Aber wieso nimmt er sich das Recht heraus, über die Köpfe der anderen zu reden? Wo hat er diese Chuzpe her? Warum darf einer, der erkennbar weder Digital native noch Digital Immigrant, sondern in Wahrheit ein digitale Xenophobe der verbohrtesten Sorte ist, einem Millionenpublikum seine halbfermentierten, selbstbezogenen Geistesverirrungen als Gelehrtenmeinung verkaufen?

Weil er es kann.

(kommentiert bei czyslansky.net/)

Da das Thema Legasthenie auch ein Thema der Wissens- und Inforamtionsgesellschaft ist, möchte ich meine neue Rezension auch hier auf diesem Blog veröffentlichen.

Foto vom Buchcover: Lars-M. Lehmann

Frank Schirrmacher ist es wieder einmal gelungen, ganz pragmatisch die Vor-und Nachteile des heutigen angebrochenen Informationszeitalters zu beschreiben.

In seinem neuen Buch, weißt er auf viele Aspekte möglicher chronischer Überforderung hin, die das Internetzeitalter mit sich gebracht hat. Sehr Bildhaft beschreibt er unsere Überforderung, das wichtige vom unwichtigen Unterscheiden zu können. Genau diese Fähigkeiten kommen uns mit der gigantischen Informationsflut von Wissen abhanden, und überfordern das menschliche Gehirn.

Schirrmacher liefert nicht nur viele Fakten der Reizüberfluten den ein moderner Mensch im 21. Jahrhunderts ausgeliefert ist. Denn alles Wissen ist heute im virtuellen Netz zu finden. Früher wussten es die geistigen Eliten, heute findet es jedermann im Netz in einer unüberschaubaren Fülle. Das menschliche Denkorgan, ist aber nicht kompatibel mit einem Computer. Es wird mit der Fülle an Informationen mehr und mehr „Konzentrationsgestört“, darum plädiert Schirrmacher in seinem Buch: „Somit liegt nicht etwa in der Verweigerung der Technik, sondern vielmehr in einem neuen Denken, das dem Menschen seine Stärken wieder bewusst macht: Kreativität, Toleranz und die Fähigkeit mit Unberechenbarem umzugehen.“

Mit seinem Buch löst er eine neue Debatte aus, die alle Ebenen unserer Gesellschaft angeht. Daher ist es keine Analyse eines irritierten Zaungastes der nicht weiß, wovon er Schreibt, nein es ist vielleicht ein ungewohnter Blickwinkel auf die Schwierigkeiten, Möglichkeiten und Chancen im gesellschaftlichen Wandel unserer Zeit.

Denn diese Veränderung wird mehr verändern als jede Epoche zuvor. Schon heute hat der Computer und das weltweite Netz von Informationen, seinen Einfluss gewonnen, dass auf fast allen Ebenen. Schirrmacher will uns nur Mut machen uns den neuen Herausforderung der Wissensgesellschaft zu stellen, indem wir uns nicht den freien Willen von einer Maschine nehmen lassen, sondern wir sollen uns bewusst machen, uns auf unsere Stärken und Fähigkeiten zu besinnen, die eine Maschine wie es der Computer ist nicht kann. Dieser sammelt Informationen nach einem mathematischen Algorithmus, und stellt sie uns zu Verfügung. Dennoch sollte er nicht unser Leben total Dominieren, darum ist Schirrmachers PAYBACK ein Plädoyer an unsere Zeit, sowie an den freien Willen des Menschen.

Ob er in allen Punkten wird recht haben, und behalten wird uns die Zeit zeigen. Wir sollten uns aber als Gesellschaft unvoreingenommen seinen Analysen stellen.

Frank Schirrmacher, Jahrgang 1959, Studium in Heidelberg und Cambridge, Promotion. Seit 1994 ist er einer der Herausgeber der Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung. 2004 sagte er dem Altersrassismus den Kampf an – für sein Buch Das Methusalem-Komplott erhielt er u.a. den „Corine-Sachbuch-Preis“ und die Auszeichnung „Journalist des Jahres 2004“. Mit Minimum landete er 2006 erneut einen publizistischen Coup und setzte das Thema des Jahres. Zuletzt erhielt er 2007 als erster Journalist den „Jacob-Grimm-Preis Deutsche Sprache“ und wurde 2009 mit dem „Ludwig-Börne-Preis“ ausgezeichnet. Frank Schirrmacher lebt in Frankfurt und Potsdam.

Frank Schirrmacher

PAYBACK

Warum wir im Informationszeitalter gezwungen sind zu tun, was wir nicht nun wollen, und wie wir die Kontrolle über unser Denken zurückgewinnen.

240 Seiten mit 4 s/w-Abb.

Geb. € 17,95

Blessing-Verlag

ISBN 978-3-89667-336-7

Regulamin

Regulamin

Regulamin

Wenn fast alle schon fast alles gesagt haben, kommt Frank Schirrmacher mit einem von BILD und Spiegel hilfswillig verkaufsgeförderten Büchlein und sagt es noch mal. Mit mehr Pathos als andere. Gern auch mit ein paar falschen Zungenschlägen. Eine Geschichte, die vielleicht fünf bis zehn Seiten wert wäre, streckt er locker auf Buchumfang. So war es zum Beispiel beim “Methusalem-Komplott”, so ist es jetzt bei “Payback”.

In der Buchhandlung habe ich gestern kurz in Schirrmachers neuem Werk geblättert. Ich wusste aber schon vorher, dass das menschliche Hirn zu echtem Multitasking nicht fähig ist. Ständige Erreichbarkeit, das war bei Markteinführung des Handys aus einem Aphorismus von Johannes Gross zu lernen, ist das Schicksal der Domestiken. Schon Miriam Meckels Buch über das “Glück der Unerreichbarkeit” war insofern ziemlich entbehrlich. 

Dass nun das Internet mein Gehirn “vermanschen” wird, wie Schirrmacher gegenüber BILD warnt, glaube ich keine Sekunde.  Andere sind schon wieder weiter und warnen (nicht ganz ernst gemeint), dass Twitter blind mache. Und was soll man zu Schirrmacher-Weisheiten dieser Schießklasse sagen:

“Kein Mensch kann mehr daran zweifeln, dass wir in eine neue Ära eingetreten sind, aber die Zweifel, wohin sie uns führt, wachsen täglich.”

So habe ich in der Buchhandlung beschlossen, zwecks Vermeidung des Information Overload von der Lektüre des neuen Schirrmacher-Buches Abstand zu nehmen.

Flexibler Mensch. Bogen überspannt? Was läuft zur Zeit an verknüpfungswürdigen Themen in der Medienwelt? Da wäre zum Beispiel der Herr Schirrrmacher, der mit seinem neuen Buch “Payback“ gerne nocheinmal in Erinnerung ruft, worunter wohl viele schon länger zu leiden haben, Die Ich-Erschöpfung, sueddeutsche.de, ganz nebenbei, gibt es hierzu noch mehr Literatur, welche auf Entwicklungen hindeuten kann, Fit und fertig – Gegen das Kaputtsparen von Menschen und für eine offene Zukunft. Das sogenannte Instrument Multitasking zumindest, scheint vielen Menschen wohl nicht so gut zu bekommen, überfrachtete Wahrnehmung mitten unter einer “autistischen Ökonomie“. Wohin das führen kann, bleibt wohl offen. Zumindest die Branche des Journalismus dürfte mittlerweile ebenso betroffen sein, wie die Kollegen Zeitarbeiter, Wie Unternehmen ihre Beschäftigten in Leiharbeiter verwandeln , wiwo.de. Panik, Penis,  Payback.

Ja, Panik – The Angst And The Money

Convicted offenders serving community sentences undertake a major clean-up of Manchester city centre…. From BBC News. Full story

This site may contain information about: city financial. For a different topic see best dumpling recipes. The blog is also related to: travel city.

Es gibt einen Grad von Unterdrückung, der als Freiheit empfunden wird. - Heiner Müller, Quelle

In seinem an die Payback-Karte angelehnten Titel – in der Schweiz müsste das Buch »Cumulus« heißen und darf nicht mit dem brillanten Essay von Atwood über den Umgang mit Schuld und Schulden verwechselt werden – beklagt der konservative deutsche Denker Frank Schirrmacher, der (post)-moderne Mensch sei nicht mehr Herr, sondern Knecht der digitalen Arbeitsmethoden. Während er glaube, den Computer zu benutzen – benutzt der Computer eigentlich den Menschen, um es pointiert auszudrücken.

