simply walks over to get his or her supply, or if there’s a grim reason why he or she isn’t hefting the cube into the back of a car. I see it so often that we are either blessed with environmentally aware beer drinkers who prefer to walk rather than poison the air with vehicle emissions or, more likely, they are forbidden to drive any longer. I’ve observed people walking down the street with a toddler happily kicking away inside the stroller while a huge beer cube teeters precariously on top of the canopy. Though the cubes come in a couple of sizes, I mostly see the giant cubes. Sometimes I see beer cubes in shopping carts with children sitting in the little built in seats. Diapers and beer. Throw in a hatchet and we have a horror movie.

Beer is a worldwide respected beverage. It’s an ancient beverage and anthropologists all over the world have discovered methods for the production of beer in many ancient cultures at dig sites. Perhaps it is not quite the same as the beer consumed today but the point is, beer has been here quite some time.

I may have an allergy related to ingredients used in the preparation of beer. For some reason the mere smell of a pitcher of beer sitting on a table while out to eat with friends is enough to put me off my meal. I not only do not like the taste of beer but I can’t stand the smell. I especially dislike the smell emanating from a body filled with beer.

Beer drinkers have a propensity to belch and fart uncontrollably. At least that’s their explanation: “Oh, sorry, I just couldn’t control that one.” I rarely hear this from people who have just eaten a bowl of beans. Though the bean eater still oozes odors, beer drinkers explode with odors (along with the odor of their breath and stuff that comes out of their pores). And let’s not forget the bathroom. Something happens to the bowels of a beer drinker. It’s not pleasant. The body aroma of a beer drinker the morning after a night of binging beer is foul and their first trip to the bathroom in the morning just about ruins that little room. Add a large meal containing garlic to the beer drinker’s digestive track the previous evening and the morning trip to the bathroom can ruin an entire home. Beer and garlic do not do well in the digestive track. The next morning the combination is a medley of putrid odors that thankfully I have not had to endure for many years now. However, I can still sort of smell them as I write this blog. Ew.

When I first came of an age where I wanted to experiment with alcohol, beer was the logical choice. It had been in my home and in many of the homes I visited since birth. I tried the occasional sip at home and didn’t like it. As I got older more and more of the people I knew were drinking beer. In social situations I often would take the offered beer and nurse it for an entire day or evening faking sips. My salvation was that most people were drunk and were not monitoring my consumption. The usual routine was to casually go to the bathroom and pour it down the drain. Early on I decided I needed another form of alcohol to be “part of the crowd” and rum and Coke fit the bill. I managed to make a fool of myself on several occasions during this experimental phase. I also tried Screwdrivers and they almost killed me. For years I couldn’t drink orange juice. Even now I sometimes swear I can taste vodka with my morning orange juice.

Perhaps because beer is relatively inexpensive compared to other alcohol it’s the drink of choice for many people, especially young people just starting out in the world of possible addictions that are presented to them. Marijuana is called the gateway drug (leading to other drugs) but I believe beer is a much more sinister and insidious gateway drug. It’s legal and so easy to obtain and if one is under age an older friend or even a stranger in exchange for a little “tip” can purchase it more easily than pot. People who wouldn’t be caught dead smoking a joint would not hesitate to down a pony keg.

Beer can also be somewhat of a gourmet beverage when made by a fancy little microbrewery or a foreign brewery that has been making famous beer for centuries. I have tried some of these beers at the urging of my beer-drinking friends and I’m always left with a terrible taste in my mouth after a sip and can’t go forward. Some have begged me to finish a glass to get the full body and flavor of the brew and by the end of the glass (or mug) I’m done for. It usually requires a quick trip to the ladies room.

But beer also carries with it emotional issues for me. Most of the alcoholics I’ve been exposed to all of my life were heavy beer drinkers. Some also consumed other alcohol before, during, and after consumption of beer but the beer factor was always primary. (I’ve been exposed to world-class drinkers.) Along with their bizarre boozed up behavior they all had that familiar and nauseating odor coming from every pore and edifice in their bodies. And of course, drunks always want to get close to everyone and hang all over them. Some drunks consider themselves hilarious, charming, sexy, extremely knowledgeable, and great lovers. Their sober victims feel embarrassed, mauled and pawed and sometimes physically hurt, albeit unintentionally, but the mauling and pawing comes with the alcoholic’s inability to maneuver their various body parts properly. And they are far from knowledgeable in a drunken stupor. I also recall friends coming to work bright and early in the morning and as I passed them wishing them a “good morning” I was hit with the odor--the distinct beer drinking to excess odor--so familiar to me. A lifetime of familiarity.

I’ve discussed this aversion to beer with many people and one friend pointed out that though there truly may be an allergy related problem with beer for me, perhaps I’m allergic to hops, they believe it’s the behavior of the beer drinkers that has put me off the beverage. I’ve thought about that long and hard and I agree. True, I don’t like beer’s taste but why do I loathe the beverage to the extent that I do? It’s the years and years of watching lives being tossed down the toilet (literally) and the influence it’s had on me and my desire to live an alcoholic free life. I say “alcoholic” free life as opposed to an “alcohol” free life because I no longer am required to suffer the presence of an alcoholic. Further, I do believe it’s possible to enjoy alcohol in moderation.

