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DAILY THOUGHTS AND READING ASSIGNMENTS
 

September 01, 2010

Reader question: the meaning of "Anglo-Norman"

A reader of Why You Need a Foreign Language & How to Learn One asks: What is meant by the term "Anglo-Norman?"

Answer: In 1066 England was conquered by a group of Frenchmen called the Normans (from the region of Normandy, in northern France.) The Normans ruled England as an elite ruling class for several hundred years, until the Black Death of 1348.  

The Black Death killed around one third of the British population---including many of the ruling Normans. After the pandemic, the Normans began intermarrying with the native Anglo-Saxon population, and they became indistinguishable as a distinct class.)  

But the Normans had left their mark---in the form of thousands of Anglo-French words in the English language. 

Let’s look at just one example, from the wonderful world of accounting: The word “asset” comes from the Anglo-French asetz, which meant “goods sufficient to settle one’s debts.”

 

 

August 31, 2010

History trivia for the day: Which dictator studied for the priesthood?

 

a.) Josef Stalin

b.) Adolf Hitler

c.) Kim Jong-il

d.) None of the above

 

Answer: As a young man, Hitler was interested in art, not religion. (Hitler painted many cityscapes of Vienna; he could draw buildings well but not people.)

Kim Jong-il was born into North Korea's ruling Kim family, so he never needed to be anything other than a dictator or a dictator-in-training.

Kim is reputedly a movie buff, however. He once had North Korean agents kidnap a famous South Korean movie director.

The correct answer is a.) Josef Stalin. Many people are surprised to learn that one of history's most infamous Marxists studied at a Georgian Orthodox Seminary during his teens.

This does not mean, however, that the young Stalin was devout. He began his revolutionary activities even while enrolled as a seminary student. He was expelled before he completed his training.

Shortly after his expulsion, Stalin became a full-time revolutionary and bank robber. He committed the robberies to pay his living expenses and to fund his revolutionary activities.

 

 

 

 

August 30, 2010

What if we just....spent less money?

According to recent comments from Fed Chairman Bernanke, two factors are currently harming the U.S. economy: our swelling debt and "regulatory uncertainty".

It doesn't take a roomful of Harvard economists to figure out that these problems could be greatly alleviated by cutting government spending and the size of government itself.

The Obama Administration, however, seems impervious to common sense. The President today announced that another "stimulus package" is on the way. 

 posted by Edward Trimnell at 6:11 p.m.  

 

 

August 29, 2010

 

Birth rates and economics: history repeats itself

We all know that people buy fewer automobiles, i-Pods and houses when the economy turns south.

They also have fewer babies.

U.S. birth rates were lackluster during the Great Depression years of the 1930s. Severe economic hardship and the dislocation of many families was not conducive to having children.

The economy improved with WWII. Birth rates soared during the postwar period of economic prosperity (known as "the Baby Boom".) The Baby Boomers were the largest generation to date. 

In their prime child-bearing years, the Baby Boomers didn't have children like their parents did. Birth rates fell during the late 1960s and 1970s, which were economically trying times. (Other factors were at work---namely the sexual revolution and the Pill---but the role of economics cannot be ignored.)

Since the mid-1980s until just a few years ago, the U.S. has enjoyed a very prosperous streak, and birth rates have climbed accordingly. Generation Y (Americans born since the early 1980s) are far more numerous than Generation Xers (born between the mid-1960s and late 1970s.) Some demographers have even called Generation Y "the second Baby Boom."

That baby boom seems to be coming to an end, at least temporarily. As CNN reports, economics are once again causing a shift in birth rates. The U.S. birth rate fell 2.6 percent in 2009, the second year of decline.

I don't think we have to worry about the U.S. becoming depopulated in the foreseeable future. American are still far more fecund than the citizens of most other developed nations.

Nevertheless, the recent decline in births proves that while children may be rewarding, they are also expensive.

 posted by Edward Trimnell at 4:41 p.m.       

 

 

August 29, 2010

Evangelical conservatives miss the mark

Given the abject failures of the Obama Administration--and its current unpopularity among the American people (Obama's approval rating now hovers around 40%--conservatives have been handed a golden opportunity. This is a chance to reemphasize the importance of small government and economic freedom. It is also an opportunity to point out the fraud of Obama's "hope and change." What we have seen since the 2008 election is not true democracy---but the rule of organized minorities, be they banks, labor unions, or sundry ethnic lobbies.

This could a renaissance of reason and respect for individual liberty. Clearly, Obama's party of of Big Government respects neither of these. Who then, to lead to the way but the GOP?

 

While there are some rational elements in the GOP, the integrity of the party is constantly threatened by a religious right that appeals to emotionalism rather than reason, to theology rather than the Constitution. At a Southern Baptist Convention Rally over the weekend, conservative talk show host Glenn Beck exhorted attendees to "Look to God and make your choice."

