Article Discussing the Don and Birdie Reeder Global Emergency Fund

CERI, the organization that administers the Fund named after my parents, got some exposure recently in the Houston Chronicle. The article in Sunday's Chronicle details CERI's efforts to combat the sex trade, which thrives in Moldova. The article details the suffering of a woman originally kidnapped and sent to Russia to be forced into prostitution but later forced to give birth to babies used to harvest black market organs. After managing to escape, the article describes how the Fund provided resources to provide emergency medical care for this woman. The article describes some other CERI programs designed to address this plight.

To read the article click on the link highlighted above. Or if you can't get there, type this and paste it in your browser: http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/editorial/outlook/6808673.html

Thanks again to everyone who contributed to the fund. Hopefully the article will provide a little more feedback on what CERI does and how this money is making a difference.

New Year's Resolutions: Sing a Joyful Song!

Lord. Check out that poor clueless bastard. His only goals were getting a hit in that night's game and striking a pose that says "Mom, can't you stop embarrassing me ever?" without getting in trouble for talking back. (No, really, the majority of the time I got in trouble it was for talking back or being sarcastic. True story. Ironic that my parents were hell-bent on stopping me from developing my one and only marketable skill in life).

But we all have to move on in life. Now, longtime readers will know just how much I like New Year's resolutions. Nonetheless, like one of my life inspirations Gail Stoats (John Goodman's character in Raising Arizona), I never go anywhere without a reason. As a consequence, some times a man needs to take stock in his life and decide if he likes where he's going. We all have to grow, you know. Seems like the arrival of the second decade of the 21st Century is just as good a time as any. I was planning on doing this on Opening Day, but this is just as good a time to make some goals as when Roy Oswalt is serving up gopher balls in Minute Maid Park.

In my case though, its a bit of a challenge. I've basically long-since fulfilled all my real goals in life. To wit, I have:
1. Worked at a job with air conditioning;
2. Not had to wear a name tag every day at work;
3. Dated a lot of hot chicks;
4. Owned a totally cool car; and
5. Made it to the point where some people call me Mr. Reeder.

So basically, everything from here on out is just gravy. Except for my one unfulfilled major life goal-have a family with kids who will do chores around the house and take care of me when I'm old to get their inheritance. As it stands now, as the oldest of three brothers, I'm pretty much looking to one of my two younger brothers to take care of me. I'm picturing a retirement spent in one of their attics with a cot, portable fan, a styrofoam cooler full of diet coke, and a shelf full of ready to eat tuna. I see myself becoming like the first Mrs. Rochester (but without the fire). So I may still need to work on some things

By one important measure, I've become a success. Michael Scott on the Office has explained that a man is a success in life if:
1. He's well loved (check);
2. He's expressed himself and let his light shine through (check);
3. An attractive woman will cry at his funeral (check); and
4. He achieved success and owned real estate (check).
I've done all those things. I think.

But as there's always room for improvement, I've reflected long and hard on what I need to do to become good enough, strong enough, good looking enough, and doggone it have people like me enough to every day and in every way become the best Chris Reeder I can be. (Translation, I jotted some things down on the flight to New Orleans the other day). Now, understand, I have little expectation of actually doing any of these things. But the best way to measure a person's worth is by their goals. Not so much whether they achieve those goals, but the goals themselves. What's achievement? Who do you admire more, someone who doesn't succeed in their lifelong goal of curing cancer, or someone who does manage to hang on to their job as WalMart greeter? Exactly.

So let's think about these:

1. Clean my house. Frankly, my house is a disaster. Its not quite an archaeological site just yet, but like the digs outside Rome, Athens, or Cairo, you can chart the development of Chris Reeder civilization by digging deeper through the debris. Not the best way to live.

2. Throwing out the old. After about 25 years, pretty much everything needs to go. That would include my law school textbooks, cards from people who won't speak to me anymore, pre-1985 clothes (this is hard-that stuff is bound to come back in style and it all still fits, cause I'm still under my college playing weight), and bad memories. Let's face it, what's killing America isn't the economy, lack of personal responsibility, moral decay, or pollution. Its the accumulation of stuff.

3. Get an indoor plant. One heartbeat is enough for my place for now, but another living, growing thing inside might help. Mildew, bacteria, and mold doesn't count.

4. Convert my yard from dandelion and clover into something resembling grass. The soil in Austin is largely clay and rock, so its hard to keep grass growing, particularly under the shade of my two live oaks and my hanging on for dear life despite the drought pecan tree. My yard is great for goats and foraging mockingbirds, but I can't stand it.

5. Learn some spanish (or italian). I need to go somewhere on a vacation not populated primarily by english speakers. Like Spain or Italy or Florida. The Argentina trip taught me that not everyone throughout the world is fluent in english. Damn foreigners. I don't have to become fluent. Just need to know how to ask to be served vegetables with my steak, the men's room location, what's on the special of the day, can I get a hot tea to go, where's the American Embassy, and tell kidnappers that my family won't pay a ransom.

