The "going rate" needs to get going

I understand the concept of "the going rate," but when it comes to paying online writers, whoever the writers were that helped establish them should have stayed after in math class.
Today I came across a job ad that caught my eye because it said $250-$750 budget.
The details were worse than disappointing, though. 
The advertiser wanted someone to turn every assignment around the day it was given -- and he needed 5 articles either written or re-written each day. Not bad; they were 500-word articles.
But the payment? $1 per article.
Why would anyone accept that kind of work?
Last April I found out that people apparently do. I responded to a Rochester guy's ad that didn't list a fee. He responded with the details, which included that each piece was to be 800 words long and he'd pay .01 cent a word.
This is why I mentioned math class: I quickly computed that to $80, which was reasonable per article, so I told him I'd give it a try. Before he'd responded, some latent decimal sense  kicked in and I recomputed it to only $8. I quickly sent another note explaining where my skills do and, obviously, don't lie.
He understood, said it was, indeed, the going rate but that he figured I was tired of hearing I was over-qualified. Sending the info to me would mean I got to decide.
The reasoning he used was a point in his favor.
But, then he said: "Besides, over time you could work yourself up to .03 cent a word."

Forget that, what designer was she wearing?

A couple who wants to be on Real Housewives (QUICK, my air-sickness bag) decided to bolster their CVs the other night by trying to sneak into the Obamas' first state dinner. 

And, and ... they did it.

It's being reported that the Secret Service's first clue was a phone call from a reporter the next day looking for a comment after hearing the couple brag about their escapades on a national TV show. 

This is scary. The couple, obviously.
But, HOW does this happen? 

The soon-to-be-renamed Office of Professional Responsibility thinks a checkpoint worker did not follow proper procedures to ensure the two were on the guest list. (They didn't even have an invitation with them; hell, they check for those at Lia Sophia parties.)
(No problem, Bin and Babs Laden, you can go right through.)

Officials have said that the couple passed the same weapons check the rest of the guests had, but that doesn't mean they were no threat.
These security people need to watch NCIS around-the-clock for six weeks; then they'll never take safety for granted. Any crime show fan knows that anthrax could have been hidden in the layers of the woman's pseudo-sari.
The couple could be charged with trespassing.

Somebody else could lose their job, I suspect.

What do you think their chances of getting on reality TV (not counting the evening news)? 

If only I'd known

Just as doctors make bad patients, I'm pretty sure journalists can't be the easiest people to interview. And we're certainly the worst afterward when it comes to second-guessing how goofy we came across.
That's what I've been doing ever since a first-year J major from Bona's called this afternoon after e-mailing last week to set a date and time.
Usually, something like an interview would make me nervous. But since I'd forgotten all about it until she emailed yesterday to confirm -- and it slipped my mine again today until 30 seconds or so into the conversation.
"Hi, it's Mary," I heard.
"Hi," I said enthusiastically.
"I just want to thank you for agreeing to help me with this," Mary said.
Um ... help with what? I wondered.
But instead, I said "I'm sorry, which Mary is this?"
"It's Maddie," the girl formerly known as Mary said.
Oh, whew. My brain suddenly re-engaged.
She began asking questions; I began wishing I'd studied up on interesting things about college. But, I hadn't wanted to over-think things. I figured that anything important would come to me when I heard the questions.
Not so much.
So, just to make sure she wasn't bored, I mentioned having been in the same class as Fox newsman Neil Cavuto and NYTimes reporter Dan Barry. Later, when I found out what this interview was all about, I threw ABC's Victoria Corderi in. She was in my public speaking class, which I assured Maddie was one rolicking-good class.
Pretty lame, huh?
When she was finished -- and no doubt eager to get back to her less-lame life -- I asked "What will you be doing with the information?"
The tapes from the various students' interviews were being put together for her "College 101" class, which was doing its own StoryCorps project, inspired by "Listening is an Act of Love."
While we talked a few seconds about how much we love that book, a portion of my brain wandered off on its own, comparing "my" story with the ones I've been reading.
BO-ring. Hence, the Vicky Corderi name dropping.
"Have you heard of her?" I asked.
"No."
That does it. Next shot I get at immortality, I'm studying ahead.

She's a hunter. A WHAT?