My feelings on the mingling of politics and religion can be best summed up in the words of the late Anwar Sadat, who declared "No religion in politics, and no politics in religion." (Shortly thereafter, Sadat was gunned down by religious extremists.)

As I've said before, I am not an atheist, though I don't feel compelled to wear my religiosity or my religious beliefs on my sleeve. I am offended when political leaders start spouting theology. Politics corrupts spiritual matters. And religious fervor clouds the secular questions at the heart of most political debates.

The left-wind extremism coming out of Washington cannot be fought with right-wing extremism of an evangelical nature. To oppose Obama, we need not appeal to Scripture, we need only appeal to the Constitution, and to the principles of individual liberty that undergird the American tradition of limited republican government.

 posted by Edward Trimnell at 6:56 a.m.   

 

August 28, 2010

Regulatory uncertainty and the law of unintended consequences

Yesterday Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke noted that the U.S. economy is far from robust.

In addition to the mounting debt of Congress and the Obama Administration, we are also facing a crisis of confidence. Consumers are hesitant to open up their wallets; banks are hesitant to lend, and employers are afraid to hire.

Bernanke raised the issue of "regulatory uncertainty", noting that private sector employers are "reluctant to add permanent employees, citing slow growth of sales and elevated economic and regulatory uncertainty."

What exactly is "regulatory uncertainty?" Basically, this means that employers have no idea what cockamamie scheme the government will come up with next. They therefore hedge against uncertainty by hoarding cash and minimizing obligations such as payrolls.

Regulatory uncertainty is a fixture of life in much of the Third World. It was seldom a factor in the U.S.---until recently.

Welcome to the era of "hope and change."

 posted by Edward Trimnell at 2:46 p.m.

 

 

 

August 23, 2010

If you only watch one video about time management..

This video explains the Stephen Covey system of grouping tasks into quadrants depending on their importance and urgency. The presenter in the video is not Stephen Covey, but another fellow with a Ph.D, Dr. Darryl Cross.

I was first exposed to the Covey system of time management around 1993, and I have returned to it many times. The system described in this video is applicable to everyone, whether you are a busy executive, student, or stay-at-home parent.

 

By the way, if you haven't gotten around to reading The Seven Habits of Highly Effective people, I strongly recommend that you do so now.

Stephen Covey has a style that will strike more cynical readers as a bit Pollyanna at times; and he has an endless stream of anecdotes that describe him solving the complex, lifelong problems of strangers by making facile on-the-spot analyses.

 These minor flaws are forgivable, however. Covey's insights into personal success and effectiveness can yield tremendous benefits if you apply them to your own circumstances.

 

 

 

 

 

August 22, 2010

What do I think about multilingual (specifically Spanish) signs in public places? a reader asks

There are multiple layers to this question. The first thing you need to understand is the issue behind the issue. The outcry  against Spanish-language services is inextricably bound to the larger issue of illegal immigration.

The presence of the Spanish language in stores, government offices, etc. is a symptom of the federal government's inability to control our borders with Mexico (or, quite possibly, Washington's unwillingness to bear the political cost of enforcing U.S. immigration law.)

Notice that this controversy always involves Spanish--the language of our southern neighbor. When was the last time you heard people arguing for or against signs in Ukrainian or Thai?

Therefore, the real problem here isn't the sign that says votar aquí. The problem is the context behind the sign. Control illegal immigration, and the hubbub over taxpayer-funded multilingual ballots, public service announcements, etc. more or less disappears.

Law-abiding visitors who embark on our shores with properly stamped visas are different, however. In many cases, multilingual services for these folks are completely appropriate.

For example, on a recent business trip to Detroit, I noticed airport signs in German, Spanish, Mandarin, and Japanese. Many of the Motor City's international visitors speak these languages. When a Japanese businessperson is rushing to a connecting flight, a sign in her native language might be the difference between catching or missing her plane.

If this provokes your English-only ire, remember that governments throughout the world regularly accommodate foreign-language speakers. In the subway system in Osaka, Japan, you'll find signage in Korean, Chinese, Portuguese, as well as English. Almost no one in Japan is particularly alarmed by this. These signs aren't controversial at all.

But in Japan, the premise behind the signs is different: Japan makes gracious linguistic accommodations for short-term visitors who enter legally; but the Tokyo government wouldn't dream of practicing the sort of "open borders" policy that has become the de facto state on the U.S.-Mexican border.

To put it more bluntly: the Japanese want to make non-Japanese speaking visitors feel welcome; but they want to send them packing when their business is done.

This may explain why bilingual signs are seen as innocuous courtesies to foreign visitors in Japan, while Spanish-language signs are seen as concessions to illegal immigration in the U.S. End illegal immigration across the U.S.-Mexico border, and you will find the average American much less concerned about the presence of signs in Español--or any other language.

 posted by Edward Trimnell at 9:05 p.m.