6. Read a book. Practically any book. The last book I read for real was Catcher in the Rye. I never really read it in college like I was supposed to. When I read it a couple of years ago, it seemed kind of trivial and shallow. I guess in 1951 it was shocking. In 2007, it was boring. And it has to be a real book, not something you get free with your Sports Illustrated subscription. Actually, a close friend of mine wrote a book about her experience with an incurable bladder disease and there's a section in it about me. I need to read it, although I have grave apprehensions about how I'm portrayed. Suffice to say it involves a long walk on the grounds of a rehab center and about a dozen Ghiradelli chocolate bars. I'm terrified.

7. Wipe the sticky stuff off the plastic mat in my office. I spilled some long-forgotten drink on the mat several months ago, but was too tied up to bother with cleaning it. It solidified into some sap-like residue that squeaks when I walk on it. I assumed the cleaning people might eventually come in and take care of it, but no such luck.

8. Repot the plants in my office. They grow pretty fast and have gotten to the point where they're living on water and occasional plant food. The dirt has long since given up any minerals or nutrients. So they have droopy yellow leaves, not unlike my eyes.

9. While we're on the subject of my office, excavate and remove all papers relating to settled cases. That are two years old. At some point, everything dies. When that happens, it needs to be disposed of properly.

10. Be smarter. Not like think harder or something. I mean literally be smarter. Is that possible? Maybe I could eat the right sushi or magnesium or something. What about deep breathing, meditation, ritalin, or sleeping more? Anyone, anyone?

11. Pay closer attention. I really only catch about a third of what's going on around me. Some of that is attributable to poor hearing, but mostly its because I'm not paying attention. Usually nodding my head knowingly and raising my eyebrows as if to say "I totally understand what you said and am now reflecting on it to formulate a meaningful answer" will cover, but that's working less and less as people pay attention to me. Dammit. The thought has occurred that maybe my brain does on some level connect to the other two-thirds but in a primordial self-preservation reflex keeps me from comprehending it for my own protection. Sort of like that Star Trek episode with the flying pizza suckers that stick to your back and turn the human host into a zombie. And when they got after Spock he had to go into some light booth to get rid of them only he forgot his safety goggles and went blind. Only it was temporarily blindness because, we learned after about 15 minutes of dramatic interlude centering on Spock's blindness teaching the audience that they should care for disabled people, Spock had the same hidden inner eyelid that all other Vulcans do, thereby protecting him from permanent blindness. He just forgot to tell us about it, cause he's not so in to talking about himself. Where was I?

12. Have a better attitude when dealing with stupid people. They seem to be multiplying and spreading everywhere. Like haze over the Houston skyline. Or liberals. Or Mormons. Like when I was the one American in the crowd of Japanese tango dancers in Buenos Aires two summers ago, I need to understand there's more of them than me, so I need to adapt to them. Of course, many times, I'm the stupid one. Like lots of times at work. Or when I was in college. Maybe I need to explain myself more clearly.

13. Appreciate what I have. I've got tons of great stuff, have had lots of fun times, a house in a cool part of town, friends who mostly can spell my name right, and I still don't need glasses. Of course, I also can't sleep most nights, 95% of my mail is junk mail or bills, and for years I've had this weird skin tag on my left calf that bleeds once every five years or so. So its a mixed bag. Oh, and I survived my heart problems, so that's pretty cool. Speaking of which, today marks exactly four years since the surgery, which basically allowed me to keep living the active life I've had most of my life. Keep on rockin' in the free world. Next year, at the fifth anniversary, I'll write more about this.

14. Drink more water. Its something to fuel the sweat glands. Which I use. A lot. Basically, between March and November, my body produces gallons and gallons of sweat. I know, its awesome. Something has to keep that river flowing. Diet coke is more tasty, but its a little chemically. Some dude on Facebook once chastised me because some pointy eared professors claim diet coke actually makes you fatter. I can't see it, but in an abundance of caution I've started drinking more iced tea. With cancer-causing sweet and low, because, after all, I'm not a rat so I'm probably safe.

15. To that end, find a better way to deal with the heat and humidity. The last couple of years, I've been crashing and burning pretty bad come July. I've tried everything, and some of it has had some positive effect. Electrolyte solution, power bars, more sleep, but I still keep seizing up like a Volkswagen that never had an oil change. I'm not exactly sure how to go about this. My friend Suzanne Bertin (Placid Athlete) thinks I have heat sensitivity. I think I may have to move to Santa Fe and have my skin turn into an old saddle. Or run inside between May and October.

16. Appreciate the love in my life. There's just no way to talk about this one without it turning into an Air Supply song. Or The View. So I'll move on.

