Coffee, Nazi’s and Congressman Mike Arcuri – probably not a tag-line the new representative had in mind on Saturday when he came to Norwich for what was presumably his first official visit to the area as an elected official.

But this wasn’t the typical weekend feel-gooder I thought it would be, either. I planned on a few “atta boy’s,” the usual quotes, a staged picture, and me getting in and out and on my merry way to enjoy the rest of my Saturday.

To my surprise, at times it was tense and awkward in the Coffee Connection, which is the last thing you expect in a cafe – unless you’re there competing in an espresso drinking contest with our staff photographer and local Paesan Icon, Frank Speziale.

Don’t be fooled, it started out as a love-fest. People cheered Arcuri’s work on a defeated minimum wage bill (a whopping $.20 increase for New York) like he had just saved the world from impending doom – which isn’t too far off from what they would ask him to do later on.

The crowd suddenly turned, with good reason, when Arcuri tried to cut-off the questioning about 40 minutes before his time was up (I think he started early, not sure if there was mis-communication).

People wanted answers. They wanted the Iraq war over, President Bush impeached, the NYRI power line buried, universal health care, and a medium coffee with no sugar and lots of cream – lots of cream.

But Arcuri was not easily stirred (haha). He didn’t have – and wouldn’t give – all the answers they wanted. Even after the boos came.

Not to say he was right or wrong, but I think it’s cool when people stand their ground when they probably shouldn’t. That doesn’t happen often, especially when people are throwing copious amounts of iced latte at you (No lattes were actually thrown. However, the traditional fruit and vegetable ammunition was not on hand if it came to that – so when in Rome…)

– Editor’s note: The views expressed by this blogger are not necessarily the views of The Evening Sun or Snyder Communications.

One guy said that if we didn’t stop President Bush, that Americans were no different than the Germans in the 1930’s. Another added that the crimes America has committed in Iraq were no different than the war crimes that Nazi’s were put on trial for at Nuremberg.

It got heavy. I’ve been heavy. And let me tell you – it was hot in there.

I’d say I felt bad for Arcuri, but it didn’t look like he needed any pity from me. I thought he handled himself pretty good. Actually, I think the only person that was distraught was me.

Prone to overheating anyway, being surrounded by a bunch of steamed citizens and jugs of whistling hot coffee in a small place was scary. I didn’t prepare for a grilling – I didn’t even shave (which was the only thing that kept the guys behind me from beating me up, I think).

Next time I won’t assume that a fluffy atmosphere gathers a fluffy crowd. I’ll assume that people, if they feel strongly enough, will speak their minds no matter where they are and who they’re talking to. I won’t assume that politicians won’t do the same.

Tags: Mike Arcuri, Coffee Connection, NYRI, politicians

As I’m sure you all know, this weekend is the Super Bowl, or as my sister and I always referred to it, the Stupid Bowl. If you can’t tell, we’re not big fans of football, and even the highly talked about commercials aren’t enough to hold our interest.

Frankly, I’ve never gotten the point of watching something just for the commercials, no matter how good they are. Are there commercials that make me laugh, yes, like the one where the gas tank pours garbage into the car. That always makes me laugh, but am I going to waste four hours of my life vegging on my couch so I can go to work and talk about them tomorrow, probably not.

The entire advertising market behind the Super Bowl seems like it has gotten out of control. 30 second ads cost millions of dollars, and while advertisers say it is worth it because of the vast number of people watching the game, people don’t even remember what many of the commercials advertised.

What is worse is the fuss made about the advertisements the next day. Call me crazy, but do you know what I like to see on the morning news? News. That’s about it. I don’t want in depth analysis of the Budweiser Frogs that made such a splash -pardon the pun- I want to see a few news stories, maybe the weather and nothing else.

So have fun watching the Super Bowl this weekend, but I’m going to pass. While everyone else is watching, I’m going to be out shopping. There should be much less competition for a dressing room.