The extent to which I have avoided beer and beer drinkers is legendary among my family and friends. When invited to beer drinking events such as a Super Bowl party I always decline. The sheer volume of beer at those events is staggering and turns the sports fans into raving idiots. The smell in the “entertainment” room is overwhelming then add the exaggerated screaming and table pounding and I’m ready for a padded room. It will, therefore, come as no surprise that I don’t like football either. I don’t like competitive sports at all (a topic for a future blog) but football is at the top of that list. Another friend suggests that my dislike of football and beer, partners always, is all of the aforementioned associations. It’s true. Just the word “football” conjures up smells and sounds I can’t suppress. Other sports do the same for me but football is the king of bad behavior in a social situation.

One of the earliest misconceptions I had to overcome in my youth was that beer drinkers weren’t alcoholics. Beer drinkers perpetuated that myth. Countless times I heard them state, “Well, I’m not an alcoholic. I just drink beer.” They weren’t lying. They believed that malarkey. So did I. Again, I come from the era where an alcoholic slept in the gutter after drinking whiskey all night. Someone who just drank beer and held down a job and had friends and clean clothes couldn’t possibly be in the same category as the whiskey or wine guzzling gutter bum. Little did I realize then that the path to living in a gutter often starts with drinking beer to excess. People aren’t born in the gutter. They arrive there after they can no longer manage their addiction and the last little effort they can muster to go to work each day. Beer tends to lead the way.

I like coffee.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Under the Influence (Part 1 of 2)

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Substance abuse ruins lives. Of all the substances that contribute to those lost lives alcohol still reigns supreme. I suppose because it’s easy to obtain and relatively inexpensive it is the most popular drug of choice. And it’s legal. I have lived in and around alcoholism my entire life. I’ve lived with alcoholics, worked with alcoholics, maintained friendships with alcoholics, and I’ve lived next door to alcoholics. No area of life is too far removed from alcoholism.

When I grew up the term “alcoholic” was not used. If someone had a drinking problem they were a drunk, a lush, a drinker, a boozer, and other such sad descriptive labels. If they received the title “drunk” that usually referred to someone who lived in a gutter on skid row (or who would soon BE living in a gutter on skid row) and the term was synonymous with “bum,” which has been upgraded to “homeless person.” We are now enlightened. For those too young to truly understand the term “skid row” here is a little video to enlighten them:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0kSBiu1IGk

Okay. So that was actually a little bit of fun, but the message is clear. Skid row is a place no one wants to be.

Growing up I heard adults discuss the various issues and concerns surrounding drinking and had close experience with abusive consumption of alcohol. I did not recognize that abuse as such. In fact, I was well into my 30s before I finally saw the little light bulb over my head. It finally hit me what was going on in the world of alcoholism and I was able to identify it. For so many years I did not understand the entire area of substance abuse.

In our youth we often overindulge in many areas of life and alcohol is usually one of them. In my youthful brain I saw that type of drinking as nothing more than exuberant and stupid behavior but because the people I observed in alcohol stupors were not “bums” and not living in gutters, I did not label them as “drunks” or later, “alcoholics.” It took attention from experts and increased awareness about exactly what it meant to be an alcoholic for me to realize how closely I lived and worked and recreated with many alcoholics.

We now all know there are many types of alcoholics and that it reaches into all lifestyles. It is the corporate executive, the teacher, the little old lady next door to us, the guy at the oil change shop, the grocer, the baker, the candlestick maker. It’s everywhere. And not all alcoholics are falling down drunk making it easy for us to identify them. No, many have managed to conceal their affliction to almost all around them. Especially in the workplace. The desire to drink is often superseded only by the desire to remain employed. Alcoholics are not stupid. These people know they must maintain employment and for many of them that’s all they are able to manage. They put all their energies into drinking and maintaining some level of employment and everything else (and everyone else) falls by the wayside. It’s all about getting wasted and there is no room for anything else.

I do not have nor have I ever had a drinking problem. I have a Margarita here and there when I’m out with friends or family. If I choose a Margarita then I won’t have wine with my meal. If I want wine, I skip the Margarita. I do not have any alcohol in my house. It isn’t because I’m a staunch teetotaler it’s just that I never think to buy it and frankly, it’s expensive so I prefer other items at the store. Sometimes at Christmas I receive a nice bottle or two of gift wine, which usually lasts me all year. Sometimes when I open a bottle of wine it sits in my frig for several weeks before it’s consumed one little glass at a time. Don’t get me wrong. I like wine and I like Margaritas and Appletinis. I’m just a lightweight when it comes to drinking. A little goes a long way for me. If I’m on vacation I may have drinks every day but I have gone on many vacations where that didn’t fit in. There were other things I wanted to do and drinking would interfere with the other activities. It usually does.

In my younger years there were a few times when I did drink too much on occasion. I was quite thin and if I had a cocktail prior to dinner it would hit me like a ton of bricks. One cocktail could put me under the table in those days. During my single years I attended parties where it was considered cool to drink to the point of vomiting. A badge of honor of sorts. I did that on several occasions and always hated it and hated that I felt obligated to do that to fit in with my friends. That is something some of us grow out of and I did. At some point I realized I didn’t want to be cool if it meant tossing my guts at parties. I did a lot of fake drinking.