17. See more movies. I used to go to the movies all the time, but what with my busy social and work schedule, which is to say, what with my busy work schedule, its dwindled to about three movies a year. Usually one of those is the summer comedy geared to slacker twenty-somethings (think Wedding Crashers or 40 Year Old Virgin). I need to watch more meaningful movies, like something directed by Clint Eastwood. The problem is I wind up sticking to the floor, getting upset at people with their ringing cell phones and having conversations, the inability to hit "pause" or "rewind," incredibly loud volume, and $5 32 oz. cokes. But it is a way to sit in a darkened chilled room for two hours during the summer on someone else's AC bill. Something about the magic of contrived situations, impossible action scenes, recycled plots, and soundtracks substituting for actual story has made me less interested in going to the movies. But the Alamo does have outstanding popcorn. And they have cool trailers.

18. Sleep more. I generally get about six hours each night. This is because I get to bed way too late, like around 1 a.m. That doesn't allow enough time for workout recovery. This has caused my eyes to begin sinking back into my skull and thereby disappearing like the beach at Galveston. The bags under my eyes are growing and growing, my skin is taking on a Casper the Friendly Ghost pallor and most days I look like I just wandered out of Romania. Or a Jonas Brothers concert. I'm not exactly sure what keeps me up so late. Is it winding down from exercise, or some combination of guilt, dread and soreness? Or my 1993 vintage mattress? Tough to say.

19. See my family more. A no brainer, given the retirement issue noted above. They're all moving on in life, while I stay the same. Steve's girls are growing up and even have boyfriends. Its time to let them know I've got a .45 and a shovel and those punks won't be missed. Steve and Lesley are always jetting off on some fun adventure. Ron has a one-man show, a girlfriend, and a new home in Metairie. Dad is adjusting to his new life. Me? I billed a lot of hours last year. Like the year before, and the year before, and the year before....Another couple of years and I'm going to need a place to stay and a diaper change, and I've got to get in good with these people before too long.

So, there it is. A little long perhaps, but better than two years ago. We'll see what actually happens. But its not so much whether these happen. It matters what goals I have.

Next-the man-hugging has got to stop. Now.

The University of Alabama Fan's Guide to BCS Championship Game and Weekend

As a public service, Daily Affirmations is allowing a guest host to make an announcement for the benefit of our readers who are Alabama fans. We’ll be back soon with a fun post on New Year’s resolutions. Please welcome our guest, the University of Alabama’s Ronnie VanZant Memorial Professor of Southern Culture and History, Prof. Richard Robert “Rebel Dick” Lee.

First off, for anyone who’s reading this announcement on the interwebs, or as we call it in Tuscaloosa, a “typing box,” please make copies of this and post it at Los Angeles-area KOA parks, bus stations, truck stops, campgrounds, and (for the fancy set-mainly bankers, lawyers, and plant managers) Super 8 Motels. Most of the Alabama fans who need to read this will be staying in these locations and therefore won’t be able to read their typing box to see this.

Many of you Tide faithful are arriving in Los Angeles, and later Pasadena, California, for the big game against the Texas Longhorns, or maybe are already there. Most of the local California media are Communists and therefore untrustworthy, or don’t understand the refined taste and expectations of the Alabama citizenry coming to town. So these media agitators haven't given our people an adequate guide to the game or to getting around town through these next couple of days. I’ve been to Los Angeles before (actually, the gasoline truck driver who drove me out of Barstow dropped me off one night in LA on my way to Bakersfield to interview Buck Owens, and it took me a couple of days to get a ride the rest of the way), so I have some special knowledge that might help my fellow Crimson Tiders.

Surviving in Pasadena and Los Angeles

The first thing you need to realize is that this is Pasadena, California, not the Pasadena you saw in that snooty, intellectual art movie, Urban Cowboy. This Pasadena has no mechanical bulls, chemical plants, shot bars, honky tonks, or junior colleges like the Pasadena in Texas that you may be familiar with. In short, it lacks virtually any culture to speak of. So if you’re going through Texas and happen to see signs for Pasadena, you need to keep your El Camino running for a good while longer.

There’s basically four kinds of people in the greater Los Angeles area, and because you’re likely to come into contact with all of them, you need to know a little about them before they come up on you. The first kind is movie and TV trash. This runs the gamut from executives to production people to actors to the worst of all, “aspiring actors” (or as you and I call them, “waiters”). These people are all hooked on bottled water, yoga, bulimia, and cocaine. They worship the Tom Cruise and John Travolta religion, which involves an interplanetary starship cruiser orbiting the earth. They will push this religion on you while they’re in the middle of a bulimia episode. And you have to be very wary because they’ve all had plastic surgery or other face-shaping treatments and are grumpy from hunger and caring about the less fortunate (and their appearance). So they might frighten you with their zombie-like, wax figure countenance. If you have to be around them, remember the “two arms’ length” rule at all times. The second type is Joe Tourist, which more than likely will be someone Japanese (that would be “Sadahuru Tourist” I guess). These folks are scouting out all the locations where the Imperial Army was going to land their troops back in the war. Typically, they create huge lines out front of the more established tourism locations. The third type are gangs. On the east side, its Mexican gangs. In the west and central, its black gangs like the bloods and crips. These people hunt down good white people to either kill or drum up business for local emergency rooms. Finally, the last group consists of homosexual activists. That pretty much takes in everyone else. They originally came down from San Francisco and moved into loft apartments and started opening designer bakeries, antique stores, and upscale pet accessory stores, and acupuncture boutiques. In each case, you need to avoid these people. They’re consistently democrats and vote for liberals and foreigners. They force women to have abortions and worship idols or Tom Cruise. They will try to convert you to their way of life. Or kill you. Or taser you, inject you with heroin, molest you, humiliate you with big words, or anger you with attitudes about their recycling and water conservation (forgetting about the fact they built a huge city in the desert).