Tags: Super Bowl, Stupid Bowl, commercials, Budweiser Frogs

“Progress may have been all right once, but it has gone on too long.”
– Ogden Nash

Oh, the things that amuse me when I’m stuck at the office after 11 on a Saturday night. Yes, friends and neighbors, it’s time once again for that little special section we like to call “Progress Chenango.”

The 2007 edition will start appearing in your Evening Sun with the first two sections in Monday’s edition. Progress, for the uninitiated, is our annual comprehensive review of the business and community organization climate in Chenango County. It is a Herculean task, requiring stellar efforts on the part of our editorial, advertising and press room staffs. It is undeniably our biggest undertaking of the year, and arguably our best. Many newspapers publish similar “Progress” sections annually, but I’d stack ours up among the best in the state.

That said, it is also a tremendous pain in the ass.

I say that with love, of course.

Anyone who’s ever been anywhere near me during the last two weeks in January for the past decade or so knows just what a bear I become during this project. While the sales staff and my reporters spend the first part of the month soliciting ads and gathering stories, my own personal hell doesn’t begin until theirs is over.

There not being enough hours in the regular work day to put out what is essentially another edition a day for an entire week, I accomplish most of my Progress editing and layout tasks at night – and sometimes into the wee hours of the morning.

Some casual observations after spending the last 48 hours chained to this desk:

1. I should never drink coffee past 8 p.m.

2. I should not try to compensate for drinking coffee past 8 p.m. by taking anything called “Simply Sleep” when I get home. It is definitely not that simple.

3. Pat Newell seriously needs to clean up his cubicle.

4. I should crank the heat up to 75 here more often.

5. Lackawanna Avenue is not a pleasant neighborhood at midnight. Lots of people must walk to and from Beadle’s. Drunk, both ways.

6. One of them left a crockpot in a plastic bag right outside our office door. Perhaps it’s some sort of message.

7. Before I get too loopy from a serious lack of sleep and an overdose of Snickers and Crackerjacks, I think I’ll wrap this up …

Being largely alone in the office at night toiling away on Progress not only allows me to revel in my own martyrdom, it also allows me to reflect on the state of affairs at the newspaper, and dream up new ways to entertain and inform my readers and torture my staff.

So please, enjoy the fruits of our labors as Progress Chenango 2007 rolls off the presses this week, and then look forward to some hopefully exciting upcoming changes in The Evening Sun as we ‘progress’ into the new year.

Tags: Ogden Nash, Progress Chenango, Evening Sun, Chenango County

There are always winners and losers in a story. Any story. Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Along those lines, someone brought up a thought provoking point to me earlier today (Jan. 24), expressing that this blog is essentially an unprofessional tool of my trade (which is at this point more like an apprenticeship). They asked me how I could write objectively write about a story in one part of the website, and then use absurdity and mockery to express a strong opinion on the same subject in another part of the site.

No, this person was not a shopping cart attendant.

I felt like telling them, “very carefully.” But they had a valid argument.

I don’t know how we keep it separate, and keep it objective. I know I take pride in keeping the facts straight, presenting all the sides, and letting the reader make their own judgment on a news story.

Sometimes the facts are ugly. Sometime’s people look ugly because that’s the part their actions or words have allowed you to see. Sometimes, a spade is a spade.

I call them like I see them. I call them as they’ve been presented to me.

A blog isn’t all that different. I’ll admit there is less emphasis on giving people the benefit of the doubt, especially if I personally think they don’t deserve it – doesn’t mean it is not the truth.

I think in the blogs, reporters, at least the way I approach it, put a lot more on the line than they do in a news story. While news might be controversial, we can find refuge in “objectivity.” In a blog, we are leaving are chins wide-open, and we are the only ones accountable for what we put down.

And just like a news story, people can comment and voice their views to me, agree or disagree, and take me to task if they have to.

