Ideology verses consumerism: How did we, as a country, reach a point where eating a chicken sandwich is a symbol of discrimination, or freedom of speech, or freedom to marry, depending on your personal outlook on the whole Chick-Fil-A mess? It seems – to me, at least – that the efforts of advocates of same sex marriage (and those who oppose it) would be better spent outside the offices of legislators and elected officials instead of outside fast food restaurants and in front of people who deep fry chicken for a living. As funny as I think it is that eating a chicken sandwich has somehow become a metaphor for protesting same sex marriage, I don’t think that Chick-Fil-A is the final decision-making body in the same sex marriage debate anyway, so why all the hoopla?

I hope everyone’s enjoying the Summer Olympics (prime time events are taped ahead of time so if you make it the entire day without any spoilers, I envy you). I’ve been watching the games more closely this year than I ever have before, and I’m seeing competitions I didn’t even know were recognized as an official Olympic event; particularly events like handball and badminton (and I definitely haven’t ever considered the existence of the Badminton World Federation. I guess it’s true, the Olympics are are full of unexpected surprises this year). It’s my own fault for stereotyping Olympians to be competitors in the more popular events (swimming, gymnastics, etc.) but I just don’t have the same level of respect for someone who wins gold in badminton. Be on the lookout for new events in the 2016 Olympics: Tug-of-war, arm wrestling, the “how long can you hold your breath” competition, guess a number, and rock/paper/scissors (for which my training starts now).

Next week begins the 165th Chenango County Fair – the annual tradition of all things Chenango County, with a finely blended mix of lights, rides, music, special exhibits and the smell of fried dough that just screams “good times.” Of course, a fair just wouldn’t be a fair without my favorite part, the midway games. No, I don’t play them, but I do enjoy watching other people shell out a few bucks to shoot a basket, throw a ping-pong ball in to a fishbowl, pop a balloon, or dunk a clown, all in the effort to win a giant sized pink gorilla that’s going to fill the entire back seat of their car. Yeah, they’re always thrilled when they win, but my initial thought is they have to carry that giant thing around for the rest of the day, then find a place to put it when they get home. What’s more rewarding than a gigantic inconvenience? Keep your eyes peeled during garage sale season; these things bound to turn up for sale on the front lawns all over the place.

On a completely unrelated note, the new McDonald’s looks like it’s really coming along nicely, which is good. I’m almost out of ketchup and napkins.

Only two more days until the first Chenango Summer Jam. I’d like to go on the record as saying it sounds like it’s going to be awesome. Some great bands lined up, including one with one of the best names ever: Giant Panda Guerilla Dub Squad. I’m really looking forward to it.

So is there an “off” switch to Mitt Romney or do we really have to wait for his battery life to run out before he stops talking? With someone that dull and emotionless, it seems like there would be a way to shut him down for a little while and let him cool off, or at least reboot him without calling a technical support hotline. On Wednesday, he said Olympic reports in London are “disconcerting,” which of course he clarified today to actually mean: “After being here a couple days, it looks to me like London is ready.” True, the whole thing is just blown out of context (just like when he said he likes to fire people), but still, questioning the city’s capability to host the Olympics while your in it? That’s gutsy, like pushing the self-destruct button. Romney’s actions have inspired this year’s newest Olympic event, pulling your foot out of your own mouth.

There’s a lot of ridicule out there about all the hype surrounding yesterday’s storm in Chenango County that “never happened” (I’m talking to you “Woman from Norwich”). The storm, however, did devastate nearby counties, and as was said by forecasters throughout the day yesterday, it’s difficult to predict the exact course of such weather patterns (even the local weather man doesn’t have a crystal ball). When it comes to heavy rain, hail, high winds and tornados, I’d much rather be over prepared than underprepared (then again, if Dorothy had as much a warning as we did, there wouldn’t have been a movie).

Far be it from me to usually complain (I swear that’s true), but why does it feel like Norwich has more blind intersections than anyplace else on earth? My apologies to all three drivers I almost pulled out in front of today (except lady driving the blue Chevy. I know I was at fault, and I couldn’t really hear what you said, but that stare almost set me ablaze and you were talking way too fast for it to be anything good).