Getting Around

Pasadena, and LA more generally, can present a lot of challenges for getting around town. LA has a lot of what they call “freeways.” These are long strips of concrete where you drive cars without having to stop for red lights, WalMart sales, or Dairy Queens, so people “get there” sooner than back home. These freeways seemingly take you nowhere, or at least nowhere you want to visit except the Rose Bowl. As you’re driving your El Camino, or 1976 Trans Am, or RV around, try to use back streets (and don’t break down either). The problem is there’s too many vehicles and not enough roads, so the traffic can move very slowly, like at the Possum Toss Festival in Smoke Rise, AL, when everyone drives their combines into town and vehicles line up at the stop signs on the way to the Waffle House. Except its on these big strips of concrete, and people really don’t like it. In fact, they dislike this thing called "traffic" so much they usually carry guns in their cars and shoot other drivers along the way in lieu of making turn signals. I guess the lack of indigenous deer, squirrels or possum means the locals have to find some other way to enjoy their guns.

Los Angeles proper is essentially a big ghetto that surrounds several large skyscrapers. Various small communities surround Los Angeles, one of which is Pasadena, where the Tide will Roll. To the west is the Pacific Ocean and the various beaches and beach communities. These are largely populated by homosexuals and various types of freaks and weirdoes, as well as aspiring actors, models, and drug addicts, all of whom will try to recruit you. To the east are minority communities, riddled with constant gunfire and rife with pleas for race-based preferences and government handouts. South of town are largely liberal white communities that are rife with lawyers, bankers, insurers, and movie industry executives. They are largely all cocaine addicts and will either push their drugs on you or open fire while driving. North of town is pornography country. Keep a close watch on your zipper.

Dining and Entertainment

LA residents have a distinctly different diet from we genteel Southerners. They don’t enjoy such delicacies as possum, squirrel, gator, head cheese or fried twinkies, and instead eat what they call a “low-calorie” or “organic” diet based on something called “fruits” and “vegetables.” No doubt based on the arid conditions not suitable for critters to forage or for the production of fat for deep frying. It is recommended that you simply bring your own food and beverage with you, or travel over to Fontana or Riverside for appropriate vittles.

Notwithstanding its location on the third circle of Hell, the Los Angeles area does offer some Godly and conservative activities suitable for you and your family to enjoy. Both Fontana and El Cajon have speed car tracks and often host NASCAR and other races. The Ripley’s Believe It or Not is located in Hollywood, and they have fun wax figures of your favorite celebrities, like Don Knotts (both as Barney Fife and Mr. Furley), Elvis, Archie Bunker, and Burt Reynolds. Now I know you’ll be concerned about Disney's promotion of homosexual lifestyles, but the kiddoes might enjoy Disney Land (as long as you properly educate them about Disney’s evil nature and keep them from speaking with any employees, including the ones in costume trying to pervert your children into communist homosexual deviants). Don't forget to visit the La Brea Tar Pits, which is a spot where tar has bubbled up from the surface for thousands of years. You can stand by the side of the pits and watch the oozing tar, which should remind you a lot of our fair home back in Alabama (near the end of most dirt roads out by your trailer park). There’s also Mexican wrestling throughout the city, which is a fine way for those folks to earn a decent living and a great date opportunity for you and the missus. Finally, Ultrazone Laser Tag is the greatest laser tag facility in the country. Should provide hours of fun.

Practicalities for the Big Game

Getting there can be confusing of course. The Rose Bowl is a very large stadium in Pasadena, with a great many rose bushes visible throughout the site. One helpful hint in getting there is to remember that Oklahoma University played UCLA at the stadium roughly three or four years ago. As we all know, modern-day Oklahomans are pretty much all part-Indian, and the Indians are all great trackers. I recommend looking around for arrowheads, disease-ridden blankets, and empty whiskey bottles as tell-tale signs you’re getting near the stadium. Sort of like a tribal Hansel and Gretel.

Now, the Rose Bowl is a classy place, so I recommend looking the part. Best to wear your dress overalls and shoes (that cover both the tops and bottoms of your feet). Try to look like you’re going to a WalMart grand opening, or visiting your parole officer. Now, as I said before, these people out here don’t know from good cuisine or drink, so its best to take a picnic in with you so as not to get too hungry. Or you can bring your very own barbecue pit with you to the stadium parking lot.

