Little Ivans.
Among the vast ocean of literary mechanisms our wonderful collective of minds
has created in the history of humanity is irony. I love irony. It makes me smile
and revel in the knowledge that there HAS to be someone up there giving a little
stir to the genetic soup. An excellent example of this has arisen recently and I’m
still smiling at its marvelous complexity swirled in simplicity.
What, you ask, must this ironic thing be to make me coo and relax in this
conspicuously Zen like state?
Seems there were twenty-five students from San Diego State University
Business School who cheated on a pop quiz. Seems they were all given failing
grades not only for the quiz but the entire course. They may even face expulsion.
What, oh what, could this course be to result in such a cruel and unusual
punishment? One word:
Ethics.
See why I’m smiling?
Actually you may not. I’m barking an audible and going the other way with this
little gem of a story. How often have we heard of the stern brick wall of hard
business men and women who lie, steal, cheat and kill to grab an extra rung on
the cooperate ladder? I see it every day. It happens so frequently that it almost
seems policy. With that said, let me ask you. Why did these students receive an
F?
Weren’t they mimicking the actions and reactions of their soon to be profession?
Using creative knowledge to the ultimate conclusion of getting ahead in the
game is the whole point of business isn’t it? The Lecturer of the course, Brian D.
Cornforth clearly disagrees. “This is just too egregious, it’s too heinous a
cheating scandal,” he says with a troubled brow, gazing over twenty-five empty
seats in his small classroom. Sorry, I catch Mr. Cornforth’s point here but…
egregious?!? Are you a business teacher or an English professor?
Truthfully these kids shouldn’t cheat. If anything it’s a bad way to succeed
because only the weak and unable have to resort to cheating. True winners in the
business world have the satisfaction of knowing they earned their money. Of
course I can reverse that argument with two words… Bill Gates. How about two
more? Michael Eisner. It’s a tough call on this one.
In the business realm cheaters do indeed prosper. No matter the school nor
instructor, the students themselves, once the revolving door of solvency versus
bankruptcy opens before them, must choose which side of the cooperate “force”
they will fight for. In the end only one thing matters. Money. Like electricity,
businessmen and women take the path of least resistance to their goal.
Unfortunately cheating is that easy path. Of this I can only say one thing…
Sooner or later, the Piper has to be paid.
You Have to Thump them…
Looks like the buyers for The United Kingdom’s largest supermarket chain,
TESCO are keeping their eyes on the customer's wants and needs. According to
The Daily Telegraph, TESCO will be ordering, until further notice, a smaller
selection of melons. I don’t mean fewer melons. I mean smaller ones. Seems
research has revealed that women shoppers are subconsciously comparing the
larger, fleshy melons to the size of their breasts and turning their thumbs down,
thus resulting in a huge waste of, well, huge melons.
There is no proof so far that Pamela Anderson’s recent breast reduction surgery
is to blame.
The research project goes on to say that there is a preference for smaller busts
nowadays and that is the chief reason for this egregious (sorry) situation. “We
are very surprised by the results of the market research but its certainly produced
results,” a TESCO spokesman announced. TESCO melon sales have increased
by more than a million melons in the two months since the uh- reduction. That’s
500,000 happy customers. Wow.
A-hem. I have one question and one comment and then I’ll leave you alone on
this one.
First. Who did this study?
Second. Why wasn’t I on the panel?
BINGO!
There is nothing to worry about; we’re all going to be fine. Peace and good
harvests are in our future. At least that’s what the ox says. Well, to make a point,
he doesn’t actually say it; he more or less exudes it. Well, that’s not quite right
either. Hmm. Let’s start over. Okay.
Royal Cambodian Oxen have predicted a wonderful year of crops and peace
after partaking of a grand feast of grains, rice, beans and wine. They’re
predictions were interpreted by, uh- Gee, this isn’t going as well as I thought.
Okay, how about this? Bear with me, folks.
There is a tradition in Texas and indeed many rural states called Cow Bingo.
(Also called Buffalo Bingo in places where the buffalo roam) The rules to this
uh- game are simple. You line a huge grid of squares over an acre of land. You
pick a cow (or buffalo). You pick a square. Then you hope nature’s course goes
through your square. Understand?
You’re going to make me say this aren’t you?
Okay, fine. Be that way.
Cambodian ox poo has predicted 1999 will be the best year in two decades for
harvest, prosperity and peace. “It is the best omen since 1979,” proudly explains
Cambodian priest Din Proum. Oh yes, I remember that. You remember that
don’t you? The great ox poo of ’79. What great poo! Anyway, the priest went on
to explain what the layman observers surrounding the grand palace were seeing,
besides oxen trampling around eating all their beans and hay.