 

 

August 21, 2010

Should I learn Latin? a reader asks

As the author of a book about the importance of foreign languages, I am obviously an enthusiastic advocate of foreign language study. I also have a personal connection to Latin: I was brought up in the Roman Catholic church---which traditionally used Latin for liturgical purposes. By the time I came along, masses were no longer recited in Latin; but the occasional Latin hymn and prayer persisted.

 

Latin was the language of the Roman Empire, and for centuries Latin was the language of learning in Western Europe. In 2010, Latin is for all intents and purposes a dead language; but there is a small and growing movement determined to revive it. Out of vogue during the 1980s (my school days), Latin has resumed its place a subject for elite, college-bound students.

So back to the original question: Should you learn Latin? Well, yes and no: A familiarity with Latin vocabulary helps you to speak better English, Spanish, Portuguese, or any of the other languages that is partially based on the ancient Roman tongue. To cite a very simple example, the Latin word for farmer is agricola. You can see evidence of English's Latin roots in the words agriculture, agricultural, etc. This principle is also useful for more difficult vocabulary, as anyone who passed through high school AP English will attest.

But what about actually learning to speak and read Latin? I am frankly skeptical about this (although the nerd in me secretly delights at the idea). Yes, it would be fun to be able to chat with members of the exercitus Romanorum about combat techniques; but you won't have much luck finding any members of the Roman army with whom to employ these skills.

Given the English-speaking world's deficiencies in more relevant living languages (Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, Arabic, etc.), I am not sure that functional fluency in Latin should be the priority for anyone at this point.

Now, suppose you already speak Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, and Arabic---and you want to learn Latin simply for fun. I suppose that would be okay; but I would still prefer the study of another living language. Dead languages can be fun, intellectually stimulating, and maybe even cool (in certain circles). But they aren't terribly practical outside the world of scholarship.

posted by Edward Trimnell at 9:33 a.m.

 

 

August 20, 2010

The future of public education?

The story of public school budget shortfalls is now familiar; but here is a new wrinkle: When faced with fiscal constraints, a public school district in California made made a compromise between shutting down its kindergarten program and taking money away from other programs. Parents in the district can enroll their kids in kindergarten, if they pay a $200 per month fee.

"Free" public education has long been regarded as sacrosanct in the United States; but two points are clear: We pay a lot of what we get, and voters seem unwilling to pump more money into an already broken system.

This doesn't mean the abolition of public education, of course; but it does presage changes. One change is more market-based initiatives like vouchers, another is subsidized (versus "free") public education, whereby the public pays part of the tab, and parents pick up the rest.

While this partially undermines the egalitarian nature of public education, it may have a salubrious effect on a bigger problem: insufficient parent involvement. I know many public school teachers, and they all cite a need for greater parent involvement in their children's educational progress. 

If individual parents have to write a check when their children attend public school, this may create an incentive for them to take a more active interest in their children's education.

When you have to actually pay for something, you tend to care more about it.

9:19am by Edward Trimnell

 

• By the River: Almost no one believed the old man when he warned visitors about sharks in the Ohio River. They attributed the old man’s DANGER: SHARKS sign to senility—until he showed them the evidence. Then they sang a different tune.  

  Of course, he knew that one day a visitor would laugh at his sign and step carelessly into the muddy waters. Then there would be a tragedy. But some people could not be saved from themselves.  

  He lived by the river’s edge in a houseboat that had seen far better days. The old man lived alone with his memories. He was surrounded by photographs—of a wife who had died many, many years ago, and two children whom he had also outlived. There were also pictures of seven grandchildren; but they were all early middle-aged themselves now. None of them had visited the old man for many years. (Continue reading...)

• The Girl She Used to Be: Allison disappeared before Jim could ask her to marry him. Now Allison was back. But what dark secrets was she hiding?

Jim had loved Allison then and he would always love her. That was why he recognized her now, even though he had not laid eyes on her for nearly thirty years.  

She was sitting there by herself in the train station with a large shopping bag at her feet and a leather-bound book in her lap. For some reason, Jim found that strange. But so many things about Allison’s situation were strange—everything really. Why had she disappeared all those years ago? And why had Jim not known that she was back—back from wherever she had been?  

Although he would never have told his wife and two children, Jim still executed search engine queries for her name from time to time. She was his first real love, after all; and when she had stepped out of that restaurant, never to return, she had taken a part of him with her. (Continue reading...)

Marc Jonas had been having a tolerable day until his boss told him about his upcoming trip to Kelphi. Marc said nothing when he received the news, and his boss immediately perceived his lack of enthusiasm.

            “I don’t understand,” Larry Dozier said. “I get the distinct impression that you don’t want to go to Kelphi.” Larry Dozier leaned back in his padded managerial chair and gave Marc an adderlike stare. The wall behind Dozier was dominated by a slowly rotating holographic display of the Leonis star system, complete with individual planets, orbiting moons, and even asteroid debris. From where Marc sat—on the visitor’s side of Dozier’s desk—the massive two-dimensional hologram did indeed appear to be a three-dimensional, panoramic view of space.