You've probably heard that socially -- and legally -- most mainstream thinkers frown on marrying inside one's own family. There are all sorts of health and development reasons it's a no-no. (If I need to explain, stop reading now.)
But, there are also practical ones.
Variety is a biggie. For one thing, it's a good remedy to boredom, especially genetic boredom, which I hear can haunt you for a lifetime or two.
That's what crossed my mind today after seeing my niece Angela's Facebook posting and picture. That and "Where the heck did she come from?"
There she sat, posing with her hunting catch, a doe and two youngins' -- legal because she has a nuisance permit to protect their property. As her husband noted among everyone else's comments, it's probably best not to "make her mad."
Who'd have thought that a toddler who looked like Cindy Lou Who in 1985, when my wedding bouquet landed between her feet, would grow up to be a gun-toting outdoorswoman?
Dangling fishing lines off a dock is as close as any of her aunts and uncle came to being hunters. One generation further back, I'm pretty sure Mom used to gut her brother Jerry's catch for him, but ... that's a far cry from taking down a family single-handledly.
I'm not heading for a Bambi-killer rant; Angela feels bad enough as it is.
I'm just mulling it all over.
Genetics -- like variety -- is a wonderful thing.

Christmas deals you gotta love

Hallelujah!
So many retailers are jumping on the Black Friday bandwagon that we'll all be able to relax and have a simpler, less-expensive Christmas. I can hardly wait. No fear of maxing out the charge card this year. Whew.
Sunday's ads alone proved that our wallets can stay nice and plump. For instance, Shop.com announced a six-day 60-percent-off sale featuring a $249 handbag. Don't need one? How about a nightie for $88.
If Mom taught you that Christmas was a stock-up-on-undies kind of holiday, you're in luck. Neiman-Marcus has knocked 40 percent of its Dolce & Gabbana men's briefs, so you can pick up a pair for just $44. Boxers more your style? Only $59 a pair.
Bouillabaisse Pots -- the gotta-have items this year? -- are discounted, too. (All we'll need is a chicken to put in each one.) FactoryDirect2you.com is willing to sell you the pot, with a 7.25-qt. capacity, for $265. Chump change.
See what I mean, shopping's going to be a breeze ...

It's worse than stupid

Ok, I admit it.
I laughed (and groaned) when George Bush butchered the language.
(I also laughed when Mr. Rogers buttoned his cardigan wrong.)
There's humor in incongruity.
And I admit that Bush's two wars destroyed the already-microscopic possibility that I'd ever trust his administration.
At least a few people have taken issue with me over this.
That's their right. So, I haven't abused my right when I've responded.
But, I can't say the same for the latest stupidity: Bumper stickers that say "Pray for Obama" and, by citing Psalms 109:8, wish him dead.
On how many levels is this offensive?
Every one that I can think of.
One Christian blogger -- who found no humor in it --  equated the message to that of the 1/20/09 bumper stickers driven around by those who pined for Bush's exit.
But they're far from being the same.
One is the product of thinking people; the other, a product of hatred. We should all be concerned about the latter.
For purposes of this post, I'll narrow my concerns to two.
The first is obvious, but still personal. Since long before Barack Obama seemed like a real contender, I've feared for his life. I've feared for his daughters being fatherless. I've feared for our nation, for what it would say about the hatred, the bigotry, the short-sightedness that his assassination would prove stronger than I'd ever imagined.
At a dinner in January 2008, I asked people at my table if they had a preference in the Democratic primary. One of the women said "I'm kind of for Obama."
I asked about her reluctance, and she said "I'm afraid he'll be killed if he wins."
That thought had never crossed the mind of the woman next to her. Then there was the editor of an upstate New York newspaper who, hearing that story, offered one of his own. He said that the night Obama accepted the nomination he'd left the newsroom late afternoon, telling his staff "You can all go home, but if something happens tonight, you've all got to come back."
They looked at him clueless. These 20somethings who hadn't lived through the King assassination, the Kennedy assassination, or even the attempt on Ronald Reagan's life.
As the campaign progressed, I tensed up and waited for the sound of bullets whenever a TV clip showed Obama being enveloped by supporters. The heady night that convinced everyone the nomination was within his reach comes to mind. After he  spoke, he and Michelle walked down the stage steps and into the crowd.
His vulnerability made me shiver.
The second issue is the source of the hatred toward Obama. In far too many instances, it comes from people who call themselves "Christians" -- a word they use to profess they are one in their devotion to Jesus Christ. But, if you listen, they're also using it to say "We're the GOOD ones."
The irony is lost on them. The real meanings of "good" and "Christian" are even lost on some of their ministers who've talked and prayed openly for Obama's death.
People who have it in themselves to kill can find reasons to pick the president, this president, as a target. So those who fear the bumper sticker will encourage an attempt on Obama's life have reason to think that way.
The fact that so many people -- how many? too many -- can stand tall while publicly espousing the desire for someone to die astonishes me.
Maybe it shouldn't.
But it does.