Schirrmacher führt mehrere Argumente ins Feld:

1. Die Benutzung von Computern verändert uns physisch. Neurologische Prozesse führen zu einer Anpassung unserer Kognition an die Vorgehensweise von Rechnern, insbesondere erwerben wir die Fähigkeit zum Multitasken. Schirrmacher beschreibt im Abschnitt »Mein Kopf kommt nicht mehr mit«, dass er sich unkonzentriert fühle und vergesslich geworden sei – und wertet diese Veränderung somit negativ.
2. Die ständige Nutzung von digitalen Medien führt zu einer Unterdrückung der Menschen, welche sie glücklich als Freiheit erleben. Wer im Internet etwas sucht, findet auch – und meint, gefunden zu haben, was gesucht worden ist. Freier Wille wird suggeriert – tatsächlich wird aber durch mächtige Instanzen gesteuert, was man findet. Auch die totale Individualität digitaler Welten (iTunes sucht das Musikprogramm, das mir als Individuum entspricht) ist nichts als die Kontrollübernahme durch diese digitalen Welten (iTunes bestimmt, was mir als Individuum zu entsprechen hat).
3. Die mangelnden Filter im Internet führen zu einem ständig ablaufenden Entscheidungsprozess, was wichtig/unwichtig oder relevant/irrelevant sei. Diese Entscheidungen überfordern den Menschen, Sie führen zu einer »Ich-Erschöpfung« (Roy Baumeister; Entscheidungen zu fällen ist für Menschen ein Kraftakt, siehe hier). Es sei zu fordern, dass Informationen dem Hirn unterzurodnen seien – und nicht die Hirnaktivität den Informationen.
4. Es gibt einen »digitalen Darwinismus«: »fittest« heißt heute, am besten an die Informationen angepasst, als bestinformiert, und zwar nicht im Sinne von »wichtigen«/»relevanten« Informationen, sondern den Informationen, welche nach dem »Mätthäus-Effekt« als wichtig erscheinen.

Nun wird Schirrmacher zwar als konservativer Vordenker sofort breit und grundsätzlich positiv rezensiert vom Feuilleton, erfährt aber sofort auch Kritik der »digital natives«, der Menschen, welche mit dem Internet groß geworden sind. Diese Kritik ist sehr aufschlussreich, zeigt sie doch, wie Recht Schirrmacher eigentlich hat: Tim Cole moniert, Schirrmacher sei ein »digitaler Xenophobe«, der deswegen nicht mehr mitkomme, weil er keine Ahnung von der digitalen Welt hat. Damit nimmt er ein Argument auf, das in Technologiedebatten, wie die Zeit-Rezension erhellend anmerkt, seit einigen Jahren zu einer »self-evident truth« geworden ist: Wer technische Innovationen kritisiert, versteht sie nicht, sonst würde er sie nicht kritisieren (sehr verbreitet in der Gamer-Community: Wer Killerspiele verbieten will, hat noch nie welche gespielt oder nicht richtig, denn sonst würde er Spiele nicht verbieten wollen). Weiter schreibt Cole, Schirrmacher habe ein falsches Menschenbild, weil sich Menschen nicht beeinflussen liessen und sehr gut zwischen relevanten und irrelevanten Informationen unterscheiden können; um dann ein interessanten Evolutionsargument anzufügen:

Und Schirrmacher hat zweitens keine Ahnung von Evolution. Er kann – oder will – nicht erkennen, dass Homo Sapiens sich in den vergangenen Jahrtausenden stets und immer wieder einer veränderten Kommunikations- und Informationsumgebung anpassen musste, und dass er es ganz gut gemacht hat.

Die Informationsumgebung wird also eine natürliche Umgebung gesehen, an die sich der Mensch anzupassen hat – und nicht mehr als eine kulturell erschaffene Umwelt, welche auch verändert werden könnte (im Rahmen einer Anpassung, vielleicht). Die digitale Welt ersetzt also eine selektive Natur: Was nichts anderes als eines von Schirrmachers Argumenten ist, dass sich der Mensch der Technik untergeordnet hat und weiter unterordnen wird.

Soviel zur Kritik der Kritik, die mir im Moment noch sehr dünn erscheint. Nun aber zur Kritik an Schirrmacher noch meine Begegnung mit seinem neuen Buch:

1. Ich lese meine Tweets (nicht Tweeds, ein offenbar peinlicher Schreibfehler in Schirrmachers Buch) und stosse auf diesen von @Zeitonline_all:
2. Ich lese auf meinem iPhone unterwegs die Zeit-Rezension.
3. Ich lese auf meinem Laptop auf dem Weg zur Arbeit (nächster Tag) die Renzension in der Süddeutschen Zeitung sowie Blogeinträge zu Payback.
4. Ich drucke wichtige Texte aus und bearbeite sie mit dem Bleistift, ich lese sie also linear, wie Schirrmacher eine seiner Meinung nach gefähredete Tätigkeit bezeichnet:
5. Ich schreibe den Blogpost, ohne auch nur in dem Buch gelesen zu haben.

Das mag nun problematisch erscheinen, hat aber auch Vorteile, es ist ein modernes Vorgehen. Es scheint mir ausgewogen, mehrperspektivisch zu sein, es ist eine effiziente Art zu Arbeiten, welche nicht obeflächlich ist, aber oberflächlich sein könnte. Und nebenbei habe ich Tweets gelesen, welche völlig sinnlos und irrelevant waren und auch solche Blogeinträge; ich verfüge aber über eine relativ gute Filterkompetenz.

Fazit: Das Diktat der Technik ist eine realistische Gefahr. Die Technik kann aber auch gegen sich selbst gewendet werden oder dazu benutzt werden, die drohende Gefahr zu mildern oder abzuwenden, weniger, aber wichtigere Entscheidungen von uns zu verlangen. Und die Technik hat uns nicht zur Konsumenten und Rezipienten gemacht, sondern auch zu Produzenten (wie ich hier). Steven Pinker, der amerikanische Populärpsychologe, hat gesagt, man solle, wenn man das Internet (Facebook etc.) kritisiere, mal darüber nachdenken, worüber man denn bei einem Abendessen am Familientisch so rede:

I mention this because so many discussions of the effects of new information technologies take the status quo as self-evidently good and bemoan how intellectual standards are being corroded (the ‘google-makes-us-stoopid’ mindset). They fall into the tradition of other technologically driven moral panics of the past two centuries, like the fears that the telephone, the telegraph, the typewriter, the postcard, radio, and so on, would spell the end of civilized society.

Hi, my name is Jen and I have a highly energetic, outgoing, freakishly strong, willful, big-emotion daughter. Yes, my relatives all will attest that she is JUST LIKE ME. They are not so secretly ecstatic that she is JUST LIKE ME, and they consider this payback. Retribution. My day of reckoning. Justice for the sheer hell I good-naturedly put them through while they babysat me through various stages of my life. Like, the time I INSISTED that I wanted ketchup on my ham sandwich, knowing full well the entire time that as soon as my aunt put the ketchup on my sandwich I would refuse to eat it. Because honestly, ketchup on ham is just gross. I just wanted to see if I could get her to do it. I did.

Or the time that I convinced my babysitter that I was sick and INSISTED that she call my parents at the bowling alley to make them come home. I wasn’t sick. I was just sick of her. After two calls to the bowling alley they came home at 11 p.m. — I was still up. I found out recently that I made them leave their bowling Christmas party. Whoops!

Or the time that I convinced my idiotic 16-year-old babysitter to take my parents’ customer’s car into town to get ice cream — a car that my parents were REPAIRING, mind you — while leaving a 10- and six-year-old at home. ALONE. I only confessed to that little crime about five years ago. I told my parents that it wasn’t my fault that my babysitter was such an idiot and that she would be so stupid as to listen to a 10-year-old!

Oh, and my mother and aunts would be HAPPY to REGALE you with tales of my varied and wide-ranging tactics to extend my bedtime. You know, the typical, “I need a drink,” “I have to go to the bathroom,” “Read me just one more story,” “I’m going to read to myself in bed,” etc., etc., etc.

Ah, but they do still love me, telling these stories while laughing about what I put them through. And laughing that I AM NOW GETTING PAYBACK.

Lately we have been going through a lot of changes that confirm Monkey’s complete transformation from baby to toddler. Chiefly, getting rid of the nuk and moving into a big girl bed. And it actually makes me a little sad that she’s growing up so fast. It just goes by SO FAST. Part of me was worried that I was forcing the change because the new baby is coming. I didn’t want Monkey to still have a nuk after the new baby came because I figured then she would have it until she was three! And, I need the crib for the new baby. But, honestly, I think she was ready. The nuk weaning went so much better and faster than I expected. We followed the advice of many mothers who have come before, and cut off the tip of the nuk so that it didn’t work properly. After a few days of telling her that it was broken but still giving it to her, she completely forgot to ask about it before bed. And since then, she hasn’t even mentioned it.

