The twentieth century had more than it's share of dubious "innovations"; atomic weapons, the wonder bra and (of course) new Coke. The worst of the bunch, though, has to be twenty-four-seven wall-to-wall news coverage.

In the early days of television -- when most of the sets were still pedal-powered -- there were only three networks and respectable men like Walter Cronkite stared into the camera with sincere expressions and read the day's news to us like a patient teacher reading to a class of dim-witted students. Walt stuck to the facts and gave us the stories in one quick dose; sort of the way you give nasty-tasting cough syrup to a child.

Somewhere along the line the TV networks decided that we were too dense or busy or distractable to absorb ... um ... what was I talking about?

Oh. Right. As a result of years of exposure to fast-paced TV shows, we no longer had the attention span necessary to ... hey, is that a butterfly?

Sorry. I meant to say that we could no longer focus on the news the way Walt delivered it. We still needed quick doses, but we needed them over and over and over. The motto of the modern television news industry is "It's not done until it's overdone!".......

The origins of defense contracting are shrouded in the mists of history -- or at least cloaked by the Official Secrets Act. I'll bet, though, that the original defense contractors were the guys who came up with the Swiss Army knife.

Really.

The Swiss Army knife inconveniently combines unrelated tools in a package which is simultaneously too small to be useful and too big to comfortably fit in your pocket. Only an experienced, dedicated design committee could have created a device which promises so much and delivers so little. Then they made a fortune by selling it to the Army. I'm sure these guys were the ancestors of the people who created the Osprey Vertical-Take-Off-and-Landing aircraft. Not all of these guys work for Defense, though. A fair number of these "jam it together and see what sticks" designers work in cell phone manufacturing.......

For on-going, ever-changing, cheap home entertainment, nothing beats having children. Well, not cheap exactly. If you're planning to have a child, you'd best be prepared to pay medical costs, daycare, the cover prices for a vast array of comprehensive parenting manuals which contain mutually-contradictory advice, pre-school testing fees, school enrollment fees, school picture fees, school picture retake fees because the first set of pictures make your child look like a member of the marsupial family, fashionably-ripped clothes, new fashionably-ripped clothes because the old ones aren't fashionably-ripped enough, driving lessons, a new car to replace the one which was tragically lost at sea during the driving lessons, car insurance against the next unforeseen disaster, orthodontia, eye wear, personal technology, SAT study guides, ACT study guides, study guides for re-taking the SAT and the ACT, professional tutoring for the SAT and ACT, bribes to get college admissions officers to look the other way when they see the SAT and ACT scores, college tuition, college graduation costs, and a parental subsidy for the first post-college year as your offspring try to establish themselves. All things considered, the cost of raising a child to productive adulthood is comparable to the cost of the average space shuttle mission, but with far less chance of being featured on the national news. (Although, in an interesting coincidence, if you do have children it's a good bet that just like the astronauts, they will lose one-hundred-thousand dollars worth of tools before they move out.)......

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I blame Mother Nature. She's decided that she doesn't want anyone living in my part of the country any more, so she's taken a page from the Slum Lord play book and is trying to run us all out by making the area uninhabitable. Slum Lords generally try underhanded tactics like turning off the heat or electricity so the building is cold and dark. Mother Nature has pummeled us with several thousand tons of snow so the state is cold and dark.

Less hardy souls might be tempted to move, but not me. I've decided to stay and fight. If you'd like to simulate my experience of living in a winter wonderland, try this simple experiment.

Go to the store and buy the biggest box of instant mashed potato flakes you can find. Dump the entire box into a tea cup. Clean up the mess using a sugar spoon while somebody periodically pours crushed ice down the back of your shirt. When you're almost done, send your friend to the store for two or three more big boxes of potato flakes.

Really......

When it comes to selecting a tough and dangerous occupation, there are plenty to choose from; snow plow driver in Alaska, nuclear plant safety inspector, and the salesclerk in charge of convincing size twenty-four women that a size eight dress won’t stretch that much no matter how long they hold their breath. There’s one risky job that tops them all, though ... Reality TV Cameraman.

I’m not talking about the folks who work on competition-based shows like Project Runway, Top Chef, or Judge Judy. Those kinds of programs are rough, but at least they take place in controlled environments like a fake loft, fake restaurant, or fake court room. The really dangerous shows are in the genre of wow-you-actually-do-that-for-a-living and include programs like Storm Chasers, The Deadliest Catch and (most frighteningly of all) Bridezillas.

