“Show me your papers.”
It’s a phrase that most of us never expect to hear. It’s something that only happens to other people, right?
Not in Arizona. Not anymore.
A new draconian immigration bill requires police officers in the state to check a person’s immigration status if the officer suspects that the person is here illegally.
I have never thought of myself as a particularly brave person; however, each day I take upon myself a truly terrifying task. People have been killed, maimed, or scarred for life doing this thing that I have chosen to do, and knowing this, I must somehow find the courage to continue on. I wish I could now segue into my dazzling adventures as a mountain climber or Bengal tiger trainer, or something with equal glamour, but unfortunately that’s not where this is going; I’m talking about driving on Jericho Turnpike.
In April. when the first green buds appear on bare trees, the Long Island landscape begins to resemble an impressionist painting in progress. That, and migrating spring birds make it my favorite time of year to bird. Last spring, my friend Walter and I went to three places on two successive weekends to observe the annual spring migration. In each locale there were scenes that looked like paintings and migrant birds heading north.
I have never been much of a card player. Somehow, myself and three other gentlemen formed a Monday night gin rummy game. It has been classified as a Damon Runyonesque experience because the players are alumni from the streets of the Bronx and Brooklyn circa 1940s, ’50s and ’60s.
It’s school budget time, and wrath is in the air. Politicians are raging, taxpayers fuming, students protesting. The frustration is easy to understand. School budget votes in our region are a lose-lose proposition. Vote against the budget, and the ones we hurt are the children. Vote in favor, and we perpetuate the ruinous tax spiral that is devastating families and crippling our economy.
People are certain that “there must be places we can cut.” But individual local school budgets are the wrong places to look. For the most part, when you cut a district budget, you curtail some service.
It was Halloween. The year was 1953.
I was studying calculus in my apartment in the East Bronx on the high ground floor. It was above Sid’s Candy Store. Sid’s was a noisy neighborhood hangout for the unemployed and the indigent.
The streets were gripped in Halloween fever. Kids ran back and forth decorating each other with multicolored shades of chalk. I was trying to study, but the street sounds captured my weak attention span. My sister Sandy, (8 years my junior) was the most flagrant offender and her voice and screams carried above all the others. She was the loudest.
The volcanic explosion in Iceland affected me in two distinct ways. One, it reminded me of my visit to this North Atlantic Island about 10 years ago. We chose Iceland, just to say we had been there.
The drive from the airport to Reykjavik, the capital, looked like we had landed on the lunar surface. The ground was rutted and barren and there was a sense of desolation. Soon we arrived at our luxurious hotel and the 20th century was more evident. The town was modern and it looked like a small town in the Wisconsin, Minnesota area.
As someone who was a blogger before entering the world of newspapers, I am perhaps in a unique position to see the irony in many of the popular criticisms of blogging, as well as social media services such as Twitter, that emerge from the world of print. While critics of new media often bemoan the paltry research and lack of accountability to be found in the world of blogging, criticisms of blogging are often based on nebulous fears for the future of publishing as opposed to actual facts, and the critics themselves don’t think they should be held accountable for the fact that they don’t know the culture of the blogosphere very well, or even know anyone who does. Many criticize Twitter for encouraging the oversimplification of concepts through the enforced character limit, however ignoring the many possible uses of Twitter that do not have such limitations- to instead judge the phenomenon only by its weakest applications- is itself a gross oversimplification. In short, while there are undoubtedly legitimate concerns about the veracity of information to be found online in general, many media traditionalists have been presenting these concerns either dishonestly, or through a veil of genuine fear and culture shock.
• It was a definite obligation!
• How could I not see this movie?
• Every person who saw it, hated it!
• My family name was involved!
• Lorraine, my beautiful wife, refused to see it!
• You must have guessed the title by now.
• It got three stars in Newsday.
I went to see it on a beautiful sunlit day and there were only four people, besides myself, in the theater. The movie was entitled Greenberg, just one word. I sat in the movie house and I waited, and I waited for something to happen. It never happened!
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