That is often the point of realization for all of us. Some go forward with drinking throughout life at that point and some of us stop. If science could understand why some of us stop and some continue it would be tremendous. Science now explains that alcoholism and other substance abuses are physiological and seem to run in families and therefore we can’t help ourselves. How tidy.

If we have cerebral palsy, we can’t do much about it. If we have terminal cancer, we can’t do much about it. If we have muscular dystrophy, we can’t do much about it. If we are alcoholics, we can stop drinking. We absolutely can stop drinking. There are more substance abuse programs available than grains of sand. There are drugs that help people stop drinking. (How odd that is.) We are an addicted species and companies catering to that addiction are making huge sums of money. The alcohol industry gets us there and the “health care” system folds us in with promises of recovery. The style of treatment is broad and ranges from the sublime to the ridiculous. Many addicted people become addicted to their recovery programs. Many alcoholics stop drinking but maintain their previous behaviors. If they were mean, cruel, selfish, nasty, lying, cheating, cheapskate drunks, chances are they still are. But they can now drive a car safely.

If we live with someone who is an alcoholic we are labeled an “enabler.” Today people are labeled enablers when they merely exist with alcoholics. Years ago they were considered saints for holding their families together. We do not receive that label if we live with someone with Parkinson’s disease. Of the two “diseases,” one we enable, the other we help. It is an odd disparity. We give the alcoholic, a sanctioned diseased person according to medical professionals, our support and attention just as we would our Parkinson’s victim. When the Parkinson’s victim can no longer work or take care of their family, we continue to take care of all the needs related to the family and the victim’s life. We are not labeled enabler. Help a drunk into bed and we are enabling.

Something is rotten in Denmark. Alcoholism either is or isn’t a disease. We can’t have it both ways. Professionals bend over backwards making it easy for the alcoholic to live a pity party and if we help them at all we are co-dependent enablers. Bull.

I was addicted to cigarettes many years ago and so I do have some knowledge of how it feels to quit an addiction. In fact, quitting smoking is considered the most difficult addiction to relinquish. More so than heroin addiction or equal to it. However, the difference between a cigarette addiction and an alcohol addiction is after smoking I can still drive a car to buy more cigarettes. Sitting at home and getting blasted then hopping in the car to go to the store to get more alcohol is scary.

Alcohol hurts on many levels. Strangers are at the mercy of the drunk driver. We are all at the mercy of each other’s actions in life but when harm comes to us through the deliberate actions of someone under the influence, it’s criminal. It seems illegal drug options and their users and abusers are treated more harshly in our justice system. I presume it’s because drugs aren’t legal but alcohol is. Both addictions create the same havoc. I’d like to see tougher penalties for all drug/alcohol abusers when driving or participating in any activity where they might harm someone. This includes protecting their family members. Alcohol and drugs are most often present when domestic violence calls are placed to police departments.

If the health care industry continues to consider alcoholism a disease then it must remove the term enabler. “Enablers” were put on the earth to keep it rotating. Enablers keep the workforce going, keep the kids going to school each day, keep buying the groceries, keep paying the bills, keep encouraging the alcoholic to join life again, keep families together until they can’t any longer. They fight for the lives of their families to the bitter end. Coworkers are often burdened with extra work when their alcoholic buddies call in sick, repeatedly, or come in hung over or come in still drunk. Do they enable? Their supervisors damn well expect them to. If you don’t “enable,” you aren’t being supportive; if you do “enable” you are codependent.

Over the last 15 or so years more and more people I know no longer drink at all when out for an evening. Even one alcohol beverage can put the drinker in jeopardy. One of the first questions a police officer asks at the scene of an accident is “have you been drinking.” If we say, “Uh, oh, well, I had a glass of wine with dinner,” and the other driver says, “No,” guess who gets the crappola? It won’t matter what the tests say. Try to tell the insurance companies that it was only one glass of wine. When it hits the report that Driver #2 had wine with dinner, good luck. Many years ago people would have a cocktail (or more) with lunch. The liability for that practice hit the fan and employers no longer allow any alcohol consumption during the workday, whether or not we are on our “free time” at lunch. Our free time coming back to the office snokered in a company car could make a victim’s family rich.

I suspect there are many people dying from ovarian cancer who wish they could just stop. It’s selfish for those who can stop drinking to not stop. It’s not a disease that merely hurts the abuser. It hurts everyone around them. And some day the addict could kill someone by his or her negligence and they often do. Just ask a mother who has lost a child because of a drunk driver. And alcohol also kills the abuser. Just ask the insurance industry.

It’s a choice to not drink. It’s tough to make that decision. It’s horrific to live with terminal ovarian cancer. Is it less difficult for the person with ovarian cancer to fight their battle than it is for the alcoholic to fight theirs? Guess which one has a chance to recover? It’s not an easy choice. Life isn’t easy.

I consider myself one smart cookie for never falling into the booze trap. I could have, but I didn’t. I stopped early on. It was easy then. Wouldn’t be so easy now. That’s not proffered as an excuse for alcoholics. It’s a simple fact. Stop now or find a nice gutter. One might get lucky and live life and never get to the gutter. Dying early is another option. Alcoholism is a choice, and it’s not pancreatic cancer. No choice with pancreatic cancer. Like a wise coworker often reflected when making determinations about who is responsible for his or her actions:

It’s time to put the turd in the right pocket.