The creation of reality television is a relatively recent broadcasting innovation. Young people will probably think I’m making this up, but in the early days of television, producers believed that they actually had to have a script and actors if they wanted to make a show. By today’s standards, that’s as quaint an idea as the buggy whip, the A.M. Radio, or only giving mortgages to people who might conceivably be able to pay them back.....

In terms of sheer tonnage, the United States it the world’s leading producer of weapons-grade bureaucracy. Nothing officially happens in this country until it’s been recorded on a complicated and mysteriously-named form, approved, counter-signed, and carried to its final resting place in a dusty filing cabinet. It"s not our fault, though. After all, the country was founded on a written document that was born in a committee, crafted by a series of votes, and signed by one guy who then turned it over to fifty-five of his friends so they could countersign it.

Building on that humble beginning, the United States has elevated bureaucracy to a art form. If bureaucracy were an Olympic event, the United States would be the hands-down winner in every competition. (Of course, given the difficulty involved in filling out the necessary "Permission to Train", "Permission to Apply for Permission to Travel to the Site of Competition", "Travel Pre-Authorization", "Approval for Travel", "Permission to Compete", and "Permission for a Discrete Moment of Celebration Upon Achieving Victory" forms, we'd probably never have a competitor who actually made it to the games.)....

My wife met me at the door when I came home and said, "Guess what came in the mail today?" After more than two decades of marriage I know better than to give her a straight answer to a question like that.

So I said, "I don’t know. My commitment papers?"

"No. I keep those in the fire safe for when I really need them. What came today was a coupon to the home improvement store. If we spend fifty dollars, we get ten dollars off! It’s to get us started on a project."

By us she meant me and by project she meant some-ill-conceived-poorly-executed-attempt-at-home-improvement-that-will-result-in-thousands-of-dollars-of-unplanned-repairs-and-marital-therapy.

I answered the only way I could, the way guys have answered for years, the one-size-fits-all of evasive answers; "I’m too busy right now."

This might have been more convincing if I hadn’t been pushing past her to get the to TV remote when I said it....

I like to think of myself as an easy-going guy; relaxed, laid-back, and fun to be around. I'd actually be like that if I just didn’t have to deal with other people. Some people have bad joints that flare up in rainy weather. Others have sciatica that troubles them when it's damp. Me? I have a streak of crankiness that comes on strong when people annoy me.

Like all of the blind people who have driver's licenses.

Really.

I'll be tooling along, rocking-out to some lost hit from my youth like Peter Schilling's Coming Home (and hoping that nobody in the other cars can lip read) when some moron will try to change into my lane WHILE I'M STILL USING IT!...

There was a time in this country when having an MBA meant something. It was the symbol of an accomplished business leader, a mark of distinction, a sign that said, "this person was willing to spend tens of thousands of dollars and hours in pursuit of a piece of parchment." Everybody wanted one and universities responded with a huge variety of mutant MBA programs -- the Executive MBA, the MBA for Working Persons, the MBA for persons who don't work, but would if they had an MBA, the MBA for NBA, the NASCAR MBA, and the MBA for the Criminally Insane. MBAs are now so common that some Universities are giving away one MBA with every regular graduation or cafeteria meal.

The American Businesses Leaders (at least those who are still employed) are saying, "Enough! If you – Mr. University President – want to distinguish your MBA program from the rest you're going to have to shift to a new paradigm, think outside the box, and re-energize your core competencies."

(Aside: Remember that the current world financial system was created and is maintained by people who talk just like this.)

What this really means is that MBA programs that want to survive are going to have to teach more than just buzzwords, they'll have to focus on actual, useful, real-world business skills.

December 1 -- It snowed today; first flakes of the season. Everything is blanketed in white and the whole world is magical. Even the simple act of shoveling brought a smile to my face and reminded me that Christmas is just around the corner. I think a quiet dinner party with friends would be just the thing. Must remember to talk to my wife about that.

Should probably also get her going on the shopping and whatnot. After all, it is Christmas.

December 5 -- I’m looking forward to the party even if my wife is less than enthusiastic. When I mentioned it to her she started to interrogate me about petty details like how many people I planned to invite and when I intended to hold this "little soiree". Scrooge! I told her she needed to lighten up, Christmas is to be savored and experienced and not rushed through like a hundred-yard marathon!

I still need to talk to her about the cards and stuff, but today didn't seem like the right time.