security blankets

For those of you who follow my postings I am sorry that my work has been weak and infrequent of late. A few months ago I took on a new position that requires more of my attention. And, in the same time frame, additional time had to be given to my parents as well. My father recently died. He lived a long life and was a great man. I did take the time to write a tribute for him. He knew of my blog and I spoke with him once about the style and contents. He politely listened, but he would not have wanted me to deliver homage of him on the web. Hopefully, in due time, I will be able to get back to a routine of more regular rambling.

A member of the IT team where I work vaulted into my office recently to instruct me about making sure my e-mail password was secure. Without hesitation I told him not to worry. I informed him of one of my many odd characteristics, or perhaps character defects. That is, while I may not be able to remember if I’m suppose to pick up apples and bananas or bread and milk, I have a very good ability to create complicated codes of symbols, letters and numbers that I can effortlessly retrieve from my memory banks. As he milled about, checking my PC’s tower and hodgepodge of cables, my mind digressed on how even I was surprised that I recently remembered the combination for a bicycle cable lock I found in my garage after thirty years missing. “And your off-site password too”, he continued. “Yes”, I said, “very complicated”. He exited my office with a sigh of relief and headed straight toward the customer service department with the same line of questioning and palpable anxiety in tow.

Security on the web, in paper trails, and in our personal lives is understandably of great concern. Certainly it would be foolish to avoid taking the many modern day threats in our lives seriously. However, I think that more than a sprinkling of naivety has been mixed in with the hyper focus.

This thought occurred to me on my way to pick up a strawberry-rhubarb pie last week at a shop near a strip mall. It is not terribly uncommon for me to see an automobile donning a cover, when parked for an extended period of time, in the driveway of a meticulous owner’s property. But when parked outside of Old Navy or Stop & Shop, I wonder if the blanket enhances security or makes it a target.

Besides geeks and IT teams, the medical community has a stepped up intent on security to boot. I was reminded of this twice recently. My first encounter wasted about eight phone calls and stripped away nearly eight hours of a work day earlier this month. While attempting to fill a prescription for my mother through a pharmacy, I was told that the coverage had expired and the script could not be filled. Aware that we had just transferred from one plan administrator to another I knew it was simply a system problem. A new id number was issued but we hadn’t yet received it in the mail. So I called the health plan to get the new information. Unnaturally, but expectedly I suppose, I was subjected to spending 20 minutes in the queue before I was told that HIPAA laws prevent me of that privilege. “Yes, but I have power of attorney”, I informed the representative. “Yes, but I don’t have it recorded in the system”, came the retort. I asserted, “I have a copy in my briefcase. Surely, we should be able to transact this by fax or scan within a few minutes, right?” “I can give you our fax number, but it will take one to three business days to process your request”, replied the rep. Feeling defeated, I simply hung up.

But after lunch, I decided on one more try and one more plea. After waiting the obligatory 20 minutes in another IT holding pattern I reached out to another representative and stated my need. I again got the HIPAA response. Not wanting to wait for the mail or a three day process I proposed reason, “instead of specific information, which of course you can’t provide, can you give me any general knowledge which may be of help?” “Well yes”, she thought. “A member’s social security number plus a zero and one will work as an alternate id.” Loving the presence of a back door, I called back the pharmacy and was done in a flash.

A few days later I was back in the medical info arena again. But this time I was there for myself. The medical assistant behind the desk handed me the standard three pages and a clipboard to be completed as it was more than a year since my last visit. Then she continued with a new request. “I need to make a copy of your driver’s license please”, she said in a matter of fact manner. Understanding that my body defaults into freeze mode when asked something that I can’t compute, I said “I can’t do that.” “But we need it for security reasons” she plodded. “Securing what possible occurrence”, I quipped and sensed that the whole waiting room of patients were now curiously waiting for either an intelligent result or a crash and burn. “Sir, we need to scan your license and picture into our system so that someone can’t pose as you for medical reasons!” “Well now I’m definitely not giving you a copy of my license”, I chuckled.

Confused and upset she demanded an answer. “Simple”, I said. “I feel a lot less secure having a copy of my picture and license, along with my already ubiquitous social security number and other identification markers, in your vulnerable to hackers computer system than I do by just keeping it in my wallet.” “Besides”, I now edgily went on, “I think the odds of someone my exact height, weight, blood type and medical history pretending to be me in front of a doctor that is supposed to know me is rather low.” “Okay sir, but you are going to have to present that license every time you come in for a visit”, she ended.

Just then my name was loudly mispronounced from the nurse’s station and it was time to go. On my way to see the doctor I somewhat fretfully realized that I have more of my father’s skeptical nature in me than I probably know. And I remembered one of his creeds. “We plan as if we are in control, but I know that we are not.”