The Rapid GeoWorks Company was the largest construction firm in the four habitable planets that orbited Leonis; and the vice president of sales had a correspondingly plush office. The holographic display alone had cost fourteen thousand Leonis ducats. Only the best for Larry Dozier, who had been employed at Rapid GeoWorks for more than twenty solar cycles. Dozier’s desk was crafted from the wood of a ten-thousand-year-old swamp tree. Marc would not have been able to cover the cost of the desk with his entire annual salary.

“It’s not simply that I don’t want to go,” Marc began. “But there’s the matter of my contract.”

“Your contract?” Dozier asked innocently. “Your contract states that you are the new accounts sales representative. Such a position involves travel.” 

Marc squirmed in the visitor’s chair. It was much smaller than the high-tech, biofeedback controlled device that supported Dozier’s considerable derriere. The visitor’s chair was also lower off the floor. This gave the vice president of sales a certain psychological advantage over anyone who ventured into his inner sanctum.

“I understand that my position involves interplanetary travel,” Marc began. “But my contract states that I only visit planets with dominant human cultures—or friendly alien ones. The Kelphi aren’t friendly. And humans on Kelphi—when they aren’t being eaten that is—aren’t particularly friendly either, from what I hear.” (Continue reading....)

 

• Last Dance with Emma: There was only one problem with the beautiful young woman Randy met on the dance floor: She died more than thirty years ago....

The dance club was full of women, and they were all writhing to the beat of the music that blared from perhaps a dozen overhead speakers. Randy thought: Yes, Eric was right, even I should have a chance of scoring here.

Most of the women were young; many looked barely out of high school. And those outfits. What an odd world this was: the last gasp of the disco era, a time when women’s clothing was revealing, glittering and gaudy. Low-cut dresses covered with sequins reflected back the strobe lights. Ridiculously high heels scooted across the dance floor.

The ceiling above the central part of the dance floor was dominated by a mirrored disco ball. Near the disco ball hung a series of twisted neon tubes that formed the numbers “1979.” The numbers were mounted to a metal frame. At midnight the neon tubes would light up and the numbers would descend to a place of prominence directly above the dance floor. Welcome to the last year of the swinging seventies. Groovy, man.

            Eric tapped him on the shoulder from the adjacent bar stool. “Was I right or was I right?” Eric gestured toward a group of particularly rowdy women.

            “Sure.”

            “I mean, was I right about coming here or not?”

            If the objective was pure, unadulterated hedonism, Randy had to admit that indeed his friend had made a good choice in selecting New Year’s Eve 1978. (Continue reading....)

 

• Hay Moon : In the summer of 1932, the undead invaded a rural county in Ohio. More than seven decades later, one man still lives with the memories...

“What’s the scariest thing you ever saw, Gramps?”

It is odd how an innocent question like that can bring back such horrible memories; and even odder in this case, since the question came from none other than Lisa, my little great granddaughter.

            Today is Halloween, and Lisa’s mother, Emily, brought her over to visit her sole surviving great grandparent before an evening of trick-or-treating. Lisa was wearing one of those plastic Halloween costumes that parents nowadays buy for their kids at Wal-Mart or Target. This particular one looked like a cartoon ghost character that I have seen on television over the years.

            “What’s the scariest thing you ever saw, Gramps?” Lisa was standing in my living room, unable to contain her self-delight over her Halloween disguise. She was holding a trick-or-treat bag that bore the image of a typical Halloween cliché: a witch flying on a broomstick, silhouetted against an oversized full moon. I had just dropped two Snickers bars into her bag---her first of many before the end of the evening, no doubt. Lisa was filled with energy even without all that sugar.

            “Tell me what’s the scariest thing you ever saw.” She repeated. “Tell me, pleeeease! You always tell good stories, Gramps.” She stamped her foot once on my living room carpet.

            I didn’t answer her right away, because the images that stirred as I considered the question made me lose my breath for a few seconds. Then I struggled to think of a suitable response. My answer would be a lie, of course. Not for a million dollars would I tell my great granddaughter the truth. (continue reading...)

• Gate Time :  Do you airports scare you? Airports scared Josh Geiger...

Josh Geiger spent a lot of time in airports. That territory came with a job in software sales. As a sales rep for EntroSoft, Josh was responsible for three dozen corporate accounts in eleven states. Every week it was the same routine: airports and hotel rooms and rental cars. But EntroSoft’s commission structure was decent; and Josh preferred living out of a suitcase to being stuck in an office all day, like so many other working schmucks. It was still work----but work with a certain degree of freedom.  

Not that there was no monotony involved. Flying often meant hours stranded in an airport, waiting for a connecting flight. When the flights lined up poorly, a layover could last as long as three hours.  