Next week: Part 2 of 2 – Beer (I had planned on including something special about beer with this week’s blog but when I started writing about it I realized it required a blog of its own.)

[Have a problem with alcohol? Take this test.]

Self Test for Alcoholism By the U.S. National Council on Alcoholism

The first and often the toughest step in beating alcoholism is admitting the existence of a problem.

To test whether alcohol is a problem for you, answer "YES" or "NO" to this series of questions.

1. Do you occasionally drink heavily after a disappointment, quarrel or rough day?

2. When under pressure, do you always drink more heavily than usual?

3. Can you handle more liquor now than when you first started drinking?

4. On the "morning after," have you been unable to remember part of the evening before--even though friends say you didn't pass out?

5. When drinking with others, do you try to have a few extra drinks when they won't know it?

6. Are there certain occasions when you feel uncomfortable if alcohol is not available?

7. When you start drinking, are you in more of a hurry to get the first drink than you used to be?

8. Do you sometimes feel a little guilty about your drinking?

9. Are you secretly irritated when friends or family discuss your drinking?

10. Have you experienced memory blackouts more frequently?

11. Do you often want to drink more after friends have had enough?

12. Do you usually have a reason for occasions when you drink heavily?

13. When sober, do you often regret things you've done or said while drinking?

14. Have you tried to control your drinking by switching brands or following different plans?

15. Have you often failed to keep promises about controlling your drinking?

16. Have you tried to control your drinking by changing jobs or moving?

17. Do you try to avoid family or friends while drinking?

18. Are you having an increasing number of financial and work problems?

19. Do more people seem to be treating you unfairly without reason?

20. Do you eat very little or irregularly when drinking?

21. Do you sometimes have the morning "shakes" and relieve them with a drink?

22. Are you unable to drink as much as you once did?

23. Do you sometimes stay drunk for several days at a time?

24. Do you sometimes feel very depressed and wonder whether life is worth living?

25. After drinking, do you ever see or hear things that aren't there?

26. Do you get terribly frightened after drinking heavily?

Did you answer "YES" to any of these questions?

If you answered "yes" to any of these questions, you have some symptoms that may indicate alcoholism.

"Yes" answers to three or more questions in various categories indicate the following stages of alcoholism:

Questions 1 to 8: Early stage.

Questions 9 to 21: Middle stage.

Questions 22 to 26: Beginning of final stage.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Scary Driving (Part 1 of 1)

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I’ve been in love with driving since my teens. I obtained my license on my 16^th birthday and have been happily cruising through life. Over the years I have observed many funny (and scary) things while driving. A driver talking on a cell phone is not one of them. It’s not funny or particularly scary; it’s standard operating procedure these days. And it isn’t as scary as other driving behaviors. Excessive speed, swerving in and out of lanes during rush hour, tires flying off and rolling across the freeway and engaging oncoming traffic—all scary. It’s a jungle out there. (Thank you Randy Newman.)

I do not talk on my cell while driving unless I wear my Bluetooth earpiece. It’s a fabulous little object and all I have to do is press a button with my finger and it becomes voice-activated, hands-free. I can say “call mom” or “call Dr. Smith” or “call Roundtable” or whatever. I can hang up by depressing the button or just let the other party hang up then I don’t have to do anything. I can also answer it in the same way. If I get a call I depress the button. I don’t have to look at the operation because I know where my ear is. Sometimes I use the device when working here in my craft/office room if I’m using a hot glue gun.

I’m not sure why everyone doesn’t have one of these handy devices but perhaps not all phones are compatible with Bluetooth. Perhaps older phones are not equipped. I do know that many years ago prior to Bluetooth I had a headset attached to my cell with a long cord. The phone did require that I pick it up and manage it for calling but once the call was made I just placed it on the console and had my conversation.

All that said, I hate talking on the phone, cell or landline. I only have the Bluetooth device to talk to my mom and children. When I’m in the car or in a store or on errands I do not call or receive calls from anyone. I like to listen to music in the car or catch the news because I love the physical act of driving. If I’m driving some distance I bring CDs. But I have come to love the convenience of a cell phone. I bought one many years ago and rarely used it. It was the size of a small Navy vessel and I had to purchase a purse that would accommodate its girth. In those days I only used it for true emergencies. It sat in my purse for days without use and then I’d have to charge the battery to make sure it would be ready for the flat tire or call from a stranded kid.

Over time cell phones evolved into better and better little units and their use possibilities became what they are today. I now use my cell phone constantly, except for talking. I could not do without it. I’m hooked. I had a Blackberry the last few years and now I have an iPhone. Still, I rarely talk on the cell. It’s my little computer-in-my-pocket.

During my years of driving I have witnessed people shaving, applying makeup, including mascara as the driver stretched very close to the rear view mirror and delicately applied the wand to her lashes, and of course, I’ve witnessed many people eating. In fact, many men eat behind the wheel and they often are chomping down on large, juicy burgers. With both hands. I presume they are steering with their knees. Years ago I observed a couple engaged in a sex act and they knew I saw them and they seemed to enjoy that I knew. I once saw a man driving with his seat so far back (and in the reclining position) that he seemed to be taking a nap. I’ve watched people argue to the point the driver didn’t look at the road at all while he or she screamed at a spouse or children for a very long period of time.