The big girl bed transition, on the other hand, has not gone as smoothly. I armed myself with a strategy — using the Supernanny tactic of silently and consistently putting the child back in bed over and over again. I talked with other moms and Monkey’s pediatrician who advised me that this tactic was most desirable. They also forewarned me that I might need a gate to keep Monkey in her room. This way, if she refused to stay in bed at least she couldn’t get out of the room. “Make her room one big crib,” is what her doctor said. So I bought a gate and made sure her room was safe and that the only “toys” in her room were books.

We talked to Monkey for several weeks about her “new room” as we were getting it ready. Painting, hanging new curtains, laying new carpet. Every time someone came over we had her show off her new room. We weren’t actually planning to move her into her big bed and new room until after Thanksgiving. This way she would be comfortably settled in her new room for about two months before the baby came. Then Monkey decided to take a flying leap out of her crib last week. Well, guess what? TRANSITION DATE MOVED UP!

So anyway, I had the strategy and the gate. The first night was too good to be true. Monkey only got out of bed for about 15 minutes before settling down and going to sleep. In my fantasy world, this is how the transition would go:

“Oh mom, you want me to lay here, in this bed, instead of in my confined-space crib? Fantastic. No problem. No mom, I won’t get up and get out of bed. I’ll stay right here with my head on the pillow and the blanket covering me. I wouldn’t DREAM of getting out of bed and coming out of my room 155 times per night over the course of two hours. And if you gated me in my room to prevent me from leaving, I certainly wouldn’t retaliate by pulling every single piece of clothing out of my drawers and destroying every single thing in my closet. That would just be unruly, mom. I would never do that.”

Unfortunately, my nightmare transition consisted of an epic battle with Monkey getting out of bed 155 times and throwing all her clothes out. AND GUESS WHAT? THAT’S PRETTY MUCH HOW IT’S GONE SINCE THE FIRST NIGHT!

Yep. Last night consisted of two hours, 100 times out of bed, me momentarily abandoning the tactic after an hour and a half and losing my cool and yelling, then feeling like a horrible mommy for yelling when I knew I wasn’t supposed to, and a lot of tears (MINE!). So tonight — ah yes, tonight. Tonight consisted of us putting up the gate nearly immediately after Monkey got out of bed five times in the first 60 seconds. She read books in her bed, played in her closet, pulled all the socks out of her sock drawer, and scattered her books around her room. All during the first hour and a half. But, I told my husband, at least we haven’t been standing in the hall, putting her back in bed 100 times, crying and swearing in frustration. At least she’s not hurting anything and she’ll eventually get tired and get in her bed and go to sleep. And then. Then she decided to CLIMB OVER THE GATE. She f&cking climbed over the gate!!! WTF! I mean, there is a reason I call her “monkey,” but seriously! Yep, the little shit climbed over the gate. My husband was soooo mad. And all I could think about was, “Man, this is payback,” while I tried not to laugh. My poor husband — he was a mild-mannered, meek child compared to me. He didn’t deserve this payback. Me, on the other hand …

While I’m in the heat of battle I’m going to TRY REALLY HARD, to remind myself that this won’t last forever, that every parent has gone through it, and that someday too soon I’m going to be reminiscing with Monkey about this hell she put me through.

So I’m on my new friend’s blog and OMG apparently there is a firesale on asshats in Ohio because my ex science experiment is from there as apparently is hers… go figure…

So we’re discussing the merits of pay back and what not, and my new BFF is wondering if I in fact did duct tape my naked ex ASS HAT to a waterbed filled with gasoline and throw lit matches at him while tossing back Jaegermeister shooters.  Well, the truth is no, I did not in fact do that,  but I will tell you that many such a fantasy was literally sparked and fueled (PUN very much intended) whenever I lit a match for whatever reason there for awhile after I kicked ASSHAT to the curb.   What I will admit to doing, is cleaning the litterbox with his toothbrush the night before he was moving out… fucking not my fault he’s such a halfwit that he leaves his shit all over my house unattended, pffft… I gave the box a good, long scrubbing, and I was thisclose to giving the cat’s asshole a good scrubbing but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I love that cat too damn much to hurt him, regardless of the merits of a poopyfilled, and poopytasting toothbrush… I might have also put a few cat turds in his suitcases and repacked them, and quite possibly put lighter fluid in his mouthwash, I really can’t say I remember, I was rather P.O.’d and had in fact, tossed back a couple Xanax and Ambien and chased them down with a couple shots of Vodka, and I’m assuming that the black box warnings on those things are gospel, given that I have indeed taken those wonderful pills before and then gotten a surprise visit from the UPS guy with shit from Amazon I don’t actually remember having ordered.   What can I say, I never once said that I was above it all, because I’m not, and yes I can stoop as low as it will take to get my due.  I figure I’m Catholic, that’s what confession is for, and I sincerely doubt that Saint Peter will be docking me any points with respect to my getting into heaven for having gotten the urge to clean out the litter box at that particular moment because lets face it, all things being equal, Saint Peter is the guardian of the gates to heaven and thereby sees and knows all and he has to know that my ex is the KING OF THE ASSHATS and deserves what he got.  In fact, I’m expecting Saint Peter to bitch slap me and ask why I didn’t pick the lock of the guestroom and put the cat turd in his mouth, because in retrospect I really was not on my game that night due to the booze and the happy pills, and that woulda been hilarious.  Pffft.   You know come to think of it, I may have also cleaned the toilet that night, pfffft… oh well, you know what they say don’t leave your shit unattended anywhere where someone can do really disgusting shit to items that go on your face, or in your mouth, and if you do, then you’re a fucking halfwit and deserve everything you get…

The line in the song went, “The dream never dies, just the dreamer” but Jeffery Salinger disagreed; dreams did die abandoning the dreamers to the orphanage of reality.  At forty, Jeffery had attended many a funeral for a dear deceased fancy without but shedding a single tear quickly wiped before a watery burn could momentarily scar his cheek as proof to anyone of an awareness of its passing.  This wasn’t from embarrassment wholly; he simply could not afford his reputation of pragmaticism questioned.   Jeffery, in his own mind and assumed others recognized him as such as well, was the ‘go to’ man; if there was a problem Jeffery was the one who would find a solution that worked – it was never some foolish ‘let’s give this a shot’, Jeffery prided himself on never being wrong in serving practicality.  A dilemma, Jeffery long ago assessed, was like a cardboard box.  As long as you fit things carefully and orderly into the box, you could always neatly tape the box shut.  A person created a mess when they tried to fit things that would not fit into the box or put things haphazardly into that box when the ability to close the box happened.  Problems could be put away securely on a shelf as long as they were of the shape of the box, if one thought of a solution that was outside of the parameters of the box then the problem would could not be sealed or bulged unseemly with the threat of bursting the seams of the box apart. 

Dreams never fit in boxes.  Dreamers had a habit of attempting to follow their dreams. The box that the dreamer was trying to fill would shift and fall from the shelf. Someone had to pick up the box and repair the damage that had been done to it.  Jeffery was the packing tape that was used to put the box back together.  Like packing tape, Jeffery was almost invisible to those around him that didn’t use him.  Standing at five foot five with a slim-ish build that was always covered by carefully ironed and appropriately pleated bland grey suit ensembles that seemed to blend into his pale skin and carefully groomed face with thin hair that never grew past a quarter inch Jeffery did not have a memorable presence to him; he spoke when spoken to in a quiet monotone voice in short bursts of information relevant to the query presented to him.  Jeff felt that a professional had to dismiss individualistic characteristics of one’s personality because the uniqueness of each person caused dissolution when group cohesiveness and understanding was paramount to the smooth operation of any problem solving.

Jeffery had worked at the Calgary plant, one of seventeen, for “Myron, Langski & Harris Soy Products inc”, the fourth largest supplier of the raw ground up soy for vegan meat alternatives in North America, for the past eighteen years as a customer service representative, second to the west and second to the south in the five by six foot sixty cubicle, ten to a row, six columned warehouse converted to service central.  He had started out fifth to the west and third to the south but his competency had earned him his location near the general manager of customer service’s office which was located in the very southwest corner of the warehouse.   Jeffery’s cubicle was a representation of his opinion on professionalism, it was devoid of anything that exhibited on his desk, his six foot high plastic walls or standard issue half back swivel chair that there was an individual who occupied that space except for one single item: a coffee mug coaster.  When Jeffery’s coffee mug sat upon the coaster it looked like every other coaster that “Myron, Langski & Harris Soy Products inc” provided for its employees to set their coffee cups on, a circle shaped blanched white quarter inch thin piece of repressed cork.  Jeffery had a dirty little secret, one that he made sure that no other employee or member of the management saw – eighteen years ago he had taken his pen and drawn a small smiley face in the very center of the coaster. For eighteen years for five days a week Jeffery would carefully wipe the bottom of his daily acquired Styrofoam sterile and non-personal coffee mug that the company supplied before setting it down on the coaster to ensure that the whiteness of the cork would not be discoloured by any stray dribbles of coffee and maintaining the purity of the coaster other than his own small image of uniqueness.