The key to staying sane during a long layover was knowing how to entertain yourself. He had that problem solved. Airports were a great place for people-watching. Josh was in his early thirties and still single, so most of his people-watching involved people of the female persuasion. (And women always dressed to the nines when they flew.) But airports offered human novelties of every gender, age, and creed: foreigners babbling in incomprehensible languages, oddballs peddling flowers and handing out pamphlets, and so many businesspersons like himself.  

Josh was not shy about talking to strangers (how could you be, and survive in sales?); and he occasionally struck up a conversation with someone who might prove influential in the next deal, or even the next job. It could never hurt to pad your Rolodex.  

So Josh was not particularly taken aback when the man in the navy uniform spoke to him out of the blue. The two of them were sitting across from each other in a little island of seats in the middle of O’Hare’s Concourse B. Josh was just about to stand up and head to his gate when the sailor asked:  

“Hey buddy, can I bum a smoke?” (Continue reading....)

 

 

 

Shortly after noon on a Thursday, Celia Wallingford was sipping a glass of wine at the Blue Fox Café. She had selected a table for two in the far corner of the room—just as the Russian had instructed her in his email.

The Blue Fox was windowless, as dark as a cave even on a bright summer day. It was a high-class establishment where the waitresses wore black stockings with pleated skirts, crisply pressed white blouses, and little red bowties. A decorative, glass-enclosed candle burned at every table.

Although the bar was crowded at the beginning of the lunch hour, the other patrons paid Celia no attention. They were serious men and women clad in Armani, Albert Nipon, Brooks Brothers, and similar power attire—the uniforms of Chicago’s banking and corporate elite. Their lunches were working lunches.

Celia was able to spot Yuri as soon as he entered the room. The Russian was as finely dressed as any of the banking execs or corporate heavy hitters in the Blue Fox; but he carried himself differently. Yuri had the gait of a boxer approaching the ring. He betrayed himself as a man from the wrong side of the tracks, one who had somehow clawed his way up into respectable society. He was dressed for the Blue Fox; but he did not really fit in here.

What else do you expect a Russian gangster to look like? Celia thought. But then she corrected herself: Yuri is not a gangster. No—yes is he is. Or maybe he’s something in between.

 For the time being, she decided to delay affixing any such labels to him. Yuri was simply a man whom she had summoned to help her with a problem. (Continue reading...)

 

“We need to keep an eye on that Acuña boy,” Frank Ramirez said. “He lives in my barrio. And let me tell you, he is running with the Infiernos gang.”

            The “Acuña boy” was actually not a boy at all—but a legal adult of eighteen, as was Patrick O’Brien, to whom Frank Ramirez was speaking. O’Brien and Ramirez were the night watchmen at the Longworth’s Ford dealership in El Paso, Texas. The two of them had been working together on the 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. shift for about four months.

            O’Brien gave Ramirez a skeptical look. “Ah, Frank, Como se dice en español, ver es creer. Seeing is believing, right? José was in my graduating class at Elliston High School. He’s a good guy at heart, if a little rough around the edges. No podemos juzgar—”  (Continue reading...)

 

“Hey, college boy! Are you gonna unpack those crates?” Ralph Stevenson barked. “Or are you just gonna look at ‘em all day?”

The maintenance crew boss looked upon Pete with rheumy, bloodshot eyes. His hands were on his hips and his considerable beer belly hung over his utility belt. A smoldering cigarette was clamped in the boss’s mouth. Smoking was forbidden in the plant area of the Stillwater Manufacturing Company; but Ralph flouted this rule whenever the general manager wasn’t around. And he knew that Pete would never dare to say a word to the higher ups.

            “I’m on it,” Pete Greer said, as if the older man could not see him straining against the curled end of the crowbar. The business end of the tool was wedged between two planks of one of the giant crates marked: JERICHO ROBOT COMPANY. Pete was slight of build; and even when he used all of his weight as leverage the task was difficult.

            Not wanting to give Ralph the satisfaction of seeing him fail completely, Pete took a deep breath, summoned all of his strength, and threw himself backward, his hands clenched tightly around the crowbar.

            This effort only succeeded in dislodging the tapered end of the crowbar from the crate. There was the sound of wood splintering; then the crowbar went clattering to the factory floor with a metallic jangle. Pete fell back on his butt, knocking his tailbone against a protruding electrical floor outlet. These pesky things were scattered throughout the floor of the manufacturing area. (Continue reading...)

The guard peered through the rusty iron bars of their cell. He was pointing a bayonet-tipped musket in their direction.

“Citoyen!” he barked. This was followed by a spate of curse words in the gutter French of the late 1700s. Robert Craig could only catch a word here and there. His wife, who spoke modern French, was able to understand considerably more. But even she missed much of it. This fellow was obviously uneducated. He spoke the rough and improvised French of the provinces, not the cultured dialect of Paris.

“What did he say?” Robert Craig asked his wife.

“He said that we’re nothing but bourgeoisie exploiters of the people, and that we’ll get what is coming to us soon enough.”