One obvious thing you’ll need to look out for is Texas Longhorn fan. These people are quite easy to spot, as they’ll be the ones who look like Yankees, what with their obsession with dentistry and showers, cashmere sweaters, and jewelry. These are a bunch of snooty intellectuals with superiority complexes, no doubt fueled by their curious pride in the famous liberals and weirdo agitators who’ve either graduated or attended that school over the years: Walter Cronkite, Farrah Fawcett, Ricky Williams, Ron Reeder…the list goes on and on. As we’ll be bringing the flower of Southern female gentility with us to the game, its important that Texas fan not trifle with our women. These freako perverts are just waiting for a chance to defile our fine Southern women. Take all possible precautions and definitely stay in groups for maximum protection.

Finally, the game itself presents absolutely no problems. The Tide definitely will roll. Texas is Charmin soft, and like my hunting dogs or your typical resident of Austin, likes nothing more to be scratched on the belly and given a treat. Now, you may say, Alabama has never beaten Texas, despite the fact they played at least three times while the Bear was coaching here. I say, nothing like giving those Longhorns a false sense of security. Our Julios and Rolandos and Terences should make easy work of those softies. Nick will be running up the score and that’s something I absolutely will guarantee.

So, please keep these tips in mind for a positive football weekend trip to the heart of Democrat and atheist homosexual country. If you stay safe you should have a good time.

A Christmas Gift for You: Sweet Videos Edition

Hopefully by the time you read this, you'll be well on your way to celebrating the birth of the Eight Pound, Six Ounce, Newborn Baby Jesus, don’t even know a word yet, just a little infant, so cuddly, but still omnipotent. Its another year down, and I hope you're enjoying it with friends or family, or whatever else you choose.

Like the landmark Phil Spector album, "A Christmas Gift for You," gave you the greatest collection of Christmas music put on one record (and which is not the Charlie Brown Christmas Special Soundtrack), I've tried to assemble some fine Christmas videos to enhance your morning. Enjoy!

********

The King knows a little something about Christmas tuneage:




Not exactly sure who was more messed up when they filmed this one, Bing or the Thin White Duke. Totally surreal.



Dean and Frank together. Look out ladies, its a Swingin' Christmas. I used to watch the Dean Martin Show with Mom. She liked Dino; I liked the Golddiggers.



Miss Piggy sure knows how to get down at Christmas time



Oh its Christmas at the Playhouse, and we're gonna have a lot of fun!



Don't forget our Jewish friends this Christmas. True, they may have whacked our Saviour, but let's let bygones be bygones.




And don't forget all your friends in Hell either.



What Christmas is all about.



Its about dancing at the Christmas rave!



The greatest song on A Christmas Gift For You-"Baby Please Come Home" Ooohhhh Baby!




With my last sweet video I wanted to say something personal. I posted this last year, but really, this pretty much sums up everything I feel about Christmas. Hope everyone has a beautiful Christmas.

Travelin' Man

I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered. My life is my own.

--The Prisoner

After all the highways, and the trains, and the appointments, and the years, you end up worth more dead than alive.

--Willy Loman, Death of a Salesman


Big ups to Arthur Miller for being a total literary geek but still managing to pull the then-“Most Beautiful Woman in the World” (this just in Art, Joe DiMaggio’s dead but he still hates you for coming up on Marilyn like that. Almost as much as he hates the Kennedys for having her whacked). But how about not giving away the entire story in the title of your play? Why even go? You know what’s going to happen. Some salesman will die. When Willy comes on stage at the beginning of Act I, you pretty much know he’s toast. So like the guy next to you in Vietnam (or any Dallas Cowboys coach), there’s no point in getting close to him because you know he’s not going to be there very long. You’re not supposed to give away the whole story, either in the trailer or the titles. What if they’d called it “Rhett Leaves Scarlett,” or “Darth is Luke’s Father,” or “Iceman Can Be My Wingman Anytime”? Why even go to the show? Those kinds of titles are a lot like the literal Japanese or Hindi or other Asian language translations of American movies whose titles don’t translate so they just describe what happens in the movie. Like “Rebellious Catholic Woman Who Makes Happy Happy Song With Sailor and Children.” Or “Children of Honorable Father Make Revenge Against Unworthy Families.” Or “Ninja Sorcerer In Curtain Yells to Child-Girl and Dog.” Or “Flame Head Woman Gives Businessman Lotus Esprit Trip and Rub of Delight.” ($50 and an autographed copy of my law review article to the first person who can identify all these movies. And by that, I mean I'll buy you a drink).

Well once again I’ve gotten off to a bad start. In this season of travel, I want to talk about traveling in the 21st Century after 9/11. Admittedly, I dip my toe into the Alex Jones Crazy Pool, but please indulge me a bit.