“The oxen didn’t drink the wine which means we’ll have peace, no violence.”
He said, smiling. Actually I’m not surprised at the abstention from drink by the
oxen. They had to drive home. Besides, it was an early day at the fields
tomorrow and they couldn’t concentrate with hangovers. Another besides, I’m
sure the Cambodian’s were just trying to get the oxen drunk. You know how
Cambodians are. Always trying to take advantage of a poor, unknowing,
drunken ox. The bastards.
The priest also said the oxen ate a lot of beans. He wasn’t smiling after that
report. I wouldn’t be smiling either.
I’m not sure exactly what I can say about this except…
I-16! Come on, I-16. Go, baby! Do it! I-16. Yeah, yeah! I-16! Right there! I-
Oh sh*t.
Let Your Fingers… Oh Nevermind.
Okay. Stupid pervert alert! Everyone point and laugh at the stupid pervert!
Reuters reported recently of a woman being tormented by an obscene caller
nearly every day for six months. Finally the man was arrested after she
presented a valued piece of evidence to Vienna Police: His telephone number.
As the story goes, she received her daily installment of obscenity from the man
with a distinctly Austrian voice but was unfortunately too busy to listen to the
crude oohs, ahs, mms and heh hehs of her telephonic cretin. So she politely
asked for a number so she could call back when the time was more convenient.
The rest is moronic history.
My question is… would *69 have been too much subtext for this situation?
National Champions.
Oklahoma and Kansas are in mourning. Right now, everyone knows why. On
May 3, 1999 one of the deadliest strings of tornadoes and severe storms literally
crushed millions of dollars of businesses, interstates and homes throughout the
two states. They upended and upset thousands of peoples lives. Of those
thousands, 43 were more than upended. They were ended forever.
A tragedy mere words cannot convey stands before us.
When we see these things on television they seem distant, non-real. They seem
this way because those people are not close to us.
It is different this time.
One man, Alan McClure, of Augusta, Kansas is one of those 43 killed. He is
closer to us than many of this newsletter’s subscribers may realize. He was a
member of the family of one of my subscribers. When I learned this, I wanted
this article to happen. Here it is:
Mr. McClure and his son, Jake was driving back from Texas. A business trip.
They just purchased a truck and were hauling it back home to Augusta. The
storms appeared quickly, forcing them to stop at an overpass along I-35. When
the storm cleared and all appeared calm, Mr. McClure and son returned to their
vehicles and started to drive toward home. The tornado came out of nowhere.
Surprisingly and unfortunately, it is as simple as that.
Mr. McClure is survived by his wife, Marilyn and children Jake, Angie and
Jesie. My deepest condolences to them. I wish I could do more.
Actually I can. You might have noticed the unusual title to this terrible story.
“National Champions” I get that from an Oklahoma City police spokesman.
Captain Charles Allen, recalling the also tragic Oklahoma City bombing and
how the city responded to the tornadoes in comparison said, “We’re like the
National Champions when it comes to dealing with disasters.”
An unfortunate title. One that I, personally, would not want to advertise. I
understand Captain Allen’s point. I just don’t agree with the pride that lies
underneath his words. Captain Allen goes on to say, “We bury our dead. We
take care of our wounded. We rebuild. We move on.” All this is only two days
after the horrid fact. I understand the psychology behind grievance, as Captain
Allen clearly does. I also understand that that grievance takes time. Coldly
saying something like this in a decidedly Caesar like fashion (Vini, Vidi, Vici) is
just that… cold.
The word is “tact”, Captain Allen.
In time, the Captain’s words will ring true. We will heal, we will rebuild, we
will move on. But not yet. Right now it is time to pause and remember, as we
should.
I realize I am making Captain Allen an unfair scapegoat for this situation. In the
ever-present psychological levels of grievance it is called projection. Therefore I
leave it at that. I am so very sorry for Marilyn’s and Jake’s and Angie’s and
Jesie’s loss. I am sorry for the times they will not have in the future and deeply
wish there was something I could do to fill that hollow.
I’ve never met them. Never spoken to them. That makes no difference to me.
It shouldn’t make a difference to anyone else either.
At the very least: This issue is dedicated to the memory of Alan McClure and
the 42 others who lost their lives in the storms over Oklahoma and Kansas.
-Adam Hyland