I’ve encountered so many drunk drivers swerving all over the road that it’s commonplace. There are many people who watch DVDs while driving and I’ve seen people read books and newspapers while driving. Almost any activity we can perform in our homes or on our sofas can be done in the driver’s seat of our cars. Including bathroom breaks via the portable containers one can use for car trips. Recently I saw someone with a large laptop leaning against the steering wheel as the driver quickly pecked at the keyboard while darting looks to the roadway. As he became more involved with the computer he looked at the roadway less frequently. I reduced my speed to about 40 hoping he would finish but he kept at it. I finally had to speed up to 70 to pass him. He had started intense swerving.

One of the most horrific uses of a cell phone today is text messaging while driving. I see that constantly. It’s easy to tell someone is texting because they typically hold the cell fairly close to their faces as they type away. I often watch the cars start to drift before they quickly correct their steering only to do it all over again. Texting while driving, especially when driving a train, should be right up there with drunk driving.

So Maria Shriver got busted recently (more than once) for talking on her cell phone while driving without a hands-free device. Considering what people do behind the wheel I thought that was fairly tame. I’m not condoning what she did. I guess she’s held to a higher standard and it’s considered “news.” But I see truly scary activities behind the wheel every day. I believe the state could make a tidy bundle if it ticketed more people for any dangerous driving behaviors. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anyone receiving a ticket for eating behind the wheel or purchasing something on eBay on their laptop while driving on I80, but lately I’m hearing a lot about cell phone violators getting caught. Perhaps the CHP is ticketing burger eaters but we never hear about it. Maybe the evening news should report a few of these other dangerous activities along with celebrity cell phone abuse.

One of the most chilling occurrences I saw was when a woman spilled her coffee in her lap. I was next to her on the 101 heading north when peripherally I saw her tilt her head back to sip her drink and the lid fell off. I saw the lid go down, and then the entire cup went down. I braked knowing what was coming and sure enough, frantic swerving. From the movement of her head and arms I could tell it was painful and she was shocked and sort of forgot to drive. I hung way back and she finally gained control and pulled to the shoulder. I felt sorry for her but at the same time thought that was very poor judgment. Just one of hundreds of scenarios we’ve all observed. Several cars pulled over to help her so I pushed on. I’ve always wondered if she was okay. I don’t drink or eat in my car because I’m a klutz and I know the outcome would be bad.

Driving for me has always been an escape from the world. Before gas prices soared I used to simply hop in the car and go for a ride with no destination in mind. This was something my family did when I was growing up and I still love it. I don’t do it anymore because I’m too busy for a joy ride and because gas is outrageous, but I plan my errands for one big series of stops and that way I get my driving pleasure in. I just now returned from the doctor, the post office, the bank, a home improvement store, an office supply store, a large discount store, and a craft store. I started at 8:00 a.m. and it’s now 1:00 p.m.

I’ll never get a ticket for talking on a cell phone or eating a burger. I basically drive and listen to music. So much better than scalding coffee in my lap.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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The Internet (Part 1 of 1)

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I happen to be one of those people who love my daily dose of the Internet. I have a little routine I follow each morning much like I used to follow when I read newspapers. After I pour my morning coffee I come in here to my office and read emails from family and friends, respond, and then scan the news. Along with the family and friends’ emails there are often attachments. I save those for last.

This morning I received a beauty. It represented itself as a college project and the end result was an amazing musical with little balls and a variety of metal and musical instruments and sounds all made from farm machines. About a quarter of the way through the video my Internet skeptic vibe kicked in. After watching this video I did some research via Snopes and sure enough, it was a hoax. Sadly, I don’t understand why it wasn’t presented as the truth, a clever computer animation. Why it was necessary for the creators to fabricate a story to make it more amazing is not clear. Here's the link to the video:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uuA7fG58KI

and a link to the Snopes hoax buster:

www.snopes.com/photos/arts/musicmachine.asp

I think it’s worth watching even after knowing it’s a hoax. But when I first read the story and started watching it I was dazzled. It took a few seconds for the credibility to diminish. I went ahead and thoroughly enjoyed it anyway!

Along with all of that we often get emails showing “art” and often this art is not art in the traditional sense but rather computer diddling. I see nothing wrong with computer diddling as long as it is represented as such. In fact, I’m amazed by it and as a creator I’d be proud to send something fabulous out to the world and identify it for what it is: computer art! However, I think the desire to trick the public is greater than the artist’s desire to produce art.

Also this morning I read that hackers had tricked millions of Wells Fargo and Bank of America account holders by emailing them and requesting personal information. Some sort of “bank error.” These account holders immediately sent all their information, passwords, account numbers, etc. I too received these emails. I did not respond because no bank ever contacts an account holder in that manner. I’ve heard stories on the evening news countless times that no reputable organization ever asks for this information online. The only way one can be sure is to call them and do not use the phone number provided in their email. Look it up in the phone book. Don’t look it up online because they often have themselves embedded in online searches. Go to your branch. Don’t give it all away.