Jeffery’s job, he knew was an important one to the company, was to take the orders of the shapes of the meat that the customers wanted; one slip up and a company that wanted formed hamburger patties could end up with a shipment of formed sausage instead.  It had never happened to him, but to the others in the customer service center it could not be said.  Those others, once realizing their mistake would look to Jeffery for a way to fix their packing order slips so that “Myron, Langski & Harris Soy Products inc” would neither lose a customer nor sully the company’s reputation of professionalism and expedient service.

One such person that relied on Jeffery’s ability to problem solve was Quincy Applebottom.  Quincy had started with the company six years ago; Jeffery had trained him and as a nurturing mother would, had held Quincy’s hand through the entire process without a second thought.  It was a matter of pride that someone Jeffery trained would be seen as competent, after all, if the apprentice failed, was it not the fault of the master who taught him?  It had not been easy for Jeffery because Quincy, in his dishevelled suits and poor penmanship tended to look ahead rather than keeping his thoughts on the task at hand; Jeffery ended up handling both the men’s workload rather than face the admonishment of being responsible for the debacles that Quincy constantly created with his inattention. 

It was with pride that he looked upon Quincy when the general manager had chosen Quincy to fill the newly vacant supervisor role two years ago.  Jeffery reasoned that the upper management recognized that Jeffery’s talent was in the trenches and that promoting him would lessen the chance of mistakes being caught before they made it over to the production side.  He also knew that Quincy respected him and his knowledge as the younger man still relied on Jeffery to go over the day’s work orders to ensure they were correct – sure he spent a few hours every night alone in the plant unpaid, but for Jeffery, it was a badge of honour that he was given the responsibility for the smooth transfer of work orders of the Calgary plant.  He even took the initiative afterwards of walking to the north side’s double doors that led straight to the four soy processing vats and the office of the production manager on the opposite side, carefully placing the mornings orders in the ‘in’ basket, placing a Calgary Flames paper weight on top to ensure that any stray drafts would blow those orders off the basket and thereby stalling the expedient completion of the work before he would go home to his one room bachelor suite to prepare his suit for the next working day.  To Jeffery it showed that his apprentice, Quincy, respected and valued him as a mentor.

With the extra work that Jeffery did it for Quincy Applebottom it came to as no surprise when he received a memo stating that for the extraordinary care and attention that Mr. Applebottom displayed in his role as customer service supervisor the management was happy to announce that he would be taking over the role of general manager while Miles Jergan, sixteen years Jeffery’s junior, would be taking the customer service supervisor position.  Jeffery was far from angry though he had once more been overlooked for advancement; after all, Applebottom’s success meant that Jeffery was successful.  Though he wouldn’t be credited for it, Jeffery knew that with Quincy’s appointment his own responsibility would be increased.  It wasn’t long before Jeffery’s supposition began to bear fruit.

It was four thirty; all the other customer service reps were putting on their jackets getting ready to head for their various homes or bars when Quincy knocked lightly on the corner of the wall of Jeffery’s cubicle.

“Hey Jeffy!” Quincy said in a slightly slurred manner; he must have been celebrating his promotion Jeffery thought as he smelt stale cigarette smoke and whiskey on the pudgier younger man’s breath.  “I need you to do me a favour!”  He tossed a sheet of paper and a photograph of himself onto Jeffery’s desk.  Jeffery saw the two pieces hit his nearly full coffee cup as they gave a slight bounce off the side of it before landing over his keyboard.

“I’ve got to catch a flight to New York to head office for a big pow wow in the morning,” Quincy continued to explain, not noticing that Jeffery’s eyes were not on him but on the brownish streaks of the Styrofoam coffee cup.  “Could you be a bud and do a write up as a sort of introduction of me to the big wigs?  I thought it would be a classy touch to include a picture to – thanks!”  Without waiting for a response Quincy then walked away from the cubicle.

Jeffery continued to stare at the coffee cup.  The cylinder was no longer pure bleached white; along the sides were the last remnants of the dark brown liquid’s escape from within; his perfect state had been destroyed.  Jeffery picked up the coffee cup to deposit it and its contents into the waste container that sat beside his desk; he would not be able to drink it now that the coffee’s presentation had been ruined.  He carefully set the cup in the basket so that none would feel the urge to spurt from it and splatter the sides of his desk.  It was when he leaned back up that he noticed that something else had been brought amiss by the arrival of Quincy B. Applebottom: his coaster.

A thought occurred to Jeffery that he had never thought before:  Quincy didn’t understand the beauty of boxes; in fact, Quincy was one of those who showed lack of attention by being a bag sort of presenter.  The years that Jeffery had happily tutored Quincy in the how to keep the box that contained work ethic looking trim and sturdy was all a lie.  There was no value or respect; there was only disinterest and disregard.  Jeffery was nothing more than a cheap plastic file folder to Quincy rather than the three ring binder that Jeffery had led himself to believe.  He had been used not for company purposes but personal.

 Jeffery stared at the brownish halo that now boldly shouted to the world that it was here to stay.  Every morning for the past eighteen years Jeffery had been soothed by the knowledge that no matter what had occurred the previous day, he, like the coaster, was pure and untouched by those events.  The cork circle had been ripped of its virgin-ness appearance; it had been raped by Quincy B. Applebottom – Jeffery could no longer pretend that Quincy’s wickedness had not left him tainted either.

His hand curled tightly into a fist as the unfamiliar emotion of rage filled every nerve ending of Jeffery’s body.  He fought to keep himself from doing anything destructive, instead settling to let his chair squeak violently as his entire body trembled as he sat there with his feet firmly planted on the ground. 

Ten minutes past, thirty minutes past, then forty minutes before Jeffery’s eyes relented on their vigil on the soiled coaster and settled upon the picture that Quincy had dropped off.  The box must be maintained, Jeffery told himself as he took the picture in his hands; he still had responsibility no matter how little it mattered to anyone else.  He had to give the company a summary of his once apprentice.  That summary needed to exemplify the kind of person Quincy B. Applebottom was. 

Jeffery looked at the picture hard; he realized that the picture was far too wasteful in terms of space – it should show efficiency and attention to detail.  He picked up a pair of scissors he kept in at the side of his desk and carefully clipped Quincy’s face from the picture. 

Jeffery then carefully disposed of the rest of the picture by placing it in the waste basket on top of the coffee cup, setting it down so that it would not upset the cup’s contents and then stood up.  He kept the picture of Quincy in his hand as he walked to the supply room that adjoined the general manager’s office. 

The supply room wasn’t very large; it gave little walking space between the multipurpose scan/fax/copier and the cabinets that held supplies for the office but Jeffery liked it – it was left little room for people to create messes and kept everything neat.  He put the picture of Quincy down on top of one of the cabinets. Jeffery unzipped his pants, carefully removed the perfectly pleated material from his person, folding them gently and placed them on the supply cabinet top.  Next came off his plain white boxer shorts that joined his pants upon the cabinet.  Once Jeffery had assured himself that the folds of the shorts and the pants were aligned and he had brushed off a stray piece of lint that he had somehow missed on the left inside knee of his pants Jeffery turned and pushed the power button on the photocopier that sat in the corner three feet from the supply cabinet.

He opened the lid, hoisted himself up onto the cold glass of the copier, squiggling around until he felt as if his butt cheeks had expanded from their normal thin center crack to a larger chasm.  Jeffery leant forward and pushed the “2” and “5” buttons then the “copy” button.  As he listened to the sounds of the scanner moving to and fro he wiggled his cheeks around in order to give several different versions of his ass that he could choose from.  Once the machine pinged to signal the end of the requested twenty five copies, Jeffery hopped off the copier, carefully redressed then examined each of the copies for the one that he preferred.  Copy number twelve he decided was the one that he would use.  He put the other twenty four through the paper shredder.

Jeffery took the cut out picture of Quincy and with a piece of scotch tape from the dispenser that sat next to the copier he placed it in the center of copy twelve.  He placed the altered copy back into the copier and selected the option to send the new copy to his computer terminal.  Once done, he took copy twelve and again used the paper shredder.

Jeffery walked back to his cubicle, pushing the chair out, sitting down then scuffling he and the chair into a tight position.  He opened the received folder, cutting his newly made news release and pasting it on the document he had entitled, “Summary of Quincy B. Applebottom”.  He typed in all the names on the list of executives and general managers that Quincy had given him.  For an hour Jeffery sat motionless looking at the image of his buttocks with Quincy Applebottom’s face in the center.