© 2011 Christopher’s Views

mid winter reflection

Punxsutawney Phil, reportedly, did not see his shadow on the ground today. Courtesy of an ice storm, however, I did see my reflection.

In the glimmer of the broken glass-like and mosaic pattern deposited on the walkway to my home, I discerned the melancholy state of my being since the longest winter I can remember since 1996.

Besides the cold weather and record snowfalls of that season, I remember losing a dear friend who was still in his mid-forties when brain cancer claimed his life.

So far this winter, in ironic harmony with the harsh elements, the husband of a long and very dear friend succumbed to cancer before the age of 50. As well, a former colleague and friend who broke me into the business that I manage a staff for today died in his mid-fifties while shoveling snow. And there is a good chance that my father, battling his own cancer, won’t make it to the vernal equinox.

I do like to ski. I do enjoy snow tubing. Sometimes, I spontaneously find fun in just throttling up a snow covered hill behind the controls of a 4-wheel drive crossover.

In the recesses of my mind I realize, that in the end, this Arctic shift of cold and power will be the cause of more twisted or broken ankles and dislocated shoulders than of death.

But in the spring, when by the grace of a higher power I am afforded a gaze into a beautiful shoreline sunset, I will remember and wonder of the lives lost rather than the bones broken or of the slopes mastered.

© 2011 Christopher’s Views

one of the many

Evidently the NYC Sanitation Dept and the Bloomberg administration have decided to dispatch plows in a snowstorm about as frequently as I post.

The above caption is a snapshot of a blocked entry to an unplowed street in Queens, 48 hours after the peak of the recent blizzard and 36 hours after it stopped snowing. Broadway and much of Manhattan have been long freed, but tax-paying residents in the outer boroughs hope to be dug out before an ambulance or police vehicle needs to respond to a call for help.

Fortunately for me, during the worst of yesterday’s snowlock (maybe I should coin that word or something), I was afforded access to my lady’s 4 wheel drive dynamo featured in a critique on June 25th this year. I lost count of all the snarled and disabled buses strewn around the city. Quite a few passengers were stranded overnight in unheated subway cars on the famous A-train as well. Personally, I think I would have just gotten out and walked to a 7-Eleven though if I were a victim of such a blunder.

It is hard, however, to get off a plane stuck for eleven hours on the tarmac of JFK airport though unless you want to spend another eleven hours bogged down with Homeland Security officials.

Perhaps, in the end, there are a few simple lessons and silver linings to be taken from this City Hall wide brain cramp. First, maybe mayors and other elected officials should be allowed to run for office indefinitely so they have something to lose. Second, the strange thing about preparedness is that we often are not prepared for what actually happens (i.e. Mother Nature). And last, next to duct tape, put a 4X4 on your check list.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views

an unexpected gift

My special lady and I recently enjoyed a weekend at the FOXWOODS RESORT in Mashantucket, CT. Gambling is the main attraction at this venue. But, once a year or so, we go mainly to see a comedy act or a concert.

Hearing Sheryl Crow sing live at the MGM Grand Theater at the resort was our primary objective. Although I’m not in love with the acoustics offered by this hall, I do like the size (not too big or small) and the seating is very comfortable (I hate being crammed and jammed while watching an engagement). I knew Sheryl would perform magnificently-and she certainly did.

We had no idea though who would open up for her. And when the opening artist and band were introduced-the name Brandi Carlile only slightly rang a bell. I am also not a viewer of the ABC drama, Grey’s Anatomy, so I was unaware that a few of Ms. Carlile’s songs had been featured here. However, just a few harmonics later and we did know that we were the recipients of a bank error in our favor. This was no opening act and a show. It was a double header.

I enjoy many different kinds of music. To my delight, Brandi Carlile has a unique way of blending rock, country and folk qualities into her renditions while she mixes in and reveals a wide range of singing ability. She appears young, yet self-assured and powerfully energetic. And her vocal cords possess the smooth acceleration of a finely tuned V8 engine.

Differing styles aside, but similarly having previously known nothing about someone, I couldn’t help feeling some familiarity to having heard Bonnie Raitt for the first time back in the 1970’s and instantly becoming a follower. Déjà-vu, I suppose, in the form of another big voice, with obvious talent, artistry and an upward aura.

It was a no-brainer then that I would want to head for the lobby and purchase a CD during intermission. About a thousand other people had thought along those lines too. Even with the announced knowledge that an autographed copy might be possible, I gave the notion little consideration. Instead, I hyper focused (zoned out-as I sometimes do) as I weaved my way to the glass enclosed displays of merchandise available. I drowned out all the crowd noise around me and requested ‘that one’ while pointing in redundancy to the clerk in attendance. Then, at the exact moment I was handed the disk, my peripheral focus returned and I heard a woman next to me say, ‘I’ll take that’.