Responding to hundreds of “imprisonment on the tarmac” instances, the Department of Transportation just issued new rules fining airlines $27,500/passenger for any flight that departs the gate and does not take off within three hours (subject to certain exceptions). The rules also require the airlines to provide food and water to all passengers after two hours, and to keep the restrooms functioning. Everyone’s heard the horror stories about people being trapped on planes for hours, without food and water but with failing restrooms and with passengers being unable to make calls, with the airline refusing to at least bring the plane back to the gate so that passengers can at least enjoy a little bit of convenience while waiting. According to the DOT, 613 flights were delayed and sitting on the tarmac more than three hours in the first six months of 2009. The airlines fought the regulations, citing an increase in flight cancellations if required to comply. They cite things out of their control such as congested and ineffective air traffic controls, and urge that travelers might be forced to endure flight cancellations and overnight stays as a consequence.

Remember when it was fun to fly? You’d dress up because it was a special event. The airport was a sparkling building that ran efficiently and effectively. The airline employees were especially helpful, and you’d get all kinds of freebies as part of your experience. Especially on Southwest Airlines or Braniff Airlines, smokin’ hot babe stewardesses, not today's matronly flight attendants with drill instructor charm, would cater to your requests. Seats were comfortable, waiting times slight, direct flights were plentiful, and food was served (even if not exactly haute cuisine, you still got something to eat). In short, it was a civilized experience.

Those were the days. Have you noticed the weekday crowds in major American airports lately? You’ll notice the crowds of beaten, weary, broken, humbled and abused travelers. Garbed in rumpled clothes, laden like pack mules with too-expensive-to-check luggage, and with that fine facial sheen that comes from being trapped like veal in recirculated air for the last three hours (Kimberly calls that condition "bus face"), your fellow travelers look like the undead wandering through the ethereal plane, desperate for sweet death. Its like being at a Coldplay concert.

The airlines, FAA, TSA, and local governments (which operate airports) have created a system that couldn’t be more suited to humiliating and breaking the people whom it theoretically serves. Travelers must present themselves, quietly and passively, for inspection. Must go where they’re told. Questioning is harshly punished. Travelers must please the workers and apologize for imposing on their time. Prices on everything are inflated, and everything beyond obtaining the smallest conceivable chair on the plane requires additional payment. Flights are delayed and cancelled with no notice, and travelers are largely left to fend for themselves. People are shunted about like cattle in a holding pen. You have to get to the airport early so you won’t miss getting to sit through the inevitable delays. Restaurant options (which became necessary in the 1980s when airlines phased out direct flights and made “hub” airports the newest form of waiting rooms, and which thrive as a consequence of interminable flight delays), bring familiar homogenized American chain-style blandness to travelers in scaled down form (“Chili’s To Go”). Can there please be one airport in America where its possible to get a Diet Coke and not just Diet Pepsi? When you finally get on board, you must assume the fetal position in a medium sized-box area space (seat back upright) like you’re traveling in steerage on the Titanic. You must remain in that seat the entire flight, risking federal prosecution to use the bathroom because the captain never turns off the “seat belt” sign (as the air waitresses parade up and down the aisle like they’re walking through a Nordstrom’s shoe sale-the guys, that is). The whole flight experience is a lot like prison. Or mass. Actually, the parallels between the penitentiary and Roman Catholicism are extensive, but on Christmas Eve, I’ll tip my cap to White Jesus and let that one go (“Black Jesus,” of course, being Vince Young, signed, Austin sports radio talk show caller).

I’m a little surprised the free market hasn’t bit into some of this. One would think that a “comfort airline” could make a go of it. I’d pay more to fly an airline that didn’t treat me like bananas on a steamer leaving Manila FOB Long Beach. In a sense, Southwest Airlines is about as close as it gets, in not charging the bogus baggage charges ostensibly imposed to recover increased fuel costs when gasoline prices ran up above $4.20/gallon last year, but which have not given way now that fuel costs have dropped by half. Southwest’s employees are still relatively approachable, and it appears to respond somewhat to consumer demand trends. Otherwise, the airlines, ever dependent on federal bailout money, continue their trend to parse and re-price their services at the most granular level. Charging for blankets and pillows? What’s next, charging to use the seat pocket? The market actually has responded, but in a way that has the airlines charging premium prices for things like blankets or telephone access to human beings that used to be provided as part of your ticket price. Premium pricing options have become the rage, with upgrades to first class, quick security screening, immediate access to actual customer service employees, membership in the airline’s “club” where one can wait in an environment not reminiscent of Lagos International Airport. But there’s still an insurmountable problem reminiscent of the old blonde joke-its still the same crappy plane going to the same place as all the human cargo that didn’t pay extra to get there. That means you’re subject to the same forced march exercise and threat of sitting on the tarmac for hours that everyone who didn’t pay extra has to endure.

This all takes a toll on people forced to endure it day after day, year after year. The business traveler gives up years off his life in this slow death march. The odd thing is that technology has made most of these trips unnecessary. Technology should have eliminated them, with video conferencing, web-based document sharing, texting, e-mails, and other means to review documents and see your meeting participants’ physical reactions to the discussion. That travel continues to such a great extent defies the corporate cutback culture that has left us all scheming for ways to steal paper clips and note pads from our co-workers (now that Accounting won’t authorize new purchases).