Jeffery pushed “send’.  He looked at the screen for a few minutes as it flashed, “Message sent” before he picked up the coaster, slid his chair back seven inches and stood up.  The coaster twirled between his fingers as he considered the computer’s query of “Log out?” The coaster ceased its revolutions as Jeffery used his other hand to use the computer’s mouse to move the cursor to “yes”.  Jeffery clicked the mouse.  The monitor announced to Jeffery what he already knew; he was logging out.

Jeffery stepped out from between the desk and the chair, pushed the chair snugly into the desk and walked to the north exit aisle.  He followed the little arrows that pointed the way to the processing mills and entered the production area.  The whir of the swirling vats of soy purred into Jeffery’s ears as he climbed up the metal staircase to the suspended catwalk that over looked the four vats.  He stood over the first vat, looking down at the blades mixing the soy mush with various spices. 

For the first time since he had pushed the send button, Jeffery looked at the coaster that he held in his hand.  The sharpness of the coffee stain blurred as his eyes began to tear up.  He stretched his arm over the railing and held the coaster daintily over the rotating blades beneath him.

“The dream never dies,” Jeffery shakily sang as he let go of the round piece of cork.  He watched it fall into the mush and swiftly be taken under the thick paste and disappear as if it had never existed by the mixer. “Just the dreamer,” Jeffery stated with a finality lost in the myriad of mechanized conversations going on around him.  He climbed the metal rail and stepped off.

Quincy Boris Applebottom arrived at the meeting at the New York headquarters with an air of smugness about him; he had confidence that in as he slept good ol’ Jeff, a sap but his sap, had produced a stellar write up and sent it to all his fellow general managers as well as the board of governors exalting his accomplishments at the Calgary plant.  Quincy felt that his assuredness was well placed when he walked into the conference room and he saw every eye move to him; there were points and whispers.   He could sense the admiration of his peers and the three owners of the company. He smiled and nodded as he took his seat.   He opened up his lap top, turned it on. The woman to his left, Marjorie Sveltebushe of the Phoenix plant Quincy recalled from his readings of the company newsletter, placed her hand on his shoulder.

“You’re Quincy Applebottom of Denver, aren’t you?” She asked through a wide smile.

“Why yes I am,” Quincy said proudly, “I take it you received my introduction e-mail.”

“Oh yes,” Marjorie responded, her smile getting longer as she did.  Damn, Quincy thought to himself, Jeff must have really talked him up!

 “It’ll be interesting if you live up to the message’s expectations,” she finished and took her hand off his shoulder.

Quincy beamed.  Good ol’ Jeff, he thought.  The laptop’s screen welcomed him.  Quincy decided that he should check what the introduction said, just so that he would be prepared to act humble at the mention of any of his achievements.  He clicked on his mail.   

The colour drained from his face as Jeff’s message opened.  He looked around the room at the sixteen other general managers, Franklin Myron, Saul Langski, Janice Harris, and their personal assistant’s faces; it was not admiration that he had been seeing, it was ridicule.  Quincy the great had become Quincy the fool; he wanted to rush out of his seat and hide but it was too late, Franklin Myron had taken his seat and called order of business.  Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, Quincy thought, he could survive this embarrassment.

“I think we should go over the minutes of the last meetings,” Janice Harris said after Franklin had asked if there were any last minute additions to the agenda, “Just in case our newest gm, Quincy Applebottom, is a little behind.”

It was not long after the accident investigation at the Denver plant that Quincy decided that a career change was in order.   The police had absolved him in any guilt over the death of Jeffery Salinger but Quincy could not shake the image of Jeffery’s last act before taking his own life from his mind.  He wanted to but word had spread about the e-mail from the head office boardroom to even the newest customer service rep.  Every morning Quincy would open up his e-mail and in his inbox would be a carbon copy of the message; Jeffery’s insubordination had inspired people.  One man’s speculation lead to a legion of followers who now kept the word, or more precisely, the image, of Jeffery Salinger alive.

Now you have all the component costs, labor costs, capital costs and indirect costs (non-direct labor and consumables). This provides the cost accounting group with everything they need to produce a simple financial model that will give you a high level picture of the project. It is not the final analysis, but the first analysis that will tell you whether you should look deeper or not.  If the analysis looks favorable you will look deeper, if you will look elsewhere for savings.

The financial models we have used are a set of nested spreadsheets. Below is a gross oversimplification of a typical analysis, but demonstrate the principle.

Compound(or formula) cost spreadsheet. The compounding operation takes 2 laborers so you spread those costs across the total product of compound. For example you will produce 1MM kg of compounds with 2 laborers( $100K) so the labor costs are $0.10/kg. This spreadsheet feeds to SKU spreadsheet. Cost accounting should also add anyother know variable overhead.

SKU spreadsheet includes amount of compound needed per SKU, the package and closure, carton, pallet, etc. The remaining 4 laborer cost are spread over the unit volume as appropriate for each package type/size. The $50K  is consumables is spread appropriately where it belongs. Every piece that going into the product as a palletized, shrinkwrapped pallet in your warehouse. Again,variable overhead should also be added.You now have a total unit cost to compare to your out-sourced, or purchased complete cost. This will feed the spreadsheet that will generate the cost saving for that particular SKU.

You have a total cost for the SKU both in-sourced and out-sourced and know the volume of that SKU. This generates a savings number for that SKU. You do this for two compounds (formula) and 6 different SKUs of two different package type.  Package type A is 7% cheaper to produce in-house, and package type B is 10% cheaper to produce in-house. This feed the spreadsheet for the entire product line.

This is where the assumed proportionality is used.You sell $5MM of package type A and $5MM of package type B  for a savings of  $350K and $500K respectively for a total on $850K annual savings.

The next part vary depending on how your finance group handles thing, but in general a 2 year or less payback is consider acceptable.  So we have $850K savings and $850K capital for a 1 year payback. If it is looked at on an after tax basis and you are in a 50% tax bracket( if there is such a thing), you would have a two year payback.

Looks like any interesting project- requires a more in-depth analysis. This analysis should be able to be completed by an experienced and committed group in 1-2 months. The assumed proportionality takes a huge amount of time and detail out of the process. It is also where the anal retentive will have the most difficulty.The purpose of this analysis is not to provide the last analysis, but a quick and reliable way to get a big picture view of a project.

How detailed the final analysis will be up to the you.

At this point, you will invariably have some SKUs that didn’t fit into the model.  Different package type that you will not be capable of filling, or compound (formula) of such low volume that you will not be making them. The next part will try to deal with what is left.

About three years ago I discovered an amazing track called Something On Your Mind by MYNC Project, aka CR2 Records owner Mark Brown and Nick Corelli. Since then, the duo parted ways temporarily to invest time on their solo projects and now they’re back and after enlisting producer Harry ‘Choo Choo’ Romero and Jose Nunez on their forthcoming album, they’re bigger and better than ever before. In anticipation of the hotly awaited release, Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor is delighted to bring you a taste of what’s to come including two exclusive tracks that are not available to buy.

Up first, Boogerlight is a party-packed tune with horns, vocals and plenty of crescendos.  There’s no messing around either as it immediately kicks off with a bomb of a beat that’s set to fill a dance floor in seconds.  On the second exclusive tune, the MYNC tag team expands to include Dutch DJ Chuckie and samples Ian Brown’s amazing F.E.A.R on Fear Of Moombah.  Mark Brown and Corelli give their spin a fat beat and take the track underground with a rave twist, whilst retaining the incredible strings from Ian Brown’s original.

As if two exclusives weren’t enough, you’ll find four more download links from the MYNC boys including the Switch Mix of Something On Your Mind, if you fancy something a little bit harder, plus Brown and Corelli’s Payback mix of Calvin Harris’s awesome I’m Not Alone.  Download the exclusives and more now using the links below…its the perfect warm up to what’s set to be a killer of a comeback. Enjoy.

Exclusives:

MYNC – Boogerlight

MYNC  v  Chuckie v Ian Brown – Fear Of Moombah

More from the MYNC crew:

Inner City – Pennies From Heaven (MYNC’s Respect Mix)

MYNC – Something On Your Mind (Switch Mix)

Calvin Harris – I’m Not Alone (MYNC Payback Mix)

MYNC & Dirty South – Everybody Freakin’

LAID OUT BY KHALID STRICKLAND a.k.a. BLACK PACINO

Relations between the police department and people of color have never been cordial.  In the eyes of the U.S. Justice system, the lives of  black and brown citizens are worth xerox-copied Confederate money.  Police officers have the divine right to rough us up and gun us down without consequence, warranted or not. From criminal to college professor, we’re all painted with the same brush… c’est la vie.

But I give credit where it’s due.  If it weren’t for corrupt cops who’d rather pocket work than do paper work, I’d be serving felony time.  Thank you, kind officers.