Sports fans may get more than you think

I'm reading "Listening is an Act of Love." It's a collection of interviews of and by ordinary people; it grew out of the StoryCorps project that a radio producer started.
The interview I just finished was about a 63-year-old man, born and bred in the Bronx. So, it doesn't take a genius to guess his favorite sports team. Coincidentally, the interview right before his was a wife telling her husband about her favorite aunt. She says her most common recollection of Aunt Mary is an image of her cooking in her small kitchen on a small stove, with the soundtrack of her life -- a Pittsburgh Pirates game-- playing on the radio in the background.
Call it what you want ... a devotion or a waste of time ... a harmless diversion or a vicarious journey ... sports -- especially following a favorite team -- is a big deal.
Many weeks when I take notes at our local Rotary Club meetings, member after member -- mostly guys -- will stand up and pay a buck or two, happily celebrating their team's recent win or regretfully acknowledging yet another loss.
You can tell by the joking around that, at least in the retelling, the guys are enjoying a healthy diversion. When I first became the bulletin editor, the hardest part was keeping straight who rooted for what team. It helped to know where they'd gone to college, because that school or its community was often the deciding factor.
I grew up in a Yankee household because my dad grew up in the Bronx, too. We watched St. Bonaventure basketball (rosaries in hand) because the university was just down the road a few miles. Although we pretty much ignored football, I've always felt like a Bills fan since Buffalo is just an hour and a bit away.
The Yankees' devotion carried through to my son and onto a license plate frame that's been on the last three cars I've driven. He and I bought it together and I drive it around with pride, more pride than you'd expect from someone who only tolerated the 2009 series, wishing it over (one way or the other) because it messed up the evening TV schedule.
While reading those interviews, I got to thinking that it's more than a competitive streak, more than an allegiance to a locality, that infuses sports through much of our everyday lives. The ultimate allure may be the sense of belonging that comes with having a team to call your own.
For many, it starts with playing the sport (whatever it is) as a kid or later in high school or college.
Even if you don't make it to the pros, or never even dreamed of going that far, there's something about being able to relate to what the athletes are doing and feeling, because you've been there yourself. Different stadium, different stakes, but the basics are the same. So there's a connection to be savored.
Then there's the feeling you get when you belong to something big, no matter how the season's going.
People toss around that question about whether a tree falling in a forest makes a noise if no one hears it, and you get into all sorts of questions about relativity. But apply it to sporting events and the answer comes more easily: Would you feel the same about your team if you were the only one whoever watched them?
Sure, you'd still appreciate the skill. You'd still get charged up by the best plays. But, I'm willing to bet that it would get boring after a while.
Having a team means belonging to the noise, the crowds (even if you just watching from home), a common spirit. There's joy in belonging to something much bigger.
That's what makes sports a big deal.

With apologies to satirist Andy Borowitz

Vatican sources today confirmed that global yammering about the best-selling fiction work by a native Alaskan since "Call of the Wild" has cracked a case that Italian police have been dithering over for nearly five years.
Cardinals were reportedly watching the evening news Tuesday when a clip from Barbara Walters' interview with former U.S. vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin struck a familiar chord.
"It was the word 'dithering' that loosened the old mothballs," the anonymous sources said, referring to Palin's criticism of President Obama's thought process on Afghanistan.  "Dithering, dithering, dithering ..."
The cardinals recognized Palin's voice as that of a deranged woman who phoned the Vatican repeatedly during the 2005 papal conclave.
"'What are they dithering about? That dithering is irresponsible. They have to stop dithering.' ... That's what the caller kept saying," a source reported. "One cardinal explained that it was the incomparable lack of knowledge on the topic at hand that convinced them that the women were one and the same."
Elsewhere in the news ... a spokeswoman for the EPA said they've yet to identify the source of black smoke sporadically emitted from the West Wing of the White House in recent weeks.

What's with that name?

You must be wondering. 
I surely would have been.

I first heard the word a few months ago while brainstorming for a business name that reflected a variety of skills and services.
"Gallimaufry," my son, 19, said. "I love that word."
Um ... okay.
He told me it meant an assortment, so it worked in terms of applicability. But, it failed big-time on the memorability scale. Mine, anyway. Even though I decided it was almost perfect for this blog's name, it still doesn't roll off my tongue. (That's  gal-a-maw-free, by the way.)
Eagle-eyed readers undoubtedly noticed the spelling in this post doesn't match the spelling in the title. Would you believe someone beat me to the English spelling? (Both on blogspot and wordpress.) So, I hunted for a synonym, starting with dictionary.com's definition. That's where I found the French spelling, and voila.
(Help! If you can tell me how to add an accent mark, I'll use it on voilà and galimafrée. Now, that would be perfect.)