Standing beside me and to the right was Brandi Carlile. As she autographed my purchase I wanted to comment all about my déjà-vu, her energy, her range, her wit of lyrics and her guitar playing. But, suffering under the weight of an unexpected gift being tossed in my lap, I mundanely declared ‘great voice Brandi, great voice’ as I moved on to make room for the next new fan.

Considering that for the past two weeks her songs are pretty much all I have listened to while navigating my way around town, I thought that if you too are looking for a gift that doubles as a gem you may want to check out the music of Brandi Carlile.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views

the right tool for the job

I often guide my way through life’s journeys and detours by referring to axioms. The dictum which reminds us that the first step to getting out of a big hole requires us to stop digging is an old favorite of mine. And perhaps this message needs to be run 24/7 on a Times Square billboard.

America has been toiling in a massive hole for a couple of years now, since being declared healthy enough for removal from life support (meaning no more bailouts). We muddle by with mind boggling government debt, extensive unemployment, an aging infrastructure, an overextended military, tremendously high foreclosure rates, upside down home ownership (owing more than a house is worth), huge personal and business debts, and a frivolous denial about global warming in the real sense as well as in the creating some jobs sense.

Are people angry? Of course they are. Are there times and places for anger? Of course there are. The tricky thing though about the emotion of anger is how it can work well within a healthy personal relationship at times, and yet can wreak havoc within business or public relationships. Within a strong personal relationship, anger sometimes sounds the alarm that problems need to be addressed. And if they are, the relationship can grow and become even better. However, in a business, group or public setting, anger often transcends being an emotion. Interest in mending or improving the relationship can quickly take a back seat to the gathering of allies, winning of the battles and later to losing the war.

I fear that this is the current state in much of American politics and culture today. Carl Paladino, running for governor of New York State as a Republican this fall, perhaps exemplifies the angry man of today most aptly. He holds himself together as he declares himself to be ‘mad as hell’ in a video clip on the paladinoforthepeople web site. I get the angry Tea Party coziness of his statement. I wonder though if he gets the Freudian slip side of being one who is ‘mad as hell’ as in crazy, nutty and irrational. As in someone who would send a letter to Andrew Cuomo, the Democratic choice, running for governor in the Empire State, in which, on September 20th, Paladino made several remarks about Mr. Cuomo and his lack of ‘cojones’. Or someone would refer to former NYS Governor George Pataki as a ‘degenerate idiot’. Or someone who thinks a well thought out idea is to 'take a baseball bat to Albany'. Or someone who would attempt to make an analogy that connects Sheldon Silver, the NY Assembly speaker, with Hitler and an Antichrist. Or boil over into some kind of implied threat when taunting, ‘I’ll take you out buddy’ ,while arguing with a New York Post editor in a hotel lobby near Lake George. And certainly he would not connect being ‘mad as hell’ with the extreme divergence of judgment required between wanting to lead a State of 19 million people and forwarding racist, vulgar and immature e-mails without thought, in what he has labeled ‘poor judgment’, as has been reported in the media. Notwithstanding the madness, this trendy position of showing anger without discussing solutions to the individual, public, current and future problems only serves to divide our energy and will likely keep us mired in our hole right up to the midterm elections in November and beyond.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, President Obama (the unruffled man) and his administration have disappointed many by the lack of tangible projects and solutions brought forth to get the country back on track following the disastrous Bush era. I am not so sure that Andrew Cuomo can get the job done with any less disappointment here in New York.

But when I enter the voting booth on November 2nd, I will pull a lever that I believe provides a chance for focus, strategy, equality, progress, growth and maturity. Snowballing anger, void of sincerity, usually just begets more anger and little gets solved. No matter what party I look to I want to vote for someone with ideas and principles that make good sense, not good punch lines.

It is currently very hard to for me to see any individuals who meet those criteria because the shovels are still largely in hand and tons and tons of bulls@#$ are still being tossed around in the emptiness. Forget the baseball bat; negotiating our way out of this stink hole may require each of us to be packing a can of Lysol.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views

beyond our sight

Somewhere up there a higher power may or may not be in control.

Except for a few lighthearted pieces on food and driving I fulfilled my summertime goal of clearing my mind by staying clear of my desktop.

And that my lightheartedness would end while looking into a clear blue sky is a bit of a surprise. Though, by comparison, it is very similar in nature to that of an early morning, just over nine years ago, that quickly led into the darkest of days in New York City. Hearts will be eternally heavy over the losses suffered on 9/11. Memories will be perpetually marred. Reflecting pools, memorials and monuments will be built. But we will not bring anyone back and we cannot turn back in time.

I knew a few people who perished that day, but no one who was close to me. Individually, whatever the level of pain, we carry on as best we can while continually working through the anger, sorrow and grief.