Along with hackers and hoaxes we also receive horrendous hate emails on a variety of topics. Many of them are quotes by real individuals taken out of context. Some are 100% made up and attributed to someone. They fly around the Internet as fact fueling heat and anger and rage. We are too quick to believe everything we read, see, and hear. And not just on the Internet. We need to be wary of everything we read, see, and hear. We don’t live in a truthful world.

I admit that I have been a fan of computers and the Internet for a very long time. Longer than most of my family and friends. I hopped on at the very beginning and have learned the good, the bad, and the ugly, about the Internet. It is a fantastic tool for research, news, and fun, but it can be a problem. Even deadly. I recall the hate mail/text campaign against a teen by her competition’s mother resulting in the recipient’s suicide. The mother sent out the vicious emails and texts to everyone attacking the girl’s character then actually told the girl she should kill herself because everyone hated her. The girl committed suicide.

Years ago a coworker and I were discussing theater tickets. She decided to quickly look up the dates and prices while we were chatting and turned her back after she did a quick search. Our computers were not speedy so she knew it might take a little time. I returned to my desk to await the information. When she turned back around to her screen she let out a little yelp. There on her screen, in all its horrific glory, was a piece of explicit porn. Just as she quickly closed the screen one of our managers walked into her cubicle with a question. Close call. We later determined that she must have typed the search query oddly or with a typo and that’s what she got.

Some people watch a good amount of porn on their computers and some gamble. Some participate in chat rooms and others shop. Sports fans can watch a variety of sports all day (and gamble on the outcome of their favorite team). And there are a huge number of folks who play fantasy sports. People who don’t even enjoy regular sports are addicted to fantasy sports. The entertainment provided, good or bad, is tremendous and one of our best dollar values as a lot of it is free. Abuse is bound to be in the mix. I happen to be addicted to movies. There are so many free movies online that I rarely turn on my TV anymore. I work in my home office during the day and as I work I watch movies. Movies and TV series from around the world. For free!

Sometimes I’ve been fooled by clever videos or stories. Some stories, the tearjerker type, are clearly soap opera. They fly around depicting a child who is dying and all we have to do is send the email to 10 people and the results will be sent to the child making him or her feel better. I suspect there may be some that are truthful but I recall one that went around for almost five years and it was the same 5-year-old child. Often the child had a different name and lived in a different state but it was the same photo. Some stories are so close to the truth that when I look it up on Snopes or elsewhere I discover that though it’s “this,” it’s really “that.” Some attachments threaten that if we don’t forward the email on in the next five minutes our roof will cave in, God will punish us, or we are traitors to our country unless we do.

Clever manipulation of information has always been the scourge of humanity. Sometimes it can cause great havoc if we believe it. After 911, the most horrific event in my memory, false stories went around that were outrageous. The event was horrific enough without any help. What is the purpose of making it worse? I recall stories of personal loss that were heartbreaking only to discover they were false and the person or persons were simply trying to get in on the money being given to victims and their families. The Internet fueled these false stories and helped these sick people spread their lies. And many of us believed them. I have to say, one or two stories came my way and sounded real enough but after research I learned they were not.

About the time I got married a few months ago we planned a trip. When we learned we were pregnant we immediately took a vacation to Hawaii. After dinner one night we stood on our little balcony and saw something in the bushes. We thought it was a peeping Tom. We decided to report it so we called the desk and they explained it was the island's version of Big Foot. I cracked up and thought it was hilarious to think of Big Foot in Hawaii. So I looked it up on my iPhone and saw photos of the creature! The photos looked real enough so we weren’t entirely skeptical. It looked a bit more realistic than most Big Foot sightings. After all, we did see a hulk in the shadows. Sometimes Big Foot sightings in forests are actually bears but we didn’t think that was the case here. I still thought it might be a person. My husband decided to try to get a photo though it was dark. This is what he captured:

http://rlv.zcache.com/funny_sasquatch_bigfoot_photosculpture-p153134670284987715qdjh_400.jpg

I was going to send it around the Internet but decided I’d post it here instead. I still think it’s a good idea to view it with skepticism.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]

(If you believe in Big Foot sightings that’s okay. If you believe I got married a few months ago, you’re nuts. If you believe I’m pregnant, you’re seriously deranged.)

Coming To America (Part 1 of 1)

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.]

Many of us bask in the glory that we are descendants of fine immigrant families that sold their little farms somewhere in the world, hopped on a boat, and landed on Ellis Island back in the late 1800s and early 1900s with their pristine identity documents clutched firmly in one hand and their sparse belongings in the other. They were all honest, hard-working, clean-living, and we are all proud to be from such stock. These folks all learned English in the first few days they were here and most of them purchased restaurants and small grocery stores and lived in charming flats in New York and had children who spread throughout our country like little flower petals falling from trees. And they are our ancestors.

Thank you Hollywood.

Truth be told, a great many of them were dirt poor, starving in fact. Large numbers died in transit because they were so malnourished and diseased. Many did not know how to read or write or do anything other than their previous subsistence living of “farming” on a patch of land that barely produced food. They begged, borrowed, and stole to obtain passage and documents, legal or otherwise. When they arrived here and found shelter they did odd jobs and tried to live under horrendous circumstances in ghettos [a poor densely populated city district occupied by a minority ethnic group linked together by economic hardship and social restrictions, WordReference.com] filled with others just like them. And they are our ancestors.