Blogs provide an exercise in objectivity, while they may not be objective. There would be no point to reading a story and then reading a blog that says the same thing, presented the exact same way. Blogs, just like news, are meant to make people make a choice. If I wrote a blog, passed it off as objective, but it was false, than that is wrong and unprofessional. But if I present my opinion, and make that abundantly clear, and make a reader make a choice – than I think that is being responsible and smart, if not objective.

Tags: blog, shopping cart, exercise in objectivity

I’m sure no sight could possibly be more amusing than watching a non-skier attempt to ski for the first time. I am sure of this, because as I was attempting to ski at my sister’s house yesterday, I could hear the uproarious laughter echoing from the house, as my sisters, nieces, nephews, brothers in law and I think even my 9 month old baby pointed and laughed at me.

I’ve never been known for my coordination. In fact, as a child going through my awkward stage, my oldest sister nicknamed me Grace, because of my obvious lack in that area. For all children, the awkward stage is different, and can last longer or shorter amounts of time. I just hope that mine will end soon, because, as my husband keeps telling me, I bruise far too easily to be falling down the stairs so often.

Yesterday, I  felt inspired. Shaking off the remnants of my formerly clumsy self, I strapped on the ski boots and shakily made my way outside. I had the skis on in moments and was feeling confident in my abilities. No problem, I thought. I’ll be mastering the slopes in no time. I made a painfully slow lap around the house before I decided to try my luck at skiing down the hill. In retrospect, it probably would have been a good idea to learn how to stop before attempting to cruise down, but that thought didn’t occur to me as I side-stepped my way up the hill.

It probably took me fifteen minutes, but eventually I was standing at the top of the hill. I had a moment of hesitation as I turned my skis forward and saw the slope ahead of me, but I had no time to rethink my actions, because before I knew it I was moving. “Lean forward, snow plow, snow plow!” Katie (older sister number two) yelled as I picked up more and more speed and the fence at the base of the hill came into view. Of course, to me, snow plow meant absolutely nothing, so instead I flailed my arms and screeched in an ever so elegant way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of brownish golden fur, my skis went flying out from underneath me and I landed on the ground, tangled in my own skis with a big, furry dog licking my face. “Lucky was not the right name for you,” I said to the dog named Lucky.

I heard a scrape as the windows of the house were pulled open. Laughter poured out  at me. “Good going, Grace,” someone yelled.

As I sat in the snow bank with the improperly named dog tangling his leash around my already disheartened form, I considered not getting back up. Not because I had given up, although I definitely had bruised my pride and some other body parts, but because I found it impossible to try to untangle my skis enough to stand. “Lean forward,” Katie  ordered. “Use the ski poles for balance.” As my six year old nephew grabbed my arm and tried to pull me to my feet, he began giving me pointers for my next trip down the hill, and I felt my last traces of pride dash away.

I’d like to tell you that my next attempt was much improved, but lying has never been my strong suit, so I will just say, I will definitely need some more practice before I hit the real ski slopes, and I guess I will be known as Grace until then.

I just finished reading the latest news about the two boys who were kidnapped in Missouri by the manager of a pizza shop. For those who are not familiar with the story, 13 year old Missouri boy went missing after getting off the school bus near his home. His friend saw a white truck speeding away from the location and was able to give the police a description of the vehicle. Four days after his abduction, the police found the 13 year old boy in Michael Devlin’s home, they found another teenage boy who had been missing for four years.

Television and print news agencies have been all over this story, and with good reason. A neighbor of Devlin’s even appeared on a news show the other day. This is the part that really concerns me. Devlin lived in an apartment complex about half an hour from where the boys were kidnapped. The neighbor admitted that he noticed that Devlin suddenly had a teenage boy living in his home. The neighbor went so far as to say how weird he found it that the boy rarely left the apartment and that Devlin was always with him when he did.

What kind of a person can see all of those facts, knowing that a boy, of approximately the same age, had been kidnapped in a neighboring town, and do nothing about it. At some point common sense has to kick in. There had to be at least some hint of suspicion.