I love summertime, which makes it disappointing to realize we’re finishing up the third week of July already. Bummer. I have a long “to do” list of summertime projects which I haven’t even started – I haven’t even finished my “to do” list. Procrastination is an awful habit and I, for one, am tired of time passing by with little to show for it. I’m going to seize every moment, take the bull by the horns. I’m no longer putting off till later what I can get done now… starting tomorrow.

Picture this: It’s been a long day. You’ve been running on full tilt and you’ve finally made it to the drive home – the final stretch – when you get stuck at a red light. You wait for it to turn green, nonchalantly, your elbow leaning against the window ledge and your head resting on your hand. You casually glance over to the left and see the driver next to you, his head bopping, hands drumming on the steering wheel, shoulders lungeing forward to the beat of… whatever he’s singing along with inside is own little refuge, and at that moment, he’s oblivious that you can see right through his windows.

Few things are as entertaining as catching someone singing in their car (and thank you, man in the blue Volkswagon. You made my day). I have to say, if there’s one place on the face of the earth where everyone feels comfortable singing – myself included – it’s when they’re alone behind the wheel. Personally, I think I’m a pretty good vocalist, Sinatra level even (at least until I turn the radio down. After that, the neighborhood dogs go nuts). And really, who hasn’t been in the drivers seat late at night, rocking out to something like Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart?”

“And I need you now tonight; and I need you more than ever; and if you only hold me tight; we’ll be holding on forever…”

On a completely separate note, have you ever wondered why people can such jerks? Supposedly, there’s some neurological science to it. A new study out of Switzerland suggests that there’s a link between the gray matter of one’s brain and their… um… less than pleasant demeanor. That’s not to say there isn’t some social issues in that mix as well, so before people start lining up for disability just because they’re a butt head, hopefully they keep in mind that (jerkishness?) is a controllable attitude.

I wish someone else would throw their hat in the ring as a presidential nominee. It’s not that I expect another candidate to be any better or worse than Obama and Romney; I just want to see a new face and hear a new name in the news – spice things up a little. Even with all the hype stressing the magnitude of the 2012 election (just as there has been every election, ever), I’m just not excited about heading to the polls in November.

Obama’s campaigning with the argument that under his leadership, the American economy avoided a deeper, longer-lasting recession. It’s difficult to run on the platform “Hey, I think things could have been worse.” On the other hand, the Romney campaign’s struggling too, fighting off the perceptions that the Romney household is where fun goes to die. Agree or disagree with his policies, it’s impossible to argue that Romney is a PR nightmare. His campaign coordinators are doing all they can to convince the public that he is all but boring, even recently sending out his five sons to late night talk shows and entertainment news broadcasts to convince the public that there’s a fun-loving guy somewhere deep, deep, deep inside Mitt. I’ve hear it said before that the only way Mitt has a fun-loving guy inside him is if he were pregnant with Steve Martin’s baby.

On to something less political, what a great performance by the Royal Southern Brotherhood in East Park last night. With the first of many free concerts throughout the summer a success, I only look forward to what’s in store for the rest of the season. Watching such an awesome show makes be really regret choosing to play the trombone in high school…

Love it or hate it, it seems as though things are looking more and more favorable for gas drilling in the area. I’m still on the fence when it comes to drilling, but now that four Chenango County townships have shown support for the DEC, Afton being the latest to hop on the bandwagon, it feels like I – and a number other county folk – won’t have the time to reach a conclusion in favor or in opposition of it. It’s difficult to argue against the need for clean water but at the same time, I like to turn on my lights at night. Personally, I’m more an advocate for other forms of energy, primarily wind and solar (or even hamsters running on exercise wheels, so long as it doesn’t poison my drinking water). With with all the technological advances made over the last few decades, it seems that we wouldn’t be in a position where there’s such passionate debate over choosing between energy and health. The Jetsons never had to deal with this problem.