“Anglais!” the guard spat. He leveled his musket at Mrs. Craig. She sat on the floor beside her husband. The floor was bare except for some straw that smelled of old urine and mildew.

“Anglais means English,” Mrs. Craig said.

“I understand that much French,” Robert replied. Numerous times they had tried to tell the guard that they were American—not English. They had finally given up the effort.

The guard made a little explosive sound by expelling air between his lips. Mrs. Craig barely flinched as she stared directly into the muzzle of the musket. The guard had been playing this game with them for hours. It was now obvious that he did not intend to shoot them in their cell. He was not authorized to do so. The Craigs would meet their fate on the guillotine, having been sentenced to death by a representative of the Committee of Public Safety.

Their trial had been a brief, pro-forma affair. The Craigs were not afforded the benefit of a counselor or an interpreter. The prosecutor had hastily read the charges leveled against them. Then the judge had fixed his gaze on Robert and Susan Craig. He had rapped his knuckles on the surface of the little oak table at which he sat, and uttered a single word: “mort”—death. (Continue reading...)

 

I had not wanted to give Paul Taulbee a ride home from work that day. Indeed, I generally avoided time alone with Paul whenever I could.  The prospect of thirty minutes in the car with him wasn’t exactly a pleasant end to what had been a long day at the office.

            I would have escaped if I had not lingered at my desk until long after five o’clock. (Even more importantly, I would have avoided that hour at Paul’s house—but these are details which I will relate to you shortly.) 

            I was about to pack up my things and call it a day when Paul broke the silence of the empty office. His gravelly voice—coated with the phlegm of a lifelong smoker—startled me as I was contemplating the glorious work-free evening that lay ahead.

            “Say Jim,” he said. “Not quite six o’clock and it’s just you and me here now.”

            He leaned back in his chair and laced the fingers of both hands across his considerable beer belly. He regarded me through rheumy eyes, which I could barely see because of the glare of the overhead fluorescent lights on his glasses. The bulky frames were twenty-five years out style. Much of Paul’s wardrobe was out of style: he favored the wide ties that had been in vogue around the time Ronald Reagan was in the White House.

            “Well, Paul,” I said cautiously. “Next week is closing, right? I’ve got to get every last sale in the bag if I’m going to hit my quota this month. Same with you, right?”

            “But I’m an old dog,” Paul replied. “And we old dogs are notoriously slow. A young guy like you—a guy with a lovely wife and child waiting at home for him…..I’d think you would want to pack up shop and leave at 5:01. It’s different with me. I’ve got nothing to go home to, after all.”

            There seemed to be something vaguely sarcastic in Paul’s tone when he referred to me as a “a young guy like you.” I wasn’t sure; and in any case, I wasn’t about to take the bait. Similarly, Paul’s oblique reference to his own situation was territory best left alone. I knew that Paul had had a wife and child once—everyone in the office knew that. And I had also heard the stories about what had happened to them. There was no way that I was going to open that particular can of worms. (Continue reading....)

Blake Lewis belched noisily as he flicked the cap of his beer bottle at Vincent Chang’s head. Blake was slouched across the backseat of the rental car—a Chevy Malibu that Chang and Tony would have to detail thoroughly before they returned it to Hertz. Blake hated to travel with Chang and Tony. They were both as dull as rocks; these two could only redeem themselves by serving as objects of torment.

            Chang flinched as the beer bottle twist cap ricocheted off his ear. He nevertheless managed to keep his attention on the dark rainy highway ahead of him. The cap projectile had not been entirely unexpected. It was the third such volley that Blake had launched since they left Detroit and began their southward trek into Ohio. Chang had lost count of the number of beers that Blake had consumed. Like all of them, Blake would know that drinking on a business trip was a violation of company policy. But Blake considered himself above this sort of petty regulation. (Continue reading...)

 

Leo hated summer.

He did not mind the long, humid days of summer. He did not mind the simmering mornings, the sluggish, gnatty evenings, or the scorching afternoons. Nor was he particularly fond of the colder months of the year, with their short, overcast days, chilly rains, and finally their ice and snow.

Leo hated summer because summer was the season of wasps.

He sat behind the walls of his cubicle at work one day in August, stealing glances out the large, floor-to-ceiling window near his desk. Sure enough: they were there: The distinctive outlines of their tiny bodies were stuck to the glass. There were three of them today. They were no more than an inch long; but their razor-edged stingers could deliver enough venom to paralyze a victim with agony.

Leo rolled his chair forward so he was hidden within his cubicle. If they saw him looking it would only make things worse. You had to stay one step ahead of the wasps, and you could never forget that their microscopic brains thrummed with evil intent. Not for the first time, Leo recalled that old German proverb: “God made the bee, but the Devil made the wasp.”