Meeting by phone or video does lose a lot of the critical physical cues and body language communication gained from in-person meetings. Being in the same room provides context, and allows a certain type of intimacy that no video link could ever provide. This could be just about anything-handshakes, showing pictures of your kids, seeing someone’s surroundings (pictures, knick-knacks) and getting a better understanding of their personality. Personally, I avoid meetings at all costs. The prospect of having to spend an hour or more staring across the room at a bunch of engineers or lawyers, each of whom sporting a walrus-like paunch and wearing that pre-seizure look of foreboding while being riveted on the figures in column 5 or deciding where the comma should go. I’ll tell you where the comma should go.

Instead of technology freeing the business traveler, he’s instead wrestled it to the ground and made it do his bidding. Ever-shrinking laptops designed to fit ever-shrinking “tray table” space, blackberries, wireless cards, USB pin drives, texts. All allow the business traveler of 2009 to be self-contained small mobile offices. It’s the ultimate extension of Al Franken’s old SNL one-man mobile news crew. So the salesmen shuffles along like lemmings to the cliff at airports around the country, each day giving themselves up to the TSA cattle prods, occasionally becoming incarcerated on the tarmac while it rains (or Bill Clinton gets a haircut).

This is all about control, you know. They want everyone under their control. From the airlines to TSA to the airport authorities, they all want to know everything about you, force you into docility and shake you down at every turn. Its far easier to transport cabbages than thinking human beings questioning why the hundreds and often thousands of dollars they’re paying to travel gets them service that every 7-11 clerk ever born thinks is subpar. No one can complain about their treatment, and even questioning runs the risk of TSA or FBI inquisition. Its like the airline industry has used 9/11 as a pretext to remodel itself along the 1970s Aeroflot business model. Obey or be taken out.

This mirrors our society in general. Government interferes in virtually all your choices. You want to pay an extremely low amount for housing? Too bad. For your own good, you must pay for housing that complies with building codes designed for your safety. Want to buy “unhealthy” food because its all you can afford? Too bad. Cities are banning the sales of certain unworthy foods. Want to buy a car as cheaply as possible? Too bad. Your car has to have meet all the latest engineering and safety specifications, for your safety. Want to select your own doctors or decide whether to purchase health insurance? Not anymore. The Government has made that choice for you. Government protects your safety, whether you can afford it or not. In so doing, it sets boundaries on what you can have and what you may not. Not sure Thomas Jefferson had this in mind.

Control comes in the form of tracking too. Cross a toll bridge and use a toll tag, and it creates a record of your travel. Use a cell phone, send a text message, receive a fax, visit a web site, make a purchase with a credit card…you’re creating a trail about your life which prosecutors and other government officials frequently try to obtain to put you away or levy penalties. Government uses all these millions of bits of data to track our comings and goings, and “protect” us against threats they never quite get around to defining when asked to explain. “I've miles and miles of files, pretty files of your forefather's fruit, and now to suit our great computer, You're magnetic ink.” The problem is that the control ethos has permeated corporate culture as well, with companies buying and selling this kind of data, to shape advertising, product development, and target specific consumers. Corporate consolidation, egged on by increasing regulatory burdens, have promoted uniformity, stagnation, and mediocrity. Every now and then a startup breaks through and remakes an industry. Usually the regulators are several steps behind, complaining that the new company (like Apple, Microsoft, Intel, or the like) must be stopped or it will “ruin competition.” Some incentive for innovation.

Ultimately, this is all about freedom. It’s hard to truly be free when you can make any choice you want, but the menu of choices is curtailed, and when someone somewhere knows every move you make. If you wanted to drop out and run away, you couldn’t do it. You must present appropriate identity to board any public conveyance. Charge cards, cell phones, toll tags, and banking records would create a record that can be used to track your every move. And yet, they still can't find Bin Laden. Maybe if he bounced a check....

However (or as Stephen A. Smith would say, HOWEVAH), having created such a quagmire through its own interventions, one really cannot legitimately object in this instance to these new rules. Ordinarily its right to object to the Government rushing in to regulate to protect us from making our own choices. But when an industry like the airlines have gone so far into the federal bailout money trough, it can hardly complain when the Government insists that it live by certain conditions. It seems only fair not to give the airlines millions to keep them from going bankrupt (largely due to their own ineptitude) and ask that in return they not hold passengers captive on the tarmac. Companies actually welcome most regulation of the sort imposed on airlines because it tends to keep out competitors that can’t endure start up costs and comply with copious regulations while getting off the ground (no pun intended). The airlines largely benefit from extensive FAA and DOT regulation, so, again, they can hardly complain about Government regulating to set certain minimum service conditions, or intruding on a free market that the regulation they desire artificially distorts the market and keeps out competition that might force them to making changes that would benefit consumers.