I trust that most everyone had an enjoyable (and face-melting hot) Fourth of July. Ah, what better way to celebrate your independence than a fine mixture of alcohol and explosives? I’m under the assumption that no reports of injury or sudden fires means a good and moderately responsible time was had by all.

The most dedicated readers of The Evening Sun saw a different kind of front page on Wednesday – snapshots of community members, along with their own words describing what Independence Day means to them. Reporters set out earlier this week to talk to strangers on the street for a contribution, myself bearing the heat and rejection after rejection, after rejection, after rejection… it was horrible, like high school prom all over again. One man completely ignored me, presumably because he thought I was trying to sell him something (in which case, I’d like to think I would have been more assertive – chasing him down the street and screaming “You’ll buy”).

Regardless of the more than 30 people who shot me down, I really appreciate the ones who said a few words and their succumbing – though reluctant – to have their picture in the paper. I heard a lot of great responses (much better than the usual “Go away” I came to know and love) but what worried me in the process was the responses I got from some of the local kids. Granted, some were pretty young (10-years-old-ish) but some were well into their teen years and had no idea what Independence Day was:

• “What does Independence Day mean to you?”
• “It’s a day to celebrate Independence”
• “Yeah, but what does that mean exactly?”
• “You know, a day where we celebrate the people who didn’t die.”

My favorite response:

• “It’s a day when we celebrate the history of our presidents.”
• “Oh yeah, kind of like Presidents’ Day?”
• “Yeah”

At least they didn’t assume I was trying to sell them a subscription.

Switching gears, the Gus Macker tournament is this weekend – already. I hope basketball is your forte.

As social and political experts scramble to explain the the downward spiral of our nation over the years, and a whirlwind of debate from all sides only makes every argument of our decline more confusing to you than the next, consider this: Ten years ago today, President George W. Bush transferred his presidential powers to Vice President Dick Cheney for more than two hours during a routine colon screening that ended in a clean bill of health. That’s right, for two hours, Mr. Cheney was in charge, with his finger on the button (as opposed to the usual, keeping his finger on the finger on the button). Who knows what really happened in those two hours?

Unless you live under a rock, I’m sure that you’ve heard the Supreme Court’s ruling that upholds the president’s proposal for health care reform (and even if you do live under a rock, you still have to have health insurance by 2014). I admit, I’m on the fence when it comes to their ruling. True, no one should need to purchase health insurance or any other private service under order of the federal government; but on the other hand, I already pay taxes to maintain roads I’ll never drive on, grants for townships I’ll never visit, and state and federal assistance for people I’ll never meet (worse, some of that assistance supports people out there I don’t really like). But I don’t know anyone whose never been to the doctor. I already pay for a lot of things I never directly benefit from; at least the person who benefits from my paying health care is me.

Maybe, just maybe, two years from now, we’ll be wondering what we did without mandated health insurance. We’ll laugh in recollection of how sinister the world seemed, what with all of its uneven stairs, grimy door knobs, dirty sidewalks, and the KFC / Taco Bell drive thru – all of which dramatically compromise the stability of human health. With health insurance, none of these things will be so scary, right?

In fact, why not go the extra mile? I say, now that I need health insurance anyway, why not live it up? All the stupid things I did as a kid are suddenly sound fun again. I still have my bicycle and I’ll bet I can find the ramp a young, eight-year-old me “built” out of rotted plywood (held together by nothing more than a few loose nails, duck tape, bubble gum and the will of God). There’s a bee nest outback of my apartment that needs a good poking with a long stick. And what better time to re-introduce “Rock Tag” (like regular Tag, but with more incentive to avoid being tagged “it”)?

Mandated health insurance ensures a hospital bed somewhere with my name on it and I want to get my money’s worth.

After two days of 90+ degree whether with such a high level of humidity that I could almost swim to work, today certainly feels much better. Thursday and Friday were hot – unbearably hot; I didn’t realize asphalt even had a liquid phase. But for all my complaining about the heat, the humidity, the sticky arms, the mid air explosions from birds catching on fire, I think I handled it pretty well. Like most people, I developed a close emotional bond with the A/C and the ceiling fan, and rekindled a deep-rooted hatred of my car’s leather seats and the seat belt buckle.