I hate the fact that the boy had to suffer for 4 years before he was found, and I hate it even more that it seems so ridiculously obvious from an outsider’s view. I think there must have been at least one split second where this neighbor thought something seems wrong with this situation. People hate to get involved in other people’s business, and they are far too worried about how they will look if they are wrong. The more important question is how will I feel if I am right about this situation, and I do nothing about it.

The reporter Jill and the reporter Jessica had a great debate one cold winter day about who would win a race; a race to complete progress chenango stories within a three week deadline. Jessica never gave it much thought but Jill was determined to come in first.

” Try and beat me you see, fast as fast can be, you will never out write me” thought Jessica to herself.. Jill was certain she had the trophy in hand and the finish line was near as she mulled over the fact that she was six stories in the lead, she was in the clear…Jill really thought it was no race, no contest at all but given the chance to be competitive proved to be her ultimate goal. She snickered and chided as her confidence grew, Jessica knew her revenge was due.

Jessica thought it was not funny at all she was laid back and even had time to go to the mall. (Just kidding of course) No one laughs at Jessica that way with her green colored sweater shell and all. But that is what the other reporters who came did they played and joked and said Jill had it made. All the jokes and laughter made Jessica more aware, she was going to beat Jill even if only by a hair.

Jill like to be prompt and work straight through to completion often missing the littlest pieces of information or re number the edition.. Jessica knew Jill burned out fast and with that Jessica could make Jill come in last.

The amusement of it all made such a fuss and attracted so much attention that Jill and Jessica accepted it was a race and therefore worked long days and nights to keep up the pace.

Mike and Tyler were among the reporters who stood by but Mike could see how Jessica could win fir he knew her well and told Tyler. “Not a chance,” said Tyler for he knew Jill’s determination and her six story lead.

Then came Wednesday just three days before deadline. Jill had expected to finish up by four but then what happened it created such a scandal, there was Jessica with just three more stories to write, it came as such a shock it was more than Jill could handle.

With six hours left to go and Jill with one picture left to take and Jessica with the story count of seven she closed her eyes and decided it was time to take a break.

Jill made a dashing sprint toward the finish having to take a quick detour to New Berlin as Jessica typed leisurely and at 3:59 with one minute to spare Jessica hit save and Jill was where??

…..Still in her car with memory card in hand waiting for the UPS truck to pull pull over; her foot on the gas her hand on her camera all the while Jessica sat looking at the completed file just faintly hearing from afar, Jill yelling not fair, not fair at all.

The other reporters had keep track of the progress and all the while knew for a fact Jessica would win by literally a mile.

So although Jill lead the way, it was Jessica who won the race that day… All 10 stories and pictures complete her fingers finally at ease. She could now rest knowing she won, and Jill was second best.

Both being good sports and knowing it was not a real race but all in good fun, they took a well deserved tie for both and evenly split the pie.

I’d never fire someone for disagreeing with me, of course. But Mr. McGuire’s pushing it.

‘American Idol’ is a really good show.

Yes, I too resisted its charms for the first few seasons. When everyone was talking about Kelly, Justin, Clay, Reuben, Fantasia, Bo, et. al, I was curiously mute. Quickly, I’d try to divert attention to the aforementioned “Apprentice,” but it didn’t always work. I lived in fear that I’d be found out eventually. I was an ‘Idol’ virgin.

Then, last season, the compulsion to be In the Know overtook me. No self-respecting student of pop culture like myself could resist a phenomenon that had so entrenched itself in the modern lexicon. I had to tune in and spend 56 hours with Simon, Randy, Paula and Ryan. I would worship at the altar of ‘Idol.’

Simply by signing over a few precious days of my lifespan to the Fox network and its proud advertisers (I even went out and bought myself a Ford!), I was instantly plugged in to the nation-sweeping drama. I could chime in when someone talked about how Mandisa gave Simon what he deserved. I could nod in agreement when another said how dreamy Ace was. When someone said “Chicken Little,” I got the joke. I considered renaming my cat “Bucky Covington,” just because it flowed so swimmingly off the tongue.