  At noon he removed a brown paper bag from the bottom drawer of his desk. The bag contained a peanut-butter sandwich and an apple. Although Leo had been eating peanut butter sandwiches everyday since late May, he was not about to venture out for lunch. Insects were ectotherms, and the hot afternoon hours belonged to them. He would have to leave the building at five o’clock. And that would be risky enough. (Continue reading...)

 

Marty Frazier stopped to adjust the shoulder strap of his Uzi before heading down the long, gleaming expanse of Concourse A. Although he had been in the Ontario Islamic Guard for more than eighteen months now, he found that he was still uncomfortable with weapons---especially the automatic and semiautomatic ones. He took a few steps forward before stopping once more---no doubt looking awkward by now----and double-checked the gun’s safety. The terminal was packed with what passed for Monday morning congestion these days, and Marty was taking no chances.

            The sight of young men with guns had become commonplace over the past three years, and most of the passersby in Toronto International Airport didn’t even give him a second glance. Nonetheless, he kept deliberately to the side of the concourse, beyond the main flow of pedestrian traffic. Despite the authority that his gun and his uniform conveyed, he was almost shy about displaying either. Especially the gun. So far he had never had an occasion to draw the weapon in a threatening manner, and that was just fine with him. (Continue reading...)

 

 

• Whatever:  Greg Hensley knew he desired his subordinate...But how dangerous was she?

“Half of everything? You’ve got to be kidding.”

Greg Hensley had made the same observation any number of times during the past twenty-four hours or so, ever since he had received the latest poison correspondence from Monica’s lawyer. Monica’s attorney was a chain-smoking harridan who, he was quite sure, literally wished him dead.

He was sitting at his desk, killing the last ten minutes of his lunch hour. The purchasing department of Apex Machinery was filtering in from the nearby fast food places and the company cafeteria. Colleagues prodded each other with last-minute lunchtime banter. Others rushed to complete quick personal phone calls before one o’clock.

They could afford such frivolities; they were not being shafted for half of their net worth.

Greg tried not to look at Jessica Tanner as she arrived, but she seemed to draw his gaze like a magnet.  He could not deny himself the indulgence of at least a brief glance—although he despised himself for this weakness.

Jessica sauntered in as if she owned the world, carefree in every way that he was not. Her summertime dress clung to her taut abdomen and slender curves while she walked. Each step seemed precisely calibrated to torture him.

How many hours does she spend in the gym each week? Or is it simply good genes? Greg wondered, not for the first time. He had not seen the inside of a gym himself for at least twelve years.

Greg furtively watched her take her seat, his gaze lingering on her suntan. He was careful; Jessica sometimes seemed to know when he was observing her. This made his compulsion to observe her all the more maddening. (Continue reading...)

 

 

She stole glances at him as she pretended to study her Introductory Managerial Accounting textbook; and she noted that he was also stealing glances at her.

This gave Kara Teller a tentative tingle of delight: he might be interested in her; but would he do anything about it? Many guys turned out to be chickens when it came time to actually make the first move.

The young man with the dark, wavy hair was the lone occupant of the couch on the other side of the student union study lounge. He was reading a paperback novel. From this distance, Kara could not make out the title. But every few moments he let his eyes stray from the pages, and glanced in her direction.

Once she caught him looking at her and their eyes met dead-on. He did not quickly plunge his face back into the book, as most men would do when caught looking at a woman. Instead, he held her gaze for a few seconds and smiled before resuming his reading. Kara did not need a mirror to know that her cheeks were flushed.

            Kara turned the next page of her accounting text and tapped her pen absently on the top of the varnished wood table beneath it. Scholarly concentration was a completely futile effort at this point. Who was he? She had never noticed him before; and she inhabited the student lounge every morning between her nine o’clock English Literature class and her eleven o’clock Chemistry 101 lab.

            How long was this game of furtive glances going to continue? Kara was now agonizing over the worst-case scenario: He would leave without actually speaking to her, and she would never see him again.

Now that would be a shame.

(Continue reading...)

 

More Nonfiction books by Edward Trimnell....

UNDERSTANDING THE MIDDLE EAST: History, Religion, and the Clash of Cultures

*SAMPLE CHAPTERS AVAILABLE ONLINE*

"Quite simply, the most concise and thorough introduction to the history of the Middle East, from ancient times through the present.." - Reader Email

"The book is concise, unbiased, straight forward and factual, yet conversational enough to keep the reader interested; certainly the book I will use for reference from now on. Trimnell brings in various perspectives to the political realm, always giving what the US view was at any given time, without favoring it or any other." ---Amazon.com reviewer
 

From the Introduction....

Since September 11, 2001, the English-speaking world has become intensely interested in the Middle East. However, a cursory glance at the headlines always seems to produce more questions than answers: Where did Islamic militancy come from? How did Saddam Hussein rise to power in Iraq? Why do the Israelis and the Palestinians hate each other so much? This book seeks to answer these questions.