Great rap songs have been birthed from the frosty relationship between the police and so-called minorities.  I say “so-called” because people of color are the majority around the world, but that’s going off-topic.  More than any other music genre, Hip-Hop has manifested these feelings of resentment for rotten-ass police into classic works of art.

Here are five sonic slugs that tore through the Kevlar of law enforcement.

FUCK DA POLICE by NWA (1987)

These days, a rapper has to sell drugs or stockpile guns to attract attention from the Feds. Back in rap’s golden era all it took was one fiery, Molotov Cocktail of a song. Circa 1989, the FBI sent a threatening “cease and desist” letter to NWA due to this joint.  That’s how potent rap music was before being declawed, defanged and neutered.  Ice Cube, one of the greatest emcees of all-time, set shit off with furious anger:

“Fuck tha police, comin straight from the underground/A young nigga got it bad ’cause I’m brown.”

Until then, no band  had ever been that frank when describing the law.  Police officers refused to provide security for NWA concerts.  If you drove past the cops with this song blaring from the speakers, you were begging to get harassed.  Like most of Dr. Dre’s beats before he ushered in the G-Funk era, “Fuck Da Police” contains gritty samples, sharp horn stabs and boom-bap drums.  No studio polish.  It is the gold standard of anti-authority anthems and led the charge for riot-starting  joints like this.  “Fuck Da Police” was crunk before crunk.

SOUND OF DA POLICE by KRS-ONE (1993)

The first and only time I snuffed a cop in the face, my spirit was liberated.  My battered body, however, sat in a cell for a moment. But a freshly-chipped tooth and busted lip couldn’t wipe away my satisfied smile. They provoked it, as they’re known to do.  Aside from the NYPD’s mandatory mash-out, my offense earned me two days community service when the charges were reduced to “obstruction of justice,” whatever the hell that means.

So what does my Miracle on 1 Police Plaza have to do with KRS-ONE and his song, “Sound of Da Police?” In the days leading up to my incident, this inflammatory KRS joint got heavy rotation in my CD players.  Famed Bronx producer Showbiz made the hard-as-adamantium beat, which always stokes my fire.  When KRS chants that “Whoop Whoop!” chorus my hands ball into fists involuntarily and I throw jabs at the air.  I’m not saying KRS made me spazz on the officer, but I’m not ruling it out.

COP KILLER by Ice T (1992)

When I asked my war council to suggest some anti-police joints (“Fuck The Police” notwithstanding), they unanimously text me back one song title: “Cop Killer. ”  While moonlighting as lead vocalist of his rock band, Body Count, Ice-T came up with this trouble-making lil’ ditty.  It’s a speed metal joint but because Ice-T is a rapper by trade, “Cop Killer” is relegated to the ghetto of musical genres. Police nation-wide put the heat on Warner Bros to ban the song and drop Ice-T from their record label.

Then-Vice President Dan Quayle, the idiot who misspelled “potato” in front of schoolkids, read the lyrics of “Cop Killer” aloud from a podium.  He meant to be taken serious but hearing him blandly recite “Die… Die, pig, die” for a crowd of grim-faced cops may have been one of the most hilarious moments in American history.  Legendary actor and NRA president Charlton Heston gave a wooden “Die, pig” recital of his own.  From such a serious topic emerged comedy gold…

Ice came out on top, not just because he nailed both Darlene and CoCo (if he has a menage-a-trois with them he becomes a deity).  Many cops are fans of the O.G. I remember seeing Ice-T and CoCo at a party in Chelsea one night. Outside the club, Five-O put a boot on Ice’s Maserati and prepared to tow it, unaware of the owner. Upon realizing that the car belonged to The Iceberg, they unhooked the luxury vehicle… after getting a few autographs, photo-ops and free CDs from Ice himself.

Ironically Ice now plays a cop on Law & Order, further shitting on the shield.

PIGS by Cypress Hill (1991)

This darkly-comic revenge tale (set to an off-balance, funky beat by DJ Muggs) has a happy ending.  In his high-pitched nasal style, B-Real raps about a cowardly, corrupt pig who kills his homeboy and does favors for the Mob.  That part of the song is believable but the climax is a bit far-fetched;  the cop is ultimately sent to prison where, as B-Real tells it,  “they won’t provide the little pig with a bullet-proof vest… to protect him from some mad nigga, who he shot in the chest and placed under arrest.” A Latino-killin’ dirty officer getting sentenced to the bing? (Rolls eyes) Pfft… whateverrrrr.

For his many sins, the cowardly cop gets his in the end… rear-end, that is: “Niggas wanna do him in the ass, just to pay his ass back, so they’re standin’ in line.  That fuckin’ pig.” Ouch! The death penalty may have been a more humane option but not on Cypress Hill’s watch.  No matter how many times this song gets burn, B-Real’s ad-libs at the closer are always good for a laugh: “Now they’re gonna make some pigs feet outta the little punk.  Anybody like pork-chops ? How ’bout a ham sandwich ? How ’bout a ham sandwich?”

Just this once, I bet even the Muslim brothers would be down with that.

DEEP COVER by Dre and Snoop 187 (1992)

Dr. Dre had already left his mark with “Fuck The Police,” but years later he crafted yet another classic anthem with “Deep Cover.”  This song introduced a young, future Hall-of-Famer named Snoop Dogg to the world.   Dre reserved some of his grimiest beats for the anti-cop joints. “Deep Cover” is powered by one of the illest and most recognizable basslines in music history. The song is more famous than the movie Deep Cover from which it came.

Once again, crooked cops get served justice with a simple hook featuring both Dre and Snoop.  Perhaps you’ve heard it:

“Yeah and you don’t stop/’cuz it’s 187 on an undercover caaaahhhp…”

Could a cyborg please travel backwards in time, Terminator-style and murk the parties who made rap so fuckin’ empty and spineless? We all have our theories, so smoke every last one of ‘em just to be sure.

]]> http://getdclu.wordpress.com/2009/11/14/two-sets-of-justice/ Sun, 15 Nov 2009 03:39:53 +0000 Lisa http://getdclu.wordpress.com/2009/11/14/two-sets-of-justice/

Some pigs are more equal than others…  The story Animal Farm should be required reading for all High Schoolers, and it was at one time, not so long ago.  With the President’s decision to put the fate of the worst terrorists known to the industrialized world in the hands of 12 jurors and the whims and potential technicalities of the American justice system not only in jeopardy, but that’s the point – isn’t it?  Payback to all those Muslim-hating conservatives who get in the way of his NWO plans; payback to all the far-left islamofascists who financed his campaign; payback to the Saudi Prince to whom he bowed and whose ring Obama kissed… 
Don’t worry, Mr. President, your payback will come next election day!

Here are some of the better thoughts from the bloggers out there in the un-neutralized zone™.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Making a mockery of our courts…

http://conservativeunderground-joey.blogspot.com/ 

Today Attorney General Eric Holder held a press conference to announce his decision to prosecute five of the 9-11 co-conspirators in our Federal Courts. He also mentioned that others will be prosecuted by a Military Commission. We now have two separate sets of Justice in our country. He explained the different factors that he took into consideration when determining who would be tried by our Department of Justice and who would be tried by the Defense Department. According to him the five being tried by our Justice Department committed crimes involving civilians while those to be tried by our Defense Department committed their crimes against our military. My friends this was an act of WAR and it belongs in the hands of a Military Commission. These animals are going to use this opportunity to spew their hate of this country and make a complete mockery of the entire process. This is outrageous.

I hate to think that these animals could get off because of some stupid technicality. It happens all the time when our courts are involved. Remember the incompetence of Judge Ito during the OJ Simpson trial? It is frightening. The rules all of a sudden change[d]. I would think that some of the evidence which was gathered through the use of water boarding would not be admissible. These animals have already confessed to these terrorist acts. They wanted to plead guilty last December and were willing to die as martyrs for their religion. The bottom line is that we will pay the price. The only thing that will be on trial will be our country. [emphasis mine] Believe me they can find a leftist Judge out there who hates this country and is willing to put us on trial. Our interrogation techniques will be back on the news and a lot of our Government intelligence will be exposed. The State Run Media will have a feast. They will be putting the lives of those who have defended this country (CIA) in jeopardy. This will turn into a circus and a platform for these low lives to spew their rhetoric. Stay tuned…

More:

Obama Reduces September 11th Act of War on America to a Law Enforcement Issue (Atlas Shrugs)

In a stunning act of denial and capitulation to Islamic jihad, the Obama administration submits by bringing the masterminds of the shocking invasion of America into a New York courtroom, to try the Muslim masterminds of the most brutal attack on American soil in modern history — joining “over a millennium of jihad wars, land expropriations, enslavements, and humiliations of the conquered non-Muslim populations on three continents.”

Imagine, the enemy is facing a civilian trial in NYC. Devastating. How much intel will be compromised when these jihad barbarians are all lawyered up? Those bastards should be tried as war criminals at GITMO – military court.