So hold out if you can, Michael. If you’re content with not being One of Us, be my guest. Go ahead and read your books and newspapers and discuss ‘issues’ with your ‘friends.’ Resist the strains of ‘Since U Been Gone’ and listen to your ‘music’ instead. You may call it rugged individualism; I just call it being a loser.

Not The Biggest Loser, of course. That’s on another network.

I was just reading somewhere that American Idol has no intentions of ever ending.

Before that moment, I had no intention of ever leaving America.

The draft (even though I wasn’t born yet), french fries with gravy, and cheap meds weren’t enough to get me to head for Canada before, and now that I actually want to leave, I’m not even sure If I can go there.

“Hello Canada, do you guys like American Idol?”

“Are ya kidding, ey? That’s like asking if a Brown Lemming can ride in your coat pocket!”

“It is?”

“You bet.”

I’m not sure if they watch American Idol up there or not, but there is an obvious language barrier too large to overcome.

I guess that’s out. So where do I go? What do I do?

I can’t stand American Idol, but I hate change – Canada was pushing it.

I guess I’m like everyone else. I’ll stick around, and put up with something I don’t like.

But we don’t just put up with things – we (American) idolize them.

That show is the same every year, it can’t possibly be any better than it was the first couple times around – and the people they highlight in the popular cattle call episodes can’t possibly get any worse (see William Hung).

So how do they keep it so fresh, dawg? They don’t – we lie to ourselves and say they do. We like routines. We like the comfort of American Idol because we know it’s ok to watch it. We like to talk freely amongst peers and share anecdotes without fear of being called a weirdo.

But oddly enough, we also like things we believe we can call our own. Idol is definitely personal. It gives you a double ego boost; when the people really stink up the joint you get a good laugh “knowing” you are not nearly the loser they are. Second, when you get to the medal rounds, you find hope for yourself in the regular Joes who are living out their dreams for all to see.

They’re heroes.

That means you could be a hero.

It’s genius – but it should be illegal.

Instead of being the next Justin or William Hung, you’ll gather you’re buds and say “couch me” the rest of your life, content with seeing someone else take your limelight while you stand outside the fire (Garth Brooks, he’s my Am-Idol:) ).

That’s right – it should be you on that stage.

No it shouldn’t.

I guess I have no argument. I just don’t like that show and I’m so frustrated that no one else is with me.

If you think everyone is crazy except you, does that mean that you’re crazy?

Crazy and alone – Miss Cleo was right.

—

In shopping cart news, a friend in New Orleans says that carts down there have a mechanism on them that locks-up the wheels if you try to remove the cart from the parking lot.

After speaking with Jamey Mullen, the Director of the Norwich Family YMCA, I was astounded by the facts he told me about the effects of childhood obesity.
It is obvious that childhood obesity is becoming an ever growing problem in the United States and other parts of the world, but I was amazed when I heard that for the first time since we started keeping records, the life expectancy for children is shorter than that of their parents. Later that week I heard a public service announcement on television, saying that the rate of childhood obesity has tripled in recent years.

The facts are scary, and the toll that it will have on the lives of our youth is even scarier. I find myself wanting to point the finger at some group or organization. I want to place blame with someone, but there is no individual or individual group that has caused this unpleasant change, it is the culture as a whole.

As a whole, we need to look at the destructive lifestyle choices that are bringing about this unpleasant statistic. Portion sizes are out of control, soda is the number one beverage choice for children, fast food is replacing more and more meals a week and outdoor activity has been replaced by computer games, television shows and video games.

Even with all of these factors working against us, we as parents need to take responsibility. Children develop habits by watching their parents and doing as they see. There is a factor of control that goes along with raising children. When you see a bad habit, it is your responsibility to correct it.

As for me, these statistics have served as a wake-up call. My child may be far too young to be ingesting soda and sugary snacks now, but I know I am going to be much more conscious about my behavior around him. It is up to me to ensure that he lives a long and healthy life, and I intend to take responsibility for helping him do just that.