Frankly, what really comes to mind on hot days are the “It’s so hot…” jokes of Johnny Carson, Jay Leno, David Letterman, even Jimmy Fallon (who I’m not usually a fan of).

It’s so hot:
The National Weather Service has issued a fat guy in tank top warning
People are baking cookies on their dashboards
Somewhere in the US, a corn stalk turned into popcorn
Squirrels are pouring Gatorade on their nuts
I saw two trees fighting over a dog
I saw a funeral procession pull into a Dairy Queen
The nation is experiencing a heat wave, but we have plenty of shade under our 14 trillion dollar debt ceiling.

Kudos, gentlemen. Kudos.

It’s graduation weekend, so my heartiest congratulations to everyone moving on to the next stage in life (or “the real world” as Dad called it). I wish I was one of profound words of inspiration, encouragement and brilliance, but I just made a list of “It’s so hot” one-liners so it’s possibly best to save a stimulating speech for commencement speakers. Nevertheless, best of luck to all who are turning the tassel this weekend.

Today’s been one of those days where I’ve struggled to think of something to write. Most would refer to it as “writer’s block.” Unfortunately, if your job depends on the ability to write, it’s not as simple as just writer’s block. It means a real lack of productivity – something I’m fervently against. A reporter with writer’s block is the equivalent of a runner with a broken leg, a seeing-eye dog with cataracts, an EMT who misplaced the keys to the ambulance…

Certainly there’s plenty to write about: Round three of a very unpopular murder trial; a Father’s Day weekend full of (almost too many) things to do in the area; the chance of a large abandoned city property being spruced up downtown; businesses coming and going throughout the county; and my favorite local-ish story of the week, an SUV that narrowly fit through the doors of the Wegman’s in Johnson City and parked somewhere in the produce section – no one was hurt.

Of course there are things to write. How about a letter, just to change it up a little? Maybe a letter to Norwich; home sweet home, the place where I lay my head. The place I can’t wait to get out of, then can’t wait to return to when I’m gone:

Dear Norwich,

What’s happening to you Norwich? You use to have pride, self-esteem, be full of prosperity and you knew what it meant to take initiative and put effort into everything you do. Now, it seems that you spend to much time looking for a fast fix to complicated issues, quick to blame but slow to react. All too often, it seems you’ve lost your sense of decency; civility has little meaning. Even in a casual conversation outside the local convenience stores, you’ve adopted the “F-bomb” as part of your vernacular, using it as an adjective, verb, noun, pronoun, interjection – and I don’t think it’s intended to be a grammar lesson for the kids around you who are listening and, rest assured, learning.

Norwich, I don’t want to feel like I’m interrupting a pajama party everywhere I go. I agree, pajama bottoms are the epitome of comfort but when you’re out and about, would it kill you to put on pants? And maybe – even if it’s only faked – being a little more polite, or perhaps showing a little enthusiasm when you walk? I say put a little pep in your step, a little pride in your stride, instead of scuffing your feet like wounded livestock.

Really, why can’t you just pick up your feet?

Don’t get me wrong, Norwich. There’s still plenty to love about you and the good far outweighs the bad. You’re family oriented (for the most part), you’re beautiful, you put on some great shows throughout the year, you’re humble (again, for the most part); I’d like to think we have a pretty good relationship Norwich, and maybe I’m being a little hasty in pointing out some of your flaws. After all, nobody’s perfect.

I’m not asking too much, am I?

Sincerely,
Shawn

I’m thinking about buying a drum set. I don’t have a whole lot of ambition to learn how to play, I just have neighbors I don’t really care for.