911 mastermind Khalid Sheikh Mohammed to be tried in the city he attacked, NYC

 

Boehner: 9/11 Show Trial an “Irresponsible Decision”

Boehner says putting the so-called perps on trial would revert to a “dangerous pre-9/11 mentality – treating terrorism as a law enforcement issue and hoping for the best.” The neocons argue that the Constitution — or for that matter, the Geneva Convention — do not apply to terrorists.

Mukasey: ‘very high’ risk of attack over NYC 9/11 trial

Former Attorney General Michael Mukasey said today that it is highly likely that terrorists will attack New York City as a consequence of the Obama administration’s decision to send five alleged Sept. 11 plotters there for trial in federal court.
 

************

The Names of Those Killed at Fort Hood 

(Patriot Post)
Our prayers go out to the families, friends and comrades in arms of those killed and wounded at Fort Hood last Thursday. Here are the 14 who died:

Chief Warrant Officer Michael Grant Cahill, 65, of Cameron, Texas, husband and father of three, had just returned to work as a physician assistant after suffering a heart attack.

Maj. Libardo Eduardo Caraveo, 52, of Woodbridge, Virginia, was a native of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. He was preparing to deploy to Afghanistan, and leaves a wife, three sons and two step-daughters.

Staff Sgt. Justin M. DeCrow, 32, of Evans, Georgia, was helping train new soldiers on how to help new veterans with paperwork. He was a husband and father.

Capt. John Gaffaney, 56, of San Diego, California, was married with a son. He was a psychiatric nurse and had arrived at Fort Hood the day before the shooting to prepare for deployment to Iraq.

Spc. Frederick Greene, 29, of Mountain City, Tennessee, was a combat engineer who leaves behind a wife and two daughters.

Spc. Jason Dean Hunt, 22, of Tipton, Oklahoma, was recently married and had three children. He served a tour in Iraq and had re-enlisted for six more years.

Sgt. Amy Krueger, 29, of Kiel, Wisconsin, with the Madison-based 467th Medical Detachment, had arrived at Fort Hood on Tuesday and was scheduled to be deployed to Afghanistan in December. She enlisted just after 9/11.

Pfc. Aaron Thomas Nemelka, 19, of West Jordan, Utah, was an Eagle Scout. He was scheduled to be deployed to Afghanistan in January. His job: to defuse bombs. Nemelka had enlisted in the Army in October 2008.

Spc. Michael Pearson , 21, of Bolingbrook, Illinois, was a talented musician who joined the Army only a year ago.

Capt. Russell Seager, 51, of Racine, Wisconsin, was a psychiatrist who joined the Army a few years ago because he wanted to help veterans returning to civilian life. He had gone to Fort Hood for training before deploying to Afghanistan in December. He leaves behind a wife and a son.

Pvt. Francheska Velez, 21, of Chicago recently had returned from a tour of duty in Iraq and was pursuing a career in the Army. She was in the building where the shooting occurred filling out paperwork due to her pregnancy. Her unborn child was the 14th victim.

Juanita Warman, 55, of Pittsburgh was a military physician assistant and the daughter and granddaughter of Army veterans. She leaves behind a husband and two daughters.

Spc. Kham Xiong, 23, of St. Paul, Minnesota, immigrated from Thailand as a child. He graduated from St. Paul’s Community of Peace Academy in 2004 and was a husband and father. He was at Ft. Hood preparing for a January deployment.

We Will NEVER Forget

Two Sets of Justice: http://wp.me/pzfHB-iC

Man up!

This is a call to arms for all the passive weaklings out there. Now you too can deliver an astounding sucker punch to the viscous harpy who enjoys repeated hatchet jobs on your psyche! It’s time to strengthen your resolve and take down this loathsome malcontent with one swift kick to the solar plexus. No longer will her talons of death be firmly embedded in your back while you valiantly try to carry on as if nothing is happening to you. After spending some time struggling with the best approach, you may feel like you just want to turn and flee but don’t. Open fire on her with the ferocity and rapid pace of the Terminators semi automatic rifle. Maybe the impact of the verbal onslaught will be enough to render her speechless for the duration of the candid ( and WAY to verbose) portion of the confrontation.
What do you mean the opener didn’t pack as much punch as you anticipated and she remained able to volley for the duration? What is that you say? She gave you a whole new list of shortcomings AND recommended a psychiatric evaluation while remaining calm and collected?
What a freaking let down! Talk about the deterioration of a dream. Where were the swinging fists and unhinged brutality? Now I have to spend the rest of my day eating pistachios and wondering how I could have gotten it so wrong. I’ll have to burn off all my surplus fighting endorphins throwing the discarded shells at a squirrel with too much bravado. Take that! Bushy tailed vermin.
You know what? I’ve  thought this whole thing over and now I understand that revenge is a dish best served cold. No more blustering and chest thumping, we need to put our heads together and hatch a machiavellian masterpiece. She won’t know what hit her until we are long gone, just like the last shot in the movies. You know, the one where the heroine is walking away smiling down a sunny L.A. street while the nemesis is drowning in despair from the revealing letter said star left for all the colleagues to see. This woman has been found out and now she wallows in the shame of the truth on display. Ha! That will teach YOU defeatee. Our newfound flair for payback has robbed you of any hope of redemption. Now hang your head in shame and slink off to that hole you crawled out of!

I like this squirrel. I would never throw a nut shell at him.

Der Kläger ist der Bundesverband der Verbraucherzentralen und Verbraucher-verbände. Die Beklagte organisiert und betreibt das Kundenbindungs- und Rabattsystem “HappyDigits”. Der Kläger nimmt die Beklagte auf Unterlassung der Verwendung von Klauseln in Anspruch, die diese in ihren Anmeldeformularen verwendet. Im Revisionsverfahren hatte der unter anderem für das Kaufrecht zuständige VIII. Zivilsenat des Bundesgerichtshofs noch über die Wirksamkeit zweier Klauseln zu entscheiden.

Die erste, in der Mitte des Formulars platzierte und zusätzlich umrandete Klausel, deren Verwendung das Berufungsgericht untersagt hat, lautet:

“Einwilligung in Beratung, Information (Werbung) und Marketing

Ich bin damit einverstanden, dass meine bei HappyDigits erhobenen persönlichen Daten (Name, Anschrift, Geburtsdatum) und meine Programmdaten (Anzahl gesammelte Digits und deren Verwendung; Art der gekauften Waren und Dienstleistungen; freiwillige Angaben) von der D GmbH [...] als Betreiberin des HappyDigits Programms und ihren Partnerunternehmen zu Marktforschungs- und schriftlichen Beratungs- und Informationszwecken (Werbung) über Produkte und Dienstleistungen der jeweiligen Partnerunternehmen gespeichert, verarbeitet und genutzt werden. [...] Sind Sie nicht einverstanden, streichen Sie die Klausel [...]“

Der Bundesgerichtshof hat entschieden, dass die Klausel wirksam ist. Sie betrifft allein die Einwilligung in die Speicherung, Verarbeitung und Nutzung von Daten für die Zusendung von Werbung per Post sowie zu Zwecken der Marktforschung. Wie der Bundesgerichtshof nach Erlass des Berufungsurteils entschieden hat (Urteil vom 16. Juli 2008 – VIII ZR 348/06 – “Payback”), bilden die Vorschriften des Bundesdatenschutzgesetzes (BDSG) insoweit den alleinigen Prüfungsmaßstab für die Frage, ob durch eine solche Einwilligung Regelungen vereinbart worden sind, die im Sinne von § 307 Abs. 3 Satz 1 BGB von Rechtsvorschriften abweichen oder diese ergänzen.  

Unter dem Gesichtspunkt datenschutzrechtlicher Bestimmungen ist die Klausel nicht zu beanstanden. Danach kann die Einwilligung in die Speicherung, Verarbeitung und Nutzung von Daten zusammen mit anderen Erklärungen schriftlich erteilt werden, sofern sie – wie hier – besonders hervorgehoben wird. Zwar sieht die Klausel – im Gegensatz zu der Klausel, die Gegenstand der “Payback”-Entscheidung vom 16. Juli 2008 war – nicht die Möglichkeit vor, zu ihrer Abwahl ein zusätzliches Kästchen anzukreuzen, sondern weist fettgedruckt auf die Möglichkeit zur Streichung der Klausel hin. Die Möglichkeit zur Abwahl durch Ankreuzen ist aber nicht zwingend, wenn die Klausel eine andere Abwahlmöglichkeit enthält und dem Hervorhebungserfordernis des § 4a Abs. 1 BDSG* gerecht wird. Das ist hier der Fall. Die Klausel 1 ist in der Mitte des eine Druckseite umfassenden Formulars platziert und als einziger Absatz der Seite mit einer zusätzlichen Umrahmung versehen, so dass sie schon deshalb Aufmerksamkeit auf sich zieht. Der fettgedruckten Überschrift lässt sich schon aufgrund des verwendeten Worts “Einwilligung” unmittelbar entnehmen, dass sie ein rechtlich relevantes Einverständnis des Verbrauchers mit Werbungs- und Marketingmaßnahmen enthält, die – was einem durchschnittlich verständigen Verbraucher bekannt ist – in aller Regel mit einer Speicherung und Nutzung von Daten einhergehen.