Where does that leave us? The DOT is stepping in to protect us from a problem it helped foster, with regulations that make it difficult for new carriers to enter the market, subsidies to inefficient airline companies, and to inefficient and ineffective air traffic controls. Willy Loman thanks you kindly.

Next-A Christmas Gift For You

New Photos

Just wanted to let you know I've added some more photos on my flickr site. The first batch is from a fun trip to San Antonio a couple of weekends ago to meet Cici and her family and go see the Riverwalk Christmas lights. You may recall I did this last year too. Its becoming something of an annual tradition. Little Nina was especially cute this year, just like every year. We took in the lights from a river barge, so I didn't get to photograph many of the lights themselves (we were moving, the photos were blurry). But there's still some fun shots.

The second batch is from around town. Austin always bursts in colors in the spring when the wildflowers bloom, but apparently the drought, followed by early September rain, has brought us some amazing color in the late fall. Pear trees, plum trees, and various others that I don't recognize, have turned into brilliant shades of red and gold. All over town we can see these vivid colors.

Finally, there's some photos of this year's scaled down Austin Trail of Lights. The city nixed the gargantuan trail that has taken over Zilker Park the last few years in favor of this more modest version. They kept the famous Zilker Christmas Tree, pictured above, and a few of the exhibits from the old trail of lights. Had I never seen the old trail, I'd have thought this was just fine. My photos turned out a lot better this year (i.e. not as blurry) as years past.

Hope you enjoy! Also hope everyone has a great Christmas!

The Don and Birdie Reeder Global Emergency Fund: First Year Report

As we head into this special time of paying attention to our tax issues, errr, helping the less fortunate, I thought it was time to report on the one project in which I’ve been able to help people just a teeny tiny bit (I know, you’d think that being the Fonzie of the electric utility legal practice and dropping well-placed “that’s what she said” remarks would be enough. Sadly, we live in a world where that’s just not enough).

Many of you may recall that the Don and Birdie Reeder Global Emergency Fund began helping children throughout the world last year. Administered by Children’s Emergency Relief International, based in Kingwood, this fund’s primary goal is to provide resources to children and adolescents with emergency and imminent needs. Many of you were kind enough to contribute in memory of my mother. In cooperation with our former pastor, Dr. Dearing Garner, we hoped through this fund to continue the work of my Mom and Dad, who for many years went on mission trips throughout the world focused on helping children. In the time since her passing, I’ve realized that Mom’s main purpose in life was to be a beacon to children, giving them love and teaching them respect. Dr. Garner led those mission trips and knew my mother since 1978. He’s in charge of every penny spent from the fund, and as he told me the other day, he always asks “what would Birdie want” whenever making these decisions. I could not ask for a better steward for the Fund or shepherd for its recipients.

As it has developed, the Fund addresses conditions that make children in many parts of the world vulnerable to trafficking. This includes not only for sexual purposes but for labor as well. The practice is particularly intense in eastern Europe, Asia, and South Africa, and in any place afflicted with poverty or large numbers of uncared for orphans. Many governments have signed treaties banning trafficking, but this evil practice continues to flourish for many reasons.

CERI participates with many local-based child welfare and assistance organizations throughout the world, to work in partnership with these organizations to help children, particularly orphaned or abandoned children. Especially in places like Moldova, governments often are content to warehouse children then turn them loose on the street at 14 or so where they become vulnerable to traffickers.

CERI has made available resources from the Reeder Fund in a fairly targeted way. It has initiated programs to help children transitioning out of orphanages into homes or other facilities, such that they can live and grow into adulthood while continuing their education or acquiring work skills. The alternatives are often bleak-begging or going off with strangers promising to take care of them (which often turns out to be child traffickers). CERI and its partners have started “transitional living programs” for these youth, helping to ease them out of orphanages, then ultimately into mainstream society.

The Reeder Fund has been used in support of this program. CERI has used the fund to provide for emergencies or immediate needs for many of this program’s participants. Funds have been spent in Moldova, a former Soviet republic, and Nigeria, as well as on a water project in Sri Lanka.

On both the plus and minus side, there’s a surprising amount of money remaining in the fund. I had feared that they’d blow through the fund fairly quickly. However, it’s been a bit of a challenge to get the local directors to ask for the money. They’ve had something of a resistance to leaning too heavily on outside resources. We are working to make them more aware of the Fund and encourage them to request resources from it. I’m meeting again with Dr. Garner before the end of the year, and I think we may also liberalize some of the restrictions on the Fund, such that the “emergency” need not be so immediate. This would allow us to spend the money more freely on children in need.

The Fund’s first year has been a huge success in the way that Miss Birdie would have appreciated. More great things are on the horizon throughout the world, and this money will further work that will make a positive and dramatic difference in children's lives. That’s exactly what my Mom would have wanted.

For more information about the work of this Fund or CERI, you can visit http://www.cerikids.org/ceri/. Or just click that link.

Thanks so much to all of you who donated. Hopefully this lets you know your gift has helped.