Not exactly "Spellbound"

Ah me, spelling bees.

Tonight was the live-on-TV championship round of the Scripps - (Why is Howard missing?) National Spelling Bee, won by homeschooled Californian, 13-year-old Evan O'Dorney. Apparently, a love of restaraunt menus contributed to young Evan's win as he sailed through a couple of the early words (one a pasta, another a Japanese seafood soup) and on to glory, over the shoulders of a first-time Canadian competitor, Nate Gartke, also 13.

Personally, I was rooting for the newbie, in part because I tire of the "repeats," the kids who train for these things like Olympic marathons, or high school summer travel teams, where you are so completely immersed in a particular endeavor that all the fun is sucked right out of it. You know the type, where the competition ceases to be a "love of the game" kind of thing and becomes joyless, rote monotony, especially if an overly eager parent with an oddly possessive fixation on scholarships is hovering nearby.

As if to prove my point, rather than being "spellbound," as I'm sure the national advertisers footing the bill for this no-longer-relegated-to-ESPN 2 extravaganza hoped, our young winner was rather -- what's the word? -- nonplussed. Sure, it was the "final year" in which he could compete, and he'd already finished top 20 in earlier years, so a 2007 win would fall in the "only makes sense" category. But if you'll pardon me, the kid just didn't look like he was having fun. His mother appeared to be blown away by the whole thing-- maybe she was having the fun on his behalf?

Asked by a talking head whether he had changed his mind from earlier statements that he wasn't all that wild about words, he again explained why he loved math and music more: he found both fascinating and creative. Not so, spelling. That was "just a bunch of memorization," he said, memorization which he apparently had had more than enough of in his young life. But like it or not, he let the Scripps-no-longer-Howard rep help him hoist that trophy high. Please people, tell me: what is wrong with this picture?

Forgive me, but I'd prefer a winner who, like the Canadian competitor, can laugh in the middle of a pronounciation. I'd prefer to see a winner who is totally enraptured with spelling, one who watched "Wheel of Fortune" nearly from the womb, or just likes the sound of letters-- any letter-- rolling off the tongue. I prefer a kid who has not forgotten how to be a kid amidst all that dictionary study. Frankly, I prefer a kid whose parents set limits on the amount of time he was allowed to rehearse/study his vocab words, and kicked him outside, into the fresh air, when time was up. I'd prefer someone for whom spelling and wordsmithing is a passion, not a mission.

I do know a little bit of whence I speak. At the ripe old age of I'm-not-telling-what, I competed this past February in my first spelling bee since Mrs. Schenk's fourth-grade class. Granted, the bee was comprised solely of adults, teamed in trios, seated at tables where we were allowed to scratch down spellings before a designated orator relayed the group-consensus, so it was nothing like the pressure these kids are facing at the microphone, sans scratch paper, in front of millions tuned in to TVs around the country. But it sure was fun! (Plus it served to benefit a good cause, too: Literacy Volunteers of Ontario County.) Rather than sending the other teams "To Spell in a Handbasket," the fearless Messenger trio ended up going there themselves, falling on the word "obreptitious." (And yes, that is spelled correctly. I kept notes of each word for all the tables in each round -- we were allowed to -- and after our team missed that one, I was sure to save the correct spelling. ) Naturally, the team spelling after us had a relatively easy word, something simple like "solace," making our elimination complete. Nevertheless, that was too much fun to not hanker for a second go-round. Seriously.

So I have one small request for the Scripps-minus-Howard National Bee organizers already hunkering down to plan next year's contest: Clearly, Howard was the entity responsible for the "fun" , so would you please bring him back?

What a Difference a Week Makes

Whew! Talk about whirlwind changes.

In ReD Zone news, your faithful narrator has, as some in the media family like to say, "gone to the dark side." Translation: When a reporter/broadcast journalist etc. takes a new job in some sort of marketing/promotions field and stops fielding/scouring press releases and coverage requests and starts pitching them.

In the last week, I wrapped up production on "my" Brighton-Pittsford Post weekly paper, and rather quickly shifted gears to a new position at Sonnenberg Gardens, managing the special and private events scheduled throughout the season. So far, it's been fun getting used to working at a local tourist attraction (and for me, emphasis is, as per usual, on the LOCAL part of that). A former MPN colleague was actually back in town last weekend, and took a quick, first peek around the grounds. I was not at all surprised to hear the visit followed up by "this is such a great area, look at all the neat things around, etc. etc." And naturally, I couldn't agree more.

So, lucky me, I get to promote the local happenings at a revered local attraction -- as creatively as possible (oooo, fun!) -- and maintain the ties with my MPN colleagues all the while. And what kind of journalist "vet" would I be if I didn't give them the scoop first? (Not one proud to hang her hat in ReD Zone range, lemme tell ya. And yes, I have several hats ... more on that in another post.)

But yeah, there was a bit of head-spinning happening last week. Two days at the paper -- imagine trying to tie up seven years of loose ends, oy! -- one day to catch a breath, then two full days and another half-day in the new post. Whew! Squished in around the various old and new responsibilities was a going-away send-off from the MPN gang, complete with all the hysterical roastings that must accompany such an event. (You'll have to be content imagining the atmosphere set by this custom poster.)