Daran hat sich auch durch die Änderung des Bundesdatenschutzgesetzes mit Wirkung vom 1. September 2009 nichts geändert. Nach § 28 Abs. 3 Satz 1 BDSG nF** ist die Verarbeitung oder Nutzung personenbezogener Daten für Zwecke des Adresshandels oder der Werbung zulässig, soweit der Betroffene eingewilligt hat. Soll die Einwilligung zusammen mit anderen Erklärungen schriftlich erteilt werden, ist sie nach § 28 Abs. 3a Satz 2 BDSG nF*** in drucktechnisch deutlicher Gestaltung besonders hervorzuheben. Die in der Regelung enthaltenen Anforderungen sollen nach der Gesetzesbegründung denen entsprechen, die der Bundesgerichtshof in der Entscheidung vom 16. Juli 2008 an die Hervorhebung der Einwilligungserklärung gestellt hat. Auch nach der neuen Fassung des Bundesdatenschutzgesetzes ist somit eine “opt-out”-Regelung zur Erteilung der Einwilligung in die Verarbeitung und Nutzung personenbezogener Daten für Zwecke der Werbung per Post zulässig. Eine darüber hinausgehende Einwilligung in die Verwendung solcher Daten für Werbung im Wege elektronischer Post (SMS, E-Mail), die nach § 7 Abs. 2 Nr. 3 UWG**** wirksam nur durch eine gesondert abzugebende Erklärung (“opt-in”) erteilt werden kann, ist – anders als im “Payback”-Fall – nicht Gegenstand der von der Beklagten verwendeten Klausel.

Die zweite, vor der Unterschriftenzeile platzierte Klausel, die das Berufungsgericht nicht beanstandet hat, lautet:

“Die Teilnahme an HappyDigits erfolgt auf Grundlage der Allgemeinen Teilnahmebedingungen, die Sie mit Ihrer Karte erhalten und die Sie dann mit Ihrer ersten Aktivität, z.B. Sammeln, anerkennen.”

Der Bundesgerichtshof hat entschieden, dass diese Klausel unwirksam ist (§ 307 Abs. 2 Nr. 1 in Verbindung mit § 305 Abs. 2, § 308 Nr. 5 BGB). Sie soll die Einbeziehung der von der Beklagten verwendeten Allgemeinen Teilnahmebedingungen in die zu schließenden Verträge bewirken, ohne dass die dafür erforderlichen Voraussetzungen eingehalten sind (§ 305 Abs. 2 BGB). Voraussetzung für die wirksame Einbeziehung ist unter anderem, dass der Verwender der anderen Vertragspartei bei Vertragsabschluss die Möglichkeit verschafft, in zumutbarer Weise von dem Inhalt Allgemeiner Geschäftsbedingungen Kenntnis zu nehmen (§ 305 Abs. 2 Nr. 2 BGB). Die Klausel geht aber davon aus, dass die Allgemeinen Teilnahmebedingungen den Teilnehmern bei Abgabe des Teilnahmeantrags nicht vorliegen, sondern erst später mit der Karte übersandt werden. In den somit ohne Einbeziehung der Allgemeinen Teilnahmebedingungen zustande gekommenen Vertrag sollen diese sodann nachträglich dadurch einbezogen werden, dass das Einverständnis der Teilnehmer mit der darin liegenden Vertragsänderung durch die erste Verwendung der Karte unter Verstoß gegen § 308 Nr. 5 BGB fingiert wird. Darin liegt eine unangemessene Benachteiligung der Verbraucher.

*§ 4a Abs. 1 Satz 4 BDSG lautet: “Soll die Einwilligung zusammen mit anderen Erklärungen schriftlich erteilt werden, ist sie besonders hervorzuheben”.

** § 28 Abs. 3 Satz 1 BDSG nF lautet: “Die Verarbeitung oder Nutzung personenbezogener Daten für Zwecke des Adresshandels oder der Werbung ist zulässig, soweit der Betroffene eingewilligt hat (…)”.

***§ 28 Abs. 3a Satz 2 BDSG nF lautet: “Soll die Einwilligung zusammen mit anderen Erklärungen schriftlich erteilt werden, ist sie in drucktechnisch deutlicher Gestaltung besonders hervorzuheben”.

**** § 7 Abs. 2 Nr. 3 UWG lautet: “Eine unzumutbare Belästigung ist stets anzunehmen bei Werbung unter Verwendung einer automatischen Anrufmaschine, eines Faxgeräts oder elektronischer Post, ohne dass eine vorherige ausdrückliche Einwilligung des Adressaten vorliegt, (…).”

Urteil vom 11. November 2009 – VIII ZR 12/08

LG Köln – Urteil vom 9. Mai 2007 – 26 O 358/05

OLG Köln – Urteil vom 14. Dezember 2007 – 6 U 121/07

BGH: Wirksamkeit einer formularmäßigen Einwilligung in Datenspeicherung und Datennutzung für die Zusendung von Werbung per Post

De râsu'/plânsu'

A început Festivalul Naţional de Teatru, ediţia a XIX-a şi lumea pasionată de teatru din provincie a dat buluc în Bucureşti să vadă spectacole de top din tot spaţiul românesc, spectacole care au fost  selecţionate anul acesta de doamna Cristina Modreanu.

Şi încă o dată mi s-a demonstrat că la pomul lăudat nu te duci cu sacul, că socoteala de acasă nu se potriveşte cu cea din târg şi alte expresii sinonime cu cele amintite mai sus. Pe lângă faptul că spectacolele din această ediţie sunt mult mai puţine, deşi nu mai puţin-jucate (majoritatea de 2 ori), şi totul se pune pe seama blestematei ăsteia de criză mondială-planetară-intergalactică, totuşi nu am înţeles de ce trebuie să bombardăm bietul spectator ( care abia se mai scotoceşte prin buzunare să mai arunce un ban pentru cultură) cu spectacole proaste şi prezentate ca megaproducţii teatrale de succes…

Nu înţeleg de ce ne minţim tot mai mult că vrem să facem şi să promovăm teatrul de calitate şi în realitate nu ne pasă decât de cum să bifăm acţiuni artistice care să ne mângâie orgoliile de mari cunoscători în ale artei şi să ne scoată limbile pentru a linge în stânga şi dreapta pe unul şi altul care ne-ar putea “promova” bullshit-urile “creatoare”…

Se pare că festivalul de anul acesta nu reprezintă decât un payback ovaţionist pentru câţiva “importanţi” ai scenei şi praf  în ochi pentru amărâţii care mai cred că teatrul se face cu dăruire şi se apreciază cu sinceritate…

Vai ş-amar!!!!!!

Voor financieel gedupeerden, waaronder DSB gedupeerden, heeft de Vereniging van Bankrekeninghouders de krachten gebundeld met de Stichting Beursklacht en de Vereniging PayBack.

Beursklacht fungeert als front office voor alle juridische acties en verzorgt ook hiervoor de logistiek en coördinatie van advocaten. PayBack verzorgt de ledenadministratie en de -communicatie. Zij heeft al meer dan 10.000 mensen kunnen helpen. De Vereniging van Bankrekeninghouders verzorgt de communicatie met de verschillende instanties en doet een groot deel van het onderzoek dat noodzakelijk is om de claims te effectueren.

Aanbeveling:
-> Meld u als DSB gedupeerde aan bij PayBack. Klik hier.
-> Wacht op instructies voor de te nemen stappen.
-> Verzamel alle informatie over uw zaak.
-> Zorg dat uw dossier compleet is.

Dawanda ist nun auch Partner von Payback.

Für jeden Euro gibt’s einen Zähler. Zu Weihnachten lässt sich da sicher das eine oder andere Pünktchen sammeln.

Wenn ich mir nur endlich angewöhnen könnte, öfter mal danach zu schauen, wenn ich online-shopping mache.
Die anderen Partner gibt es bei uns in Niedersachsen nur total vereinzelt.

Schönen Abend.

Kerstin

I was just thinking about karma today as I was riding the bus and it occurred to me that if person A does something mean to person B as a result of person B doing something that is deserving of bad karma, that person A then will be the target of bad karma, thus creating a never-ending cycle. The only solution seems to be that person A be nice to person B all the time, whoever they are!