As a nation, following the attacks, we embarked on a war against the terrorists who happen to be Islamist extremists. Along the way, and through great controversy, our military has tried to improve the lives of the many other millions of Muslim people living in the war torn region. Nearly three thousand people were killed by al-Qaeda during the attacks on 9/11. Since that day, over five thousand American troops have been killed fighting terrorists in Afghanistan and Iraq. Controversy included, and mistakes or not, our government and largely our citizens felt compelled to stay and help Muslim citizens rebuild their homelands into a better place to live.

I don’t expect the nation to ever fully heal from the emotional wounds rendered by watching the Twin Towers fall. But I do wish that a majority of us were able to discern that aside from the business dealings, greed and opportunism, the zealous and vehement opposition to the proposed building of a Muslim Community Center near Ground Zero is misguided.

And I don’t think the flames fanned by those who choose to desecrate the Quran should be confused with unhealed emotions. They are simply unhealthy extremes unto themselves.

How can we have the bravado to send five thousand troops overseas and to their death in defense of our nation and all that we stand for, including freedom of religion, and then be too afraid or too prejudiced to live the life we stand up for?

I suppose that I will never understand the mystery of a so frequently observed riddle. Why on earth is it, that mankind’s various quests for the divine so often spill over into fear, hatred and bigotry?

© 2010 Christopher’s Views

For more Posts of the Week, visit Hilary at her wonderful site, The Smitten Image.

candy or gum, toll, ticket or tax?

I estimate that I am in the vicinity of logging my one millionth mile behind the wheel. Along the way, I have been unnerved by countless blind potholes, traffic snarls, unexpected detours and scores of aggressive drivers.

Yet vying for top billing of catalysts to induce irritable road syndrome upon me is the toll declaration approaching the Verrazano Bridge, which connects Brooklyn and Staten Island, on the southwestern side of New York City. Here, my self-talk turns to humor, in order to thwart a surge of anger, while I ponder the frills surely available for the hefty eleven dollar fee allowing me to move from one GPS point to another within the city.

Are there carnival booths and water flumes up there in the zebra stripes? Might I be able to take in an Off-Broadway show? Is there a rest stop offering massages and a happy ending? Where’s the value?

To be almost equally outraged, there are other cross borough bridges (RFK, Whitestone and Throgs Neck) that will cost an equal sum for a round trip. But, at the Verrazano Narrows gap, the entire payment is collected on the journey southwest towards Staten Island and New Jersey. This can be unlucky if someone has multiple destinations in the NY/NJ area and plans to circle back northeast of the city, as my schedule sometimes necessitates. A moment of decision develops, requiring a choice. Trek back south, wasting time and gas in order to cash in a prepaid entry, or pay another one way rate to more effectively navigate a northeastern arrival at one of the other aforementioned pricey re-entry points, for a total sum of $16.50. While reversing the start and end points of this excursion would mean subtracting $5.50, instead of adding it, the perpetual crawl of the more nightmarish traffic flow would bring me to my knees.

I view the set-up to be a hidden tax, with a loophole that I cannot apply, rather than a toll. And, in step with recent news accounts, I am beginning to get the same feeling about the proliferation of photo enforced traffic tickets as well.

In spite of all my time spent on the road, I have only been starred in three pictures since the still flicks were rolled out a few years ago. But I see their intense, paparazzi like, frequency of flash every day. I have minimal faith that this technology is without kinks and I have full faith that its primary duty is to increase revenue, as opposed to enhancing travel safety. Hopefully, many of the unflattering snapshots will fall into the mailboxes of justly deserving offenders. I suspect that bags full, however, are destined to fall through the cracks and garnish $50 to $100 from the hands of folks who cautiously waited a bit too long when making a left turn. Truly unfortunate are those who may stop outside the crosswalk to let an emergency vehicle pass. And beware to all those who are camera shy when driving on a wet or snow slicked road. If the driver behind you can’t stop in time, forfeiture of wages may suddenly appear more attractive than showing off your rear end.

When corporations snare our money in arbitrary fashion, cries alleging price gouging and slamming often follow. Where is this going? When the bridge is $20 and the red light robots have doubled, tripled or quadrupled in volume will the traffic beast be satiated or will it constantly thirst for more? Anyone that’s not a fan of being micro-managed is sure to find this trend to be insufferable.

Besides transportation taxes, many residents of the Greater New York region and the United States, already struggle with high Federal income taxes. Add in State or local income taxes, Social Security, Medicare, real estate, property, school, sales, transfer, inheritance and a variety of sin taxes and it becomes clear that government, in fact, does loom very large.

I am on a quasi-summertime break from clicking on Fox News or Tea Party agendas, thinking red or blue, liberal or conservative, midterm election or dysfunctional foreign policy. However, notwithstanding benefits afforded by E-ZPASS and a defensive driving course, simple signposts inspire simple sentiments.

I want government to be precisely big enough to deliver an array of services on par with the endless mining of my pockets. Amusement park rides on the house would be a good start.

© 2010 Christopher’s Views