Very few readers will be able to remember a time when the troubles in the Middle East did not appear frequently in headlines. Even before the post-9/11 wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, there were other conflicts. Most readers will recall the Persian Gulf War of 1990-91 and the West’s subsequent confrontations with Saddam Hussein. A slightly smaller number will remember the Iran-Iraq War that produced so much destruction throughout the 1980s, and the Iran hostage crisis of 1979-1980.

Before that there were the oil crises of the 1970s, the Yom Kippur War, the Six Day War, the Suez Crisis, and the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. All the while, there were violent coups in Iraq, pathetic power struggles and intrigues within the Saudi royal family, and ideological battles between Islamic militants and moderate Muslims. And all this occurred just since World War II.

A complete and exhaustive history of the Middle East could easily occupy enough space for ten or a dozen books. The story of the Middle East begins around 3100 B.C., and includes a vast array of civilizations, rulers, religions, and prophets. Any of the topics included in this volume could be expanded into a separate book. My objective here was to present the aspects of the region’s history that will most interest Western, English-speaking readers. This means a focus on the conflicts that have dominated recent headlines: Islamic terrorism, the wars of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, and the Palestinian intifadas. We will also look at some older conflicts: Europe’s wars with the Ottoman Turks, the Crusades, and the conquests of the first Muslim empires....(continue reading)

Japanese Culture from A to Z: History, Religion, Politics, Sex & More

Featured on YouTube!

Introduction

In the late 1980s through the early 1990s, CNN ran a weekly series called “This Week in Japan.” The tagline of the program noted that Japan was a country that “Americans should know more about.” At this time, I was studying the Japanese language and starting to work with Japanese companies, so I rarely missed an episode.

From a journalistic perspective, “This Week in Japan” was relatively light fare. The program didn’t feature any Harvard economists or other august scholars that I can remember. The half-hour broadcasts mostly consisted of brief vignettes of life in Japan. The early 1990s were an era in which Japanese companies were in the spotlight, so segments about “Japanese-style management” were numerous. Some episodes touched on significant events in Japanese history—particularly those which reverberate today. The show also introduced viewers to a smattering of Shinto, Buddhism, kabuki, and Noh.

This book was written with that old CNN series in mind. Of course, the formats of the two are completely different. “This Week in Japan” was a weekly news magazine, and this is a static book. Nevertheless, this book was written with the sentiment that Japan is a country which “Americans should know more about,” and the objective herein is to provide a solid introduction.

Organization and format

This book is organized alphabetically by topic. As much as possible, each topic is covered as an independent entry. Where appropriate, I have included cross-references to closely related topics. It is therefore possible to begin reading anywhere within; there is no need to start at the beginning of the book.

                Given the large number of historical entries, I thought that it would be appropriate to include a historical timeline. This can be found at the back of the book. A supplementary topic index is also included.

Perspective and balance

Japan, like every society on the face of the earth, is a mixture of good and bad. Introductory books on Japanese culture (most of which are published in Japan) tend to depict only the quaint, sanitized aspects of Japanese culture: kabuki theater, Mount Fuji, and bullet trains. This book certainly contains those topics; but it also contains entries about the dark side of the island nation.

You’ll read about the corporate warriors who literally work themselves to death, the varied inhabitants of the Japanese red light district, and the criminal gangs that operate loan sharking scams. My intention here is merely to give the reader a well-rounded view of the country—to show the warts as well as the dimples.

In addition, there are a number of entries that refer to the Second World War. These are not intended to paint Japan in a negative light, or to suggest that the Japan of today is the same nation that we fought more than sixty years ago. On the contrary, it is the author’s opinion that World War II is history, and that twenty-first century Japan is a peaceful and productive nation—not to mention America’s most important ally in East Asia.

Nevertheless, the Japan of 2008 was shaped by events that occurred in the 1930s and 1940s. To understand the Japan of today, you have to know a bit about Japan as it was during World War II, and in the war’s immediate aftermath. Therefore, I didn’t shrink from including entries about the so-called “comfort women,” the mistreatment of POWs, and the kamikaze suicide pilots. I also tried to be even-handed. While there are entries about Japan’s wartime aggressions, there is also an explanation of the Japanese viewpoint regarding the causes of World War II.

If you are in the process of studying Japan for reasons of work, love, or personal interest, then you have years of exploration and discovery ahead of you. Japan is one of the most fascinating, dynamic places on earth, a mixture of East and West, old and new, harmony and discordance. I hope that this book assists you on the journey.

(Buy it on Amazon.com)

Other....

Foreign Language Study

Modern Japanese Vocabulary: A Guide for 21st Century Students, Hiragana/Katakana Edition

Tigers, Devils, and Fools: A Guide to Japanese Proverbs

Miscellaneous Editorials, Blogs, and Essays

A compendium of commentary on economics, history, social issues, popular culture, and more, from 2005 - 2010

Writing on Other Sites:

Visit BeechmontCrest.com & Japanese123.com