Anyhow, it was a delightful capping of the career, and I will dearly miss my

co-workers, my Tuesday ritual of proofing the movie review page for the Sunday Freestyle section, my near-daily morning coffee breaks to the cappuccino machine with one of my partners in crime (Ha! Truer than you might imagine), my Post-side "peeps," some of whom often stayed late burning the midnight oil too, and the many, many fascinating local folks I got to meet in the course of reporting. How lovely that the near-and-dear will still be near! (The "dear" part doesn't change. ReD Zone rules.)

What was one of those New Year resolutions made a few months back? Embracing change, I believe? Guess this would be a checkmark in that box, a big one. Here's to embracing change, then: to old friends, new adventures, and fresh pages waiting to be filled in the next chapter.

Here we go!

Summer Soul-stice

Some things just do a body good ... like the refreshing visit my feet paid to the city's Lagoon Park last Saturday (sigh). I had missed my lagoons!

Warm sun, music-to-move-to on the iPod (that Christmas gift has really come in handy), and even a goose to scare off the path every time I swung by. What more could a girl ask? (Ok, well, energy to pull off a couple extra laps, but it was good just to start in again.)

It warms my soul to see all the grass that's grown in on the formerly sparse spots. The square landing docks are getting green rooftops, and they look sharp! They strike me as dapper gents tipping their caps, another thought that makes me smile.

Between the bridges, and the occasional willow trees, and the rabbits, squirrels and geese, it's this soul-soothing oasis to escape to without really leaving the comforts of home (after all, Starbucks can now be seen from one bridge, and my guess is many a couple out for a near-moonlit stroll later this year are going to be tempted to carry the conversation from the lagoons to the coffee shop.) And yes, I know my lagoon paths are perfect for more than just a jog. My good friend said they made for a delightful date, too. But, of course!

All of this reminds me of a song that's definitely of the spring-in-your-step sort:
"Think I'll go outside for a walk now, the summer sun's calling my name -- I hear ya now!
Just can't stay inside all day. Gotta get away, get away, get away, get away ...
into the Sunshine Day!"

See ya soon, lagoons!

A scam by any other name ...

I have a real problem with scam artists.

And it would appear that some of the slimiest scammers of our times are not email junkies hawking Viagra or Ephedra, or promising some illusive share of a Nigerian diplomat's supposed wealth, but the head honchos and higher-ups pulling in gadzillions in profits for oil and refining
companies.

What really burns me is the sheer audacity with which they concoct excuses for never-ending price hikes. Especially when, we hear more and more from insiders, every line is an apparent lie.

Anyone remember the unbelievable skyrocketing we had round these here parts a full 3-4 days after Hurricane Katrina hit? The overnight 75-cent jumps in pricing? Remember how the oil companies blamed it on being unable to access all the "hard-hit" gas lines in the Gulf supposedly needed to transport all that fuel to us? Suddenly "shortage" was the word of the day. Or so it would seem. What would you say if you learned that every September a number of refineries, as a matter of practice, shut down a number of transport lines for annual cleaning, and that, for years and years prior, those same "hard-hit" gas lines have been closed off and inaccessible anyway, with nary a shortage anywhere in the U.S.

A few weeks back, in February, my folks went on vacation to Texas to visit my aunt and uncle, who retired some time ago from Shell Oil, a subsidiary of a Dutch Royal (or is it Royal Dutch) oil holdings company. At the time, gas prices were beginning to spike again. He found it odd considering the actual cost of crude oil had just fallen by several bucks per barrel. Go figure.

Or what about the annual line that refineries are switching from "summer blends" to "winter blends" of gasoline or vice-versa, as if our cars couldn't possibly continue to operate on the same formula to which THEY'D ALREADY BEEN ACCUSTOMED!!! Adding insult to injury, we -- a culture growing increasingly accustomed to "green," environmentally-friendly practices in business and consumption -- are told the summer-blend gas burns "cleaner" Well, call me crazy, but what's wrong with burning gas cleaner through the ENTIRE YEAR??!!!??? If we're so enlightened that we know well enough to use compact fluorescent bulbs and recycle soda cans and plastic bottles as a matter of habit, why would we deliberately choose a return to winter-grade fuel that burns "dirtier" than a summer-grade blend? It's a simple question, people, and there's a simple answer: They don't let us choose. They do it for us so they can have one more reason to hike prices, yet again.

This, of course, sets aside arguments about drastic price fluctuations between towns not that far apart, or whether Congress should "cap" oil company profits or fine them for gouging, or simply tax them up the wazoo and turn around and refund all that money to the American people who have paid through the nose for gas.

Much as it pains me to admit it, I'm now "old enough" to remember a time, shortly before I started driving on a learner's permit, when gas ranged between 77 -89 cents a gallon. At the time, I remember thinking it was crazy my parents could clearly describe the days when gas cost 25 cents a gallon. A few years after I got my license, it started creeping up and 99 cents or 1.01-1.05 became the norm. Then one day it shot to 1.23 and I swear, the oil companies never looked back.

No wonder a fuel-cell prototype vehicle -- like the one I reported on today -- looks enticing. There's very little smoke and only a couple of mirrors.