As far as news weeks go, it seems this week’s been pretty eventful at the Evening Sun. Big news in my coverage area includes consideration by the Town of Norwich to form its own fire department; the Pumpkin Festival is going to be a couple weeks earlier this year; and planning for a multi-million dollar affordable housing complex to be built in the State Street neighborhood is well underway. But this week’s completely distinguished, completely coveted (and completely made-up) plaque of recognition undoubtedly goes to fellow reporter Brian Golden for successfully putting together a newspaper on another Friday in Jeff’s absence. More impressive, he did it without the use of crayons, construction paper, and lots and lots of photocopying – I can’t say I would have been able to do the same. Oh, and he gets additional honors for his week-long coverage in some controversial murder trial or something like that…

How about a fun day at the airport to bounce back from such a busy week? Airport Day is Saturday and one needs not travel too far to see aerobatics exciting enough to make you wet your pants. I’ve never actually been to an Airport Day event, so I’m pretty worked up over this – it sounds like it’s going to be a great event and I’m so glad the county revived it. I’ve high expectations for the spectacle, most of them resembling scenes of Maverick barrel-rolling a fighter jet over the Pacific in the movie Top Gun… maybe I should lower the bar a little.

I read a strange article online last night of a Connecticut man who claims he was sleepwalking after being accused of robbing a woman at knife-point. I’ve heard of people doing odd things when sleepwalking before; one story of a woman driving to a nearby video store and renting a few movies (and not good movies. I think it was the Back to the Future trilogy). There’s another of a man who made a bowl of cereal to eat in bed and when he awoke in the morning, he found a trail of coco puffs leading from his kitchen to the bedroom. So sleep-robbery is possible I guess. I can hear the hands of criminals across the country slapping their forehead – Oh, if only OJ had thought of that. Maybe we’ll see an entertaining twist in the Wlasiuk trial this time around.

At long last, an updated blog. I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve put it off this week for no good reason.

My wife and I made a the drive to New York City last weekend, something that I dragged my feet about at first. Honestly, it was a blast and we fit right in with the rest of the tourists that crowded every other street in Manhattan – map in hand, camera around the neck, wallet sticking out of the back pocket, and walking while always looking straight up. It’s easy to spot a tourist in New York.

In two days, I think we managed to hit up the major attractions in Manhattan, from Central Park down to Wall St. – the highlight, I think, was a visit to the World Trade Center. Unfortunately, we couldn’t see the new memorial, which was barricaded by wooden walls and temporary construction banners. To see it, visitors need to request tickets in advance (something I didn’t know), my guess being that it’s an attempt for crowd control at an enormous construction site. In any case, we did get a close-up glimpse of the massive Freedom Tower, which is planned to grow taller still by more than 400 feet… I feel a nose bleed coming on already.

On another topic, Sherburne’s the place to be if you’re looking for something to do this Saturday. I’m pretty excited about this weekend’s Pageant of Bands. As a Sherburne-Earlville alumni, and former band geek trombone player, it’s something I look forward to every year and something I miss being a part of (because when I was in high school, nothing drew the ladies’ attention like a nerdy boy who played the trombone). Without lying, I could use the pick-up line, “Hey baby, I’m in a band and we’re pretty good.” In hindsight, that line might have worked better if I didn’t say it was the marching band… and I’m pretty sure the words “hey baby” didn’t do me any favors.

As an avid skeptic of the dumb sounding “Zombie Apocalypse,” I usually stay away from even mentioning the issue (though fellow reporter Brian Golden doesn’t shy from it); but recent events including the face-eating naked man in Florida, a Maryland college student who admitted to eating his roommate’s heart and brain, a “mysterious rash” breakout in a school in Hollywood, CA, and another flesh eating murderer in Canada, is more than enough to raise an eyebrow, even for a skeptic like me. Yet, as graphic and gruesome as these recent stories are, there’s reassurance; the Center for Disease Control officially denounced the existence of zombies this week. Whew – there you have it. If the government says it doesn’t exist, then it doesn’t exist, right? Personally, I don’t see this wave of twisted events as a sign of a zombie invasions as much as it is a rise in sick weirdos. Either way, it creates a tough new demographic of voters for Romney and Obama this campaign season.