Crime in these communities was horrific and our police officials barely contained them and tried to keep them from burning the city down. The children ran through the streets like mad dogs and stole and fought and developed gangs. And they are our ancestors.

Getting through Ellis Island was much easier than our current immigrant methods for entering this country, but it was still difficult. All one needed was proof of identity and a “relative” to vouch for them. No computers. For illegals, it was simply a matter of finding a document forger who would prepare documents for an entire family with any name that would pass an inspector’s scrutiny, and then pay a tidy sum for the documents, usually every penny they managed to save. “Relatives” in this country could be paid to say they were their long lost uncles. The immigration inspectors often changed the names of families when they encountered names they could not pronounce or understand and Americanized names were born. And they are our ancestors.

The ship owners did medical exams before sailing because if the immigrants got to Ellis Island sick they would require quarantine and it could cause tremendous problems for other immigrants stuck out there until they were released. Some were sent back sick when their documents did not pass muster. But many came back with bigger and better documents and with fewer family members. Many men abandoned families to come here with the promise of sending for them later and/or sending them money once they established themselves in this great new land. Often that dream of a family reunited didn’t come true. The men moved on. And they are our ancestors.

Of the “legal” immigrants some were subsequently deported because of poor behavior after settling in here. Many left children and women behind in their new country when they were deported. And they are our ancestors.

A fair number of the people desperate to get here were criminals. Some were not criminals in the sense that they committed crimes but they were persecuted in their home countries by simply belonging to a particular cultural group. Just like today. But there were plenty of unscrupulous types that sneaked in here as well. As there are today, legally and illegally. They too are our ancestors.

People with money came here at that time too but they arrived on the grand ocean liners with their belongings packed in large trunks and they were sent through inspections in a genteel fashion. Many had political connections. People with money and connections continue to come here. Some of them take flying lessons in Florida.

We also had groups of anarchists filter in and they caused considerable trouble even though they were often fighting for the downtrodden. Anarchy isn’t pretty and often the cure is worse than the disease. They were yesterday’s terrorists. And they are our ancestors.

Many immigrants did not pass the astute inspection of the employees at Ellis Island and were temporarily imprisoned, then deported back to their homes where they most likely were arrested and killed. Immigrating legal or otherwise, is tough business and not entered into lightly.

The desperation of people throughout the world to escape horrific government and danger remains today, but on a much larger scale. However, with modern technology, it’s harder to obtain documents and they are more costly than ever before. Hence, we have more illegal aliens for lack of legal documentation.

Many of us are concerned about immigrants, legal or not, and do not want them to join us. We are distressed because these people don’t speak English, might be uneducated, are dirt poor, a drain on our dwindling and overburdened resources, diseased, and we fear they will take jobs from Americans. Most of those concerns were heard a century ago. Nothing has changed. There are simply more people in the world and a large percentage of us are still desperate. Having a large influx of immigrants is problematic but fearing the people trying to escape living hell is not the way to resolve the problem. Often people who flee to America become our strongest patriots and fiercely defend this new country.

On one side of my family I happen to have a relative, a merchant seaman, who jumped ship at sea outside of San Luis Obispo, California. No papers, no job, no English, no money, no education—nothing. Thanks to him and his bravery (swimming two miles to shore in the Pacific Ocean) I’m here to write this little piece. I also have relatives who were here at the time of (and before) the American Revolution. My aunt researched the family’s genealogy and provided the family with documentation. I haven’t met anyone else who can claim ancestry that far back but I’m always on the lookout. It means my family watched with disdain as most of your families swarmed ashore from the immigrant boats. (If you are a Native American or from a slave ancestry, you trump my lineage.)

The point to it all is, if I lived in Mexico, for example, I’d be climbing the border fences every single day of my life. Our country has been neighbors with Mexico for a very long time (before and after Mexico owned a large chunk of America and before and after it was all taken from native Americans) yet Mexico is still one of the world’s poorest and most corrupt nations. It’s 2009 and they are right next door to the greatest nation in the world and they are a complete and total failure. We do nothing to force them to take care of their citizens and provide what a modern nation must provide for its people. We are doing that in Iraq and Afghanistan but not in Mexico.

So their people are desperate to come here and try to find a better life. Let’s not be mad at the individuals climbing the fences. Let’s be mad at Mexico. And if I lived in the Middle East I’d be studying how to walk across desolate mountain ranges with limited water while carrying a backpack and hiking gear and wearing desert camouflage. I’d do whatever I had to do to escape that part of the world, legal or not.

We don’t have as many of our Canadian neighbors sneaking into the United States, though we do have some. We do have other countries’ citizens sneaking into our country through Canada. If people can’t get into this country legally there are dozens of ways to get here illegally and there are still ways to forge documents and papers if one has enough money. Terrorists seem to be able to get here legally so maybe we should start being suspicious of legal aliens and leave the fence jumpers alone.

Learning English is one area we hear the most griping about. One of the reasons some people do not learn English successfully and quickly is they often don’t have to. Just like the Italians coming through Ellis Island and settling in an Italian neighborhood, if a Spanish speaking person comes to California they can live in a Latino community and it is not as necessary to learn English. They should so they can have more opportunities but often they settle in a familiar community and function well and do not learn as quickly as they would if they moved to say a small fishing village in Maine. If they move to another state where there are fewer Spanish speakers they are more likely to learn English more quickly. Their children however do learn to speak English. Just like the Italian children did. Or the German children. The next generation gets the benefit of the family sacrifices.

I’ve been studying Spanish off and on for many years and can understand someone speaking Spanish (if they speak s-l-o-w-l-y) and can choke out a sentence or two with vigorous hand motions, but if I had to move to Spain tomorrow I’d starve (Except they have many English speakers because that’s how it is over there).

It takes an English speaker 2700 hours to learn Spanish. That’s someone who is highly motivated with a boss who doesn’t mind that they study Spanish all day. That’s someone who can already read and write English proficiently so that they can make the language transition. I don’t know how many hours it takes to learn English if one is a Spanish speaker but English is a difficult language so I’m guessing it takes longer. My son has studied Japanese for years. He can understand it and can choke out a few sentences but it takes YEARS to learn Japanese. Learning a language is very hard.

When I was growing up we lived in what was then a typical California community with Mexicans, Italians, Portuguese, and a variety of other cultures, including Japanese. It was an agricultural community. Most of the women my grandma knew from working in a cannery spoke their native languages and no English. It was fairly easy to communicate between Spanish, Italian, and Portuguese, so my grandma and the other ladies each knew a little of each other’s language. She did not learn Japanese. There were still sad issues remaining from World War II and though learning Japanese may have helped everyone communicate and learn about each other when it was desperately needed, it didn’t happen.

We knew many Portuguese people grandma’s age and older who did not speak English. They never learned English. We thought it was fun to listen to them talk about things that we couldn’t understand. I knew quite a few swear words in Portuguese growing up. But their children learned to speak English. My grandmother discouraged us from learning Portuguese.

Because California isn’t near Italy, there weren’t as many Italian ladies as there were Mexican ladies. That’s the case today. Since we live close to Mexico we have more Mexican friends and it’s sensible to be a bi-lingual state. In fact, it’s something special for California that we have bi-lingual enrichment going for us. In Europe they are multi-lingual and it’s rewarding, not detrimental.

Another concern with immigration is the influx of gangs. It seems many gangs want to come to America. But these people are not immigrants. They are criminals and terrorists. It’s important to separate these people from the immigrants who just want to come here to have a better life. And within many of these gangs there are many members dying (literally) to find a way out of gang life. There are devoted people and organizations that try every single day to save people from gangs or remove them from gangs and often these saviors are former gang members.

It’s the same with most cultures that come here. Most cultures have gangs. Gangs are worldwide. It’s a worldwide problem, not an American problem. And it’s not specific to one culture. Ever hear of the Mafia? They’ve been romanticized by slick movies so they are not as fearful to us as gangs from Central America, Russia, or elsewhere, but that is foggy thinking. Violence and illegal activity is what gangs are all about. My Portuguese grandmother did not belong to a gang. Nor did my ship-jumping relative belong to a gang. But my American Revolution ancestor was a traitor fighting our King. That made him a criminal of the highest order and execution could have ended my family line had he been caught.

We often identify illegal alien gang members and deport them but they come right back. We cannot confuse these groups with people who are simply trying to live like we do. And we can’t keep all immigrants out to try to keep the gangs out. They are already here. We need to deal with gangs as a separate issue. Maybe when our people come home safely from Iraq and Afghanistan we’ll have resources to devote to our homeland security, on our own soil, i.e., our gang problem.

In the Ellis Island days when one culture came here and settled in it became possessive of its space and loudly protested those who dared come after them. There were horrendous turf wars between the immigrants. Yet many economists people believe that without that huge group of immigrants that came during the 1800s and early 1900s, not to mention the immigrants who came before and have continued to come, legal or not, we would not be the super power we are. Regardless of how these people get here, they work and spend money, share their culture and it makes us strong. And we are capitalists. It’s what we want and that’s how we get it. From people coming to our country and developing their families and businesses and working and consuming.

The argument that no one minds if the immigrants come here through legal channels is flawed. It’s tremendously hard to get here through all the red tape needed to leave one’s homeland and if the applicant is escaping a corrupt regime it’s impossible. If they’re immigrating from Sweden, it’s not so tough. Not so easy if they are from Darfur.

Some of our ancestors never learned English, never went to school, never obtained their citizenship or the good life, but their children did, and their grandchildren did, and our children did too. And it’s all because my ancestor fought for the right for all of your ancestors to come to America and fought for all of those who continue to come in search of freedom from oppression--with liberty and justice for all.

Got a dream to take them there.

They're coming to America.

Got a dream they've come to share.

They're coming to America.

-Neil Diamond

[The first link is the Ellis Island website. It’s a great read and you may look up your ancestors to see if they came through the processing system. The second link is within the site and is a history of Ellis Island.]

http://www.ellisisland.org/

http://www.ellisisland.org/genealogy/ellis_island_timeline.asp

http://www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]

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